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callsignthirsty · 3 months

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Stuck at the Navy Ball

So… I decided I wasn’t done playin’ with the boys.

As this is a continuation of the original Stuck in the Middle fic, I highly recommend that you read through that before diving into this. Could you dive headfirst into this? Yes. There might be a little confusion, though.

Inspired by a comment someone left on SitM over on AO3.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: You, Ice, and Sli haven’t lost that loving feeling. So when the flyboys are reunited at the 1986 Navy Ball, it's only natural that they bring a bit of chaos with them. Word Count: 4200 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, under-negotiated situations (but everyone involved is fine), fingering Chapter: 1/4 Minors DNI

gif originally posted by neuromancer1888

Chapter 1: Under the Table

The invitation arrives early in September, printed on thick cardstock and addressed to your brother. But if Viper’s words are to be believed—and you’ve yet to hear of a situation in which they aren’t—Pete’s attendance isn’t exactly optional. So the summons finds its way from the trash onto the fridge, rough edges taped back together.

Please Join Us For the 211th Navy Ball. Monday, October 13th Washington D.C.

Cocktail Hour 1700 | Ceremony Begins 1800 Live Music. Food. Dancing.

The same invitation has Carole positively giddy. Born and raised in Virginia, she’s been looking for an excuse to fly east to visit her parents. And for a party? Isn’t that swell! Arrangements are made for Bradley to sleep at his grandparents on the night of the ball before Goose—whose PT-mandated wheelchair has landed him desk duty—is home from work.

Which is how, roughly one month later, you find yourself in Goose’s room at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill, sharing precious mirror space with Carole. Breathing in Aqua Net while putting the finishing touches on your looks.

The hotel calls the four of you a taxi, Goose’s wheelchair is stuffed into the trunk, and then you’re off to meet your date.

Singular.

There hadn’t been a question of if you’d attend or whose arm you’d decorate once Pete’s invite arrived. Officially, you’re at the ball with Ice. After Layton, Ice had made it a point to be seen with you while he was off-duty. Your relationship, which you’d tried to keep on the down-low, was worth showing off publicly after he and your brother had dropped their rivalry in favor of mutual respect. Friendship.

But the other half of your relationship was still very much under wraps.

That fact hadn’t stopped you from nodding eagerly when Ice pulled you close to ask you to attend the Navy Ball with him. Ice wants to climb the ladder, and earning stars is more than clambering into the cockpit every morning or disappearing on a carrier for the better part of a year at a time. It’s politics. It’s achieving perceived milestones on or ahead of schedule. And in October, for Lieutenant Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, naval aviator and promotion hopeful, it’s attending the Navy Ball with a woman on his arm.

Pete wrestles the wheelchair out of the trunk while Goose pays the cab driver. As you step into the crisp October evening, you marvel at the palatial, white-stone building that is to be the backdrop of your night. A steady flow of servicemen and women crossing beneath grand archways with their dates for the promise of a good night.

You aren’t left alone to gawk for long before you catch sight of them chatting with someone or another: decked in their whites, Slider leaning against the wrought iron rail and Ice to his side. Ice’s gaze flicks to you instantaneously, as if he’d felt your eyes land on him. The natural pout of his lips morphs into a grin as he excuses himself from the conversation and moves toward you against the flow of the crowd. Slider follows close behind, ultimately making his way to Goose, Carole, and your brother. But you catch the hesitation in his step. The course-correct.

Events like these will be challenging for the three of you—that had been a foregone conclusion—but this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. It feels all sorts of wrong to have Slider keep himself at such a purposeful distance when you’re used to his proximity. Even at the O Club, he manages to stand close. Doesn’t shy away.

Before your mood can be irreparably embittered, Ice takes your hand in his and coaxes you into a slow spin. “You’re beautiful,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, and a delicate smile lights your lips.

The dress had been a surprise. Something you’d insisted on buying yourself despite Ice and Slider offering to pool their money for something truly extravagant. But after years spent in the foster system, even the thought of spending money on something so frivolous left a bad taste in your mouth. Instead, you’d taken Carole, your more comfortable budget, and found an old gala dress at a thrift shop. The sleek, black velvet gown up to your collarbones with the slightest sparkle as the fabric shifted beneath the store’s old lights ticked all your self-imposed boxes. A dress fit for an aspirational young officer’s date, even after Carole added a slit up the left side to show a little leg and “bring the dress into this decade.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, squeezing Ice’s arm as it’s offered to you. Typically, the change of season calls for blues, but the Navy Ball is an exception to the rule. You wonder whose wife you have to thank for that because although your boys look damn fine in both, you have a not-so-hidden preference. “And Kerner didn’t clean up so bad, either,” you shoot in Slider’s direction with a playful grin.

“Surprised?” Slider asks, brow raised. You shrug because, no, you’re not surprised, but you aren’t sure what to say that will fly under the radar. And that’s the name of the night’s game. That doesn’t stop Pete from rolling his eyes as he passes you with Goose and Carole on their way to the building’s ramp.

The closest you ever got to a ball before tonight was prom—not yours; you’d been on staff at the venue. Frankly, you’d half expected you and Pete to have been blacklisted, given your father’s ill-gotten reputation, but they let you in without issue. You wonder if Pete’s face appearing on the front page of every magazine in the English-speaking world has anything to do with it, but you keep that to yourself while Ice, ever the gentleman, escorts you further into the event.

If the outside of the building is beautiful, then the inside is magnificent: all barrel vaulted ceilings decorated with Romanesque gold leafing and warm mahogany. A vast hall that steadily fills as guests arrive for cocktail hour and to mingle before the evening officially kicks off.

Slider spots Carole’s shock of blonde hair by a table with easy access for Goose and herds Ice in her direction. They aren’t alone at the table. “Merlin,” Slider barks, bounding over to shake his fellow RIO’s hand. “I thought you were stationed over the Atlantic. What’re you doing here?”

“Turned out to be an exercise. Over and back in sixty-two days.”

“And just in time for the party,” the woman at his side chips in, and Merlin wraps an arm around her to pull her close.

“Oh! Tom Kazansky, Ron Kerner, my wife, Laura.” Ice takes the opportunity to introduce you in turn. The conversation is easy-going, Ice and Slider filling Merlin in on their time instructing at Miramar.

Slider gets in several quips about Ice having a list of officers whose asses he needs to kiss to speed up a promotion when Ice spies one of said officers. He gently tugs you in the right direction so you can play the part of the doting girlfriend. The officer—a captain—quickly introduces you to his wife before he and Ice talk shop.

You manage to pluck a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray, sipping daintily and nodding along with the captain’s wife. Considering most of your knowledge concerning the Navy revolves around the planes your brother flies and the stunts he’s pulled in them, the conversation goes in one ear and out the other.

Not that it matters. Your role tonight—thankfully—is just to follow Ice around and look pretty.

The captain’s wife finishes her champagne in record time, and though you’re hesitant at first, you aren’t too far behind her. It is at this point, glass empty, that Slider appears like your guardian angel. “Captain,” he nods. “Ice.”

“Captain Reid, have you met my RIO?” Ice asks, knowing full well that Slider has no interest in schmoozing. Much like your brother, Slider is there because it is expected of him. Unlike Pete, Ice doesn’t need his friend’s emotional support or commiseration to make it through such events, mandatory or otherwise. Every opportunity like this is one Ice can use to his advantage.

Slider offers the captain a firm handshake. “Lieutenant Ron Kerner, sir.”

“Your RIO? I thought you were stationed at Miramar?”

“The perks of winning the trophy, sir,” pride leaks through as Slider says it. He and Ice worked damn hard to finish at the top of their class. “We’ve been together since flight school. When Ice took a teaching position at TOPGUN, I followed.”

“And how does a man of your stature fit in the cockpit, lieutenant?” the captain’s wife asks from beneath heavily painted lashes.

The grin Slider offers her is loose. “It’s a bit of a squeeze, but no complaints so far.” The minute narrowing of Ice’s eyes says behave. You nearly avoid snorting, hiding the unladylike compulsion behind the rim of your empty flute, a reflection off the crystal drawing Slider’s eye.

“Actually,” Slider says, hand twitching as if he’s had to stop himself from resting it against your back, “I noticed your glass is empty.” Sli nods toward the bar, an invitation to refill your glass. You look up at him with a grin—a genuine one, not the soft smile that’s grown stale throughout Ice’s conversation—acceptance on your lips when–

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ice’s brow wrinkles, noticing for the first time that you’ve finished your drink.

”I didn’t want to interrupt,” is your bashful answer.

”Don’t be ridiculous,” Ice says. “I’ll come with you.”

”You don’t have to leave.” Slider will take care of me, you don’t say.

Ice picks up on the silent part but blatantly ignores it. His eyes take on that warm, charmed look, tongue peeking out before his lips curl into that honeyed smile you love so much. “You’re too good for me,” he says as if it’s a secret meant only for you. There’s no doubt he means it, but something about the way he’s playing the sentiment up for the brass makes it feel different in a way you’re not entirely comfortable with. No mistakes. “If you’ll excuse us, sir. Ma’am.”

Captain Reid is already turning to walk the room with his wife when Ice’s eyes narrow into what can only be described as a glare at Slider, his arm cementing itself around your waist in a way that probably looks far more relaxed than it feels.

”What?” Slider asks, shooting for casual, but now you’re not sure you’re buying it, either. “I’m just trying to do my part so you can talk to everyone on your list.” The subconscious flex of Ice’s jaw, as if he wishes he could chew out his frustration on the butt of a cig or some gum, doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does go unheeded. “Admiral Benjamin is on your list, right?” You perk up. As in Penny Benjamin? “I think I saw him by the corner with wife number three and Commander Johnson.”

“You know,” Ice says, his grin glacial, “it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you rubbed elbows at an event like this.”

Slider scoffs, though it’s affectionate. “Why bother? We both know my military career ends when you take a desk job. Besides, I think my time is much better spent keeping your date’s cup full.” You’ve all agreed to go to the bar, but no one is moving. The tension between Ice and Slider is palpable.

”Okay,” you interrupt. There’s something off about their banter tonight. You’ve seen Ice stare down many a handful of people since landing in Miramar, but never Slider. It’s enough to raise a sculpted brow. “What am I missing?”

Slider senses blood in the water. Sees the smoke in the air. The grin he gives you is far tighter than the one he gave the captain’s wife. He opens his mouth, but Ice beats him to the punch. “You said something about grabbing my date a drink.”

Slider’s jaw clicks shut, but his grin isn’t so easily wiped away. “More champagne?” When you nod, Slider picks his way toward the bar while Ice escorts you to the side of the room where there’s more room to breathe and a lesser likelihood that someone will overhear when he presses close. “Sli’s upset that you’re with me tonight.”

That’s it? You hadn’t thought the arrangement would bother Slider so much. The three of you had discussed it and mutually concluded that you should go with Ice. That you had to go with Ice. Was Slider having second thoughts?

“Well, not upset,” Ice concedes at the concern that drags your lips down. “But he was talking a big game.”

Color you curious. “What’d he say?”

“Well,” Ice pulls you closer so his breath tickles your ear and you can smell the mint on his breath, “he thinks he can get you off before we leave the building. Steal you away while you’re being my pretty little girlfriend for the brass.” You gulp. Where is Slider with that drink?

”Oh.”

Ice chuckles. “Yeah. Oh. But I’m not worried.” Two fingers find their way under your chin and lift until your eyes meet Ice’s. “I know you’ll be good for me.”

“What’s the winner get?”

”Bragging rights.”

”And?”

It’s impossible to miss the way Ice’s eyes flit to your lips and linger there because he can. Those are the perks of being your date out in the light of day. “Can’t that be it?”

“Could be,” you breathe and slowly wet your bottom lip with your tongue, delighting in the way gray-blue eyes track the movement, “but it isn’t.”

Ice double-checks that no one is eavesdropping on your conversation. “You remember what got delivered the other day?” Your breath hitches. Yeah. You remember the catalog order you’d put in for a remote-controlled toy. The excitement and disappointment that had come with unfortunate delivery schedules. “Single-night, exclusive access once we’re all home.”

”That’s quite a lot on the line.”

”It would be,” Ice concedes, one large hand spanning the small of your back, warming you and holding you close enough you can breathe in his cologne, “but you can be good for me, right, baby? I’ll make it worth your while.” You nod, a little dumb as you inhale teakwood, sage, and sea salt.

It’s sure to be a profoundly satisfying night as long as you can stick to the script.

“I’m not going to make it easy on you,” Slider promises, appearing by Ice’s shoulder.

”Wouldn’t be fun if you did.” Ice’s smirk is all cocky confidence, cracking only when he notices Slider has only fetched two flutes of champagne.

”Only got two hands, Tommy,” Slider says with a toothy grin, “but I’ll keep her company while you grab yourself a glass.” The crystal buzzes with the steady fizz of bubbles, your fingers brushing Sli’s ever so slightly before Ice pulls you back into the throng.

The room becomes more difficult to navigate with each new attendee, but Ice only seems more in his element as cocktail hour drags on. He introduces you to a flurry of officers and their wives whose jewel-tone dresses all start to blend together, brushing shoulders with the men who ultimately control his upward trajectory.

On his arm, you smile and nod, interjecting where appropriate because, despite the smattering of female officers present, the Navy remains very much a boy’s club.

Still, it’s nice to be shown off so publicly. To delight in the knowledge that Ice’s attention never strays far from you despite his planned schmoozing. You preen each time he introduces you to someone new with a tender look—there are many things tonight that may be manufactured, but that look isn’t one of them.

An ache blooms in the ball of your foot as Ice delivers on the same script over and over to increasingly dismal company. The throbbing is nothing compared to the pinpricks in your cheeks, though. Beauty pageant smiles are their own form of torture. But this is important.

It’s all for a good cause.

Tonight is important to Ice, so it’s important to you.

You’d do anything for your boys: ignore every sour expression at your last name, force a pleasant laugh along with each rear admiral’s wife, stifle a relieved sigh when everyone is invited to find their seats for dinner.

The flyboys have claimed three closely clustered tables during your absence, forcing others to walk around them as they spill into the spaces between each table, leaning close to make up for the distance forced by post-graduation reassignments. Viper is curiously absent, or perhaps Jester had pulled the short straw and been stuck with babysitting duties.

But there’s someone you don’t recognize at your table, sat between Merlin and Slider, a stranger in your midst. A smile splits Ice’s face when he spots him. “Cougar?” The man stands and pulls Ice into a quick embrace, Ice’s hand on the man’s—Cougar’s—shoulder. Ice makes quick work of introducing you to Bill Cortell and his wife, Maria. “Cougar and I were like brothers in flight school,” Ice beams. “We were supposed to meet up at TOPGUN, but–”

”It turned out for the best,” Cougar cuts Ice off goodnaturedly with a quick nod toward Pete. “Besides, desk life isn’t so bad.” Ice raises a brow at the assertion while Goose lets out a ‘bullshit!’ “Okay,” he cedes, “it’s pretty bad, but I wouldn’t give up being at home with Maria and the kids for the world.” Maria, who is heavily pregnant, rests her hand over her bundle of joy.

The lights choose that moment to dim, commanding stragglers to find their seats, but neither man moves. Slider stands up. “Here,” he offers Ice his seat on Cougar’s left because the two clearly have some catching up to do. Ice takes the seat while you slide over to stay seated next to him, and Slider takes your spot as the lights come up on the stage for the opening ceremony.

By the time everyone is seated and some speaker makes his way to center stage, Ice is only half paying attention to the night’s program. He and Cougar have a lot to catch up on in appropriately hushed whispers. You’re about to zone out when you’re yanked back to the present by a hand on your knee.

Above the table, for prying eyes, Slider doesn’t give anything away. Attention seemingly focused on the stage. Below the table’s skirt, however, you press your thighs together as Slider’s hand massages the skin exposed by the modified slit in your dress. Familiar callouses drawing senseless patterns above your knee. His hand stays there, occasionally giving you a comforting squeeze, like he knows you crave reassurance through gentle touches after being dragged so far out of your comfort zone. It’s nice. Before long, between the buzz of quiet conversation and each soothing caress, you relax back into your chair.

Polite applause fills the room as the admiral gives the podium to the next presenter. Pete and Carole chuckle at something Goose murmurs. Wolfman yawns. Someone coughs. A waiter comes around to top off champagne.

You wrap your fingers around the delicate stem of your flute, raising it to your lips in the same instant that Slider’s palm shifts so it’s wedged between your thighs. Your sharp breath is lost in the crowd as nimble fingers creep higher, never once pausing their massage.

The corner of Slider’s lip tugs the slightest bit up. Smug bastard. When you’re sure no one is paying attention, you give his wrist a tug, but instead of retreating, Slider brushes a finger against the flimsy fabric of your panties.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you become hyper-aware of how loud your breathing is, and your brain kicks into overdrive. Can anyone hear you over the clink of glasses? Your nails dig into the meat of Slider’s wrist in surprise, but you’re fairly confident that the rest of you looks normal—suddenly, you’re not sure what that means.

Is this the way a normal person’s mouth rests? The way a normal person sits in their chair? You need to leave, but you can’t. Being good for Ice, among other things, means not causing a scene. Not fleeing the room in the middle of a presentation. Not letting anyone know that while your boyfriend dutifully splits his time between the podium and his colleague, his RIO is pushing your underwear to the side for better access to your cunt. How you’re responding to his touch.

“Hey.” Pete’s giving you a strange look from across the table. “You okay?” From the way he’s pulled a face, you missed the bar for normal, and now Goose and Carole are also looking your way.

“I’m fine,” you hiss. “I-” need a distraction. You mentally stumble as Slider continues to stroke up and down your slit, his fingers spreading the wetness until they glide effortlessly through your lips.

The universe grants your wish when the crowd bursts into polite applause and the mic is turned over to the next speaker. “Isn’t that Admiral Benjamin?”

“As in Penny Benjamin?” Carole perks up, sitting tall in an attempt to get a better look at the stage while Pete bangs his head onto the table. Probably. You’re admittedly not paying attention.

Pleasure zings up your spine as thick fingers nudge your clit. A reward for redirecting the eyes on you. It’s everything you can do not to press your hips into the pressure or let your head loll back with a gasp. And with Penny’s father keeping attention off of you, Slider hooks an ankle around yours to encourage your legs further apart.

