#YOU PLAY STUPID GAMES YOU WIN STUPID PRIZES | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

startrekfangirl2233-writes · 8 months

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He Fell First (She Fell Harder)

A You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes (I'm Not a Game You Want to Lose) Oneshot

Past!Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: The Five times Bitsie couldn't keep her eyes (and thoughts) off Jake and the One time Jake couldn't keep his eyes off Bitsie.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: This fic encompasses the entire timeline of the events happening in You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes. As such, there are mentions of cheating, some cursing, sex, sexual themes, as well as a look into Bitsie's mental state during the rough non-consensual sex mentioned in Love Has No Limits, Part Two of the main story.

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 7202

A/N: Hi All! So remember when I mentioned I wasn't ready to let Jake and Bitsie go when I ended the main series? Here we are! I'm so happy to share this new installment in their story with you all! It's also my first time writing a 5 plus 1 style fic, so I hope you all love it.

A lot of this story will not make sense if you've not read the main part of the series linked below.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for reading over this oneshot as I was trying to figure out how to write a 5 plus 1 style fic!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

1. Before Bradley Bradshaw

You're not sure why the blond on the other side of the aisle at the Commissary is staring at you. He's beautiful. You know that for a fact because you have eyes, and you're a little weak at the knees at the sight of how he fills out his khaki uniform. He’s probably only staring because you're a mess, with your hair in a messy bun, standing in the commissary wearing a ratty, holey T-shirt and ripped-stained jeans. Moving sucks. It feels like your spine is just stretching out again after hours in the car. Honestly, you’re not sure why you decided to have all your things shipped to Lemoore instead of directly to North Island. Three trips in your car later, and you’ve got everything you need with you, but you now have an avalanche of boxes waiting in your living room to unpack.

Your entire life in boxes is another reason you’d retreated to the commissary. It’s already 6 in the evening, and you want nothing more than to eat something and flop onto the sofa for the night. You’re hoping, at the very least, to pick up a few important groceries, such as milk, bread, eggs, and cheese, to tide you over until you can run to Whole Foods or Wegmans off base. It’s as you’re debating what type of cereal you should buy that the blond first catches your attention. It’s a Wednesday, and there are a surprisingly large number of khaki-clad navy personnel walking up and down the aisles collecting items they need. You’re probably one of the few in casual clothing, but that doesn’t warrant his staring.

It takes far too much effort to turn your attention back to the two cereal boxes in your hands. You can still feel the prickle of his gaze against the back of your neck.

“Y’know, if you’re deciding between Honey Bunches of Oats and Frosted Mini Wheats, I have to tell you that you’re probably thinking too hard.”

You startle, fumbling with the boxes, and stumble back into a broad, firm chest. His laughter is warm and musical as he steadies you with big, warm hands.

“I’m sorry.” You’re flushed and hoping that you’re not as sweaty and disgusting as you feel with this Adonis of a man so close to you.

“I startled you, huh?” His grin is crooked and wicked, making you grin sheepishly.

“Yeah, you kind of did.” You turn and gesture at the cereal boxes. “So, what makes you think you know the best cereal?”

“Well, I've been eating it my whole life, you know?” His eyes seem to twinkle as he responds.

“So have I. I happen to like Honey Bunches of Oats, you know?”

“All that tells me, gorgeous, is that you haven't put something truly delicious in that pretty little mouth before today.”

You squeak a little because you're not sure you've ever been so close to a man before.

“So, I would suggest Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sweet and spicy, just like you are.”

You can feel yourself flush, even as he reaches past you, pulls the correct cereal box from the shelf, and places it in your cart.

“See you around, beautiful. I hope you enjoy your time on North Island.”

You’re a flustered mess as you checkout at the counter several moments later. You think about this flirty stranger as you unpack your house and put everything away for the rest of the week and most of the weekend. A part of you isn’t sure how to handle such casual flirting. Could that stranger have been serious? Did he actually want to see you around North Island? Or was that just something he was saying to be kind?

2. Befriending the Daggers

As silly as it seems, you feel like you can taste cinnamon sugar on your tongue when you and your team are introduced to the Dagger Squad in one of the hangars at North Island.

The reason why is simple. The blond who had been haunting your thoughts all weekend is standing at attention in the front row. His cocky smirk makes your knees weak, and you’re sure that his eyes on you make you stutter as you introduce yourself. Throughout that first briefing, you can feel his gaze track across your form as you take notes in your spiky hand. You think you see him smirk when your hand cramps, and you need to shake your fingers out. Still, it catches your attention in a fleeting moment, not keeping it for longer than a few seconds before the briefing grabs you again.

What follows is a day full of briefings, the problem with the laser targeting system setting your mind ticking into overdrive. Looking at the faces of the others on your team, you can see hints of the same curiosity and the same drive to solve this problem. Of course, it would be asking a bit much to be able to view the plane telemetry data and hardware logs and hear the comms recordings so soon after your introduction to the team. Something tells you you’ll have to wait for that.

“So, you’re joining us for drinks, right?” It’s one of the female lieutenants, Trace, you think her name is, who invites you out. “We go to this little place on the beach called The Hard Deck. Penny’s amazing!”

“You should join us, Bitsie!” His voice sounds just as good in the hangar as at the commissary, if a bit less worn and tired. The nickname is new, but coupled with the grin he’s leveling in your direction, you’re willing to accept it. You smile sweetly at the blond as he walks up behind Lieutenant Trace.

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin. How’d you like the Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

Before you can respond, though, Trace muscles her way back into the conversation. “Stop making her feel awkward, Bagman.”

You smile gently over her shoulder at Jake as Natasha walks you away, talking a mile a minute. The Hard Deck is a surprisingly homey place. It’s warm and brightly lit, smelling of lemon polish and faintly of yeasty beer. It bothers you a little bit how Natasha doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Jake’s been waiting, sweetly, this whole time. You want to thank him for his cereal recommendations. But she’s introducing you to the others, and you're actually having fun.

Before long, you find yourself in a circle of women, and you’re surprised by how nice it feels. Mara, you've known and worked with for years, but you've never been close. Callie and Natasha are like two sides of the same coin. Both of them are whip-smart and take no shit. They’re the perfect counterparts to you and Mara.

Looking back, you've never really had many female friends. Most of your colleagues are males, males who don't want anything to do with you outside of seeing you every day and inevitably getting shown up by you. So it’s nice standing at one of the bar’s high-top tables while getting to know your new colleagues and hopefully your new friends.

You’re laughing and smiling, vacantly swaying to the song's beat pouring out of the jukebox when the song cuts out. You startle, then hum as you hear the plunking of keys from the piano on the other side of the bar. When you’d walked in, talking to Natasha, you’d thought the piano was just an ornament, something defunct and unplayable. The tune leaves the wooden instrument echoing with age.

Natasha crows with glee at the sound; all the Daggers roused into a festive mood in moments. “C’mon, you two! You’re in for a real treat tonight!”

The raspy voice that starts singing melds beautifully with the old instrument, lustily belting the words of an old song into the air. It seems to be a normal occurrence. As Natasha dances and pulls you into the fray surrounding the piano, you feel relaxed enough to dance along awkwardly in her wake. The other Daggers are arrayed in a half-moon around the back of the piano, facing a man with auburn curls wearing a cheerful printed shirt. You recognize him as one of the Daggers you haven’t been introduced to yet. He’s feeling the jazzy beat of the song as his fingers dance across the yellowed ivory keys.

