Tumgir
#hangman
unicornships · 2 days ago
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just a handsome glen powell in his striped shirt and ears hearts ~♡ looking like a teddy bear 🧸
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rooster-soup · a day ago
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too little too late
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jennleesobsessions · 23 hours ago
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If you didn’t know Glen Powell was in spy kids, now you do. 😃
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shaunlovesyou · 2 days ago
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I got a paper cut ~ Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin
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You hear your name being called from the sitting room of your quaint home, each syllable being dragged out in a whine. You take your time heading towards the direction of the voice, knowing it’s just your boyfriend being dramatic.
As you reach the source of the noise your eyes fall upon Jake’s pointer finger being cradled in his right hand and a large pout on his face.
“I got a paper cut.” Jake states, holding his injured finger towards you.
“You poor baby.” you reply, walking towards him and inspecting his finger. “The damage is already done, we might have to cut it off.” you threaten jokingly.
“I think a kiss will do.” he suggests smugly while reaching up to hold your face in his hands, slowly pulling it to his.
“I have a better idea.” you announce, pulling away and laughing silently at Jake’s annoyed expression.
You go to the kitchen, peer into a drawer and are met with two boxes of plasters, you opt to go for the box with Toy Story characters printed across the front. You had bought them a few months ago when you and Jake were babysitting his niece, who had gotten a scrape from falling over outside. 
You carry them over to the sitting room and pull one out of the box. Before he can protest you cover the small cut and give his finger a kiss. 
“Do we not have any normal band aids?” he whines, gesturing towards his finger where Buzz Lightyear was proudly displayed.
“Blame your niece for having such great taste.” you giggle.
“I’m going to get made fun of.” Jake complains.
“I can take it off?” you suggest.
“No.” he blurts out. “Y’know in case it starts bleeding again.”
“Whatever you say.” you reply intending to resume what you were doing before you were interrupted.
“Lie down with me?” Jake asks, grabbing your wrist to prevent you from leaving.
“You have to finish that.” you wave towards the messy stack of papers lying atop the small coffee table.
“I don’t have the best relationship with paper right now.” he huffs, making you laugh.
“Fine.” you give in.
You lie on top of Jake on the plush couch, your head resting on his chest. He grabs a throw blanket to put on top of both of you. Your eyes grow heavy and you decide that a quick nap won’t do any harm. 
As you doze off you feel a tender kiss being pressed against the top of your head and a lazy smile spreads across your face.
Warm summer evenings like these are greatly underappreciated.
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eightyfive911 · a day ago
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JAKE SERESIN! — @dracosluvbot's fic recs
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reminder: this is extremely important and i take this very seriously out of respect for the community. please do remember to read the rules for the respective blogs before interacting with or reading them!
return to the library masterlist here
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↳ masterlist by @zablife
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xivdl · 2 days ago
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hi! I love ur work, and I wanted to request hangster with either puppies/kittens, and just being adorably soft with each other too. Thank you so much❤️❤️❤️
they're absolutely dog dads
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bonus
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lorecraft · a day ago
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Ummmm….. how about the pilots caught Hangman x civilian fem shyreader making out?
Awww this is so cute, thank you! Unedited fluff below.
He said it’s the safest spot in the dorms.
He snuck you in. He promised everyone was out at the bar. “Mav is feeling generous, so they’ll be there all night.”
“Are you sure?” You ask again, your fingers wrapped up in the tight white v neck he has on. You can see the soft tuft of dusty blond hair on his chest and it makes your skin heat up.
He smiles, sunshine bright and pulls you in tight. “I promise, honey bee. Now, c’mon and gimme some sugar.”
You giggle as you lean in, your lips molding to his. His tongue slides into your mouth and you can feel the groan reverberate through his body. Your fingers trail from his shirt to his hair, his move from your waist to the hem on your pretty pink sundress.
“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” A voice rings out in the common room, startling you away from Jake.
You yelp and jerk away, your eyes as wide as saucers as you stare at the intruder, mustache and all. “I’m sorry, I was just-”
The stranger laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. I just came back to get my wallet.” He moves to stand next to the couch and slaps your boyfriend on the arm. “So this is why you’ve been acting all weird these last couple of weeks? Hiding this pretty little thing from us?”
Jake sneers and bats his fellow pilot away. “Fuck off, Bradshaw.”
“Testy.” The brunet turns to you and smiles. “You must be something special if you got this one tamed.” He tosses you a wink before he heads off down the hall towards what you assume are rooms.
When he’s gone, Jake sighs and tries to coax you back over. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t expect him to show up.”
You happily scoot back into his lap and place an innocent kiss on his nose. “Something special, huh?” You ask teasingly.
Flushing slightly, Jake nods and runs a few fingers down your spine. “Mhm, you sure are, sugar. Lemme show you.”
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callmefirefly · a day ago
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Y/N: You're smiling. What happened?
Hangman: What? Can't I smile just because I feel like it?
Phoenix: Rooster tripped and fell down the stairs today.
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justfandomwritings · 2 days ago
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A Package Deal
Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader x Phoenix
Word Count: 2.3K
Warnings: Lots of non-explicit sexual tension and pining; heavy handed flirting and smutty implications
Summary: You've been a bartender at the Hard Deck for a while now, and you've gotten to know the pilots of TopGun pretty well. They work hard, and they play hard. And God what you wouldn't give to play around with a couple of them, not that you'd ever had the guts to ask.
Notes: IDK I got bored and horny, and I thought the world needed more Hangman/Phoenix/Reader fics.
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She’s the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen in your life. She’s hot in the uniform, but out of it she’s fucking stunning.
Dark brown hair cascading in luscious waves around her face. Dark, lidded eyes piercing into you like they can see straight through your mind and hear every lewd thought that crosses it. Beautiful lips that pull back over perfect teeth and fill you with a longing to make her smile like that at you every day.
Long, toned legs that stretch out from under the sexy little blue dress she’s donning. They go on for days in those nude heels every time she takes a step and oh fuck.
She’s taking another step. Fuck fuck fuck. She’s walking towards you. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been ogling her from across the bar like a fucking creep and now she’s walking towards you.
You glance nervously around the bar and see a guy with a mostly empty drink and rush over.
“Get you a refill?”
The man nods and raises his glass in wordless appreciation.
It’s bourbon on the rocks. Not even top shelf. The cheap, well shit. It takes about thirty seconds to make, but it gives you an excuse to turn around. You drag it out to a full minute: picking out each individual cube of ice and giving the slowest pour you can reasonably manage.
It wasn’t long enough. When you turn around she’s there.
She’s leaning against the bar, standing, the bottom of her breasts just brushing the counter of the bar while the tops peer up at you invitingly from the deep cut v.
“Good afternoon Lieutenant, what can I get you?” You gulp as you sets the bourbon down in front of the intended patron.
“Two beers,” Natasha smiles at you. Actually smiles at you, and for a moment you have to make the conscious decision not to melt into a puddle on the floor.
She doesn’t say anything, but she’s looking at you, looking through you, with those all-knowing eyes. She knows she has power over you, and yet you’re absolutely certain she doesn’t know how much power she has over you.
