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honkytonk-hangman · 1 month

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How It's Done – Oneshot Version

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Originally posted by unicornships

Summary: “Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean. “Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–” “–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by.

Warnings: erm maybe just some references to sex? jake being jake? language? minions. big warning for minions xD

Notes: Originally I intended this to be a two-parter series, but I wanted to change how it went, so I rewrote the parts I didn't like and made the entire thing into a oneshot instead!!! This fic will replace the 'part one' already on my blog, but I will keep this part up, linked at the very bottom of my masterlist! thank you everyone for being so patient! Thank you @hangmanssunnies, my love my biggest support <3

Words: 11.6k!

“Well, I’ll be damned…”

You pinch your eyes shut and steel yourself at the sound of the all too familiar Texan drawl, hanging on to the hope that perhaps he isn’t talking to you. You’re out of luck though, and moments later Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin slides into the open space next to you at the bar, already posed in a casual lean as he looks you up and down appraisingly.

It makes your teeth grind.

It makes your face hot.

“If it isn’t Mirage. Would have invited you to play with us if I’d known you were here earlier…” Hangman cocks his head, and his lips tip up in an infuriatingly perfect smile. “But one can never really be sure if you’re around or not… and that's before you get in a cockpit,” he grins, but when you meet his eye at last, he looks away from you, toward Penny who seems to approach in the nick of time, saving you from needing to respond.

You blink down at your drink, and finish it quickly, unnerved by what you think might have just been a compliment of sorts from Hangman. You’d been stationed together previously, though you weren’t friends, so you’d been expecting something a little more acidic in nature. You’d heard him interact with other aviators, knew he liked to push and poke them, usually got away with it too. For some reason though, he’d never really gone there with you and frankly you’ve always just chalked it up to not being worth his time. In fact, you’re pretty sure the only times you’d ever actually spoken had been in the sky. To be completely honest, you’re more than a little surprised that he remembers you at all.

You didn’t exactly go out of your way to stand out…

You were naturally quiet, which wasn’t helped by your social anxiety, resulting in most people describing you as extremely shy. They wouldn’t be wrong, you suppose, you did tend to keep to yourself, the idea of having too many eyes on you all but unbearable to you. But if you’d thought a roomful of people singing happy birthday to you was bad, somehow being under the unwavering stare of Hangman is approximately one thousand times worse.

“Penny, my dear… I’ll have,” he stops to glance pointedly down at your now finished beer, adjusts his stance to lean even more and unwittingly makes the muscles in his bicep bulge.

“Five more on the Old Timer,” Hangman says, nodding to the man who sits on the other side of the bar.

Internally you blanch, but externally, you say nothing and give even less away, feeling a little ping of satisfaction that apparently, you know something Hangman doesn’t. Before he’d come along, you’d been carefully watching the interaction between Penny and Captain Mitchell. You’d never met the man before, but you knew how to read military insignia, which at this point, was more than you could say for Hangman, who dismisses him quickly.

You wonder if Monday morning you’ll be able to work up the nerve to tease him about it.

You’re distracted from your thoughts when Penny returns with the requested drinks. You had no real intentions of going and hanging out with Hangman and the others, but before you can excuse yourself, your empty beer is smoothly plucked from your hands, replaced quickly with a brand new one.

“Help me carry these back?” Hangman asks then, jerking his head in the vague direction of the pool table. You frown when he immediately takes off walking, not actually letting you help him at all, all four beers still slotted between his fingers. You find yourself following him anyway, as if he’d placed some kind of spell over you.

Hangman stops ahead of you at the ancient jukebox, looking back over his shoulder at you, nodding in a pleased manner when he sees you trailing behind. He waits for you, gaze never leaving your form, even as he nods to the space next to him. You awkwardly step up to the spot opposite to him, and look past the glass and at the selection inside. Hangman, once more, takes up a lean, this time against the rickety machine.

“Would you be so kind as to select track number…” he trails off as he checks the list of songs, but quickly flicks his gaze back to you, and smiles bright, tauntingly, again. “Eighty-Six?” he asks, but it's barely a question. You nod, and swallow, shifting from holding your beer with two hands to holding it with just one. You carefully tap the chunky ‘eight’ and ‘six’ keys as he watches. The machine’s little analogue screen confirms that your song is next up, and nervously, you look back up at Hangman, horrified to find he’s just been staring at your face for the past however long.

“S’been a while, Mirage.” He drawls, making you blink rapidly and look away.

“Has it?” Is all you can manage meekly in reply, surprised when he lets out a genuine sounding laugh. He hums warmly, and you practically feel it in your chest.

“And yet,” he lifts hand, two beers held expertly between his fingers, but he extends it to tap your nose, almost making you almost flinch.

“You haven’t changed at all.” Hangman grins Cheshire-like down at you, before his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and he leans in even closer while flicking his eyes up and down your form again.

“I don’t bite you know,” he tells you, his voice sounding serious, but his somberness lasts mere seconds.

“Well, not unless you ask me to first, sweetheart,” he winks and his smile grows large as your eyes grow wide and you splutter, flustered.

Your face grows hot with slight embarrassment, a wave of inner resentment at his teasing washing through you.

Hangman laughs, seemingly bored with you now, and he turns to walk back toward the pool tables. Without even looking, he beckons you to follow with one finger on his still occupied hands. For a moment your pique prevents you from doing so, certain that if you were to dip into the crowd now, he’d not care enough to seek you out again, let alone notice you were missing.

You know he didn’t mean it, you know his flirting is just to get a rise, but you also know that he’d never do it to Phoenix, or Halo, and a little bit of you hates yourself for being such a marked pushover. You make the decision now that you won’t let him do it again, if you can help it.

Your eyes travel past Hangman then, towards the pool tables where you can now see another figure has joined the other gathered aviators, and for the first time all evening, you don’t feel nervous to go join them.

You follow after Hangman, but quickly diverge from his path, cutting around a gathered group of Navy personnel to get there faster. As you approach, you take a moment to shake off any lingering anxiety, before gently laying a hand on the faded Hawaiian shirt in front of you, doing your best to keep yourself from bouncing on your heels.

Rooster half looks ready to wave off whoever is trying to get his attention, but when his shaded eyes land on you, he spins his whole body to face you, grinning widely in unguarded excitement as he gathers you up in his arms.

“Miri!” he exclaims warmly, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you when he briefly lifts you off the ground.

“I was just about to ask Phoenix if she’d seen you yet.” Rooster informs you.

“Seen who?” Phoenix steps around him, frowning as she quickly glances you over, though it disappears quickly.

“Yeah, that about tracks…” Rooster mutters mostly to himself.

“Nat, this is Mirage, you know her right?” Rooster introduces the two of you, and while neither of you make to shake hands, you only feel friendly energy radiate off the other woman, even as she openly looks you over now, nodding at Rooster’s words.

“Right, I have heard about you… I guess there's no real mystery behind your callsign… I didn’t even realise you were here… Sorry,” she tells you bluntly, but you appreciate her straightforwardness.

“They said ‘Wallflower’ was too long.” You joke lightly, and the other woman smiles. A moment passes between you, and you get the distinct feeling that Phoenix has become determined to never let you go unnoticed in her presence again.

You aren’t sure just yet if you appreciate that, but you are sure that you’ve just made a friend.

“Mirage?” Another voice joins then and you look to your left, smiling again when you see another familiar face.

“Bob!” you move to embrace him too, not seeing the look shared between Phoenix and Payback who watch you in surprise.

“Huh. Figures.”

Neither you or Hangman have moved since Rooster and Mav went down. The rest of Dagger had returned an hour ago, mission complete. There was no reason for either of you to be on standby.

And yet.

When the call came through that Dagger Two had been hit, both you and Hangman had separately requested to be launched, to help, but you’d been denied.

As a rule, you made yourself easy to work with, even if those around you were less compliant, and you’d experienced plenty of that, flying alongside Hangman the past few weeks. Whether it was him leaving you to get shot down in training, or refusing to fly as a team during simulations. And yet, despite his habit of ‘hanging you out to dry’ being the reason behind his callsign, deep down, you’ve never once doubted flying alongside him in the real thing like the others seemed to.

You’re glad for that lack of hesitation now, glad that it only takes a single moment of eye contact from across the tarmac for the two of you to understand one another perfectly. Glad that when you got word that somehow, Rooster was supersonic again, you already know his answer before you even ask.

“Hangman? Hondo’s cleared us for take off with the ground crew, against orders. You with me?” you ask quietly, looking over at your wingman, knowing that when you return you’ll most certainly be court marshalled, but unable to sit and do nothing any longer.

“To hell and back, Mirage,” comes his immediate reply.

You see him move in sync with you, both of your canopy’s lowering at the same time.

You ignore the panicked voices ordering you to stand down, long enough for Hondo and the others to get you on the catapult, and by then it’s too late.

In two seconds you’re propelled from zero to over a hundred and sixty, and in your ears you hear Hangman right behind you.

“Do you want to get a coffee with me?” The question makes you jump, your drink almost sloshing everywhere. The sudden voice, as well as the person it belonged to, takes you completely by surprise, but you’re thankful he doesn’t draw attention to your startling.

Up until moments ago, you’d been peacefully watching the ocean toss and turn, burying your feet in the damp sand and thinking about what you were going to do with your upcoming two weeks of post-mission leave.

Most of Dagger were a little further up the shore, a bonfire crackling away, although you weren’t the only one to have splintered off. Mav and Rooster were currently standing in the shallows talking, and you think Halo and Phoenix have moved to sit apart from the others as well. You had managed to sneak away easily enough, content to just sit on your own for a while, though your efforts appear to have been mostly in vain, if the man now plopped in the sand beside you is any indicator.

You blink at each other.

“What?!” you blurt out dumbly, not completely certain you really understood what he’d said. Hangman’s lips press into a thin line, and he looks away from you, linking his hands together around his knees, and staring out at the rolling waves.

“Coffee. Would you like to get one with me?” He repeats, sounding only a smidge impatient, but it still doesn't clear up much for you.

“I… No, I heard you the first time… I… I just don’t understand… why?”

Over the past three weeks you’ve been forced more out of your shell than you ever have before. It was torture. It was wonderful.

Part of you pats yourself on the back for being able to ask him so starightly, but another part of you slaps yourself in the face for questioning him.

Hangman turns to look at you apprehensively.

“Are you asking why coffee or why am I asking you?” He speaks slowly and carefully, his face blank and devoid of any hint he was teasing, though you think he might be anyway.

“Why… Why are you asking me?” You push, shuffling your feet in the sand, drawing his attention for a moment. He looks back at your face and frowns slightly, cocking his head.

“Because I like you? And that is usually what somebody does when they like someone. Ask them.” He answers, and this time you definitely get the impression he’s politely trying not to laugh, but for once, you don’t feel like you’re on the outside of the joke.

Still, you find yourself taken somewhat aback at his confession, admitted so easily and freely, as if it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, which confuses you.

“Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean.

“Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–”

“–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by. Especially when for the past three weeks you haven't been able to get rid of the odd heart skips you got whenever Hangman acknowledged your presence at all.

And besides, you weren’t blind.

Hangman was ridiculously pretty, and not anywhere near as much of an asshole as he wanted people to believe.

He looks at you blankly for a moment, processing your words, before his face breaks out in a smile. It isn’t one of his usual smirks or tauntingly pearly grins, though. It’s softer, sweeter, and you stare mesmerised as he looks away from you again quickly, and down at his linked hands, nodding.

Two days pass, and even when you’re sitting across from him in a small, niche little coffee shop you had no idea existed, you feel like you’re in a dream.

You’ve never seen Hangman out of uniform, you realise, and it’s a whole new experience you’re forced quickly to process when he stands to go get your drinks.

Dark jeans, white shirt, casual jacket. It’s a simple outfit, but goddamn does he make it look good. Nervously you have to wonder if your white and blue sundress, sneakers and bomber jacket were having the same effect on him, though you highly doubt it.

He returns quickly, attentively, placing both your coffees down, before folding himself into his chair once more. You both look at each other awkwardly before you distract yourself by taking a sip of your coffee. Hangman seems to do the same, but instead of drinking, he begins tearing into several little sugar packets, and emptying them into his coffee foam.

You huff out a tiny laugh before you can stop yourself, and his eyes quickly snap to you.

“What?” he asks defensively, but the corners of his mouth twitch.

“I just… I guess I never figured you for a sweet coffee kinda guy…”

“Oh, and why is that?” his twitching lips turn into a full smirk, but it isn’t his usual Hangman smirk. You chew on the inside of your lip, and sip your coffee once more before answering.

“I’m not sure. I guess you just don’t seem like the type of guy who…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you’re trying to say and even more; how to say it.

“Listen, I may have rippling, glistening abdominals, but I have a sweet tooth,” he says, putting on the defensiveness now, leaning toward you and pointing at himself. You pinch your brows together and purse your lips, nodding vehemently.

“I know how to have fun,” he tells you, tipping a third sugar into his coffee.

“Of that I don’t really doubt, Hangman,” you say, but his gaze snaps back to you again, almost sharply this time.

“Jake.” he corrects you.

You pause.

Of course, you knew his first name, but you’re fairly certain you’ve never once used it. Hangman has just always been, well, Hangman. But you weren’t in a cockpit right now, he’d asked you out, this wasn’t the time and place for callsigns. He wasn’t Hangman, and you weren’t Mirage.

“Jake,” you say slowly, carefully, as if he’ll tell you any moment he’s just kidding around. But he doesn’t.

“Miri,” he replies, slow like you, but softer, and it’s silly, but it sounds so nice coming from him. You shake your head and swallow.

“Jake, if you don’t like coffee, why did you ask me out for one?” you ask him, watching as he blinks slowly at you, before his gaze slowly drops to the latte in front of him.

“If I asked you for a drink, you might’ve got the wrong idea,” he starts, speaking carefully. “If I asked you for dinner, it could be too formal, too awkward–”

“–It’s already awkward,” you point out, making him grimace slightly, so you shrug.

“Coffee just seemed like– I just wanted to–” he cuts himself off and drops both hands to the table.

“Look– I just didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding about what this was. I like you. I know you like coffee.” Jake admits all in a flurry, his voice quiet, and his eyes flickering around as he speaks.

For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve never seen Jake unable to maintain eye contact, actually it seemed to be something he took immense pride in, and it always made you slightly uncomfortable, but right now he appears completely incapable, and it's not a side of Hangman you’ve ever seen before. You realise you might be meeting Jake properly for the first time.

You decide to let him off easy, with all the newfound courage Dagger had been feeding into you the past few weeks, and you change the subject.

“You know, when you came up to me at the Hard Deck that first night, I was kinda surprised you remembered me at all,” you say slowly, sipping your coffee and eying him evenly. Jake frowns then, but it smooths out into a cool grin, and he leans back in his chair, cocking his head.

“Are you kidding? I’m always clocking possible threats.” he tells you, making you cough lightly.

“How am I a threat to you?!” you ask in disbelief.

“Oh, I could name a few,” Jake teases, nodding at you, but flicking his eyes away, almost making a show of clocking an incoming group of customers behind you.

You weren’t clueless, you knew you were a part of Dagger for a reason. You were damn good at your job, but still, Jake was Hangman, not only was he an aviator you respected, he was an aviator with very high personal standards, and for him to see you as comparable to him… well truthfully, you find yourself rather humbled.

And then flustered, at his clear unabashed flirting.

“I always thought you flirting was just you messing with me,” you admit, and he grins wider.

“Can’t it be both?” he asks, leaning forward again, and clasping his hands together. He seems to have no problem maintaining eye contact now, you note. When you cold-stare him, he simply shrugs.

“You’re cute when you get all flustered and nervous, what can I say?”

“Literally anything else.” You grumble back.

You finish your coffee and push the cup to the side, crossing your arms on the table and leaning forward like he was. Jake mimics you, pushing his own coffee away, clearly with no intention to start, let alone finish it. You aren’t as good as him with eye contact though, no matter how much you’d come out of your shell, so you take the opportunity to glance sideways out the window, only for your gaze to catch on something.

Your heart thumps loudly for a moment in your ears, and you wonder briefly if you should act on the thoughts popping around your brain right now, or if you should just stay put.

You lean forward even more, and flick your eyes back to Jake who is staring at you curiously.

“Hey, I have an idea…” you start, chewing on the inside of your lip, before standing up. You only hesitate a little before offering your hand.

“You with me?” you ask without thinking, the words the same as the ones you ask time and again to your wingmen while in flight manoeuvres. Jake stares up at you for a moment, before he too stands, your heart skipping when he takes your hand. With a tiny squeeze you almost don’t notice, Jake grins, and nods.

“Oh, hey! Stop! That’s not fair!” You elbow Jake in the side, but it’s already too late. The hand he’d shot out to block your light gun had done its job, and where you’d previously been neck in neck for score on the dual Time Crisis cabinet, Jake’s character was now cheering in victory, while your screen was asking you to insert more coins and try again.

Jake chortles and you both slot your plastic guns back into their plastic holsters at the front of the machine.

“We never agreed to no interference,” he says proudly, and you sock him in the arm only half as hard as you can.

“I didn’t think it needed to be said!” you exclaim pointedly. Jake grins down at you, and collects his tickets.

“Quit complaining, all these are gonna go towards whatever stuffed bear or whatever the hell you want anyway.” He rolls his eyes, and gestures to the shoddy ‘rewards’ counter of the arcade you’d spotted from the coffee shop.

“I want the Minion.” You state firmly after glancing at the redemption counter for three seconds, and spotting the big ugly yellow creature on the top shelf. Jake sighs in a put-upon manner and shakes his head.

“See, this is how you know I really like you. I’m willing to ignore that,” he says, and you actually think he might be serious this time. You grin up at him as he takes your elbow, and begins leading you toward the back of the room.

“What are you going to cheat me out of kicking your ass at this time?” you glance around you, goosebumps trailing up and down your arm as Jake lets his hand slide from around your elbow, down your forearm and into your hand, which he squeezes as if in warning.

“I didn’t cheat, I simply used black ops tactics,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. You purse your lips at him and narrow your own eyes back.

“Cheat.” you say again, pronouncing each syllable deliberately.

You come to a stop then, and you look up at the old photo booth machine. Jake pulls out a fistfull of tickets, squinting his eyes at the label with instructions, before looking back over at the redemption counter. He seems to run some numbers before he looks back down at you with a grin, and waves the strings of crumpled tickets.

“My cheating means we can use the booth, and still have enough for a Kevin plush, so I don’t wanna hear no more complaining outta you,” he waggles a finger in front of your nose, and you blink up at him sheepishly.

“Jake– I don’t really want the Minion…” you say, before your voice turns suspicious. “Anyway, how do you know which one is Kevin?!” you lift an eyebrow, only for Jake to roll his eyes and push you into the curtained booth.

You orient yourself in the tiny enclosed space, looking around you as Jake takes a moment to feed several lines of win-tickets into the machine before he follows you. He’s forced to duck down real low, making the space even smaller, and you both stare for a moment at the small seat barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

“Well, either you can sit on my lap, or I can sit on yours, darlin’, but I know which one I’d prefer.” Jake intones lowly, and for the first time in an hour or so, you feel yourself get all flustered again. Honestly, you’d kind of forgotten about the explicitly romantic tone of this meeting until now, and more than that, your stomach begins to flip and flop like the first time you’d gotten in a jet when he eases past you and drops himself onto the bench before patting his thighs.

“Jake, maybe if you just move over a litt–”

“No can do, honey,” and he’s not even trying to tease you, he demonstrates the spread of his legs, and the tight fit into the booth, before looking back up at you expectantly again.

“Okay… Okay…” you say more for your own sanity than anything else, and turn, quickly perching yourself on his leg before you can really think too hard about what you're doing.

Your efforts are for naught though, because the moment you’re sat down, Jake’s hands are tugging you against him further, sitting you more comfortably on the thick expanse of his thigh, and you barely repress the noise that nearly escapes you at the feeling of his fingers digging into your hips.

“There we go, sweetheart,” he says softly, almost to himself, and moves his hands to wrap around you completely. If he notices your little noise, which by his self satisfied smirk he definitely has, he thankfully chooses not to say anything. Your face grows warm, not only at the hold he has on you but at the pet name too.

“Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?” you ask, sounding half bewildered, half incredulous, forgetting for a moment where exactly you were and why. As you look over your shoulder at the man behind you, Jake stares back, his smirk still in place even as his eyes seem to search your face, his own expression mostly unreadable.

“Would you prefer ‘honey’?” he almost purrs, his voice distinctly amused, but you notice that he doesn’t back down, doesn’t apologise or step back.

It makes your stomach twist up in knots. It makes your heartbeat skip like a record.

You turn away from him, shake your head.

“It’s fine,” you tell him bashfully, wanting to grumble slightly when against your back you sense what you think is him puffing his chest a little. Quickly, you add: “Not at work, though…”

Jake chortles, but as you peek over your shoulder to look at him again, he’s relenting, his smirk gone and replaced with a far softer smile as he nods.

“Not at work, though.” he repeats lowly in confirmation, almost making you jump when he shifts one hand to steady you around the waist, his other reaching out to begin fiddling with the controls on the lit up screen in front of you.

“Alright, let's get this show on the road shall we?”

By the time you’re exiting the tiny cubicle, Jake’s hands still attached to your hips as he follows you out, you’re both laughing quietly to yourselves. You’re amazed to find just how much Jake can affect you, either setting you at complete ease or sending you into a tizzy, depending on what he’s said or done. Usually you wouldn’t be surprised by other people’s effects on you, you were jumpy and anxious by nature, but it was rare that somebody who put you on edge as much as Jake did, could also give you such comfort.

When he detaches his hands from your sides at last to survey the sheets of photos spat out by the booth, you marvel at how much you start to miss the contact. With all the subtlety you can muster, you inch closer to him, under the guise of getting a look at the photos as well, though really, you’re only hoping that you might prompt him into reaching out for you again.

Jake chortles and points at a set of two pictures. In one, you’re both grinning madly, pulling silly faces, and in the other, you’re wearing softer smiles, and you notice now, that Jake had pushed his face a little closer to yours. It makes heat rise in your cheeks, not just at the seeming intimacy of the photo, but truthfully, of how much you like seeing the two of you like that.

“You won’t mind if I keep these, will ya?” Jake asks, looking over at you. You simply shake your head, and he grins a little wider, carefully tearing off the two pictures before pulling out his wallet and tucking them inside, for sake keeping, you assume.

Jake lets you keep the rest, and absently, you fold them into the zipper in your purse, too distracted by the fact that he does indeed take your hand again, before quickly releasing it to instead wrap his arm over your shoulder. You can’t stop yourself from smiling a little as you blink dumbly up at him, and he grins down at you, ducking his face even closer to yours.

“Now sweetheart, I believe I was instructed to win you a minion plush.”

You try to avoid Phoenix’s hard stare, and focus on wiping down your helmet.

“You’re acting weird,” she finally announces, still managing to make you jump despite your anticipation. You then immediately proceed to do yourself exactly zero favours, proving her point by refusing to look up at her, choosing to instead hurriedly continue with your current task.

“What? No I’m not. I’m fine. You’re being weird,” you argue, wincing at your clearly abysmal attempts at behaving like a normal adult human. You start re-cleaning the pristine surface of your helmet, your nerves conjuring imperfections you logically know don’t exit.

Just before you completely lose yourself down the spiral of unhealthy compulsive behaviours, A hand, Nat’s hand, stops your own. Tugging the cloth out of your hands and taking your helmet away from you, she places it down on the workbench you stand on opposite sides of. Chewing your lip, you at last meet her eye.

“Miri, it’s okay to have a crush–”

“–I don’t have a crush!” You blurt out both far too quickly to be believable, as well as in sheer panic. Your face grows immediately hot, and you can tell Phoenix is trying not to laugh at the show you’re putting on so poorly. Her lips twitch, but her expression softens from amusement into something softer, mixed with traces of pity. Just when you’re starting to debate the pros and cons of sprinting out of the room, getting in your jet, and then flying away never to be seen again, she relents, releasing you from her eye contact and making herself busy as she tidies up bits and bobs littering the workbench.

You swallow thickly, and stay watching her, your heart rate only spiking higher as your anxiety builds once more at her sudden apparent indifference. You follow her movements without moving an inch, sharply aware that not only was she still very much focused solely on scrutinising you, but even more mortifyingly, that this conversation was far from being over.

“Nat,” you say with surprisingly more strudiness than you believed possible, pausing to swallow the dryness in your mouth. “I don’t have a crush, okay?” You wait for her to look back over at you, nothing but disbelief rolling off of her faux-casualty, giving you a bullshit shrug and a smile.

“Okay.” she says. You had hoped that would be enough, but you should have known better. You clear your throat again.

“Nat,” you say, only making yourself louder, as if that was a sign of nothing going on. She looks up at you somewhat blankly. You know you’re totally screwed already as her eyes dip to watch your finger begin quickly tapping on the bench before you with barely any acknowledgement from yourself. “There’s nothing weird going on,” you say, pleading with your voice and face and every atom of your being that she drops it.

She drops something, unfortunately it’s not the subject though, but you still feel some semblance of stress leaving your body as her fake lack of care dissolves, and she leans back to rest against the cabinet behind her. She crosses her arms and shrugs again while letting out a soft, pitying sigh, which this time doesn’t raise your non-existent heckles as much as it had when it first showed its face.

You stare at one another, at what you think is an impasse and wordless agreement to now never talk of this episode in your friendship ever again, but once again, you should have known better.

“If it’s any consolation, I think he has a crush on you too, so it's not like it’s a total waste of energy… despite all evidence to the contrary,” She says conversationally at first, before muttering out the last part under her breath.

“He doesn’t,” you state with so much certainty you almost forget for a moment that it’s not even a little bit true. Instead, crossing your arms too, you feel like a middle schooler having a much too serious fight with her friend at lunch. “We’ve just become closer, like all of the squad have. You’re just noticing it cause you want to!” you’re a little taken aback by the sound logic of your own reasoning, all points earned to your side then immediately becoming forfeit when you can’t help yourself from stupidly continuing to speak. “Why? Has he said something?!”

Your outburst of near-giddy excitement destroys all chances of you walking this back, and you find yourself with only one option left available. But your prior readiness to exit out of this failed interaction at roughly 300 kts/min becomes soberingly not so fun to fantasise about when you sheepishly remember the current charges against you, for the theft of the $70 million dollar military aircraft you’d technically stolen when you and Jake had taken a joy ride to pick up Mav and Rooster.

You're snapped back into the present as Natasha Trace regards you unreadably and slowly lifts one perfect eyebrow at you. You cover your face and hang your head, you reason with your now permanently mortified brain that if you just admitted to the thing she already believed to be true, she’d stop looking any closer, possibly finding out something actually secret.

It helps that your embarrassment for the flurry of extremely obvious questions is very real, and you groan into your palms. You hear before you see Phoenix laugh, listening to her chortle at your outing yourself, but you notice that he demeanour is warmer now, and she pushes herself up to sit on the top of the bench between you, crossing her legs.

“He’s not said a thing, but he doesn’t need to,” she tells you, seemingly glad to just be able to share her findings and observations, which you uncomfortably realise have been going on for a lot longer than you realised.

“It's what he’s not saying,” she explains, and you blink up at her in genuine curiosity.

“Huh?”

Phoenix turns her gaze upward as she thinks.

“He doesn’t make fun of you… or snipe at you, not really,” she begins, resting her head in her hand. “To be honest when we first met, I was expecting to defend you. You’re a good pilot, a great one, but Hangman isn’t exactly known for recognising that in others…”

You frown up at her, unsure of anything to say to abate her suspicions.

She’s not exactly wrong, even when the two of you were first stationed together, he’d never poked fun at you, never really called you out. To be fair, he hadn’t really acknowledged your presence at all, but these days you knew that was more to do with the fact that all this time, Hangman had liked you, had seen you were shy, and didn’t like crowds, and as you’d found out recently, often made more of a spectacle of himself to draw attention away from you.

You have to stop yourself from smiling dreamily at the thought of him.

“And I mean, he disobeyed direct orders for you, he knew what you were doing, and he went with you anyway… I’m just saying Miri, I don’t think you’d be disappointed if you were to say something–”

You quickly cut her off.

“I’m not saying anything to him!”

At last, given your already clear admittance of your supposed ‘crush’, Phoenix relents, holding up her hands and shrugging.

“Just think about it alright? It’s even sort of… cute, in a weird, Hangman-y way.”

You grumble at her, but thankfully she doesn’t bring it up again for the rest of the afternoon. Still, you leave the workshop with a sparkling helmet, cleaner than you think it ever has been, and with a pressing matter to relay to your boyfriend, most of which involves playing it much, much cooler in front of Phoenix the next time you all hang out.

You know you’ve made some personal growth when you answer the door in your matching Star Wars X-Wing PJ’s and slippers, and aren’t immediately mortified.

Jake stands there, already grinning back at you, and looking like a greek god sent to earth in his dark jeans and plain white shirt.

“Red Leader Mirage, your rescuer has arrived!” he announces, doing what you judge to be a surprising spot-on impression of Lt. Porkins from Star Wars, shooting a lazily salute down at slippers

Unfortunately, you aren’t given the chance to ask him more about his perfect Red Six however, as he’s almost immediately pushing away from where he’d been leaning against the side of your door, posing for your perusal you assume, and holds out a brown paper bag for you to take. You swipe it, and shoot him a thankful smile.

“Thank you, Jake, really…” you side-step his self-congratulatory jokes, but he doesn’t seem phased, simply shrugging, and taking a step closer to you, letting one hand rest gently on your shoulder, before he hooks it and tugs you into him.

You’d started getting all-too familiar with just how physically attentive Jake seemed to be, something you would never have guessed about him several weeks ago, but had come to terms with now. Clingy was never a word you would have used to describe him before. He hugs you briefly, then pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed and his expression filled with genuine concern, another thing you’d been getting more familiar with.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, inviting himself in by walking you backwards and kicking your door closed lightly behind him. You’d come not to mind this sort of thing either, but mostly because you know if you asked him to leave again, he would, no questions asked. That was another new thing you’d been learning about Jake Seresin.

In comparison to how Hangman could be up in the sky, Jake was entirely understanding, one hundred percent supportive, and almost a little too observant when it came to your particular anxieties. It meant he often knew without you saying when to push you, and when to not, and on the occasion that you did need to say, he always respected those boundaries.

It was starting to make you nervous, how much you were growing to like him.

“Cramps are kicking my ass, but other than that, mostly fine. Thank you for these,” you try again, hoping that he really understands just how much you appreciate him coming over for you tonight. Never in your life would you have imagined feeling comfortable enough to ask Hangman to stop by the pharmacy and pick you up sanitary products, and never would you have imagined he’d make no issue of it.

“Sure,” he says, again with a shrug. “You want me to head out?” he asks then, tipping his head back at your door, even as he inches his face closer to yours, brushing his nose tip against yours. Your lips quirk, then break out into a full smile when he grins before dipping low enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your stomach somersaults and pulls at least ten G’s for sure as he continues to brush his lips against yours teasingly.

This hadn’t taken much getting used to at all. Jake was a good kisser, and had proved it after your second date, almost in the exact place you were now, both his hands cupping your cheeks and his lips full on yours, hungry and insistent. That had been almost four weeks ago now, but after his hands had tugged your hips flush to his, you’d quickly put the breaks on.

You were still slightly uncertain about going further with Jake so soon. The fact was, you worked together in a high impact, high stress job, and if anything should happen between you, it would be easier to keep things professional if you took it slow

Jake had, to your slight surprise, though you aren't sure exactly what you were expecting, nodded slowly and taken a step back. He’d told you that the only thing he wanted more than you, was for you to want him too. You’d had to explain that your position wasn’t because you didn’t want him, which had led to more making out, but he hadn’t pushed to go further and he’d left that night with the affirmation that however long you wanted to wait was alright by him.

“No, you can stay,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck to stop him from pulling away too much as you try not to full-on pout. Jake smiles against your lips and presses into you further, moving to push you against the wall, where he crowds your space entirely and stops teasing you, capturing your lips with his at last.

You’re about to experimentally slide your hand up his shirt, a thought that had been lingering in your mind more and more these past few days, but your kiss is over too soon, and he pulls back, leaving you breathless.

“Weren’t you waiting for me, so you could do chores?” he prompts, nearly making you grumble. Instead you nod, and gently push back against him, heading towards your bedroom just down the main hall.

“You can wait in here if you like,” you suggest, feeling a little nervous about the idea, but it was something you’d been thinking about for a while now. Even if you and Jake weren’t sleeping together, that didn’t mean the two of you couldn’t sleep together, did it? It was something you’d wanted, specifically with him, but not really something you’d ever experienced before. You were ready to move out of these early stages of your relationship, eager to push yourself and your limits just a little, so you could settle into something more comfortable with Jake, something where you weren’t always a little surprised when he touched you, or called you by one of his innumerable pet names.

Jake shoves his hands in his pockets and nods, clearly thinking through what this invitation could mean as he follows you quietly.

“Um, I feel like I should say ‘excuse the mess’, but you know–” you cut yourself off and gesture around your bedroom when you both have entered. Jake snorts.

“Well that’s what being in the Navy gets you. I won’t judge if you say it anyway,” he tells you lightly, and you scoff.

“Yes you will!” you insist, and are met with a confident, familiar cheshire-grin.

“Mhm, but only a little. Have you changed your mind, honey?” he steps toward you again then, almost closing the distance in one stride, his hands still shoved in his pockets, but his gaze locked intently on you in a way you haven’t felt since that second date. Your heart beats so loudly you’re sure he must be able to hear, but he doesn’t mention it, just waits for you, crowding your space again.

“Oh, I– No… not… I didn’t… I’m sorry…”

The moment you speak Jake is stepping back, pulling his hands from his pockets to hold them up, his expression losing the intensity again.

“No need to apologise, my mistake.” Jake’s words are sincere, but he looks away from you.

You let out a little sigh.

“It’s just so soon, and with the trial–”

“–You don’t have to explain yourself, honey,” Jake pulls his hands from his pockets at last and places them at your waist, drawing you in. You fall quiet as he lowers his face to yours, though he teases you again by not kissing you, simply looking you over, and then smirking when you pout. “You want it when you want it, and that’s when I want it, okay?”

He makes you nod, before he at last lowers his lips to meet yours and kisses you, slow and sweet. You finally get the chance to test the waters a little, easing your hand carefully underneath the back of his shirt, making you giggle against his mouth when he jumps slightly at the feel of your skin on his. Jake doesn’t say or do anything about it though, thankfully just letting you explore a little as he tips your head back further to deepen your kiss, and you brush your fingers up his spine.

After a short while of this, he must feel the urge to tease you again, because with little to no hesitation at all, unlike you, he slips his hands beneath your shirt, his warm palms gripping onto the bare skin just above your PJ shorts, almost making you moan. You’re glad you’re able to hold back the sound, mostly, but your own surprise doesn’t go unnoticed by the blond currently kissing you.

He only continues doing so for a short minute longer, before he’s eventually pulling back, lips pink and kiss swollen. You can’t help but frown at the parting. He squeezes your waist, and nudges your nose with his own.

“What do you want to do, honey?”

You groan at the apparent lack of making out in your future, not because you don’t think he’d agree, but mostly because you’re not quite ready to ask him for more, though a part of you senses he’s not willing to let you off the hook for those chores you’d told him about earlier.

“I need to fold this laundry,” you point past him, to your walk-in wardrobe and the basket that lies within. Jake looks over at it and lifts an eyebrow, which you choose to ignore. He nods then, and takes a step away from you, making you frown even more when his hands fall from your body.

“I’ll help,” he says, making your eyes widen, and you quickly step around him to block his path, where he is clearly about to make for your basket.

“No! Um… It’s okay, It’ll be easier if I just do it…” you trail off, wondering if you sound insane and neurotic, but Jake simply raises his hands again and nods.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” he prods, and you realise, he’s come inside thinking you want him to help with your chores.

“I was thinking… I was thinking it might just be nice for you to just… be here?” You cringe, and narrowly avoid making a face at yourself. Jake blinks at you as if he doesn’t understand.

“You want me to… sit around while you do laundry?” he asks, tone confused, but equally unimpressed. You nod. Jake shifts, then clicks his tongue. “I was not raised to let somebody work while I sit and watch, especially not my girl. My mother would tan my hide.”

You’re a little surprised by the seriousness on his face, despite the humorous inflection in his voice. You suck in a breath, mulling over how to explain to him what you had been thinking when he came inside. Jake’s eyes flicker over you for a moment before he shifts again, crossing his arms and lifting his chin at you.

“Alright sweetheart, just say what you gotta say, I can hear those cogs turning from here…”

“I… I like that you want to help me, I think that’s really sweet…”

“But…?” Jake prompts.

“I find this kinda thing hard, and I was hoping we could just try and do something… domestic…? Together?” your face goes hot at your admission, and when Jake doesn’t immediately respond you wonder if using the word ‘domestic’ was too much, too soon.

“What is ‘this kind of thing’? I get the other part honey,” again, his voice is playful, but you see the seriousness behind his eyes and it lends you even more comfort. How is he so good at this? It’s almost like he’d read your teenage diary entry all about your perfect guy… it's the sort of attention, care, and behaviour that you’ve never actually gotten from a guy you were seeing before, so you aren’t really sure how to compose yourself.

“This kind of thing,” you gesture between you and him, before clearing your throat. “I don't know what to call it– us, but–”

“–a relationship.” Jake cuts in firmly, and you pause, heart thumping. You hadn't actually had this discussion yet, but you guess you’re having it now.

“Right. I mean, I’ve been in relationships before, but they’ve never really worked out and I feel like I never get to the point with boyfriends where I feel fully comfortable, so I–” you clamp your mouth shut, both at the use of ‘boyfriend’, and at the fact you were rambling, and you’re pretty sure it's too early to start telling him about how all your prior relationships failed.

“Right. So, let me get this straight; you were going to come back in here and put your laundry away, regardless of me being here?” Jake holds up a hand as he repeats back the information.

“Yeah…”

“And you just want me to keep you company?”

You nod, and clear your throat.

“Yeah.”

Jake stares at you, a level of understanding crossing his face, before his eyes flick to your laundry behind you, then back to your face.

“... And you’re sure I can’t help you?” His resolve sounds weak, and you think he’s already made up his mind to do as you asked, but his upbringing requires him to triple check. You smile, and this time step toward him, gingerly resting your hand on his arm, which he immediately raises, and flips, sliding it so now you’re holding his hand.

Again, you can’t fathom how he got so good at this sort of thing. Your knees go wobbly.

“I have a bunch of lacy unmentionables in there, so…” you try to lighten things, but it's not a lie. Jake picks up what you’re putting down, and gives your hand a squeeze. He tips his chin at you and lifts an eyebrow.

“Now why’d you have to go and say that honey? You sure you’re certain I can’t help?” his hands slip from yours to rest at your hips again, completely bypassing your top this time and your heart stutters.

You bite your lip, and nod your head, trying not to laugh him off fully, because while that may be your instinctual nervous reaction, you didn’t want to discourage him entirely. You liked that Jake acted as if you were a pretty girl, like you were desirable, and not like the awkward dork you actually were. You didn't want him to stop doing that.

His expression turns a little softer, and he leans down, moving slowly as to give you time to process, and he presses his lips to your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he taps your sides with his fingers, then steps away.

You’re still catching your breath when he looks back at you, pointing at what looks like one corner of your bed.

“Can I?”

You nod, and gesture at the whole mattress.

“Make yourself comfortable!”

–

You can feel the pounding music of the club in your whole body. The lights flashing and dancing in different colourways in time with the music give everything around you an ever changing aura, and maybe it’s all the drinks you’ve had tonight, but in front of you, Natasha seems to glow.

Her hands grasp your forearm firmly and you giggle, uncharacteristically carefree as you almost slip again.

