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blurredcolour · 9 months ago

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V. "I Trusted You!"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

The unthinkable happens on Bucky's next mission, leaving both of you to deal with the aftermath of your idyllic day in London, and his harsh parting words to you during that final phone call.

Warnings: ANGST, Language, Grief, Death, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Near-Death Experiences, Despair, Self-Loathing, Pregnancy, Era-Typical Sexism, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: I cannot believe we have reached the penultimate installment! As always, letters/notes have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this and the final part of the series. I could not have done this without you. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7477

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Your eyes were burning as you struggled to decipher the last few lines of scribbles on the page of notes you were attempting to transcribe. Two nights of little-to-no sleep after weeks of fourteen-hour days had done you no favors, and the addition of the heavy weight of dread you had been lugging around in your lower abdomen since your disastrous phone call with Bucky yesterday afternoon was not helping. Your eyes lifted to the clock on the wall for the fifth time in as many minutes, once again hoping that no news was good news. It was nearly 1930, surely one of your dependable trio of friends would have delivered word to you by now if there was bad news.

The shrill ring of the telephone on the corner of your desk physically jarred you, your right hand nearly colliding with the cup of coffee you had brought up from the mess in a desperate attempt to make it to the meeting at 2200. Under Myrtle’s expectant glare, you lunged forward to answer it, providing your last name in greeting.

“Darling…” Vi’s drawl crackled over the line, dripping with sympathy, and you were convinced your dinner of army noodles and watery tomato sauce might make a reappearance right there on your desk.

“Vi I don’t…” You blurted out and then snapped your mouth shut because you did want to know, you were just not sure you could take it.

You clenched your eyes shut as your heart began to race, palms sweaty as your stomach continued to churn.

“He didn’t come back…” Her voice trembled and the world tilted completely off its axis, a wail clawing at your throat, desperate to be released.

“Thank you for telling me.” You gritted out before clumsily hanging up the phone, fairly dropping the handset into the cradle, before leaping to your feet and wrenching the office door open to dash down the hall to the washroom.

It was a miracle you made it in time, collapsing into the first stall to empty your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks as your knees stung from their impact with the tile. When the urge to retch finally subsided, you hit the handle to flush and slumped back against the metal dividing wall between the next cubicle, sniffling pathetically.

‘He didn’t come back…’ Echoed through your mind and your hand rose to clamp over your mouth, desperate to smother the noise of pain that ripped through you.

Before you could fully surrender to the shuddering sobs that were about to wrack your body, however, the sound of the faucet running had you forcing your emotions down with brutal efficiency, snapping your head to the side to see who was bearing witness to your second public breakdown since your posting in England.

The sight of stoic, icy Myrtle holding out a dampened handkerchief to you had your watery eyes widening in shock. After a moment of your bewildered staring, she heaved a great sigh and crouched down to begin blotting at your cheeks and brow, dewy with the effort of losing your dinner. The handkerchief was blessedly cool, even if her touch was less than gentle, and brought a modicum of relief.

“What’s his name?” She asked quietly, tone not at all softened, but the tenderness of her actions and the words themselves had your eyes brimming with fresh tears.

“John…John Egan” You rasped.

“It’s heartless how the entirety of a man’s existence is boiled down to three letters. Just focus on the M for now. Doris in personnel is always willing to keep an eye out for a familiar name, I’ll ask her to add your man’s name to her list. Let’s get you up.”

You thanked her softly as she grabbed your elbows and pulled you to your feet. Beginning to tug your uniform back into place, you shuffled toward the mirror to tidy your hair.

“What’s your fellow’s name?” You asked her quietly once you felt confident in your ability to speak properly.

“Bobby Vendetti. Flew with LeMay and the 3rd Division to Regensburg. KIA.” She replied in her clipped, stoic voice and slipped out of the washroom leaving you to wonder if she was a grim glimpse into your own future.