“Two?” Your voice remains surprisingly even as you open the fridge beneath the countertop and pull out the pilots’ usual beer of choice. For a moment, you’re proud of yourself for this small, though seemingly insurmountable achievement.
“Yeah, I got company.”
It hurts your heart, but you don’t show it on your face - or at least you try not to - as you set two bottles down in front of her. Of course she has company. Coming in here looking like that, she has to have company. If she came here to find company she’s so pretty she could’ve got it wearing a wet paper bag, but she’s dressed up, wearing an outfit that’s meant to impress someone.
“Who’s the lucky date?” You try to sound casual, but from the way her eyes rove over your face you know you’ve failed.
“No one you’d disapprove of.”
She turns back to watch the doors of the bar and only moments later they swing open.
Your mouth runs dry.
If she is the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen, he is the sexiest man alive. People magazine could sell more copies just from putting his face on the cover than any famous celebrity’s name.
He’s not in uniform either, and the only time you’ve ever seen him out of uniform was playing football - which was a positively religious experience. You’ve never seen him in civilian clothes, and god you don’t know what’s sexier the leather jacket or the abs you know are lurking underneath it.
His hair is Slightly disheveled but in a styled sort of way. There’s far less product in it today than normal. He’s let it fall naturally to one side, and it sways gently as he turns his head. He’s clearly had the day off because his facial hair has gone well beyond five o’clock shadow to full blown stubble, and it’s a look that is an absolute crime to shave off.
For a brief moment, very brief, you forget Natasha is sitting in front of you. It’s a feat no other man or woman alive is capable of. No one could hold a candle to the fire she lit except the walking inferno that is Jake Seresin.
Walking. Fuck fuck fuck. You turn away again. There’s no drinks to refill now. It’s too early in the afternoon. There aren’t enough patrons. Penny isn’t even in yet for her shift.
You busy yourself with finding your cleaning rag and wiping down the center island of the bar.
Behind you there is a tinkling laugh. Natasha’s laugh. You’d memorized the sound from the few times you’d managed to cause it. And it tore through you making your heart stutter step. She was laughing at you. Not great, but god what a laugh it was. It wasn’t the same as making her laugh, but it was still such an indescribably happy feeling.
“Jake,” Natasha greeted, and you heard a stool pull out.
She never called him Jake. He never called her Natasha. Call signs only. Even off the clock. This must be … something real.
“Good to see you Nat, did I miss any of the fun?” Gods his voice could make you weak in the knees and he wasn’t even talking to you. You weren’t even looking at him.
You could circle the bar. Circling the bar was good. You weren’t really supposed to hang out on the far side of the center island. It hid the front door and incoming customers from view. You were only supposed to make a quick round. But these were extenuating circumstances. Surely Penny would understand.
“Not at all, we hadn’t even started.”
“Haven’t started and she’s already squirming like that?”
They were talking about you. They had to be talking about you. You didn’t really have an ego, and you would normally never assume anyone was ever talking about you, let alone two people as gorgeous as Natasha and Jake. But they had to be talking about you. There weren’t that many other women in the bar to begin with – a couple regulars over playing darts and one guy with his fiancé in the corner – and you were certainly squirming. At least inside your skin you were squirming.
You can feel your face going red, feel the heat rising under the surface. You choose to ignore it. Ignore them. It is the safest option. You can’t turn around, not as flustered as you are now. You’ll never hear the end of it from Jake if you do. Natasha will give you that knowing smile from time to time, but if Jake saw you like this, flushed at the mere idea they were talking about you, he would tease you till the end of time. You did not have the mental fortitude to deal with Jake “Hangman” Seresin teasing you every day.
“Well, you know (Y/n),” Natasha seems to make a point to say your name a little louder, “we’re gonna have to ease her into it.”
You whip around. You can’t help it. Whether it’s the way she says your name or the tone in which she says she’s going to ‘ease’ you into some unspecified thing, the implications are a shock to the system, and you truly can’t stop yourself from turning around, wide-eyed as a deer in headlights, to face the two pilots.
Jake is grinning at you, smug and self-assured as he always is. His fingers are delicately wrapped around the neck of his beer bottle as he leans back in the barstool. There’s a lazy air about the way he takes a swig from the bottle.
Lazy is not a word you would normally associate with Jake Seresin. His body language is off. The bar is normally his hunting ground. He stalks around the pool tables and dart boards proving his superiority and waiting for the ideal catch, but today he doesn’t seem like he’s hunting. He’s too relaxed, too unaware of every time the door swings open. His eyes are too focused on you.
He's still looking at you like a predator does his prey, the way he usually looks at the beautiful patrons of the bar who throw themselves at his feet. But the urgency is gone, the hunt, the chase, the playing hard to get, it isn’t there. He looks like a predator completely and utterly convinced that his prey is going to run willingly into his claws.
“I-I,” You don’t know what to say.
You manage to tear your gaze away and divert it to Natasha. Whatever you’re seeking there – help, answers, amusement at a joke well played – you don’t find it.
Her eyes aren’t on yours. They’re on your body, roving over your curves like she needs to memorize them for a test later. She’s studying you, and you don’t know if its disconcerting or incredibly appealing. Either way, it pins you in place. You can’t move under her gaze, can’t disrupt the path her eyes are taking over your chest and down to your waist.
If Jake’s eyes left any question as to what they were easing you into, the flash of Natasha’s as they darted back up to meet yours answered it. She looks hungry, downright starving. You don’t exactly feel like prey under her gaze, but you still feel like a meal, a thing waiting to be devoured.
Your eyes go straight to her lips as she catches her lower one between her teeth, gently gnawing on it as she seems to ponder what to say or do.
“Don’t worry, Angel,” Your eyes dart back to Jake’s as he finally sits up and leans in. His voice is quiet, low and rough so the strangers surrounding the bar can’t possibly hear even though you’re still across the bar, frozen, pinned to the center island. “We promise we’ll go easy on you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Natasha adds.
Your hands shoot out and clutch the lip of wood behind you. You have to to keep your feet under you as you feel your knees go weak.
“Mmm,” Jake hums, his eyes following the same trail over you that Natasha’s had a few moments before. It felt like his touch following hers over you, and it was enough to make you bite back a groan. “Looks like you were right, Nat.” He’s addressing her, but his eyes haven’t shifted away from you. “She does want it rough.”
“(Y/n)!”
You jerk back away from the center island and turn around to see Penny ducking under the other side of the bar.
“H-Hey Penny,” You can’t hide it. You know you can’t hide it. Your skin is still red all over, and your eyes are dazed and confused. You’re almost certain that at any moment you’re going to break out in nervous sweats.
Penny sees you and immediately frowns.
Your heart goes into overdrive, thudding loudly in your chest. Natasha has a way of looking straight through you, and you’re praying Penny doesn’t share that talent as she eyes you with concern. If she knew or even suspected, what had been going on between you and the two pilots behind you moments before she walked in, you would quit on the spot. Resign in disgrace never to be seen again.