“Alright! Okay, let's get you seated!” she says. She’s had a few too, but not nearly as many as you, and you’re glad for it now as she steers you toward the bar and grabs a paper cup to fill with water from the nearby water station toward the end. You find yourself drinking it without prompting, but miss the taste of the fruity cocktails you’d been downing all night. “I’ll call us a cab,” she says, beginning to pull out her phone, but you hastily stop her, placing a hand on her arm and shaking your head rapidly, making the colours spin even more.

“No! My boyfriend said he’d pick us up!” you insist, ignoring the way her eyebrows shoot up, then stitch together.

“You boyfriend?” she asks, but you miss the real question behind her words, instead you simply nod, and begin to fumble around in your own purse until you find your phone. Nat watches you expectantly as you open your messages, quickly tapping ‘call' on the top icon, and pressing the phone to one ear, and your finger to the other.

It rings less than once before it connects.

“Heeyy!” you sigh in relief down the line, happy to even just hear his voice after all night going without. “Yeah, no, everything’s alright, you just said to call you when we were done!” you say in reply to his amused questioning. You look up at Nat briefly, and if you were more sober, you might’ve been able to tell that she was leaning in slightly to try and hear the voice on the other end, but you aren’t, so you don’t.

“Okay, I’ll meet you out front!” you tell him excitedly, before adding on; “Is it okay if we give Nat a ride home too?” there's a short reply, and at last you’re smiling wide and nodding, even though he can’t see you. “Okay, we’ll see you soooon!”

You hang up and stare back up at Natasha, who's giving you a funny look that you ignore. “He said he’ll be here in ten, he’s been at the sports bar in town waiting!” you tell her dreamily, like she might understand what it means to you that Jake would choose to remain only a short distance away in case you needed anything, in the knowledge that you didn’t always enjoy nights out like this.

Nat simply nods and after making you drink one more glass of water, you begin making your way through the crowds and out of the club.

The air outside is warm, but refreshing and you take in as much of it as you can, not realising how stuffy the air inside the club had been until now. It was getting late, and bars and restaurants around the club are lit up and busy, the streets all around full of people either on their way to their destination, or lingering as they talk.

It doesn’t take long for you to spot Jake’s car and he pulls up close to the curb, allowing you to beeline for the passengers side door, not realising that Natasha follows with more confusion and trepidation. Jake jumps out of the car to greet you, rounding it to quickly steady your wobbly walk with a hand on your hip, and with the other, he pulls open the car door and helps you inside, leaning in to help you buckle in, grinning even as he murmurs quietly.

“You had a good night, sweetheart?” he asks, clicking your seatbelt into place for you, making you giggle at him. You lean forward for a kiss, but he dodges you, somewhat more aware than you are of your present company, and instead rests his hand so he can squeeze your knee. Your good mood isn’t spoiled and you barely notice the dodged kiss, so you simply nod your assent to his question vehemently.

“I had a lot to drink!” you tell him, before bursting out into giggles again, the soft, sweet smile Jake gives you going unnoticed as he squeezes your leg again.

“Yes you did,” he says with clear, fond amusement, and at last moves back so he can shut your door.

Unlike you, on the other hand, Natasha may as well be sober as a judge, and she eyes Jake somewhat distrustfully as she steps closer, lifting her chin up at him as she talks.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks accusingly, making Jake cock his head at her, only half as annoyingly as he can. He gestures back at you in the front seat of his car.

“Miri called, sounded pretty hammered,” he tells her as if that explained it. Natasha narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Yeah, but she said she was calling her boyfriend, what’re you doing here?” She dares him to reply with anything but the truth, however luckily for Jake, unlike most men caught in her crossfire, he’s able to brush her off with an infuriating grin.

“I guess she dialled the wrong number, do you want a lift home or not?”

At his ultimatum (however hollow it really is, he wouldn’t leave her on her own in the middle of the night), Natasha frowns darker at him, but accepts the door he opens, waiting for her to get settled before he closes it behind her and returns to the driver's side.

When Jake checks his rearview he notes in amusement that Nat has situated herself in the middle seat, giving herself a perfect view of the two of you in the front. You don’t, nor do you seem to have any weariness in the bloodhound you’ve just set upon the both of you, but if he’s honest, Jake had known from day one that the second Natasha Trace suspected anything, your little secret was over.

He drives back as normally as he can, but it's strange to him now to have you sitting right there in his passenger's seat, and not have his hand in yours, or on your thigh. It’s strange to him to be in this space where the two of you are usually so open with your affection, and have to suppress it. Jake does not like it.

The car ride home is quiet, you seem content to look out the window, the tiredness hitting you now, but every so often he and Nat make small talk about whatever football scores interested them in the past week or two, and before too long, he’s pulling up outside her home.

Looking over at you to find that you’re slumped over asleep on his window, Jake follows Natasha out of the car with a simple offer of making sure she gets in alright. The congeniality doesn’t last very long, and once they’re standing on her porch she turns to him with a frown.

“You don’t really think I’m that stupid, do you?” she asks, for once not sounding angry or scolding, but seemingly subdued, maybe even a little upset. Jake sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Looking back to his car to make sure you’re still alright, he levels his squadmate with a serious expression.

“No, I do not,” he tells her sincerely. “But it’s Miri’s choice to not want to be public yet, all I’m asking is that you respect that,” he goes on after a moment. He doesn’t really believe she would say anything, but he feels the need to get her agreement, if only for your peace of mind in the morning.

Nat hums to herself and briefly looks away to fish out her keys. Once she has them in hand, she looks up at him again, a little grin on her face this time.

“How long?” she asks. Jake rolls his eyes and can’t resist the urge to mess with her just a little.

“Few years,” he states matter of factly, waiting for her eyes to pop wide before he lets out a victorious laugh and shakes his head. “A month or two,” he admits truthfully, accepting the hard sock in the arm as Nat scoffs at him and moves to unlock her front door.

“Something, something, I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her,” she grumbles as she steps inside, immediately kicking off her shoes. Jake straightens up and gives her a mock salute.

“Yes Ma’am,” he says, chortling to himself as he receives a middle finger for his efforts and the door is closed and locked again.

Jake feels a little lighter on his walk back to his car, and when he climbs in, he leans over to carefully adjust your crooked neck and make sure your belt is still strapped properly. You wake a little, confused at first, and blink up at him in happy wonderment.

“Hey!” you mumble, like it's the first time you’ve seen him tonight. Jake chuckles and leans closer to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get you home baby.”

–

You awake the next morning with nowhere near the headache you’re expecting, but with an array of distinct memories that cause a pit to open up in your stomach. The pit then begins to growl as you register the warm, homey smell of food, and with little effort, you force yourself up and into the kitchen, where you immediately attach yourself to Jake’s bare back.

His skin is warm and feels so comfy against your cheek, and the soft little laugh he gives makes your belly flop around. He lets you stay like that for a few moments more, moving slowly but smoothly so you can move with him, and at last when whatever he’s doing with his hands is finished, he reaches around for you and rests his hands where he can.

“Did I really call you last night? While with Nat?” you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’d just imagined it all, but another soft chuckle lets you know you hadn’t.

“Never thought you’d be the one to let our little secret slip first. I underestimated you baby.”

You groan into his back, and try to hide your face, but before you can complain or dodge him, Jake has turned himself around, letting you instead smoosh your face in between his gloriously golden pecs, and you think things may not be so bad.

He wraps his arms around you properly, and for a moment you just stay like that. You wonder if you can convince him to come around shirtless more often, the warmth radiating off his skin feeling heavenly, not to mention he looked almost as delicious as the food he’d made. You wonder if he’d already worked out this morning, or if you can join him after breakfast.

One of Jake’s hands moves away from your back and cups the back of your head tenderly, making you mewl slightly, and you look up at him to give the attention you know he’s asking for. Jake stares down at you with a soft little grin, and readjusts himself slightly, so he’s able to drop his lips to meet yours briefly.

One kiss becomes two kisses, becoming three kisses and after that any semblance of chastity is given up on and he kisses you full and sweet, deliberately slow like he’s teasing you to ask for more, but for now you’re simply content to wash away all of last nights worries like this.

Coming up for air, Jake barely breaks apart from you, his lips still brushing yours when he speaks.

“I asked Nat not to say anything, she respects you enough to do that I think,” he says, dropping a few more soft kisses to your mouth when you crane your neck up for more. He goes no further this time, though, and leans back from you to gauge your reaction after several moments, and you force yourself to open your eyes and pout.

“It’s not that I think she’ll tell anyone…” you say to him, scrunching up your features as you recall your lack of playing it cool the first time she had brought Jake up to you. The memory makes you grumble to yourself, and you once more attempt to hide your face in his chest. Jake laughs, and makes you jump when he pokes your side.

“What is it?” he asks, like he already knows. You tell him, voice muffled in his skin, but clear enough for the details of your embarrassing inability to throw the scent off to be heard. Jake’s body shakes with more laughter as you relay the information, but instead of trying to make you stop hiding away, he simply cups the back of your head again, and holds it nearer, allowing you to wither your embarrassment away in the safety of him.

“I think we both know that the minute that woman suspected anything, it was game over,” he tells you once you’re done, still holding you close, but you feel his lips press to the top of your head sweetly, and you do your best to snuggle yourself closer.

After the bulk of your mortification has eased away, Jake makes you detach from him, but only so the two of you can eat your breakfast while it’s still hot.

“You know I don’t want to keep it quiet, like, forever, right?” you ask out of nowhere, your memories of last night replaying over in your head while you ate. Jake looks up at you and cocks his head.

“I’m happy to do whatever you’d like to do, for as long as you’d like to do it,” he says matter of factly, but despite the sweetness of his words, you can’t help but frown at him.

“No you’re not, and we both know it,” you push back, grateful for his always tender manner of going at your pace, but you’d likely never have been with him in the first place if he hadn’t thrown you out of your comfort zone that first time.

The only difference is, now you are with Jake, and you understood these things about yourself, and how they weren’t always as scary as your mind might make them seem. Jake frowns back at you, clearly ready to protest.

“I know you pretty well too, you know,” you cut him off. “I know you like PDA, and that you wish you were able to be more open when we’re out with people. I know you like to show off, and part of that includes me,” you tell him adamantly, because you know you’re right.

Jake huffs out a sigh and leans back in his chair, looking at you dead on, you know him well enough to know he’s a little annoyed at you calling him out, but you aren’t doing it to annoy him or just for the sake of starting an argument.

“Okay, so what if I do? That doesn’t change the fact that until you want something, I’m not gonna go for it,” he says, still frowning at you like he doesn’t understand what the point of talking this through is even about.

You change tack and, with your heart beat thumping a little wildly, get up from your seat and move toward him. Even in his annoyance, Jake makes room for you, pushes out his chair and wraps his arms around your waist when you seat yourself on his thigh, your own arms linking around his neck.

“Well maybe I’m giving you permission to go for it,” you say softly, quietly, because the idea still does make you incredibly nervous. But you like Jake, no scratch that, you think you’re in love with Jake, and you think he’s in love with you too, and something about that feeling for once in your life makes you want the same things he does too, including the PDA. You want him to sling his arm around your neck, you want to be able to kiss his cheek or hold his hand or whatever it is you two want to do, not just in the comfort of your own homes, but out at the Hard Deck with your friends, too.

Jake blinks up at you, like at first your words don’t even register, but then he’s tightening his hold around your waist, and grinning wolfishly up at you, all cocky and infuriating if you didn’t find it utterly charming. If you didn’t completely adore him, even this part.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant?” he asks mischievously, and you can’t stop yourself from giggling, like you’re drunk all over again.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant!”

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whatsnewalycat · 10 months

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I Know

(Second Part to Bunny)

Summary: It didn't take you long to figure out that your new co-worker, Javier Peña, is a former client from your days working a phone sex line. But does he know who you are?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k+

Content / Warnings: professor javi, former phone sex operator reader, professor reader, co-workers, seduction, yearning, dirty talk, smut, smoking, swearing, drinking

Notes: Hi, pals. LOOK I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO A SECOND PART TO THIS!!! True to my word, baby. Hope you like it.

There’s such camaraderie in a cigarette.

At the social hour after New Faculty Orientation, smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the University of Texas San Antonio’s John Peace Library. Liquor-fueled mouths babble on, letting off thick plumes of exhaust into the cloudless sky. Blue ribbons of smoke dance off the ashy orange tips of cigarettes between puffs.

All these academics broken off from the crowded meeting hall into bite-sized chunks, generally determined by field of study, familiarizing themselves with the colleagues they’ll come to rely on. Within this horde, you ask yourself: Who will have a lighter when I can’t find mine? Who will commiserate with me over a smoke when I have my first work-related breakdown? Facilitate those necessary micro-therapy sessions that get me through the hardest days?

Dr. Natalie King, whose poison of choice is menthol flavored, chatters on about her excitement to be working at her alma mater—a proud Roadrunner, through and through, eventually asking, “Where did you work before this?”

“This is my first job out of my doctoral program.”

It’s mostly the truth. You take a drag off your cigarette, then blow a chimney stack out the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, straight into academia, huh?” she smirks, and when you grin, she comments, “Brave girl. Well, if you ever have any questions about the clinical side of things, feel free to reach out to me. Lord knows us gals have to stick together in such a male-driven field.”

A flash of light catches your eye, the glare of sun off the library door opening. An attractive, dark-haired, mustachioed man steps out into the bright, buzzing Texas sun. He slides on a pair of yellow-tinted aviators and pats his shirt pockets, fishing out a little white and red box. He plucks a cigarette from the pack and meanders up to your two-person sample study in women’s psychology, asking Natalie, “Got a light?”

She nods and starts digging through the purse hanging off her shoulder while the man shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the cigarette between his plush lips. He takes a cursory glance around at the other smokers as Natalie curses under her breath.

“I got it,” you pull a lighter from the pocket of your slacks and hand it to him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs around the filter and lights the tip, inhaling until it’s a glowing ember, then gives it back to you.

“Dr. Natalie King,” your companion introduces herself, sticking her hand out to him.

He gives it a firm shake and says, “Javier Peña,” then turns to you and holds out his hand.

You take it and tell him your name through an exhale of thick smoke, meeting his dark eyes through the sunglasses. He holds your gaze for a moment, then steps back and brings the hand to his hip, jerking his head towards the library, “What’re you two in for?”

Natalie answers that you’re both Doctors of Psychology, then goes on to explain which classes she’ll be teaching when the 2002 Fall Semester begins next week.

While she does this, you tilt your head at him, trailing your eyes along the sharp edges of him. The steep slope of his nose, the squared off corners of his jaw, the defined muscles of his neck. He holds himself like there’s a restless energy burning beneath his skin, shifting his weight from leg to leg, eyes working over his surroundings. On guard.

There’s something about him that piques your interest. His voice, warm and deep and smooth, unearths nostalgia from deep within your gut. You mentally sift through acquaintances, friends of friends you might have met at a party, people from your hometown, et cetera, trying to figure out how you know him. It’s strange because you think you would remember meeting someone so handsome.

Your eyes flick to his left hand. No wedding ring. A shiny silver wristwatch catches your attention, though, when it jiggles a little. You glance up, find his eyes locked to yours, and don’t look away until Natalie asks him what he’s teaching.

He pinches the cigarette between his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling words warped by smoke, “Criminal Justice.”

“I see,” Natalie drops her spent torch on the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the toe of her brown loafer, then crosses her arms, “What were you doing before this?”

“Not much the past few years,” he cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “Helping my dad out on his ranch down in Laredo, but I was DEA before that.”

“Oh wow, ok.”

You frown, “What did you say your name was again?”

He flicks his gaze to yours and answers, “Javier Peña.”

Recognition punches you in the gut. Your face gets all hot and you drop your eyes to the sidewalk, “Oh, ok. Well. Great to meet you, Javi.”

You stomp your cigarette out, turning to Natalie with a sigh, “Should we go back inside?”

“Sure.”

Don’t look don’t look don’t look—fuck.

Your eyes betray you. They snap to his. Those dark eyes, studying you with precision, narrowing just enough to twist your stomach in a knot.

Natalie starts towards the library doors, and you trail behind her, ignoring the burn of his stare following you inside.

—

Throughout the next couple weeks, when your paths cross, his gaze lingers.

Sometimes you don’t even notice he’s there until your brain’s ancient hardwiring sends out a primal pulse of warning, making your nerves to crackle. During workshops and interdepartmental meetings. While walking the halls. In the faculty parking lot. And, of course, on your smoke breaks.

You wonder what information he obtains in those small moments before your heart thuds and face flushes, urging you to put as much space between yourself and his meticulous gaze as possible.

Each instance summons the ghost of his voice as you walk away, greeting you with a cool, “How’s Bunny doing tonight?”

Asking you, “Can you do something for me, sweetheart?”

Asking, “Are you touching yourself? Let me hear it.”

It forces you to revisit the evolution of your intimacy, how the two of you gradually went from “It’s nice hearing your voice,” to, “I thought about you all week,” to, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Don’t suppose you make house calls, do you, Bunny?”

These memories start to bleed into your thoughts with alarming frequency.

You think about him when you brush your teeth in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. Every free moment in between. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?” Then scold yourself for giving a shit.

“It doesn’t matter,” you lie to yourself, “He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Bunny.”

—

Only a few students and staff roam the campus at this time of day, when overnight dew still clings to the blades of grass hidden from the sun. This particular spot, a tucked-away path between the Biosciences Building and a parking garage, usually only has one visitor each morning: you.

Every once in a while, the hum of a car engine sounds from behind the big oak tree you’re propped up against, followed by the slam of a car door, then the echoey shuffle of shoes against concrete as whoever makes their way to wherever.

Mostly, though, it’s peaceful.

You raise the 22-ounce styrofoam cup of watered-down gas station coffee to your mouth and pause, gauging the heat of the steam that brushes your lips. Too hot. Lowering the cup to your lap, you spot a robin a few yards away. It hops across some damp grass, tilting its head this way and that; its keen, beady eyes scan for movement below the earth’s surface.

A deep breath expands your lungs and your eyes drift closed. You concentrate on the cool ground beneath your legs. The oak tree holding your body upright. Your head rolls back against it, like you’re trying to soak up some of its fortitude for the day ahead of you.

The dry scuff of footsteps on the cement sidewalk tugs at the edge of this meditation. They come to a stop nearby, then you hear a familiar timbre ask, “Mind if I join you?”

Your eyes snap open, spine straightening as you squint towards the source: Javier Peña.

Heat trickles through your body as you survey him. The navy blue fabric of his fitted suit stretches across his broad shoulders in a way that’s really not fair. Sunlight douses him in brightness, and his dark eyes seem to glow in the warmth. He shifts his weight to one leg and plants a hand on his hip, glancing around before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plugs one into his mouth, then holds the pack out to you. An offering.

Against your better judgment, you nod in approval.

A little smirk makes the dangling cigarette bob between his lips. He saunters over to where you’re seated, visibly relieved when the shade of the oak tree falls over his body. With a quiet grunt, he sits down next to you, unbuttoning his suit jacket, resting his back against the sturdy tree.

Again, he holds the red and white pack of cigarettes out to you. You take one, murmuring, “Thanks,” as you shove the filter between your lips and light it.

He does the same and takes a sharp inhale, exhaling blue smoke, “Nice spot you got here. Quiet.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, heart thumping loud and hot behind your ears, “How are your first few weeks going?”

“Fine,” he shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette, “Pretty different from what I’ve been doing these past few years.”

“Right, on the farm?” you inquire, purposely getting the vernacular wrong to throw him off your trail.

He doesn’t correct you, just nods, “Although, some of these kids are stubborn as cattle.”

You laugh at this, “It’s been an adjustment, huh?”

He hums in accord, and you can feel his eyes on your profile, studying you.

Your insides twitch. Skin tingles. You take a drag off your cigarette, then say, “Yeah, same here. I’m straight out of school, so it’s pretty surreal being on this side of the fence.”

“I bet,” he murmurs, “Wha’d you do for work?”

“Customer service, call center stuff.”

You’re not sure why you didn’t just make something up. Say you did manual labor or clerical work or something.

Maybe it’s because you know how earnest he is, and any potential lie would feel like poison in your throat. Maybe it’s because the space between you feels electric and sacred.

Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants him to figure it out.

“How’d you like that?” he asks as he blows a cloud of smoke away.

“Well,” you sigh, looking down at the coffee cup pinched between your legs, avoiding his gaze, “I liked it, actually. I talked to a lot of different people. It was interesting. Plus, the paycheck was nice.”

Again, he hums in acknowledgement, then chuckles, “Hopefully this gig pays better.”

“Yeah,” you snort, “A lot better. It was fun while it lasted, but this… this is my purpose, you know?”

You glance over at him now, and his eyes lock to yours. The intensity of his stare inspires tiny flutters from deep within your core. Right when you start to ask yourself, “Does he—?” Javier nods, “I know.”

These two words give you a head rush. Your mouth gapes, and his gaze flicks to the open space between your lips. It lingers there for a beat too long before he looks away and takes one last drag off his cigarette. He crushes its glowing orange cherry into the earth and murmurs, “I better get going.”

“Oh—yeah, ok,” you frown, following his form as he rises to his feet and brushes grass from the seat of his pants, “It was nice talking to you.”

Javier smirks down at you, those devastatingly warm brown eyes softening when he asks, “See you around?”

“Sure thing,” you smile.

He stares at you for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then turns and leaves the way he came.

—

Later that night, your office phone rings.

You pick it up and pinch the receiver between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Doc?”

A knot twists in your belly. Your eyes flick to your closed office door, then to the lecture notes scrawled on index cards all spread across your desk.

“Hi, who am I speaking to?”

Like you don’t know. Like the rich notes of his voice don’t instantly send shivers down your spine.

“Javier Peña,” he answers. In the background, there’s a clink, followed by the slosh of liquid pouring into a glass.

Nostalgia hums thick beneath your skin. Hundreds of conversations flash through your head and shimmer between your legs. You lick your lips and ask, “What can I help you with, Professor Peña?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice again like this,” he murmurs, then clarifies, “Over the phone, I mean. I missed it.”

A few things happen in quick succession within the confines of your body.

First, your heart swells. You curl the cord of your phone around your index finger and smile. He missed it. He missed you.

Then, an odd feeling dims your brightness. Like you’re naked in front of a crowded room. Exposed. You sit up straight and whip your head around the empty room.

Finally, the peacekeeper inside you tells you to calm the fuck down. This doesn’t definitively prove he knows. Maybe he’s confused you for someone else. Or maybe he’s playing a joke on you.

It’s fine.

A wet swallow sounds on the other end, then he continues, “I didn’t know you’d be so attractive in person, though… Bunny.”

Shit.

Electricity floods your veins and short-circuits your brain.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you let out an exasperated chuckle and push your chair out behind you. The coiled cord of your phone works as a leash as you pace the width of your desk, “Professor Peña, I’m not sure who you think I am—”

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t bullshit me,” he purrs, his voice sure and steady, “I know.”

Shock steals your tongue. Your eyes clamp shut. Chest aches. Hands tingle. You take a deep, shaky breath and try to harden your tone, “Know what, exactly?”

Javier ignores your denial, just says, “Come over.”

“Javi—” you start to protest, destroying all pretense as you stare up at the ceiling.

He doesn’t say anything. The line is silent as he waits for a better response.

Eventually, you ask, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this—What do you want?” you drop your voice to a whisper, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me—”

“Blackmail you?” he scoffs, “Do you really think I’d do that?”

You scoff, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I promise it’s not like that, sweetheart. I’d just like to have a drink with you in private, so we can… talk.”

“Now who’s bullshitting?”

The speaker crackles with an airy chuckle, “You got me there.”

“So… what do you want with me, Javi?”

You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale. His words are fuzzy with smoke when he asks, “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like?”

Heat flickers deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your body. His mouth hot on your skin. You lean against your desk and shrug, “It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You don’t trust yourself to say anything.

He takes a drag off his cigarette, then says, “All that talk about what we would do if we were together. How well you’d take me. What that sweet little cunt would feel like wrapped around—”

“Javi, it was a job,” you whine. It holds little conviction.

He’s quiet. The low, airy hiss of his lungs drawing smoke. Then, “Are you saying it wasn’t real?”

Heat rises to your face. You open your mouth to lie, but you breathe the truth instead, “No.”

“Then come over.”

You bite your lip, looking down at your lecture notes with indecision.

“Please.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you concede, “What’s your address?”

—

Javier’s one-bedroom apartment is small and tidy. The stark white walls are void of decoration, but the tasteful home furnishings, all wood and bronze and leather, tell you this choice is less “sad bachelor pad” than it is “I want my fucking deposit back.”

What was intended to be a dining room area has been made into a home office. A large chestnut bookcase lines one wall, displaying various textbooks and whodunit novels alongside family photos. A matching chestnut desk butts up against the adjacent wall. Stacks of papers and notebooks, most aptly described as an “organized mess,” sit atop the deep wood finish.

You lean on the kitchen counter opposite him and watch him pour room-temperature whiskey into two low tumbler glasses. Each nerve ending in your body buzzes with anticipation. You try to think of things to say, small talk to make, but it all seems flat. Disingenuous. The words all die on your tongue.

This doesn’t seem to bother him, though.

He slides a glass across the counter, then rests his elbows on the surface, eyes flicking around your face as you take a sip.

“What?” you chuckle after swallowing the burning liquid.

He shrugs, “You’re just… much more beautiful than I expected.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “What were you expecting?”

He licks his lips and smiles, this big, brilliant, sly smile, “Real answer?”

Fuck, he’s handsome.

“Always,” you grin in return, batting your eyelashes at him as you lean closer onto the counter.

“I imagined you so many different ways, and none of them seemed right,” he confesses, face falling into a frown, “I expected disappointment.”

“Oh,” you wince and nod, dragging the tip of your finger along the rim of your glass, “Well… are you disappointed?”

“No,” he tells you firmly. Your eyes snap to his, and he asks, “Are you?”

“No,” you breathe, searching his face.

A hum sounds from his throat. The air between you is thick and magnetic. It clings to your skin and makes you shiver.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he coos, his vocal cords catching an edge, “No bullshit, alright?”

Your heart gallops. You swallow hard and nod for him to continue.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Everything seems to tilt. Marionette strings pull your spine taut. Your tongue traces your lips before you take a swig from your drink. You can’t look at him, but feel his gaze burning your face.

The counter creaks as he pushes off it. He works his way around it, slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying across your tingling skin, until he’s inches away, hovering there. Heat radiates from his body and pulses between your legs.

Javier purrs your name.

You look over at him and meet those warm, dark eyes, all hooded with want. They drop to your mouth and seem to study your lips. It’s like something tightens around your lungs and squeezes every ounce of air from them.

“I, um…”

It comes out barely a whisper.

His throat rumbles in response. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, making you shiver, and says, “Look at you, so shy all of a sudden.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He nods in acknowledgment, but he scoots closer. Drags the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. A shudder racks your body and you whimper.

“I didn’t ask you if it’s a good idea, I asked if you want to fuck me,” he murmurs, hot gaze flicking between your eyes and mouth. He slides his hand against your abdomen. It stays there as he steps behind you, pulling you into the heat of his chest, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, though, would you?”

“Javi—”

His lips press a damp spot into your shoulder, the warm tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, drawing soft circles on your bare skin, and he hums, “Hmm?”

You gasp as his touch ripples deeper, jolting your insides, making your eyelids flutter, “We really shouldn’t.”

But you reach back and place your palm on the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to continue. He leaves a trail of slow, heated kisses to your thudding pulse. The wet velvet of his tongue rolls against you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, threading his hair through your fingers, pulling him closer.

A pleased rumble sounds from deep inside him. His lips form a seal, sucking the tender skin of your neck. You moan at the wave of pleasure that gushes down your spine.

The hand at your navel slides over the zipper of your pants, following the curve between your legs, applying firm, flush pressure. He holds it there while dragging his tongue up your neck, then catches your earlobe in his teeth and tugs.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he releases.

“Come on, sweetheart, say it.”

You let your head fall back on his shoulder and roll your hips against his hand. He draws it away and mutters in your ear, “All that dirty talk over the phone, now you can’t use your words?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pushing back into the bulge in his jeans, grinding into him.

He sucks in air through his teeth and grazes your cheek with his nose, “What’s that?”

You chuckle and drag a finger along his jawline, “You heard me.”

“Maybe I wanna hear it again.”

“Oh yeah?” you twist around to face him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck.

He drinks you in with this lustful gaze that settles on your lips and nods, then takes a step closer, backing you against the counter, pressing his body into yours.

“Is that what you want?” you drop your voice to a sultry whisper and tilt your head, “You want me to tell you how wet my pussy is for you? How it’s begging to be filled by you?”

A groan escapes his chest and you grin.

“That’s it, isn’t it, baby?”

“It is.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a moment and you shrug, “Do you wanna feel how bad I want you?”

He nods.

“Go ahead, baby.”

Javi searches your face as a hand slips under the waistband of your pants, then under your panties. A thick finger slides between your lips, down the gooey middle of you, and he rasps, “Holy fuck.”

You gasp at the gentle way his touch explores you, moving up and down your folds, spreading your heat.

“That feels good,” you breathe, looking up through your lashes to meet his eyes.

He rubs your clit in soft, concentric motions, holding your gaze, his mouth gaping open when you whimper and nod in approval. Each flick of his wrist accumulates hot and sticky and alive at your core, prodding your pulse, warming your skin. Quiet gasps fall from your lips. Your eyelids flutter and you rake your fingers through his hair.

“Do you like that?” he asks, all rough edges, “Like the way I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I love the way you play with my pussy, Javi, feels so fucking goood, oh my god—”

His lips crush into yours. You clamber closer, kissing him back, heated and needy, both of you making all these throaty, desperate noises as your mouths meet again and again, licking, tugging, kissing. His touch between your legs quickens, your entire body starts to sweat and tremble as pleasure twists inside you.

You’re overcome with this aching need for more.

“Javi—please,” you beg between kisses, hooking a finger under his belt, “I want you.”

His throat rumbles. He captures your lips in another kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bedroom.

When he flips on the light switch, it reveals a few cluttered surfaces and a four-post bed. You pull your shirt off over your head and shuffle out of your pants as you absorb everything. The suit jackets hanging on the corners of his dresser’s vanity mirror. A stack of mystery novels on his nightstand. The white comforter, rumpled like he tried to make his bed but he’s not very good at it.

So much proof that this person who only existed as a voice in your life for so long is flesh and blood.

It’s surreal.

“Did you ever think something like this would happen?”

You turn to see Javier unbuttoning his shirt, gaze drifting along your body. His pants lay in a pile beside him. An amused smile spreads across your face when you notice his cock standing at attention. He shucks the shirt off his shoulders as you step towards him and slide your palms up his smooth chest.

“What, that I’d fuck a client?”

Javier nods. His hands land on your waist and he guides you back towards his bed, planting a few languid kisses on your jawline, mustache tickling your skin.

“No,” you chuckle, “I had a very strict no meeting policy… as you know.”

The backs of your legs butt up against the bed. You land on the bed with a soft bounce and crawl backwards to allow him space to follow. He does, running his hands along the curves of your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your sternum.

As you tell him, “You were my favorite, though,” he reaches around your back, unhooks your bra, and tosses it aside.

“Was I?”

His heated palms slide up your ribcage, over the slope of your breasts, and he squeezes them. You gasp, eyebrows threading together, and nod. He drags his tongue across your nipple, then closes his lips around it and sucks. A burst of pleasure soaks your insides, sharpening when his teeth catch the bud and grind down.

“Ffffuck,” you whine, meeting his eyes as he moves to the other nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Every motion drips hot down the middle of you.

“Do you like playing with my tits?” you coo while combing your fingers through his hair, making it stick up every which way, “You do, don’t you, baby?”

His eyelids flutter and he moans, nodding, then opens his mouth wider and takes more, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks.

Your head falls back with a moan, “So fucking good, yes—”

Javi comes off you with a pop and rolls your nipples between his fingers, “So hot.”

You watch him work his way up your body, leaving kisses on your sternum, your collar bone, your cheek, your lips. Your hands slip around his shoulders and you arch your back into him, wrapping your legs around him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, your lips and tongues meeting again and again, exchanging soft moans, hips grinding his cock between your bodies.

“I need you,” he says, eyes all wild and black, “Fuck, I need you—”

“Take me.”

He steals another kiss from your lips before sitting up to pull off your underwear. While tossing them aside, he drinks you in, sliding one heated palm up and down the curves of your body, purring, “Look at you. Fucking perfect.”

You whimper at his praise, at his reverent touch making your nerve endings buzz. He strokes your clit with his thumb, mouth hanging open as your whole body shivers and writhes in reaction.

“So sensitive, mi conejita,” he murmurs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” you nod, arching your hips, “I need it—I need to feel you inside me, Javi, please.”

A noise surfaces from deep in his chest, then he breathes, “Fuck, say it again.”

You thread your eyebrows together and bat your lashes at him, shifting your voice into the lusty, airy tone you know gets him going, “I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Need your cock to fill me, make me whole—”

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking forward just enough to breach you. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and you moan.

“Do you want more, baby?”

You lick your lips and nod frantically as he works your clit faster, the tip of him teasing you. Pressure builds in your chest and pulls your muscles taut. You roll your hips and try to get more of him, more movement, following the heat pounding through your veins.

“Need more of my cock, baby, that’s what you need?”

“I need more of your cock,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering at the growing fire deep in your belly, “Please please please, Javi, plea—”

“You’re gonna come for me just like this, aren’t you?” his voice only amplifies the feeling, making your heart race, and then he rasps, “Fuck, baby, do it, let me feel you, let it go.”

You do.

It overtakes you, flooding you with pleasure, your whole body shaking from the force while Javi strums your clit fast and hard, cooing, “That’s it, mi conejita, that’s it, come for me baby. Doesn’t that feel good?”

You whimper and nod, unable to form words until your orgasm peters out and leaves you panting, staring up at him. He meets your gaze. His cock pulses inside you.

Seeing him like this, his hair all disheveled, skin dewy with sweat, dark eyes fiery and enamored…

“Come here,” you sit up on your elbow and bring a hand to his chin, coaxing him closer. He follows you down to the bed and kisses you with force, a groan vibrating on your tongue as you drag it against his.

He starts to roll his hips, filling you more and more with each thrust, the thick length of him electrifying your walls.

His lips don’t leave yours. Neither of you pull back to murmur filth to the other. The only noise in the room comes from your humid bodies pressing together, from whines and moans traded through panting breaths as you renew the kiss again and again.

You push back against his thrusts, digging your fingers into the broad expanse of his shoulders, losing yourself in the feel of him stretching you, the heat of his skin clinging to you, his mouth against yours.

Pleasure builds, hot and demanding, between your bodies. He fucks you faster, pumping into you at a frenzied pace that makes you gasp and nod, pulling you higher and higher. His hand grips your jaw and he stares down at you, searching your face, his puffy lips forming an ‘o’ as he watches your face contort.

Neither of you seem in control of the noises escaping you. They’re frantic and breathy and sharp.

At once, it’s like you’re sucked up into a vacuum. All the air evacuates your body and your muscles clench. The noises stop when you reach the crest of the wave, and when ecstasy crashes down, you let out a choked sob, convulsing around him. He groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering as he captures your lips in his and spills inside you.

A few languid kisses pass back and forth before he rolls off you. You follow the persuasion of his arm curling around your shoulders and tuck yourself into his side. He holds you here like this for a while, staring up at his ceiling while your breathing returns to normal, and eventually he asks, “Why was I your favorite?”

You shrug and watch your fingertips draw swirls into his chest, “You wanted me to be me, not your idea of me.”

He hums, grazing his thumb against your shoulder, then says, “I think that’s true for both of us.”

“Yeah?” you shift to meet his eyes.

He nods, dropping his gaze to your mouth. You draw closer to kiss him, slow and soft, and when your lips part, he murmurs, “Mi conejita.”

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thisisanewlowes · 3 months

Text

A Little Taste | Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake catches Reader staring and decides to take advantage of her attention

Warnings: fluff to the highest extreme, some pda, jake is a hopeless romantic

Word Count: 465

A/N: This has been stuck in my head for DAYS and I finally got it out!! This is a part of the What If I'm Not Enough? collection, but can also be read on its own.

As you stood in the living room you shared with your boyfriend, Jake Seresin, you tried to pay attention to your best friend’s rant about his current hyperfixation. It’s something about like space aliens or like cyborg robots or something, his wife, Evelyn had tried to explain before Mickey corrected her for ‘just how wrong that statement was.’

So there you were, huddled in a trio with two of your favorite people, but looking at someone else. Jake sat in the other room, beer in one hand while the other waved around as he told some overdramatized story to his friends Bradley and Javy. You were mesmerized. No matter how many times you looked at Jake, you could never believe that he was truly yours.

It’s true that you had been together for about six months and it’s also true that he was planning on marrying you, but it all felt so fleeting. Like one day you’d look away and the promise of a perfect life with the perfect man would all just fade away.

But there he was, all muscle and tan, playing cards with his wingmen on the dining room table you picked out together. And, as if he could sense your eyes on him, he looked up to smile back at you.

The two of you stayed like that for a short while before Jake stood up in the middle of a hand and walked over to where you stood, gaining confused and curious looks from the men sitting opposite him. Your smile only grew as he walked closer to you, past the couple who was still debating whether or not “space aliens” was an accurate term, and placed a large hand on the small of your back. Pulling you close to him, you let out a gasp as he gently placed his fingers beneath your chin and captured you in a passionate kiss.

You couldn’t tell for a moment if you were blushing out of lust or embarrassment. You could feel all of your friends’ eyes on you, but it didn’t matter. You were there, in the home you shared with the love of your life, and he was kissing you in front of your closest friends. After a while, he pulled back and smiled at your puffy lips and shocked expression.

“You can keep staring if you’d like, sugar, but I figured I could give you a little taste of what I bet you were fantasizing about. I’ll make sure to save the rest for later.” With his signature Hangman wink and a small smirk directed at your best friend, he walked back to sit down at the table. For the rest of the night, despite how close you were in proximity, Jake never kept his eyes off of you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Tag List:

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#top gun #top gun maverick #glen powell #hangman #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun hangman #top gun headcanons #top gun imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm #hangman imagine #ensign!reader #captain!jake #what if I'm not enough?

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ohtobeleah · 7 months

Text

Battle Scars // Bob Floyd

-> An Official Flight Deck Blurb

Summary: Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

Warnings: Mentions of parental Abuse. Mentions of Child Neglect. Foster Care Systems. Mentions of family trauma. Bob Floyd x Female!reader.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author Note: Day Nine of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Scar reveal’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

People have secrets they keep close to their chest. Some are small enough to not cause a ripple effect onto others, and some are big enough to destroy lives, crush dreams, alter realities.

Bob Floyd wore his secrets across his chest. Scars that made his torso look like the Rocky Mountains. Littered with small to medium size scars that healed wrong, healed over, or healed with anger.

They weren’t pretty. If anything he wore a roadmap of abuse on his body that was hard to face in the mirror every morning. He never wanted to subject anyone to the sight of his scars, some red and raised, others faded but turned a deep purple in the cold.

“Mornin’ gorgeous—“ Bob's morning voice was something you’d never get tired of hearing. Those lazy Sunday mornings where you’d wake up to find the Naval Aviator already awake and reading whatever book he brought with him in his overnight bag were starting to become your favourite thing. “How’d you sleep mama?”

“Like a log.” You yawned, creeping closer and closer to where Bob sat on the opposite side of your bed. His T-shirt clad back pressed up against the headboard while his legs stayed covered by the sheets and covers of your warm, inviting bed. “I thought I had an early body clock.” Being a single mum and small business owner left little to no time for sleep-ins, which usually meant you were up before the sun got a chance to kiss the horizon good morning. “But here you are, Mr Military Man with your internalised alarm system.”

Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle as he closed his book and placed it on the bedside table you cleared just for him. Whatever this was between you and Robert Floyd you really liked it. He was the first man you’d ever paid attention to since your fiancé died. Bob was like a breath of fresh air and so was North Island. No one knew you, no one judged you, no one cared about the demons that haunted you.

