#pre hangman x rooster

[pollyna]

Oh, Jake almost forgot about this. About basking in Bradley's presence, in Bradley's home, looking at the other man over the rim of his glass and the ever present wind making the little twinkle Carole made sing like the smallest of birds. He remembers now, twenty years later, being fifteen and living two streets from the Mitchell-Kazansky household and how his mom used to leave him there for hours at time when his dad was deployed somewhere. He remembers how much he loved being around them, with uncle Pete and his weirdo pizza and uncle Tom who always knew when they didn't eat veggies even when he was stationed on the other side of the country or on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean. He remembers too how good uncle Tom used to look in tanktops and how his cheeks were always a little red around him but they used to get even redder when Bradley smiled or touched him. He used to steal every moment around the other boy and his home, basking in their smiles and the easy going relationship they all had, without feeling guilty or afraid of saying something wrong. It was like recharging his batteries before going back home, the lingering feeling of euphoria and happiness that could last for days if everything was calm around his house. He remembers the pictures too, all the one uncle Tom took before his last visit and the one that uncle Pete sent to his mom after they changed house again. And he will always remember, even after seeing him again at the Academy and starting their fifteen years long dance around each other, the hoodie Bradley gave him on the porch of his house the very last time the saw each other. His uncles where in the kitchen talking about something and Bradley was shyly smiling at him, handing him is soft blue hoodie with the Naval academy logo on the front. Their hands touching over the soft material and they were kissing before realising it. The first kiss of his life and Bradley was smiling softly at him, cheeks a little red and shiny eyes.

He remembers being fifteen and all the good feelings he is feeling even now, while he watches the people he used to think as family, and he hopes is going to call family again, making the table for their dinner.

[yanak324]

better to be lost (than without you) (m) ao3

He has a goal and it’s to prove to Pete Mitchell that he’d made a colossal mistake pulling his papers. Even if he doesn't plan on speaking to the man ever again.

So feelings, real, genuine, head over heels, can’t stop thinking about you feelings - especially for a fellow pilot - are off the table.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hey can you do a reunion with rooster And it be really fluffy

Thank you for the really sweet prompt @callsignmaverick5! I wasn't sure if you meant reunion like they're both aviators and they meet up after some time apart, or if he is with a civilian and returns home from deployment. I chose the latter but wouldn't be opposed to also writing the former if anybody's interested <3

It Was Always You

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: Your maybe, sort-of boyfriend, Bradley Bradshaw, returns from deployment, but you aren't sure if he's still on the same page.

CW: Swearing, fluff, some feels

The bell of the door rings out and you look up as it swings open. In comes Hangman with a sly smirk and your hand freezes mid-swipe across the counter. He’s eyeing you mischievously as he holds the door open behind him. Your fingers tighten around the cloth on the bar top.

You haven’t seen your boyfriend – if you could really call him that – in over six months. You’d only been dating – if you could call it that – for about six weeks before he was deployed, and communication while he was away has been scarce due to the nature of his mission, so you aren’t entirely sure where the two of you currently stand. Six months apart is a long time for a new relationship – if you could call it that – but you can’t seem to catch your breath because he’s all you’ve thought about since the moment he left.

You watch Hangman uneasily as he winks at you and then peeks outside with a squint. “Rooster,” he calls. “Did you fall in a ditch?”

At the sound of his name, you let out a sharp breath that leaves you mildly lightheaded. There’s a glare on the shiny surface of the counter from where the afternoon sun has settled that hurts your eyes, but you stubbornly look past it despite the sting, observing the dust dancing in the light filtering through the open door. A suffocating heat cascades inside, together with a sandy breeze, just as a broad-shouldered silhouette appears at the threshold. With the sunshine in behind, his face is obscured by shadow, but the Hawaiian shirt rippling around his torso gives him away.

“Geez, Bradley, you sure know how to make an entrance,” you hear Penny’s voice from behind.

You let out a small, nervous laugh at her comment, releasing the rag still in your grasp, your hand cramping from how tightly you’ve been clutching it. Bradley Bradshaw, after all, will probably want a drink. You flex your hand a couple of times and wipe it on your jeans as he takes a step inside. Hangman lets the door shut, glancing between you and Bradley expectantly as Bradley’s face finally comes into view.

You meet his gaze anxiously. He’s watching you with a mildly dazed expression, as though he can’t quite believe that he’s seeing you in the flesh. He takes a couple of hesitant steps forward, studying your face as if he’s unsure how you feel about him showing up out of the blue. You wonder if perhaps he’s also questioned the permanence of your pre-deployment fling.

He looks so sexy just standing there with his lip curling upward ever so slightly as he admires you from a distance. After several moments of prolonged, passionate eye contact during which you swallow profusely while he breathes heavily, Bradley bites the bullet and picks up his pace, his strides becoming increasingly wider as he nears the bar.

He's practically sprinting as he rounds the counter toward you and, as you’re turning to face him, he lunges forward, wrapping you in an embrace. You stagger slightly at the force of the impact, bringing your arms around his back as his head dips into the crook of your neck. You can feel the tickle of his mustache on your skin as his mouth glides over your bare shoulder.

“You’re back,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into the wave of his hair as he leaves a searing trail of kisses along your neck.

He stops just below your jawline, a hot mist bathing your earlobe as he breathes. “You’re here,” he responds quietly.

You squeeze him tighter against you, wishing you never had to let go of him again.

Bradley reciprocates the squeeze, taking a step forward to press you into the bar in behind. His mouth is still lingering at your ear. “You smell like home,” he whispers, planting a soft kiss along the side of your face.

You close your eyes. “So do you.”

Bradley pulls you even closer, nearly lifting you off the ground. “Oh, baby, please tell me you’re still my girl,” he pleads in a low, raspy tone, his lips still moving over your ear.

Affected by the desperation in his voice, the flutter in your stomach gives way to an ache – a need – for Bradley Bradshaw. You pull your face away slightly so that you can look up into his eyes.

He holds your gaze for only a moment before resting his forehead over yours with a sigh.

“I’m still yours if you’re still mine,” you murmur as he brushes your nose with the tip of his.

He closes his eyes. “I will be yours forever, I promise you,” he breathes.

You smile at his affirmation, your fingers weaving through his hair as you lift your face. There isn’t anything nearly as romantic that you can think of to say in response, so you just pull him in gently for a kiss.

Bradley’s lips move urgently over yours as he presses himself further into your body and your back further into the counter. “God, I missed you so much,” he mutters just before sliding his tongue across your upper lip.

“I missed you,” you murmur against his lips. You feel his hand slip into the back pocket of your jeans and he pulls you against his hips.

“I love you,” Bradley says without breaking the kiss. It’s the first time he’s said it, but it feels strangely familiar, like you’ve known all along. “I love you,” he repeats, continuing to kiss you, again without missing a beat. “I love you, I love you.” His words become a sort of hum against your lips and the way his body moves to caress yours is so insistent that you can practically feel the weakening of your limbs as you succumb to his touch.

“Excuse me.” Hangman clears his throat.

“Not now, Seresin,” Bradley mutters without looking up.

“I – uh, I’d like to order a drink,” Hangman says, and you can hear the amusement in his tone.

Bradley’s hand slips off your hip and he extends his arm in Hangman’s direction, presumably giving him the finger.

“Manners, Rooster,” Hangman replies in a sing-song voice.

You chuckle against Bradley’s lips.

“Excuse me!” you hear Penny’s exclamation as she returns from the kitchen. “No patrons behind the bar!”

“Not now, Penny,” you say, your mouth still glued to Bradley’s.

You hear shuffling behind Bradley’s back and then Penny speaks again. “What can I get for you, Lieutenant?” she asks resignedly, although there is a hint of mirth in her tone as well.

Bradley continues making out with you while Penny pours, and he eventually kisses every square inch of your face as you giggle. Your eyes, your nose, your eyebrow, your other eyebrow.

When you finally detach yourself from him, saying that you should get back to work, Penny gives you a pointed look. “Right, like you could work right now,” she says. You glance at her sheepishly and she adds, “Get out of here, you crazy kids.”

With a broad grin, Bradley starts pulling on your arm without hesitation. As you pass by Hangman, he shakes his head and says, “Thank god we’re home because if I have to hear about how wonderful you are or how hot you look in a damn sundress one more time, I will lose my mind, Y/N.”

You laugh while Bradley shakes his head at Hangman, outraged that he is divulging classified information.

“I’m serious,” Hangman continues even as Bradley trains a critical glance in his direction. “What did the guy even talk about before the two of you got together?” he asks.

Bradley’s expression borders on threatening as he continues to shake his head.

“Oh yeah,” Hangman chuckles as Bradley tugs you after him toward the exit. “It was always you!” Hangman calls just as Bradley yanks on the door.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too widely as Bradley shakes his head at Hangman, smirking. “Hey Hangman,” he calls.

“I know, I know,” Hangman responds, waving his hand distractedly. “I can go fuck myself.”

“Well, that, and... thanks for getting me home, Hangman,” Bradley says. “Back to my girl.”

You glance back to look at Hangman with a troubled expression, suddenly realizing how very easily you could lose the man who’s just proclaimed his love for you. Hangman gives Bradley a nod combined with a one-fingered salute.

The moment you and Bradley are outside, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your head into his chest.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he asks.

“I love you,” you mutter into his chest. “I love you,” you repeat as he brings his arms behind your back. “I love you, I love you.”

He lets out a long sigh into your hair. “That’s a relief,” he responds and you chuckle slightly. “Because you’re all I ever think about,” he continues. “Just ask poor Hangman.”

Rooster Tag List:

The rest of the list is in the comments. Sorry if I've missed you!

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[thewulf]

Crash and Burn || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request! Y/N and Jake have a very… chaotic relationship. Many ups and downs between the two Naval Aviators. One moment they’re fine the next they are at each other’s throats. Everything goes wrong for the duo in training when Y/N catches Jake’s jet wash as he tries to show off for Maverick. Hurt/Comfort. Readers call sign is Jinx.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 4,000+

Arrogant. Cocky. Selfish.

Just a few words to describe your least favorite classmate, Hangman. He had mastered the art of getting underneath your skin. Phoenix always told you to play it cool around him or he’d just keep doing the same. You never learned your lesson always arguing back when he had to say some stupid misogynistic thing about female pilots. You had to hand it to Phoenix though, she never let Hangman work her up.

You hadn’t known him prior to Top Gun like your other classmates had. They gave you a forewarning when it came to Jake. Watch your back or he’d be the one shooting at it. You didn’t believe it at first, but you learned.

Quickly, you understood their warnings toward him. The world revolved around Jake Seresin to Jake Seresin. You dreaded when Mav called your name to go up in the air with him. You had yet to have any sort of success when you flew with Hangman. It always ended up in one or both of you being taken down by Mav. Jake never communicated with you always throwing you off your game. He was so good at making you feel less than.

Today was no different. You heard your name paired with Hangman’s drawing a subtle sigh out of your mouth. You let your head rest against your palm as you thought over your options. You didn’t have a back seater today. Fritz called in sick with the flu leaving you flying solo, something you rarely did. You could beg Mav to switch the teams up or you could deal with it. You opted for the first option.

Heaving your body out of your desk you slowly made your way to your teacher while the rest of the class went to the locker rooms. You really didn’t think you had it in you to deal with Jake today. Not sleeping well the previous night due to getting into a heated argument with an ex-boyfriend all your energy was zapped. Certainly not a good combination to be taking an F-18 up in.

“Mav,” You paused waiting for him to look up to you, continuing only when you had his attention, “Fritz is sick today. Don’t you think another team should go up with Hangman?”

He shook his head looking down at whatever he was working on, “No, Jinx.”

“But I don’t have a wizzo.” You frowned knowing it really didn’t make a damn difference today. You were just running the first half of the course. You didn’t really need Fritz until it was time to train to drop the bomb.

He shrugged, “You’ll fly without a back seater today. Understood?”

Letting out another small huff of annoyance you nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Good, now go get ready. You and Seresin are up first.”

“Course we are.” You nodded leaving the classroom slowly to go get changed. You’d been lucky to avoid being teamed up with him the last few training sessions, but your luck seemed to end today.

Jake was interesting to you. You certainly didn’t hate the man, but he made it so hard to actually enjoy his presence. He always had that stupid cocky grin on his face like nothing could knock it off. You had only seen him slip up with Rooster once other than that he was his usual arrogant self.

Changing quickly, you knew the faster you were up in the air the faster your session would be with Hangman. Exiting the women’s locker room, you made your way to your jet. Going through the pre-flight checklist thoroughly you didn’t hear your teammate approach you.

“Going to be able to keep up today, Jinx?” Jake leaned his frame against your jet taking a full look of you. A soft smile formed when he saw just how focused you were on your task at hand, hardly paying him any attention. He’d never admit it, but he lived for moments like this with you. Moments where he could study you without the world knowing just what he was doing.

He met you at the Hard Deck the night before Top Gun. You seemingly knew Phoenix and Rooster from a previous deployment. You quickly grabbed Jake’s attention with that pretty smile and angelic laugh. Jake swore he could hear your giggle across the bar. A sound so pretty he’d never dare to admit it to anybody.

He grabbed your attention in any way that he could. Even if it meant being the bad guy in your reality. At least you were paying him the attention he craved from you. Quickly, he found what pressed your buttons and made sure to press them whenever he could. Just to get into a debate with you. He loved it. He adored you.

Looking up at the interruption you kept the level head on your shoulders. Trying to do what Phoenix did so gracefully, “Can you just fly the mission? Not pull your usual bullshit Seresin?”

Placing a hand on his chest he feigned hurt, “I’m wounded Jinxie.”

Ignoring him you continued, “Can you? For once.”

Smirking he started sauntering off, like he owned the damn air strip, “Doubtful darling. Gotta be fast.” He threw you a wink before disappearing into his jet.

Rolling your eyes, you tried not to let him get the best of you. It was typical Hangman behavior. One that you would never be able to crack it seemed. You thought maybe you’d be able to in the beginning. You should’ve just listened to Rooster and Phoenix instead of trying with him. All it ended in was arguments every single time you tried to have a normal conversation with the man. You couldn’t lie though, there was something so damn appealing about Jake Seresin that kept you crawling back for more.

Signing off on your paperwork you hopped into your jet. Placing your helmet on you smiled as you took in the front dash. You just loved this. It never ceased to amaze you just how lucky you were. You were able to fly jets across the world. Meeting new people and finding new cultures never got old to you. And you got to fly around on top of it all? You loved every single second of your Naval career. Not having a single regret about all of your adventures.

Taxing onto the runway you waited behind Hangman as he got the all clear. He was Dagger One in this scenario, and you were Dagger Two. Thankfully, all you had to do was keep up with him and not have him on your ass chirping you every five seconds. You hated flying as Dagger One with Hangman as your wingman. It felt like your heart would burst from the sheer stress of trying to deal with him.

You got the all clear taking off finding Hangman in the straightaway. You accelerated already noticing how fast he was moving before you even begun the timed trial. Mav raced in beside the two keeping an eye out, “Two minutes fifteen seconds until target. Time begins when Hangman clocks it. Good luck.” Mav flew off above watching the duo from his eagle eye view.

“Ready Jinx?”

You were honestly surprised he gave you any warning before he took off, “Ready when you are Hangman.”

“Let’s turn and burn baby.” You heard the clock begin. Locking your eyes onto the back of Hangman’s jet you decided he wouldn’t be getting away from you that easily this time.

You kept up for the first thirty seconds before he punched it even further, “Hangman you’re going to fast!” You yelled into your mask trying to accelerate yourself. You started losing him as he only punched it even further.

“You’re not going fast enough!” He countered.

Your eyes lowered knowing he wasn’t going to let up so you sped up as much as your comfort level would allow you, which still wasn’t fast enough, “Hangman slow down!” You began pleading with the asshole pilot.

“Speed up Y/N!”

He never used your real name. He was challenging you. Sighing to yourself you kicked it up a notch not feeling all that great with your speed and closeness to the ground, “I can’t keep up!”

You heard him audibly groan into the comms, “Jesus Jinx, fine.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as his jet dropped speed suddenly. You knew you didn’t have enough time to slow down, or you’d plow right into the back of him. Decelerating at the same time you dipped slightly to avoid crashing right into him, “Shit, Jake what the fuck was that?”

“You said to slow down so I did.” You could practically hear the cockiness lace his voice from a mile away.

“Not like that you fucking asshole.” You sighed this time feeling your heart rate go down a bit. You’d had many close encounters in the jet but nothing like that.

“Hey Jinxie. Calm down.”

“Jesus,” You grumbled positioning your jet back up behind his, “Just go Seresin.”

You weren’t sure what happened but one second you were fine the next your right engine was out and your left one started sputtering, “Fuck.” Internally cursing you didn’t have a back seater to help you talk yourself through the next few minutes. Thankfully your training kicked in.

“Right engine out. No Fire. Restarting. Left engine compromised.” Calmly you spoke into your mask.

“Jinx?” You heard Mav’s voice come in.

“Jinxie what’s wrong?” Hangman’s voice chimed in right after Mavericks. He failed to see you behind him as he sped back up.

Desperately you hit the right combination of buttons, but nothing seemed to feed the engine the fuel it needed. “Shit. Not responding. Climbing to 5,000.” You pulled you plane into the climbing position trying to buy yourself some time.

“Jinx. What’s going on?” Mav sounded concerned.

As you were in the middle of pulling up your heart sank hearing another alarm go off, “Oh shit. Left engine out. No fire. Attempting restart.” You managed to stagger out. Again, you attempted to refuel and refire the engine

Mav came down to your level eyes wide seeing neither of your engines burning, “Jinx eject!” He sounded a bit panicked you noted.

Your training was kicking in though. You had maybe five seconds to try again. After that you’d have to eject or you’d be toast, literally.

“Restarting right and left engine.” Ignoring Mav’s orders, you punched and prayed the engines would respond.

“Jinx eject now!” Maverick commanded you.

“Fuck! Eject Jinxie! Now” You didn’t see Hangman come back around surveying the situation he believed he put you into.

No sign of life from your jet really caused your heart to sink knowing you really only had one option now. Your heart started racing seeing how low to the ground you already were, 2,000 fucking feet. This was going to hurt, “Fuck, ejecting.” You pulled the handle from underneath your seat sending you into the air.

The next thirty seconds felt like a blur as you were free-falling in the air. Your parachute worked it was just terribly disorienting. You’d trained for this but had never had to do it in the field. Shuddering, you heard your jet crash into the desert below. This wasn’t going to be very easy to explain to the admiral.

You knew you were far too low to the ground when you were in the jet to make a graceful landing. You just didn’t expect how bad it would actually hurt once you hit the rocks of the desert below you. You hit the ground hard and fast, the parachute not having the proper amount feet to descend to really break your fall.

Rolling to a stop as the back of your head hit a boulder immediately you knew something wasn’t right. Hardly being able to keep your eyes open you attempted to stand up only falling right back into the same spot you rolled into, “Fuck.” You groaned closing your eyes feeling terribly weak.

You didn’t see any blood on your chest or legs which was a very good sign, but you just couldn’t keep your eyes open. The only way you seemed to stay coherent after cracking your head against the bolder was fluttering your eyes.

Hearing the faint mumbles of Mav and Hangman you couldn’t really make them out. You tried to stand again but miserably failed as your legs shook far too violently to stand on their own. A small tear fell down your face as the feeling of utter defeat began to take over. You had never experienced your body giving out on you so dramatically before. It was humbling when you couldn’t even stand on your own two feet.

Trying to keep your eyes open you focused on the words coming through your comms. You faintly heard Maverick, “Jinx, please copy.”

Before your eyes completely gave out on you, you heard another soft, “Jinxie please!” Sounding awfully familiar to Hangman’s usually annoying voice.

Opening your mouth, you so desperately wanted to let them know you were alive. You were okay. But you just couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“Mav, I didn’t see a parachute, did you?” Shit, they thought you were dead? You were risky but not risky enough to kill yourself.

“I think I did. Fuck. Jinx, please copy.” He tried you one more time a little beside himself. He’d witnessed the entire accident in horrifying detail taking him right back to his own accident from years prior. You pulled your plane up just as Hangman punched it immediately shutting your right engine down and compromising the left with the wash he left behind. He’d seen it several times out in the field but nothing that bad since his own accident.

Frustrated that you couldn’t communicate with your teammates you began to cry more opting you to slide the helmet right off your head to get some fresh air. Feeling a warm trickle down the back of your neck you hesitantly turned your helmet over revealing a rather large crack near the base of it. This was a very bad sign.

Slowly you placed a hand to the back of your skull slightly horrified at the red blood that coated your hand entirely. Fuck. You knew this wasn’t good at all. Trying to stay conscious you unzipped a pant leg off your flight suit planning to use that as a cloth to apply pressure to your head wound.

With all your strength you had left you leaned your head against the boulder placing the piece of flight suit in between praying you had enough pressure to keep you awake while you waited for rescue. Realistically you knew you only had to wait a few minutes before a team of medics were on the way. They were probably already halfway to you. All you had to do now was keep your eyes open. You could do that.

Grabbing your helmet, you decided to listen to the air chatter knowing at the very least it’d keep you focused on something rather than falling into unconsciousness. It pained you to hear the desperate plea’s from not only Hangman and Mav but command as well. It seemed as if everybody was trying to get you to respond.

Again, you attempted to speak only to be met with the utter silence of nothing coming out. It’s like the rock knocked your ability to speak right out of your own head. It was a rather gut-wrenching feeling to not be able to say a word. Just to let them know that you were okay. But you couldn’t. Your body simply refused.

Another few minutes passed which felt like hours as you sat there in the beating sun. Just as you were about to give into the darkness you heard the helicopter above you. Looking over a few vehicles approached in the distance. A small smile flickered on your face knowing they finally made it to you.

Before you knew it a few medics approached you quickly triaging the situation. They realized how incoherent you really were as you tried responding to their questions but couldn’t seem to talk.

“Hey Jinx. We’re going to patch you up alright?” A familiar face leaned down brushing the hair out of your face, “Just try and stay awake, okay?” It clicked that it was your team’s physician. He knew you very well taking your vitals and stats all the time.

“Let them know we’ve got her. Critical care.” You heard him say before placing something cold around your neck.

“You’re going to be alright. We’re taking you to the base hospital.” He smiled softly at you before he gave the next round of orders to his team.

The next while was a blur of you floating in and out of consciousness mixed with tons of people asking you too many questions. None of which you could answer as your voice was still missing.

Finally, you were able to sleep given the okay from a worried looking doctor you’d never seen before. You couldn’t seem to care as unconsciousness swallowed you whole.

The faint beeping brought you out of the deep slumber you were in. Rolling your head to the side you spotted Hangman sleeping in the chair next to your bed. Initial confusion rolled over you and you unfortunately heard the beeping pick up pace rapidly.

The change in background noise brought Hangman out of the light sleep he was in. He had been waiting on you for the last twelve hours or so. Refusing to leave your side until he knew that you were okay.

The initial prognosis given to them wasn’t great. The medics noted you as delirious, out of it, non-responsive before you went out completely. It worried him beyond belief. Especially knowing it was likely his actions that got you here. Mav kept trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, but you got caught up in his jet wash. Just like Mav did all those years ago. It’s a freak occurrence and 99% of the time jets handle it fine. You were just one of the unlucky ones.

He looked over to you seeing your panicked expression. His face softened as he realized how much this must be for you, “Hey Jinx. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

You felt some sense of relief knowing he was real. Sitting right there. You weren’t dreaming. You were back to the land of the living. You nodded recalling having to eject from your jet. You don’t remember much after that though.

“Can you speak?” He scooted the chair closer, so he was right up on the bed, right next to you.

“Yeah.” You managed to croak out. Your throat was feeling rather dry. Likely from all the sand and dirt you inhaled out there.

Grinning at the sound of your voice he grabbed your hand, “Good, let me go get a doctor.” He began to stand up before you stopped him by grabbing at his hand like he just did yours.

“No!”

He paused cocking his head to the side studying you curiously, “Just give me a minute. They’re going to ask a lot of questions and…” You paused not sure if he was even listening. This was Hangman after all. To your utter surprise he had his eyes locked on you, soaking up your every word. You decided to continue, “My head really hurts. I don’t want to talk to them just yet.”

Sighing Hangman looked all too conflicted. What was five minutes anyway? On the other hand, if your head really hurt you that bad why didn’t you want to see a doctor? Didn’t you want the help? Opting to go with your wishes he sat back down making a note of the time, he wasn’t going to give you more than the five minutes you requested.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly seeing him sit there against his better judgement.

“Sure. Are you alright at least?”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath in, “I’m okay. I just don’t feel great.”

“You scared us up there. You scared me.” He admitted whispering it almost so you couldn’t here.

Mustering a small halfhearted laugh, “Like you really care Seresin.” His face dropped immediately after your comment. Meaning it in more of a joking manner you didn’t think he’d take you so seriously.

“Why would you say that? Of course, I care Y/N.”

“One less pilot you have to deal with.” You kept trying to joke with him, but he wasn’t letting you. Taking it far more seriously than you were.

Shaking his head he grabbed your hand, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

He groaned. Frustrated that he wasn’t so great at showing real emotion, “Acting like I don’t care. I do care. A lot.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” It slipped out way faster than intended. You didn’t want to make him feel like a total asshole, but your concussed brain had other ideas.

Head down Jake sighed, “I’m sorry Jinxie. I really am. I never would have thought… I wouldn’t have done that if I would have known…”

“It’s okay Jake.” You shushed him. You had never seen this side of the cocky Jake Seresin before. You weren’t even sure if Jake had a more human side to him. All it took was you nearly cracking your head open to get him there. Who would’ve known?

He shook his head, “It’s not though. What happened to you. Seeing your plane go into freefall and not seeing you eject was hell Y/N. And then you didn’t respond? Mav and I could only think the worst.” His stare could have bore holes into the back of your head.

Cheeks heating up you turned away from him, “Well, I’m still here.”

Jake smiled picking your hand back up feeling the urge to have you close, “Thank goodness for that.”

Stitching your eyebrows together you looked him over, “You going soft on us?”

“Not on us.”

“What?” You asked him sincerely.

“Only for you.”

Sucking in another breath you turned on your side to face him completely, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lose you Y/N.”

Where was all of this coming from? While you had to admit he was an incredibly attractive guy you never thought in a million years he’d be going for you. All the two of you did was bicker back and forth. Sure, it never got nasty but the two of you could never agree on the same thing. Not even toppings on a pizza. There always had to be an argument between the two of you.

“Are you saying you like me Jake?” eyeing him curiously you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as you anxiously waited for his answer.

He looked up at you. Studying your face for any sign of contempt. For any sign that your repulsed by the sheer fact that not only did he have a full-on crush on you. He was sure he just might love you to.

Nodding his head in agreement it he finally admitted it out loud, “Yes Jinxie. I like you.”

Smiling to him you grabbed one of his hands this time, “You know we aren’t in middle school anymore Jake.”

“Hmm?”

“If you like someone you can be nice to them. You know instead of making them eject and landing them in the hospital.”

Chucking he looked you right in the eyes, “I’m sorry Y/N. Would you give me a chance to prove I’m not a middle school boy?”

Returning his laugh you squeezed his hand, “I’d love to get to know adult Jake.”

“Friday. 6 o’clock. I’m picking you up and taking you out to a nice dinner.”

Raising your eyebrows you took another long look at him, “I can’t wait.”