“You okay honey?” Penny stepped around towards you and put the back of her palm to your forehead. “You look like you’re burning up. Did you get too much sun?”
“N-No, I think I’m just coming down with something.”
Penny let out a quiet hum of agreement as she felt the heat of your skin. “You should head home. I can call in someone else tonight.”
“I… My roommate is my ride, and she’s…”
“I’ll take her!”
Your head jerks around to see Natasha climbing off of her barstool and seemingly collecting herself to leave. She’s giving Penny a sympathetic smile that wreaks of an innocent, helpful nature that was entirely absent just moments before.
“We have a party to get to anyway. I’ll drop her off on the way.”
Jake nods his assent and tilts his head back, downing the rest of his beer in one swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he elongates his neck, and a single trickle of beer leaks out and runs past his jaw down the length of his throat. The smirk he comes up with spells out for you that he did it on purpose.
“Thank you Natasha,” Penny accepts the ride before you even have a chance to consider your options, and she pushes you towards the flap out from behind the bar. “Go home and get some rest.”
You nod along numbly, walking around to join Jake and Natasha. They position themselves on either side of you as they lead you out of the bar.
To everyone watching, it looks like two patrons helping a friend who looks very flushed and confused, possibly drunk or sick. Jake’s arm goes in what should be a comforting embrace around your shoulders, resting his left hand on your left shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze.
Natasha is more obvious, not that anyone seems to notice but you. Her fingers blaze a trail over your skin, not merely wrapping themselves around your waist, but brushing along your back as they go.
“Your choice, angel.” Natasha’s lips touch the outer shell of your ear as she whispers into, her voice husky with what you can only assume is want. “We can take you home, and you can call this a nice, unexpected day off. Or you can come with us.”
Jake’s fingers squeeze your shoulder, longer this time, not a comfort but a warning, “Just know, angel,” You reach the parking lot of the Hard Deck, and Jake pulls the three of you to a stop, him and Natasha standing in front of you with similar, imploring looks. His free hand points between him and Natasha, “We’re kind of a package deal.”
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shouldershimmycity · a day ago
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Les Pilotes n'parlent pas Français (Hangman x Reader)
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This is a short, self indulgent fic, inspired by someone I know who got drunk after their Spanish exam and began speaking fluent Spanish. Alcohol takes away your reservations and unlocks knowledge apparently. IF MY FRENCH IS WRONG DON'T FIGHT ME ON IT, I WRITE LIKE A TODDLER AND I SPEAK LIKE A BABY! I'VE HAD A LONG SEMESTER AND I WILL CRY
tw: drunk reader
*****
“Hey, Bagman? Your girl is drunk, you might want to come get her,” Phoenix sounds like she’s fighting back laughter from whatever is going on on the other end of the line. He could hear babbling in the background.
“Uh oh, is it good or bad?” he asked, only mild concern able to come from the smirk that filled his face while he stood from his couch. 
You had been waiting on your grades to come back from your exam. It was the final class you had to take before graduating and getting your degree, and if you failed you were undoubtedly going to be crushed. You loved to learn languages, and adored the idea of being able to communicate. However, your appreciation for the practice stopped at appreciation; despite all your efforts you found it hard to actually comprehend them, so the academic aspect of it was tough on you. Hangman was desperately hoping you passed. He wasn’t sure if he could watch you break down from French verb conjugations all over again for another semester.
“I’m not sure, to be honest. At the very least it’s impressive, I think?” she was belly laughing at something now, and said something to someone that he couldn’t comprehend. 
“Uh, what?” he raised an eyebrow to no one in particular.
“You’ll have to come see for yourself,” she gave up trying to explain, and said her farewells to Jake, who was already out the door.
*****
Jake opened the door to the Hard Deck, and music floated out into the open world. He looked around the bar, which wasn’t sure busy on a weeknight, but busy enough that it took him a second to spot you sitting with Phoenix, Bob, Rooster and his wife Knuckles. 
(A/N: I’m aDDING A KNUCKLES CAMEO BECAUSE I CAN; I LOVE HER, YOUR HONOR).
Bob waved at Jake, who began walking towards you and the group, smiling in greeting.
“Il y a un beau pilote, Phoenix!” your voice was heavy with alcohol, “Je voudrais le pilote là-bas!” You giggled, and pointed at Jake, who put his hands up in defense and walked over to you cautiously. Phoenix simply nodded to appease you, not having a clue what was said otherwise.
“What, hon?” he asked, cracking a smile but beyond confused. Natasha and Bob tossed him a look that was similar to now do you understand? 
“J'ai réussi mon examen, Jake!” your hands were thrown into the air in celebration, and you leaned forward. Hangman quickly stepped forward to catch you before you face planted, and you were wrapped around his torso. It was good to hear that, from what he could tell, you passed your exam. Wiggling, you danced in his arms and he wiggled in response as it felt appropriate. Hangman wiggling in unison with his girlfriend was not the most unusual thing to occur at that moment, but then suddenly you pulled away to look at him fervently.
“Pouvons-nous manger des frites ensemble, s'il vous plaît? Avec du fromage? Et avec du bacon?!” your words were hushed, but frantic as if you had just come to an earth shattering realization, which had to be remedied immediately. Hangman looked between you and Phoenix and Bob, unsure how to respond.
“Is she asking me a questio– I feel like she’s asking me a question?” his panic made you giggle, and you patted his chest goodnaturedly. 
“Ahh, j’aime les pilotes,” you sighed, hugging him tighter. 
He wasn’t sure what was going on, he was entirely lost, but he sure didn’t mind.
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baysexuality · 11 hours ago
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HANGMAN CHOSE THE DARK ORDER OVER THE BUCKS.
HANGMAN CHOSE THE DARK ORDER OVER THE BUCKS.
HANGMAN CHOSE THE DARK ORDER OVER THE BUCKS.
HANGMAN CHOSE THE DARK ORDER OVER THE BUCKS.
HANGMAN CHOSE THE DARK ORDER OVER THE BUCKS.
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unicornships · a day ago
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throwback to a young 25 year old Glen Powell in Red Wing movie, playing an orphaned country boy next to the late Bill Paxton and Luke Perry.... or in a AU, orphaned Jake Seresin grew up as a cowboy on a farm in a small Texas town and worked his charming ass off towards becoming a naval aviator... and ended up in Top Gun as Hangman.
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steadfastconviction · a day ago
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i’ve been holdin’ out so long | hangman
Pairing: Hangman x f!Reader (Pilot, C/S: Bluegrass)
Part One  | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four (coming soon)
Word Count: 6.5k
Warnings: MINORS DNI! Fingering (f!receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral (f! receiving), objectification (not degradation exactly, the word “toy” is used in a sexual context), ~feelings~
That night he’d stayed, everything had…shifted, a bit. Not enough that you would tell anyone else about what was going on between you, not enough that you would consider him anything more than a member of your team (and a really, really good fuck), but enough that you could acknowledge he held sort of a special place in your heart. That he was maybe the person you’d become closest to, somehow, along the way.