You shouldn’t, but Slider has always been convincing.

Ice won’t be particularly pleased with how promptly you gave into Slider’s suggestions, how readily your legs fall open, but that’s barely a blip on your radar as firm circles rub into your clit. The devil on your shoulder whispers that if Ice had really wanted to win, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be so easily distracted.

None of that matters nearly as much as it should when your heart pulses between your legs.

A hand lands on your velvet-covered thigh. Ice. “Sweetheart.” You whip your head around too quickly for the move to be anything but suspicious. Like you’ve been caught with your hand—or someone else’s—in the cookie jar. You try to focus on the cool, grounding pressure of his touch. It’s working, you think, but your leg is still trembling from the effort it takes to keep still. Keen eyes move from your face to your leg, trembling under his touch, to your lap, and then to Slider, where they narrow almost imperceptibly. “You alright?”

With a nod, you reach past your champagne for water to wet your dry throat. “Just taking it all in.”

A poor choice of words. Ever the opportunist, Slider presses a finger into your hole, the stretch delicious and unexpected enough that you almost choke. If anyone catches the color on your cheeks, you hope they’ll blame your earlier drinks.

“I was just saying I didn’t know Maverick had a sister,” Cougar says, this time loud enough for the table to hear him.

“He doesn’t talk about me much.”

“Yeah,” Pete scoffs, “because when people find out about you, this–” he gestures between you and Ice “–happens.”

“You got any other sisters, Mav?” Chipper’s question from the next table over prompts Pete to load a pomegranate seed onto this salad fork. He’s ready to launch, but a disapproving look from Jester dissuades him. Goose flips Chipper the bird in a show of solidarity.

“So when did this happen?” Cougar asks, eyes flitting from you to the blonde on your right.

Slider chuckles and leans into the conversation at the same time as he crooks his fingers. You bite the inside of your cheek. The circles Ice is rubbing into your knee aren’t as distracting as either of you wants them to be. “He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of her since we made it to Miramar.”

Hypocrite. You clear your throat. “About five months?”

“Aw,” Maria sighs in that way so many in long-term relationships do. You try and fail to focus on that as a second finger prods at your opening before pushing in slowly. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.” Thankfully, Ice steps in with a reply because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears when Slider rubs his fingers against your sweet spot, thumb applying steady pressure to your clit. Your nails dig crescent moons into Ice’s wrist in a last-ditch attempt to ground yourself because if Slider keeps this up, it’s going to take a miracle to keep you from causing a scene.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Viper’s unapologetic quip appears from seemingly nowhere. Your own personal savior. “I need to borrow Iceman and Slider, Maverick and Merlin, Hollywood and Wolfman.”

You shiver at the abrupt emptiness. Slider wipes his fingers, dripping with arousal, off on the tablecloth, eyes locked on Ice.

Next Chapter

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blazingstar29 · 5 months

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Slider hacks out a laugh before shuffling through for another photo. Maverick’s met by a familiar face that strikes him to his core. A younger Goose stares back at him. He’s got an arm around Ice’s neck, giving him a nookie as the blond scowls petulantly, hands reaching to tickle Goose’s side.

“Goofballs,” Maverick murmurs.

I’ve been super busy lately between horses, holidays and harvest lmao so haven’t had much time for fandom stuff but here’s a friday night fly boys teehee tidbit. missing posting stuff ngl but hopefully back towards the new year

#friday night flyboys au #top gun 1986 #pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #top gun fic

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ouralcohol · 1 year

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Bésame la boca

Pairing: Mickey “fanboy” Garcia x fem!reader

Summary: what happens when a ghost from Mickey’s past comes back to haunt him on NYE?

Tags: angst, lots of angst, 18+, cursing, Spanish mixed in there, reader is nicknamed pequeñita which means tiny, reader is short by the nickname. Reader is Latina.

Author’s note: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head and this is dedicated to my dear friend @rae-gar-targaryen, who’s a year wiser this week and I love her. sorry for the jumble... this was supposed to be a BLURB.

You had to see him.

You couldn’t help it. It had been years since you last saw him. You tried every night to answer the impossible, to answer the why’s, to answer questions that you had never asked anyone. Only he knew the answers. Only he knew because he’s the one that left you there.

And you waited.

You waited like a fool in love because what else were you supposed to do?

After the days passed, you wondered what had happened that made you repel him from you. Was it your fault? It hadn’t been the best last conversation you had with him. You regretted the words that had left your lips as soon as you said them… that didn’t mean that he had to leave like that. Leave you.

Enough was enough. At least you told that to yourself every day and every night that you sat and waited for him. Waited for him to call, to text, to come to your house, to see you, to tell you that he was sorry, to tell you that it had all been a mistake.

You had been a fool in love with him. How could you not be, with his sweet demeanor and silky voice? With the raven curls that you ran your hands through for days? With the eyes that made you weak every time he looked in your direction?

Goddamn Mickey Garcia.

Years passed by and you managed to move on. The word had been that he had left to become a pilot. An aviator. He always did mention that he wanted to fly, especially in his younger years. You remembered that his mother had been worried about the profession, but he assured her, no doubt. The whole barrio knew what he was doing… except you. How could you be so oblivious? How could you be such an idiot? You really thought he was going to follow after his father’s footsteps and take over the family business.

Wrong, so wrong.

So while he went on to live his dream, why couldn’t you? He had been included in your dream once upon a time. You achieved your attainable goals and managed to get a decent job with the degree that you worked so tirelessly for.

He had become an unattainable dream that you longed for.

You thought about the man an embarrassing amount of times, as he always lingered in the darkest corner of your mind, trying to break free so your life could be consumed by him. You fought every day and you didn’t let it win. You didn’t because he didn’t even give you a reason. He didn’t even say goodbye.

One day he was just gone, like the blink of an eye.

When the months turned into years, you found out where he had gone. You found out where he was stationed, but you didn’t dare face him. Oh no. You stayed put in the world you knew, in the world that was safe, in the world where you knew every nook and cranny.

As it turns out, he wasn’t far away. He wasn’t far away at all… maybe a couple of cities across the state. You were thankful for distance when you found out, but also felt ridiculed that he never came back to you. Did he find someone better? Did he find someone that could give him what he wanted instead of what you both wanted? Instead of what you had hoped and aspired for? You hated that every time you tried to date, his voice crept in the back of your mind, you hated that every time you tried to go out he was there to tell you no, that you needed to go home and study or relax.

Mickey ruined you in every aspect.

He ruined you forever as nobody would ever compare to him, from the way his hands used your body, to the way his lips kissed all the worries away, to the way that his eyes made you feel like you were some ethereal goddess walking on this Earth.

When he left, so did your heart and everything else that went with him.

Did he know that?

You weren’t sure, but you also didn’t want to find out at the same time because maybe you were the problem. Maybe you have always been the problem. How come he didn’t break up with you? How come he didn’t tell you to your face that he didn’t want anything to do with you?

Which is what led you to where you were now. New Year’s Eve was around the corner and a friend that you hadn’t seen in a while had invited you out. There was an apprehension on your end, but then she told you that she wanted to go to a place called the Hard Deck.

There was only one Hard Deck. You knew where it was. You knew who was there. How did your friend know about this? Why did she want to go there? “Any particular reason you want to spend the last day of the year there? And to drive all those hours?” You queried her as you were at a store rummaging through clothes to see if you could find something to wear.

“Don’t you want to go see all the hot aviators? That’s where they all spend their time from what I hear. There’s just something so sexy about pilots… you know?”

“So you’re telling me that you want to drive a lengthy distance just to go look at some men with nice Ray-Bans? Just to gawk at them?” You sounded incredulous spotting a dress that caught your eye. It resembled a sunset, you thought.

Your friend let out a small laugh, “It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

‘Cause it was.

Would Mickey Garcia be there? Would he be deployed? Would he… fuck the what ifs.

Fuck it all and fuck his pretty eyes with his pretty face and his pretty personality. Hell, maybe he wasn’t even the same Mickey that you used to know… after all it had been what, five, maybe six years since you last saw him? How could you pine for someone like him when he clearly left you in the dust?

You were a stupid girl. You were stupid in still thinking about him for as long as you could remember. You tried to think of why you kept thinking about him, why the mere thought of him kept you up at night. It came in waves, in phases. Somehow you managed to work through it all and you were quite surprised with yourself. Mickey Garcia had been it for you, but clearly you weren’t the endgame for him.

It was fine.

It really wasn’t.

You felt foolish.

You were foolish.

“I mean, we’re not groupies… but I suppose we could make a girl’s trip out of it?” You suggested… why…

It was time to face him. If he was even there to begin with.

You needed answers that had been haunting you for years and had kept you up at night. His eyes crept up in your dreams and nightmares. How he had always managed to sneak himself into your daily thoughts for years. It wasn’t fair that he did this to you.

Why did he have to be so cruel? You didn’t appreciate that you had wasted time for him. The tears you shed had purpose and you hated it. You hated that he did this to you, tainted you in more ways than one.

You were pathetic, but you had to find out why.

Your friend agreed, beaming at you. Since it was her idea, she proposed that she could find a hotel and pay for the room the both of you would share. You liked the idea, but only if you got to drive. Driving was one of those things that made you feel better, it was therapy. You enjoyed doing it and didn’t mind the distance. It had been a second since you went on vacation, so it was a good excuse to leave the city on one of the busiest nights of the year. New Year’s Eve was always crazy with the hopes of a new beginning. The end of a whole year, while the string of something new lingering in the air, causing everyone’s mood to shift.

You always felt to be in better spirits when the new year began. There was a glimmer that maybe, just maybe, you would wake up and it was all a dream, that none of the past six years had happened.

You always woke up in the nightmare that he wasn’t there with you, and you loathed it. You hated yourself for making things about him. For revolving your world around his orbit… even though he wasn’t there. God, you were very pathetic.

The bags were packed, the car full of gas, and you and your friend had nothing but a road ahead of you. Give or take… six or seven hours of driving.

That’s how far Mickey García had been from you after all of these years.

Had you been selfish? Sure. So had he. Had you put yourself first this time? No doubt, but so had he. Had you asked him to stay? Had you asked him for you to be his priority? One hundred percent. He had been yours, so why couldn’t he do the same?

***

You stared at yourself in the mirror. The way the dress flowed and hit every curve, the way your hair was done was simple and mostly the same, but somehow different. The way your make-up made you look mature, older, wiser, the way that your eyes sparkled under the dim light. Even the way the blood rushed to your apple cheeks made you endearing. There wasn’t much to work with, really, but you had never thought of yourself as someone worth looking at over the years. This dress wasn’t out of the ordinary, as you often wore sundresses occasionally. The thing that was different was how much longer your hair was, how things seemed to have evened out through the years, how you were more woman than child.

“He’s going to drop dead.” She said to you quietly while you fiddled with the ends of your hair.

You had shared with her your biggest regret. You had shared with her the biggest mistake you ever made. You had shared with her what a stupid woman you were. How you could long for someone that probably forgot about you.

There was a simple shrug from your shoulders, “He won’t even remember me. Besides, we don’t even know if he’s stationed here.. He could be somewhere else.”

You were afraid to say the elephant in the room, afraid to even whisper his name.

“Want to go find out?” It was a question that you had been asking yourself from the beginning.

Did you? Did you want to find out if he was here? If he would be there? If he would even face you?

The voice in the back of your brain said an immediate yes. How would he have changed throughout the years? How would he be different? Would he be the same? All the questions are already bubbling at your lips.

The anticipation was building in your stomach as you felt the blood rush to your face again. There was a final tone to your voice, “Yes.”

She took you by the hand and both of you walked out of the hotel room and into the path of the unknown and uncertainty. You could hear the blood pumping through your veins in your ear, almost like a ringing, reminding you of how this moment was making you feel. Your breathing was even, but the thundering of your heart pounding against your chest while you stepped foot into the bar made you forget your name. The combination of the pounding and your hands shaking was enough for you to make a beeline for the bar.

“Two shots of the finest Tequila you have.” You told the bartender as you surprised yourself with how calm your voice was.

You didn’t even bother to look in any direction, not knowing if he was here or not.

“They’re so hot.. All of them.” She spoke in your ear while letting out a laugh.

You cackled out of nerves, forgetting the whole reason why you were there. It was to admire the pilots. Your nerves were in overdrive as you grabbed the shot, placed your card down for the bartender to take and took it without even toasting. The tequila went down your throat burning a path in its way, but it was enough to distract you from the mess you were in at the moment. “Yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. Your eyes stayed on the table, afraid he would be there, afraid he would have spotted you, afraid that you were in his safety zone.

“Everyone keeps looking at you.” She spoke again after she took her own shot.

“I’m sure they’re looking at you.” You nodded furiously, not wanting to go into that right now.

“He’s not here.” She whispered to you while giving you a sympathetic look.

You shouldn’t have been disappointed. You shouldn’t have had expectations of actually seeing him and his pretty eyes.

You just shouldn’t.

Before you could say anything, though, the piano keys rang through the bar, causing everyone in it to cheer and start singing along to the song that apparently one of the pilots had begun to sing and play. It was the last day of the year and everyone was in high spirits. Everyone was cheering around you, passing beers left and right.

“Another.” You told the barkeep as she strolled by to ask you what else you wanted.

You didn’t drink and this wasn’t helping, but it was a distraction to the internal turmoil that you were going through. What the fuck was your own problem? How could someone you hadn’t seen in years make you feel this way?

How?

As she placed the shot in your view, you grabbed it again and took it without a second thought. Your eyes stayed glued on the glass, noticing how your lipstick surrounded the rim with the color of your lips for this evening…

Your mood was sour. You were enraged with yourself and the fact that he wasn’t here. You were enraged that you had hoped for this, you were enraged that you would think that this would all be like a fairytale with a happy ending, you were enraged that you were in a state of dream rather than reality. You were enraged that you let him consume you in everything you did, every breath you took, and how he filled your senses every goddamn time.

The singing and playing continued as every aviator and their mother hollered at the top of their lungs. Talk about a magnified frat party. The friend that was supposedly with you got whisked away by one of them. “He asked me to dance. It’s just a dance.” She purred in your ear as you could see the excitement bursting through every word.

You silently nodded toward her. None of this was her fault, this was all your doing.

It sucked not being able to match the mood in the room when you sat there sulking in your mistakes and regrets.

You just wished you would have left him instead.

The instant buzz of the alcohol was now running through your system as it amplified every nervous symptom you were feeling. At least your hands stopped shaking, but now you were just sitting alone at the bar contemplating your move. Contemplating going back to the hotel and continuing being pathetic. Nobody would see you at least.

You didn’t know what to do… there was always the possibility… but possibilities didn’t exist in your book. Not when he was the only possibility that was unattainable.

Time was nonexistent right now. What was minutes felt like seconds and hours felt like a flash. Your brain was going hazy, you were never too good with alcohol. A soft smile appeared on your lips from your observation. Your hands smoothed down the front of your dress, a habit you tended to make when you felt self-conscious, as your senses were in overdrive and you could feel the eyes on you.

Nobody came up to you, though, so people were just staring… the music boomed through your ears as it almost made your body shake from how loud it was.

A sigh poured out of your lips as you had decided to call it. Your friend could stay, she was probably having a blast.

Signing the receipt and picking up your card from the counter, you placed it in your purse while beginning to get up to get out. The room was getting smaller by the minute, the sea of people confiding you in a miniscule space that was unwanted. The breathing from your nose had gotten heavy with the proximity of everyone around you singing at the top of their lungs.

You wanted to gasp out of desperation, but you couldn’t. You tried to make your way through the crowd, the dress you wore clinging tighter to you than ever before. Have you been sweating? Has it been that hot? A hand ran through your hair to let some loose waves cascade around you making a curtain of your face until you felt a warm sensation caused by some fingers wrapping around your wrist.

The ringing in your ears was so loud that you gasped and turned around to see who it was.

“¿Pequeñita?”

You swore your heart stopped in that split second from hearing him call you by the term he chose. Your words failed you as you could only look at him and how much he changed. A buzzcut had replaced his luscious curls making him look older than usual, though the glistening in his eye was still there. He was just as shocked toward you as you were toward him.

Had it been worth it? A thousand times yes. A thousand times to see his chestnut eyes staring back at you. You gulped, swallowing some saliva as you slowly nodded your head toward the man that had caused all your sorrows.

A deer caught in the headlights as he took a step toward you while sinking his head down to your level and resting his lips on your temple, “Lo siento.” His words are sincere, serene, and a broken promise that he had never made to you.

The simple action made you weak in the knees, but you stood a little straight with your head held as high as you could, taking a step back from him.

Six years poofed in a nanosecond.

Another hand ran through your hair as you gave a nod toward the door signaling that you wanted to go outside, away from all the noise, away from peering and curious eyes. It was now or never. It was now that you decided you were going to get your answers.

Your feet carried you to the outside as you took your shoes off to sink your feet into the sand. You could tell he followed. Turning around and facing him, you breathed him in, noticing that he was the same, yet different.

“What are you doing here?” He dared ask you.

“No. Oh no, no, no, no.” You stated in a whisper through your gritted teeth, “No you don’t.”

You swallowed the tequila in your breath once again, “Just. Why?” A silent plea was heard through the words you chose to speak to him. How quickly the thoughts had dismantled from your brain as you could only stare at him waiting for an answer.

“Peque–”

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His features hardened as he locked his jaw in place. How did he think that was okay? Had he not noticed the past six years without you?

“Soy un cobarde. (I’m a coward.)” He said, bowing his head in defeat and speaking again, “ I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I couldn’t be the man you wanted me to be. How could you not think about what I wanted?” The words weren’t accusatory, they were questions that he had never been able to answer himself either. They cut you like a knife trying to split your heart in half.. He had been just as lost as you were…

“How could you not think about what we wanted Garcia? Or did you miss the part where I was involved in the relationship too?” You spoke with heated words taking a step closer to him to read his expression. He hadn’t changed after all of these years, he was still the same Mickey that you knew in school, the same Mickey that dreamed of risking it all.

He looked away, maybe he felt ashamed, “I just. I just wanted… I just…”

“Just what?” Another plea, more like a cry. All you wanted was the answer.

“I loved you too much to put you through it all.. To put you through this.” He waved his arms around signaling his job, his profession, his duty to his country.

Loved. A past tense.