[honkytonk-hangman]

Checkmate

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: You've been transferred to Dagger Squad, which is both good and bad. Good, because it meant the brass felt you belonged with the best. Bad, because the best already had a tight friendship group, and you were not yet apart of that. And you may never be, if you keep making fun of a certain someone's callsign.

Notes: This is basically me deciding that Jake is the biggest fan of 'Dallas' there ever was or ever has been. no I wont be taking suggestions. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. This will probably have another part to it, but wanted to share as is for now.

Masterlist

You step into the squad ready room, glad to find it busy enough that your arrival goes more or less unnoticed. You weren’t normally the wallflower type, but you’d been deployed enough times by now that you’d developed a system for assimilating, one that mostly involved keeping your head down and performing so well that they would have no choice but to gladly welcome you. That way you never had to experience the mortification of being snubbed by an already established friend group who you would have no choice but to continue working with and seeing every single day.

Perhaps you were a little bit of a wallflower type, but this current transfer was going to be the greatest challenge to your usual ploy of sneakily befriending them all the while proving your worth. Not only was Dagger Squad made up of the top percent of Top Gun graduates in the past few years, but they had all been chosen for a classified mission just over a year ago, meaning that their pre-established friendship was probably going to be harder to sneak into than the Pope’s private snack pantry.

Thus, why were you moving at an even more subdued pace than usual. You were still in the observation stage.

To their credit, Dagger had been more genuinely welcoming than some of the group’s you’d subbed in for, but as nice as they all seemed, they still had a natural cohesion and flow, both in the sky and on the ground, which you were not a part of.

Yet, you remind yourself. You weren’t a part of it yet, but you would be. There was no alternative, because at last you had been assigned to a detachment permanently, which meant Dagger was it for you. You needed this to go smoothly, you needed to avoid any possibility of ostracization, embarrassment, or long-term derision. Just keep your head down and grow on them slowly, they’ll barely even realise you’re worming your way into their hearts until it’s already too late–

“Hey, Bishop!”

You manage to at least not look like a startled deer at the sudden call of your name. Across the room, you see most of the usual group gathered, Rooster and Phoenix taking up one couch, Coyote, Hangman and Payback spread over the other, with Fanboy lounging on the arm, balancing rather impressively. Paypack leans around Fanboy to check if he had your attention.

“Bishop,” he grins brightly when he sees you looking back at him, and you force yourself to calm down and relax as you approach, which is a little easier given his friendly aura.

“What’s up?” you ask, adjusting your go-bag on your shoulder, doing your best to sound casual but not uninterested.

“Your callsign, what’s it mean?” Payback doesn’t beat around the bush, and although you experience an amount of horror over the question, it isn't the first time you've been asked, or you’ve needed to explain. The chagrin you feel about your less-than-stellar identifier passes a little faster than it usually does though, as Payback waits for your answer with nothing but genuine curiosity and interest.

“Oh–”

“–‘Who shot J. R.?’, Right?” Hangman cuts in suddenly, and you think he sounds strangely excited. Your lips twitch, wanting desperately to grin, but you don’t want anybody to think you’re laughing at him, so you just quickly nod, and gesture that he’d got it.

“What?” Payback and Fanboy speak at the same time, turning to look at their friend in equal amounts of confusion, amusement and disbelief. Hangman stares back, either refusing to be embarrassed, or being physically incapable of feeling it in the first place.

Apparently, even in regards to Dallas.

“The greatest cliffhanger in T.V. history? Oh, come on!” Hangman throws his hands up, shaking his head. You can’t be sure of exactly how much of his incredulity is real, though the accusatory look that each person in the room receives in turn tells you that perhaps you should keep your own thoughts about the classic to yourself.

“Unbelievable! Nobody here is too good for Dallas!” Hangman huffs resentfully, pointing specifically at Coyote, who is the only one not bothering to hide his snickering.

You blink away from Hangman, leaving him to what looked like his surely impending conniption, at the hands of Dallas. Live by the oil tycoon, die by your mistress, your grandma would say.

You look at Payback, and shrug.

“The guy’s I trained with thought I sounded like the character, so…” you say with a shrug. Usually this was as far as the questions about your callsign would go, your explanation reasonable enough to those who asked.

“What? You don’t sound anything like him.” Hangman cuts in again, sounding as though the idea was personally offensive to him, aided by his disgusted expression.

Instead of taking offence, you startle and clap your hands, throwing them wildly out as though you were a character on a 90’s sitcom.

“Right?!” You exclaim, perhaps a little louder than you intend, and certainly louder than any of the squad expect of you either. You drop your Seinfeld-arms, and quietly clear your throat.

“I–I’m not even from Dallas.” you’d been wanting to say those words for the past eight years. 

Hangman rolls his eyes, as if to say ‘clearly’, but he sits up slightly and gestures vaguely at you instead.

“Your last name is literally ‘Bishop’– Every ready room I’ve been in for the past fourteen years has had about sixteen copies of the official chess rulebook– It’s just lazy,” he waves the hand he’d flung your way, and shakes his head again with a derisive sniff, followed by a deep grunt.

“Not that J.R. is bad, or anything,” he adds, and it takes you a moment to realise his grunt had not been a part of his displeasure, and was in fact a result of Coyote’s elbow spiking him hard in the ribs.

“It’s certainly unique,” you shrug, you mind flooding with possible responses, but they were the kind you’d give to a friend, a fellow aviator you’d known and flown with for years, not a virtual stranger.

Then again, you were trying to assimilate, and in Seresin’s case at least, verbal sparring seemed to be something he actively sought out. You’d noticed it the past week. He wasn’t ever exactly mean but he toed the line, just enough to bait out a response, however, he was let down by the fact these people knew and cared about him, and were willing to simply ignore his attempts to roll around the proverbial mat (which, to his credit, he still seemed to gain some satisfaction from. The man was a master of mind games).

You aren’t completely certain you’re right in your observations, but you figure it couldn’t hurt to try, seeing as with very little effort, he’d helped you get over eight years of nitpicking about your callsign off your chest by simply pointing it out.

“Well, it’s not too unique. It could have been something really embarrassing, like yours.”

You realise then, that actually, it could hurt quite a bit to try after all.

Everyone stares either at you, including Hangman who blinks slowly, his face completely devoid of any give away as to whether or not you’ve just made your next few weeks here a whole lot worse for yourself. You think Rooster lets out a quiet chortle disguised poorly as a cough, at the same time Fanboy whistles slowly, like a school student signalling the start of a fight. You feel your face begin to heat up, and you clumsily shuffle your slipping back further up your shoulder, not helped by the way Hangman has not stopped staring at you, his eyes following your jerky, nervous movements.

That’s when you see it, and strangely despite the utter mortification and minor panic you’d almost been sent into, an amount of joy that is definitely too much fills your chest and head. Hangman clicks his tongue against his teeth and you can see clearly now, that although not a reaction you had seen him give his friends, he was performing this solely because he could see it was getting a rise from you, compounding your uncertainty.

You aren’t sure if being correct about the man living for drama is really a good thing at all in the long run, but for now, you’ll take the amused smirk that grows across his features, and the likely subconscious acceptance in his unrelenting gaze.

Phoenix snorts then and kicks out at Hangman’s shoe. She isn't looking at him though, instead she’s got you fixed in her gaze, grinning widely and brightly in a manner that suggests you might have just gotten a two for one deal tonight.

“We’re all heading out to the Hard Deck later, you should come,” she tells you, eyes sparkling in a way that makes you glad for the effective trick shot you’ve managed, as you’d had Phoenix pegged from the start as the hardest nut to crack. “Especially if you’re gonna keep tone on Jake.” she adds with a snort, and jerks her head in Hangman’s direction

You briefly glance toward the blond man, who has surprisingly little add, considering his downfall was being planned right in front of him, but he simply seems to be listening good-naturedly, as if he didn’t spend every conversation he had playing a verbal game of cat and mouse his opponent usually had very little chance of winning.

Now, he sits quietly, half listening to what Phoenix had been saying, and half tuned in to Payback and Fanboy’s lively chatter about pool trick shots. Hangman cuts in, declaring the trick shot described as ‘simple’, and you wonder if Phoenix considers beating him at pool to be keeping tone.

From the way he clearly puffs his chest out now, fully invested in the trick-shot chatter, you think it just might.

You look back to her, and find that she too has picked up on the boy's plans for later, her face now pulled into a near-machiavellian grin. She dips her chin in question to you, and then towards Hangman, the meaning clear as crystal, and you give her a completely unrestrained smile in response, which only makes her own smile turn positively villainous.

All of sudden you feel as though you’ve arrived on the first day of summer camp. Before you even know it, you feel a friendship begin to form, one far stronger than any mere pinky promise, the kind of loyalty that can only be adequately expressed through the sacred exchanging of friendship bracelets.

Camp is ended when the up until now quiet presence of Rooster lets out an amused snort. He looks as though he wants to say something, to Phoenix, at least, but holds off, either because it would give the game away to your unsuspecting victim, or perhaps because he didn’t really know you well. The man wasn’t shy, per se, what you’d picked up over the last week was that of a man happy to let others do the talking, but would gladly take part if he had something to offer or add. The kind of quiet confidence that comes from knowing you were actually extremely cool, you suspect.

It was nice, and one of the reasons you were so eager to make a good impression and naturally ingratiate yourself here. Unless something majorly disruptive were to happen, this was your squad now, very likely until you left. There was nowhere to go up-wise, Dagger was the best of the best.

You and Phoenix reign in your expressions and she shrugs more casually, leaning back into the cushions.

“We’ll see you later, then. Bob lives on base, so I can ask him to wait for you if you want?” To her credit, her voice has fallen back into a smooth casualty that only further cements your desire to be her friend. You nod and give your own shoulders a bit of a roll.

“I’d appreciate that a lot, if it's not too much trouble for him?” You aren’t sure you’d go if it meant going on your own. You might be a great Naval Aviator, but you disliked driving, especially at night, and would go some ways to avoid it if you could. Phoenix’s eyes briefly flash with mischief and trouble, but she waves off your concern.

“Nah, he’s always taking this lot home. I’ll let him know.” her eyes again, twinkle, and you get the feeling that soon your numbers in the conspiracy to knock Hangman down a peg or two would rise. Well, it already had, if Rooster counted, but you weren’t sure about him yet.

Instead of letting yourself start to try and unravel and unpick the mystery that was Rooster, you call it a night with two sort-of-wins under your belt.

It does briefly occur to you, that once you get a pool stick in hand, Hangman may not be in the ‘win’ pile for very long.

[seasonsbloom]

bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you’re not so sure anymore.

wc ; 23k; yes you read that right you can’t be more confused than me idk either and i wrote it in six days

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of previous character death, explicit sexual activity (Explicit sexual content (oral f and m receiving, p in v, like one sentence about choking but not rlly, some dom/sub elements, a little bit of degradation and praise kink), age gap, inexperienced reader, more angst, sappiness, feelings so many feelings all the feelings

note ; i don’t know what to say, this is literally INSANE i’m feeling INSANE this was a fever dream i wrote 8k words today none of this makes sense but it’s OVER IT’S DONE IT’S FINISHED anyways this isn’t proofread but i love you all besties and girlies and babes pls don’t hate it

also this would never have been possible without sol aka desertsagecelestial the best lines in this whole thing are credit to her sol i love you hand in marriage NOW

Hangman doesn’t lose.

And people call him cocky, arrogant, conceited… but the thing is, it’s the truth. He’s not exaggerating. He just really is that good.

When Hangman wants something, he gets it. Promotions, missions, girls, difficult to obtain first editions of Spiderman comic books… Hangman figures out a way.

Of course, it wasn’t always like that. Back when Jake was younger, when he was the invisible kid at the back of the class who nobody wanted to play with, he had to fight tooth and nail for everything. When his father said he’d never amount to anything, it took Jake years to push back, to say no, you’re wrong. But he did, eventually, joined the Navy, graduated top of his class at Top Gun, became someone people knew, someone people looked at, someone who wanted to be seen.

So Hangman doesn’t lose because Jake learned how to fight.

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

Jake rips his helmet off, ears still ringing with the roaring of the engine, heart still hammering the way it always does after a landing. He’s half adrenaline, the highest of high, half jitters. Head still firmly stuck in the clouds. Only this time, there’s the unfamiliar, bitter taste of failure on his tongue. 

He doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or surprised.

Captain Mitchell, having climbed out of his own plane, approaches with a frown. Just a few steps away, by the entrance to the hangar, where the Californian sun is flooding the asphalt with golden light, a throng of the other pilots has formed.

If Jake even sees Rooster, he might start throwing punches. He’s toeing a precarious line here - ascension or plummeting.

“What was that?” Maverick wants to know, fiddling with his helmet’s clasp. “You flew straight into my line of fire, Hangman.”

So, yeah, maybe Jake just got shot down in less than a minute. So, yeah, maybe he made a rookie mistake. So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really bad day.

“I still maintain that he got dumped last night,” Coyote says. There’s no malice to the words, but Jake wouldn’t be surprised if he and Payback had some money running on this.

“I did not get dumped,” Jake growls for what feels like the fiftieth time. Seriously, his tongue is starting to go numb.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, “you totally got dumped.”

Now that might be actual malice. Phoenix decided last night that whatever had happened between you and Jake was clearly his fault, and she was therefore firmly and squarely on your side.

In Jake’s opinion, there are several things wrong with that assessment.

First of all, there shouldn’t even be any sides. It’s not like your circle of friends has to pick teams in a divorce. Secondly, even though she constantly complains about him, he’s known Phoenix for years. She met you less than a month ago. Shouldn’t she be in his corner? And then lastly and most importantly… Jake has no idea what the hell he did wrong.

It’s all pretty unfair.

“I told you that I didn’t get dumped,” Jake repeats, forming the words slowly and carefully in the hopes that they will sound more convincing than he knows them to be. “We weren’t dating.”

And he can’t explain it, that clenching in his stomach, that lump in his throat. He can’t explain any of it, except that it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar, in a way that’s unwelcome.

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

That’s Rooster, definitely. Jake tilts his head back towards the high, high ceilings of the hangar to avoid catching the other pilots’ eyes. 

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

“Wow, you know Shakespeare?” Phoenix says immediately. “I didn’t know you could read, Bagman.”

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

“Hangman,” he says, and something about his voice is severe enough that Jake snaps to attention. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

He’s one hundred percent playing for time here. Sue him. He needs to come up with an excuse.

“Did you mess up because you were thinking about a girl?”

And the thing is, Jake wants to say no. He wants to say, No, Sir, I had a bad night. He wants to say No, Sir, the sun was in my eye. He wants to say, No, Sir, I was dodging a bird strike.

But every word turns to vapor on his tongue. He can’t get anything out.

And so he just stands there, blinking like an idiot at his instructor.

Because the truth is, Jake can’t for the life of him remember what he was thinking about as he went up on the plane. Considering you’ve been on his mind pretty much non-stop since you met, and it’s only gotten worse since you stormed up to him at the Hard Deck last night, it’s not unlikely that he really was knee-deep in a train of thought revolving around you.

You’ve been haunting him. A specter squeezing into the cockpit with him. A ghost sneaking into his bed. Riding shotgun in his car.

You’re everywhere, at the bottom of each glass, soaring in the skies, under his skin, in his bloodstream. He can’t shake you.

There’s real disappointment on Maverick’s face, and Jake’s stomach drops. The older man sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys…” he says softly. “This isn’t a joke. Up there, you can’t be distracted, not by girls or boys or anything juvenile like that. You can’t be distracted by anything. This is life or death. Death, do you get that? I won’t have it. And this goes for all of you.”

He makes sure to let his pointing finger wander over all of them before he storms off, the door slamming behind him.

An awkward silence spreads among them, punctured only by the shuffling of feet and somebody clearing their throat.

“Well,” Rooster says finally, slapping Jake on the back with enough force it almost buckles his knees as he makes for the door. “Thanks for that, Hangman.”

Jake should probably say something, but his mind is wandering again. He’s thinking of you, standing in a sea of broken glass, Mojito staining the front of your shirt, eyes shuttered and forlorn in a way he hadn’t seen before… 

He gets the feeling now.

“Jesus,” Coyote says, stepping up beside Jake. “The way Captain Mitchell is talking, you’d think he isn’t hooking up with Penny on the down-low.”

Something about Coyote’s voice tells Jake he feels bad for him. He doesn’t like the idea of that, not one bit, but he also can’t really find it within himself to do something about it right now.

“Mitchell and Penny are hooking up?” Jake asks, genuinely surprised.

Bob, passing by them, frowns. “Hangman, you really aren’t very perceptive, are you?”

It’s so out of character that for a moment, Jake considers if he’s somehow managed to go through a black hole and ended up smack dab in a parallel universe where Bob, of all people, goes around insulting others. Where Jake, eternal bachelor, famed ladies’ man, messes up flight maneuvers because he’s too busy thinking about a girl.

“Did… did Bob just shade you?” Coyote asks.

For a moment, Jake seriously considers hitting his head against a wall.

So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really, really, really horrible day. So much for never losing.

+

Something’s off.

First of all, Penny’s never invited you to dinner. Second of all, this is decidedly not the kind of establishment you were expecting.

Penny seems like a burger and fries in her car sort of girl. Maybe a few bottles of beer or a couple of milkshakes to wash it all down. The little restaurant twinkling golden on the beachfront is entirely out of character. 

Narrow round tables are covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, fairy lights are strung to the rafters, and behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, boats bob up and down on the waves. It’s a tiny place, cramped but charming. Upbeat Jazz plays from invisible speakers, and a smiling waitress leads you past what seems to be only couples on anniversary dates.

“Here you go,” she says as she seats you at your table, right at the glass front, and hands you each a menu. “I’ll come to take you guys’ order in a minute.”

You sit in the plush chair, frowning. Penny is perusing the menu like nothing’s wrong.

“Oooh, Lasagna al Forno… that sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Penny,” you interrupt, not even opening your own menu. “What’s going on?”

Penny barely glances up at you. “You needed to get out of the house, sweetie.”

And she’s not wrong. You spent the last week since your… altercation with Hangman curled up in your bed, letting the anxiety eat away at you. The walls of your room closing in on you, the weight on your chest pushing you down until it practically molded you to the mattress.

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound empty even to your ears.

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

“No, you’re not,” she says, voice firm. “You’re miserable.”

When you ended things with Hangman, you didn’t think much about whether you were making the right decision. You just wanted out. You wanted it to end, so scared of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if you dipped even deeper into that pool. So scared that it might start meaning more than what it already did, that you would put your heart on something that was bound to end anyways.

Because guys like Hangman… handsome guys, confident guys, guys that hang around bars with toothpicks in their mouths… guys like that break you apart without a second thought.

And you’re already broken enough.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate and finally open your menu, staring at the entrées without seeing a thing. “I’m glad things are over between Hangman and me. It’s better this way.”

Penny is quiet for a moment, then she says, “Sweetie, you need to talk to him.”

“No, I do not,” you answer immediately. This is not the first time you’ve had this conversation. “What could I possibly have to talk to him about?”

“Oh, just… maybe you could explain to him just why you decided to break both your hearts, I don’t know.”

You purse your lips. “Penny. Hangman doesn’t care. He said so himself. This didn’t mean anything to him.”

And it’s so stupid. But his words replay in your mind like a broken record, like an endless loop, again and again. This was nothing. The cold upward turn of his mouth as he said it. Calm, collected. Unfazed.

You’re an idiot. You spent a few weeks flirting with a guy who wanted to get into your pants, and you made it into something it never was - made it big, made it important, made it matter, when really, to him, it had only ever been a game from the very beginning.

And now he’s off, somewhere, flying his planes, living bigger than you ever will, dreaming better, and you’re left on the ground, scrambling to pick up the pieces of yourself.

It’s pathetic.

But Penny looks at you from across the edge of her menu and says, “Pete says he’s been fucking up majorly during training. He’s distracted.”

It gives you pause for a moment and your heart - that stupid, incorrigible thing that never learns, never lets go, that latches onto everything - stutters in your chest.

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

Penny jerks her head. “This wasn’t nothing to him.”

The smiling waitress returns with a notepad, and Penny orders lasagna and a bottle of wine. You settle for some kind of risotto, mainly because it’s the first thing your eyes land on.

After she’s left, you take a deep breath.

“It…” You hesitate. It’s so difficult to say it, to admit it, but you think if you don’t get the words out now, you never will. “It didn’t, Penny. I’m not… I’m not really someone people remember. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just me. This didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.”

And Penny’s face softens. All her irritation of the past few weeks, the constant nagging when you came over for the tutoring session, the stream of texts asking you to come over for drinks, when she knocked on your door earlier, uninvited, and forced you into the shower, into a dress, into her car, it all just melts away. There’s nothing there now, not even pity, nothing there but genuine, real compassion, and you think you’re going to cry right here, in the middle of this restaurant…

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, reaching across the table to cup both your hands in hers. “You’re worth so much more than you think. When will you finally realize that?”

And it’s like this: since your mother’s death, you’ve just been so horribly, achingly lonely. The sort of loneliness that goes bone deep, that burrows into your bloodstream. You’ve drifted through the world unmoored, untethered, not belonging anywhere. Sure, you met people, but they disappeared from your life as quickly as they entered it. You let yourself become invisible, see-through like cellophane.

But with Penny, it’s like she sees you. Really sees you. In a way you don’t think anybody except your mother ever did, right down to your insecurities and flaws.

And somehow, with Hangman, it was the same. He saw something there with you, saw what you needed and what you wanted before you even really knew it yourself. And you don’t know if that’s just something about him, something he can do with any girl, or if it’s something special, if he understood you, all you know is that it terrified you half to death.

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

It’s a good thing the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine and a bread basket because you’re pretty sure you would have started sobbing otherwise.

You think you’re going to thank Penny, eat your food, try and enjoy the evening, and then maybe crawl into bed at the end of the night and cry a little more. Just… make the best of it.

But Penny glances over your shoulder, and something mischievous passes over her features. Suddenly, you feel a little sick.

She rises from her seat, and by the time you’ve glanced over your shoulder, they’re already at your table.

“Hi, Pete,” Penny says, grinning. “Hi, Hangman.”

You’re doing your very, very best not to look at him. Your stomach is turning. Perspiration builds up lightning-quick on the inside of your palms.

“Hi, Penny,” the older pilot you’ve never talked to but have seen hanging around the bar several times echoes, giving her a soft smile. He greets you by name, and you’re so stunned, so excruciatingly uncomfortable, that you can’t even react.

Pete manhandles Hangman into Penny’s vacated chair with two hands on his shoulders, and then you don’t really have a choice but to stare at him. He’s right there, in your line of sight.

Hangman looks as shocked as you feel, but there’s something else, too. He’s still handsome, of course, still tanned and blond and perfect, but something seems to have shifted. His hair is just a little less tidy, the bags beneath his eyes a little more pronounced. For the first time ever, you see him in civilian clothes - a t-shirt and jeans, something softer around the edges that makes your insides clench.

All initial instincts of flight bleed right out of you. It’s half hope, half fear, that keeps you rooted to your chair.

“You said this was a lesson,” Hangman says to his superior, looking, for lack of a better word, desolate.

“It is,” Pete answers, patting his shoulder before withdrawing.

And Penny says, “Listen, I know the owner. If you guys leave before finishing your dinner, there’ll be hell to pay.”

She points at Hangman. “I know your boss.”

Then she points at you. “I am your boss.”

And that’s final. Penny has a way of getting what she wants.

Before she leaves, she leans down to hug you and whispers softly, “Sweetie, you don’t need to go out of this evening dating him. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. But I think he deserves an explanation, at the very least.”

She draws back, smiles at the two of you as if she’s just performed some great, benevolent act, and then disappears with Captain Mitchell.

You half expect Hangman to get up and leave the moment the two are out of earshot. You half expect yourself to do the same.

But you both stay where you are, at that table, actively avoiding the other’s eyes.

The waitress comes to drop off your food. Hangman pours both of you a glass of wine and then downs his in one go.

Finally, he sighs like he just lost some internal fight and says, “I can’t believe they totally just parent-trapped us.”

“Parent-trapped?” you repeat, a little dumbly.

“Yeah, like… tried to set us up. You know, like in the cinematic milestone with Lindsey Lohan?”

You nod.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The gears in your head are turning on overdrive. You feel near frantic with nerves.

“Personally,” you say, your mouth moving before you’re really aware that you’re speaking, “my favorite bad matchmaker is Emma Woodhouse.”

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him. 

“You don’t know Emma? By Jane Austen?”

“Jane Austen?” Hangman takes a sip of his water. “Is that the one with the Pride & Prepaid something? Where everybody goes to each other’s houses and just talks for hours?”

You’re going to have an aneurism. 

“Emma,” you say, now having trouble controlling your voice, “is one of the greatest pieces of literary fiction ever created. And you mean Pride & Prejudice.”

“Really?” He leans back and looks at you. “So what’s it about, then?”

“Well,” you launch into an explanation, jumping at the chance not just to fill this horrible silence but also to talk about one of your favorite books, and the words just seem to flow from you now, “Emma Woodhouse is this really pretty, really rich young Lady, yeah? And she decides that she’s not gonna get married, so instead, she tries to find a husband for her poor friend Harriet. So she wants to set her up with Mr. Elton, only it turns out Mr. Elton is actually into Emma, and at some point, they’re alone in a carriage, and he proposes marriage to her, and it’s super awkward, but then Emma thinks she’s in love with Frank Churchill who also turns out to not be for her and in the end, she realizes she’s really been in love with Mr. Knightley all along, who’s like a really close family friend, only now Harriet might be in love with Mr. Knightley, too, and they have a bit of a falling out and….”

Much too late, you stop yourself. The embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles all the stronger.

Hangman is looking at you with a somewhat dazed expression. You can’t believe you just said all that.

You drag your fork through the mess on your plate, cheeks hot, and round it off by saying, “Anyway, it’s really about Emma realizing the errors of her ways and becoming more considerate of others, and it’s a commentary on class and privilege and all. It’s pretty good.”

“Okay,” Hangman says, and you have never wanted the powers of teleportation more than you do at this moment.

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

After another moment, Hangman says, “That just sounds like the plot of Clueless.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“You… you know Clueless?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises nearly to touch his hairline. “Do I know Clueless?” he repeats. “Is Cher Horowitz one of the best cinematic characters ever created? Of course, I know Clueless, I’m not a barbarian.”

You stare at him until a big blop of risotto rice lands on the tablecloth.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, moving to mop the spilled food up with your napkin. “Clueless is like, one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Yeah?” He grins, seemingly relaxing just a little bit. “Mine too. So, did Jane Austen steal the plot?”

You can’t help it - it punches a laugh out of you.

“No, it… Clueless was based on Emma. The novel came out like… 180 years earlier, I think.”

“Right.” Hangman nods. “Well, if it inspired Clueless, it must be a pretty good book then.”

You’re almost sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had without Hangman trying to get into your pants. It also might be the longest conversation you’ve ever had about your interests without someone shutting you down.

You’re developing a headache.

“Listen,” Hangman says suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. Something in his face has gone serious. “I understand what happened. I was pushing for something you didn’t want, and I pushed too hard, and you put a stop to it. That’s fine. It’s good, really. I respect it.”

And that’s not it at all. But you don’t know how to tell him that he’s got it all wrong, that it’s not that you didn’t want it. It’s that you wanted it too much. Wanted him so much it felt dangerously close to falling for him. Wanted him so much you knew you were giving him the power not just to see you, but to leave you.