A/N: Once again, posted with very little editing done. This is a loooong one, next one will probably be fairly short but will wrap everything up. Apologies for any fudging of the realities of the Navy or the timeline of the movie.
When you find out you don’t make the mission, you’re not as disappointed as you expected to be. The idea of saying goodbye to your family, of facing a real possibility of death, one much more probable than in any mission you’ve flown before, had been a weight on your shoulders you weren’t aware of until Maverick wasn’t reading your name off his list.
You know Jake will take it hard. If you know anything, you know he’ll take it hard. You’re both on reserve, but that’s definitely not good enough for him when he’d been gunning for team leader - a role none of you would play in the end.
Once you’ve been dismissed for the day, you go back to your room to change and then go knocking on his door. It takes a moment for him to answer and you worry that he’s gone somewhere or is too busy sulking, but it eventually opens.
“You okay?” You ask.
He doesn’t answer. When he finally speaks, it’s a little tongue in cheek, but it’s obvious he’s fuming underneath. “What do you say we go get drunk?”
“Just you and me?” You ask, looking down the hall. “I can round up some of the others and-”
“Just you and me,” He cuts you off, tensing his jaw in a way that makes your heart flutter. Anger is sexy on him, just like excitement and pride and lust is sexy on him, and you’re really too weak not to accept. 
That night he’d stayed, everything had…shifted, a bit. Not enough that you would tell anyone else about what was going on between you, not enough that you would consider him anything more than a member of your team (and a really, really good fuck), but enough that you could acknowledge he held sort of a special place in your heart. That he was maybe the person you’d become closest to, somehow, along the way.
He’d nuzzled into you, sleeping soundly, for a couple of hours. You’d both woken up early, too early for everyone else to be awake, and gone for a walk together on the beach before the others could find you. The solace is a rare opportunity. You’d been surprised how much you’d enjoyed spending it with him.
You’d watched the sun come up together, barely a word exchanged between you, as you dug your toes in the sand and felt him wrap a hesitant arm around you after he’d noticed you shivering in the windy morning.
“You’re like a space heater,” You commented, then, laughing to yourself. “I thought I was going to burn alive when we were in bed earlier.”
“Whatever, you were sleeping like a baby,” He’d said. “Not my fault you’ve got a basal temperature of, like, zero degrees. Where’s that getting you now, Bluegrass?”
You snorted, shaking your head at his tendency to dramatize, to monologue. You hate how much he’s grown on you, hate that it’s sprouted from a couple of sexual encounters you never expected, hate that your impending separation is coming too quick for comfort. 
“I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick,” He said, looking out at the horizon, looking uncomfortable as he avoided your eye. “I mean, in general, but especially to you.”
“I don’t think you have,” You said, waving a hand. “To me, anyway. At least not since the beginning.”
“I don’t ever want you to think I don’t respect you,” He says, turning to you with an uncharacteristically sincere look in his eye. “Or that I’m using you. You’re sexy as hell and I want you all the fucking time, but that takes backseat to the fact that I think you’re one of the best pilots I’ve ever met.”
“Better than you?” You’d teased, nudging his shoulder with your own.
“Don’t get carried away, now,” He’d said, and you think that’s probably the moment you realized you might be getting in over your head. Looking at him, those beautiful eyes, his sweet, barely there drawl telling you everything he likes about you, 
And so you’d kissed him, finding understanding in this person you never expected to care so much about. He kissed back, a hand on your cheek, thumb stroking your cheekbone to your temple. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t leading into anything else. It was just an expression of how much you cared. And he gave it right back.
You didn’t really talk about it, after that. Things had gotten crazy, with Mav getting in trouble and the mission looming and everything that had transpired since that morning. But it shouldn’t surprise you, now, that he approaches you for comfort. And so you go with him to the Hard Deck, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, blending into the crowd in your civilian clothes. You’ve never seen him dressed down, didn’t know he likes to wear cowboy boots on his off time, and it’s even more confirmation that you’re falling for him when you find it endearing.
He buys your first round, along with two tequila shots, and you know he isn’t fucking around. Two drinks later, he’s telling you more about himself than you think he’s ever told anyone before, and you’re listening intently, wondering if this is because he trusts you or because he can’t take it anymore and you just happen to be there.
“My dad worked on nukes,” He says. “And so that’s what he expected me to do. I didn’t, and we had a big fight about it way back in the day, and then he was sort of okay with it because at least I was the best at what I was doing.”
He sighs, swirling his glass, taking a long sip of his beer before he continues. “And now I won’t even be able to say that. So…fuck it, I guess.”
“Not getting picked doesn’t mean you aren’t the best, it just means you’re not right for this,,” You say, electing now is not the time to argue over who’s the better pilot despite what your own ego wants you to say. “And I’m kind of…glad they didn’t pick you.”
“Why?” He asks, eyes narrowed, as if he expects you to launch into some sort of criticism. He’s on the defensive, and you note this for the remainder of the conversation, that you have to remember to be choosy with your words.
“Because I don’t want you dead?” You say, as if it should be obvious. “I don’t want anyone dead, but…especially not you.”
For the first time since the announcement was made, Jake’s face lights up. “Why’s that, Blue?”
You finish off the rest of your drink, stalling, but he obviously can’t resist prodding you. He leans across the table, onto his elbows, blinking up at you with his best puppy dog eyes. “What makes me so special?”
“I fucking like you, asshole,” You say, finally, lightly shoving him back into his own side of the booth. “I have somehow learned to enjoy your company-”
“Might have something to do with how hard I can make you come,” He says, interrupting you. It catches you off guard, makes your pussy throb with need, as if it remembers. He looks incredibly proud of himself for reminding you about this (as if you could ever fucking forget it) and you roll your eyes.
“Faked it both times,” You say, ignoring him as he shakes his head in response. “Anyway, I have somehow learned to enjoy your company, and I’d like it if you were alive so I could maybe…continue to enjoy your company.”
He’s got that smug grin on your face, the one you’re starting to find infuriating attractive in spite of how badly you want to see it fall. “You like me, huh?”
“How old are you?” You groan. “Shut the fuck up, Seresin.”
You manage to change the subject, unwilling to get into a discussion about your feelings right now. It’s not the right time, not when you’re both a little drunk and this mission is coming up. You think that maybe it won’t ever be the right time, that you’ll go your separate ways once this is all over and he’ll just be some guy you fucked during one of the most stressful periods of your life, someone to think back on fondly, to tell stories about to your friends back home, to think of whenever you masturbate for maybe the rest of your life.
After another round, he asks you to dance. There’s some old Rolling Stones song on the jukebox, and he takes your hand in his and sings along, exaggerated and off-key until you’re laughing so loudly you can barely hear the music. He continues whirling you around the floor anyway, his other hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer.
“Do you remember that first night?” He asks. “When we all met here and Mav had to buy our drinks?”
“‘Course,” You say. 
“I remember seeing you that night and just…I thought you were so quiet,” He says. “But I wanted to know you right away.”
“Why’s that?” You ask, tilting your head, playing coy.
