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dckweed · 1 month

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Helloooo ☺️ since I adore your writing so much, I also wanted to request something. Maybe a Rooster imagine where you fly with Rooster during the Dagger Mission and also help him saving Mave as he crashes but you also got pretty hurt but not tell anyone. So when you're all finally back at the ship, you black out just in front of Rooster and he freaks out. He stays by your side the whole time you're being taken care of and also stays by your side till you wake up. First he lectures you why you didn't tell him, but then he also admits his feelings and it's all cute and fluffy then? Hope this is okay for you and sorry it's so long 🤭

Hi love! of course i can do this for you! i love a good rooster fluff makes me all ooey gooey on the inside!

feel free to send in requests guys, or even just random questions! also this took me so long and im so sorry! also i feel like this really sucks and i could have done so much better and im so sorry..

let me know if we should turn the two birds into a series???

warnings: shooting, near death experiences, plane crash, traumatic injuries, rooster being a mother goose because he cares too much, mav being mav reader is referred to as callsign duckie (or duck for short), incorrect military references and portrayal because what the fuck do i know about the navy? although i did actually google the catapult thing because i was curious.

"TWO BIRDS AND A MAV" bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x fem!pilot reader

You stood with the rest of your fellow pilots inside the hangar of the aircraft carrier, back straight and gaze forward as you stood at attention, waiting for the mission team to be chosen. Captain Mitchell stood at the front of the room, calling out names.

"Phoenix and BOB," He starts first, his voice ringing out. "Fanboy and Payback" He looks over towards Rooster, who is stood right next to you. "Rooster, Duckie." They had modified the flight plan to include a fifth single plane bringing up the rear carrying a third explosive in case of failure. You and Rooster share a look, the pair of you more nervous than you realized, not expecting to hear the others name called.

Your fellow pilots congratulate you as you and your other squad members gather your things to go finish getting your flight gear ready. Everyone files out before you and Rooster, and just as you're about go, he grabs your wrist. "Duckie," His voice is gruff, full of emotions that you more than recognized. He was worried about you, he always was, you supposed that was the price of the lengthy fling the pair of you had had during your time at the academy. You both cared about each other too much. "Be careful up there, yeah?"

His voice is tender, and you can't help the small smile that spreads over your lips as you squeeze his hand, moving in to give him a brief hug. You had missed his embrace, it had been years since you had stopped seeing each other, but it hadn't ever changed the way you felt towards him, or how you reacted when you were in his presence. "You too, Roo.." You say, kissing his cheek before walking off.

Rooster kicks himself as he watches you walk off, he wanted to stop you, beg you too step down and let Jake fill in your spot, he didn't want you to be careful up there, he didn't want you to be up there at all, but he couldn't change the decisions, not when he didn't have a say in them to begin with. He has to remind himself that you are an extremely capable pilot, and quite underestimated by the unsure looks of the fellow squad members and the admiral.

It wasn't long before you and your team were on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier, loading onto your aircrafts. You did your usual pre-flight check right along with Nat and Bob, and just before you got ready to climb up the ladder to your cockpit, you gave Bob a fist bump and told him and Natasha that you had their backs up there. You were bringing up the rear, you were support for the whole mission, you knew what your role was and deep down, you knew what you would have to do if it came down to it.

Climbing up into your cockpit, you slide into your seat with ease buckling into your safety belts and going about your onboard flight list. When you're sure that you're set and secured and your plane is safe to fly, you give signal to the ground crew that you're prepped and ready for take off and start to lower the dome of your plane, listening to it lock in place. You know you'll be last to take off and say a silent prayer for yourself and your crew as you slide your orange and black helmet on over your head, your callsign written in cursive on the front and back of it. And as you wait for your go to start taxying onto the runway you let you the mission control team know that you're ready. "Dagger Five, up and ready." You say, locking your visor down into place to help protect you from the glare of the sun.

Not much longer after that they start to taxi your crew onto the runway, as Rooster's F/A-18 scoots along past you, next to go off the deck and into the air, you send him a salute, noticing he was looking at your from his cockpit. He nods back in recognition, holding his fist up to his glass, his way of telling you to be careful.