“So leaving was the answer? Leaving me there waiting for you like a fool? Who looked foolish there, tonto? It certainly wasn’t you. ” You said as tears began to sting your eyes.

“I couldn’t face you with the decision I made.” His words were soft as he finally looked in your direction and took another step to get closer. “If you’d only allowed me in…” You trailed off. He always kept the things he kept dear close to his heart and that meant shutting you out throughout the years you spent together. Mickey Garcia didn’t speak much on emotions and how he felt about things. You tried, but he kept distancing himself in other ways.

The pilot looked like a boy right now as he took another step tentatively toward you while you could only focus on his beautiful face… the years of remorse, the years of silence from both ends. You wanted to reach out and touch his olive skin, but refrained not knowing what he would do.

The pilot took another step toward you causing you to get a sniff of his scent, making you feel so dizzy that you had to take a deep breath or else you were sure you were going to pass out. “You left without saying a word.” Your words rang with the pain you had felt.

“I wanted to say something after it all happened… but it was too late, I know it was.” The next movement surprised you as his fingers traced the apple of your cheek, your breath caught in your throat not being able to look away from his pretty eyes.

Just as he looked down at your lips a countdown could be heard… 5, 4, 3, 2… “...It wasn’t.” You blurted out before you stopped yourself.

A soft caress of his fingers on your face and you were putty in his hands.

Nothing had changed.

The pilot glanced down at your lips …1…

You tilted your face for easier access to his lips as you felt his breath fanning yours for a split second before he crashed his lips onto yours. The state of shock that your body had melted away with his simple touch.

Oh what those lips could do and how you remembered in a flash.

He was sweet and honey combined in ways that you had forgotten, he was silk. He was euphoric and ecstasy.

He was Mickey goddamn Garcia.

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strangerthingssteddiebrainrot · 1 year

Text

This was written for the Steddie Valentine's exchange fic. Many thanks to @be-the-spark-flyboy for organizing the event, and to my Secret Valentine @it-gets-worse-at-night , I hope you enjoy the fic!

Note! It gets a little spicy near the end, so if you wanna skip that then look for the lemon line break!

5 Times Steve Left Eddie Speechless and the 1 Time Eddie Returned the Favour

The Punkification of Steve Harrington

5 - The Haircut

Monday morning were the worst Eddie thought to himself as he grabbed his books from his locker and slammed it shut. He was in a mood today, but it helped him as he could see the newly crowned Billy and his ilk being obnoxious a few lockers down from him, Billy bragging about how he kicked Steve's ass because he suspected the man to be targeting his little sister. Eddie snorted to himself, anyone with eyes could see how much Billy loathed his sister, constantly leaving her behind and correcting everyone who said sister to call her 'step-sister'. But god forbid anyone question the King and his law, so of course all the girls were fawning over his 'selfless nature'. The whole thing made Eddie want to puke, even if he was internally cheering over Steve Harrington getting his comeuppance twice in just as many years.

Just as he was about to take off to class, a sudden silence fell in the hall. Turning back to see what happened, his jaw, along with everyone else's, dropped. There was Steve Harrington, walking into school with a busted face, and all the hair shaved off the sides of his head leaving him with only his signature swoop going down to the nape of his neck. It was a drastic change for Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, and it almost overshadowed his busted face and the angry line of stitches running along his hairline.

He was gratified to see that he wasn't the only one struck speechless, even Harrington's old gang were looking at him in open mouth shock. The only one who didn't seem phased was Hawkins High newest top dog and asshole.

"What's the matter princess, I beat you so bad you had to go and change your whole identity?" Billy taunted.

Stopping, Steve just looked at him with utter disinterest. "No actually, I had to shave it because someone couldn't win a fair fight and had to smash a plate over my head and send me to the hospital to get stitches."

There was a heavy pause at that, and Billy went from looking smug to looking furious.

"What the fuck Billy? You didn't say anything about that!" Surprisingly it was Tommy that spoke, eyes fixed on the stitches that wove around Steve's forehead and temple.

"Oh what? Did King Billy not tell you about how he tried to beat up a 12 year old kid? How his sister was terrified to be near him? How he nearly beat me to death cause I wouldn't let him do it?" Steve challenged, head held high like this was all beneath him.

Shouting in rage, Billy grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pushed him into the lockers. Tommy started to shout something and moved forward, but Carol and another girl held him back.

But Steve didn't look bothered at all. He just leaned in and whispered something to Billy that caused him to jerk back. After a few tense moments and more whispering, Billy released him and stalked off down the hallway.

Pushing himself off the lockers, Steve straightened up his clothing and walked away. He passed by Eddie in the process and their eyes locked for a moment. Steve gave him a quick glance up and down, then he spoke to him.

"Nice vest Munson." And off he went as the bell rang overhead.

Eddie couldn't get a word out.

4 - The Vest

Next time he saw Steve was near graduation, when they were prepping for the celebration that he wasn't going to be a part of. A-fucking-gain! They were bringing out chairs from storage when Eddie almost collided with a chair carrying Steve, Steve's reflexes saving him a painful collision since Eddie was about as athletic as a rock.

"Whoa! Sorry about that. You okay Munson?" Steve asked, turning his body so the chairs were facing away from Eddie, his front on display.

And again, Eddie found himself speechless. Only absentmindedly giving a nod to answer Steve's question, his eyes fixed on the article of clothing Steve was sporting.

It was a jean vest, probably used to be a jacket if the exposed frayed edges from where the arms used to be was any indication. But what really got him was the stitching on one of the front pockets that proclaimed, in slightly sloppy lettering, 'The King is Dead', with a little crown sewn in. The sight of it sent something through Eddie. Sure, everyone noticed the change in Steve ever since he and Billy fought; Steve was much less concerned about his appearance, ditching his polos for plain tees and the occasional graphic, always paired with Levi's, and while he was still pretty charming the school had been all atwitter when one day Steve came in with orbital piercing on both ears. Simple silver hoops, but shocking all the same when they were attached to Steve fucking Harrington. No longer was he a asshole, but he actively ran interference between Billy and his merry band of fuckers and people like Eddie. And whatever Steve had whispered in Billy's ear that day, it seemed to keep him at bay, the rest of their time together passing in glares but no retaliation even when Steve really let his bitchiness out.

Noticing his gaze, Steve ducked his head slightly and gave him a bashful smile. "Yeah, hope you don't mind, I've seen your vest around so I took some inspiration from it. It's not done yet, but what do you think?"

Looking at him expectantly, Eddie couldn't think last the buzzing in his ears. Sure, Steve was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that and Eddie was not immune, but having that gaze focused on him was paralysing. Because in addition to the vest, Steve had kept his hair buzzed on the sides and it showed off the light scar on the side of his head from where the stitches had eventually come out. So seeing the vest paired with the buzzed sides and pierced ears, Eddie could only think of what he'd look like going full metal. Wiith tattoos and a leather jacket and black jeans, and the image was enough to fry his brain, leaving him just staring dumbly at Steve. Who was looking more concerned the longer the silence went on.

Just when Steve opened his mouth, however, they were interrupted by someone calling Steve's name.

"Stevie! Any reason you're taking so long? Where's my delivery?" Carol Perkins sing-songed at Steve.

Out of Steve's old group of friends, surprisingly it was Carol that actually bridged the gap between them and started up a tentative friendship with him again. Not that it keep her from dating Tommy, or bullying other kids, or keeping the Hawkins High elite from being the main group she ran with. But every now and then she'd be seen with Steve, gossiping to him, even tolerating being with Nancy and/or Johnathan who, despite the rumours of cheating on Steve, still kept close to him even when all three of them looked very uncomfortable.

"Sorry Carol, coming!" Hefting the chairs back into his arms, giving Eddie a lovely show of shifting muscle, Steve gave him an apologetic smile and took off.

All the best really, not like Eddie could've gotten a word out anyway.

3 - The Music Comment

Eddie hadn't seen, let alone thought of Steve Harrington ever since he graduated and Eddie didn't. Twice. But he had taken some new freshmen under his wing, good kids all of them, even if Lucas was a part time jock.

So imagine his surprise when a session ran late, the sun in the process of setting, and his offer to give them a drive home was declined. They said their babysitter was coming to get them which eased his concerns, and the others if they way their shoulders relaxed was any indication. Hawkins wasn't as safe as it used to be it seemed, the town having been rocked by the confirmed death of Barbara Holland and the shutdown of Hawkins lab. Good riddance in his opinion, the lab never sat well with him or Wayne, and while he wasn't friends with Barb she had been a nice enough girl, smiling at him when they passed each other in the hall and never joining in the jeering and laughing at his expense.

He was brought out his thoughts when the sound of a car pulling up distracted him, the sound of Wham! coming from its open windows. It was a very distinct BMW and Eddie could feel his eyes widen as none other than Steve Harrington parked and exited the car, Dustin and Lucas going to greet him while Mike hung back and scowled.

And oh dear god it seemed time had been good to him. Now with a helix piercing fitted with a thick hoop gracing one ear, and a nose and eyebrow piercing, Steve stood against the side of his car in a casual lean, his vest once again on his body. He looked good, his hair long on top with the sides still shaved, a dark green Henley underneath, and dark wash Levi's. God he looked good, and it got even better when he pulled out a cigarette and lit up, offering to Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Martin. Only Eddie accepted and Steve pulled out a lighter for him to use.

"Can I try Steve?" Lucas asked, gesturing to the cigarette.

"Hell no, none of you little shits should ever smoke. It's too late for me but if you haven't started, then don't. Especially you Lucas, you're an athlete now." Steve said sternly, pointing at each of them threatening.

"God Steve, how do you look like that but are still so lame?" Mike complained, battling Dustin in a game of rock paper scissors for the front seat.

"Hey, shithead, you wanna try explaining to Nancy why you're breath smells like smoke?" Steve shit back, smiling in victory when Mike grumbled but backed off.

"Speaking of which, why the hell are you listening to What! of all things when you've changed your look so dramatically?" Eddie asked, teasing grin on his face.

Steve just shot him an unimpressed look, breathing out smoke. "And white you to be judging someone for their looks? Think just because I look a certain way I should also listen to certain things? Sounds pretty conforming to me."

And Eddie's brain just broke at that, stuttering through different responses but unable to come up with a response that didn't make him sound like one of the elitist dicks that tried to gatekeep communities. After a solid minute of nothing, Eddie just brought his hands together in a prayer like gesture, and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips, still silent.

"….is he okay?" Steve asked, confusion and concern equal parts present on his face.

"Yeah, don't worry about him." Jeff said, amusement in his voice as he side eyed him. "He's just having a moment. That was a pretty good comeback."

Face lighting up with a smile, Steve stubbed out his cigarette as the kids settled into his car. "Thanks man, I try."

Waving goodbye to them, Steve turned to get into his car showing off the back of his vest. Stitched into the back was a flower like shape, but with what looked like teeth inside the petals. Nails were seen in all around it as well, 'Babysitter' written across the top, and at the bottom 'monster hunter' was written in black marker. To make things worse for Eddie's racing heart, there was a D20 die tattoo'd on the back of his right bicep.

Then the sight disappeared as Steve got into his car, closing the door and starting his car, taking off with the kids waving goodbye from the windows.

The others waved back, but Eddie was still struck dumb, and frozen in place.

"Was that a fucking D&D tattoo?" Gareth asked.

"Yeah I think so." Martin replied.

Eddie just thought to himself, well he didn't get the last word in. But at least this time he managed to speak at all.

2 - The Glasses and Aids

Eddie was ready to pull out his hair. He admired Max's spirit, he really did, but not when it prevented her from accepting help that she really needed. She kept refusing help from everyone, convinced it was some sort of pity which caused her already prickly nature to turn on them. He was pretty sure she would have turned down physiotherapy as well if it hadn't been mandated by doctor, considering she'd broken every fucking limb on her body.

And now she was denying the need for glasses as well! Her fucking eyes nearly exploded, she was lucky to have eyes at all, but god forbid she do anything to help herself because she prescribed it as a weakness!

All of them were trying to be patient with her, some succeeding more than others (Mike and Dustin really needed to learn the art of delicacy), but they were all wearing down and getting sick of having the help they offered thrown back in their faces. Now, for instance, Steve had taken Max to the den (because of course his fucking mansion of a house had a seperate living room and den) closer to the back of house when it seemed like she might used her newly healed arm to chuck a glass at Lucas's head when he suggested she use one of the guest rooms for a nap. Her energy levels weren't back to normal yet, and the physio sessions didn't help. As a result she would often nod off in the middle of hangout sessions, assuming she didn't just head back home to the modest bungalow she and her mother had been given after everything finally wrapped up. She was already in a bad mood because she needed her wheelchair after today's session, and Lucas sent her over the edge. No doubt she was fighting a migraine as well, her squinting and easy acceptance of Steve's offer to move to the back a dead giveaway. They'd all learned to read the signs by now, but the stubborn little shit refused to even look at the glasses that had been prescribed to her. They tried to avoid the TV when she had the energy to come to group hangouts, but she chafed against it, insisting they continue as normal regardless of whether she could see the screen or not. Another slight to her independence it seemed.

Once everyone had a moment to breathe though, Nancy suggested bringing her water and painkillers, an easy peace offering. Eddie volunteered to go, his hide thicker than most given his whole high school experience. So off he went, but as he got closer he could hear Steve and Max talking, and before he could think about Eddie slowed and quieted his steps, listening in.

"....eve! That's the end of it, I won't wear them! I'm not fragile and I won't let anyone treat me like I am!" Came Max's heated voice, thankfully not yelling this time but still higher than normal.

"Max," he heard Steve sigh. "Needing glasses is not a weakness. You have scars, because you helped save the fucking world. There is nothing weak about that. Your eyeballs almost burst in your skull and there is nothing more badass than that. But now those scars are causing you issues that you need help for, and there is nothing weak about that. If anything, it's badass, it's metal, it's bitchin, cause those scars are proof that you lived, you won and Vecna is dead and in the dirt because of it. So please, please, just be open about the glasses. There's no shame in that."

Eddie waited for Max's response, but it seemed the conversation was over as Steve just let out another big sigh.

Backing up a bit, Eddie made sure his footsteps were loud as he pretended to just be coming down the hallway, presenting the water and pills with a flourish, not phased when neither of them smiled. Mostly he was just grateful Max took the pills.

—-------------------

It wasn't two days later that they all gathered together at Steve's house again. Eddie had a small one shot planned for the kids, it would be Jane's first time playing and everyone wanted to come to support her. While Eddie and everyone set up, Steve had gone to get Max. She didn't have any physio today thankfully, but she still had regular doctor's appointments to make sure everything was healing properly.

The front door opened and Max walked in with her cane, and they stared as they realized that, miracle of miracles, she was wearing her glasses! The square lenses suited her face and the fiery red frame added to their personality, and complemented her face, making her look just a little softer around the edges, more the young girl she should be and less the harrowed shell of herself.

She did however look a bit dazed, and as she settle into a chair, she looked around and asked. "Did anyone know about this?"

A quick glance around showed everyone looking just as confused as Eddie felt.

Dustin was opening his mouth, presumably to ask her to clarify, but just then Steve made his way inside with his arms full of bags from his trip to the grocery store. And perched on his face was the cutest pair of oval lenses perched on his nose, a pair of wire rimmed glasses that even with his punk look, made him look so fucking cute!

There was silence for a moment, then the table exposed as all the younger kids crowded Steve throwing questions at him. Rolling his eyes at them, Steve turned to head into the kitchen, the motion showing off the hearing aid attached to him. That of course prompted another barrage of questions, nevermind the fact that Steve hadn't even addressed the first wave. Thankfully the noise followed Steve as he took the groceries to unpack them, Steve promising to answer the questions if everyone chipped in and out the food away, Johnathan and Nancy following, no doubt curious as well.

"It started with Johnathan we think, it wasn't his first concussion but it did kind of set the tone." Eddie jumped when Robin's voice came from beside him. She smiled sadly at him before continuing. "He had gotten a concussion from basketball a few years before, in middle school, but Johnathan really beat his ass in '83. Then, well, you saw what Billy did to him." Eddie nodded. "Then, the evil Russians. We told you about that, right?" Eddie nodded again.

When he was recovering in the hospital, they filled him and Wayne in on everything, including what really happened at Starcourt. How they were tortured and injected with unknown drugs in a secret underground Russian lab. It was horrifying, but he felt worse for Steve who had taken the brunt of the physical torture.

"He started getting headaches after that, bad ones. Migraines really. The doctors said it was all the damage from the concussions. They recommend the glasses, and then the hearing aids when the ringing in his ears never went away. It got worse again after…everything. He should be wearing them all the time, but you know Steve." Smiling sadly, tears in her eyes, Robin finished.

Eddie pulled her into a hug, both of feeling for the man who put himself through so much harm for the safety of others.

—--------------------

Steve started wearing his glasses and aids more often after that. Not every day, but whenever he didn't Max would refuse to wear hers as well. So they both started getting better about it, bullying each other by refusing to wear their glasses if the other wasn't. Everyone could see the change in their health after that, less headaches and less irritation. Everyone was especially guilty that they hadn't noticed how much pain Steve had been in this whole time. But he brushed them off, saying it was his job to worry about them, bit the other way around.

Bad days still happened, days where Max took off the head of whoever tried to offer her help, days where Steve had a furrow between his brows and couldn't stand bright lights. But slowly and surely, they were getting better.

Regardless of how much time passed though, Eddie was always left momentarily speechless whenever he saw Steve in his fucking glasses.

1 - Saying it First

All things considered they really hadn't been together that long, but when you had to fight for life back to back with someone, it tended to speed things along. So really, six months, six years, it didn't really matter.

It wasn't even hard to get to this point. After they'd pulled their heads out of their asses, ie, some meddling from Robin and the kids, they fell into a loving relationship fairly easily. It turns out Steve had a crush on him ever since he struck Eddie dumb with his music comment while picking up the kids from that fateful D&D session. He didn't have the words for he felt back then, not until Robin introduced him to the world of queers when they took a trip to Indianapolis for her to find the local scene.

So he'd already gone through a sexuality crisis by the time spring break rolled around and had come out of it a proud little bisexual. So they'd been crushing on each other the whole time, just too shy and afraid to ask for fear of ruining their newfound friendship (and rejection, of course).

