#( call sign : hangman ; jake seresin.)
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call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter one
summary: phoenix has always wanted to set up her two best friends in the navy -- ones that have, for whatever reason, still never crossed paths. that's all about to change when you get called back to TOPGUN for a special mission.
warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of death, strong possibility of military inaccuracies, second person pov, no use of y/n,
wc: 4.2k
a/n: not me having the audacity to take a crack at a top gun: maverick fic. this is what happens when i watch tgm 7x in one week. a fic is born. and in my defense, this cast has so much damn chemistry how could i not?! this is a oneshot idea that turned into a series that's turned into a series and a sequel? oops. 10/10 recommend listening to the song tennessee whiskey by chris stapleton.
masterlist | the playlist | chapter two
She’s shocked but she knows better than to be surprised.
At least that’s what Phoenix reminds herself as she watches the heated interaction between Rooster and Hangman at the pool table. It can’t have been more than five minutes since Rooster’s arrival for the two of them to get into it. And the way he looked at her just a moment ago? With his smug, annoyingly handsome, overconfident face right before taking another dig at Rooster?
She hates it.
And she hates that it made her feel something.
She can’t put her finger on it: disgust, unadulterated rage, whatever the hell else would make you want to kiss and kill someone at the same time.
She exchanges unamused glances with Rooster once again, shaking her head in the beyond cocky fighter pilot.
“Well, he sure hasn’t changed,” she scoffs, watching as Hangman makes his way back to the jukebox to select another song.
“Nope. Sure hasn’t,” Rooster agrees with dismay.
“Check it out. More badges,” Payback says, turning his attention to the way of the new arrivals. “That’s Harvard, Yale, Omaha… shit that’s Fritz.”
“What kind of mission is this?” Fanboy asks, taking note as the best of the best continue to arrive at the Hard Deck tonight.
As Phoenix asks the question everyone is wondering – who the hell the US Navy plans to teach the top 1% of fighter pilots – she notices Rooster’s disappeared from the conversation around the pool table. It doesn’t take long before someone’s cut the power to the jukebox causing a collective groan to ring out within the four walls of the Hard Deck.
A smile creeps across Phoenix’s face as she knows exactly where Rooster’s gone. The sound of a few riffs on the piano being played catch her attention, and she excuses herself from the pool table. She joins her good friend she met at flight school, in all of his Hawaiin shirt-clad glory.
“You missed me, Trace?” Rooster says, stealing a glance from the side of his old friend.
“Not even a little bit,” she teases him in return.
But Rooster understands.
What she means is ‘yes I have,’ and ‘you could’ve called.’
The commotion of Maverick being thrown out of the bar interrupts their brief reunion, and while Phoenix watches, Rooster occupies himself with the task at hand. His large aviators that cover his eyes make it easier to ignore the fact that the closest thing he’d ever had to a father figure had been called back to North Island too. His long fingers run over the keys of the barely-in-tune piano of the Hard Deck, unwilling to acknowledge the presence of the man. Instead, he charges forward, noticing how easy it is to slip into the familiar rhythm of being back at TOPGUN.
Outside of the bar, Jake’s having a little too much fun throwing the old aviator overboard with Payback and Coyote. As he heads back inside, he doesn’t join Payback and Fanboy at the piano with the rest of them, instead choosing to head to the bar for another round of beers. He leans back against the bar, watching as the whole bar seems wrapped in singing along to Rooster’s personal anthem. Hangman takes another swig of his beer amused by the sight.
He’s not sure why he’s so hesitant to join in on the fun but he doesn’t move – can’t let Rooster have this one. Hangman lets his gaze linger on Phoenix from a distance as she dances (in his opinion) a little too closely for his liking to Rooster.
He’ll never admit it, but he’s always been entranced by the woman he met at TOPGUN all those years ago at his graduation. She was a part of the incoming class, the one right behind his, and he’s not sure how, in the same damn khaki uniform as everyone else, she’s always looked this good.
Her eyes light up as someone or something across the room catches her attention, and she’s practically jumping up, sprinting across the Hard Deck and into the arms of another naval aviator.
And for the first time tonight, a genuine smile spreads across his lips.
He wondered when you’d show.
As soon as he got the call, you’d texted him immediately asking if he’d gotten the same request for this mysterious special op. Earlier, when he’d watched Harvard and Yale roll in with Halo, your WSO he knew your arrival was almost moments away. But you’d never been the most punctual when it came to your personal life, so he wasn’t surprised that you were running behind. Jake chuckles to himself thinking about all the trouble you used to get into at the academy for not being on time. Almost got you kicked out a few times too, if he recalls correctly.
It'd been too long since he’d seen you last, now that you were stationed at Lemoore. He loved teasing you about what a Californian you’d turned into, now that you’d been out of Texas.
“Gonna start callin’ you Phoenix if you spend any more time in California, kid,” he’d teased you during your last phone call, referencing the LA native you both admired.
But Jake’s almost forgotten about how close you are with Natasha – the three of you always circling around each other, never quite in the same place at the same time. He’s definitely forgotten (or at least tried to) the time you called him a lovesick idiot after he wouldn’t shut up about a certain fighter pilot he’d met during a certain deployment.
What could he say?
His first deployment with Phoenix had left… quite the impression on him… and you knew him well enough to call him out on it.
Of course, Phoenix had wanted nothing to do with him at the time. His usual tricks – that Southern Charm and perfectly symmetrical face – only seemed to repulse her even more and he had to admit that it made him like her even more.
“Whiskey!” she practically shouts, as Jake watches the two of you embrace.
“Sorry I’m late. I would’ve come earlier if I knew there was a singalong,” you smirk, taking in the sigh of the more than jovial crowd huddled around the piano. “But once I hit LA traffic. Shit. That’s what I get for leaving for wanting to take my own damn car.”
“Oh I think he’s just getting started,” she replies, nodding towards Rooster.
Before you can say anything else, before you can take a good look at the man behind the piano, Hangman’s cut your reunion-for-two short.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he croons, his Texas drawl prominent in the way he says each word.
“Hangman, you son of a bitch!” you squeal, meaning the last part in the most endearing way possible.
“Hey, kid,” he greets you with the biggest smile you’ve seen all day.
You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, jumping into his arms. Jake picks you up, spinning you around before setting you back down on the ground as you laugh. Your public display of affection earns a few looks your way, and Phoenix pretends to vomit on the floor in response.
You laugh again, “You think I’d get a free pass after putting up with this one for over ten years.”
“This… is something I’ll never understand,” Natasha replies, gesturing towards the space between the two of you.
“You jealous, Phoenix?” Hangman asks, a confidence behind his words.
Nat sends a snarky look his way before answering, dryly:
“Only in your dreams, Bagman.”
“You’re right about that,” he flirts shamelessly, giving her a wink.
“Oh gross!” you say with an eye roll. You playfully punch Jake in the chest, pushing him away from you and Natasha.
“Get your own friend. Besides, Nat and I have some catching up to do and I’m in need of a drink,” you continue, earning a groan from Jake.
“What? I can’t watch?” he smirks, earning another fake vomit from Phoenix.
“No, Bagman,” you tease, using the callsign you know Nat loves to demean him with. “We’re gonna talk shit about you.”
He shoots you a look, shaking his head at your snarky remark. He knows it’s out of love – at least from you. He concedes, tipping his beer towards you as a form of ‘cheers’ before taking a few steps away.
You and Nat exchange a laugh, before linking arms and heading towards the bar.
“I don’t know how you’ve put up with him for more than five minutes,” she remarks, searching for an available bartender.
“He’s not all that bad once you get past all the bullshit. And there’s a lot of it,” you reply honestly.
“No thanks,” Phoenix dismisses, before flagging down Penny.
You watch as she orders the two of you a round of beers and you can’t help but find it funny how quick she was to dismiss Jake. It’s true: you’ve always thought the two of them were more alike than they were different. Sure, Jake made questionable decisions on the daily. But even after all of these years, he still had more heart than anyone you’d met this side of the Mississippi.
“How was your trip?” you ask Phoenix, making small talk to start.
“It was alright. Came in a few days earlier to see some family in LA first,” she answers with a shrug.
“How’s your mom?” you ask, curiously.
And Phoenix answers, filling you in that her mom is doing much better than the last time you talked, and her brother and his wife are moving back to LA. You tell her that you’re finally getting used to California, while the two of you wonder about this top secret, special mission that you’ve all been called back to TOPGUN for.
“Oh! Speaking of the best of the best. Uh… my best friend is here,” she starts with a smile on her face.
“Excuse me. I thought… I was your best friend… at least in the Navy,” you tease her.
She rolls her eyes playfully, “No, I mean. Rooster. I’ve actually been wanting to introduce the two of you for years...”
Phoenix gestures towards the man behind the piano still going at it, and you move over to get a good look at him. He’s hot. You’ll give her that. And you’re not usually into the whole mustache thing but it somehow seems to make him even more attractive. His oversized aviators are hanging off his face as he pounds away at the keys of the piano and you can’t imagine what grown adult man would wear Hawaiin shirts by choice.
And yet, everything about him you’d normally find cringe-worthy in a man, he seems to pull off.
He knows it too.
There’s a group of girls gathered around the piano that are gossiping as they watch him riff on another instrumental song.
And boy is he eating it up: the attention, the praise, he knows he has the ears of everyone at the Hard Deck tonight.
“The piano player. From flight school?” you question, curiously, as you begin to connect the dots.
“Yeah!” she answers, her eyes lighting up at your immediate recognition. “Yeah that’s where we met. Reminds me of you, actually. Just the way we both clicked instantly… and you’ve both become life-long friends.”
You think back to your first deployment as a naval aviator. You and Phoenix were sent on a mission in Sarajevo and had become fast friends. At first, you wondered if you grew so close so quickly because you were the only women on that deployment, but you’d discovered over the years that your friendship with Nat was unique. While you’d usually expect a fast friendship to fizzle out, your relationship with Nat had only grown stronger over the years.
“Hm,” you sound in response, giving Rooster another lookover.
Nat’s other best friend.
Sure.
Nat’s hot other best friend.
“What’s with the porn ‘stache?” you ask, playfully.
She chuckles, “Long story for a different time.”
“C’mon! I’ll introduce you to everyone else,” Phoenix encourages you, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you over to the pool table with her.
“Gentleman,” she says cooly, greeting the uniform-clad men that surround the pool table.
“This is Whiskey,” she announces, introducing you. “Top of her class at TOPGUN and the only person on the planet that can get me to drink the worm at the bottom of a bottle of tequila.”
“Yo, I’ve heard about you,” Payback says, immediately recognizing your callsign.
“I could say the same about you, Payback,” you reply, and he’s surprised to see you already know his callsign. “Coyote, ‘s always a pleasure.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods to you.
“Wait. You two already know each other?” Payback asks, looking from you to Coyote.
“Texas,” you both answer at the same time, exchanging a smile.
“Us Texans gotta stick together. Especially at the top,” Coyote clarifies.
“I’m Fanboy. And this here is Harvard and Bob,” Fanboy says, finishing his introduction of at least the aviators engaged in the game at the time.
“It’s nice to meet you two,” you reply, looking from Fanboy to Harvard.
You notice that it seems like Rooster’s little performance has ended and the jukebox has been plugged back in. It doesn’t surprise you that Hangman’s slipped out, probably to cue up his own personal soundtrack for the night. Bob is busy lining up his pool cue, but you already know him from Lemoore. He and Fanboy continue their game, and you wonder where Halo snuck off to.
Bob shoots his shot, missing miserably with a sigh as the rest of the aviators cry out in supportive disappointment for him.
“Bob, ya really can’t do better than that, huh?” you hear the Southern drawl of Jake heading your way.
You and Phoenix exchange a look, knowing just how much Jake is going to enjoy picking on the little guy.
“Let me show you how it’s really done,” Jake smirks, snatching the pool cue out of Fanboy’s hands as he struts towards the pool table.
You decide that someone needs to humble him, and you know just how you’re going to do it.
“Easy there, Seresin,” you say, intercepting his gait. You stand your ground, right between him and the pool table, blocking his way.
Jake stops in his tracks, as you stand toe to toe with him, barely inches apart from each other in a battle of the egos. Coyote lets out a whistle and you can hear Phoenix and Bob snickering in the corner as they watch on.
“You see, I can’t let you do that because… it’s my turn, actually,” you challenge him, a rebellious look on your face. “So you’re just going to have to wait for yours.”
“Damn. You gonna let her talk to you like that, Hangman?” Coyote whistles, always amused by how willing you are to throw yourself in front of the moving bus that is Jake Seresin.
“Don’t let her fool you. Whiskey’s always been sweet on me. Ain't that right, kid?” he coos, his eyes never leaving yours.
“HA!” you hear Nat laugh loudly, as you raise your eyebrows up at Jake.
You don’t dare break eye contact. There’s no way in hell he’s winning this one.
He shoots you a look that says, ‘you really want to do this right now?’ and you shoot him a look that says, ‘you’re being a bully.’
“Bullshit. She’s got you by the balls, lieutenant,” Phoenix hollers.
“And he wouldn’t have it any other way,” you say, winking in her direction. You refocus your attention back on your best friend, pressing your lips together in a thin line “Besides, we all know that Hangman here has a soft spot for women who degrade him.”
You grab the pool cue out of his hand before bringing your opposite hand to tap him twice on the cheek, eliciting another round and whoops and hollers from the group of guys.
“Ain’t that right, Bagman?” you throw in, parroting his condescending phrase from earlier.
Jake shakes his head, knowing that you won this one as he watches you move around the pool table to set up your next shot. Bob watches on, impressed with the way you stood up to Hangman like that, especially in defense of himself.
“If nobody warned you, Bob, the ‘T’ in Texas stands for trouble,” Coyote remarks, nudging Bob as he settles in next to the WSO.
While you’re busy celebrating your win with Bob, Fanboy, and Phoenix, Rooster’s across the room, closing out his tab and grabbing his last beer of the night. He eyes you carefully. He’s never seen someone standup to Hangman like that, nor has he witnessed Hangman take it. He’s heard about you – remembered what Nat’s said over the years: that you were her other best friend, that you were one hell of a pilot, that he should stop making shitty decisions with women and just let her set the two of you up.
And after what he’s seen tonight? He’s intrigued.
You’re electric, and he’s impressed.
What he doesn’t remember is Nat ever mentioning that you knew Hangman – let alone this well. Were you and Hangman a thing? He can see a closeness between the two of you – a kind of intimacy he’s never seen Hangman have with anyone, despite the revolving door of women he seems to keep around whenever they’ve been deployed together. But it doesn’t make sense, because why the hell would Phoenix want to set him up with someone if she were Hangman’s girl?
Rooster makes his way over to the pool table after you and Hangman’s confrontation, his lips pressed to the top of the glass bottle.
Hangman’s hanging out on the edge of the group, flipping through something on his phone with his right hand and nursing a beer in his left.
He doesn’t want to sound too interested, but curiosity gets the best of him as he asks, “What was that all about?”
“What?” Jake shoots back, looking up from his smartphone.
“You and Whiskey…” Rooster says, trying not to sound too desperate for information.
But Hangman picks up on Rooster’s interest in his best friend immediately. He smirks, knowing that his relationship with you is just another thing he can use to get under Bradshaw’s skin.
“Spent a little time at the naval academy together, that’s all,” Hangman replies vaguely. When he’s met with silence, Jake knows that he’s got something here. He turns to his rival, scanning for a reaction on Rooster’s face.
“What? You interested?”
Instead of answering, Rooster just shakes his head, taking another swig of his beer. It doesn’t take long for Natasha to steal Rooster away so that she can introduce the two of you, her eyes glimmering with excitement and the gears turning in her head.
“Call it a rescue,” she mutters under breath as she drags him away from Hangman’s presence.
Much to Nat’s disappointment, the introduction isn’t much. Just an exchange of hellos, names and callsigns before Halo comes to find you for a catch up.
The rest of the night goes on, accompanied by Hangman’s pick of tunes, and it’s filled with old friends, catch ups, and a few more rounds of pool. It’s good to be back here. In a way it feels nostalgic, and anyone would be lying if they couldn’t admit that being selected to be a part of this mission was a huge boost for the ego. While it’s cool to have some Lemoore buddies with you, it’s good to see your old friends too – the ones you don’t get to see as often – like Jake. Like Phoenix. These are bonds forged in battle, and people you’d trust with your life.
It’s not till the end of the night that you realize that you may have had one too many, so you step out for some air. San Diego is perfect almost year round, you think, as you watch the waves crash against each other.
“You good? I saw you slip out,” you hear a voice say.
You’re surprised to find Rooster standing behind you, just outside of the entrance of the Hard Deck. You hadn’t gotten much time to meet him, despite Nat’s best efforts.
“Yeah, I just think I’ve had a little too much to drink. Wanted to get some air,” you reply with a small laugh. “Thanks though. For checking in.”
“Can’t have you gettin’ into any trouble. Nat would kill me,” he says, taking a few steps toward you.
This time, you fully turn towards him, resting your back against the railing, as he holds out a cup of water.
“Thought you might want a glass of water too.”
“You’re a good friend. At least that’s what Nat’s said about you,” you say with a smile, taking the glass of water he’s offered you.
“She said that?” he asks, only a little surprised.
You nod in response.
Rooster joins you, standing side by side, his back pressed against the railing, mirroring your body language.
There’s a long silence between the two of you as you drink your water. After a big night of friends old and new, it’s nice to have a moment of quiet too – the waves being the only sound between the two of you.
“So… you and Jake?” Rooster asks, interrupting your momentary shared silence.
“Oh!” you gasp, another laugh following.
You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the question that makes you feel a little warmer as you contemplate how to answer his question. Between your greeting upon arrival and your standoff at the pool table, you can imagine why Rooster would think that. You can’t blame him. The two of you get mistaken as a couple all the time, especially when you’re out and about in your civvies.
“No, there's-, there’s no me and Jake. I mean. We… met at the naval academy. He was two years ahead of me and kinda took me under his wing when he found out that I was a fellow Texan. We’ve been close friends ever since,” you clarify, trying your best to explain your uncommon friendship with Hangman.
Rooster scoffs, a blush running across his cheeks as he mutters an unconvinced yet conceding with, “Okay.”
“What? You don’t believe me,” you ask, turning your head to watch his reaction.
“No, it’s not that! I uh… I’ve just… never seen Hangman let anyone talk to him like that. I just… made some assumptions, I guess. Sorry,” he apologizes, almost embarrassed that he asked in the first place.
“No it’s okay,” you reassure him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder before crossing your arms over your chest. “In your defense, there was one kiss at school back in the day that ended promptly when I laughed him out of my dorm room.”
Rooster laughs, the idea of it completely contradictory to the playboy persona Hangman portrays to the world.
“Now that’s a story I want to hear,” he smirks.
You shake your head, “There’s not much to tell. I promise.”
“He always been this much of an ass?” Rooster asks, stealing another glance your way.
“Oh yeah. And he’s always been this fucking annoying too,” you add playfully.
He agrees and the two of you exchange glances again. You’re starting to see why Phoenix has raved about him all these years and you’ve barely had a real conversation with him.
“Then why do you put up with him?” Rooster asks again, this time a little more seriously. He’s not sure why, but he really wants to hear that you don’t have feelings for Jake.
“Because… there was a time we were both just dumb kids, y'know? Because he may be an annoying, self-centered, overconfident little shit... but he's my annoying, self-centered, overconfident little shit. And I’m stuck with him,” you admit, genuinely.
Your capacity for empathy leaves an impact on him. He’s going to be thinking about this conversation for a few days.
“Fair enough.”
“So what’s the story behind your callsign?” he asks, changing the subject.
You raise an eyebrow, “What’s the story behind yours?”
Instead of answering, he just shakes his head and you laugh, knowing he’s not going to tell you. You don’t answer either, taking another sip of the water he’s brought out for you.
*
“Hooooly shit,” Rooster marvels, watching as you pull of an extremely tricky maneuver in your two-seater F/A-18.
It’s you and Halo paired up with Harvard as your wingman for this round of the dogfight exercise. And while you may be impressive, you’re still no match for Maverick, as he gets you with a killshot just for trying to show off.
“You got to give it to her. That was smooth,” Fanboy admires as the rest of the aviators watch the exercise from inside the watchtower.
Jake chuckles in response. You’ve always been full of surprises and he’s always finds it amusing when someone new discovers it.
“Like Tennessee Whiskey, fellas,” he answers, his Texas drawl a love letter to your shared home state.
He shakes his head watching you fly before adding:
“Some things never change.”
read: chapter two
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A/N: HI ITS ME. How're feeling up in this club and why is everyone so hot and have so much sexual tension? Anyways... should I continue this or nah??
#call sign tennessee whiskey#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw x reader#hangman x phoenix#hannix#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradsaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#natasha phoenix trace#phoenix top gun#jake hangman seresin#rooster x reader#hangman top gun#jake seresin
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When you finally get your hands on the top gun maverick script:
#they really just put that in writing#where is the footage#rooster came up with his call sign?!?#hangster#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#top gun maverick
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Heeey girl how are you?
Can I ask this prompt
“• B’s roommate entering their washroom (while B is in the shower) and yelling over the water “HEY B DO YOU KNOW WHERE MY SHAMPOO IS I CAN’T FIND IT ANYWHERE” “name..” “BECAUSE LIKE I THOUGHT IT WAS HERE BUT I CANT-“ “name im not exactly alone in here…” “huh wha-“ and A popping through the shower curtain with the biggest smile “hey name” “oh OH HI UH i’ll just.. *knocks multiple things over* leave you two.. alone” *knocks more things over* “also i think your shampoo is over there” “ um thanks A um i’ll just-*awkward finger guns*”
With hangman please? 🥹
Hello Sunshine! Fine, thanks for asking, I hope you're doing well too. That's a great choice! Enjoy 🦈💚
Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader / Hangman x Reader
Wordcount: 1,1k
Tags: hot shower, smut, fingering, caught by the roommate, finger guns (I'm dying, this is so fun to imagine)
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The warm water of the shower was raining down on you.
