#top gun: maver

[nurse-floyd]

@vivwritesfics

THE TOP GUN CONTENT. I AM SCREAMING.

[charliewrites99]

What I actually really like about Hangster is that them being ex-boyfriends, ex-friends with benefits, just ex-somethings, makes the movie and their dynamic so much more interesting.

If you read it as just them being rivals it's kind of boring, seen before. I mean, this exact dynamic has been done better in the OG Top Gun. I realize that they were paralleling it, but IceMav had so much more bite to them as opponents. Because they met and it was all new and "fuck you, you dick" this and "Fuck me yourself, you asshole" that. It was the rivalry in its infancy.

Hangster have HISTORY that we only get a glimpse of. And if the whole history is just, yeah they don't like each other. Kinda meh. Because we don't get those beginning moments that would explain where exactly that dynamic and its intricacies come from.

However, if you read it the other way it has way more nooks and crannies and the unspoken-ess of it all. Especially since we can see that they do care for each other. So it's complicated and messy and turbulent. There are quips and jabs that feel juusst a little too personal. If this was a pilot of a tv show, we would find out the meaning/or origin behind those fightin' words at the bar in a flashback episode. And the tension, of course, the tension. Did Miles Teller really need to look at Glenn's lips? I thank him every day for that.

It's much more intense than if they were just rivals that "respect" each other at the end.

What I am saying is...Top Gun 3 make Hangster canon or at least give us more fuel for the headcanons.

[saintlike78]

The only one for me [J.S]

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Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Words: 2k

Summary: Other women just don’t seem to care that you’re Jake’s wife or the fact that you’re sitting right next to him whilst they flirt with him

Warnings: Fluff, some angst, slight insecure reader, Jake’s a whole softie, making out, some sexual implications but not really.

It’s not his fault and you know it. It’s not as if he’s purposely picking out other women and flirting with them in front of you; it’s just his personality and the way he is - too friendly for his own good and too good-looking for his own good - so every interaction just happens to be mistaken for flirting. It’s also obvious that he’s with someone, he has you pressed up against him in the booth, his arm thrown protectively behind your back to squeeze you and to show every man in the Hard Deck that you’re his.

You only wish the women had half the decency that the men had not to flirt with your husband right in front of you.

It would be impossible for any man to try and flirt with you in front of Jake, a hard stare and maybe even a ‘back off, man’ would be all they would get. You, on the other hand, do not possess the skill of a hard glare or even to interrupt whatever lady that sat down right beside Jake, twirling their hair and batting their lashes as if you weren’t sitting right there under Jake’s arm.

It’s not as if he indulges in the flirting, he’s just friendly - much to your dismay.

You try not to let it bother you - you really do - but it still does. The stupid pit of jealousy sits in your stomach and gnaws at it until you feel sick; you feel sick of watching these women ignore you and talk to Jake like he’s up for grabs.

Maybe that’s another thing, they do it because they don’t see you as a competition. They’re all beautiful and confident, batting their lovely eyes at Jake because he’s gorgeous and you’re just so painfully you.

You nurse the drink in your hand with a pitiful look on your face, leaning into Jake’s side as he talks idly with the woman sitting so close to him he can’t move anywhere.

It feels horrid to feel so icky because Jake’s not the one doing anything wrong and it’s not as if you could ban him from speaking to another woman again, but god, you want to just tell her to fuck off - but you never would.

The woman laughs loudly at something he said, hitting his arm, “you’re hilarious! I love a man with humour,” she says, winking at her last statement.

She could’ve just come and hit you in the stomach and poured your drink over you because her words had the exact same effect. You rolled your eyes involuntarily, not even the tiniest bit nervous about her seeing it, her eyes were glued to Jake.

“Gotta keep the missus happy somehow,” he smiles politely, squeezing you against him, “ain’t that right, baby?”

He laughs a little at his own words as he looks toward you, only for his smile to be wiped off his face as he takes in the solemn look on your face; the way you stare at the empty glass in your hands, obviously not paying attention to his conversation or words.

The woman laughs awkwardly, giving you a dirty look that you didn’t see, “I didn’t realize you were married.”

Jake doesn’t answer her, instead, he lowers his head to nudge your temple with his lips and whispers in your ear, “baby?”

The affection pulls you from your trance and you hum, looking from your glass to his face, a concerned frown pulls at his lips and brow - you reach up to smooth over the crease that has settled and his eyes soften.

“You okay? You wanna go home? Too loud?” He asks and if you could melt into a puddle you would at the genuine concern etched in his words and how he would drop everything just to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible and having fun.

“Only if you want to, I don’t mind waiting till you’re done,” you whisper back, leaning into his body and his soft touches.

He smiles and shakes his head, leaving a kiss against your hair, “I’m done now then.”

Before you had the chance to say anything more he’s already politely asking the stunned woman to move, sliding out of the booth with your purse and jacket on one arm and the other reached out for you to take.

It takes you a moment before you’re grabbing ahold of his arm, purposely ignoring the dirty look the woman gives you before she’s huffing and storming in the opposite direction. You sigh in relief, gripping Jake’s arm tight as he leads you by his fellow pilots to wave goodbye and then out the front door of the Hard Deck.

Jake keeps an eye on your face, smiling at the way you cling to his arm, “you’re sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” he asks when you reach his truck.

Before you have a chance to open the passenger door, he had you caged against the vehicle, arms on both sides of your body as he looks down at you with a certain look, waiting for you to answer him.

You let out a sigh, placing both hands on his biceps, “I just wish they would see me as a threat.”

“Who?” His eyebrow is raised and if he wasn’t so confused you’re sure he would’ve laughed because of all the things you were, threatening was probably one of the last things on that list - probably not on the list at all.

“The women… all of them that come and talk to you… none of them takes me seriously when I’m sat next to you and that’s why they flirt with you right in front of me,” you sighed with a squeeze of his biceps, avoiding his eyes and missing the way they soften.

You don’t have time to react before you were smushed against his hard chest, his arms around you in a tight embrace. You inhale the musky scent of his cologne, the scent calming you instantly.

“You should’ve told me it bothered you, honey. I never would’ve talked to them if I knew you felt like that,” he said with a sweet smile that you couldn’t see, you could only feel his lips against your forehead as he spoke.

“It’s not what you do that bothers me, you’re just being nice… it’s them. They’re so persistent just because they’re prettier than me -“

“Hey! Don’t say that,” Jake pulls your face from his chest, his eyebrows scrunched together again with a frown, “they’re not. You know you’re the prettiest girl in the world to me.”

You sigh, smoothing out the crease again out of instinct, “I know, but they don’t think that.”

“Honey, I don’t care what they think, it’s what I think that matters and I happen to think you’re the most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen,” he spoke matter-of-factly, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

You chuckled lightly, trying but failing to hide the heat that crept up your neck.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you have a crush on me, lieutenant Seresin,” you grinned, eyes crinkling with the pinch he left on your cheek.

Jake smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours in typical teasing Seresin manner, his breath fanned across your lips as he spoke, “oh I have much more than just a crush on you, baby.”

His muscles flexed underneath your hands as they glided up to hold him around his neck. He was bent down to be right in your face and you knew that if he were to straighten up you would be dangling from him; if he was uncomfortable in the way he was bent he didn’t let it on, instead he brushed your lips with his so achingly slow you couldn’t help the needy whine of his name that slipped from your pouting lips.

“Just kiss me already, Jake,” you whined like an impatient child, almost stomping your foot on the ground for added effect, but decided against it.

Jake only smirked, moving his hand up to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place for him, “you wanna say that again, you little brat?”