Soon, it's your turn and before you know it you're being released from the catapult and lifting your nose off the deck and up into the air, catching a beautiful headwind. "Dagger Five, in the air." You report to the control tower, hearing an affirmative response from them as you catch up to the rest of your crew. There was an apprehension in the air, even if you weren't all in the same plane, you knew you were all nervous, all scared. This was the most high stakes, life risking mission any of you had ever faced before, but you knew were the right ones for the job and so did the U.S. Navy, otherwise you wouldn't have been called back to TOP GUN. You were all the best of the fucking best, and you were going to do your damn jobs and do them well.

The mission was going smoothly (even with Rooster falling behind), almost too smoothly you thought, and even with Fanboy and Payback's radar malfunctioning Rooster somehow, by the graces of whatever higher power that might be, managed to land his bomb perfectly bullseye. You were hot on their tail, pulling up sharply as you came out of the inverted dive down the mountain wall, just catching glimpse of the collapsing ground beneath you as you flipped back into position, pulling hard on your controls.

Somewhere in the distance, your vision and hearing going spotty as you pulled in more gforce than was probably healthy for your body as you climbed altitude rapidly, you hear your team yelling over the shared radio connection, and mission control chatter in the background. By the time you're able to gather your own wits about you, your deep into an air strike of surface to air missiles, noticing your radar going off just in time to deploy counter protective measures. "Holy fuck!" You shout, looking around through your cockpit, trying to gather where exactly you were and where your teammates were and how the fuck to get out of the mess.

You pay attention to your radar again, pulling up the nose of your plane just in time to deploy your counter flares once more, punching the button on your side wall like its your savior. "Dagger 5, deployed counter measures twice!" You report, on the mission controll channel, keeping an eye on your radar and in the air in general and you see the flares lighting up the sky. "Daggers report!" You shout into your shared channel needed to know that all of them are okay. You know it will only last a few minutes, but it was going to be a long and brutal few minutes, a true test to how sharp your skills were in the cockpit.

"Dagger One, safe!" Mav's voice comes over the coms, you knew he was team leader and was probably the one that should have been calling for the report but you needed to know. You deploy a third counter measure as you listen to Phoenix call over her com for her and Bob.

"Dagger Two, safe!" Rooster calls, you can hear the edge in his voice, and a grunt. You see a light of flares and missiles colliding just above you in some clouds and you realize that must be him. Fanboy and Payback call in their safe report, and you're about to add in yours at Mav's urging when it happens.

"Dagger Five, sa-" The plane shakes with the force of it, the bomb clips your wing, just barely making contact, but enough to take a chunk out of the right wingtip and cause your engine to missfire. "I'm hit! I'm Hit!" You repeat into your com, urgently deploying your engine safety measures. You knew this plane like the back of your goddamn hand, you knew what to do when one of the engines missfire.

"Duckie!" Mav yelled over the line at the same time as Rooster dropped down next to you, wing to wing on your good side. You ignore Mav, shutting down your right engine before refiring it. It doesn't start. You panic, turning your head to glance at Rooster. He shakes his head at you from his cockpit, wondering what was going on. "Duck! Report!" You flip the engine switch a second time, just as a set of flares comes up on your radar.

"Bradley!" You shout, trying to keep your plane level with only one engine working. He grunts over the line, and you hear him punch his flare button. And then punch it again. "Bradshaw!?"

"I'm out of flares!" He yells, getting ready to deploy bullets, even though he knew they wouldn't do much good judging by how loud your radars were yelling, when all of a sudden Mav dropped down from your damaged side, dropping his flares. They work, but he clips your wing on the way down and it sends both of your planes spiraling. Your instinct is to scream, but you know it will do no good so you try your best to steady your aircraft, though it's not easy to do with only one engine working properly. "Y/N! Mav!" Bradley yells, and before you know it you can see the ground coming up fast through the cockpit.

"Oh shit!" You yell, pulling the ejection handle between your legs as hard as you fucking can, your lid flies off and your seat topples out, and so do you.

