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accioprocrastination · 8 months

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The Reunion

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x wife Reader

A/N: Military inaccuracies, angst and fluff

I haven't proof read this so apologies in advance...

Summary: You're redeployed to the same base as your husband

Reader POV

You touched down in North Island this morning so it's not out of the ordinary that you've spent all evening getting to know the team already stationed here.

It's nearing two a.m. and you're beginning to hit your limit of social interaction. You take a seat on one of the bar stools against the wall closing your eyes momentarily wishing you were home.

"I am so tired I need to go to get out of here and Javy is barely standing, so I'm going to get him something to eat. If any of y'all want food we're leaving now." Jake says walking up to the table where you're sat with a couple of your colleagues.

"Food sounds great." You respond without question. His eyes twinkle as they meet yours and you stare at the laughter lines that momentarily form as he gives you a quick smile. God he's good looking and he knows it.

"I should probably go too and try and adjust to this timezone." Preacher says from next to you getting up and walking out without a more elaborate goodbye. You roll your eyes at his constant holier than thou wisdom.

You watch silently as Jake struggles to make Javy put his jacket on, smirking at the futile effort.

It's only Bob and you left sitting here as Jake continues his fruitless attempt to put Javy's jacket on him.

"I'm hungry - I'm going to go with them. Are you coming?" You ask Bob. He shakes his head.

"No I'm good." He says quietly. You've noticed how he tenses up around your husband and have refrained from commenting.

"Did something happen with Hangman and you? He gets mouthy when he's nervous." You try to defend Hangman having no idea what he's said or done to make Bob feel uncomfortable.

"Nothing's happened I just don't like him." Bob says not opening up to you. It's probably a good thing he's so reserved, so that he doesn't unknowingly start slagging off your husband to you.

You still feel a stone drop in your stomach at his confession.

"How do you know him?" Bob asks watching you staring at the scene before you. You tear your eyes off of Jake and look at Bob.

"We've been stationed together before. Lots of times actually." You explain not really telling him anything.

"He doesn't act like a human." Bob counters and without him elaborating you know what he means completely.

"He takes a long time to open up to people." You state.

"I don't think he feels emotions like normal people." Bob says staring at Jake as he beams at something Javy is slurring at him.

"He's not the person he pretends to be. I think he feels things more deeply than a lot of us and he doesn't know how to handle it so he plays Hangman... I'd rather fly with someone with that level-headedness than an emotional wreck." You remark.

"I think that's the first time anyone's called Hangman level-headed." Bob sniggers as the other two reach the door.

You smile sort of mentally agreeing with him that, that was a poor choice of words. "I know him better than other people. He's not that person when you get to know him." You shrug getting up.

"Does he know that you're in love with him?" Bob asks watching you.

You smile at the WSO completely ignoring his question as you say goodbye, "I'll see you in the morning Bob."

You head to the bathroom, leaving Jake to ensure that a very drunken Javy manages to sit down in the only diner open at this ungodly hour in the morning.

Jake has been stealing glances at you all night and you know he's making himself frustrated because of your no PDA around colleagues rule.

He was the one to enforce the rule and he'll never vocalise that he hates it.

You're drying your hands as the door to the bathroom smashes against the wall. It swings open to reveal a guilty looking Jake who has tried to open the door with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"Shit, sorry!" he says taking a step inside. He stops right behind you and breathes a sigh of relief that you're finally alone for the first time this evening.

You throw the paper towel in the bin, breaking your eye contact through the mirror and turning to face him.

"Lieutenant" you tease him, knowing that he loves it when you call him that. His eyes instantly darken and he steps closer, giving you a look that you can only describe as hunger.

He leans in like he's going to kiss you then stops abruptly, barely a hair's breadth away from your face.

Jake's giving you such a mischievous grin that you have to wonder what he's currently thinking. "You didn't tell me you got promoted to captain, Captain." He whispers.

"I wanted to tell you in person." You inform him as you take ahold of his left hand.

"Congrats darlin'" He says quickly breaking the hand hold and lifting you up slightly to kiss him.

You jump up and knot your legs around his waist. "I-" he starts but you cut him off.

"Please stop talking and just kiss me already." You say.

"Your wish is my command." He spouts before his lips finally meet yours.

You run your fingers through his hair as he manoeuvres to sit you against the sinks. He groans above you - still taking care to gently set you down.

You deepen the kiss to muffle him. He doesn't comment on how your legs tighten around his waist in response.

He breaks the kiss and you huff out of frustration before he starts kissing down your jaw and your neck.

"I have wanted to do this all day." his words tickle against your neck.

"Javy's waiting." you remind Jake and he halts.

His strong arms cloak around you in a tight hug. You hug back with the same force.

"He can wait another minute." Jake says refusing to let you go.

When he loosens his grip to let you go, you tighten your hold on him. "One more minute" You say into his shoulder. Jake is more than happy to oblige to your request.

"God I missed you." He murmurs before you echo the sentiment.

Jake is uncontrollably giggling in the passenger seat of your car which makes you laugh harder at your own stupid joke. It is so rare to crack him like this.

His arms are wrapped around you like a blanket as you walk inside the hotel.

Your laughter cuts off as you both spot an elderly couple in the elevator and Jake untangles himself from you to be more presentable in front of them.

You step in and press the button to your floor as he talks with the elderly couple.

"Thank you for your service" the old lady says to Jake.

"It's my pleasure ma'am" he responds as the elevator pings their floor.

Once it eventually reaches your floor, you practically run out pulling him by the hand.

The second the room door closes behind you, he pounces and pulls you onto the bed.

Jake climbs on top of you, trapping you beneath his body to reiterate what he was saying earlier.

"I missed you." he sighs, needing you to know how much.

"I missed you too." you reply smiling widely.

"I don't think you understand how much." He says before kissing your jaw.

"I miss laughing with you", he presses another kiss against your jaw.

"I miss turning to see your face whenever someone says something I know would make you laugh", he kisses you again.

"I miss our friendship." He says continuing the trail of kisses.

You push on his shoulders moving him to switch positions with you.

"Trust me, I understand how much." You respond kissing him on the lips.

"I wish we could be together all of the time." You tell him breaking the kiss to talk some more.

"I don't like when we meet up after months apart and I'm not sure where we stand." Jake vocalises his anxiety as you run a finger down his cheek.

"We're never in a bad place. We could not speak for months and I'd still be around waiting for you. I know it can be weird to readjust to each others' routines but I'm always going to love you regardless of what happens in between us being together physically in the same place." You say meeting his gaze.

You know he worries when you're apart and you watch as he relaxes into the sheets.

"Sometime I feel insecure that you look at me and know my insecurities, doubts and fears and I don't understand why you love me." He admits.

"You're everything to me. You know that right?" You question.

It's unfrequent that Jake opens up to you like this, so you're not overly surprised when he deflects. "So when we argue about what colour to paint the kitchen?" He tease you about your last big argument.

You roll your eyes, smiling at him. "I still love you even when you're wrong." You say before kissing him again.

"Ditto!" He mumbles against your lips.

You pull back and he smirks knowing you're about to rebuttal.

"I cannot believe that you have brought that up! Now all I'm thinking about is that we still haven't chosen a colour." You declare, jokily hitting Jake's bicep making him laugh.

"We'll pick something soon." he yawns, tiredness hitting him like a tidal wave. His eyes sting from the brightness of the hotel lighting.

You watch Jake turn to look at the clock on the bedside table. It is already 3.24 am.

"You tired princess?" you ask him running a finger along his eyebrows making his eyes flutter shut. It's an unfair tactic that you know will make him more sleepy.

"Wide awake sweetheart." the lie falls from his lips seconds before he is unable to stop another yawn.

You clamber off him instantly.

"Nooo." Jake complains grabbing the back of your thighs to try and stop you getting up.

"I'm not hooking up with you if you're going to lie there yawning." You remark standing up to go brush your teeth.

Jake pouts, "when did I get so old that I can't pull all-nighters?" You smile down at him silently wishing you could both stay awake talking for a few more hours.

He rubs his eyes trying not to fall asleep; longing to do more than kiss you. You both know your husband will be asleep the minute you come back and turn the light off.

#jake seresin #tgm #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #top gun au #hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #top gun #top gun hangman #hangman fluff #jake seresin fluff #hangman #top gun fic #top gun maverick #tgm fic #tgm x reader #tgm au

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iceman-kazansky · 4 months

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Did You Even Care?

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: none

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x f!Reader

Warnings: Angst to fluff, explicit language (swearing), arguing, graphic kissing, reader is a naval aviator, my writing lmao

A/n: Wrote this on a kinda-whim. Also, first publicly published Rooster fic on Tumblr? what? No wayyyy. This is a product of my recent Rooster/Top Gun obsession as of late btw.

Taglist: @footprintsinthesxnd @inglourious-imagines

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥

Your footsteps echoed down the hall as you walked alone, lost in your own thoughts. Further down the hallway, behind an almost closed door, you could hear muffled voices as you passed. Voices that raised into yelling. Unable to resume your own thinking, consumed by the argument that is rapidly escalating, you stop.

Truthfully, you hadn't planned on eavesdropping– but it just kind of happened.

Standing just out of sight, hidden behind the door frame, you listened to the two men arguing.

“Why did you stand in my way?” The one yells, and instantly you recognize the voice to be Bradley Bradshaw’s.

You listen intently as Bradley throws countless insults at the other person you've identified as Maverick, and with each one you think of how cruel and unfair Bradley is being.

The argument seems to be ending, but Bradleys quiet voice reminds you it's not yet over, “If you care about me then make it up to me by not choosing y/n for the mission. Choose me instead.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in anger and hurt at his sudden words. Confusion rapidly overwhelms you. What did you have to do with this? And what business did Bradley have removing you from the chance of being picked as a possible pilot?

The small thought occurred to you that maybe he'd wanted the position himself. And you threatened that. How, you weren't certain, but it was enough for him to try persuading the team's Captain.

Not needing to hear any more and sensing the argument was soon to be finished, you turned on your heel quickly and marched down the hallway in a pained rage.

Who did he think he was, getting you removed from the mission? You'd trained just as hard as everyone else so why did he go out of his way to guarantee you not getting picked as a pilot on the mission?

Hot tears sprung to your eyes as you borderline ran down the hall to escape Rooster and Maverick. You had truly thought Bradley cared about you. Had foolishly wondered if he'd ever give you the time and day and see you as more than a friend. But now, the looks that he'd sent your way, the tender softness and care he'd displayed seemed nothing more than a masquerade. Whatever his reasoning, you didn't care to hear.

You heard Bradley's unmistakable voice call your name, and next the quick tapping of his shoes as he ran down the hall to catch up with you.

He called your name again, a lot closer, but when once again you didn't answer, he grabbed your arm and turned you around to face him.

“Y/n–” He began, but you quickly cut him off.

“No, Bradshaw. I don't want to hear it!”

“Just listen– please! I can explain” He pleads.

You can feel your anger building inside of you, “explain what?” You shriek, not caring if anyone hears you, “How dare you! I've worked just as hard if not harder than most to get to where I am, to be called back for a mission, and you've selfishly gone and ruined it for me!”

He sighs in frustration, his voice also raising to meet yours, “Would you please just listen!?”

You don't follow his words, instead pressing further, “What reason could you possibly even have to fucking stop me from going? Because the way I see fit, you're nothing but a selfish asshole who wants to secure the position for yourself! Are you insecure I'm going to beat you to it and it'll be on my record, not yours? Then fine, Bradshaw, have it. I don’t fucking care!”

Bradley is fuming, his skin hot in anger, he was already fired up from his argument with Maverick and this was only fueling his rage. Why won't you listen? “I did it for you!” He all but yells at you, his voice loud in the empty hall, making you shrink away a little in shock, “Why don't you fucking understand that?”

Stunned, but not missing a beat, you reply sarcastically, “I'm sure removing me from the mission in order to get yourself the position is totally ‘for me,” your words are sharp like barbed wire with an unseen rage that simmers beneath your skin, pumping through your veins.

“I did it to protect you, goddamnit!” He bellows suddenly, catching you off guard.

For a long minute, there's nothing but silence, Bradley's angry face dark and dangerously close to yours, his hot breath fanning your face as he puffs loudly in anger. To protect me? You think, why? You don't say anything, instead staring at him with shock. His deep brown eyes ignited with flames of fury as they stared into yours, and you can physically and emotionally feel the anger ebbing away and confusion settling in to take its place.

“Why?” You croak quietly, breaking the silence.

“Because I love you,” he whispers back hesitantly, his hardened face softening.

“I don't need your protecting, Brad,” you say calmly, your voice hushed.

Perhaps it's the gentle, calming softness of your voice, or the heat from the previous confession and emotions left to linger, or maybe even the use of the short nickname from you, but whatever it is has him leaning forwards slightly to place his lips gently on yours in a passionate kiss.

You don't reciprocate immediately, instead pausing in a stupefied state and paralyzed with shock. However, the feeling quickly passes, and your body is overcome with a hunger– a desire– making you melt into him and supply as much passion as he does.

Together, your lips pressing together like two lost souls who've finally found their way back to each other in the most ardent way, you let the strong sense of love you'd held out. Through the years you'd known Bradley, you'd kept your feelings at bay, pushing them down with acceptance that he'd never see you like that, but now– with his admission of love, you'd been handed a key to unlock those pent up emotions in one passionate kiss.

You knew you were standing in the hall and any unsuspecting personnel could walk up at any moment, but you didn't care. The whole world pauses around you and the only thing you focus on is the solstice you find in each other.

Leaning away from Bradley, you breathe a sigh of happiness, “I love you.”

His brown eyes are filled with admiration and awe when he repeats, “I love you more.”

#top gun #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #rooster tgm #tg #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm #tgm x reader

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parkersgarage · 2 months

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The Morning After

a/n: yk I was writing this with intentions of it being sad but then I saw a clip of him shirtless and it went sideways

jake seresin x gn!reader | 479 wc | warnings; reader gets called sweetheart, alludes to sex, jake has a fboy past, MDNI pls (there’s nothing explicit but I prefer minors to not read this)

Your eyes felt heavy when you woke up, your head spinning and throbbing when you lifted it from your pillows. Your hand reached blindly to the other side, slumping back down when you felt cold sheets.

He left. Of course he left. That was just who he was. You couldn’t believe the hope that set in your heart the moment you let him in, the hope that made you think you’d be different to him.

But that was just who he was—a man of many one-night stands.

Rustling in your bathroom took your attention away from degrading Jake, your eyes widening when you saw the sliver of light illuminating the top, side, and bottom of the door.

Somebody was in there.

Just as you sit up, the door swings open, and behold, Jake Seresin stands shirtless in the frame.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” There’s a cocky grin on his face, but there’s a look of pure love in his eyes. “I took a shower if that’s okay.”

You nod your head, bunching your covers in your grip. “You took a shower,” you repeated, hiding your face in your hands. “God.”

He strides over when he hears the break in your voice, grasping your hands to bring them away from your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you left.” You muttered, looking down in shame when he looked hurt. “I’m sorry for assuming it’s just I thought-”

He lowers his head to the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose against it. “I get it.” His breath fans against your skin as he laughs, bitter and forced. “I guess that side of me will always stick, huh?”

“Jake, I didn’t mean it— I’m sorry.” You whisper, fingertips scratching the base of his neck. “I was just scared you didn’t feel the same way.”

And, of course, despite the seriousness of your words from before, you feel his lips upturn into a grin. Your hands pushed his shoulders just enough to look at his face, and just like you knew it, he had a proud smile.

“You’re a jerk, Seresin.” You murmur, bumping your forehead against his.

He laughs softly, nudging his nose against yours. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s within my nature.” You hum, fingertips running down his chest. “But you fell for that, didn’t you?”

“Oh, how could I not?” You sighed dreamily. He laughed at your tone, watching you fall back onto your bed. “I love a man who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“Yeah?” He presses, hovering above you. “Wanna try and make me shut up?” Your finger loops around his dog tags, tugging him down gently until his lips barely graze yours.

“Maybe I wanna hear you,” you whisper. With each word from you, your lips touch his, and your hand travels further down. Jake just might let his ego go for once. “So don’t even think about being quiet.”

a/n: if I knew how to write smut without cringing, trust you would’ve gotten more (I’ll try anyway if it’s wanted)

#tgm x reader #tgm x you #tgm imagines #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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lieutenantfloyd · 9 months

Note

hello <3 i would like to request dating headcanons for iceman thank youu

Dating headcanons — Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x reader

Warnings: mentions of jealousy and PDA.

a/n: I actually have two requests for this, so thank you to both anons!

If you’re within arms reach, he’s touching you. If you’re not, he’s leaving whatever he was doing to find you.

Will, at minimum, have his arm over your shoulders.

If you walk up beside him, he’s pulling you down onto his lap.

Which will most likely turn into him tickling you

He also has a habit of picking you up and carrying you away at any time with zero warning.

Movie dates!!

Always lets you have the first pick when choosing what to watch.

If you let him choose, he’ll pick something that he knows will scare you (just a little) so you’ll bury your head in his chest.

He has a deep interest in all of your hobbies, collections, likes, dislikes, etc, and is overjoyed if you do the same for him.

Writes you countless letters when he's deployed.

Each letter is undeniably Iceman in style. Highly detailed and full of wild stories and sarcastic quips.

He’s a romantic at heart and shows his love with a variety of small and grand gestures.