“Even when you were trying so hard to blend in, I couldn’t help but notice you. You were too beautiful to really ignore. And then I saw you in the air and you were intimidating as all get out, and it made me want to know you. So I tried the only way I know how, you know?”
You still remember meeting him in the bar that night. You had been determined to blend in, though you’re surprised he’d picked up on that. The room was full of egos clashing, every single person the best of the best, and you’d made a decision then and there that you wouldn’t be doing any dick-measuring.
You’d heard of him, of course, a Top Gun legend even among your class a few years later. You’d expected to see him, even, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the way he sauntered into the Hard Deck like he owned the bar, owned Top Gun, owned Fightertown. It had put you off right away and you’d vowed to stay away from him as much as possible, not wanting to get caught up in the drama that was sure to follow all of his boasting, especially considering the history between some of the pilots in the group.
You’d watched him, though, from a distance. Probably attracted to him even then, as much as you don’t want to admit it to yourself. But any semblance of that had been immediately doused when he approached you, talking all kinds of shit about his flying, challenging you to a game of pool, making a nuisance of himself right away. Throughout the night, finding his way back to you, coming back for more each and every time you shut him down with a withering look or a line, determined to get him to back off.
“And when I started teasing you and shit,” He says, now, jerking you back into present-day. The same man, the same bar, only a few weeks between, but undeniably changed. “You gave me hell right back. And it just made me like you even more.”
“Lucky me,” You snort, but you don’t tell him you sort of mean it.
There’s a natural lapse in the conversation, and you’re avoiding his eye as he obviously tries making eye contact with you. You think if you look him right now, you might kiss him, and it would be too real. Too romantic. Too much for what you have with him. So you keep your eyes fixed on your feet until you think of something else to say.
“Do you remember how we used to always be in the room together during flight training?” You ask. 
“Absolutely,” He says. “Nothing like getting a good look at you before I went up every day. Excellent motivation for putting out my best work.”
“Shut up,” You say, but his words get to you, flatter you and make you like him even more. “But that first day…you were talking about Mav and you were like ‘this guy needs an ego check.’”
“And you nearly fell over laughing,” He finishes. “I remember.”
“It was just…the most straightforward example of irony I’ve ever seen in real life, I think.”
The song changes, something even older, the kind of thing that sounds wrong blaring over the speakers, like it was made for the fuzzy sound of a vinyl album. You keep dancing, and you’re looking at him as he whirls you around the floor of the bar and thinking fuck, I think I love you over and over. No one has ever made you feel like this, this special and cherished and wanted. It’s the kind of love you’ve always wanted, something playful but so fucking real that it’s impossible to keep ignoring.
Even more impossible when he brings you in even closer, a heavy palm on the back of your head, nudging you until you’re pressing your face into his shoulder. You can smell him, his deodorant or his cologne or whatever it is that makes him smell so good, and another deep inhale is a reminder that, hey, you like having sex with this person, as you feel the heat blooming between your legs. 
You kiss his neck without really thinking about it, hear him take in a sharp inhale, feel his fingers dig in hard at your waist. His fingers find your chin, tilt your face toward his, and then he’s kissing you. It’s risky. The two of you had come alone, but that doesn’t mean no one else will show up. But you can’t think about that, not when his lips are on yours the way they are now, all soft movements and tender brushes of his thumb against your cheek, your jaw, drawing you in close.
He nudges a knee between your legs, smiles into the kiss when you make a small, shocked noise. “You want to get out of here, honey?”
You barely make it out to his truck. He presses you against the passenger side door to kiss you again, braces one hand on the truck and slides the other under your shirt, resting on your hip. He spreads his fingers, his thumb brushing the bottom of your ribs, and you squeeze your thighs together to ease the tension building there.
“Been too long,” He whispers, ducking his head, kissing his way down your neck. His lips are burning hot, leave you trembling underneath his touch. “Missed you so bad, sweetheart.”
His hand moves further up your shirt, groping at your tits, the hand on the door fumbling to open it behind you. You hear the handle when he pulls it, waste no time scrambling inside. He’s right behind you, crawling over you in the bench seat, easing you onto your back.
He looks down at you and you feel your heart beat faster, the look in his eyes setting you on fire. His weight bears down on you as he leans down for another kiss and you can feel his cock, hard against your leg, and you ache with how badly you need him, how empty you feel.
“I need you,” You murmur into his lips, pressing your hands into his back, feeling the muscle there through his shirt. Your hips move upward, seeking some kind of friction, and you can hear the smile on his lips as he whispers in your ear.
“You sure don’t sound like someone who faked it right now,” He says, catching the shell of your ear with his teeth. “You sound pretty fucking desperate for it, if you ask me.”
“I was kidding.”
“Oh, I know you were honey,” He pauses, undoing the button on your jeans, taking his time with the zipper. “There is no mistaking when you come.”
You breath catches in your throat as he slides a hand beneath your panties, still talking into your ear as he starts to circle his fingers over your clit. It’s not enough, his movements constrained by your clothes, and he’s barely applying any pressure.
“You get so tight when you’re right there,” He says. “So tight around my cock that it almost hurts, honey, that’s how fuckin’ good you feel.”
You’re a mess for him, soaking wet and whining, needing so much more than what he’s giving you. You can tell he’s being deliberate about the way he’s holding back, watching you squirm underneath him, trying to arch your hips so that he touches you how you like, how he knows you like.
“Come on,” You groan. 
“Not until you admit how good I am at fucking you,” He says. “I want to hear you beg for it, sweetheart.”
“For a guy who doesn’t eat pussy, you are surprisingly good at making me come,” You admit, an irritated edge to your voice, born from frustration and want and need. 
“You think I don’t eat pussy?” He asks, sounding borderline offended, and it takes a lot for you not to laugh. Until he stops touching you, pulling his hand out of your jeans, and then it’s not so funny anymore.
“I mean…sure looks like you don’t, from my perspective.” You say, eyes narrowed, trying to mentally will him to get back to getting you off.
“We’ve only fucked twice!” He protests. “And it’s not like you’ve asked.”
“Never had to ask before,” You say. “Most guys I’ve been with just want to.”
“You think I don’t want to?” He asks, a rough edge to his voice that makes you shiver, thinking of all the things he’s about to do to you. You think maybe you’ve struck gold, figured out exactly how to get him to do whatever you want.
“I couldn’t count how many times I’ve gotten off thinking about burying my face in your cunt.” He says. “Thinking about how you’d scream for me, how you’d come shaking, how you’d taste.”
“I don’t know,” You manage to say, trying to stoke the fire you’ve ignited. “I don’t think you’d be that good at it.”
You don’t think it will work, think he’ll probably scoff and figure out what you’re doing, but much to your delight, he becomes incensed by this.
“I’m taking you back home,” He says, looking at you with that look, the one you like so much. “And I’m going to make you come all over my fucking face.”