You swallowed the stone-sized lump in your throat, trying to close the minimal gap between your lips, but Jake kept you in place with his strong hand.

“Please, kiss me… I love you,” you whispered, adding the last part to seal the deal because you knew Jake could never resist you when you played your sweet loving wife card.

Which is why you didn’t have time to even take a breath before Jake’s lips were on yours, trapping you firmly against his truck with his firm body. He moved skillfully against you, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip, silently asking for permission; your lips parted instantly, allowing him entrance to slip his tongue in and tangle with yours. Your breaths mingled and your noses bumped one another. The kiss was bruising, to say the least, and his grip on you even more. His muscles moved under your touch, your hands sliding from his biceps to glide up his chest, finding their final destination tangled in his soft blond hair; your fingers scratched at his scalp and tugged on his locks electing soft grunts of satisfaction to fall from his parted lips.

One of Jake’s many talents was definitely kissing because somehow, no matter how many times you two made out, it always made tingles and goosebumps rise along your entire body. It was like being bathed in warm honey, his kisses sweet and always desperate for you. His hands explored you entirely like if he wasn’t holding you as close as possible you would vanish from him.

“You two haven’t left yet?”

Your kiss broke with a startled gasp as you peered over Jake’s shoulder to see a very amused Rooster and Phoenix, both with raised brows and sly grins. Your face felt like it was on fire especially with Jake’s hand cupping your face, thumb rubbing the soft skin slowly.

He didn’t turn fully, only looking over his shoulder to answer, “we were just about to.”

Phoenix hummed, “sure.”

“I was just helping my girl into her seat,” Jake smiled, sending you a quick wink.

Rooster barked out a laugh, “were you gonna stuff her through the door?”

Jake huffed, “I was just trying to be a gentleman… kissing my lady before helping her… not something you’re familiar with, huh, Bradshaw?”

“Dude, it looked like you were inhaling her… or crushing her,” Phoenix scoffed with a chuckle.

“Okay, not that I’m not enjoying this conversation because I really am… we really should leave now,” you spoke, burying your face in Jake’s shoulder.

“Alright, we’ll leave you to it… later lover birds,” Rooster saluted, turning with Phoenix back towards the bar.

You let out a laugh feeling Jake huff against the top of your head, “that guy.”

“Alright, lover boy, let’s go home.”

Jake looked down at you with a sheepish smile, “just a moment, sweetheart and then I’m good to go.”

“What’s wrong, are you okay?” you reached up cupping his cheeks, looking him over with wide eyes.

Jake let out a small chuckle, “I’m fine, honey… it’s just difficult driving when my pants feel a little tight.”

Your eyes widened as you looked down, and sure enough, his pants did look a little tighter, “oh… I thought your phone was poking me.”

Jake laughed loudly hugging you tightly, “my sweet girl.”

“What?? That was a completely valid thing to think,” you argued, wiggling in Jake’s grasp, but to no avail.

He hummed, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You’re the only one for me, ever. You know that right?” he spoke against the top of your head.

“I know,” you smiled against his chest, burying yourself further against him, “and you’re the only one for me.”

“Damn right I am,” he exclaimed, making you laugh.

A/n: to be notified of future writing follow @saintlike78slibrary and turn on notifications ☀️

[almostgenerallyalways]

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. “I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together. 

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.” 

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.” You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

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Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

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Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

[purelyfiction]

Incorrect top gun quotes

Ice: You can’t blame me for missing the turn!

Mav: You have such a short attention span.

Ice: and you have a short BODY.

[peacefulwriting]

A Christmas Wish

For years, you were used to Jake being gone for some holidays, including Christmas. His job had him gone for countless holidays and sadly, it was nothing new to you and you'd be able to handle it. When you started a family, that had all changed.

You and Jake got extremely lucky and he didn't have to leave for any deployments for a few years but that had all changed in a matter of time.

Your son had just turned 5 and you little girl was 2. Your son was old to know and remember why daddy wasn't around for the holidays, but your daughter didn't know much. You got lucky and he was gone for the spring and summer holidays and home for the ones that mattered the most.

Jake left in late October for his temporary deployment. It was only supposed to be for a little over a month, but the news came barreling down on you at the begging of December that it was going to be longer and that he should be expected to be home after the new year.

"I hate this, I know it's your career and you can't help it, but I hate this, Jake." You choked back tears. " Your kids miss you. I miss you."

"I am so sorry, honey. It breaks my heart that I'm not there. I miss you all so much."

Jake hated it as much as you did. He hated knowing that he was missing being able to go visit Santa with the kids and go look at Christmas lights while drinking hot coco. He hated being stuck on a ship with nothing but the ocean skyline in the distance.

You had to be strong for your kids and not have them see you break down. You had to still go and do everyday life with them, including going and doing Christmas things, without Jake, so that it seemed somewhat normal, even though, none of this was normal.

So, that's what you did.

You would load them into the car and go grocery shopping, Christmas shopping, going to see Santa, and Christmas lights and Ice skating, all of the things. You had to take pictures and videos for Jake and man did that break your heart.

You never thought you'd be the one to breaking down crying in the middle of a store when your son pointed to something that reminded you of Jake.

"Mama, look! It's a plane like daddy's!"

He pointed to an F18 ornament and your heart dropped while tears started to brim the edges of your eyes. You bent down, gracefully holding the ornament in your hands. Tears were spilling out of your eyes as your turned towards your son.

"Can we get it for daddy, mama?"

"I think he'd like that, baby."

You shook your head as your song grabbed the ornament and gained the biggest smile on his face. He held it so close to him throughout the whole store and all the way home. It was his little plane just like daddy's.

You got everything in the house, laid your daughter down for a nap, and took a rest, and when you looked over into the living room, you saw your son looking at the Christmas tree that uncle Rooster helped put up. He had the plane in his hand and you knew he was contemplating on wether he wanted to put it up or keep it close.

"What are you thinking, baby?"

You bent down, hugging him to your side, looking at him. He just stared right ahead at the Christmas tree and the lights.

"Will daddy be home for Christmas?"

You sighed, your heart breaking all over again. You couldn't lie to your son but you didn't want to ruin anything for him, so you did your best by sugar coating it with a little Christmas story.

You sat down on the floor and your son turned to look at you, still with that innocent smile on his face.

"You know how Santa has to work on Christmas so that all the children can get their gifts and treats?" You asked, and he shook his yes, "that's kinda like daddy's job. He he gets to fly to all these places so that he can help us and provide things for us when we need them."

"Daddy's like Santa!" He shouted with a big smile on his face.

"Yeah," you said, tears threaten to spill out again, "and that means that daddy might have to work on Christmas, like Santa, so that we can get what we need and want."

"Does daddy and Santa work together then?" He asked, so innocently.

You had to blink up so that tears wouldn't come out in front of your son. You composed yourself and looked back at him.

"I think so, baby. They are both working super hard to make sure everyone gets what they need."

You son smiled, walking to the tree and putting the F18 ornament on the tree. "Mama, if I'm really nice and ask Santa to let daddy not work on Christmas, do you think he'll get me that?"

Your heart shattered.

"Maybe if you're extra nice, baby."

Your son jumped up and down, giggling. You sat there watching him with his excitement and you had tears welling in your eyes that were slowly dripping out.

You cleaned yourself up, heading for the kitchen to make dinner for the kiddos. You silently hoped the night would go by quick, more so, the whole month of December.

"Our son thinks he if he's really nice for Santa that you'll come home."

You snapped. You know this wasn't Jake's fault, nor yours, nor your sons. He was hopeful and full of dreams while this was breaking you. The only time Jake could FaceTime you was late at night due to the time zone.