The cold air meets your face, the wind hitting it as you race to the ground, waiting for your parachute to deploy. You scream the whole way down, your plane not too far from you, and if you squint you can see Mav off in the distance to your right side. Your planes hit the ground before you do, fiery messes as they collide with the earth. It takes a few minutes, and your parachute hadn't slowed you down nearly fast enough so your body collapses as soon as your feet touch the snow covered ground of where the fuck forest you were in, merely fifteen feet from your fireball of a fucking plane.

"Oh my god.." You groan, looking at the mess of it as you unclip your parachute as quickly as you can, not wanting to be weighed down by it incase the enemy came searching for your downed plane. You looked around, trying to see if you could spot Mav somewhere, but through the smoke and trees you couldn't see him. "Captain Mitchell!" You scream, before flinching, realizing that probably wasn't the smartest idea to do in enemy territory. You wanted them to assume you were dead, it was safer for you that way until you could figure out how to get the fuck out of here, hopefully with your Captain.

A loud burst of flames comes from whats left of your plane and you duck just in time, shrapnel flying over your head and landing merely a foot away from you. "I am so being discharged!" You yell to yourself as you start running toward the tree line, hopefully in the direction of your teammate.

You trudge through the snow for what seems like forever, thanking god for the heavy duty boots on your feet and the fact that you wore long sleeves under your flight suit, the air was a tad brisk in the middle of the dense forest, though you know it was only a few minutes and you start to see the flames of another plane in the trees on the other side of a clearing, and a quarter of the way into the clearing, Maverick is slowly clambering to his knees. He must not have had an easy landing, you deduce.

"Mav!" You call, running over to him, though just as you do the sound of helicopter blades chopping the air reach your ears. You both look up, you merely twenty feet away from him when you see it in the tree line near where his craft had gone down. "..fuck.." You mutter, noticing someone in all black point towards you guys out of the open side door. The chopper turns towards you guys slowly and Mav struggles to gete his chute pack detached before telling you to run, grabbing your arm and pulling you with him as he passes you.

Just in time too because whoever mans the guns starts shooting at the pair of you as you run, the bullets chasing you as you run as fast as you can through the thick layer of snow. Mav is pulling you over a thick log when you feel it, the searing, burning pain going through your leg and your side. You've been shot. You grit your teeth as Mav pulls your body under his, shielding you from the hail of bullets sure to come as the Helicopter positions in front of you guys, pointed directly at your forms. He was prepared to die for you, if it meant that at least one of you got to get out of here.

You close your eyes, preparing for the spray of bullets and your captains blood to riddle your body, but it never comes. You hear a large explosion and peak an eye open, your breath leaving your body as the helicopter and its occupants go up in flames, the unmistakable sound of a fighter jet filling the valley as it flies away. You don't have to be smart to know that it's Bradley, though you do have to have some ounce of brains to realize that there was probably more SAMs hidden in the area and he was probably about to catch the attention of them.

And sure enough, as Mav pulls you up to your feet the both of you in disbelief, you watch as his plane erupts into a ball of smoke. "Oh god.." Mav says, and starts running in the direction that Bradley's plane went down in. You followed right behind him, the fact that you were shot in two different places the least of your worries, your adrenaline pushing you forward and keeping you from feeling the burning pain of the bullets in your body.

You're right behind Mav when you finally make it to the clearing, Bradley had thankfully landed far away from his plane and you hear him yell "You okay?" and Bradley's affirmative response before Mav picks up speed and pushes the stupid ass to the ground.

"The fuck was that for?!" Rooster yells, taking his helmet off and standing up, catching sight of you coming up just behind Mav.

"What are you doing here?!" Mav yells, worry lacing his voice. "You could've been back on the aircraft carrier by now, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

Bradley looks at him, eyes wild. "You told me not to think!" If you weren't in the situation you were in, this whole scene would've been comical.

Mav is silent for a moment, not being able to argue farther because he was right, he had told the boy not to think. Just do. And, at the end of the day, if he hadn't, they would've be alive right now. "Yeah, well..its good to see you.." The older man concedes.

Bradley chuckles. "It's good to see you too.." He says, bowing his head before looking back up at you. "Duckie? You okay?"