He takes a deep breath.

“That doesn’t mean we have to avoid each other. Let’s just… let’s just be friends, okay?”

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

“Friends,” Hangman confirms. He’s nodding his head.

Penny told you to explain it to him, made it seem like an imperative, but as you sit there, you realize she was wrong. You realize it doesn’t matter. Not to him, at least. Those words in the bar cross your mind again. It was nothing. His indifference to all that emotion you carry everywhere you go.

And you’re so angry with him, even if you know that you’re the one who brought this down on you, you’re the one who decided to end it. So angry you want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until that mask he carries finally slips off, until you get to see what lies beneath that.

Because the truth is, beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, you’ve spent the past week thinking of him. In bed, in the shower, at the gas station. And you missed him, even if that doesn’t make any sense.

And if you don’t tell him the truth, if you just let him believe his sexual advances were just a little too much for you instead of revealing the real depth of your feelings… well, then maybe you can at least preserve the last shreds of your dignity.

Besides… maybe, you think, it’s better to get any piece of him than nothing at all. Better to be friends than never to see him again. At least this way, you’d be safe.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice sounds far away. “Yeah, friends. Okay.”

Hangman smiles, and it’s a real, genuine smile as opposed to his usual smirks. His eyes go all crinkly, and you clutch your fork tighter.

And after that, it’s… nice. You find out, to your own horror, that you actually do like Hangman. He’s funny and witty, and when he isn’t trying to fuck you, you realize you actually have things in common.

Together, you empty the bottle of wine and have another glass each, finish your meals, and share a plate of tiramisu that seems to melt on your tongue.

You squabble about the bill, but finally, Jake concedes and lets you pay, even though he looks like he’s about to start muttering in anger.

You like it. It kind of feels like finally being on even ground after weeks of fighting an uphill battle.

When you step out of the restaurant, leaving the Jazz and the smell of pasta behind, you pause. It’s a bit of an unsettling realization to come to, but you don’t want the night to end.

Hangman stops a pace or two behind you, tipping his head back into the breeze.

He looks younger like this, out of his uniform, with a blush painted on his cheeks by the wine, with the wind tousling his hair. All his edges blurred into something almost gentle. Boyish.

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

Jake, you think, and something deep inside of you aches. Jake.

Smiling, he turns to you. “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t trust your own voice, so you just nod.

“Alright.” He starts towards his car, then immediately stops. “Actually… do you mind taking a walk on the beach? I think I should sober up a little more.”

No, you don’t mind one bit, and that’s the danger of it all.

“Fine,” you agree. You mean for it to be clipped, but instead, it comes out like a squeak.

Jake, who doesn’t seem to notice your tone, smiles and leads the way down a trodden path that takes you by the restaurant’s trash cans and then onto the sand of the beach.

It’s colder here, enough that you wrap your arms around your torso to leech off your own body warmth.

Jake is already halfway out of his jacket before you begin protesting.

“Come on,” he says. “I know you don’t believe it, but my mother actually did raise me to be a gentleman. I keep telling you.”

So you let him drape the jacket over your shoulders, and suddenly you’re enveloped in his scent, and your mouth is dry, and your stomach clenches.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

You walk along the beach for a while in perfect silence. The wind dances through your hair, the air smells crisp and fresh and salty, and the waves roll in from the sea, white foam that nearly licks at your feet.

It’s peaceful. Serene. It’s dangerous because it feels so much like a date, and you want to hold Jake’s hand so bad, and he’s almost devastatingly handsome in this light, but you ignore it. Look straight ahead and pretend you’re not feeling it.

Finally, Jake stops and sits down in the sand. Hesitantly, you follow his example, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” Jake asks, staring out at the waves.

You frown. “Seriously?”

“What? That’s a normal question people ask their friends.”

You don’t know about that, but you do answer, “I don’t know. I don’t really remember?”

“Not at all?”

You pause. It’s almost too easy to be truthful with him, and with a start, you realize that you trust him.

God, you must be an idiot.

“I used to…” You clear your throat. “Well, there was this house on my street back in Seattle. A house with a blue door. I used to dream about buying it one day and living there with my husband, and my kids, and our dog.”

You half expect him to laugh at you, call you childish or naive, or a romantic. But he doesn’t. He just listens, face utterly void of judgment, and your stomach swoops.

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “But it was the first real dream of my life. I don’t know if you ever really grow out of those.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, you probably don’t, right?” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he continues, “Mine was becoming spiderman. Honestly, I’d still give my right arm for it.”

And it actually makes you laugh. An honest, genuine sound that echoes across the beach.

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night. 

“I like that sound,” he says softly. “Do it again.”

To cover up the feeling rising up in you - something you’d describe as bashfulness, if that wasn’t so disgustingly ridiculous, something that warms you inside out - you feign nonchalance, say, “Well, tell me something funny, then.”

“Something funny, yeah?” He leans back in the sand with a sigh as you nod, balancing his weight on his elbows, and turns his head up at the night sky like he’ll find inspiration up there. “I thought Star Wars was real for like… an embarrassingly long time.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like, full on.” He nods, face almost solemn. “I looked Han Solo up in history books and shit, I got so confused when I couldn’t find him. I was just like, do people know about this, like, they have to know about this, like about little green Yoda guys and….”

You can’t help it. You start dissolving into laughter halfway through, and Jake looks up at you, grinning.

“Are you serious?” you ask through your laughter. The thought of little Jake thumbing through history books frantically as he searches for Han Solo - who you just know was his childhood idol - is almost too much.

He shrugs. “That’ll be my secret. Did make you laugh, though.”

“Yeah, you did,” you admit, and then you let yourself fall into the sand beside him. It’s cool, grains catching in your hair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll spend the rest of your week trying to get them out again, but it’s worth it for the view. 

The night sky stretches endless above you. You’re close enough to the sea and far enough from San Diego that the light pollution has bled out here, that you can see the stars twinkling up there. A million miles away, yet so close you think you could pluck one if you just stretched out your arm.

“Maybe I should be a teacher,” you say, and then freeze up. Because, what the fuck? Where did that come from?

You’ve never even thought about that, but it just burst out of you, like something you’ve been carrying in your chest your whole life.

Awash in the surprise, you can do nothing but blink for a while.

“A teacher?” Jake repeats. “What subject?”

“English,” you say immediately. Okay, well. Guess we’re having epiphanies about ourselves then. “It’s just that… well, I… I like tutoring Amelia. It’s my favorite time of the week, I think. And I… I love all those books other people are forced to read. I even like Catcher in the Rye, can you believe it?”

“Even Catcher in the Rye?” Jake says, mocking you by letting out a scandalized gasp and slapping a hand over his mouth. You laugh and shove at his shoulder. 

Grinning, he says, “I think you’d be a great teacher.”

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I think you’d be great at anything you put your mind to, really. But I saw you talk about that book earlier… it’s like you were glowing. You love that. People are always best when they do what they love.”

It’s unexpectedly wise. It knocks the wind right out of you.

You need to take a moment to collect yourself, avoid the intent gaze of his eyes that makes it feel almost like he knows you.

“Have you always wanted to be a pilot, then?” you ask.

Jake shrugs, a movement you feel more than see, his arm moving up where he’s pressed against yours, shoulder digging a deeper furrow into the sand.

“Maybe. I guess.” You think he won’t say anything else, but after another moment, he goes on, “My father is a general, you know? It’s sort of a family tradition.”

You didn’t know that, but it sort of makes sense. Another shade to color Jake Seresin in with.

“He must be really proud of you,” you say, thinking of your own father, who hasn’t called in months.

Jake is quiet for so long that you glance over to check that he hasn’t fallen asleep. His eyes are open, though, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

“Not really,” he says, finally. “My father always thought I was a disappointment. I remember one time in middle school, there was this boy… He was a real bully. He liked to slam me into lockers, and one time he broke my nose. My dad just said it was my own fault for not fighting back.”

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Nothing I do ever really… is enough for him.”

There’s something in his voice you never thought Jake capable of: defeat.

Your chest aches with it.

“Not even when you graduated Top Gun?” you ask carefully. “You were top of your class, right?”

Jake shrugs again. “He didn’t come to the ceremony. Mom said he was sick, but… I don’t think that’s true.” He exhales, and it’s a shaky, fragile sound. “Sometimes… sometimes I think he’d only ever be proud of me if I got shot down. If I died in combat or something.”

Your reaction is visceral. Heart plummeting, stopping, arm jerking against him.

“Don’t…” you begin, then shake your head vehemently. “Don’t say that, please.”

He glances at you, looking almost surprised at your outburst.

“It’s not…” You hesitate. “It’s not worth it. Not if he doesn’t recognize it already.”

“Recognize what?” 

And Jake won’t take his eyes away from you. You feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“That you’re… that you’re a good pilot.”

You swallow, immediately embarrassed by your own words. You can’t even look him in the eyes.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never even seen me fly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and mean every word, “I know.”

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

It doesn’t say half of the things you want to tell him, at the same time as it reveals much more than you want it to.

And you remember: It was nothing. Shrugging off everything he made you feel. Laughing as if nothing had happened. Telling you without as many words that you were just another conquest, just another girl in a line of girls, nothing special about you, nothing important, nothing relevant.

You want to hate him, yet something about Jake makes it impossible. Something about him keeps drawing you back. Even after everything that’s happened, wanting him is like a bad habit you can’t shake.

You can’t explain that.

But Jake reaches out to you and slots his fingers into the spaces between your own. Squeezes once.

Your fear got in your way. Even now, it chokes all words from you.

But that’s fine. You think, somehow, Jake understands anyway.

He’s quiet for a while and then says, “Why are you here, then? In Fightertown, I mean.”

It’s a good question, one you don’t know how to answer. 

Finally, you say, “My mother died.” 

And then you freeze. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, and suddenly it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. 

Haltingly, almost shell-shocked by it, you continue, “And it… it made me realize that I’d built my whole life around her. And when she was gone… well, that life was gone, too. Like that dream about the house with the blue door… It didn’t seem to matter anymore. So I just left. I just… drove until I got to Fightertown, and then I decided to stay because… I don’t know. There was nowhere else to go, anyway.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and you concentrate hard to blink them away.

“And do you like it here?”

You’re so grateful. You’re so grateful he doesn’t tell you that he’s sorry about your mother, that he doesn’t judge you for not having had a life apart from her. That he doesn’t ask about your father or your friends. So grateful that somehow, again, he seems to understand what you need: Not the past, but the present.

“Yeah,” you say and are surprised to find you’re telling the truth. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

Then you glance at him. “Unless the most obnoxious naval aviator in the history of the world almost knocks you over in a bar, of course.”

Jake laughs, a carefree, bellowing sound that has you feeling a little bit like you’re soaring.

“Only because you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he says, winking at you.

And it’s toeing the line. Not really friendly, not really platonic, but so Hangman, so Jake, that you don’t even mind.

You smile back, and then you turn your eyes up to that sky, to those stars, and listen to the whisper of the waves, holding tight to Jake’s hand.

+

The thing about fear is that it’s not a one-time situation. Overcoming it once doesn’t get rid of it - it just goes stagnant for a while, lulls you into a false sense of security, and then it pounces again.

So walking into the Hard Deck is a little easier, but the rest of it is just as hard. Reassuring yourself that you’re wanted here, that you’re not intruding, that nobody will look at you weirdly.

Hangman and Phoenix invited you. Separately, you tell yourself. You know the owner. You’re gonna be okay.

You can’t spot any familiar faces when you finally get the courage to make it from the front porch into the actual bar. It’s all just strangers mingling.

Mostly looking for a little bit of liquid courage and something to occupy your time with until the others arrive, you make your way to the bar and flag down one of the unfamiliar bartenders to order a cocktail.

After, you turn to people watch. They’re everywhere, laughing and flirting, people lining up shots in neat rows on bar tops, people knocking back shots, people playing darts and pools and footsie, people laughing with their friends or at their friends. It’s almost shocking, all that display of life. It makes you think of yourself, alone in your room for days, weeks, years. How much did you miss?

“Can I buy you another?”

The guy is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice. Not Hangman-level handsome, but… that’s not the sort of thoughts you should be having anyway. Curls, kind eyes, a dimple on his cheek. Cute. The kind of guy you might have stared at in the supermarket a few months ago, would have lost your mind over if he had smiled at you in the frozen foods section.

“Oh,” you say as he slides up to you, folding and bracing his arms on the tabletop. “Uhm…”

“No strings attached,” he promises, holding up his hands like he wants you to check that he’s not carrying any weapons. “You just looked lonely.”

You laugh, feeling a little bit out of your depth. “Did I really?”

He nods, eyes twinkling, and says, “Yep. I could tell all the way from the other end of the bar.”

That’s probably not a good sign, you think. Gotta start working on my poker face.

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the guy introduces himself, offering you a hand.

This feels a lot like a precipice.

Part of you knows you should give in. Let this guy buy you a drink, let him flirt with you, let him take you home. Get an ego boost and have a nice time. This, you think, was what Penny meant all the time she talked about getting the sexual frustration out of your system. 

Not whatever the fuck that twisted thing you and Hangman had going on was. Definitely not that, because it didn’t get a single thing out of your system. In fact, it only ended up injecting more into your system. More worries, more insecurities, more pain.

And it’s over, you know it is. He listened when you asked him to stop, and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not interested in you, that you were less than a fling, that you were just a possibility that never came true. That you were nothing. And yet… you’re not ready to let it go. To let go of whatever sliver of hope you’ve held onto.

But then you think of Jake at the restaurant, how easily he’d brushed it all off, how he’d said friends. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not really. He’d just wanted to get it out of the way. And he’s so confident, so sure of what he wants, and if he wanted you… then he would have gone after you by now.

You know he would have.

So you smile and say, “Are you a naval aviator?”

Jason seems surprised by that, but he nods his head. “Yes, Ma’am. Just graduated Top Gun a few weeks ago.”

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

Jason laughs. “Not the reaction I usually get. Are you not a big fan of pilots, then?”

“Not particularly,” you say. “I don’t think they’re good for my mental health. Or the environment.” 

And then he laughs, and his dimple distracts you, and it’s light and not heavy, and it feels simple in a way you’ve been missing.

So you let him buy you a drink. And you let him flirt with you. And you try, try, try your best to forget about the anxiety gnawing at your bones, about the voice telling you it’s wrong, about everything that’s holding you back.

You just want to be normal. You just want to have fun. You just want to be free of the ghosts haunting you.

And in a way, it’s easy. Jason isn’t aggressive like Jake was, isn’t so handsome it seems like a miracle he’s even looking at you. He’s nice and funny and a little bit boring, and that’s good, boring is good because boring is normal, it’s trivial, it’s safe.

Hesitantly, you place a hand on Jason’s arm and bask in the way it feels when he smiles at you.

And then the intrusive thought comes, unbidden, unstoppable, bleak: If Jake were here…

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

+

Jake is having an aneurism.

That’s the only logical explanation for any of this. He feels like somebody is peeling his skin off like he’s an orange.

“Yo, Hangman!” 

A hand starts wiping up and down through the air right in front of him rapidly, and Jake blinks against the blur of colors it leaves on his vision.

“There you are, dude,” Payback says, laughing. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake mutters, turning back to his friends. “You’re just not that interesting, Payback.”

Way less interesting than that scene unfolding near the bar, at least. But also decidedly less prone to provoke Jake into committing arson, so probably the safer choice.

“What are you looking at anyway?” Payback inquires, getting on his tippy-toes to look across everybody else’s heads.

Jake just manages to catch him by a shoulder and force him in the opposite direction. The last thing he needs is to get shit for this, too. He’s already got enough to deal with by just trying to untangle the thicket of his own emotions.

“I’m looking for Bob. We shouldn’t leave minors unaccompanied,” he lies, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel into his voice.

From where she is leaning against the vintage Pacman machine, Phoenix gives him a look like she isn’t buying anything that he’s putting down. But she doesn’t point it out, and Jake sort of feels like weeping in gratitude.

He takes a seat at the table next to Coyote and starts playing with the label on his beer bottle, mainly so he doesn’t feel the urge to start looking for you in the mess of the crowd again. The paper is soaked through by the condensation, crumbling into tiny balls that stick between his fingers when he rubs too hard.

“So, day after tomorrow, huh?” Fanboy says. “Gonna know our fate. You nervous, Hangman?”

The worst part is, Hangman - Hangman, of all people, whose life for the past ten years has revolved around little more than the Navy, than his plane, than his performance up in the air - has pretty much forgotten that the day after tomorrow they’d announce who was about to go on the mission that could potentially become the most important of his career. It’s just that there are much more imminent, pressing things happening right here, right now. Like some dude chatting you up with what are probably the sleaziest lines you’ve ever heard just a few steps away.

He clears his throat. “Why would I be nervous?” he asks, but it lacks his usual edge. “I’m going anyways, no question about it.”

“I don’t know,” Rooster interjects. “You’ve been flying sort of shitty the past week.”

Jake’s fingers clench around the neck of the bottle.

“No shittier than you, Bradshaw. You fly like you’re trying to let senior citizens pass through traffic.”

Payback frowns. “You okay, Hang? That barely made any sense.”

Truthfully, Jake is so distracted he can’t even concentrate enough to come up with something that’ll really piss Rooster off. Not when you’re right there, and he’s not the one making you laugh. Not when he asked you to be friends while really all he can think about is you underneath him with that glazed look in your eyes he’s put there once before, you moaning his name, you in his shirt, you with your mouth wrapped around his…

“Hangman!” That’s Phoenix, now sitting next to Rooster, looking like she’s about an inch from slapping him over the head with her beer bottle. “I asked you a question.”

“Huh?”

Everybody’s staring at him. He’s still trying not to look at the bar.

“I said,” Phoenix repeats, speaking deliberately slow like she’s scared he won’t understand otherwise, “that I don’t want to see any physical fights. So we’re all going to accept the decision tomorrow. Get it, Bagman?”

He shrugs. Right now, he’s so decidedly uninterested in who goes on that mission he can’t imagine even getting upset about it.

“Fine by me,” he mutters and moves to take a sip of his beer. Only, when he tips his head back, it brings the bar right into his line of sight.

And there you are, sitting almost in the exact same spot you were the very first night he approached you. Back in one of those dresses, the ones that drive him insane, the ones playing much more prominent roles in his late-night fantasies than he’d ever like to admit. Legs crossed primly and tucked to the side, all that smooth, soft skin, and Jake can’t stop himself, can’t not imagine getting to run his mouth down the line of that leg, can’t not imagine taking that dress off you, can’t not imagine making you whimper for him, again and again and…

A pale hand lands on the small of your back, just half an inch from where the dress drops low to expose that skin he was just thinking about, and Jake feels like somebody sucker-punched him.

“Okay, somebody switch seats with me right now,” he says, and his voice has climbed to unprecedented heights. It just bursts out of him.

It startles Bob so much he almost drops his beer. Liquid goes sloshing all over Coyote’s lap, who yelps, jumps up, and dumps half his whiskey over Payback in the process. In the ensuing mayhem, everybody seems to forget about the culprit.

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

She looks at him with the sort of knowing, accusatory eyes that make him think he should be on his knees begging for forgiveness or something.

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

And then a hand ghosts over his shoulder, fingernails painted a delicate pink, and for a second, he hopes, thinks he’s going to turn around and find you there, smiling at him, eyes shining, but it’s a different face that greets him. His heart, soaring for a moment, plummets to the ground.

He’s seen the girl around the bar a few times before. She’s pretty. The type he’d go for usually, the kind of pretty thing he’d fuck and leave and never think about again.

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes the corners of her painted mouth curl up like the lower half of a heart. “I’ve seen you around. Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s the sort of straightforward behavior he prefers usually. Hangman has never been much for playing it coy, for insecurity. He likes someone who goes after what they want, who knows what they want. At least he’s always thought he did.

For a second, he can see it: a little bit of flirting, some coy touches, letting her take him home, getting his rocks off, then disappearing forever.

But his heart just isn’t in it. The whole thing feels empty. Useless. Wrong.

So he shrugs her hand off, gives her a polite smile, and says, “Maybe some other time.”

The girl is drunk enough that she doesn’t care much, just shrugs and saunters off to find someone more accepting of her advances.

When Jake turns to face his friends again, Coyote is gaping at him with his mouth hanging open.

“What?” Jake asks, for the first time in his life actually uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s receiving.

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

“Cause you just…” Payback looks seriously concerned. “You just turned down a pretty girl, man. Are you feeling okay?”

And that’s when Jake realizes what just happened. With a dawning sort of horror, he sets his bottle down on the table and stares at the condensation rings, the crumpled napkins, the half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His head is spinning.

So, like… what the fuck?

Since Jake finally got to move out of his parent’s house, since he got out from under the gaze of his father - always judging, always finding him lacking - since he joined the Navy and found out that he’s one of the most talented pilots they’ve ever had, he’s had a pretty good idea of who he is.

Arrogant, sure. Cocky, even. Abrasive, at times, calculated, cunning. But with enough skill to back all of it up a hundred times. He knows he’s handsome, knows he can get any girl he wants, and he enjoys that. Basks in it. Based half his personality on it.

So Hangman knows who he is. Knew it perfectly well, right up until the moment he met you.

And just like that, he’s going not just after an inexperienced girl but a girl who might not even like him, and he keeps telling himself it’s just about the chase, just because you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and there’s something exciting about getting someone who doesn’t make it easy, but it’s starting to sound like a bad excuse, because then why did he ask you to be friends just so he could stay close to you, why did he tell you things he’s never told a soul, why did he feel like the earth was shattering beneath him when you said he was a good pilot? Why can’t he stop thinking of you?

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?” 

Even Rooster sounds genuinely concerned, but Jake doesn’t hear him. Not really, at least.

Because up at the bar, the guy has leaned in even closer, leaned all the way into your space (and Jake just knows he stinks of beer and sweat, and his palms are probably damp where he’s groping your waist), and is whispering something into your ear and you’re giggling, and Jake sees full-on, deep, deep scarlet.

He’s out of his seat before he can register it, halfway through the bar before he remembers moving. Elbowing people out of the way and probably spilling more than one drink in his path. He doesn’t care. In fact, he doesn’t even notice.

All his attention is laser-focused on you and all the places that dirtbag is touching you.

“Alright,” he says much too forcefully when he finally reaches the bar and slaps his hands onto the countertop with a noise so loud it almost has you jumping out of your seat. “I think I told Penny all her drinks are on my tab. Like perpetually. Eternally. Whatever, pick one.”

The poor, unassuming bartender stares at him. “I… Who are you, Sir, like I…?”

Jake ignores him. He turns to face you and the douchebag, both of you staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Now he’s a little concerned his smile might look like a serial killer about to woo his newest victim.

“Uhm,” you say slowly, glancing at the guy behind you, “Hangman….”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupts before you can even get out a complete sentence, “I told you you can call me Jake.”

You pause. Then you start again, “Jake….”

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He leans around you, offering a hand. “I’m Hangman.”

The guy blinks. “Yeah, hi. Jason. Nice to meet you.”

Jake nods, shakes his hand, then turns to you. Bends down to press a kiss to your cheek, lingers for too long. Draws back and basks in the stunned look on your face, the wide eyes, just for a moment.

“You sleep well after last night?” he asks. “You must have been exhausted.”

And he’s laying it on thick, he knows he is. Leaves his hand resting on your shoulder for too long, lets his thumb stroke over your collarbone in a slow, drawn-out movement just for the hell of it.

He can’t explain it. It’s just… it’s just that he can’t forget the guy’s hands all over you. It’s just that he can’t forget your face last night, bathed in the moonlight, your laughter that made him think his chest was caving in. It’s just that he feels if somebody else makes you laugh like that, he may never be happy again.

“I don’t…” You blink up at him, face almost entirely blank. “What?”

One of his hands lands on your thigh, just above the knee, half on the fabric of your dress, half on the warm skin of your leg. And it’s pushing it, he knows that, but it’s not like he decided to touch you. It’s more of an instinct, a reassurance to himself. You’re there. You haven’t left.

Not yet, anyway.

He can see the way Jason looks at you. He knows that look, knows exactly what he wants to do, and it lights a fire inside of him, something pathetic and possessive and uncalled for.

And all he can think is: That guy won’t treat you right, I can do it better, I know what you like, I know it, I see it, I know you…

But apart from his own ego, apart from the cocky part of him that knows he’s got you pegged, knows he could set you off and have you coming on his tongue, his fingers, his cock quicker than you could make sense of, there’s something else there too. A strange, unfamiliar protectiveness. Something that makes him think: What if this guy hurts you?

Not because you’re fragile, not because you don’t know yourself, but because Jake knows you. Has seen you. 

Knows this runs deeper than anything else, even if he doesn’t know what that means. Even if it scares him shitless.

He can’t let some other guy take you home. He just can’t.

“Hangman,” Jason says, leaning across you and giving Jake a small, almost shy smile. “Man, you’re a legend.”

“I…” Jake was prepared to hit him with something else bordering on rude, but this throws him for a loop. “What?”

“At Top Gun. Everybody talks about you all the time. It’s an honor to meet you.” 

The guy’s eyes are positively glowing, his cheeks ruddy with alcohol and excitement. Jake, who was hellbent on hating him, suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

“I’m sorry, by the way.” The guy - boy, some spiteful part of Jake things - gestures in your general direction. For a second, Jake feels indignant on your behalf before he realizes he’s the one responsible for this. “I didn’t realize this was your girl. Backing up right away. Sorry.”

With raised hands, he disappears into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the sea of uniforms.

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

You’ve slid half out of your seat, gathering your bag from where you’ve draped it over the back of the chair by the strap.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to help you but withdrawing his hands immediately when you whirl to face him.

There’s something on your face, something he’s never seen before, and with his stomach dropping down to his knees, he wonders suddenly and belatedly if he may have miscalculated severely.

That night at the bar, when you’d walked up to him and told him to leave you alone, it had been a little like somebody had pulled the ground right from beneath his feet. Like that magic trick with the tablecloth, only this one had been bad and botched and bungled, all the china and the glasses and the cutlery falling and smashing.

And yet the way you’d looked at him… He could have sworn you weren’t telling the truth. 

Jake isn’t dumb, fuck what Phoenix says, and he’s been with enough girls to recognize desire when he sees it. So he was almost entirely sure you were lying when you told him to leave you alone.

But then… what if that had just been his own hope? Building nothing into something. Wanting you to want him the same way he wants you.

In the end, what he thought you wanted didn’t matter. All he had to go off were your words, and those were clear enough. The choice needed to be yours, or it meant nothing.

And Jake was a lot - bastard, asshole, fuckboy - but he wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want. Never.

So he’d let up. He’d listened to you. He’d tried to pull back. Even as it had hurt him in a way he could not explain. Even as it had broken him apart.

And then Maverick and Penny had to meddle, and he’d gotten to know you in a way he hadn’t planned for at all. Had learned that he didn’t just want you, he liked you. Wanted to keep listening to you as you rambled on and on in intelligible loops about books you liked. Wanted to read them, wanted to talk to you about them. Wanted to make those dreams come true: buy you that house with the blue door, give you that dog.

He can’t understand it. He can’t explain it. All he knows is he wants to be close to you.

But with the way you’re looking at him right now, pure, unadulterated anger on your face, he realizes you might not feel the same way at all.

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused. “What did I do?”

This is not his day at all. Or his week. In fact, he’s not sure it has been his month.