"Our little boy, full of hopes and dreams," Jake whispered, you watched through the phone as tears were coming out of his eyes. "I want that so badly, for you and the kids."

"You have no idea."

As the days passed and Christmas grew closer, you felt more and more sadness. You were loosing sleep making sure everything was wrapped and Christmas dinner was bought, and watching your son remain hopeful that Jake was coming home. You were exhausted.

Christmas Eve approached and no sign of Jake coming home. You wanted to scream and cry knowing that when you'll wake up that Jake wasn't going to be here and how sad your kids were going to be.

You finished up cleaning up the kids, laying your daughter down before your son, partly, because you know he's going to ask a thousand questions as to where daddy was.

You gave your daughter a kiss on the forehead as she cooed. You turned on the rain machine and shut the lights off and walked into your sons room.

You walked over to him as he was slipping under the covers. You grabbed the corners of them and pulled them up on his body. He pulled his arms out from under the blanket and turned on his side, looking at you.

"I think I was really nice for Santa."

"You were very nice, yes. I'm proud of you."

"I asked Santa to bring daddy home since I was so nice."

"I hope that Santa is able to give you that gift." You leaned down and kissed him on his forehead. "Goodnight, baby. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, mama."

You shut off the lights and to your bedroom. You shut the door, sighing. You didn't have anymore energy to cry, just felt empty. You knew that Christmas was going to be extremely hard and you just wish things were different. You swallowed, shutting off the lights and slipped into bed, drifting off to sleep.

"MAMA! IT'S CHRISTMAS! WAKE UP!"

You woke up to your son jumping on you and laughing. You blinked your eyes open and looked at your son, smiling. You grabbed him and pulled him in for a big hug.

"Merry Christmas, baby. Why don't we go grab your sister and see what Santa brought you?"

He shook his head with the biggest smile and jumped off the bed. You walked into your daughters room and she was already awake, just standing in her crib. You smiled, grabbing her from her crib. You gave her a kiss on the forehead.

When all of you approached the staircase, you heard the backdoor opening and jinglebells jingling. Your heart began to race as your son looked up at you with a big smile on his face. He took off down the stairs.

No, there's no way, you thought. Jake wasn't due to be home for another few weeks.

You began to take a few steps down the stairs when you heard your son gasp. Flight and fight mode activated but when the next word came out of his mouth, you felt your heart flutter.

"DADDY!"

You began to rush down the stairs with your daughter in your arms, trying to hide a smile, and once you rounded, your eyes locked with Jake's.

"I was right, mama!"

Jake laughed, giving your son a kiss on the forehead. He looked at him again and released him and your son went flying past you to the presents. Jake began to walk towards you with a big smile on his face.

"Is this real?" You whispered. "Are you really here?"

Jake stopped in front of you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a kiss. You pulled back and placed your head into his chest, laughing. You heard him give your daughter a kiss.

"I'm home, darling."

You lifted your head, looking into his green eyes. He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you into him and placing the soft kiss on your lips. You stayed there, taking it all in and embracing your husband. You just wanted to stay in this moment forever.....

"MAMA! DADDY! COME ON!"

You and Jake pulled apart, looking at each other, laughing. He took your hand in his and you walked over to the couch, and sat down. You set your daughter on your lap and you gave your son the okay to open his presents.

You were so thankful and happy that Jake was home, able to spend Christmas with your and the kids.

A Christmas Miracle.

[call-sign-shark]

Can I request a Maverick fic inspired by the song “The Devil Doesn’t Bargain” where protective Mav makes reader see her boyfriend is awful and she is stronger than that and deserves better

✨ The Devil Doesn’t Bargain ✨

Oh my God I loved it so much, thank you for your request. I almost cried writing it. Platonic or not, the choice is yours. Depends if you need an older lover or a father figure soooo ~

Tags: Angst, mention of domestic abuse, Mav being your emotional support

Words: 1.5k

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════ ⋆★⋆ ════

It all started at the Hard Deck.

Penny had thrown a party to celebrate the success of the Uranium Mission. To please everyone, she allowed guests to bring their civilian significant other, which was what you did. Mav had barely laid his eyes on your boyfriend when he saw the red flags. Protective by nature -especially with you-, Captain Mitchell spent the rest of the evening observing you. To all appearances, you formed a casual couple but Mav knew the Devil always was in the details. He noticed you were quieter when your boyfriend was here. You, who were usually bubbly and joyful, would withdraw into silence each time your man spoke. There were also the looks he gave you when you did something he did not like. The kind of dark and harsh look that would kill you right on the spot if it could.

Mav tried wanted to warn you, but the man spent the party glued to you. Despite all of this, Captain Mitchell greeted you. When you saw him, a cheerful smile enlightened your lovely face. You started talking, your eyes sparkling with admiration and affection when looking at Maverick. It pissed your boyfriend so hard that he cut you in the middle of the sentence with condescending words: “No one cares about your opinion!” He had said, growing impatient. Maverick felt a burning anger blooming in his stomach. His traits, usually so soft when talking to you, turned into ice. Mav had stood fiercely, his blazing green eyes staring at your boyfriend. Mav’s presence was so impressive, that your boyfriend shut the hell up for the first time since he arrived at Penny’s party. It took all Captain Mitchell’s willpower not to punch him in the face in front, but God knew how he wished to destroy him.

After the party, Mav started being more aware: he would notice the slightest detail. Just like that one time when you picked up your phone and your smile faded away when you saw your boyfriend’s name on the screen. You picked up and when you came back in the hangar, your eyes were still clouded with tears.

Or that other time you almost had a panic attack in front of him because you noticed you would come home late. He had offered you a ride on his motorcycle but you refused - your boyfriend would kill you if he saw you with Mav.

Today he saw them.

The bruises.

Purple bruises, like paint stains on the delicate canvas of your skin. Mav had spotted them at the end of the training when you had rolled up one of your sleeves to massage your sore wrist. The sight felt like someone had punched him right in the guts. The Captain clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles whitened. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by corrosive anger. It was too much for him to handle. He had to do something.

Today’s training is over and you are about to leave the hangar when Mav’s voice calls you. Anxious, you take a quick look at the watch on your wrist and raise your gaze to your instructor. He walks to you and stops only a few centimeters. Mav might not be the tallest guy on the base, but you feel like he is towering you anyway.

“Listen, I know it’s none of my business but it’s not worth it, darling.” He finally says, unable to hold it anymore. You look at him with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me, Sir?” You answer, slightly confused. Mav remains silent for a few seconds, his emerald eyes glimmering with worry.

“Your boyfriend… He hurts you. I don’t say that in a condescending tone, it’s just that- “ he pauses. Takes a deep breath and goes on, “I want what’s best for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything is fine.” Words escape from your mouth, knocked out of your lips by surprise. You start to chew your nails nervously, avoiding Maverick’s eyes.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N. Please don’t. I know he’s abusive. Now I don’t mean to meddle but it has to stop. You are a sweet and clever girl, you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

You stay silent, tears blurring your vision, and still not daring to look at him. Your lower lip starts to quiver, for it struggles to hold your sobs. It has been years and no one suspected anything. No one noticed what happened when the door was closed. Pete Maverick Mitchell, your instructor, is the first one.

“He’s not like that. He’s a good guy, he’s just having a rough time.”

“Hey, hey…” His voice is so soft, so full of tenderness that you gently dare look at him. Maverick’s heart breaks when he sees the pain in your eyes. Tears stream down your face.