“Force of habit I guess.” He shrugged before he sunk lower and lower, meeting your eyeline once again as you both settled in under the warmth of the covers. “How long do you think we have before Oliver wakes up?”

“Hmmm—“ You tried to hide your eagerness through a hum that kept your lips pressed together in a fine line. “He knows Sundays are bacon and egg roll mornings.” You began as your arms wrapped around Bob's shoulders.

His lips were hot against the supple skin of the juncture of your neck, in response your body ignited, sending waves of energy through your body that only Bob could create. He was just different.

“So like, five? Ten minutes maybe?” Bob looked up from where he’d been leaving small

but affectionate kisses against your collarbone and met you with a lust filled gaze. He was falling head over heels in love with you. “Because I only need like two—“

“Oh well in that case we have time for two rounds.” You teased before rolling yourself up and over to straddle Bob's waist. He let you easily. If he wanted to, he could have fought back. The thing with Robert Floyd was that he had a sleeper build. He wasn’t as buff as some of the other Naval Aviators that frequently stopped by the Flight Deck for their morning or mid afternoon caffeine hit. With the amount of sugar and caramel syrup you dosed Hangman with on a regular basis you weren’t entirely sure how he managed to maintain his muscle density.

But for as much as Bob was a gentle soul, he was strong and fast. He enjoyed a long run every now and again. But for all intents and purposes—he let you be on top. He liked the view. After all, he was just a simple man. Boobs were pretty cool. Especially your boobs.

“Can I ask you a question?” You cooed all the while Bob's hands trailed up your hips. You wore nothing but one of those silk nightgowns that made you look like an angel. The bed hair was cute, Bob liked you first thing in the morning. It was a side of you only he got to see. The side before the makeup, before being put together– he liked it. The authenticity. For what it was worth, Bob just really liked you.

“Depends what the question is?” Bob replied as his hands squeezed at your hips, rolling you gently back and forth over his boxer brief clad length. “I’m kidding, ask away.”

He had been expecting the question sooner rather than later. And with how things were going between the two of you Bob knew he would have to come clean. He was just afraid of what you might say. What you might think, and if his scars would be a deal breaker. They were, after all, a part of him that he couldn’t get rid of.

But even expecting the question to come didn’t make it any less hard to hear.

“How come you never take your shirt off?” You wanted to approach the question as politely as possible. “You don’t have to tell me, if you aren’t comfortable, I just—I’ve just noticed.” You saw the hesitation in Bob's baby blue eyes as he searched your face for any kind or fear. “Again, you don’t have to tell me.” You reminded the man lying beneath you as his hands stilled on your hips. “But I want you to know that if you’re hiding some sort of third nipple under there—I’m all for it.” You tried to make the conversation a little more lighthearted, Bob could appreciate that. He smiled softly at you while his hands needed at your hips like dough.

Bob didn’t say much after that, he simply laid beneath you stroking his hands up and down your exposed thighs as his mind ran rampant with memories. He hated his scars, but most of all he hated the people who gave them to him.

“You’re a waste of space!” The memories were all too prominent even after all these years. “I wish I never gave birth to you!” His mothers words were as cruel as she was violent and unpredictable.

“You’re the abortion I wish I fucking had.” The abuse Bob endured went with him everywhere, even well into his adult life. He learned not to complain, to cause a scene. “Stop crying for fucks sake kid.” He learned not to show emotion when it wasn’t asked or needed.

“You did this to yourself, if you had stayed out of the way, none of this would be happening.” But most importantly he blamed himself, for hiding his scars that clearly showed how strong he really was.

Bob sat up to meet your eyeline. For a man haunted by so many scars he certainly had the softest of eyes. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a fleeting kiss against your forehead, all before he reached up and over to take his shirt off over his head.

What you saw rendered you speechless for a few moments as you took in the terrain that was your, well, you wanted to say boyfriend but Bob wasn’t even officially that, torso—littered with scars he surely would have called ugly on the best of days.

“It’s a lot.” Bob whispered just barely above an audible level as he chucked his shirt off to the side. “But they’re not going away, ever.” It was almost as if Bob had struggled with that notion himself. He wished he could have them removed—expunge from his record. The tales of parental abuse he suffered before collecting more in the foster care system.

“Oh Bob—“ You tentatively reach out to glide your fingers over one of the many scars that were angry, red and what seemed to be risen. “You don’t have to hide these from me, ever.” Bob's heart was racing a million miles inside his chest, no one had ever touched him the way you were now. With so much love, with kindness, with understanding. “What happened here?” Your fingers gently glided across the scar down near the waistband of Bob's boxers. Right above his hip bone.

“One of the kids in one of the foster homes I was in.” Bob began, you could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it, but you didn’t stop him. You knew if anything he would stop if he didn’t want to talk about it. “I think his name was Ryan, had an old bow with those barbed edges on it.” You knew where the story was going. “It got wedged in there deep when we were playing around, but our foster parents didn’t have insurance, so they weren’t gonna take me to get it removed—so they ripped it out and poured bourbon over it.” Your heart sank into your stomach. “I was nine.”

“That must have hurt a lot.” You replied gently as Bob laid back down in your bed with his hands resting behind his head. His roadmap of scars on full display. “What happened here?” You moved your hand to the longer scar across his left peck. It seemed less angry, more healed, but the story attached was just as heartbreaking.

“When I was eighteen I went back to see my parents.” Bob's eyes were tearing up. He hadn’t ever spoken about this to anyone. Not even the people he trusted with his life. You were the only one. “It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have, but I needed some closure.” Your fingers gently ran the expanse of the scar that had never been touched but another person. Bob wanted to stop you out of fear you’d leave—but he willed you to continue because it felt comforting to be touched with such warmth. “My dad ran at me with a knife the second he saw me—I remember he was rambling on about how I broke my mum's heart when I went with CPS. I’m lucky it was only a graze, he still got me good enough to leave a scar though.”

“Bob, honey, I don’t even know what to say.” You were a mother yourself. You couldn’t ever imagine doing anything of the sort to your son. Bob reached up to guide your hand across his torso to his wrist—you’d seen those small circle cluster scars time and time again but never bothered to ask what they were from.

“These are from where my mum and my foster mum would put their cigarettes out on me.” Again, it made your heart sink, but Bob never faulted as he guided your hand around his body, back up to his stomach just above his belly button. Ridged abs peaked through the softness of his skin. “This one is from when I had to have surgery after I got an infection. Doctor said I could have died if my friend and I didn’t walk ourselves to the emergency room.”

Bob wanted you to touch every last scar that littered his body, he wanted your gentle touch to heal his old wounds. So you let him guide you as your straddled his waist and looked down at the roadmap of torture.

“These smaller ones are from when my dad swung the whipper snipper at me, I was in his way, I shouldn’t have been there, I remember they wouldn’t stop bleeding and ruined a bunch of my shirts.”

“None of these are your fault.” All his life, until he joined the Navy and ran as far away as he could, Bob had been told every scar he collected was his fault. The abuse he suffered as a child, from his parents and in foster homes, was his fault. “Someone who loves you doesn’t do this to you.” You reminded the man who laid beneath you. He could hardly breathe with how hard his heart was hammering in his chest as your hands trailed over the expanse of his torso. “Bob I don’t know your history, but from what I can gather about you in the present you are all but the problem.” You were the first person to ever tell him he didn’t deserve the scars he wore, the scars he hid.

“You’re a really good person, you know that right?” Flashes of your own war blinded your vision for a moment. The lies and haunting rumours that had you running as far away as possible could came flooding back to you in a blur as Bob sat up to kiss your lips softly, tenderly, and all so lovingly. “You don’t know how much you mean to me baby.” The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine you weren’t expecting. But you welcomed it nevertheless. Bob was a dream, your new beginning.

“I reckon you’ve got about three minutes to show me.” You teased, deciding now was not the time to bring up your dead fiancé. “With the shirt off—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #bob floyd x female reader #flight deck // bob floyd #bob fliyd angst #Bob floyd whump #bob floyd x reader #top gun bob #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #tw: parental abuse #tw: mental health #tw: scars

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punishereditz · 1 year

Text

Bet

Gif by rob-pattinson

Pairing: Jake Seresin x F!reader

Warnings: 18 plus only! Minors DNI! DO NOT COPY! Smut. Choking. Marking kink. Spanking kink. Rough sex. Public sex. Pain kink? Kind of. Unprotected sex. P in V. Praise kink. Dirty talk. Hangman's very flirty dirty mouth. Hangman being cocky.

AN: Currently losing my mind over this. Since my first one did so well, and I have so many ideas. I knew I had to write this one first. (And of course, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes.)

Summary: You and Jake go to the gym together. He has been trying to get your attention for a while now. He doubts that you can lifts the weights; so, you both make bets.

Jake 'Bagman" Seresin and you go to the gym together. You two are always the only ones in there for how early you go. Being right there at the door as soon as it opens. You both always do your own things. It's always the same. He opens the door for you, you give him a glare, you work out on opposite sides of the gym. He opens the door for you when you leave and makes some type comment.

Jake has had an eye on you since the begin. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot get you to talk. You're like a puzzle that is impossible to solve, and he has tried every card in the book to somehow cheat and get his way. But he loses every time. He will try to talk to you about the equipment, about your work out, about yourself. He's tried it all and you simply just keep your headphones on and your eyes forward. Acting as if the man doesn't exist.

You've had enough guys hit on you to know that he is nothing but bad news. The asshole of a personality, acting like he is better than everyone, that he thinks that any woman will fall to their knees to him, and not to mention he is an aviator. He's a disaster waiting to happen. Yes, he is attractive. Bulit for sure, but his ego is bigger than his muscles.

"Hey there sweetheart." He approaches you. You ignore him completely. Continuing to add the weights to the bar. He watches closely. His face growing into a confused frown.

"How much weight is that?" He runs his hand over his mouth. You continue ignoring before glaring at him to see him adding up the numbers.

"You sure you can handle that much?" He looks at you through his lashes. His hands resting on his hips. You look at him angrily. He always annoys you, but today he is making your skin crawl even more than normal. He knows he is starting to get somewhere. You normally never look at him for more than a second, but now you are staring into his eyes like a wild animal looking at its prey.

"Excuse me?" Your voice is even more annoyed than your stare. He almost chokes when he hears your voice for the first time in all the months, he has seen you. He never thought he would get this much from you, but if he knew sooner that all it took was pissing you off for him to get attention, he would have done it a lot sooner. "The weights. It's a lot." He says smugly. His smile ten miles wide.

"I'm more than capable of lifting this. I know my strength." You go to lift it, but his words interrupt you, "All I'm saying is that... I don't think it can be done." He shrugs.

You roll your eyes. "Is it because I'm a woman?" You mimic his posture. Putting your hands on your hips and holding your chin high.

"No..." He trails off. Clearly lying. He watches you chuckle annoyedly; he gets an idea. "Let's make a bet. You lift that, and I'll never bother you again. You don't lift it; you have to go on a date with me." He speaks very proudly. Confidence in his southern tone.

You laugh at his childness. But you also laugh at how this is going to be the easiest bet you'll win. You usually don't lift 140kg but today you wanted to do more. It's not that you can't lift it. You have lifted more before. This will be no problem. "You got a deal, but only if you lift it first." Now you're the one with the confident tone.

"As you wish sweetheart." He steps in front of you. He grabs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal his sweaty toned body. His back muscles flexing as he reaches down and gets a good hold of the bar. He pulls it up. Breathing heavy. His muscles flexing and his veins popping. You do everything in your power to ignore the heat growing. He drops it. Moving out of your way. You grab the bar. Taking a deep breath before lifting it with ease. Doing it without any trouble. You hold it at your shoulders for a few seconds. You look at Jake who is staring at you like you grew two heads. You might as well go all out. You lift it over your body. Holding it for a few seconds before dropping it to the ground.

You can't help but laugh at his expression of complete and total disbelief. "What? Never seen a woman do something better than you?" You can't help but tease him. Your words triggering something in him. He looks like he could pounce any second. His neck strained and his stare so sharp on you that you swear it feels like daggers. Normally he always has that confident smile and arrogant personality, but you swear by the intimidating stare that he is mad. He doesn't say a word. He only walks closer to you until he is inches from your face. Taking another step forward, giving you no chose but to back up until you have nowhere else to go. He has you back against the pole.

"You like showing off, don't you?" His words confuse you.

"Look who's talking. If it means seeing that pathetic look, then yes." You quickly reply to his comment. That devilish of smile returns to his lips. His laugh wicked. If he takes another step, his body will be pressed against yours. You know you shouldn't fell this way. Your heart shouldn't be racing, your stomach shouldn't be twirling, and your heat shouldn't be growing. He has his ways. He knows how to get to a woman and right now that damned charm is getting to you.

"Such strong words for a strong girl." He hums with a grin.

"Looks like you learn something new every day." You speak. He moves his hands, so they hover over your sides. But don't touch you. His body so close that you can fell his breath against your skin. He slowly places his hands on your waist, and you let him do so. Not moving away.

"Tell me..." He trails off. His mouth hovering over your ear. "Do you enjoy taking risk?" He whispers in your ear. You take a shaky breath. Trying to ignore the feeling that is growing in-between your legs.

"Depends on the situation." You control your voice the best you can. Damn Jake. You cuss him in your mind.

"Hm. I think you do like it." He pulls away from your neck. Looking deep in your eyes. His lips brushing against yours. Fuck it. You lean into him. His lips wrapping around yours taking your breath away from you. His hands moving down to hold your hips. Pulling you closer to him. You hold the side of his face with one hand, the other holding the back of his neck. Playing with the naps of his hair.

The kissing quickly turns into messy making out. Your tongues colliding together. Your sweaty skin pressed together and the room seemingly to get hotter than it already is. You never thought that his touch would be as good as his looks. Or how soft his lips are. How he is touching, holding, kissing you perfectly. As if he has done it a million times already. It shocks you just how good this is, how good it feels. You try not to think about how many times he has done this. But God he is doing it well. Soaking with arousal.

He tugs at your sports bar, but you push his hands away. Intertwining your fingers with his. You turn so that he is against the poll. You kiss the corner of his lips before trialing down his neck. Kissing his shoulder. Your hands wondering over his chest and hard abs. Exploring his body. You kiss the bend of his neck, sucking his salty skin. You move up. Sucking and biting at his skin until you stop at his jaw. Sucking right below his ear. He whimpers. His hold on your hips getting tighter. His grip tight enough that you're sure it will leave marks. But you don't care. You kind of like the idea of his handprints on you.

He pulls away stopping you. He can't take it anymore. He moves to his knees in front of you, holding your waist as he gently kisses your stomach. He takes your shoes off. His hands rubbing up your legs before he stops at the band of your leggings. He pulls them down. Pulling your underwear down with them. You gasp as he kisses right above your cunt. Kissing your thigh, he pulls your legs apart enough for him to suck your clit. Lapping circles around it. You can't hold back the moans that escapes your lips. He harshly sucks at it. Making your legs weak. He pulls away. Making you whimper at the loss of his touch. He sits on the chair. Pulling you towards him. He stands you in between his legs. Kissing your side as he frees his cock from his sports pants. He holds the back of your thighs. Lifting you so that you are on his lap, straddling him. He lines his cock up with your entrance. Pushing the head of his cock in. You grip his hair as he lowers you down slowly until he is bottomed out.

"Uh, fuck, that's it. That's it." He whispers into your ear. You lift off of him. Holding for a second, kissing his lips before lowering back down. You start moving up and down. Circling your hips. Riding his cock. Starting to get into a rhythm. You tighten around him. His groans and your moans filling the gym room. You know someone could walk in any second. That you both are out in the open, but you could care less. All you can think about his him and how he fills you so well. How big his cock is and how he makes you weak and shake, his size is so big.

You begin to go faster. Picking up your pace. His hands move up your back until his hands are lacing in your hair. Pulling your head towards him so that he can harshly kiss you. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. Bitting your lip. Making you whimper at the pain, but he quickly smooths it with his tongue.

He slaps your ass. You gasp at the sting. You know it will leave a mark and you get off even more. You know that the slap on your ass won't be the only mark as he sucks at your neck. You know that marks will be on your neck as well. He slaps you again. Making you moan and slam down harder on his cock. Riding him at an absolutely unholy pace.

"Look at yourself..." He moans into your ear. Holding your chin in his hand as he tilts your head up. Making you look at the wall lined with mirrors in front of you. "Look at yourself fucking my cock." He groans. His hand moving from your chin to your throat. His other hand holding your hip. Pushing you down so that you will take more of his cock. You do as he says. Looking at yourself in the mirror. Watching as you bounce on his cock. Your hair a mess where he was pulling it. Your face dripping with sweat. Your eyebrows pinched together and your mouth falling open moaning. You're a complete mess. Not just your looks, but your mind too. You know how wrong this is. You could hook up with any other guy than the famous asshole aviator Jake, but yet you're riding him in the middle of the gym seconds away from coming with no regret.

"Be a good girl for me and cum." He kisses your neck as he says in your ear. More of a demand than telling you. He slaps your ass again and you smile. He gently squeezes your neck. Adding a little bit of pressure to his hold. Taking your breath away in the best way. His hold on your neck and his filthily words in your ear are enough for all that build up to come crashing down over you like a wall tumbling down. Your climaxing hitting so hard that you feel like your head is spinning. "Jake!" You moan his name as he doesn't let up. He keeps that brutal pace up. Pushing his hips up into yours.

"That's it. I got you. Uh, good girl. I'm gonna fill that pretty little pussy of yours up." He groans as he fucks you impossible harder. You know tomorrow you will be sore and won't be able to walk. You don't care. A few more thrusts and he does just as he said. Filling you up with his cum.

He slows down his thrusts. Panting into your neck as you both start to calm down from the high. He comes to a stop. Holding you against him so you can't move yet. He holds the back of your neck, pulling you towards him so that he can kiss you.

"Saturday night. That date still sounds nice." He smiles very proudly, and you laugh at him.

"In your dreams Jake."

"Oh, sweetheart, my dream just came true."

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nellswitchly · 11 days

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Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out, is it casual now?

Academy Jake Seresin, who grew up in a severely red wing, homophobic environment and carried that definition of "manhood" along with him since his childhood. Academy Jake Seresin, who grows absolutely infatuated with a fellow aviator and he has no idea why: whether it's his stupid mustache, his ugly hawaiian shirts or the fact that he's the only one who he considers an equal opponent in the air. Academy Jake Seresin, who can only manifest his feelings in a physical manner, because that's the only time his head isn't flooded by the "What would your father say?" question and by the "You're a man now. Act like one." talk from his teenage years. He lives with the casuality of their relationship and the fact that he can't ever ask for more.

Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house in long beach, is it casual now?

Academy Bradley Bradshaw, who considers himself a walking, ticking bomb: filled with problems and burdens that he shouldn't put on anyone else, because no one deserves to go through all that. Academy Bradley Bradshaw, unable to open himself up, starts to have eyes for a fellow aviator: whether it's because of his stupid smile, how annoyingly witty and charismatic he is, or how good of a pilot he is. Academy Bradley Bradshaw, who can only manifest his feelings in a physical manner, because anything deeper comes with the inherent danger of loss. The casuality suits him, because pain suits him.

I hate that I let this drag on so long, now I hate myself.

And so everytime Bradley Bradshaw sneaks out of bed after a night together, surrounded by pitchblack darkness, Jake Seresin pretends not to notice and never opens his eyes. He doesn't stop him and never asks him to stay til' morning, no matter how much every muscle in his body wishes to. Because until they grow up, grow out of their self-destructive habits, Bradley and Jake are innately destined for failure.

#sereshaw #hangster #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #casual #chappell roan #im sorry okay...

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thatlovinfeelin · 1 year

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The Way Home - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

In which you meet Bradley during a wedding and your relationship evolves over the years into something more than just fwb.

The Virginian sun was warm against your bare skin as you sat at Buckroe Beach in Hampton Virginia. You were home for an old friend’s wedding taking place at Fort Monroe, just a quick drive away. She was marrying some military boy, which didn’t come as a big surprise considering where you were. The Tidewater area of Virginia was more or less filled to the brim with military, thanks to the multiple bases nearby.