He even set up a weekly delivery of your favorite flowers from the local florist.

Tom is 100% down for PDA. Especially around fellow aviators.

He knows all too well how they can get, and what better way is there to show them that you are strictly off limits?

Tom absolutely loses it when you wear his clothes around him And if you borrow his aviator glasses? He’s proposing on the spot

He isn’t jealous, but he is protective.

He’s completely secure in himself and your relationship, but he does worry about other people respecting you.

If you’re still in school, he automatically becomes your study buddy.

Whether you need a sounding board for your ideas/presentations, help to prepare for a test, or just want some company while you study, he’s there for you.

He’s so attentive and often anticipates your needs before you do.

Tom is the type of boyfriend who will take you shopping and will carry all your bags.

He insists on paying for everything.

There's no spending limit, as long as you model everything you want for him.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun x reader #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x reader #iceman kazansky #iceman #tom kazansky #tom kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x you #tom kazansky x y/n #top gun 1986 #tgm x reader #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm headcanon #top gun headcanons

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whatislovevavy · 4 months

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Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure

Jake Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Hangman and Cherry have never been able to be in the same room as the other without nearly ripping each other's throats out. Hangman provides a solution that provides her a sense of freedom and pleasure that she begins to crave.

Warnings: Smut, P in V, degradation, hot pilots being delusional and horny

Word Count: 3.4k

Soph's Collection of Literature

A note: This is a nice little piece I made for @roosterforme's TopGun 80's Rocktober Challenge using Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to Rule the World. The lovely divider was made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more. I hope you enjoy <3

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.

“God, you’re such a dick,”

You almost missed the way his lips curved into a smirk into the sensitive flesh of the column of your neck. Hands gripping into his shoulders as he sucked at your pulse, pushing your hips into the cold metal lockers behind you with a resonating bang, his broad hands digging into your Nomex clad waist enough to leave marks.

Time was not in your favor, and you could sense that the team had their suspicions about what Hangman and Cherry were doing while they weren’t trying to rip the other to shreds on the tarmac.

“I always did like you more when you were too busy takin' my cock to say your little bratty comments,” he growled into your throat.

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way his gravelly tone and filthy words made you want to clench your thighs around his lean waist.

A huff left your lips.

He was absolutely vexing.

His hands gripped harder into your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your ass, making you let out what could be best described as a repressed sigh.

And shameless and cocksure.

He harshly sucked at the flesh of your neck, sure to leave angry, deep purple marks in his wake, the act making you hiss.

A significant part of you had stopped caring to cover up the traces of your rendezvous; new ones would be there the following day or later in the week anyway.

And was absolutely filled to the brim with brazen confidence and a glaring disregard for others.

You had to bite into the soft, plump flesh of your lip to silence yourself as his mouth made you want to softly whimper.

Chewing him out only turned him on, and ignoring him just made him press harder into your nerves.

You couldn’t win with him. Maybe that was why you let yourself have this arrangement.

To see if you could win, and claim victory over the infamous Hangman that had women for miles lined up for a chance to warm his bed.

Because just like him, you craved victory.

His fingers frantically reached for your front zipper, pulling the dark green material down your body, exposing more and more flesh by the second to his ravenous mouth.

A sigh passed your lips as he fondled your breast, bringing your tank top down to expose your pebbled nipple to the cooler air of the locker room with a gasp, taking the sensitive flesh into his warm mouth with a deep growl.

You hated that he had this effect on you.

Not in a way that itched your skin, but in a way that made your insides swirl and buzz with…

A low whine pulled its way past your lips as he let the rough pads of his fingers run through your folds.

“Mhm, so wet, Cherry. This all f’me?”

His chest inflated with pride at the glare you shot him.

He watched with salacious eyes as he removed his fingers, “Come on, sweets, we both know ya don’t get this wet for just anyone.”

You watched as he let his tongue glide over his bottom lip, his gaze heavy on your flushed cheeks and glazed over eyes.

Agitation overcame you at the sight of him as he closed his eyes, humming at the taste of you on his fingers, trying to ignore how much you ne-wanted his touch again.

And trying to remember how much you hated it when he called you that little endearment with that irritating southern drawl of his.

Maybe this whole arrangement was to gain some freedom from this chase you both did with each other, to put your hatred for him to better use.

To have an outlet. Yeah that was it. An outlet. A reprieve from your hatred induced frustrations.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His dry laugh made your insides burn and your nails dig into his shoulders just that much harder.

He nipped at your jaw as your nails dug harshly into the back of his neck.

The act made him growl into the column of your throat, the vibrations making you almost shiver.

“I already do, sweets. You wouldn’t keep coming back if it weren't the case.”

You scoffed.

“You’re insufferable.”

His lip quirked.

“And so god-damn frustrating.”

He hummed, his ego growing like his cock in the thin confines of his flight suit with each breathless word that passed sweet, no-faults-in-sight, perfect straight shooter Cherry’s lips.

“But I’m not wrong,” he replied, giving your neck a playful nip.

“I never said you were right, and don’t call me sweets,” you quipped back, trying to keep your voice steady as he sucked at your pulse point.

He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot against your skin, “always so feisty, Cherry,”

Your words died on your lips as his lips lathed at your chest, softly biting into your nipple. A soft sigh left your lips as he soothed your flesh with his frustratingly nimble tongue.

His touch almost made you miss him as he took a second to pull down his flight suit, his white undershirt clashing with his golden tan skin and clinging to his biceps. The imprint of his dog tags showing through his cotton shirt. Your eyes followed the path of the white fabric as he unveiled the sharp ridges and dips of hard muscle from his defined adonis belt, to his marble carved abs that seemed to go on for days, to his pectorals and thick, broad shoulders.

"We don't have all day, Bagman," you said, voice lacking the authority you hoped it would still have.

His muffled dry laugh made your jaw clench and stomach flip.

Your voice couldn't have sounded that desperate, could it?

His lip quirked, revealing pearly white teeth.

"Didn't realize you were in a rush, got a hot date later?"

Your eyes narrowed, his teasing smile grating on your nerves.

"As a matter of fact, I do," you managed to say without your voice sounding too breathless or shaky.

His eyes narrowed for only a millisecond.

A flash of something you've never seen before.

In his eyes, at least.

But as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

"Mhm," he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning down to kiss at your neck, coming up to your tender ear lobe, giving the soft flesh a delicate bite that had a hitched breath leaving your parted lips.

You hated how well versed he was in the subtle language of your body.

He firmly squeezed your hips in his broad hands, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your bunched up flight suit to your ass.

You almost shivered at his warm breath settling against your ear.

"Does he know he's gonna be getting sloppy seconds?"

A scoff passed your lips, "I don't see how that's of any concern to you."

He hissed as your nails dug harder into the back of his neck.

"We both know you don't date. That's why this works so well, "he said dryly as he kissed at your neck, slowly pulling the Nomex material below your waist, your legs moving at their own accord to step out of the sleeves.

He had a point. An annoying and frustrating point.

"It's the first date anyway," you replied, choosing to ignore the evident vibrations of the chord he just struck through your chest.

He let his jade, evergreen eyes settle on you.

Those same eyes that could read you like a book he's read a hundred times over.

His lip quirked, eyebrows scrunching in amusement.

"That's really romantic, Cherry, really. Showing up with another man's cum dripping down your thighs as he sweats himself on the first date."

Your mouth dried up, utterly speechless at the words he said with that trademark Hangman confidence.

Your eyes narrowed, eyebrows softly pinching together.

A smirk grew on his lips that made you want to slap him, or pull his lips towards yours.

You couldn't decide.

He kept his heated, lust-bright gaze on yours as he trailed his calloused fingers in between the material of your panties and your soft, supple skin, relishing in the feel of gooseflesh he left in his wake.

You watched as let his gaze shift downwards, clicking his tongue.

"Cherry, you shouldn't have... you wore my favorite pair just for me?"

You bit your lip as he continued to toy with the soft, blush pink material of your undergarment.

That same full-of-himself smirk that you hated curved his lips.

But do you know what you hated more?

The fact that you couldn't help but feel like some part of you purposely decided to wear the pair, and not because you purely wanted to, but because there was a part of you that wanted to wear them just for him.

He gently rolled them down your thighs, letting you step out of them.

He let his hand drift under the back of your thigh to behind your knee, grasping your leg and lifting it to bend at his hip before snatching the pair of pink panties that hung off your ankle.

Your eyes followed his hand as he bunched the material between his dexterous fingers.

"Excuse me, I'd like those back," you snipped.

His lip quirked.

"If you're good, I'll consider it, sweets."

You huffed, glaring at the smirk and subsequent wink he sent you.

Your glare worsened as he brought the material to his nose, taking a deep inhale, a deep sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips, doing your damnedest to ignore the soft throbbing of your clit at the sight, and to suppress the whine that threatened to bubble up in your throat.

"Always smell so sweet, Cherry, like a perfect, little cherry pie." He murmured as he placed the debauched material into the pocket of his flight suit.

"You're disgusting and don't call me sweets," you gritted back, raising your voice with a snarl that Jake knew was all bark and no bite.

At least with him.

He gave that salacious smile that always made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or knock his perfect teeth out. Or fuck him. Or grab him by his hair and-

Your jaw tensed, nostrils flaring.

His smile widened, evidently proud of the rouse of emotion he pulled from you.

You were too much fun to tease.

"Shhh,” you could have sworn that you saw red the moment the condescending noise left his lips, “someone's gonna hear ya if you keep that up, and ya wouldn't want someone to see just how well I can get along with ya, right Cherry? Make ya make such sweet, absolutely sinful sounds f’me?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, much to your unending irritation with the visceral response this man managed to pull out of you each time he had you.

Whether it was the Hard Deck bathroom during the saturday night rush, that one time at the beach long after Bob Floyd’s birthday celebration, or on the other side of Admiral Simpson’s white fence during the Fourth of July BBQ that past summer.

A chuckle broke free from his chest as you laid a smack to his thick pectoral, eyes still sharp and full of what could be described as a cauldron of hate and lust to anyone else who had the misfortune of interrupting their, what could be described as, animalistic rutting.

He pulled down his flight suit to settle down to the tiled floor with a small thump, his body only clad in his signature pair of Calvin Klein briefs.

That was another thing you hated about him; he looked good in anything.

It pained you to say that he could easily have become a model if the Navy hadn't worked out.

Your nails dug into his shoulders before softly tracing down his body, over each ridge, each chord, each plane of muscle and bulging vein that made you salivate more than you would care to admit.

He pulled his briefs down, letting his thick cock that always forced you to take a minute to adjust to sprung up against his adonis belt with a soft tap.

A soft sigh passed your lips as he gently traced at the embarrassingly soaked folds of your cunt with the pads of his fingers.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin would never admit it, but he was disappointed he didn't have the time to taste you, to savor what he would describe as the intoxicating taste of candied cherries that dribbled down your flushed folds like a sweet nectar.

Sweet nectar from a poisonous, intolerable, type-A personality fruit.

He hated that he wanted to quirk his lip at the birthmark just above your soft, sensitive little clit. To hear that sweet sinful sound he, disappointedly, hadn't been able to find in anyone else when he fucked you with his tongue.

A soft puff of breath passed your lips as he lined up the angry, red bulbous head at your flushed cunt. Grunting as his sensitive head met your drenched folds.

His entrancing eyes hurriedly met yours.

You feverishly nodded.

Jake pushed his length into the delicious inferno of your tight, little pussy.

Your breath felt like cement in your lungs as he let his full, long, thick length accommodate itself into your welcoming heat.

He let his head fall to the crook in her shoulder, her nails still gripping into the thick cords of muscle of his shoulders, trying to ground yourself.

"Jesus, Cherry,” he murmured.

God, the way his voice graveled out praise was the most unfortunate consequence of this arrangement that still affected you hours after your trysts.

His cock seemed to push any capability of forming coherent sentences out of your body.

All that passed your lips were sharp intakes of breath and low mewls that left your throat without your consent.

He gave an experimental thrust into your heat, letting your soft sighs of pleasure meet his ears as you adjusted to his length.

Your breath hitched as he brought your other leg around his waist, his biceps bulging with the effort of thrusting into you against the smooth, metal locker doors.

"More."

"Come on, sweets, you can do better than that."

He smirked at your breathless tone.

If his cock didn’t feel like the only thing you needed at the moment to live, you would have told him to go fuck himself.

You laid your head back against the dark gray metal surface, eyes meeting his fiery, lush, emerald gaze, voice frozen in your throat, lips parted.

He manhandled your legs, forcing them to cross around his waist, gripping your waist in his broad hand in a borderline painful grip.

His other hand brought up to grip at the sides of your throat. A low moan came from your lips that had him smirking deviously and your cheeks turning red, utterly at the mercy of him and his thick cock that was rubbing deliciously at that spot he always found with maddening accuracy.

“Please, more,”

Those two words made you cringe with embarrassment, unable to stop the small whimper that passed your bite swollen lips.

His salacious chuckle met your ears, making your cheeks burn brighter.

“God, I can never get used to you like this… so needy and desperate. You become such a sweet girl when I get my dick in ya. Haven’t even started yet, and you're already babbling like a cock-drunk little slut.”

All you could do was part your lips and muster enough composure to utter two simple words.

“F-fuck you,”

His eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, leaning his head towards your ear. The scent of bergamot and cedar wood filling your senses.

“You already are, sweets,” he growled, sharply thrusting into your sopping wet cunt.

Your gasp and tightening of your grip into his shoulder and hand that settled at your neck had him throbbing against your velvet walls that oh so begged him to never leave.

“Fuck, Cherry, I bet you don’t even hate me,” he panted, “not,” thrust, “even,” thrust, “a little,” thrust, “bit.”

Your cries of pleasure spilled from your lips and into the empty on base locker room, fingernails gripping and scratching into him almost enough to draw blood.

He gripped your throat just a bit harder, enough to have your eyes rolling back, wanton moans pouring from your lips as he pistoned his hips into your cunt.

He yanked your neck closer to his. Close enough to see the small specks of hazel in his almost unending green eyes. And the kink in his nose he got when he broke it back at the Naval Academy. And to smell the potent scent of you on his breath.

“I think you just need someone who can fuck you like this. Treat you like a slut and fuck your tight, little hole. Just like you need.” He gritted out, continuing to pound up into your dripping heat that dribbled your arousal to the tile floor below.

You couldn’t help the labored pants of breath as you nodded feverishly, your consciousness shutting down and your own body taking over.

He let out a dark chuckle with a carnal grin, his abdomen feeling tight as his balls slapped against the underside of your ass, his release building.

“God, you’re fucking adorable for thinking anyone else could fuck you like this,” he snarled.

Your high pitched whines and obscene moans had him gripping you that much tighter and chasing your high.

“Oh, fuck, please!”

He could feel the sweat building at his forehead and chest as he pistoned his hips into your pretty pink, flushed, little pussy.

He ne-wanted you to come first. His ego demanded it. Demanded that he bend you to his will.

His spine tingled at the feeling of your walls spasming around his dick at his brutal pace.

You shuddered at the feeling of his mouth near the soft cartilage of your ear, breathing caught in your throat.

“Please what, sweets? Use your words.” he growled.

“Please, Please… make me cum.”

A deep chested groan rumbled through his throat at your pathetic whine, “fuck, I’ll make you cum, sweets, I’ll make you cum,” he growled.

Your body was wracked by tremors as he thrusted, channeling each ounce of strength in his body into pummeling your flushed cunt.

He watched as your eyes clenched shut, eyebrows pinching together as your feather soft lips parted into a strangled moan that was much louder than the previous ones.

In a split second, he crashed his lips to yours, swallowing each sound of pleasure that escaped your body as he finally felt your walls choke his cock for all he was worth. Your breath mixed with his as your chest heaved, his hips still pistoning into your no doubt raw cunt.

Oversensitivity wracked your body, making you cry out as his chest heaved and lips swallowed each cry and moan. Stars and galaxies flashed before your eyes as he kept his grip on your throat, chasing his high as your second one consumed you.

You could feel with each thrust, how his cock throbbed against your slick, sensitive walls.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he grunted out, a gut punch groan resonating against the locker walls that encased you both.

Your clit tingled at the feeling of his release painting your walls, squirming with each soft impact they landed against your delicate cervix.

His head fell down to your shoulder as his chest heaved, breathing heavy.

You felt as though your head was spinning as your breathing evened out, absentmindedly running your fingers along the pebbled chain of the dog tags that settled between his pecs on a soft bed of sparse, golden chest hair and freckles sparingly scattered across his chest.

Your fingers paused, retracting them to hold onto his shoulder as his breathing settled.

This arrangement was meant to get you both the most of freedom and of pleasure.

Nothing more and nothing less.

He placed a kiss along your neck. His soft touch almost made you sigh.

Almost.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut, basking in the moment of feeling him still inside you. His softening cock letting his release dribble around the seams of where his cock perfectly encased itself between your folds.

His head rose up to meet your face, cheeks flushed and sensuous evergreen eyes that seemed to glow with a post high gaze.

“Meet same time tomorrow?”

People who may be interested <3

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killthewhisperingart · 4 months

Text

"It's Cold Without You"

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 2,452

Summary: A perfect description of your psyche while your husband is gone, would be the color blue. When he leaves, he takes the warmth with him, dragging the color orange behind himself, only bringing it and the sunrise upon his return.