You rear back and punch his stupid as shoulder as hard as you can, gritting your teeth as a burning sensation goes through your side. You'd been shot on your dominant side, that wasn't a good thing. "Just fucking peachy." You grunt, hoping that neither men realized that something was wrong with you. You wanted to get the fuck out of here.

Rooster nods, rubbing his shoulder. "So, what's the plan?"

And that, that small question was how you wound up in the back of an F-14, sat on Rooster's lap, the only thing securing you in place were his arms wrapped around your waist holding you tightly against his chest and lap as Mav took off from the enemy base.

"This is so not safe!" You yell, gritting your teeth as you try not to cry from the pain of Rooster squeezing your bullet entry wound. "Bradley' don't you fucking let go of me!" You cry, trying desperately to get the radio back up and working so you could reach the carrier, let your crew know that you guys were still fucking alive. He squeezes you even tighter in a way that clearly says 'I've got you' , and despite the pain you feel a comfort go through you that allows you to focus that much more. "How the fuck do i work this shit?"

"I'm really not sure, that was always Bradley's dad's expertise!" Maverick calls back over the intercom, maneuvering the ancient ass plane through the valley. You could cry, or slam your head against the radar. Either way you didn't care. "Um..there should be a switch.."

"Pete theres like ten thousand switches back here!" You yell back, your voice high pitched and panicky. You try to recall anything you read about an F-14, about working an RIO cockpit (which wasn't much because it really wasn't your specialty) and start mentally cross referencing it to what you know about working your own cockpit to get your systems up and running. Eventually, you start flipping a few switches and to your utmost surprise, one of them works.

"Got it!" You call, your Radar flipping on. Just as it does you spot a bogey not too far off your tail. "Mav, tally two right wing, tail." You say. "Rooster, let go of me and try flipping on your locator!" He lets go of you for a brief second just as the Bogey starts to pull up even with Mav in the cockpit.

"Uh, what do we do?" Rooster asks, looking out the lid and then to the back of Captain Mitchell's head. "Mav?"

He doesn't answer for a minute. "Just, be cool." He says and you want to yell at him that this is a do or die situation, not a 'stay cool' situation. What the fuck did that even mean, be cool? You guys just obliterated their entire base, you were most certainly not cool and pilot in the next plane over was most certainly not stupid. Scary, but not stupid.

The pilot throws up a hand signal, his hands decked out in all black. "Jesus are they wearing leather flight gear?" You ask, barely heard over Rooster's "Mav, mav what does that mean? I don't know what that means.."

You see the captain shake his head in the reflection of the dome, and swallow back fear, closing your eyes. "I don't know either.." He says, trying to do something with hand signals that he did know. The plane falls back after a moment, only to get into attacking position.

You're pressing down into Rooster for dear life now as Mav does (as rooster had called it), some of that pilot shit, your hands bracing on the dome above you, trying not to fucking die in your secured predicament. Your former boyfriend does his best to keep you secured to his body, but there isn't much he can do when you're both being thrown around in the air, the craft rolling and diving every few seconds as Maverick tries to get you guys back to safety with your fucking lives.

Just when you think you've made it, the radar goes off again and none of you see where the danger is until it's much too late, and your defense mechanisms are far too gone. With a shaking breath and tears in your eyes you listen to Mav and Rooster get over whatever bullshit had been between them, an emotional apology that really means nothing if the two of them aren't going to survive this. You're scared, all the things you've never done and said running through your mind, all the things you'd missed out on and were going to continue to miss out on because you wanted to be just like your own father. Your sister would laugh at you, would tell you to stop being so dramatic and use your last few seconds (or minutes if you're lucky enough), to do something besides think about all the things you could have done.

You feel him try to pull the ejection handles as Mav pulls up hard, only for you two to not eject. He gives an emotional cry before he tells Mav that they aren't working.

"Rooster," You blurt, eyes squeezed closed. If you were going to die, you didn't want to see it coming, it was better this way. You would much rather go with visions of Bradley dancing behind your eyelids anyway. "Bradley," You sob loudly and he squeezes you tightly against his chest, you don't even feel the pain of the two bullet wounds anymore. "I love you..i'm so sorry i never said it back but i do, i fucking love you."