When he peers over the rims of his RayBans, his eyes meet yours. In that instance, the world stops because his smile takes your breath away. You’ve never felt this seen, this beautiful. His eyes sparkle, the color of the whiskey in the glass atop the glossy wood of the piano. You’ve never heard this song before, but damn, if you don’t want to learn the lyrics via osmosis just to see him smile at you for singing along. You’re not sure when the song ends, or even that it does, notes echoing in the suddenly quiet expanse of your mind. You swallow when he stands up from the bench and downs the watered-down whiskey, tracking a droplet of the amber liquid as it drips down his neck. You have to remind yourself to be cool, to avoid glancing at his mouth as he swaggers up to you.

“Hi,” His voice is like woodsmoke, dark and gorgeous as it drips into your ears. “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, but you can call me Rooster. I’m one of the Daggers, but if I’d met you before now, I’m not sure I would forget.”

“Bradley…. Bradshaw?” You’re not sure when Natasha, Callie, and Mara moved away, but when you look, you’re all alone in the corner of the bar with just Bradley Bradshaw for company.

“It’s a family name.” He drags one of his big hands through glistening curls, his bicep bunching alluringly in the frankly silly shirt he’s wearing. “My dad wanted the alliteration. My mom loved him too much to say no. So here I am.”

“It sounds like you love them a lot.”

His smile falters at your earnest words, a frown dipping his lips down for a few seconds before the smirk rises back into place. “Yeah, I did.”

Your mind churns, because you feel like you’ve pressed unwittingly onto a still un-healed old wound. You feel like you should apologize, like you have to apologize, but he doesn’t let you. The play of emotions on his face is lightning-fast. Before you can think, he’s already leading you to the next conversation topic: you.

“But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.”

You flush and let your life story, a highly edited version, drip off your tongue. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel seen and inexplicably gorgeous, faced with a six-foot-tall man whose eyes seem to see right through you. He makes you feel giddy.

“What’re you doing tucked away in this corner with Bradshaw, Bitsie?” Jake’s voice makes you smile in a completely different way than when Bradley was making you giggle earlier.

“We were just chatting, Jake.”

“Yeah, Bagman.” It surprises you to see the nearly cruel look on Bradley’s kind-looking face. “We were just chatting. Piss off.”

Jake lifts his hands as he backs away, though you don’t miss how he mouths, “Later, pretty girl” to you over Bradley’s shoulder. You don’t miss the frown creasing on his handsome face, either.

“Does he call you Bitsie often?” Bradley sounds surprisingly concerned as he curls one of his big hands around your waist.

“He just started today.”

Bradley’s face makes you bite your lips. “I’m pretty sure he’s just teasing me, Bradley. It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not.” You can hear the rumble of his voice in your chest as he leans closer. “Sweetheart, he’s making fun of you. He doesn’t take you or your job seriously. He took your cute, little introductory speech and turned it into a mockery!”

“He isn’t making fun of me, Bradley.”

“Yeah, he is, sweetheart.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. “Bagman makes fun of everyone and everything. He doesn’t know how to give a compliment seriously if he tries.”

“He’s just going to hurt you, gorgeous.”

“No, he’s not.” You scoff.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You turn as bidden, expecting to see Jake looking at you with that same sweet look on his face. Instead, what you see is Jake smirking down at a gorgeous willowy blonde with big boobs and sweet, dainty features.

You, in your frumpy little business casual pants set, look terrible in comparison. When his eyes rise to meet yours, the smile falls a little, but it grows into something smarmy and ingenuine as his eyes meet the man standing behind your shoulder.

“See, sweetheart? The man flirts just to flirt. That’s all he means when he calls you Bitsie. He’ll flirt and then go home with someone else. You’re not his type. But luckily, you’re mine.”

His words make you smile, and you devote the brunt of your attention to Bradley Bradshaw again. You can feel the itch of eyes on you all night long. But when you sneak furtive glances over your shoulders at where Jake is standing with that blonde bimbo draped all over him, his attention always seems to be on her. But you can still feel the itch of his gaze in between your shoulders.

3. Dating Bradley Bradshaw

After that first night, you keep a close eye on the Daggers, especially how they interact with each other. Jake Seresin always seems to be on the outskirts of the group. Only Coyote goes out of his way to include Jake. Even when he is a central part of the conversation, Hangman seems to prefer biting commands and witty repartee, which doesn’t endear him to his squadron. You hear them all, though, noting the jokes that are so sly and cerebral that they pass the others by. You notice his concern, the tightly wound worry in every muscle as he tries his best to ensure everyone comes back home safe and sound, even in the midst of training.

Something about his attitude still bothers you, though. Or maybe it’s how he always insists on calling you Bitsie instead of your name. He can’t seem to bring himself to give you any respect, either, and it’s starting to piss you off. If you didn’t know differently, you’d assume Jake Seresin didn’t believe you belonged here, working on this team and completing vital work for the Pentagon and the US Navy. So, you dread walking into the pilot’s ready room on base for coffee. You’ve been dragging all day, and you have it on good authority that the pilot’s ready room has the best coffee on base.

Well, your thermos from home is empty, and you could use the pick-me-up, so you head over there, hoping you can avoid Jake Seresin. All you want is a decent cup of coffee before you’re back to staring at flight diagnostics until your eyes bleed.

The ready room is quiet, barring the ever-present roaring hum of jet engines in flight, and to your satisfaction, there is a pot of coffee waiting for you. You sniff at its contents, a little disappointed because there’s only enough for half a mug once you’ve assured yourself of its relative freshness. You make your mug happily, doctoring it to your satisfaction and taking the time to look around. Bradley and Nat have told you about the days they've spent here between hops while training for the Uranium Mission. The walls are covered in pictures, and you take the time to examine them as you sip your coffee.

When the radio flickers on with an echoey buzz as it connects to the comms of the jets in flight, you startle and whirl around.

“If you’re looking for the Chicken, he’s up in the air.” You have to fight to keep your dismay from showing on your face. You must be at least a little unsuccessful since there is an imperceptible smirk growing on Hangman’s face as he looks at you from one of the sofas. “At least you’ve found the coffee.”

“It’s the best coffee on base, after all.”

You refill your mug and try your best to ignore Hangman. But when you go to take another sip, you’re met with only the dregs at the bottom of your mug. There’s silence between you as you scramble into the cupboards, looking for the fresh coffee. When you measure the beans into the grinder and fire the grinder up, you deliberately avoid looking for the aviator lying supine on the sofa. You find a modicum of your composure as you measure the grinds into a new filter and fill the carafe of the coffee maker with fresh water. You hit the buttons decisively and hum appreciatively as the scent of fresh bitter coffee wafts from the pot. From the radio set, you can hear Phoenix and Bob on the comms, mostly Bob, as he clues his pilot onto unseen perils in the sky. On occasion, you can hear Phoenix’s measured tone and Bradley’s rough rasp, too.

“So, Bitsie, how do you take your coffee?”

You startle, sending crystals of sugar skittering across the countertop as Hangman’s voice gets even closer to you than it was before. You’re always impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew, so you always add the creamer and sugar to the bottom of your mug before pouring in the coffee. Hangman chuckles when he sees the sugar dripping lazily out of the torn open packet in a glittering stream.