Bracing your hands against the sides of the wall-mounted sink, you leaned against it heavily as a cruel wave of weakness overtook you, your body feeling an awful lot like a bowl of Jello in someone’s unsteady hand. Screwing your eyes shut, you locked your knees against the desire to crumple to the ground and forced slow, steady breaths into your trembling body until some semblance of control was restored.

Frowning deeply, you lifted your eyes to the mirror to re-adjust a few pins with sharp, self-chastising movements – using the pain as a point of grounding and focus – before you looked acceptable enough to return to your desk. Myrtle glanced up as your chair creaked slightly upon your return and nodded once. You barely managed to return it before glancing at the cup of coffee in disgust. Pushing it further away, you took a deep lungful of air and turned back to the task at hand.

Every time your fingers struck the M key you took a moment to send a silent plea up to every power above that might possibly hear you.

‘Please keep him safe.’

‘Please don’t let it change to a K.’

‘Please let him be alive.’

‘Please bring him back.’

‘Please.’

Reaching the end of the report, you swallowed roughly to see that it was just after 2100, time to set up for the last meeting of the day. Punching a pair of holes in the stack of sheets, you secured the report in its dated folder before dropping it off at the filing office and then made your rounds to collect the final weather and supply reports to be reviewed by the senior operations officers. Stepping into the darkened conference room, you laid your burden of files down on the large table before hurrying over to pull the blackout curtains closed. Clipping your hip on the sharp wooden corner as you made your way over to the light switch, you had to furiously blink back the tears that had been threatening to fall since you had emerged from the washroom.

‘Just a few more hours, then we can lose it completely in the sanctity of our attic closet-turned-bedroom.’ You mentally promised yourself with a shuddering breath.

Working your way around the table, you set out targeting information at each place for the Generals and their subordinates to review.

‘To send the next group of boys to the slaughter.’

Shaking your head with enough physical ferocity to send yourself slightly off balance, you succeeded in momentarily knocking such petty thoughts from your head as you confirmed the list of slides with those in the projector. With preparations complete, you settled into your out-of-the-way seat in the corner of the room. WACs did not sit at the decision-making table – your presence in this room was not for the purpose of being seen nor to be heard. It was simply to ensure things ran smoothly and were recorded for posterity.

Would that you could have done something yesterday, after Bucky announced his intentions to fly, as the target of Münster became ever more likely. Bucky sure seemed to think you could affect things – perhaps he would have come back if you had done something. Gulping roughly, you robotically slid to your feet as the jovial voices of several of the operations officers sounded just outside the door, warning of their imminent arrival.

They filed into the room in clusters and bunches, chatting and sipping at cups of coffee they had brought as they flipped through the latest reports. Once everyone was assembled, the meeting began more or less at 2200 and you set to your diligent notetaking, pushing aside the snarling voice in your head that wanted to question their every decision.

It seemed, in their packets, were the loses that had been accumulated in that day’s mission, Bomber Command 114 to Münster – thirty planes and their crews. A horrifying thirteen of these from the 100th. With their determination to mount another assault on Schweinfurt, the lack of operational aircraft and men would mean several days’ delay, but this would certainly afford the Divisions and Wings extra time in the planning. With a tentative date set as October 14, 1943, the meeting was adjourned, the junior officers hurrying to deliver the news via teletype as you cleaned up the room.

You had very little recollection of completing the last report of the day or the journey up to your room, only fully returning your body as you shed your uniform to collapse onto your cot in a flood of tears no longer willing to be kept at bay.

But loosening your hold on your emotions did not provide much relief. In fact you found yourself fading day by day to no more than a hollow shell of yourself, an empty ache replacing all that used to fulfill you. The world grew grey and cold around you, even if the sun dared to show its callous face, and food was barely tasted or tolerated. If you had possessed the mental capacity to notice, the other girls began to call you ‘mouse’ behind your back for the way you would idly nibble at crackers or toast while staring vacantly at things unseen before giving up on the idea of a meal altogether. The majority of your breaks were spent rambling outside, warm or cold, rainy or fair, circling the grounds as you gnawed at the worn ends of your nails and silently repeated your threadbare pleas for Bucky’s welfare.