You gasped, surprised by waves of pleasure storming in your lower belly. A thin dusting of steam evaporated from your wet skin, surrounding Jake's body and yours with a dancing mist. Jake kissed your neck one, two, three times. Each time, his kisses became more and more eager: he wanted you, and he wanted you so bad that he felt he could devour you entirely. His teeth sunk into the delicate skin of your shoulder, causing you to quiver with pleasure. You could not help but let a soft moan escape from your parted lips. How did you end up here? You could not tell. All you remembered was that you and Jake were fighting about the last flying training you had. Both of you got shot by Maverick in less than five minutes because Hangman wanted to pull off a solo performance. Quite disagreeing with your point of view, the cocky pilot maintained that you had been shot because of your disastrous skills at dodging attacks coming from below. Rather than discussing the pros and cons of both of you, screams erupted in the hallway. You started insulting each other, trying to be the louder one as if what mattered was not the argument but who could make the other shut the hell up. And it happened. In the midst of your quarrel, Jake's lips collapsed against yours in a heated and dazing kiss. Stunned, you had hesitated between pulling him closer or punching him in the face so hard that he would not need a jet to fly... Guess what you ended up choosing.
"Don't fight it, I know you like that," Jake whispered in your ear, above the water.
"Screw you."
You snapped, gritting your teeth and turning your head to the other side in a vain attempt of keeping yourself from moaning. You didn't want to give him that pleasure, because at this point you were pretty sure that he would try to bother you by boasting about his sexual performance during your next argument.
"No, no, Y/CS. Screw you."
He cooed, his fingers caressing your wet slit in slow and maddening movements. You felt a myriad of butterflies in your stomach. And a wildfire of arousal between your legs. Jake chuckled: you looked so miserable. Even though he quite enjoyed seeing your inner struggle because he knew that he was giving you a hell of lustful bliss. The arrogant Lieutenant licked his way up to your mouth along your neck. The sensation of the tip of his tongue wandering on your boiling skin sent shivers down your spine. As he kissed you, his fingers trusted in your greedy slit. You tried to pull your head back but Jake pressed his lips harder against yours. Your whimper got muffled in a languid kiss. Jake could feel you melting, your love juice running down his expert fingers. The cold wall against your back, the hot water falling down on you, Jake's intoxicating perfume, his tongue, skin, fingers... Him. It was far too much to handle. You closed your eyes and gave in to this hurricane of pleasure. A red shade bloomed across your cheeks.
"Now I know how to shut your fucking mouth." His smirk widened into a carnivorous grin.
You were about to retort something when the door of the bathroom slammed and Payback's voice yelling above the water.
"HEY HANGMAN! DO YOU KNOW WHERE MY CONDITIONER IS?"
Jake froze. He turned his head towards the door, seeing Reuben's silhouette through the shower curtains. He had begun rummaging through his roommate's stuff to look for his hair conditioner. You had opened your eyes wide and were staring at Jake as if you were silently hurrying him to find a solution.
"Payback..."
"Seriously dude, I can't find it anywhere and it's making me crazy. Oh?" He grabbed a bottle, his dark eyes glittering with hope until he realized it was not what he was looking for, "Nope." he concluded with disappointment in his voice before throwing the bottle over his shoulder.
Jake gently pulled his fingers off you. You bit your lower lips to hold your moans. One of Jake's powerful hands was placed on your hips while the other pressed on the cold shower wall, next to your face.
"Reuben, I'm..."
"Because like-" Reuben cut him before he could speak, "I thought it was here but I can't-"
"Reuben, listen." Hangman's voice roared to get his focus, " I'm not exactly alone here."
At first, you looked at Jake with a bit of surprise in your eyes. You had not expected him to say that. The blonde pilot looked at you and shrugged with an amused smirk on his flat lips.
"Hu, what-"
You shook your head, your surprise turning into playfulness. You grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it enough to pop your head through it.
"Hey, Payback."
"FUUUCKKKKKK!"
He screamed, jumping at your sudden appearance. As if it was not enough, Jake's head popped just above yours, displaying the same big stupid smile that was carved on your face. He took a few steps back in surprise as if someone had punched him right in the guts. Payback, slack-jawed, remained still for one solid second, his eyes going from Jake to you several times. His brain had trouble proceeding with what had just happened. Why were you, Y/CS, Jake's worst enemy, in his shower? Were you ...? Oh no, no, he did not want to think about it.
"OH HI! Aha... Uhh, I'll just..." Reuben came to his senses but it seemed like he had not figured out what to do yet since he had started knocking multiple things over, "leave you two..alone... Well, I guess? I mean ... Uh - I should go!" He knocked more things over as he was trying to find his way out of the bathroom. At this moment, he had the impression he was in a gigantic maze. Fortunately enough, his trembling hand managed to grab the door's handle. He opened the door, ready to run away from the bathroom while you called out to him.
"Also I think your conditioner is over here!"
Payback looked at you with an utterly confused face before shaking his head "Oh the hair conditioner! Aha yes! Thank you Y/CS, I'll just..." Once again, his brain just stopped working properly. Not knowing how to respond, he tried to crack a smile and made a more than awkward finger-guns gesture at you.
Jake looked at him, baffled by his stupidity: "Oh my god..." He muttered.
Now, all you hoped was that Reuben knew how to keep a secret.
A very surprising secret.
#hangman imagine#jake hangman seresin#Hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#hangman x y/n#top gun fanfic#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick#top gun maverick imagine#tgm imagine#tgm fic#top gun request#jake seresin smut#hangman smut#Call sign Shark#hangman x reader
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Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 10 - Let's Dance
📝 Okay, Peeps! This is pure fluff with some spice! I also love this song, so please check it out!
Speaking of songs, I made the official playlist for this fic! Not sure if you guys listen, but it's linked in the master list if you guys want to check it out!
18+ minors DNI. Ageless and blank blogs are blocked without warning.
❗+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child, sexual themes (I mean Smut, so get outta here if you ain't +18), mentions of a stalker, grieving, and shitty family dynamics.
#7k Words
Part 9 | Masterlist | Part 11
You never expected Jake to want to take you to the annual state fair for your first date. It seemed out of character for someone like him. Then you realized it didn't seem that farfetched. If he grew up on a ranch in Texas, he probably went to these all the time.
You had been at the grocery store when his text came through. Jake had sent you the flyer, along with a message.
You. Me. Saturday + Dinner ;)
And before you could reply, there was another text.
Penny was going to take Sadie sailing away.
While some part of you was slightly surprised he followed through on his ask, you had to glance down both ends of the baking aisle to make sure you were alone before squealing and jogging a little on the spot.
It had been a few days since the hallway. Jake and you spent at least another half hour tied up in each other's arms, and you practically had to peel yourself away from him. You were so giddy the rest of the morning, and then some, after you had forced yourself to go back to bed, trying to stay as still as possible with Nat still asleep next to you.
Sitting across from him at breakfast, he acted as if nothing had happened between the two of you, that he was just friendly Jake, leading you to believe maybe it had all been a fever dream caused by the discomfort of the storm.
But when he went to place his glass in the sink while you were washing the dishes, he slyly touched your hip, letting his fingers slide across the fabric of your jeans just below your waistline, whispering, "Thank you, Darlin'" roughly into your ear before he returned to the table.
Yup, definitely not a dream.
So while you were working with Penny the day before the date, she didn’t waste the opportunity to grill you about it. Hard.
“You have a date.”
You blushed. “Penny..”
“Where is he taking you?” she pressed.
“He didn’t tell you, seeing as you're now his accomplice?” you countered, trying to finish mixing a cocktail someone ordered.
“Tell who what?”
Your head shot up to see Phoenix leaning up against the bar. "When did you get here? Why are you here?"
“I’m helping Penny with something. Now spill…”
Penny beat you to it, leaning over the bar and resting on her elbows when she told Nat, “Liz has a date. With Hangman.”
Nat smirked. “Oh, so him pressing you up against the wall in your hallway didn’t do it?”
“Elizabeth Beck!” Penny gasped. You squealed, dropping to the ground behind the bar, Phoenix laughing at your antics. “I can’t believe you saw that.”
“I had to go to the bathroom,” Nat said like it was obvious. “It’s not every day you see your best friend getting rammed up against a wall like that.”
“Oh, good lord.”
"Get back up here," Penny tapped your leg with herself softly, you standing up with a blush overcoming your face. She wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you into her side.
"Tell us," she tried again. "We aren't judging. We just want details."
You relented, quickly sputtering, "He's taking me to the fair."
They oo'd in response, making you shy away from Penny and reach for the drink you made, walking over to the person who ordered it sitting on the other side of the bar.
Nat followed you, quickly asking, "What will you wear? Something sexy?"
You glowered at her once you placed the drink down. "It's the fair, Nat."
Penny wasn't that far behind, bumping you on the hip. "There's nothing wrong with showing off."
You stuttered, trying to come up with some response that wasn't your usual reply of, 'I'm not like that,’ until someone shouted for Penny, distracting the three of you. She pouted, realizing the conversation would continue without her before leaving you and Phoenix alone.
“I’m just teasing you,” Nat offered. “I said I would back you up with this, and I will.”
You paused, gripping the edge of the bar. “Does the rest of the team know?” you asked hesitantly.
Nat shook her head. “I think Coyote knows something. He’s the closest with Jake.”
It struck you momentarily that this was the first time you heard Nat refer to Jake by his first name. It was always Hangman or Bagman. His last name was even rarer. It might have been a small change, but it showed you Nat was serious about this. It brought a small smile to your face.
“As for the others, Payback and Fanboy are off in their own world half the time to notice, and Bob is too shy to let on. I can’t say anything about Bradley, though.”
You frowned. This wasn’t the first time you thought about Bradley and what he might say or do if he found out. He was so heated on New Year's. If he reacted that badly, what would be his reaction when he found out his claims weren’t exactly untrue?
"Can we not tell Bradley? At least for now?”
Nat shot you a look. “Really?”
“I’m serious, Nat. He was so angry on New Year's Eve. It was scary.”
"Maybe he has a crush on you."
You wretched, the action making you hack. “Ew, no way. He's like a brother to me.”
"Then you should really tell him."
You shook your head. "It's just one date, Nat. I have no idea if anything will come of it."
She slapped your forearm, exclaiming, "We both know that's not true. You so have it for Hangman. It's not funny."
"It's one date. Besides," you shrugged before saying, "I think it has to do with Sadie."
“Those two have a professional rivalry,” She said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s extending over to whoever is the better uncle.”
“God, I hope not,” you shuttered. It was one thing to argue about who the better pilot was. It was another to include Sadie into the mix.
At the mention of Sadie, you looked up at the time, realizing you were five minutes over your shift and late to pick her up. “Shit, I'm late. I gotta go pick Sadie up from Soccer practice.”
Natasha leaned back from the bar, ready to return to what she was helping Penny with but not before saying, “Just think about it, Liz. It should come from you rather than anyone else.”
Saying a quick goodbye to Penny, you clocked out and gathered your bag. But as soon as you walked out the doors, that damn white car was the first thing you saw.
This car always seemed to be there - it hadn’t done anything but park in the Hard Deck parking lot and was driving you insane. You strangely found yourself looking for it when you drove around town. Or in the parking lot of Sadie’s school. You thought you saw it once parked outside of your house but played it off as being paranoid.
You usually weren’t this suspicious or obsessive about these things, but it was enough to make you feel concerned. Turning on your heel, you marched back into the Hard Deck, Penny frowning from behind the bar when she saw you.
“Have you seen that car before, Penny? The white one with the spoiler on the back?”
You could tell she was thinking about it, pinching her eyebrows together before finally recalling, “Oh, it was a nice young man looking for a surf spot. He came in one day asking, and I told him about the overnight rule.”
You heard nothing beyond young man. “You remember the night I closed? You told Jake I was closing by myself?”
She nodded. “Yeah, that was a little while ago.”
“That car was there then. It would have been too early for surfers.”
But she only shook her head. “With everything that's happened with CPS and that letter, I’m sure you're just being paranoid, Liz,” she said before walking over to the other side of the bar with a drink in her hand.
If you could only believe it was just paranoia.
__
Jake was going to pick you up at 11, and it being 10:30, you were still stressing over what to wear. Your bedroom looked like the morning of the hike. Clothes flung in every corner, hangers hanging off random hooks and knobs.
Everything you held up against yourself to look at in the mirror either felt too plain or too out there for a state fair. You needed help, and you needed it badly. You pulled out your phone, scrolling down your contacts, stopping when your fingers hovered over Ridely's number.
But then, instantly, you remember you couldn’t call her. You slid down the footboard of your bed, back hurting with the effort as your phone dangled from your fingertips, your head hung low between your legs.
She would always ask you when you called if you had met anyone, if you had gone on any dates, teasing you and telling you repeatedly that you needed someone in your life. But now, you couldn’t even tell her you were going on a date. You couldn’t call her afterwards and talk about it like sisters could.
She’d never get to meet Jake. To give him a shovel talk like you did with her dates. The two would never sit across from each other at the dinner table, bickering with each other like you were sure they would, their personalities clashing hard. She wouldn't have approved of him initially, much like you hadn't. But she would have warmed up to him by knowing how good he was with Sadie.
But then you spiralled, admonishing yourself for thinking that far ahead. It was only a first date. By the end of today, you might come to find you had a horrible time, and any chance at any type of relationship with Jake would be ruined.
It was only a first date.
And you couldn't tell her.
The sobs worked their way up your throat before you knew you were crying, begging to be let out and heard. Tears streamed down your face, the drops pooling on your bedroom floor.
But then Sadie’s voice carried from your front door, shouting out that Aunt Penny and Nat were here. You scrambled to get up, reaching for the closest piece of clothing to put away.
Penny appeared in your doorway as you wiped at your face, attempting to fold up a sweater. She carefully walked up behind you, placing her hand on your shoulder. But her touch was too much, and you turned, pulling her into a hug, the tears you tried so hard to stop refusing to listen to you.
"I'm so sorry, Penny," you wept into her shoulder. It didn't help when you opened your eyes over her shoulder, the shoebox was the first thing you saw sitting up on the top shelf.
Penny hushed you, her voice wavering as she stroked your back soothingly, "Nope, you're not apologizing for that. Let it out, Liz."
"I just..." you gasped as another sob wracked your chest. But Penny pulled back, taking your face between her hands, her thumbs wiping away your running mascara.
"You'd don't need to tell me. We all know you miss her."
Penny let you cry into her chest for a few minutes, her own tears starting to mix with yours, before pressing a kiss to your forehead and reaching for a button-up blouse lying on your bed.
"Now, come on," she sniffed, holding it up for you. "We will find you the best first date outfit amongst this mess."
She did. Just in time for Nat to fix your makeup and for Sadie to snap a few photos of you with her Polaroid. And right at 11, you opened the door to a bouquet blocking Jake’s face.
“You got me flowers?” you said, greeting him with a smile when he lowered them to reveal his face. Jake carefully placed them into your outstretched hand, grinning when you immediately brought them to your face to smell them.
“I’m sorry they're not tulips.”
You shook your head, smiling into the bouquet. “It doesn’t matter what they are. Thank you, Jake.”
And then, in something that made you smile, he pulled out a single flower wrapped in a bow from his back pocket. “I figured I should keep with tradition.”
You stepped forward, hand pressing to Jake's shoulder as you pressed your lips to his. Letting Jake deepen the kiss, he wrapped his arms around your waist, mindful of the flowers in the crook of your arm. But you pulled back when you felt his hands sliding down your back towards your ass.
“We have eyes and ears on us from the living room,” you warned him, jerking your head towards your hallway. Not that Penny or Nat would let Sadie see anything untoward from their hiding spot behind the wall. But you could do without the teasing from them afterwards.
Jake grinned, leaning over to call out, "Bug!"
Turning to face your hallway, you spied Sadie stumbling out from behind the wall like she had been pushed. She huffed at someone, probably at Nat, then comically straightened her shirt before making her way to the door.
"Hi, Uncle Jake," she greeted him, though her voice lacked the usual cheeriness it always had. Jake let you go to kneel in front of her, holding out the flower. "Miss Sadie, will you accept this flower so I can spend the day with your aunt?"
Sadie's face remained stoic as she reached out to take the flower from his hand, bringing it up to her face as she twirled it once. Jake stood up, slightly worried about her non-reaction. But you knew exactly what she was doing, and Jake was falling for it hook, line and sinker.
In Sadie fashion, she finally grinned at him, holding her free hand up to her forehead in a salute, cheekily saying, "Have her home by no later than 11!"
You laughed when Jake saluted her back. Sadie, content with the reaction, ran back inside to find Penny so they could put her flower in some water.
"Was I just given a curfew by a ten-year-old?"
"Yup."
---
The benefit of getting to the fairgrounds a little bit earlier, you didn’t have to wait in line for rides. And boy, were you surprised when Jake dragged you around to a bunch of them. Teacups, bumper cars, going down those super long slides in a potato sack more than once, you plastered up against his chest. If the two of you could go on it, Jake ensured you did.
A part of you was slightly pleased he wanted to. It helped with the slight nervousness in your stomach, both from this morning and from being with Jake in this context. You had to remind yourself time and time again that Jake was the same as he had always been. But it became easier with each ride, the two of you laughing way harder than you should for a Saturday morning.
It took your stomach rumbling loudly enough for Jake to kiss your cheek and drag you to the food stands. After asking what you wanted, he told you to find a seat, saying there was no possible way you were paying for yourself. You had huffed at him, but he only pecked your forehead before gently turning you by your shoulders and sending you on your way.
You found a picnic bench away from the stands under a tree. It was the perfect spot, away from other seats, for you and Jake to talk. He found you easily enough, handing you your corn on the cob on a paper plate before placing his hot dog down on the table and climbing over the bench to sit next to you.
But it occurred to you, as you started to nibble on the cob, you didn’t really know that much about him. Sure, you knew he was a fighter pilot, from Texas, from a big family with troubling dynamics. He grew up on a ranch. He was a few years older than you. He had a reputation.
But you didn’t know the other important stuff.
“What’s your favourite colour?” you asked, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“What’s your favourite colour?” you said again, laughing.
He shot you a look. “We’re really doing this?”
“You're the one that wanted to take me out on a date,” you shrugged, taking another bite of your cob. “So spill. What’s your favourite colour?”
“Orange.” He admitted after a second. "You?"
“Blue-Green. But not turquoise,” you were quick to correct. “The blue-green you see out in the sea.”
Jake nodded thoughtfully but didn’t say anything.
“This is the part where you ask me a different question,” you roughly whispered, leaning over to tease him.
Jake chuckled, making a show of needing to think about his question before finally asking, “Most embarrassing moment?”
You giggled at the memory. “When Sadie was born. I was rushing to leave the hospital cause I was late for my shift. The nurse told me I could use the stairwells, but I triggered the emergency exit fire alarm on the door instead.”
Jake snickered with a mouthful of his hot dog.
“Hey, they tell you you can use those doors. I was misinformed.”
Jake shook his head fondly. "Okay, your turn."
“Did you always want to be in the Navy? Flying planes?” you asked, sobering the conversation. Jake looked at you for a minute before staring down at his plate. “Remember how I said my future was more or less planned out?”
You nodded, taking another bite of your corn on the cob, listening as he continued. “My grandfather served in the Navy. He saw how much I didn’t want to follow in my brother’s footsteps and started talking to me about his deployments.”
Jake grabbed a napkin off the table, wiping away a speck of mustard from the corner of his mouth before explaining, "My dad had been pressuring me throughout college to come home and take over the ranch since I put my foot down about football. I spent a summer with my grandfather up at a Navy base in Fort Worth, learning, watching, and taking everything in. I got to see a little bit of everything, but the fighter squadron... there was something freeing in seeing them up there."
You could tell he was lost in his head, reminiscing about a time when he was trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, away from people's impressions and opinions. If you ever met Jake's dad, you'd make sure he knew what you thought about the treatment of his youngest son.
"Then he asked if I wanted to join when I graduated," He shrugged. “One of the best decisions I’ve ever made. He passed five years ago.”
Listening to Jake recount his story made your heart ache, knowing he would have been expected to live out a future somebody else had carved for him had somebody not shown him a different way. Though it brought comfort to know Jake had somebody in his corner, two people looking out for him if you considered his sister. You reached out, letting your hand graze up and down his forearm in comfort.
“He was looking out for you,” you offered kindly.
“He would have liked you,” he wondered aloud. “And he would have spoiled Sadie to no end.”
You let the silence stretch on, knowing Jake would need a few seconds to regain his composure. But then he suddenly said aloud, “You said Ridley sent your college admissions for you. What did you study?”
You swallowed hard at the mention of Ridley, a queasiness settling in your stomach as this morning was still too fresh on your mind.
“English,” you managed to say. “The bookcase in my family room wasn’t a dead giveaway?”
“Anyone can be a bookworm,” he remarked, the look on his face indicating he expected you to continue.
“I wrote a lot in high school,” you shrugged. “Fiction, poetry… short stories. Ridley found them one day after we moved, submitting a couple to a few English and creative writing programs.”
Jake took another bite of his food before asking, “You’re a writer?”
You nodded. “Trying to be.”
“Anything I can read?” He asked playfully, knocking your shoulder. You smirked, pushing back into him as you said, “Maybe one day.”
You didn’t know if asking something like this on a date you thought was going well was proper. But you were curious anyway when you casually said, “Your first kiss?”