And then it must happen, you must fucking die because you hear the explosion. You see the light of the burst of flames behind your eyelids, cutting through the vision of you and Bradley. You brace for it, the pain or..the coldness, but it never comes. Instead, you think you hear what must be Satan's voice.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen," What the hell have you ever done bad enough that you're sent to a hell with Hangman as the voice guiding you? "This is your savior speaking, please return your trays to their locked and upright positions."

You cry in relief.

Every person on the carrier must be on the flight deck that you guys have surely marred and damaged with your lack of landing gear in the ancient ass plane you'd been forced to fly in. Their loud cheering greets your ears, a sea of thunderous applause as the dome of the cockpit slides open. You still don't think that you've made it. That you're even alive, and maybe that checks out because as soon as you step out onto the wing, you collapse.

three days.

You're out for three days in the medbay of the carrier, Rooster by your side. He doesn't leave, but he fusses over your unconscious form, fusses over the doctors and nurses to the point that they threaten to kick him out if he doesn't sit the fuck down.

His words rattle in his mind, those three little words that the both of you had been much too scared to say to each other when you were in the academy, when you were in TG the first time around. He never realized how much he truly longed to hear them come from your lips until they finally had, and he wanted to grab you up and tell you how much he loved you back, wanted to kiss you until you saw stars but you had collapsed as soon as he let you off of his lap.

He had been so scared, moreso than he was before Hangman had saved them because at least then he was going to die with you in his arms, it was a pretty decent death considering the way death could have been. You dropped like a rag doll, hitting the wing of the plane first before sliding off of it onto the crowd below as he unhooked his safety belts as fast as he could. He remembered shouting your name, dropping to the ground next to your where he looked at your flgihtsuit for the first time and found the two bullet holes. You had taken on fire. You were bleeding. And you hadn't said anything to him. How could you not say anything?

He supposed he shouldn't dwell on it because you were still alive. You were still here with him. He just needed you to open your damn eyes so he could say it back to you. He had his head tilted back, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to rest, he was exhausted and still in his dirty suit from three days ago. He was sure his mustache was being joined by a beard, and he was sure that he smelled, but he wasn't going to leave you.

"Bradley?" A hushed whisper. Had he really heard it? No..no he couldn't have. "Bradley!" He snaps his head up, eyes on you instantly. You're staring up at him, your beautiful eyes glossed over with unshed tears, your pale skin looking even paler under the harsh florescent lighting of the medial bay.

"You fucking scared me." He says, voice wavering with unshown emotions. He moves so he's hovering over you, a gentle hand on top of your head. Your lips quivered. "Duckie, you fucking scared the shit out of me, do you know?" He says again, putting his lips to your forehead. He feels you sigh against him and he pulls away, looking down at you. "I love you too.." He whispers. "Scared the absolute shit out of me, but i fucking love you, you brat." You chuckle at his last words, only to wince at the pain that goes straight through you.

"That hurts, don't make me laugh." You groan, taking his hand in yours. "How long have I been down?" You didn't remember exactly what happened once you'd landed, hell, you barely remembered that. "Are we home yet? Roo, I want to go home.."

"Three days..and we should be stateside by tomorrow.." He says, brushing hair away from your face, squeezing the hand that you had in his. "They had to take your gall bladder, bullet lodged in it real good.." He grazed a hand gently over the wound. "They fished the other out of your leg..said you might need rehab.."

You hum, closing your eyes. "Just get me home first," You say, not letting him go. "We'll handle everything else later.."

#top gun #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #captain pete mitchell #maverick mitchell #top gun rooster #top gun mav

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 1 year

Text

I Drink Wine (Jake Seresin, Chapter 3)

Summary: Gwendolyn Benjamin did everything she could to run away from her past. From the pain and heartbreak to come to California and live near her Aunt & Godmother, Penny. A hardened soul, she meets Jake Seresin who ends up turning everything she thought she swore off into a frenzy.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female! Reader (OC: Gwendolyn Benjamin)

Warnings: Cursing, Angst

Tropes: Slow burn, Enemies to Lovers, Sunshine & Rainstorm

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Finally felt like I could start writing this from 2nd person :D Hope you like it!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER / next chapter

Tension began to grow heavy in your brow, a soreness in the lower portion of the small of your back. Whimpers left your dried, cracked lips when you would rise too quickly, and a wave of dizzy spouts hit you in crashing waves – tugging you beneath the unwavering waters until Fanboy is there to drag you back safely. As your semester of teaching ended and the sweltering heat of San Diego’s sun began to intensify, you were going to more and more doctor’s visits.