You frown at him for a moment, completely silent, and it unsettles Jake in a way he can’t explain. 

He’s always known who he is, has been so sure of it, but now, with you… It’s like you make him question everything.

“I’m going home,” you say, pushing past him and heading for the door.

He’s too dazed to move for a moment, and then he’s chasing after you, trying to recapture his earlier speed but failing. It’s gotten even more crowded in here, every available inch of space occupied with sweaty bodies. He calls your name, but you don’t turn.

By the time he catches up to you, you’re out in the parking lot.

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

You whirl on him with a murderous expression on your face. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Don’t call me that,” you say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Since you first met, the two of you have been exchanging sharp remarks. You have teased, you have taunted, you have circled around each other like wild cats around prey. Always toeing the line between flirting and fighting. Always toeing the line between foreplay and sparring. A tightrope act.

But this tips the scales decidedly. There’s nothing coquettish about it, nothing good-natured. The words have teeth, have fangs, have claws. They sink into his heart with perfect precision.

“I…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was…” He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. Tries to grin but thinks it might end up as more of a grimace. “I was saying hello.”

You shake your head before he’s finished his sentence. “No, you weren’t. You were ruining my night. You always… you always have to ruin my nights.”

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

“I just…” Jake realizes he might have to explain this to you. Or at least attempt to, since he doesn’t even know what his explanation would be. “That’s not a good guy.”

You glance back at the bar, and an incredulous expression spreads across your face. 

“That?” you repeat, voice rising. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

“So? I wasn’t… I wasn’t about to marry him.”

Jake’s chest feels tight. He’s breathless when he asks, “What were you going to do with him, then?”

“I was…” You shake your head suddenly, breaking off halfway through the sentence, changing course. “That’s none of your business!”

“Yeah, it is!” he protests, but he knows he’s in the wrong. Still, he can’t stop himself. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Oh my god!” You throw your hands into the air, and he’s never seen you so upset. Everything that came before now seems only like a crude imitation. This, though… this is true, genuine anger. “Stop it. He’s… he’s just a cocky pilot, you’re not that different….”

Somehow, the comparison has Jake clenching his teeth. He amends, “He’s not good for you, then.”

For a moment, your face goes slack, and he knows he’s just said the wrong thing.

“That is notyour decision,” you say, voice suddenly quiet and all the more dangerous for it. “That’s no one’s decision but my own.”

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that. 

You’ll always make your own choices. He hasn’t had a shred of an illusion to the opposite even for a moment, hasn’t even wanted it any other way. You will always go your own way.

You’re so much stronger than you realize. Going on after losing your mother. Giving up a whole life. Starting over a million miles away without family, without friends, without anything but yourself.

It’s what he admires. It’s what drives him insane.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says because it’s the truth. “You’re my friend.”

Something on your face shatters. 

“Friend,” you whisper dispassionately. “Sure.”

You rub your hand over your face, and suddenly you look so tired. All he wants is to wrap you in his arms, tug you closer, take you home. Make sure you’re okay.

“Hangman,” you say softly, almost gently. “I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can be your friend.”

And it’s fear coursing through him. Naked, unmistakable fear.

If he can’t see you again, what will he do? This new Jake, the one who’s unsure about everything unless he’s right next to you, that new Jake… what will he do?

How can he go back to how he used to be when it’s like slipping into a costume that doesn’t fit anymore?

“My name is Jake,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he needs to hear you say it. “I want you to call me Jake.”

“Stop it!” Your voice is louder again, an edge of desperation creeping into it. “Everybody else calls you Hangman, who cares if I….”

“You’re not everybody else!” It just… slips out. And then it’s out in the open, and he can’t believe he said it, doesn’t know where it came from, only knows that it’s the truth. “Not to me.”

You’re staring at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers tangled in the straps of your bag.

And you’re so beautiful, even in this empty parking lot, even in the unflattering light of the street lamps. Even with the sweat pooling at your hairline and the anger in your eyes.

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

But he’s shaking his head. He let you go once, but now… now he has to… he has to…

“You’re special,” he says, even as you’re shaking your head. “You are to me, sweetheart, you are, you….”

“You said it meant nothing,” you blurt out, then shut your mouth with an audible click of your teeth as if you wish you could clamp the words back in somehow.

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

You take a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and then you say, “That night when I told you to leave me alone. You told Coyote that this… thing between us. That it was nothing.”

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

“I… I did?” he asks, words slow, sluggish, like he’s thrusting them forward through the mud.

Your face falls. You say, voice almost a whisper, “You don’t even remember, do you?”

He wants to say no, I do, of course, I do. He wants to protest.

But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s lie to you.

Truth is, he doesn’t know at all what he said. The moments after your confrontation in the bar are shrouded in a fog of confusion for him. He was just trying to make sense of what you’d said, untangle the mess of his mind. He was just trying to save face.

It’s not nothing, he should tell you. It was never nothing.

But then, if it’s not nothing… what is it? This thing between us, you’d called it.

Jake doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t even understand why he can’t just let you go the way he usually does. He could just turn around, go back inside, find some other pretty girl, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

I think of you when I go to sleep and when I’m touching myself, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I carry you with me up into the plane, into the sky, into the clouds. I want to sit with you in bars and in restaurants and on beaches. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want, I want, I want…

There’s pain on your face, something raw, something real.

Jake can’t breathe.

“I’m leaving,” you say, and then you just stand there for a moment, looking at him almost like you expect him to say something.

He seems to have lost all ability to speak. You purse your lips, your eyes waterlogged, and then you turn on your heel and walk to the car.

Jake stands in the gravel of the parking lot until the headlights of your car have faded into the dark of the night. Then he trots back into the bar blindly, finds their now mostly deserted table at the back, and slumps into a chair.

He feels empty.

Phoenix’s face appears in his vision after what could have been five minutes or five hours, almost comically large.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Jake says, but his voice sounds like a stranger’s.

Immediately, Phoenix squats down to look at him better. “What?”

He points at his chest, where it feels like a tiger is on a rampage. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My chest.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Phoenix, I think I fucked up. Like… big time.”

Her face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. She asks, a tinge of panic edging into her voice, “Did you drink too much? Hangman?”

He shakes his head. “I think I hurt her. I don’t know, I… I think I fucked it up.”

She searches his face for a moment, and then she’s straightening up, taking Hangman by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. Her grip is like a vice around his wrist, and he yelps.

“Alright,” she says, “you’re coming with me. Now.”

Jake would have protested, but the look Phoenix gives him shuts him right up. If there’s anybody he’s ever met capable of coldblooded homicide, it’s Natasha Trace.

So he lets himself be tugged into the last corner not yet wholly occupied by people past the halfway point to intoxication.

Phoenix lets go of his wrist in favor of stemming her hands into her hips. He’s pretty sure he’ll find bruises on his skin come morning.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Jake asks, even though he has a pretty sure idea where this is going.

“Don’t… meddle, okay. You had your chance, you blew it. Let her move on.”

“It’s not…” He struggles. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Phoenix repeats. God, she really is capable of violence, he knows it, and she’s not far from resorting to it. “Are you stupid, Hangman?”

He opens his mouth, but she’s already plowing on.

“Friends don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip their clothes off and go at it in crowded bars, Jacob.”

Jacob. The last time somebody called him that was when his mom caught him trying to sneak out of the window at sixteen to go see a band with his first girlfriend. He got grounded for three weeks.

Somehow, he thinks Phoenix won’t be that merciful.

“Like… obviously you have some kind of feelings for her, but….”

He doesn’t even hear the rest of what she says. Her mouth keeps moving, but none of her words reach his ears. All he can hear is a high, whistling noise cutting clean through his eardrums.

“Hold on,” he interrupts, “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Phoenix pauses for a moment, staring at him like he’s trying to convince her the earth is flat.

“Jake,” she says - not Hangman, not Bagman, not even Jacob, and hoooh boy, he’s in for it now - slowly, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says.

Phoenix blinks. Takes a moment. Another. Then she says, almost carefully, “Jake, you can’t be that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

It’s not the first time she’s called him stupid, but it might be the first time she actually means it.

And Jake would protest, only he feels pretty stupid right about now, too.

“Please…” She touches her forehead like she has a headache and exhales loudly, slowly. “Please tell me you’re not honestly stupid enough not to know.”

“Know what?” Jake asks, and he’s never felt less like himself.

He’s in control of things. He takes risks gladly, but they’re always calculated. Things don’t just… fly under his radar.

But right now, he feels like he missed something profound.

Phoenix looks at him with what could be either pity or actual hatred.

“Jake,” she says, enunciating each word with perfect precision, “you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” he says, almost automatically, and he’s so dizzy.

Phoenix waves his words away with a quick jerk of her hand. 

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone, Jake,” she tells him. “When you’re with her, how do you feel?”

“I feel…” And he can’t believe he’s talking about this, but in a way, it makes sense. Maybe Phoenix is the only person he could ever tell this. Phoenix, who has always seen through him and all his bravado. “When I’m with her, it’s like… like I can just be myself, you know? And I want… I want to know her. Everything about her, even the bad things, but I want her to know me, too. Not just Hangman but… Jake. And I want to… I just want to be with her all the time. I want to tell her about, like, everything, even the little things that I’d never tell somebody else, and I…. When I’m with her, it doesn’t feel like I need to prove anything. It’s like I can just be. I’ve never… never felt that before.”

His voice trails off.

The irritation has bled out of Phoenix’s face, making way for something softer, smoother, something almost tender. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Bagman,” she says, voice halfway to affectionate, “you know what that means.”

For a few moments, he just breathes.

And yeah, he does. In a way, maybe he’s known for a while now, at least since the set-up, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. That it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. That it’s so much more than nothing. That it’s so much, it scares him.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t instantaneous. It crept up on him. You permeated his life in stages, and now you’re everywhere.

At first, he just thought you were pretty, thought he could get into your pants and out of your life in the span of a night. But you gave as good as you got, kept pushing back, and suddenly it was like a personal quest to get you to give in. You looked up at him on the beach behind the Hard Deck through eyes as scared as they were determined, and something shifted. Not profound yet, not significant, but the first domino to drop in a long, long, long line.

And somewhere, at some moment, he could no longer pinpoint, the game he’d played had ended, and he hadn’t even noticed. The last domino had toppled.

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

“I’m in love with her?” he says, almost a question with how his voice rises towards the tail-end of the sentence.

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him. 

“Oh God,” he says. “Then I… then I really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agrees through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I think you really did.”

+

It’s the hottest day of the year, and the aircon at the gas station breaks down.

The heat is unbearable. You stripped off your employee vest hours ago, but it barely helps. The single fan you found in the back oscillates stale air through the room.

You’re counting down the minutes until the end of your shift, until you can drive aimless circles through town just to bask in the cool of your car. Until you can drown in your own self-pity and another family-size serving of pasta and the dark thoughts swirling around you like storm clouds.

Your boss has disappeared into the back room, and it’s only five more minutes until you’re off, so you trek towards the cold drinks section and wonder if you should spend the few extra dollars on an iced tea. When the bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer, you’re still standing undecided in front of the opened fridge, letting cool air caress your face.

Phoenix is in civilian clothes, her hair released from its tight bun for the first time. It falls in glossy waves down to her shoulder blades as she smiles at you warmly.

“Hi.”

“Oh.” The sight of her makes something in your stomach clench uncomfortably. Couldn’t she have come in five minutes later? You’d have been gone by then. “Hi…”

“Penny said you’d be here.”

You blink. “You… were you looking for me?”

Phoenix nods and steps up to the register to look at the cheap sunglasses on display.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says casually.

The fear of it all creeps up on you, and then it envelopes you. You’ve been trying and failing to push it to the very back corners of your mind for the past day, keeping your hands busy in hopes it would keep your head idle. Pretending you weren’t constantly replaying last night in your head - the bar, the parking lot, the anger, and the ridiculousness of it all. Jake saying you’re special, and then not even remembering the moment he’d broken your heart. Looking helpless in a way you’d never seen before.

In the rearview mirror, growing rapidly smaller and further until he disappeared completely, Jake looked almost like a little child.

“You and Hangman had a fight,” Phoenix says, and it’s not even a question. Just a statement.

“Yeah,” you agree because it doesn’t feel like there’s much sense in arguing. And no reason to, either.

Phoenix nods and watches as you round the counter. For some reason, you feel it’s not a bad idea to get some distance between you and her for this conversation. The counter is like a barrier.

“Hangman is…” Phoenix hesitates. “Hangman is an idiot.”

“No, he isn’t.” The words are out before you can stop them, and then frustration almost makes you bite your tongue. “He… he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you hate him.”

You swallow, look away. Shrug your shoulders. “No, I… I don’t know.”

None of this matters. After last night, you’re never going to see him again.

For a long, long while, Phoenix is silent. And then she says, “He’s in love with you.”

And it should be earth-shattering, world-stops-spinning, music-stars-playing. But they’re just words.

Your heart is racing.

“He…” You shake your head. It’s a cliff, the plummet beneath you, your fingers gripping the edge for dear life. You want to believe her so very, very badly, but your common sense tells you it can’t be true. “He barely knows me.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, chuckling, then shakes her head. “I know, but… you have to understand… This is something special. I mean, this is Hangman we’re talking about… he doesn’t open up to people.”

You think about sitting side by side out on the beach. Sharing secrets before you let the waves carry them out to sea. Spilling your heart into his hands and trusting him with it. Realizing, suddenly, that he had done the same.

“I think…” Phoenix’s voice has gone very gentle. “I think you’re very similar. You and him.”

A week ago, you would have laughed at her. Just five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed her. And now…

You fall.

When you think about it, it’s not so far-fetched. Jake, up in those clouds. You, down on the ground. In the end, you’re both lonely. In the end, you’re both afraid.

“Anyway.” She smiles at you and pushes off the register. “I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Something inside you stumbles. 

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

“Yeah, we’re shipping out tomorrow morning.”

“Shipping…” Suddenly, it takes tremendous effort to breathe. “What?”

Phoenix pauses, furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t Jake tell you? About the mission?”

“What mission?”

Phoenix groans, shaking her head. “See, I told you. He really is an idiot.”

+

Jake looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. The dark bags beneath his eyes have bloomed into purplish bruising overnight, and he blinks at you almost owlishly.

 “Why weren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That’s the first thing you say to him, and it’s not at all what you were planning in the car on the way here. It slips out the moment you see him, and your voice isn’t firm or strong at all, it’s a small, fragile thing. A teacup teetering on the edge of a moving tray, about to shatter.

He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “How did you get here?”

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

Jake has rented a place on the second floor of a modern apartment complex off base. It’s so much nicer than the house you’re living in, with stairs that don’t creak, no mildew in the hallway, and locks that look like they actually work.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and you sound out of breath. It’s not even because of the stairs you just took two steps at a time. “Why weren’t you?”

Jake exhales audibly, nods once, and opens the door wider. “You wanna come inside?”

Only now do you notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung almost as low as his swim trunks were that day on the beach. Hastily, you snap your eyes away, head already spinning.

You push past him and into the apartment, careful not to touch any of his skin. Who knows what other unhinged things that might drive you to do?

His apartment is neat, tidy, clean, but that doesn’t surprise you much. It’s also obviously a rental, lacking any personal touches except for a few shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door and his Top Gun diploma and plaque displayed on a dresser. Of course Jake travels with those, you think, almost grinning. He’d never miss out on a chance to show off.

There’s an aircon blasting somewhere, and you almost crumble to your feet with gratitude.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, heading towards what you suppose to be the kitchen. “I have… water? I’d offer to make you a Mojito, but I don’t think I have any limes. Or any rum. Or any mint, so…”

“Can you…” You falter and watch as he pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the wood. “Can you just explain it to me?”

His shoulders lift and lower with his breaths. After a moment that feels endless, he turns to face you.

“Explain it to you?”

You nod. “Why you didn’t tell me. Why you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, unperturbed, but there’s something affective to the movement, something almost performative.

“After last night… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re shaking your head, jaw clenching. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? That you’re about to go on some, some… stupid top-secret mission, that you might die, that….”

He interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t matter. I’m not…”

“Of course it matters!” Your voice is shaking. “It matters! It changes… everything.”

He squints at you. “How could it change anything?”

“It… it changes things because….” You stumble, try to find the words that elude you. “Because I thought we’d have more time.”

“More time?” Something about his voice is almost hopeful. “I thought you… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He’s right. You didn’t. At least you thought you didn’t. You thought the best thing you could possibly ever do for yourself, for him, was to stay as far away from Jake Seresin as possible. In a change-your-name-and-leave-the-country kind of way.

And then Phoenix walked into that gas station, and losing him had suddenly seemed so real, had gone from a distant fever dream to reality, and you didn’t have much choice anymore. All you wanted was to see him again. All you wanted was for him to call you sweetheart, smile and flirt and tease. Even if it drove you crazy. Even if it was the last time.

“Hangman…” You shake your head, correct yourself, “Jake, I… Do you like me?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you knocked at his door, and something in his expression changes. Without hesitation, without a slither of doubt in his words, he says, “Of course. Of course, I like you.”

You have to sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from jumping several paces ahead. In your chest, your heart speeds up.

“And not just…” you pause, the word carnally already on your tongue. “It’s not that you just want to fuck me?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “No. Not at all. Yeah, sure, that’s what it was about in the beginning, but then… I just… It started changing, and I’d never felt that, and I… I think I got scared.”

“You got scared?” you ask, not unaware of the note of disbelief in your voice. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jake could ever be scared. Someone so confident, so brilliant.

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s a glimpse of the Jake you know, the one who drives you to the brink of insanity, “I’ll take that shock as a compliment.”

It’s a white-hot relief to find that he can still joke with you. That not all of the relationship you’ve built has washed away in the torrent of the last few weeks. 

“It’s just…” You look for a way to explain it. “I don’t know. You just always seemed like you had everything figured out.”

That makes him laugh, and you stare at his face scrunching up, his eyes shining. He says, “I’ve got nothing figured out. I haven’t even figured out what to eat for dinner tonight.”

You laugh. Even through all of it, he can still make you laugh. Even though nothing is resolved, even though you don’t understand any of it, he can always, always make you laugh. Even when you don’t want to. Even back when you still swore you hated him.

Jake settles down, and something darker crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is almost hesitant.

“I’ve never… I’ve just never done something like this?”

“Like this?” you ask softly. 

Neither of you has ever defined this thing between you. You’re scared now, scared he has a different idea about it. Maybe you don’t want to hear his answer, want to live just a moment longer in this fantasy where Phoenix is right, where he likes you, where he wants you the same way you want him.

Carnally, romantically, wholly. Just… all of him. The good, the bad, the worst. The parts that drive you insane with anger and the ones that drive you insane with lust. The way he can break you apart and put you back together.

If he calls you his friend again now, if he says it was nothing… You don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know that you won’t just break apart.

“Like this,” Jake repeats. “Something real.”

And your heart soars.

“Real?” you whisper, voice so quiet you think he can’t possibly have heard it.

Jake nods. “Real.”

“So it…” You trail off, shake your head, try again, “So it wasn’t nothing?”

He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And there’s none of his bravado, none of his cockiness. The armor is discarded, the mask is off, and there’s just Jake beneath it, not some hotshot pilot who’s got it all figured out, but a man, one who’s a dumbass at times and broken in so many ways and just as scared as you are.

You’ve never felt the way you feel about him before. Not once in your life.

“No,” he says, “it was never nothing to me. I’m sorry I said that. I know I hurt you, and it’s not an excuse, but I just… I just said it because I got scared. Because you dumped me, and honestly, I was hurt, and I liked you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had all of these doubts, and I didn’t understand it, but… It was never nothing, sweetheart. It was… everything.”

He shrugs, something on his face that tells you he’s embarrassed by his own earnestness, uncomfortable with it, but your ears are ringing with that word. You can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face - broad and genuine and a relief after all these days in that prison of your room. Like stepping into the light after all the darkness. Like setting foot into airconditioned climates after hours out in the Californian heat.

And Jake smiles back, like a reflex, like a magnet. If you move, I move.

He’s made a step, and now it’s your turn.

So gather all your courage, that slithery, dodgy thing that’s been eluding you for months, and you grab it by the neck and thrust it forward, say, “Jake, I think I’m in love with you.”

His face goes completely blank, and with a sudden, horrid lurch, you think that maybe you’ve miscalculated, maybe it’s too much, maybe…

You backpedal, “I know it’s way too early, and I don’t really know you, and maybe in a month I find out you don’t like peanut butter, and I can never speak to you again, but this has never happened to me before, Jake, and I’m terrified, I’m so scared, but I just know I wanna be with you, I wanna figure it out together, and I hope you feel the same way, because, because I… I think I…”

“I like peanut butter,” Jake interrupts you. When you blink at him through the haze your rambling has plunged you into, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The sort of grin you have never seen him give to anyone but you.

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

“In fact,” he says, moving closer to you, “I love peanut butter.”

“Yeah?” 

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, as you tip your face up, as your heart pounds, as your vision blurs, “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

And you don’t want to start crying, but you can’t help it. They just well up, like all those emotions you’ve been swallowing down for months now, longer than you’ve known him really, have finally ballooned into something too big for your body to hold, looking for any way out.

Jake frowns, wiping at a teardrop from your cheek like he’s trying to get an annoying stain off his laptop screen. Only like… a little gentler.

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

You laugh, a water, bubbling sound. “No, it’s… it’s not… it’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, looking down at you with his eyebrows raised way too high for it to be anything than exaggerated. “I confess my love, and you think it’s fine? Jesus, romance really is dead.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already, Bagman, or I’m gonna strangle you, I swear I will, I’m not….”

You don’t get to finish.

Kissing Jake isn’t at all like you imagined. He’s soft but firm, and yet you can tell, underneath it all, that he’s almost nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know at all how to proceed now that it’s actually real. That it means something.

All that cockiness melted away.

It’s so strange, but suddenly you realize that maybe, just for a moment, you’re going to have to take over. So you wrap your arms around his waist, draw him closer, draw him in, open your mouth beneath his and sigh into it all.

Jake comes willingly, follows your pace easily, smoothly, casually. The way he does everything. Ready to take anything you throw his way.

Finally, something inside of you seems to whisper. There’s an ache, a yearning, something that swells inside of you, grows bigger and stronger by the minute. You’ve never wanted someone this bad. It’s finally happening.

All that waiting, all that wishing and hoping and dreaming… It was worth it, you think. All of it.

His hands are warm on your cheeks, and they feel large, in a way that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are a little chapped, but he tastes sweet as if he’s been eating chocolate. He angles your face back a little more, his tongue running along the seam of your mouth, his fingers clenching into your hair, and your heart seizes as you think, suddenly, how close you came to losing this, to never having it at all, to missing out on it, and it’s so… it’s so…

You pull back when the intrusive thought inserts itself into the moment, when the anxiety makes your bones itch, look at him and say in a voice that seems to come from miles, worlds, universes away, “You’re not going to die, are you?”

It’s all you can think about - your mother fading away, flowers raining on an open grave, and being alone, alone, alone…

But Jake just smiles, rubs his thumb once along the line of your cheekbone, and says, “And miss out on getting to kiss you, sweetheart? Not a chance.”

And you haven’t belonged anywhere in so long. Have been so lonely, so broken, for so long you thought you’d never feel any different again. But here, right now, with him solid before you, with the knowledge that it’s real, it’s true, it’s not a game, and it’s not in your head, it doesn’t feel so horrible.

Because Jake knows you. Not just the pretty parts, but the ugly ones too.

How you push people away. How your fear paralyzes you sometimes, makes you mean and closed-off, and makes you lie. To him, to yourself, to everyone.

Jake has seen it, and he’s wanted you regardless.

And maybe that’s just it… how he can calm that anxiety with a word. Not banish it, not erase it, but silence that nagging, gnawing, horrible voice you’ve carried with you for so long. Make it bearable.

You’re going to die if you don’t have him. And yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but who cares? If the past few weeks have shown anything, it’s that you and Jake aren’t just good with the dramatics… you excel at them.

“I did it,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret the words, clamp your mouth shut and feel the blood rush up into your cheeks.

Jake draws back a little to get a better look at you. “Done what?”

And you could kiss him for taking it all in stride. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

Actually, you could kiss him just for… well, existing. But his ego is big enough already; he really doesn’t need to know all that.

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly. 

“Care to be a little more specific, sweetheart?” he says gently. “I think we’ve established I don’t have the best memory.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers going to trace a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, and there’s just so much of him, so much golden skin and so much muscle and so much confidence, and you’re going to fall apart, you know you are, you’re not going to survive this. “I touched myself. The way you asked.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, an exhale, but you know he heard you. Because the reaction is visceral - fingers tightening where they have slid from your face to your waist, chest undulating with the sharp intake of breath, shoulders stiffening.

Nerves make it impossible to look at him. What if he doesn’t like it, what if…

But, as always, somehow, Jake seems to know what you need. Seems to understand without ever having to say it that now, you want this to be something else. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, fingers hooking beneath your chin and turning it upwards, “look at me.”

And you do. It’s not like you have a choice, your body reacting before your mind even registers the words.

Right now, you think, Jake could tell you to jump off a bridge, and you’d go find the nearest one for a dive.

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, hodded, an intent shining in them that scares you as much as it excites you.

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

You nod, too scared your voice might fail you to try and use it.

“So, are you ready to answer my question, then?”

You know what he means right away, which is just a testament to your memory being decidedly better than his.

Instantly, the words ghost through your mind again, wrap around you like vapor. Have you been a good girl?

“I don’t…” You clear your throat as Jake steps even closer, walks you backward until your back hits the wall, until his hips are inches from yours, until he’s crowding against you like he wants to climb into your skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s so close now, and it’s different, the whole air is different. Charged now, darker. Hot even with the aircon running.

Maybe you’re going to faint. You feel like you’re going to faint.

“I think,” Jake says, voice lowered into a mumble, “you know exactly what I mean.”

He braces both hands on the wall by your head and cages you in. It’s so reminiscent of the night out behind the shack that you would have laughed if you hadn’t been scared to move even a muscle.

Not trusting your voice, you just shake your head. And it’s an act because by now, even you have understood that that’s half the fun in this game of power Jake and you have been playing from the very moment. But you also just want to hear him say it again, have been dreaming of those words on his lips for weeks now.

Jake hums, and his breath washes over your face. There’s barely an inch between the two of you now - you can’t even think anymore.

“I know you’re smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiles, just for a moment, and it’s sweet, a little dopey, and so decidedly out of place that you realize he knows just as well as you do that you’re pretending. That he appreciates it as much as you do.

“Alright,” he whispers finally, leans closer to run his mouth over the arch of your jaw, lips barely a whisper of a touch as you strain into it, breath catching in your throat. “Sweetheart… have you been a good girl for me?”

It’s the rasp in his voice and those words and the agonizing whisper of separation between your bodies. It’s the lack and the promise and that tight, hot coil of want that writhes in the pit of your stomach.

With a gasp, you clench your thighs together in search of relief.

“I don’t know,” you say because, truthfully, you don’t. You don’t even know your own name anymore.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

“Yes,” you say, immediately, voice almost a whine, head spinning, “yes, Jake, I’ve been a good girl for you.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, entirely unaffected, face blank as he moves to card a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you think about?”

He asks it almost casually like he’s asking about the weather or your shopping list and not just which sexual fantasies you got out of the spank bank the last time you got off.