But Jake wasn’t ashamed to answer, not that you expected him to be. The man oozed confidence. “Highschool. After my first touchdown. One of the cheerleaders at the side bench. The worst experience of my life.”
“I knew you were a jock,” you snorted.
“What about you?”
“I was a geek - in the library most weekends.”
“No, your first kiss.”
“Oh… um..” you hesitated before finally admitting, “You.”
You may as well have sucker-punched him in the gut. Jake turned to face you, shock then confusion covering his face, as if you didn’t just admit to him the kiss at three AM in your hallway was the first time you’d ever been kissed.
His reaction made you look down into your lap, blending the edge of your paper plate back and forth, before giving into the urge to fill the silence. “I’ve gone on dates. But they never went past the first one. Either things didn’t work out, or I got ghosted. It made me wonder what I was doing wrong.”
Jake cleared his throat. “So you’ve never…?”
He didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to know what he was asking. You shook your head, your blush spreading down your neck. “Does that surprise you?”
“Someone like you, how didn’t anyone..?”
“I’ve never trusted someone enough to do it with,” you shrugged. You felt embarrassed, not that you should have been. But it was a well know fact Jake got around. That he was, for lack of a better word, experienced.
It wasn’t like the opportunity didn’t present itself while you were at college. But the parties and causal thing just wasn’t for you. And all the guys seemed like walking red flags. Your insecurities also didn’t help. But they weren’t as bad back then as they are now. And then Sadie came along, and you put any thought of dating aside.
“Does that bother you?” you asked meekly, scared of his answer.
Jake turned, his knee knocking yours as he dropped his plate to the bench, wiping his hand on his shorts before reaching out to stroke the outside of your thigh. His voice was firm when he answered, “Absolutely not. I’m just surprised.”
You didn’t know you had been holding your breath when you found yourself letting out a sigh of relief.
“Though I can’t lie, I’m thinking about all the ways I can corrupt your innocent little soul.”
You smirked, shaking your head. "You're a menace."
He returns your grin, unfazed by your response. “Now, what else did you want to ask me? Since we are doing the question thing.”
You thought about it for a second before asking, “What were you going to tell me on New Year’s Eve?”
But rather than freeze up like he did the other times you asked, Jake smiled fondly at you, hand still stroking the outside of your leg. “What? Me giving you the best first kiss of your life in your hallway at three AM wasn’t enough? Clearly, I didn’t do my job right. ”
You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before leaning back. “I was going to ask if you wanted to start the year off by going on a date with me.”
You gulped. “You’ve been thinking about this awhile then?”
“Since Sadie invited me on the hike.”
The uneasiness in your stomach disappeared with the mention of Sadie, and you squeezed his wrist in silent thanks before reaching for your food. But then Jake said something that made you pause.
“I think she’s trying to play matchmaker with her subtle hints and pictures…” He froze, realizing what he just said out loud. You dropped the cob from your mouth, looking over at him in shock.
“She didn’t!” You exclaimed, catching on to what he didn’t say. “Oh, that insect! I knew she sent you something suspicious with those photos!”
“Hey, I promised her I wouldn’t say anything,” he said, sounding guilty for breaking his promise. Then your mind flashed back to the video chat you had with Jake. “Wait, Coyote… at the end of our call..”
Jake closed his eyes, tilting his head back to the sky as you exclaimed, “Was I the photo in your cockpit?!”
___
Jake told you he wanted to take this slow.
You had agreed to the both of you taking it slow.
Hell, it was your first date.
But damn, he was not making it easy.
After lunch, Jake wanted to take you to the arcade on the other side of the fairgrounds before the two of you had dinner. Buying a bag full of coins, he placed them in the palm of your hand, telling you to pick whatever you wanted. But you wouldn't have that, telling him the two of you would take turns deciding what to play.
But no matter what game the two of you decided on, you were sure he was purposely trying to mess you up by making himself as distractingly attractive as possible.
It all started with the air hockey table. A few occasional glances here or there as you knocked the puck back and forth along the table. Then it was the flirty trash talk, a playful diss being said when one of you would score against the other, leading you to shout out, "Bite me, Hangman."
But he smirked and cockily replied, "I have."
The blush that came next could have rivalled Rooster's angry face.
Next came the basketball hoops. Jake went first, and despite you standing in his line of sight, leaning up against the machine to the side, Jake didn't break his focus as he made every shot. You knew it was a failed attempt from the start anyway, given how focused he would have to be flying an F-18.
Unfortunately, you didn't have much luck when it came to your turn. He came up behind you, his hands on your hips, pressing kisses to your cheek and neck, hoping it would distract you enough to miss your shots and allow him to win the game, which he did.
And out of all things, they had axe throwing. If this man could throw a dart with that much accuracy, he had no trouble with the axes. Watching him toss the axe from over his head, muscles bulging, the look of concentration on his face.
The next time you needed firewood for the pit in the backyard, you would ask Jake for some help splitting it, maybe on a hot day.
It got so bad you had to pull him back by his hand, holding on to yours, right in the middle of the crowd as he was leading you to another game, only to grab him by the back of his neck and lay one on him.
But what really got you was when it came time to redeem the tickets, Jake asked if the two of you could pick something out for Sadie - the Navy-themed teddy bear was looped tightly around the straps of your bag as the two of you walked to one of the pop-up restaurants the fair was hosting.
Jake went to find a table as you went to find the bathroom. You stared at yourself in the mirror, realizing your worries this morning and even your vocalizations to Jake in your hallway had been for nothing.
Deep down, you knew Ridley would tell you to stop being so anxious about this and go for it. Jake had already proved, each and every time, he was nothing like the guys that ghosted you or the guys you encountered at school—more than the cocky aviator type you painted him for looking for a good time. Even your lack of experience didn’t phase him and you being the photo in his cockpit? Where did that come from?
And it suddenly struck you that you were doing the same thing you had ratted the squad out for, what his father had been doing to him. Jake was more than what others painted him for. Sadie had realized it long before anyone else did. Before you did. And it took her inviting Jake to a Saturday night and on the hike for you to realize.
Who cares about what he did before he met you? Or what everyone believed he should be doing. He was here, with you, and wanted to be in Sadie’s life.
You were done worrying about what-ifs. Come what may, you thought. You trusted Jake, and you wanted to be with him. In telling yourself that, you realized it was time you allowed yourself to believe in what you refused to admit.
There was nothing wrong with being in love with Jake Seresin.
Walking back, you searched the crowd for Jake, finding him seated at a table, speaking with a waitress. You stepped forward, but out of the blue, somebody checked your shoulder, making you stumble forward. Catching yourself on a nearby empty table, you turned around, angrily calling out, “Watch where your going, Asshole!”
There was a man in a white sweater with his hood up. He didn’t turn around at your voice. Instead, he continued walking down towards the way you had come. You scoffed, adjusting your bag hanging off your shoulder before going to find Jake.
“And here I thought you might have escaped through the window.” He joked, watching as you approached. The waitress was gone, and in his hands were two menus.
“As if I’d leave you now,” you scoffed, placing a hand on his shoulder to balance yourself as you climbed into the seat next to him. Once you were settled, you hooked your arm through his, resting your head on his shoulder.
“What?” you could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, holding out one of the menus to you. But you could only shake your head, smiling fondly into his sleeve as you grabbed the menu from him. “Nothing. I’m just having a good time.”
After ordering and while waiting for the food, you learned Jake was a natural-born storyteller. The minute you asked him about what life was like growing up on a ranch, he launched into multiple stories of shenanigans he and Janet got into, one story in particular almost making you fall out of your chair laughing - Jake telling you he got drunk on a bottle of Rye in high school and ended up walking home, only for his family to have found him passed out in a hay bale in the field the next morning. Or the barn dog everyone hated, a grumpy thing whose bite was worse than its bark.
"And right there, under all those blankets and saddle pads, was the damn Jack Russell, snapping away and chasing us outta the barn at our heels."
Laughing into your glass of wine, you relayed your own story about how Sadie came about her nickname, bringing ladybugs in from the backyard an empty water bottle and how she forgot to screw the top on. Jake fell into your side, laughing when you explained you couldn’t stop finding ladybugs for weeks afterwards.
The conversation continued throughout dinner, Jake learning you broke your wrist skating when you were 15. You learned exactly what his father had planned for him until his grandfather stepped, only furthering your dislike for the man. While you already knew both of you had the same taste in music, you weren’t surprised Jake had a soft spot for country music.
And when your meal was finished, Jake led you out of the makeshift tent; his arm lopped through yours as you snuggled happily up against his side. When you moved towards the parking lot, Jake tugged on your hand, pulling you back into his chest, saying, “I have one more thing planned.”
Yet, when he dragged you over to the line for the Ferris wheel, you felt like you were going to throw up. And you tried, you really did, not to let on that you were terrified to go up in the air. This date was going wonderfully, and you didn’t want to ruin it with something so trivial as this.
So you waited in line with him, listening to him continue the conversation about how he realized he wasn’t meant for football like his brother, even though he loved to watch. But every time the machine stopped and the seats, carts, or cars, whatever they were called, swung with the momentum, you had to force yourself not to jolt.
When your turn came in the line, you tried not to grip Jake’s hand tighter than you should when he helped you into your seat. To loosen your shoulders from being too tight and slouch your back when it was too straight. And when it started to move, you shot your hands out wide, one going for the bar in front of Jake, the other to your side of the cart.
When it stopped, you swallowed hard. Jake looked at you, amused, before finally stating, “You’re afraid of heights.”
“Not really…” you said, looking over the side, wondering how quickly the maintenance crew put up the blasted thing and if they had any missing blots or screws afterwards.
“Come now, you can tell me,” he leaned forward, placing his hand on your wrist of the hand gripping the handlebar. He pressed his nose against your ear, his voice buzzing as he said lowly, “I won’t judge.”
Something metal creaked beneath you, making you jolt, your hand now covering your heart. “It’s not really heights.”
“No?” he murmured lowly. You knew what he was doing, the cocky fucker. No amount of distraction or persuasion would get your mind off the empty space below you. Or get you to admit something you knew he would most definitely take some sort of defence to.
Or worse, try and fix it. Which he was capable of doing.
Jake suddenly rocked back in the seat back, hard. You squealed, plastering yourself into his side, gripping his body tight as you exclaimed, “Flying! I have a fear of flying!”
His hand slid down from over the back seat, finding your hip bone and gripping it tight, tugging you closer. “Now, was that so bad?”
Hiding your face into his shoulder, you replied, “Yes, especially after what you told me. And you're a pilot.”
“A pilot who could help you get over this fear.”
You shook your head against his chest. “Nope. I’m not stepping foot in that thing.”
“You wound me, darling,” he said, exasperated. “Truly.”
“It’s not that I’m against it,” you replied, adjusting yourself against his side, Jake’s hands making sure there wasn’t an inch between the two of you.
“Mav’s offered countless times when he takes Sadie up … I don’t know,” you finished lamely. “I just can’t stand the thought of no ground beneath my feet.”
"I bet I could change your mind."
“Not going to happen,” you challenged back.
“Nope, I guarantee you, I will get you into a plane."
You laughed hoarsely at his words. “Jake…”
“You and me, our next date. I’m calling it.”
“Maybe I’ll sit in it. But that’s it.”
“Nope. If you’re dating a pilot, you must take advantage of that.”
“What about you?” you asked, hoping to get him off-topic. “What are you afraid of?”
But Jake’s laughter died down, his eyes unfocused stared off into the distance. It wasn’t that he didn’t know - The same fear had followed him since high school, on deployments and in the quiet hours when nobody else was around. If he said it out loud, it would, without a doubt, give it power.
And if it had power, it would ruin his chances with you.
You gave him a few minutes, figuring he needed time to think about it. “Is it a hard one?
“Look,” he jutted his head forward. You sat up, turning your head to look out over the field, expecting to find something weird. But you didn’t need to search the crowd or look through the stands. It was obvious what Jake was pointing out to you.
“Whoa.”
Even if it freaked you out, Jake timed the Ferris Wheel perfectly. The sunset was gorgeous, with streaks of soft pastel yellows, pinks, and even hints of purple. The blue was even gentler than the bright hue of the everyday sky.
“It’s so….” you started, but couldn’t finish. You were too in awe of the sight in front of you.
“Beautiful,” he finished for you. It certainly is, you thought. But when you glanced over at him, you caught his eyes on you.
“You’re not watching the sunset, are you?”
“Nope.”
You blushed, deciding to press your cheek back into his chest and gazing at the sky. You could get used to this, you thought, as Jake grabbed the junction of your knee, pulling your legs over his.
With the movement or sounds of creaking metal no longer bothering you, you felt content to snuggle into Jake’s side as the Ferris Wheel swung you both forward again.
He pressed his lips to your forehead, murmuring, “I’m still getting you on a plane.”
“Jake…”
___
The sun had set when Jake and you got off the Ferris wheel. He led you back to his truck with an arm around your waist, content to press the occasional kiss into your hair as the pair of you navigated the crowds.
Jake guided you to the passenger side when you reached the truck. The both of you were hidden out of view from any on-lookers who were heading home. You pressed yourself up against the side as he reached for the handle, ever the gentleman, to open the door and help you up into your seat. But as he turned his head to look at you, you held your head up to look at him with a shy smile.
That shy smile, and the way the light hit the corners of your eyes, had him sucking in a sharp breath. His hand lost its grip, sliding along the side of the truck as he slowly stepped toward you. Watching as he approached you with a heated gaze, you timidly bit the bottom of your lip.
You couldn't see the stars behind his head, nor the lights from the fairgrounds or the warm glow of the string lights making up the parking lot. You could only see him towering over you, his arm stretching out to rest above your head, cocooning between him and the truck. His other hand landed on your cheek, his thumb softly stroking the skin, then gently releasing your lip from its hold before replacing it with his lips.
Moaning against his mouth, you slid your hand up his chest. It was a slow kiss, Jake's tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as if the two of you had all the time in the world.
Jake's hand slithered down your side, finding a grip on your leg. The heel of your boot caught on the step of the truck at his touch, allowing Jake the space he needed to situate himself between your legs, pinning you up against the frame. He nibbed at your neck, teeth working on marking up the opposite side of his handiwork from the hallway. There were bruises, much to your pleasure or displeasure, and you had spent at least half an hour each morning since covering it up. And Jake clearly wanted to add more to it.
But it didn’t stop you from attempting to return the favour, as your mouth managed to land on Jake’s cheek, working down towards his jawline as he tilted his head back. You felt the small spikes of a five o’clock shadow under your soft lips, pressing kisses to his skin. Then in a tiny spark of confidence, you closed them around a patch of skin.
“Fuck Liz,” he growled out, hand tightening on your thigh. “We need to go slow. What happened to not putting out on the first date?”
You let his neck go with a sharp intake of breath. "This is slow."
"Slow is driving you home, walking you to your front door," rasped after a kiss, diving back for another one before adding, "Kissing you goodnight and asking when I can see you again."
“Then why were you teasing me all day?” you gasped out. “I’m just following your lead.”
Jake pulled sharply back, the hand above your head thumping hard on the metal. “I’m not taking you up against my truck in the middle of a dirt parking lot for your first time.”
"Stereotypes are overrated."
Jake growled. You were driving him crazy, testing his resolve, especially after what you admitted to him earlier. It only confirmed he needed to take this slow with you.
Then again, another part of him was elated that he'd be the only one to have ever touched you like this, to feel you like this. That the sounds rising from your body were only because of him.
After securely wrapping your leg around his waist, Jake went for the center of your blouse, fingers single-handly making quick work of the small buttons.
"You would, wouldn't you?" He groaned, fingers searching underneath the helm for the top of your bra before giving a sharp tug down, exposing your nipple to the air. You gasped at the action, the night air caressing your skin.
"Let me do this to you out in the middle of nowhere," he murmured against your skin in between kisses, working inch by inch down to your breast. "Where anyone could walk by."
In three seconds, Jake had your entire breast in his mouth, jaw tense as he sucked hard, his tongue toying with your nipple. You mewled, not used to the sensation.
"Fuck Jake," you whimpered, your head hitting the door as you looked up to the stars, blindly raking your fingers through his hair.
He let it go with a pop. "Pay attention, darlin'. My eyes are down here."
Dropping your chin to your chest, you got a close-up view of Jake staring up at you, lips enclosing around the peak of your breast to work the bud between his teeth lightly. A wail caught in your throat at a particular tug, eyes still focused on his face as you attempted to bring him closer to your chest.
He pulled back, voice husky as he said, "Good girl."
You heaved at the praise, a flush of heat shooting down your body. You started to rock your hips against his, desperate for pressure, friction, anything to soothe the burning sensation in your core. Your jeans prevented you from feeling anything as Jake continued to suck around your nipple.
"Or you'd let me do this."
You moaned, a long yearning sound echoing between the space of the two parking spots when Jake slipped his hand down between your bodies and cupped your core, his thumb pressing on your clit through the seam of your jeans.
"Or this," he chuckled when you bucked your hips off the side of the truck, you seeing more than the stars littering the sky as he rubbed at you with the pad of his thumb. But his hand was gone as quickly as he touched you, leaving you aching and whining for more.
Jake could only think about how beautiful you looked, panting hard and skin flushed, just as affected as he was. He was in awe of you, of how well today went, how you care about him and refuse to believe in how everyone else sees him. He may have needed to assure you you were worth the risk of a broken heart, but he was grateful you were willing to take the chance on him.
But then you fucking sidelined him; your voice was quiet and raspy as you said, “I trust you.”
It was three simple words. And you probably didn’t understand their weight in your frenzied state. Or maybe you did. You told him you didn’t trust many people with this part of you. Perhaps you were telling him he was that person.
Either way, they meant everything to him.
“I want to do this right by you,” he gritted out through his teeth. “But you are making it hard.”
You didn't mean to, but your snicker escaped before it was too late, causing a series of giggles to wrack your chest.
Jake instantly caught on to what you were laughing about, the heat building between you both starting to die down as he softly laughed with you, body shaking as he pressed his forehead into the center of your chest.
"Liz, don't you dare."
But you couldn't help yourself. "Pun intended?"
He went for your sides, fingers poking and scratching at your stomach as you let out a screech, failing to escape his wrath before you finally called out for mercy. Pulling your bra and blouse back over your breast, Jake sighed affectionally, pressing his forehead to yours. "Where have you been all my life, darlin'?"
You didn't know what to say, so you pressed your lips to his, content to simply be in the moment, even if the two of you looked like horny teenagers at a school fair.
Thank god nobody could see the two of you like this right now.
But you were seen.
From the driver’s seat of a little white car with a spoiler on the back, parked three cars down on the opposite side of the lane. It’s passenger watching you and that man, doing whatever the fuck that was, up against that specimen of a truck.
He could hear your laughter from this distance, watching as the man picked you up, you clinging to him all arms and legs as he opened the door and set you inside, closing it before jogging around to the other side.
Watching the truck drive away, he couldn't help but feel some sort of pleasure in the fact he would see you soon. At the place where you were the most vulnerable. When none of those glorified uniform-wearing servants would be able to stop him.
Yes, he would see you soon.
And he wouldn’t leave this godforsaken state without what he came for.
Shit hits the fan from here on out... 👀
Tags:
@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233
@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby
@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn
@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia
@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @genius2050
@brooke-stinson
Part 11: Dream On Coming Soon
Wickett ;)
#horseshoegirlwrites#damnthosedogtags#jake seresin fanfiction#damn those dog tags#hangman x oc#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin#jake seresin fic#jake hangman fic#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman x you#jake hangman x reader#jake seresin smut#call sign lucky#controlled chaos squad#hangman top gun#top gun fanfiction#top gun hangman#top gun fanfic#jake seresin x you#hangman fanfiction#hangman fic#hangman fluff#hangman x reader#top gun fic#Spotify#damn those dog tags fic#jake seresin x reader#callsign lucky#hangman seresin x reader
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Part 1 | Part 2 - maverick | Part 3 - rooster | Part 4 - hangman | Part 5 - phoenix and bob | Part 6 - and friends! |
#hangman x rooster#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#pete maverick mitchell#tgm#top gun maverick#natasha pheonix trace#robert bob floyd#you can’t convince me that Phoenix didn’t get her call sign from starting fires#but like fun fires#top gun
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top gun headcanons bc I'm bored part five (I think??) call sign edition:
1. Hangman: he can't spell. he was always asking how to spell things and then someone made a joke of it and made him guess letters and then Bradley called him Hangman and never stopped
2. Rooster: tried to dye his hair as a young teen and it ended up bright red. made the mistake of showing a picture to a squadmate
3. Phoenix: accidentally set off the fire alarm by burning a cheese pita in the toaster oven. they started by calling her "fire girl" but that wasn't original enough
4. Bob: he wasn't great at making friends but he went to a Halloween party and was the best at bobbing for apples. the friends that he did make wanted an inside joke that was subtle enough to go unnoticed
5. Coyote: he wears a Wile E. Coyote t shirt that he says is a "good luck charm" underneath his flight suit
6. Payback: he will not lend money to people or go halvsies on anything because no one ever pays him back
7. Fanboy: he met Sir Patrick Stewart and keeps a polaroid photo of it in his wallet
8. Harvard: you know how you sarcastically call someone "genius"?
9. Yale: you know how you sarcastically call someone "Einstein"?
10. Fritz: uses the phrase "on the Fritz" constantly to refer to anything that is even remotely broken or not working properly
11. Omaha: anytime he tells someone he's from Nebraska they go "Omaha?"
12. Halo: she once stayed awake for 48 consecutive hours to play the newest Halo videogame (when was this? I dont know, because I dont know anything about Halo except for that one movie I found on Hulu like six years ago)
#top gun headcanons#top gun maverick#jake hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#natasha phoenix trace#robert bob floyd#javy coyote machado#reuben payback fitch#mickey fanboy garcia#brigham harvard lennox#logan yale lee#billy fritz avalone#neil omaha vikander#callie halo bassett#top gun call sign#top gun#these are my personal headcanons#if you got beef with any of them keep it to yourself#but youre welcome to share#any similarities to certain tv shows may or may not be intentional
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Top gun marching band version
@callsign-dexter
#glen powell#jake seresin#glen fucking powell#top gun fandom#top gun maverick#hangman seresin#bradley rooster bradshaw#top gun rooster#call signs#marching band
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𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐂𝐡. 𝐈𝐕
☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫
☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move; jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record.
☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫
𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗
“You’re all dismissed,” Maverick says, still looking between Rooster and Hangman.
The two men are like animals: a slinky feline rubbing up against the grated door of a caged feral canine. Almost untouchable, taunting.
Hangman breaks past Rooster and starts sauntering toward the exit behind me, his eyes half-lidded and a partial smirk snagging his lips. He moves slowly and deliberately, like he’s about to rub up against my legs and and purr for some scraps of chicken.
I’m standing, gripping the sides of my temporary desk, the invisible string connecting Rooster and I taut. We had both jumped up at the exact same moment, coming out of our chairs abruptly like we’d been bitten by something. We moved in tandem the way Maggie and I used to--unbuckling our seatbelts, spitting our toothpaste into the basin, ejecting from a burning jet.
My cheeks are pink, but not red-hot like Rooster’s are, his chest heaving desperately. Each place on my body that Rooster touched the night before is smoldering. The four freckles on my throat, the three points of contact at the beach, and my right cheek are glowing white-hot.
Hangman catches my gaze as he walks past me. His pretty face is even prettier when he smiles, teeth pearly and eyes glimmering. I do not smile back, just very lightly shake my head, my jaw slack. I have never seen a pilot talk to another pilot that way, not ever, not once. Now he’s just strolling on by.
“Cat got your tongue?”
He whispers it so quietly that it takes a moment to register what he’s said to me. Then before I can say anything else--there it is again. That wink, almost too fast to catch, the kind that only the intended sees.
When the heavy door closes behind a lones Hangman, Rooster storms out in the other direction, not even going back to his chair for his bag. Hastily, I clear my desk and pack my leather tote, trying to measure the puffs of air out of my nose.
“What the Hell just happened?” Payback says, his voice echoing in the silence of the room.
The rest of the squadron slowly meanders back to their seats to collect their belongings, each with a mystified look on their faces. What the Hell did just happen? Everyone’s eyebrows are furrowed and their mouths are twisted. Maverick is collecting his papers behind the podium, his face solemn and downcast. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even acknowledge Payback’s question.
“It was bound to happen,” Coyote says, shrugging, “both of them at each other’s throats all the time.”
Phoenix scoffs, one strap of her backpack hanging off her shoulder.
“Hangman jumped Rooster,” Phoenix bites back, “and we all know it.”
Bob is standing silently beside Phoenix and turns his face towards me, his eyes wide, his face pale. He hates confrontation. He left the room every time Maggie and I disagreed, even if it was about the difference between pure vanilla extract and imitation.
I’m still gripping my desk, but my fingers are damp. I kind of shrug my shoulders, my chest tight and Bob nods to Rooster’s bag stull crumpled in his seat.
I look at Rooster’s former seat for a long minute, at the suede bag that holds his wallet, phone, keys. He can’t get home without it. Bob nods again, eyes wider. He wants me to take the bag to Rooster. I nod, one time, just for Bob.
When I release my desk, there are finger-shaped stains of perspiration on the varnish.
Maverick stares down at his hands now. He doesn’t register me when I walk past him, towards Bob and Phoenix. Phoenix is huffing as she says something lowly to Bob. The rest of the squadron is filing out of the room, meandering to see if Maverick will say anything to them. But he doesn’t
It’s only the four of us now: Bob, Maverick, Phoenix, and myself.
“--a fucking asshole. He knows what buttons he’s pushing.”
Phoenix’s voice is harsh and low. Bob is standing beside her, his brows pulled down. He nods along with her words and glances up when I find my spot at Rooster’s chair. It still smells like him over here, like there’s a vaporized silhouette of him lingering.
Phoenix turns around to meet my gaze, squaring her jaw.
“Can you believe him?” She whispers, shaking her head, “I mean. That was low. Even for him.”
I nod.
The way she’s speaking, spewing her words like venom into the air around us, she sounds like Maggie. Navy men frequently lit Maggie’s fire--especially pilots. She had a quieter approach--draining them of their ego and energy like a tick draws one’s blood. By the time she hopped off them, belly full from their hot insides, the men had holes in their bodies and felt dizzy when they walked.
“You know why they call him Hangman?” Bob whispers.
I do know. I’d listened to their conversations during drills on the comm. I shake my head, though, and Phoenix bites her lip.
“Because he’ll always hang you out to dry,” she finishes, not whispering now.
If Maverick can hear her, he does not show it. He has not looked up from his paper stack. He’s pale, grief-stricken almost. I think about his heavy hand on my shoulder when I wept before my sister’s portrait.
I pick Rooster’s bag up and sling it over my shoulder. I’m weighed down by his bag and mine, my shoulders sloping towards the earth. Phoenix glances at me, at Rooster’s bag, and nods.
“You know where he stormed off to?”
“I have an idea,” I whisper.
She nods and Bob smiles softly at me.
“If anyone can calm a pilot,” he starts, teasing, “it’s Clover.”
“Lots and lots of practice,” I smile.
“Rooster is just…” Phoenix sighs, “he’s good, you know? Hate to see him pushed to the brink.”
Phoenix and Bob start at the door together. Bob glances over his shoulder and notices that I haven’t moved from my spot. He nods for me to follow them, his eyebrows furrowed and I shift my eyes to Maverick one time before meeting Bob’s eyes again. He looks at Maverick, too, just for a moment. This is our language.
Then he nods before opening the door for Phoenix.
I am alone with Maverick.
“Captain,” I say quietly, approaching the podium.
Maverick glances up from the papers he’s looking at and I know his glazed eyes have not truly been reading anything. They are the kind of far-away eyes that are capable only of staring off and blinking back tears.
“Lieutenant Ledger,” he returns, “you’re dismissed.”
I nod.
“Yes, I know. I’m on my way out,” I start, “but sir?”
He blinks at me, nods once, a little crinkle between his brows.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
He swallows, his throat rippling. His eyes are glassy and heavy-lidded.
“There’s nothing we could’ve done,” I say.
I don’t say anything else. I know that he is not upset about the tiff between the two pilots. I know he isn’t upset about leading the mission, about having to train, about having to pick. I know that he doesn’t want to let Goose down. I know that he feels like he let Goose down. I know what it feels like to slowly float down to earth and know the person you love most in the world is lying on the ground, waiting for you, dead.
He is staring at me. I nod once, twice, then start for the door, too. He does not call out. He does not ask what I mean. He keeps standing behind the podium, looking at the empty air I occupied moments ago.
Even though it is the late afternoon, the building seems to be entirely empty except for me. There is no evidence of the squadron--all dispersing to the parking lot and revving their engines. The air conditioning rumbles, the fluorescents buzz and flicker above me, people talk lowly in their offices--but all that noise, that sweet unimportant noise, is drowned out by the thud of my shoes hitting the tile.
I’m nearly running--hitting that sweet spot between walking and the former. I know I’m going to have blisters, can feel the stiff leather of my loafers withering away the skin of my heels. A wetness gathers there.
My hair is falling out of its bun, my blouse is untucking itself from my skirt. My teeth hurt from biting down so hard. My chest is tight with a distant anger.
Anger. I cannot remember the last time I felt true unadulterated rage, let alone the pissy way I feel now. I forgot how it aches in my throat, the way it makes my jaw fasten tightly, like it’s sewn together with a tapestry needle. Even the scar on my jaw is throbbing.
I almost have to dig my heels in the ground to halt myself when I reach it: Memorial Hall. And he is there, just like I knew he would be. It’s only been a few minutes, minutes that were fleeting, but crucial. His cheeks glow red in the distance and his chest is heaving. He’s standing before his father’s portrait, his flight suit now unzipped to his belly, his arms limply by his sides as he clenches his fists.
I don’t say his name, but I slow down. I found him. No haste necessary.
He doesn’t turn to face me when I step beside him. We just both catch our breaths, both our cheeks radiating heat. He even smells angry--like his sharp cologne is drowned out by the stench of sweat and salt.
He’s staring very intently at Goose’s portrait, but I know that he probably isn’t seeing it, not really. Not the way he does when he’s getting in a morning run, when he’s saying goodnight, good morning.
My shoulders ache. I hold tight to our bags, though.
This morning, my temple throbbed. It felt like there was cherry wine in my veins. I was still warm, even with my ceiling fan on high, even with the window-unit blasting. My house was quiet except for the naked sound of a record waiting to be flipped. It felt like he was nestled in bed beside me, in the dark, even though he had left me on my doorstep at midnight.
“Missed you this morning,” I whisper to him.
He swallows.
“I dreamed about you.”
I want to grin, but I don’t. I lightly drop Rooster’s bag by his feet. He doesn’t look down.
We’re still just breathing.
Then he does it. He moves closer to me, shuffling to his right just slightly, and rests the right side of his body on mine. His weight sinks me slightly, but I plant my feet on the tile and straighten my spine. I am holding most of his weight, all those precious pounds and ounces, and his shoulders are falling. His fingers are unclenching. His eyes are watering.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes and I know the dam is breaking, cracking, tumbling.
“Don’t be,” I say, “I’m not.”
Then we stay like that for a long, long time. He watches his father’s portrait and we both pretend that fat, frustrated tears aren’t racing down his ruddy cheeks. I steel myself and hold all the weight he gives me with ample graciousness.
July 19th, 2019
Bobby: Come to the Hard Deck!!
Tramp: Come to the Hard Deck, honey!
Unknown Number: Coooome to the Hard Deck!!!!!
Penny B: Come to the Hard Deck! First drink on the house…
Tramp: Can I call you honey?
Bobby: A little birdie won’t stop talking about you…
Bobby: It’s Rooster.
Unknown Number: It’s Phoenix btw :)
Tramp: Lavender limeade w/ tequila coming up !
Tramp: Honey! (?) (unclear)
Tramp: I’m a little tipsy .
Phoenix: Sausage party here! SOS!!!!
The night is a sacred kind of hot. It still feels like high noon, even at 9:30 when the moon is looming above the crashing waves and the stars look like needle pricks in a sheath of black fabric.
I have to park unusually far away from the entrance, the parking lot jam-packed. The Bronco is parked next to Bob’s old Subaru. I’m sweating the moment my Mary Jane’s hit the grainy pavement. My thighs start sweating first, kissing each other inside my rust colored skirt. Corduroy was a bad idea, even if it’s a mini-skirt. Already my thighs and hips are suffocating.
I’m only nine, eight feet away from my front door when it swings open suddenly. Light pours out into the night and the night swallows it whole. Bon Jovi is playing within the humble building, the very end of Livin’ On A Prayer.
Take my hand / And we’ll make it, I swear / Livin’ on a prayer
Just as suddenly as the door opens, it swings closed and the music is thumping from inside quieter now, muffled. It’s almost too dark and I’m almost too far, but I still know who it is on the porch. They’re standing under the flag, tall and broad.
“Clover Ledger,” Hangman drawls slowly, squinting in the dark, “is that you? Or am I just drunk?”
“Oh, you are drunk,” I say, stepping into the light finally, “and it is me, Bagman.”
Hangman sighs, a sloppy smile on his lips. His eyes are shining.
“They got you in on that, too, huh?”
All day on Thursday and all day today, the squadron unanimously referred to Hangman as Bagman. Slightly in retaliation for his comments on Wednesday, but mostly because his ego necessitated an immediate check.
I smile at him. We are only a few feet apart now. He smells like the thick cardstock designer brands put in big magazines, doused in expensive cologne. Almost there, but not quite. His hair is still gelled impeccably, his face unusually symmetrical. He turns, his broad chest facing me now.
Then his eyes drop to my bare legs, my bare arms.
He whistles lowly.
“Lieutenant,” he croons, “you tryin’ to make an honest man out of Bradshaw? Lord help him!”
I hear Texas in his voice suddenly, slightly slurred. He crosses his arms and grins at me, lop-sided.
“Why?” I whisper, “Jealous, Bagman?”
He is groaning, a hand over his heart, when I let the door fall shut behind him. I’m blushing, but I’m also giddy. Hangman would fuck anything with a pulse, but it still feels good when a beautiful man notices you. Is this what Maggie felt like all the time, when men saw me as more of a shadow than a person? When she was the one the boys wanted?
The bar is busier than it was last Friday. I am almost six feet tall with my heels on and I can only see the group of aviators in their usual corner when I stand on the tip of my toes and fully extend my neck.
The Man Who Sold the World by David Bowie is playing.
I can see them, though. Bob is shyly sitting in a chair by the pool table, munching on sunflower seeds and politely spitting them into an empty plastic cup he probably asked Penny for. Phoenix is shooting in pool, her usually slicked hair loose around her pretty face. Her lips are puckered in concentration, a little crinkle sits between her brows. Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback are playing darts. They’re laughing very loudly, covering each other’s eyes, hitting the abused wall surrounding the dartboard. Rooster suddenly appears beside Bob and he’s looking down at his phone. He looks golden. He looks drunk.
My phone vibrates.
Tramp: I want to tell you anout my dream
Tramp: about**
He looks up from his phone and says something to Bob that makes them both grin. I’m muscling through the crowd, excusing myself when I have to brush up against someone’s back or front. It smells like whiskey and beer and cigarettes.
Finally, I break into their corner, my chest loosening at the familiar sight of them all there. No one looks up at first and when I’m this close, I can see how drunk everyone looks. Filmy eyes, painted cheeks, bitten lips.
“There she is,” Bob shouts suddenly, pointing to me, “our Lady Tequila!”
There is a small chorus of greetings, everyone sounding equal parts drunk and excited. If I close my eyes, it almost feels like I’m back at The Hard Deck with Maggie. We’ve just come back from a taxing assignment. Maggie takes a long time getting ready and we are the last ones to arrive. The party-starters. Jukebox royalty.
But here I am, with my eyes open, by myself. This time I took a long time getting ready, trying to follow Maggie’s meticulous checklist of shower, makeup, hair, outfit. All categories with subcategories and subcategories with separate columns. If this is what she felt like, magnificently perfumed and glittering beneath the yellow lights inside the bar, I understand why she did it every time we went out.
“Honey,” Rooster croons, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth ajar, “you’re so cruel to me.”
Rooster walks towards me, blue jeans hugging his thick thighs and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt straining against the thickest parts of his arms--his biceps. He’s grinning, but I can tell that is isn’t his usual shit-eating grin. No, no--there’s something looser about the one I see now as he swaggers up to me.
He stops when we’re toe to toe. He looks down at me, his eyes gleaming. They look brighter than I’ve ever seen them--like grass or the leaves of a palm tree.
“I’ve been waiting on you all night,” he shouts over the music, “you trying to kill me?”
His hands have found my own. He tolds them in his and his hands are dry, steady. He brings them up to his mouth and kisses the top of each of my hands, his breath very hot. If my thighs weren’t sweating before, they are now.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say, pretending like his lips don’t deflate my lungs, “Bradley. Honey.”
He pulls me towards him, effectively crushing the tiny bit of vacant air that was once between us. His body is like the air outside; a sacred kind of hot. Each of his muscles unfolds beneath his skin and strains to just hold me. His arms are around me and he’s pinning my body to his, almost squeezing the air out of me.
“I love you in this skir--no, I love this skirt on you,” Bradley says, his chest rumbling when he speaks, “you’re a real knockout, honey!”
Rooster’s breath smells like one of the beers Penny keeps on tap, one that the young pilots always drink. He smells like he doused himself in that sweet human scent, like he keeps a bottle of Himself on the bathroom counter.
“You’re making me blush,” I say back, trying to sound like Maggie.
“Let me get you a drink!” He calls, suddenly letting go.
The air is cold without him holding me.
He nods towards the bar and presses one more kiss to the fingers of my left hand.
Bob’s eyes are wide. I’m not sure whose face is hotter; his or mine? When I fall into the seat beside Bob, he fans me playfully. I bat his hand away.
“How come I already feel drunk?” I ask, smiling.
Bob laughs.
“You do really look gorgeous,” he says, nodding at me.
What he wants to say is that I look just like Maggie. I know that I do. I followed her routine--which she followed devoutly, like it was her religion, like she prayed to a hairdryer, like she was visited by visions of lipsticks and eyeliners--and I’m wearing her top. It was one of her favorites; a cropped square-neck tank with stripes all the colors of the rainbow. I’m even wearing a perfume of mine that she always stole a few sprays from. I do look like her. And I smell like her and I’m trying to sound like her.
“I stared at myself in the mirror for, like, thirty minutes before I left the house,” I tell Bob, “just, like, looking for a flaw. None! Followed her routine. She really had that down to a science, didn’t she?”
Bob nods, impressed. Before Bob can respond, we are eclipsed, a shadow looming over us. We look up at the same time and three men are standing before us in their Navy uniforms.
“Clover, right?”
I nod, readjusting to face them.
They break out in identical grins. It feels like Bob and I are front row for a toothpaste commercial, like we’re surrounded by teeth and hair gel and Axe.
In unison, they reveal their open palms to me and each of them are holding a handful of quarters. Not this shit again. I groan, but they’re already nearing, insisting that I take the money from them.
“She’s retired,” Bob tries, but the boys do not listen.
“Get this party started,” the ringleader says before winking.
They’re gone in a blink and I suddenly have $4.75 in quarters in my lap. They reek of aluminum and sweaty palms.
“Shit,” Bob says, “I can track them down and return it all?”
I stare down at the quarters and think about the 1992 quarter the Junior had given me the week before. It had been Maggie, absolutely it had. What had she meant? That it was okay for me to keep living a tradition without her, even if she was the heart of it? That I am going to be okay? That she wanted me there at The Hard Deck? I close my hands around the quarters.
“No, that’s okay,” I tell him, “why don’t you play pool? Phoenix is devouring.”
Bob glances at the table then back to me. Then his eyes shift to beside us and I wonder if there are more men approaching, their sweaty fists closed around coins. But it’s only Rooster, grinning. He’s holding a plastic black platter full of brimming shot glasses on one palm and a lilac-colored drink in his other hand.
Somehow the squad sees him the same time I do and everyone meanders over to him, grabbing one or two shot glasses. Bob and I stand, but before we can approach Rooster, he glides to us. He hands the glass of limeade to me, winking, then nods to Bob.
“Save the lady two,” he says, “she’s playing catch-up.”
“A pilot and a gentleman,” Bob teases, taking one of the shot glasses gratefully nonetheless.
Rooster grins at me. There are three shots on the platter.
“All yours, sweet thing.”
Honey. Sweet thing.
I take just one and he places the platter on the chair I was sitting on. The sting of the tequila already finds my nostrils, even if I’m just holding it at chest level. The quarters are in a plastic cup I’d found near the chairs, probably sticky with cheap whiskey now.
“To Top Gun!”
It’s Coyote that leads the charge.
“To Top Gun!” We all echo, even the people not in our corner.
Drinks rise in the air then bottom out in our hollow cheeks. The tequila burns and I soothe it by choking back half of my limeade. Bob grins at me before he cuts the floor to join Phoenix at the pool table. Everyone resumes their activity before, stumbling slightly in their steps.
It’s just Rooster and I by the cracked window. I strain to hear the ocean but cannot.
Rooster is handing me another shot and I take it with a sense of pride, our fingers grazing. I raise the glass to him.
“To anger?”
He laughs, nodding.
“To anger!”
I throw the shot back by myself and cut my grimace short by finishing my limeade. My belly is already starting to feel full of liquid, sloshing like a water mattress.
“And this one?”
I hold the shot in my hand, squinting at it.
Rooster thinks for a moment.
“To mini-skirts!”
I want to take him on the peanut-shell covered, beer-bottle infested floor. Instead, I bottom out the shot.
“I’ll drink to that,” Hangman says suddenly, standing beside Rooster and I with his arms crossed.
Rooster’s smile falters but does not dissipate completely.
Hangman is grinning, eyes crinkled.
“Gotta buy yourself a shot first,” Rooster bites.
Hangman doesn’t fumble.
“Can I buy you one, too?”
Hangman is looking at me. Rooster is still smiling. Their dynamic is a strange one; friends, not friends, competitors, teammates.
What would Maggie say?
“Make it two,” I call.
Hangman glances at Rooster and claps his shoulder before he starts for the bar.
“You two okay now?” I ask.
Rooster shrugs, rolling his eyes.
“Hangman is Hangman,” he slurs.
“And you’re you.”
Already, the tequila tickles my toes. I swallow my thick saliva and come closer to Rooster. Like he’s been waiting for me, his palms are up and I am holding them lightly. So solid beneath my fingers, like sheets of rock. I wonder if I felt solid like that whenever he laid his weight on me on Wednesday. I almost get dizzy just thinking about it.
I am measuring this touch unlike the first hug Rooster gave me. It embarrasses me to think about the squadron watching us, especially Bob, who I know will text me incessantly about it later. Except, Bob will not be bold enough to just say it, so he’ll dance around the fact for a few hours before I cut him to the chase.
I release him after a moment but allow him to keep his left pinky locked in mine.
We had not been out together since the night on Flat Rock Beach. We met almost every morning in Memorial Hall, each of us getting to base before the sun rose, even though it was an unspoken ritual. And when we didn’t see each other there, he would somehow ‘get lost’ and end up at my office door. Then he would linger, index finger dragging over the photographs and knick-knacks in my office. And then the touches--so small, so understated that I had to rack my brain at the end of each day to assure myself I didn’t miss any. Fingers brushing as I handed him paperwork, the ghost of a palm over the small of my back when he held a door open for me, even a puff of air on the side of my face when he was close enough to breathe on me. When there weren’t those minuscule touches, there were the glances. He was always catching my eyes, always flickering a bewildered look to me during training, sometimes just flicking his eyebrows when he knew I was looking at him.
