#top gun maverick fics
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Little Insomniac (J. Seresin)
Pairing: Jake Seresin x roommate!reader
Summary: You're dealing with an ongoing struggle to sleep, and Jake wants to help. Volume Two
Warnings: nothing really, just fluff.
Word Count: 3k
MY WORK IS ORIGNIAL AND IS NOT TO BE COPIED OR REPOSTED ELSEWHERE. Be kind and don't steal other people's writing, thank you.
Gif creds: @jakeseresins
Jake stirs awake before his alarm has the chance to go off. Yawning, he wipes the sleep from his eyes before groggily reaching for his phone to check the time. 5:45, it reads, though he has to squint to make sure because his eyes are still bleary from just waking up. He lets himself yawn one more time before moving to sit at the edge of his bed, a gentle grunt falls from his lips as he enjoys his first big stretch of the day, preparing his muscles for his usual morning run.
Knowing that he’ll have plenty of time to get ready once he’s back, he swaps his sweatpants out for a pair of running shorts and slips on a coordinating shirt. He turns toward his bedside table to grab his headphones, immediately sticking them into his ears and scrolling through his phone to find his playlist, “Run Like Hell.” His head gently bobs to the best of the music once he’d hit shuffle as he finishes getting ready by sliding his running shoes on.
He makes sure to walk quietly as he passes your room. You won’t be waking up for another hour, at least, and he’s not keen on giving you a wake up call sooner than you have planned. He accidentally woke you up one morning shortly after the two of you signed this lease and it resulted in a rather heated reprimand from a rather hungover, half asleep, version of you that came stumbling out of your room with a baseball bat thinking someone broke in. Since then, he’s intentionally light on his feet, careful not to cause another scene.
Jake smiles at the memory of your disheveled state. You were slightly tipsy from the night before with pillow lines on your face and an unruly bun knotted on top of your head as you incoherently scolded him for nearly giving you a heart attack. In that moment, all he could do was blink at you like a deer in the headlights, trying not to focus too much on the fact that all you were wearing was an oversized shirt that covered everything above your mid thighs, leaving your toned legs on full display.
His trip to memory lane is clouded with confusion when he notices light radiating through the hallway from the living room. He got home after you did last night and swore he shut the lamp off before retreating to his bedroom. His feet carry him toward the light, stopping in the tracks when he notices your form on the couch. You’re seated comfortably with your feet splayed on the coffee table balancing your laptop on your knees, wearing that same damn t-shirt.
“What’re you doing up? You never beat me,” he questions, pulling one earphone out and adjusting the volume on his phone so he can hear you. His presence had gone unnoticed by you, so the sudden question made you jump in, your head snapping toward him in shock.
“Jesus Jake,” your hand flies to your heart in an attempt to ease its rapid beating, a quiet “whew” falling from your lips as you compose yourself, tilting the screen of your laptop down so you can see him better. “Why do move so quiet? You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry darlin’, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just surprised to see you awake so early. Like I said, you never beat me,” there’s an apologetic smile etched onto Jake’s soft features. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly, his eyes never leaving you when he moves into the kitchen to grab a water bottle, promptly opening it and taking a swig. He stalks back to the living room, wordlessly offering you the water, which you gladly accept.
“Can you actually categorize it as beating you if I haven’t slept?” you ask after gulping the cool liquid down. You hand the bottle back to him, nuzzling deeper into your position on the couch when he moves to sit next to you, pulling his other earbud out so that you know you have his full attention.
He stares at you in confusion after processing what you said. Sure, your sleeping patterns have always been odd to him, but a night of not seeming at all raises several questions, “You didn’t sleep?”
“No,” you sigh, completely closing your computer and discarding it onto the coffee table in front of you.
“Why not? I thought you said that you're ahead at work and don't have to stress about extra planning?" He slings his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers barely brushing across the fabric of your t-shirt. He ignores the temptation to drop his hand from the coach so that it rests fully on your shoulder, knowing it's not the time to tease the butterflies awakening in his stomach at the faint smell of your perfume.
"I am," you affirm looking over at him, his close proximity has you feeling at ease with a hint of bashfulness. "It's not work. It's nothing like that really. I just-I don't know, I can spend the entire day exhausted but I'm wide awake as soon as my head hits a pillow."
Jake nods, pulling his attention away from you to ponder if there's anything he can do. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, he returns his gaze to you, taking notice of the prominent bags under your eyes. Your exhaustion coats your features, coating you with a dreamlike state while you zone out on nothing. He bumps your shoulder gently, stealing your attention back. "Is there something bothering you?"
Your head shakes in response, an involuntary yawn falling from your parted lips. You pull your legs up to your chest, hooking your arms around them to hold them in place, and it takes everything in Jake's power to not focus on the fact that the movement made your oversized t-shirt rise up. He clears his throat, returning his thoughts back to the conversation rather than continuing to mentally admire your effortless beauty.
"Okay," he hums, "Well, can you at least take the day off to let yourself rest? I'm sure you'd crash if you got in bed now."
"I can't," you groan, running a hand over your face in frustration. "We have a major meeting today, and I'm running it because ninety-five percent of the team can't manage to do their jobs." There's a sympathetic look sent your way which only adds to the helplessness embedding itself in your entire being. All your impending schedule brings you is an unshakable dread due to how desperately sleep deprived you already feel.
"Okay," he repeats, standing from the couch. "Well, since you can't get out of it today, what do you say we go grab breakfast at that coffee shop you like downtown? My treat. It's not sleep, but it's the best I can do unless you're willing to let me call your boss and telling him to postpone the meeting."
You blink at him, a lazy smile twitching at the edge of your lips. "You know you don't have to do that right? I'm a big girl and can caffeinate myself."
"I know, but I want to. Besides, there's no way in hell I'm letting your sleep deprived ass drive yourself around town today. The last thing this town needs is a delirious Y/n Y/l/n operating a vehicle. Now, how about you go put some pants on so you don't catch a public indecency charge?" He's shooting you his signature 'Seresin smirk' now, which you can't refuse, so you take his outstretched hand and let him help you up.
******************
A few days later, you're parked in that same position on the couch with your legs strewn over Jake's lap as the two of you watch the latest episode of 'The Rookie." There's been a comfortable silence in the room for awhile now, both of you fully engrossed in what's playing on the screen. Jake's fingers periodically draw circles against your clothed shins, a mindless habit of his that you've grown to love, while he makes a few side comments about Tim and Lucy's relationship Which you, being a lover of the slow burning couple, always agree with.
The episode comes to a close, leaving you both with anticipation for the shows continuation next week. Watching the Rookie became a weekly tradition when you became roommates after Jake came home from the bar one night, interrupting your peaceful binge watching. He made fun of the show at first, but forced you to restart it completely because he wanted to be completely caught up on everything it had to offer before deciphering whether or not he liked it. It took measly three episodes and he was hooked, which he denied by telling you he only watches it to bond with you. The way he lost himself in the screen, laughing and cracking jokes, was a tell-tale sign that he was hooked.
“It's late, I’m gonna head to bed,” Jake tells you after several unspoken moments, standing from his comfortable position and carefully repositioning your legs on the cushions. He stretches with a hefty yawn, running a hand over his face. You wordlessly watch him, enjoying the extra gravel to his voice that always comes when he's tired. “Want me to turn the lights off?”
“I'll get them. I think I’m going to be up awhile," you decline, straightening up to reach for the journal you left on the table before he came home.
“Still not sleeping?” He yawns again, watching as you get situated in a manner that tells him you are gearing for a long night.
You scoff, shaking your head in response to his question. One glance his way fills you in on the fact that he wants more of an explanation than that. "I've averaged maybe eight hours total this week, if you can count the baby naps my assistant lets me take during breaks. I swear I could run a marathon and still not be exhausted enough to encourage my body to rest."
“What about this? How about you let me take you to bed and we’ll try something new to help you sleep," he offers. Hope fills his green eyes momentarily before draining when you snort comically.
"Hangman, are you using my sleep deprivation as an excuse to get in my pants? I know I'm undeniably attractive, but that's a new level of low, even for Jake 'the heartbreaker' Seresin," you hadn't meant for the words to spill from your lips and regret them almost immediately. Yet, your raised eyebrows challenge him rather than showing any sign of lighthearted remorse.
“I’m going to blame your hostility on sleep deprivation instead of taking what you just said personally,” there’s a playful grin curved onto his cheeks as he peers down at the disdained expression you’re directing at him. “Now, come on grumpy, let’s get you some sleep,” You groan when he grabs your hands, shifting his weight so he can pull you off the couch. You fight against him, not wanting to let go of the comfortable position you’d fallen into. “Jesus, would you stop being a brat.” He can’t help but laugh as you continue making yourself dead weight to lessen his chances of dragging you off the couch. “Fine, two can play at this game.”
“What-JAKE,” an involuntarily squeal of surprise bubbles from your chest when he bends down, both his hands on your hips, and slings you over his shoulder effortlessly. He laughs as you smack against his back while he flicks the lights off, guiding the two of you toward your room.
“Put me down peasant,” you chant through your own fit of giggles. He simply shakes his head at your antics, carefully weaving through your bedroom before dropping you on top of your bed in a heap. Your giggles die down the longer you admire his lighthearted expression. You cough to try to keep yourself from ogling him like an idiot. It’s hard not to when he’s staring at you like you’re the creator of the jet planes he loves so much. “Couldn’t have given me a gentler landing?”
Jake rolls his eyes, feigning a scoff. “You asked me to put you down, and I put you down. Don’t go giving me a bad yelp review because you weren’t more specific, princess.” There’s a slight twinkle in his eye as the nickname flows off his tongue, smooth as silk. You mentally curse the involuntary heat rushing to your cheeks at the pet name, unable to suppress a bashful smile.
“Fair point,” you reply simply, fighting to keep yourself from spiraling at the sight of your roommate still towering over your splayed figure. He’d showered about an hour ago so his normally styled hair is laying against his forehead comfortably, the scent of his body wash ghosts your nostrils as he scratches the back of his neck, making it even harder not to swoon because he smells so good. “Are you going to tell me what your master plan to help me sleep is, or should I go ahead and preorder extra shots of espresso to keep me functioning tomorrow?”
Jake straightens up at the realization that he’d gotten sidetracked from his initial plan, a dubious grin plasters itself on his face as he moves to turn my bedroom light off, carefully making his way back to my bed in the dark.
“Jake, I hate to break it to you but simply putting me into bed isn’t going to help me sleep, if that’s all it took-what’re you doing?” Your question is left unanswered as he pulls the covers back on the side of the bed you’re not laying on, pausing to stare at you through the dark.
“I’m climbing in bed,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, fully situating himself under the covers. You stare at him like he’s got two heads, not understanding how his master plan to get you to sleep involves him fully being in bed with you. You’ve had daydreams about curling up in bed with him, falling asleep to the even rhythm of his heart beat, but those were simply fantasies about the man you have a complicated crush on because, well, he’s your roommate. Of course, the two of you are close enough that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder on more than one occasion but it’s never been intention and those moments definitely haven’t occurred in a bed.
“You’re in my bed,” you observe, still frozen in place on top of the covers.
“Yes, Y/n, I’m in your bed. Now, would you stop being difficult? Get your ass up here and let me do my job,” his voice is gentle but holds a certain demand that has you obliging immediately. Climbing up next to him, you allow him to lift the covers so that you can slide under them. You leave a comfortable amount of space between the two of you, though it feels awkward with the heat radiating from his body. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What? You told me to climb in with you, so I climbed in with you?” An exasperated groan sounds from his side of the bed, earning an embarrassed blush from you, completely at a loss as to what you did wrong. “It’s not my fault that you’ve managed to leave out legitimately every detail of your master plan.”
In response, Jake’s arms wrap around your waist, immediately tugging you closer to him until you’re practically laying on top of him. “Get comfortable, sweetheart,” he murmurs simply, as if him holding you in your bed is a normal occurrence that shouldn’t have a fit of butterflies going rampant in your stomach. “Stop overthinking it and get situated.” His request comes after a few beats of you remaining frozen in the awkward position he pulled you into. You lift your head to meet his eyes, looking for affirmation that you’re hearing him right. When his hand trails over your face to brush your hair from your eyes, you suck in an audible breath, the gentle touch sending shivers down your spine as he leans his head close enough to yours that his breath fans against your face. “Let me hold you tonight."
"Okay," you breathe, carefully rolling onto your stomach. You shift yourself just enough to comfortably rest your head against his chest, fully allowing yourself relax into him as the faint sound of his heartbeat greets your ears. Jake's arms find a home around your waist again, a content sigh falling from his lips at the fact that you're fully nuzzled into him.
"Comfy?" His question is hopeful as he mindlessly draws comforting circles on your back, the simple movement paired with the comfort of his arms already causing your eyes to grow heavy.
"So comfy," you yawn, melting into him further. One of your hands fist his t-shirt while his find a spot in your hair, gently massaging your scalp.
"Good," he kisses the crown of your head, secretly feeling pleased by the way you're already fighting to keep your eyes open after seeming confident that he couldn't do anything to cure your insomnia. "Get some rest, sweetheart." You don't need his permission to sleep, but his words are the final thing you remember before slipping into a sweet slumber.
Jake knows you're out by the way your body grows a little heavier. Light snores fall from your lips every so often, warming his chest at the fact that you feel safe enough to let him assist you. While tiredness scratches the back of his eyes, he can't keep himself from observing your sleeping figure, a soft smile curves onto his lips at the adorable sight. As your roommate, he doesn't want to admit it, but he's dreamed of a moment like this from the second the two of you signed the lease for this place. Neither of you had been each others first choice in the roommate department, but after so long of roommates falling through, he proposed the idea and you accepted. You were friends back then, but weren't close enough for sharing an apartment to feel normal. Yet, when the time came to move in, your lives melted together seamlessly.
Jake's hand continues weaving through your hair, the act making him feel soft while you sleep soundly on his chest. He can't help but admire your peaceful features now that all signs of stress and exhaustion are erased from your face. You've always been attractive to Jake but right now, while you're snoring softly on his chest, he swears you're the most beautiful sight he's ever laid eyes on.
It's harder for him to continue fighting his own sleep the longer the peace of the night weighs on his eyelids so he carefully shifts the two of you into a more comfortable position. He holds his breath when you stir, but releases it when your head lulls back to place on his chest.
"Sweet dreams, pretty girl," he finds himself whispering, giving you one last glance before letting his eyes flutter shut. They snap back open when you mumble incoherently in your sleep, a sigh rolling from your parted lips.
"I love you Jake," the words are slightly slurred when they roll from your tongue, but Jake hears them clear as day. His eyes widen in surprise, never having heard you utter those words. He feels humbled by the unconscious confession, his heart swelling at the thought of the words holding an unshakeable truth.
******************
A/n: Another Jake fic while I continue working on Fawn Volume 2! I'm hoping to have the second part of Fawn posted before the week ends, I'm just finding that I'm pressuring myself with it a little because I love the storyline in my head so much that I'm scared to mess it up :')
Part Two
#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fics#top gun#top gun fics#top gun imagines#Jake seresin top gun#Jake seresin top gun maverick#Jake seresin#Jake seresin fics#Jake seresin imagines#Jake seresin fluff#Jake hangman seresin#hangman fics#hangman imagines#Jake seresin x reader#Jake seresin x you#jake seresin x female!reader#Jake seresin x roommate!reader#tgm#tgm fics#tgm imagines#top gun: maverick#Little Insomniac
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forever winter (lt. jake “hangman” seresin)
a/n: i feel like we don’t talk about Jake post-suicide mission enough, so i wrote this. honestly this has been the most difficult thing i’ve ever written and i’m so glad to be done with it. i don't know why introspective pieces about Jake give me so much creative trouble but they do
summary: He knows, that on some level at least, he’s not good enough, no matter how much he pretends to be. So he puts on the facade, the “too good to be true” act, and hope no one sees through the cracks. The cracks though, are getting harder and harder to hide. Because he wasn’t good enough, was he? Sure, he saved them, but he still wasn’t enough. And maybe... maybe he’s not good enough to be here. With them. With the Navy. Maybe it’s time he start to figure out life outside the Navy, re-find and meet Jake, a person he hasn’t seen in so long, since the Hangman persona took over.