“Sugar, huh?” He pushes you away and begins to wipe the sticky substance away but stops once he sees the bottom of your mug. “Fuck, Bitsie, do you pour any coffee into your mug at all?”

“Oh, trust me,” you snap, on the defensive at the sound of his voice so close to you, “I desperately need the caffeine to put up with you, after all.”

Something about the joking look on his face fades away at your tone, though the smile doesn’t.

“I drink my coffee black, you know?” He chuckles, leaning against the counter as he holds your mug hostage on the other side of him. “I like my coffee hot and full-bodied, a little bitter, but oh, so smooth on my tongue.”

He takes two measured steps into your space. With how close he is, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne and the bitter tang of jet fuel. “Coincidentally, I like my women like that too.”

“And how do they like you?” One of his eyebrows rises at your statement. “Your women, Bagman. How do they like you?”

“Oh, honey.” He grins as he fills the mug up and turns around. “I promise they don’t have any complaints.”

He sips insolently out of your mug, tongue lapping at the traces of coffee left on the spoon he used to stir the steaming beverage before handing the mug filled with hot liquid back to you. Your mind stutters as Jake Seresin stares you down like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “Your coffee isn’t half bad either, Bitsie.” You can feel the warmth of his touch where his fingers brush against yours. “A little sweet, but it figures when the drinker is as sweet as you are.”

When you sip from the mug with your face on fire, it tastes even better than when you make it for yourself. You slip out of the room when a crackle of feedback attracts Jake’s attention. It doesn’t occur to you until you’re sitting in your chair and staring at the after-action reports of the Uranium Mission that you’re placing your mouth exactly where his was in an indirect kiss.

For the rest of the afternoon, you find your mind tracking to green eyes and a sweet smile bared genuinely in your direction. Your brain feels like a stuck record, trapped futilely in the crosshairs of his gaze from when he’d been teasing you about your coffee preferences.

Worse than the bonfire lighting up in your stomach, there’s the guilt swarming in your belly after what happened. What happened with Jake in the ready room could classify as cheating, right? You’re not exactly sure because you’re not the most experienced. You also don’t want to tell Bradley because what if you have been unfaithful to him? You can’t confide in Natasha either, because she’s Bradley’s best friend.

Suddenly, your coffee goes from tasting like god’s ichor to tasting like ash on your tongue. Fucking Jake Seresin. Why did he have to go out of his way to make your life miserable?

4. A North Island Night Out

The more time you spent around Bradley Bradshaw, the more it felt like you could fall in love. Bradley’s sweet and kind, and he never once makes you feel bad about your career choice. Sometimes, in those long afternoons stuffed inside a hangar with ceiling fans barely pushing at stagnant air, you wish you could say the same about Jake Seresin. The worst part is how he has reasons to be as cocky and arrogant as he is. He flies his jet like a man possessed, or maybe like a man with nothing to lose. Some of you can’t help but wonder what you would have faced if you'd been going out with Jake instead of Bradley. You're not sure you would have been enough to change his ways.

Bradley, on the other hand? He's like your knight in shining armor. He never minds your rambling or how you babble when you get sucked into a conversation. In fact, you'd argue that Bradley Bradshaw is the first person who has ever taken you seriously. He makes you feel superhuman, like there is never any problem you can't solve. His smile still has butterflies taking flight in thick, cloying swarms in your stomach. He makes you laugh, and god when he kisses you? You feel radiant, like one word will have you taking off faster than an F-18.

A part of you can’t believe him, even now. He hadn't laughed when you'd told him how inexperienced you were, in truth, what you wanted him to give you for your first time.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He'd groaned into your ear, “Just let me make you feel good, on your terms, as fast or slow as you want me to be.”

You know what he's offering. As fast or slow as you want me to be is his way of telling you to take your time. But you're sure you will explode if you have to make out with Bradley Bradshaw again while rubbing a wet patch into the thigh of his jeans, while his fingers massage over your nipples and his tongue tangles languidly with yours.

You’ve had sex with him before, the sweet, gentle missionary kind. In fact, you’d argue that it was the perfect way to lose your virginity. But you can’t help but wonder if there isn’t more to sex with a man you love than a few slow moments in bed. You’re not even sure you orgasmed that night, or at least, it never felt like how you’ve made yourself climax. But ever since then, he’s kept you at arm's length. Sex was supposed to be the last step before all of the walls came down between the two of you. Maybe you can finally get Bradley to give you what you want, then? If only this date weren’t starting at The Hard Deck, though if you think back, most of yours do. It’s not like the Hard Deck isn’t a nice bar - it is. But The Hard Deck isn’t the most romantic of venues.

When you drive up to the Hard Deck in your little car at promptly six in the evening, you’re dressed to the nines, wearing a cute little sundress with a flared skirt and fitted bodice. It pushes your tits up and is nearly completely backless. You’re not wearing much under the dress, just a little lace-edged thong and strappy heels elevating you a few inches. Stepping through the door, it seems like the entire bar falls silent. For several long moments, all you can hear is the tapping of your heels against the floor. People seem to float out of your way as you greet Penny, grabbing your drink from her, a soda in a glass bottle dripping condensation, and walk towards the pool tables in the back of the bar.

Heads turn as you walk past, and you can feel a smug smile curl your lips. On any other night, the arrangement of the Daggers around the pool table would have been normal. You’d be joining them by now, taking your place next to Bradley to hang besottedly on his every word. You’d be the only one not in uniform.

Tonight, there isn’t a uniform in sight. Tonight, you’re dressed to impress. But you’re not dressed to impress the other Daggers, only Bradley. You hope your sexy little dress will be enough to have the romantic moment you’ve been longing for, finally. All your boyfriend needs to do is turn around and see you.

Nat and Bob confer in hushed tones as Bradley racks up against the pool table with the cue in his hand. He’s wearing those jeans that you adore, the pair that fits like a glove and with fabric so worn that it’s soft against your hands. Hangman and Coyote are on the other side of the pool table, identical frowns on their faces as they strategize over the configuration of the balls on the worn felt emblazoned with jets.

But it’s Hangman who sees you first with a clattering of his cue as it impacts the floor. His eyes bug out, mouth parting as his eyes rake over you from head to toe. His reaction causes silence to ripple outwards with him at its epicenter. Dagger after Dagger pauses to stare at you. It’s a gratifying feeling. Nat and Callie wink at you, and Nat carefully prods a pink-cheeked Bob into resuming their conversation. The only person arrayed around the pool tables who doesn’t seem to know you’re there is the man you dressed up for. Jake is nearly mute as you clack forward, sipping on your drink greedily because something about his gaze has you feeling hot and flushed. The only time he backs off is when Bradley seems to realize you’re right there.

“Fuck, baby.” Your boyfriend groans in your ears. His voice makes your skin flare hot, and a desperate ache starts between your legs. “Look at you all pretty and gorgeous for me. Let me finish this last round, and then I’m all yours.”

One round turns to two, and then three, and before long, you’re left all alone in a corner of the bar while the Daggers, including Bradley, party like you don’t exist. All of that effort to make it a romantic night, and you’re sitting here like you don’t exist. If you have to watch another badge bunny drape herself all over your boyfriend, you are going to scream or do something drastic. Maybe making out with Jake will get his attention.