He wants you to feel his skin against yours. To gently cup your beautiful face in his warm hands. To pull you in a soft, protective hug and never let you go - but he is too afraid to touch you. Afraid to hurt you. As if you would shatter at one simple brush from his fingertips.

“He’s gonna change. I can change him. ” Your voice breaks. If you keep talking you know you’ll burst into tears. You bring one trembling hand to your mouth and look down. Mav exhales slowly, trying to find the correct words not to hurt you more than you already are. He does not want to lecture you - he wants to help you free your wings from their chains.

“You can’t change him, darling. You think “this time will be the last; he’s truly sorry” but he is not. And deep down, you know it’s just a matter of time before he hurt you again. And blow by blow you lose your colorful feathers.”

Your legs are shaking, threatening you to collapse.

“Sir -“ You try to defend him but you cannot anymore.

“The Devil does not bargain, darling.” He says with a soft, soothing smile. Five words. It is all it takes to break years for abuses free. This time you burst into tears. Mav clenches his jaws, his heart sinking.

He gently open his arms to make you understand that you could hug him if you needed to. Even though he knows you might not want to feel a man’s touch. Yet, you take a step and, to his surprise, hug him tight, burying your face against his strong chest. You feel his muscular arms wrapping you and pressing your body against his. One of his large hands runs through your hair to pet you.

Melting into his embrace, you shake like a leaf and, when he notices it, Mav hugs you tighter to glue the shards of your shattered soul back together.

“ I tried to leave him, Mav. But I can’t! It’s just… so hard.” You stutter between two sobs. You did try, but you got used to the pain. Your whole being had been numbed for too many years, and now you were here, feeling constantly outside of your own skin. Outside your own body. All the blows, all the abuses, you watched yourself bearing them because that’s all life had taught you. That’s all you knew.

“ I know you don’t want to let go, but you deserve better.” He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead. You feel instantly better, “you deserve so much better. You deserve a man who will take care of you. I swear Y/N, you deserve to be loved. You deserve someone to help you clean your wounds and help you fly.” He backs off his head slightly, just to look at your adorable face. A shy and tiny smile stretches the corner of your quivering lips when your eyes met his - you feel like nothing can hurt you in Maverick’s arms. You feel …

Safe.

“But what if I'm not strong enough?"

He lets out a faint chuckle and tilts his head to the side, the green of his eyes lost in the Y/EC of yours, "Darling, look at you. You are one hell of a strong woman. And it is not due to your job as a pilot. You are strong because that's what your soul is. Trust me, there's a fierce flame burning within."

You take a deep breath: you had stopped shaking. Maverick's hand leaves your hair only to gently press it against one of your cheeks. You close your lids, tears forming crystal beads on your eyelashes. His touch makes you immediately stronger.

"You're right." You whisper. Maverick nods, proud of you, and takes a few steps back to release you from his protective arms.

"You're right." This time your tone is louder, fiercer.

The Devil does not bargain, but the Angel does not kneel.

Not anymore.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Tagging: @malavera and @helloitstsyu because its Tom cruise content

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

(Cyclone is busy, and NOT in a good mood when he hears someone enter his office while he's doing paperwork) Cyclone(his eyes on his paperwork):...State your name, rank, and intention. Maverick: Pete Mitchell, Captain...Fun.

[onebigfangirlworld]

Still Growing Up Now (Top Gun OC Fic)

Pairings: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell" & Original Female Character, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Original Female Character

Summary: Delilah Kazansky-Mitchell has been raised by her Uncle, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, and his partner Pete "Maverick" Mitchell since she was a year old. Her Bradley Bradshaw had been raised together, until a big blowout argument happened and Bradley left. Now he's back, training for a highly dangerous mission.

Delilah is not happy to see him, after so many years of no contact. Can she survive the few weeks he's back in town? Or will she snap?

posted on AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

OneShots

Baby Bird Leaves the Nest

To Be a Father

[amysteryspot]

Borrowed Time | Four

Summary: Crystal goes throught the worst days of her life.

Warnings: major characther death, funeral, grief.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I cried like a baby while writing this and that's saying something for someone that doesn't cry easy. I'm so sorry in advance.

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER ►

The news about the new deadline of the mission was like pouring cold water on the pilots. Crystal was glad that Warlock was the one responsible for letting them know what happened, with the supervision of Cyclone that was sitting at the back of the class, Hondo close to him.

“Sir, no one here has successfully flown a low-level course.” Coyote spoke up what all of them must be thinking.

“Nevertheless,” Warlock began, “you’ve been ordered to move on.” He then looked at Maverick. “Captain.”

“We have one week left to focus on phase two.” Maverick started explaining. “It’s the most difficult stage of the mission. It’s a pop-up strike with a steep dive, requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles. Two pairs of F-18s will fly in a welded wing formation.” He continued. “Teamwork.” He stressed. “Precise coordination of these aircraft is essential to both the mission’s success and your survival.”

Crystal observed, by her place at the corner of the front side of the room, the whispers between the pilots. They were worried. Rightfully so.

Maverick continued. “Egress is a steep high-G climb out to avoid hitting this mountain.”

“A steep climb at that speed, you’re pulling at least eight G’s.” Hangman said with a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Nine.” Crystal cuts in getting the attention of the class. “Minimum.”

It was Rooster’s time to speak. “The stress limit of the F-18’s airframe is 7.5.”

“That’s the accepted limit.” Maverick explained. “To survive this mission, you’ll pull beyond that, even if it means bending your airframe.”

Crystal can see Cyclone’s worried expression and the weight of the knowledge hovering in the room as Maverick continues speaking.

“Sir.” Phoenix called.  “Is this even achievable?”

“If we didn’t believe you could do it we wouldn’t be here.” Crystal spoke up.

For days Crystal watches as the pilots fail time and again to reach the results expected of them. She can see Maverick’s worries increasing tenfold each day, her own fears eating her from the inside. Until the dreadful call.

It was Warlock himself that came to the control room to get her. She could sense that something was wrong just by the look on his face.

“It’s your father.” He confirmed her fears, guiding her to Cyclone’s room.

“Icebreaker.” Cyclone called her as she entered the room. He was standing behind his desk. “Mrs Kazansky called.”

Crystal stops breathing.

He continues. “An officer will escort you to your home. Your father needs you more than us now.”

“Thank you, sir.” She said, a knot forming in her throat.

“If you need anything…” Cyclone started.

“I know who to call, sir.”

He nodded at her.

“Dismissed.”

The ride home seemed like it took ages. Crystal looked through the window the whole time, not able to focus on anything, her mind running a mile a minute.

“Lieutenant Commander?”

She heard the officer call, slowly turning her head to look at him.

“Ma’am, we are here.”

Crystal looked up to see the front of the family house, still disoriented.

“Thank you.” She said, getting out of the car.

Her brother was waiting for her at the front door.

“He’s asking for you.” William says with a sigh.

Crystal doesn’t ask anything because she was afraid of the answer. She climbed the stairs two steps at a time. Her mother was waiting for her outside of the room.

“What happened?”

“He got worse quickly.” Her mother says with tears in her eyes. “The doctors medicated him for the pain but they don’t know how much time he’s going to hold on.”

She saw the moment her mother brokedown. The tears fell freely as Crystal took a step forward to hold her.

“He’s been asking about you all day.” Sarah said.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?” Crystal asks as the both of them pull away.

“He wouldn’t let me.” Her mother gave her a sad smile. “Said he didn’t want to disturb your work.”

Crystal shook her head.

“Hardheaded.”

“You’re one to talk.” Sarah joked as the both of them stared at each other for a minute. “Go. Go talk to him.”