You wiggled your toes in the sand, smiling softly at the feeling. You lived too far inland now, nowhere near the beach, which normally didn’t bother you. But every time you managed to make it home, you’re always reminded about how much you missed it.

Shade suddenly fell on you, blocking the warm sun.You propped yourself up on an elbow before tipping your sunglasses down, “Hey, Gigantor, could you move? You’re blocking the sun.”

The tall man seemed to flinch before looking down at you. His cheeks were red, you couldn’t tell if it was a blush, sunburn, or if they just stayed that way. He ran a hand through his short hair before mumbling an apology and stepping out of the way.

Everything about him screamed military, you spent enough time around them to know. You surveyed the way he was built and the way he was standing. Definitely not Air Force, and somehow you guessed he wasn’t one of the Army boys either.

“Hey, big guy, have we met before?” You questioned sitting up fully before taking your sunglasses off.

“Pre-wedding brunch yesterday,” He replied after looking at you for a minute, “I’m one of the groomsmen.”

“Ah,” You nodded, “So you are military then.”

He scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, guilty I guess.”

You moved over on your towel before patting the empty space. The man glanced around the beach, like he was making sure no one was watching, before he carefully sat down next to you. Now that he was next to you, he seemed even bigger. He had to be young, like the same age as you, maybe a year or two older, but he was solid. His shoulders were broad, and muscles.. Oh god, his muscles. They were defined without being like meat-head gym-rat defined. Like he got them just from day to day work and not spending hours and hours in the gym.

“So, what branch?”

“How did you even guess I was military?” He questioned you.

You shrugged, a small smirk forming, “My dad is a Marine. Not active duty of course, but he still works as a contractor. So, correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’m guessing you aren't in the Air Force, and you don’t seem like a soldier. So that leaves the Navy or Marines.”

He nodded along before sticking out his hand, “Bradley Bradshaw, United States Navy.”

“Ah, a sailor then,” You shook his hand back, “Y/N Y/L/N, total civilian. Nice to meet you Bradley.”

He grinned, you almost swore your stomach tightened a little. You liked that smile. His smile was a hell of a lot better than some of the guys you tried to go out with in the last few months. But you only had the weekend, you were only here for the wedding and then you’d go right back home.

“So, are you stationed here?” You asked him.

“Over in Virginia Beach. They have me at Oceana.”

“Personnel or are you one of the flyboys?” You questioned.

He let out a little laugh, “Guilty, I’m an aviator.”

You leaned back to look at him fully, “Damn, that’s impressive. Alex is just a mechanic. But you actually get to fly the things?”

The two of you fell into an easy conversation. You weren’t entirely sure what it was about him that made him so easy to talk to, but you liked it none the less. He seemed so comfortable sitting on the beach with you.

Part of you began hoping you would be able to dance with him at the wedding. You wanted to spend just a little more time with him before you left, probably never to see him again.

“Are you hungry?” You asked some time later.

He shrugged, “I could eat.”

“Great, c’mon, I know a great Italian place just down the road. They have the best subs and I’ve been craving one for months.”

He laughed and followed her as she nearly ran down the road. He soon found himself in a dimly lit italian restaurant, tucking into a big sub. You were right, the sandwich was amazing. The conversation seemed to flow easily. You chatted about your upbringing in Virginia. He told you all about his army of uncles, who also doubled as his father’s old flying buddies. The both of you laughed about certain things the Navy did that just didn’t make sense, and the list was long to be sure.

Before you knew it, you had to leave to meet your friend to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Admittedly though, you weren’t ready to leave your little one on one with the pilot across from you. Somehow you were quite drawn to him, and you liked it.

“See you around, Bradshaw,” You gave him a little salute with a wink before hopping in your car.

The next day you didn’t get a chance to see him until everyone was lining up for the processional. He looked good in his dress uniform, too good in fact. You found yourself licking your lips a little as you stood beside him. He was the best man, as it turned out. Which meant you were able to stand side by side with him the whole time.

He didn’t make eye contact with you, however you caught him glance down at you and smiling a little. You looked damn good, if you had to say so yourself. As many times as you’d been a bridesmaid, you never loved a dress as much as you loved this one. Your friend did a damn good job picking them.

The ceremony was beautiful. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t shed a tear or two. Truthfully, you were just so happy your best friend finally found her Prince Charming. Even if he was a Naval mechanic. She loved him more than anything, and that was enough for you.

So when it came time for their first dance, you held your glass of champagne close to your chest and wondered if one day you’d be able to have the same thing. You had no boyfriend, no one to call your own, and certainly no prospects. Any of the dates you went on recently were horrible and you wished you could forget them. Hookups weren’t in the cards either since no one seemed to know how to actually give you what you needed. Bottom line, you were all alone.

“They look good together,” You glanced over your shoulder to see Bradley standing just behind you, the same wistful look in his eyes.

“They really do,” You agreed, “She made a beautiful bride. Alex is definitely a lucky guy.”

Bradley nodded in agreement and took a long sip from his glass of what looked like whiskey. His tie was gone, along with his suit jacket. He also unbuttoned a couple of his shirt as well. He looked even better now, it made your mouth water just enough.

“You wanna dance?” He asked you, finishing his drink, “I promise not to step on your toes.”

“I can’t promise the same thing, I’ve been told I have two left feet,” You admitted, drinking more champagne.

He looked down at his feet, kicking his toe, “The shoes are sturdy, I think I could handle it.”

So you danced, and danced, and then danced some more. Both of you took breaks to get another drink, and then it was right back to the dance floor. Somehow, you wandered off, finding yourselves outside of the reception venue.

You weren’t sure how his lips ended up on yours, or how your hands tangled into his hair. Or how you managed to find yourself in his bed with his cock burried impossibly deep within you, but you weren’t going to question any of it, or complain.

But the next morning as you were both getting dressed, he was kind enough to lend you a shirt and a pair of sweats so you didn’t have to do a total walk of shame back to your own hotel room. You felt a tug somewhere deep within your chest, like you were getting ready to walk out on something important. So instead you turned back around, dress balled up in your arms, you heels dangling from your fingers.

“How about we make a deal?” You questioned, stepping back towards him.

“A deal?”

“Well, you’re here, and I come home every now and again…” You explained, “And well, I really, really enjoyed last night. Seemed like you did too.”

He nodded, “Go on.”

“How about we call anytime we’re near each other, maybe grab dinner and uh, you know?”

Bradley couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He didn’t want you to walk out anymore than you did. The thought of being able to see and talk to you again made his heart seem to skip a beat.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” He replied, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“Cool, well, uh- I guess I should give you my number.”

That’s how you found yourself in the same situation a handful of times over the next couple of years. You’d call and text any time something major happened, for some reason Bradley was one of the first people you wanted to tell. He did the same. Slowly, you built a relationship with Bradley, a friendship.

You spent several nights in bed with him when he came to see you one month when he had leave. The light kisses and soft touches were enough to make you feel incredibly safe and almost loved.

You found yourself missing Bradley Bradshaw when you weren’t with him. You didn’t call him Rooster like everyone else in his life, except for when you were joking with him. He told you that he loved the way you used his first name. While you loved the way he said your name. You loved the warmth that spread throughout your chest. You wanted to hate it, but you couldn’t.

“I’m being moved again,” He told you over the phone one day, “They’re sending me overseas this time.”

“For how long?” You questioned, feeling your throat close up.

You could almost picture him shrugging, “I don’t know. As long as they need me, I guess?”

“Can I see you before you leave?” You questioned, unable to stop the small amount of hope.

“Not this time,” He replied regretfully, “I ship out in twelve hours. You wouldn’t be able to get here in time. Not from New York, plus you have that conference.”

“Fuck the conference,” You mumbled, “You’re getting ready to leave the country.”

“I know,” He sighed, “I’m sorry. I would’ve told you if I knew sooner. I wish I could see you.”

“Just-just be safe, okay? I won’t make you promise me anything but that,” You swore.

You were glad the way he couldn’t see you clutching your chest. Or the way your eyes were burning with tears. After all, you were just hookups, nothing more. Right? Friends with benefits. You only saw him once or twice a year, if that. You had no claim to him, no right to him. Any type of call you got you savored, even if it threatened to break your heart into a million pieces.

“I’ll do my best, I promise.”

You hated the fact that you were so far away. You hated that you didn’t even live in Virginia. Every part of you somehow ached to be back with him. You missed him even if you didn’t have the right to. Sporadic nights in bed with him just weren’t enough anymore. You wanted more, so much more, but you didn’t know how to ask for it. Or if Bradley even wanted it.

“I’ll try to call you when I can,” He promised you, “But I normally give away my phonetime to the guys with families, but I’ll keep one or two for you.”

You felt empty and hollow when you hung up with him. You wanted to call him back and tell him how you felt, but you knew you couldn’t, he needed to focus on what he was about to do. Not some girl that he hooked up with whenever he was in town.

So you went about your normal life. The meetings and phone calls. Slowly unpacking boxes that were stacked almost to the ceiling of your studio apartment in Raleigh, NC. You went out to a couple of bars, met some friends. But you always lunged for your phone when it rang, no matter the time of night. You never wanted to miss a call from Bradley.

Only, the last time you talked to him, you ended up fighting. It was stupid really, but you were stubborn and didn’t want to apologize or admit he was right. So when you were on a date and your phone rang, you simply silenced it.

“Do you need to get that?” Your date asked you, pointing to your purse.

“No, it’s no one important.”

Even the words seemed to hurt you. He was important, so important that you wanted to move back to Virginia to be close to him. That’s what the whole fight was about. You wanted to uproot and he kept telling you how stupid that would be. You didn’t listen, or maybe you didn’t want to listen. Bottom line it ended with you screaming at him before hanging up.

“Who is it?”

You just shrugged and took a sip from your cocktail, “Someone I used to hook up with. He’s deployed right now, but I’m really the only friend not in the military that he has. But he can wait, I can email him later.”

It was almost halloween, the fall air outside was chilly enough for you to need a jacket as you left the restaurant more than an hour later. You pulled your phone out from your bag before playing Bradley’s voicemail, expecting to hear him begging you to just talk to him again.

“Hey, it’s uh- it’s me. Look, I don’t have much time okay, so I need to make this quick. But I’m kind of glad you ignored my call, because I’m not sure I could say all of this with you on the other end of the line.” He took a deep breath, so loud even you could hear it through the recording, “I was stateside, but not for long. They called me back for some special mission, and I’m not sure I’m gonna make it back for this one. We’re on the boat right now, I’m gonna be getting in my plane here in a few minutes. I already told someone how to get in touch with you if something happens to me, okay? They’ll call you, because you’re all I’ve got.”

You clutched the phone, starting to hate yourself for not picking up. The tears that ran down your cheeks were even colder thanks to the fall air. Why did you have to be so mad at him for not letting you ask for a transfer to be closer to him when he came back? He was right, you couldn’t uproot everything just on the off chance that he was going to stay in Oceana.

“I need you to listen to me, okay? Really listen to me,” He said sternly, “I love you. I know it’s a really fucking bad time. And I know this wasn’t part of the deal, we were just supposed to fuck and have fun and not catch feelings. But I caught them. Because I really fucking love you. And I hope I get the chance to actually say it to you. I hope the next time you get a phone call I’ll be the one calling, not someone with bad news. But I couldn’t do this without you knowing. I wish I could tell you where I was, or what we were doing. Just know….I’m gonna do my best to come home to you. But…between you and me, I’m a little scared. So I’m just gonna remember what it felt like when you held me that one time after I had that shitty nightmare. Because that’s what I need.”

There was a loud sound somewhere on the boat, “I have to go….I love you, okay? I know you’re mad at me, but I hope you understand why I said what I said…but I love you.”

The line went dead. And over the next few days you listened to that voicemail again and again. You went through the motions, but truthfully you were too worried to really focus on work or your friends or the second date you somehow agreed to even though you didn’t want to go. You just wanted Bradley. But you didn’t even know if he was okay. You didn’t know how long this mission was going to take. You knew nothing.

So you tried and tried and tried. You went as far as to dig out the old college shirt you stole from Bradley the last time you were at his place. He probably didn’t even know you had it. You hoped he didn’t, because you didn’t want to give it back.

Just like you didn’t want to be on this stupid date. But you didn’t know how to get out of it. He was so nice, almost too nice, and you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But you felt nothing towards him. Maybe you could ghost him after this was over? Pretend it never happened and keep wishing Bradley would call you, because that would mean he was safe.

“You know what?” You mumbled, “Fuck this. This isn’t working. You’re a great guy, but I’m sorry. I can’t be here. I need to go.”

You put down some money on the table and rushed out of the restaurant, pulling your jacket even closer to your body. Normally you wouldn’t walk alone in downtown Raleigh, but you wanted the cold air.

Only, you stopped dead in your tracks when your phone started ringing. You fished it out, taking a deep breath before answering. His voice filled your ear, rough and a little broken as he said your name. But it was him, it was Bradley. He was safe and alive and that’s all you could think about. People pushed past you, jostling you a little as you stood in the middle of the sidewalk. You were sure your eyes were blown wide open as tears started to fill them. He was okay.

“I love you too,” You forced out before he could say anything else, “I really fucking love you too.”

“I’m in Raleigh, I flew in as soon as they let me go,” He told you, “Where are you? I need to see you. I need to hear you say it in person.”

You quickly looked around to find the street signs, because your brain seemed to forget everything else. He was okay, and he was here. He wanted to see you. And you wanted to love him until nothing else mattered.

“I’m only a couple blocks away. I’ll be there in a minute,” He promised, “I look a little rough, had a bit of trouble during everything, but I couldn’t wait.”

“I love you,” You repeated again, because that’s all that mattered.

“I love you. I’ll be right there.”

But all you could hear was him saying that he loved you. All you could feel was the warmth in your chest despite the cold outside, because you loved him and he loved you in return. He was here and coming for you. You could be together for a while, maybe more than just a night.

“Look up.”

You could see him smiling in a rented pickup truck just in front of you. You hung up your phone, nearly squealing as you launched yourself into the front seat. There wasn’t time to look over the cuts on his face and neck. No time to comment on how he looked, because instead you kissed him. Hard. Like there was no time in the world for being soft and sweet.

“I love you.”

He smiled against your mouth and pulled back just a little, tucking a stray bit of hair behind your ear, “I love you, so so much. I should’ve said it sooner.”

“No,” you shook your head, kissing his hand, “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“No more just fucking then?”

You laughed and kissed him again before cars started honking behind you, “Oh honey, we’re long passed just fucking. But if you don’t take me back to my apartment and fuck me there, I’m going to explode.”

He laughed, pulling away from the curb, his smile big enough to make your heart squeeze a little, “Well, we can’t have that. Show me the way home, honey.”

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greenorangevioletgrass · 2 years

Text

it's classified | b.r.b. (1/2)

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: what was supposed to be a simple one-night stand during the training for your upcoming movie turns into an epic strangers-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-lovers adventure... 10,000 feet in the air.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: language, drinking, behind-the-scenes nerdiness, fluff, smut [dirty talk, fingering, overstimulation, praise, protected sex], rooster is secretly a softboi, pining idiots

notes: im falling for rooster and im falling fast and hard y'all, and the the way this movie was made is making my nerdy ass giddy skdjfhskdjhf please join me in this dumpster fire. reblog, send me asks, talk to me bc a bitch is horny, okay???? happy reading!

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

i. Bruce Springsteen — Born To Run

You wanted to sleep in.

You were planning to sleep in. That’s the sole reason you arrived in this new town a day earlier than the rest of the cast before the rigorous final phase of flight training for your upcoming movie. But as the old saying goes, you make plans and Siri laughs and fucks up your alarm.

And the more you try to go back to sleep, the more anxious you get about the big day. It’s like a schoolkid before a field trip —if only said field trip was where you’d get your ass kicked black and blue. You’re not ready, you knew that. But you had to be. As the new kid on Top Gun, arguably the biggest action film this decade, there’s too much catching up to do. Every minute you’re not spending in training should be a minute spent preparing for it.

That’s why you're giving yourself a head start; sleepwear shucked off, sports bra on, workout playlist thumping from your AirPods. And with a short pep down the steps, your stride hits the sand.

It’s sweaty, hot, heavy as the ground underneath you crumbles a little with every step in your run. It takes you everything to maintain your pace so you don’t sink into the sand and make it even harder for yourself —even if you pay for it in burning heels and lungs and limbs and muscles.

But the view is nice. Lines of blue, yellow, orange, and white fading into each other on the horizon. Seafoam washed up on the shore, clearing your shoe prints like you’re starting over with every lap, every set of lunges and crunches and what-have-you. And through it all, not a single soul in sight.

Well. Except for one man.

Jogging in your opposite direction about 20 minutes into your workout. He runs laps on the mile-long strip of empty beach, bare torso gleaming in the sun and sweat, aviator glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. You’re not usually into pornstaches, but it suits him. You’d take a longer, better look, but he catches you staring and nods at you briefly with a coy smile as he runs past you.

Fuck.

You push through until you hit the quiet, closed beachside bar called The Hard Deck, and jogs up to the sidewalk, sighing in relief upon finding an even surface —and enough distance to hide your embarrassment from the sexy, sweaty stranger, as you jog back to your apartment.

Out of sight, out of mind.

***

ii. Cage The Elephant — Cigarette Daydreams

But later that evening, sun barely setting outside the window, when The Hard Deck’s come alive with patrons drinking and conversing and playing pool, jukebox music playing in the background, an all-too-familiar figure strides into the room. His six-pack abs are clad in a white tank this time, a flowy Hawaiian shirt thrown over his broad shoulders. The sunglasses, however, seem to be a mainstay, and you force yourself to look away before you embarrass yourself. Again.

He walks over to the empty spot next to you, fingers drumming against the wooden counter.

“Hey, Pen, can I have my usual, please? Thanks.” He tears off his aviators, stealing glances your way not so inconspicuously, as you try to keep your gaze ahead. Don’t get reeled in by the smell of sunscreen and saltwater on him… “Fancy seeing you here.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you try your damnedest to stay cool as you turn towards him. You don’t know what to expect, but you surely don’t expect the warmest, coziest brown eyes looking right at you with a little smile. “I could say the same about you.”

“Nah, I think you just happen to be in my general territory.” He smiles in teasing, murmuring a thanks as he receives his beer. “So what brings you to Fightertown?”

You pause for a second, studying the way he earnestly waits for your answer. He doesn’t know who you are —and you like that. The moment ‘actor’ gets thrown into the conversation, the moment it clicks that they’ve seen you in movies or Netflix, some people can’t get past it. And right now, this stranger is seeing you not for what you do, but who you are —and you want to keep that just a little longer. So you decide to go with the vague answer,

“Work.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind?”

“It’s… classified.” You smirk over your non-answer.

His grin widens as he shakes his head —he knows what you're doing, but he’s not pushing any further. Instead, he cheekily remarks, “You know, with the reps you’re putting out there this morning, I would’ve thought you were gearing up for a mission.”

Well, he’s not wrong. But he can’t know that, so you settle on the next best thing. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the Navy,” which is not a lie —just because you’re playing one, doesn’t mean you’re really one. “You?”

He leans in just a tad closer, and oh God, you can smell his aftershave. “Between you and me, I ask myself that every day for the last 15 years.” And just as quickly as he closes the distance, he straightens up again on his seat. “But yeah. I’m a combat pilot.”

“Wow!” your eyes light up; partly because this is great extra research materials —great coincidence, too, as you’re flying fighter jets in the movie—, and partly because his face lights up, too. “What’s that like?”

“Do you like flying?” he props his knuckles underneath his chin, looking at you thoughtfully. It’s a little unnerving, but you don’t hate the butterflies in your belly.

“Um, it’s… okay?” You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it more than just… getting from one place to another. Looking at clouds and oceans from a tiny window.”

“Oh, there’s so much more than clouds and oceans with this one. It’s the best fucking thing ever.” He gushes. And pauses. And pipes up, “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

“Really?” You lean against the counter, casually moving closer to him. “Wouldn’t you get into trouble for that?”