“It’s a shame, you know?” You nearly topple off of your stool at the words emanating from next to you. “You look so pretty, Bitsie, and Bradshaw can’t even open his eyes to see his girl waiting for him.”

Hangman sounds so sure of you, so sure that you’re better than Bradley Bradshaw deserves.

“He just wanted to grab another drink.”

“That was three hours ago, Bits.” When Jake chuckles, you can feel your hackles raise. “Didn’t you have dinner reservations or something like that?”

Before you can respond, because yeah, you did, Bradley’s standing there.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Bagman?” Bradley is slurring his words, listing from side to side as he stares the other man down.

“She’s mine, Bagman. Don’t you forget it!”

“If she’s yours, why are you ignoring her and walking around with badge bunnies draped all over ya?”

You can tell by how red Bradley’s face gets that he is one more word from launching himself at Jake. You’re unsure what prompts you to step in, but you do, sliding your hand up to the sweaty curls at the base of your boyfriend’s neck and whispering into his ear. You breathe your need, your want for him, into his ears. You have to ignore the scent of alcohol and sweat wafting sour from his skin, but you succeed in grabbing his attention.

But a part of you wishes your seductive ploy hadn’t.

You got your wish; your need to have sex with your boyfriend granted. But it’s not anything like you expected it to be. Bradley left bruises on your skin and bruises on your heart. He’d been rough with his touch and his words. But more than that, you can’t help but wonder if this would have happened with Jake. If he’d make you feel better than Bradley ever could. Isn’t sex supposed to feel good?

Faced with Bradley’s fumbling, you’d been anything but wet between your legs. You’d only started to get there when you thought, selfishly, of Jake. There was no foreplay, no making sure you’re alright. No kissing, no touching. There were no hallmarks of any of the care and gentleness Bradley usually treats you with. The whole experience has you feeling worse than you did in the car as he called you a slut for talking to a colleague and friend. Slut. It’s a word he’d used often with you in bed that night, too. A word that makes you feel guilty, dirty, and disgusting all at once.

What does it say about you that you had to think of a colleague and friend to get wet instead of your boyfriend?

Whether you realize it or not, that’s the first crack in the shaky, perhaps already crumbling, foundations of your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw.

5. After Bradley Bradshaw

You have work to do; you know you do. But it’s been under a day since you told Jake Seresin how your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw imploded easier than if it had been bombed. Realizing Nat had known, known what he did and condoned the betrayal, his cheating, is another stab to the back that you weren’t expecting. You can't believe how Bradley could harbor less remorse and guilt over having sex with Britney than you did over some harmless, practically meaningless flirting.

What happened to ‘sisters before misters’ and all sentiments to that effect? You’re thankful, truly thankful, that Jake didn’t know and that Mickey and Mara were unaware as well. Being so far away from North Island has given you a sense of clarity you never thought you were missing.

You’d be lying if you said Jake Seresin doesn’t have something to do with your newfound clarity, too.

One night, a bushel-load of tears and an unburdening of your heart, and he’s already raised himself in your esteems. It’s in how he’d listened to you, which has your thoughts spinning. Back when your relationship with Bradley was still rock solid, you'd thought Bradley was the only man who could make you feel like the most important person in the world. But you didn't realize how often Bradley’s eyes would glaze over when you got excited. You’re not sure you’ve ever been able actually to talk to your ex.

Jake let you cry, cry like you’d lost your reason for living. He’d held you while your suppressed grief had unleashed. He’d heard you spill your heart out to him and release all of your pain into the squalling storm winds. Then there was the rage in his face, in his voice, the rage he’d held tightly coiled in the corded muscles of his arm, in the jut of his proud jaw, when he found out Bradley had broken you, dominated your spirit, for a bet.

You’re not sure why he’s been so nice. He has nothing to gain by being kind to you. He didn’t when he wanted to get you off deck in the middle of the storm last night. Though uncharitably, you’re sure he’d likely wanted you off deck so he could get off deck himself. He didn’t have to make you a cup of coffee or raid his own special stash of granola bars, either. But more than anything, you’d love to know why he let you cry snot and tears all over his uniform when it was well past lights out. You keep thinking back to how it felt to be in his arms, how good it felt.

Unbidden, you pull out the paper Jake had handed you while you were eating lunch in the commissary with Mara and Mickey. It’s nothing special, just a note written in ballpoint pen on run-of-the-mill lined notebook paper. The paper is silky smooth against the pads of your fingers, the edges ragged like he’d ripped the page out of a notebook he had lying around. You can feel the indentations the pen had left on the other side of the page. You can see how the letters slur across the page as he’d written, the ink smudging imperceptibly as he wrote hastily. They’re just lyrics transcribed on the page, and they shouldn’t be thought-provoking.

It’s from a song you’ve heard a thousand times before, played ad nauseam on the radio with a catchy tune getting stuck in your head. More than the song lyrics, it’s the thought behind those lyrics. Honestly, you’re not sure how he got them for you. He called his sister in the middle of the night when he likely had to get special permission to do so just so he could get some stupid lyrics for you.

You can still see the twinkle in his eyes as he blushed crimson. He’d seemed proud, proud he was the reason for your laughter, proud that he’d pulled the wool from your eyes and showed you how ill Bradley had actually treated you. That look on his face made you feel like levitating.

You can’t deny it anymore. Bradley Bradshaw may have made butterflies swarm in your stomach, but Jake Seresin made you feel like lightning arcing through the air. He makes you feel wild and free.

+1. The Day Easton is Born

A part of you feels like you should be angry that it took only four years before you stopped being the sole item of your husband’s attention. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way that Jake did, especially because the cute little thing that’s caught his attention has caught yours, too.

He’s about four hours old with squishy cheeks, a red face, and a voice that would make his daddy proud. You’re sure that his voice is just like his dad’s, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard Jake’s voice ever hit the octaves this adorable sweetheart hits. It hurts a little bit that you’ve been ordered not to move, too, because everything in you is itching to pick your baby up and hold him in your arms. But Jake’s on baby duty at the moment. If it’s a poopy diaper, you’re more than ready to let him take that burden on.

You tilt the bed up until you’re reclining and tip your head gently to the side until you see the heart rate monitor reassuringly blinking your vital signs at you. When you turn your head to the other side, Jake's standing over the small changing table in your room, leaning down and looking into it. His face looks gentler than you've ever seen it, soft, like a man stripped bare to his basest parts. He has no walls up, no fears, just wonder as he stares down at the little bed. Well, maybe he’s looking a little less awestruck and a little more disgusted because your newborn son does, indeed, have a soiled diaper.

He’s not wearing a shirt. This fact doesn't surprise you because Jake wanders around your house half-naked all the time. At the same time, you’re both in a hospital, and it’s at least 10 degrees colder than it should be. You’re wrapped up in a soft pajama set and wearing a thick cardigan, but you’re still cold. When Jake hefts the small wriggling body of your son into his arms and settles him against his chest, now clean, your heart swells. The baby coos, a little snuffling exhale of breath that squeaks a little as he settles into Jake’s arms. Jake doesn’t seem to realize that you’re awake, either.

“Awww, hey, Buddy.” His voice is a tender rumble, big hands cradling precious cargo with the same surety he flies his jet. “Let’s not wake up Mama, huh? She’s so tired.”