Warning(s): Angst and descriptive thoughts of anxiety and death

A/N: It's a little abrupt, but I really wanted to post something. And I also wanted to express a specific energy (my requests r still open)

I am an 18+ Blog.

The house is cold. Maybe it's the slow approach of Winter, or the fact that the heater was busted and you refused to call someone to fix it. But the house wasn't as warm as it usually was. You stopped using the lamps with yellow bulbs, instead opting for either the blinding overhead light, or no light at all. The curtains were perpetually drawn, closing your bedroom off from the world outside, closing you off from the world outside.

Everyday is the same thing on repeat, go to work only to return home. But no matter where you are, you're always miserable. When you're at work you want nothing more than to be at home, wrapped in a blanket of silence and warmth. Though, when you're at your house, you feel lonelier than ever, longing for the human connection of your job and coworkers.

It isn't always like this, the chill in the air. The chill that settles so deeply within your bones your teeth chatter, it isn't typically present. And you know why it's here, but admitting it feels colder than the wind that hits you harshly when you walk outside. Saying it out loud, or even thinking about it for too long makes you feel... shitty, for lack of a better word to describe yourself in your head.

You don't tell him the problems you're having. You especially would never tell him why you are having these issues. Because you know him, inside and out, and you know he'll feel guilty. But you also know yourself well enough to be aware of the fact he knows you just the same. He would so easily see through the facade you have created, look through the walls you've built up as if they were a window pane. This is why you've been dodging his calls, and why he currently thinks you are sick with the flu.

You simply wait, counting the days until he's home, begging time will move faster. And while you lay in bed alone, ponder on the idea that perhaps you're wasting your life. You know it's pathetic, the fact your existence is dependent on the presence of your husband. And you feel horrible, the codependency clawing its way up your throat. It's even worse when you remember you haven't always felt this way, and you don't know what's changed. You don't know why you can't seem to act like yourself when he's gone.

Well, perhaps you do know. You just don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit that you're terrified. You don't want to admit that every time he comes home complaining of a new ailment due to a painful ejection, you get nervous. That every call from one of his superiors, or even one of his colleagues, you have a shock of terror that has your heart beating out of your chest. That you only ever feel comfortable knowing he's alive when he's next to you.

When he's home, it's different. He doesn't realize he does it, but he chases the chill away. The nervousness that wraps itself around your ribs, squeezing until your heart constricts, it lessens. You find yourself distracted by the feeling of his hands on your hips, the pressure of his kisses against your skull, that it all disappears for a moment. But you know, as your ear presses against his chest at night, listening to him breathe, that the problem is still present.

"How do you feel about kids?" He asks one day, standing behind you as you analyze the paint samples for the bathroom after it's remodeling.

And your heart sinks, because you don't know. You don't know if you'd be able to handle a baby with him, let alone when he leaves. How would you be able to calm a crying baby when you consider yourself one when he's gone?

How would you be able to handle his death...?

You think about it a lot. The idea that he will fall to his demise the same way his father did, leaving the same trauma his dad left him, on the child you two have. But you don't know if you're as strong as Carole Bradshaw. You never considered yourself a weak person, but that's what he does. Bradley makes you weak, and you don't know if you'd survive his death. If you'd be able to go on with your life, go back to normal. You don't know if you'd be able to handle your own grief, not to mention teaching your child how to do so.

You don't give him an answer that day, and he lets it go. He's good at that; letting go. It was always something you admired about him, his ability to let things slide over him, continuing on easily. The only exception he had ever displayed, was his attitude towards Pete Mitchel, never letting that go. And you can't help but wonder if you'd do the same thing to your child. Would you hold them back? Perhaps beg Jake Seresin to pull your own sons papers because you'd be so blinded by the grief for Bradley, that you'd stop your own child from achieving his dream as well.

Today is a day like any other, the calendar is marked with a bright red heart exactly six days from now. You tell yourself the house will be clean three days prior to his arrival, and the Bronco will be washed the day before, and you will be presentable the day of. But for now, you hide within the comforter that his smell still lingers on. You've taken the week off, avoiding your job with a simple call that ends with a cough you and your manager know is fake.

Bradley is never early. He's a punctual man. He's never late either. He has a talent of showing up to things at the exact time as expected. And you adore this about him, because you're never nervous about when he'll show up. After ten years together, why would you ever think that would change?

He notices the house is darker and colder than normal. He softly drops his duffel by the door, removing his boots slowly before treading towards the lamp in the living room. And the home looks eerily different. He knows you're sick right now, but he questions the extent of it as he takes in the mess.

Almost all of the dishes are piled in the sink, definitely not the amount someone who has been sick for a little over a week would use in that time. His eyes move from the dishes to the rest of the counter, where mail is scattered. He removes himself from the room, drifting into the laundry room where what can only be your entire wardrobe laying haphazardly in front of the washing machine.

It's not that Bradley ever expected you to be the sole proprietor of the household chores, typically every task being traded between the two of you. But this was clearly out of character for you. He always came home to a spotless house, something he dearly appreciated. Internally he wonders if it's his fault, for coming home too early, but he can't help but be concerned.

His chest constricts when he walks into your shared bedroom to find you, curled into the fetal position sleeping. You look exhausted, even though you're sleeping. For a moment he forgets all about the fact that his back hurts, or the fact he's been wanting to sleep in his own bed for almost two months. All he can think of is you.

"Baby," He whispers, a hand softly against your shoulder. "Honey?"

You awake with a sharp intake of breath, heart beating out of your chest in a panic. Realizing it is your husband and not in fact a murderer, does little to quell your anxieties.

"Bradley?" You blurt, springing up. "What are you doing here? It's not the twelfth is it?" You go to reach for your phone, frustration leaking through your voice. "What are you doing home?"

"I came home early," He exhales, brows knitted in concern as you rush around the room. You're clearly distressed, pacing before you finally stop and run your hands down your face.

"Why?" You dare to ask, voice warbling against your will. "Why are you home early?"

"You sounded like you were really sick, and it was only six days-" He clenches his eyes shut before looking at you with his sad eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You aren't supposed to be home yet." You whisper, crossing your arms. Your face crumbles as you remember the state of the house, the state of yourself.

"Baby if you've been sick longer than you told me, we can go to the hospital," He stands up, stepping towards you. "Something can really be wrong-"

"You're not supposed to be home," You repeat, turning it into a mantra under your breath as you cover your eyes. You can feel the slow burn as tears erupt from your eyes, strong emotions wrapping themselves around you like an octopus around a crab. Faintly, you can feel Bradley's hands touch your shoulders, and the way he rubs up and down doesn't feel the way it normally does. His touch burns your skin, itchy and irritating in a way that makes you want to cry harder.

"Will you let me take you to the doctor?"

"Will you shut up about the hospital?" You hiss, your frustration coming to head as you explode. His hands pull away as you look at him with such venom on your tongue, you can taste it. "God! Why are you home?"

His face twists in confusion, then to his own form of irritation matching yours. He doesn't understand, and typically you'd feel bad because it isn't his fault. But he wasn't supposed to be home yet.

"I don't understand." His mouth is slightly agape as he exhales. "I thought you were sick, you weren't answering my calls, you haven't been to work in two weeks-"

"You called my job?"

"I was worried!" He shouts, and you feel itchy again. "I was worried about you! And evidently I needed to be because the house is a mess-"

This strikes a chord within you. The house is yours. Bradley and you share ownership of it, you bought it together, decorated it together, but it's your domain. Every detail is finalized by you, from the color of the floors to the oven you own. It's yours. And it hurts that he points out how you've mistreated it. It hurts on a deeper level that he thinks this. No matter how much you know it's true.

"Don't you dare talk to me about my house." You can hold yourself back, snapping back at him.

"It's a fucking mess!" He points out, and you know. You know it's true. "It's never like this so clearly something is wrong and I'm worried about you!" You don't know what to do, because you had everything planned out, you knew when things were going to be put back-

And he's home early.

You prided yourself on being able to hide this part of your life from him. Being able to disguise your pain behind a mask of stability, pretending nothing had changed. That you hadn't changed. But now that's all gone. He's taken a peak behind the curtain and now the entire illusion falls apart, like ashes between your fingers.

"I just want you to tell me what's wrong." His voice is lower now, and he knows you're avoiding eye contact. "You've been pulling away, and I'm worried."

You can't bring yourself to lift your eyes from the floor to his face, where you know his eyes are bright regardless of the hurt that paints them.

"Is it me?" He asks, bending slightly to try and put his eyes in your line of sight. "Do you not want me anymore? Us?"

"No-" You can see his heart break in his eyes as you look up. "It's not that. No, Bradley, it's not that." You step closer, harshly laughing at yourself. "It's the opposite."

"I don't understand, honey."

"I love you." You whisper, feeling warmer now as his hands slide to your hips. "I love you so much, there's no one else in the world I'd even consider replacing you with. And I can't imagine my life without you."

He watches you apprehensively, eyes darting to your hands and back up to your eyes.

"I'm scared." You finally let it slip, soft like a prayer, quiet like a secret. He tilts his head slightly, practically begging you to elaborate. "I'm scared, when you leave the house for work in the morning. I'm scared when you go on missions-" your voice cracks harshly. "My heart drops every time Mav calls me instead of you, and when someone knocks on the door."

"I don't..."

"I'm scared that you're going to die soon." You blurt, not missing the way his eyes widen.

"Baby, I'm not going to die-"

"Do you think Goose told Carole that?" You ask, knowing you're crossing a line. Tears blur your vision. "You can't tell me you aren't going to die because you are, and there's nothing I can do to stop it-"

The hug is abrupt, your face being pushed into his neck and your bodies close. You feel nothing other than Bradley, and you can't even bring yourself to apologize as your hot tears drip onto his skin and inevitably his shirt. Your fingers tighten around his back, desperate to have him closer because you don't think he'll ever be close enough unless you're beneath his skin.

You know this conversation isn't done, it's not tied neatly with a bow on top. You know there's an entire can of worms that inevitably will be opened. But for a moment you feel warm again. Heat bubbles beneath your skin, rumbling through your chest as you feel his heart beating against your chest. Reds and oranges fly behind your eyelids in a way that has you breathing easier.

As he silently pulls the both of you to the bed, he hugs you a bit tighter. The smell of him surrounds you in a thick layer, your skin buzzing beneath the feeling of his lips against your forehead. You whine as he pulls away, tucking you in like you're a child.

"We're not done talking about this." He whispers, looking down at you with his sorrowful eyes. "Not even close to being done talking about this."

"Okay," You say softly back, agreeing.

"But you should get some sleep," He advises with a crooked smile. "I'll be here when you wake up."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun x reader #writing #top gun angst #top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm x reader #x reader #x reader angst

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heliads · 5 months

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I’d like to request an imagine where the female reader is a baker and Rooster’s girlfriend. She owns a bakery called The Slice is Right (it’s a pun. The Slice is Right = The Price is Right). She has a YouTube channel where she gets her Twitter followers to vote on what should be added to the menu and she bakes the winning vote and gets Rooster to try it and give his opinion.

Dating Rooster and Owning a Bakery Would Include...

masterlist

Of all of the people that he’s met over the course of his tumultuous, chaotic life, Rooster never expected to fall in love with a baker

He’d always assumed he’d charm some actress or supermodel (so he bragged to Hangman, at least)

However, when he accidentally stumbled by your bakery one evening and saw your pretty face through the glass, Rooster was smitten at first sight

Even if he fell quickly, Rooster took his time in getting you to fall in love with him, too

He used to stop by every chance he got just to see you smile

No one could resist that charm forever, certainly not you, so when he asked you out on a date at last, you said no without a shred of hesitation

One date turned into another, and now you can’t imagine your life without him

Neither can your YouTube followers– you’ve developed a brand for having your followers vote on recipes you should try, then offering up the final products to Rooster as a definitely unbiased test subject

He’s just happy to try more of your baking and get to spend time with you too

You’re good friends with all of the Dagger Squad, as Rooster couldn’t resist showing you off to the rest of his friends the first chance you got

Your baked goods are now a staple at Top Gun– Rooster swears Cyclone only ever warmed up to him because you gave him cookies

And, when Dagger Squadron had an end-of-year holiday dinner, everyone insisted that you make a holiday dessert

How could they celebrate without your fine creations?

This quick approval makes perfect sense to anyone who knows you, Rooster says the only thing sweeter than your pastries is you

So he might be a charmer, so what? You love your boyfriend, and he loves you

That, certainly, is something worth savoring :))

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

top gun tag list: @luckyladycreator2, @atarmychick007, @ramenyul, @mayfieldss, @nonsensical-nonce

all tag list: @wordsarelife

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oreosmama · 1 year

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Look Me in the Eyes (Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: During naval training, your jet crashed and burned, taking your memories with it. But the lieutenant who saved you seems to know you better than he lets on. The only issue is that he refuses to tell you his name.

A/N: pfft half yall don’t read this anyway so imma just say rooster’s hot, oreosmama out *drops mic*

Word count: 3345

It’s not the pervading scent of antiseptic and boredom that has carved its way into your skin, nestling deep into the creases of your brow and your sneering upper lip—

It’s his unflinching gaze.

The lieutenant hovering over you, with a spoonful of green, gelatinous “dinner” posed over your lips, mumbles, “Open the hatch, the F-18 needs to land.”

He’s a staunchly built man ornamented in the same naval jacket he’d been wearing when you first came-to in the hospital room, his lofty shoulders embellished in unfamiliar patches. Over the last two days, most of which have consisted of him lording himself over you or sitting back in the chair beside your bed, his five o’clock shadow has thickened, and the wrinkles underneath his teasing eyes darkened a shade.

The F-18 bumps against your sneer, and he chortles to himself.

You know why you’re here.

Well, sort of.

You know that it must’ve hurt. Like a falling-unconscious-due-to-pain kind of hurt. Black and blue splotches paint your temple and upper left cheek, and each time you force a smile, it aches. The rest of your body looks the same. In the first shower you’d been allowed, you twisted and turned as much as your burning abdomen could handle and had come to the conclusion that you were glad you didn’t remember much of what had happened.

The only real issue was that you didn’t remember much of anything.

The story you had been told was haphazardly crafted, not unlike if a toddler had drawn a house with crayons and passed it to you, insisting it looked exactly like the one you lived in.

It goes something like this: you were flying your jet when the engine stalled, and when you ejected, your head smacked against the windshield. You were lucky—you were unconscious when you had crumpled in on yourself, snapping five of your ribs like pencils, and when you’d landed on the ground, face in the dirt—you were so, so lucky.

But the lieutenant says differently.

When he found you, you were awake. You were echoing his name into the stagnant desert air, screaming and sobbing in ways that still keep him up at night.

You know because he sleeps with folded arms on the edge of your mattress, and he rattles the metal skeleton each time he flinches. And the times when he thinks you’re too buried in exhaustion and slumber, his hand finds yours, fingertips light as air against your skin.

These are the only times the lieutenant bares that part of himself to you.

In the mornings, when you can look him in the eyes and see the guilt buried underneath, he winces a smile onto his lips and asks if you remember anything yet.

You don't.

And he winces again. “Back to the drawing board, huh?”

The lieutenant is a nice-enough man when he wants to be. The only issue is that he doesn’t seem to want to be.

“Tell me your name,” you snipe, dangling over the precipice of flinging Jell-O across the room.

This is a game he never wants to play, despite how often he wins. He has the whole naval base’s hospital staff refer to him as Sir or Lieutenant-no-last-name, and each time you ask, he’ll give you the same response.

“You know my name.”

You don't. He’s a complete stranger. He can hold you hand and feed you Jell-O and help you hobble to the bathroom; he can brush the hair from your sweat-crusted face in the mornings and, on some rare occasions where he thinks he’s woken up before you, he’ll graze a feather-soft kiss on your bruised temple.

And you still haven't got a clue.

Because whoever the lieutenant is, the tight grip he has on your heart is completely foreign to you. It’s a grip that says you and him aren’t just something definable—you were a we in this life; the pair of you have formed a way of living in tandem, your own intrinsic tango to which nobody else knows the steps. It’s not just like or a passing fancy. It’s not just hot static running through veins.

This is fully fledged; this is oxygen now. The rise and fall of your chest is the rise and fall of his. The absence of it must be suffocating.

So you don't know why he doesn’t like this game. He makes a question-answer into a back-and-forth, and then he winds and winds you up until you’re ready to snap.

It’s not fair. God, it’s not fair. You deserve to know his name. Doesn’t he know it’s not just a tickle in the back of your mind anymore? If he was the one whose name you were screaming, didn’t you deserve to know what it was?

“Why do you keep doing this?”

You watch his lips purse, the color bleeding out of them and into pink patches on his neck and cheeks. The spoon rattles against the tray, and the glob of green wavers in its curve. He refuses to hold your gaze like always. Self-inflicted torment disguises itself as burnt-sienna irises. The life you’ve forgotten is bowing his shoulders, and your crash, no matter the fact that he saved you, is eating away at him.

Then the lieutenant smiles, in the fractured way—the way someone might laugh at a funeral.

“Because knowing my name wouldn’t help you. You never called me by it, anyway.”

This, oh God—this is the closest you’ve ever gotten, and you’re still wading in the darkness. A name you’d never even call him by, what a wonder that does to your psyche.

A name was a start; it was a first impression. There was a lot in a name.

So you’d never called him by his name… so what?