Because Hangman’s the reason no one likes him, the reason no one wants him around. They say they do now, but all good things must come to an end. It’s only a matter of time.
And then he meets her.
inspired by taylor swift’s “forever winter” and you should definitely listen while you read it.
main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist
warnings: kissing, insecurities, swearing, hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful ending, panic attacks, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts (if you look very closely), PTSD, child abuse, alcohol, lowkey a character study, as in the relationship is not the main focus, my hometown knowledge pulled through for this one, the author believes men’s mental health needs more attention, gross abuse of italics, i did minimal research about resignation from the Navy
word count: 6,416
The lockers around him open and close as he reviews that day’s training over and over in his head, wondering where he went wrong.
You’re not good enough.
Someone claps him on the shoulder, startling him. He blinks the thoughts away, to see the face of his best friend, looking down at him worriedly. “You coming Hangman?”
He takes a deep breath, running his palms down his flight suit. He still hasn’t changed, the only one.
You’ll never change.
“Nah, nah, I think I’m gonna pass on this one.” Coyote bites his lip, searching for an answer before Rooster’s cutting him off.
“Hangman, you’ve hardly come out with us at all recently. Think you’re avoiding us or something. Decide you’re too good for all us mere mortals?”
Bradshaw’s tone is teasing, meant to be a friendly jab, but Jake’s skin prickles at the teasing regardless. Coyote sighs, grip on his shoulder tightening. His touch burns him.
Coyote deserves better, he knows it. Coyote, who’s been such a good friend, a loyal one. He can already see it, that one day he’ll realize that he’s become so accepted by the rest of the Daggers that- why did he ever really need Jake in the first place?
It’s what Coyote deserves. He wants that for him honestly. To not be dragged down by Hangman anymore, to be confined to the box that puts him in. He hasn’t made it easy for him, he knows.
So better for the break to just be clean, to stop coming around, to stop setting himself up for failure. Sure, they all seem to like him right now, but these things don’t last forever and he knows it’s only a matter of time before they go back to how they were before. He can’t ask Coyote to do that, can’t ask Coyote to go back to living on the island with him, to give up all these great friends he’s made. He doesn’t want to hope that these people might stay his friends, doesn’t know how to.
So he won’t. He won’t let any of that happen. Won’t set himself up for failure once again.
“Hangman?”
It’s Bob’s voice this time.
He swallows, looking up to meet the brown of eyes of the soft-spoken boy of their team. “You good? You zoned out there for a few minutes.”
He stands up, ignoring the looks he’s getting from his team mates, making him want to run and hide. He wants to come up with a witty response, shake the concern, but his mouth feels dry, like it’s full of cotton and he’s blanking on the words that usually come so naturally to him. So instead, he just grabs his shower stuff, shutting the locker behind him, leaving his not-friends-just-coworkers confused and concerned in his wake.
-
He isn’t sure why he pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley and arcade, a good twenty minute drive from Miramar without traffic. It’s across town, in El Cajon, and honestly, he isn’t sure why this is where he ended up. He just knows that once he pulled out of the parking lot, drove off base, he picked one direction and drove.
He ignores the fact that he waited for everyone to leave the locker room and even longer in the parking lot to make sure everyone else had gone.
His grip tightens around the steering wheel and then untightens as he swallows, working up the nerve to go inside. He had no business being here, no friends to meet up with.
No friends.
He winces at the thought, letting out a sigh as he turns the ignition off, the car falling silent. He weighs his options, to go inside, to people watch, to eat shitty food, or to go back to an empty home where the silence rages louder than any noisy bowling alley.
The decision is made in a split second and he’s pulling his seatbelt off as he gets out of the car, something fueling every step towards the doors. Pulling them open, he’s immediately greeted by the sounds of bowling balls hitting the lane, the machines returning balls, the music from 2012 only overshadowed by the loud cheers of different groups of friends. He lets his eyes map out the room as he walks towards the food area, stomach jumping at the greasy pizza he can see behind the counter. His eyes skim over the menu, unable to stomach the thought of any of this food.
Never mind the fact that he’s struggled to keep down any food since the mission, unable to bring himself to eat in the first place. He turns, unsure of what to do with himself now that he’s in here. He has no business being here and suddenly it feels like it shows. Like everyone can read him, like everyone knows.
His fingers are twitching as he slides down at a table near the back, looking out at all the lanes. It’s a Tuesday night, so the alley is half-full, maybe. The largest group happens to be at the closest to him, their laughter the loudest thing in the room.
It makes some part of him ache, thinking about how badly he wants that. How badly he doesn’t deserve it.
He thinks of his team, at the Hard Deck, probably a mirror image of the sight in front of him.
They don’t need him.
He blinks, realizing someone’s appeared in front of him. She offers him a small smile as he clears his throat. “Hi.” She says, momentarily pulling one the hands that’s holding her bowling ball to wave at him. “Came to return this, can never pick the right size, but you seem... kind of upset.”
She turns as someone from the group calls her name and she looks over. “Stop talking to strangers!” They shout, laughing. She rolls her eyes, ignoring them.
“Sorry if I’m... being weird or like... creepy? You just seemed kind of upset and you’ve been sitting here all alone, for like, fifteen minutes.”
He blinks, wondering if he’s really been lost in his thoughts for that long. He shakes his head, looking back up to the girl. “I’m good.” He says, forcing a smile. It hurts, makes him dizzy with the force he puts into making it believable.
She tilts her head, clearly not quite believing him. “Well, if you, uh, wanted to join my friends and I, we wouldn’t mind. Unless, you’re waiting on someone, which is totally cool, I just- sorry.” She rushes out, cheeks going an unmistakeable red, even in the dark lighting of the bowling alley.
His chest tightens at the thought of joining her group, the group that’s caught his eye since he got here. Something akin to hope flares in his chest as he realizes she doesn’t know him.
They don’t know you. Not like the team does.
This could be a chance to see if there’s still something in him left worth saving and so he finds himself nodding, standing up from the table. Her smile is bright as she turns, walking back to her table, him trailing a few steps behind. You turn to the group, introducing them all to him. One of her friends, Blaise (he’s pretty sure that’s what she introduced him as), smirks.
“And what’s your friend’s name?”
You pause, turning to him. “I guess I didn’t get your name.”
“Jake.” He says, the words sounding strange on his tongue, so used to introducing himself by his callsign.
They don’t need to know Hangman.
You nod, introducing yourself to him. “Nice to meet you Jake.”
One of the girls, Morgan, joins in with Blaise’s teasing. “So distracted by the attractive man you forgot to get a new bowling ball. It’s your turn, by the way.”
You immediately blush, smiling sheepishly at him. Muttering an apology, you turn and jog back to exchange the ball and jog back in order to take your turn. He takes a few steps back from the group, watching you play as he sticks his hand in the pockets.
It’s not good.
The ball barely stays in the lane before slipping into the gutter as your friends boo. You walk back to the group as Blaise gets up to take his own turn.
“You’re not very good at this.” He says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them.
He winces, waiting for you to immediately rescind the nice gesture that had been you inviting him over here. Instead, you just laugh, nodding your head. “Oh extraordinarily. But I got outvoted tonight.”
“Outvoted?”
“Oh, we just sort take a vote to decide where we go on nights out. Or nights in, depending. But the consensus was the bowling alley, and I lost 5-to-1. I’d much rather be next door at the arcade. Consider myself a Skee-ball champ.”
“Oh yeah?” You nod, confirming. “Well, why don’t we go find out?” He says, some of his confidence returning to him. He isn’t sure where it’s coming from, haven’t seen it in weeks. Months, if he’s honest with himself.
Not since Mitchell passed him up.
You smile. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” You nudge Morgan, telling her where you’re going, and she nods as the two of you head over to the arcade. The arcade is even quieter than the bowling alley, leaving the three Skee-ball lanes completely open for the two of you. He stares at the machine as you wander off to get tokens, realizing he’s never played Skee-ball in his life.
Not like there was all that much in his hometown, and the best escape from his Dad was drives to the next town over, which was only marginally better in that they had a movie theatre that played four movies instead of three.
You reappear at his shoulder, counting through the tokens in the little cup. You hand them to him, setting the rest of your stuff off to the side. “So, how do you play?” He asks nervously, fighting to keep them hidden from his voice. He pretty sure he fails. “We didn’t have an arcade where I grew up.”
You don’t tease him, just explain the game to him as he feels the tokens grow sweaty in his palm. It’s simple enough, and if they let him fly the multi-million dollar planes for a living, he’s sure he can figure out an arcade game.
May not be flying for much longer.
He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, willing himself to listen to you instead of his thoughts for once.
“So where are you from Jake?”
“Texas. You?”
“I’m a native San Diegan. ‘Bout as Californian as they get.”
He nods. “You should meet my buddy Rooster. He embraces the fact that he’s also from San Diego. Annoys the shit out of our team.”
“Rooster?” You ask curiously, scoring another set of points. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow as he cringes, realizing he’s let the man’s callsign slip, and then looking down at the ball still in his hand. He hasn’t even started playing.
“Work for the Navy as a pilot. We use callsigns.”
You nod. “Oh, gotcha. One of my family friend’s worked on the Midway before it was decommissioned and turned into a museum.”
In all honesty, he hasn’t been to the Midway, even though he’s been stationed permanently in Miramar for the last six months. No point in driving out there to see the inside of a decommissioned aircraft carrier when he’s seen more of those than his own house in his life.
You don’t say anything more. Usually, when girls learn he works for the Navy, they’re drooling at his feet, wanting him to tell them some epic story, usually trying to slip their way into his bed. Usually, it works.
Jake tosses the ball up, finally deciding to start playing.
-
He isn’t sure how long the two of you stand there playing, but it’s long enough that his legs begin to ache, even though he’s begging himself to ignore it, wanting to stand here for a few minutes more with you. It was easy. You never pushed, always just listening. Returning his competitive streak, you offered him kind smile and a loud laugh when he beat you.
It was simple, not like the push-and-pull of his team. It was a simplicity he could see himself getting used to.
Blaise appears at your shoulder and you turn to him as you pause your throw. “I know you’re enjoying your time with your new attractive man-friend, but we’re headed out and I am your ride.” Before Jake can open his mouth to say he could drive you, Blaise is giving him a once over and turning back to you. “And I’m not in the business of letting one of my friends wander off into a car to be murdered by a strange man she met in the bowling alley, so we’re going.”
Jake turns, trying to remind himself that it’s not personal. Entirely reasonable. He wouldn’t let Phoenix or Halo wander off alone and get into a car with a random man they met in a bowling alley either.
You sigh, tossing the last ball into the machine, the score flashing across the top. He isn’t sure if it’s his ears that are ringing or the machine as you take your purse from Blaise. “Give me a second. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Blaise eyes you and then Jake. “Five minutes and then I’m coming back inside and you’re not getting a choice. I’m setting a timer as we speak.” You concede, waving him off. You sigh, turning back to him.
“Sorry, you date one shitty man and it’s game over.” You shake your head. “Anyways, it was really nice to meet you Jake.” He can’t bring himself to say anything, a lump forming his throat. Can hardly bring himself to breathe. “Um, if you wanted- I could give you my number? I’d love to see you again. Unless this is weird and you think I’m weird and you never want to see me again-”
“I’d love your number.”
You smile through a deep breath, sliding your phone out of your back pocket to let him enter his number. He does, noting the time and swallowing as he saves the contact. “Well, it was nice to meet you Jake.”
He nods, realizing he hasn’t thought about his shitty day since you walked over to his table two hours ago. “You as well.”
-
He really doesn’t believe you’ll text him. It was just a passing thing, nothing more than a moment. Yet there your text is the very next morning, asking if he wants to join you for the farmers market in La Mesa on Saturday. His fingers fly over the keyboard, confirming he’ll meet you there, bright and early.
It gives him something to look forward to, something outside the team he doesn’t really feel a part of. Maybe this is his chance to cut the cord, to walk away, before someone gets hurt.
He feels himself being pulled back down to Earth by the thought of seeing you, of your texts, sending him pictures of your family dog and the sunset from your backyard. He reciprocates, sending back pictures of the dinner he cooked (because that’s the new thing he’s trying, cooking, as he tries to sort out his life) and the book he picked up after work that day, because that’s the other new thing he’s trying too. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay, from making a decision he can’t unmake. From doing something he’ll regret, even though right now it’s looking like the best thing.
If the team notices a change in his behavior, they don’t say anything, though Rooster is always at his wing when they fly, Javy hovering. Jake hasn’t been to the Hard Deck in days and ignores the Dagger group chat as Saturday morning rolls around.
The farmers market is the perfect balance of quiet and busy, bringing him a moment of calm in a stormy week. Stormy couple of months. The conversation is easy, you telling him about all the years you (and your siblings) went to preschool in the neighborhood as the two of you pick through old records and fresh fruit. He observes the obvious fact that the Saturday farmers market is part of your routine as you chat with the family that sells locally-grown honey. His heart clenches at the thought you letting him slip into your life and routine so easily.
It’s as you’re picking through flowers for your house, asking for his opinion that he realizes this is too delicate, too fragile, to push the boundaries.
When asked if you should get the sunflowers or wildflowers, he blurts out that he can’t date you. He isn’t sure why he says it aloud, although he knows that the words are too true. He’d break you and he’s done ruining things. Ruining people.
You just nod and assure him that it’s okay, that you’re not looking to date either. That you’re always open to a new friend. He swallows and nods, telling you to get the wildflowers. That they suit you.
Wild with a quiet beauty.
The friendship grows from there, a lunch out at the Mexican restaurant just across the street from the market to a Sunday brunch turning into Taco Tuesday to drinks on Friday to another Saturday farmer’s market with lunch afterwards. He finds himself leaning more and more into your friendship, pulling farther and farther from his team mates.
They don’t need him anyways.
Nights away from the Hard Deck turn into weeks as he spends the time with you instead. Sometimes your friends join, sometimes it’s just the two of you. Your friends have warmed up to him, welcoming him into the group naturally. Even Blaise has settled in, joking with him, letting him into what has been a years-long friendship.
He’s sure the Daggers don’t miss him around. Don’t miss his competitive streak, his arrogance, his jabbing and prodding and poking.
They were better off without him.
Maybe Javy does, always feels the man hovering, waiting for Jake to talk about where he’s been disappearing off to when his feet hit the ground. But it’s been a while of this and even if Javy missed him at the beginning, he probably doesn’t miss him now. Too happy with his finally solid friendships to miss the one that had kept him out of the group in the first place.
He’s better off without him.
-
He knows what he has right now is fragile, delicate. One wrong move could send you spiraling out of his life with the door slamming shut behind you. He tries his best to let you go before he could hurt you, because that’s what he does. You don’t let him though, always encouraging him to stay, to talk about what’s bothering him.
He hadn’t even mentioned that anything was wrong.
He doesn’t mention that it’s been getting harder these days. That everyday he gets closer to walking away from the team, before someone can get hurt, before he can get someone killed.
The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.
He knows what he has right now is fragile, delicate. He can’t act on the feelings simmering just below the surface, can’t act on his desires. You’re too good. He’ll ruin you. It’s only a matter of time before you see what everyone else does, before you leave. No one stays.
-
It’s quiet the night he finally caves, fingers sliding over the call button before he can lose his nerve.
He needs you.
The phone rings once, and then twice, and- shit is it really three am?
He goes to click the red button, to end the call, say it was an accident and sorry for bothering you when it clicks, signaling that you’ve answered.