“I…” And his hand begins tracing a long, long line from your cheekbone down to your mouth, dragging across your jaw and onto your jugular. And there, just once, he presses his thumb into your pulse point. It’s the barest hint of pressure, the illusion of the rest of his fingers wrapping around your throat, but your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. 

It draws the truth right out of you.

“You,” you gasp, “I thought about you.”

Jake acknowledges it with a nod, but there’s something to be said about his eyes flicking to your mouth, about the hand still braced against the wall by your head clenching.

“What part of me?”

You want to answer, but he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your throat where his hand had been just a moment ago, and for a second, you lose all ability to speak.

“I… Your mouth?”

“My mouth?” Jake repeats, words muffled against your skin.

Pressed flat against the wall, unable to move, with your heart pounding a patter against your ribcage, you can do nothing but nod. “Yeah.”

Jake hums, and the sound vibrates through your body. By now, you must be soaking through the front of your shorts, you think.

“And where did I put it?” he asks softly, drawing back to look at you.

And there’s such… hunger on his face, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slack, and it’s going to kill you, death on impact, you’re not going to make it.

But that’s fine. What a way to go, anyway.

“On… on me,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, and it’s so… mean. You like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls. “Be specific.”

“I don’t know.” 

It’s all you can say. Who cares what you thought about that night? He’s here right now, so can’t you just do it for real instead of talking about your fantasy like this?

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “You’re not that dumb.”

And it could be crossing a line - should cross a line, maybe. You never would have thought it possible that you could be into something like this, but you are. It sets you off in a way you wouldn’t have expected, makes you weak in the knees and dizzy, and you want him on you, want him everywhere, want him more than you’ve ever wanted him before.

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

When it came down to the wire, you know you’re the one with the finger on the lever anyway. The moment you say no, stop, he’ll listen. So you’ve always been the one with the final decision.

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

“I…” You have to close your eyes, swallow against the lump in your throat. “You put it between my legs.”

He squints.

“Here?” he asks, and his hand lands on the inside of your thigh, about two inches off from where you want him.

It startles you enough that you jump, a sound of surprise falling from your mouth. And then he applies pressure, squeezes the meat of your thigh once, and you’re moaning, eyes widening with the sensation of it all.

Jake grins.

Bastard, you think, but then that thought goes out the window too, disappears in the fog that has descended on you.

“You imagined my mouth here?”

You shake your head, whimper, tip your face back and open your mouth like you can compel him to kiss you just like that.

“Be a good girl and tell me, yeah?” he whispers, but there’s something strained to his voice, something glazed to his eyes.

“No, I…” But you can’t say it. Not like this. It’s still too much, and it frustrates you, makes your eyes burn, makes your breath hitch into a gasp like you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You whimper, “Jake.”

“Shh,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then finally, because in the end, he always does, Jake takes pity on you.

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

The sound that escapes you is pathetic, barely more than a whimper, and before you know it, you’re nodding as you slump against him.

“Tell me,” he says into your ear, hand still on your thigh, mouth still against your cheek, his breaths fast and loud, “I want her you say it.”

And if you weren’t sandwiched between him and the wall, if he weren’t holding you up, you know your legs would have given out.

“You…” You swallow and take a deep breath, stell yourself, say, “You put your mouth on my pussy.”

And he groans, a loud, sudden sound that seems to burst from him unbidden like he just couldn’t hold it back. 

You’re almost stunned by it, by the discovery that he’s just as affected by all this as you are, that he wants you, too, and it does your head in, makes the world spin, makes you clutch at him a little tighter.

“You like that?” he asks, something almost frantic to his words now. “Having your pussy eaten? Does that get you off, having a tongue in your tight little cunt?”

You can’t help it. You mewl, drop your head into the crook of his neck, and wish you could stay there. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, feel it soaking through the fabric. Every move has the seam of your denim shorts pressing against your cunt, sends shocks of lightning through you, but it’s not enough, not enough, never enough.

Your heart is beating in your throat, and the embarrassment takes a moment to set in amidst the chaos of your sensations, but it comes. Eventually, the way it always does.

“I…” You falter, squeeze your eyes shut, push your face further into his neck, so grateful he can’t see you, and then you whisper, as if speaking it out loud could somehow make it more real, “I’ve never… you know… no one’s ever….” 

Instantaneously, Jake’s fingers tighten against your thigh, and then they tangle in your hair, and he pulls your head back with enough force that you can feel it, that it travels in shock waves through your scalp, all the way down to your toes.

He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Honey,” he says, and there’s something serious to the word beneath all that desire.

And you have trouble concentrating because honey, he called me honey, and your chest is so full of that feeling you only get with him, the one that makes you feel that everything will be alright, that nothing will hurt you, that you’ll be just fine.

“Honey,” he repeats, “do you trust me?”

And you don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Not even for an instant.

“Yes,” you say, and mean it. Mean it like you’ve never meant anything.

And Jake smiles, smooths your hair back, rubs his nose against yours. And then he said, “Would you let me? Would you let me put my mouth on you, would you let me eat your pussy until your legs are shaking? Would you trust me with that, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl?”

You’re going to disintegrate. It can’t be possible for one person to want another so much. It just can’t be possible.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

He makes a choked sound, and then he steps back suddenly, tugging you with him by your wrists, and you stumble against his chest, let him guide you through the apartment blindly. It’s a wonder your knees don’t give in as you stumble against him like a fawn, as he pulls you like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” you ask, head spinning in rapid circles. Like you just got off a merry-go-round.

“I’m not going to eat you out against a wall for the first time,” Jake says.

And it would be almost romantic if it weren’t so filthy, such a quick turn-around that it could give you whiplash.

“Oh.” You blink as he pulls you into his bedroom. “I thought the wall was sort of hot.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

But then he turns, lets go of your wrists, leans down to press a quick, soft kiss to your mouth that leaves you chasing after him.

Affectionately, he brushes his fingers over your cheek and says, “I’ll do it right, honey, I promise I’ll make it so good, you’ll wonder how you ever went without it. I’ll have you coming for days.”

The thing is… you don’t even doubt it.

Jake has always been able to back up all that talk. It’s one of the things you hate about him. It’s one of the things you love about him.

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

It’s so much harder when he makes you do things because that’s when the anxiety gets behind the wheel, when the doubt creeps in. But in the end, that strange instinct to listen to him, to trust him, always wins out.

You pull your shirt over your head, and you can’t look at him.

“Shorts, too,” he orders and then, almost like an afterthought, adds, “and your bra.”

Your hands are shaking so hard that you struggle with the clasp of the bra, the button on the shorts, but finally, you free yourself of both, and then you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked except for a pair of panties so wet you think you’re probably gonna have to throw them out come morning, and you’re shaking even though you feel like you’re burning up, like a fever in your blood, like a yearning in your bones.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and you want to cover yourself, but you can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there as you feel his eyes on you like hot irons, as you stare at the cologne bottles on the dresser.

What if he doesn’t like me? you think, mouth dry. What if I’m ugly.

And then Jake says, “Sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re going to cry.

“Now get on the bed and spread your legs so I can get my mouth on that gorgeous cunt.”

You’re going to have a stroke, and then you’re going to cry.

You do as he says, scooting backward on the mattress until you’re far enough up the bed to put your head on one of the pillows. Jake’s sheets are a dark blue, soft cotton, and they smell like him, like his cologne. Cinnamon and spice. The scent wraps around you, envelopes you. You clench around nothing.

If this is what his smell alone does to you, how are you going to survive his mouth on you?

The mattress dips under his weight, but you can’t look at him, keep your head on the ceiling instead. It’s all too much. It’s not nearly enough.

And then his face appears above you, and his smile is almost goofy as he leans to kiss you once, twice, three times. They’re just soft pecks, but you open your mouth and pull him down to you until you’re chest to chest, until you can feel the weight of him.

He slides his tongue into your mouth with a groan, pulls you closer with a hand on your hip. And it’s skin to skin, his palm hot and heavy, and you want him all over you, want to cover yourself in him, every inch. It’s very wet, very warm, too much spit in both your mouths, but you don’t even care, not when his teeth nip at your lower lip, when he pants against you, when it makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart right here, right now.

Finally, you get your hands on him too, on all that skin, let them run across his chest because you’re so drunk on the feeling of it all you forget even to think if you’re allowed to do this. His heart is racing beneath your palm, just as quick as yours is, and that’s a reassuring thought, that he’s affected by it all too.

Jake does something with his tongue, something that has your insides twisting, clenching like a fist, and you moan into his mouth, wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up, desperate for some kind of friction, of relief, not above humping him if that’s what it takes.

You feel it immediately - Jake is rock hard against your center, against the quick but firm pressure of your cunt, and it makes you squeak the exact moment it makes him choke.

“Jesus,” he grunts, fingers wrapping around your wrists and pushing them back into the pillow, pulling you off him and forcing you down into the mattress with a force as gentle as it is firm. “Stop distracting me, sweetheart.”

He draws back until he kneels between your legs, looming above you. All the lamps are off, but the blinds aren’t drawn, and moonlight spills like liquid mercury across the bedroom floor, across his skin. Inevitably, you think of that night out on the beach behind the Hard Deck, the light tangled in his hair, a study in blue.

“I think I remember telling you to spread these,” he says casually, tapping a single finger against your kneecap.

You want to tease him, want to say something about how his memory seems to be working pretty well of a sudden, but your brain won’t cooperate.

Instead, you do as you’re told, even as you feel like it might kill you, and spread your legs further.

Immediately, Jake’s eyes go to what lies between them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice gone husky, “you’re so wet, honey.”

If you look at him, you think your heart is going to fail, so you just keep your eyes on the ceiling. Unlike your own, it’s completely free of water stains, and that’s just about the last coherent thought you have.

Jake leans forward, maneuvering around until his chest is pressed to the mattress, one hand on your thigh, the other spread on the sheets, and then his mouth is on you.

And okay. No more teasing then. Straight to business.

Over the fabric of your panties, his tongue moves against your center, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes, open your mouth even as no sound escapes. He just mouths at you for a moment, inhales deeply like he’s trying to smell you, and the thought sets you off, has you clenching your teeth, curling your toes. Then he presses a kiss to your clit through your cotton, and you’re seeing stars. 

“Oh,” you say, and he laughs, moves away to hook his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties, pulls them off unceremoniously, helps you lift your hips. They become another piece of fabric added to the pile of your clothes when he throws them over his shoulder without looking, eyes focused only on your center.

And then he leans forward, and you’re bracing yourself, steeling yourself, but nothing could ever have prepared you for the first stroke of his tongue through your folds. It has your hips rising, hed rearing back into the pillow, mouth shaping a word that never escapes it.

Jake’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and he moans once, and then he really goes for it. Burying his whole face in it, opening his mouth like he wants to devour you, tongue wet and wide and hot on your cunt, teeth just grazing your clit as he licks broad stripes from your hole up to the apex. He sets a leisured, moderate pace like he’s got all the time in the world, but you’re pretty sure yours is running out. Five more minutes of this, and you’re a goner, and it’s all too much but not enough, and you want to get away at the same time that you want him closer, and your head is spinning, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening in the sheets.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you all but keen, fingers flying to his hair, his shoulders, your stomach. You can’t settle, can’t stop jerking, have no control over your own body anymore. All over the place, all over him, mind a mess and heart a mess and body a mess, and you can’t believe nobody’s ever done this to you before, and how have you ever lived without the feeling of Jake’s mouth on your pussy and you’re going to rip your own heart out and…

And then he catches your wrists in one hand, forcing you to look at him where he’s barely lifted his head from between your thighs. And you freeze, all the world narrowing down to nothing but his face, his voice, just him, right there with you.

He says, “I got you. I’m taking care of you, pretty girl.”

Above the sheets, by your hips, he laces his fingers through yours.

When his mouth meets your cunt again, there’s no restraint left. He fucks his tongue inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling back, your legs straining to spread even further, to the point of pain when your muscles protest, but you need him closer, deeper, harder, and you’re so empty, aching with it. The only thing grounding you are his hands, the only point of you that seems connected to reality as the rest goes floating into space, reduced to nothing but a conduit for pleasure, for want, for yearning.

His tongue goes from your hole to your clit, one hand untangling from your death grip so he can slide a finger into you. He’s gentle about it, careful almost, but there’s no point, you’re so wet he goes without resistance, not an ounce of tension in any of your muscles. You couldn’t tense up if you tried, everything gone liquid and loose and lax. 

And it’s good, so good, so…

Jake pulls off you for a moment, breath panting and hot against you, just to check, “Did you do this too? When you thought about me, did you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

And it takes you a moment because you can’t remember if you have a mouth, can’t remember how to use it, and when you finally do, anyways, your voice is like a foreign sound, something from a different planet.

“I… tried, but it… I can’t… angle’s all wrong, it doesn’t….” He crooks his finger, and you sob, moment of dubious coherency gone, and then there’s only one word left in you. “Jake.”

And he grins, always so cocky, always so sure, adds a second finger, and buries his face into your cunt again. You keen.

It’s so wet, all of it. Your pussy and his tongue and his fingers fucking through it, fucking in with squelching sounds that should be embarrassing but make you burn hotter instead, your bodies slick with sweat, and you’re pretty sure there’s saliva dripping from your mouth, but you can’t stop it, can’t help it, can’t do anything but hold on and take it. Everything he’s giving you.

And you remember your ex trying to finger you in that bedroom covered in Twilight posters, eons ago, nothing but discomfort and awkwardness, and god, if this is what it should have been like that you want a refund, you think you’re owed compensation from the universe because that’s not fair, people were feeling this while you were telling yourself five minutes of rutting against your own finger on your clit was enough to satisfy you?

“You taste so good,” Jake groans into your cunt, “could eat this pretty pussy all day. Could stay right here forever, with my tongue in my gorgeous girl.”

And it’s almost scary, the way it builds, how high it goes, how tight it winds you. The precipice gapes below you.

“Jake,” you whimper, gasp, thrash, “Jake, wait, I’m gonna….”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, voice vibrating down into the darkest parts of you. “I’m here, honey, you can let go now, come on, sweetheart, I wanna see, I wanna taste….”

And you’re crying, cheeks and chin and neck wet with the tears, and you feel pathetic, but you can’t help it, free hand going to tangle in his hair, holding where you want him as he moves his fingers just so, grazing something inside you, tongue circling around your clit with just enough speed, just enough pressure.

“Please,” you sob, terrified he’s going to change up, and it’s going to get away from you, terrified he’ll stop. “Please. Please.”

It becomes a mantra, a litany, and then he squeezes your hand and plunges his fingers deep, curls them, and you’re toppling over that edge, hurtling, spinning, falling.

It’s bone-deep. It curls around you, it breaks you apart. A rope snapping. A coil unraveling.

You feel it everywhere, in your core and your toes and your fingers. A tightening and then the breathless, heart-stopping release of it all racing through you. It has you arching off the mattress, fingers tightening in his hair, legs trembling with tremors you can’t control, howling his name.

It seems to go on forever, his fingers fucking you through it, his tongue stroking you through it, and there’s nothing in your head, nothing but that blinding, strung-out pleasure.

Jake just keeps going until you push his head away with force, overstimulated to the point that pain shoots up like tiny pinpricks. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open.

“I don’t know who those guys who didn’t eat your pussy were, sweetheart,” he says from between your legs, mouth still slick with you, eyes still dark, voice still breathless, hands still on your thighs, “but they must have been the biggest idiots in the history of mankind to miss out on that.”

You can’t answer. You’re afraid you might never be able to speak ever again.

Jake crawls up the bed until he can stretch out beside you, and finally, you can close your legs, draw them up to almost to your stomach and angle them away. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, more exhausted than you’ve ever been.

“You okay, honey?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss you. You can’t even reciprocate, just stare at him.

“Uhm,” you say.

He laughs at you, and if you could move your arms, you’d hit him. As is, you just blink at him, dazed, confused, still caught up in the intensity of it.

“That good, huh?” He grins like the cat that got the cream and wraps an arm around you, pulls you against him. There’s something reassuring to the feel of him, the slight damp of his skin and the solid muscle against the mush of yourself.

And then, voice suddenly so much softer, he says, “You did so well, honey. My best girl.”

Maybe you shouldn’t like it so much, but you can’t help but beam, cling to him.

“Next time,” he says, voice back to the levity of his pride, “I think you should sit on my face.”

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

“Your… face?” you repeat, hesitantly, unsure if you’ve misheard.

Shameless, he nods. 

“Don’t worry about suffocating me or any of that shit, it’d be an honorable way to go down.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, and then you laugh, and he laughs with you, and it’s like somebody poured liquid sunlight into your chest.

But then you shift against him, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly you’re not just aware that you’re lying in a puddle of what is essentially your own slick and Jake’s spit, that you’re still completely naked, but even more pressingly that he’s still hard.

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Jake, who has stilled your movement with a hand on your hip, clears his throat. He has a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… go to the bathroom.”

And he means it, is about to get out of bed when you hold onto him, wrap yourself around him like an octopus, shove your face into his chest, so you don’t have to look at him as you say, “No, I… I want it.”

Jake freezes.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t have to….”

“I want to,” you interrupt. And it’s clumsy rather than sexy, but you reach for his sweatpants, palm at him through the fabric, breath catching when you notice the dark stain of pre-cum on the front. “I want you inside of me.”

It’s so much more forward than you’ve ever been, so out of character, but it feels good to be honest, to tell the truth, to articulate what you’ve been dreaming of for months.

Jake groans loudly as you begin to rub at his length, drops back against the mattress without any protest.

“You want it?” he asks, searching your face as if he’s looking for any trace of a lie, of hesitancy.

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

Jake clenches his eyes shut for a moment, exhales a shaky breath, and then he nods, leans over to open a drawer on his nightstand, and gets out a condom.

And he’s saying, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart, but you barely hear him.

Because there it is, right on his nightstand. Front cover up, a gas station receipt shoved as a bookmark between the pages about a quarter into it.

Emma by Jane Austen.

“You… you’re reading it?” you say, interrupting whatever other filth was pouring from it, and Jake blinks, follows your gaze, pauses.

And then he has the audacity to blush. 

“Well,” he says, “you said it was your favorite, and I wanted to… I don’t usually read much, so it’s… a lot, but I think I get it, why you like it I mean, and….”

You pull him into a kiss, and you pour all of yourself into it. All the gratitude and the longing and the love. Everything you feel for him, right there, condensed into the slide of your mouth over his.

When you pull away, his eyes have gone dark again.

“I like you,” he says, and it should be bumbling, awkward, but it’s beautiful instead. “So much.”

You giggle. 

“I like you too,” you say.

From the first moment, Jake and you were planets circling each other. And now, finally, you’ve locked into orbit.

Jake rolls over you, kisses you again, only it’s even filthier this time, reminiscent of what he did between your legs, and within moments it’s gathering in your stomach again, growing once more, and you’re wet and wanting and pliant beneath him.

He pulls back to finally get rid of his sweatpants - how weird that he was still wearing them this whole time, you think - moves to roll on the condom, and you look down at his cock, open your mouth and… falter.

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming. 

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off. 

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon. 

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

it's classified | b.r.b. (2/2)

<<<read part 1 here>>>

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: what was supposed to be a simple one-night stand during the training for your upcoming movie turns into an epic strangers-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-lovers adventure… 10,000 feet in the air.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: language, more behind-the-scenes nerdiness, mention of menstrual cramps, La La Land reference lol, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff, smut [dirty talk, oral (f), fingering, overstimulation, protected sex], rooster is secretly a softboi, reader is so stubborn skjdhfksjdhf

notes: here we are, part 2! they're my new precious baby can't you tell? please join me in this dumpster fire. reblog, send me asks, talk to me bc a bitch is horny, okay???? happy reading!

✨ i do not have a taglist. follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

iv. Jimi Hendrix — Purple Haze / John Mayer — Do You Know Me

The first couple of weeks are rough. The flight training is hell —even when the G-Force doesn’t feel as bad and you start to enjoy the view of the mountains and the sea and everything else in between, you’re still locked in the box with Rooster. Day in, day out.

The only reprieve in this pre-production is the filmmaking workshop. Not only will you be flying in the actual jet, but you will also have to handle all the technical aspects while you’re in the air. Sound and makeup and props and cinematography… everything that has to do with filmmaking —and nothing with Rooster. At least on those days, you get a break from his insufferable mug.

“Morning.” The man in question walks into the classroom in his khakis, fitted to his form, taking the empty seat right in front of you.

“Um, what are you doing here?” You lean forward over your desk, whispering quietly. Careful not to raise any attention.

He turns around, resting his elbow on your desk, and answers quite matter-of-factly, “They asked us to come in. Something about making sure everyone’s on the same page to get the lighting and the framing and the… everything right.” 

Like clockwork, the door opens again, and this time Lieutenants Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia and Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin stroll in, deep in conversation with the movie’s leading man John Cho. They take the front row seats, greeting the class with a brief nod.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “That’s… great. Welcome to filmmaking.”

“Happy to be here.” To everyone, it sounds like ordinary passing niceties. But you know better. You hear the hint of sarcasm in his voice. The pettiness of making your day absolute dogshit with his presence.

The two of you exchange a tight, wry smile as Scott, the first AD, opens up the session. There’s no snarky remark, no quippy comebacks. Not when anyone else is around —or the comm lines are open. Neither of you would risk being less than professional in the workplace. No matter how much you detest each other. No matter if your effort to deter each other from this project only seems to only bring you closer together.

As the old saying goes, you make plans and Kevin laughs and assigns Rooster as your designated pilot.

Which is why you’re now strapped into the cockpit with four cameras in your face, a makeup pouch hidden in your flight suit, and a notebook scribbled with cheat sheets of instructions and technical notes. Hovering above the California mountains, 1,000 feet in the air.

“So what’s our plan here, Houdini?” Rooster says over the comms.

He damn well knows what the plan is. Whether he asks to test you or let you take the wheel as ‘in-flight director’, you have no idea. “I need the sun on my 2 o’clock. When I call ‘action’, we’re gonna head north and floor it while I say my line, and then we do a hammerhead.”

“Up or down?”

So he was testing you. “If we go down, we’ll crash,” you say it like it’s obvious —because it is. But you confirm anyway, “Hammerhead up, Rooster.”

He chuckles. “Copy that. Ready when you are.”

Today, of all days, you’re not gonna let Rooster rain on your parade. You stare at the panel before you, giddy as you press the mic button, “Sound speed…”you announce with a clap to mark the track. “Camera rolling…” you straighten in your seat a little. “Let’s go. First take of the shoot. Scene 49, shot 13, take 1. And…” You take a deep breath, and hear Rooster doing the same. Inhale… exhale…

“Action!”

You’ve played characters which transformed your appearance and mannerisms in small, intense dramas set in Butt Fuck Midwest. You’ve acted opposite tennis balls and green screens in those movies with more money than sense. You’ve been through the wringer. But never in your life would you have imagined playing a pilot on the back of an actual, accelerating F-18 over real terrain.

And everything else falls away. There’s just you and the sky and the story.

No more airsickness. No more nerves. No more games with Rooster. 

Even he seems to understand that. Since that day, he’s gotten off of your back a little bit when you’re in the air. Things aren’t in great terms, by any means, but at least there’s no backhanded remarks. None of the usual unease. The two of you just stayed in your own lanes.

“We got you, Trickshot. I got the bandit on my sight. Locking target…” your voice is calm, even at top speed. “Oh, shit, shit, shit!” The aircraft does an aileron roll, maneuvering a full 360-degree. You let the cameras roll for a moment, taking off your mask as you breathe a sigh of relief as the jet goes upright again. 

“Nice,” you hear Rooster say under his breath as soon as you call ‘cut.’

“What?” 

“Nothing.” There’s a slight pause, and you can imagine the side-eye he always does. “Reset?”

“Yeah. Let’s… do it again.”

The butterflies in your stomach are pleasant, and you’re sure it’s the adrenaline from pulling sustained G’s on low terrain. Not so much from things… easing up between you and Rooster.

Never from Rooster. 

But things do ease up. You’re not quite friends, and at this point you’re not expecting to be, but things dissipate into a more… civil acquaintance. A working professional relationship. The kind where you give each other opinions about the work.

“I like the previous one better,” he casually comments during a quiet lull one day.

You’re in the middle of adjusting your helmet for continuity, and you stop dead in your tracks. “You were paying attention?”

“‘Course. I had to.”

You’re not sure which one is more surprising; that he’s listening in on all the takes you’ve done, or that he’s right. Come to think of it, it’s probably the first time you’ve actually agreed on something. And it’s… not too shabby. 

Not too shabby at all. 

But of course, not every day is a good day. Some days, like today, you’re filming an intense dogfighting scene while having the most excruciating period cramps. You’ve taken some ibuprofen earlier, but either it has worn off or the cramps multiply with the G-Force, but it doesn’t seem to be working —if any, you seem to be in even more pain.

“So, from the top?”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve pointed out how he’s using performance lingo now. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec.” A deep breath as you brace yourself. And another. “Alright, let me just set it up real quick —” a squeezing pain shoots up your spine and you let out a strangled grunt.

“All good back there?”

“Mm-hm. Just… just cramps is all.”

“Stretch your legs. Try wiggling your toes.”

You chuckle ruefully. “It’s not that kind of cramps.”

“What —oh. Oh. Shit. Um… Do we —do we need medic? Do we need to land?”

“What, and leave your boy Hangman hanging?” you chuckle wryly, throwing a two-finger salute at the pilot in the jet hovering next to yours. Behind you is Kevin in the Cinejet, ready to shoot the dogfight sequence from a bird’s eye view. There’s no way in hell you’re tapping out now. “Nah, it’s cool. Let’s do it again.”

“Right…” the hesitation is palpable in his response, but he goes along anyway. “But you head over to the infirmary when we’re done, okay?”

You almost forget how caring he can be, even amidst the chaos and the simmering animosity. He doesn’t pull back on the aerobatics, although he’s a lot steadier in between takes—even more so than usual. He follows up on that promise as soon as you hop out, and tightly offers to help you. You wave him off, saying it’s fine I’m fine, gritting your teeth as the muscles inside you contract painfully. He notices, undoubtedly, but he gives you space and lets you walk yourself to the med bay. It’s… sweet.

What you don’t expect is seeing him in the basecamp hangar just an hour later. Sitting in a quiet corner, out of the crew’s way —a bottle of water in one hand and his phone in the other. Hair mussed up from the helmet, a furrow between his eyebrows as he focuses on his screen.

You’re on the way to the video village, but you can’t help making a beeline towards him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to fly John out.”

“I let Fanboy take the wheel,” he looks up at you and immediately scoots over, and you try not to think about the row of empty seats around him. It’s only polite to take the seat he’s inadvertently offering you. “It’s not everyday he gets to fly Hikaru Sulu himself.”

“Oh, that’s right. He’s a Star Trek fan.” You fondly recall the unmistakable font on the pilot’s helmet.

He nods. “You, uh, you good?”

“Better now.” You lean back against the chair, and tilt your head to the side like you’re letting him in on a secret. “I don’t know if you’ve ever pulled 7 G’s while you’re bleeding from your core and your insides are tearing itself apart, but that’s… an experience.”

You swear you hear him smile a little. “I don’t think I have. But you held up really well.”

“Thank you,” as soon as it comes out of your mouth, you realize it’s not just for his compliment. Or for caring.

For everything. 

“Nah, it’s cool.” He seems to get it, if the pensive looks on his face was any indication.