Nearly two weeks of such dismal behavior seemed to be Myrtle’s limit as she turned to you sharply one afternoon and declared, “We need to get you a hobby. Do you know how to knit?”

Your head whipped up from your typewriter to look at her in startled silence for a few moments before you shook your head pathetically.

“I will show you how tomorrow at lunch so you can stop haunting the grounds like the Hound of the Baskervilles.”

Your lips may have even twitched slightly at her literary admonishment, and you nodded meekly in agreement. Though when she handed you a pair of long wooden needles and a skein of midnight blue wool as soon as you returned to the office after a lunch of cold toast and a few sips of soup, you certainly felt out of your league.

“Watch.” She said sharply and leaned back in her chair to demonstrate. “Stab it, strangle it, scoop out the guts, toss it off the cliff.” Myrtle rattled off as she slowly moved her needles through each step.

To the surprise of you both, a soft snort escape your nose and she gave you the tiniest of smirks.

“It is rather memorable. I’ll show you again.” She repeated the process several times, accumulating numerous stitches along one needle before looking to you expectantly.

Tucking your lower lip under your teeth in concentration, you did your best to follow her example. Your fingers found the motions foreign and awkward, the needles slippery, and the yarn uncooperative. But you were not one to surrender easily in any aspect of your life. Narrowing your eyes at the challenge set before you, you poured more of your concentration into the effort and slowly but surely cast twenty stitches onto your needle.

“Good. They will get tidier as you go. I think your first project should be a scarf – something useful and a no more than a large rectangle. Add another sixteen stitches to that and then I’ll teach you how to cast off.”

Glancing at her nervously, the idea of a new step and attempting to create a garment both intimidating, you took a steadying breath before turning back to look at the needles in your hands.

‘One step at a time. Sixteen more stitches.’

It turned out casting off was not nearly as terrifying as it initially sounded. And the hobby of knitting? Remarkably forgiving, unlike the rest of life. When a stitch was dropped or poorly executed, it was a simple matter of unravelling the error-filled portion of the scarf and remaking it. Knitting filled the empty times when you could not sleep, could barely eat as your stomach seemed hopelessly snarled in worried knots. You were still by no means living a healthy lifestyle, but somehow everything was a little less abysmal. Your nerves a little less frayed, your tongue a little less sharp.

The resulting scarf was in no way a work of art, but it was entirely serviceable and would certainly be a welcome donation to the Red Cross to keep some poor soul warm. It was upon the completion of that project, within one week, that Myrtle decided you ought to try and follow a pattern. A knit cap to match perhaps?

Patterns were an entirely different beast and certainly slowed your progress, though your slightly aching hands did not begrudge the slackening in pace as you worked and reworked, knit and unravelled and reknit your way through it. The weather turned genuinely cold by the second week of November, dropping to the single digits during the day and below zero at night. There was still no word on Bucky. No change to his three letters, still holding as MIA.

‘Please. Please. Please.’ You repeated silently with each wooden clack of your needles as you sat cross-legged on your cot, knitting by the light of your bedside lamp until your eyes refused to focus.

Three envelopes with writing as distinct as their personalities were tucked into the small dresser beside your cot – letters from Vi, Ruth, and Mary that you simply could not bear to open. The threat of their sympathy was too frightening to contemplate. Would surely shatter the fragile semblance of normalcy you had cobbled together. Holding equilibrium and hyper vigilance seemed to only way forward. If you were to upset the balance, something catastrophic might befall Bucky and you could not risk such an outcome by changing your well-worn habits now.