“When I call for you, will you come?”
Rooster pulls back from me, smiling faintly.
“Of course,” he says.
“Three shots for one Miss Clover Ledger, Backseat Supreme.”
Hangman is holding six shots and sets them on the ledge of the pool table. Phoenix scowls at him, but keeps playing.
Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads is playing.
I detach my littlest finger from Rooster, cheeks warm, and meet Hangman at the pool table, biting a grin. He is pretty--maybe even prettier than I am right now, even with his hollow eyes and overly-wet lips.
“Up for a little friendly competition?” He calls to me, leaning down so he hovers the shots.
I mirror him, feeling Bradley’s eyes on my thighs, where my skirt is rising dangerously. I think I can hear him stiffen, can hear the tiny groan in his throat when his breath catches.
“Always,” I say, even though I have never wanted to compete for anything in my life.
“I finish mine before you, I win. You finish yours before me, you win.”
I narrow my eyes, my vision feeling soft and fuzzy.
“And what exactly do I win?”
He pretends to think. The rest of the squadron’s interest is piqued. They are starting to form a small posse around us, smiling half-smiles and crossing their arms.
“A weekend with my baby,” Hangman says, “the Jag.”
There are a few whistles within the group and then mumbling.
I nod.
“Okay. And if you win,” I say, leaning in closer, “Bagman?”
He leans in, too. We are almost nose-to-nose.
“One date,” he says, dropping his eye in a less-subtle wink, “deal?”
The group is holding their breath. I glance at the shots. Tequila shots are like water to me. Maggie made it so. But my palms are sweating.
“You’re on,” I challenge.
We shake hands and Hangman squeezes my fingers.
“Fingers are cold,” he taunts, “nervous?”
“Half-dead,” I say.
Rooster stands between us, smiling like something is funny. The group has closed in around us. My head feels thick and my knees like they’ll buckle.
“Clover v. Hangman,” Bob calls, “my money’s on Clover!”
My chest expands with a sigh. Bob sends me a grin, pointing at me. You’re my girl.
“Oh, you’re on,” Payback laughs, “Hangman practically has gills!”
Rooster leans down, kneeling on the floor so he’s level with the shot glasses. Hangman and I are still leaning over them. His icy eyes are peering into mine, a cocky grin on his lips. I wish I could have seen Maggie wreck him.
“Ready player one?” Rooster asks, looking at Hangman.
Hangman nods, cocking his eyebrows.
“Born ready, Bradshaw.”
Rooster looks at me, amused.
“Beat his ass, honey.”
I salute.
“Yes, Lieutenant!”
When Rooster slams his hand on the table, I bottom out the first shot in less than two seconds flat. With no recovery time, I empty the second and swallow it harshly, my nose burning from the inside out. My eyes are screwed shut when the third empty shot glass hits the pool table. I open my eyes just in time to see Hangman finish his third, his face unusually vacant.
The squadron erupts in cheers, save Payback and Fanboy, who stare at Hangman in utter dismay, their jaws slack. Bob grabs one of my hands and raises it in the air, pointing at me.
“Lady Tequila!” He shouts, pumping our joined hands.
“Yes!” Rooster cackles, pointing at Hangman, “we have our loser of the night! One Mister Jake “Hangman” Seresin!”
Hangman blinks at me a few times--partly in disbelief and partly in, what I think, is amazement. I wipe my mouth with the back of the hand Bob just dropped. My ginger-red lipstick stains the back of my hand in a smeared kiss.
“And we have our winner! One Miss Faye “Clover” Ledger!”
Another round of cheers. Payback and Fanboy are doling out cash to Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote. Bob shoots me a thumbs-up. Good job, kiddo.
“Atta girl,” Rooster sings, hands on my shoulders.
He’s in front of me and I think, looking up at his pretty face, that I’m just drunk enough to close the distance between his mouth and my own. I want to feel his mustache tickle my skin, my lips, my thighs.
Rooster’s face changes; his eyes come screaming back into focus and his lips twitch into a calmer smile. He’s scouting my face, my drunk fiery face, and I think he might be the one that kisses me. But Hangman appears behind him, his grin fading.
“Let me shake the winner’s hand,” he tells Bradley.
Bradley blinks, like he was dazed before, and steps so there is empty space between Hangman and I.
“Hey, Bagman!” I call, stepping closer to him, my spine straightened, “can you dance?”
Hangman quirks a brow. He looks drunker than before. I probably do too. My cheeks ache when I smile. His hand, which he raised to shake mine, falls onto his thigh.
“What’s it to you?”
His breath smells like mouthwash and tequila. Rooster is watching us with a partial grin, reaching inside my empty glass and bringing them to his parted lips before crunching them, his jaw throbbing.
“I won,” I say, “and I don’t care about cars.”
Pretty boys like to dance and they’re usually good at it--even if they aren’t, they are.
Hangman is grinning, probably because he gets to keep his precious Jaguar, maybe because Rooster is watching us so closely. He glances at Rooster, who is still watching from beside us.
“Better watch out,” he simply says.
I know already, maybe from the invisible string, that Rooster is not jealous. Maybe he understands, because the string, that I am asking Hangman to do this task with me so Rooster won’t have to. Even if he would, I wouldn’t ask. Hangman is pretty in a way Rooster isn’t--Hangman looks like a Ken Doll and Rooster looks like a G.I. Joe. Both are plastic, but one feels more real than the other. Being the first to dance with a dead party girl’s only living sister is a job only a pretty, pretty boy can do.
“You’re on, sugar.”
When I drop the first few quarters in the jukebox, Hangman stands beside me like he’s guarding me. He’s leaning his hips against the machine while I file through all the songs. If I don’t blink often enough, the titles start to blur together.
My belly sloshes with tequila. But there is a pit in my chest--one filled with flower petals--a happy one.
“You’re from Texas, right?”
Hangman glances at me and nods a few times.
“Before you ask--yes, everything really is bigger in Tex--!”
I cut him off when I bump him with my elbow.
“I was going to ask if line-dancing was a graduation requirement,” I say, “or is it square dancing?”
Hangman chuckles, shaking his head.
“You know,” Hangman starts, “if I wasn’t me, you really would’ve emasculated me back there.”
“Oh yeah?” I shout back, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
He’s nodding, eyebrows raised casually.
“Yeah. Such a turn on.”
I shake my head, laughing, warm.
“Just being honest here,” Hangman defends, pausing before adding, “does honesty turn you on?”
I turn to him, mouth agape. Even my teeth feel drunk when I run my tongue along them. I point a crooked finger at him.
“You’re relentless.”
He grins, shrugging.
“It’s in my blood.”
120. I crank the volume. The resounding sound of a gong fills the bar. Conversation stutters. And five seconds later, the beat breaks in--a real groovy one. Usually, when I would turn around to dance, Maggie would be waiting for me. But when I turn around, abandoning the plastic cup of quarters on the jukebox, Hangman is grinning at me.
My Thang by James Brown is playing.
A brand new funk / A brand new funk
And Hangman does maybe the hardest part of it all. He grins and starts to sway to beat, extending his hand to me. I take it immediately--a hand on an empty dance floor is a lifeline. Then we are closer, moving back and forth with the beat, grinning at each other.
“This is the worst part,” I whisper to him, my speech blurring with the song, “this was my sister’s gig.”
Hangman, in a moment of sudden sobriety, stares down at my face. I wonder if his face is going to contort to pity, that awful pity-face, but he smiles softly at me.
“Gotta do right by her,” he says.
He drops his hands to my waist and turns me so my back is against his front. I know what he’s doing almost immediately. I cross my arms over my front, like I’m hugging myself, and keep the beat with my foot.
“Make some room,” Hangman calls.
If I wasn’t drunk, I would be panicking. My fingers are toasty. My chest is warm.
People are looking at us now, but their faces don’t mean anything to me. Everyone looks the same to me when I’m focusing on the radiant smile I can feel Hangman chewing.
He swiftly releases me and like a wind-up toy, I spin out away from him. There is a few callers from the crowd, some friendly laughter, a holler or two. I lean back far enough so my hair touches the floor, my leg extended in the air. Then Hangman pulls me back in to him and we laugh.
“Gimme,” Hangman croons, “gimme my thang!”
“Whatcha say,” I mock back, arms lazily slung over his shoulders.
And it’s only a minute into the song before other people are joining us. The three quarter donors are among the firsts, bobbing their heads and coming up behind Hangman and I.
I turn when one of them taps my shoulder and Hangman holds my waist softly, chest still rubbing against my back as we dance.
“She lives,” the ringleader says, “jukebox royalty!”
“Long live the Queen,” his friend proclaims.
“Long live the Queen!”
Like a call to action, the dance floor suddenly floods. Almost every patron in the bar is here now. Tears of relief nearly pepper my eyes. The dance floor swallows Hangman and I, stuck in the middle. We are sweating, but still moving. I imagine that Maggie is there, in the middle and she’s dancing, wearing my perfume, her eyelids painted blue.
“I’ve heard stories about you,” Hangman tells me, his cheek against mine as he talks into my ear, “it feels like meeting a celebrity!”
I want to ask him if it was really me he heard stories about or if I was just the unknowing left side of my sister’s body. If I was just an extension. If I was unuttered, really, on accident.
When I pull back to look at him, he does not look cocky, not like he usually does. He looks like he’s having fun--pure, unsullied fun. The smile that eats his entire face is not one that exudes the ego we had deflated the day before. His eyes are shining, crinkled by his grin.
“Royalty,” I correct.
I don’t ask him about the stories. I don’t know if I want to know.
I squeeze his shoulder and nod to the jukebox.
“I’m gonna go que some music!”
96. 55. 39.
I lean against the jukebox after pressing the numbers, face impossibly hot, and watch the crowd move. Everyone is a sea of beer and cigarettes and uniforms and sweat. But everyone is dancing and smiling. Maggie would’ve been at the center of it all, the heart of everything that beat and pumped blood.
The beauty of this tradition is that no one can dance. Maybe a few people can keep the rhythm and pump their shoulders to an exuberant tambourine or girate minimally, but for the most part every single person is an equal. It is a silly thing to do--and everyone knows it.
Get Down On It by Kool & The Gang thumps the speakers.
Hangman breaks through the crowd suddenly and offers me his hand. He looks drunk and happier than I’ve ever seen him. His face is screwed up in pleasure and he’s bobbing, lips puckering as he rolls his shoulders. He can keep a beat, but even if he couldn’t, he’s pretty enough that it doesn’t matter.
“C’mon,” he calls, “I’m gettin’ lonely over here!”
I take his hand and he pulls me back into the crowd--it feels like being submerged in a pool of marmalade, swimming through the hot and thick air. I almost feel like I have to propel myself by pushing the atmosphere around me. But Hangman is shouldering through the crowd for us.
“Over here!”
Hangman and I look up at the same time; Rooster is waving at us through a hallway of bodies, right beside Phoenix. They’re both stepping to the music, smiling, drunk.
“Tally two,” Hangman whisper-shouts to me.
I bump him and he laughs.
“I guess our time’s up,” Hangman says, sighing, “anything you want to confess? Proclaim? Declare?”
I tap my chin, pretending to think.
“You’re a pretty good dancer,” I confess, proclaim, declare.
Rooster and Phoenix have always reached us. Bradley’s hair is shining under the lights and I have that strange sensation fall over me, the same one I had when he stared up at the waxing gibbous. How could anyone leave him alone in this world? Even if it wasn’t on purpose? I think if I loved Rooster and he loved me, I would stay alive through sheer devotion. Maybe even sheer affection.
“Get down on it,” Rooster is crooning, his body red-hot when he comes to move it against mine.
Hangman and Phoenix are dancing together now, not as close as Rooster and I.
“You did this,” Rooster whispers in my ear, pointing to the crowd.
It makes me almost shiver. My first time coming here and returning to the jukebox since Maggie’s death. All by myself. Twins are never supposed to be halved. I was never supposed to be alone--not in the big ways that count.
Rooster’s belly is pressed against mine and beneath his shirt, I feel the expansive plane--it’s solid like an oak tree, like the ground we stand on right now. His arms come around to hold me and if he wanted to, he could squeeze me until I died. He is so achingly strong.
“Where’s Bob?” I ask Rooster, moving away from him for a moment.
Rooster takes my hands and spins me, just like he had when we were alone in the Hard Deck listening to Van Morrison. He’s grinning something fierce and watching my face as I smile and watch him.
“Couldn’t get him up,” he says, “not for lack of trying, honey.”
I can see Bob now--cowering against the wall, his grip on the sunflower seeds fierce.
Instead of telling Rooster to follow me, I hold his hand. He grips my fingers as soon as they’re interlocked, like I’m going to try and lose him in the crowd, like he would rather do anything else but let go.
It’s my turn to muscle through the crowd and as I do, people are smiling and clapping me on the back. A few people clap Rooster, too, and he devours the attention, but does not let me go.
Bob is still by the pool table, eyes soggy and mouth dry. He’s looking out into the crowd and spots us immediately.
“I knew you’d weasel your way back over here,” Bob laughs.
The only person that could get Bob to dance was Maggie.
“We’ve come to rescue you,” I call, offering him a free hand.
Bob shakes his head.
“I want these people to respect me tomorrow,” Bob argues.
“We will,” Rooster tries, “or, we will by Monday. When everyone forgets.”
I’m biting a smile when the opening notes of Boogie Shoes by KC & The Sunshine Band start.
Bob registers the song and looks at me, mouth agape, shaking his head.
“Oh, you so don’t play fair,” he whines.
I’m dancing in front of Bob now and Rooster is dancing behind me. From far away, maybe we look like a couple trying to embarrass our surrogate-son. Maybe we just look like a couple in general--his hands on my hips and my hands cutting through the air.
“Girl, to be with you is my favorite thing,” I sing to Bob, coming closer to him.
Bob wildly shakes his head, looking around to make sure no one is watching me serenade him. I’m getting closer to Bob and Rooster is reading me, assimilating. He falls beside me and we approach Bob in tandem, like choreographed dancers.
“I can’t wait ‘til I can see you again,” Rooster says, infinitely louder than I had.
A few stragglers by the pool table are watching us, amused.
“Tell him what you wanna put on, honey!” Rooster calls out.
I lean down so Bob is very close to my face. He still smells like a freshly-washed baby.
“I wanna put on my-my-my-my-my boogie shoes,” I croon to him.
I know my breath smells like tequila and that maybe there is perspiration gathering on my lipline, but Bob watches me with a grin plastered onto his face.
“Just to boogie with you!” Rooster echoes.
I hold my hand out and Bob takes it.
We dance for a long time--every single person in the squadron. We are all equally drunk, grinning like something’s funny, rubbing up against each other and strangers alike. Everyone is loose, too, especially since Bob made his debut on the dance floor, pecking the air. Songs shuffle through the jukebox and the crowd sings along, no one really caring about embarrassment.
Hangman is the center of his own world, surrounded by a bachelorette party. He dances close to them, but never too close. He takes his turns charming them; dipping them, spinning them. They’re in stitches because the prettiest boy in the Navy is dancing with them. Phoenix and Bob are dancing together and, just like Maggie would, she’s trying to teach him a simple two-step dance. Bob still fumbles as he tries to dance. Payback and Fanboy are lingering on the outskirts, grinning, while Coyote dances with a few lucky ladies.
Rooster dances close to me, body pressed against mine, but never overshadowing me. He and Hangman are different kinds of dancers: Hangman is the kind of man who knows how handsome he is, the kind that loves the attention on him. Rooster, though, he likes to show me off. He spins me, dips me, picks me up. There is an endless supply of butterflies in my belly. My fingers are almost numb by the time Play That Funky Music by Wild Cherry is playing.
“Water,” I shout to Rooster.
He searches my face with his brow furrowed, maybe wondering if I’ll be sick or something. But I just smile up at him. It’s so hot in here and his meaty thigh in between mine is not helping.
“I’ll come with you!”
When we are at the bar together, Penny finds us with an impressed grin on her pretty face.
“I haven’t seen the place like this in years,” Penny calls to us, reaching across the bar to give my arm a squeeze, “like the good ol’ days in here!”
I’m leaning against the bar, with the ledge just under my breasts. My head is heavy, so I hold it with a flat palm, elbow resting vertically on the varnish. My hair feels like a weighted blanket on my back. I know my cheeks are ablaze and maybe my throat, too.
“I know,” I smile, “Hangman really put in the work.”
“It was all her,” Bradley interrupts, pointing to me.
He’s standing beside me, facing me, his elbow resting on the bar, too. He watches the side of my face as I talk to Penny--I can feel his eyes rise and fall from my chin to my forehead.
“I’ll bet it was,” Penny says, “water?”
“Two, please.”
When Penny turns around to grab the waters, I just smile into my palm. I don’t even know what time it is. It’s the first time I’ve been out this late since, what feels like, the dawn of time. My bones are tired, but it feels like every one of my muscles is shivering underneath my skin. Adrenaline courses through me at the same rate as the tequila.
Without a word, Bradley suddenly bunches my thick hair in his hand and pulls it up so it rests on my head. He holds his hand there to pin it to me, then fans the back of my neck with his other hand.
“You’re burning up, baby,” he smiles.
I clench my thighs, not trusting my voice. If the music wasn’t so loud, maybe he would’ve heard the strangled noise that just occurred deep in my throat.
He’s still fanning me, wooshes of warm air hitting the back of my neck and hair, when Penny returns with the waters. She is smiling in that secretive way, silently setting the waters in front of us before sauntering off to let us be.
“Go ahead,” Rooster calls, nodding to the water, “you need it more than I do.”
“You’re not as drunk as me?”
Rooster shakes his head. He falls in place behind me and his hips press against my bottom. My eyes flutter closed on pure instinct, body vibrating, waiting for his next move. He leans down and, ever so softly, presses a kiss to the back of my throat. His lips are plump and warm and it would take a million years of fanning the back of my neck if I wanted to cool off.
“I’ve been sobering up,” he tells me, “how else am I gonna take you home?”
I open my mouth to answer, my tongue thick with excitement but my cheeks dry, when the man steps behind Rooster and casually looks at me before startling.
“Maggie?” He yells over the music, eyebrows raised.
He is older than Rooster and I. He’s tall and lean, his skin brown and smooth. His hair is neatly combed and curled, his chest hairs poking out through his partially-unbuttoned shirt. He’s wearing nice, nice shoes, too. Leather.
“Oh, no, I’m not--!”
We used to get mistaken for each other when she was alive--it was simply the life of identical twins, especially when we had almost the exact same career. Only people who didn’t know us very well mistook us for each other. This man, this pretty man, either did not know Maggie very well at all or praying at Maggie’s church was too fruitful.
“I’ve been trying to call you for, like, years! Where you been?”
I swallow thickly. I don’t know what to say. Is it possible that some people, people like this man, really don’t know about what happened to her? How can someone have her phone number and name, and be able to recognize her years after seeing her last, but not hear about her demise? Is it possible that in-between people like that exist?
“I’m not Maggie,” I yell, “Maggie’s my sister.”
Rooster doesn’t know what to say. His hand has fallen to the curve of my back and he watches me speak to the man with his eyebrows pulled together. My face is hot.
The man furrows his eyebrows, looking me up and down, and shakes his head.
“You’re really gonna do me like that?”
My mouth is really, really dry.
“She’s telling the truth, man,” Rooster speaks up, “Maggie never told you she had a twin?”
The man squints--looking from Rooster to me a few times. He racks his brain, tapping his temple with an ineffective index finger. Before he can say anything else, I reach into my purse and grab my wallet. I quickly grab my ID and slide it to him on the bar.
“Promise,” I say weakly.
The man looks down at the ID without touching it, angling his chin to the floor. My belly aches. His eyes wash over it again and again, probably rereading my name. Faye Leona Ledger. Not Maggie Palmer Ledger.
“I’m so sorry,” the man says, looking up at me soberly, “you look just like her--well, of course you do. You’re twins, right?”
I nod one time. Rooster slides my ID back to me.
“How’s she doing?” The man follows up.
I could throw up. Rooster is watching my eyes, but I’m looking at the man. He’s truly wondering. I can tell that he cares.
“You didn’t hear?” I whisper hoarsely and he shakes his head in confusion, “she died, sir. In October of 2016.”
Maybe Rooster is waiting for my knees to buckle, the way he watches me, intensity radiating off him like body heat radiates off me.
The man’s face falls and he almost gasps. He stares at me, his mouth fallen open, and tries to stutter a response but nothing is coming. I have only had to tell a few people that my sister is dead. I guess the good thing about us being in the Navy together is that they do the notifying. This man before me--he looks like he’s about to cry.
“What happened?”
I can appreciate when people get to the point of things instead of telling me how sorry they are.
“A freak accident,” I say, my voice wavering, “parachute malfunction.”
Then, suddenly, I can’t look at this man anymore. I scramble to put my ID back in my wallet and gulp the rest of my water. Rooster is turned to the man, saying something I can’t hear, and I start for the door. I know Rooster will follow me.
Bennie And The Jets by Elton John is playing as I step outside.
The world is so quiet out here. I slip my Mary Jane’s off first, angling my chest towards the sea. Inside, I know Rooster is cutting through the makeshift dance floor to find me. It is still so hot outside, but the air is thinner out here. It’s the kind of thin air I used to cherish in the sky, when I wasn’t afraid to sit in the back of an F-18.