“Hello?”
He doesn’t answer, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.
“Jake? You okay?”
He wants to answer, but he can’t remember how.
Why had he called you again?
“Jake? You’re worrying me. Is everything okay?”
He begins to pace again, crossing the shitty hardwood of his shitty rental, as he runs a hand up to pull through his blonde hair. Tugs at the roots, as he tries to remember what he wanted to say. “I can’t do this anymore.” He finds himself saying, because it’s true.
He can’t lead this team, can’t be here, shouldn’t be in the Navy. He’s not good enough, never enough.
If was enough, Mitchell would’ve chosen him as wingman. Mitchell would’ve trusted him.
He hadn’t. Had trusted Rooster instead.
If he’d been enough, he would’ve been faster. Wouldn’t have had so close of a shot, would’ve been there with plenty of time.
“Okay... Is it work stuff? You wanna talk about it?” Your voice is soft, kind, and he tugs at his hair harder.
He’s going to ruin you. He’s sure of it.
Only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.
“I’m sorry.” He says flatly instead. “I shouldn’t have- it’s late.”
“It’s fine.” You say automatically. “I was up anyways. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”
“No, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Jake-”
“Goodnight.”
He ends the call before you can protest, struggling to breathe as he lets the phone fall from his grip as he tugs at his hair again. He barely hears the phone clatter to the floor over the ringing in his ears, his chest tightening.
Panic attacks aren’t new to him lately, but this one brings him his knees as he realizes how badly he needs you. How much he doesn't want to let you go. How much he knows he has to.
It isn’t fair to you, to ruin you. To hurt you. He needs to get out, before he can hurt anyone else.
Only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.
-
He sits there, back pressed up against the foot of his bed as his ears never stop ringing. The night passes him by, dawn rolling in, bringing pink splashes through the cracks in his blinds.
He should be getting ready for work when the phone rings again. He watches numbly as your name crosses his phone. He lets it ring once, and then twice. It rings a third time and then the screen flashes bright with a text.
I’m worried.
What’s going on?
Jake, are you okay?
Jake, answer me.
His chest aches at the hurt and worry he’s causing you. What he swore not to do.
Fine. Just stressed about work.
Never mind, didn’t mean to worry you.
Sorry.
He clicks the phone on do not disturb, pulling himself up from the ground. His limbs protest, his chest still feeling tight. He shouldn’t fly today, shouldn’t go into work.
Shouldn’t go into work ever again.
He swallows as he changes.
It’s only a matter of time before the Navy agrees.
-
His skin feels taut as he goes through the motions of the day, running on no sleep and pure nerves.
He started off his day right, slipping the paperwork into Admiral Simpson’s office and ending his pre-flight checks in Mitchell’s office, being asked what the hell is this?
I think you know exactly what that is sir.
He’d fumbled the trainings for the day, leading to Phoenix yelling at him over the comms. All he could hear in his head, over and over again, was Javy’s disappointed sigh over the comms as he left another person behind.
The water of the shower is scorching his skin as it falls over him, his head resting against the tile. Distantly, he can hear his teammates, chatting amongst themselves. His fingers twitch as he thinks about calling you, asking you to come over. He stretches them out as he thinks about what it would like to come home to you, pull you close to him, and just rest.
His chest aches at the thought of all that he can’t have.
He turns the shower off, pulling himself out of his daze as he walks to his locker. He hears the door to the locker room slam open as he pulls his pants on but he doesn’t turn. It catches his attention when his body is being shoved against the locker, causing their team mates to protest and stand up, moving to stand between the two of them.
It’s Bradshaw.
“What the hell man? I thought we were a team.”
Jake raises an eyebrow, ignoring the way his shoulder is protesting at the sudden collision against the metal lockers. “What are you on about?”
Bradshaw, Rooster, is seething. “You know exactly what I’m on about.”
He rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the locker and swatting Payback’s hand away. “If you’re really that mad about training today, get over it.”
Rooster turns to Coyote, who’s watching the two of them warily. “Did you know?”
“Know what?” Hangman almost grimaces as he turns back around, opening the locker up to pull his shirt over his head.
Time’s up. Secret’s out.
“Seresin’s leaving us.”
He forces himself to chance a glance at Coyote, who looks nothing short of betrayed.
“What, decide you’re too good for our team?” Fanboy teases, but he can hear the hurt underneath the joke all the same.
“This why you haven’t been hanging out with us?” Omaha asks, settling on the bench.
“You know, my world does not revolve around me going to the bar with you people and listening to Bradshaw play the same shitty song from the ‘80s and playing the same game of pool over and over again. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
He’s being cruel now, he knows it. Pulling at any frayed thread, to make the whole thing come unraveling. To say, look it was never meant to work in the first place.
Rooster takes a step back from him. “C’mon man, I thought we were friends.”
“Don’t kid yourself Bradshaw. How do you even know anyways?”
“Mav told me.”
He almost scoffs. “Of course he did.”
“He wants you to stay.”
He wants to roll his eyes and turn away. “That’s not his decision. Nor is it yours.”
“Hangman-”
“You know, it’s really none of your business whether or not I want to stay in the Navy. Nobody’s business where I go after I leave here. We’re not friends.” He snaps, not missing the way Coyote’s body language changes from defeated to guarded.
“So much for all those years we haven’t been friends Seresin.” Coyote mutters, turning away from him.
His heart cracks at that, soul stinging in the way he’d let Hangman take over, to push these people away. “Coyote-”
“Just forget it Bagman.” Bob says, his own hurt coloring the words as his arm slings over Coyote’s shoulder as the two of them turns towards the door. Rooster shoots him one last look before he’s grabbing his bag, following them out the door.
He can do little but watch the way the team filters out of the locker room, all tossing him looks of hurt and anger as they leave for the day. Finally, he sinks down, head in his hands as he thinks about what he’s done.
The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.
-
You’re waiting for him as he pulls into his driveway, sitting on his front porch. He sighs as he slips out of his truck, shutting the door behind him.
He doesn’t want to do this with you now. Not today. Not after he sat in Mitchell’s office, being told he couldn’t resign without a valid reason. Couldn’t look the man in the eye all day after the conversation that morning. He still wasn’t sure how the paperwork had ended up on his desk so quickly, in matter of thirty minutes or less, but the day had made him feel hopeless.
There was no out. Nothing left for him.
The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.
He wordlessly unlocks the front door, leaving it open behind him for you as he walks towards the kitchen, pulling the whiskey out of the cabinet. He hears the front door shut as he knocks the liquid back, gritting his teeth at the burn. He hasn’t medicated the pain away with alcohol since you came into his life but he’s feeling his control slip after the day he’s had.
“Jake.” You say, appearing next to him. He pours himself another shot, but you pry his fingers off the glass before he can down it. He lets you, reveling in your soft touch.
Won’t get that for much longer.
“Jake, you scared me last night.”
“Sorry, won’t happen again.” His words are cold, detached, as he wills himself to do this one last thing.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’re friends. We-”
“You should leave.”
You jerk back, fingers leaving his own as if they had burned you. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice doesn’t feel like it’s his own, floating somewhere above him as some part of desperately begs him to stop.
“Jake, something’s clearly wrong. I’m not leaving you.”
“Well, I don’t want you here.”
“Well, too fucking bad because you’re my friend and I want to be here for you.”
He cautiously raises his eyes to meet your own.
You want to stay? For him?
Where would he even start though?
I tried to resign from the Navy today?
My Dad used to hit me?
One of my not friends, co-worker at best, almost died because I wasn’t fast enough?
If I stay, someone’s gonna get killed because of me?
“I don’t know what to say.” He whispers and you nod.
“That’s okay.” You say softly, hand returning to his. “Why don’t we go sit down? You don’t have to talk, but let’s just sit.” He nods, letting you guide him to the couch. He thinks he can count on one hand all the times he’s sat on the piece of furniture. You don’t let go of him as you both sit.
He can’t meet your eye, can’t begin to tell you the truth. If you knew, you’d run.
Maybe that’d be best.
“You should go. I’ll only hurt you.” He says quietly, turning away from you.
“Jake.”
“’M not good. I- I hurt people. I ruin them. I- You need to leave.” His voice is begging now, pleading with you to see reason.
“Jake, look at me.” You say softly. “You don’t ruin people. You’re so good, so so good. I can’t believe you don’t see it.”
“I tried to- I need to-”
The words are trapped in his chest and it feels like he’s choking. Like if he speaks the words, he’ll be giving him the rope to hang himself with.
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk. It’s alright.”
So he swallows, nods, and sits there. Allows himself to let you touch him. To rub your thumb over his shoulder blade as his head falls back against the couch.
It’s some time again before you speak.
“One of my friends in college was in the Marines.” You say quietly. “Not the same thing as the Navy, I know, but still. He wouldn’t talk about it, even if he was asked. I don’t know if he ever learned to talk about it.” He turns to look at you, even as your movements don’t cease. “We had lost touch after we graduated but-” You shift, shaking your head. “Something I’ve been thinking about lately. You don’t talk to me much about your work. ”
He swallows, watching you as you watch him. You don’t say anything more and he realizes you’re opening the door for him to talk about it. About all of it.
“There was this mission.” He feels himself begin to say, voice almost detached from him. He can’t bring himself to look away from you. “Almost a year ago now. Reason I got stationed out here. We- we weren’t meant to come home. One of my fr- coworkers almost died.” You just wait, listening, and he takes that as encouragement to continue. You haven’t run away yet. “He said something, about how the only place I’ll lead anyone is an early grave. Can’t help but feel like he’s right.”
Your touch burns him, eyes staring into his soul as he wrestles with himself to lay it all bare in front of you. He pulls away, standing up to pace the small living room. You let him, simply just watching him.
“I’m going to get them killed. There’s a reason I wasn’t selected to fly the mission. I’m- I’m gonna hurt them, gonna get someone killed. I shouldn’t be there. I’m not good enough and it’s going to cost someone their life.”
His hands reach up to his hair, going to tug at it again, the familiar feeling of trying to ground himself as everything spins out of his control.
“I- I feel out of control all the time. I can’t look them in the eye. I feel like I can’t breathe up there, that the only time I’m safe is on the ground. They don’t need me anyways.”
He chances a glance back to you and every part of your face is screaming pitypitypity
He doesn’t need your pity.
“I wanted to resign from the Navy. My CO told me no.”
You finally break your silence, shifting up. “I’m sorry, he told you no?”
He waves you off, starting a new round of pacing. “He needs a valid reason.”
“A valid reason? What’s more valid than I want to-?”
“Leaving is complicated and there’s a lot of paperwork, you have to have all these forms and a letter-”
“That a big decision, Jake.” You breath out, interrupting his explanation, moving to the end of the couch, looking like you might walk over to him. He hopes you don’t, despite how badly he wants to be next to you. “Are you sure of this?”
He pauses, feeling the tears sting his eyes.
He will do anything to not break right now. Not in front of you.
Bitterly, he can hear his Dad in the back of his head, reminding him how weak he is.
Real men don’t cry.
“I just don’t know what else to do.” He whispers, afraid of the words he’s speaking into the night. “I just need it all to stop.”
That’s what propels you off the couch as you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him. The feeling of you holding him close makes him buckle as his resolve cracks and crumbles, the tears taking over as his knees sink to the floor. His sobs rack his body as he reaches up to clutch tightly at your shirt. You run your fingers through his hair as you try to soothe him.
“Jake, I-” You swallow, your hand stilling in his hair.
Here it comes. When you tell him this is too much, that you didn't sign up for this, that he should never contact you again-
You kneel to be eye-level with him, pulling his face into your hands. “Jake, I am so sorry. You deserve so much better than that. And I wish there was something more I could do for you, more for me to say. All I can say is that it’s going to get better. Things will always get better and I will be here to help you. I’ll always be here.”
He swallows, wanting so badly to believe your words. He almost does, if he squeezes his eyes shut and forces his Dad’s words out of his brain. “I want to believe you. I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay. I’m here, Jake. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t fix me. You can’t make me better.”
The words are blunt, cruel. You don’t flinch away or move back.
“I don’t want to.” You move closer to him. “I just want to help you. Let me help you.”
Without thinking, he surges forward, kissing you before he can think about the consequences of his actions. He knows in the half-second before you freeze that he’s fucked up.
You pull away, ducking your head as your bottom lip catches between your teeth. Neither of you say anything as your chests heave with what just happened, unable to meet the other’s eyes. Your hands haven’t left his face as you swallow, finally pulling up to look at him.
“Jake-”
He shakes his head, pulling out of your grasp to stand again. “Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.”
You stand too, sighing. “Jake, please-”
“Just go.” His voice wavers, cracking, a reflection of how he feels on the inside.
“Jake, this isn’t- Now’s not a good time-”
“Don’t make excuses. You don’t return my feelings and that fine. Just- get out, please.” His back is still turned from you as he waits for your footsteps to signal that you’re going to leave, just like everyone else. He succeeded in driving you away.
He does hear your footsteps but they don’t leave through his front door. No, there you are, figure blurry in front of him through the tears he’s been trying to suppress.
“Jake.” You softly, and he feels his lip tremble as he wraps his arms around himself, wanting to make himself small. “It’s not that I don’t return your feelings and I’m not saying never, but- you’re going through a lot right now. You need a friend, not a new relationship, and I’m happy to be here in whatever capacity I can be for you. You deserve the world Jake Seresin and I’ll be here no matter what.”
Your hands reach to his face and he allows his hands to unwrap from around his body, pulling you close to him. His head falls into the crook of your neck as he takes a shaky breath. “Don’t leave.” The words are muffled against your skin. “Please.” The words are like a prayer as he grips you ever so tighter.
“Never. Believe me Jake, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
For the first time in months, he takes what feels like his real breath, feeling like he isn’t drowning under the waves of his own mind.
For the first time in months, he allows himself to consider that things might actually turn out okay.
#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin fics#jake hangman seresin fic#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin fics#jake seresin fic#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fics#jake seresin x female!reader
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Hannix (Phoenix x Hangman, Natasha x Jake) AU: sweet nothings (they’re everything to me) update 🌟
link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44637271/chapters/112296133
(to the first 7 chapters!)
—
Hi, hello! Jen here. I’m not entirely sure who is still reading this fic but I hope someone out there is glad to know that I’m 8k words into the next chapter and I’m a little more than halfway through!
Natasha and Jake have been such a joy to write as a COUPLE (god. finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment for the whole 50k words of this fic before this chapter) and I’m reallyyyy trying to fluff things out as best I can to give you all the lovey gooey relationship affection between these two (with my usual sprinkle of angst of course)
I just wanted to give a little heads-up! It’s coming very soon. I plan to have it published by Monday (all things going well ofc) and I CANNOT WAITTTT!!
If anyone has been waiting for the next chapter since May, I thank you so much for waiting and I hope it makes you so happy.
……
Ready for a teaser?
……
"Where's everyone?" She asks. "The halls have been quiet since I got up this morning."
Jake presses a kiss against her forehead, "Maverick took them to check out this museum in town after breakfast. I know Bob and Javy wanted to host some sort of game night at Penny's tonight so they shouldn't be gone too long. Mav said they'd be back by lunch."
It goes unsaid but completely noticed that Jake had stood behind for her, and she feels warmth spread throughout her at how worried he must’ve been for her this morning just because she was so worried and anxious about talking to her parents.
Nat perks up slowly, resting a hand on his chest as she leans on her elbow. She has no reason to be anxious now, not when she thinks of their plans for the night. “Do you think they know how badly they're about to lose at Pictionary? We almost wiped the floor with them last time and I refuse to lose again.”
"I don't know about that, Nat,” Jake teased with ease, twirling one of her curls with his fingers. "Bob seemed pretty eager in dominos and Pictionary last time. He carried himself to first place and I actually would've been afraid of him if Mickey wasn't his partner."