Your worst nightmare, mixed with poor timing found you back on medication you hadn’t been on since your Undergraduate degree. The increased pressure of your chronic illness so intense in your skull that they were worried for your vision, worried for the earth-shattering headaches that rolled around your temples. The medication made you hollow, Mickey becoming your crutch as you tried to adjust to a new lifestyle. You were slower, more hesitant with your words as your brain fogged over too easily.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I murmur as Mickey slides a new pair of fuzzy socks over my numb toes, tugging me closer after pressing play on a movie. His hands are steady, the hands of a WSO – you can only imagine how precise he is when in the air under attack. “You’re never going to get married if you keep fusing over me.”

Mickey only laughs, his bright smile beaming in the dimly lit living room. “You and I both know I’m not finding myself a woman or man for that matter while I’m actively in deployments any way. And you’re way too stubborn to take care of yourself properly.”

Your chin tucks into your chest at his words, warmth rising your chest and settling into your cheeks pressed against his side. He notices your lack of response, feels the quiver in your back before pulling away slightly to stare down at him.

“Gwennie,” Mickey murmurs, wiping away your tears. “You’re going to beat this thing. You’re going to beat this thing every single time you fall out of remission. You might be too stubborn to deal with it, but you’re also too stubborn to let it win.” He tugs you closer as gentle sobs roll through you, echoing in the safety of your home and away from prying eyes.

The next night, he decides you need to get out for a little while for some fresh air and human interaction. It’s been a few weeks since you have seen the rest of the crew and you were beginning to miss even Rooster’s mustache if it were possible. Penny messaged earlier in the day, promising a spot in the office the minute the bar became overwhelming and that she would have the cook make an order of fried pickles for you, your favorite.

So, at 5 o'clock, you’re surprised when the doorbell rings. Freshly out of the shower, you’re still towel drying your damp hair when you check the window to see familiar brown eyes and a twisted bun. “Nat,” you greet as you tug the door open in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“A little bird told me you’ll be joining us for a night out tonight,” she slings a heavy duffle bag over her shoulder while her other hand cradles a large bottle of iced tea. “I wanted to try to cash in on that girl’s night that we’ve talked about before.” You stare at her inviting face, her glowing cheeks and gentle gaze before stepping aside.

Nat had been good to you in the months you had been living in the area. She was a confidant, a feminine energy with a calming center. So sure of herself and what came next…you envied that about her. With all that went down over the last two years and with the break-up, you felt like your world had been thrown on its axis and you with it. You tumbled into the abyss, never knowing when the darkness would end and never knowing if you would ever feel comfortable getting close to another person again. It all just felt like too much. But for Nat, you try. So, you usher her inside your warm and beachy home and watch as she kicks off her sandals.

“It’s not the biggest house in Miramar but Penny did a great job renovating it for me,” you share, showing her your cozy living room with the large bay windows all cracked open to allow the breeze to dance through the white sheer curtains. The sun has already begun to climb down from the sky, so light catches on the worn oak of the floorboards that squeak as you move into the kitchen.

It’s your favorite place, with your beloved coffee maker and original stove. Mav insisted on a lightweight butcher’s board countertop which made prepping meals and kneading bread a delight. The sink was large, vintage and curved to remind you of your grandparents’ cabin out on the lake when you were younger. Fresh flowers sat in an amber glass at the makeshift table out on the patio in the back. When you round the corner, you show her the bathroom and then open the door to your bedroom.

The comforter is a mess, still tossed off the mattress from your nap earlier and your dirty clothes litter the floor. But it’s painted a vibrant green and your brown furniture makes perfectly. There’s a large vanity along with a writer’s desk in front of a big round window.