Steve had warned him of course, that he was intense, that he didn't do things half assed when to came.to the people he cared about. But for Eddie, who's closest brush with 'a relationship', was handys in a back alley with the same guy three weeks in a row in a bar in Indianapolis, the outpouring of affection was like a balm on his soul that he didn't know he needed. Steve wasn't afraid to use pet names, to place an arm around him and cuddle close, to kiss him as soon as they were in a place they could do so, even if the kids gave them heck for being disgusting.

So I really shouldn't have been a surprise when one night at Steve's house, during a heated make out session, movie forgotten in the background, Steve pulled back and stared into his eyes.

"I love you." He whispered, like he was hoping the words would get lost in the darkness.

Eddie couldn't speak, again! The words just got lodged in his throat, and he could feel himself start to tear up. So he just, nodded instead. Hiding his face in Steve's neck and curling around him, arms coming up to hold him close and he cried and nodded, trying to return the words but making noise instead.

"I know babe, I know, I hear you. Hold on Eddie, Eds, that can't be comfortable." Pulling back from Eddie just enough, Steve pulled off his vest and Eddie could bury his face into the soft shirt underneath.

Eddie hadn't even realised he'd been pressing his face into the Wizard of Oz patch he'd recently sewn onto one of the lapels. Steve reached up and gently caressed the indented skin, kissing the area before pulling back in to cuddle close, tipping them into their sides so they were laying on the couch. They spent the rest of the night like that, wrapped around each other with Steve whispering how much he loved him in between sweet kisses.

Eddie was once again left speechless, but this time for the best of reasons.

+1 - In Bed

Falling into bed together after enjoying a nice homemade dinner, they were eagerly stripping each other's clothes off. It was their first Valentine's day together since they became a couple, and they spent it doing some corny things together in the new Munson trailer. Wayne had taken an overtime shift that day with a very pointed comment about being safe that Eddie did not appreciate and caused Steve to turn red as a tomato. But at the same time Eddie couldn't not appreciate it. After all, it was Valentine's Day, and while they couldn't spend it out and about like other couples, he still planned to leave Steve speechless with some good sex.

Fully naked now, Eddie laid Steve out in bed, pressing him into his new, clean, mattress, telling him without words that he was in charge tonight. Which seemed just fine to Steve, he laid back and raised his arms above his head, displaying himself for his lover.

Groaning at the visual, Eddie made his way down Steve's body, licking and nibbling his way down, paying special attention to his nipples as it turned out they were quite sensitive. He stopped every now and then, sucking hickeys into the skin, prolonging the journey to build the tension up, even as Steve squirmed and tried to push Eddie down with hands in his hair. But Eddie was not to be rushed. You see, while they'd gotten to know each other's bodies very well the past few weeks, knew exactly how to make the other cum screaming, a bit of careful probing (heh), revealed that for all of Steve's extensive knowledge and experience with women, there was a certain act that Steve had never even heard of before.

So of course Valentine's Day, lovers day, was the perfect time to introduce Steve to a favourite activity of his.

Close now to his destination, Steve spread his legs, no doubt anticipating a mouth around him, but Eddie's goal was just a little lower.

"Eddie?" Steve asked, confused when Eddie bypassed his usual stop and went for his thighs instead.

Eddie had a plan though, so he ignored Steve for now. For once, he was going to leave Steve speechless!

With determination in his veins, Eddie hitched up Steve's thighs to rest on his shoulders and got to work.

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Later on, cleaned up and in bed, Steve already asleep and Eddie on his way there, Eddie reflected on his work.

He didn't quite get Steve speechless, but he decided that incoherent was just as good.

+Extra - Chocolate

Waking up alone had Steve shooting up in panic as he thought Eddie had left him, that he was too much and Eddie finally had enough of him. But as he forced himself to calm down, he realised that he could hear banging around in the trailer which could only be Eddie, and that's what had woken him up. He heard Eddie's muffled voice as he spoke with Wayne, no doubt getting some breakfast since a quick glance at the clock showed that it was early morning when he would be coming home from work. Relaxing, Steve sunk back into the bed, rolling onto his front and gathering the pillow into his arms so he could bury his nose into the softness, inhaling Eddie's scent of weed, spice and the faintest hint of tobacco from the rare cigarette he still indulged in, even despite Robin's glares and lectures.

The only question was where had he gone. Steve had been looking forward to waking up slowly, savouring the feeling of being held warm and safe in Eddie's arms.

Soon enough Eddie was stomping his way back to him (the man could not move quietly), but Steve appreciated the attempt Eddie made to open the door quietly and sneak back inside. Only to immediately jump and yelp when he met Steve's eyes from where Steve lay on his front in bed, blearily looking at him from the pillow.

"Hey princess, was hoping you'd still be asleep before I got back." Eddie said, dropping a bag onto his nightstand and removing all his clothes besides his boxers, climbing into bed and gathering Steve close.

"Mmm, I was, but it's kinda hard to miss you stomping around like an elephant." Steve teased, pushing Eddie back so they could lay chest to chest, propping his head up with a hand so he could look at Eddie.

"Fuck off Stevie." Eddie said with no heat, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

Humming in pleasure, Steve asked. "Where'd you go anyway? It's early."

"Welllll, the best part about the capitalistic hell that is the hallmarks way of extorting the people of their money by manipulating them with 'love' and shaming people not in relationships," Eddie went off, making air quotes with his fingers when he said love, smiling at Steve's blank, unamused face. "Is the day after when they have to clear out their stock of cards and chocolate by putting it all at half price." Eddie finished, grabbing the bag he set down earlier and emptying it at their sides, Valentine's Day cards and a wide variety of chocolate spilling out.

"I was thinking of saving the cards for next year, never to early to get a head start after all, and I don't know what kind of chocolate you like so I got a fewwwww, why are you crying!?!!" Eddie nearly shouted, his eyes widening and panicking as he struggled to sit up with Steve still pressed against him and refusing to let go.

Laughing through the tears making their way down his face, Steve pressed his weight down, keeping them laying on the bed.

"I'm alright Eddie, really." Steve said, ignoring Eddie's skeptical look since his tears wouldn't stop. "I'm just happy. No one has ever gotten me chocolates before. Or at least, not since elementary school."

"What? No one?" Eddie looked shocked at this, squeezing Steve to himself and placing kisses in his hair.

"Yeah… I mean, I'm the guy right? Usually I was the one buying chocolate, or flowers and cards. Assuming I was even in a relationship at this time of year."

"That's bullshit. It takes two to make a couple doesn't it? They're weren't treating you right Stevie"

Huffing out a wet laugh, Steve rested his chin on Eddie's chest and looked up at him adoringly. "How about this then? From now on we both get each other chocolate or flowers or cards for Valentine's Day."

Struck dumb that Steve assumed a future where they'd be together, for a while it seemed like, Eddie couldn't even be annoyed that Steve Harrington had, once again, left him speechless.

But even as he thought it, he watched as Steve opened his mouth only for nothing to come out. Instead he giggled, settling down against him and cuddling in close.

So it seemed they both left each without words this time.

Eddie could live with that.

Based off of my favorite punk!Steve artwork!

https://at.tumblr.com/fairysteve/703217386757734400/3e0hndymns4p

This will also be posted to my ao3, link will be in the comments!

#steddievalentinesficexchange #@it-gets-worse-at-night #@be-the-spark-flyboy #steddie valentines fic exchange

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jessicas-pi · 9 months

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makes me giggle when someone says that i must have put a lot of thought into the plot of time heals. like on the one hand yes i do spend at least 1 hour per day thinking about it. on the other hand. babygirl you have no idea how many of the plotlines have shown up out of absolutely nowhere.

#and i mean like. Quinlan Vos wasn't even IN the original idea I had for the AU #the whole Moxie-n-Flyboy chaos friendship was totally unexpected #chapter 11 didnt exist till i was halfway through writing the fic and started thinking about angsty obitine-sabezra parallels #and then Aaray didn't exist until i was PARTWAY THROUGH WRITING *CHAPTER 11*#Eris was 100% unplanned until LITERALLY the SCENE SHE SHOWED UP IN #Zhaya wasn't supposed to become Sabine's Protector and she DEFINITELY wasn't supposed to recruit Beru #all these things keep happening and it's making the story so complex that it's nuts to keep track of all of it #but so far i have not forgotten any significant plotlines. yet.#the time heals 'verse

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tngrace · 2 years

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Baby Goose is an Aviator

Read on A03; Tumblr TG Masterlist.

So I tried my best with Chipper’s helmet. Thanks to a nice anon on here I was pointed to the 1st locker room scene which then led me to notice two helmets on the counter in the background. They were both a pain to see & since we have no idea which one is Chipper’s - or if it’s even his to begin with- I just went with what I could see/what would work. I hope you enjoy this. It was supposed to be all fluff, but there’s some angsty/tug on your heart moments in this. And there’s one spot where Bradley goes on a ramble to Slider and it’s one long run-on sentence because the kid doesn’t take a breath during it. Honestly it drives me crazy being a run-on sentence but I got tired of looking at it, so it is what it is. Anyways overlook that and enjoy the story & Happy Halloween!

Also thanks to my bestie for reading over this for me! Love you Em! @toews-a-peek

The first Halloween after Goose, all the flyboys were still stuck on deployment. Bradley was still too little to understand why mama wasn't feeling up to going all out like normal, but he was happy he still got to go trick or treating even if he didn't get to dress up like Dad and Uncle Mav.

The next year Uncle Mav was the only one in town, but Carole had been sick and stuck in the hospital. The nurses and doctors gave Bradley all the candy he could want, and they even had Mav take him around the different floors, but it just wasn't the same. Uncle Mav and Uncle Ice moved back home permanently, which Bradley loved, even if he missed his mama and daddy. Uncle Ice came over a lot, and Bradley loved when that happened. Uncle Mav was the best but Uncle Ice made everything better. The holidays snuck up on them faster than expected and by some miracle all the flyboys were home to celebrate Halloween.

The weather had been nice for the middle of October when everyone got home on shore leave so they'd taken Bradley to the beach. Ice and Mav were currently sitting under a canopy because Mav still refused to go into the water two and half years later. All the flyboys understood even if Bradley didn't. Slider and Merlin were grilling while Sunny and Chip were arguing over something. Bradley was in the water with Wolfe and Wood having a blast. He was currently perched on Wood's shoulders catching his breath from all the wave jumping they'd been doing.

"Uncle Wood?"

"Yea Baby Goose?" Bradley still giggled a little when any of them called him that, but he was more than used to it after two and half years.

"Why won't Uncle Mav come swim with us?" Mav and Ice neither one were able to explain it to the kid well enough for him to understand, and luckily Bradley missed the look passed between the pilot and RIO since he was perched on said pilot's shoulders.

"Well kiddo sometimes things happen that make things scary to one person that aren't scary to another."

"Yea so it's like how monsters might be scary to you but not to us," Wolfe smiled, but Bradley just gave him a puzzled look.

"Monsters aren't real Uncle Wolfe. Besides, it's just water," he sighs.

Hollywood snorts before sharing another meaningful look with Wolfe. He pulls Bradley off his shoulders and puts him on his hip. He knows the kid is starting to think he's too big to be carried around since he's six now, but they also promised Mav to keep him close in the water. "Kiddo, sometimes things that seem ok to us are scary to someone else. So with Uncle Mav it's water and while we could tell you why, you wouldn't understand right now, and it's something Mav needs to tell you when he's ready."

Bradley sighs but nods. "Ok. Just wish he could have fun like us," he pouts, tugging at Wolfe and Wood's heartstrings. They turn to look at Mav and Ice lounging on towels watching everybody else. They know Ice is the only reason Mav's not panicking about Bradley in the water, but he also looks relaxed for a change.

"I think he is having fun," Wolfe promises, ruffling Bradley's hair. "Now let's talk Halloween costumes," he grins, getting Bradley's mind off Mav for the moment. They all already know that Bradley wants to be an aviator and they're all wearing their flight suits to take him trick-or-treating but they want to hear what all Bradley has to say about it.

Bradley gives them the biggest grin. "I wanna be a-a-aviators like all of you. Uncle Ice already got me a flight suit and helmet. Mav says we can decorate it however I want. But I don't know who's the best at art."

"Slider," Wolfe and Wood say at the same time, making Bradley giggle.

"What have you decided on putting on your helmet?"

Bradley screws his face up like he's thinking extra hard. "I dunno. I wanna be like all of you. Not just one."

"Well let's go see what Uncle Slider thinks. Maybe between the eight of us we can come up with something." Bradley giggles and nods before they toss him back and forth between them as they head up the beach. He wiggles down when they're close to Mav and Ice and he takes off running, collapsing on top of Mav who pretends to be offended that Bradley's getting him all wet. Ice wraps him up in a towel as Bradley talks a mile a minute making sure they saw everything he did.

Slider calls out that the burgers are ready so they all scramble to fix their plates at once. Ice makes Bradley’s for him as Bradley gets chips out for everybody, dropping bags on their towels. “Thanks,” Bradley grins at Ice as he takes his plate. His towel is between Ice and Mav and once everyone is settled Wood brings up the helmet dilemma.

“Baby Goose needs help decorating his helmet for Halloween, Sli.”

“Yea Ice mentioned something about that. Whatcha thinking of putting on it kiddo?”

Bradley swallows his bite before looking between all of them and shrugging. “I dunno. Ice and Mav says we can get patches from Top Gun to put on my suit. But I can’t pick between all of you.” He’s pouting a little because he’s thought about this so much, and he still doesn't know who’s helmet he wants to replicate. He’d do all of them if he could. It tugs on all their hearts because they hate seeing him sad or upset.

Ice ruffles Bradley's hair to get the sad look off his face. "We've told him no one would be mad if he picked just one," Mav says with a shrug since it was obvious Bradley didn't believe them. The flyboys all reaffirm that, but Bradley still doesn't like the idea.

"Alright I'll come over tomorrow and take a look at the helmet, and we'll figure this out. Ok Baby Goose?"

Bradley gives Slider a nod and they finish eating before packing up to head home. Hollywood gives Ice a heads up about their conversation with Bradley in the ocean, and then they all head home for the night.

As promised Slider is at the house at lunch the next day with Ice in tow since it was a night Ice didn't stay over. While none of the flyboys cared what the two got up to, they still played it safe with work rules. Bradley was sitting on the couch waiting on them, helmet and flight suit on the coffee table.

"You took forever," he groaned, throwing himself at Ice first for a hug and then Slider, cracking them both up as Mav came out of the kitchen. He'd made sandwiches for lunch and passed them out while Bradley passed Slider his helmet.

"First things first," Slider grins, holding the helmet up. "What base color are we doing?"

Bradley looked between them looking stressed, which Ice just hates. He pulls Bradley into his lap which seems to help him relax some. "I think we decided red like Goose's," Ice finally says when Mav and Bradley neither speak up. He feels Mav push his shoulder into his own and knows that Slider won't say anything, so he throws his arm around Mav's shoulder to help ground him as well.

"Good choice," Slider grins, around his sandwich. Bradley seems to relax even more at that.

"D'ya think you can make it like everybody's Uncle Sli?"

Slider spins the helmet around in thought. "I think it'll be possible Baby Goose. I think we paint it red and then pick one thing from everybody's helmet and paint it on here. Was thinking about it on the way over and I think I got it."

"Really?" Bradley grins, lighting up and scrambling off Ice's lap to Slider’s. They love seeing Bradley’s enthusiasm now that Slider has told him he won’t have to pick just one helmet to replicate.

"Yea. So I think we take and paint stripes just like your dad and Mav's have right through here," he says, showing Bradley where he'll put them on the front of the helmet. He points to the left side of the helmet next; "We put Sunny's sun back here.” He spins it pointing to the back next; “Then we'll take the lightning bolt from mine and Ice's and put it here coming off the stripes from the front. We can put Chip's blue circle and red lines here with it making it look like the lighting strike is hitting it. Then on this side," he points to the right side now, "we put Wood and Wolf's stars with Merlin's moon. This way the sun and night sky are on opposite sides."

Bradley was staring at him in wonder, making Slider grin and ruffle his hair. "What d'ya think kiddo?" Mav asks from his place on the couch beside Ice. Honestly he’s just as astonished as Bradley after listening to Slider’s ideas.

"I think it'll be cool!" All three chuckle quietly at Bradley's enthusiasm. "Go get Sli the paint and brushes we bought then," Ice tells him. Bradley shoots off like a rocket to get the supplies they'd bought last week.

"Thank god you picked the stars from Wood and Wolf. I was gonna kill you otherwise," Ice deadpans.

Mav and Slider crack up knowing the options on those two helmets were slim. "Such little faith in me," Slider says mock-offended.

"I just know you dickhead," Ice deadpans, drawing laughs from his wingman & RIO. They settle back down before Mav softly thanks Slider.

"You know we all love the kid too. Besides ain't much."

"Still. Appreciate it," Mav says, squeezing Slider’s shoulder as he cleans up their lunch.

"He good?" Slider mouths to Ice once Mav's in the kitchen.

Ice gives him a nod as Bradley runs back in. "Here ya go Uncle Sli," Bradley grins, flopping back in his lap after handing him the bag. "Am I gonna be in the way?"

"Not at all Baby Goose. You can help me paint it red." Ice gets some old newspapers to throw down so they don't get paint everywhere and then he and Mav relax on the couch watching Slider teach Bradley how to paint.

Bradley chatters all about school and his friends while he and Slider paint the helmet red. Mav ends up wandering off to the garage once most of the red is done and when Ice inclines his head that way Slider gives him a nod. Once Ice and Mav are gone, Bradley seems to get really quiet while they let the red paint dry.

"What's wrong, Gosling?" Slider asks as Bradley curls up in his lap.

Bradley bites his lip as he shakes his head reminding Slider so much of Mav in that moment. "Come on kiddo you know you can tell me anything."

Bradley sighs softly but gives a nod. He turns so his face is buried in Slider's chest before mumbling out "I think I'm making Uncle Mav sad."

Slider feels his heart clench tight as he rubs Bradley's back to comfort him. "Oh Baby Goose," he sighs. Ice had already given him a heads up about what Wood said yesterday as they were leaving the beach and this just added to it. Their Baby Goose was growing up and they were going to have to tell him some truths before too much longer.