"Mickey does make everything fun no matter what, doesn't he?" Nat agreed, dropping her arm and nuzzling back into her boyfriend's arms. She adjusts and gets comfortable again before saying the words she has been thinking of ever since she ended the call with her parents. "I feel really lucky to have you guys in my life. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Her vulnerability doesn't go unnoticed as Jake hugs her as tight as he can, pressing another kiss against her head with a hand cradling her cheek like she was one of the most precious things in the world to him.
"I feel lucky, too." He whispered to her. "I think all I feel is lucky when it comes to knowing you." A pause, "when it comes to loving you."
Nat doesn't cry but she spends a few minutes fighting the tears back before falling asleep cuddled up to the sound of the television on low and her boyfriend’s heartbeat under her ear.
—
There’s a tonnnn more where this came from. I can’t wait for you guys to see. Happy late thanksgiving!
#natasha trace x jake seresin#jake seresin#top gun maverick#phoenix x hangman#fics#natasha phoenix trace#top gun hangman#top gun phoenix#top gun movie#hannix lover#hannix au#phoenix x hangman fic#top gun maverick fics#ao3#natasha trace x jake Seresin fics
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Call Me Jake Part 3
CW: flirting, steam, we are heading to the smut
Posted on mobile, I apologize for wonky formatting
WC: 2426
Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @wildbornsiren @dempy @wombtotombx @writercole @mandylove1000 @a-reader-and-a-writer @hoe-on-the-range @hockeynshit @chara-hugs @starshine-hockey-girl @newlibrary @callsignhurricane @callsign-phoenix @callsign-valley @siempre-bucky @callsignhoney @sebsxphia @seasonsbloom @sunderlust @kryptonitejelly @gretagerwigsmuse @grey--scale--girl @andrei-svech @mikkorantanev @mayhem24-7forever @matbaerzal @marvelousmermaid @jostystyles @therebeccaw @marvelandotherfandomimagines @blue-aconite @atthediscowithoutpanic @ratcatcher2world @lorecraft @iguana-braces
“What are you wearing to your hot date? It better be cute,” Lauren asked.
Dorothy rolled her eyes as her best friend laid on her bed before stepping inside of her closet. “I’m wearing clothes. I mean, I don’t want a public indecency charge.”
“No shit, Sherlock. But you should wear something cute. I saw him at the munch, Hangman was hotter than he normally looks at The Hard Deck. Maybe you can introduce me to one of his pilot friends. I’m done with Marines.”
“You’d tear them up. But if any of them are looking for a Domme, I’ll hook you up, even if nothing happens,” Dorothy replied.
Stepping out, Dorothy twirled in her outfit. It was a simple pink polo tee and a skater skirt. It also showed off the fact that her right calf was a prosthetic. “Simple depending on where we go and fitting for the weather.”
“Are you sure you want to show off your leg? I mean, the last couple of times you went out on potential dates, you insisted on covering up your legs,” Lauren ventured tentatively. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t think you shouldn’t wear that and show off-“
“Calm down Lauren. Hangman is so fucking hot and fucking gorgeous for a man. So I might as well show him that my body isn’t what others consider perfect. So if he’s a dick, I cut my losses now.”
“That sounds extra, rather fatalistic. But whatevs.”
Dorothy rolled her eyes as she texted Jake. They had exchanged numbers on Wednesday and exchanged fet profiles on Thursday with Jake asking her to look at his. Dorothy hadn’t though; Thursday was spent all day with her mom and Carter since Carter was in town for Navy SEALs parachute jump school. Carter had exactly three days before he had to report and Dorothy spent her Friday with her little brother. Tonight, it was her night with Hangman and Carter was out with his buddies. Or, the night where either Hangman would prove to be the asshole Rooster said he was or prove to be decent despite the asshole exterior. Was it even worth it though? Why even bother?
“Dot, you look like you’re overthinking again,” Lauren scolded. “Kevin is probably up in heaven right now, cheering you on.”
The mention of Kevin’s name made Dot blink. “Are you sure?”
“Hell yeah. Kevin loved you enough to not only give you a letter to read a year after he passed, one to me to make sure you don’t wallow, AND one to Rooster to ensure you tried again,” Lauren soothed.
“I can already tell that Hangman isn’t like Kevin though.” Lauren sniffed as a couple of memories hit her at once.
Getting up from Dorothy’s bed, Lauren hugged her bestie. “That’s not a bad thing. Yes, you got to have one grand love already but that doesn’t mean you don’t take the chance to have another.”
Dorothy snorted. “I think Hangman’s great love is himself.”
“Eh, a man who looks like that probably is but it can’t hurt to try. Look at it this way, if it doesn’t work out, at least you know what you don’t want.”
Lauren grinned as Dorothy sighed. “Why do you have to be so reasonable, Laur?”
“Because I love you and you’re my best friend and I want you to be happy.”
*****
If anyone asked Jake, he would say that Dorothy Kazansky was one of the prettiest women he had ever seen, especially with that long brown hair and hazel eyes. Right now, she looked amazing as she walked to him in that pink shirt and skirt with her long legs… and then he saw her right leg.
Her right leg was a prosthesis below her right knee. Colored in vibrant colors, it looked like it was tattooed before it turned into a metal part that was in her shoe.
It was absolutely beautiful just like Dorothy.
Jake took in the insecure look on Dorothy’s face and vowed to kill anyone who made her feel less than. “You look beautiful, Dot.”
“Thanks Hangman, I think?”
“Why the whole ‘I think?’ I hope it’s not because of your leg because it’s just as beautiful as the rest of you. And while I’m not Chair Force, I am a pilot too so I understand. You did what we all said what we do in service of our country.”
Dorothy gaped at Hangman, no, Jake. She truly thought he would look at her be turned off but other than the Chair Force comment, it was obvious that it didn’t affect him at all. Before she could say something, the waitress came by with drinks and menus. As Dorothy read the menu, she wrestled with her options. But she decided to just put it out there, placing the menu on the table.
“I’m just going to say this now because I know the rep that many Naval aviators have. If you plan on fucking as many women as you possibly can, this is not going to work, Hangman,” Dorothy stated before taking a sip of water. “I can see you’re ready to argue with that look on your face, so let me be clear. I don’t give a shit what you’ve done before, I’m far from a virgin and I have my own skeletons. But if you want us to play together and for it to include sex, we are only seeing each other. If you don’t want it to include sex, then who else you fuck is not my problem.”
“I don’t like to share, sugar, and I will have no issue saving my cock just for you, Dottie,” Jake drawled. “‘Cause I'm sure I can’t play with you without sex on the table.”
There was a clearing of a throat and the waitress looked at them with slightly reddened cheeks. Dorothy bit her lip while Jake winked. After they gave their orders, there was a pause as Dorothy played with her bracelets. Then Jake cleared his throat.
“Darlin’, I am greedy, I don’t play nice and I don’t share at all,” Hangman drawled as he played with his USNA ring. “And with the way I like to play, I will be the only one on your mind.”
“And what kind of way is that?”
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. Hangman talked a good game so far but the cockiest ones were the ones who were the biggest duds.
Hangman looked at Dorothy, assessing her before smirking. “One, I can tell you didn’t check out my fet profile.”
Dorothy blanched. He was right on that account, dammit. Jake continued, “Two, when you’re getting aroused, you quickly lick your lips before sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and releasing it. You like the idea that I don’t share and I don’t play nice. I bet if I really wanted, I could have you over my knees, pussy already soaking wet before I even give you the spanking you’d deserve for not following directions. But we aren’t there yet and we haven’t consented to that.”
Dorothy looked at Hangman, annoyed and yet very aroused at his words. Noticing she was doing the exact thing he mentioned, Dorothy set her lips in a straight line.
“Aw, don’t be upset, sugar. I may be the handsomest man you've ever met but I’m trained to assess every situation quickly and completely before I do anything.”
“I don’t know if this is bullshit or not.”
Sly green eyes looked Dorothy up and down and she felt like she was ready to burst. Then Jake finally said, “God, I hope you decide you want to play with me because it’s been a long time since I got to tame a brat.”
Dorothy’s breath hitched and Jake chuckled, the low tone washing over her like the finest Bourbon whiskey. This was going to be good, too good.
*****
“For someone who didn’t get laid last night, you seem extra chipper,” Dorothy muttered to herself as she walked down the steps. She really did feel like she was floating on clouds after having dinner with Jake.
After starting rather sexually charged, dinner ended up being rather vanilla. The food was good and Jake was amusing as he described the antics of the younger officers under him on base. Dorothy shared some anecdotes from her time in the Air Force before mentioning that she was illustrating a book about planes for kids.
Jake’s green eyes had turned serious when he asked her if it was okay, considering that she had been in a crash that forced her to be medically discharged. Dorothy had felt touched that Jake had asked that as she told him that writing/illustrating children’s books actually made it easier to face the idea of being on a plane again.
Skipping down the stairs, Dorothy made her way to the kitchen. Bouncing to the fridge, she sighed happily. The night had ended with Jake’s tongue in her mouth and a promise to do more next time.
“You’re home earlier than I expected, I thought you’d still be out.”
Dorothy froze as she heard her mother’s voice. Sarah smiled as she sipped from her coffee cup, watching her little girl pull out a carton of orange juice from the fridge. Dorothy was definitely feeling happy and it made Sarah ecstatic. “I thought that maybe you’d be with that naval aviator you met up with last night.”
“Moooooomm!”
Dorothy’s cheeks flamed as she refused to look at her mom. She couldn’t, she refused to even mention her sex life or lack of one to her mother.
“It must have been a good time if you refuse to look at me.” Sarah chuckled as Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Maverick told me who you were seeing. He sounded like he wanted to have a heart attack.”
Dorothy sighed as she rummaged in the cabinets for some cereal. Sarah continued, “Sounds like this guy is basically what Maverick was when he wasn’t jerking Penny around when we were younger. Anyway, I met Hangman when he was first at Top Gun. You were stationed in Germany then. Your dad would invite the new classes at Top Gun for dinner during their time there. It was his way of supporting the younger pilots and everything.”
“What did you think of him?”
Steeling herself to hear something unflattering, Dorothy was surprised as her mom said, “Very intelligent, kind of like your dad in that they both knew they were the best. But he had that Southern charm too. Very cocky but also very clinical; Hangman seemed like he weighed all of his options within a second before he made a comment. Probably the same way in the air. Your dad liked him.”
“Sounds like the opposite of what Dad would’ve liked. He didn’t like cocky pilots except for Uncle Mav.”
“I think your dad liked that he had the smarts to back up his cockiness instead of being reckless. Mav is reckless.”
Dorothy couldn’t argue that. That was utterly true.
Then Sarah smirked, her hazel eyes turning wicked. “I plan on investing in earplugs but gags are a good thing.”
“MOM!”
“I may be a widow but I’m not dead.”
*****
good mornin sugar, hru
Jake put his phone down as he took out his badge. It was yet another workday but today he was flying so he was in his flight suit. His phone dinged and he read its 0700 & I don’t have to be awake but I am. But it’s okay because I dreamed of u last night
dont tease me sugar. u did agree to let me punish u if u tease me, darlin
Jake had taken Dorothy out for dinner and line dancing two nights ago. They had flirted and also worked out more limits and boundaries of what they wanted a potential relationship to be about. There was also a heavy dose of sexual tension and it took all of Jake not to bend Dorothy over the hood of his truck. Instead, they had made out, his tongue fucking her mouth, his hands groping all over her clothed body. Jake had been rock hard as he grinded his hips into Dorothy as they kissed. And the way Dottie had moaned and gasped into his mouth, Jake was sure she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But he was still going to make her wait. It was slow and Omaha and Yale were making fun of Jake for not sealing the deal. But they didn’t have Bradshaw and Maverick breathing down their neck.
“So help me god, Seresin, if you plan on just fucking around with Dot, I will kill you if you break her heart.”
Turning around in his chair at his desk, Hangman drawled, “Nice to see you too, Bradshaw.”
Rooster stared at his fellow aviator. Hangman wasn’t the easiest to read, using his cocky arrogance as a shell to keep most people from seeing him deep inside. But this was Dot, someone who was like the only sister he had. Dot didn’t need more pain and drama, especially from Hangman.
Hangman looked at Rooster, his vivid green eyes uncharacteristically somber. “I may be an asshole, a total prick, but I have no plans to be anything other than what Dottie wants and needs.”
Rooster couldn’t help the bark of laughter that came out after that statement. But it was obvious that Hangman was very serious and Rooster believed him. He actually believed the damn asshole.
His phone dinged again and Jake swore when he saw the message, glad he was in his truck by himself. Dorothy had sent him a picture, shirt on, nothing super visible. But it was obvious that all she had on was that shirt.
oops, i think I did something bad oh no
Jake snorted, knowing what was exactly going to be lurking on his mind all day at work. Before he could respond, Dorothy sent him another text. im sorry I just can’t help myself
Then there was another picture of Dorothy, this time bent over and Jake groaned.
r u sure u want what ur asking for, brat?
His phone rang and Jake picked up. “Seresin.”
“Jake, my evening meeting got cancelled. So, if you want to come over, you can or I can come over.”
“It’s Thursday, Dottie. If you come over, bring a bag with you.”
Jake chuckled low to himself as Dorothy’s breath hitched. There was a pause before she finally replied, “A bag?”
“I told you after we went dancin’, that I was going to need more than one night when I fucked you.”
“I don’t know why I’m so turned on right now but I am, Hangman,” Dorothy muttered into the phone.
“Because you need me to be between those thighs. I gotta go but I’ll be home by 1830. No panties, sugar.”
#drabbles#smut#blurbs#top gun smut#top gun fics#top gun fanfiction#hangman top gun maverick#hangman top gun smut#hangman top gun#Jake hangman Seresin#jake hangman seresin x oc#jake seresin x kazansky oc#jake seresin x oc#hangman x oc#hangman x kazansky oc#top gun blurbs#top gun blurb#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fics#top gun maverick fic#call me jake#love and jets
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Lemme just say: if you ever ever EVER read a dagger fic where reader is big and/or tall—yes, like the store—send it to me. Please, I am actually begging, send it to me. I love size kinks as much as the next girl, they’re hot as hell, but sometimes I don’t want to read a fic and feel like my size is a barrier to my attractiveness so if you’d keep me in mind, I’d appreciate it 💙
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First & Last Lines: Go through your last 5 completed works and share the first and last lines without context!
This is gonna be fun(ny) 🤣 since I don't know the order on my Tumblr fics and I'm not taking the time to look this will be the last 5 fics off my A03.
1. Trick or Treat:
The first year after Nick was hard for all holidays, but Mav made sure to put extra effort into them for Bradley since he was at home teaching at TOPGUN. Looking back, Bradley realizes that the Halloween it rained was probably his best Halloween ever, and he hoped one day his uncles would help him make Halloween the best for his kids as well.
2. Letting Go:
Being Commander of the Pacific Fleet meant he knew all, heard all, saw all. And with the flyboys family, they’ll be just fine in time.
3. Talk Dirty to Me:
Vinny had been home from the hospital for a month, and he was restless and depressed. It's the best sleep he's had since the accident, and he thanks his lucky stars for you.
4. Locker Room:
Watching Vinny fight was always a wonder. You're all he needs after a victory.
5. Mile(s) High Club:
One thing you learned about Vinny over the few months you’d been together is that boxing always helped his sex drive. And anytime you had to fly with him after that, he made sure to give you all the distractions possible.
#asks#hey look its my bestie#my writing#top gun fics#top gun#top gun maverick fics#top gun maverick#vinny pazienza fics#vinny pazienza
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ISO a Roster Bradshaw x reader fic!!
I watched top gun (again) yesterday and I had an idea, what if enemies to lovers and reader saves maverick and Rooster (like hangman did??)