“I know things weren’t always easy between us. We got off on the wrong foot —”

“Oh, I think we got off on the right foot,” he corrects you, somewhat amused, “until you stepped on it, steel-toed boots and all, broke the bones.”

You see the mischievous glint in his hazel eyes—the one that goes along with his corny one-liners— and you laugh. “Come on, will you let me have my moment here? Shit.”

He laughs with you, quiet but warm. It’s probably the first time you shared anything more than a gruff hmph in months, and it feels… nice.

“Okay, okay. You were saying?”

You turn to look at him —really look— and suddenly you’re overcome with the need to hold his hand. You don’t, of course, but you settle for the next best thing. “It’s just… I’m glad that we work well together. Despite everything.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, it’s…” he brushes it off. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before either, and it wouldn’t have been the same without you.” His eyes find yours, and you question, is he still talking about flying? “You’re really good up there —I mean, I wouldn’t know shit about acting or directing, but you’re… tough. And efficient.”

It’s a funny compliment, but you take it. It puts you at ease, knowing that neither of you has a good enough grasp of the situation to act cool. “Thanks, Roo-Roo.”

He scrunches his nose, but his smile is palpable. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay,” you chuckle.

“I’m serious, Houdini. It’s bad for my rep.”

“Sure it is.”

There’s no edge to his warning, just as there’s no stiffness in your answer. It’s a light, familiar banter that the two of you so easily fall back into. For a second, you wonder how you’ve gone this long without it. It’s one of the best things about him. This light, affable air around him, whether you’re tumbling in his sheets or flying in his jet.

(Never the former. Not anymore.)

A jet taxis back into the tarmac, fresh from a flight, and the two of you watch John and Fanboy hop out of the plane, talking animatedly as they walk back into the hangar. It warms your heart to see that, knowing full well the buzz, the adrenaline of a flight well done yourself.

“You were right, by the way.” you nudge Rooster’s knee with yours.

“Hm?” He makes no effort to move his leg, and for a nice, quiet moment, you’re just sitting knee-to-knee. Comfortable. As intimate as it can be. 

And with the orange sky sprawling outside, you’re ready to admit it,

“It is so much more than clouds and oceans from a tiny window.”

***

v. Melt — Stupid in Love / Taylor Swift — Cornelia Street

Rooster is a friend.

He works well with you at rehearsals in the wooden aircraft mockup, clear as precise as he is on the field. In the air, he stays in his lane —although his dry, off-the-cuff remarks are always a nice addition to your flights.

And in between all of that, you learn new things about him everyday; where his callsign came from, why he thinks tea is just brown garbage water, how he likes musicals and old romcoms —a fact he’s embarrassed about, until you unabashedly admit that you like the same thing.

If that revelation turns into a movie night at your place, and said movie night becomes a regular thing, you try not to think about it too much. In fact, you try your damnedest not to think about it at all. Rooster is a friend, and friends hang out and watch movies together… right? The fluttery feeling in your stomach is completely baseless.

Completely without any valid reason.

“I still think his character is an insufferable fuckhead who takes jazz too seriously,” Rooster turns up his nose, looking at Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone on your TV screen, “But when they started floating and dancing and shit… ugh!”

“I still can’t believe you’re a sucker for this kind of movie,” you shake your head at him with an amused grin.

“Look. With everything that goes down everyday at work, I need something light, low-stake, and as far from my job as possible. And seeing people dance among the stars and all that… it’s like a massage for my brain,” he hums in satisfaction, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What about you?”

“Hm? What about me?”

“You do movies, you’re watching a movie. Doesn’t this still feel like work to you?”

“Well, yes and no. There are times where I watch movies to study, but I also like doing it just for kicks, you know?” you answer thoughtfully. “Besides, I’ve gone through all the stages of grief with La La Land.”

“Why?”

You take your time to craft your next words delicately, without sounding like a pathetic humblebrag. “The, uh… director wrote it with me in mind.”

“What?!”

“Yeah…” you wince. “Damien approached me before he even had a script. We workshopped drafts after drafts after drafts… and then the studio decided I wasn’t a big enough name to sell the movie, so.” You shrug lightly. It’s not so much the memory that makes your heart twist, but rather the quiet look of guilt washing over him. It was his choice of movie, after all. 

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have —you know.”

“Nah, it’s cool. The movie turned out great. And I turned out fine. I mean, look at me, I’m in Top Gun, for fuck’s sake.”

He puts his arm around your shoulders comfortingly, although you feel your pulse picking up from the contact. “And you’re killing it.”

“Thanks, Roo.” You allow yourself to lean on his shoulder. The smell of sunscreen and aftershave is faint this time, but it’s still the same embrace. Same warmth.

Same man.

The featherlight patterns he draws on your bare arm feels so loud in the silence. You can almost see the buzzing heat emanating from your skin. Time slows down, and opportunity presents itself the more you try to repress it. And at this point, you’re not sure you have any strength left to fight it.

Instead, you bury your face deeper into him, pressing kisses along the broad plane of his shoulder. Up his neck. Along his jaw. Chaste. Tender. You half-expect him to pounce on you —to take the reins on this drawn-out affair— but he… doesn’t. He just melts into you. Letting you close the distance to his lips.

It feels like a fever dream. Your body moves on its own accord —deepening the kiss, straddling his lap, touching him everywhere— but your mind… There’s so many thoughts, one conflicting with the other, that you don’t even know where to start.

“God, I want you so bad…” he mutters under his breath, mouthing your breasts over your clothes.

And honestly, why would you deal with the chaos in your head when you can enjoy this?

Roo hikes up your shirt, his rough callused hands gentle against your skin as he tugs it over your head. He unclasps your bra with one hand, mouth hot against your soft flesh and diamond-hard nipples. It’s easy —too fucking easy to fall into this… routine, if you could even call it that. You’ve only been here twice, but he touches you like he knows you. 

“Can I taste you?“ Bradley quietly whispers, and you realize, this is the only thing he hasn’t done. “Please?” He tugs at your lower lip with his teeth, teasing. Pleading. “Been thinking about it for ages…”

Jesus. This man is gonna be the death of you. 

His tongue slips into your mouth again, filthy and messy and you’d laugh at how much this screams ‘cheesy 80s romance’ if you hadn’t forgotten how words work. “Well?”

You look at him like it’s obvious—because it is.

“Need you to say it.” There’s a smirk in his sing-songy voice.

“Roo…” You blink heavily at him. “Eat my fucking pussy, please.”

His hands are on your waist and the next thing you know, you softly land on your back on the couch. He finds the waistband of your shorts and pulls everything down in one go, yanking them off and throwing it over his shoulder. His mustache tickles you as he kisses your ankle, along your calf, the inside of your knee. Teeth grazing as he makes his way up your inner thighs. Tongue licking up the dripping arousal on your cunt. And just like that, he renders you speechless.

Scratch that. He renders you entranced.

There’s something so sinful about the way he eats you out. You really shouldn’t be surprised —you know he’s a good fuck— and yet here you are. Clutching the back of his head, fingers tangled in his sun-kissed hair, hips chasing —dancing with his tongue as he drinks you in, from your opening to your clit.

The words are lost. There’s just hot breath and the strongest desire to taste him on your lips. And as his hand plays with your tits, you grab him by the wrist, taking it up to your mouth. Kissing his knuckles.

Sucking his finger.

“Holy fuck…” he moans into your pussy, and you swear you nearly come on the spot.

But he takes his hand away, gently, heavily, and brings it down to where he’s ruining you. All wet and ready, his fingers slip inside you, coaxing pleasure with every curling motion. From there, it’s a losing game for you. Then again, if making you come is victory, being struck with aftershocks of overstimulation is not a bad consolation prize. Not at all.

“Fuck. Please…”

“Please what? Please stop?” He kisses your cheek, slowing down the torture of his hand but not quite stopping. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the coy smirk in his voice. “Or keep going?”

Fuck him, you think to yourself. But instead, what comes out of your mouth is a plea. “Fuck me, Roo…”

Your eyes meet in a fleeting moment of wanting, and for a moment, the two of you move in a frenzy of lascivious kisses and hands groping and discarding whatever articles of clothing he has left. You unbutton his jeans, taking in his strained groan when you palm his hard-on through the offending material, when he suddenly stops.

“Wait. Shit, I don’t have a —”

“I do,” you quickly cut off. Then, pulling him up to his feet, you lead him down the hallway, “Bedroom.”

“Show me the way, honey.”

Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity, or maybe it’s what he called you, but something sobers you up. Not completely, but just enough that the nagging voice in the back of your head starts sounding off.

He seizes you from behind when you get to the foot of the bed, turning you around and kissing you. “Hi,” Roo smiles into your lips. It would’ve given you sweet butterflies, if your stomach wasn’t already twisting all of a sudden.

“Where is it?” he asks, and it takes you a second to remember what he was referring to.

“Um. Top drawer on the left.”

You’re sure he’s taking off his pants, finding the condom and putting it on in record time. But even then, it’s plenty of time for your mind to spiral. What does this mean? Are we gonna go through that awkward phase again? What are we?

He pulls you into his lap, and you hardly notice him settling on the side of the bed. His cock is lined up at your entrance and his lust-blown eyes gazing up at you. “Ready?”

Ready for what? 

You barely sink down on his cock, when the words somehow just come out. The words that you didn’t even know were in the back of your mind. “We should wait.”

“What?” His voice is airy, like he’s not entirely here with you, but it’s immediate —as is the way he stops moving into you.

“We should wait before we decide if we really wanna do this.”

“As in fucking?” he looks at you, hazy. Confused.

“As in… whatever arrangement we’re getting ourselves into here!”

“Oh.” He pauses, thoughtful. And then, “Okay.”

“Okay?” you echo. It can’t be that easy, right?

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not just saying that because you wanna fuck?”

“No. I mean, I do, but…” he swallows heavily, “I like you. A lot. But… Jesus, can we not do it while I’m halfway inside you? It’s really hard to focus.”

A chuckle escapes you as he drops his forehead onto the crook of your neck. Your hand caresses the back of his neck gently. “Okay, okay, okay.”

But he lifts his head again —concern written all over his face as he asks you tentatively, “Unless you don’t wanna do this?”

“No, I do. I do.” And you mean it. His length stretches your inner walls and flexes inside you so invitingly. But the more you try to brush it off, the more persistent it stays in the forefront of your thought.

He lifts you just enough to pull himself out, and then he sits you back down again on his lap. Hands secure around your waist. “Talk to me, Houdini.”

There’s no perfect time to have this conversation. But that night, sitting naked in your bed, joined together but not quite, is probably as good as it gets. You take a heavy breath to brace yourself before you ask the ultimate question.

“What do you want out of this?”

He smiles simply, and it terrifies you that there’s hardly any hesitation in his answer. “I just want you. In every way I can get. I don’t think you ever knew that.”

And the fucked up thing is, you do. You would never admit it —not even to yourself— but part of you always knew. It’s just easier not to acknowledge it, considering everything at stake.

“This is too important to me. Relationships are complicated and messy and… what if we fuck up along the way? We’re just gonna get stuck in the cockpit in shitty silence for the rest of the shoot? We have six months left, Roo. I can’t—we can’t. We shouldn't.”

“Okay.” If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He simply remains thoughtful, careful. “But don’t you think sex will make things complicated and messy, too?”

“Possibly. But at this point, I don’t think I can stay away from you anymore,” you quietly admit. Then, as soon as it comes out of your mouth, it hits you. “Bleargh, that’s so corny.”

“It rolls off the tongue really nicely, though, right?”

“Yeah, it really does.”

You share a quiet chuckle together, a small moment of reprieve amidst the tension. It’s nice to know that, even stripped down in all senses of the word, things haven’t changed that much. You’re still… you.

“So how do you wanna do this?”

You straighten up, switching back to serious mode. “If we fuck, we fuck. But that’s it. This is not a relationship. We’ll decide if we still want that by the time we’re done filming, or if we wanna just…” you make a motion of parting ways. “But we wait until the end of the shoot, you hear me?”

“Okay.”

It’s too easy, and as honest as he seems, you almost don’t want to trust it. “Promise me. Not a moment sooner.” You cup his face, so he’ll look you in the eye and give it to you straight. “Roo-Roo.”

But then his eyes pierce through you, so sweet and tender, and you hope to God he’ll keep his words because you sure will. “You need to stop calling me that.” he gently, harmlessly chides you. “But yes,” he sighs, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning into your lips, 

“I promise.”

***

vi. Zoo Culture — Sundress

It’s been three years in the making, with COVID delaying the release multiple times, but you’re finally sitting alongside your co-stars in front of the live audience of Graham Norton, promoting the movie before the London premiere tonight.

“So Y/N, we’ve talked about pushing the boundaries of cinema and the insane stunts you did in this movie —but that’s not all. Your husband is actually the real pilot flying your plane in those aerial sequences.”

“Well, he wasn’t my husband yet at the time. But yeah, that’s how we met.” Your eyes flicker towards the audience, knowing the person in question is sitting in the back row.

Graham gapes at you. “That’s amazing.”

“Love was literally in the air,” your co-star Jordan Fisher comments, earning a laugh from the studio audience.

“So, how did it happen? Did you guys just cozy it up in the jet or what?”

“There’s no room to cozy up in the jet.” You chuckle. “I mean, we spent about a year, training and rehearsing the sequences on the ground and filming the actual thing, so we’d gotten to know each other a bit.” It’s a gross understatement, but a necessary paraphrase. “But on my last day, we were in the air and —I just finished my very last take— and right after I turned off my camera and mic, he said through the comms,” you put your hand over your mouth, mimicking the static over your best Rooster impression. “‘Hey Houdini. How ‘bout I take you out for dinner when we get back on the ground?’”

“And what did you say?”

“‘You smooth motherfucker!’”

The whole studio erupts into laughter and applause. That line is true, and Roo still rolls his eyes playfully whenever you reach this part of the story.

“That is a Hollywood romance plot right there,” Graham gushes excitedly.

“Listen, he’s seen me puke my guts out, pull myself together, and then go back to pretending to do his job for a living. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is,” you say matter-of-factly, “He was like, ‘Yep, she’s the one.’”

Graham turns to your co-stars Jordan and John Cho. “And did you guys know about this? Did you see sparks flying?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure,” Jordan replies without missing a beat. “I don’t know if they knew what was going on at that point, but we knew it was gonna be a thing,” he says, as John nods vigorously in agreement.

“That’s not entirely true,” Roo casually comments as he turns off the TV, striding into the ensuite hotel bathroom.

“What?” You look up and meet his gaze through the mirror, as you take off all your jewelries —the earrings, the bracelets, everything save for the 

He strides closer to you, bow tie undone, sans blazer, helping you take off the many necklaces you’re wearing. God, he looks good. “What you said earlier.”

“What did I say earlier?”

“You never threw up in the cockpit, ever. And we weren’t technically just friends when I asked you out that day,” he points out. “I distinctly remember you calling it a ‘situationship’ back then.”

It makes you smile and turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck while he holds you by the waist. “Let the public have those funny anecdotes.” Toying with the soft strands on the back of his head, “The real version, our version, is… classified.”

He pulls a face. “Bleargh. Who taught you to be so corny?”

You scoff, swatting his chest for ruining the moment. “You did, asshole!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Rooster giggles, kissing your face all over. “No take-backs now. You’ve told the world that I’m your guy. You’re stuck with me forever.”

He may put on a smug grin as much as you roll your eyes in feigned annoyance, but you both know two things: that you are stuck with each other forever, and that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bradshawsbaby]

Holding Out For A Hero

Pairing(s): Rooster x Wife!Reader, implied Maverick x Penny, and hints of Hangman x Phoenix (pre-official relationship)

Author’s Note: I’ve had the idea for this one rolling around in my head for a while, so I figured being sick at home was as good a time as any to finally sit down and write it!

Bradley convinces Mrs. Bradshaw to perform at Open Mic Night at The Hard Deck. If you’re interested in listening, the song she performs is the Ella Mae Bowen version of Holding Out For A Hero.

Warnings: A little bit of anxiety related to performing in front of a crowd, plus lots and lots of Bradshaw fluff.

Tucking yourself away in the back room of The Hard Deck, you had never been more grateful for your close friendship with Penny. Outside, the bar was getting crowded and noisy, the air thick with excited anticipation. Back here, hidden behind crates of Bud Light and Sam Adams, you were offered a small respite from the clamor and an opportunity to breathe.

Not that you were necessarily doing that so well.

Dragging another shaky breath into your lungs, you rested your trembling hands in your lap and closed your eyes, trying to count backwards from ten in an attempt to calm your fraying nerves.

Were you absolutely insane? How had you allowed Bradley to talk you into doing this?

About a month ago, Penny had gotten the idea that she wanted to host an Open Mic Night at The Hard Deck as a fundraiser for Wounded Warrior Project.

“It’ll be fun,” she told you, Bradley, Mav, and the rest of the Dagger Squad over dinner one night. “Everyone’s always singing every night anyway. Might as well give some people a chance to take center stage, and raise money for a good cause while doing it. Plus, we know we’ll have accompaniment. We can never get Rooster off that piano,” she teased affectionately, throwing a playful wink in your husband’s direction.

“Sounds fun, Penny!” Fanboy nodded enthusiastically, before hungrily shoveling down more of Penny’s chicken pot pie.

“I’m sure lots of people would sign up, especially knowing it’s a fundraiser and all,” Bob chimed in, sliding his glasses up his nose.

“You going to sing something, Bob?” Hangman asked with a teasing smirk, casually stretching his arms out and resting one on the back of Phoenix’s chair.

Bob turned bright red at the prospect, shaking his head. “Me? No, no. I don’t sing. But, uh, I’ll be there for moral support!” he insisted, practically tripping over his own words.

Phoenix was quick to jump in to defend her backseater. “Why don’t you serenade us all with something, Bagman? A classic rendition of Take My Breath Away, perhaps?” she suggested sarcastically, arching an eyebrow as she looked up at him.

Hangman just smirked in response, his eyes lingering on Phoenix’s face a little longer than strictly necessary.

There was definitely something going on between those two, no matter how many times Phoenix had denied it whenever you broached the subject.

“Anyway,” Payback cut in, pointedly looking between Hangman and Phoenix before steering the conversation back towards the event itself. “Sounds like it’ll be a good time, Penny. Maybe The Hard Deck could even host a barbeque on the beach beforehand. Turn it into an all day event, you know?”

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Penny nodded, pulling out her phone and typing a few notes into it. “Maybe we could even plan some games and activities on the beach.”

“A little dogfight football, anyone?” Coyote asked jokingly, nudging Maverick with a grin.

“Maybe family-friendly activities that involve everyone keeping their shirts on,” Penny laughed, her grin only growing wider as some of the guys groaned in disappointment.

“We’ll help you set everything up, Penny,” Phoenix said, taking a sip of water. “We’ll get flyers out and tell everyone. It’ll be a great time.”

“Think we’ll be able to convince Cyclone to sing a little something?” Fanboy grinned, his expression brimming with mirth at the very idea of their Air Boss performing a karaoke rendition of anything.

“Highly unlikely,” Payback laughed, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh, his plate completely cleaned off.

“You’ll sing something, won’t you, Rooster?” Penny asked, resting her chin in her hand and smiling at him.

“Me?” Bradley asked with feigned surprise, raising his eyebrows as if shocked by the very notion.

“Oh, save it, Bradshaw,” Hangman rolled his eyes with a smirk, tossing his napkin at him. “We all know you’ll perform some big number to bring the house down.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, smiling affectionately over at your husband. Whatever Bradley performed, you were already certain it would be your favorite song of the night.

Bradley turned his head and met your gaze, his eyes sparkling as he rested a hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing gently against the skin that was exposed just beneath the hem of your sundress.

“You know, I’m not the only Bradshaw who knows how to sing,” he announced suddenly, winking briefly at you before turning his attention back to the rest of the group.

“Oh, Bradley, no!” you exclaimed, immediately knowing what he was getting at. You swatted at his arm, your cheeks already flushing in embarrassment.

“Oh, you stop it!” Penny jumped in, waving her hands at you with a smile. “You have a beautiful voice, sweetie. You should sing something!”

“Beautiful voice? How come we’ve never heard this beautiful voice, hm? Been hiding it away from us?” Coyote grinned, raising his eyebrows as he leaned forward in his chair to look over at you.

“It’s hardly anything special,” you insisted, waving your hand firmly in the air as if to brush the notion away entirely. “Singing in the shower or while doing the dishes hardly makes you an expert.”

“But you do have a beautiful voice. I’ve heard it,” Phoenix grinned, shooting you a pointed look when you glared at her. “I mean, Rooster did take you to karaoke for your first date and all.”

Before you knew it, Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, and Hangman had taken up a chant of, “Sing for us,” banging their hands on the table and grinning at you expectantly.

You pinched your husband’s leg under the table, prompting a surprised yelp to escape his lips.

“I’ll have you all know that this is bullying and peer pressure and I won’t stand for it,” you told them, trying to bite back the smile that was tugging at the corners of your mouth. They were all so ridiculous, they couldn’t help but make you laugh.

“That’s right. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to,” Bob came to your defense, smiling at you.

“Watch out, Bob, or we’ll make the two of you sing a duet,” Fanboy laughed, lightly smacking his friend on the back.

“No one has to make any decisions now,” Penny cut in, rising to begin clearing the table so that she could set out dessert. You immediately jumped up to help her. “I’m just glad to know you’re all on board. The sign-up sheet will be posted in The Hard Deck for anyone who decides they want to perform,” she said, nudging you with a little grin.

And somehow, against all odds, your husband had managed to convince you.

“Come on, honey,” he murmured to you as you were both lying in bed later that night. “You really do have such a beautiful voice. And as much as I’m privileged to get those concerts for one in the bathroom, other people should get to hear how talented you are, too.”

Biting your lip, you rolled onto your side and gazed at him in the darkness, your eyes adjusting and making out his silhouetted form beside you. “What would I even sing? People wouldn’t want to listen to me. I’d get such bad stage fright, I’d probably be hiding in the corner.”

Chuckling softly, Bradley wrapped his arms around you and dropped a kiss on your lips. “I’d want to listen to you. Our friends would want to listen to you. Everyone else with half a brain would want to listen to you. And you know lots of songs,” he added, brushing your hair behind your ear with gentle fingers.

You wavered silently, not agreeing, but not disagreeing either.

Bradley seemed to take that as his chance to really drive his argument home. “What if I played for you, hm? Piano or guitar, depending on what song you wanted to sing. Then you wouldn’t have to feel like you were doing it alone. What do you say to that?”

You groaned, knowing how persistent he was going to be about this. He wasn’t going to stop until you said yes. Burying your face in his neck, you mumbled, “I say, why do you have to be so annoyingly talented, huh? Piano and guitar? There’s no escaping you, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

He laughed in response, his chest rumbling as he pulled you in closer. “So is that a yes then?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s more of an I guess so,” you replied, smiling despite yourself as your husband let out an enthusiastic whoop of excitement.

There were a few different songs that you considered performing, going back and forth on a couple of them. In the end, however, you settled on Holding Out For A Hero, a song that you had loved listening to since you were a little girl.

“But not the Bonnie Tyler version,” you told Bradley as he attempted to pluck out a few of the chords on his guitar. “This version, by Ella Mae Bowen,” you explained, showing him a video of her performance. It was slower, softer, sweeter. More romantic.

After Bradley finished listening to it, he grinned up at you. “I think you’re going to knock it out of the park, honey,” he predicted, pecking your lips softly.

The two of you practiced most nights over the course of the following weeks, in preparation for the big night. Some nights, you got more rehearsal time than others. On more than one occasion, Bradley’s fingers would suddenly stop strumming the guitar and he’d lift his head to look at you, his dark eyes thick with an emotion you recognized all too well.

“Damn, but that voice does things to me, baby,” he’d whisper before setting his guitar to the side and carrying you off to bed.

Still, especially as Open Mic Night got closer, you insisted with all the personal restraint you could muster that he be professional and help you with your lessons.

“What a diva,” Bradley had laughed one night, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before nodding and starting to play the song once more.

You were as ready as you were going to be.

Or so you thought.

But now tonight was the night, and you were hiding out behind crates of beer in the back of The Hard Deck.

The day had been wonderful, which you were thrilled about. You knew how much it meant to Penny. Between the massive barbeque on the beach, and the afternoon full of scheduled games and activities, everyone had been having a great time. You were pretty sure that Penny had already surpassed the fundraising goal she’d set for herself, and the night wasn’t even over yet.

But now, with the sun starting to set on the beach, everyone was beginning to filter back inside for Open Mic Night. The bar was abuzz with eager and excited anticipation, as people in the crowd awaited performances from their friends and loved ones.

And you were panicking.

Palms slick with sweat, you’d evaded the rest of the group and slipped into the back room of the bar, a location you were all too familiar with from your time working as a waitress at The Hard Deck.

Wiping your hands on the front of your simple, navy blue sundress, you took a few more deep breaths, trying to calm your racing nerves.

Were you crazy? How were you seriously going to sing in front of all these people? What if you messed up? What if it was horribly cringey and everybody—

“Honey?”

You could hear your husband’s voice, thick with comfort and tenderness, as he pushed open the door and slid into the room, the noise from the bar fading once more as it swung shut behind him.

“Over here,” you called out in response, knowing he’d be able to find you in no time.

He did. Crouching down in front of you, he rested one large, warm palm over both your hands and looked into your eyes. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “What’s wrong, baby? What are you doing back here?”

“Hiding,” you confessed, a shaky smile gracing your lips. “Kind of hoping that if I stay back here long enough, everyone will forget I signed up to do this.”

“Aw, baby,” Bradley smiled, settling himself down on a crate across from you and reaching out to pull you onto his lap. “Are you really that nervous?” he asked, running his hand up and down your back soothingly.

“I didn’t think I’d be,” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip. “I thought I would be okay. But now that it’s so close, and I see all those people out there, I’m starting to freak out a little bit.”

Bradley nodded in understanding, peppering your shoulder with soft kisses and stroking your arm lightly. “I know it’s scary, honey. Hell, even I get a little nervous when I play in front of a lot of people I don’t know.”

“Really? You do?” you asked, eyes widening in genuine surprise. “I never would have thought that, not in a million years. You always seem so confident.”

“I guess it’s sort of a part of the act, huh?” he replied, wiggling in his eyebrows teasingly. “Everybody gets nervous, baby. I’m sure everyone who signed up to perform tonight is feeling the same way you are. Well, maybe except Hangman,” he grinned, rolling his eyes good-naturedly and earning a laugh from you. “It’s normal to be nervous. It means you care about what you’re doing.”

You sighed softly, fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

Bradley rested a gentle hand on your cheek, lifting your head so that you were looking at him. “Listen, honey. If you don’t want to perform tonight, you don’t have to. But I know how hard you worked, and I know how talented you are, and I’d hate for you to miss out on an opportunity to show that off tonight.”

You smiled slightly at that, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You’ll be with me the whole time, right?” you grinned, leaning in to rest your forehead against his.

“The whole time,” Bradley promised, kissing the tip of your nose. “You can keep your eyes on me. Just sing to me, honey.”

“Okay,” you nodded, your voice small, but your smile wide.

“That’s my girl,” Bradley said proudly, holding you in his arms as he stood up, and then setting you back down on your own two feet. “Come on, Mrs. Bradshaw. We’ve got a show to put on,” he grinned, taking your hand in his and leading you back into the bar, where Penny had set up a little makeshift stage for Open Mic Night.