"Mav might be a little sad, yea. But that is in no way your fault." He gently pulled Bradley's face up to loom at him. "It's not your fault Bradley. He just misses your dad and mom, just like all of us. And he's always going to be a little sad, but he loves you kiddo and you make him happy. That I can promise you."

Bradley sniffles a little but gives Slider a nod. "I miss mommy and daddy too. But I love all of you."

Slider smiles as he ruffles his hair. "We know Gosling. We love you too. Very much."

Bradley hugs Slider tight. "Uncle Sli?"

"Yea buddy?"

"Can I ask you somethin' before I ask Ice and Mav?"

"Always." Slider had no clue what he was fixing to be asked, but he would always be honest with the kid and Bradley knew it.

Bradley was biting his lip again and fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he thought about what he wanted to ask. "Last week at school we were working on family projects and I made this drawing - it's really cool!" His face broke into a grin at that making Slider smile too before the kid broke into the longest ramble Slider had ever heard from him.

"And I wanna give it to Uncle Mav and Ice but I don't wanna make Uncle Mav any sadder. Because… 'Cause…. When I drawed my family, I drawed him and Ice and me and it says my dad and my pops and me on it. And then I drawed all my uncles off to the side 'cause I didn't know where else to put everybody and Mav and Ice are like my dad and pops 'cause they're always here and do everything mommy and daddy used to do for me even though Ice can't stay every night which is dumb 'cause everything is better when Ice is here and Uncle Mav sleeps better and doesn't wake up screaming. And I didn't know how else to s'plain it to everybody so i just did it but I don't want Uncle Mav to be sad or upset and…"

"Bradley…. Buddy breathe," Slider said softly, pulling the kid into his chest. Bradley took a deep shuddering breath as Slider rubbed his back holding him tight to him. He let Bradley take a few deep breaths as he just held him before he pulled him back and cradled his cheeks. "Uncle Mav and Uncle Ice are going to be so honored you think of them like that buddy. And I know things have been hard since losing your dad and mom, and things are confusing to explain at your age. And I know it's not fair that Uncle Ice can't stay here every night and that it's hard to understand right now, but we're all so proud of you kiddo and how you've handled it."

"Are they gonna cry?" Bradley asks, biting his lip.

Slider chuckles softly before hugging Bradley tight. "Yea probably Gosling. But it'll be happy tears. I know that doesn't make sense right now but one day you'll understand. Would you feel better giving it to them while I'm still here?"

Bradley nods against Slider's chest.

"Alright why don't you go get it, and I'll go get Ice and Mav. Once we're done it should be time to finish your helmet."

Bradley nods again before wrapping his arms around Slider’s neck and hugging tight. "Thanks Uncle Sli," he whispers.

"Anytime Baby Goose. It's what I'm here for." Bradley gives him a grin before he scampers off to his room.

"Well fuck," Slider sighs, running a hand down his face. He pushes up off the floor and wanders off to the garage. Ice is sitting on the hood of his jeep while Mav tinkers on the bike. They both look up when they hear the door open.

"Alright listen and listen close," Slider starts grabbing both of their full attention. "Bradley has something he wants to give you both, and he's afraid it's going to make you even sadder - yes he's picked up on it," he says, answering the question on the tips of their tongues as if he's a mind reader. "But I did my best to explain that there's always going to be a hint of sadness because we all miss Goose and Carole. And because I'm the best friend either of you dumbasses are ever going to have, I'm going to go ahead and tell you what he's giving you so you're not blindsided. They did a family project thing at school last week and the kid drew a picture of his family labeling it uncles, dad, pops, and Bradley. He didn't know how else to explain it, and he thinks of you both that way. Now you're going to act surprised and when you both cry, yes you'll cry too Iceman, he'll understand it's happy tears because again I'm the best."

Mav and Ice are both like statues just staring at Slider. "Hell no wonder the kid was scared," he mutters under his breath. "Would you two pull it together," Slider groans.

Ice is the first to snap out of it, his eyes meeting Mav's. He's not the least bit surprised that Bradley thinks of Mav as dad, but to know the kid thinks of him the same way is flooring. "Mav?" He whispers, pulling his wingman into his arms and holding him tight.

Mav barely chokes back a sob as Ice holds him. Slider gives them a moment before trying to break the mood. "He also thinks it's dumb that Ice can't stay here every night, and quite frankly I'm starting to agree with the kid." He gives them the biggest grin and a shrug when Ice turns his icy glare on him. "No reason two young officers can't share a three bedroom house to save on rent. Happens all the time," he smirks before he turns and heads back into the house leaving the door open for them to follow.

Ice holds Mav a moment longer before he softly cradles his face. "You ok?" He whispers.

Mav gives him a shaky nod before burying his face back in Ice's neck. He breathes for another minute before he pulls back. "Yea…. Yea I'm ok. Just not sure how I got so lucky with you or Bradley. I miss them…. God do I miss them," he whispers. "But I feel so lucky to have the family I never thought I'd get."

Ice rubs under his eyes wiping the tears. "I know the feeling," he whispers. He gives Mav a quick peck on the lips; "Come on. Let's not keep our kid waiting," he grins. He laces fingers with Mav as they head into the house.

Bradley is curled up in Slider's lap clutching a piece of paper to his chest. "Hey Baby Goose. Sli says you have something for us," Mav smiles.

Bradley gives him a nod before looking up at Slider. Slider too gives him a nod and then Bradley is scrambling onto the couch between Ice and Mav. He's biting his lip and clutching the paper against his chest where they can't see it.

"Whatcha got there B?" Ice asks, gently pulling Bradley's lip from his teeth. He knows it's a habit the kid's picked up from Mav, and he's determined to break it in them both one way or another.

"A picture." Bradley is quiet for another minute before he meets both their eyes. "Last week at school we were working on family projects and I made this picture. I…. I didn't know how else to s'plain it to everybody that… that my family isn't like there's 'cause mommy and daddy are gone. But I tried…. And I…. I wanted to give this to you." He quickly shoves the picture between them and his lip goes back between his teeth.

Ice gently takes it as Mav settles Bradley in his lap. He wraps his arms around the little boy and he feels Bradley relax against his chest. Mav squeezes him tight as Ice turns the paper so Mav can see it too. Bradley feels Mav's sharp inhale, and he bites his lip harder until Uncle Mav buries his head in Bradley's hair and just breathes.

Uncle Ice has tears in his eyes and Bradley feels tears well up in his too. "I don't like making either of you sad," he starts before Mav hugs him tighter.

"We're not sad B," Ice murmurs, leaning over to wrap his arms around Bradley with Mav. "We're not sad at all."

"But you're crying," he whispers. Ice pulls back when he feels Mav trying to move and then Mav spins Bradley to face him. Mav softly brushes Bradley's bangs back before kissing his forehead.

"We're not sad Baby Goose. Knowing you think of us as dad and pops is an honor." He pulls Bradley in and hugs him close. "I know things are confusing and hard to explain, but we love you and you love us and we're a family. That's all that matters. No matter what you want to call us."

Bradley clings to Mav as he feels Ice rub his back. Bradley shudders some breaths into Mav's chest before he sits back up. "I know…." He bites his lip until both his uncles give him reassuring nods. "I know you're not my dad, but you both are always here and you do stuff mommy and daddy always did and…"

Ice leans over and ruffles Bradley's hair when he seems unable to finish voicing his thoughts. "We know B." He shares a look with Mav and when he gets a subtle nod he continues. "We would be honored to be your dad and pops."

Bradley gives them the biggest smile before trying to hug them both. Ice gives a soft chuckle before spinning and squishing Bradley between them in a hug. Bradley giggles into Mav's chest as he's squished between his two favorite people. "I love you both," he giggles, making all three men melt.

"We love you too Bradley," Mav murmurs, kissing his head.

"Alright Gosling ready for me to finish this helmet?"

Bradley turns in Mav's arms and gives Slider a grin. "Yea. I'll let you do it 'cause it'll be too hard for me." He turns to Ice next. "Can we put my patches on now?"

"Go get them Baby Goose."

Bradley squeals and launches off the couch to go get the patches and velcro they'd bought to put on the flight suit so they can reuse the patches if Bradley wants them on something else. Slider's sketching away on the helmet not paying Ice or Mav any attention as Mav buries his face in Ice's neck just breathing.

"You ok?" Ice murmurs, and Mav just nods. Ice gently rubs his back before kissing the top of his head. "We'll talk more later tonight," he promises, as they hear Bradley running back into the living room.

Bradley stops and peers over Slider's shoulder before climbing back on the couch with his flight suit and patches. Mav curls into the corner and watches Ice patiently help Bradley arrange patches all over his flight suit while Slider starts painting his designs on the helmet. He quietly gets up and grabs his Polaroid camera and snaps a picture of B and Ice with their heads bent together in concentration. He gives them a smirk when they both look up at him before he goes to put the picture on the fridge.

It's a productive afternoon and Slider gets the helmet done. Bradley is extremely ecstatic with how it turned out. He begs them to call the other flyboys to come over and see it, so Mav relents, unable to tell Bradley no. He orders pizza and they take Bradley out to throw baseball in the yard while they wait on the food, flyboys and helmet to dry.

The flyboys arrive at the same time as the pizza, and Bradley is so excited throwing himself at each of them for hugs even though he'd just seen them all at the beach yesterday. "Food first," Ice declares when Bradley tries to go for his costume.

He's slightly dejected but the idea of his favorite pizza is appealing, so he doesn't protest too much. They eat and talk about anything and everything, Bradley showing off his drawing now that he'd shown Ice and Mav. All the flyboys are honored and speechless and Bradley gets several tight hugs which make him giggle.

Once everyone is done and everything is cleaned up, Slider goes to help Bradley into his costume. Bradley wants it to be a surprise for Mav and Ice too, so he picks Slider to help him. They get him zipped into his flight suit and Sli double checks that the helmet is dry before settling it on Bradley's head.

"You're a mini aviator Baby Goose," Slider grins as he tries to hold back his tears. The kid looks so grown up.

"I need dog tags Uncle Sli. Mav's 'posed to be getting me some made but they're not here yet."

Slider chuckles as he slips his tags off and over Bradley's head. "There ya go. I'll get them back later."

"Thanks," Bradley grins. He holds his arms up for a hug and Slider picks him up hugging him tight. "Alright Gosling let's go show you off," he smiles. He sets Bradley down, and Bradley takes off into the living room.

"Surprise!" He yells, causing Slider to chuckle behind him. The living room goes quiet as the flyboys take it all in. "Uncle Sli gave me his tags til mine come in Mav," he grins. He slowly spins so they can see how Slider did his helmet before he jumps into Mav's lap.

He turns his eyes to Slider when no one has said anything yet. "Uncle Sli," he says, his little lip trembling.

"It's alright Bradley. Just a lot for them to take in," Slider reassures as he shoots them all looks.

Ice is the first to recover of course. "Slider’s right baby." He pulls Bradley into his lap giving him a hug as Mav tries to hide his tears from the kid. "You look like a true aviator, and so grown up. You're not going to be our Baby Goose much longer."

"I'll always be your baby goose," he declares which seems to break the rest of them out of their shock. They pass him around, each one of them taking time to inspect the helmet and his patches. Bradley is so proud of it, and they all love how wonderful it turned out. By eight that night Bradley is fading quick, so the flyboys all head out after goodbye hugs. Slider leaves with them, giving Ice and Mav reassuring hugs, knowing they have a lot to talk about after this weekend. "If you need me to get him from school tomorrow just say the word," he tells them and then he's gone.

Ice creeps down the hall to Bradley's room where Mav is helping him store his costume and get ready for bed. "You're not still sad are you Uncle Mav."

"Not in the least buddy." He tucks Bradley in and kisses his forehead. "I'm really proud of you kiddo. You're growing up too fast on me."

Bradley untucks and crawls into Mav's lap as Ice props up in the doorway to watch. "I'm really glad I can be an a-a-aviator this year," he says around a yawn.

"I know you are B. Your daddy would've loved to seen you as one too."

"I know. I know you miss him and mommy… I do too." He snuggles against Mav's chest. "But I love you and pops and the flyboys and our family."

"Oh kiddo… we love you too, so much." Mav softly kisses Bradley's head as he rocks him side to side. "Sweet dreams baby goose," he whispers, tucking Bradley back in. Ice quietly walks over seeing Bradley's eyes close. He helps Mav tuck him in and then kisses his forehead before following Mav back out the door.

The next week flies by, and before they know it Halloween is upon them, and their house is chaos with all the flyboys waiting on Bradley to get in his costume to go trick or treating. Since they're all on shore leave besides Mav and Ice, they all got into their flight suits at the house while Ice helped Bradley into his. "I'm ready," he shouted once in the living room.

"Picture first," Slider declared. He grabbed Mav's Polaroid and snapped a few before he made all the flyboys bunch up, Bradley in Ice's arms to get a picture of them all. Bradley giggled watching Slider try to bunch them together and use his long arm to snap a picture, and it turned out precious.

They take Bradley around the neighborhood that Mav's off-base house was in, before they went on base. Bradley's costume was a big hit on base, and the flyboys even saw Viper wiping a tear even though no one would call him on it. By the end of the night Bradley was tuckered out and fast asleep on Hollywood's shoulder. They got back to the house and Mav carefully took him while Ice took the candy to the kitchen. They let the guys get anything they wanted knowing there was no way Bradley would eat it all.

Mav carefully changes B out of his flight suit, thanking Ice for thinking ahead and putting his pajamas underneath it, and tucking him in. Bradley murmurs a quiet "love you dad," before he turns over grabbing his stuffed plane and falling right back asleep. It was definitely a successful holiday this year with many more to come.

#top gun #top gun fic #tg #tg fic #icemav #icemav fic #baby bradley fic #halloween fic #my writing #flyboys

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hoaxerfix · 1 year

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Top Gun (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Nick "Goose" Bradshaw/Ron "Slider" Kerner, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Characters: Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Ron "Slider" Kerner, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Additional Tags: Post-Movie: Top Gun (1986), Nick "Goose" Bradshaw Lives, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Sexual Content, Mutual Pining Summary:

'”Are you sure?” Goose asks hopelessly, completely aware that he sounds whiny.

The receptionist’s smile tightens. ”Very sure, sir,” she says, her tone still extremely polite. ”Two rooms, like I said.”

Two rooms which – like she very patiently explained to him – also means two beds instead of four.'

In which there’s Only One Bed™, both for Slider and Goose, and for Maverick and Iceman, because the RIOs won’t stand for their pilots pining anymore and can’t deny the affection for each other, either.

#fic rec #nick goose bradshaw #ron slider kerner #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #sloose #top gun 1986 #flyboys

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kryptonitejelly · 2 years

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Flyboy (Part 3) | Jake Seresin x Reader Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader Genre: romance; fluff; angst; best friends to lovers Warnings: tw: getting drunk; tw: mentions of alcohol; tw: mentions of cheating in a past relationship; general hangman being hangman; sexual tension; general cursing; will contain mentions of a break up / previous relationship; general use of pet names; fem!reader; pining; general naval / flying inaccuracies. Length: Mini-series, chaptered - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Epilogue

Summary: Jake gets called back to TOPGUN the same time you’ve been granted a sabbatical from work. He invites you, his purely platonic best friend of years, to live with him for 6 months and you accept. Just two best friends kicking it back for 6 months in San Diego, Fightertown USA, right?

A/N: I am sorry this is so long, it just wrote itself. We’ve hit some cliche tropes in here i.e. one bed, fake relationship (I just love them though). As usual, thank you everyone for the love on Flyboy. Your comments, reblogs, likes all have been really encouraging and mean the world (I read them all), please do leave them <3

Also, can someone just talk to me about how Jake is most definitely from Texan money - I firmly headcannon this.

Flyboy | Mini-Series Masterlist

(If you haven’t already seen them - blurbs and asks (one-shots coming soon) are also listed on the Flyboy masterlist!)

Flyboy - Part 3

PART 2 <<

Approximately 7.5k words

“I hate when flying makes me queasy,” you shudder as you step off the airbridge and into the terminal.

“Queasy,” Jake scoffs as he steps off the airbridge after you. “We’ll need to fix that.”

“I don’t need fixing,” you groan as you welcome the feeling of stable and solid flooring beneath your feet.

“Mhm.” He makes a non-committal sound and you can almost hear the gears in his mind whirling with ideas.

“I am not letting you take me up in the air.” Your face is a mixture of extreme apprehension and horror and it causes his face to split into a wide grin, amusement clear on his features.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He nudges your side gently with an elbow.

“I’m never getting into a jet with you.” You shudder your stomach lurching at the idea of slipping around in a tiny fighter craft.

“So, remind me again, why we are not staying at your apartment?” He asks, staring out of the window of the cab.

“Because Annie has us booked into the hotel she’s having her reception at.” He looks at you, brow raised quizzically. “Her husband to be owns the place.”

“Well hello moneybags.” He lets out a low whistle, both brows raising an inch above his shades.

“You’re one to talk,” you tease, and it earns you a dismissive snort from him. Jake had never shown a hint of it, but an invitation from his mother to your family, along to the family Christmas gathering her side of the family was hosting, the first year you had known Jake, revealed to you that despite the modest home life the Seresin’s kept, Jake’s maternal side of the family came from Texan oil. It was, you figured, part of the upbringing which had pushed out his confidence and extreme self-assuredness came from. His mother, as Jake had told you after that Christmas, had gone the odd route of marrying his father, an average guy, but one whom she was truly, madly in love with, and had kept a more simple life than the one she had been accustomed to growing up - but it didn’t however change the fact that Jake, had generations of old money running through his veins. You had never probed further than what he had volunteered, because money or no money, he would always be just Jake to you. It had however, always made you suspect that apart from loving flying and the thrill of it, Jake’s chosen career path was him fighting against the grain of what his maternal side of the family expected of him, the return to the fold.

“Doris asked about you.” He does however bring up his maternal grandmother, and your eyes light up. She had taken to you like one of her own grandchildren after Jake had introduced you both to each other that first Christmas.

“I miss her,” you admit, smile on your face. “The last time I saw here was when she came down to New York with your mom.”