Does someone know of a fic like this or be willing to write this for me?? I will love you forever and ever!! 😭❤️
#rooster bradshaw x reader#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick imagines#top gun maverick fanfics#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fics#rooster Bradshaw imagines#rooster Bradshaw fanfiction#Bradley Bradshaw fanfiction#Bradley bradshaw imagines#top gun maverick requests#rooster x reader#rooster Bradshaw requests
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Another WIP Announcement
Alright everybody, since I’ve got another fic idea popping into my head I’m gonna have to do something that’s much needed, but a total pain in the arse (lol).
I’ve got three fics that are currently swimming around in my head and I have to figure out scheduling on the posting. So far, here’s what I’ve got for the fics (titles may or may not change as the stories progress):
The Pagekeepers (Top Gun Maverick): Bob x wifey!reader, their kids and the Dagger Squad are worn down from the drag of everyday life. When Bob finds a book in a bookshop that he just can’t leave without, it takes them all on one epic adventure. (Will be done up as books 1-4).
“Honey We’re Shrunk!” (Outer Range): Royal was right, there was something weird about that hole in the west pasture. So what happens when Rhett, wifey!reader, Amy and their kids wake up one morning and find that they’re only as big as a flea? Shit’s bound to ensue somewhere.
His Secret Muse (Top Gun Maverick): You weren’t expecting to fall in love with Bob Floyd, your handsome new professor of Art History. You were afraid that it would be like one of those horror stories you’d seen on the news of student x teacher relationships. But instead, you found the domestic bliss you had been craving all your life.
So here’s what I’m thinking
Monday, Wednesday, Friday: The Pagekeepers
Tuesday, Thursday: Honey We’re Shrunk!
Saturday, Sunday: His Secret Muse
Things might change if something comes up unexpectedly, but let me know what you guys think and if anybody wants to be tagged just let me know and I’ll try and tag you guys. I’m still learning the ropes, but maybe this is a good learning opportunity (lol).
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AYE!! If you love Top Gun, read this!!!
I have to fix my masterlist, but my sideblog is now @sappy-seresin rather than being @justblurbythings. I’ve been toying with the idea of making a Top Gun account for awhile now, and finally committed so that I don’t spam my fellow OBX moots with all of the Top Gun fics I’ve been working on recently.
Gimme a follow on that account if you’d like, I’m excited for the upcoming fics!!
#top gun maverick#top gun fics#top gun imagines#top gun maverick fics#top gun maverick imagines#newish account
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Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.
Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself
Length: 4700 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger
Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.
His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.
There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time.
Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh.
Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.
Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret.
It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him.
Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.
Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.
He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated.
There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.
Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.
This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.
"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.
My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?
This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up.
He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.
I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.
"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message.
Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.
Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.
Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way.
Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface.
Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?
Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.
Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number.
Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.
I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.
On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip.
Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.
Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice.
And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.
Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?
He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.
That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?
He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later.
Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush.
"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be.
He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten.
What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.
It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.
Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?
"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.
No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.
He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin.
When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning.
Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone.
"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.
How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?
Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?
"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.
Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.
Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.
Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?
Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.
My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?
Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her.
He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.
Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.
Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.
He texted you back.
Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.
With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.
CALL FROM Pretty Girl
Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."
A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"
He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"
When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."
Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him.
"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."
Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."
Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"
Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"
"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."
"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."
Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."
If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"
"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"
Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."
Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."
He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."
You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."
"Just okay?"
"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."
Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."
"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."
"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"
He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open.
"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself.
"Totally naked."
"Fuck."
"Send me another one?"
"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on.
Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.
"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."
He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"
The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."
A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."
You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."
Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."
You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."
"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."
"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."
"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.
"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"
"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."
Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"
"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."
--------------------------
It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."
Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"
You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face.
"Yeah. It's Rooster."
Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."
"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.
You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache.
And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar.
You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit.
You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.
As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.
Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.
"Pretty Girl."
Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.
And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest.
When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."
Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck.
"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."
"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.
"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."
You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."
He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."
-------------------------
I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
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Fawn (B. Bradshaw)
Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader
Warning: hints at domestic abuse, hints at toxic relations, mentions of injury, angst, light cursing.
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is enamored by the Hard Deck's newest waitress. Taking notice of a shift in your demeanor, he finds himself wanting to get to the bottom of your newfound skittishness.
Series Theme Song: I’ll Be Around by Garrett Kato
Word Count: 5.8k
A/n: MY WORK IS NOT TO BE POSTED ELSEWHERE, especially without consent. Do not steal the work of other writers, thank you.
Gif creds: @mads-weasley
You've always carried yourself with elegant poise, your shoulders high with delicate confidence as you strut your way through life. That’s the first thing Bradley noticed about you, and he’s continued appreciating further the more your presence sealed itself into his life. You’ve been working at the Hard Deck for nearly six months now, and subsequently have earned yourself a space in the Dagger Squad friend group, without being a naval officer. Your space in their lives is a lot like Penny’s, other than the fact that you’re a few years younger than all of them. That fact has had all of them feeling protective over you in their own merit. Each of them have done their fair share of looking out for you, always stepping in when someone was heckling you at the bar or pulling you into the groups antics when you seemed overwhelmed on a busy night. Penny always watches from afar, glad to see you smiling among her favorite squadron.
Admittedly, Bradley loves how easily you melted into the group, and appreciates that everyone seems to care about you nearly as much as he does. He’d never admit it out loud, but you’re the first person he looks for when he enters the Hard Deck. His eyes automatically manage to plant themselves wherever you are when he walks in, an elegant smile taking over his face at the simplest sight of you. You always return the gesture, making a point to pour his drink before he even has the chance to order.
Recently though, your poise has dimmed. Your smiles never quite reaching your eyes when you cater to the aviators beck and call. Bradley attributed the change as stress, at first. The summer months are some of the busiest at the bar and it's your first time experiencing this level of rush. The moment he started picking up on your newfound skittishness, he couldn't shake the feeling that there's more going on than being overworked.
Your confidence is now sporadic, fleeting as you jump at loud noises and sudden movements, always playing it off with a lighthearted joke when any of them question it. He notices the way your smiles falter as soon as the groups focus shifts elsewhere, the facade slipping away when you're sure no one's watching. Yet, Bradley always is, unbeknownst to you, watching your every move. He catches every time you gulp to gain composure and the way your knuckles flash white with how hard you grip your tray after being jostled by a passing customer.
Tonight's no different as Bradley's kept his eyes trained on you from the moment he walked in. He watches you slip through the room in a fawn-like state, doe-eyes jumping around the room as you fade in and out of the shadows. Unlike your old, confident self that always managed to light up the typically muggy space.
“What’s got you lost in thought, Rooster?” Natasha’s voice cuts through his staring, pulling his attention from where you’re delivering drinks across the bar. He glances at her and Bob, who’re both staring back at him curiously.
“Does she seem off to you?” He asks simply, letting his eyes trickle back to you. Natasha’s eyebrows knit together before she follows his gaze, realization filling her immediately.
“Y/n?” She thinks out loud, accepting Bradley’s curt nod as a yes. “I mean, sure. I've noticed she’s been a little more skittish and accident prone than usual lately. What about it?"
Bradley shrugs, sipping his drink, not wanting to overshare a story that isn't his. Though, his mind flashes to the last time you'd spoken, affirming that he'd been right about foul play behind the scenes. Even after you forced another lie to keep yourself from admitting the truth to him in the bar just days ago. "I just feel like something isn't right." They fall into silence, Bob and Natasha accompanying Bradley in watching you. Each searching for any signs of foul play, or make any observation that could give insight on what's going on. The truth is, Bradley knows something isn't right. You confirmed his suspicions three days ago, though you refused to vocalize that he's right.
With his eyes trained on you, Bradley recounts the times you've proven to be 'accident prone' the past several weeks. Wonder fills his brain at memories of you brushing off seemingly small injuries as if they were normal, though you'd barely gotten a scratch in the previous months he'd known you. Bradley's mind flashes to the first time he questioned an injury, his eyes fixated on the soft wrap adorning your wrist as you wiped the counter nearly a month and a half ago. His hand clenches around his drink as he's now able to pinpoint your cover stories, though he has yet to figure out the culprit behind you fabricating those stories.
“What happened there?” Bradley asked, gesturing towards your bandaged hand. His eyes raking over you while you blinked at him for a second, letting a sheepish grin meet your lips.
“Oh this?” You joked, raising your hand absentmindedly. “It’s nothing really. I slipped during a game of one on one and caught myself weird. It looks worse than it is, doc says I need to be in the brace for a few weeks so it’ll heal.” Your voice was light and bubbly, but something in your eyes had Bradley unconvinced that your story was factual.
He took a swig of his beer, clearing his throat as he met your eyes again. Opting not to question you, he smiled. “I guess you need to work on your game.” The gentle laugh you released sent shivers down his spine as he watched you.
“I guess I do,” you agreed, topping him off with another beer before leaving to serve another customer without looking back.
He recounts the second time now. He caught you wincing when you bent down to grab a fresh case of beer you were moving to the back. your tight intake of breath had Bradley feeling uneasy.
“You alright, Darlin’,” his voice showcased the concern he’d been feeling. You grimaced at him, gladly accepting the hand he offered to help you up.
“Yeah,” you breathed, discomfort evident when the case slid against your rib cage. “I tweaked a muscle at the gym last night. Just a bit sore is all.” Your cheeks tinted pink at the twinkle in his eye with all his attention solely focused on you. He pushed himself from his position at the bar, inserting himself behind the counter before lifting the case from your grasp with ease. Your sheepishness grew when he leaned to brush past you, grab the last case before glancing over his shoulder at you.
“Where do you need this?” You gaped at him for a moment, not expecting him to do the work for you, but collected yourself quickly. Leading him to the back instead of responding.
“Here’s perfect,” you told him, gesturing where the other cases were already stacked. He obliged, putting the cases in their designated spot, shooting you a content smile. “Thanks for doing that.”
“Not a problem, darlin’,” he waved off, knowing fully well he’d move a thousand more cases if you needed him to. You blushed again, the gesture melting his heart in the same way it does every time it graces your cheeks.
“Well, I appreciate it,” you reached out to squeeze his arm, the movement making the sleeve of your t-shirt slide up in the slightest. Bradley swears he saw a finger-shaped bruise peeking out just below the worn fabric. He eyes flickering back to your face quickly to keep you from noticing he’d seen anything. “My tweaked muscles do too.”
His mouth felt dry as he studied you, mind reeling about what's hiding behind the inconspicuous lie. Your hand dropped when his grin faltered, suddenly worried that you'd made him uncomfortable.
“I guess you need to work on your form,” he knew he was wearing his emotions on his face, though his tone remained intentionally light. Though he wanted to inspect the blemishes hiding under your sleeve, he knew it wasn’t his place. Mentally though, he pulled you against his chest and gently assured you that he’ll protect you from whoever gave you those bruises.
Your face dropped at his words, hands fidgeting against the fabric of your jeans. “I guess I do,” you agreed, deja’vu hitting you after repeating the words you'd spoken to him weeks prior. You hesitated, realizing that his subtle repetition means that, to a certain degree, he knows your explanations don’t match the truth. The thought of him not believing you made the room shrink around you, blurring Bradley’s figure with the anxiety of him finding out. “I should get back to the bar.” Though you were talking to him, the statement seemed to be whispered to no one before you brushed past him with a forced smile.
The last time he questioned you was just three days ago, and the memory of the sight of you has his hand strangling his glass, his blood boiling when he catches sight of your split lip from across the bar.
He'd been dismayed by the fact that you were, not so subtly, ignoring everyone in the squad that night. He noticed how you always kept your back towards them, sending another server to their table whenever they tried flagging you down. He lost sight of you for awhile, though his eyes never stopped scanning the room, hoping to pinpoint your figure assisting customers somewhere in the crowded room. He thought you left after ten minutes of gruel searching. The belief had his shoulders feeling heavy, his mind reeling with questions as to why you'd been silently swerving everyone all night.
His attempts to find you were forgotten as he came to terms with the fact that you didn't want to be found. Until he excused himself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect himself to escape the thoughts of you.
The plan averted the second he gripped the bathroom door handle, the thick wood flung open before he'd even had a chance to pull. A string of apologies left your lips before you froze, realizing that Bradley was the one you'd nearly taken out with the door.
"Y/n, what-" His words caught in his throat after getting a good look at your face. You gaped at him like a deer caught in headlights, showcasing a bruised cheek and split lip that had him prepared to blow a gasket. His expression tightened as he scanned over the rest of you for anymore blemishes, though there wasn't anything else out of the ordinary. You let the door close with a soft 'smack' unable to cover your stunned demeanor. "What happened to your face?" He cut straight to the point, itching to find the "someone" that hurt you.
You opened your mouth to speak but he waved his hand to stop you.
"Another basketball game or a mishap in the gym?" A gentle sarcasm graced his voice, his eyes indicating that you can't get out of this one without telling the truth. His reference back to your past excuses made your hands shake anxiously.
You blinked at him, pointing a pleading look in his direction. Knowing he wasn't going to drop it, your shoulders deflated, though you weren't ready to accept defeat just yet. Lifting your head high, you wiped the shock from your face and replaced it with tenacity.
"Nasty spill while surfing yesterday," you quipped, no evidence of hesitation in your tone as you blatantly lied through your teeth. You hoped he would respond in the same way he had the last two times you found yourself in these subtle moments of confrontation. Wanting him to crack a lighthearted joke about working on your drop-in's, but you knew he wouldn't so you continued. "My board smacked me right in the face before I could stop it."
He sighed in frustration, ripping at his neat curls before dropping his hand again. You flinched in surprise, unknowingly giving him more belief that his suspicions were right. "Now you're just blatantly lying to me," he sighed, relaxing his face so you could see the sadness in his eyes. "Y/n, if someone's hurting you, I need you to tell me. You don't have to manage this on your own, and honestly, I hate that you don't feel like you can trust me. Let me help you."
"There's nothing for you to help with," you immediately insisted, though your teary eyes told him a different narrative. "I'm just clumsy is all." There was deep conviction weaved in your weak explanation, paired with an unwillingness to shed light on the truth. Which was that your boyfriend, Tanner has a short temper. His latest outburst being the cause of your battered surface and spirit.
"Y/n," Bradley pleaded, stepping closer to you, but you shuffled a step back.
"I have to get back," you rejected his advancement, brushing past him without another glance. He'd been frozen in defeat for the minutes following the chance encounter, staring in the direction you'd retreated with a heavy heart. Shaking himself off, he entered the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, hoping it was enough to rid his face of the worry lines wrinkling his forehead after speaking to you. Though he wanted to find you when he made his way back to the table, he forced himself to sit down, knowing you wouldn't speak to him about the topic and further.
The rest of the squad is seated at the table by the time Bradley's able to pull himself out of his head. Mickey tips his head at Bradley upon noticing he'd tuned back into the conversation for the first time since Mickey had sat down. Bradley musters a wink in Mickey's direction, bringing his cup to his lips to soothe the dryness of his throat, though his eyes subconsciously trickle over to you, mind reeling on how to get you to tell him the truth.
A loud crash sounds from across the bar awhile later, interrupting everyone’s attention away from the story Coyote was telling. Bradley had managed to distract himself from his thoughts enough to actually enjoy the night with the squad, periodically laughing as everyone spouts off ridiculous stories.
Bradley’s eyes flit over the room, expecting to find an old drunk struggling to pull themself off the ground, or maybe even the beginning stages of a brawl. What he doesn’t expect to find is you, standing frozen in place with your face resembling a ghosts. The second you squat down to begin picking glass up off the floor, Bradley’s moving to break the space to help you, eyes caught on the man towering over you with an infuriated expression.
“Where the hell have you been?” The man’s voice rings in Bradley’s ears once he’s close enough to hear. “I’ve been calling for four days, why haven’t you answered?”
“You broke my phone,” you snip. Your annoyed tone contradicts the trembling of your hands as they clumsily gather jagged shards into your hands. “I haven’t had the time to get a new one.”