So what, only lovers knew each other by more than a name? So what, he never called you by yours? So what, you didn’t want to ever call him by his name, never felt the urge, but felt it was rather proper considering you didn’t know what to call him at all?

He keeps you doggy-paddling for it.

The hospital room is polluted with silence for the rest of the night. Slowly, you finish the Jell-O as he sits back in his chair, watching, yet not quite seeing you. You missed when his staring felt like a buzzing fly. Now it’s a thunderstorm hanging over you, foggy and dampened, and you’re struck every few seconds with a shiver.

He doesn’t reach out for your hand when you pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Twenty minutes past lights out, he stands and heads into the bathroom, slowly creaking the door closed and locking it before the shower faucet turns on and stays on for a long, long time.

Where his hand should be is where he laid his jacket, one sewn patch erroneously rough against your palm. With another glance at the light underneath the bathroom door, you haul the leather jacket up into your lap, tracing the ridges and folds. You trails your fingertips along the jacket, searching for… something. Anything.

Cold metal, a zipper slips underneath your fingers, and you sit up straighter despite the outcry of pain in your ribs.

A pocket, and inside is a small plastic card—his ID.

That, and a small, velvet box.

No…

No, you won’t open it.

No, no, because he shouldn’t even have that here.

Why—dear God—why did he have that here?

It’s not for you. That’s for sure. You don’t even want to open it. No.

It’s not yours. It’s not yours to have, especially since he hasn’t offered it to you, and it’s not yours to wear, and it’s not yours to look at, to watch, iridescent, crystal devotion reflecting the moonlight from the room’s lone window.

But when you lift the cover and curse the stars that the man whose name you don’t even know knows you so well, knows how beautiful it is in your eyes, and even worse, how well it fits on your finger, you know it’s yours.

Well, not yours.

It’s hers. The one before the crash’s.

That’s her ring on your finger, and that’s her lieutenant grieving in the bathroom.

This is her life, not yours. All you own anymore is the absence pulsing in your chest.

You own the spasms in your veins, the brief and lasting panic of who am I, really?, the deficiency of life and past and love; the frail hold on this reality, on that man, on this ring.

The rest is not yours, so you should let it go.

Then, ideally, you should be able to float away, free from these junctions to a girl you don’t know. The man who loves her loves your face. He loves your body, and your voice, and each of the words falling from your lips, perhaps in the wrong order, yes, but he’ll rearrange them in his mind so that it matches hers.

Ideally.

Ideally, it’s not this drowning feeling, a weight like a hand pressing hard against your chest, shoving you deeper and deeper under the current. She’s the one who breathes, not you. You don’t need to breathe. You’re an accident in this world.

The I.D. slips from your grasp and falls to the floor.

You’ve read it. You saw the name, the rank, the naval symbol. In the dim moonlight and the single glowing strip underneath the bathroom door, his not-really-a-smile smiles up at you from the vinyl floor.

And now you see it, chrome duct tape peeling off the jagged stitches of a patch, the one over his heart. Another of his games: his missing call sign.

It… fits him. Strangely enough.

Is this what you called him?

The hospital room floods with a subdued yellow light carried out by the steam of the lieutenant’s shower. He emerges with a towel wrapped around his lower body, a sheen of wet on his cheeks you’re not certain was caused by the shower.

Like you, this is his third shower in this room, but unlike him, he’s not wearing a smirk when he exits, bare feet padding along the cold tiles. He doesn’t spare you a glance while he pilfers through his black duffle bag, the one seated on the only other guest chair in the room—the one that never moves.

Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t look, because you hadn’t thought to take off the ring. It was a plan as half-baked as when you’d first decided to put it on. Some barbaric, frenzied part of you, the same one that had slipped it on and hugged it close to your heart, refused to yank it off. It was another you—not her nor you, but a new one that had fallen in love with him, Rooster, without memory or qualms, the one that had no issue with him lingering in every corner of your mind; no, in fact, she preferred it.

You don’t listen to her when the lieutenant pivots back to face you, a fresh pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and the rest sourced from the duffel bag in tow, one fist curled into his towel at his waist. His eyes land on yours, and your fingers slicken with the sweat of your palms, tremble like the thumps beneath your ribcage.

At the worst moment possible, you notice, in the hazy yellow light of 10:07 PM, that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw’s eyes are achingly akin to whiskey. It’s the dark, thick kind that coats your tongue and hits you five seconds after you sip it like a freight train; heady, terribly intoxicating, and in large doses, coaxes out the worst side of yourself at an even worse moment.

The ring clinks against the bed’s metal framework before shuddering against the tile floor, and his eyes leave yours to watch it rattle. The skin of your left ring finger burns from the swift twisting and tugging you’d employed in a state of tipsy panic—your plan had been to slip the ring unnoticed beneath his leather jacket, the same place you’d stuffed the velvet box.

A breath tears itself out of the lieutenant’s chest. Tan skin rises and falls once, and his grip goes white-knuckle on his towel.

Then he pads back toward the bathroom without a word and disappears behind the slammed door. Somehow, in some terrible way, it is even harder to breathe with him not in the room after that.

But he bursts through the door a second later, completely negligent of the violent pacing of your heart, donned in clothes wrinkled and stretched in odd places from frantic dressing. He covers the distance with three long strides and slackens back into the plastic hospital chair, the heavy creases under his eyes never having looked so deep-seated.

You see it now. The damage this whole experience has done to him. He’s been hollowed out, rigorously gutted to the point that one last revelation might finally crack him in half and let the despair pour out.

You’re afraid to tell him all that you don’t know. That even though you had slid that ring on and off your finger, you still don’t know him. But, God, you want to tell him that you love him, despite knowing it won’t be enough. It’s not even enough to you, and it’s all that you have.

Usually, he wears this sheen layer of tenderness over his face; it slips off every night when you close your eyes, and he smooths it back on in the mornings in the mirror. Some days he layers it on so thick you never even notice the grief hidden underneath.

It must have gotten too heavy to bear.

The silence hangs just as heavy. He runs both hands down his face, pressing hard enough that his skin emerges pink, and folds his hands, knocking them against his lips. Veins in his eyes grow redder by the second, and your heart begins a slow crawl up your throat at the watery levels of his eyelines, waiting to spill. The ring sits on the floor untouched.

“Do you,” he faltered, clearing his throat. “Do you… remember anything?”

He’s looking at you so intensely that your skin is searing. Shame washes over you, grasping your shoulders and burying you deeply into its chest. You want to cry.

“Nothing.”

The lieutenant stares at you a second longer, stretching it out until you’re trembling. Then he looks away, down, before reaching and retrieving the ring from the ground. He observes it for just a second, the way it glimmers in night’s imperfect lighting, and his eyes squeeze shut.

Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, you’ve learned, will draw things out until the perfect moment has come. He will wait until the ache swells and culminates, with a tolerance so inexhaustible you wonder if, in all your time loving him, you ever bothered to wait up. He’s noticed how the darkness has swallowed both of you wholly, and only now does he offer reprieve.

Bradley tells you your name.

And he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first second he saw you.

He tells you that he can’t bear the thought of losing all that you’d had, and that his world had been crumbling apart before his own goddamned eyes ever since your jet’s engine had sputtered and died. He tells you that he’s so, so fucking sorry he couldn’t save you, sorry that your life ever got entangled so messily with his in the first place, and even more sorry that he’s so useless to help you find your way back, that you can’t seem to find your way back to him.

And when you began to cry, he bolted up from his seat and held you, whispering apologies into your hair, and you cried a little harder, because you had found your way back to him, but he wouldn’t ever care, because it wasn’t the same path you’d taken before.

You cry because it hurts to hold him, and even more because it hurts him to hold you. You want all of the I-love-yous he’s ever said to be for you, and you want that damned ring too.

You want that goddamn ring on your finger right now because he’d promised you that it would be yours. That first moment he’d ever seen you, stumbling drunk in a crowded Hard Deck and spilling his beer half on his Hawaiian shirt, half on yours, that he’d make up for it by putting a spendy ring on your little finger right there, despite not actually knowing where right there was. The only one I’ll ever buy, he’d hiccuped, it’ll be yours, darlin’.

“Rooster,” you croaked into his chest. “Roo.”

A provoked sob tore from your throat, your arms and ribs aching from how tightly you clung to him, even after he froze. You surfaced from the curve of his shoulder, hands sliding past his sides, over his thrumming chest, and up to cradle his damp jawline before drawing his face down to yours. He mumbled your name, whiskey eyes potent as ever, and you smothered the rest of his question against your lips.

You couldn’t tell who was crying anymore. Your cheeks’ dampness was his, just the same as his lips pressed against yours so harshly, so numbingly you couldn’t quite tell where yours ended and his began. It must have been somewhere close to where his tongue met yours, making up for lost time as he fought hard and fiercely for everything he’d been starved of for three, going on four, unbearable days. His hands left their leverage against the bed and latched onto your hips, rough fingertips familiarly caressing the soft slopes of your sides, and when you offered an airy moan to him, he accepted eagerly with a tightening grip.

You separated from him with a small cry, ribs twinging. Bradley pulled away in horror, and his dilated pupils struggled to sober up to join. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, larger hands now grappling at yours and trying to remove your grasp. “You need—ice, I’ll go get you some ice–”

“Roo, no,” you mumbled, refusing to let go of him.

He paused, and his body shivered under your touch. The familiarity of his name from your mouth seemed as comforting to him as it was to you. His lips twitched and curled, and he breathed a small sigh. The hard lines of his face grew tender as he slid his hands down to your wrists, turning and pressing a kiss to each palm.

His heart jumped and throbbed against your fingertips, and you had no doubt he could feel the same from yours. The heat of his damp cheeks had grown infinitely warmer under your touch, and for all the nights you’d spent with just a grasp on his hand, the change was more and more welcome.

“Don’t leave me again,” he pleaded against the skin of your palm, voice thick and bittersweet, like honey seeping through your ears. “I don’t think I can handle that again.”

He steeled himself against your mattress with one hand when you tugged his forehead down against yours, lips just whispering against one another. You smiled.

“Was it all the Jell-O that did you in, or…?”

“Yeah, actually,” he nodded, tongue pressed against his cheek. “It was. I hope you know we’re never having Jell-O in our house ever again.”

“Not even lime?”

“Especially lime.”

You huffed, “Fine.” You pulled away, despite how desperate Bradley was to follow you. He let you fall back against the pillows with your hand still in his grasp, and he settled onto the edge of the mattress, letting his spare hand find home in the pliant skin of your thigh. Your eyes rose to the ceiling. “But it’ll cost you.”

Soft lips brushed the back of your left hand before cold metal slipped around your finger. “One of these?”

“Exactly.”

Bradley hummed. “Gladly.”

#top gun x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #bradley bradshaw #top gun: maverick x reader #tgm x reader #tgm #tgm rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

Text

Before He Cheats | Dagger Squad Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: female pilot!reader x Dagger squad (platonic), reader x ex!oc (past romance)

Content Warnings: angst, cheating, profanity, ends with sweet revenge | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 3.8k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: One thing about cheaters, they’re always gonna get caught. Whether right when it happens or years down the road the truth always comes out. And one thing they should realize is revenge is a dish best served cold.

Note: I finally finished my first year of grad school!!! Fucking finally people. Now I can relax and get to the drawing board. I already have visions and outlines for all current requests in my inbox and be sure to check out my April/May upcoming works and my pinned works in progress for what’s coming and posted! Thank you for your patience and to the anon who requested this I hope you liked it!

Also y’all….is there like some freaky shit going on with the universe and my works 💀 cause three days after I posted Lover inspired by Taylor swift she and her man of 8 years broke up and now I’m posting a cheater imagine (this request is from end of February) when there’s stuff going about Glen 👀 this is just freaky now

—————

Friday night at the Hard Deck consisted of a full house ready to kick off the weekend with beer and music. For a few years now Y/n had been working at the bar serving drinks and singing from 8pm to 9 as a way to make extra cash while her college sweetheart Ryan, who was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, was stationed at Miramar. Having not been married despite being a couple for so long, Y/n lived off base with some roommates while her boyfriend stayed in the dorms, however, he’d come to her place after work and stayed on weekends.

It was rare to see a military couple not be the stereotypically, “we got married right after I commissioned so my partner can be my dependent and travel with me when I get orders.” No, that wasn’t Y/n and Ryan. After Ryan’s commission Y/n stayed to finish up her Master’s at the University of Miami where they met while he was sent to Japan for two years. Then he was stationed in Virginia, followed by Lemoore, and now he was at Miramar. The longest base he’d been at. Y/n had been with him in Virginia, but didn’t move to Lemoore as she had a three-year contract with her job at the University of Virginia.

Toward the end of his two years at Lemoore, Y/n called Y/n to inform her he was being stationed at North Island and the contract was to be at least five years. Wanting to be close to him after being apart for so long and filled with hope they’d finally settle after Ryan hits ten years in the Navy, Y/n transferred to the University of California San Diego as the history of music professor. She also took on a part-time job as a bartender Friday and Saturday since she was only teaching two sections that occurred on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Plus Penny allowed her to sing Friday nights as an added bonus knowing she loved music.

Y/n settled rather quickly in North Island. With her two jobs she developed a friendly social circle consisting of the UCSD staff on campus and regulars at the Hard Deck. Several of the aviators took a liking to her. They knew Ryan and would often meet up every Friday after work to catch up on the week and watch her sing. Y/n always had their rounds ready the moment they walked in, “got ya seven cold ones.”

“Already?”

“The newbie over there didn’t read the sign. Round’s on him.”

They’d cheer Y/n on when she sang, literally the loudest bunch in the whole bar. “Sing it girl!”

“Ariana ain’t got nothing on you!

Phoenix sometimes sat at the bar when she needed to get away from the guys. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“Penny gave me the night off since I got papers to grade…but If I get done early I’ll be free.”

“Please, I am in need of a girls night. Hell I’ll even come help you grade if you tell me what to do.”

“Damn, Nat, were the guys too much this week?” She placed another beer in front of the pilot, removing the empty one to discard. “This one’s on me. You look like you need it.”

“You have no idea, Y/n. All week we’ve been training for an upcoming mission and they’ve been driving me nuts.”

Ryan had his own group of friends from the base who’d come toward the later hours of the night. They’d usually take up the space at the bar, Ryan greeting Y/n with a kiss and telling her how the day was. He’d nurse a couple beers before he and Y/n would retreat to her apartment when the place closed at eleven.

They’d been together for several years, coming up on their eighth anniversary when Y/n discovered his infidelity.

And it wasn’t just a one-and-done “I was drunk and stupid, she doesn’t mean anything,” type of deal. No, this was a long going affair lasting almost a year.

What was the kicker? The other woman was a married coworker of his.

Now Y/n may have had the reputation of being the sweet, down to earth, understanding person who would never hurt a fly. But as soon as her eyes landed on Ryan, her partner of eight years, shoving his throat down another woman’s throat while grabbing her ass like it would vanish from thin air…..she saw red. Kill Bill sirens blasting in her mind. Y/n wanted to ruin both of them seeing she wasn’t the only person betrayed. The woman’s husband was also being deceived.

And what was punishment for adultery and extramarital sexual conduct? Well, according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice those in the military who are married or have affairs with married personnel are dishonorably discharged, forfeited of all pay and confined for one whole year.

Was it harsh? Maybe some would see it that way. But cheaters need to be taught a lesson.

And Y/n was gonna make sure they got it.

For a whole week Y/n put on a brave face. Accumulating photographs and screenshots of text messages, emails, and bank statements to show proof of the affair and how long it had been going on. She secretly got in touch with the husband of the Lieutenant Ryan was sleeping with, presenting him with everything. Heartbroken and angry, he agreed to remain quiet until the meeting Y/n had set up on that following Friday with their partner's supervisor.

“I know this is a lot to ask,” she exhaled, tired from everything and having to act like she was fine. “But come Friday they’ll be faced with the consequences of their actions. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this as well.”

“It’s not your fault—you’re not the one who cheated on me. You’re the one who found out and had the decency to tell me. We both got screwed,” he rubbed his face with his hands, wedding ring flashing under the light. When it caught his eyes all he could do was glare at it. “The only thing making this somewhat bearable is the fact they’re gonna be hit with the ultimate blindside.”

Y/n nodded to his ring, “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m contacting a divorce lawyer once I leave here. Hopefully the papers will be drawn up quickly so I can bring them to the meeting. Make it a double whammy. You?”

Y/n threw back the rest of her gin & tonic, letting out another tired sign, “I booked a flight to Cabo. Spring break is next week so I’m gonna take a well needed week long vacation and then figure it out from there.” Sunny skies with margaritas and radio silence seemed to be the best therapy at the moment.

For the next three days Y/n maintained a strong façade. Whenever Ryan went to kiss her she’d kept it short or moved to where his lips hit her cheek. She continued to send screenshots to her phone and delete the conversations so he wouldn’t notice. When she surprised him at work for lunch the day before the meeting it really threw both the cheaters off.

“Y/n,” his eyes went wide, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise you for lunch,” she held up a bag of homemade stir fry, bidding a glance at the woman who also was white a sheet. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/n.”

“Becca.”

“Becca,” she repeated, a smile tight on her lips. While doing so she gave an obvious glance to Becca’s ring finger, finding the diamond. “Beautiful ring you’ve got there. Are you engaged?” Becca became flustered, but kept calm.