It sets you on fire. You’re delighted that your plan worked, frustrated that you have to wait until you’re back at the base, but you know that fucking in the parking lot of the Hard Deck is begging for an arrest or, at the very least, begging to be spotted by people who know you. But his words, the way he grips the steering wheel with one hand while the other is heavy on your thigh, fingers splayed across the fabric of your jeans, too close to where you need his touch.
By the time you stumble into his room, you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone sees or hears, think you would probably carry on even if Maverick himself were standing in the corner of Jake’s room, that’s how badly you want him. You barely spoke on the way home, his eyes glued to the road while he maintained his death grip on your thigh, each passing second of anticipation only making you more and more ready for his touch.
He slams the door behind you, undoubtedly waking anyone who’s turned in early, but you’re practically in a trance as he cages you in against it. He’s kissing you, hard and almost angry, as he pushes his hands up your shirt, fingers spread as far as they can go across your skin, leaving a searing path as he slides them underneath your bra.
Your head falls back when his fingers brush your nipples. You’re a thousand times more sensitive than usual all over, feelings intensified by the agonizing waiting you had to do on the car ride back. He takes his hands away from your body to pull your shirt over your head, ducking down to kiss from your neck to your sternum, dragging his lips over the swell of your breasts, goosebumps prickling the skin there. You’re angling your hips toward him, dying for some kind of friction, and you can tell he’s purposefully denying you as he angles his body away.
“Need more, honey?” He asks, pulling back, looking you in the eye as a slow, cocky smile spreads across his face. 
You nod, breathless, and his smile goes even wider.
“Love seeing you get bent all out of shape for me,” He says, undoing the button on your jeans, sliding the zipper down slower than you would think possible.
When he tells you to take them off, you think you probably set some kind of world record. As soon as you’re down to your bra and panties, he’s grabbing at you, pulling you onto the bed with him and kissing you. His hands trace the curves of your body, slow and intentional, and the feeling of wide palms, thick fingers, blunt nails dragging over your skin sets you alight once more.
“Jake…” You say, and then he looks at you, and it takes your breath away.
Maybe it’s self-serving, but you think you see everything you’re feeling reflected in his eyes. For a moment, he drops the act. No smug smile, no dirty talk, just looking at you like he sees right through you, down to your heart and soul. You feel that look of his down to your toes, feel it eating away at you, and you have never needed him more than you do in this moment.
If you were different, if he were different, you’d tell him you love him. The moment’s right, but it isn’t, and you hold back. As sure as you are, looking at him then, you’re too afraid that the feeling isn’t mutual. So you kiss him instead, trying to communicate it through your touch, through the tender way you hold his jaw or the way your hand presses against the broad plane of his chest, the way you move your hand to his back, dragging your nails down his spine, delighting in the satisfied sounds he makes in response.
He pulls away again, this time to yank his own shirt over his head, and feeling his skin on yours only serves to intensify your feelings. He moves over you, then, bearing his weight down on yours, bringing his knee between your legs like had had in the bar, nudging it against your core until you’re squirming, grinding down on it, thinking of nothing but more, please, more.
“Love it when you get needy like that,” He says, and his voice is rougher, the sound of his arousal sending shivers down your spine. “Tell me what you want, honey.”
“Need you.”
“Need me to what?” He asks, taking his knee away, and you let out a frustrated groan. “You’ve gotta tell me, sweetheart.”
“Touch me.”
He brings a hand to your stomach, a coy smile on his face. “Like this?”
You think you might kill him. You shake your head, reach for his wrist, but he only takes his hand away. 
“Be specific,” He murmurs into your ear. “And tell me what you need me to do for you.”
“I want you to go down on me,” You admit, finally, and you see the way his jaw tenses, feel his cock twitch against your leg, the visceral reaction only heightening your own arousal.
He kisses his way down your body, taking his agonizing time, lingering on your ribs, your hipbones, your thighs. He laves his tongue over your skin at the juncture of your thighs, so close but so far that you’re squirming underneath him, trying to edge him toward your cunt.
You think tears spring to your eyes when he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them slowly down your legs, your hips jumping as a rush of cold air hits your core. You’re making pathetic little noises, ones you’d be embarrassed about if you weren’t so caught up in the moment.
“Fuck,” He groans, looking down at you, bringing his hands to your ankles to spread your legs wider. “You’re so wet.”
He doesn’t have to tell you. You can feel it streaked across your thighs, feel the needy pulsing of your clit, the desperate way you cant your hips into the air. He traces a finger over your pussy lips, so swollen and sensitive that even the slightest drag of his fingers has you crying out, begging him for more.
“I need it, Jake, please,” You’re saying, words spilling from your lips before you can even think about what you’re saying. “I need your mouth on me, I need you to fucking touch me, do something, just-”
Your words are cut off by a garbled moan as he seals his lips over your clit without warning, an onslaught of pleasure as he hums against it. He traces around it with the very tip of his tongue, still teasing, your hands gripping helplessly at his bedsheets.
“Taste so good,” He murmurs, licking a long, slow stripe, tongue dipping into your entrance, pressing kisses all over your cunt. “Even better than I thought you would, honey.”
“Shut up,” You mutter, feeling your face get hot. “You’re so full of shit.”
“No,” He says, continuing his exploration of every part of you, licking and sucking and making these noises that are obscene, the slick sound of his tongue on you combined with his his hums of pleasure. “Wanted to do this so bad, fuck, I love it.”
He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, moving his head so it grinds against it, sending waves of pleasure up your cunt that make you clench and cry out, grip tightening in his sheets. It’s a slow sort of buildup, a steady pressure that gathers deep in your stomach as your hips arch, pressing harder against his face. He stops talking, hooking his arms around your thighs to pull you in closer as he licks and sucks and kisses you. 
You, unfortunately, don’t stop talking, babbling strings of praise and swearing and making these noises that don’t sound like you, barely even sound human, pitchy and breathy and desperate above all else. It feels good, so fucking good, and looking down at him between your legs to see his mouth sealed over you, devouring your cunt like it’s his last meal, only pushes you closer to coming. He’s beautiful, always, infuriatingly perfect, but there’s something about seeing him disheveled and messy, eyes closed as he hums between your legs, that elevates it to a new level.
Makes you feel like he’s yours, especially when you see him pressing his hips against the bed, so turned on from feeling you, tasting you, that he has to seek his own relief. It makes you want him, want his cock, but you know he won’t give up until he’s made you come like this.
And you know he’s going to make you come like this, that he’s going to draw it out of you, his mouth so slow and thorough. You’re impatient, rocking your hips and shuddering against him, but the pressure builds so deliciously slowly that it makes your legs shake.
He pushes a finger inside you and you moan so loudly it’s more like a scream, pressing your face into his pillow a second too late, likely already having alerted half the base that he’s giving you the best head of your life. You can feel him smiling, and you regret what this will inevitably do for his ego, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him even if your life depended on it.
“Shh, honey,” He says. “Can’t help you this time; my hands are occupied.”
He punctuates the sentence by slipping another finger inside you, pushing them in to the knuckle, reaching all the spots you need him most. You feel yourself clench down on him, get somehow even tighter when he ducks his head and returns to licking your clit in earnest.