“Everything okay, Y/n,” Bradley cuts in, sizing up the guy in front of him as you look at him for the first time in days. The man's got a few inches on Bradley, but he’s far from intimidating. The stranger clenches his jaw at the sight of him, his lips curving into an arrogant sneer as he puffs out his chest in Bradley's direction.
“Y/n’s fine,” he answers for you, balling his hands into tight fists. “Right, baby?” The nickname makes Bradley’s skin feel like it’s on fire due to the way it drips off the man’s tongue in a sickly sweet manner. Bradley's known you have a boyfriend for awhile. He was disappointed to find out after Hangman had jokingly tried his chances with you. Your admission of being taken was the sole hold up on him outing his feelings for you, but the sight of the guy shooting daggers at you makes his skin crawl. No man should look at his girl in the way this guy's looking at you.
Bradley watches your hesitant nod, your eyes barely ghosting over him as Penny slides a broom into your hand, helping you off the floor. You quietly thank her, gently assuring her that you’re okay, before returning your attention to cleaning the mess. Clearly wanting nothing more than for your boyfriend to be anywhere but here causing a scene. Penny observes the three of you, mentally weighing whether or not to respect your assurances that you have the situation under control. One nod from Bradley is enough for her to return to her spot behind the bar, assisting the few customers that aren't watching the altercation unfold.
Growing more irate with your lack of attention, the man takes a step toward you. "You want to look at me while I'm talking to you?" Bradley's blood boils at the malice directed at you, his instincts forcing him to step closer to you as well, ready to jump in if he tries to lay as much as a finger on you.
"Tanner, you need to leave. You can't just come in here, guns a-blazing, while I'm working and expect the conversation to go well while you're causing a scene," there's a waver to your voice when you say his name, your attempt to remain composed is only half effective when your eyes jump back to the floor after catching Tanner's icy appearance.
"Where the hell else am I supposed to find you when you're obviously doing everything in your power to avoid me," Tanner snaps, his face glowing red with anger. "I tried your apartment four times and you were never home. So, where the hell have you been?" You instinctively flinch when he raises his hand, shocking Bradley into registering that Tanner's the culprit to blame for your split lip and bruised cheek. Your reaction to him walking into the bar, and now flinching at his sudden movements, is enough affirmation of what Bradley previously suspected.
"Alright man, she told you to leave, so it's time for you to go," Bradley's speaking on autopilot now, stepping forward enough to place his hand on Tanner's chest to keep him from advancing any closer to you.
Tanner sneers at Bradley, his gaze falling to the hand planted on his chest. "I suggest you get your hands off me, before I make you," he snarls, shooting Bradley his best intimidating glare before contorting his face in understanding. "So that's what you've been doing the last few days." He backs out of Bradley's grasp, looking at you with a fake humored expression.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Bradley's eyes follow your voice, noticing the way your eyebrows furrow together in confusion.
"You've been screwing him, haven't you," Tanner accuses pointing a finger at Bradley. "I've been looking all over town for you and you've been fooling around with this prick. Dude, you're wasting your time. She's not even worth it."
Bradley interrupts before you can discount Tanner's words, refusing to let this piece of garbage tarnish your character. "She's worth more than you can comprehend, clearly. I can assure you that she's not fooling around with me, or anyone else for that matter. I know her well enough to know that she wouldn't cheat, even if it's warranted for a guy like you."
"A guy like me," Tanner replays those words, emphasizing them while he gestures toward himself, feigning surprise. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean," Bradley quips, narrowing his brows. He's surprised when Tanner raises his eyebrows, urging him to voice his thoughts. "A guy that's dumb enough to lay a hand on a woman." You suck in a breath at the declaration, your eyes flying to watch Tanner's ego take a hit at the fact that he's been caught. You shudder, knowing full well that Tanner being caught means that your lies are out in the open now.
"My girl, my business," Tanner shrugs, "You're way out of line buddy, and I suggest you-"
“Do we have a problem here,” Bradley’s glad to hear Jake’s voice for once, some of the tension in his own chest alleviating at his colleagues authoritative tone. Jake stands tall as he positions himself in front of your shaken figure, his pointed gaze fixed solely on Tanner. He makes a point to flash his toned biceps by crossing his arms over his chest to add to his hard exterior, letting his eyes do plenty more talking while he sizes Tanner up.
“That’s up to him,” Bradley responds, nodding his head towards Tanner, who looks seconds away from throwing a punch.
“This is so like you, Y/n,” Tanner laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Letting your friends save you from your own battles instead of handling them yourself like an adult. You get off on being the damsel in distress, don't you?” He's glaring at you over Jake's shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the aviator acting as a human shield.
"Y/n's more than capable of handling herself," Jake assures Tanner, tightening his expression. "But here at the Hard Deck, we have a strict "no harassing women" policy, and you're disrupting the peace." Jake's eyes fall on Reuben and Javy who are now on standby behind Tanner, prepared to restrain him if necessary. Reuben gives him a curt nod, winking at you for a little extra encouragement. They've got you covered. "Now, you have two options. You can either walk yourself out of the bar, and leave my friend Y/n here alone. Or, I'll drag you out and let Rooster have his way with you." Jake pauses again to give Tanner a second to process what he said. "I can assure you that only the former is going to end well for you."
"Now you're threatening me? You seriously think I'm afraid of a few boys in pansy ass navy uniforms?" Tanner's expression grows more manic with his incredulous words, unable to keep himself from chuckling in disbelief.
The response is enough to make Jake snap, his arms falling to his sides as he swiftly nods at Javy and Reuben as a cue for them to move. "Alright, parties over buddy." Tanner thrashes the second the men intercept him, easily dragging him towards the door.
"You bitch," Tanner shouts, eyes locked on you while he lamely tries freeing himself from their grasp. He has a clear shot of you now that Jake's not planted in front of you. Instead, he's trailing behind the three of them as a form of damage control if a last line of defense if necessary. "You'll pay for this."
Bradley shifts to dart in Tanner's direction, his slow burning anger transforming into full-blown rage at the mans threat toward you. Though, his movements freeze when a hand grasps his forearm, his fiery eyes meeting your tearful ones as the ruckus in the room fades from his ears. The room around him spirals out of focus with you being all that he sees as he struggles to refrain from ripping away from you to beat Tanner until he forgets your name.
Your touch is feathery while you blear at him. He swears he's going to light on fire until you utter the only request that could possibly cool him down. "Please, stay with me." Bradley immediately returns to a grounded state, the thoughts of giving Tanner a piece of his mind dimming while you wordlessly beg him not to leave you alone. "Please, Bradley." Those words are all it takes for him to break the space, shamelessly pulling you against his chest to shield you from anymore hurt. You fall against him in exhaustion, your hands fisting the soft Hawaiian button up he's wearing to give yourself more assurance that he's there.
"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs into your hair after a few moments of holding you. You're sniffling into his chest while the atmosphere of the bar returns to normal, the onlookers suddenly feeling wrong about watching you break in Bradley's embrace.
Bradley easily flags Penny down with an urgent look, grateful that she stops what she's doing to assist him. "I need to get her out of here," he informs her in a hushed voice once she's close enough to hear. She wordlessly nods in understanding, sadness crossing her features at the sight of you practically rattling in his arms. "The glass is all in one place and just needs to be thrown away."
"I've got it covered, go," she encourages him, noticing that the three who'd taken Tanner outside have yet to return. "I'll have Pete pull your truck around back so you don't have to worry about any confrontations."
"Thanks Penny," Bradley hums, making sure not to jostle you too much while passing his keys to her. You lift your head to thank her as well, mustering a delicate smile as she carefully squeezes your arm in reassurance.
"Take care of my girl, Rooster," she commands lightheartedly, but he picks up on the weight behind her statement.
"Of course," he breathes, running his hand up your back to get your attention. "Ready to go, darlin'?" You bob your head in response, itching to get out of the sticky bar after having far too much attention on you. The interaction with Tanner replays in the back of your mind while Bradley guides you toward the back door with his hand rested on the small of your back.
Pete already has the Bronco parked by the back door when you guys reach the exit. He pulls the door open just before Bradley's able to reach it, stepping aside to let you two pass before bowing his head at Bradley.
"Appreciate the help, Mav," Bradley affirms, which Pete just shrugs off as a silent way of telling Bradley it's the least he could do. Pete makes sure you're both in the car before walking back inside, sympathy overtaking him at the image of you deflating in your seat.
The car ride is comfortably silent outside of natural road noise. The fact that Bradley has no idea where you live dawned on you about ten minutes into the drive, but you don't bring yourself to ask where he's taking you. Preferring not to be anywhere that Tanner can find you.
Your friendship hasn't gone much farther than hanging out when he visits the bar, other than the few times Natasha invited you to meet everyone at her place when you got off. Oh, and the movie night everyone had at Bob's when you offered to be their DD when they'd still been around by last call. Yet, you trust Bradley enough to feel at ease as he navigates the nearly vacant streets of San Diego.
"We're here," Bradley announces, putting the Bronco in park after pulling into his driveway. He glances at you with a comforting smile, rushing to hop out so he can open your door for you. You gracefully accept the hand he offers you, climbing out of the truck timidly. His hand finds a home on the small of your back again, acting as a guide while he leads you to the front door and lets you both in.
"Your place?" You think out loud, as he unlocks the door, gesturing for you to enter before him. He grins, suddenly feeling sheepish as he drops his keys on the small table next to the door.
"Yeah," he nods, scratching his neck. "I figured you shouldn't go home. Is this okay? I can take you somewhere else if you want."
"This is perfect," he blows the air out of his cheeks at your assurance, making a point to lock the door before guiding you to the living room. He gestures to the couch, which you gladly plop down on, relishing in the plush comfort of the cushions while Bradley watches you.
"Can I get you anything? There's water, tea, and probably even a few beers left from the last time the guys came over," Bradley curses himself for sounding so soft, though you don't seem to mind.
"Water would be great," your supportive smile is the first Bradley's seen all night, sending his stomach twisting in knots as he retreats to the kitchen. While he's gone, you take time to study the living room, your smile widening at the old family photos with his parents along with various pictures of the squad scattered across the shelves. The room is tidy and smells subtly of cologne, it's coziness urging you to melt further into the couch.
Bradley freezes in the doorway, secretly admiring how cozy you look in the safety of his house. I'm screwed, he thinks to himself, shaking his head to rid himself of being awestruck by you. You glance in his direction at the sound of his feet shuffling across the floor, graciously accepting the glass he slides in your hand.
"Thank you," you whisper, clearing your throat after taking a sip of the cool water before placing the glass on the coffee table in front of you. Your body stretches back into the couch as Bradley fills the space next to you, making a point to leave enough room so that you don't feel claustrophobic.
A thick silence falls over the room, neither of you knowing what to say now that you're alone. The impending conversation weighs on both of your shoulders while the two of you look everywhere other than at each other. Bradley speaks after several moments of grueling silence, unable to bare the elephant in the room.
"I'm so sorry for not vocalizing my suspicions sooner," the apology surprises you, not having anticipated the softness of his response. Part of you assumed he was going to be angry with you for not fessing up and asking for help when you had the chance. "I mean, I know you don't play basketball, and then I saw those bruises on your arm, but I didn't feel like it was my place to pry. I should've just said something before he had more chances to hurt you." He frowns at the newest blemish on your lip, scabbed but still fresh with only being a few days old. The bruise on your cheek has faded into a dull yellowish green, time giving it enough time to kickstart the healing process.
"It's my own fault. I was dumb to ever get involved with him," you croak, downcast eyes trained on the floor. "My friends told me he was a walking red flag and I didn't listen. I willingly fell into his trap on my own accord. So please, don't apologize for not saying anything sooner because it's been my fault all along. Your questions were all I allowed you to do."
"Hey," Bradley whispers, wordlessly asking for consent to cup your jaw in his hand, his thumb gently swiping the tear gliding down your blemished cheek after you nod in approval. "None of what he did to you is your fault. You hear me? I don't want to hear you blaming yourself for a man that didn't know the first thing about treating you right." Bradley's voice is gentle as he addresses you, not leaving any room for you to feel insecure in being with him. He never wants you to feel small again, and you won't as long as he has anything to do with it. "He had no business laying his hands on you in a way that misconstrued love as violence. The blame is solely for him to carry, not you. Okay?" His eyes plea that you absorb everything he's telling you. He needs you to understand that Tanner is the perpetrator at fault, not you. The tears flooding your cheeks are indication that you're grasping what he's telling you, but he has to be sure.
"I need to know that you're hearing me Darlin'," the statement is more of a request as he wipes at more of your tears, his heart quenching at the subdued sob that forces its way out of you. All you can do is nod, not trusting your voice. "I need to hear you say it."
"I'm hearing you, Bradley," you sniffle, stammering over the knot in your throat. "The blame isn't mine." With that, more choked sobs erupt from your body, encouraging Bradley to pull you into his lap without caring whether it's the appropriate move or not. Your lack of opposition assures him that you're okay with him holding you while you come unglued in his embrace for the second time.
Countless encouragements that he's got you and that you're going to be okay quietly float from his lips while you melt into him. The innocent closeness brings you a small sense of the relief you're craving. His softness allows you to feel safe enough to simply let yourself accept the truth and feel all of the emotions you've been numbing as a form of self preservation for the last few months. For the first time in months, the breaths filing your lungs aren't clouded by heaviness because an inescapable weight has lifted from your chest. You bask in the weightlessness of your breathing, the sensation bringing a fresh round of relieved tears. Your sobs transition into meek sniffles as Bradley patiently comforts you, his own tension releasing when he senses that you're going to be okay.
"Thanks for rescuing me," you murmur after a few moments of quiet, thankfully allowing him to rid your cheeks of the final evidence of tears. Bradley loses his own breath when his eyes fixate on you again. Though your eyes are bloodshot and glazed from crying, cheeks flushed with a delicate pink tint, Bradley swears you've never looked more beautiful.
His hand tenderly cups your cheek again, his eyes the softest they've been all night as he drinks the sight of you in. The rational side of him wants to curse himself for being so enthralled by you at such an unfortunate time. You just experienced one of the most humiliating nights of your life, and spent the last twenty minutes broken in his arms for God's sake. But all rationality escapes him as he soaks you in, completely defenseless against the relentless adoration beating against his ribcage.
"I'll rescue you any time it's needed Darlin'," he promises, and you know he means it. You bask in the comfort of his arms for the rest of the night, enjoying the lighthearted conversation and the way he seems comforted by your presence. In the dim light of the room, with a TV show softly playing quietly in the background, you eventually lull to sleep, Bradley's steady heart beat being the last thing you remember before succumbing to the delicate darkness.
-----------------
A/N: That's it!! My first TGM fic is on the books!! I've got various works in the making, but this one flowed so naturally as I was writing and I'm ecstatic to share it.
There's a part two dancing in the back of my mind, but I'll let feedback and continued inspiration decide whether or not the story continues or ends here.