My first step in the sand, the bottom of my foot sinks deep into the earth, until the sand goes from warm to wet and cold. I’m still drunk. Everything feels good, but numb. I think of the man’s face as I walk towards the water.
The moon is high in the sky. Even if I am drunk, I still know that it’s a waning gibbous. I wonder if I should tell Rooster that. I wonder if he cares. The waves are calm and smooth. They do not reach very high on the shore, but the air is permeated with salt. I sit near the waves, close enough to breathe in their smell, but far enough away so that I won’t get wet--I think.
I lay down, shoes and purse discarded beside me, and don’t even care that sand is getting all over my skirt, my shirt, my skin, my hair.
It feels like Maggie is close, like she’s sitting in the bar next to the sad stranger and apologizing for not getting back to him sooner. It is hard enough already to live everyday after seeing what I saw when she died. Those twelve hours, lying on the snowy floor of foregin woods, holding her body close to mine--they are always lurking, always threatening the small box I’ve built for myself to stand on. It’s worse, though, when I think of the abruptness of the end of her. Maybe it was better that it was quick because it was so horrifying, so dark--but maybe I wish she would have survived the initial fall. Maybe I wish she would’ve talked to me for a few hours, telling me whatever she needed to tell me, before she died. Or maybe that would have been worse because she would be scared to die and I would be scared she was going to die and have to lie and tell her that she was okay. But now I’m here, all these hours and days later, and her life just stopped. It just stopped.
I don’t know that I’m crying until I have to gasp for breath and make myself dizzy. But then I’m able to reign it in. No. Maggie would hate it if I cried right now. One mention of her in a bar and I lose it? C’mon now. Buck up, baby.
I grip the sand with weak fists and let the breeze dry my tears.
I know Rooster is here the moment he’s in my radius, walking towards me with his Converse in his hands. I sniffle a final sniffle and wait for him.
He sits silently beside me, warm. He gathers my shoes and purse and places them with his shoes, trying hard not to let sand invade everything. Wordlessly, he lifts my head, and lays it back down over his thighs. His fingers tangle in my hair and I don’t care about the sand and sweat--not when he touches me.
We sit silently for a while, my face angled at the stars and his at the sea. His fingers pick strands of my hair and slide over them from root-to-end, over and over again. He’s breathing quietly.
He won’t ask about what happened inside--at least not yet he won’t. He’s good in that way.
“I never told you about my dream,” he whispers finally.
I glance at him and he’s smiling down at me.
“Fire away,” I whisper and in my voice, he can tell I’ve been crying.
He doesn’t say anything about that either, though.
“Well, we were in my childhood home. I dream about that place a lot--I feel like I still know every nook and cranny of it,” he whispers, “anyway, we were there. And instead of it being empty, it was full. It was full the way I remember it being when my dad was alive. Everything is warm and happy, my dad is making pancakes, my mom is drinking coffee at the table.”
I close my eyes and try to picture these things. It’s hard to picture Goose living and breathing instead of just a portrait.
“And everyone is older. Like if my parents didn’t…” he clears his throat, “and I’m sitting at the breakfast table, just watching my parents. And then from the living room, a song starts to play. It’s the one that’s like doo-doo-doo.”
Rooster starts humming the song that was playing when he stepped into my house for the first time. Sound and Vision.
“And then I feel hands on my shoulders, even though both my parents are in front of me. And that’s when I knew it was you. The music was playing so loud, I should’ve known it was you from the get-go,” he chuckles, still fingering my hair, “it was very peaceful.”
I am choked up. I am still drunk. I am still reeling.
When I look up at Rooster again, my face is flaxen, though my cheeks still burn.
“What a nice dream,” I tell him, “but I’m not really a fan of banana pancakes.”
Rooster smiles. His hand comes to my face and he holds both my cheeks again, thumbing away a few tears before he rests his hand on my throat. My freckles tingle.
“How about I take you home, honey?”
☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: I am literally baby
☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x oc#bradley rooster bradshaw#top gun maverick#top gun cast#top gun#original female character#jake hangman seresin#top gun bob#bob floyd#angst with a happy ending#call signs#faye x bradley#rumours universe#faye clover ledger#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw smut#bradley bradshaw fluff#bradley bradshaw angst#rooster top gun#top gun rooster#rooster fanfic#rooster x oc#rooster smut#bradley x faye
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code names and call signs | chapter 1. incidental introductions | hangman x reader
jake "hangman" seresin x reader
word count: 4.9K
warnings: violence, blood, injury to reader, injury to others, strong language, hangman tries and fails to flirt
cn&cs!masterlist | AO3
(If you follow me for my hetalia fanfic on my other blog and you're seeing this, I swear to god, 'It Will Come Back' chapter 11 is on its way, mind ur business.)
chapter 1. incidental introductions
-----------
Incidental: something that happens as a minor part or result of something else: something that is incidental — usually plural
When you get to San Diego in the morning, you don't waste any time. With your mission files and a perfectly plain-looking sedan given to you by your team, you take to one of your favourite pastimes, people watching.
Most of your subjects head right for their quarters on base. You watch for Lieutenant Reuben Fitch, a.k.a Payback, who arrives at his quarters with his WSO, Lieutenant Mickey "Fanboy” Garcia. They chat for a bit inside before heading out to grab some stuff. You decide not to follow them on their grocery run. Next to arrive is Lieutenant Natasha Trace, otherwise known as Phoenix, who quickly meets up with Fanboy and Payback.
Most of the other recruits named in your mission files aren’t due to arrive for another couple of hours, so you take to keeping tabs on the ones that have as the head off base. After checking in with command, Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback head towards the Hard Deck, a common watering hole frequented by navy officers, says the brief about the bar included in your notes.
You follow the trio a respectable two cars behind, and your subjects have no idea they’ve caught a tail. However, the unmarked car tailing you isn’t so lucky. As you turn away down a road, abandoning the three people you’ve been following, you look into your rear view mirror to watch the grey SUV take its 3rd turn after you. You shake your head.
“And here, I expected better,” you sigh.
You recognize the men following you as low-level baddies from your last assignment. You’re surprised they were so determined that they followed you back state-side but knew they wouldn’t take long to lose.
Tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you step on the gas, your new friends following after you. You take sharp, sudden turns, doubling back on yourself, and driving through parking garages. You thank your past self for studying a map of the area on your flight over here because your pursuers can’t seem to keep up. Soon enough, you’ve lost them entirely, turning down a narrow alley on the opposite end of the beach, far from the bar you’re headed to.
You take an alcohol wipe from your bag and wipe your fingerprints from the controls, steering wheel and other touch points. You ditch the clothes that you’re wearing, throwing them into the back of the car and changing into different ones.
Then, you grab a bottle of lighter fluid and spray it all over the inside of the car, then take a cigarette from your shirt pocket and light it. Placing the cigarette so it hangs off the side of an ashtray, overtop the lighter fluid, you make a timed incendiary device. When the cigarette burns down, it will tonight the lighter fluid under it, setting the car on fire.
Rudimentary, but great for lighting a car on fire and giving yourself an alibi.
You exit the car, slamming the door and locking it but leaving the windows open a crack so the fire doesn’t suffocate before it had the chance to spread to the rest of the car.
You text a number on your phone.
SMS: RIDE COMPROMISED. NEED ANOTHER.
The sun beats down on you as you walk down the alleyway and out onto the sidewalk. You keep your head down and walk towards the beach. You plan to walk along the water towards The Hard Deck, hoping that you’ll avoid being spotted by your tail. You reach the sands of the beach and reach down to pull off your sandals before walking down the beach. The sand is soft under your feet, and the salty breeze rustles your hair and clothes. The sun is starting to set over the pacific and it's peaceful.
When you arrive at The Hard Deck, you see another face from your files. Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchel is standing on the beach, peering in through a window. You approach behind him, and he doesn’t notice you. Maverick is watching Rooster on the piano with a look that is obviously nostalgia mixed with sadness.
A footnote in your file on the two men said that Maverick was the one that pulled his navy application. It seems they still haven’t smoothed that over.
“Excuse me,” you say softly to him, pulling Maverick out of his thoughts. He mutters an apology, not really noticing you, and walks away. You slip inside the door and are faced with a rowdy establishment. Rooster continues playing his heart out on the piano, he and the rest of the bar shouting the words to “Great Balls of Fire” with no clue as to the moment that’s taking place outside. The patrons are dancing, some tipsier than others, and the floor vibrates under your feet.
Everyone assumes that CIA officers are elaborate, suave, and charming when undercover, like James Bond, but really, picking a cover is influenced by what the agent needs out of it. Sometimes, a flashy memorable character is perfect for infiltration and distraction. But right now, you need to be forgettable.
Your clothes make you look like any tourist. You’re wearing light wash denim and a muted linen shirt. A basic black purse hangs off your shoulder, filled with just enough pocket trash to make it seem like a real person used it. In reality, every card, id, or receipt in it is fake. The only proof that you exist is the fact that you’re standing there.
You walk up to the bar, shooting a timid smile to the bartender. She comes over and introduces herself, even though it’s not necessary. You already know who she is. In return, you offer her one of your many fake first names.
“And what can I get you?”
“Just a vodka soda.”
It’s not your favourite drink but you can’t stand the taste of beer and you didn’t come here for drinks. Penny nods and steps away to make your drink, and you scan the bar. All of the TopGun pilots selected for the mission are here. Most are gathered around Rooster at the piano, singing along with him. Some are still left behind at the pool table. As your eyes pass over them, you notice that one pilot, who you recognize from the blond hair and broad shoulders to be Lieutenant Jake Seresin, is staring at you. You don’t let your eyes meet him, hoping that he’ll ignore you, and turn back around.
Penny sets down your drink, throwing another subtle nod at Penny before you head to a table tucked away in the corner, empty and with a perfect view of the whole bar. No one should bother you there. You weave through the crowd and pull yourself onto the stool. You continue to watch the pilots make their way through the bar. You take note of how they interact together between pretending to scroll on your phone.
You watch Hangman and his friend, Lieutenant Javy "Coyote" Machado talking closely together. They smirk, and look from each other to you and then back, before talking more. Then, Hangman slaps his friend on the shoulder and starts walking.
“Shit.”
So much for going unnoticed by anyone. It seems that Hangman’s ability to pick out women in a crowded bar outperforms your stealth.
Men.
He walks over to you, with that stupid smirk stretched across his stupidly attractive face and you grit your teeth, still pretending to be lost in your phone. You hear his footsteps on the wood floors and the pressure of his presence entering your space.
“Hey.”
“No,” you say, looking up. Hangman is staring down at you. His eyes are a shade of light green and they are filled with smug charm.
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“That’s because there isn’t anything you could say that I haven’t heard before.”
He still looms over you, his fingers softly tapping on the table in front of you. “Are you a mind reader?”
You scoff. “I might as well be.”
He raises an eyebrow so you indulge him.
“First you were going to introduce yourself, say that you’re a soldier in the military and that you saw me from across the room, thought I was beautiful and wanted to say hello. Then you’d offer to buy me a drink, try to flirt with me, I’d politely say I wasn’t interested, you would keep trying, and we’d go around in circles until the bartender kicks us out.”
Hangman smiles even wider, laughing. “Well, you’re wrong about one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m not a soldier in the military, I’m a pilot in the navy.”
You knew that, but you just roll your eyes and let him think that you and a team of CIA operatives haven’t been monitoring every move these guys have been making since they were put on the list to be brought here.
Hangman continues talking. “What would’ve happened after?”
“Hmm?”
“What would’ve happened after Penny kicked us out of the bar?” He leans closer, his eyes darkening ever so slightly.
Now it was your turn to laugh. “No.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“You’re not actually interested.”
“You’re so sure?”
“I am, because I know guys like you. I’m new. I’m a shiny mystery on legs that you can chase. The only reason you are over here is because your friend at the back-“ you give a wave to Coyote who’s doing a terrible job of acting like he hasn’t been watching the two of you like a hawk. “-has bet that you couldn’t be able to get me into your bed. But the fact of the matter is, you couldn’t handle me,” you finish, taking a long sip of your vodka soda.
Hangman smiles, his eyes flickering down your face and then back up. “The least you could do is tell me your name,” he says softly.
You lean in so close that he can feel your heat. “Not tonight, blondie.”
You lean back into your chair, taking another sweep of the bar, and freeze when you see who’s walked through the front door.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Hangman is confused at your sudden change in demeanour.
“What? What’s going on.”
The three men that were following you earlier in the day were back. As you try to see if you can hide somewhere, you make eye contact with the three men from across the bar. They’ve spotted you, so there's nothing you can do. “It seems that you’re not the only man that’s come to bother me tonight.”
You look around at what you have at your immediate disposal. You’re right by the jukebox, Rooster’s just finished his impromptu performance. Perfect.
“If you’ll excuse me Lieutenant Seresin, I need to take care of this.” You give him a wink and push yourself off your chair.
“Wait a minute, I didn’t tell you my-“
You reach down and plug the machine back in and slide in a quarter. You punch in a number as your new friends make their way through the crowd. The familiar first bars of an AC/DC song play and you crank the volume all the way up.
The music blares through the small bar, startling everyone but you. The blood roars in your ears like an angry crown during a cage fight, your heart pounds like the stomping of feet on a stadium floor. This is it for you. You were made for this.
“Let’s do this,” you mutter to yourself. “Remember your training. Be fluid, be fluid.”
You walk through the crowd, meeting your adversary head-on.
“Hey buddy, how’s it going.” You smile, and before he can get over his confusion as to why you’ve decided not to run out the back, it’s too late. Grabbing the beer bottle out of some poor cadet’s hand, you swing hard and smash it over his head. The force of the blow throws him into the bar and then crashing onto the floor.
The second guy doesn’t stand much of a chance either. He pulls out a serrated hunting knife and points it at you. You roll your eyes.
“Why don’t you put that away before you hurt yourself.”
He yells as takes a couple of stabs at you. You dodge the first and block the second but can’t stop his head from smashing into you. His forehead connects to your nose with a sicking crack and you stumble and shake the stars from your vision. You throw a punch in the side of his head and send a swift kick to his knee, causing him to cry out.
“Fuck you,” He growls before lunging at you, trying to stab you again. You grab a wood bar stool to your left and raise it. The blade plunges through the seat and gets stuck in it.
“Fuck me?” You say, before spinning around and slamming the stool into his body, breaking the chair apart and sending him flying. “Fuck you!” You spit out, warm blood dripping down your face.
A sudden force makes impact with your body. You yell out and are shoved into the pool table, tumbling over it and knocking someone over.
“Sorry,” you grit out to Payback, pushing yourself off of him.
“Do you need help?” Asks one of the other pilots. They look shocked.
“No thanks, I’m just finishing up.” You say before you jump back over the pool table.
The last man left standing laughs and you sneer.
“Alright sweetheart, let’s see what you're made of,” He taunts you.
You smirk. “Believe me Handsome, you won’t make it that long.”
You reach back to the pool table behind you and grab the cue ball from its place on the green velvet and catch the eyes of a shocked-looking man with glasses. Bob.
“I need to borrow this,” you say, smiling. Bob nods, more out of fear than an understanding of what you're saying. Probably because, with all the blood that must be covering your teeth, your smile looks like something out of a horror movie.
Then, as quick as lightning, you hurl the cue ball at your opponent. The heavy white ball collides with his face with a loud ‘crack!’ and he falls back unconscious.
The other two men are still unconscious on the ground as well, which means that you get just a second to process everything. The bar is silent. Someone, Rooster actually, turns down the volume on the Jukebox so that the ending guitar of ‘Back in Black’ continues at an appropriate volume. You hear the soft clink of glasses and your own breath in the air. Everyone in the bar is either looking at you or the massive damages you’ve caused.
“Well, shit,” you whisper between breaths before you shrug and start walking back to the table you were at. Hangman is still standing where you left him, his mouth hanging open in excited surprise.
“Who are-“
“Don’t bother asking,” you say, reaching for the drink you left at the table. “Because I won’t tell you the truth.”
You lift the glass to your lips while making eye contact with him. You gulp down the cocktail, the taste of vodka mixing with the taste of the blood that’s dripped onto your lips. You grimace, half from the burn in your throat and from your nose bridge where you were head-butted. You set the glass down on a coaster and nod to Hangman. Then, without a word, you grab your purse and turn away.
You weave through the chaos that your fight left behind and step up to the bar. The brunette bartender, Penny, doesn’t look happy. She looks quite horrified, her mouth is wide open in shock and she looks at you.
You try to give her a smile, which from the view of her and all the onlookers doesn't look too friendly. You can feel the blood gushing from your nose and dripping from your chin onto the bar.
Yeah, you don't think your bloody smile will smooth this over. You reach into your bag for your wallet and place a large wad of cash onto the bar.
“For my tab, and everyone’s next round.”
Penny is shocked, mouth still open as she takes the money, nodding slightly. As you turn to leave, you say, “And some people will come around tomorrow morning to repair the damages I’ve caused, don't worry about paying them. You have a nice night, ma’am.”
You reach the door and the bartender seems to come out of her shock. The sound of Penny ringing her bell and the erupting cheers of drunk soldiers follows you as you close the door behind you.
You smile and shake your head, gently wiping at the blood that covers your lower face. You slide your shoes off your feet and begin your walk back down the beach towards where you're staying. You turn back towards the Hard Deck, and from the window, illuminated by the inside lights, you see Lieutenant Seresin, with his stupidly handsome smirk, watching you retreat down the beach.
You give him a mock salute, which he laughs at, and then you turn around to pull out your burner phone.
“Hey, Vinny! Yea it's me. I’m gonna need a clean-up crew right away... Yea, some friends will be waiting for you here.... And when you fix up The Hard Deck tomorrow, I want you to bug it.”
You hang up and continue your trek down the beach, holding your shoes in one hand and humming a sweet jazz melody as the taste of your own blood lingers on your tongue.
---
The apartment the CIA gave you is nestled above a shop downtown and your bed has a great view of the sun rising. That night, you sleep well, the fight at the bar working out any stress you were holding in. The next morning, you start your day the way you always love to. You get yourself ready, putting on cloths, makeup and tucking your gun into the back of your waist band, before walking into town.
You find a mom-and-pop diner with a cheap breakfast and take a seat in one of the dated booths at the back of the restaurant. The diner is perfectly quiet. An older lady comes to take your order and pour you a cup of coffee.
“Someone had a rough night.” The waitress says. You laugh. While you’ve certainly looked worse, even the poultice your mom had shown you how to make and an ice pack couldn’t keep away all of the bruising. A dark purple bruise covers the bridge of your nose, and the ones under your shirt are pretty uncomfortable.
“You should’ve seen the other guys.”
You order your food and wait, sipping your coffee and looking out the window. Your phone buzzes on the table and a text message appears.
VINNY: AT THE HARD DECK FOR THOSE REPAIRS. NEW CAR IS ON ITS WAY. GOV. ISSUE.
VINNY: THAT MEANS DON’T FUCK THIS ONE UP. SEE YOU SOON.
You smile and shake your head as the waitress sets down a plate of French toast and fruit. You eat your breakfast alone and watch the cars go by. When you finish, you wait for a minute to drink the last mouthful of coffee before looking out the window again.
True to Vinny’s word, a government issue, all-black SUV pulls up in front of the diner. You stand and walk to the counter to pay your bill, wishing your waitress a nice day and leaving a generous tip, before stepping out the door and walking towards the car. You open the back door and are greeted with a familiar face.
“Ma’am.” You smile.
Alexandra Cross, your unit chief and longtime friend, gives you a nod and a slight smile. “Agent (L/N).” You slide into the car, smoothing the fabric of your black slacks and silk shirt as you settle into the leather seat. “I trust you found your way back stateside with little issue.” She says.
“For the most part. There was a small hiccup.”
Alexandra is an older Hispanic woman, in her late 40s with medium brown skin and salt and pepper hair. She nods at you, with a knowing glint in her brown eyes. “Mhm, yes. I heard. We have those men in custody right now, heading back to a holding centre. And the bar?”
“While I didn’t plan on making such a memorable scene, it did allow us access to the building. After Vinny is finished this morning, we’ll be monitoring all chatter taking place inside the establishment.”
She nods and shares a smug smile, fiddling with the gold band on her left finger. “I do love that man,” she says.
Your driver comes to a stop at the entrance to the Airbase, where he’s greeted by armed guards.
“Roll down the back windows please, sir.”
The blacked-out windows come down and you and Alexandra looks out to the soldier. You hand her your credentials. She leans forward, the silver streaks in her dark curly hair catching the sunlight, and hands him the clearance cards. He brings it to the computer and when he scans it, his eyebrows raise in surprise.
“My apologies for the wait ma’am. You’re free to go.”
He nods at the two of you before your driver rolls back up the window and drives through the gate. Alexandra turns back to you.
“When we arrive, we’ll meet with Vice Admiral Simpson and his men. We’ll go over everyone's roles in the mission, and protocol on base. The rest of our team arrived this morning and are waiting for us. I’ve been told specifically that we aren’t authorized to conduct any surveillance of inside the walls of the base.”
“Vincent will be disappointed.”
“He’ll live with it. We need to be on our best behaviour for this one.”
“You expect there to be difficulties?”
Alex signs. “Our unit is known for being a tad unpredictable and Admiral Simpson is known to be a hard ass, so even though we are both vital to the success of the others’ missions, I’d rather we kept the peace between our organizations.”
“This might be difficult, Alex. Servicemen are often overly cocky, especially pilots.”
Alex smiles at you over the rim of her shades and says, “Well then I trust you to be your charming self.”
The car rolls to the front of the Air Base and comes to a stop. Alex leans back towards her driver. “Wish us luck, Rick,” she says and the two of you step out of the car.
The California sun beats down onto you, heating the top of your head and making you squint through your shades. On the pavement stand Hondo and Warlock, who great you and your supervisor.