“Might just be worth it,” he shrugs, “for both of us.”

His honesty is refreshing. He treads the fine line between cutting to the chase and respecting your space, and you really, really like that about him. “Why don’t you buy me a drink first and we’ll go from there, Mister…?”

“Bradley Bradshaw. At your service, ma’am.”

***

ii. Ryan Adams — Wildest Dreams

Bradley Bradshaw, as it turns out, is at your service. Taking you to his bed, gently resting you on the edge of the mattress as he ravenously devours you in hot, wet kisses —from your lips to your neck. Undoing your buttons one by one, his mouth doesn’t seem able to leave you alone as it follows his fingers down your chest.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out.

He nips at the soft swell of your breast, impatient as he tugs the cup down your chest. Toying at one hardened nipple with his tongue while he teasingly thumbs the other, making you arch your back. And with that, he unclasps your bra with just one hand —one swift movement. Equally as frenzied, you push his open shirt off of his shoulder, his arms more tanned and golden than God.

You chuckle. “I could say the same about you.”

You would think you’d get used to his curious, thoughtful, lewd gaze after a whole night of flirting, but the heat creeps up on your cheeks anyway. “You’re a sweet talker, you know that, baby?”

Bradley pulls away as he shucks off his remaining clothes, white tank tossed aside and faded blue jeans left on the floor. His gray boxers are tight on the front, his hard-on straining from the inside. His sun-bleached hair ruffled by your doing, a soft smile ghosting on his mouth, and you have to admit… you meant every word of it.

Gorgeous.

A little chuckle escapes you as he pulls you back towards his lips. The mustache tickles your skin, unusual but not unwelcome, but you’re far more giddy with the prospect of feeling it everywhere. And the hand…

Venturing down.

Lower.

Gently caressing your soft cleft through your panties.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked…” he groans, slipping his hand underneath the fabric.

On any other night, you would’ve been embarrassed by how wet you are, and how blatantly he pointed it out —and truth be told, you’ve been wet since he put his hand on your thigh the whole car ride. Not quite dirty —he didn’t do anything in that manner; but not quite innocent either, knowing what happens next.

But his bold hand indulges like the rest of him. His middle finger slides right along your slit, finding your swelling bud, and he moans like it makes him feel good.

If the little figure-eights weren’t enough to send waves of pleasure all over your body, the stretch of his middle and ring finger entering you at once sure is. You pull him closer, so that his body rests on top of you, worried that you might float in mid-air if he’s not there.

He is, very much, there. Pumping his digits in and out of you, capturing your lips, your tits, every inch of your skin with his mouth. Nuzzling the side of your face like he’s listening to every hitch of breath. Figuring out how to make you sing, how to make your body twist deliciously. You’re so close, so fucking close already, God, and when he curls his fingers inside you just right…

It’s too fast. Too easy. But you’re way too blissed out to think much of it. You can barely think of a response when he doesn’t slow down after her first orgasm, not even a little bit. Whether you like the drawn-out high.

(You do. You really do.)

And you have a feeling he knows that. If the hard cock grinding against your thigh was any indication, you would think he’s into it, too.

“Yes, baby, that’s it. Give me one more —one more before I fuck you…” he murmurs against your jaw, his soft voice reverberating on your skin. “Can you do that for me?”

You don’t always do strangers a favor, but when said stranger is handsome and funny and two fingers deep inside you, an exception can be made.

Might just be worth it. For both of us.

You don’t know when your first orgasm ends and your second begins. Blood and thrill and pleasure just course through your entire body from tip to toe, and it takes you a few moments to realize your moans and whimpers filling the air. He swallows your sweet noises into his kiss, and takes what he can get until you falter from his lips.

He smooths your hair away from your forehead tenderly, watching you regain some semblance of composure through heavy lids and thick lashes. Your finger brushes against the scars on his face. Two lines running down one side of his cheek, smaller ones on his chin. You don’t ask, but maybe the featherlight caresses over the lines is enough of a question.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rasps, “You still wanna do this?”

“You still need to ask?”

A smile breaks out on the corner of his lips as he bites the inside of his cheek. You push him off with a single finger to his chest, sending him to fetch a condom. This is not the time for stories or sentiments. You’re just two strangers tumbling into bed, looking to scratch an itch.

You flip onto your stomach, listening into the crinkle of the foil, fighting the temptation to sneak a peek at his… asset. But no. Let his length, his girth, his sheer size surprise you. You bury your face in his white sheets, soft and fresh and now wrinkled and bunched.

His large hands stroke your hips, soft on his calloused palms. Pulling you in with a trail of kisses up your spine. Nudging your opening with the tip of his cock.

“Fuck, you’re killing me, sweetheart…” Bradley grunts through gritted teeth.

“What?” you grin, grinding against his hard length. “I’m not doing anything.”

Smack! His hand lands sharply on your ass cheek. Not enough to actually hurt, but definitely enough to make your skin tingle. Enough to make you turn to face him, throwing you a dirty look. “Like hell you’re not.”

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

And then he does.

The smartass remark dies in your mouth, and a low groan comes to life in his, as he stretches you open. Deliciously painful and painfully delicious in the best way —the kind that makes your mind go blank for a moment.

“Fuck, I…” Bradley stills, fully sheathed inside you. “Can I —can I move?”

He sounds so earnest like this. So vulnerable. Boyish, almost. You’re almost tempted to kiss his stupid face senseless, if only moving your hips weren’t a much better way to satiate your desire. Drawing yourself nearly all the way off of him, and hitting your ass back. The sound of skin slapping against each other is filthy, but it still doesn’t beat the groans rumbling out of his chest and the breathy moans you bury in the bedsheets.

The California air is warm that night, but you want it to set you on fire. As he finds his pace, pounding in and out of you with more grit, you reach back for his waist, his hip, his anything, just to say,

“Harder.”

He slows down, the intrigue audible in his voice. “What’s that?”

“I said…” you take a deep breath, setting your jaw as you clench around him, “Harder.”

He curses under his breath and slams you back into his hips. Slower. Deeper.

Definitely harder.

“That hard enough for you, sweetheart?” The spank he gives your ass right after is a sweet consolation prize. He grabs your hair, buries his hand in the roots, and pulls you up so that your back’s flush against his bare chest and good God, you feel like you’re winning.

His hands are everywhere —on your tits, around your waist, between your legs— and he laves wet, desperate kisses on your shoulder, panting in your ear, thrusting up into you mercilessly. And as you inch closer to another orgasm, he holds you closer, cages you in his strong arms.

“Shit… good girl. Come for me…”

It’s too intense. Too intimate. You shouldn’t be able to zone in on his heartbeats matching yours. Or the little kisses pressing on your cheek. But your resolve is slipping, and you fall apart in his arms as he holds you in place —and as he comes inside you, you wonder if you’re in the right place, after all.

He pulls out, and you let out a little whimper, hand digging into his wrist at the loss. But he soothes his hand up and down your thigh in reassurance, and with a final kiss to your jaw, gets up to discard the condom while you catch your breath.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” you remark, propping yourself back on your arms. “I thought you were an… all-round vanilla kind of guy.”

“Well, you know what they say. Always assume vanilla until proven otherwise.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, interest piqued. “Huh. Does that mean you’re… not that vanilla?”

“Maybe,” he drawls mischievously, though you don’t miss the glance he stole at your bare chest.

“Care to share with the class?”

“I think I can show you better than I can tell you.” He sits on the edge of the bed in front of you, closing the distance to your lips dramatically.

You fall back into his bed, laughing into his kiss, noting his penchant for corny one-liners —of which he’s openly proud of. And amidst all the jokes and the talks of less-than-vanilla sex, the two of you seem to forget about the very action of sex itself. Even in the nude and the sweat of the heat, the two of you are perfectly content lying around in lazy kisses and soft touches. Along his arm. Down his chest.

His face.

“Car accident,” he says out of the blue.

“What?” It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been tracing the scars on his cheek—again. Featherlight against the harsh lines. You retract your hand ever so slightly —you really didn’t mean to pry, but he really doesn’t seem to mind.

“Junior year of high school.” He nods matter-of-factly. “The car flipped eight times, I was thrown out the window, landed like 50 feet away… I even still got gravel in my face.”

He juts out his chin, and you tentatively reach out. The bumps were minute, but they’re there.

“Shit. That’s awful,” you mutter. “Bet the ladies think it’s badass, though.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” His eyes flutter heavily with each blink.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you take a good look at him. So… soft in his broad and gruff and masculine glory. And then ultimately you decide, “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” He opens one eye, looking at you curiously for a moment—proving your point even further—before relaxing back into his pillow. “That’s not too shabby, ain’t it?”

And as he lazily strokes your hair, you can’t help but agree.

Not too shabby at all.

***

iii. Lizzy McAlpine — an ego thing

The next morning, 0800 sharp, the principal cast is gathered in a hangar of the Naval Air Station, making small talk with each other on the weather and the flight in and the training that lies ahead. Your co-star Pedro makes a joke about a dramatic entrance his character makes in the beginning of the story, and you simply laugh it off.

But then you hear footsteps. The heavy combat boots against the concrete, and you turn around. And it’s really, really funny how life imitates art.

Your stomach shouldn’t have dropped so quickly —the sun hits him from the back, and you can only see his silhouette for a moment— but it did. The outfit may be different —gone is the flowy yellow Hawaiian shirt as the muted forest green flight suit takes its place—, but it’s still the same swaggered gait. The same pair of Ray Bans. The same 80’s mustache.

The same fucking guy you slept with last night.

“Everyone, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster,” Kevin, the stunt coordinator, addresses the whole team, “He’ll be replacing Lieutenant Natasha Trace as our resident naval pilot for this project.”

Shit.

“Morning, everyone.”

You hear an unruly choir of replies around you, but you can barely force out a response.

“Did you guys get a good night’s rest last night?” His eyes flicker your way for a second, and it feels like a cold stab to the heart. More replies from your crowd —seems like nobody caught wind of it, thank God. “Great. ‘Cause we got a long day ahead of us, folks.”

He moves on to the briefing, and you’re trying your damnedest to pay attention —this information is life-and-death, after all— but your head is still reeling. How fucking stupid were you for thinking life would let you off easy.

As if all this pilot training was a cakewalk.

“Who wants to go first?” The aviator snaps you out of your reverie, looking out at the whole group with a simple smile.

The boys exchange looks and kind of murmur ‘ladies first’ out of nerves and hesitation, and you’re a second too late in making any kind of response. This is your worst nightmare.

Kevin looks at you expectantly. “What do you say?”

You shoot your friends a dirty look, as you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place. The last thing you want to do is to be stuck in a cramped cabin thousands of feet in the air with the man you ghosted after hooking up last night. But at the same time, you don’t want to be a diva. You made a promise to yourself that you were gonna take on whatever challenge they throw at you head-on. And you’ve been making good on the promise so far.

You’re not gonna let some man ruin your streak.

“Lt. Bradshaw, this is Y/N,” Kevin introduces the two of you as you step up to formally introduce yourself.

You offer him a handshake. “It’s nice to meet you… sir.”

He doesn’t flinch at the honorific, but he does pause, as if processing how it rolls off your tongue. How strange it is to shake your hand after touching you everywhere else. “Just Rooster is fine. There’s no ranks in the cockpit. Got a callsign yet?”

“Houdini.” you nod briefly.

He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, curious.

“Passed the Dunker test in record time,” Kevin proudly notes. “She’s a tough one.”

“Let’s not jinx it, Kev.” You pat your friend in the arm with a tight smile.

Bradley —Rooster— isn’t unfriendly, by any means. He makes small talk about how the aircraft works and the training that’ll come in handy as the two of you suit up and get ready to fly. But as soon as the canopy closes, and it’s just you and him inside the jet, not a word is spoken between you. With the engine roaring underneath you, it’s still the most deafening 20-minute silence of your life.

“Houdini, huh?” Rooster flatly pipes up through the comm. “That’s fitting…”

He’s not gonna make this easy on you, but you try anyway. “Look, I—”

“Tower, this is Rooster on Joyride One. Are we clear for taxi?”

“Joyride One, you are clear for taxi,” an operator responds in your headphones.

The plane starts moving, but the only reason you’re taking a deep breath is the front-seater before you. “Rooster,” you call him again.

“I read you loud and clear, Houdini. Do you read me?” He sounds oddly calm. Even. Like there’s no subtext underneath his words.

But no subtext is enough subtext, and you know how to pick your battles —this isn’t one you’re gonna win. “Loud and clear,” you huff in relent. “What happened to Phoenix?”

“Duty calls.”

“That’s a shame. We were supposed to fly together.” You’ve met and talked to her a few times, and you really liked her. You were genuinely bummed that you no longer get to work with Rooster. It has nothing to do with avoiding Rooster.

Well. Maybe a little bit.

And with that, his facade finally cracks, and you can distinctly hear the coldness in his tone. “Guess you’re stuck with me now. Unless you wanna Houdini your way out of that, too.”

Motherfucker. You straighten up, bracing yourself as the aircraft starts gaining speed on the taxiway. “Nope, I’m good. Whaddya got for me?”

“We’re gonna start easy, get you accustomed to the height and the G-Force, and we’ll talk about the basic turns and spins when we’re in the air. Think you can handle that?”

“Oh, yeah. Bring it on.”

And you mean it. You’re taking every bit of willpower in your gut to use everything you’ve ever learned in the training. Every turn, every inversion, every multiplication of the gravity pull. Every thousand feet higher in the air.

You nearly throw up several times, but you’re much too spiteful to admit defeat. Not today.

Not ever.

And even if you get off the plane feeling like you’re about to die, you don’t show it. As soon as your feet touch down on the tarmac again, you simply take off your helmet and take a deep breath. In, out. Take in the smell of fuel and afterburner, which still beats the suffocating air of being stuck with Rooster.

“Kevin’s right.” he admits, fluffing out his matted hair once the helmet’s off. “You are a tough one.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, tight-lipped. “Hey, about last night—”

“I told you, I hear you loud and clear, Houdini.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, stopping in front of you.

“You left in the middle of the night—no number, no goodbye, nothing. Message received, okay? There’s no need to bring it up again, especially not when the comm lines are open.”

Oh.

He steps forward, lowering his voice yet somehow it feels even more intense. “In fact, let’s not bring it up again —ever. Just… forget it ever happened.” He turns on his heels and walks away, towards the hangar where everyone else is waiting.

It pisses you off beyond belief, that he scolded you like you were a child, and then he stormed off like one, and didn’t even let you get a word in. And it pisses you off even more, knowing that he’s right. You were wrong for leaving without a word. Wrong for leading him on, when you know there’s absolutely no chance for you. Wrong for indulging in his company anyway, knowing what you know.

You shat the bed, and now you’re gonna have to lie in it for a whole year.

<<<read part 2 here>>>

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #rooster smut #rooster x reader #ava writes #top gun maverick

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stargazing15 · 1 year

Text

Now that we meet again

Bradley Bradshaw x you

Summary: For five summers you were Bradley’s summer love (aka each others first love), until he joined the Navy. What would happen when you two stumble unto each other at the Hard Deck 15 years later?

Warning: no use of y/n, mention of alcohol consumption, teasing, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, protected sex, adult banter. Minors DNI 18+

A/N: saw this post from @roostersforevergirl and got the idea. This is long, whoops, I am not sorry at all

Enjoy! ❤️

You had to blink twice, after your initial thoughts got confirmed by hearing the name.

“Bradshaw, you gonna take the shot or what?” Bradley had noticed you too and started to make his way over, after shoving the pool cue in the blond haired man’s hands.

“It is really you. Wow, long has it been? You look good, no, you look fucking great Bubbles.”

“About 15 years I guess. B, you aged well too. Where did that cute babyface go?” The hug was more than welcome. “God I missed you.” As you were about to tickle him, you weren’t feeling the soft belly under your fingers that you were used to feel, but rock hard yummy abs.

“Liking what you feel?” Oh Jesus that smirk combined with those puppy eyes, he still knew how to get to you. Definitely no alcohol tonight as you wanted to make sure to remember every single second clearly.

“Hell yeah, the scruff too. These muscles and the fact you didn't coming back during the next summers, does that mean you did it?”

“Yup, Lieutenant Bradshaw at your service.” He said after taking a sip of his beer, of course letting a droplet beer escape and drip down his lip, to his chin, down his neck, okay, you were a goner already.

“Hmm, you know I like men in a uniform, care to introduce me to those hunks over there? Seems my colleagues already ditched me.” He smirked at your first remark.

“One sec Bubbles, just so I know I wouldn’t cross a line. Since I don’t see a ring, any boyfriend I need to watch out for?” He actually was right to ask that as you were about to flirt shamelessly with each other for the rest of the evening.

“Nope, still waiting for you B,” you teased. “And on your side? So my eyes wouldn’t get scratched out.”

“Same, I was searching for you. Let me introduce to that bunch of idiots I call friends.”

“Bradshaw, since you brought the lovely lady over, apology accepted. Hangman is the name, but you can call me Jake.” The blonde one winked.

“Hangman, stuck in kindergarten?” He had never expected that answer from you while displaying your cutest face.

“Callsign darling. Please don’t tell me you’re his sister or something?”

“Ew no.”

“Bagman shut it.” Bradley introduced you to the group and vice versa.

“B, you have a callsign too?” Everyone told you theirs, but Bradley stayed awfully quiet next to you.

“He hasn’t told you yet? It’s one close to his father’s, to honor him and he's always the first one up, Rooster.” You choked on the water you were trying to drink. They all knew now with certainty, that was not the complete story behind his callsign.

“You’ve got to be shitting me B.”

“Darlin, you know the real story?” The blonde one asked you. You looked with a little mischievous smile at Bradley. Trying to warn you, Bradley signalled you with his eyes.

“Oh come on B, don’t give me that look, don’t they deserve to know?”

“Bubbles, pretty please?” And like that puppy eyes appeared again, but you were enjoying this way too much knowing his mind and dick were about take a little trip down memory lane.

“Wait, you’re THE Bubbles?” Natasha, the only girl in the group you learned, asked you/ screamed for the whole group. “Tell me ALL the juice. But you can start with his callsign.”

“I’m gonna get a drink before I die from embarrassment.” Bradley excused himself from the group. Just to stand at the bar a couple of feet further, still able to hear everything.

“Okay, one evening, we had a couple of drinks, he was telling me about his father’s job and about callsigns. I knew about his desire to become an aviator. So we were trying to find one fitting for him. And Bradley with his big dick energy, do I need to tell more?”

“Oh my god, you two fucked?” Mickey as you remembered right, shouted.

“Bubbles, it was your favourite hobby during the summers as I remember right?” If he wasn’t shameless anymore, you were definitely not going to hold back anymore.

“Oh B, you know I love your massive dick.” The group was in awe on your reaction.

“S-so, how did you get your nickname, Bubbles?” The most innocent one of the group asked you, trying to chance the subject. He did not know, you were about to corrupt him further.

“Lost a bet and got Bubbles tatted on my butt, I always liked her.” You immediately noticed Jake eying your butt, as if he could see through your jeans. “Wanna see cowboy?”

“Hell yeah darlin.”

“Oh hell no, over my dead dick, uh body.” Bradley took a sip of his glass from embarrassment. You went closer to Bradley and stood in front of him, blocking the view from the others.

“Don’t tell me you already jerked off in the bathroom?” You whispered in Bradley’s ear while slowly letting your fingers trace down from his abs to your favourite merchandise in his pants and of course giving it a soft squeeze, making Bradley grunt.

“Well, your fault for looking this good.” After your little stunt he placed one leg between yours, letting his thigh touch with your clothed core, making you wanted to grind on him already. The moment your pelvis shifted a little to feel some friction, he removed his leg and joined Bob and Micky on the other side of the pool table, leaving you behind already hot and bothered. "Dickhead." You growled

“So, tell me more about younger Bradley, sorry, but we are in desperate need of blackmail material.” You were joined by Natasha and Rueben, after Bradley ditched you.