“You took us by surprise, our sweet boy. We weren’t expecting you to show up in the middle of a Longhorns game, for sure. I will say that your arrival was a little more exciting than a game-winning touchdown. I wonder if your Uncle Javy will let Daddy watch the game on his DVR when you’re home? In any case, I do not look forward to replacing my Longhorns rug. You had to pick that rug to make your appearance on, didn’t you? Say, East, what’s the likelihood that your Mama would let me keep it if I wash it off?”

You have to stifle your snickers because the baby chirps and half burps in response. You can vaguely see the dark blue of the baby’s eyes as he blinks in Jake’s firm hold. East’s lips purse and part, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in need again. But you’re so in love, and hearing Jake talk to your son might be your newest favorite thing.

“Yeah, I had that feeling. You’ll learn sooner or later that your Mama’s words are law. She’s going to be the disciplinarian between the two of us, for sure. You’re already wrapped around my fingers. I’m not sure I could tell you no for anything.”

He sighs, sounding choked up as he trails a finger down the baby’s soft cheek. “I’ve got so much I want to teach you. How to smile and utilize those perfect Seresin dimples. How to talk your way out of any problem you face. How to make your Mama smile (and maybe cry) every Mother’s Day as we show her how amazing she is.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of the baby’s head and rocks slightly back and forth on his heels, an action that doesn’t soothe your son even a little. East is squalling already, and you have a feeling he will ratchet up a bit higher in volume if he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Hey, Cowboy.” Your voice is soft as you get Jake’s attention.

“Morning, Bitsie-baby.” His smile is wide as he stares down at you.

“There’s no way it’s morning, Jake.” He shrugs and rocks back and forth a little more as the baby objects a little louder with each sway. “And gimme my son.”

Jake smirked as he transferred the baby, eyes softening as you situated East against your chest, snickering as the baby latched hungrily onto your breast for his midnight snack.

“So he’s your son when you want him, but he’s mine when he’s got a nasty diaper?”

“Sounds about right, Seresin.”

“Well, he’s a Seresin, alright.” Jake snickers when you swat at his abs. “Made right for your tits, and aren’t they a pretty sight.”

“Not in front of the baby, Jacob.”

“Well, I dunno when I’m going to see them again one on one!”

“Try me when East’s two years old. Because I’m going to need that long to recover from having your big-headed child.” Your voice is as dry as the Sahara Desert as you laugh at your husband.

“Fair enough.” He tucks a wild strand of hair behind your ear and settles on the edge of the hospital bed. You snuggle into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’ll take beautiful over the complete mess I probably am.”

“You look gorgeous, Bitsie!”

You snort. “Jake, I haven’t showered in 48 hours, I was in labor for most of it, and I just had a baby. So what about me looks beautiful to you at this moment?”

“Everything.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’ve given me the best things in my life. You gave me your heart and a second chance with you. You gave me a family in you and our little Easton. You’ve changed my life.”

“If I didn’t find you gorgeous because of all of our relationship, then I’d definitely argue it is the memory of the lingerie you were wearing under your dress at last year's Navy Gala.”

“I think that lingerie was pretty life-changing for both of us, Cowboy.” You cradle Easton close and gesture for one of the many burp cloths arrayed on the table on Jake’s other side. “I’m about 90% sure that was the night we made East.” You pat the baby’s bottom gently, grimacing when he lets loose a surprisingly loud belch before cooing angelically. “Well, you certainly burp like your dad, don’t you?”

“Hey!” Jake tugs the baby out of your arms, swaying side to side as the baby’s eyes droop closed. He snuggles East close before laying him into the crib. You watch approvingly as he pulls the crib closer, the same worries about your newborn son in his mind as yours. “I’ll have you know, kiddo, that your mama loves my burps.”

“Don’t lie to our son. He’s not even a day old, Seresin, and you’re already lying to him!”

“Am I lying if I’m telling him the truth? His mama does love me.” You wrap your arms around his waist as he settles back into the hospital bed next to you.

“Yeah, she does.” You kiss his torso, nuzzling in close as he holds you close.

“I love you so much, Jake. I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I’m not likely to stop now. Having this,” you gesture to the hospital room at large, “is better than my best dreams. Though, I would prefer it if you could convince your mom and sister to let us have some time with East alone before they descend on us.”

“You got it, beautiful.” He runs his hands gently up and down your back. God, you're not sure you can give him up, not anymore. Right now, you're pretty sure that if Jake gets out of the hospital bed, you'll freeze solid.

“You were always my dream, Bitsie baby. Forever and always.” You barely hear the words, sleep pulling you under riptide-fast. But a part of you knows Jake doesn't mind. It's always been a not-so-secret fantasy of his, having his family at arm's reach.

Honestly, you could get used to it too. Your Jake Seresin pillow is the best of the best, after all.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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#star writes #you play stupid games you win stupid prizes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #past rooster x reader #past bradley bradshaw x reader #past bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster is a dick #he's not the greatest in this #top gun imagine #top gun angst

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

Text

New Rules

Part 1 of You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader, Past! Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You feel adrift and lost when your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw crashes and burns around your ears. As quickly as your relationship ended, you're not expecting to find something new as fast as you have. And especially not with Jake Seresin.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, Cursing, Sex, Sexual Themes

Word Count: 5191

A/N: Without further ado, here is the first installment of the You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes Universe. I hope you all like it! This is going to be a relatively short three-part story which I've been calling the Before, During and After verse.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Rain collects in pools on the metal deck in front of you, droplets skittering into the night. It's quiet, only you, the clouds of your breath, and the drumming of fat droplets as they spatter on the metal deck. The deck roils under you, rising and falling without rhyme or reason in the undulating waves. It’s storming where you are in the Pacific Ocean, not that you can place precisely what longitude and latitude the colossal naval carrier you’re perched on is at.

But you’re miles away from everything that hurt you and even further from everything you love. You’re officially alone. You might as well be a paper boat in a tempest, at the mercy of the sea. But, as lonely as you are, those feelings are the last on your mind. Your mind is hundreds of miles away, wrapped in the sun, the sand, and a calmer, sunnier sea, trapped in a dream that turned into a nightmare. You get jolted back into yourself when an arm nudges you, and a body sinks down next to you on the cold decking.

"Heya, Bitsie." He's amused. He's always so amused, southern drawl stretching every word, including the pet name he persists on calling you by. "Whatcha doin' out here? I don't know if you noticed, but it's cold and rainin'."

"I noticed." Your voice is dull. Two weeks since you've been on dry land. You feel like a stranger trapped in a body you don't know, with a face you barely recognize in the mirror. The first morning on the carrier, you'd nearly screamed at the sight, seeing your eyes in a face you couldn't, wouldn't recognize. It shows in your actions, too, you know. It feels like your authentic self has retreated like someone is playing at controlling your body like a video game character.

"Oh! I know what it is. You miss your Chicken, dontcha? I bet you wish you were huddled up under his wing right now. Well, if that's all, you should head inside and call ole' Roostie. I'm sure he'd jump for joy at hearing your voice and seeing your face."

Hearing someone say your boyfriend's callsign, even a teasing nickname for it, shouldn't fill you with dread, seeping as cold as ice through your veins. If only he was still your boyfriend.