Crystal nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare herself as she reached for the doorknob. The sight waiting for her wasn’t a strange one. Ice had been bedridden a couple of times, what got to her was the coughing. It was way worse than it had been the past few days. When he saw her he smiled, signing for her to get closer.

“Hey you.” She repeated the same thing he used to say to her when Crystal was little and sneaked into his office. He smiled and turned his head to type.

Hey you. He mimicked.

“How are you feeling?” Crystal asked, straightening back a strand of hair that was falling to his eyes and caressing the side of his face.

He leaned into the touch.

Better now. Ice gave her a half smile.

She knew what he meant and the knowledge was bittersweet. The both of them loved their work. Damn, he was still working a couple of days ago, never asked her to leave until now. Still, she felt guilty of not being by his side more.

Crystal heard him typing again.

Don’t.

“What?” She asked.

I know that look. Ice gave her a pointed look. You’re feeling guilty about me. Don’t. You couldn’t have done anything more than what you’ve been doing. Loving me.

“You’ve always made loving you easy.”

He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand but the little smile on his face warmed her heart.

Maverick?

“He’s doing the best he can.” It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t want to worry her father and Mav was, indeed, doing the best he could.

You know, you’ve never been a good liar.

Crystal sighs. “You’ve always known me too well.”

You’re too much like me. Ice laughed and then it turned into a fit of cough.

Crystal rubs his back when he half sits to catch his breath. It breaks her heart seeing how clearly it was that he had gotten worse.

He tipped again. What are you not telling me?

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Crystal sighed.

Ice nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he observed her.

“What?” She asks softly.

Crystal watched as he struggled to talk.

“Dad, no.” She pleaded.

“I…” He started. “Love…”

“I know.” Crystal said, unable to fight the tears from falling from her eyes, voice breaking. “I love you too dad.”

He caressed the side of her face with the back of one hand. Crystal took it in both of hers, placing a kiss at his knuckles. Then her father patted the spot near him on the bed. It was like muscle memory, she had done that so many times during her life. As a child because she was jealous of her brother and wanted as much time with her father as she could get. Then as a teenager after receiving a bad grade or heartbroken by one too many of her crushes. Everytime she was on leave from the academy because she missed him too much. And then as an adult as much as it was possible considering their erratic life and mismatched schedules.

Crystal lays down beside him, her head resting partially on his chest, their intertwined fingers above his heart.

“I love you so much, dad.” She said,  swallowing down a sob.

One day. That’s all they got. By the next dawn Iceman was gone.

It was difficult for Crystal to believe that the man who raised her and she loved so much was gone. It felt like a bullet piercing her flesh, like there was a whole in her heart. At the same time she felt numb. She was the one to call Cyclone to pass on the news, and then she called Maverick.

“Mav…” She started unable to contain the sob stuck in her throat. “He’s gone.”

There was silence from the other side of the line as she cried.

“I’m on my way.”

Her mother was crying profusely, wrapped up in the arms of her brother. The kids were sleeping and Crystal’s sister-in-law was the one that came to check in on her as she sat down on the steps of the front door to wait for her godfather.

“I know is dumb to ask you if you’re okay.” She said, looking down at Crystal. “But I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need some company.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Crystal says “Yes.” Then she paused for a moment trying to find the words. “Company would be good.”

Melanie sat down beside her, pulling Crystal into a sideway hug, one of her hands rubbing up and down Crystal’s arm. It was funny if you think about it. William was a couple of years younger than her, so was Melanie, but the both of them were already married with two children. And here her sister-in-law was, comforting her as if Crystal was one of her children.

A few moments later Maverick’s bike pulled up at the front of the house. Melanie excused herself when Crystal got up. When Maverick reached her, pulling her into a tight embrace, Crystal broke down.

“What am I going to do now, Mav?” She asks, voice cracking from crying too much.

“You’ll keep on living.” He said, shedding a couple of tears himself. “For him.”

The funeral is a blur. Crystal feels like she is drowning, watching it from underwater. She sees the squad there, and so many people in uniform, as it should be. Her mother receives the flag, Mav craves the wings on her father’s casket, the gun salute. Everything passes by her as if it’s nothing. She doesn’t cry until she’s the only one left at the cemetery, on her knees by his gravestone. It is then that she hears an unexpected voice.

“Mav is going back to the house with your mother.”

She turns her head to look at Rooster.

“Thought I should check up on you, ma’am.”

“Crystal.” She says, before really giving it a thought. Bradley frowns. “Crystal is fine.”

He spins the cap in his hands a couple of times. “It seems too personal.”

She nods and answers “It is.”

“My condolences.” He offers.

“Thank you.” Crystal says. “I think you know that feeling well.”

“Too well,” he answers. “Well enough to know that whatever people say right now won’t mean much.”

“Crystal.”

She recognizes her brother’s voice.

“Maverick took mom home, are you coming with us?” He asks, acknowledging Rooster with a nod.

Crystal looks at the gravestone, then at the pilot observing her.

“I think Rooster can give me a ride?” She half affirms, half asks, looking at the pilot.

“Of course.” He answers, nodding and looking at William silently reassuring him. “I’ll take her home.”

William sighs, then nods, taking a step forward to place a kiss on Crystal’s hairline, turning around and murmuring a “thank you” to Bradley before leaving.

She stays there, kneeling on the ground for a few more minutes. Then she sighs, resigned. When Crystal makes a move to stand Bradley offers her a hand, supporting her as she stands up.

“Thank you,” she says.

He only nods, walking beside her to the parking lot. Bradley opens the door of the truck for her and then drives to her house silently. There’s no need to give him directions, Crystal knew Bradley had come to the house a couple of times since Mav had pulled his papers. Her father had stepped in as some kind of mentor to him since he joined the Navy. 

When he pulls up in the front of the house neither of them make a move to get out. It should feel strange, Crystal knows that. She had met Bradley only a couple of times before she was assigned for this mission, where she is his superior officer. Her family and friends are inside the house and yet, for some reason, Crystal believes that he, more than any other person, could understand her better, given both his past and military background.

Crystal reached for the door handle and then stopped, turning her head to look at Bradley, who was already looking at her.

“Do you wanna come in?” She asks.

“It’s better not, don’t want to cause any trouble, especially now.”

She sees his eyes fix on Mav’s bike before they’re back on her. Crystal nods.

“Thanks,” she says. “For checking up on me and for the ride.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Kazansky, I can only imagine the pain you’re in right now.” Cyclone says as Crystal sniffs. “Just wanted you to know that, whatever you need, you can ask me. I’ve already granted your leave, from now on you have two weeks at home. After that if you need more time you can come talk to me.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“On your way out, call Maverick in.”

Crystal nodded before leaving. Maverick was already in the corridor when she left the Admiral’s office.

“Cyclone is calling you.” She says.

“You’re okay to go home?” He asked, holding her by the arms, taking in her tired appearance.

“William is outside.”

“Good,” he said, “good.”

He released his grip on her to enter Cyclone’s office when she caught his hand.

“Be careful”

He nodded, kissing her forehead.

Crystal sighs, walking out of the building. She is reaching the doors when someone calls her.

“Lieutenant Commander, ma’am.”

It’s Rooster. He salutes her before talking again.

“I just wanted to check how you are, ma’am.”

She looks him in the eyes for a moment, surprised by the demonstration of concern from his side.

“Walk with me.” She says, opening the door so they could go outside.

The sun is scorching hot and for a moment Crystal is happy for not being in her flight suit.

They are halfway to the parking lot when she stops.

“It would be a lie if I say I’m alright.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to be.”

There was nothing but sincerity in his tone. Crystal looked back at him, finding him already staring at her.