He’s not someone who spells the alphabet or relies on other gimmicky tricks guys read on the Internet that delude them into thinking they can eat pussy. He puts his whole body into it, pumping his fingers in and out of you, establishing a rhythm, moving his head for more leverage against your clit. He claimed that this is something he enjoys, which a lot of guys say, but the difference is that you can tell he means it as he brings you closer and closer to an orgasm.
“Like that,” You gasp as his tongue strokes your clit in a certain way, that certain way that makes the muscles in your legs tense, ratcheting you toward your climax. He brings his unused hand up to your stomach, tapping his fingers as he’s trying to assure you he’s going to listen.
Building to orgasm 
You dig your heels into his back, thighs squeezing around his face, and he increases the pressure but keeps the same movements, and it’s exactly what you need. You come with a cry of his name, agonized and intense, mind going blank as you ride out the pleasure. He doesn’t stop until it’s borderline painful, the oversensitivity of your clit and the way you tighten around his fingers driving you to beg him to stop.
When you finally come back down, chest heaving with the labor of breathing following a blinding orgasm, he’s just sitting at the end of the bed smirking at you. Like he’s waiting to say “I told you so.”
“How was it?” He asks, though he damn well knows, his face smeared shiny with the evidence of just how much you’d enjoyed it.
“Terrible,” You say, because you can’t help yourself.
He growls playfully, crawling back over you and pulling you into a ferocious kiss. You think that tasting yourself on his lips is an experience that may stick with you forever, one you’ll likely think back on whenever you’re touching yourself for the rest of your life. You slide your hands down on his body, tracing the lines of his abs, until you reach his belt. 
“Do you want to fuck me?” You ask as you start to undo it, reaching a hand inside his jeans to wrap around his cock, running it up the length of him. 
“I’d like to,” He says. “But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”
Maybe the bar is low, but it makes you feel something for him that he doesn’t expect it. Jake seems like the kind of guy who would, honestly, assume he was also owed an orgasm. But he doesn’t, and it only makes you want him more. 
“You think I don’t want to?” You ask, echoing his words from earlier in the night, and he laughs, standing to take his jeans off. 
Then he isn’t laughing as he takes you by the wrist, positions you on your hands and knees. He leans down over your back, kissing the nape of your neck, as one of his hands cups the flesh of your ass. 
“Is this okay?” He asks, moving his hand to tease a finger at your entrance, your breath coming in a sharp inhale. You’re still sensitive, still swollen, but the pulsing hot need has returned, craving his cock to fill you where you suddenly feel so empty.
“Yeah,” You say, impatient and wanting, leaning down onto your elbows, spreading your legs wider, trying to beckon him in. 
“You sure you want it?” He asks, sliding a finger inside you. It soothes the ache a bit, but not enough, prompting a small whimper to fall from your lips as your crave something bigger, something thicker. 
“Please, Jake,” You whisper, pushing your hips back, taking his finger in to the knuckle. “I need you.”
“Feels so good to hear you admit it,” He says, dragging his fingers down the seam of your pussy, gathering all the wetness that’s accumulated there. You can’t see him, facedown like this on the bed, but you can hear him wrap the same hand around his cock, using your juices to touch himself.
“Please,” You repeat, this time more like a sob. “Don’t touch yourself, just use me.”
“Use you, huh?” He asks, and you can feel him line himself up with your entrance, one hand wrapped around his cock while the other settles onto your back, pushing you down so your ass is further in the air. “Fucking Christ.”
“I just need you inside,” You say. You feel delirious, clenching down on nothing, leaving you wet and wanting as he continuously grinds the head of his cock over your hole, refusing to fully enter.
“My sweet girl,” He mutters, and you feel him start pushing in, agonizingly slowly. “My sweet girl wants me to use her. Like a toy. You want me to fuck you like a toy, honey?”
“However,” You say. “Fuck me however you want.”
“You must need it bad, baby girl,” He says, breathless as you feel his hips press against your ass, fully sheathed inside of you at last. “No back talk, no fighting…just need my cock, huh?”
You try to press back on him, but his hands come to your hips, holding you still. You let out a sob, muffled where the side of your face is pushed against the sheets. “Please.”
You’ll be embarrassed about this tomorrow, when you inevitably see him at breakfast or wherever you find yourself in the morning. You’ll avoid looking him in the eye, knowing he’ll be thinking of you like this, spread out in front of him, begging him to do whatever he wants to you. The thought is as attractive as it is humiliating, and you feel your walls fluttering around him as you entertain yourself with your own thoughts.
Finally, he starts to move. Slowly at first, these shallow pushes of his hips that feel like just enough to keep you from going insane waiting on the friction. He starts to pull out more, gradually speeding up, the slow drag of his cock against your walls torturing you in the best possible way. His fingers dig into your hips, flesh gripped tight between them, so hard you wouldn’t be shocked if you had bruises tomorrow.
The thought of that is dizzying, reminders of his touch pressed into your skin, semi-permanent. You think of seeing them in the mirror, of the way it would immediately send you back to this moment, your body rocking with the force of his thrusts as he has his way with you. It’s a lot. 
“Feel good, honey?” He asks, bringing one of his hands to your hair, winding it tight into his fist. He pulls on every stroke, just barely, enough pressure to feel it but without so much of the sting. It’s grounding, pulls you back into your body, allows you to focus on the way he fills you over and over, and you’re making a whole lot more noise than you’d like to.
“Feels so good,” You say, and it comes out uncharacteristically whiny. “Need more.”
“Need more?” He repeats it like a question, as if he doesn’t understand, but the way he fucks into you harder suggests he gets exactly what you mean. He’s hitting a spot inside you that feels unbelievable, again and again, leaving little room for you to do anything other than take him and reach down to touch your clit the best you can.
“Fuck, Jake, just like that,” You huff, already feeling your orgasm start to creep up on you. It’s still distant, but you can feel that pressure start to build, increasing with every tug on your hair, every press of his hips to your ass, every brush of your clit. 
He drapes his body of yours, hand still fisted in your hair, pulls your head back so he can kiss at your neck. The weight of him on top of you helps you concentrate on the feeling, think of how pleasurable it is, the feel of him inside you, the heat of his skin on yours. You’re surrounded by him, enveloped by him, and you’re so close.
He starts fucking you harder, fucking you faster, hips slapping hard against you until you can’t hold yourself up. Your knees give out, legs flat on the bed, but he takes it in stride, adjusts his positioning and keeps fucking you from behind, groaning animalistic and low.
Your hand is tucked underneath you and you’re grinding against your fingers with each of his thrusts, bringing yourself closer and closer to the edge. The new position makes him feel thicker, makes you feel as if you’re being split open from the inside out, and it isn’t long before you’re right there.
“I can feel you getting tight, baby girl,” He says. “Need to make you feel good. Need you to come for me.”
“Jake,” You sob into the bed, feeling like a mess, writhing and sloppy underneath him. You can hear him fucking you, obscene wet sounds, the slap of his skin on yours, and he’s still tugging on your hair and his skin is so warm and your fingers on your clit feel so good and you’re coming, coming, coming, body drawn tight and released as he ruts up against you, groaning long and low in your ear.