The third week of November brought the arrival of a familiar and, frankly, unwelcome face. It appeared you had not seen the last of Captain Miller yet, for she transferred to Pinetree as the replacement for the WAC commanding officer Captain Burns who had suffered a rather severe fall down those treacherous attic stairs a couple days prior. Your greeting was professional, if a bit on the frosty side, and you could feel her beady eyes boring into your back as you left her office along with the other WAC officers to inform the enlisted women of the personnel change.

Despite being a Lieutenant, you had yet to be placed in direct charge of any personnel yourself, a fact that you might have mused further upon if you had the energy to spare on useless pursuits. As it was you were barely getting through the day-to-day struggle of survival while awaiting news of Bucky.

It came not two days later, in the form of a note dropped on your desk as Myrtle shuffled past with a stack of folders. Eyeing it with trepidation, you slowly reached out for it before unfolding the torn scrap of paper to reveal three entirely new letters.

POW

An exhaled sound of elation escaped you before you could stop it, quickly clamping your mouth shut against further outbursts in respect for Myrtle’s lost loved one. Setting your elbows on the wooden top of your desk, you lay your hands over your face and rambled off a silent litany of gratitude to the powers of the universe for this outcome. It was by no means the best – Bucky would most certainly be furious to have been apprehended by the enemy, to be kept behind fences and barbed wire. But it was absolutely not the worst, and for that you could feel nothing but relief.

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Every time he closed his eyes, all Bucky could hear was your shaky inhale, laced with pain, which had seeped through the phone after his careless statements on October 9. Even as he had slammed down the receiver, it had already begun to echo in his ears as he wrenched open the door of the telephone booth and stormed back to the hotel room. The only anger he felt about the entire affair was at himself. He had not been there for Buck, and then he had hurt you.

Each piece of flak, each bullet that struck his plane, felt like divine retribution for his personal failings. And while he was utterly furious when that third engine died, forcing the crew to bail out, he was also convinced on at least some level he deserved it. Deserved to be caught by those snivelling kids and their fathers. Deserved the beating in that godforsaken town that the RAF had failed to flatten. Deserved to have died on that wagon, but the sunlight still pricked at his eyes stubbornly.

Your agonized sound ricocheted through his throbbing skull and his eyes shot wide with the realization that if he were to give up now, he would only be hurting you more. Failing you and everyone else he cared about. His stomach lurched in horror and, seizing upon the distraction of the two repellent grave diggers, he rolled himself off the cart, making for the woods with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. Everything hurt, most especially his head, and he could barely see out of his right eye, yet somehow, he managed to evade them. Before everything went black.

By the time he arrived at the interrogation centre he knew he had missed his chance to escape. But there was a bed, and a blanket. Some questionable food, but it was better than wormy cabbage. His interrogator, for all his claims of insider knowledge, knew nothing about Buck – the famed sports hater, nor you. Everyone around Thorpe Abbotts was more than acquainted with the fact that he was utterly devoted to you and yet the slimy blond tried to insinuate he was still up to his good time ways. It did not make the barbs and intimations of Buck’s death any less painful, however. But it failed to make him crack.

When at last he arrived at the prison camp, first spotting Crank and to his unspeakable relief, Buck, he was convinced his legs might give out right there on the spot. Refusing to give those sneering guards the satisfaction, he forced himself to continue putting one foot in front of the other, remaining curt yet polite through registration and combine assignment until he was delivered to his quarters. Barely able to summon the energy to embrace Buck, he asked him to point in the direction of an open bunk before crawling in and passing out for hours.

Bucky’s memory of the next few days was spotty, consisting of vignettes and flashes rather than full days. Brady and Buck had seen to it that he had made the twice-daily roll call, forcing watery broth down his throat, and Bucky had even managed to wash the last of that soldier’s brains from his hair with shockingly cold water. All the while he felt the need to mutter the apologies to you that he should have spoken. He should have called you that night when he reached base, or even right after he had hung up in London. He vaguely recalled Buck soothing him, uttering platitudes like ‘your girl isn’t stupid she’ll understand’ ‘just hang on you’ll tell her yourself.’ It was around his fourth day in camp when things began to clear, and he felt more like himself. Then the monotony set in.