“It’s a pleasure,” you say, stepping forward to shake their hands
“We can finish our introductions with the Admiral. the rest of your team is inside.” They say.
You are led inside, through a hall filled with pictures of TOPGUN alumni. From around the corner, someone appears and walks beside you, then another.
It’s Nichole Woods and Teresa, your technical engineer and analyst, respectively.
“Thank god you’re here,” Terri says.
“How was your flight in, ladies?”
“A nightmare, you know I hate packing,” Terri says. “TSA is always a nightmare.”
“You could always pack lighter. You should have seen the shit she brought. ” Nicky says.
“Everything I brought is vital to my performance on this team! Don’t talk about my babies like that.”
You turn down another hallway, and stop as a man dressed in a Navy uniform joins you.
“Admiral Simpson, these are the CIA operatives that we're assigned to.”
Before Cheif Cross can be introduced, she steps forward.
“Alexandra Cross, with National Clandestine Services. It's a pleasure, sir. I’ve heard much about you and TOPGUN.” She reaches over the desk and they shake hands.
“There’s another Cross on your team swell. Any relation?” Cyclone looks at your boss with a look the both of you recognize. He already knows the answer to this.
“You’re referring to our lead technical engineer, Vincent Cross, who is also my husband.”
“I see,” he says, without much emotion. Alex wasn’t wrong, this guy feels like a stick in the mud.
He begins walking with, you talking as you go. “We’re setting you up in one of the classrooms next to the one our pilots will be in. I’ve been told that your analysts have brought a lot of their gear.”
The admiral turns and opens up the doors to show a large room, with rows of chairs and a large screen at the front.
“I hope this will do.”
Terri looks around the room, checking the outlets on the side of the screen before nodding to Alex. “We’ve made do with much less, Admiral. This will be fine.”
“ Good. Your team comes highly recommended so I’ll be interested to watch your people work .”
“Thank you, sir.”
“For the rest of us,” you say. “We’d like to know if theirs a shooting range on the base, and a place for us to conduct weapons tests.”
“I beg your pardon, agent.”
“Our engineers have experimental equipment that we often test run, and some of these things shouldn’t be tested inside. Is there an area outside that would be suitable for them to use?”
“Near our outdoor gun range would probably be best. I’ll have someone bring you there.”
The door to the classroom opens again and in steps a middle-aged, handsome man who you know to be Pete “Maverick” Mitchel.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning. Everyone, this is Captain Pete Mitchel…”
“The man who will be instructing the recruits on the mission,” you finish. You introduce yourself to the man and shake hands. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Captain”
“And I’ve heard a lot of you,” Maverick says. “Was it your team that discovered the base?”
“No. An asset in the UN found it and sent it to us to take care of, then we were told to bring the navy on board.” Alex says. “While your priority for this mission is to destroy the enrichment plant, our team is more interested in the Airbase that defends it. We hoped that our analysts would be able to access the base remotely and that we would be able to shut off the SAM Systems before your people begin the assault but there’s a problem”
Maverick and the rest of the officers find seats as you gesture for Teresa to continue.
“Normally, servers are connected to the internet when they run complicated software. A server will use the internet to share information across multiple locations and those internet access points allow us to hack a network remotely. However, because of the secret nature of this base and plant, its creators chose not to do this.”
“To hide the plant from prying eyes, they’ve put themselves back into the dark ages. Everything runs offline. The server, computers, surveillance, even the SAMS that defend the valley, are on their closed off, completely isolated network.”
“Meaning any access to those servers and their data needs to happen on location.” Maverick finishes. “Jesus Christ.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Alex says.
You speak up. “Before your strike team is deployed, I will travel undercover and break into the airbase, retrieve any relevant info from their servers, and then escape the area on foot before the missile strike destroys the airbase.”
“With no backup.”
“I won’t need it.”
“If you’re delayed in the slightest, you would be on the ground while an airstrike is taking place up the mountain and tomahawk misses rain down on you.” Cyclone points out.
“Then it’s good that I’m fast on my feet, sir.” You smirk.
Alex continues for you. “We’d like to request that this portion of the assignment's details are kept from the recruits. At least until we’ve decided that they need to know them.”
“Then what should they be told?”
“All they’ll need to know is that we are CIA analysts, here to provide accurate intelligence for the coming assignment.”
“They might believe that story ma’am, but they won’t believe that that one,” Maverick points to you. “Is an analyst. The pilots are still talking about the three men she nearly killed in town last night.”
You chuckle.
“Whether they believe us or not, that’s the story they will be told.” Chief Cross finishes. “Will that be all gentlemen? Because my team would like time to get set up before we greet the recruits.”
Admiral Simpson nods. “I believe that’s all ma’am. He steps forward and shakes her hand. “I look forward to working with you.”
“You as well, sir.”
“Captain Mitchel,” you nod. “I look forward to seeing you fly. I’ve heard lots about you.”
“You can just call me Maverick, and I’ve heard quite a few stories about you too.”
You smile. “I hope you haven’t heard too much, ‘cause then I might not be doing my job right.”
You watch as Cyclone, Hondo, Warlock, and Maverick leave, the door clicking as it shuts behind them.
Alex turns back to you all, the smile dropping from her face. “Alright, let's get to work.”
Nick is up immediately and out the door. “I’m gonna go get my stuff!” She calls behind her, making Terri chuckle.
“I’m gonna go help her.”
“Before you do,” Alex says. “What’s the status of our asset?’
“They went radio silent, ma’am. I can’t get a hold of them.” She says.
“Then our job for today, along with appearing at the pilots’ briefing, will be to get that handled.”
“Speak and it shall be done.”
-----------------
author's notes
alright! here it is! If you've made it this far, thank you for reading. I'm really excited for this fanfic.
First off, because I'm writing about the CIA it's important to know that the info about them isn't accurate. One major inaccuracy is that CIA "Agents" aren't a thing. They are called Operatives or Officers, and an "Agent" or "Asset" is a foreign citizen that supplies info to the CIA, like an FBI informant! However I've chosen to ignore that and just refer to the reader and her team as both 'agents' and 'operatives' because I think it sounds better. Another thing to know is that the National Clandestine Services is a Branch of the CIA that does the spy stuff. Just thought that was cool.
Sorry for the inacuracies, but I'm sure no CIA "Operatives" will care that I'm spreading lies, It probably helps them.
So far, this story will have 9 chapters. I don't know how often I'll update, as I'm not a very fast writer. I plan to add this Story to AO3 and when I do, I'll put this link at the top of the chapter!
Thanks for reading, if you have any questions, I'd love to answer them, just message me.
Scribe <3
Tag List: @srry-itshockeyszn, @saramaple
#hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin x reader#top gun maverick fic#top gun maverick x reader#code names and call signs#the scribe writes!#top gun fic#top gun x reader#cn&cs!fic
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call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter three
summary: the bird strike accident, and the stakes of life and death, push everyone a little closer to reconciling with their own feelings.
warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of death, strong possibility of military inaccuracies, second person pov, no use of y/n,
wc: 6.4k
listen to: the playlist
chapter two | masterlist | chapter four
Halfway through week two the stress of the mission has gotten to you. It’s gotten to everyone. It’s easy to compartmentalize when you’re used to being sent into war. Sure, you’ve had some time to decompress – like the night you and Halo roped everyone into a skin care night, or the beach day where, for the first time since arriving, this special detachment had finally begun to feel like a team.
But the levity and your ability to compartmentalize are beginning to escape you as the intensity of this mission chisels away at every tool you have in the box. You can feel it in how exhausted you are, passing out for hours after training days end. You feel it in the way that your lungs feel virtually crushed by gravity when you pop up up, charging up from the hard deck – a number that seems to keep dropping lower and lower as time goes on.
“Cool it, Whiskey,” Maverick had chastised you, by the time you’d debriefed in the classroom. “Your decision would have ensured an attack by enemy SAMs. Might I remind you that you were Team Leader in this exercise. It would’ve been a dogfight for all of you.”
“I’m sorry, sir. You’re right. We were too early,” you apologize, in reference to pulling up too soon.
“You’re going to have to figure out how to fight gravity for just a little longer, Lieutenant. The timing has to be perfect for this mission,” Maverick instructs, a weight in his voice, like he hates doing this.
“Understood, sir,” you’d answered, accepting that you needed to pivot your strategy.
After each debrief, one unsuccessful attempt after another, Maverick haunts each of you with the question no one wants to think about:
What will you tell their family?
It's the heaviest weight to carry, especially as pilot of a two-seater, and everyone’s responded differently to the ferocity of this mission. Regardless of the fact that the only pilot who’s made it to the target is Rooster, Hangman continues to hide behind his arrogant demeanor, snapping at anyone who questions it or him. Phoenix is focused, near-robotic, cold, and calculating as she continues to work tirelessly towards the new time limit that Maverick’s set. While you’re impulsive and rash, you’re quick to respond in high stress situations forcing you to take risks that you wouldn’t under normal circumstances. But Rooster’s hesitant – a thinker – and you can see that he’s getting too caught up in his head. He likes to wait, examine each option carefully, before making a decision, which only frustrates him as he falls behind schedule each time.
It’s not till Jake’s very public, mal-intended, and vicious dig aimed at Rooster, that the tension snaps. What almost turns into a fight in the classroom makes everyone realize just how on the edge you’ve all been. As Maverick dismisses the group of aviators, you follow Hangman out of the room, hot on his heels, before shoving him into an empty classroom to talk.
“What the hell were you thinking bringing up his father like that, Hangman? Are you insane?” you hiss, slamming the door behind him.
With a smug, amused look on his face, he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against one of the desks.
“Why do you fucking care, Whiskey?” he taunts you, as if he already knows the answer.
His cool, unaffected act is really starting to piss you off, and you find yourself growing even more frustrated, the longer he sits there.
“That was out of line, Seresin. And you know it!” you exclaim, in awe at how unkind your best friend had been.
He scoffs, looking away from you for a second. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before his demeanor changes from arrogant to mean when he looks back at you.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen how friendly you and him have been lately. You into him or something? Is that what this is about?” he snaps, his tone cool as he avoids taking any blame whatsoever for his outburst.
“That’s not what-. You didn’t have to bring up his father. Not like that,” you argue passionately before continuing your tirade.
“Sometimes I don't know why you need to be so goddamn provocative all the time, Hangman. I mean what was the point? You want to get in his head? Congrats. You did it. You wanna piss off Maverick or something? I mean, what the hell, man?!”
Your answer doesn’t seem to satisfy him, his voice laced with venom as he spits:
“So this is about him. Rooster.”
“Why does it matter?!” you shout, frustrated by his attempts to answer any of your questions.
And truthfully, you’re getting pretty fucking tired of him putting this all on you.
“Because!” he yells, the anger bursting out of him. “You're taking his side, kid!”
He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself before lowering his voice. Jake knows that you don’t deserve this – that he shouldn’t take this out on you – but watching you stand on Rooster’s side when the fight broke up had stung more than he had the words to express.
He drops his gaze to the floor, his voice softening as he manages to get out, “It’s supposed to be me and you against the world, kid. Don't you remember?'
It’s not an excuse for his poor behavior, but you know he’s hurt.
Your mind floats back to the look of betrayal on his face when he realized you had rushed to Rooster’s side – not his. Of course he wanted you to be happy. He knew you deserved that. You were his best friend, after all.
You were the person he knew he could call after an exceptionally bad day, the only person on the planet who knew he joined the Navy just to piss off his dad, the person who’d seen every single side of him and hadn’t run in the other direction yet.
You were his one true friend.
Jake thinks back to his graduation from the Naval Academy – the day you told off his father. Mr. Seresin had spent the entirety of his graduation dinner making snide remarks instead of celebrating his son’s incredible accomplishment. Something about the working class this, and how he’d never understand why his only son would want to ruin his life by becoming a public servant instead of following in his footsteps.
And there you were, nineteen years old, standing up to the oil tycoon in a way he hadn’t even figured out yet. That’s the moment he knew: no matter what happened, no matter how much time passed, no matter the distance between the two of you, you were stuck with him, because no way in hell he would ever let go.
You were like his kid sister. His Texan. His Tennessee Whiskey.
And even though the idea that this was anything more than platonic was a long gone sentiment, he still hated the idea of having to share you.
Especially with Rooster.
He knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t help it, perhaps a symptom of his own stress from the last week.
“That’s not fair,” you point out, breaking the silence between the two of you.
He waits a beat before admitting, somberly:
“I know.”
You take a step towards him, softening your body language so that he knows you come in peace.
“You weren’t in the right there, dude,” you say with a sigh, only mildly resenting the fact that you have to state that explicitly. “What you said to Rooster… about his dad? About Mav? That was cruel... and frankly, really unprofessional, dude.”
Jake’s still, his body frozen and his eyes are fixed to the floor as he listens to you. He feels like a kid who’s gotten in trouble. He can’t look at you yet – too embarrassed by his own behavior because he knows you’re right – so he just listens.
“So yeah. I'm taking his side on this one…” you explain, as compassionately as you can. You take another step towards him, reassuring him with, “...but that doesn't mean I don't still have your back.”
“I’ll always have your back, Seresin,” you promise. The use of his name instead of his call sign is the thing that gets him to look up, his expression remorseful.
“I know,” he repeats, in acceptance.
You smile softly.
“And sometimes… because you insist on being such an arrogant prick sometimes… having your back means calling you out on your bullshit when you fuck up,” you add, only teasing him a little to lighten up the mood.
Even seated, Jake’s physical presence is still bigger than yours, but you match him with the amount of space you dare to take up.
“Yeah, whatever,” he smirks, looking away for a moment before returning his gaze back to you.
You reach out a hand to squeeze his shoulder, letting him know that you’re here for him.
“I’m sorry, Whiskey,” he mumbles, looking down once more, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
“You’re… you’re what? Did you just say-, because I’m not sure I heard you the first time. Was that an… apology?” you tease, playfully.
“Oh shut up,” he groans with an eye roll.
“It’s just that… I’m gonna need to get this one on film because no one will believe me if I tell them that you, Jake Seresin, actually apologized to me,” you continue to poke fun at him, giving him shit because you can.
“You better not!” he warns you with a laugh.
“Oh I’m telling everyone. I actually think I deserve a lifetime achievement award for this,” you celebrate, sarcastically.
“Fine, I’ll say it again if you just quit it!” he exclaims, with an exasperated sigh.
He takes a moment, before dramatically shouting towards the heavens:
“I said I’m sorry, Whiskey!”
“Bullseye!” you cheer, as if you’ve beat him at darts at the Hard Deck.
You watch as the corners of his lips twist up into a small smile while he holds his hands up in the air as a sign of surrender. His smile warms you, and you’re reminded for a moment of why you’ve put up with him for this damn long. The two of you exchange a laugh before allowing the comfortable quiet between the two of you to settle in.
“Jake.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you voice, as seriously as you can.
And he knows you’re right about that too.
*
All you want to do is crawl into bed and come out when all of this is over. No one goes into the military – no one gets to be in the top 1% of naval aviators – without understanding the risk that comes with being in a combat zone. It’s the unique, exceptionally difficult, and limited time of this mission that seems to be kicking everyone’s ass, and it all becomes more and more of a reality the day that Phoenix and Bob’s F/A-18 goes down.
Once the doctors had given the Dagger Squad the greenlight to visit with Bob and Phoenix, you’d all piled into their shared hospital room in an attempt to keep them company. While both of them seemed to be in good spirits, the accident had scared the shit out of you. You understand why it’s easier – not to have attachments when doing this job – and today is one of those days where it feels like it would just be easier not to.
You look around the room, observing the wild cast of characters you call a detachment. Coyote’s just said something funny that’s got Jake howling with laughter, while Fanboy and Bob are fixated on some game they’re playing on Fanboy’s phone. Halo, Payback, and Fritz have gone for a coffee run, even though visiting hours are almost over. You can only imagine that it’s a sight for sore eyes: so many of you piled into one hospital room in your khakis.
You’ve all decided that you’re going to stay for as long as possible. After spending some time with Bob and Fanboy, it’s time to visit with Nat. You examine each aviator and the extra chairs that the hospital staff brought into the room for your group. Hangman sits in a folding chair next to Javy in between Bob and Phoenix’s bed. As you stand up with the intention of making your way over to Phoenix, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sight of him.
You fixate on the toothpick in Hangman’s mouth. He tosses it around, chewing on it while he scrolls through something on his phone as you walk by.
“Stop that! This is a hospital room,” you deride, as you snatch the toothpick out of his mouth. You earn a look of agitation and shock as Jake watches you walk over to the small trash can, tossing his used toothpick into a small trashcan.
“Hey!” he calls after you, before addressing the rest of the aviators in the room. “Does anyone want a little sister? I’m trying to get rid of one.”
“Always told you it was a nasty habit,” you shrug, and he glares at you in response.
“Y’all are so cute,” Coyote gushes, sarcastically.
“She has a point,” Bob backs you up, in reference to your previous comment.
“Shut up, Baby On Board,” Hangman grumbles, returning his focus back on his phone.
The scene you’ve caused gives you the perfect time to talk to Nat more privately, since everyone is focused on something else. It’s not that you haven’t spent much time together, but you’ve been surrounded by almost all of the other Dagger Squad members all day.
“How ya doin?” you ask Phoenix, as she flips through a trashy gossip rag you’d purchased for her at the gift shop.
“I’m alright. More disappointed than anything. I hated having to eject,” she admits, a bitterness in her voice. You settle into the nicer hospital chair that someone’s moved over to her bedside.
“I know. But you know the bird strike wasn’t your fault,” you reinforce, making sure that she knows it.
“Yeah,” she replies, though you’re not sure she believes it. She turns the page of the magazine.
Even though you haven’t said anything, Natasha can tell that you’re worried about her. It’s written all over your face, and she can feel it in the way that you’ve refused to leave her side all afternoon. She’d practically had to beg you to go on a gift shop earlier so that she could take a nap. She changes the subject, putting on her best sing-song voice in an attempt to make you laugh.
“Uh oh! Trouble in paradise?” she says, reading the headline out loud of the trashy magazine you’d bought her earlier. “Is it just a glitch or did Miley Cyrus unfollow Liam Hemsworth on instagram?!”
You laugh at the headline, leaning over so that you can take a peek at the magazine in her lap.
“Woah! Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth are splittin’ up? No way! Lemme see!” Coyote chimes in loudly, hopping up on Nat’s hospital bed to join in on the gossip session.
“Seriously! You’re surprised? That relationship’s been a rollercoaster ride for the last… few years!” Jake practically exclaims, in the same kind of way he’d rattle off a fact about the Dallas Cowboys.
“Didn’t take you as one to keep up with celebrity gossip,” Bob remarks snarkily, from his hospital bed, earning a laugh from everyone in the room but Jake.
Jake’s face falls for a moment as he sighs, “Whatever, Floyd.”
“Let me see, Phoenix,” Coyote encourages, holding a hand out so that he can take a look at the article. “Unlike Hangman over here, I’m shameless when it comes to this shit. And there better be horoscopes at the back of this thing or I don’t want it at all.”
You and Nat exchange a glance, giggling. Jake sighs crankily, before mumbling something about going to go ask for more ice chips. Nat sits up in her hospital bed, handing the magazine over to Javy while he flips through it, desperately searching for the horoscope page.
“He’s always been a sore loser,” you comment, smugly, as soon as Jake’s out of earshot.
“Hey, where’s Rooster?” Nat asks you, noticing that Bradley hasn’t been to visit at all.
“Oh uh,” you hesitate, unsure of how she’ll take it. You’ve exchanged a few texts with Bradley since the accident, but you’re mostly making assumptions. “Think he’s back on base. Last I heard Maverick gave him an update about you guys…. I think between the accident… and Jake bringing up his dad the other day… this is all… a lot.”
She nods in understanding.��
“Do you want me to call him? I will if you-,” you begin to ask.
“No!” she interrupts you. “No, I’m not upset. I-, I just want to make sure he’s okay, you know?”
“Yeah, of course,” you reply. You’re about to suggest that you FaceTime him when she grabs your hand, an ‘I need a favor’ kind of look plastered to her face.
“You’ll go check on him, won’t you? For me?” she asks, batting her eyelashes a few times at you in an attempt to butter you up.
You roll your eyes playfully, glaring at her as you accuse, “You’re the shameless one here! Not Javy.”
She shrugs, a fox-like grin on her face, because she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Pretty please?” she asks, so sweetly that you’re not sure how you’re going to say no.
You sigh in surrender, standing up out of your chair.
“You could’ve just said something if you wanted to get rid of me, Trace,” you chide, digging for your keys in the bag you brought to the hospital.
“But that would be a lie! You’ve been so great at cheering us up here. I think your services may be needed…” she says before lowering her voice and wiggling her eyebrows, “...elsewhere.”
“Mhm. Sure,” you hum, with a playful eye roll to follow.
You know exactly why she wants you to go check on Rooster.
And truthfully, you don’t mind being the one she’s asking to do it either.
“I am worried about him,” she confesses genuinely. “So thank you.”
“‘Course, Nat,” you assure.
It’s not a long drive back to base. By the time you find Rooster, he’s in the rec room hunched over the piano that’s probably been in there for longer than you’ve been alive. You wouldn’t exactly call what he’s playing a song. He’s just running his fingers over the keys, playing a few notes, then a few stray riffs here and there, trying his best to keep his mind occupied.
“Hey,” you say, your voice pulling him away from whatever he’s fixating on.
He’s surprised to hear your voice – surprised to see you – as he turns around to face you, still seated on the piano bench.
“Hey.”
“I thought you’d be with Phoenix and Bob,” he replies, quietly.
“Yeah, I was,” you say, beginning to approach him. “But… Phoenix wanted me to come check on you. See how you were doing.”