“Married.”

“Ah, your husband has a great eye for jewelry. You’re so lucky.”

Ryan was quick to cut the conversation short after the mention of Becca’s husband. Visibly uncomfortable with how Y/n was throwing their aldurty in their face despite not knowing she was aware of it.

The next day Y/n marched into their superiors office, dressed like a corporate CEO ready to fire the entire team for an unforgivable mistake, with two boxes on each arm. One filled with all the evidence of Ryan and Becca’s affair, the other containing all of Ryan’s belongings he had at Y/n’s apartment. Becca’s husband, Tim arrived a minute later with a folder of divorce papers in his hands.

They met with the supervisor first. Y/n introduced who she was and who Tim was, presenting the box of evidence and explained while the Captain shuffled through the papers. Visibly disgusted, the Captain thanked Y/n for bringing it to his attention and promised the adults he would handle the rest.

“Are you calling them in right now?” She asked.

“I was planning to this afternoon, why?”

“I’d like to be present if you don’t mind,” a hand came up to the other box she had, “These are his things and frankly, I want to see the look on his face.”

“Me too,” Tim piped up and waved the folder in his hands. “These need to be served to Becca.”

The supervisor simply shrugged and said, “if that’s what you want, fine by me.” He hit a button on his phone, “Wilkins, please inform Lieutenants Stevens and Leeds they need to report to my office immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Though her heart was racing, Y/n remained poised and took a seat against the wall of the room. Tim sat beside her, both setting their gaze on the door to await their soon to be exes.

Roughly ten minutes later, a knock on the door sounded and the Captain gruffly said, “enter.” The door opened to reveal Ryan, whose eyes went straight to his superior before scanning the room ultimately resulting in him to freeze where he stood. Turning white as a sheet, Y/n could only imagine what was running through her ex boyfriend’s mind. There was great satisfaction seeing his eyes flicker from her to Tim to the Captain.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” the older gentleman's finger pointed to the seat in front of his desk. It seemed to snap Ryan from his daydream, the man stumbling into the room and unable to form words.

When he sat the first thing he tried to say was her name to which the Captain voiced, “I didn’t say you could speak, Lieutenant. Keep quiet, we’re waiting on one more before we get started.”

Becca’s reaction was pretty much the same when she arrived two minutes later. “T-tim,” she stuttered, red as a tomato and fear etched on her face.

“Rebecca,” his tone was blank, matching his expression. Just the full name combined with the parties in the room indicated to Becca she was about to have the worst day of her life.

But hey, maybe she shouldn’t have cheated then.

And Ryan? Mans was shitting bricks where he sat. Couldn’t even bring himself to look at Becca when she sat in the chair beside him. He kept trying to plead to Y/n with his eyes but she wasn’t having it.

The Captain got right to it. He laid out all the evidence on the desk for the two to see, Becca immediately breaking into tears while Ryan tried to explain. What could he explain though? How could he defend a year long affair with a married coworker in front of her husband, longtime girlfriend and superior.

When it came time for the Captain to discuss where to go from there, Y/n excused herself by dropping the box of Ryan’s things into his lap, “Here’s all your shit,” it nearly spilled onto the floor when the action surprised him. “Don’t call, text, show up at my place or at the bar tonight otherwise I’ll call the cops. I’m done with you, Ryan. Thanks for wasting eight fucking years of my life.”

“Wait, Y/n, please—,” she cut him off when he went to stand.

“You’ve not been dismissed yet,” that got him to freeze, noticing the Captain smirking in the corner of her eye. She turned to Tim, “Thanks for your help. Good luck with everything and I hope it works in your favor.” Becca gasped, realizing what the folder in Tim’s hand represented. It spurred on another wave of tears.

“Thanks,” he gave a tired smile, “And good luck to you.” With that Y/n was out the door and Ryan was out of her life. First thing she did was go home, change, and drive to the Hard Deck. Penny immediately poured a glass for her, “long day?” Y/n accepted the beer with a nod.

“Glad it's almost over.”

“What happened?”

Y/n felt the tears welling in her eyes. The emotions she had been holding the past two weeks had finally broken free. Concern formed on Penny’s face. “Ryan was cheating on me for the past year.”

“No,” the woman gasped. Never had she thought Ryan, who always came to the bar to keep Y/n company and watch her sing and her partner of almost a decade would betray her like that. “Did you just find out today?”

“Last Monday. I went to bring him his dry cleaning he left at my place and found him making out with his married coworker.” Another gasp left Penny. “I’ve been playing actor the past two weeks to make him think everything was okay while I gathered proof. Told the woman’s husband a couple days ago and we both met with their superior today. Gave him his stuff while I was at it.”

“I’m so sorry honey,” Penny reached over to pat her hand, “he’s an asshole and you’re worth so much more than him.” Y/n softly smiled at that, mumbling a thanks. Penny served her another glass, “Take the night off okay, I can call Elise to take your shift.”

If Y/n was being honest the offer sounded like a dream. She wanted to go home and cry herself into a bucket of ice cream while watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine until she passed out. But part of her also wanted to sing her pent up feelings out. “Thanks, Penny. I’d still like to sing though if you don’t mind. I could use the release.”

“Of course,” Penny waved a hand, “Whenever you feel like it I’ll have Jose set up the mic. Your guitar’s in the back where I keep the stock.”

For the next couple hours Y/n caught up on grading some papers at a booth while she waited for 8 to roll around. By 6 most of their regulars from the base arrived, signaling the end of the work day. Nat was the first to spot Y/n, strolling over and immediately noticed by the professor's body language that something was off.

“What happened?” She sat across from her.

“What makes you think something happened?”

Nat gave a look, “first, you’re not working the bar.” Y/n shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

“Penny gave me the night off. I’m still singing though so I thought I’d hang out for the time being—catch up grading before spring break next week.”

“The tone in your voice is off.”

Y/n scoffed even though the pilot was right, “It’s not off.”

“What’s not off?” Rooster comes up, pushing Nat aside so he could slide into the booth.

“Y/n’s acting off and won’t say why.”

“I’ve been grading papers for the last two hours,” Y/n rolled her eyes, “sixty to be exact and all are six pages each. If I sound off it’s probably because I’m tired.” Again, Nat doesn’t appear convinced.

“But you’re still gonna sing even though you probably would rather be home sleeping the day away?”

“Friday nights are what I look forward to during the week,” Y/n scribbled a grade at the top of the paper in front of her, placing it on the stack, “I get to see you guys and sing whatever I want. I wouldn’t miss this.”

“Is Ryan coming?” It was an innocent question and one to expect from her friends given they had no idea of the events that’d taken place. However it didn’t stop the sharp intake of breath Y/n did.

“No, he’s not,” she quickly added before they could ask why, “he got held up at work. His supervisor needed to discuss some things with him.”

“Uh oh,” Rooster made a face, unaware of the boiling anger surfacing in Y/n. “That can’t be good.”

“Yeah,” Y/n clicked her pen, finishing up the last paper. Nat decided not to press further on what was bothering her friend. If Y/n wanted to say then that was up to her.

So to brighten her mood Nat bought her a round and challenged Y/n to a game of pool. Y/n packed up her things, placed them behind the bar and then greeted the other daggers.

“There’s our favorite singer,” Jake announced with a smile. “We were wondering where you were.” Y/n took the cue Rooster handed her.

“Just trying to get through the semester, Hangman.”

The two women played best out of three with Y/n winning the first and final game. By the time they finished it was pushing 7:50 so Y/n informed Penny she was getting her guitar. Once retrieving the instrument she returned to the floor to see Jose had set up the mic and stool for her.

Grabbing a glass of water, Y/n took the stage and set the glass beside the stool before clearing her throat, “Hey everyone.” There were a few hoots and whistles from her friends and regulars at the bar. “How’s your night going? Good?” There were some ‘yeahs’ from the crowd, people moving to get drinks and settle close to the stage. “That’s great to hear. Just sit back, relax, and feel the music.”

Y/n played several songs, all acoustic, starting with Taylor Swift’s ‘Getaway Car’ followed by ‘Back to Black’ by Amy Winehouse. She changed the tune by playing Bill Withers ‘Ain’t No Sunshine,’ but changed ‘she’ to ‘he’ that not many caught. She played ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell,’ by Lana Del Rey and ‘Somebody That I Used To Know,’ from Gotye.

Coming up to the final five minutes of the hour, Y/n gulped the remaining bit of her water and put on a brave face. “This last song,” she paused to close her eyes, “fits the theme you’ve been hearing all night, but is a little more close to the heart. It’s dedicated to someone who’s not present in the crowd which really is a good thing because he knew what was best for him,” very quickly Y/n saw the confusion appear on her friends, some whispering to each other to ask if they knew what she was talking about. “If you can relate to this song because you’ve been on the receiving end of betrayal then my heart goes out to you for I feel your pain. If you can relate because you’ve been that one to betray someone, well, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

Letting her fingers drum against the strings, the beginning chords of ‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood echoed through the bar.

“Right now, he’s probably slow dancin’,” her voice carried into the mic, raw with emotion. “With a bleached-blond tramp and she’s probably gettin’ frisky. Right now, he’s probably buyin’ her some fruity little drink. ‘Cause she can’t shoot whisky.”

Out in the crowd Nat cursed under her breath, anger rising at the realization, “That sly bastard.”

“What?” Mickey whispered, the guys leaning in.

“Right now, he’s probably up behind her with a pool stick. Showin’ her how to shoot a como. And he doesn’t know….”

“Don’t you see?” She gestured with a hand to Y/n, “Ryan cheated on her! That’s why he’s not here. That’s why his supervisor needed to see him. It’s why she’s dedicated this song, a song about a cheater, to him!”

All the sirens ring in their heads as Y/n belts the chorus.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats. I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, I slashed a hole in all four tires. Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats.”

“Oh,” the word left Jake’s lips, fury in his green eyes. Y/n was his friend, and nobody hurts his friends. “Oh he’s gonna regret that.”

“You guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Rooster crossed his arms over his chest. All of them shared a look. Nat took one look at Y/n and saw how she was holding back tears.

Kill Bill sirens flooded her brain.

“Yeah, I think we are.”

Come Monday Ryan was emptying out his desk while he awaited his discharge hearing, dark circles under his eyes and in dire need of sleep. As he carried the box out to his car, it fell from his hands with horror coating his face.

Parked in the same spot his beloved red Mustang Charger was not the way he left it. The windows were shattered, tires slashed, the leather of his seats torn. His license plates were missing and the word cheater spray painted in white along the sides.

Hiding behind the building, the guys were biting back their laughter at his reaction. Bob holding the spray paint can, Mickey with the Louisville slugger and Bradley and Jake with pocket knives. Reuben had the plates behind his back and Javy kept checking the phone where he had hacked into the building's security cameras to make sure they were disconnected.

Right on time, Nat came running around the corner in her PT gear, slowing her run when she approached a visibly distraught and furious Ryan. Removing her headphones the pilot whistled, “Damn. That’s gonna be a field day to fix.”

Ryan snapped his head to her, “Do you know who did this?” His tone was accusatory and Nat couldn’t blame him. He knew she was friends with Y/n and frequented the bar every week. He wouldn’t put it past Nat being involved. “Was it you and her? Huh? Y/n had to get one last final laugh—as if she hasn’t done enough!” Nat only scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t throw accusations so loosely, Ryan. I’ve had PT all morning and Y/n left for Cabo yesterday.” There was no lie in her statement. Y/n was currently sitting at the poolside of her resort with a margarita in her hand. She’d posted on her instagram stories and let Nat know when she landed. Plus the pilot did have PT and was finishing up her run before heading to the flight line.

But she was the mastermind while the boys did the dirty work.

The truth only angered Ryan more, his face turning even more red. “Then who did this?!”

“How should I know?” Nat smirked, putting her headphones in as she started to move past him. “But maybe next time you’ll think before you cheat.”

………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

#Spotify #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick angst #TGM imagine #tgm fanfiction #dagger squad imagine #dagger squad x reader #dagger squad x platonic!reader #TGM x reader #tgm txt #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha trace x reader #mickey Garcia x reader #bob floyd x reader #javy machado x reader #reuben fitch x reader

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accioprocrastination · 4 months

Text

One Day At A Time (Part 6/?)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: Hangman's fiancée is hospitalised and Jake waits for her to wake up

T/W: Anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, POW, hints to torture, SA, abortion, pregnancy references, death

A/N: Sorry this got so much darker than I was expecting... Also as per I haven't proof read so ignore the grammar

Part 5 in case you missed it

Jake POV -

Jake wakes up stomach rumbling with a dead arm from clutching your hand as he sleeps. He momentarily breaks your hand hold to move his arm a bit, hoping to regain some feeling.

A consultant walks in smiling slightly at Jake as they make eye contact through the glass of the door.

"Morning." the doctor says walking in.

"Any news today?" Jake responds hopeful that you'll be coherent enough to talk to him soon.

The man proceeds to walk Jake through all of your bigger injuries - you arm and several ribs are broken; your ankle is sprained; they've operated on your shoulder to make sure it heals correctly. No haemorrhage from hitting your head but you might have a mild concussion.

"There's one other thing as well." The doctor says meeting Jake's gaze.

"I don't like that look doc, what is it?" Jake's nerves skyrocket from the doctor's obvious hesitation.

All of the colour in Jake's face drains as the doctor starts explaining to him what an ectopic pregnancy is. He shudders in repulsion as the doctor says the same thing in a slightly different way in an effort to fully express that it's not viable.

He cuts the doctor off when they start talking about treatment options. "I-I-I just need a minute." Jake says tears filling his eyes. "It's not about the abortion. I just need a minute to process that someone's done that too my Y/N." Jake tries to explain that this isn't a pro-life meltdown.

He doesn't see the doctor nod but he hears the man leave.

The second the door shuts Jake lets out a loud sob at the glimpse of what the last few years have looked like for you. He hunches over stomach clenching from worry - he knows that the minute you find that out that particular diagnosis, you're going to freak out.

Jake continues to cry he thinks back to the only other time you've been pregnant. The time that it was his kid and there were complications. Whatever bastard did this to you is going to unknowingly force you to relive that day.

Jake fruitlessly wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie then turns back to you face still wet from the tears silently falling down his cheeks. "This changes nothing with you and me sweets. I will be here every step of the way if you want me to." Jake says kissing your hand.

Having gone through a million emotions in the span of a few minutes Jake needs to step out of the room to try and let go of his rage.

Reader POV -

Every muscle In your body is tense in the knowledge that someone was nearby when you were trying to wake up earlier.

Wires and tubing press uncomfortably against your back. Why would they lie you over them that seems stupid?

You lie there controlling your breathing, eyes shut tightly just listening for signs of someone else.

I really don't want to open my eyes in case I'm not alone.

It's eerily quiet. All you can hear is the faint buzzing of tinnitus in your ears and a machine steadily beeping.

Okay, no one else is here, you tell yourself before gently opening your eyes. You scan the otherwise empty hospital room frowning in confusion. You're not sure whether someone was next to you or whether you dreamt that someone was in the vacant chair by your side?

There's fresh flowers and a card on the windowsill, so someone has been here.

A male nurse walks in as you try to disconnect from the machines behind you.

"Please don't do that! You're in the hospital." He says to you.

God my head is pounding.

"I got out?" you murmur in response, so drained that even talking is more of an effort than it has been recently.

"Yes you got out. You're okay." He confirms.

You nod slightly in recognition of what he just said, but mentally you completely disagree that you're okay right now.

"How's the pain on a scale from one to ten?" He questions.

Groaning in pain you shift slightly, you don't verbalise the feeling that you can only imagine is similar to being hit by a bus. Instead you ask "Can I self discharge?"

"It would be strongly against our medical advice if you were to self discharge right now. I would recommend that you stay here under observation and on the IV for a few more days." He grimaces at the prospect of you leaving this room.

"I'm not staying here." You exclaim, wincing slightly as you rip out a needle from your arm.

"Let me just go get a consultant to talk everything through with you and if you still want to leave after that, then you can." The nurse says hesitantly before jogging out of the room. I think he must be new to the role.

The door to your room opens and you suddenly understand the nurse's hesitancy as two police officers walk in.

You try to dart into an upright position to be more alert but whimper at your body's reluctance to move. The agony radiating from your left arm is unbearable. I can't imagine what sitting up would've felt like if that hadn't put my arm in this sling.

"Oh great you're awake!" The young police lady says standing pencil straight by the side of your bed ready to start questioning you.

"You're in the hospital, do you know what happened?" The guy questions you.

"What happened to Ghost?" You begin your own interrogation for answers.

"High on painkillers?" The female officer turns to the man who shakes his head.

"Was that your back seaters callsign?" He queries.

"Yeah. Is h-h-" You nod but you're cut off by the officer.

"It was instant. He wouldn't have felt anything." He answers without making you ask.

You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands fighting to regain a semblance of composure at how abysmal that news makes you feel.

The anxious ringing in your head eventually subsides and you remove your hands from your face. You're somehow still surprised to see that the officers stayed for however long it took for you to be able to fake okay.

"I need to go home." you admit quietly more to yourself than to them. You don't articulate that you just want to blanket cocoon on your sofa while Jake silently assures you that everything is going to be fine.

Your hands quiver slightly at the reality that he might not have waited for you; your home might not even be your home anymore.