"He's not my anything, Bagman." Your voice is barely audible over the thunder of rain across the deck. You're not even sure he can hear you over the din.

"What happened?" His voice is more subdued than you've ever heard it.

A flash of lightning rips through the sky, glinting off two pairs of shiny boots as they're stretched side by side next to each other. But you're spiraling, pulled into the undertow of everything that happened. The joy and pain of your latest failed relationship crash over you in unyielding waves as if you're adrift in the middle of the storm.

The dead-eye laser Lieutenant Miguel 'Fanboy' Garcia had encountered had nearly jeopardized the entirety of the Uranium mission. The Uranium mission would have failed without a stroke of near-divine luck. Everyone, from Admirals to the Secretary of the Navy, had decided unilaterally that something like that could not happen again. So you and your team, composed of mechanical engineers and computer scientists alike, had been shipped to Naval Air Station North Island to work with the squadron who’d run the Uranium Mission and improve the lasers, their targeting systems, and their software.

That was when you’d met Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster for the first time. It was like you were in a fairy tale. A perfect ray of light had shone over his head, illuminating strands of his hair golden. You felt a breeze brush over your hot cheeks and heard bird songs. The two of you had just clicked. It was easy, talking to him, hanging out, flirting. You nearly hadn't believed it when he’d asked you out for the first time. Bradley Bradshaw? Wanting to go out on a date with you? Obviously, you had said yes.

It had been a whirlwind romance. Bradley was precisely what you had thought you wanted in a man. He was sweet and charming. He never ignored what you were saying and was your partner in every sense of the word. The sex? That was dynamite, too. You’d be the first to openly admit you weren’t sexually experienced. But Bradley had never once made you feel less in your relationship. He’d swept you off your feet, starting with your first date and then every day since. You’d gushed to your family on the East Coast about how much you loved him and thought he was the one.

Sure, maybe two months into a new relationship, your only adult one was too soon to be making those overtures, but you fell and fell hard. It sometimes felt like you had been skydiving; he was the only parachute in sight. You'd consoled yourself that at least he'd fallen for you, too. And at least with Bradley, you'd never have to explain why you were leaving on a mission or a deployment. He'd understand it, just as you would when it was his turn.

While your relationship with Bradley changed and evolved and deepened, you'd also come to enjoy working with the other pilots and WSOs on the squadron. Bob, Fanboy, Halo, and Harvard were all brilliant and helpful in pinpointing exactly where the lasers seemed to fail. Their pilots were great, too. Other than Rooster, you weren't quite as close with the other single-seater F-18 pilots.

Hangman, in particular, had been intent on rubbing you the wrong way. His laugh, his demeanor, everything about him had set you off. From the very first day, he'd been calling you Itsie Bitsie or Bits or something like it. And he'd never told you why either, no matter how much you pestered him. You'd given up after a while. He didn't mean it maliciously, and it pissed him off more if you ignored him.

It helped, too, that Rooster had pulled you aside one afternoon when Hangman was being particularly dickish, kissed you until your knees were weak, and whispered in your ear, "Don't worry about him, lovely. He's just trying to get your attention or get you in trouble. I've got your back. Whatever you need to do to get him to stop, I'll help. But, if you're a good girl and can withstand him when we get home tonight, I'll let you sit on my face until you scream and then fuck you until you're all filled up with my cum." That was the end of that conversation, and as your panties flooded, you'd quickly forgotten about Hangman.

As your team and the Daggers blended and became cohesive, all those personality clashes also eased. Hangman was great to work with when he wasn't acting like a dick, and you always laughed when talking to him. And well, you're only human. You liked the look in Bradley's eyes when Hangman made you laugh. He made you feel wanted when he looked at you like that. You could've sworn that he knew you would only ever go home with him.

The sex was incredibly intense when you'd been polite with Hangman, just enough to send Bradley's jealousy skyrocketing. One incident involving a screwdriver and you in mechanics overalls resulted in fogged windows on a scenic overpass just off base. That afternoon had been especially memorable since base police had rapped on the back window of the Bronco and gotten an eyeful. You had escaped with just a warning, thankfully.

Things changed going into the sixth month of your relationship, your eighth overall in Miramar. Bradley would act the same at work but habitually ignored you when you were at the Hard Deck. He was usually clingy and sweet, always keeping an arm around your waist or kissing your skin. The sudden distance, physical and emotional, had been jarring. By then, your team and his squadron were close friends, decompressing at the bar over copious amounts of alcohol, laughter, and inside jokes. Then there were the nights you’d made plans, and he’d stood you up, calling hours later with plausible excuses. In hindsight, you never should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt.

In your defense, things had been crazy with the announcement from Admirals Simpson, Mitchell, and Bates of a six-month mission testing out the new software for one pilot, one weapons system officer, and two members of your team, one with mechanical engineering expertise and the other software. The competition had ticked up, and tensions were high, at least for the aviators. The Pentagon selected who would go on the mission from your team and gave the names to the admirals. The Admirals kept the names close to the vest until they selected their pilot candidates. You'd chalked Bradley's exhaustion, frustration, and general downturn in mood to the pressures of being selected as the pilot for the mission.

If only you'd known the actual reason.

The Admirals announced the team on Friday afternoon, dismissing everyone afterward. You'd been selected as the software engineer, and one of your closest friends, Mara, was the mechanical engineer selected. Your team had cheered you both excitedly before the admirals called everyone back to order and announced the pilot going on the mission. You'd smiled reassuringly at Bradley, keeping your fingers crossed against your side in a silent plea for him to be selected.

"The pilot on this mission is Hangman. The WSO, Fanboy."

The words had rung out with a sickening finality. Your head had swiveled so fast to look at Bradley that you'd nearly given yourself whiplash. But no matter how you'd craned your neck, you couldn't find him. You’d battled through the celebrations and raced out to the parking lot, only to see exhaust plumes pouring from the Bronco as he drove away. You texted him, offering to come by his house off-base for combination victory sex for you and conciliatory sex for him and to talk about how your relationship would last while you were in the middle of the ocean for half a year. But he left you on read, and you'd assumed he wanted to lick his wounds in solitude. So you'd left it alone that night.

You'd messaged him on Saturday, wanting to make the most of any time you had left before you were trapped on an aircraft carrier with only Hangman, Fanboy, and Mara for company. He hadn't responded to those messages either. That had been when you'd started worrying. You'd talked yourself off the ledge of calling the police half a dozen times, imagining scenarios where he'd gotten injured or was drunk and then been injured. Or… or… or. You were half afraid he would think you were overly clingy if you'd called him. You'd slept uneasily that night, worrying about your boyfriend's health. Incommunicado wasn't his thing.

When you woke up the following day, you decided to go to his house. You had second-guessed your decision until 11 o'clock, not wanting to wake him after he'd been so tense for so many weeks. Bradley never slept well when he was stressed about something.

Everything looked alright as you pulled into the driveway behind the blue Bronco that was his pride and joy. He'd given you a spare key a couple of months into your relationship with an open invitation to join him in the house he'd inherited after his mom had passed away. He’d told you with a sheepish, sad, soft smile that it was too big a house for one person. It was an offer you'd taken advantage of before in your relationship, albeit after calling first. As you unlocked the door and stepped in, you'd rationalized that Bradley would be safe and sound if nastily hungover in his bed at the very moment.