“There you are,” Phoenix said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “We were getting worried. You’re up next,” she told you with a supportive grin, squeezing your arm excitedly.

Your stomach did a few little flips as the trio of girls who had been performing stepped down off the stage, and Penny stepped up to introduce you. She smiled brightly as she called you up, beckoning to you encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, and with the well wishes of your friends in your ear, you moved forward and stepped up onto the stage, Bradley following closely behind you.

“Oh, yes, and we do have our very own Rooster Bradshaw accompanying on guitar tonight,” Penny added with a grin, clapping for the two of you as she stepped down and moved to stand beside Mav behind the bar.

“Hi, everyone,” you greeted the crowd with a smile, adjusting the microphone and swallowing back the nervousness that was threatening to spill over once more.

“HELLOOOOOOOO,” you heard the Dagger Squad screaming from their spot near the bar, which made you laugh despite your nerves.

“Um, I’m going to be singing a song many of you might be familiar with. It’s a little bit of a different arrangement, but I hope you’ll enjoy it,” you explained, doing your best to look over the audience members’ heads, a trick your mom had taught you when you were little and nervous about performing in the school play. You smiled over at Bradley and held out a hand towards him. “I’m very lucky to have my husband accompanying me on the guitar tonight. I know most of you are used to seeing him at the piano, but he is a man of many talents,” you chuckled.

The audience, many of whom were regulars at The Hard Deck, cheered and applauded for Bradley.

“And, well, I’d like to dedicate this song to him,” you went on, your eyes meeting his across the stage. You felt immediately centered and comforted by his warm, loving gaze. “Because I spent my whole life waiting for a hero. And I found him.”

The crowd let out soft little “Awws” at your pronouncement, but you were too focused on your husband to even notice.

“I love you,” he mouthed, shooting you a little wink as he settled his guitar on his lap and raised his fingers to the strings. He lifted his head to look at you, a question in his eyes.

When you nodded, he started strumming the opening chords of the song, the music very familiar to you now after weeks of drilling it into your mind.

“Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?” you crooned softly into the microphone, holding onto it to steady your trembling hands. “Where’s the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?”

You could sense some people in the crowd smiling and nodding their heads, recognizing the song instantly.

“Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night, I toss and turn and dream of what I need,” you sang, turning your attention to Bradley.

You were singing for him. Just like you’d promised.

“I need a hero. I'm holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night. He's gotta be strong, he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta be larger than life. Larger than life,” you went on, your voice strong, yet sweet as you imbued each word with meaning.

As the song went on, your confidence grew and you were even able to make eye contact with some people in the audience. You could see Mav and Penny behind the bar, beaming proudly and waving to you as they shot you the thumbs-up sign. Phoenix was recording your performance on her phone, and the rest of the Dagger Squad had their hands up in the air, cheering you on.

And Bradley. Your sweet husband. His calloused fingers strummed the guitar expertly as he watched you perform with love and pride glowing brightly in his warm eyes.

“Through the wind and the chill and the rain, and the storm and the raging flood. Oh, his approach is like the fire in my blood. I'll meet a hero,” your voice lilted as you entered into the final portion of the song. “And then we'll dance ’til the morning light,” you sang intentionally, winking over at Bradley.

If there was one thing your husband loved to do, it was dance with you.

Bradley winked back as you moved into the final chorus, holding out a sustained note as you sang yearningly for your hero to be “larger than life.”

He was. He really was. Your hero was everything you had ever hoped for and more, all wrapped up in the handsome man seated across the stage, guitar in hand as he gave you the confidence you needed to stand in front of this huge crowd of people and sing your heart out.

When the song finally came to an end, your cheeks flushed pleasantly from the heat of the lights and your own endorphins, the audience erupted into applause, cheering and hollering in support. You could hear your friends chanting your name from the bar, whooping loudly as they clapped for you.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly into the microphone, figuring it would be best to get off the stage before your legs completely turned to Jell-O.

As you started to turn, however, you were surprised to see Phoenix running towards the stage, a large bouquet of flowers in hand. Instead of passing them to you, however, she quickly turned them over to Bradley, who was carefully setting his guitar off to the side of the stage.

“What’s this?” you asked in surprise as he walked over to hand them to you. They were your favorite, of course—yellow roses. You had no idea when he’d managed to sneak these past you.

“For you, honey,” he said, placing them in your hands. He reached up to cup your cheek, beaming down at you. “I’m so proud of you,” he added softly, leaning in to kiss you soundly, right there on the stage in the middle of The Hard Deck.

The crowd began cheering even louder, which made you laugh and blush, hiding your face in your husband’s neck as the two of you finally broke apart.

“Looks like it was Mrs. Rooster who brought down the house tonight!” someone from the back of the crowd called, which made everyone else laugh.

Taking your hand in his, Bradley guided you off the stage, Penny stopping to give you a big hug on her way back up to announce the next performer.

“Great job, sweetheart,” she said proudly, kissing your cheek before continuing on.

As soon as you got to the bar, your friends swarmed around you, congratulating you and complimenting you on what an amazing job you’d done.

“How did you manage to hide that voice from us all this time?” Coyote demanded, shaking his head in shock.

“She’s modest,” Phoenix laughed, giving you a warm hug.

“What are you going to sing for us next?” Fanboy wanted to know, grinning as he nudged you playfully.

“Alright, alright, give her a chance to breathe,” Bradley chuckled, resting his hands on your shoulders. He leaned in closer, his mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered, “Want to go outside for a little air?”

You nodded immediately, slipping your hand into his as he pulled you towards the side exit, where the deck looked to be empty for the time being.

“You did it, baby,” Bradley murmured once the two of you were outside, the evening air feeling blessedly cool on your flushed skin. “I knew you could do it.”

“Only because of you,” you grinned, setting your flowers down on the deck railing and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Bradley shook his head, smiling as he rested his hands on your hips and gazed down at you. “No, that was all you, honey. You blew them away. You blew me away,” he grinned, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You should be really proud of yourself. I know I’m proud of you.”

Beaming, you slid your fingers into his hair and pulled him down for a kiss, his hands moving upward to rest on your back as he pulled you closer to his chest. You would never grow tired of his kisses, or of the feel of his strong arms holding you and keeping you safe.

“I love you,” you whispered, pressing soft, gentle pecks to his upper lip, then his lower lip, then the corners of his mouth. “And I meant what I said up there. You’re my hero, Bradley Bradshaw.”

Bradley smiled, reaching up to hold your face delicately between both his hands. “And you’re mine.”

You and your husband stood quietly together on the deck, wrapped in each other’s arms as you watched the waves crash onto the shore and listened to the soft strains of music emanating from the bar.

Suddenly, Phoenix came rushing out, nearly out of breath in her hurry to come find the two of you. “It’s time! Come on! You don’t want to miss this,” she grinned, turning on her heel and practically running back inside.

Laughing, you and Bradley hurried after her. And the performance that awaited you certainly did not disappoint.

For all that you had been proud of your performance, nothing could compare to the sight of Hangman, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, and a hapless Bob up on stage, belting out what was quite possibly the most painful rendition of Take My Breath Away that you had ever heard.

You loved every second of it.

And so did the crowd apparently, judging by the standing ovation they received.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Hangman smirked as he swaggered back over to the bar, walking straight past the girls who were very clearly making eyes at him and just so happening to land back by Phoenix’s side.

“Very impressive,” you grinned, leaning against Bradley as he sat perched on one of the bar stools.

“Next Open Mic Night, you’ll all have to sing something together!” Penny exclaimed, grinning knowingly.

“Next Open Mic Night?” you asked, shooting her a questioning look.

Penny winked as she cleared a few glasses off the bar. “Better start whipping out your songbook, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

[empress-simps]

Danger Meter [2]

》Crash《

▪︎Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

▪︎Pronouns: She/Her (Fem! Reader)

▪︎Warnings: Language, also probably some inaccuracies

▪︎Genre: Soulmate Au! Angst and fluff

▪︎Synopsis: Your soulmate rarely seems to be out of the High risk zone according to your mark, which makes you worry. Oh well— you already know that the same goes for him.

Note: Thank you for the likes/reblogs/comment! I couldn't help myself so here is part 2!

》 Masterlist 》 Bradley's Masterlist

》 Previous 》 Next

"Crash watch yourself, there's a-"

It was probably your fault, you were to pre-occupied thinking about what happened last night that you processed Hangman's warnings a little too late.

"Shit! Birdstrike! Birdstrike!" You yelled, looking at your controls. "Left engine is on fire! Climbing!" Hangman looks at you, growing worried about you by the second. "Don't tell me she's gonna try to fucking save it." He mumbled, keeping a close eye on you.

You'd try to save the plane even though you're literally about to nosedive into the ground. Hence the callsign 'Crash'.

"Throttling back! Shutting off fuel on left engine, extinguishing fire!" You informed Maverick and Hangman. Maverick can only utter an 'Oh my god' while Hangman could do nothing but watch worriedly.

Bob felt like someone dumped an ice bucket on him as he and his fellow naval aviators listened to the radio to know what's happening on air. His insides were twisting as he wanted to do nothing but to hurl and cry.

Everyone semmed to still as they continued to listen to the radio. "Bird strike..?" Payback mumbled.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Bob uttered, he can feel his head spinning and his hands get sweaty. Pheonix shot a worried glance at him.

Rooster, who was sitting in one of the chairs looked at Bob. "Crash's your girl, Bob?" He tried to read Bob's expression. Coyote intervened, "I think now is not the right time for you to be asking that, man."

Roster nodded as he muttered out an apology to the Weapons System Officer who was intently listening to the radio. As Rooster further observe Bob, he realized two things: Bob deeply cares for you, which makes him think you know each other personally, or you're both romantically involved. And the other one is-

He sure hopes that you and Bob aren't a thing.

Rooster was pulled away from his thoughts, hearing your voice on the radio. He felt a pit forming on his stomach as you yelled, 'Right engine is out! It's still spinning-"

'Crash! You can't save it!' Hangman's voice was heard through the radio. All of them perked up, they never heard Hangman scared before. Not even once, and the fact that he was worried for another person— considering he's Hangman, he'll leave you out to dry.

Rooster's worry grew by the second for his fellow pilot. He ran his hand through his hair, an action Coyote noticed, and without fail he saw something he thinks that's hard to believe.

Rooster's mark was an angry shade of dark red.

Coyote was stunned, his eyes widening as he tried to process his thoughts over yours, hangman's and maverick's shouting over the radio.

"No fucking way.." He breathed out, aviators beside him thought he was talking about what's happening over the radio. Boy were they wrong.

'I can't control it! I'm going down! I'm going down!' Panic and terror laced in your voice, Rooster can feel his chest tightening as he looked down and laced his hands together, finally noticing something wrong with his mark.

The stripe was almost black.

It can't be, what's happening? He looked at it, and looked back to the radio. His head was racing different thoughts per minute. He felt his breathing got labored as he tries to calm himself.

"No.. no.." Bob mumbled, clearly distraught as Pheonix offered a comforting squeeze on his shoulder.

Right, you and Bob are probably soulmates. He needs to put that into consideration, maybe it's just a coincidence? But, having your soulmate's danger meter almost turn black is rare. He read about a study that found out people who's soulmates have a high risk job (i.e being in the military) are reported to be the one experiencing red and black marks.

You— a naval aviator who's about to crash, and him, who's mark is almost black.

'You can't save it! Eject eject!' They heard Maverick yell as Hangman told the same thing. 'Crash! don't you dare join your jet crash!'

'Eject eject eject!'

Taglist [Closed]: @auszimbo

[filmtv2022]

Moving Forward: Chapter Three

(18+ MDNI)

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Kazansky!Reader

Synopsis: The first day of training goes just about as poorly as one could expect when Y/N and Jake get paired up to fly together. Events from the past prove to be problematic even in the present as Y/N an Jake struggle to find a way to work together after a shared tragedy ruined so much for both of them. Bradley, lost as to how to navigate the situation, tries to help, but finds himself in rough waters with his former best friend (reader).

Warnings: language + injury recovery + reference to past accident of some kind

A/N: Well... I don't know if anyone cares about this story anymore (it's been ages since I updated), but I promised myself that this year I'd write what I wanted and what felt good. I finally had the inspiration to return to this story, and I'm glad I did. Here's to hoping that I can keep going with this story. As always, I apologize for any mistakes.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The roar of jet engines tearing through the sky refocused you on the present but did little to settle your nerves. You paced quietly along the back side of the room, your eyes glancing over the sea of pictures that covered it. There was one in particular that caught your attention. You’d seen a copy of this one many times before as it hung from the wall of your father’s office. Running your fingertips over the frame, you easily found the familiar faces captured amongst the rows of aviators. The youthful smiles of Maverick, Goose, and your father warmed your heart. But there was always a level of sadness and wondering tacked onto the love and admiration. What would things have been like if Goose was still alive? 

“All right, next up we have Kazansky and Seresin.” Hondo’s commanding voice called into the room. 

Ignoring the snide comments Jake continued to throw in your direction you made your way down to the tarmac. Your pre-flight checks took you past Rooster who sat catching his breath after pounding out his 200 hundred push-ups. His eyes caught the other aviator who followed a good distance behind, and a surge of worry tightened in his chest as he saw that it was Hangman. Taking advantage of the fact that Jake wouldn’t be able to hear, he shouted a word of warning. 

“Watch your back up there, Kazansky.” 

“Worry about yourself, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley’s retort was lost in the sound of engines flaring overhead, leaving you to pound further down the tarmac toward your jet. Following the proper protocol, you entered the pilot’s seat, the heat rolling off the dark pavement already had sweat pooling along your hairline. Sliding into a seated position, the ever-present ache in your hip flashed anew, sending shooting pain along the outside of your leg. The air caught in your chest and forced you to close your eyes and breathe through the spasm. 

 Knowing you could no longer put it off, your heart fluttered wildly as your trembling hands flipped switches without thinking. The motions were second nature even after all this time away. Things moved quickly and then there was nothing more you could check, it was time. Pushing back from your spot, you were given radio clearance to take your place on the runway. With one final go-ahead from the tower, you were off, barreling down the tarmac and into the sky. 

Hanging as low as the hard deck would allow, you watched and waited to see what Hangman would do, his slippery nature in the air was a well-known hazard. For the time being, he stayed a reasonable distance above you as if getting too close would cause him to falter. Eventually, even he got antsy as signs of Maverick remained non-existent. Unwilling to wait it out, Jake peeled off into the sun where you lost track of him visually.

“And there he goes. Typical, Seresin.” 

“Feelin’ lonely, Riot? There’s plenty of room up here if you’re willing to get up off your safety blanket.”

“Screw you, Bagman.” 

Jakes, hard laughter poured through the comms. It didn’t take long for Pete to catch up to him, the two were locked in a battle of speed and wits. Continuing to listen in silence, you heard the banter between the captain and Hangman as Pete closed in on the younger pilot. 

“Riot, where the hell are you?! Get him off my tail?!”

“I’m not the one who flew away from my wingman, Seresin. You need some help, you know where to find me.” 

Lightening fast, Jake swept back into view with Maverick hot on his tail. They were flying toward you from the rear, the aim was clearly to utilize the blaring sun to blind you until the last second, but you knew Pete and Jake too well. 

Breathing slowly you heard Maverick aim at Hangman, hitting his target with exacting precision. Now it was just you and Mav. The rest of the world fell away with the remaining nerves that’d kept you glued in place. This left you free to calculate when to move. Unwilling to rush the process, you waited patiently, biding your time. The only change to your flight path was a gradual upward movement to gain enough altitude to maneuver safely. Clocking his final approach you pulled back hard as the whining tone of an approaching jet poured into your headset. Lifting your jet up and over Maverick’s left you in the perfect position to take the shot. Without hesitation you connected, your aim sure and true. 

“That’s a kill! How you feelin’ old man? Had enough yet?” 

Maverick’s laughter filled your ears as he caught his breath, “Jesus, Kazansky where the hell did ya learn that?”

“It’s straight out of your playbook, Mav.” 

“Remind me to send an apology to your father for teaching you that.” 

“Don’t worry, he already knows you’re a terrible influence.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Get yourself down to that tarmac.” 

“You got it, captain. Also, Mav?”

“Yes, Riot?”

“Take ‘er easy with those push-ups. We wouldn’t want to have to call in a medic to scrape your ass off the pavement, now would we?” 

Another bout of barking laughter tore through the comms. Still a little hazy, you found your way back to the runway and proceeded to move through the end-of-flight procedures. The adrenaline wore off more quickly than you hoped, leaving behind the nasty ache of still-healing injuries. With everything in working order, you gingerly reported back to the ready room. The audible buzz from inside the space was evident even before the door was open. The thrill of it pulled a meek smile from deep within even as your steadiness waned.

 Shoving the door open with your good hip, you fought against the bone-deep exhaustion. The rest of the crew erupted into enthusiastic congratulations. The rough pats on your back were far too aggressive given the lack of familiarity. Each touch jolted your body, leaving you more desperate to sit down. Everything was stilted and stiff as your body screamed. Simply walking sent shock waves through your nervous system. Masking it as best you could, you nearly collapsed into one of the more cushioned seats and rested your head against your hand. Waiting out the spasms, your eyes shut tight in a feeble attempt to block out the rest of the world. Still keyed up, the rest of the crew flew back to the window in the hope of catching Maverick in the thick of his “punishment”. 

Across the room, Bradley looked your way for the first time since your interaction on the tarmac. What others had easily passed off as exhaustion, he saw through immediately. You were suffering… in more ways than one. The tension in your body paired with the furrow of your eyebrows was more than enough to clue him in. He’d seen that look of anguish only a few times before, but the sight of it was burned into his memory. Breaking away from the group, Bradley started in your direction, but the jarring smack of metal against drywall rang through the room freezing him in place. 

Tearing his focus from you, he watched as Hangman stormed into the room. His helmet was held in his outstretched hand as his attention fell directly on you. 

“What the fuck was that Riot?” 

“Not now, Jake… please.” Your eyes remained shut in the hopes that it would calm his tantrum.

“No! You don’t get to slide out of this one, Kazansky! Your bullshit cost me up there. If this had been anything other than training, I’d be dead.” Jake’s eyes narrowed as he took another step closer. His shadow now loomed over your body, “But then again, that’s just your style isn’t Y/N… who cares who you bury, as long as you come out on top, isn’t that right?” 

Your eyes snapped open, fury glimmered in your steely gaze. Rushing to your feet, you ignored the screaming throb in your hip and knee as your hands came up, hard and fast reaching for Jake. Making contact with his chest, you pushed with every ounce of strength you could muster, sending him back a few steps as your voice cracked, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Seresin!” 

Taking a quick step past him, determined to extricate yourself from this situation as fast as possible, the tug of Jake’s hand on your wrist had you turning on him. A rabid look took over your features, pinning him into place. Letting go of you, he spoke quickly, his volume continuing to rise as he fired more shots across the bow.

“Really?! Because I think I know better than every goddamn person in this room! Do you want to tell ‘em or should I? Because they deserve to know just what kind of coward they’re flying with.” 

“Fuck off, Bagman!” stepping back into his space you once again reached for Jake, but your movement was cut off. 

Seeing that unhinged look in your eyes, Bradley had moved out of pure instinct to your side, his hands closing around your biceps as he hauled you back from the edge of something you were sure to regret.

“Y/N, stop.” 

Prying yourself from Rooster’s grasp, you whirled around, snarling at him, “Stay the hell out of this Bradshaw.” Bradley’s normally stoic face flinched almost imperceptibly at your words. 

Wasting no time, you turned back to face, Jake who’d had enough presence of mind to take a few steps back. The rest of the aviators stared in silent horror at the scene that had unfolded in front of them. 

“And don’t you ever pretend like you know what happened that night. Because trust me when I say, if I could trade places with them, I’d do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.” 

Storming away from the ready room, you let the door crash back against the frame behind you. Not bothering to hold yourself together any longer, the tears flowed down your cheeks in hotlines, and your nose burned with emotion. Swallowing hard, you found your way to the locker room, tearing off your flight suit the second you cleared the door. Discarding it in your locker, you worked with unsteady hands to pull on the jeans you’d brought to wear for your ride home, but you didn’t get far in the process before your knee gave out.

Collapsing in on itself, you buckled, sending yourself in a crumpled heap to the floor. Your hands smacked against the wooden bench in a reflexive attempt at slowing your fall. The swift thwack reverberated through the empty space as you rested your forehead between your outstretched hands. Breathing slowly, you fought against the memories that threatened to flood back. The tick of the clock on the wall marked the passing of time, but it was meaningless in your stupor. With each grounding breath, you regulated your heart rate enough to move to sit on the bench. Resting back against the brick wall, your shoulders slumped with the weight of the world. 

If it wasn’t for the creaking groan of the locker room door swinging open, you’d have sat like that forever. Instead, the grating noise sent your eyes snapping open, a counterargument perched on your tongue for whoever decided to confront you about the shitshow that had unfolded earlier. Forcing yourself to meet them, you focused your attention on the spot you knew they’d soon inhabit. The heavy fall of boots on tile echoed for a few seconds longer before their owner turned the corner. A wave of thankfulness that it wasn’t Hangman was quickly washed away by the fact that Bradley Bradshaw stood before you. Stopping at the edge of the lockers, he stayed silent watching you watching him. 

His flight suit was tied around his waist, leaving his strong arms exposed as he crossed them in front of his chest. The look on his face was confusing, a warring mix of so many things. On one hand, he looked like he was about to throttle you for the way you acted earlier. On the other hand, he looked broken as if seeing you like this was more than he could handle. Like it was taking everything in his being to keep from crossing the room and holding you in his arms. 

The two of you stayed quiet for a few more seconds, but it was finally Bradley who broke the silence. 

“Are you okay?” 

Staring back at him, you kept a deadpan look fixed to your features, afraid of what he’d see if you let it slip, “I’m fine, Bradley.” 

“Come on now, Y/N. You know that’s not true. What the hell happened back there today?”  

“First of all, why do you suddenly care how I’m doing? Because that hasn’t seemed to matter to you in a very long time. And more importantly, I don’t need your pity, Bradshaw. What happened between me and Hangman has nothing to do with you.” 

“But it-”

“Don’t you dare try to pull the, ‘But it does matter to me, we’re on the same side’ bullshit. You and I haven’t been on the same side in a long fuckin’ time. You worry about you, and I’ll worry about me. End of story. Okay?”

Turning away from him, you picked up your bag and started zipping up the pockets. With your back to him, the clip of his boots on the floor gave away his continued approach.  

“It’s not okay, you’re not okay.” stopping a few steps shy of you, his hands dropped to his sides, fists clenched tightly, “Just talk to me, Y/N.”

Turning to face him, you glared at him as you spoke, “Honestly, I don’t give a shit what you think, and you’re the last person I care to talk to right now. I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fly this godforsaken mission, and if I’m lucky enough to live through it all… I’d like to keep moving forward with my life.” 

“You sound just like Hangman when you talk that. Maybe you two really do deserve each other.” 

A momentary flash of surprise, and hurt passed over your features. Caught off guard, your next words were shakier than you’d have liked given the circumstance, “You’re right, Bradley… maybe we do deserve each other. At least with Jake, he doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not.” 

Throwing the heavy bag over your shoulders you flew past Bradley, leaving him to flounder in stunned silence.

[bradshawsbitch]

of pet-names and pumpkin patches | bradley bradshaw x f!reader

warning: mentions of sex, fluff, petnames, rooster is too good for this world, no use of y/n, uh-- yeah idk

disclaimer: I'm running on redbull and will-power at this point. I've been thinking about this all day at work and I had to get it out. I don't know if it even makes sense but uh, yeah! I hope you enjoy it none-the-less!

plot: You and Bradley (but mostly you) love October! What better way to spend the first days of the best season of the year at the pumpkin patch?

◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇

Soft voices permeated the air of the kitchen, singing in time with percussions, a jaunty guitar, and something that sounded like birds playfully singing to one another - perhaps a flute?

"If I had to do the same again, I would my friend... Fernando!" It was dramatic. There was flailing of arms, twirling of bodies, the cry and tremble of your voice echoing throughout the house. It was a one woman show. You and ABBA against the world. Well, the world was your kitchen - which was currently drenched in flour, dough and apple peel.

It was October. Your favourite season of all. The changing of the leaves was something you looked forward to every single year, without fail. Fall was also perfect for re-watching Gilmore Girls, and Hocus Pocus. You still hadn't managed to lure your boyfriend, Rooster, in to watching the latter. But you had been working on it since the beginning of September - or, as you liked to call it, pre-October.

When you'd uttered the term, Rooster had at first looked bewildered, until his honey eyes twinkled with mirth and adoration at your giddiness.

Elton John's 'Your Song' had suddenly started to play, and you turned serious for a moment - wanting to pay respect to one of your favourite song. You couldn't joke-sing Elton John... in fact, you were pretty sure it was blasphemy. Jesus was surely against it.

Whilst singing merrily along, you glanced at the recipe book splayed out before you. It held a recipe of apple scones with a caramel drizzle. A sweet kind of scone. It felt very autumn-y, and seeing as it was now the beginning of October - you felt quite justified in force-feeding your man some apple-cinnamon-caramel-goodness.

Chancing a glance at the clock above your kitchen counter, a frown started to make its way onto your face. Bradley should've been home twenty minutes ago. A sharp twinge of anxious worry settled deep within your chest, but you shook your head. Perhaps he'd been held up at work. Hangman probably made a bet, and Bradley probably took the bait - as always.

Moving around the kitchen, you checked your almost-ready scones out in the oven - putting two bottles of apple cider in your weaved picnic-basket. You'd already filled it to the brim with a savoury pie, two small pumpkin pies, cinnamon rolls and water bottles. The only thing missing was the scones. You'd wanted them to be warm and toasty when Rooster came home, so you could enjoy them whilst they were still hot.

"Darling Harbour, I'm home!" that voice. God, that voice could make a smile appear on your face no matter how bad of a day you were having. Grinning, you almost skipped to the front door.

"Home from Australia?" you giggled as you wrapped your arms around Roosters' neck, smiling up at him. He chuckled, his hand softly stroking your hair out of your face, before his thumb swept across your cheek. He looked amused as he took in your flour-covered state.

"Sweetheart..." he began softly "What have you been up to whilst I've been at work, hm?" his thumb had traveled slowly from your cheek, until it rested on your plump lower lip. A shaky breath slipped past your slightly parted lips.

"I-I..." a shuddering breath ran through your body as Roosters other hand had found the back of your neck, gripping with just the right amount of pressure to make your cheeks flush with warmth.

"Yes, baby?" he hummed, his lips ghosting past your earlobe. God, this man was too fucking much. Your eyelids had fluttered closed before you could utter "Scones,"

"Scones?" Rooster chuckled, his warm lips trailing butterfly light kisses against your neck.

"I made scones for a picnic," it was breathless, it was barely spoken words.

"Aw, sweetheart..." The way his voice dropped. The way his words were drawn out and slow. God, why on earth was he so hot? "You prepared a picnic for us?" he leant back again to look at you, a grin stretching across his face.

"Yeah, but I'm kind of regretting it now. Let's stay home instead so you can fuck me senseless," you spoke matter-of-factly, which made Rooster clutch his belly he was laughing so hard.

"God, I'm so in love with you," he spoke tenderly, whilst you grinned up at him, your palms laying flat against his black t-shirt clad chest.