Thoughts torrent your mind before you finally muster the courage to ask the room what date it is.

"April the 8th" The police lady answers.

"W-w-what year is it?" You speak up. The police man standing silently in the doorway looks horrified at the prospect that you might not know that but he interjects and answers you anyway.

"Shit." You respond in momentary disbelief that it's been that long.

I mean it felt like forever but I had convinced myself it had been a couple of months and i'll go home to everything the same.

"Jake thinks I've been dead for four years?" tears flood your eyes and your voice breaks, for the first time in years it's not from disuse.

How the fuck am I meant to go home after that amount of time?

If he hasn't moved onto someone else, surely he would've at least mourned you. If he's said goodbye to you like that how is it fair to suddenly reappear?

None of this is fucking fair.

Ghost should be here too.

Jake POV

Jake's heart drops to the floor as he carefully opens your room door to reveal an empty bed. From the haphazard sheets and wires flung across the room, he knows that no one has taken you into surgery without consulting him.

You're still in fight or flight mode.

He discards his unopened sandwich on the table and runs to the nurse's station.

"Room 26 - where is she?" Jake asks the guy behind the desk.

"She asked to self discharge; she's gone." he shrugs.

"She's gone?" Jake clarifies.

"Yep. If you can convince her to come back to hospital I think that would be in her best interest." He responds.

Five minutes - I was gone for five fucking minutes. Jake flings himself down the stairs, running at full speed to the exit.

He forces himself to stop when he's out of the hospital. He glances over everyone in the immediate vicinity.

You have to be here somewhere. And yet you're not here.

Where on earth would you go?

After all this time would you go home?

Home is fucking miles away - how would you get there with no phone and no money?

Jake's heart pounds in his chest as he walks to his car. He walks at a snail's pace so that he can check everyone that crosses his path isn't you.

I'll find you. I promise I'll find you.

Part 7

Masterlist

Tags:

@inthestars-underthesun

@rainy-darling

@emma8895eb

@tgmreader

@ems-alexandra

@djs8891

@els-marvelvsp

@lets-turn-and-burn

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auroracalisto · 1 year

Text

the morning after

jake "hangman" seresin x gn!reader, 550 words tw: no description but some parts allude to sex, nakedness, a general bout of worry from the reader, brief self-doubt a/n: jake seresin. that is all.

Your eyes fluttered open, gentle sunlight casting through the curtains of your military-provided accommodation. Body sore, exhaustion running through your body, recollection was far from your mind. But it hit you when you felt the mattress shift beside you, Hangman turning to face you with a smile.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he said, resting on his hand as he watched you.

Your cheeks flushed, burning as you remembered the night before. You hadn't been drinking, but the heat of the night influenced your every decision leading up to the point in which Jake Seresin was in your bed. You would have been screaming in excitement had it not been for the fact that this could seriously end up being a one-night stand—a one-time deal between friends that would never happen again.

You knew Jake. He was never one to take the same person home twice. And the fact that when Monday came, you'd have to return to a facade of pretending this didn't happen, and you were just work colleagues.

But the way he looked at you... it made you think twice. It made you wonder if he felt anything more towards you than just a fling. More than just a friend he made a mistake with.

Jake's smile was unmistakable as he watched you. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You know you talk in your sleep?" he asked with a grin, covers falling further down his body as he shifted once more.

"Do I?" you answered with a question, embarrassment flooding your body. You didn't know—hell, it wasn't often you even slept with someone in the same bed as you.

"It's cute."

You press the palm of your hand to your eyes, your smile evident.

You both lie there, bare under the covers, and yet, he called your unknown nighttime habits cute. Was he serious?

Jake cleared his throat, averting his gaze.

"I, uh, can leave if you want me to. Don't be afraid to tell me to leave. But... I was thinking. If you're okay with it. Maybe we could go to the diner down the street? Get breakfast together?"

You part your fingers to look at him as he sat up, sheets pooling around his hips. You bit your lip, watching him from where you lay.

"I don't really want this to end, but if you want it to, I understand," he said. He seemed... hesitant. Had you ever known Jake to hesitate before?

"No!" you quickly said, sitting up in the process. You gripped at the covers, keeping them over your chest as you watched him—surprise making an appearance on his handsome features. "I mean—I mean, I don't want this to end either. I'd love to get breakfast with you if you want me to."

He began to smile. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. He brought up a hand to the side of your face, fingers gently brushing against your skin.

"We should shower before we go," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" you began to smile, giggling as his hand dropped and took ahold of the hand that gripped the blankets. He pulled you out of the bed, pulling your bare body flush against his.

"Oh, yeah," he said, grinning as he watched you.

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parkersgarage · 2 months

Text

Peaches

a/n: where is Bob canonically from, does it ever say?? I like to think Georgia so– mwah

robert ‘bob’ floyd x gn!reader | 492 wc | warnings; nothing major, reader calls Bob honey a lot

“Hey, peaches.” You turn your head to the voice, brow raising when you see Bob settling into the seat next to you. “S’okay if I call you that?” He asks nervously. You found it humorous how he exuded confidence seconds before.

“Call me whatever you like, hun.” You reply, drinking in the way his cheeks turn red. “Trying something new, Bob?”

He looks down, tapping on his thigh— you discover it was a nervous habit of his. “Hangman suggested I should act like him if I wanted to talk to you.”

When you laugh at his words, he feels like he’s won the lottery, relishing that he made it happen. “Honey, that boy has never been successful in wooing me.” He raised a brow in surprise, swiveling in his chair to look in Hangman’s direction.

Jake’s got a glint of mischief in his eyes and a weird sense of pride wafting around him…

“You don’t need to be like him if you want to talk to me. Just be you, I prefer it anyway.” He hums, fingers tapping on his beer. “Tell the guy I hated how you talked to me and that I called you arrogant. Guarantee ya he’ll be next to me running his mouth in a snap.”

“I don’t think—” Bob shakes his head, smiling when you give him your attention. “Nah, I think I’d prefer he didn’t talk to you at all.”

You tilt your head to the side, turning in your chair until your body faces his. “Possessive now, are we?” He nearly choked on the sip of beer he took, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Course not.” He objects, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just don’t think you should be wasting time on someone like him.”

You hum in amusement, leaning on your palm to look at him. “You from Georgia?” He nods slowly, raising a brow when you let out a light laugh. “Georgia peaches.”

“That wasn’t—”

“I think it’s cute.”

“You do?” You nod, and Bob feels his nerves ease. “Then, it’s alright if I call you that?”

“Call me what you like, honey.” You say once again, Bob tries to call a bluff that isn’t there. “As long as it isn’t belittling.” You joke, smiling when he scoffs playfully.

EXTRA !

“See that?” Hangman says, nudging Rooster with the pool cue. The latter looks in the direction Hangman nods in, smiling when he sees Bob engrossed in a conversation with you. “That's all thanks to me.”

“Does your head live in your ass, Hangman?” Rooster retorts, slapping the other man’s shoulder when the cue jabs into his side. “Really man, that,” he gestures to the both of you. “Was not your doin’”

Hangman frowns a bit before snorting. “You’re just upset it ain’t you.”

Rooster scoffs and pushes Hangman back to the pool table, “Shut up and rack 'em.” Jake obliges with a loud laugh and leaves it at that.

#tgm x reader #tgm x you #tgm imagines #tgm fanfiction #top gun maverick x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader

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lieutenantfloyd · 9 months

Note

i LOVE the iceman dating headcannons - can we have cyclone dating headcannons pls 🙏🙏🙏 i am in such a cyclone mood atm it’s unbelievable

Dating headcanons — Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x reader

Warnings: Slight mentions of insecurities and trauma.

a/n: Hello and thank you! I really enjoyed writing this!

If you haven't already, please check out the general Cyclone headcanons I posted a while back, as there are more than a few references to them in this post!

The first several months of your relationship will be the toughest.

He's terribly guarded and has all but forgotten how to let anyone in.

You'll honestly just have to wait him out. Meeting him where he is and proving to him that you're in it for the long haul.

When he finally starts to let you in is when your relationship gets very serious.

He's quite traditional in how he views his (and only his!) role in a relationship.

On the flip side, he expects next to nothing from you and is wholly grateful for you even just being with him.

I headcanon that he's had to look after himself since a pretty early age, and is used to just kind of... getting by?

Like he's extremely put together on a professional front, but on a personal one, he's an "eating a shitty frozen microwave meal in front of the TV on a Friday night" kinda man.

Not that he couldn't take better care of himself, he just found putting all that effort in for one person a bit depressing.

Now given the opportunity, he's an absolute dream to date

He's paying all the bills, doing the home repairs/improvements, taking your car to the shop, etc.

If you protest this, he will sit you down and quite literally tell you that "your money is your money, and my money is also your money."

And like I said, he expects nothing in return.

However, if you do want to do something to make his life easier, like pack his lunch or iron his uniform, he'd be a goner.

It's also in these small gestures that he best shows his love.

Doing the tasks you dislike, knowing your preferences, anticipating the things you'll need to complete, and making your life just a bit easier is where he shines.

At each restaurant and cafe you go to he has your order memorized.

He is the best cook and will cook for you whenever he has time

He's totally the breakfast-in-bed type too!

Will probably have stayed up late the night before to bake a loaf of brioche for french toast, and will serve it to you on a fancy wooden breakfast tray (that he handmade) with a fresh flower from the garden because that's just the kind of man he is.

If you offer him any he'll refuse, instead preferring to have you fuss over him and his habit of having nothing but a single cup of black coffee for breakfast.

He will, however, accept bacon. Thick cut, cherry smoked.

His desk both on base and at home is covered in pictures of you.

Like Iceman, he isn't jealous, but very protective.

This is also the only point of contention in your relationship.

He has some insecurities and would be absolutely devastated If you were to vie for others' attention or flirt back with them.

Ironically, he absolutely loves to show you off; and will use any such occasion to spoil you.

Will tell you stories from his various deployments.

And cherishes the way you squeeze his hand when the tougher memories come back.

Very nearly worked himself into a worry the first time you were going to stay at his place.

Now he struggles to sleep without you beside him.

Loves nothing more than to cuddle up with you in bed or on the couch.

More often than not, you'll end your day just like that.

With the added bonus of him reading whatever book he's been reading aloud to you.

Will 100% take you on bookstore dates!

He'll order himself a coffee in the cafe before happily setting you free with his wallet.

Will happily carry and/or guard the stacks of books you pick out.

If you happen to pick out a book or two for him, he'll get almost bashful??

Knowing you not only cared enough but paid enough attention to his interests to know just what he'd like hits him directly in his soft spot.

Each year he takes you back home to Alaska.

It's one of the few times you get to see his personality shine in private and in public.

The trips are only a few weeks long at the most.

Although as the days pass, you both secretly hope to get snowed in for the whole winter.

These trips have spawned not only some of your favorite memories as a couple, but moving back there with you in tow has become his retirement plan.

! taglist !

@marchingicenotes7, @bayisdying, @princessofglitterland, @bella-law, @austin-butlers-gf, @callsignaries, @katesmadness, @dannyramirezwife, @oliviah-25, @luckyladycreator2, @shakira-sasha, @xoxabs88xox, @Criminalmindsandmarvel, @fanboyluvr, @alexxavicry, @madamemelancholysstuff, @paola-carter, @barbiewritesstuff, @dozcan123, @withakindheartx, @nyx2021, @teti-menchon0604

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Note

Omg I have to see Rooster do this with his brood to entertain them or something it would be so adorable 🥰💜💜💜

Ahhhhh CAN YOU IMAGINE??? You’re just minding your own business, doing some laundry, and you hear giggles and laughter coming from the living room. You walk out to find your husband entertaining your children with his dancing pecks and they’re just all laughing hysterically, they find it so funny. And Rooster just chuckles as your little one tries to grab his nipple. And you’re so confused and lovestruck and just seeing him being such a wonderful father makes you want another baby which NO!! You shake your head, laughing, and Rooster looks up when he hears you. He grins at you, patting his daughter’s head, and there’s a mischievous look in his eye like he can read your thoughts.

“All these toys, and this is what they want to play with,” he says with a shrug.

You snort. “To be quite honest, my toys don’t get much love when you’re around either.” You walk away, holding back a laugh, while Rooster twists his entire body to look at you.

“Woman!” He calls after you as you head back to the bedroom to fold laundry. “There’s still an hour till bedtime, what are you doing to me?”

“You started it!” you call back.

This was super cute anon, thanks for sending it in! ❤️

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whatislovevavy · 1 year

Text

2. Kissing and More...

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC (Caledonia Hughes)

WC: 8.7k

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+)

AN: Apologies for the wait, I’m in my 4th term of the school year so I’ve been hella busy and my mental health has only recently started to improve. I hope you guys like this and feel free to comment and reblog :) Thank you @sebsxphia for the encouragement to write this story when it was in development, it means the world <3 Also a big thank you to @royallyprincesslilly for the design of the divider :)

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook

These characters, except for Caledonia and Ella, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.

“Welcome to mi casa, Lass.”

You walked into his living room, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the strap of your purse nervously as Jake closed the door behind you.

Your evening had felt almost like a blur, doing something risky like this was completely out of your element.

Jake’s living space had a bachelor pad feel to it; minimally decorated with a flat screen tv and a few leather couches. You had heard through the grapevine that Jake and Coyote recently moved in together once they were given a permanent station at North Island, finding it more desirable than living in the on base housing.

“Coyote’s out with his sister and nephew, and won’t be home for a few hours.”

Jake’s voice pulled you back to him. He leaned against the hallway with a small smirk.

Back at Francisco’s, he had limited time to admire your outfit in full. He liked the way your high-waisted jeans hugged your curves when you walked. How the navy blue sweater let him see your collarbones and tops of your shoulders, and brought out your eyes in the best way, reminding him of the deep ocean water of the Pacific. The way your small gold necklace settled just above your breasts. Your brunette locks from your pony tail that cascaded down your exposed shoulders and back, just begging for him to run his fingers through, or wrap around his fist.

You nodded, “it’s a nice place you have here,” you said softly, deciding to not bring up the obvious lack of decor.

“Yeah, Coyote and I got a good deal on it… you wanna get the upstairs tour?”

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you let out a small laugh as your nerves started to set in.

Jake led you up the stairs, placing his hand on your lower back as he showed you his shared home.

“And this is my room, make yourself at home,” he gave a small smile before excusing himself.

He gave you a few moments to take in his room. If his drawl didn’t tell you he was from Texas, his room definitely did: A Stetson Cowboy hat hung from the wall, a signed, framed Longhorns Jersey on the wall near his closet, and framed family pictures with more horses and cowboy hats than you’ve ever seen in one photo.

You took a seat on his grey comforter, placing your purse on the lower shelf of his night stand, looking over his collection of naval history books.

A part of you didn’t believe you were truly in Jake’s room. You clenched your eyes shut, fully expecting to be waking up in your room at Penny’s when you opened them.

Your eyes shot to his bathroom doorway as you heard the door click open, half expecting him to come out of the bathroom with a change of mind with regard to your arrangement.

“You seem a little tense. Try to relax a little, Cal. You call the shots remember?” He smirked as he unhooked his ray bans from his shirt, placing them on his nightstand.

You let out a small sigh, bringing your eyes to his as you felt the bed shift. He sat almost knee to knee with you. Your heart started to race, mind immediately going back to the previous night.

Holy shit. You were going to kiss Jake Seresin tonight. He was right in front of you and about to be kissed. By you.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Your attention shot to his face, taking in his soft grin and playful gaze on you.

“O-oh n-nothing, just a bit nervous is all,” you said toying with the sleeve of your sweater, feeling his hot gaze on your face as you avoided making eye contact, deciding that the loose thread on your sweater sleeve was a better alternative to meeting his scorching gaze.

He gave you that wide grin you loved, scooted closer towards you and softly pushed some hair off of your shoulder closest to him. He felt a strand of your hair between his forefinger and thumb absentmindedly as he softly spoke.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me Caledonia, we take this however fast or slow you want, or not at all. We can just sit and talk if that’s what you’d like.”

You brought your eyes back to his face, his own gently diverting from your hair to your crystalline eyes. Your mouth was slightly agape as you felt your face flush a bit.

A few moments of silence passed, you let out a small, closed-mouth, laugh, smiling to yourself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just can’t believe you called this my extracurricular curriculum,” your giggles continued. He only smiled brighter, taking you in.

“Yeah, seemed to suit given you’re in grad school.” He laughed, running a hand through his hair.

You didn’t realize he had gotten closer to you, his thigh fully against yours like a hot brand, your mind focusing on the soft pressure of his clothed thigh next to your jean-clad one.

Looking up, his eyes were focused on your face, but not on your eyes. Was he looking at your lips? No, that couldn’t be right. That would imply he wanted to kiss you, maybe even thought about kissing you before, and this whole set up was merely a close friend helping a close friend.

His eyes softly rose to meet yours. You always got butterflies in your stomach when you got a full look at the emerald gems that were settled under his eyebrows. Same when you looked down from his nose and dimples to his soft, kissable lips, to the small cleft in his chin.

You whispered, breaking the silence, and asking one of the bravest questions in your life, “W-would it be ok if I kissed you?”

His mind seemed elsewhere, eyes dazed. “Of course,” he whispered.

It took everything in him to not smash your lips to his, patiently waiting to follow your lead.