The smallest smile spreads across his face as he says, “Of course she did.”
You take a moment to take him in. He looks tired – more so than usual.
“How are you?” you ask, softly.
Rooster remains seated on the piano bench, his forearms resting on his knees. You can tell he’s been deep in thought.
“Not so great,” he admits, giving you a half-smile. “But. Better? Now that you’re here.”
You walk over to where he sits. Rooster pulls you into his arms for a hug, and it feels so good to be this close to him. It’s comforting: the way he feels warm against your skin, the way he smells like sweat and cologne from the day before. You hug him tightly and he’s burying his face in your neck.
“How are they? Bob and Phoenix,” Rooster asks, as he begins to pull away.
You keep your arms wrapped around his neck while his hands remain on your waist.
“They’re good,” you answer, trying to keep your tone positive. “Just being kept overnight for observation but I bet they’ll be back on base by tomorrow morning.”
He gives you the softest smile, before pulling you down onto his lap. You giggle in response, both of your legs shifted to one side of him as you stretch them across his and the piano bench. Your hands go to the back of his head, drawing comforting circles at the base of his neck.
“It’s been a day, huh?” he sighs, enjoying the feel of your body against his.
Ever since your date over the weekend, you’d spent as much time together as possible: going for early morning runs, grabbing coffees in between breaks, eating lunch together. But it hadn’t gone any further than flirtatious friends, which was kind of the whole point of not sleeping with him a few nights ago. This had been the most intimate physical contact you’d had so far, and you take note. It’s strange really – a good kind of strange – how easy it feels to slip into his arms like this, like you’ve been doing it for years.
“What’s on your mind?” Rooster asks you, catching you deep in contemplation.
And as much as you’d love to kiss him right now, let him get you naked in the middle of the rec room and take you there, you can’t imagine what that would do to your focus. And you can’t lose it right now. Not after today.
“Let’s go to the beach,” you declare, impulsively.
You practically jump out of his lap and onto your feet, earning a look from Rooster.
“Right now?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.
“Right now,” you nod.
There’s a light in your eyes that Rooster can’t ignore – it’s something he wants to learn inside and out – so he agrees, following you out of the rec room and down the path from the base to the beach. You don’t give either of you much more time to think about… or any time to change. You’re not sure what you did to deserve his trust, but you hold his hand the entire way there. The two of you kick your shoes off at the top of the beach entrance, then hurry down to the water before you bring the both of you to a halt at the water’s edge.
“I love the ocean,” you sigh, as if a 500 pound weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. You take a deep breath, inhaling the salty air, focusing only on the sound of the waves crashing against each other. “It makes everything else feel so small, you know? Reminds me that we’re not in control. That there’s something so much bigger and that I’ve just got to trust.”
You chuckle before continuing, before shooting him a look.
“Guess that’s why I joined the Navy.”
In that moment, Rooster is completely enamored with you. He comes to the conclusion that he’s completely enchanted as he listens to you talk. You’re so vibrant, so full of life, and he likes that, while he gets so stuck in his head all the time, you’re the complete opposite. He’s so lost, so in awe of you, that he forgets to answer you.
You giggle at his loss of words, turning to him.
“Watcha thinkin’ about?” you ask.
He’s not sure what possesses him to say it when he answers:
“You.”
With a wicked smile on your face you grab his hands in yours as you say, “What about me?”
“You’re magnificent,” he marvels, his fingers intertwined with yours.
Your heart skips a beat and you can feel all the blood rush to your head in response to what he’s said. It makes you feel dizzy.
God, you can’t wait for this mission to be over.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you flirt back.
“Do you trust me?” you ask, a glimmer of mischief in your eyes.
“Uh… yes…?” Rooster hesitates, as you let go of his hands. He watches as you take a few steps backwards, pulling your collared shirt out of the waist of your pants. Rooster bites down on his bottom lip as he watches you pull the shirt over your head, before tossing it onto the sand.
“Shit,” he groans, his pants suddenly feeling much tighter. He doesn’t look away as you undo your belt buckle, shimmying out of your pants too. He wonders if he should look away – as it would be the respectful thing to do – since all you’re wearing now is your bra and a pair of seamless cheeky panties that has him gulping.
“What’re you doing, Whiskey?” he wavers, his breath caught in his throat.
“C’mon,” you encourage, winking at him.
You take off, charging into the ocean. The cold water hits your feet, and you think it may be just what the both of you need.
“Don’t be a chicken!” you taunt him cheekily, as a nod to his call sign.
You look back at him over your shoulder, before wading further into the water, and it’s as if his pants couldn’t be any tighter than they are now.
“God damn it, woman,” Rooster rasps, pulling his shirt over his head.
He’s not going to let you do this alone, and your little strip tease on the beach pushes him forward, as he strips off his pants too. In seconds, Rooster’s chasing after you, using all the force in his legs to propel himself against the tide. It doesn’t matter that the water’s a less than ideal temperature, that his time back at TOPGUN has brought up so much shit about his dad and Mav, that he’s hard as a rock from watching you undress on the beach.
You are intoxicating.
He watches as you reach a point where the water is deep enough to swim. You dive into the water before egging him on to come with you. He follows, and the two of you swim further out to where the waves calm and you can just breathe for a moment.
Rooster treads water, inching closer towards you, as the waves still.
You steal a glance his way. The way the moonlight catches him takes makes you absolutely breathless, and you’re not sure how you’re going to keep your hands off of him.
“Feel better?” you ask, optimistically.
“Yeah. You?” he grins back at you.
Only, it’s not just the water that’s made him feel better.
“Absolutely,” you answer, beaming back at him. “Cmon. Let’s just swim a little more.”
So you do, the two of you putting your military-grade swimming skills to the test. You enjoy the feel of the cold water against your body as you glide through the water, a feeling of relief washing over you. You finally settle on a spot where Bradley can stand, but you still have to tread water, moving closer and closer to him.
“Wanna swim closer to shore?” he offers, as he notices that you’re still treading water.
“No, it’s okay,” you reply with a shake of your head.
Before you know it, Bradley’s pulling you into his arms, and you’re wrapping your legs around his waist, the ocean shielding both of your bodies from the surface. And it’s in that moment that you don’t think, all thoughts and hesitations about being too distracted to fly your F/A-18 go right out the door. Fuck it. Fuck the risk. Fuck not getting attached. Fuck not getting distracted – even if just for a night.
It’s then that you decide to break all of your rules, placing your mouth over his into a passionate lip lock.
Kissing you feels like heaven, as he memorizes the way you taste. His tongue snakes out against your bottom lip, and soon enough, his tongue is in your mouth, tangling with yours. You swear could get lost in the way Rooster feels pressed against you as your hands drag across over his shoulders, the tough scars that run along his neck and shoulders, the hard planes of his abdomen.
“Shit, Whiskey,” he moans into your mouth. “You keep kissing me like that and I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait till after the mission.”
You pull away for a brief moment, taking a deep breath so that you don’t give in right here. It takes all of your self restraint to say what you say next.
“Well you’re just gonna have to,” you tease him, deviously. You press your forehead against his, your lips inches away from where you want them to be. “If either of us get chosen for this mission… think of it as an incentive.”
“For what?” he asks, breathlessly. He buries his face in your neck, tickling your soft skin with the texture of his mustache. He begins to tease you – since you seem to love teasing him so much – leaving soft love bites along your collarbone and tops of your left shoulder.
You giggle at feeling, and when he raises his head, you kiss him again like it’s your last night on earth. You’re sucking on his bottom lip and he’s reaching up to cup your face, holding you close to him. You indulge yourself in him for a little longer, wanting to savor every single moment of this, before realizing you have a question to answer. You begin to slow down your kisses, pressing your forehead to his once more before finally whispering:
“To come home. Incentive to come home.”
It takes all of his power not to melt into a puddle right then and there.
“Okay,” he agrees, with a nod, beaming across from you.
If you don’t do something now, you’ll end up fucking him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, so you plant one more soft kiss to his lips, reluctantly prying yourself away from his embrace.
“Think you can beat me back to shore?” you challenge, playfully.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, a half smile on his face as he watches you take off. “You’re gonna be the death of me,”
But instead, he swims after you, racing you back to shore. If he were Hangman in this scenario, he probably wouldn’t let you win, using his much larger stature to propel himself further and faster through the waves. But instead, he lets you win, because he knows just how much you like the competition. By the time you reach the shore, you collect your clothes, but know it’s no use putting them back on when you have to report for duty at 0800 tomorrow morning.
You stop by his car before heading back to the barracks, considering you both will be returning in questionable enough states as is. Bradley gives you the spare UVA pullover he has in his backseat, before slipping on one of his many Hawaiian button ups he had in his trunk.
“Exactly how many of those do you own?” you question, curiously.
But he doesn’t answer, instead distracted by the way you look in his pullover. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he thinks he may come from just the sight of you in his clothes. Instead of answering, he takes your hand in his and walks you back to the barracks, unable to let go of your hand now that he knows what your lips feel like against his.
About to part ways, you let go of his hand, even though you’d much rather follow him back to his room. He kisses you once, before turning to go, his room all the way down the hall from yours.
“Hey, Bradshaw?” you call after him, stopping him after a few steps.
“What’s up?” he asks, turning to face you once more, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.
“It’s gonna be worth it,” you state, confidently.
He knows exactly what you’re talking about as his eyebrows raise and then lower before replying with an:
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” you smirk. “I’m gonna rock your world, Lieutenant.”
His breath hitches in his throat. He’s so gonna have to get off by himself tonight.
“Is that a promise?” he asks, unsure how his voice isn’t shaking yet.
“Absolutely.”
As much as he’d like to throw you over his shoulder and continue when you left off back at the beach, Rooster charges towards you, planting one last heated kiss on your lips till the end of this mission. The way he kisses you leaves you speechless, and you swear you look like the heart eye emoji symbol by the time he stops kissing you.
“Thought I’d give you something to look forward to,” he whispers against your lips, because two can play at this game.
And for a moment, you forget to breathe.
He leaves one last kiss on your forehead, his lips soft against your skin, before properly pulling away.
“Goodnight, Whiskey.”
*
Nat’s fallen asleep.
As she begins to come to, stirring in her hospital bed, she hears the steady beeps of her and Bob’s heart rate monitors, and a scuffle of feet passing by in the hallway. She figures she must’ve dozed off because there’s no way that it’s morning already. Phoenix begins to blink her eyes open slowly, and the first face she sees is the last person she’s expecting to.
“Bagman?” she groans, her voice raspy with sleep.
The blonde startles, her voice waking him from his slumber – or at least what little, restless sleep he’s managed to stumble into.
“Phoenix,” he grumbles, peeking one eye open to look at her.
“What’re you still doing here?” she asks, confused as she sits up taller. She feels around for her phone that’s been thrown somewhere on her bed.
“Guess I fell asleep,” Hangman answers, with a shrug. He settles back into his chair, signaling to her that he’s not going anywhere any time soon.
23:37 pm.
“It’s late,” she states.
“No shit,” he’s quick to reply.
Natasha rests her back against her pillow, closing her eyes again. She figures he’ll leave – realize that it’s almost midnight – that they’ve still got practice maneuvers to fly in the morning. As she waits to hear the shuffle of Jake collecting his things so that he can leave, she’s surprised when she’s not met with her expected response.
She opens her eyes once more, checking to see if Bob is still asleep before asking:
“You good, Seresin?” she asks, her voice coming out strained.
“Yeah, I'm always good, Phoenix,” he answers, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed his chest. “You worried about me?”
She wants to make a snarky comment, but something stops her. For once, Hangman looks tired, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes are more pronounced, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
“No, I just-,” she begins, her eyes traveling to the hospital room door that’s been closed. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Back on base. I let Coyote take the rest of ‘em home in my truck,” he answers, as if it’s no big deal at all. “Texted Whiskey an hour ago to see if she could come pick me up but she hasn’t answered. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
Jake had overheard parts of Phoenix’s conversation with Whiskey a few hours ago, but he wasn’t going to let either of them know what he knew just yet.
She smirks, shaking her head as a dismissal of his question.
“You could take a car home,” she points out, redirecting the conversation back to Jake’s presence.
“Yeah, I could,” Jake replies, casually. “You that quick to get rid of me?”
Phoenix doesn’t answer, and he’s not expecting her to. And instead of getting up to leave, ordering a car and heading back to the barracks, he shifts in his chair, in an effort to get comfortable.
The way he avoids her questions, her attempts to send him home, make Natasha believe that Jake Seresin has no intention of leaving, which only confuses her more. Underneath his arrogant demeanor, and all of the back and forth between the two of them, did Jake Seresin have a genuine bone in his body after all? Could there be something… real… here? Could something else be hiding underneath all of the back and forth, the competitive nature of their relationship, the way they act like they can’t stand each other? Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about it, but between the accident and the fact that Jake won’t seem to leave her bedside, she can’t help but wonder.
Jake observes her, searching for any kind of reaction on her face. Even though he hasn’t explicitly said that he’d like to stay with her for the rest of the night, that’s his plan. It’s why he gave Coyote the keys to his truck to take everyone else home. And why he’d lied about texting Whiskey an hour ago. He’s not sure he can be any more clear without explicitly stating it, which is not going to happen any time soon.
As he searches her face, he’s almost annoyed with how good she still looks. Who looks good in a hospital gown after ejecting out of an on-fire super hornet? Natasha Trace. That’s who. But with her hair down, and the way it falls around her shoulders, he finds himself hypnotized by the woman that he pretends gets under his skin.
The quiet between them is filled with tension. It’s just him and her. Jake double checks that Bob’s still asleep as he works up the nerve to say something real for once.
“Gave me a real scare for a minute there, Trace,” he admits, breaking the silence between them.
She shakes her head, a smirk on her face because she’s not sure whether or not he means it.
“I didn’t know you could care about anyone but yourself,” she counters, testing him.
He scowls at her comment, crossing his arms over his chest again.
“I don’t,” he says, as if it’s a challenge.
“Whatever you say, Bagman.”
Jake returns his focus on his phone, sending a quick text to Whiskey that he won’t be back tonight and that she shouldn’t worry if she finds his room empty. He’s just trying his best to make it look like he’s busy with something else. Like he doesn’t care. Like none of this is a big deal.
But it is.
And he knows it.
He just doesn’t know how to tell her the truth.
With the words practically on the tip of his tongue, he swallows them instead of saying:
I care about you more than you know.
read: chapter four
*
a/n: i told @not-two-shrimp that hangman and phoenix are too both two people who have too much pride to tell each other how they really feel and that's that on that. JUICY hangman x phoenix chapter coming NEXT!!!
taglist: @not-two-shrimp @wishfulwithwine @hangmanscoming @thefourrealms @hlkwrites
#call sign tennessee whiskey#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw x reader#hangman x phoenix#hannix#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradsaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#natasha phoenix trace#phoenix top gun#jake hangman seresin#rooster x reader#hangman top gun#jake seresin
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stealing a shirt from jake (whether it be a UT austin shirt or just a plain navy shirt) the morning after you two have some well deserved reuniting time last night and as you're making a fresh pot of coffee, jake comes in and notices your attire - his shirt and a pair of panties on. don't think that man will be getting to anything that morning, except for fucking you on the kitchen table. the coffee can wait.
omg i cannot agree more!! this was mentioned in this ask here how down bad jake would be if he saw you in his clothes, but pair that up with after you’ve just reunited after months apart???
he just had you this morning in the shower, but he needs you desperately again. “fuck, i just don’t understand, they’re my clothes. but when i see you in them, i just fuckin’ need you.” he’d groan, while hitching up the hem of his shirt over your thighs and push your panties aside, not even taking them off. he’s down that bad to get his cock wet again while fucking you in his navy shirt.
thank you so much for this dear!!! 💌
#💌you’ve got mail#call sign-bee#ILYSM MWAH!!#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake hangman x reader#hangman x you#hangman x reader
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Off Limits
Summary: your mavericks daughter and it’s time to show you around the base. And your dad has already told you aviators are OFF LIMITS. But, he didn’t know you have already met one of those off limits aviators.
“ now everyone today we will be having a special guest on the base today. She will be watching our training. “ my dad says while I walk in and everyone turns in there chairs to see me.
I’m wearing nice jeans and a black shirt. That’s when I seen him he looked at me and then looked away.
I smirk and make it to the front where my dad is and we hug.
Rooster leans up to hangman’s ear and whispers so no one , especially maverick, can here.
“Now isn’t this fun. You won’t ever make it out for this mission if he finds you dating his daughter” he chuckles.
Hangman just nudges him off him.
“Everyone , I like for you to met y/n my daughter. She just came back from UT for the summer”
The day was fun getting to sit in a jet. You done that when you was little with your dad but, haven’t since you’ve been grown. Seeing your dad being this great pilot makes you so happy. But the only thing on your mind is him. How is your dad going to take it knowing he is off limits.
You all make it to The hard deck for some beers. You walk up to the boys. You feel someone walk up behind you.
“Now you should’ve definitely told me your last name was Mitchell. Your dad will kill me” hangman says walking to get a cue stick.
“Well Atleast we have tonight. I’ve already told penny.” I smirked
“YOU WHAT” everyone now is laughing he is bright red.
That’s when maverick walks in pissed as all get out.
“Boy , you and I need to talk.” He walks up to us and turns to me.
“I told you they are off limits. You can’t get them distracted” he says. Penny behind him mouths “I’m sorry”
“Well dad we met before I even knew he was one of your pilots.”
“If you break her heart Hangman so help me god I’ll rip you from this mission , you got it?” He says looking at hangman. Jake is so terrified at this moment. But he looks at me and I give him a nice smile.
“I promise sir.”
I KNOW THIS ONE WAS SHORT BUT I REALLY ENJOYED THIS ONE! I’ve been having a bunch of ideas running through my head. So might at well write them out. Remember if you liked this please give me your feedback. Much appreciated! And also reblog!
#dean winchester#fanfic#imagines#fluff#roleplay#top gun 2#top gun movie#jake smut#jake hangman seresin#likeforlikes#reading#random reblog#new post#feedback#u.s. navy#call signs#texas girl
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♢ "SHARK" || Top Gun Maverick: OC ♢
Since we have reached 200 followers here, I thought it would be interesting to introduce you to my TGM OC, Shark. The first reason is that she already appears in several one shot, either mentioned or as a tertiary character, for she is readers' best friend. Defacto, she'll continue to do cameos, also in Angel In. The second reason is that it just makes me happy to tell you more about her, even though I know most people are here for actual top gun characters and not for an original character! :) Nevermind, I hope the few people who'll read that introduction will love it. Shark hugs them tight and gives them a friendly bite 💚
♢ Playlist 💚 (put your headphones and enjoy the CHAOS)
♢ Full Biography (PDF)
♢ Shortened Biography:
Seven "Shark" Kriegel is a former navy SEAL sniper who had struggled to change her career path after getting brutally attacked and wounded in Iraq. Only her best friend, you, knows that she is Cmdr Mike "Viper" Metcalf's illegitimate daughter.
From joy to rage-filled, Shark is a soldier of a different kind. Known in the naval base as a fierce and vicious pilot, everyone knows who she is because of her everlasting fangs-filled smile and her common psychotic bursts of laughter. Despite her wild soul and her sometimes suicidal maneuvers, Shark is a reliable and skilled ally working in the Dagger Squad on top of being one hell of a loyal friend. She would help you hide a corpse, believe me.
A lot of crazy in a bit of pretty - Shark's nature tends to be unpredictable and impulsive. Moreover, she tends to laugh with a slight psychotic undertone in her chuckle each time she feels overwhelmed by strong emotions, whether positive or negative. She relies on sarcasm and dark humor to cope with bad situations. These, added to her hyperactive, bubbly demeanor and her love for pigtails lead her friends to call her "Harley", even though she hates it. (which makes me laugh because an adorable anon requested me a Bob or Rooster x reader with Harley as a callsign aha)
♢ Physical particularities
All of her teeth are fang-shaped, except her central incisors
Her platinum blonde hair is not natural, she bleaches it.
She as many scars from Iraq: one thick one crossing her mouth, another one on her left ribs, and three cut on each side of her neck.
She has visible dimples because of her former cheeks piercings
She's small and hates that.
Other info
Usually, she is really close to the readers, who had taken her under their wing.
She's supposed to be Mav's love interest
Her hair is either stylized in pigtail Harley-Quinn style or with Dutch braids. At home she lets them down.
Feel free to ask something to her, she'll be happy to answer
Feel also free to ask for a request of Shark x Mav or Shark x Reader💚
#top gun oc#top gun maverick imagine#top gun x reader#top gun maverick#top gun imagine#top gun x oc#glen powell#hangman#jake seresin#rooster#bradley bradshaw#pete maverick mitchell#the dagger squad#call sign shark
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Phoenix: HANGMAN WHAT THE HELL???
Hangman: OH so only ROOSTER can start the day screaming??!!
Rooster: YES
#top gun maverick#top gun incorrect quotes#incorrect top gun quotes#jake hangman seresin#natasha phoenix trace#bradley rooster bradshaw#Bradley got his call sign by screaming at the top of his lungs while standing on his CO’s building#he will not have anyone infringing on his call sign
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So apparently unless you went to the fan event night, people are not aware of this call sign generator (or at least as far as I know judging from the people I know who saw it after release), so for anyone interested here’s the link
#top gun maverick#top gun 2#top gun#top gun : maverick#rooster bradshaw#hangman#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#bob floyd#phoenix#fanboy#maverick#payback#coyote#cyclone#my call sign is midnight#it’s actually pretty cool#mine’s pretty perfect for me
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okay but genuine question. how did yall get your call signs?? like did you fill out a quiz or smth? or picked them urself? i want one too help a gal out
#top gun#top gun maverick#call sign#call signs#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#natasha phoenix trace#robert bob floyd
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