“Why do you care so much?” She asked, confused.

Bradley took a deep breath. “Your father was important to me and he talked about you a lot.” He paused. “Mav too. It just feels like I know you for much longer than I do and I kinda feel like we started on the wrong foot.”

“Forget about it.” She reassured him. “I already did.”

He nodded at her. In the background, they hear Phoenix calling for him.

“Go,” Crystal said. “I’m on my way out.”

“If you need an ear to listen.” He offered.

You gave him a half smile. “I won’t refuse that.”

He nodded and then left.

Crystal watched him go away and then walked to the parking lot with a sigh. Everything felt wrong and she just wanted this feeling to go away.

Not long after she arrives home, Hondo calls her to let her know that Maverick was cut down from the mission. Crystal expected that the consequences of years and years of Maverick’s actions would catch up on him now that her father was gone, she just didn’t expect it so soon.

The next call she gets it’s unexpected, though.

“I’m so sorry for calling you at such a hard time.” Penny says from the other side of the line.

“No, it’s… Just the circumstances we are in.” Crystal sighs. “I just hoped we would get more time.” She wasn’t sure if she was talking about her father or Maverick anymore.

She had heard about Penny more than once. The admiral’s daughter that got Maverick in trouble. Well, he got himself in trouble with her, truth be told. Now older, Crystal learned that Mav had a thing for pissing off any admiral’s that weren’t Tom Kazansky.

“We knew this wouldn’t last for long.”

“Yeah.” Crystal agrees. “You’re right.”

“Look, it pains me to ask you that but…” Crystal practically hears the cogs turning in the other woman’s head.

“Do you want to meet?”

“Would it be too much to ask? I believe he will be coming by.” Penny says.

“Send me your address.”

Penny’s house is just by the sea. The gentle breeze is almost comforting as Crystal walks to the front door, knocking. A blonde girl opens the door for her.

“Can I help you?” The girl asks.

“Hum, I’m here for Penny.” Crystal says, feeling a little out of place.

“Mom, there’s someone here for you.” She calls out for Penny, looking back at Crystal with a smile. “It’ll be just a minute.” She looked at Crystal, narrowing her eyes a little. “You’re a friend of Mav?”

"Goddaughter." Another voice answers and a beautiful woman appears behind the girl. “You little gossiper.”

The woman, that Crystal assumes is Penny, ruffles the girl’s hair that, in turn, squeals in protest.

“Crystal,” the girl exclaims.

“That’s me.”

“Amelia.” She offered her hand for Crystal to shake.

“Nice to meet you Amelia.” Crystal smiled.

“I’m gonna leave you two alone.” Amelia said, taking a step back from them. “Bye.”

Crystal waved at her, looking as she disappeared up the stairs. An uncomfortable silence falls between her and Penny.

“Common in.” Penny invited, giving her space to enter the house.

“Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry for calling you today, I just didn’t know anyone else that would really understand him right now.” Penny frowned.

“There’s really no problem. These are…” Crystal thought back on the past few months with her father ill and her return to Fightertown, and then the past few days and the missions, seeing Maverick again. Everything just felt like bad timing. “Strange times. It’s been hard on both of us.”

“Can I offer you anything?” Penny asks.

“Water would be nice,” Crystal says. The older woman guides her to the kitchen.

“Did you know?” Penny asks, as she pours two glasses of water.

“That they were going to ground him?” Crystal asks and Penny nods. “Yes, I was expecting that.” She says. “That they were going to do it now? I’ve never imagined.”

Penny hands her the glass and Crystal thanks her.

“Mav is not a teacher, but I can’t think about anyone else as qualified as him to plan this mission.”

It’s the truth. Considering all the information Crystal had on the topic, Maverick was one of the only people that could find a way to make this mission work. If not the only one.

Penny sighs. “I know.” She says, worry painting her features. “Tea?”

Crystal nods, resting her glass on the kitchen island, hands finding her jeans back pockets as she looks around. There was a door at the back of the house heading straight to the backyard with the sea in the background. Penny must have caught her staring because the next thing she does is usher Crystal through the back door.

Shivering, Crystal pulls the jacket tighter around her. The backyard is small but beautiful. Greens and flowers all around, a small table with a couple of chairs and the bench she was currently sitting on.

Penny joins her shortly, handing Crystal one of the cups she was holding and then sitting down at the doorsteps. Crystal brings the cup to her nose, breathing in the soothing scent, feeling its warmth on her fingertips. She takes a sip and before either of them could exchange a word, Maverick walks in, head down in defeat.

He observes the two of them for a minute until Penny breaks the silence

“I heard,” She says. “What are you gonna do?”

Maverick looks at Crystal. “Ice is gone. What choice do I have?”

“You’ll have to find a way back on your own,” Penny says.

“No, Penny. I’m out. This is over.” He says, resigned.

“It doesn’t need to be over.” Crystal says, bringing Mavericks attention to her. “You can find a way on your own.”

“Crystal…” He starts, but gets interrupted by Penny.

“Pete. If you lost your wingman up there, you’d keep fighting. You wouldn’t just give up.” Maverick sighs before Penny adds. “Those are your pilots. If anything happens to them, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Maverick looks at Crystal, as if asking for some clarity. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Show them that this mission can be flown.” Crystal says, sitting up straight. “Give them hope, because that’s all they need right now.”

He opens his mouth to speak but Crystal cuts him off

“And don’t tell me that you can’t do it. You don’t need dad for that. He had faith in you, Mav.” She looks him straight in the eyes. “And so do I.”

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER ►

[writerintheshadow]

I am watching Top Gun: Maverick again (like for the millionth time) and I can't not write this:

Warlock: "...Goose's death was an accident."

Cyclone: "Is that how you see it captain? Is that how Goose's son sees it?"

That fleeting look on Mav's face right after that question is just the definition of 'with all due respect, sir, watch your god damn mouth, this is my little baby Goose you are talking about'.

It's threatening and protective and full of suppressed emotions punched out of him in that moment of alert.

[pomidorfriend]

Saw @noona96n tag me (like in March, it’s visible how often I’m on this platfrom). I know basically no one on Tumblr, but I will answer it for the fun of it.

Rules: Answer all the questions, then tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

Three ships: Merthur, Destiel, and Steddie (just because those are 3 ships I’m writing fanfics for right now, and I always hyperfocus on whatever ship I’m writing)

First ship: impossible to answer since I feel like I’ve been born with shipping goggles on, but first gay ship I read fanfics for was either Naruto/Sasuke or Harry/Draco

Last song I listened to: Experience by Ludovico Einaudi

Last movie I watched: Dungeons and Dragons (mmm fantasy comedy and Chris Pine)

Currently reading:  A Marvellous Light by Freya Marske

Currently watching: The Ancient Magus Bride 2nd season (I really love this anime)

Currently consuming: nth, i ate a hot dog 2 hours ago

Currently craving: Beer (I can’t drink bcs of medication)

I’m not tagging anyone since I don’t know anyone but if anyone happens onto this post feel free to partake

[roosterbruiser]

hey!! I have officially crossed 200 followers!! hooray!! hopefully only a small percentage are porn bots!!

the support I’ve received for Landslide and Silver Springs has truly been so, so fulfilling. all of you are the best people in the world and I fucking LOVE this fandom! as a recovering Directioner, I can say that this fandom is truly where it’s at!!

as a special treat, I would love to write some blurbs/headcanons/oneshots about Hangman, Rooster, and Bob! doesn’t have to be canon compliant with any of my fics :)

[almostgenerallyalways]

where the wild things are (part 2)

Pt 2/?   - part 1 here Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness Word count: 2,7K CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death.