As you started to lean in, he did too. As you closed your eyes, he admired you in this vulnerable state before closing his own.

You realized too late that you had missed your target, accidentally making contact with the side of his mouth, softly bumping your nose against his in the process.

“Shit-Sorry…”

“Its ok. Let’s do that again, yeah? You want me to take the lead?” he bit his lip, suppressing a smirk.

He had the same look in his eyes that he had at the pool table the previous night, not with pity but with an almost authoritative, comforting aura. The same way a shepherd would guide a lamb to green pastures.

Because to Jake, you were his little lamb to care for.

You nodded, feeling your face heat up.

“Alright, close your eyes. If there’s something that I’m doing that you don’t like, tell me and I’ll stop. Ok?”

You nodded, feeling warmth settle in your chest at his serious consideration for your consent throughout this experience so far. Softly sighing, you did as he asked.

Besides the creaking of the bed, bearing both of your weights, and the soft hum of his AC, no sound was in the room. The anticipation of feeling his lips on yours made your heart race and subdue the impatient part inside you that had waited months to kiss this man.

You felt one of his hands cup your cheek and the other settle on your waist, softly squeezing it.

A few more agonizing moments of nothing before your felt it.

You almost jumped back at the shot of electricity that came from his lips softly meeting yours. The soothing smell of mint paired with his velvet soft lips made you sigh against him. This was nice. Really nice.

He almost moaned at the soft taste of raspberry and pistachio on your lips, loving how soft and plush your lips were against his. How responsive you were to him. He had to internally compose himself, feeling the blood from his brain flow downwards, in fear that he might overwhelm you.

You relished in the feel of his lips on yours, feeling his whole body in the kiss, like waves licking an evening shore. After a few moments, you carefully tested the waters, bringing your hands to the back of his neck, scratching against his clipped hair and running your fingers through the portions that had significant length.

A low rumbling passed his lips. Did-did he just groan? From something you did?

You softly scratched and tugged at his hair, testing if what you did had the effect you thought it did.

Oh yeah. It most definitely did. You were making it very difficult for him to hold himself off.

He softly pulled away to let you both catch your breath. It took all he had to not lean his forehead against yours, to feel you against him still with each breath you took. That would make this feel a bit more intimate to him, anything more than this friends with benefits relationship that had blossomed in the cracked, upholstered, maroon booths of Francisco's.

You looked at him with such a sweet smile, still getting your breathing under control as red painted your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad a kisser for someone who’s never done this before,” he smirked, running his tongue along his bottom lip, the taste of you still present.

You took a moment to admire his disheveled hair and eyes almost black with lust. The sight made you feel a sense of astonishment in your newfound capabilities.

“Well, I’ve done that before, but only once… w-was it obvious I don’t do this much?”

His thumb brushed along the side of your cheek, “Besides the little nose boop you did, it wasn’t glaring,” he softly chuckled. You playfully scowled, rolling your eyes and lightly shoving his shoulder, making his laughter grow.

As his laughter died down, you bit your lip, looking up into his eyes.

“C-could we, maybe, do that again?”

Jake gave a breathless nod, bringing your lips back to his, feeling his cock stir. He mumbled against your lips.

You softly pulled away, “what was that?”

“I said, have you ever french kissed before?”

“Was what we were just doing not that…?”

He smirked at your quiet tone, shaking his head. “I’ll show you… it’s kissing with a bit of tongue. Follow my lead and I’ll guide you through it.”

Guiding your lips back to his, he softly slid his tongue along your bottom lip, silently asking for entrance. You opened your mouth a bit, but not enough. He squeezed your waist under his broad, strong hands, letting his hands travel downward to the curve of your ass, eliciting a soft moan from your lips that made his cock jump. Jake took the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth. You released a small muffled yelp. He smiled at the reaction, immediately yielding you to his ministrations, tongue caressing, and twirling against yours.

As much as you wanted to keep doing this with Jake, you needed air. You softly pulled back from his lips, breathing a bit heavy, looking down at the string of saliva that connected his flushed, soft lips to yours.

As you both caught your breath, Jake smiled, “So, how was that?”

You looked back up to his gaze, with a cheek aching smile and flushed cheeks.

“That was fun…really fun.”

“You wanna do it again?”

You nodded excitedly, biting your lip.

He smiled, before biting the inside of his cheek, “tell me, Ms. Hughes, has anyone ever given you a love bite? Kissed your pretty neck before?”

You felt yourself preen under his quickly heating gaze, and averted your gaze to your hands in your lap.

The softness of his forefinger titling your chin up brings your azure gaze back on him.

“O-once or T-twice,” you inwardly cringed at your stutter, but it was difficult to talk right when he looked at you with those handsome green eyes.

He suppressed the wolfish grin that threatened to settle on his lips.

“Well, would you be willing to have someone do it a third time?”

You gulped, nodding.

"Still feeling nervous?"

Speaking, above a whisper, "a-a little."

He gave you a small smile, "you have nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

Sweetheart had never sounded so sweet till now, making your chest inflate with a foreign warmth.

Feeling yourself preen under the weight of the endearment, you tried to divert your eyes anywhere but his own, but it proved difficult when his finger was still under your chin.

How were you supposed to handle all of this? You felt like you were going to combust with the way his lips felt against yours and the way his drawl made terms of endearment so warm and soft. You knew at that moment that if anyone else had called you them, it would have made your skin crawl.

How were you going to handle it when he put his cock inside you?

“Your thoughts are awfully loud, Lass… do you like it when I call you sweetheart?” His tone hushed, gaze settling on your plush lips.

Not trusting your voice, you gave a small nod.

He bit the inside of his cheek letting a smirk settle, “I had a feeling you would… if you want me to stop just say the word, alright?”

You nodded.

He carefully brought your lips back to his, relishing in the soft puffs of breath against his skin and your soft lips starting to move in sync with his own. As much as he didn’t want to leave your lips, he wanted to know if you preferred lovebites left along your jaw or that special spot behind your ear and, most importantly, what moans he could pull out of you.

His lips shifted softly from yours to trace the smooth flesh under your jaw, carefully grazing his teeth along the area before softly sucking and soothing with his tongue.

You didn’t know when exactly you had laid down under Jake, but the feel of his lips on your neck almost made you miss the plush material of his pillow cushioning your soft descent as you let your eyes flutter closed.

Jake almost froze, hearing the soft whine pass your lips as he painted your neck with hues of red and purple made him twitch against the tan fabric of his pants.

He settled between your legs, resting his weight on his elbows. Jake should have been given a medal for resisting as hard as he did from letting himself make contact with your jean-clad core. He wanted to savor this as much as he could and didn’t want to ruin the fragile lattice of comfort he cultivated by overwhelming you.

His lips traveled to just behind your ear, nibbling at your tender flesh, relishing in each shudder and whine he pulled from you as he left a bruise on your perfect skin.

He could feel your fingers move from his shoulders to grip the back of his head to keep him in place.

“Oh Jake…” you softly moaned.

He let out a small groan as he laid a final kiss on the bruise he left, admiring the blotches of color he left along the column of your neck. He smirked as his eyes traveled from your kiss-swollen lips to the hues of red that painted your cheeks, and glazed-over eyes.

You almost took his breath away.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

Afraid your voice would come out as a whine, you only nodded.

“I need to hear you say it, Lass…” he smirked. You could tell he enjoyed making you squirm, but you didn't have the mental capacity to bring it up now. He bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for you.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered out.

He smirked, “did you like it when I kissed behind your ear or bruised your pretty neck?”

You breathlessly answered, “y-yes, I liked b-both. Both were good.”

He let out a small chuckle as he watched you fluster under his gaze

“Good girl…You want to take it a step further?”

Your eyes widened a bit, “w-what would that entail?”

“I was thinking we could take our shirts off. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Taking a deep breath, “O-ok… just… just don’t look at me until I give you the go-ahead. I’m just a bit self-conscious is all,” you finished quickly, avoiding his gaze.

His expression shifted to one of bewilderment and concern as he rose up and gave you space to sit up, “Lass… you have nothing to be self-conscious about… but I’ll close my eyes until you're ready for me to look.”

He closed his eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head and placed it behind him.

Your eyes were drawn to his exposed chest, admiring the way the sunlight bathed the tan expanse of his chest, reflected against against his soft chest hair, accentuated the taut muscle of his abdomen, pecs, and arms. Jake was the splitting image of Apollo in that moment. He looked so peaceful letting his eyes stay softly closed, waiting for you to give the word to open his emerald gaze onto your body.

“You know if you take a picture, it lasts longer.” he teased as a small smirk settled on his lips, keeping his eyes closed.

“I w-wasn’t staring,” you huffed.

Jake let a soft smirk paint his lips, “It’s ok sweets, you don’t have to be embarrassed about being caught checking me out.”

You took a deep breath, composing yourself, starting to take off your sweater, pausing when you realized you were only wearing a black bra underneath.

What if he doesn’t like what he sees? What if the moment he sees you with your top off he wants to end the contract and never wants to look at you again?

Jake could feel your apprehension but opted to stay silent and let you work at your own pace.

“Ok, you can open your eyes now.”

Jake carefully opened his eyes, taking note of your apprehensive tone.

His eyes landed on your face, noticing your closed eyes, and tense arms that covered your chest. He did his damndest to not focus on the fact that the movement pushed your soft breasts up and caused them to spill out of your pretty black bra with lace accents.

“Lass, you don’t have to be scared. Not with me.”

Beautiful. He wanted to say you looked beautiful.

You opened one of your eyes slightly, finding his sea foam green gaze on yours, painted with a comforting aura, a warm smile painting his lips.

His gaze brought you a sense of warmth and comfort that made you feel you could open both eyes and sit up a bit, but your back was still hunched a bit in an effort to hide your breasts and stretch marks from his sight.

He slid closer to you, letting his hands softly encase yours that were still crossed over your chest.

“May I?”

You looked up at him, lips slightly agape as he softly rose his eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

You softly nodded, trying to avoid his gaze.

He softly pulled your hands away from your chest down to your sides, giving you a sweet smile. You matched him on a smaller scale.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about Caledonia,” he softly reassured, letting his fingers draw circles on your waist as he felt his cock twitch at the sight of you.

Your mouth fell agape. Having never been complimented before like this, you were speechless.

“Is it ok if I kiss you?”

His voice broke you from your thoughts, nodding, “y-yes.”

He softly brought his lips to yours, relishing in the feeling of your fingers in his hair, soft flesh of your waist, and undersides of your bra-clad breasts.

His lips traveled down your neck to the tops of your breasts, softly kissing and sucking on your flesh. You let yourself catch your breath and small moans pass your lips, relishing in the groans that left his as you tugged on his hair.

“This is getting a bit in the way, is it ok if I remove it?”

He smirked as he toyed with the lace edge of your bra, letting his eyes settle on your own.

Your hindbrain took over, letting out a small nod.

He maintained eye contact as he reached behind you to undo the small latches, letting the soft fabric fall loose from your shoulders, before guiding it off your arms. His eyes remained on yours as he tossed the bra behind him toward the end of the bed.

You let out a small laugh at the action as your face flushed, suddenly registering your vulnerable state, attempting to bring your hands up to cover yourself.

His eyes darted to your hands, his own coming up to softly grasp yours and bring them back down to your sides.

“I meant what I said earlier. You have nothing to be self-conscious about, sweetheart.”

He smiled as he brought his hands to cup your breasts, silently admiring them. The soft, pretty pink hue of your areolas. The round edges of your nipples that stood stiff in the AC of his room. The hint of blue of your veins under the surface. The almost metallic shine of your stretch marks painted along your breasts. How they spilled over his palm. His smile grew as he heard your hitched breath.

This was entirely new territory for you.

You didn’t want to sound desperate as he gingerly ran his thumbs over your stiff peaks, but you couldn’t help the small whimper that left your lips as he teased your breasts.

He let out a small chuckle, “you’re so sensitive… you’ve never had anyone touch you here before?”

You shook your head, “no one besides during my physicals,” you let out a small, nervous laugh.

He could only smirk at your flustered form, “well sweets," bringing his forefinger to playfully nudge both of your stiff peaks upward, "we’re going to change that."

You weren’t given a chance to respond before he leaned down to bring your nipple into the warm expanse of his mouth. You let out a soft yelp at the warm, wet sensation before letting out a low moan. He smirked against your skin, letting his tongue glaze and caress your sensitive flesh, before softly biting down on your soft peak. He could feel himself throb when he felt you run your fingers over the back of his head, let out small whines, and low moans as he played with you.

He could get used to this. Being with you. But you were so smart, you were getting your PhD for fucks sake! You would probably want someone who had at least a Masters degree in some obscure field of biology or chemistry. He was smart, but not that smart. He was usually completely self-assured, never any doubt in his mind that he could have any woman he wanted. But it was different with you. He wanted to be soft with you in any way that he could. Even if it meant he could only have you like this.

You broke him from his sobering thoughts as you gave a harsh tug at his hair and let out a soft whine when he bit down on your peak, quickly soothing your peak with his tongue. Pushing aside his hard-on killing thoughts, he released your peak with a pop and focused on the other, granting it the same attention.

After a few moments, Jake started to leave love bites all over the expanse of your chest, painting them in a mosaic of blue, red and cream, your moans and whines spurring him on. He silently moved down towards your stomach, placing open-mouthed kisses as he wandered down. If your brain wasn’t so cloudy, you probably would have told him he didn’t need to kiss there if he didn’t want to.

As Jake let your saliva soaked skin release from his mouth with a soft pop, he looked up at the bruises he left, your breathless expression, and softly closed eyes.

Smirking to himself, “hey, Lass… you with me?”

You lazily opened your eyes to peer down at him, giving him a nod.

His smirk widened, “Has anyone ever played with you down here before?”

He knew the answer. He only wanted to hear you say it.

Jake brought his hand to cup your jean clad core, mindful of the heat coming off and any movements that would suggest you didn’t want him touching you.

“N-no, no one has,” you softly whispered.

His smirk widened, eyes darkening.

"So you're telling me that no one has ever felt you clench around their fingers… tasted you...made you cum before?"

You let out a hitched breath at his husky tone, “Y-yeah, no one h-has.”

He knew the answer, he just enjoyed you saying the answer all too much.

He was the one to make you moan and whine like that for the first time.

No one else. Him.

You were his to take care of, corrupt, and show this whole new world to.

“Well Ms. Hughes, I think that needs to happen before we meet again next week. Don’t you agree?”

You clenched around nothing in your no-doubt soaked pair of cotton panties, only giving him a pathetic nod. It wasn’t your fault though, he knew how all of the right buttons to push to make you putty in his hands.

He smirked, “well then… let’s get these off you, shall we?”

He shot you a wink, making you preen as he scooted further down the bed to rest on his knees as he tenderly undid the button and zipper of your jeans, carefully watching your expression for any sense of hesitancy.

“Those are some cute panties you have there, Lass,” he chuckled to himself as your face flushed for the 100th time today, feeling speechless.

What were you supposed to say? Fucking thanks?

He pulled down your jeans, leaving you clad in only your dark blue panties. Sitting on his knees, he admired your soft stomach, the expanse of your thighs, exposed breasts that were littered with countless bruises up to your neck, your pretty, parted lips, and the little wet patch centered over your core through the soft fabric. He let his hands traverse the sides of your body, from your plush thighs, to your soft stomach, and full breasts.

“A-are you going to take yours off too?”

His eyes shot to yours as your soft tone met his ears. He smirked, moving up your body to kiss you softly, “Of course.”

You let out a whine of protest as he got off the bed to remove his pants, leaving him clad only in a pair of boxers that hugged his thighs and hard-on wonderfully. You’re eyes widened, he was big. Perhaps the stories you eavesdropped on during your shifts weren't so far off.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to play with him next week,” he shot you a wink, relishing in the blush that has permanently taken over your face at being caught admiring him.

Next week. You could wait that long. Maybe.

“Is it ok if I take this pretty number off?”

You nodded, lifting your hips as he took off your last remaining article of clothing.

Jake tossed them behind him, taking in your exposed cunt that was all his to see.

His eyes were glued to the sight of your dripping lips that gleamed under the evening sunset, his cock throbbing against the thin confines of his boxers. You looked gorgeous like this, all spread out and exposed for him and him only.

You tried to cover up again, feeling a wave of insecurity hit you.

“Don’t hide from me Lass, you have nothing you need to hide. Not from me,” he spoke softly.

You let out a soft sigh as his hands carefully maneuvered your thighs wider, softly pinning them against the comforter.

“Such a pretty pussy… You ever touched yourself, sweetheart? Rubbed your pretty fingers over your swollen clit?” He husked.

You nodded, still shy to openly admit such sensitive information.

“Show me.”

Your eyes widened, “W-what?”

“I said, show me how you make yourself cum. I want to watch you and then I’ll take over.”

“O-ok,” you gingerly brought your right hand down to your pubic mound, inching your fingers closer to the heat of your core.

He watched intently as your fingers slowly made their way towards your dripping center, letting out a soft sigh as your cold fingers met the heat of their destination.

His gaze darkened as he saw you slowly swipe your fingers around your dripping hole before moving to circle your clit. He almost came to the soft moans you made as you started rubbing your clit for his dark jade gaze to see.

“That’s it, sweetheart, show me how you cum all over your pretty little fingers,” he groaned, as he palmed his thinly clothed hard-on.

Your core clenched around nothing. you wanted more of his praise.