“This place is beautiful,” Nat gushes, glancing around before jumping to land on your bed. The bobbing makes you giggle as you run and join her, tumbling a top of your soft sheets next to her side.

“Thanks for coming,” you whisper after the laughter dies down, your smile pressed tightly as you take a few deep breaths. “I don’t know if Mick told you -,”

“He hasn’t said a word,” Nat informs you, holding her hands up before you can finish. “I just, I’ve figured something must be going on and I really want us to be friends Gwen, I’ve waited forever for a fun and sassy female around here to share the burden of these men.” Female friendships were never your forte in high school, and you were too focused on studies in college to even try hard enough so her words pull at your chest, wrapping you in a hug.

“Can you help me decide what to wear tonight?” you ask finally, a nervous smile cracking as you sit up and adjust your bracelet on your wrist.

“Of course,” she says, grabbing your hand as she walks toward the closet. Deciding on a simple billowing top and some pink wide legged trousers that sway as you move – you were feeling good about where the night was heading. A light bit of natural and glowy makeup and twist your hair into a braid, so it was off your neck with the heat of the summer rolling in.

By the time you ended up at The Hard Deck, the bar was in full swing with patrons and pilots alike. The smell of sea salt mixed with beer wafts through the air as Nat leads up through the crowd, bumping into bodies as we go. The sandals make it hard to keep up with her, but you push forward and finally find yourself in front of a grinning Penny.

“Look at my gorgeous niece,” she shouts out, sliding a small glass of wine your way which you take with a pouty kiss in return. She pulls the basket of fried pickles from behind the counter and places them down, onto the sticky bar surface. You grab them with glee as Nat clutches your wrist, helping you navigate over to the booth where all the guys are crowded around. They’re all dressed casually this evening, having had time to change from the day of work up in the sky.

“There they are,” Coyote calls, spotting you first as he drags over a chair to offer his spot in the booth for the two of you to slide in. You press your glass down at the counter and greet the pilots, glancing between Mick and Bob with a giant grin before your eyes landing on emeralds.

“I’m really liking this outfit Gwen,” Rooster admits as he adjusts the collar of his button down before taking a sip of his beer.

“Thank you, Bradley,” you say, eyes flittering back to your wine as you await conversation to pick up. And it does, the boys going back to arguing about who did the most pushups today on the tarmac during training or who was the worst of the latest bunch of recruits for the Top Gun program that they were instructors for. You sip your wine slowly, with intention as you listen contently to their stories.

As the night goes on, you all spread from the confines of the booth and take over the pool table area. You’ve scarfed down the fried pickles with Bob’s help before Bradley asks you to select some music from the jukebox with him. “Anything but Slow Ride,” he begs and so you settle on Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. The bar has thinned out at this point, just the regulars and a few too drunk recruits making idiots of themselves so you’re unabashed when Rooster offers a hand.

He's got you laughing as he sings out the lyrics, twirling you around the small space as if you’re in a swing dance competition but you’re enjoying the moment, so you let him spin you around and around until you’re slightly dizzy. When the song ends and he turns to pick another one, your eyes settle on those green orbs again. Hangman is staring, tucked behind his tequila soda as Coyote talks to him from the side.

His gaze is heavy, his jawline so sharp that you must look away. You turn back to the palm trees of Bradley’s button up shirt as he tries to find another song to dance too. “Nat says you play piano?” He glances over at you, aviators swinging from their shelve on the neck of his white tank top. His bushy eyebrows are raised in surprise before an amused smile glosses over his tanned face.

“I dabble in many things, Gwen,” he leans against the jukebox with his arms crossed and I notice the subtle flex in his muscles. “I can show you sometime, maybe after the rest of the gang heads home?” Bradley is attractive and warm, like a golden retriever but messy commitment issues can recognize messy commitment issues and this thread of gold twining between you two feels too familiar. Bile rises in your throat, and you stammer slightly, eyes wide as you glance around.

“Maybe another time,” you offer earnestly, not wanting to send him soaring to the pavement. You note the availability of the pool table as everyone collects their newest refreshment and a perfect out. “How about a game of pool?”