PART TWO IS IN PROGRESS
Tagging some moots/pages that I enjoy. Feel free to request whether or not you'd like to continue being tagged in future fics <3
Tags: @glen-powells @bradleybeachbabe @writingshae @happilycameron @rosiahills22 @roosterforme @avaleineandafryingpan @fandomxpreferences @fanboygarcia
#top gun maverick#TGM#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick fics#top gun maverick imagines#TGM fanfiction#TGM fics#TGM imagines#Bradley bradshaw#Bradley Bradshaw x reader#Bradley bradshaw fanfiction#Bradley Bradshaw fics#Bradley bradshaw imagines#rooster fanfiction#rooster fics#rooster imagines#Bradley rooster bradshaw#Bradley rooster x y/n#Bradley bradshaw x y/n#fawn
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same mistakes pt. i (bradley “rooster” bradshaw)
a/n: @roosterbrdshaw made a post about a enemies-to-lovers, maverick’s daughter fic and this was born. i rewatched the movie last weekend and got a new idea, so i scrapped everything i had already written and started over. and then... it got out of hand.... so i’m breaking it up into a least three parts. uhm, kylie, write a slow-burn??? where are we??
title comes from one direction’s “same mistakes” don’t come for me
summary: (enemies-to-lovers, maverick’s daughter!reader) you and Bradley used to be best friends. key word: used to. as in, over, in the past, never gonna happen again. the sight of the pilot makes your skin crawl, disgust and anger curdling in your stomach. it definitely has nothing to do with the unspoken feelings leftover from your teen years. not at all. furthermore, being put together on a suicide mission is not your idea of a good time. no matter what, you and Rooster seemed to be doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again.
callsign: rebel
main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | pt. ii | pt. iii
warnings: my shitty military knowledge, i swore, no the movie didn’t tell us what squadron Coyote originally flew with so i made it up, I am actually from San Diego so some of my personal experience is filtered in here sue me, okay really it’s just my love of burritos, i don’t know jackshit about flying a plane and it’s obvious, i tweaked some of the movie dialogue for plot reasons, justice for Coyote, Maverick’s a supportive Dad no matter how much his daughter fucks up (this will become apparent in the upcoming parts but we get hints here and there in this part)
word count: 5,126
Maverick took a deep breath, eyes flitting over the board of twelve students recalled for this special mission. “Is there a problem, Captain?” Cyclone’s voice called.
“You know there is.”
-
You walked into the Hard Deck behind Coyote, welcoming the familiar sounds of music and patrons talking amongst themselves at the bar. You breathed in a comfortable sigh, Coyote looking at you with a smirk. “Good to be home.” You said, seeing your Dad sat at the bar talking to Penny. Coyote laughed, moving towards the back where a tall, handsome blond was sat next to the pool table.
“You spend twelve weeks here for TOPGUN training and suddenly this is home?”
“Born and raised here, baby.” You said, pushing your trademark aviators to sit atop your head. You waved to your Dad as you followed behind Coyote. Penny turned, seeing you and giving you her signature smirk with a wave of her fingers. You weren’t sure what your Dad was doing back in Fightertown but you had a suspicion he’d gone and pissed off the Admiral overseeing his project in the Mojave Desert. The blond shot up out of his seat, pulling Coyote over into a hug.
“Machado, man, what’re you doing out here?”
“Got re-called from the Green Vipers for a special mission. You?”
“Same thing. Wondering what kind of mission they’re asking us to fly for. Who's your friend?” Coyote opened his mouth, presumably to introduce you when the man’s attention shifted to a group of three nearing the table. Your eyes locked on a tall man sitting in the corner, who was quietly observing and eating peanuts. You lifted a hand from where your arms were crossed to wave at him and he gave you a shy smile back, waving in return.
“Fellows, this here’s Bagman.” You hear the woman say, attention shifting back to the group.
“Hangman.” The blond said, shooting the girl a bright smile. Her eyes locked over towards you, clearly getting ready to ask about you. You noted her pin said Trace and you realized who were standing in front of. Few pilots made names for themselves like Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, so yeah, you’d heard of her.
“Whatever.”
“Who's your friends?”
“Payback.”
“Fanboy.” Hangman’s eyes slid over to a brunette approaching to the table and you could’ve vomited at the sight of him. Of all the goddamn pilots...
“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.” Rooster took off his aviators, squinting at the sight of you next to Hangman.
“Hangman.” He responded, giving the man a curt nod. “Rebel.”
“Rooster.” You responded, and the table’s interest piqued.
“Two of you know each other?” Phoenix asked.
“Our old man’s used to fly together. Let’s just say that I’m not a fan.”
“Coincidentally, neither am I.” He sneered at you in response and you returned the look.
“Your old man a pilot, Rebel? I didn’t know that.” Coyote said, turning to you. You shrugged.
“There’s lots you don’t know about me, Machado. I’m a woman full of secrets.” You taunted, a sly smile on your face. Coyote opened his mouth to respond but then the bell rang as the bar went up in cheers and you looked over to see your Dad groaning. Typical Maverick. Hangman turned towards the bar to get another round and Coyote looked down at you with a questioning look. As Phoenix talked to Rooster, you leaned over as Coyote whispered in your ear.
“The hell was that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, there’s Yale, Harvard, Omaha, Fritz, even Halo. What kind of hell mission is this?” Someone asked as you pulled away from Coyote shrugging.
“That’s not the question. Everyone here is the best of the best. The question we should be asking is who the hell are they going to get to teach us?” Phoenix responded. Your eyes flickered over to your Dad who was still chatting with Penny. Nobody better than Maverick...
The bell rang again, pulling your from your thoughts. The bar began to chant “overboard, overboard” as Coyote and Hangman moved towards the bar. Towards your Dad specifically. You rolled your eyes, smiling as they picked him up. He winked at you as he was not-so-gracefully tossed out of the bar by the pair. The bar cheered again as notes on the piano began to play. Your stomach soured as you realized who was singing. You caught a glimpse of your Dad outside the bar, stone-faced. You looked over at Coyote, who was staring at you long before you made eye contact. As the bar sang along to Rooster’s song, you screwed your eyes shut and willed yourself to not think of old memories that were better off locked deep down. Fuzzy memories of growing up with Goose and Maverick singing to you both at the piano. Memories of Rooster singing around the house as Carole made him clean, long before Rooster was Rooster and was only just Bradley. Memories of Bradley teaching you how to play piano when you were 13. Memories of Bradley singing softly the night your heart had got broken for the first time when you were 16. Memories of yelling to ABBA in the car on summer road trips as a teen with him.
As the bar began to chant Rooster’s name, you bit down the nausea that was surfacing. You wanted out. As the group that had surrounded the piano moved their way back towards the pool table, you pulled out your phone, shooting your Dad a quick text, asking if he wanted to get burritos and catch up. You bit your lip as he typed back, confirming he’d get them and meet you at the house. You shut the phone and looked up, making brief eye contact with Bradley. You sighed, rolled back your shoulders, and told yourself to shake it off.
“Alright, I’m headed out.” You said, slipping the phone into your jacket pocket.
“We just got here like two hours ago. Why do you want to go back to base already?” You rolled your eyes and laughed at Coyote, walking away from him backwards.
“Back to base? No, no, me live here. Me go get dinner and then me go sleep in my own bed.” You said, mocking Coyote. Not that base, or even temporary, housing from the military was bad but getting to sleep in your own space was a comfort and privilege one was not often allotted in this line of work. He flipped you off as you cackled, pushing your way through Phoenix and Rooster. The brief contact with him made your skin burn and you tried not think about it too much. You waved goodbye to Penny as you called an Uber back to your place. Your car lived at the house, with one of your neighbors taking it out every once in a while to make sure it didn’t die. The place was technically your Dad’s but with him being gone so often, it had sort of, unofficially, kind of become yours. You thanked the woman who dropped you off as you noted your Dad’s motorcycle was already sitting out front. You unlocked the door, peeking your head around. “Dad?” You called, kicking off your shoes.
“Kitchen.” You heard and you moved towards there. He must’ve just gotten back, with the way the burritos weren’t even out of the bag yet. He smiled at you, pulling you into a hug the moment you entered the small kitchen. “Mmm, it’s good to see you kiddo.” He said, pulling away. You laughed as you opened the fridge and got out two beers.
“You too, Dad.” He pulled the burritos out and sat at the table and you exchanged your respective goods. “So, what Admiral did you piss off now?” You asked as you popped the cap on your beer. He chuckled.
“Cain.”
“The old one?” You asked, wrinkling your nose.
“Sweetie, they’re all old. I’m old.” You shrugged.
“Whatever.”
“So who was the kid you were with today?”
“Coyote? He’s my wingman back at the Green Vipers. You wouldn’t happen to know what we got recalled for, do you?” You asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. Your Dad sighed and took a well-timed sip of his beer.
“You’ll find out tomorrow.” You sighed, leaning back in your chair.
“It was weird to see Rooster today.” Your Dad nodded, clearing his throat.
“Yeah.” He agreed quietly. “The two of you still not talking?”
“You’d know it if we were.” He sighed.
“Hate that the two of you are like this now. You guys used to be such good friends. I mean, maybe even more...” He prompted, a teasing smile on his face. You groaned.
“That’s gross, I never had a thing for Bradley.”
“Mhmm.” He responded, taking another bite of his food with that all-knowing grin. You tossed your beer cap at him.
“Stop, I didn’t!” He chuckled as you pouted. “Even if I did, it wouldn't matter now.” He sighed.
“I know.” A solemn air took over the room. It was times like this that made you miss the little happy family you’d before Carole had died and Rooster had cut you off. You sighed.
“I miss Carole.”
“I miss her too.” Your Dads respond, looking at the counter, clearly somewhere far away. A silence passed between the two of you, which was finally broken by your Dad, as he seemed to return to the present. “So, Coyote, huh? Anything going on there that I should know about?”
“Dad, no.” He laughed as you stuck out your tongue.
“Hey, I’m just saying. I’m getting old, I want grandkids sooner rather than later.”
“Dad!”
-
You zipped up your jacket as you made your way to the classroom, greeting an awaiting Coyote, and unfortunately, an awaiting Hangman. You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, heading towards the classroom. You pushed the classroom door open, where Bradley was sat at the front. Payback, Phoenix, Fanboy, and the tall man from last night, whose name you noted as Bob from his patch, were stood in pairs on either side of the aisle. “C’mon, you’ve known me for less than 24 hours, how can you hate me already Rebel?” Hangman asked from behind you.
“I don’t have to know you for any longer to know that you’re a pilot who thinks they’re better than they are, and have an obnoxious ego the size of Texas.” You snarked back. TOPGUN pilots like Hangman were a dime a dozen. Cocky, arrogant, competitive, assholes.
“C’mon, Rebel. Hangman’s rough around the edges but he’s solid once you get to know him.” Coyote defends, slapping his friend on the back. Phoenix barked out a laugh as the three of you stopped in front of them.
“Yeah, no, don’t take Coyote’s word for it Rebel. Hangman’s not someone you want to get stuck with as your wingman.”
“Harsh, Nix. I’m the best wingman there is.” You laughed, not missing the way Rooster’s head turned at the sound.
“No, Bagman, I think that’s me.” Phoenix snickered at your response. “But quite frankly, if I had a choice I wouldn’t pick any one of you to be my wingman with the exception of Coyote.” He fist-bumped you as Payback groaned.
“C’mon now, that’s no way to make friends.” Payback stated and you rolled your eyes, moving towards the empty seat next to Rooster.
“Respectfully, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to fly a mission.”
“Touche.” Phoenix responded from behind you as you slid easily into the seat next to Rooster. He looked at you briefly and then looked away. You heard the sound of the classroom door opening somewhere from behind you as you settled in.
“Bradshaw.”
“Mitchell.”
“That hasn’t been my last name in a long time and you know it.” Mitchell never had been your last name to start with. Your Mom’s maiden name was on the birth certificate despite the fact that she’d taken off not long before Goose died. Your Mom and Maverick were never married either, so there was no reason for Mitchell to be your last name legally. Still, most people knew you as Pete Mitchell’s daughter, something you and your Dad quickly made a secret once you joined the Navy. He had a reputation and he didn’t want your career to be tainted before it ever had a chance to start. It wasn’t even really a secret, but rather something that just wasn’t talked about.
“C’mon, you don’t even get along with Rooster man, and you’d rather sit with him than your wingman?” Coyote’s voice called from behind you and both you and Rooster turned.
“I’d rather not sit in a 5 mile radius of Hangman anyhow, much less in the seat next to him.” Rooster quietly laughed and you smiled. Maybe this time you guys could get things right. All thoughts of reconciling were vanished however, when two officials walked into the room, one of them calling you to attention. The class quickly stood up, as your eyes flickered over them. They introduced themselves, Cyclone and Warlock, and and began to explain the seriousness of the mission you’d been called back to fly. Then they introduced your teacher as...
“Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign: Maverick.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry at the prospect of your Dad being your teacher. Maybe you would settle for throwing up, as you suddenly felt nauseous. Rooster’s eyes hardened and you felt his gaze for a brief second before looking away. You had suspected it sure, but actually knowing... why was this suddenly so much more daunting than the dangerous mission now being explained to you? You sighed and took a deep breath before straightening up. Your Dad’s eyes flickered over you and Bradley briefly before he began to explain to parameter for training for the day. He listed out the groups. You’d conveniently go last with Rooster. You moved down to the airstrip, where you noticed your Dad calling after Rooster. Apparently, Hangman and Phoenix noticed too and the three of you shared a look.
Eventually, you moved back to the waiting room as the rest of the pilots listened in to those up in the sky. You giggled probably a little too much for Coyote’s liking after Hangman got his ass handed to him, but other than that, no one came close to beating your Dad. If you looked out in the window, you could see the pilots doing their 200 pushups with Hondo. Damn Payback and damn TOPGUN pilots and their egos. Eventually though, it was the last round of the day, and you and Rooster made your way out of the room and towards the airstrip. The two of you clambered into your planes and finished off the last-minute checks. Before you knew it, the two of you were up in the air.
“You see him?” You asked Rooster, and there was silence. “Great, don’t help me.” You muttered.
“Saved the best for last didn’t we?” Maverick’s voice came over the comms.
“Don’t let Hangman hear that, his ego will be hurt.” You knew full well hangman could hear you. You accelerated a little bit, moving up in the air to try and spot your Dad, and then... there. “Hey Rooster, look out.” You called, moving up more to get out of Maverick’s way.
“Don’t need your help.” He started and you sighed.
“Damn, okay.” You muttered. You watched from above as Maverick got Rooster out and you head a “Shit” along with a dial tone.
“Alright Rebel, your turn. Where are you?” You were seated just above Maverick, just far enough out of eye sight, but definitely too far away to get a hit. You moved downwards, praying to God your Dad didn’t spot you. And he did, just not in time. “Shit, kid.” He said, moving his plane forward, trying to get out of your target range. He was too slow, however, as a dial tone sounded through the comms.
“That’s a kill. You’re dead, Mav.” He groaned. “Go see Hondo about your push-ups.” You said, imagining the laughter back on base. You moved your plane back down towards base and it wasn’t long before your Dad caught up too. He pounded on the glass, catching your attention as you neared base. You looked over and he nodded, smiling and giving you a thumbs up. You laughed quietly to yourself as the two of you settled and landed. Rooster was already well into his pushups, but Hondo laughed at Mav nonetheless as he climbed out of his plane. You saluted Hondo as you pulled your helmet off and made your way towards the locker room. You by-passed Phoenix on her way out, presumably to go see Rooster.
“Hey, nice work today.” She said.
“Oh, thanks. You too. Sorry about y’all getting out.” She shrugged.
“Hangman leave you hanging. What can you do?” You laughed quietly. “Hey, we’re all gonna go get some drinks at the Hard Deck tonight, if you wanted to join us.” Despite your comment earlier in the day about not being there to make friends, you’d like for this group of people to like you, at the very least respect you, especially considering most of them had known each other since their TOPGUN days.
“Yeah, yeah that sounds great. Yeah, I’ll be there.” She nodded.
“I’m gonna go check on Rooster.” She said, nodding her head back towards the tarmac. “I’ll see you there.” You nodded and the door to the locker room shut behind her. You sighed out a deep breath, feeling a little tension from the day release.
-
You wandered into the Hard Deck, seeing Coyote and Hangman by the dartboard. While there were a few people at the bar, it wasn’t overly busy and no one else from the squadron was there yet. “Hey boys.” You called and they both turned to you. “Can I play?” Hangman smirked, handing you a dart as you approached.
“Show us what you got, Rebel.” The rest of the team slowly filtered in and eventually Payback and Fanboy walked in, getting beer from Penny and coming to stand next to the dartboard. As you threw another dart, narrowly missing a bullseye, Fanboy decided to break his silence.