“Ooooh, I still have pictures on my phone, I think they’re somewhere in my cloud. One sec.” You kept your pictures together always close, let’s be honest, because he was and still is the love of your life. Only for five summers you got to call him yours.

Your face lit up the moment you found the pictures you were looking for. “Here, this was I think 16 years ago. And here, this one, from our last summer. This babyface is the same Bradley as the one standing over there.”

“I never imagined him being a little, chubby? But good chubby. You know he talked about you when we were deployed? When we are deployed, we all get sappy.”

“He was the cutest, too sad we lived so far away from each other during the rest of the year back then. What did he say about me?”

“It was always, back then Bubbles this and Bubbles that. And I don’t know if I should say this, but he referred to you as the one who got away. You were not just his first love, also the love of his life.”

“Nat is right. He was never able to keep a girlfriend, there was clearly always someone else on his mind.”

“Guys, I just met you and you two seriously trying to make me cry?”

***

“Rooster, man, you two are too obvious.” Mickey patted on his back.

“She’s ... really hot, I knoooow.” Bradley slurred.

“How many did you have already? You’re drunk and dumb. You two are so in love with each other. You realize that right?”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

“Come on, Rooster, this was your chance, why did you fuck it up by getting drunk?” Bob tried to make him aware of his mistake. Bob signalled you to come over with a sad expression.

“I’m so sorry your reunion night has to end like this, but he’s too drunk to keep him here, it’s been years since he’s been this drunk. I'm so sorry he's like that."

“You don’t have to apologize for his actions Bob, you are too kind. Can you help me with his address, I’ll drive his car, I came by cab.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, no one else but him can drive his Bronco.”

“He still has that thing? Don’t worry, I’ve driven it before. Ain’t that right B? I helped a bit with fixing it back in the days.”

“What? My Bronco gets to touch you first, I’m mad at her.” Bradley drunkenly grumbled.

“Jesus B, shut up before you’re about to embarrass yourself further.”

“Can you handle him on your own darlin?”Jake asked, coming out of nowhere.

“Not my first ride with drunken Bradley. It was nice meeting you all. Probably till a next time!”

After they helped you with loading Bradley in his Bronco and typing in the address, you were finally alone with him. Alone, with drunk Bradley, or so you thought.

“This was not how I imagined our reunion would end B.” You mumbled quietly. Not wanting a quiet ride, you put on one of cassettes you found on the dashboard. “Still the same music? Not much has changed apart from your appearance B.” Bradley hummed in response.

“Almost there, just don’t get sick and puke in your own car.”

“Never.” He sat up, stretched himself and suddenly did not look and sounded drunk at all.

“What the fucking hell! Dipshit, we left your friends because of you, they were all so nice.” You smacked the back of his head, making Bradley hiss in return.

“Eyes on the road Bubbles.”

“But what the fuck B, why this stunt? What were you drinking all night? You’re an idiot!” You were done raging by now.

“Feeling better?” You nodded as you parked his Bronco. “Penny, the nice bartender, she’s a good friend of us, she asked about you. And then noticed that you were having a nice time with the group. I might have said something about how always took care of me when I had a little too much to drink and she might have helped me with giving me apple juice.”

“Oh my god, you want me all for yourself. You didn't hear this but I love selfish Bradley. Come on, lead the way.”

Bradley’s house was unexpectedly … cute and cosy. “B, I love this place.” Oh god, he sneaked up behind you, just like the old days. His scent has changed, this was better, more manly, even more intoxicating than it ever was. His hands now on you waist, re-exploring the form of your body, his lips already planting kisses on your neck. The outline of his hardened dick already noticeable on your back.

Bradley hurriedly turned you around and pressed your back against the wall, taking your face in his big hands. His nose was touching yours as he was staring in your eyes.

“I missed you so much.” Before you got the chance to say anything back, his lips were on yours, his tongue immediately demanding entrance. Your arms sneaked around his head, occasionally gripping on his locks. You both got flashback to those hot summer nights, making out in one of your bedrooms. Those memories and your bodies being pressed together made you moan, loud.

Bradley heard you and let go of the kiss, only to start attacking your jaw and neck with needy, wet kisses while hurriedly trying to discard your blouse, but he was stuck somewhere. You placed your small hands on his big ones to make him stop destroying your clothes.

“B, stop, take a breath.” He looked so lost at your words, eyes still blown with lust. He was doubting himself on the inside. Was he wrong to think you wanted this too? You two were flirting non stop with each other the whole evening. And when he kissed you, you definitely kissed back, he was sure you were enjoying it a lot.

You placed your finger on his lips and let your other hand that was still on top of his, slide in his hand. Slowly you guided him to his sofa while walking backwards, not breaking eye contact. Once Bradley was seated, your finger let go of his lips. “You really look cute confused B.”

“But I am Bubbles, I thought that you l-”

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” You seated yourself on his lap facing him and placed his hand on your heart and so did you with your hand on his heart. “Let’s do this again.” This kiss was not hurried, it was slow and tender. You and Bradley had kissed a lot in the past, and was passionate many times, but never like this. Every kiss, every touch, every time you and Bradley fucked were burned in your memory. Your heart had never be able to let go of him and tonight you were going to let him know. When you broke off the kiss to catch your breath, you noticed how wet you got from just kissing him. Yes, you wanted him to take you here and now, but you had waited so many years for this, so this moment had to be the most memorable one.

“But I don’t want you to leave after tonight Bubbles, I’ve been so dumb for not coming back or searching harder for you after not coming back-“

“You really only think with that big dick of yours? Have you not listened tonight?” Bradley shot you the same confused look as earlier, but with a slight smirk at the mention of his dick. “I” kiss “was” kiss “at” kiss “the” kiss “bar” kiss “with” kiss “colleagues” kiss, you tried to deepen the kiss, but Bradley backed his head and kept looking at you confused.

“Colleagues? Work?” You hoped those words would start to make sense.

“I really am not getting it Bubbles.”

“Jesus B, you are stationed here right?”

“Yes, permanently.”

“I work in the city. I live here too B, since 10 months and I am staying here, permanenly.”

“Oh”

“I’m not going anywhere B.”

“Never going to let go of you again.” He lifted you up with him and walked with you clinging onto him to his bedroom. “You are not allowed to leave this house for the next two days.”

“Uh, underwear?”

“If I remember right, you look good in mine, but I doubt you will wear anything during those two days. Because we,” he threw you on his bed, “are going to make up for all the time we lost.”

Bradley still being the big tease he is, slowly got out of his shirt and tossed it somewhere on the ground. Your mouth fell open at the sight in front of you, you had already felt it, but seeing him being this ripped, looking at you with his sinful eyes and sweet jesus that massive stick visible in his jeans, you were officially done for any other man.

Bradley crawled on top of you, opening your blouse button by button and kissing the newly exposed skin before opening the next button. When the last one was opened you helped him get rid of your blouse. Next he opened the button and zipper of your pants, letting it slowly lower on your legs. “Have you got any idea how beautiful you are? You’re so fucking perfect.”

Bradley returned to pepper kisses all over your body while his hands roamed over the rest of your body. He made this moment feel so intimate and perfect. When he was satisfied with his kisses on you, he turned his attention to your boobs, letting his fingers trace over the lace covering them. “As much as I like it, I think I might like more what’s underneath it, can I?”

“Please B, your lips feel so good on me.” He didn’t need to be told twice to remove your bra and toss on the other side of the room. He started to kiss each boob first before turning his attention to your nipples. He skilfully took one bud in his mouth and let his tongue make love to it, the sensation going straight to your already dripping core. He had only just begun and you were already a moaning mess under him.

Bradley sat up after taking care of your other nipple too, admiring your needy look under him. You never used to like this quiet moments, but with Bradley, he made you feel like a goddess.

After contemplating for a minute what to do first, Bradley decided something was missing on you and he went back to kissing your neck and collarbone again. His kisses weren’t going to give him the result he wanted so he started sucking your skin in between kisses right under your collarbone to leave a mark he will be able to admire the rest of the weekend.

“B, please … something.” you moaned under his touch and kisses.

“Enlighten me Bubbles.”

“Your mouth, on me, lower, ooh.” He yanked your panties off, your sweet moans were now making it impossible for him to keep up the slower pace he was trying to maintain.

“Fuck you’re so wet for me babe. So, so perfect, all for me.” He settled himself comfortably between your thighs, letting his hot breath ghost over your wetness. After a needy whine escaped over your lips, he stopped admiring you and kitten licked your slit first and your clit a couple of times. He let his tongue explore what you liked and found a good rhythm softly circling your clit, making the heat inside your body rise more and more, getting you closer to your pending orgasm. Deciding not to let wait any longer for your high, Bradley gently inserted two fingers in your needy core. He moaned when your walls already started to clench around his fingers. You were so lost in the trance Bradley had put you in, that you couldn’t hold anything back anymore. You started to buck your hips a little to make his fingers hit the spot that made you see stars immediately. The little movement of your hips added more pressure from Bradley’s tongue on your clit, what made you scream out his name. As soon as he increased the speed of his fingers in combination with the circling motion of his tongue on your clit, you felt the heat building up in your belly reach its high and the muscles in your butt and abdomen tense. And then, it all exploded, your insides squeezed the hell out of Bradley’s fingers, a firework went off in your belly and your mind was on the fluffiest cloud possible.

Bradley pricked your wonderful bubble open by starting to kiss the Bubbles tattoo on your butt. "Missed you beautiful girl. Only you." Good thing his obnoxious smirk betrayed his intentions.

“You dick.”

“Hear that buddy, she loves you.” He said to his proudly erected dick.

You put up your biggest eyes and a pouty face "You want me to lick your lollipop B?" You licked your lips in the process.

"Oh yes please."

Your expression changed to an apologetic one "Too bad I'm not in the mood for a lollipop, I think you only look good between my thighs." You took his dick in your hands and teased him by pumping in an extreme slow motion. He threw his head back when he felt your hands on him and groaning at your slow speed. "You only get to enjoy when you're inside me" you winked, "punishment for not searching for me harder."

"Fuck Bubbles, come here." He closed the gap between you with a sloppy kiss. His hands back on your boobs as soon as you laid on your back. Maybe your heads hitting each other for a second when you landed on the bed. You couldn't hold back a little laugh as Bradley was still clumsy when he wanted to hurry something.

"Remember we have time B, no hurry or one of us might get injured." You joked with a little mischievous smile. "But I've got to admit can't wait to have you inside me."

"Fuck Bubbles. Got mouthy over the years. I like that." He moaned in between kisses. He started to lower his kisses to your neck, to your boobs and eventually to your stomach while gripping your thighs with his wonderful hand throughout his kissing-spree.

"God, B. The scruff feels wonderful, thought the Navy wouldn't allow that." It did tickle your stomach lightly.

"Unfortunately not, thought to try it on my time off. Will keep my stache. That will never disappear. Do you want me to grab a-" He said while signalling to his top drawer of his night stand.

"Maybe, yeah, I think I'm clean, I always have been careful, but I don't want to risk, you know for the Navy. Sorry for being a little party pooper. Going to make an appointment first thing in the morning." During your sudden rambling Bradley had already taken a condom and torn the package open with his teeth. He rolled it over his very erected dick and started to position himself in front of your entrance, until he noticed you suddenly changing attitude.

"Don't go all shy on me now Bubbles."

"It's not that, might sound weird, but I just got this nostalgic feeling. I wanted to cherish it for a moment."

"Good, but we're going to make it better." He positioned himself in front of your entrance and slowly pushed his cock inside you.

"F-fuck B, so big, easy p-please." You panted, trying to adjust to his size, a small tear appeared on the brim of the eyes.

"Had any decent dick after me?" He started to play with your boobs again to make the adjustment somewhat easier.

"Fuck no, your lovestick is the best." One thing your learned during the years you and Bradley fucked: praise his big dick, the more you fuel his ego, the lovelier it gets for you.

Your remark unleashed his ego and he accidentally bucked his hips, making you moan loud in the process. "Shit sorry Bubbles."

"Keep going, fuck it feels so wonderful. Oh." You didn't mean to, but the sounds escaping your mouth sounded like a needy little bitch. That was the effect Bradley had on you, make you loose complete control.

Bradley started to thrust, deep and slow thrusts. Only grunts and moans were escaping your mouths, even Bradley managed to keep his dirty mouth shut. All because you were both enjoying this way too much. For the first time in your history with Bradley, he was making love to you. If he had done it like this the last time 15 years ago, he would have probably snuck you into his bag when joining the Navy.

His thrusts were still slow and deep, but he managed to go a little harder the second he managed to hit your spot. You were getting close again, very close. You moaning his name over and over again as you were meeting his thrusts while bucking your hips slightly.

"Close too Bubbles, fuck, you're so, ah, so good. Let go." And you did exactly as he asked, he sped up lightly and made your orgasm hit you like a truck. Just like that, your body fell limp due to to intense contraction of all of your muscles. It felt weird this intense, yet so wonderful. Seconds after you Bradley came too, screaming your name, not Bubbles. Hearing your name roll over his lips like that, damn. You were still in a haze from your own orgasm, but hearing was as icing on the cake. Life was perfect now.

Two minutes had passed and you were both still laying knocked fucked out on the bed, your hands had found each other and intertwined. "Wow, I always thought they exaggerated in movies after the mind blowing sex that we never get to see. But now I understand. I'll be right back." Bradley took the condom he had removed after collapsing on the bed and came back a bit later with a warm washcloth to take care of you.

"Thanks B, I don't think I am able to walk for a bit." You smiled shyly.

"That good huh?" He joined you again on the bed, giving you your panties and one of his his large shirts after getting in his boxers. He kissed you softly before laying down in front of you, so you could stare at another.

"Hmm, let me think, did I have better? Oh maybe that one ... nah, oh bit a couple years ago, he was good .. but nah. Oooh fifteen years ago, that guy was something. Oh wait. Just kidding B, you have always been the best for me and this was the best yet. No one has made me cum with his dick only."

"I love you." Bradley blurted out, he was shocked at his own words. He was planning on telling them, just not yet. He wanted to bring up some good memories first, talk a bit, cuddle, spoil you, maybe make you confess first. But the words were out before he knew it.

You moved closer to Bradley and laid one hand on his cheek while planting your lips on his. "I love you too B, always have."

A little tear appeared in his the corner of his eyes. "B, are you crying? Is something wrong?"

He quickly wiped away the tear and smiled. "Fuck no, everything is alright, even more than alright. Hearing those words, I can get used to hearing them .

"Bradley, I love you too. I love you. I love you. I love you." And you ended your mantra with a peck on his lips.

"Hmm, in for a treat sweetheart? Spoiling me like that." Bradley already disappeared under the sheets, holding your hips down, ready to go down on you again. This was going to be the most memorable weekend of your life and finally the start of Bradley and you.

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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for mvm i’m thinking about the dagger squad being mechanics and they’re all fussing over you and offering to fix your car when you walk in their shop (i just think miles teller would look good in a dirty wife beater 😪)

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

Natasha doesn't think it's fair that she's working the counter when you come wandering in, looking like a little lost puppy. If she'd forced Jake to take his shift at the right time, and not duck out for lunch, she'd be dressed down more, in a tank top that highlights all the places she wants you to see most. Instead, she's in a baggy uniform, nametag shining on her chest.

She tries to compensate for her lackluster outfit with extra sweetness when she greets you, "Hi there! What can we do for you today?"

She leans over the counter, bracing her chin in her hands. It puts her face closer to yours, just far away enough to claim professionality, even if she is trying to get a subtle whiff of your shampoo.

"Hi," You smile nervously at her, "My car broke down? It's- it's like, a mile up the road that way," You point out the door to a long stretch of road, one that's notorious for being away from most cell service.

"Aw," She croons, sympathy in her voice as her eyes soften impossibly further, "It's alright, we can tow it back here for you. You must be tired, walking all that way, you want a water?"

"Oh!" You gush when she pulls a bottle out from a cooler behind the desk, "That's okay, are you sure?"

"Totally sure," She sends you a wink, passing the chilled bottle over the counter, "I can drive the truck, but we'll need to get one other worker to come with us to hook it up. It's not a one-man job."

"Okay," You nod, standing adrift at the counter as she bustles about, slamming her thumb down on a comm system.

"Bradshaw!" She snaps, voice thick and rough, "Pull a truck around, someone needs towing."

"On it." Comes a raspy, grainy sound from the comm only seconds later, a man's voice this time.

"He's not a very good driver," Natasha explains, taking all the opportunity she gets to talk Bradley down, "You ever heard of 'brains and brawn'?"

You nod, and she laughs, "Let's just say, he's not the brain."

"Who's stupid?" Comes a voice from behind the counter, and a man with gelled brown hair and thick glasses emerges from the bathroom, "Oh- uh, hello, are you having car trouble?"

The man looks like a deer in headlights, all pinky cheeks and wide eyes. His nametag reads Bob, and you shift on your feet as you nod.

"Yeah," Your teeth catch the inside of your cheek and you gnaw there, "Uh, my car broke down on the road out there, and it needs towing."

"Oh! I can drive," He offers with a sweet, hopeful smile, but Natasha intercepts, unbuttoning her uniform shirt so that only a white tank lays underneath.

"I'm driving," She states as calmly as possible, but she's urgent to shut him down as she leaves her uniform draped over the back of her chair, "Bradley's hooking it up."

"Oh," Bob's shoulders sink, but perk back up once he spots the cooler, "Has anyone offered you a water?"

You hold up the bottle, smiling sweetly at him, "Thanks anyways."

"Here," The door behind Natasha bursts open with a bang, and a man steps out, chest heaving a shirt stained with grease. The white fabric holds tight to his skin, and there's a similar smear of grease across the bulge of his bicep.

He spots you, and he heaves one final exhale, holding out an oil-stained hand for you to shake.

"Bradley," He introduces himself with a charming smile, and his eyes are concealed behind aviator sunglasses, "You need towing?"

"I do," You lament, reaching for his hand and trying to avoid the grease smeared on his skin. His fingers are rough, calloused, but his touch is soft as he wraps his other hand around your intertwined ones and shakes yours.

"Don't worry," He soothes, choosing to vault himself over a lower part of the counter instead of open the door, so that his muscles pop. He lands beside you, shoulders broad and breath momentarily hot against your shoulder, "We'll get it fixed up for you."

"Thank you," You breathe, hands suddenly sweaty. They're circling you like vultures, Natasha hastily breaking through the segmented doorway and standing on your other side.

"Tow truck's out front," Bradley motions to the truck standing tall in the parking lot, "Actually, Natasha, you can sit this one out. I don't need help with the cables, and the front desk needs manning."

"That's what Bob's here for," She keeps steady, tense eye contact with Bradley, "Plus the last time you tried driving that truck, you almost crashed."

"Did not," He snaps.

"Did too," She sneers.

"Uh," Bob interjects, "If you want, I can-"

"No!' Bradley and Natasha turn on him in unison, but the door opens and cuts off any protests they could have given.

"Someone need towin'?" A southern drawl cuts across the room, and the employees around you groan.

"Ah," A man smiles from the doorway, flanked by another mechanic behind him with sharp features, nametag reading Javy.

"You must be the unlucky driver," The man drawls, Jake engraved on the metal tag on his chest, "Did'ja break down on the dirt out there?"

"Yeah," You breathe, taking a slow step towards him, "How'd you know?"

"People break down there all the time," He waves a hand dismissively, "How 'bout I help you with that, darlin'?"

"I'm driving," Bradley and Natasha speak in unison, and it puts a satisfied smirk on Jake's face.

"My coworkers are prone to infighting," Jake explains, feigning solemnity as he lays a hand on your shoulder, "It's a real problem. Let us take you, okay? We can let them sort out their issues on their own."

Javy holds the door open for you and Jake, sending Natasha, Bradley, and Bob a shit-eating grin, when you're out of earshot before he joins you, "Tryhards."

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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

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How It's Done (1/2)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Warnings: erm maybe just some references to sex? jake being jake? language? minions. big warning for minions xD

Notes: This is part one of a two-parter, the next will be mostly smut lmao. Thank you for reading! I would love any feedback or comments and dont forget to reblog if you feel so inclined!!!

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