Bradley seems unphased as you don’t await his response, simply swiveling on your heel and returning to more populated area to grab a pool stick. “You can’t tell me you’re going to play pool?” the thick accent rings out and you close your eyes for a moment, fingertips digging into the wood. “You’ll never win.”

“And what makes you the all-knowing, Bagman?” your tone is fresh for the first time all night and inside you’re screaming for him to stand down. To let you have this, to let you have one good night with a good of seemingly good people.

“You’re too fuckin’ short,” Hangman quips back, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a swig before placing it back onto the high-top to your right. “You’ll never reach the angles you’d need to make a shot.”

“You seem so sure,” you question as Reuben and Nat return to the table, Bradley too with his hands shoved in the pockets of his cutoff jean shorts. They watch the interaction intently before Bradley tries to step in.

“Good thing she’s playing me,” Bradley steps forward to grab the pool stick from Hangman to no avail. He’s like a toddler trying to be funny, holding the stick out of reach with an amused grin on his face. His nose glistens in the light of the overheads and the simple grey shirt he’s thrown on stretches across his torso a little too tightly. You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Jake,” Bradley’s tone is stiff, “Cut the shit.”

“C’mon man,” Hangman responses, glancing at you over Bradley’s tall frame with a pointed look. “A little healthy ass-kicking is good for everyone.”

“Bradley, you can play him,” you grumble, tossing the pool stick his way and turning to Nat.

“I knew it,” Hangman’s words cut through the air, sucking the air from your lungs. “I knew you were a quitter.” You could hear the protests rolling off Mickey’s tongue as he approached the group and heard the blond’s words, but he hit below the belt, sucker punched you without a second glance. And you were hook, line, and sinker now as you turn back around to grab the whiskey from Reuben’s hand to take a large gulp. You clutch the stick from Bradley’s loose grip, eyes ablaze as you turn to the man defending you with a fierce expression.

“Bradley, rack ‘em.”

It was a tense twenty minutes, without much of a noise from the remainder of the group crowded around the table. They watch intently as Jake tries to egg you on, throwing comments of all kinds your way. But your brow is creased, and you’ve been chomping away at the inside of your cheek since the game began so Mickey was certain you weren’t even here at the bar.

To Jake’s amusement, you were holding your own. Something he would never admit out loud that he expected from the moment you leaned down to break at the beginning of the game. You knew your angles, knew some trick shots too so when you sunk the eight ball perfectly on your final shot – he couldn’t hold back the small smile climbing through his cocky exterior. But you miss the gentle gesture.

The pilots all cheer, finally bursting in delight as Reuben comes over to lift you off the floor in victory. They all sing praise, calling you Champ while doing a celebratory lap around the bar. Coyote’s offering a round of shots and Bob is claiming you as his permanent table partner as a wave of laughter bubbles through you. When Reuben finally puts you down on the ground, Nat is collecting you in her arms and squealing about how proud she is.

It feels good, a celebration raging on around you as the boys race out onto the beach to start the bonfire for the evening. You yawn slightly as the crowd breaks and you notice Jake leaning against the pool table on his forearms, a hand wiping over his face with an unreadable expression. That heat returns, the rage in your chest as you stalk across the span of the floor. You hover above him, tucked in front of one of the lights so that a shadow casts onto the green felt of the table.

“Good game Teach,” he says, his tone flat as he clears his throat and finishes his drink. The ice clinches in the glass as he swirls it around and you scoff. The noise makes him jump.

“Don’t ever, and I mean ever,” you seeth, planting your foot, “call me a quitter – you understand me?” Jake’s taken aback by your tone, at a loss for words from your visceral reaction. He blinks a few times before trying to speak again. “Don’t speak, Seresin. I fuckin’ mean it.”

And before he can process, you’re gone from his view, disappearing back to the bar where you get some leftovers from Penny. He watches you press a kiss to Mickey’s cheek, then a hug to Reuben, to Bob and to Bradshaw before you link arms with Nat. Within seconds, your presence is erased from the bar and Jake’s trying to shake the tremble in your voice from his head.

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