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Six weeks later Bradley finds himself at Target early one Saturday morning, listlessly looking at socks (keeping on, his mom used to call this, on mornings where she’d throw open the windows to the Tierrasanta house, blasting Aerosmith or Tina Turner to silence the ghosts clinging to the walls, though he personally prefers operating on auto-pilot to think of the state he’s been in for the last few weeks), when a little girl rounds the corner of the aisle at full speed and crashes right into his left knee.

“Oh, shit!” He says, before he can think better of it, but upon impact the child has immediately started wailing so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him.

He drops his red plastic basket to the floor and kneels, helping her sit up. At first glance, there’s no sign of injury, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, princess, are you okay?” he asks, quickly looking over her head for bumps. She can’t be more than four or five, but she has a set of lungs on her like a much older kid.

Bradley doesn’t know a lot about kids, but he thinks this one may be more shocked than hurt. Already the heaving sobs are slowing down, and she looks up at him with something of curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” He looks over his shoulder, down the aisle, searching for a frazzled mom or dad, or at least an employee bearing a red polo shirt. It’s before nine-thirty, early enough that the store isn’t crowded yet, and the speckled grey linoleum tiles stretch empty as far as he can see.

“Sierra!” He hears a frantic voice exclaim, before a woman appears around the corner, clearly distressed. “Sierra, what the –”

He sees you still, recognizing you at the exact moment you do him.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, and Sierra’s definitely heard him this time.

* * *

You rush over to kneel down beside the little girl before him, gathering her up: “Baby, are you okay? I’ve told you a million times not to run off like that.”

Bradley watches you run your hands over the little girl’s head, down her shoulders, and a comprehension dawns over him that makes his stomach coil.

Having established that she’s not hurt, you look over at him with wide eyes: “Bradley. I’m sorry.”

What you’re apologising for exactly, he’s not sure, but it brings him back to the morning after you met: waking up to his empty bed, and the gut-punch of disappointment it had been. It’s not like he’d never done it – quietly gathering up his clothes from the floor of some conquest’s bedroom before any further entanglement could ensue was something of a modus operandi for him, he can admit that – but that night had felt different to him, had felt real. He remembers the way your fingertips on his bare skin had brought heat to the surface, and incited a pull deep in his stomach he couldn’t quite put a name to. You’d made him laugh and you’d dulled the heavy, hollow feeling he’s gotten used to carrying everywhere, lately, the weight around his neck lessening with every kiss you’d pressed to his overheated skin.

And then he’d woken up alone.

And here’s the reason, he thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut rapidly accelerating. He gets to his feet, anger bubbling up in his chest: “What is going on here? Are you married?”

You get to your feet too, the little girl now clinging to your leg (you look beautiful, he can’t help but think: wearing leggings, a jean jacket and a faded baseball cap. No trace of the dressed-up glamour from the night you met, and all the more endearing to him for it), your eyes growing wide: “No!”  

He continues, crossing his arms: “Because I’m not that kind of guy, if you’re wi-”

You cut him off with a hand on his wrist, and he stills immediately.

Truth is, he’d hoped, and what is as dangerous as that? He’d taken you home, had been entranced by you. He’d slept with you and it had felt right, he feels fucking stupid thinking it but it had, and he’d fallen asleep tangled up in you and had felt, for some stupid reason, safe.

And then when he’d woken up, you’d disappeared.

He shrugs off your hand, straightening himself to his full height, and looks down the harshly lit aisle. “Right, I guess I’ll –”

“Bradley,” You say softly, and he looks back down. You’ve picked the little girl up off the floor, holding her on your hip now, and she looks up at him with eyes that resemble yours, and he feels his chest constrict.

You bite your lip. “I owe you an apology. But can we have this conversation somewhere other than the sock aisle?"

* * *

You commandeer a small table outside the adjacent Starbucks, which has a view over a thin stretch of arid plants interspersed with a few palm trees, immediately followed by the parking lot. Behind it, Saturday morning traffic is swelling over the Mission Valley Freeway.

Giving Sierra a book from your bag and some water, you look her over once more to make sure she’s okay. She’s been on a wild streak lately, slipping away from you when you least expect it, no matter how vigilant you are. You try hard not to consider it as another one of your failings as a parent, but it’s getting difficult.

Right now, though, she is surprisingly compliant, settling down into the metal chair with her legs crossed, already engrossed in her picture book. You suspect it has everything to do with the man currently pulling back the chair next to you.

Just a second too slow, you realise that he’s pulled the chair out for you. “Oh. Thanks.”

You sit down, and he mirrors you.

You’d forgotten how handsome he was, or really you’d tried not to think about him at all. He’s dressed differently, on a Saturday morning: shorts and a worn raglan tee, sunglasses hooked into the neckline. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, lightly bouncing the right one, and you don’t really know how to take it.

“I’m sorry I just left,” You say, not sure where to start. “I had a great night with you, and then… It was a cowardly thing to do.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’d like to play it cool and say it didn’t bother me. But I don’t know, I kinda thought we hit it off.”

“We did,” You sigh, glancing at Sierra. Truth is, it had scared you, how easy everything had felt with him: The conversation at the bar never running dry, the way he’d kissed you (outside, you blaming the rapidly cooling night air for the goosebumps on your skin), the way he’d whispered into your skin, in his bed, clutching your hips as he buried his face into your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

You’d been fooling yourself, because things weren’t easy, were they?

“This is going to sound like a huge cliché, but… I never do things like that. Anymore, at least.” You can’t meet his eye, staring instead at a crack in the pavement where dry weeds poke through, trying to grow against the odds. The previous time you’d had sex at all, you recall, was with your ex-boyfriend, who’d dumped you three weeks into grieving your sister. Who, when you’d still been reeling from it, the sound of the impact still hissing in your ears, had sent you a text: It seems like you have a lot going on right now. Maybe we should hit pause on this until you get back to Boston.

You look at him finally, cringing at yourself. “I thought I could be selfish for a night. And after you fell asleep, reality hit me and I couldn’t face trying to explain that I… can’t get involved with anyone. Maybe that’s presumptuous, or maybe I shouldn’t have gone home with you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Bradley looks down at his well-worn pair of running shoes, not meeting your eyes. “Oh. I see.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sierra was up half the night, and so you barely got any sleep. Maybe it’s the undeniable fact that sitting across from Bradley again has an effect on you – the way his jaw works, the subtle smell of his aftershave. That stern set of his brow, a premature groove indicating he may spend too much time wearing that expression.

The sober, aggressively sunny reality of the Mission Valley Target parking lot isn’t enough to fully dispel the pull you felt towards him.

You hesitate. Sierra is the most guarded part of your heart, but you feel you owe Bradley an explanation. Glancing over at her, you see she’s in her own little world, absorbed in her favorite book. You take a deep breath.

“Two years ago, my sister died.”

Bradley’s head shoots up, at that, and his brown eyes rest on you.

You look down, smoothing your hands over your thighs, bracing yourself because you will not cry before 10 AM. “It was stupid. She went in for routine surgery. One in a million.”

Thinking back to that phone call always pulls you back under, and you have to make an effort to keep your voice even. “I was living in Boston at the time, and the entire flight back here I…” You shake your head, ousting the memory of the worst six hours of your life, when you’d tried to bargain with a God you’d never believed in, when you hadn’t been physically confronted yet with the cold, hard reality you knew awaited you after landing. “Anyway. Sierra has been with me since.”