Feeling Jake’s hands on your thighs and his dark gaze were like a hot brand on your flesh. It made it difficult to focus on the task at hand when he was right there, watching your every move, and it all boiled down to the fact you had never masturbated in front of anyone, much less cum in front of someone before.

After a few minutes, your nerves were starting to get to you, making it more difficult for you to find your release.

Jake would let out a few “that’s it, sweetheart” and “good girl,” but your huffs of frustration were becoming more evident.

When your fingers halted their motions and you opened your eyes to meet his gaze, he knew he was going to need to intervene.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ve just never done this before in front of someone. It just makes me a bit nervous,” you say quietly feeling a rush of embarrassment.

His eyes flashed with concern, “It’s ok Caledonia, you don’t need to apologize. Would… would you want me to take over, see if I can help?”

He teased a bit, biting the inside of his cheek, resisting a full-blown smirk.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “s-sure.”

He matched yours, “alright, sit up and scooch forward for me please.”

Maneuvering himself behind you so you would settle between his legs, he guided you to lean back and open your thighs for him.

“O-ok…what are you doing?”

“Just getting comfortable, Lass.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice as you felt his hands run along your sides, up to your breasts to give them a soft squeeze, letting your soft exhales and low moans stroke his ego.

He placed a kiss behind your ear, letting your head lull back onto his exposed shoulder.

“Now I just want you to sit back and tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, alright?”

“Sounds nice,” you let out a breathless tone.

He let out a small chuckle. The feeling of his hands and the smooth expanse of his back against your bare one made you feel warm and comforted, like being wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer.

You caught the scent of Jake's cologne and the sight of his exposed neck. Contemplating if what you wanted to do was even allowed, you followed your desire and left a soft kiss on his throat before softly sucking a love bite onto his tan flesh.

Jake shuddered at the contact, letting out a low groan as you soothed his flesh with your tongue.

“Damn, Cal, you got the technique down, I must be doing a good job,” he softly groaned, chuckling softly.

“I’ve given love bites before, just didn’t have a lot of opportunity to practice,” you chuckled.

Jake's hand softly came up to squeeze your breast, starting to play with your peak, while his other rested on the inside of your thigh, “Well, now you have all the time in the world to practice… is it ok if I start touching you now?”

“Well, technically, you’ve been touching me for a while,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral.

He rolled his eyes,” Alright smartass, is it ok if I start rubbing your clit?”

His husky tone, made your breath hitch. You nodded, knowing he was going to ask for a verbal confirmation, “yes, please.”

“Good girl,” he started to move his hand down to cup your heat, feeling your arousal drip into his hand, “you’re so wet, sweetheart, I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked.”

You let out a low mewl in response, making him smirk.

He groaned feeling your hot, dripping core against his hand, letting his fingers collect your essence, and bringing it up to start circling your clit.

You let out a whine as he made contact and started messaging your clit in tight circles.

Frankly, you were a bit surprised he found your clit so fast, you half expected to have to guide him.

He started tweaking your peak as he continued to work you over with his hand, “That feel nice, sweetheart? Like it when I play with your tits and pretty little cunt like this?”

You could only nod, letting out a small whine.

You yelped when he started to lightly roll your clit between his thumb and forefinger, your yelp turning into a low moan.

He lightly chuckled, placing a kiss on your neck, “it’s ok sweetheart, just let me take care of you.”

You could feel the familiar bubble start to inflate in your abdomen, a low whimper passing your lips as your eyes clenched shut.

Jake felt pride swell in his chest at the feeling of your painted nails digging into the flesh of his forearm, making his cock twitch against your bare back.

"You getting close, Lass?"

You could hear the smirk in his voice, but all you could give him was a small nod and a low whine.

"Sound so pretty, honey… you gonna be a good girl and cum on my fingers, hm?" He husked against the soft cartilage of your ear.

You only nodded, letting out labored breaths as his sultry words registered, feeling his fingers circle your clit at a faster pace. Failing to register that he called you honey.

"Fuck…Jake," you let out a low moan feeling warmth start to flow from your core to your toes, mind starting to get hazy as your core clenched around nothing.

The elastic band in your core was close to snapping. With Jake toying with your breast with one broad hand and rubbing your swollen clit with the other, it wasn't long before your lips parted and a soft moan passed your lips as your head fell back against Jake's broad shoulders. You feel your clit throb against Jake's unyielding fingers and warmth flood your veins as your head swam in pleasure. Your thighs start to twitch and hips squirm as he continued to prolong your high.

Jake's hand left your breast to hold your soft stomach as he continued to toy with you, keeping your hips from bucking.

"Shhhh, sweetheart…. There we go, such a good girl for me," he coos at your whining form, beginning to feel overstimulated.

"Mhm, Jake… it's too much…" you say breathlessly.

Jake places a soft kiss along your neck, letting his fingers slow down a bit, "it's ok baby, just a little more for me."

Baby? Where were these new terms of endearment coming from?

He smirks as he feels you continue to squirm, wanting to give you the full Seresin treatment.

As you let out another low whimper, he let his fingers softly retract from your core.

Holy shit. Someone made you cum. Genuinely cum!

You let a smile settle on your lips as you let yourself bask in the dopamine waves licking the shores of your mind.

Your reprieve was broken by the soft sounds of a wet pop.

Looking up, you found a sight that made your core clench. Jake looked down at you as he brought his fingers back into his mouth to get the rest of your essence off of them.

He smirked, "you wanna taste? You're pretty delectable, sweetheart."

Your face flushed red. You didn't expect for him to think you tasted good.

You'd never tasted yourself. You were a bit hesitant, rightfully so.

You let yourself give him a nod, letting your hindbrain take over.

He still wore that same smirk as he brought two of his fingers to your lips, "open for me, sweets."

You did as he told you, letting the soft pads of his fingers settle on your tongue. The soft taste of your essence settled on your senses, making you softly hum as you closed your mouth around his fingers, letting your tongue caress them.

God, he couldn't wait to get your pretty mouth on his cock. The thought of how your tongue would trace the vein on the underside of his member made him twitch and clench his jaw.

He pulled his fingers away from your mouth with a soft pop.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

You preened under the praise, feeling your cheeks glow a light red.

He smugly smiled as he started to trace small shapes on your breast, keeping his gaze on you, “would you be opposed if I ate you out, sweetheart?”

You felt your eyes widen and your throat go dry, “S-sure, I mean only if you want to… I don’t want you to feel like you have to if you don’t want to-.”

“Oh, I want to Ms. Hughes.”

His playful assertiveness made you clench your thighs together and give a sheepish smile.

“I’m going to need to get situated down there. Please scoot forward, sweets.”

You did as he asked, eyes drawn to the planes of muscle that shifted under golden skin and his thinly veiled hard on that made you clench around nothing.

Jake settled himself towards the end of the bed, letting his hands softly spread your thighs.

Your core clenched at the soft groan he emitted at the sight of your exposed core that was still dripping from your previous high.

“Let me know if anything I’m doing doesn’t feel good, ok?”

You nodded, “O-ok.”

He smiled softly, taking all of you in before taking on the task at hand.

Jake started to litter open mouthed kisses along your plush inner thighs, listening to the low mewls that left your lips as he softly bit down on your flesh and soothed the marks with his tongue.

The little moans that met his ears as he left love bites along your thighs made him start to grind his hips into the mattress.

Sensing your indecisiveness with where to place your hands, “You can put your hands in my hair, sweetheart. Just tug if I do something you like.”

He looked up from your open thighs, sending you a wink as you settled your hands into his normally perfectly styled hair, savoring the feeling of his soft strands between your fingers.

You knew this was a big deal. He never let anyone touch his hair.

Your thoughts were broken by the sudden pressure of his tongue swiping up the length of your core, making your hips buck, and fingers tighten in his hair.

His hum of satisfaction at the taste of you made you shiver as you clenched your eyes shut, letting your head fall back against his pillow.

His hands settled around your thighs and laid them flat on your lower stomach, keeping your hips pinned and open on the gray comforter.

Jake used his thumbs to gently spread your folds, admiring the soft pink hue of your soaked hole and plush flesh of your clit.

Leaning down, he softly prodded your hole with his tongue, adjusting to keep your hips from bucking.

You almost yelped at the feeling of his tongue caressing your walls, gripping his hair more strongly as he moved towards your clit.

He looked up at you with playful green eyes, murmuring, “easy there, sweetheart…"

A smug grin lit up his face. He couldn't believe that he was the first one to touch you like this. The first one to make you cum, to taste you.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for every man that passed up the opportunity to be with you like this, but a more possessive side of himself didn't care. It was their loss. He got to have you all to himself; innocent and untouched. It put him in a frenzy like nothing had before.

You softly mewled at the feeling of his textured tongue against your sensitive flesh. He savored the subtle sweet taste of you, giving your core you a few more broad strokes of his tongue before letting his muscle caress your engorged bundle of nerves.

Jake could barely recognize you by the sounds he was pulling out of you. Gone was the quiet as a mouse, reserved girl at the bar top and here was a beautiful siren sprawled out on his bed, letting out the most sinful noises (or heavenly noises, he couldn't decide) as he caressed your flesh and slowly drowned in your essence.

Your hands clenched around his sandy brown locks as he gave your clit an experimental suck.

He smirked as a high-pitched whine left your throat, your fingers holding onto his locks of hair for what felt like dear life.

"S-shit…Jake," you groaned.

He let you clit go with a soft pop, laying his head against your thigh, letting his pointer and middle finger softly trace the cleft between your thighs and nudge your clit, "You like that, Lass? Want me to add my finger?"

You lifted your head to meet his playful, gleaming gaze as he continued to trace your folds.

You slowly nodded, hyper fixated on Jake's prodding of your core. "Y-yes please," you mewled.

He smirked.

"Such a polite, good girl," he husked.

Laying a soft kiss to your puffy clit as he traced your weeping hole, making you let out a hitched breath.

You gasped as he gingerly pushed one of his thick fingers into your core.

God, you were so tight. He almost came in his pants like a goddamn teenager at the thought of your silk walls grasping his cock the same way.

Your hips jumped against his broad hand as the pad of his finger rubbed against a spot you didn't even know you had.

You softly moaned, arching your back, feeling him apply more pressure to your velvet walls in a come-hither motion and savoring the feeling of him filling you.

"That feel nice?"

Even though your mind was hazy with lust, you knew he was wearing that same signature Hangman, panty-dropper smile.

Before you could even muster a response, your brain short circuited.

"O-oh Jake… that feels so good," you pathetically whimpered. If you were in your right mind, you would have rolled your eyes. Nothing related to sex could have possibly felt that good, could it? You ate your words as Jake lapped at your clit and sucked it into his mouth, releasing it with a wet pop as he continued to thrust his finger into you with vigor and precision.

You could feel the rubber band in your abdomen start to stretch as your high was building.

"You want another finger?"

You nodded without realizing it," yes," you groaned, feeling his two thick digits line up at your entrance.

You winced a bit at the initial stretch, but it soon morphed into pleasure at the feeling of more pressure on the little piece of heaven in you and the feeling of being filled by Jake.

"Damn, sweets, you're so tight, squeezing my fingers." He groaned against your cunt.

The squelching of your cunt, the soft moans and whimpers that left your lips, and Jake's soft groans filled the room.

If the tightening hold your fingers had on his hair and fluttering walls around his fingers told him anything, you were close.

Jake started moving his fingers at a faster pace and focusing his ministrations on your clit, drawing one of the many flight plans he'd memorized. You yanked on his hair as his tongue flicked the underside of the hood of your clit, his groans reverberating through your flesh to your nerves set alight making you whimper, mewl, and buck your hips.

"Shit, Jake… whatever you're doing, please don't stop!" you breathlessly moaned, eyes clenched shut, and eyebrows pinched together in pleasure.

He looked up at you, swearing you were one of the most beautiful sights of his life; lips parted, cheeks flushed, and eyes shut in pleasure.

Your pathetic whines and moans went straight to his cock as he continued to ground his hips into the bed.

He gave your clit one last, long suck, and you were gone. Finished. Completely thrown over the edge into a sea of pleasure you thought didn't exist.

"Oh fuck…. Jake!," you exclaimed followed by soft moans, your cunt milking his fingers as your hips squirmed, and thighs threatened to close under Jake's strong grasp.

The moment your sinful words met his ears, his eyes closed in bliss, groaning against your drenched cunt, his fingers slowing and savoring the feeling of your velvet walls choking his fingers, and your soft clit throbbing against his lips, wishing his fluttering cock was where his fingers were right now.

He rested his forehead against your inner thigh, letting his breathing return to normal, and returning to softly lapping at your core, letting soft sparks of pleasure continue to flow through you.

Your soft whines and continued hip squirming, brought his ministrations to a halt, placing one last soft kiss to your abused clit.

He smiled up at you supporting his upper body on his elbows, a lazy smile on his lips.

"How was that Ms. Hughes?"

Your dazed expression met his as a full-blown smile slowly developed on your face, "that was really nice. Really nice."

"Just really nice?" He coaxed, tracing your folds softly with the pad of his finger.

"It was… I've never felt anything like it before." You began to sit up, noticing the large wet patch you left on his comforter.

"Shit, I'm sorry-"

"Never apologize for making a mess on my bed…Such a messy girl," he cooed, sitting up and tilting your chin towards him to meet his dark jade gaze that was almost fully encased in black.

Letting out a small, hitched breath at his words, your cheeks got warmer.

"W-would you like me to return the favor?"

"Well, Caledonia, you've already done that, and I want to save that for next week," he softly chuckled.

Your eyebrows pinched together, a small pout settling on your lips.

"But I barely even touched you-."

Jake's eyebrows rose, exaggeratedly bringing his gaze down to his crotch, and then back to yours. Your own followed suit to the wet patch on his boxers.

Your voice shaky, "W-was that j-just from eating me o-out? Does that h-happen often?"

He merely nodded, "sometimes… only when the girl sounds pretty when she cums," he ended with a genuine smile.

You blushed, playfully rolling your eyes as you softly shoved his shoulder making him purse his lips and chuckle.

He didn't know how to tell you that you were the first girl in his adult life to make him do that. And that scared him.

You tried to subdue the sinking feeling in your heart that you were just another girl he did this with. A friend helping out a friend. You didn't let your smile fall completely as you pushed the feeling away to savor being with him in any way you could.

You broke away from his gaze, towards the sun dipping below the horizon painting the sky in navy, purple and dark red. It was getting late. Penny and Amelia would be expecting you home soon.

As you returned your gaze back to him, his warm gaze was already on yours. It never left to begin with.

You both had gentle smiles on your faces.

It wasn't clear who leaned in first, but you softly moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, moving softly against yours.

He softly broke away, letting his nose nudge yours, whispering, "I should get you home, don't want Penny worryin' about you."

You softly nodded.

—

"Where do you want to meet next week?"

Jake brought his truck to a park in the nearly empty parking lot of Francisco's.

"Well… Penny and Amelia are going out for a school-related thing next Thursday for a few hours, so my place should be free starting at around 5."

Closing the calendar app on your phone, you brought your attention back to Jake.

You were grateful that Penny let you live at her place and she initially made clear that you could have "boys" over as long as you weren't loud and they weren't home. You didn't think that would be an issue due to your predicament when you first moved in. It was almost exciting, arranging trysts with Jake for your weekly lessons and almost sneaking around while still abiding by Penny's lenient rules.

"Alright, I'll be there around 5:30, and park down the street to be safe," he gave a soft smile.

You matched his expression, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek, "thanks for tonight, and the ride."

"My pleasure, Ms. Hughes," he spoke softly, shooting you a wink.

You gave him a soft smile, and chuckled. "I'll see you at the Hard Deck this weekend?"

"Of course," he smiled, "wouldn't miss seeing my favorite bar maid."

You smiled at his teasing tone, "Don't tell Penny that… she'll ring the bell every time you so much as come to the bar top. I'll see you later, Jake, get home safe."

You reached for the door and stepped out. Jake softly bit his lip, "wait…"

You paused and turned to him, "we should probably exchange numbers, ya know for communication purposes…"

"Sure, just enter your phone number and I'll text you," you spoke softly passing him your phone.

He quickly typed his phone number in, "here you go, text me when you get home safe. Ok?"

You nodded, closing his passenger door and walking towards your car. You turned and gave Jake a small wave that was returned.

Jake watched as your taillights turned red, pulled out of the parking lot and drove off into the evening.

Really? Communication purposes? Jake put his head in his hands. That couldn't have been the best he could have come up with. But alas, it was.

He couldn't get over how you looked sprawled out on his bed, soaking his sheets, moaning, and whining like some kind of temptress from Greek mythology.

He'd never be able to look at that comforter the same way again.

The way you were so shy and hesitant to reveal yourself to him made him feel a mix of emotions like no other.

It amazed him that you didn’t see yourself the way he saw you, as a beautiful, smart woman that deserved to be tenderly kissed and made love to. But there was a small part of him that was driven wild by the fact that no one had done any of these things to you.

He was the one to make you cum for the first time and show these new experiences to.

His cock twitched at the thought, bringing his hand down to softly palm his readily developing hard-on. If someone had told him he’d be touching himself in his truck, parked in the empty parking lot of Francisco’s that evening after meeting with you, he would have laughed, told them to go grab some bug spray, and take a hike.

He was already counting down the hours till he could see you and touch you again.

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