“She sent pictures,” the smile tugging at his lips matches yours, recalling the day. He had just landed, from being scrambled for a mission with the VFA-151 Vigilantes, that day marking his first confirmed air combat kill. He had flipped open his phone after the adrenaline, congratulations and debrief, finding himself wanting to call you, to tell you about his accomplishment of the day, only to find photos of you, from his grandmother on his phone - her having forced you to model the jewellery of the moment which she was lusting after. The message which had accompanied the photos had read “Isn’t she gorgeous Jake?”. He hadn’t cared for how you looked with his grandmother choice of diamonds and glittering stones that adorned your ears and neck, but he had found himself smiling at the genuine, slightly bashful smile you had on your face, and had saved those photos of you to his photo album.

“Was it Doris and her trinkets?” You groan, using the name Doris herself used to refer to her jewellery.

“Doris’ taste has always a bit… opulent.” He admits, and you sink back in the seat of the cab with a nod of your head.

“It’s a lot of sparkle.”

It makes him barks out a laugh as the cab rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building. You both weren’t staying here, but as you had informed Jake, you had to make a stop to retrieve wedding appropriate dresses for the weekend ahead.

“She calls it her dazzle.”

“I don’t see how you left them all here.” He bemuses, leaning against the doorway of your bedroom, arms folded loosely over his chest, watching you rustle through your closet.

“Because I’m sure I would have been entirely needing of a floor length gown or fancy cocktail dress in Fightertown USA.”

“Could always wear one for a run around the compound. Might help you run faster.”

“Black or green?” You ignore his jab at your running and pull two dresses from the rack, holding each in one hand in front of him.

“Black.”

“Jake Seresin going for the more conservative option.” You feign a gasp, as you toss the black gown, plain, long and strapless, which would cut across the front of your chest in a tube like fashion on the bed, heeding his selection, while reaching up to slot the green dress, of the same length but with a plunging neckline back into your closet.

“You don’t need to show skin to look good” he says nonchantly with a shrug of his shoulders, and for some unusual reason, it makes you feel a flutter in the pit of your stomach. You busy yourself for a few seconds more than necessary, flipping through your closet, your figure hidden behind the open door as if to consider more options, as you let the strange feeling settle. It makes you miss the searing look that flickers briefly across the greens of his pupils as he watches you.

“Trinkets?” He asks, eyes meeting yours as you finally shut your closet doors to face him. “Doris would be very disappointed if you didn’t sport any.”

You raise your hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, showing him the modest pair of diamond studs you never took off, they were the one nice piece of jewellery you owned. There had been a few other pieces that you had, once that you were sure Jake had seen on you over the years, but you had donated to goodwill post break up with Dan, dump the guy, dump the jewellery he had given you.

“All I need.” You gesture to your ears.

“No others?”

“Nah,” you shrug, avoiding bringing up the reason behind the lack of your other pieces, knowing that it would cause irritation to colour his face. “Let me grab a pair of heels and we can be on our way.” You busy past him, picking up the gown in hand.

“A Queen?” You stare at the receptionist that is sliding the set of keycards across the counter to you.

“It says here that Ms Annie Jacobs has you booked for a queen.” You sigh inwardly, the booking must have been from your original RSVP with Dan.

“Do you have any other available rooms with two singles?” You throw a glance over your shoulder towards Jake who is standing a distance away, phone to his ear and hand in his back pocket.

“I’m afraid not,” she shoots you a genuinely apologetic look, “We are maxed out for the weekend.” She explains and you nod in understanding. The wedding, as you had been told by Annie herself, was going to be a massive affair because of the sheer number of people her future in laws just had to invite, family, society friends, business associates.

“Alright,” you shoot the receptionist a smile as you gather up the keyboards, hoisting your handbag higher up your shoulder, “thanks.”

You see relief flutter across her features, and you shoot her another smile, warm and sympathetic.

“Looks like we’ll be sharing a bed.” You walk up to Jake, hand extended to hand him a keycard, as he drops his phone from his ear.

“Sharing a bed?” He echos, and you see an expression that you’ve never seen before pass his features for a split second, before he breaks back into his trademark smirk. “Well aren’t you lucky.”

“More like unlucky.” You reach out to grab the handle of the suitcase, but Jake’s hand beats you there and your palm lands atop of his. He takes the chance to capture your hand in his, his warm, calloused palm against your skin.

“Can’t keep your hands off me already?” He asks, keeping a hold of your hand. You feel his thumb stroke a line up the back of your fingers, and the simple gesture makes your breath catch in your throat. It has you staring down at your combined hands, wondering if that was a habit from the moves he pulled on women.

“Is that one of your mov-” you start to ask, only to be cut off by a loud voice shrieking out your name.

You rip your hand from his, spinning around just in time to be engulfed in a hug that is all Annie. You stumble backwards slightly at the impact of Annie throwing her arms around you, and you return the gesture, but not missing Jake’s hand which reaches out to anchor you steady by the small of your back, preventing both you and Annie from tumbling back across the hotel lobby.

“Hey,” her excitement is infectious and it makes you laugh as you greet her.

“I was afraid we lost you to San Diego for good.” She gushes as she pulls away from your, her eyes wide. “It’s been forever.”

“It’s only been weeks,” you correct her.

“Reaching two months,” she whines back as she looks behind you, finally picking up on Jake.

“I know you,” she sticks her tongue out the corner of her mouth as she takes him in, appraising him from head to toe. To his credit, Jake doesn’t flinch, his stance casually confident, and unbothered as he lets run through her assessment of him. “You’re picture frame boy.”

“Picture frame boy?” He looks from Annie to you for an explanation.

“You’re in one of the photos she keeps in her office, on the shelf behind her desk.” Annie cuts in, explaining for you before you can open your open. “It’s the photo of you carrying her on your back. You know, the close-up shot with both of you laughing, wind in your hair.”

Jake knows the photo because it’s the same photo he has taped to the inside of his locker back at his home base - something he has never told you about. It surprises him that you have the same photo, out of the many you both have together, put up in your office.

“The interns thought it was adorable,” Annie continues to gush, not allowing either of you a word in, her eyes shining with excitement. “They kept asking her if it was her boyfriend in the photo.”

“Did they now,” Jake sidles closer to you as he throws an arm around your shoulders. You glance up at him, and he simpers down at you, looking an ounce too smug. “We are adorable.”

You both miss the glance Annie throws from you to Jake, and back to you. She notes you scowling, sees your nose wrinkle as you poke your tongue out at him, but she also registers just how at home you both look, you tucked under his arm, and him holding you just the right amount of close against his side, like you were both made for each other. She had never seen you look that way with Dan. It is, she thinks, something neither of you are even aware of. She manages to hide a knowing smile as she clears her throat, causing you to snap back into the present. Jake’s arm continues to hang loosely from your shoulder, and you don’t bother to shrug it away.

“Let’s get your suitcase put away,” Annie announces as she looks around for a member of staff, “and me drunk.” She says, words clearly directed at both you and Jake. “I’m Annie by the way.” She remembers to introduce herself.

“Jake.”

“And I told her, that she could shove her opinions up her ass.” Annie roars and you both collapse in a heap of giggles at the table. You’ve lost count of the number of drinks you’ve had, but a look through the floor to ceiling windows that dot the side of the hotel bar tells you that you’ve been drinking for hours. Your insides and skin are overly warm from the flush of alcohol, and the tips of your fingers feel slightly numb.

“Annie?”

“Charles!” Annie calls out as her fiancé comes into view. She attempts to stand, but stumbles, falling back into her chair.

“You’re drunk.” You giggle, as you and Annie lock eyes across the table, and it has both of you gasping with laughter. “Hi Charles.” You raise your hands in a little waggle, and he returns your hello, offering you a smile despite your drunken state.

“He sees you.” Annie hisses and you both burst out into another fit of giggles.

“How long have they been drinking?” Having identified the only non-inebriated person at the table, Charles looks to Jake who is seated beside you, his hand casually slung around the back of your chair.

“Since 6.” He glances down at his watch. “So 4 hours give or take.”

His response makes Charles exhale in a sigh that is both defeated, yet understanding of his fiancé need to let loose.

“Thanks.” Charles takes in Jake’s sober state, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that he had hung around for both your and Annie’s sake and safety.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tips his head in a slight nod, before tilting his chin towards Annie. “Might want to get her to bed though, I hear you both have a final rehearsal tomorrow before the big day.”

“We do.” Charles reaches down, anchoring an arm behind Annie. It isn’t too much of a struggle, as his fiancé willingly throws her arms around his neck, allowing herself to be helped up and supported.

“Byeeeeeee.” Annie calls out to you in a singsong voice as she begins blowing sloppy kisses towards you with her hands. It makes you return the action. “Byeeeeee picture frame boy.” She doesn’t forget to turn her attention to Jake.

“Thanks again.” Charles shoots over his shoulder again as he begins the slow walk with Annie in his arms to the elevator. Jake nods his head lightly again in response to Charles, before watching them both walk away.

“Jakey.”

He feels your head thump down on the portion of flesh below his shoulder your cheek pressing down against the material of his shirt. A glance down reveals you staring up at him, doe eyed. You have pressed yourself against his side, your body teetering at the edge of your chair, your hands spilling into his lap.

“Yes sweetheart?” His gaze searches your face, lips slightly parted, eyes glassy from alcohol, hair slightly mussed. There is something so vulnerable about the way you look, and he can’t help the hand that moves from it’s position on the back of your chair to hold you around your shoulders, fingers clasping at the top of your arm that is further from him.

“I’m tired.” You slur your words, as you let your head loll against him and he finds himself rubbing a thumb up and down your arm in a comforting stroke.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He notices your eyes beginning to droop close.

“Okay, up you go.” Jake unwinds your arm from around his neck, and his hand from your side as directs you towards the bed on which you collapse on, your head hitting the pillow, body stretching out on the mattress. He rubs the back of his neck, flexing his shoulder blades slightly in a small stretch.

“Jake,” your voice calls out in a whine, and he can’t help the chuckle that falls from his lips at the sound. It wasn’t something that he typically heard when you were sober.

“Yeah?” He looks to find you staring up at home, pout on your face.

“I need to shower, can’t sleep in these clothes.”

“Darlin,” he starts still amused, “I’m not letting you into the bathroom unattended when you can’t even walk. You can shower tomorrow.”

“But its gross.” You wail as you manage to push yourself to a sit, leaning against the headboard of the bed. “Change? At least?” You tilt your head at him and he relents with a sigh.

“Alright.” He says as he turns to unlock the suitcase which Annie had arrange to have brought up to your room earlier. He scrambles in the code and pulls out the sleep shorts and tshirt you have sitting on top of your half of the suitcase. “Here you-”He turns back to find you tugging your top off your head before throwing it to the ground.

The sight makes him freeze, much to his confusion. He has seen you in equally less before, in two piece swimsuits at the beach, so seeing you in a bra, shouldn’t have been anything new, but the sight of you, glassy eyes, messy hair, sitting in bed against white sheets, in a black bra, trying to shimmy yourself out of your jeans - it knocked the wind out of him. Jake clenches his jaw, as the sight of you makes his blood rush south.

“Here.” He doesn’t take another step towards you, and opts for tossing the garments at you while fighting the urge to let his gaze trail down below your neck. If it had been any other woman, he would have let himself look, it would have been the only reason he would have been sharing a room with another woman anyway, but because it’s you, Jake wants to look, and yet, he doesn’t. He exhales audibly as you tug on the shorts and shirt, both thanking and cursing the heavens that you had decided not to pull off your undergarments in your drunken stupor.

“Bed,” he directs, a gruffness to his voice that hadn’t been that prior.

Jake Seresin was just a man, and this - this was killing him.

You smell like a bottle, but all he can think about is how soft you feel pressed up against him, your body curled into a fetal position, your face against his bicep, lips featherlight against his skin, and hands clutching his forearm like you need him. You shift, pulling his forearm closer to your body. It makes the swell of your breasts press against his arm, and Jake exhales loudly. You were his best friend, and he wasn’t supposed to feel the way he felt, but he did, more astutely for months now, and as less so for years.

He wasn’t entirely sure you felt the same way, but he had seen your last break up with Dan after waiting a full three years, and it had only strengthened his resolve to try something, anything because he didn’t want to have to wait another three years for his next chance. Jake’s breathe catches as you nuzzle your face against his bicep.

Using his free hand, he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes looking up to the sky, as if asking for strength as one of your legs hooks over his in your sleep.

You wake to the blaring of your phone alarm, the harsh sound drilling through your addled brain. You roll over, burying your face in the pillow as you reach out, hand feeling blindly around the bedside table for your phone. In a fumble, you manage to snooze your alarm. Keeping your face planted in your pillow, you groan as the dull throbbing in your head creeps up on you, faint memories of the number of drinks you and Annie had pounded into your systems floating back through your recollections. Your phone blares again, and you groan again, louder this time as you smack a hand down on the screen, fingers pressing down on the flat surface until silence befalls.

“Are you just going to keep fighting with your phone?”

“Yes.” Your voice is a croak.

“It’s 10.30.”

You sigh deeply, flipping yourself onto your side as you pull the covers up to your chest, groggily tearing your eyes open. You had Annie’s rehearsal at noon - you weren’t part of the bridal party, but you had promised you would be there to help her make sure everything went by without a hitch.

As your eyes open, the blurry figure in front of you sharpens into focus and despite the haze of your hangover, the sight in front of you makes your eyes widen further. Jake stands before you, white towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist, droplets of water dripping from his head of wet hair sliding south down his chest, abs, and adonis belt to meet the edge of the towel clinging to his waist. You let your gaze linger, just for a moment, on the sprinkling of hair that vanishes past the towel, your core clenching. You’ve seen him shirtless multiple times in your life, but never fresh out of the shower, never like this.

He picks tablets and a glass of water up from the table in the room and crosses the space to you.

“Open.” His hands are beside your mouth and you obey, parting your lips. He pushes the tablets in, gently, one by one as, his fingers skimming your bottom lip, before handing you the glass of water. Holding the painkillers between your tongue and the roof of your mouth, you come to a slow sit, before receiving the glass of water from him and sipping to swallow.

“I got you a bagel,” he points to the brown paper bag sitting on the table, “bacon and egg. Figured you wouldn’t have time before the rehearsal.”

“Thanks,” you say between sips of the glass of water. “Did you go for a run?” You eye his pair of running shoes which lie in the corner of the room.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs, still standing in front of you. The shrug of his body causes the towel to slip, just slightly, and your gaze shifts from his face, back to its edge.

Jake doesn’t miss the shift in your gaze, and the subtle but sharp inhale.

“See something you like?” You flexes the muscles in his core, and watches as your head snaps back up to his eyes in a movement that is far too fast for your current hungover state to tolerate.

“Ow.” You raise a hand to the side of your head, eyes closing as you let your brain which feels like its floating around, steady.

“No need to hurt yourself darlin,” his voice is silky smooth as he brings his hand against the other side of your head, his four fingers brushing lightly against your forehead, thumb gently kneading your temple in a soothing motion. “Just gotta ask any time you want to look.”

“Shut up Seresin.” You bring the glass back up to your lips and chug.

“Meeting a friend.”

You glance sideways at him, you both standing in the lift as it descends towards the lobby.

“A friend?” You ask, the inflexion in your voice making the right side of his lip go upwards.

“Yup.” He says a bit too loudly, and you can hear the mirth in his voice.

The lift doors slide open with a ding and he allows you to step out into the lobby before following behind you.

“Who?” You opt for asking him outright, finding yourself wanting to know more than you should.

“A friend.” His answer is vague, unlike his usual candid self, and it makes your brows dip into a frown.

“I don’t want to come back to a third person in my room.” The tone of your retort coming out sharper than expected, you fighting against his vague responses with a worded implication.

“I’m not bringing anyone back.” He faces you as you both stop in the middle of the lobby, noticing Annie in a distance engaged in conversation with a group of women. You can’t see his eyes behind his shades. “That bed is far too small for a third person.” He lifts his glasses off the bridge of his nose, giving him enough time to throw you a wink before dropping them back down. “Besides, I think it’s the right size for just you and me.”

The tone of his last sentence is like honey, his words dripping with suggestion and you feel a heat creep up the sides of your neck, tinging across your cheeks.

Jake notices Annie striding forward towards you both, her heels clacking against the marble floors. “Incoming.” He warns and you turn your head, hand raised in a small wave at your approaching friend. “I’ll see you later.” He throws a quick wave at Annie and you feel his lips press against your cheekbone in a kiss so brief and light that you barely have time to register it.

The rehearsal the day before had passed in a flurry of activity, with Annie dragging you, along with her bridal party to a celebratory dinner after. You had texted Jake to let him know that you would be late coming in for the night, he had responded with a text that had simply read “Don’t get drunk again. If you do, call me.”, and you had come back to find him fast asleep, his phone half shoved under his pillow.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, a hand clutching the front of your dress to your chest, and the other bent awkwardly behind you as you try to zip yourself into your dress. Throwing your hands up in their air with a huff, your posture slumps slightly in defeat, it was a near impossible task for one person to do alone.

Twisting the handle, you open the bathroom door, venturing out into the room to seek help.

“You need to zip me up, I can’t zip myself up.” You find Jake lounging back in an armchair, the television blaring in the background, as he types on his phone. In the time it takes for him to look up from his phone, you let yourself drink in the sight of him hair gel free and brushed back, face cleanly shaven, bow tie hanging around his neck but still undone against the cloth of the crisp white shirt he had paired with a black suit jacket and pants.

Jake looks up to you standing before him, a light dusting of make up on your face, hair swept up into a loose updo, locks framing your face, both hands clutching the front of your dress to your chest.

“Turn,” he directs as he stands and you feel him anchor his left hand on your waist, fingers splayed out on the material of your dress as his right hand pulls the zip of your dress up. You look up to meet his eyes in the mirror of the dresser. “You’re missing something.” His voice is a murmur in your ear and you tilt your head in question. “Close your eyes.”

“You better not be doing anything weird”

“Trust me.”

You eye him in the mirror in warning, before closing your eyes. There is a rustling, the soft pop of a box being opened, and you feel his hands go around your head. You can feel cool metal against your skin and his fingers brushing the exposed nape of your neck.

“Done.”

You open your eyes to find your reflection, but with an added silver coloured chain holding a single solitaire lying against your collarbone.

“Jake Seresin, you did not.” You lean forward to stare at your reflection, fingers ghosting over the the chain and pendant.