The foyer was the same as it always had been, except for the stupidly sparkly and tall high heels sprawled across the floor. Bradley had always been a friendly guy. One of his friends probably crashed at his place. You'd felt for the poor girl looking at the shoes she'd been wearing the night before.

But if he had company, the house would be full of the smells of breakfast and coffee, with his favorite eighties playlist blaring from the kitchen. The house was absolutely silent as you trod up the stairs. You didn’t want to disturb him. You resolved to leave a note if he were sleeping. That resolve had fallen flat when you'd heard the breathy moans that spilled through the open bedroom door.

Your heart had cracked a little, then the denial set in. Maybe he'd been watching porn? It had been a weak excuse, even in your own head. You had crept forward breathlessly, and that's when your heart shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Shards that had cut into the softness of you. Shards that were still lodged in your chest. He was home, but you doubted the girl bouncing on his cock was a friend. She was gorgeous, with her head thrown back and perky tits jolting with each movement. She was thin and blonde, waspish, her hair long and dangling down her back as he grasped at the silken strands.

"Yeah, baby, come on, just like that." His voice was a hissed whisper, sweat dripping down his face as he mouthed at her skin, at her flushed pink nipples.

"Oh! BRADLEY!" She'd simpered and screamed, "Bet I give it better to you than your girlfriend ever can. Come on, baby! Oh! Oh! Oh! You give it to me so good. You’re so big!"

"God, yes! She's such a goody two shoes, Britney!"

The sound of flesh smacking wetly echoed through the room.

“She’d never even been fucked. Did you know that?” His curls were sweat-matted and falling into his eyes. It had been her hand that brushed them away. She’d laughed then, as something sick had pooled in your stomach.

“I had to teach her everything. I can’t believe I took a bet so far!”

Bradley had growled about how much he hated you, that a couple hundred bucks weren't worth six months playing pretend, and you couldn't stand there to hear anymore. If you were a bolder woman, you'd have burst in there and broken up with him on the spot. But instead, you'd driven away as fast as you could.

You'd broken up with Bradley Bradshaw in the parking lot of an In-n-Out hours later over a text message, passed along your affections to Britney, and called her a whore and him an asshole. In a genuinely vindictive turn, you’d told Bradley that Carole would’ve hated the man he grew up to be and then blocked his number.

"Bitsie! Hey, Bits!" Bagman sounds worried. "Are you back with me?"

You loll your head exhaustively to look into Hangman's sage-green eyes. He looks just as worried as he sounds.

"You're crying."

You lift your hand, touch your cheeks, and stare without comprehending at your tear-stained fingertips.

"What happened, Bitsie? You're usually as sunny as can be!"

"Sometimes," You choke out, "the sun gets hidden by a storm, and paper boats get ripped to shreds by the pounding waves."

He tugs you against his chest until your head is pressed over his heart. His hands rub your back, and that's when you let your pain and frustration out. You know it's probably not right, crying in his arms, but you can't help it. He's one of the only friends, or as close as you have to friends, on this miniature floating Naval city, and he somehow feels like home. What feels like hours later, you finally sit back, letting your hand thwap solidly against the metal you’d been resting against. But you don’t hear the sound or feel the harsh sting. A hand gently cradles your head instead.

“I’m okay, Seresin.” Your voice is all stuffy, your head fogged with the pressure in your sinuses after a good cry. It doesn’t feel right to call him by his callsign or the bastardization of it, not when you’ve just sobbed unflinchingly in his arms.

“If this is okay, darlin’, I don’t want to know what fantastic looks like.” He’s speaking so gently with you right now, proffering one of those typical mom pocket packs of tissues at you. Your smile is tremulous when you accept the tissue, turning your head away from him to honk into the feeble gauzy square like an elephant with rhinitis. You’re sure you look a sight when you turn back, eyes swollen and puffy, with the tip of your nose irritated like always when you’ve been crying and had to blow your nose. He’s still looking at you exactly how he was earlier, though, like a baby bird with a broken wing. Like you're some tiny precious thing that's injured and needs protection.

“You’ve cried now and done your best impression of a circus elephant.” You can’t help your watery giggle when he tweaks the tip of your nose.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happening with you and Bradshaw now?”

“I don’t know if I can.” Your voice is whisper-thin, and your vocal cords feel like you've gargled glass. "It hurts too much."

"I know, darlin'. I can see it in your face. Wouldn't it be nice to tell someone if it hurts badly? To share that burden?" He's trying to wheedle the information out of you. And you can feel your resolve wavering. But, in the months after the Uranium Mission, Jake and Bradley had become something akin to friends. They had set aside all of the rivalries they'd had before, and while they ragged on each other, it was friendly. Could you destroy that relationship so quickly?

"Jake. You and Bradley just got to a good place. I don't want to change your relationship with him."

"Darlin’, tell me. Remember, we're on a carrier far away from him for the next six months, give or take a couple of weeks." He's smiling softly at you. "I promise I won't punch him in the face when I see him next for whatever he did."

"How can you assume it was something he did?" You ask, tired of seeing all of your faults in technicolor. You don’t argue with him, though, childishly curling your fingers into your palm, leaving only your pinky out. "Pinky-swear on it."

He blinks his eyes at you a few times before twining your pinky with his own. After pumping it twice, like kids on a playground, he just holds your hand captive.

"There's your pinky promise, darlin’. You asked me why I could assume it was something he did?" He inhales deeply, chewing on his words before he continues. "I know because I've seen how you are when you're in love with someone. They're your whole focus when you're with them. While you were on Chicken's arm, he was all you focused on. I won’t say he consumed you because you paid attention to all of us. But there was something special about how you acted with him. When we were at the Hard Deck for drinks after work, it was like he was your True North. You always knew exactly where he was. You gave all of yourself to that relationship. He's the guy who leered happily at any piece of ass that walked by."

What does it say about you that someone with a reputation for being self-absorbed saw what you couldn't? You chuckle dryly before letting the whole tale spill, every salacious detail, including what Britney and Bradley had been saying about you in the bedroom. Your words finally run out as you stare at the clouds, tracing the lightning bolts as they zip through the ether. When you turn to look at him sometime after the last words have left your lips, he's glaring at the roiling sea off the deck. His jaw is clenched as the lightning makes his eyes shine golden.

"He dated you because of a bet? And then he cheated?" He sounds angry, angry, and shocked. "He's supposed to be the most decent guy in the squadron. I promise you, I didn't know about the bet. If he made it, it wasn't with me."

"Did he ever bring her around to you guys?" Did you know? You're not sure if you want to know. But you have to. How many of your friends, your colleagues, had seen Bradley Bradshaw make a mockery of you? Condoned his cheating and lying? Had they covered for him? Had Jake? Who made money on you and him?

"Darlin, I would've told you the minute I had known if he had brought her around. We all would have." His eyes seem so sincere and soft as he looks at you. You can see pity on his face. You know it is. But it feels so good. To have a shoulder to cry on, to have someone tell you you're valid for feeling the way you do.

"Her name seems familiar, though. I think she's one of the badge bunnies that always goes crazy when he plays the piano."

You have to laugh at that. The resulting sound is something insane choked out between sobs. Six months of a relationship and your complete devotion, love, care, and affection, not to mention your virginity, and he picked a badge bunny over you?