"Lucky me," you mumbled, leaning your cheek against his chest, letting his strong arms embrace you, his cheek resting on the top of your head.

"What did you have planned today, honey?" he mumbled against your hair, lips pressing in to a kiss as he inhaled your sweet scent.

"I thought, since it's officially October now, we could take some food out and pick some pumpkins and-- and maybe we could get some and then maybe tonight we could watch Hocus Pocus or something..." you trailed off

"but now I'm torn because you made me all horny and now I'm confused. Do I want to go to the pumpkin patch, or do I want to fuck? Can we fuck at the pumpkin patch?" you rambled, jokingly adding the last part just because you loved hearing Bradleys deep laughter rumble in his chest. It worked, and the feeling of his chest vibrating against your face had a shit-eating grin making its way onto your face.

"Baby, I don't think we can fuck at the pumpkin patch." Bradley tried to sound morose, but he couldn't really keep a straight face.

You pushed off his chest and offered him your best pout

"Aw, shucks!" he smiled down at you, before bending down and letting his lips connect with yours in a soft, warm kiss. You couldn't help the soft noise of content that spilled from your lips onto his.

"We're quite productive people... I think we can manage both, don't you think baby girl?" Bradley's face was still so, so close to yours as he said this, his words rolling on to your lips, in to your skin. God, he would be the death of you.

"You have to know that you're making it worse with all these pet names?" you sighed. He just smirked before turning you around.

"Don't let those scones burn now, darling Harbour!" he gave your ass a small pat before ushering the both of you in to your kitchen.

"Darling Harbour - you fucking weirdo..." you muttered under your breath. You'd never been called a location in Australia before, but it was oddly endearing. At least the implication of the name. A Harbour. It was sort of sweet even if it was a little strange. Your heart fluttered at the notion that he might find you to be a safe haven. Ugh, he'd turned you in to a love-sick fool. You used to be a cool independent girl. Now you might as well get a freaking Volvo and pop out a dozen of children. Christ.

The drive to the pumpkin patch was nothing short of serene. The radio was playing soft 70's songs, the two of you taking turns singing the lyrics. Bradley's fingers were intertwined with yours for most of the ride, his thumb softly gracing your skin over and over again, alternating between circling the skin and playing absentmindedly with your fingers. The sun was still rather high on the sky, but the temperature had already started to drop slightly.

The patch was everything you could have wished for and more ("oh my god Bradley look at the tiny pumpkin!! We have to take it home!"), and feeding your man so much food he could barely walk ("Jesus, babe - you made food for the whole dagger squad. I should've invited Payback!"). Giggling like two teenagers in love, you held hands and wandered through the field, enjoying the scenery and each others company. The sun was starting to set, and the golden hue made Roosters skin almost glow, his eyes - that were usually pretty, were now magnificent in their warm brown glow. You stopped to wrap your arms around his waist.

"I love you so much, Bradley," you sighed "Thank you for humoring me today. You must've been exhausted after work." you continued softly, your fingers gracing his cheek lovingly. "You made me nervous when you were late," you confessed with a lopsided smile.

His eyes were filled with adoration and love as he bent down to place a kiss to your cheek.

"You're heart-achingly sweet, baby girl," he muttered "and I love you endlessly," he smiled softly. "I never want to worry you, I should've sent you a text. Hangman bet me he could do 300 pushups faster than me, and that's just simply not true." you shook your head as laughter spilled from your smiling lips.

"God, you're ridiculous, Roos," you smiled.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's go home," was the only reply you got as he led you back to his car.

"Now, the pumpkin patch was a hit. What was next on the agenda? Hocus Pocus, or was it fucking?" he smirked at you as he helped you with your belt, his knuckles suspiciously close to your lower abdomen. Your breath hitched mid-inhale, and your eyes widened at his statement.

A rumbling laugh sounded from him as he started the car, a smug smirk on his face as his large hand massaged your thigh the whole way home.

• • • • • • •• • • • • • •• • • • • • •• • • • • • •• • • • • • •• • • • • • •

hey! hope you enjoyed it and it's not complete sleep-deprived garbage lmao. my mother always used to call me 'darling harbour' as a child, and I always found it rather sweet. but perhaps it's just weird, lmao! anyways! please let me know if you'd like more stories with x reader, or x oc :)<3

[coconutcordiale]

wasted and strawberry lace with sub!rooster for the 1k celebration 💗💗 love u mae!!

your ecstasy (i'm floating away)

pairing- rooster x afab reader

synopsis- sometimes bradley just needs to get out of his head a little

warnings- 18+ minors dni (glen don't read this either ik you want proof rooster's a bottom but this is not the droid you're looking for) sub bradley, dom reader, dirty pics, teasing bradley while he's supposed to be working, unprotected piv, orgasm control, subspace, established relationship so kink negotiation is implied to have happened pre-fic, lots of anxiety and rooster's bummer of a life

length- 1.9k

an- thank you so much jo ily!!!! this is weirdly not just filth it kind of turned into a character study almost? my b

for the prompts wasted; ‘i know baby, I know’ & strawberry lace; lingerie. I had two other requests for {wasted} which’ll get posted separately the muse is just very fickle right now

i think of this as part of the heart in danger (rooster x roommate) universe but can definitely be read separately there's only one comment about it. also let's hand wave the fact that rooster would probably not be allowed to be on his phone while getting briefed on a life endangering mission

the link to lingerie is not very inclusive, if that bothers you feel free to skip the link. it fit perfectly so i had to use it. but as always envision whatever you want :)

title courtesy of dopamine - børns

The problem with being back in North Island is that no matter how many renditions of Great Balls of Fire Bradley does, that pit of uneasiness still sits like a rock in his stomach, reminiscent of the last time he was here.

He remembers being so heavy, having such a chip on his shoulder going through TOPGUN the first time around that it’s a wonder his jet was ever able to get off the ground.

So, when faced with Maverick - the one person who purposely ensured that Bradley was well and truly alone - for the first time in over a decade, the anxiety simmering deep within him starts to claw its way to the surface.

And it’s not just Maverick. It’s all too much; the idea that he might die serving the Navy, die doing the same job his mom always wanted to keep him safe from, die flying as close as he can to a blonde guy with a mustache that he barely remembers – his only real memories of him consisting of brightly colored shirts and deft fingers flying over piano keys.

Or maybe it’s even worse if he burns in trying to emulate the guy that never believed he was ready in the first place.

No time to be thinking about the past, Hangman spat at him. As if Bradley doesn’t know that, how high the stakes are. As if he doesn’t know that he’ll be a danger to the entire team if he doesn’t get his overanxious mind under control; like he’d still be thinking about this given the choice not to.

If only he could just get his brain to shut up for one goddamn second.

He’s pulled from his internal self-pity by his phone, nearly jumping in his seat at the vibration. He really needs to get it the fuck together.

Wanted something fancy under my new button-up today, what do you think?

“Christ,” Bradley mutters, flipping the device over before anyone sees the lingerie you’ve so kindly sent him a picture of, a sinful black lacy little thing, while he should be paying attention to Maverick.  

“Feathers ruffled, Rooster?”

Bradley tries to keep his eyes from rolling, he really does, but Hangman’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to him, always has been. No amount of team bonding and dogfight football can fix that.

He flips the blonde off while Mav’s attention is on Fanboy, not trusting his tone to stay calm. When Hangman finally turns back to the front of the room, he texts you back as sneakily as he can with one hand and his eyes fixed forward.

Are you trying to make me jerk off in the bathroom like a teenager?

I don’t remember saying that was allowed, Lieutenant.

Fuck.

Bradley drops his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing. Whenever you use his rank against him it always spreads heat under his collar.

It only means one thing.

He’ll count his lucky stars that you were able to come with him to North Island, even if there is a death sentence at the end of it. Because you’ve always been able to read him better than anyone.

You must’ve sensed how much he needs this, needs to be taken out of his head for a little while. How his brain’s been running a hundred miles an hour, ever since he got called back.

It’s not something you do all the time, more often than not he likes to take the reins, likes to lay you out and take you apart.

His cheeks still get ruddy with embarrassment sometimes, thinking about how domineering, brushing against the edge of mean, he was with you the very first time you crossed the line from roommates to something more. But he knew what you needed, what you were too scared to ask for.

As it turns out, just as much as he knows what you need, you do the same for him. Like you know everything’s too much for him this close to the beaches of southern California.

That every day his flight suit has sat unpleasantly against his tanned skin. The straps holding him into his F/A-18 have felt like they were in danger of rubbing his skin raw.

Since the moment you both headed stateside his mind has supplied him with endless possibilities of what could go wrong, and probably will go wrong in this mission.  

He hasn’t been able to finish one coherent thought. That’s the thing about your mind spinning with possibilities – eventually, they come too fast to really register them. He’s halfway through one nightmare sequence when his brain moves on to another.

Every day he’s come back to you, watched you answer work emails while perched at his Navy-issued hotel room desk, and felt a sob catch in his throat as he considers what he’ll leave behind if he gets chosen for the mission.

He almost wishes he could wash out, but knows his stupid, bull-headed pride won’t let him. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, deep down he’s still the same eighteen-year-old screaming in Maverick’s face for pulling his papers, for telling him he’s not good enough. No matter how much he tries to hide it, the chip on his shoulder hasn’t quite filled itself out.

Sorry ma’am. I can be good.

He can practically see your smartass grin when he gets your response, a simple two words that have him counting the seconds until he can bolt out of the debrief.

Prove it.

+

You’re still wearing the lingerie that’s sure to haunt his dreams for the next several deployments, that’ll be stuck in his head when he’s suffocating on other pilots’ egos and wishing desperately he didn’t have a bunkmate. It’s pulled to the side, his eyes transfixed on where you’re letting him thrust his thick cock into your wet heat, his feet flat on the bed so he has enough leverage to fuck up into you.

“Stop, baby,” you say, and Bradley knows his face crumples like he’s in pain, but he immediately halts his movements, hands tearing at the bedsheets in protest of the orgasm quickly being ripped out from underneath him.

You run your hands down his chest, nails raking red marks across his pecs, the sharp sting his only tether to reality.

“Plea –” He tries to beg, but it gets lost in a groan as you swivel your hips on his cock, too slow for him to build back up to the edge.

It feels like you’ve been at this for days and distantly, Bradley can tell he’s shaking with need, breathless whines leaving in a stream without his permission as you whisper how gorgeous he is like this. He’d preen under the attention if he weren’t currently floating, as close as he ever gets to flying when he’s on the ground.

He can feel the wetness beneath his lashes, spilling hot tears onto his cheeks as you move to cup his jaw, your harsh grip offset by affectionate strokes across his cheek with your thumb. “I know, baby, I know.”

Sounds are leaving his mouth, he thinks his hands are reaching for you, but he doesn’t know what world he exists in right now, his mind light and high in the clouds.

“You need to cum, don’t you?”

Bradley leans into your touch, the soft pads of your fingers giving him something to focus on, something to ground him as he tries to wade through the fog to understand your words, to be good for you.

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, just on this side of painful, bringing him back to Earth. “I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”

He nods and you tut, the disapproving noise lancing him, your displeasure bringing more burning tears to his eyes.

You look down at him, his world narrowing to the soft light behind you, glowing around your head like a halo and the smile that Bradley has dreamt of on every aircraft carrier he’s had the displeasure of being on since he met you.

“Words, Bradley, you know better than that.”

He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about the whine that rips from his throat, high-pitched and reedy. His head is empty, a lone yes rattling around his brain like the last piece of candy in those little cardboard boxes you get at the movies.

“Please, princess.” The words force themselves off his tongue, syllables falling out of his mouth slowly like molasses. “Need you, need to cum inside you.”

He should probably be calling you ma’am or something more deferential given your current situation, but at this point, it’s truly a feat he was able to get any words out at all.

"Good boy."

When you tangle your fingers in his curls and tug, another drawn-out moan leaves his lips involuntarily.

You smirk. Bradley thinks he’ll be seeing that coy, self-satisfied look on the back of his eyelids every day for the rest of his life.

“You’ve been so good,” you murmur, sultry and bringing more heat to his cheeks, which he didn't even think possible after they've been flaming for hours now. He wants to keen, wants to bottle up your praise and live with it inside his ears forever, but you’ve started moving your hips again, building your rhythm back up and it drives any coherency from his brain.

“Cum for me, baby, fill me up,” you whimper, leaning down so your words are hot in his ear, sending sparks down his spine.

His thrusts turn erratic at your permission, hands gripping your hips for dear life as his head falls back, exposing the thick line of his throat. Your hand stays on his jaw, moving down his neck, thumb rubbing softly over his pulse as his climax snaps through him, every muscle tensing and releasing as his vision whites out.

He’s boneless, afloat, mind blissfully, finally blank. For the first time since he got the order to return to California, his chest feels light.

Your hands are carding through his curls, voice soft and melodic when he comes to. It warms him all over. “You back with me?”

Bradley nods, face tucked into your neck. He hears the crinkle of a wrapper, opening his eyes to spy a piece of a Nature Valley bar inches away from him. He wants to roll his eyes, tell you he’s fine, but decides he’s too tired to argue, taking the snack between his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, princess,” he mumbles through a mouthful of granola bar.  

“I needed it too,” you admit quietly, like you don’t want to ruin the calm that’s taken over your shared hotel room by being too loud. “I know you can’t tell me anything about why we’re here. But it can’t be good, right? It was nice, to be in control for just a little. I feel a bit better now, more settled.”

“Me too,” he agrees, nuzzling the soft skin behind your ear before nosing his way to your mouth for a kiss.

He tries to pour all his love into the press of his lips against yours, hoping it’s enough.

[yanak324]

better to be lost (than without you) (m)

Before Top Gun again, before Tasha again, there’s Jake.

Catch up here. 😘✌🏻

[fanatic1997]

In the Clouds Again (2)

(TopGun: Maverick Imagine)

Chapter 2

Rooster x you

Summary: You’ve been grounded since having your wings clipped 2 years ago for disobeying orders. Now you’re ordered back to TopGun to train along with the best pilots in the Navy for an impossible mission. You aren’t surprised to see Rooster again but that doesn’t mean you are prepared. 

Prologue, Part 1

“Hey girl, you going to take it easy on me?” You pat the side of the F18. You had finished your pre-inspection. Now you were just making proper introductions.

“Those other pilots don’t appreciate the classics. What do you say we show them what we’re made of?” You start the engine and as soon as you are signaled, you take off.

You feel the small bump when you run out of the runway and suddenly, you’re in the sky again for the first time in two years. The anxiety you had, melts away. You practice some quick dives and banks before Maverick calls you into position.

You positioned yourself into a combat spread. “Behind you Phoenix,” you announce to the aviator although you were sure Bob, her RIO, had already spotted you.

Maverick had already demolished three other teams before naming Phoenix next. Phoenix had fist-bumped you when you were named her wingman, but you didn’t miss the slight hesitation in her eyes. You tried to not take it to heart.

“Maybe he’ll go easy on you Doc,” Hangman had smirked around the toothpick in his mouth. “I can tell him for you if you want. Tell him you’re a rookie again.” Hangman had taunted.

You rolled your eyes and waved off the blonde. “Maybe so. Or maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two,” you had winked at the cocky blonde. Hangman had only scoffed.

Flying was doing a hell of a job washing away your fears, but you still worried Hangman’s words held some truth.

“Let’s go find Maverick,” Phoenix snaps you out of your thoughts. She increases her speed, and you do the same. You hold your defensive position behind her while looking around for the instructor. He had to be somewhere close.

“Were you guys looking for little old me,” Maverick appears suddenly from underneath and splits the two of you apart. The maneuver causes your jet to rock in the air.

Maverick begins his pursuit of Phoenix. “Doc where are you?” Phoenix grinds out. She was maneuvering her jet from side to side trying to evade the missile lock.

As soon as you regain control of your jet, you immediately increase your speed to reengage. “Phoenix, get ready to bank right.” You call out, rapidly approaching the pair. “Bank right!” You holler and you barrel-roll over Maverick before banking left. You and your partner have split again but the maneuver takes Maverick off her tail. Importantly, you aren’t out of the fight yet

The instructor had read you like a book though. “Maverick’s hot on your tail, Doc.” You bank right, hard.

“You ready to show him what you got girl,” You pat the cockpit before tilting the jet’s nose down and opening the throttle. You rapidly descend into a negative G dive that helps you put space between you and your pursuer.

“You’re approaching the hard deck y/n,” Phoenix announces. You level out your plane quickly and Maverick takes advantage to gain ground on you again. Fuck, he was good.

Think, y/n think. How can you shake him off?

You decide to take a page out of the old man’s book. You quickly raise the nose of your F18, and the jet rapidly pitches vertical without initiating a climb. The maneuver keeps you stagnant in the air for a second and Maverick shoots right past you.

“Nice move, lieutenant” Maverick grunts. You smile, leveling back out and chasing after your instructor. He banks hard but you stay on him. He begins to scissor which effectively keeps you from getting missile lock, but you stay with him still.

From the observation deck, Rooster smiles watching you fly with ease. He turns to the cocky blonde sitting next to him. “You should pick your jaw off the floor.”

“Phoenix, where are you?” You grunt feeling the heavy Gs on you as you continue to bank at high speed. “Swinging around. You two flew right past us,” she laughs into the microphone.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort to shake you off, Maverick ascends directly into the line of the sun. You attempt to follow but the blinding rays burn your eyes, and you lose sight of him. Less than a second later, you hear the tone of someone getting you in their missile lock. “Gotcha Doc,” Maverick announces.

You unstrap your face mask before swearing. You should know better than to follow someone directly into the sunlight like that. Hangman was right, you are an amateur.

Before climbing off the jet, you pat the cockpit. “You did good girl. I’m the one that failed today.”

10 minutes later and you’re sweat drips onto the asphalt. Your arms are in agony. “190, 191, 192…” You’re in a daze.

Hondo puts a hand on your shoulder to let you know you're done. You collapse and roll onto your back. The clouds look different from down here.

“Doc, can I have a minute?” Maverick comes into view above you. “Yes sir,” you do your best to stand without using your arms to push yourself up. You feel a little woozy standing.

“I haven’t seen flying like that in a while. I read your file. I would have done the same.” You nod unsure of how to reply. But it’s enough for the instructor and he walks away. You stand there, trying to figure out what just happened and maybe also deciding whether you should lie down again.

“Yo Doc, drinks on me tonight.” You hear someone holler. You look up and Phoenix is a short distance away, waving you over. 

......

Author’s note: I’m still laying down the foundation but hopefully we will have more spicy scenes in the next chapter ;) I’m starting to like the idea of a love triangle, what do you think? 

In the Clouds Again Taglist: 

@levylovegood @spookycupcakepirate @nobody7102 @minnie0mitzel @bespinnn @huncwockiavenger @Nekrasinclair @mcu-starwars​

Permanent Taglist: 

@n3ssm0nique @kyber-crystal @multifandom-fangirl4 @thespeeder @inglourious-imagines @mads-weasley @llukpng @foreverchasingtime @rachaeldonnaspiteri1 @redpandabel @specialk6802 @startterfly @mikrokosmosmymind @jonginvlog @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak  @evans-dejong

Rooster Taglist:

@redhoodedtoad @curlyolly @a-sweet-little-fangirl @tipsykeen @casuallyawkwardd @thefuturewillbeprosperous @fogle97 @flyinlove @itscheybaby @herladyshipxx @straightforwardly

[halfway-happyyy]

into you (rooster bradshaw)

short, sweet, filthy. inspired by this ask. enjoy lovelies!!

pairing: rooster bradshaw x female reader

warnings: explicit language, praise kink if you squint, (m) oral sex recieving.

Rooster Bradshaw’s long fingers found purchase in his girl’s hair as he watched her cheeks hollow out around the girthy width of his hard cock.

She gagged against his groin as he mercilessly fucked the back of her throat, and he felt himself grow even harder as a tear slipped from her eye and cascaded down her flushed cheek.

“So close, sweetheart…” He warned.

She nodded against him- prepared to take him even deeper, but then the shrill sound of his phone ringing pierced the breathless silence. He prayed to God, or some other higher being for it not to be important, but as Maverick’s name flashed across the screen, all hopes of a glorious release were dashed in an instant and Rooster nearly cried out at the sudden lack of her wet, warm mouth as she pulled away from him. He found himself (certainly not for the first time) cursing the elder naval aviator on the other end of the line.

If Rooster had ever endured a longer day in the clouds, he couldn’t remember it.

“How about we start flying like the Navy pays us to do it for a living, hey?”

He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth and a low whistle followed by a hearty laugh sounds in his ear.

“Jesus Rooster, who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?” Fanboy laughs.

Hangman clears his throat. “That my friends, is the tone of voice one only gets when they’ve been interrupted in the midst of something… important.”

Rooster has no idea how Jake knows, and it only adds fuel to the fire burning steadily in the pit of his belly. He tries to come up with something quippy to bite back with but after a few tense moments, comes up frustratingly empty.

“It’s okay pal, we’ve all been there.” Hangman’s voice brims with mirth and Rooster doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to pummel the elder pilot more.

His feet hit the tarmac a grueling hour and a half later and he almost misses Hangman’s simpering, “Tell her I said Hi when you see her!” Above the roaring of the Bronco’s engine starting up. He rolls down his window and presents his middle finger to the laughing pilot and makes a mental note to harass him within an inch of his life the next time he brings a date to the Hard Deck. About five minutes from the house and stopped at a red light, he receives a text from his girl that causes his cock to stir in the crotch of his jeans; he is uncomfortably erect five minutes later when he steps through the threshold of their home.

“Baby, I’m back!”

And I am so fucking ready to continue where we left off.

“I’m in the bedroom!” She calls back.

Rooster can hardly contain himself as he makes quick work of shucking his tan uniform off while he saunters down the hallway to their closed door. Upon entry, his mouth drops open when he takes notice of her nude figure in front of their bed. She is in the same kneeling position she was in when he left her a couple of hours ago- as if she hadn’t gotten up since, and though he knows this not to be the case, every last ounce of blood in his body floods to his cock as he watches her.

“What a good a girl.” He murmurs breathlessly and resumes his stance above her.

She smiles up at him and hooks two fingertips in the waistband of his black boxer-briefs. “Did you miss me?”

He cups the apple of her cheek in his warm palm and brushes the calloused pad of his thumb over her still-flushed cheek. “More than you’ll ever know, sweetheart.” She pulls his briefs lower and gasps as his cock springs free from its cotton restraint. She leans forward to lick up the bead of pre-come that glistens from the slit on his reddening head. “Missed that mouth of yours too.” He sighs.

“Mm, I bet you did.” She simpers and savors his saltiness on her tongue.

Rooster takes himself in his fist and rubs the swollen head of his cock against her smiling lips. “Gonna be an angel for me and suck this cock until it comes for you?” He watches her shiver; knows exactly the effect his words are having on her. Knows that if he were to touch her where she wants him most, his fingers would come away slick with her arousal for him. His mouth waters at the very thought of it. She nods her head. Rooster smiles down at her and cups her cheek again. “Open up for me sweetheart.”

She does as she’s told; takes him so deep into her mouth that the tip of her nose nuzzles up into the soft, curly hair at the base of his cock. She breathes in deeply; tries her best not to choke herself on his impressive length, but try as she might, he is simply no match for her, and she gags against him.

Rooster’s head drops back, and his fingertips find purchase in her hair as she works her expert tongue along the underside of his thick shaft. She falls back off him for a moment to spit against his length, and a long, low whimper exits his mouth. “Fuck, don’t stop.” She pulls off him completely and Rooster almost cries out. When she doesn’t immediately resume her ministrations, his honeyed orbs widen in mild bewilderment, and he peers down at her.

“You’ve thought about this all day, haven’t you?” She murmurs.

Rooster notices the decidedly evil glint in her eye, and knows he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on even more. “All fucking day.” He confirms.

“Right. And God only knows how badly you want to come for me, right?”

He nods again.

“Now it’s your turn to be a good boy, Rooster. Because I swear to God, if you tell me what to do one more time, I will stop for good and I will make you watch me touch myself until I come all over my fingers. Do you understand?”

And while Rooster nods along like a bobblehead on the dash of someone’s car, he’s just happy he doesn’t finish for her right then and there.

“Now. Where were we?” She sighs and lowers her mouth back onto his painfully hard cock.

[lovingbradshawafterdark]

Relentless

Hangman x Rooster x gn!Reader

You’re lovingly fucked by your two boyfriends

Word count: 670

Warnings: threesome, oral sex m!receiving, unprotected sex, polyamory

you panted heavily as hangman just kept a firm grip on your hips, fucking you relentlessly.

“Alright if you keep doing that I wont be able to have my fun time”, Rooster said crossing his arms.

“Shut up Bradshaw”, hangman panted out as his hips finally began to stutter, he looked like he was in absolute heaven, his once nicely styled hair having some flyways. He finally bottomed out inside you making you whine as he held you as close to his body as he could manage. He stayed like that as long as possible before pulling out, cum leaking out of you as he came down from his high. You breathed heavily before he backed away, your eyes were closed before you let out a gasp feeling two hands groping at your ass.

“It’s my turn darlin”, Rooster whispered quite huskily and lowly into your ear, you whined for a second before he quickly flipped you over onto your back, sweat on his forehead as you could his cock erect and already dripping with pre cum. You moaned as he entered you, slightly overstimulated from hangman fucking your brains out.

“Please….”, you whimpered at him as he just smiled and quickly thrust into you, you let out a slight squeal as he hit the right, hangman say with his arms crossed watching as Rooster started going to town on you, his grunting and groans guttural as they started to pitch up.

“You’re gonna overstimulate em roost”, hangman growled as he saw the eyes rolling the back of your head, a smile appearing on his face as he stood up, “alright she deserves something extra special tonight what do ya say?”, hangman winked at Rooster, making him give him a blissed yet confused look, hangman pointed at his mouth with a smirk making Rooster smirk as well, he slowed down and stopped for a moment, you whined at him as he pulled out and flipped you back onto your stomach. You were left confused before becoming a moaning mess as he began fucking you again, you couldn’t even think about anything else only how good Rooster felt inside you, you jumped slightly as you felt hangman’s hand gently caress your cheek, he smiled as he pumped his cock.

“Open wide”, he grunted out, you did as you were told and opened your mouth for him, you nearly gagged as he pressed in as far as he could, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your mouth. You really couldn’t think now, torn between roosters cock inside you while hangman fucked your throat. It was all so much as you finally just moaned around hangman’s cock as you finally succumbed to your release, you spasmed around roosters cock making him his for a moment, as he only lasted a few more seconds and came inside you, you saw hangman throw his head back as he continued to hit the back of your throat. All you could smell was sex, all you could taste was sex and all you could hear was sex. It was intoxicating and blissful.

“Fuck!”, hangman hissed out before you felt him release in your mouth, you tried your best to swallow all of it yet it was too much. He just looked at you, you had tears pricking your eyes at how rough he was, he just caressed your cheek again as he pulled out. Rooster soon joined him, whining at the loss of contact as you just flopped down on the bed, you panted heavily, you felt Rooster caress your back as hangman continued to caress your cheek.

“You did so good darlin”, Rooster praised as he gently kissed your back.

“You’ve got one hell of a mouth”, Hangman said before kissing your forehead.

“So good for us”, he said gently as your eyes began to close, your energy spent, “shhh just relax it’s alright…”, you hummed softly before shutting your eyes and feeling yourself slowly lose consciousness as the two men still kissed and caressed you gently.