“Met a friend of Doris’ to get it yesterday afternoon.” He offers you his trademark Jake Seresin smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, pearly whites shining, revealing in the process just what he had gotten up to yesterday afternoon. It makes your heart skip a beat and your skin tingle.

“Jake,” you begin your protest as you shuffle around to face him, “it’s beautiful, but I can’t, it’s too expensive. I’ll pay you back.”

“Sweetheart,” he cocks his head to a side, “you’ll do no such thing.”

“But Jake-” he cuts you off with a firm shake of his head.

“What kind of southern gentleman would I be?” He teases, and instead tugs at the corner of his untied bowtie. “Do up my bowtie, and we’ll call it even.”

“That is hardly fair,” you purse your lips with a tut. “And besides, I don’t know how to do up a bowtie.”

“It’s easy, I’ll guide you.”

He moves like lightning, not giving you time to think and takes a few steps backward to sit on the edge of the bed, parting his legs and tugging you forward to stand in between his legs by your fingers. He places his hands over yours and guides you along, both your hands and his doing up his bowtie.

“And done, now you know how to tie a bowtie.” Your fingers are still grasping the edges of the bow around his neck and his hands are over yours. You find yourself staring into his eyes, the greens of his pupils piercing your own.

“Jake,” you breathe out, noticing just how close you both are, you standing between his legs, your head just inches from his. You can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Yeah?” He holds your gaze steady, and the world around you both quietens, you aren’t sure what you are you feeling, but you feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach, and the sudden urge to be even closer to him.

You drop a hand from the corners of his bowtie, not thinking, just feeling, and bring it to rest on the corner of his jaw. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, but keeps his gaze slotted onto yours.

“Housekeeping.” The knock on the door makes you jump backwards, your hand dropping from his face. You glance at the clock, seeing the digits flash close to 3:00pm.

“We better go, or we’ll be late.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire New York is here.” You hold onto Jake’s elbow as you both tread along the crowd floating from the ceremony towards the reception. The wedding ceremony itself had been beautiful, set in a huge hall in the same hotel, fashioned to look like a church. You hadn’t shed any tears, but they had most definitely gathered in the corners of your eyes as you watched your friend exchange your vows up on the makeshift alter. Jake had placed a hand on your knee, squeezing lightly when you sniffled and you had welcomed the comfort, though the gesture had made your heart beat slightly faster, memories of the earlier incident nagging at the back of your mind.

“I’m pretty sure the entire New York high society is here.” He muses back.

“Moneybags.” You shrug, imitating his initial reaction from the other day. It causes the older couple walking in front of you both to turn and stare, and you duck your head down, stifling your laughter while Jake tips his head at them with a “hello”, in a pronounced drawl. It makes them exchange a look and take two steps further up.

“They must think we’re awful.”

“Too uncouth for the upper echelons of the city.” He winks at you, and it makes you laugh.

“What would Doris say.” You squeeze his elbow in jest.

“Give ‘em hell.” He deadpans, voice sliding into a rich southern accent, reminiscent of his grandmother, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter.

“I think this is us.” You stop at a table, squinting at the place cards, one with your name and the other with your name and the word “guest” after.

“That’s me,” Jake picks up the card, holding it in front of himself. “Guest.”

You open your mouth to respond, when a loud voice calling your name breaks through the hum of the crowd filtering into the ballroom.

“Lexi.” You turn, calling out her name, forcing a smile onto your face. Jake picks up on her name, and your conversation with Annie over the phone and drops the place card back onto the table. He eases himself close beside you as Lexi weaves past a group of people to come to a stand in front of you. She grabs you by the arms, air kissing the sides of your face and you oblige her.

“Guess we are the same table,” she gushes, her enthusiasm sky high, “I’m so glad.”

“How wonderful.” You grit out a smile at her words, the implications behind them on your company for the night ringing clear.

“Lexi?” You hear Dan before you see him, the once familiar voice grating across your ears.

“Over here cookie.” You watch Lexi coo back as Dan comes into view. The sight of him makes you grip your hand into a fist by your side and your shoulders go rigid.

“Oh… hey.”

You open your mouth to greet him in return, your shoulders squaring further when you feel a the gentle pressure of Jake’s palm on the small of your back.

“Dan.” Jake greets him, tone firm. You feel Jake step close to you, your back connecting with his chest as his hand travels from the small of your back to rest, relaxed, on your hip. You allow yourself to lean back into his hold, the tension in your shoulders seeping away as your fist relaxes. His fingers rub your hip, letting you know wordlessly that he’s got you.

You see Dan’s gaze flicker from Jake, to judge your proximity, and the hand he has on your hip.

“Jake.” He nods back in greeting.

“I’m Lexi.” Lexi assesses the situation, her eyes taking in Jake. You see her face break into a coy smile, as she extends her hand towards him. You have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the situation, with her knowing that you and Dan had been a couple, outrightly greeting you as if nothing had ever happened, all while deciding that the next best thing to do was to openly leer at Jake.

“Jake.” He offers, but not reaching for her hand. Instead, he chooses to snake his other arm around, letting it come to rest on the front of your body. “You’ll have to excuse me for not shaking your hand Lexi, got my hands full with this one.” He shoots her a patronising, apologetic grin and you watch as Lexi drops her hand immediately looking slightly abashed.

“Are you a couple?” She asks, her eyes widening, mouth dropping into a small o.

“Don’t we look like one?” Jake counters, as you place your hand over his palm that is resting on the front of your body. You interweave your fingers together with him, and he squeezes gently, his cue to tell you to play along. You squeeze back, in understanding.

“It’s not that, it’s just, I thought…” Lexi turns her attention to you, “that you were still single.” She looks back at Dan, slightly puzzled, “Dan said -”

“She is most definitely not single,” Jake’s voice slides across your ear, a low chuckle escaping him as he pulls you closer, pressing you to him. He bends his head slightly, and you feel his lips skimming the side of your jaw.

“Not in the slightest.” You manage to murmur, voice genuinely breathy at the contact of his lips against your jaw, and his body against yours as you look towards Lexi and Dan.

“I don’t get why they are still staring.” You arm is hooked under Jake’s arm, fingers resting on the shoulder of his suit jacket, your cheek pressed against his as you both sway to the music, you catching Lexi and Dan’s gaze hyper focused on you and Jake from two couples away. Jake’s hand is on your back, his other interlaced with your hand, leading you through the dulcet tones.

Since the initial interaction with Lexi and Dan, some part of Jake had never left you for the entire night. Whether you were both eating, listening to wedding speeches, drinking, or watching a cheesy video montage that played, Jake was always touching you, playing into the role that you both had sold, a dutiful boyfriend who was absolutely smitten with you. Whether it was his hand on your thigh, palm engulfing yours, hand slung across the back of your chair, fingertips brushing your shoulder blades, he had not once let you out of his sight or touch. It was comforting, nice to have him there to ground you, to make your night bearable.

“I hate them both.” He says, and you hear the hardness to his tone.

“She’s glaring daggers at me.” You groan softly. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to hunt me down and murder me Jake. I mean, she’s pretty much spent the entire night sending bad vibes my way.”

Jake leads you both into a turn, and he catches sight of the couple staring over. It baffled him, if he were to be honest about it, because you were faultless in the entire situation, no matter how he ran the parameters of it. Dan had been a lying, cheating asshole, and by the looks of it, along with a little deduction, Lexi was no better than he was. He catches Dan’s eye, and it makes Jake narrow his gaze.

“If they’re staring, let’s give them something to stare at.” He says quietly into your ear and it makes you pull your head back slightly in a curious questioning. “Trust me?” He asks, and you nod immediately. Despite all the teasing and barbs you exchanged, it didn’t need to be a question, you trusted Jake Seresin with your life.

Jake untangles his leading hand from yours, moving both his hands to cup your face. You keep your arm hooked under his shoulder, fingers pressed firmly down on the shoulder of his suit jacket. He runs his thumb across your cheek, asking you again, his voice almost a whisper as he asks the same question again, face mere inches from yours. “Trust me?”

“Yes.” You breathe back offering him verbal confirmation, and his gaze flickers to your lips, before going back to your eyes. He holds eyes contact with you for what feels like eternity, and then you feel it, his lips against yours. Your eyes flutter close instantly, your lips moving against him like second nature. Jake Seresin’s lips were softer, warmer than you would have ever imagined.

He drops a single hand back down to grip your waist, the other still cupping the side of your face, and you raise your hand that isn’t wrapped under his shoulder, to card through the back of his hair. Jake uses only his lips against yours, but it’s all you need for your knees to go weak. You pull away first, breathless, and you leans his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, breathing heavy.

“I think we gave them something to stare at.” You manage to say, your heart racing in your chest.

Jake opens his eyes to look into yours, his gaze feeling like it is piercing through to your soul, his heart beat matching yours. “I think we did.”

You are lying on your side, back facing Jake, your mind racing at a million miles per second. You both hadn’t spoken about the kiss, each of you lost in your own thoughts and feelings that that kiss had brought up, each wondering how to best tackle the after, and just what after meant.

“Jake?” You call out into the silence of the room.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you,” you pause and he lets you continue, “for coming with me to the wedding, for taking days off, for everything.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“Yeah, but thank you.”

You both lie in the dark, in contemplative silence before Jake speaks up again.

“How are you feeling?”

You hum in question and he elaborates.

“You know the whole… Dan thing.” He braces himself, afraid of the answer, of you telling him that you were still in love with Dan.

You let yourself think for a minute, assessing his question against your feelings before you answer.

“Fine.” You say simply.

“Really?”

“Yeah really,” you confirm, “I think,” you pause, selecting your words carefully, “it was over long before it was actually over. I mean I had a hunch months before you know, about the cheating, the lying, maybe even the fact that there were no feelings between us both for a while at that point - but it was easier to believe nothing was going on than to admit your boyfriend is cheating on you.”

“You were really upset.” He recalls the day you had called him, crying.

“Anyone would be if they found out their boyfriend had been cheating on them… serially.” You let out a rueful chuckle. “Kind of a bruise to the ego, don’t you think.”

“Fair point,” he shrugs and you feel the shared covers shift slightly at his action. “So…” he hesitates, “you’re really okay?”

“Yes.”

“No…. residual feelings for Dan?”

“Apart from the fact that I think he’s disgusting - none.” You shake your head hair rustling against your pillow. “There weren’t any feelings left long before the break up.” You find yourself admitting out loud.

Jake doesn’t respond, but you hear the crackle of the crisp hotel sheets as he turns, slides an arm across the space between you, under your ribs, and rolls you easily towards him. It catches you off guard, but you let him tuck you under his chin anyway, his arms hugging you against him in a loose embrace. A pull back of your head and dart of your eyes upwards reveals his eyes are closed. The act manages to be simple and yet entirely intimate, entirely too intimate for a pair of people who were just friends, but you can’t help thinking to yourself how it just feels so right that you don’t allow yourself to overthink any of it.

“Good.” He finally says, and you shut your eyes as well, letting your breathing steady.

“So you and Jake.” Annie asks as you both hover around the side of the coffee shop, waiting for the barista to call our your names.

“Hmm?” You stick your hands into the back pocket of your jeans while rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Anything going on there?” Annie asks as the barista calls your both your names, you both reaching for two cups of coffee each - her for Charles and herself and you for you and Jake. “Saw you both kiss yesterday.”

Her casual add on makes you splutter as you take a sip of your coffee while you both weave your way out of the coffee shop.

“We were just pretending,” you try to say dismissively, your face burning, “you know for Lexi and Dan.”

“Uh-huh,” she hums, not believing.

“What?” You shoot her a glare as you both duck out the doors, making the short walk back to the hotel.

“Pretending,” she waggles her eyebrows at you and she sips from her own coffee cup.

“Pretending.” You affirm, shooting a smile at the doorman who has the door held open for you both.

“He might be in love with you.” Annie says casually as you both cross the threshold of the lobby to find Charles and Jake, a distance away, both engaged in conversation.

“Annie,” you warn, but a glance at you reveals to her the way your eyes light up as your gaze fixates on Jake. “We’re just friends, best friends.”

“Just saying,” she ignores your previous attempts at denial as the two men notice you both and begin walking towards you, “you might not feel so different from him either.”

You don’t have the time to respond with Jake and Charles stopping in front of you before you can get any words out, so you choose to hand Jake his coffee cup instead, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm, as he receives it with a thanks.

“Well,” Annie turns to you, arms outstretched as the doorman waves at the four of you, indicating that the car they had called for you had arrived, “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.” You bend forward to return her hug with a nod. “You don’t see what I do.” She says with a soft smile as you pull away, causing both men to look between you both, clearly confused.

>> PART 4

Series taglist: @blue-aconite @rosiahills22 @luckyladycreator2 @britty443 @yanak324 @rule107 @fuckyeahhangman @spidey-d00d @dempy @barista-library @alexwinchester23 @shakira-sasha @bxwitched @lumenseal @obiwankenobis-lap @prettybiching @littlebadariell @actuallybarb @beaner-life-23 @coco-loco-nut @criminalyetminimal @tragzerus @alana4610 @tkmarvel-divergentbish @kilojulietsierra @imagineyneyjr @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ive-got-more-wit @fuzzy-panda @helloimhereforabit @meowimakellysaurusrex @t-rexs @iangiemae @shawnsthighs @cxit-writes @shanimallina87 @dempy @mell-bell @saynotononsense @justsplendidd @dont-talk-me-down @the-cranck-hobbit @callsign-marlie

#flyboy #not cm #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x you #hangman x reader #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #jake seresin #hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #flyboy fic

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tomatette · 6 months

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Some manips for the magnificent fic "Flyboys" by @gefionne

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pinkdaisies9285 · 3 months

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Flyboy and the Florist-2

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: None, Fluff, lil bit of Angst with Bob's sad boi hours

Word Count: 539

Author's Note: Here's the next part and I hope you guys like it! For fun there's a small Taylor Swift song reference in this. Leave in the comments what's your guess!

“Since when did you move into a greenhouse?” Bradley questioned while trying to avoid the multiple bouquets and plants surrounding Bob’s apartment. Every open counter space was filled with almost every flower under the sun.

“Or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Bob, what’s going on?” Natasha replied while glancing over at him. Bob didn’t know how to explain that he had been going to the florist shop every day for almost two weeks. Every time he walked in he told himself he would ask for the owner’s number and then a date but instead he walked out with a new leafy friend. He just couldn’t build up the courage to tell her he was there for her and not for a bouquet for his coworker’s sister’s baby shower (that was a lie.) It all boiled down to the simple fact that Bob tried to work up the guts to ask her but once he set his sights on her it was like his brain turned to mush. He was a goddamn WSO for the Navy and one woman made all that precision and expertise go down the drain.

“Well, there’s this woman I-”

“Woman?! Damn Bob I didn’t even know you were talking to other women besides Nat he–Ow!” Bradley immediately interrupted before Bob could finish his sentence.

“Let Bob finish idiot,” the interruption led to Natasha hitting Bradley on the head. “Sorry, Bob continue what you were saying.”

“The woman is the owner of the florist shop I went to for Maverick. And for the past two weeks, I've tried to get her number but every time I just clam up.” Bob looked down at his shoes feeling defeated about his woes. He felt like at this point should he even try again. Natasha sensing this went over to Bob and gave him a pat on his shoulder.

“How about we help you, Bob? Do you need some practice? Or maybe tips?”

“How about an entirely new personal–Ow!”Natasha glared at Bradley which shut him up rather quickly after smacking his head again.

“No thanks, guys. I think I might give up on her.”

“Give up? Bob why would you give up!? You’re a WSO in the Navy for God's sake! Bradley and I both know that you can do anything you put your mind to.” Natasha said while resting her hand on Bob’s shoulder.

“Nat, I’ve literally tried to ask her for two weeks. I think I'll look crazy if I continue to go buy flowers I don't need.”

“How about we come with you next time? Isn’t the shop also an apothecary? I’ve been wanting to check it for a while.”

“You really would do that for me?” Bob looked at both of them with surprise. He didn’t think that his coworkers would help him like this. Well, Bradley might make fun of him for a little bit longer but Bob knew that he cared.

“Of course lover boy! Let’s get you that phone number and maybe more.” Bradley replied with a humorous smile on his face.

“Thank guys.” Bob smiles with a twinkle in his eyes like looked like stars. Maybe this would work. Maybe he could finally have something good happen in his life.

Tag List: @attapullman @seresinhangmanjake @3tabbiesandalab @nerdgirljen @bobgasm @muddwheelz123 @tgmavericklover @jessicab1991

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Divider Credit @cafekitsune

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callsignthirsty · 2 months

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Chapter 3: Behind the Door

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron "Slider" Kerner Summary: Interrupting Iceman. Word Count: 4100 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering Chapter: 3/4 Minors DNI Previous Chapter

Slider's head whips around, shoulders drawn tight toward his ears as the crash of the door startles you both.

"Kerner!"

The split-second of terror subsides with that voice.

Ice.

Slider grunts, stubbornly diving back between your thighs. A man on a mission.

"I know you're up here, and I'm giving you to the count of three."

"No," you whimper, hips rocking against Slider's fingers, urging them to work faster. "Don't stop."

"One."

Instead of responding, Slider's breath ghosts over your clit as he presses two fingers into your cunt, curling them to pinpoint your sweet spot and hurtle you toward the edge.

The click of Ice's shoes is loud as he stalks toward you. "Two."

"So good," Slider hums against your slick skin. You squeeze your eyes closed, keening at the praise. "Almost there, baby."

Sli hisses as fingers fist in his short hair and yank him from between your legs.

"Three."

You whimper at the sudden loss of stimulation and the pour of cool night air over heated skin.

Slider has the audacity to flash Ice a smug smile. "Oh," he says as if he hadn't known the two of you were no longer alone. "Hey, Ice."

Pale eyes narrow as if asking Slider if that's the game they're going to play, then Ice pulls a tissue from his pocket and holds it to his RIO. "You've got lipstick on your face."

Slider's tongue peeks out to lick his lips. "That's not the only thing on my face."

Ice doesn't dignify him with a response, only releasing Slider when he stands and steps back to give you enough space for Ice to resettle you—steadying you on your own two feet and smoothing wrinkled velvet before procuring another tissue to help clean up the rouge smudged beyond the bounds of your lips.