"I'm sorry, darlin'. He's a fool. C'mon." He's standing before you now, blocking the brunt of the pouring rain from drenching you. "It's wet," he wheedles, wiggling his fingers until you place your hand in his, "let's get you inside. A hot shower, something to eat and drink, and a good night's sleep. That's what you need right now. I'll help you think of what to do about Bradshaw tomorrow, ok?"

You let him drag you up and usher you through the deserted carrier hallways, stopping to shield you from prying eyes with his broad back at every intersection. You can only assume what the rumor mill onboard will say if anyone sees the two of you like this. His uniform is colored caramel, rain soaking every inch, and his boots squelch unpleasantly as he walks you to your quarters. He waits, eagle-eyed, at the door to your quarters until you let yourself in.

"Go shower, sweetheart. I'll do the same and bring you some food from the commissary."

"I thought it would have closed by now?" You ask, your voice pitched low since you know from experience that everything echoes in the belly of the ship.

"The Officer's Lounge never is. I have granola bars in my quarters. I'll bring you a few and a cup of coffee. Cream, no sugar, yeah?"

He smiles at you before turning on his heel and striding away. You go about your shower by rote but spend much longer than usual under the hot water. It's all quiet when you step out and dress in the warmest sweats and sweatshirt you've packed in your luggage.

When you open it, you're not expecting anything in front of your door, but there they are. A single hot paper cup of coffee, prepared just as you like it, and two granola bars, the good kind, with chocolate! You eat and drink quickly, feeling hungry and thirsty after your cathartic release. Sleep tugs at you, and the last thing on your mind is that while Jake Seresin may not look like it, he is a sweetheart on the inside.

You wake up the following morning feeling like the night before is a glorified dream. Did you really cry all over Jake Seresin the night before? On deck in the middle of a typhoon, no less? You feel good, really good. Bradley’s betrayal still hurts, but not as much as the night before. You’ve learned so much about yourself; as much as you miss him, you can admit that he is not forever material.

You’re finally starting to see the sun through the clouds mentally, and from what you can see out the portholes, it’s a beautiful day outside. You dress quickly in your uniform and meet Mara for breakfast in the commissary. Your morning is spent far away from the pilots, making final adjustments to the laser targeting system. It's lunchtime before you see Jake again. He's got a ridiculously cocky smile on his face and a pep in his step.

"Hey, ladies." He's oozing charm as he sits beside you, setting his tray next to yours. This afternoon's flight tests are going to be interesting. He looks like he’s in the mood to fly more recklessly than usual.

"How has your morning been?"

“Great! Mara and I finally have the laser targeting system ready for the first flight tests this afternoon.”

You can see the excitement in his eyes at the thought of flying and flying fast too. Mickey, who'd been following along behind his pilot for the mission, takes the seat next to Mara, and for a few minutes, it is just light-hearted chatter amongst the four of you as you talk about the test flight route and air conditions for the first test of the new systems. It's Jake, of course, who shatters the veneer of professionalism by slipping you a piece of paper. Scrawled on it in surprisingly neat cursive are four numbered points.

Don't pick up the phone. You know he's only calling when he's drunk and alone.

Don't let him in. You'll have to kick him out again.

Don't be his friend. You're only going to wake up in his bed in the morning.

If you're under him, you ain't getting over him.

You can't believe your own eyes. Do you laugh? Or do you cry? Jake Seresin just handed you a piece of paper quoting Dua Lipa's New Rules. Laughter ultimately wins out.

"Oh, my god." You've got your hand over your mouth, choking back laughter. Mickey grabs the paper from you, and it's only a few minutes before all three of you are laughing as Jake's cheeks redden with a blush. You take the note back and get yourself under control, using a napkin to blot the tears from under your eyes.

"What's this, Seresin?" You smile at him gently, knowing he meant well, and wasn't trying to make fun of you. He sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair.

"I called my sister and asked what she would do if she was in your shoes. She cursed me out for waking her up at 4 in the morning, laughed her ass off until her husband kicked her out of their bed, and then gave me that list. She said you'd probably know the song, but it was good advice."

You goggle at him, surprised at the vehement emotion in his voice. You don't notice you've been staring into his eyes until Mickey clears his throat from across the table. Mara and Mickey are smirking at you, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks at the knowing looks they’re giving you.

"Why're you giving her the rules from New Rules, Hangman?" You can hear the confusion in Mickey’s voice.

Jake glances at you, looking for your permission. Instead of letting him tell them what happened, you speak.

"Payback will probably email you about it sooner than later, so here it is. I broke up with Bradley the day we shipped out." You take a deep breath before you spill the rest of the story, albeit without the graphic details you'd told Jake in the middle of the night. Mickey looks disgusted, as does Mara.

Mickey broaches the topic first. "You haven't been yourself since we came on board. Hangman noticed and pulled the whole story out of you, didn't he?" You nod carefully, taken aback at the anger growing on both their faces.

"I didn't know." Mickey's vehement in his denial.

"I know, Micks. Jake told me that any of the Daggers would've told me if Britney had been sniffing around and they knew he was cheating."

"Yeah, we would have." He inhales forcefully. "Wait. Britney?!"

You nod, sure you'll never forget the sound of that girl's name pouring out of your boyfriend's mouth as he pleasured her like he was only supposed to pleasure you.

"Shit. I did meet her. He told me she was his cousin from San Francisco. She was supposedly in San Diego for a couple of weeks on vacation. Phoenix backed him up about the lie. She told me she'd met Britney when she and Rooster were in Pensacola for flight training together."

You're aching to sock Bradley in the jaw now. Jake is, too. You can see it in how he’s clenching his hands tight, knuckles growing pale with force. You’ve come to terms with Bradley's betrayal, at least a little. Natasha's betrayal, though? That cuts deep. She was your friend, you'd thought.

As expected of the military, there aren't many women on Naval Air Bases. You, Callie, Callie's wife Meg, Mara, and Natasha had connected fast, taking turns hosting girl's nights and spa weekends. You'd thought the five of you had each other's backs in the man's world you all worked in. Natasha obviously thought differently.

"Let us help you plan your revenge, yeah? We have six months on a ship to brainstorm ways to make him pay. And that list, it just might be the perfect starting point." Mara's got a devious look in her eyes that promises pain for Bradley Bradshaw.

"I'll brief Callie and Meg on the situation, too, with your permission. Meg will think of the perfect way for Trace to get her just desserts, too." At your nod and a weak smile, the four of you go on your way. The flight tests will involve all of your concentration, so you put the issue of Bradley Bradshaw in the back of your mind.

When the boys are up in the plane, and the two of you are analyzing all of the data from the instruments connected to the targeting system a couple of hours later, Mara asks you a question in sotto voce.

"Hey. I know it's probably too soon for this, but Seresin's always looked at you differently from other girls flocking to those flyboys when they're in uniform. When the time comes, and you're ready to move on, promise me you'll give him a chance? I don't think the Southern Gentleman thing is an act. He also pulled you out of your funk sooner than anyone else could have."

She's right. Jake had made you feel miles better; he'd let you cry and helped you smile afterward. He'd be so easy to love if your heart weren’t as tender as it is now. You vow then and there to keep yourself from falling for Jake fast and hard. That way means disaster, you know as much after recent experiences. You'd take this burgeoning something brewing between you slowly, if only for the sake of your heart.

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