The man across from you nods, hands still clasped together by his knees. “I’m sorry I assumed… I just saw you, and she looks so much -”

You cut him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. It’s hard to talk about, sometimes, and at Callie’s party…” You pause, trying to sort through your thoughts as cars slowly roll by a short distance away, looking for parking, families transferring their weekend shopping into the trunks of their cars.

“I don’t go out much, anymore. My dad’s not in great health, and my mom takes care of him, so they can’t take care of Sierra. I take on extra billing hours all the time to make ends meet. There’s a medical malpractice suit and the lawyer fees are horrendous, and it’s so painful to keep dragging it out, but I have to pursue it if I want any chance of sending Sierra to college. It’s just a lot, all the time.” You take another deep breath. “I guess I wanted to feel like my old self for a night.”

You look up, feeling your eyes tear up. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy, I just wanted to explain-”

To your surprise, he takes your hand in his. It dwarfs yours, and the feeling of his rough palm on your skin grounds you. “Hey. It’s okay.”

* * *

Hangman has been trying to reach him for two weeks, but this time, when his Bagman moniker flashes up the screen of his phone just as Bradley pulls his truck into his driveway, he picks up.

“Bradshaw.” Hangman is, of course, already coming in hot. “So you do still know how to answer the phone. What gives, man? If it wasn’t for Penny telling me you were still coming to the bar, I might’ve thought you’d burned in.”

Bradley makes a mental note to skip the Hard Deck’s tip jar, next time.

“Been busy, Bagman. I know you’re living it up there on Oahu, but some of us still have work to do.”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw,” The other man says good-naturedly. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not moping around too much.”

Bradley sighs. Since the uranium mission last year, the relationship between Hangman and him has changed, into something that may be the kind of friendship you can only have with someone who saved you and your kind-of-estranged, kind-of-uncle’s life while also still being annoying as shit. Bradley has spent over a year unlearning the decade-long honed itch to punch Hangman in the face, only to find Jake Seresin to be… a good man. A thoughtful friend. A tenacious friend who will keep calling when you’re pointedly ignoring anyone’s attempts to get in touch with you.

“How’s Vanny?” He asks, knowing Jake will tell him anyway, because he can’t not talk about his girlfriend. Meeting the younger aviator changed his friend, sanded down some of his rougher edges.

“She’s great. Getting her double stripes next week. She’s been asking about you.”

Bradley grabs his gym bag from in front of the passenger seat (he never did get any new socks), clutching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slams the door shut. “I’m fine. Tell her that.”

He hears Hangman inhale on the other end of the line. “Fine. Okay. Where does that fall on a scale of, say, zero to going to the gym at three AM and dodging Penny’s invitations to dinner?”

Unlocking his front door, Bradley sighs again. One thing about Seresin is, he’s extremely perceptive, and once he’s zeroed in on something he will not let it go. It’s infuriating, but on some level, Bradley knows he should be thankful for it. “Let’s say a four, okay?”

Sometimes he thinks about the crash that nearly cost him an eye, and left him with the scars on his face, and wonders what his mother would’ve said, is almost glad she wasn’t around anymore to get that call (Ice got it, instead). Just last year he and Mav went down in enemy territory, and the moment he turned the yoke around he’d been sure he was signing his own death warrant, and still he couldn’t have made any other decision.

“Alright, man.” Jake knows which boundaries not to cross, as well, when to respect the territorial integrity of Bradley’s defenses. “I’ll take a four. If you feel like a change of air, you know you’re welcome in Hawaii any time, right? We’re probably getting our assignment here extended until at least the end of the year.”

“Appreciate it, Bagman.”

Goodbyes exchanged, he hangs up and steps out of his running shoes in the hall, dropping his gym bag on the floor. He stands there, for a minute, letting the cool air of the dark entryway hit his skin, a welcome contrast to the day’s accumulating heat outside, and closes his eyes.

He’d taken your hand, and you’d both sat there for a minute, the dry breeze across the parking lot carrying with it the fumes of traffic crossing the freeway, mingling with the smells of tacos and ceviche from a food truck preparing for the lunch rush, until Sierra had gotten impatient and started trying to get your attention, dropping her book to the floor.

“We should go,” You’d said, inclining your head to the girl, who’d seemed not to be holding her earlier run-in with Bradley against him, grabbing at his sleeve as he’d gotten up to retrieve the book off the ground.

Picking it up, he’d frozen.

It was a newer edition, but the design had been familiar, the cover picture immediately calling him back to his mom reading to him at night, pitching her voice low and high at intervals to emulate all manner of different monsters, Bradley exclaiming at every turn in the story as if he couldn’t recite it by heart, as if they hadn’t read this story together a million times over since Goose had been killed.

“Where the Wild Things Are”, he’d said, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You’d smiled, somewhat watery still. “It’s her favorite.”

Something like resolve had settled in Bradley’s stomach, then.

Phone still in his hand, he swipes the lock screen and scrolls down from Hangman’s name to the newest entry, freshly saved under his contacts as Paloma, dove emoji, and hits call.

 .

.

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  Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t gather much interest but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m enjoying writing it (ask me if i’m working through my feelings re: deciding not to have kids by writing fic lol) so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3 here’s my masterlist for other stories

[topgunhappilyeverafter]

And We Can Call This Home

By: @perishablealex (perishablealex)

For: @cristinuke (Cristinuke)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin/Natasha "Phoenix" Trace

Rating: E

Word count: 5071

Summary: Her smile grows when her gaze lands on Bradley’s hand, his fingers splayed out near her side of the bed, almost as if, even in his sleep, he’s reaching out to hold her. Still trying to hold them both. She promptly ignores the knot that forms in her throat at that, as well as the sting behind her eyelids.

COLLECTION

[peacefulwriting]

CEILINGS

CEILINGS - Part 1.

Jake Seresin x Reader

Based off the song, "ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine"

300 DAYS BEFORE

Love. What an intense emotion, yet what a lovely feeling it is. How amazing it is to be in love with Jake Seresin. How amazing it was be too loved by Jake Seresin.

3 AM is what the clock read. You body physically couldn't fall asleep when Jake wasn't home, when he wasn't beside you. Jake was your comfort. Because of that missing, ceilings became your friend.

And they would become your enemy in one year.

You would stare at them, replaying your day, minute by minute, waiting to tell Jake all about it. How your garden was growing, how the ocean breeze was calming and how you enjoyed watching the sunset over the ocean from your balcony.

Jake loved it.

He loved hearing about your day, how happy you were living this life, living it with him. Jake knew, he knew that he made you so incredibly happy and that made him the happy. I mean, he bought you the biggest house, ocean side of course, made sure to put a big garden in and how you beginning your life with him here.

Jake wanted nothing more in this life than to be your light.

And he accomplished that.

The bed dipped and you felt a warm arms embrace you. You finally felt the weight lift off your body knowing that he was home safe. Safe with you.

"What are you thinking about, darlin'?" His voice was soft, lips brushed your ear, placing a kiss just below.

Jake knew that you couldn't sleep when he wasn't there and he tried to fight with you about it at first, suggesting that you go see a doctor and get on some medication so that you wouldn't be as tired, but he came to learn that no matter how much medication or sounds or even scents, there was no sleeping if he wasn't there. So when he would come home, he was just talk to you until you fell asleep.

"My daisies are growing."

Your eyes stayed glue to the ceiling, running your hands up and down on his arms.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you smiled. "They're beautiful, Jake."

He quietly laughed, pulling you into him more. "Just like you."

Finally, you pulled your gaze from the ceiling and turned your body into him. He tightened his grip on you. You nuzzled your head into his chest and took in his scent, engulfing you in a sense of peace.

Oh, how lovely it is to be in the arms of your lover.