Once you're deemed presentable, Ice descends the steps with his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you with an insistent tug that makes you feel more like an insolent child than his date. You want to stamp your feet as Ice assures you that he only needs to talk to a couple more officers he wants to speak with before you can get out of there.

Between the forced separation through staggered travel to D.C. and the night's two encounters—both of which had taken you to the very edge before leaving you high and dry—you're at your limit. So, to say you aren't paying attention to the conversation is an understatement. How are you supposed to pay attention to anything when you're oscillating between the jitters of unsated arousal and lightly filtered frustration?

Because who the hell does he think he is—do they think they are—to draw you into their little macho pissing contest? It's a wonder Iceman and Slider can both fit into the cockpit with their egos so blown out of proportion.

What should it matter in the end? They know you're going home with both of them.

Not that you get to say any of this. Instead, you're left to stew with empty eyes, a pinched smile, and a clenched fist at Ice's side as he makes a good impression on a commander. You're scraping the barrel with each half-hearted laugh at the officer's dull jokes, the Brut in your glass swirling between your fingers untouched. Each shift of your legs brings you closer to angry tears as the spit between them turns tacky, the microabrasions from Slider's stubble smarts reminding you of your lack of undergarment and the dissatisfied, borderline painful feeling of emptiness.

But it'll be a cold day in hell before you let any tears fall. You have your own pride to manage, and besides, no one wants to mingle with the serviceman whose date's eyes burn a tear-stung red.

"How much longer?" you ask Ice once the commander leaves.

Ice gives you an assessing look, eyebrows pulled down, and his head lightly tilted. You can't tell if he feels bad about what he's putting you through or is confused by your shortness of tone. "Impatient?"

You scoff, barely repressing the urge to cross your arms. Instead, you take a sip of your Brut, nose wrinkling as it bursts bitter across your tongue. "Whatever," you huff, done with the conversation and resigning yourself to more of the same. Ice had said there were "a couple" officers he wanted to talk with, after all.

Ice draws a deep breath in through his nose; lips pursed as he looks up to the ceiling. You know he's looking for the right words. You're still determining what those words would be. You know for a fact he won't find them painted on the ceiling.

Lucky for you—because you're not done being upset with him yet—Ice can't pinpoint what he's looking for before you're interrupted.

"Woah!" a familiar blonde excuses, bumbling into Ice and nearly spilling his beer on matching whites. "Sorry about that, still got my sea le– oh! Ice, hey!" Excuse dropped as a beamish grin overtakes Wolfman's face, cheeks tinged pink with drink.

"Wolf," you giggle as Wolf pulls you into a better mood with a friendly hug. It's hard to be all doom and gloom when Wolf's involved; he's a veritable ray of sunshine. "Where's 'Wood?"

"Pfft," he snorts. "Where's anyone? I mean, 'Wood's somewhere with his girl, but one minute I'm with Sli and Chip, the next Sli's gone and Chip's found himself a pretty little thing to dance with." He shrugs, not looking too plussed about his situation.

"I'll dance with you, Wolfie," you jump to offer. "Ice is being boring anyway."

Ice frowns. Wolf laughs. "Who am I to say no to a lady?" he asks, pulling you into an off-kilter twirl. "Don't worry, Ice, she's in good hands!" he calls over his shoulder as you practically drag him toward the dancefloor.

What Wolfman lacks in prowess, he makes up for in enthusiasm. By the time Hollywood and his fiancée find the two of you on the dancefloor—not a surprise since 'Wood and Wolf are practically connected at the hip—you're a little breathless from trying to keep up.

It's a good time, but you can only be so distracted, and it's only a matter of time before you begin scanning the crowd. Either you'll find Slider, or he'll find you, but you'll be damned if he doesn't finish what he started.

You know Ice has people he wants to impress and a ladder he's trying to climb, but shouldn't you be at the top of his list? With this thought at the helm, it isn't long before you spot a head of brown curls that towers above the rest. You rock onto your tiptoes to feed Wolf a lie—bathroom—and push through the crowd alone.

Except as you get closer, it becomes glaringly apparent that this tall brunet is not Slider.

You scowl at no one in particular when you come up empty-handed.

As you decide to keep searching until you find Slider—and, ultimately, relief—someone grabs you from behind.

You whirl around, ready to smack the person's hands off of you.

It's Pete.

You smack him anyway.

"Ow!" Pete yelps, more from surprise than pain. You didn't hit him that hard. "What the hell?!"

"Pete Mitchell, who do you think you are grabbing a lady–"

"You're hardly a lady."

"–from behind like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Pete disarms you with a light pinch to your side that has you clamping your arms against your sides to protect against further tickling. "Where're Tweedledee and Tweedledum? Didn't think I'd catch you without one or the other."

You suppress a roll of your eyes. "Who knows."

"Sooo," Pete drawls a bit awkwardly, "does this have anything to do with the weirdness going on between the three of you?"

"Oh my god. You know," you groan, unable to stop yourself from hiding your face in your hands. How embarrassing.

"I don't know-know," Pete's quick to correct, "and I don't want to. But I know something's up."

This isn't something you're delving into with your brother. "It's nothing. Forget it."

"Doesn't seem like nothing if you're avoiding them."

"Like you're avoiding Penny's dad?" you snark back. Deflecting. "I'm surprised you decided to stick around."

"He's old. It's probably past his bedtime," Pete says confidently, a smile tugging at his lips. "The night's mine."

"Whatever will you do with this newfound freedom?" you tease.

Pete gives a half-shrug, surveying the room. "I'm sure some poor officer brought his daughter so she could meet the love of her life."

You don't bother holding in a mocking laugh. "And that's you?"

"No." Pete makes a face. "But I can be her something for the night."

"Ew," you grunt because you so do not want to get into that with your brother. "I need a drink."

A hand catches your elbow as you turn. "Going somewhere?"

You refuse to look as you shake Ice's hand off and continue walking.

"So you're going to ignore me." It's a statement.

"Don't you have other people to talk to?"

Ice reaches for your elbow again, turning you so he can meet your eyes with his own. "I want to talk to you."

"That's my cue," Pete mumbles as he slinks into the crowd, presumably to find trouble.

Neither you nor Ice move, and your stomach roils as his jaw sets, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're mad at me."

Part of you wants to tell him off. Instead, you shake your head. "I'm not mad. I'm frustrated."

"Okay," Ice says, with a curt nod, his shoulders—which had been bunched—rolling back as he becomes more sure of himself. "I can work with that."

Something about the way he says it rankles you, and you sneer. Earlier, you'd been all aboard hanging off Ice's arm, but now you're wound tight enough to burst, and all you want to do is take a hot bath. And now that he's made you this way, you're something that needs to be dealt with.

"Let's grab some fresh air," Ice says, loud enough to settle any eavesdroppers as he leads you toward the outdoor courtyard with a gentle but commanding grasp on your elbow.

But you pass by the turn for the courtyard.

"Where are you taking me?" The smell of cigar smoke thins as you walk along less-traveled hallways.

"I'm taking care of it," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and continues to drag you after him.

Venturing further from the intended party spaces, the lights dim. You doubt the venue means for you to be down here.

Instead of voicing these thoughts, you scoff. "Helpful."

Making sure you're alone, Ice pulls you down a deserted hallway. "You're frustrated. I have people to talk to," he says slowly, sparing you a glance.

You frown. There goes Ice, talking about other people. Again.

He beelines for two unassuming doors, reaching out to the first, but its handle jiggles. Catches. Locked.

"I'm taking care of it."

Before you can challenge that assertion, Ice steps to the side and grabs the handle to the second door, marked STAFF ONLY.

It clicks.

Ice pushes you inside, following close behind.

The light coming through the foot of the door isn't enough to tell you where you are. But the clinical, electric-orange antiseptic smell of cleaning supplies invading your nose, singeing the hairs, is more than enough to give it away.

When you cross your arms over your chest, something falls to the ground with a wooden clack! "By dragging me into a janitor's closet?"

"Well, you said you'd be good for me, but that didn't last long."

You reach for where the handle must be, but Ice anticipates your moodiness and moves to intercept, deflecting your hand. "But the bet was that Slider couldn't get you off." His breath fans your face as he leans in, so you tilt your head away to avoid his lips. Stubborn. Undeterred, he kisses the long line of your neck, and the ghost of soft lips has you holding back a gasp. "So I'm taking care of it."

"What if it doesn't want to be taken care of?"

Sharp teeth are a shock beneath the hinge of your jaw. "Don't be a brat."

A strangled moan trips past your lips as he catches you off guard.

You don't have to see Ice to know he's smirking. "Noted." Then his hand is cupping your breast. "So, are you going to let me take care of you or not?"

You're not proud of how quickly you crumble, but it's like a switch flips. You hope Ice is okay with the whiplash because after an entire night of teasing, you're desperate for relief. "Please," you whimper, pushing yourself further into his orbit. You want so bad it hurts.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I've got you." Ice captures your lips in a heated kiss—nipping at your bottom lip so you hiss and open up for him. He knows what you need, and he's (apparently) going to give it to you.

Your fingers, clumsy in their haste, scramble for Ice's belt, but he brushes them aside. "This is about you. I'll get mine later," he says, tilting your head to the side so he can track wet kisses up to the spot just below your ear, electricity sparking down your spine as teeth tug at the lobe. "When I lay you out on my bed."

A high-pitched, excited moan is your answer, interrupted by Ice's fingers over your lips. "You've gotta be quiet," he purrs, voice low in your ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to hear us."

"Then kiss me." He does. And as you breathe in deep, the whole situation makes you feel like you're back in high school: shelving digging into your lower back like you're sneaking around, trading uncoordinated kisses in the janitor's closet with David Hodges until your brother finds you and rips poor David away for an ass-beating. But infinitely better.

Ice's lips are familiar. Urgent and addictive against your own as he swallows your whimper—nothing like David.

Ice pinches your fat bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it with a slick smack. You suck in a sharp breath, lashes fluttering open to look up at the shadow of him in the dark. "So pretty," he growls, fabric rustling as he hastily cuffs the sleeve of his jacket and pushes it up to his elbow to keep it safe from what he has planned.

Handfuls of velvet are bunched around your waist so you can spread your legs more freely, and Ice can slot his hand between them.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you return his lips to yours. You both groan from the kiss—you from the relief of his hands on you, the promise of a sweet release; him from how wet and needy you are (Slider's work, really, but Ice seems keen to reap the benefits).

When you break apart to gasp for air, Ice husks, "I'd get my mouth on you." And it conjures the image of Slider's wicked brown eyes looking up at you from between your legs, your cunt throbs. God, you want that. "Too bad I can't smell like pussy while I'm talking to the brass." But he allows himself the indulgence of a single taste, bringing fingers slick with your arousal to his lips.

You shake your head, unsure if his eyes have adjusted enough to see you. "Unprofessional," you agree, dizzy as his fingers plunge back into your heat. The heel of his palm grinds deliciously against your clit, his fingers working with the frantic cant of your hips as you chase a high that's walking the line of pain in its evasion of you. A steady, unignorable ache.

Ice drags his nails over the dense fabric covering your tits, your nipples pebbling at the faux cool sensation. "Tell me what you need," he whispers against your lips.

Relief is so close the air is thick with it. It tastes like Lysol. You stutter out a breath, and it morphs into a quiet whine. "Just like that," you mewl. "Keep touching me like that."

"Yeah?" Ice teases, a third finger sneaking into you and zeroing in on your sweet spot, thumb coming up to rub circles into your clit. What little light there is in the closet glints off the sharp point of his teeth as his lips part. "You're going to cum on my fingers," he declares, and your heart skips a beat when it jumps into your throat. "Then, you're going to go back to being my good, pretty girlfriend while I talk business," he presses a teasing kiss to the corner of your lips, and you can't contain a needy, lilting whine, "and no one will know you needed to cum on my fingers just to make it through the night."

"Oh god," you sob, nails digging into the starched fabric of Ice's jacket. You're right there. Liquid flames lick at your core, your tummy tied in knots and thighs jumpy as Ice speeds up his fingers, a muffled squelch each time his fingers bottom out, knuckles pressed tight to your cunt.

The two of you are so distracted that you don't hear the frantic footsteps until they're almost on top of you.

Ice jerks his fingers from you, yanking your dress back into place at the same time as he steps between you and the door to the closet, blocking you from whoever's about to fling the door open.

But it doesn't stop your eyes from meeting your brother's over his shoulder.

Pete slams the door shut.

Silence. Then: "You still dressed?"

Posture going rigid, Ice shoots the door a barbed look. "Maverick–" Pete shushes him through the door. He must be pressed up against the wood. Ice gives in but doesn't give up, continuing with a more hushed, "–what the hell?"

A pause. "That's not a no," your brother mulls. "Scoot over. I'm coming in."

"No!" You and Ice hiss simultaneously, but Pete is already squeezing himself into the closet with the two of you, pressed tight against Ice's back as he shuts the door firmly but with as much care as he gives his Kawasaki.

"Look," Pete whispers, and maybe his hands would be up in a placating manner if there were enough room, "I either hide in here with you two or hack it out there with Admiral Benjamin."

Without the distraction of each other, you and Ice hear far more measured footsteps hesitate at the far end of the hall before heading in your direction.

"I like your chances," Ice bites. "Leave."

Pete jostles all three of you as he turns to get into Ice's face as much as he can, given the confines of the closet. A shelf creaks, but nothing falls. "Well, it won't look good on you either," he whispers furiously. "Huh? Ice-cold, no mistakes, making out with your date in a closet like you're at junior pr–" Ice slaps a hand over his mouth, and the three of you fall deathly still.

The tension thickens until the footsteps pass you by.

No one dares to let out a quiet, adrenaline-shaken breath, even when the footsteps sound like they must have reached the other end of the hallway. Pete does, however, allow his shoulders to sag in relief.

Then, the footsteps pause.

They grow closer—louder—once more. This time, the muffled chaf of dress shoes on the carpet sounds like it's purposefully approaching the closet. Each step ratchets the tension up exponentially. You hold still, certain that if you shift your weight, something on the open shelving will give away your location. Ice, still shielding you from the door, brings a hand up to pet the back of your neck; the cool metal of his Academy ring—grounding any other time—sends a nervous trickle down your spine.

Benjamin is obviously after Pete, but how bad will it look that the two of you are in the closet with him?

There's a mechanical squeal of metal catching, handle turning, getting stuck. Jiggle. A grunt as he encounters the locking mechanism of the next door over.

Two shadows block the ambient light at the bottom of the door.

Well, you pinch your eyes closed. This will be embarrassing.

"Admiral Benjamin," someone calls from further away.

"Ah," the response comes uncomfortably close to your door. "Lieutenant…?"

"Kerner, sir." Slider. "I was with Lieutenant Kazansky earlier. Did you ever find Mitchell?

Two quick raps on the door. Pete flinches. "I believe I have." And Admiral Benjamin sounds smug.

The statement hangs in the air.

"In a closet, sir?" You can see the skeptical raise of Slider's brow in your mind's eye.

The shadow shifts. "I'm sure he came this way."

"Well, I just saw his RIO headed toward the taxis." A pause. "He's a slippery little shit. If he was here, he's long gone by now."

"Hm." Admiral Benjamin doesn't move, but from the sound of things, neither does Slider. "Well, Lieutenant. Really good stuff on the Enterprise."

Slider thanks him as the shadows disappear from the doorway and footsteps hurry off on a Goose chase.

When you're sure the admiral has left the vicinity—thankfully not asking Slider why he decided to stick around—Pete stumbles out of the closet with all the grace of a baby giraffe but none of the height. "Aw, Kerner," he teases with a dopey grin, "you do like me."

Slider snorts. "Don't thank me yet. The Geese are waiting for a taxi."

Pete's chin falls to his chest, and he mumbles a "goddammit" before hurrying to see if he can avoid Admiral Benjamin by sneaking through the courtyard.

"They're not the only ones," Slider tells Ice, nodding in the general direction of what remains of the Ball's attendees. "If you want to talk to anyone else, now's the time."

But as you practically tremble between them, Ice looks at you—really looks at you—and his features soften. He cups your shoulder, offering but not pulling you into his side. "I think I've networked enough for one night," he declares, tone light. His thumb rubbing back and forth, soothing.

Then those gray-blue eyes are on you, and his lips stretch into a slow, soft smile. "No one I can't talk with some other time."

"You sure?" Slider asks. Then, hushed, "I can take care of her while you finish up."

There is quite literally nothing you want less. The venue is clearly cursed, and you don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out what other ways you can get caught or edged tonight.

"The bet's off," Ice states before you can say 'no,' and your heart flutters. If Ice wasn't going to stick around for one last round of shoulder-rubbing, then winning was only a matter of getting you in a taxi.

For his part, Slider doesn't seem as shocked as you are by Ice's declaration.

Ice feathers a kiss to your temple before you can second-guess his decision. It's the most relaxed you've seen him all evening. "Let's get you a taxi."

"Wait." Slider pushes off the wall. He procures a key from his pocket and presses it into Ice's hand. "Holiday Inn. K Street. Leave in 10 minutes."

Ice fiddles with the thick plastic of the keychain but pays it no real mind.

"Don't give me that look," Slider boos.

Ice licks his lips. "You know our rooms were comped, right?" It's a perk of being summoned to the event, you're sure.

Slider takes a half step forward, the three of you the closest you've been all night. From this distance, Ice has to look up ever so slightly to meet Slider's cocky gaze. "You want to what?" he asks, voice going deep and quiet enough no one else could hear if they happened by you. "Pile into a single room at the same hotel everyone else is staying at?" He motions between the three of you. "How's that going to work?"

Some like to write Slider off as all muscle, no brain. But it's his job to see things others don't—things Ice doesn't. He knew they couldn't take you back to their fancy hotel rooms even before he came to the event tonight. The safest solution had been to shell out for a lesser room somewhere you were less likely to turn heads.

"She isn't exactly known for being quiet," Sli stresses.

Ice ponders the key for long seconds before he pockets it with a nod.

Slider smirks. "That's what I thought."

#thirsty's fics #fic: stuck in the. middle #fic: stuck at the navy ball #chapter 3: behind the door #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x f!reader #ron slider kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x f!reader #female reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner #top gun smut #tom iceman kazansky smut #ron slider kerner smut #the '86 flyboys #because is fucking your rival-turned-friend's sister even fun if you don't have to be over-the-top sneaky about it?

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