“So Rebel, do share about how you managed to be the only person to get Maverick out.”
You laughed as Hangman took his turn, also missing another bullseye. “A magician never reveals her secrets.” You said, taking a sip of your beer. Out of the corner of your eye, you noted that Phoenix and Rooster had joined the crew in the bar and were headed towards you.
“No, actually I want to know how you did it.” Rooster said, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with you. You tried not to shudder as he came into such close proximity of you. The last two days were the closest you’d been to Rooster in years, ever since he cut you off for a reason you’d yet to know. You shrugged, turning your attention back to the bar.
“Tell you what, I’ll tell whoever buys me the next round.” Fanboy and Payback groaned. “Hey, I’ve got to be adequately compensated for sharing my knowledge.” Fanboy laughed at that but then Hangman was shoving another beer into your hand and sitting down.
“Spill.” He demanded. You shrugged again.
“Pure luck. I happened to be out of Maverick’s eye sight and took advantage of the fact that he was distracted with getting Rooster out.” Hangman scoffed. “I’m serious! Most of my career is reckless flying and luck.” Not quite unlike your father...
“So why the callsign Rebel then? Why not Lucky or something?” Payback asked. A ghost of a smile flickered over your face.
“I have tendency to break Navy regulations that are small enough that the Navy can’t discharge me for because my skills as a pilot outweigh the rules I break.”Coyote snickered at this, causing Hangman to raise an eyebrow.
“You have experience with this?” Hangman asked and Coyote nodded.
“Our last CO at the Green Vipers wanted to chuck her out of the squadron at least once a month but he wasn’t allowed to.”
“What’d you do?” Phoenix asked, the curiosity raising in her voice. You shrugged, fiddling with a dart. “I’ll wear my hair in braids instead of a bun. Not when I’m flying of course, but any other time. I paint my nails ridiculous colors. Sometimes I don’t make my bed, other times my uniform won’t be just right. Always small shit, always just enough to get on officials nerves. I won’t do it here because Cyclone and Warlock scare the shit out of me and I fully believe they’d dishonorably discharge me but everyone who’s tried before has been told no because getting rid of one of the Navy’s top pilots for an unmade bed seems ridiculous to higher-ups.”
“You mad woman? Are you trying to get discharged?” Payback asked incredulously. You shook your head.
“No, but I hate rules that feel sexist and outdated. And who the fuck cares if my bed’s made anyways?”
“The Navy.” Rooster responded and you laughed.
“Apparently.” He smiled at you and for the second time that day, you wondered if maybe this would be the time the two of you could get things right. You felt Hangman’s eyes flit between you and Rooster and you felt your stomach sink. A smirk began to appear on the blondes face and quite frankly, you wanted to smack it right off.
“You know, I just can’t help but feel like Rooster and Rebel here know more about each other than they’re willing to let on.” Rooster shot Hangman a glare as you bit your lip nervously. You didn’t care if Rooster told these people about your past but you didn’t want him revealing who your Dad was. You wanted them to respect you and you don’t want to blow your chances of getting selected for this mission.
“Fuck off Hangman, you know nothing.” Rooster said. Fanboy snorted.
“Bradshaw, man, don’t think we all haven’t seen the little side glances you take at her.” You groaned.
“Oh fuck off with that, would you?” Fanboy looked a little taken aback by your response.
“So there’s no secret thing you’re hiding from us?” Coyote said firmly. You shook your head.
“There’s no secret thing.” You confirmed.
“Okay, no secret thing, but any secrets you’re keeping from us?” Hangman said, looking between the two of you. Rooster scoffed and you shook your head.
“Grow up and stop being a nosy asshole Hangman. You’re not entitled to my life story or my secrets.” You said, grabbing your beer and moving towards Halo, Omaha and Fritz, who were over at the pool table.
“You say that like there is a secret.” He taunted and you turned slightly, just enough for him to see you flipping him off. You’d tell these people anything they wanted, but they couldn’t know about your relationship to Maverick. It would fuck everything up.
-
The next week of training was grueling. You knew this mission was going to push you to your limits mentally and physically but holy shit. Despite your initial success and luck on Day 1, no one had successfully completed the course since. As your squadron sat in the debriefing room discussing the day’s activities, a heated argument broke out between Rooster and Hangman. You’d unfortunately got stuck sitting next to Hangman and you wanted to, not for the first time, lean over and smack him. Hangman was getting closer and closer to pushing Rooster over the edge. “Stop being a goddamn asshole.” You snapped, turning to him. He raised his eyebrows.
“Oh shut the fuck up, Rebel. Stop trying to come to my defense like we’re fucking friends.” Rooster shot at you from a row behind you. Maverick looked bewildered at the commotion, unsure how to stop it.
“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Rooster’s eyes narrowed as you fully faced him.
“You really want to get into it right now?” You shook your head and huffed, turning back around. Your ears were ringing with anger. Rooster cut you off with no warning or explanation as to why and he wanted sit here in front of everyone and act like it was your fault? Asshole. Suddenly, Hangman was making a comment about Goose and your Dad and Rooster was launching up across the row to Hangman. You pushed Hangman back as Coyote grabbed him, pulling backwards. Bob and Phoenix pulled Rooster away as Maverick moved in between the group. Your heart was pounding against your ribs as you and Rooster locked eyes.
“Holy shit, your Mav’s daughter. This is why the two of you don’t get along.” Hangman was saying and you whipped back to Hangman as the attention shifted. His eyes shot over to Rooster. “It’s true, isn’t it Bradshaw?”
“You finally got something right Bagman.” Rooster snarled, chest still heaving. Before you knew it, you were launching at Rooster yourself, but your Dad had been quicker, pulling you back away from the group and into his chest.
“To the grave, Bradshaw, that was supposed to go to the goddamn grave.” The venom in your voice transforming into hurt. You might’ve been able to get by it, deny it to the squadron, but Rooster had just confirmed it in front of everyone. Your Dad still had you by the arms as he dismissed everyone.
“You stay here.” He said to you, pulling you further back from the group. Hangman and Coyote went first, Coyote shooting you a look as he walked out the door that screamed we need to talk. Rooster followed with the rest of the squadron going after him. You didn’t miss the dirty looks and death glares that got sent your way. After the door clicked shut behind the last team member, your Dad’s grip loosened and you turned around to face him. He sighed, moving to sit down in one of the chairs but you stayed upright, chest still having as your ears slowly stopped ringing.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- You know I’m not-” He waved you off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sorry to be a Mitchell, and I knew it was going to come out eventually, but it shouldn't have come out like that and he knows it.” Your Dad shrugged, looking at you. “Why does he hate me?” You asked. You knew your Dad wouldn't have the answer, never had had the answer, but it was a question that had bothered you for years.
“Because he hates me, and you’re an extension of me. He’s never going to forgive me for what I did.” Your Dad finally answered and you cocked your head in confusion. In all the years that you’d mourned your friendship with Rooster and then grown to hate him yourself, this was the first time your question had never been followed with an “I don’t know.”
“What’d you do?” He sighed, clearly debating on telling you.
“I pulled Bradley’s application to the Naval Academy.” You stumbled backwards, reeling.
“You what? Why- why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell me?” He sighed, looking away from you.
“I figured the less you knew, the better. That way, Rooster would still have you, wouldn’t let it affect his friendship with you. But that’s clearly not what happened and I- I didn’t know how to fix it.” Your mind reeled as you took in this information. You shook your head, finally finding your voice.
“I’m going for a drive.” You finally stated, heading for the door.
“(Y/N)-”
“I’ll see you for training tomorrow Mav.” You called. You knew the usage of his callsign stung and it was meant to. But you needed a moment to process what the hell had just happened and what the hell you had just found out.
-
You shut the door to your car in the parking lot of the Hard Deck as you grumbled. Why the fuck your Dad had called you all out here today was beyond you. You squinted as you saw the figures of Fanboy, Payback, Phoenix, Rooster, and Bob gathered at the edge of the beach. You debated making a run for it before they spotted you, but you didn’t get a choice as Coyote’s arm clapped down on to your shoulders. You startled, looking up at him, and unfortunately, Hangman who was next to him. You rolled your eyes and pushed his arm off, moving towards the group at the edge of the beach. “Oh, sweetheart, c’mon. Why do you always run away from me?” He called as the pair followed after you.
“Because you’re a dick.” You shot back, officially catching the attention of the group. “Didn’t your Mom ever tell you it’s not cool to insult someone’s dead parents?” Phoenix scoffed as you arrived in front of them.
“You’re one to talk. You’ve been keeping the secret that you’re the instructors daughter since Day 1.” Your eyes narrowed.
“Would you have respected me if you’d known?” You challenged. “Look, enough military officials who know his reputation give me enough shit. I’m not going to let this squadron, or any other, do the same. I’ve earned a right to build a name and career for myself separate of Maverick. The least you could do is give me enough grace to do so.” You noticed Payback and Fanboy’s stature soften as Bob shot you a small smile. Rooster was pointedly not making eye contact with you, but honestly, you couldn’t care less considering you still wanted to punch him in the nose. Phoenix opened her mouth to respond but then Maverick was calling for you, motioning you all down to the beach.
“Why in the hell does he have two footballs?” Hangman muttered as the group moved through the sand towards him.
“Fuck if I know.” You responded, causing Coyote to laugh. The group stopped in front of Maverick, where the rest of your squadron awaited.
“Today, we’re gonna play dogfight football. Offense and defense at the same time.” You blinked at your Dad who chuckled at your response. Where did he get these ideas...
As Maverick split you all up into teams, Fanboy grabbed your arm. You stopped, looking at him. He offered out his fist. “May the best pilot win.” He said, looking at you expectantly. You chuckled, fist-bumping him.
“Oh, I intend to.” He laughed and followed Payback over to their side as Hondo explained the rules. You smiled, following Coyote to your area. You knew what the gesture had been indicative of. A truce.
#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw imagines#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw fics#bradley rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw imagines#rooster bradshaw imagine#rooster bradshaw fics#rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagines#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw fics#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw x reader#top gun maverick#top gun maverick fics
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Hannix AU (TGM dagger team oriented): Twister (1996) inspired
Just got an idea for a fic today. Would anyone read a fic like this??? 👀
Let a girl knowwwww
#natasha trace x jake seresin fics#natasha trace x jake seresin#natasha phoenix trace#natasha trace#jake seresin#top gun hangman#top gun phoenix#top gun maverick fics#top gun maverick#top gun#fics
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nothing but a gentleman.
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader
summary: jake is obsessed with you. you eat it up. you’re obsessed with his obsession. but also with him.
t/w: soft!jake, some cursing
"Get out of here, Bagman. You're giving me a headache."
The blonde aviator grabs at his chest. "God, I love it when you're mean to me." Those green eyes sparkle with mischief under the lights of the Hard Deck.
Jake 'Hangman' Seresin has been pining after you for months.
& you have been loving every second of it. Miramar's resident playboy has only had eyes for you. You haven't seen him spare a glance at any of the other ladies in the bar.
Believe me, they've been looking at him.
"Y/n, how long are you going to keep my boy at arm's length?" Coyote asks from the other side of the pool table. Jake saddles up next to him and feeds you the saddest pout he can muster.
"Yeah, y/n, how long?" Jake asks.
Your intention wasn't to drag this hard-to-get play out for so long. Truthfully, it's becoming hard not to give in to those strong arms. To not lean in when he invades your personal space, feeding you a smart ass comment.
Your shoulder comes up to your ear and falls back down. "Hard to say, Bagman."
"Let's play for it," he tells you. Jake saunters over to you, and leans against the pool table. Crossing his arms over his fit chest, he situates his mouth just outside your ear. "If I win, you've gotta give me a kiss, darlin'."
The way his hot breath falls across your ear causes goosebumps to appear down your arms. Jake notices, and a blonde brow raises.
"What are you? Twelve?" you antagonize.
"Oh, honey. I'm willing to try anything at this point."
"Rack 'em. Honey." You lightly shove him back, your hands reacting to the small second they were on his chest.
"If I win, you give it up," you send the man a sad look.
"Give what up?" he asks.
"All this pining'." Your hand gestures wildly around in the air.
For a moment, despair crosses over that handsome face. He recovers quickly. "Oh, I'm not worried."
Jake lets you break. Two stripes fall into the pocket. Jake comes up behind you before your next shot. His hand slides across your waist and he pulls you into his side.
Right as you pull back, Jake leans down. "Don't scratch."
The cueball follows your striped ball into the pocket.
"Damn," he murmurs. It takes a full 45 seconds to get your heart rate under control.
The jig is up once Jake get in control of the pool table. Not only is he the dagger squad's best dart player, he's got the best pool table on lock, too. There is no way he's going to take it easy on you.
Naturally, he doesn't.
"One more and Hangman gets a kiss," he smirks. He doesn't take his eyes off your as he pulls back and send the cue ball sailing.
The eight ball falls into it's intended pocket effortlessly. Followed right by the cue ball.
Shock falls across all your faces. Jake has never lost a game of pool. Ever.
Jake sets the cue stick down, and rounds the table. Standing toe-to-toe with you, he feeds you a delicious smirk.
"Darlin', I ain't gonna make you kiss me if you don't want to. Furthermore, I only want your kiss if its of your own volition." He tucks a strand of stray hair behind your ear.
Your eyes lock with his and the world stops. What a fucking gentleman.
Fisting the front of his shirt, you yank him down to your mouth. Jake relaxes into the kiss immediately and allows his hands to slide around your waist.
Jake takes control, changing the direction and deepening the kiss. Your hands move from his shirt to the nap of his neck, fingers knotting in his hair. His hair that’s gotten just a bit long.
Jake pulls back just a hair, his lips a breath away from yours. “Damn,” he mumbles, again.
“My own volition, huh?”
“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he winks. “A gentleman who is dying to kiss you again.”
You guide his lips back to yours.
“Kiss me, Hangman.”
master list.
a/n: been a little while since i wrote for ole jakey. i hope y'all like it!
#top gun maverick#top gun#top gun maverick fic#hangman fic#hangman imagine#hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin fic#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin x you#jake seresin
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california coast in your green eyes || hangman x OC
“You know,” he continued, doggedly, “the guys and I were trying to figure out what Bob stands for and–”
Julie wished she were holding something a little less precious than Robbie’s glasses, so she could have chucked it at the man, or at least slammed it down on the table.
“He’s named after his father and his grandfather, asshole, and I know this kind of thing is routine for pilots like you, but if you could give me thirty seconds of silence to process that my baby brother is actually doing alright after crashing into the side of a mountain, that would be great.”
Their voices had been hushed since they came into the room, but the beeping of machines around them seemed extra loud in the silence following Julie’s outburst. The light was still behind the pilot so Julie couldn’t see his expression, but he held up his hands in a placating gesture.
AKA Bob's older sister gets the news that his plane went down during a training drill, and shows up at the hospital at the same time as an arrogant pilot.
length: 18k | rating: T | ao3: link
#jake hangman seresin#hangman fic#top gun maverick#hangman fanfiction#top gun maverick fics#Julia Floyd#jake seresin x julie floyd
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WIP Weekend 🥳
Thanks for the tag @ravens-words maybe this will motivate the muse to finish some of these
Send me an ask with the icon of a fic you want to see a small sneak peek of.
🫂 - Pissed off Slider on Mav's behalf during TGM (with a side of Wolf&Wood)
👨👦 - Sick Bradley with Mav!dad (and maybe Ice and Slider)
🥰 - Next Chapter of Letting Go
✈️ - TGM but Ice lives
😏 - PWP Icemav in TG
No pressure tagging: @djdangerlove @toews-a-peek @victimofthemusic @qin-ling @kryptonitejelly and anyone else that wants too 💙
#tag games#my writing#send me some asks#tgm fics#top gun maverick fics#top gun fic#tg fics#icemav fics
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