“That’s it,” He mutters, borderline growling, speeding up his thrusts, going a bit unsteady. “God, I’m gonna come, honey.”
It’s on the tip of your tongue, the impulse to beg him to come inside you, but it’s too much. You’re coming down, your body moving with the force of him fucking you, oversensitive and whimpering in time with each of his thrusts. You can’t ask him to do that, can’t handle what it might mean to him (or to you) and before you can say anything, he’s pulling out and coming all over your back with a broken moan of your name.
After he’s cleaned you up and pulled you into his arms without so much as a word exchanged, you just look at him for a long moment. He doesn’t speak, just looks back, and you find yourself thinking that you missed his face when he’d been behind you. Missed seeing the way his mouth twitches when he fucks you, seeing that he sometimes closes his eyes (you think when he’s trying to last longer, but you haven’t done it enough to prove it), seeing him enjoying the feeling of you wrapped around him.
He catches you off guard with a kiss, unhurried and soft, one that feels something like a question. You’re in unfamiliar waters, neither of you entirely sure on how to navigate the changing nature of your relationship, especially as you approach what could be the end of your time stationed together. For now, it’s enough to be held by him, to kiss him without a goal, to spend your night in his arms, memorizing him.
After all, you aren’t sure how much longer you have to look.
115 notes · View notes
multifandomfanfic · 11 hours ago
Note
Hey! Could you do a Drabble on Hangman based on this incorrect quote?
“ Hangman: Well I better be going.
Y/N: Aren’t you forgetting something?
Hangman: *hesitantly kisses Y/N’s forehead *
Y/N: No dude pay your bill!”
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The Hard Deck was finally settling down for the night, allowing you to finally catch your breath after a long night of work. The remaining patrons sitting at the bar were basically asleep after hours of drinking and you ignored them as you cleaned the counter.
“Man, you work late don’t you?” a familiar voice asked. You looked up and smiled. Hangman was the one Navy pilot you could handle, despite his cocky attitude. He had been your friend for years and, recently, your relationship had taken a turn to the more... romantic side.
“You already know I do,” you said. You set the rag down on the counter and crossed your arms in front of you. The rest of his group were walking out the door, leaving empty glasses you would have to clean up everywhere, “Are you heading out?”
“Yeah, I guess I better be going,” he shrugged, glancing back at the now player-less pool table, “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re free?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” you smiled before starting to clean again. Right before Jake turned to leave, you looked back up at all the empty glasses. Phoenix hadn’t paid for it, and neither had the guy with the glasses or the one with the mustache, “Wait! Jake, aren’t you forgetting something?”
He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. Then, he leaned over the counter, and placed a light kiss on your forehead. It would have been sweet.. had it been what you meant.
“No, Jake, I- I meant you have to pay your bill.”
“...Oh.”
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swirlysmile · 2 days ago
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if you want to write it, i'd like to request a one shot where the crew goes to an amusement park and there's a lot of flirt and competitions between hangman and the reader🌻
i do want to write this! so cute
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word count: 725
warnings; none?
Amused
The best part about traveling so often for work were the sights you got to see, whether that be natural or developed. You get downtime in the Navy, of course, so when you’re docked in a cute little port side town, you go exploring. 
Today, Bob managed to find an amusement park. It really wasn’t hard though, seeing as the first thing that comes into view when you step onto the dock is the ferris wheel.
“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Floyd.” Phoenix grins, patting him on the back. Admission is pretty cheap, and it looks like a nice place to kill time for a few hours.
There’s plenty of roller coasters, and those little stand games that are most definitely a scam. They advertise the big stuffed animals, the ones that are hard to win. 
“Hey, look! I bet Bob could ride that without pissing himself,” Hangman says, pointing to one of the small little kid coasters, the ones that just go in circles. 
If you had looked at this group, you wouldn’t have expected them to be renowned naval aviators, much less functioning adults. 
Rooster is pointing at all of the candy stands trying to convince Fanboy that he needs some, Payback and Phoenix are looking at the map to figure out where to go first, and Hangman and Bob are bickering. You’re off to the side, with Halo, observing all of this and taking everything in.
There’s a lot of loud and small children. 
“Alright, we’re going here first!” Payback announces, pointing to a spot on the map. 
“Do we really have to stick together?” Fanboy asks. He receives a lot of yes’s in reply. 
To say you’re having the time of your life is an understatement. 
Being a pilot, heights and big drops don’t really scare you. The planes you fly are far more dangerous than these measly little roller coasters, so instead of fear you feel adrenaline.
Phoenix and Payback expertly guide you through the park, so you hit everything. 
“Everything worth exploring, anyways.” said Phoenix when Hangman questioned their plans.
Rooster volunteered you to sit next to Hangman for a good majority of the rides, and if you didn’t love Bradley so much, completely platonically, you would have socked him in the nose. 
“Hey, what if we tried to get Mav one of those dumb looking stuffed animals,” Hangman suggests.
“That’s gonna take, like, all our money.” 
He just grins at your very real concern. “I’ve got a credit card and a dream, sweets.”
“I bet I can get it for less money than you can,” You say, and sure, maybe that wasn’t the best idea financially, but it’d be pretty rewarding if you did beat Hangman.
So, you wind up competing against him. He chose the game, claiming it’s because you challenged him and it’s only fair. You’re trying to knock over milk jugs with a ball, in some tower formation, in two throws or less. Then, you get the smallest prize. 
Of course that leaves you with three more games. You trade in the smallest prize, win again, and get the medium. Then, trade in the medium, win again, and get the largest one. Whoever gets the largest prize first wins.
“Hope you can catch up soon, sugar.” He says, holding up the smallest prize, and you grit your teeth just a bit. The pet names always get on your nerves, and he knows it. 
It only fuels your need to win, so you knock down the jugs almost immediately and pull out your wallet. God this is an expensive escapade you think. You’re already drained, maybe, 20 bucks from this thing. 
The final stretch, the last tower of milk jugs before you win, before you can boast your victory to everyone.
Unfortunately, Hangman is approaching a win too. 
So, you make your best effort to beat him, and fail. 
“The medium prize is cuter anyways, and I don’t have to give it to Mav.” 
“I still won,”
“In terms of competition, yes. In terms of life? No.” 
He groans and lightly punches your arm. “Maverick is going to love this ugly giant fish thing!” 
“I think it’s a bird.” Rooster says, prompting everyone to tilt their heads. 
“Definitely a bird, buddy boy.” 
Hangman didn’t expect to find the medium prize outside his door the next morning.
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jakeseresinnix · 2 days ago
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shots of Monica Barbaro and Glen Powell when they appeared as guests on the James Corden show. Monica went with Tom Cruise while Glen appeared with Kaley Cuoco. Too bad the show didnt invite both of them together cos they used to do lots of press tours back in 2020 for Top Gun Maverick. 
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top-gun-rooster · a day ago
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idk what this is but GLEN
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