The weather was already cold, even for late October, and he was sorely missing the sheepskin coat he had swapped with Kidd for his plain leather jacket. It only grew colder as the days grew shorter, darkness coming to dominate the time they spent huddled together around the small table eating their meagre rations. Apparently, the Red Cross packages, though frequently delayed, had their captors feeling entitled to provide them less than their full allotment. The atmosphere was grim among all the prisoners there, particularly the Brits and Canadians who had been POWs since ’41. Bucky was not sure if he had the fortitude to last that long.

The first mail call did not come until December and Bucky did not even bother raising his eyes as the enlisted man tasked with the duty called out everyone’s name.

“Cleven, DeMarco, Brady, Egan…”

Bucky’s eyes lifted slowly, and he looked to the young man, who’s name was just on the tip of his tongue but seemed determined to escape him, to see him holding out an envelope expectantly. Bucky reached out to take it, swallowing roughly as he recognized your writing immediately.

“…Cruikshank, Murphy…oh and this is for you too, Egan.”

Bucky’s eyes tore from your delicate cursive to look at the small box he was holding out, taking it with a mumbled ‘thanks’ before setting it on his lap. The box bore your writing too, his fingers idly tracing the loops and whirls before he heard a soft laugh.

“Go on then, Bucky.” Buck smirked at him, already well into his letter from Marge, eyes alight with pure excitement.

Bucky exhaled slowly before tearing at the paper covering the box, a broad smile forcing its way onto his tired face as he was struck by the scent of you. Pulling the first woolen object from inside he turned it in his hands a few times before recognizing it as a hat, misshapen though it was, and quickly pulled it onto his head. Several of the guys laughed and he was certain he looked a fool, but he also felt immediately warmer for it. In pulling out the much longer garment, clearly a scarf, a small note fluttered to the ground. Wrapping the scarf around his neck he scooped it up to read.

There was a total of thirty-one words on that small piece of paper, with your name included, but he only cared about the last three, just above your signature. Taking a slow breath, Bucky was thankful for whatever divine entity existed that had prevented him from ruining his relationship with you. He turned back to look at Cruikshank as he mocked his new winter fashions.

“I’m sorry Crank, what did your girl send you?” He smirked good naturedly, picking up your letter from the tabletop, feeling the thickness of it, hoping there were a lot more than thirty words to lose himself in.

“My mom sent me this fine number.” Crank cracked back, pulling on a comparatively well-knit cowl scarf which he seemed more than a little proud of, but Bucky would take your questionable textiles any day.

First and foremost being he was currently wrapped in a cloud of wool that smelled so distinctly of you he had to be careful not to let his thoughts wander. He shook his head, laughing along with the rest of the guys, each of them basking in the glow of their first contact with home, as he carefully tore into your envelope. He was very obviously not the first to open it, probably not even the second, which sent a flash of annoyance through him, but he was learning to conserve his energy for things he actually had control over.

He closed his eyes tightly as his mind was flooded with the memory of you falling apart in his arms all those weeks ago. It seemed like another lifetime now, but it was heartily reassuring that you too seemed to have such memories on your mind in writing this. Slowly opening his eyes once more to return to his grim reality, his eyes drifted below your signature to your post-script.

The grin that split his face was near-painful and if he had not already reached the conclusion, the words would have surely been the final piece of evidence required to confirm that you were the perfect woman.

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January brought with a continuation of daytime temperatures below zero, the return of your appetite, and your first letter from Bucky.

How something so small and thin as paper could both wound and soothe at the same time was perhaps the greatest of all mysteries to you. Elation at seeing his writing, hearing his voice in your head, was mottled with grief and pain at knowing what and who kept him from you. It was almost too horrid to think what he must have endured to date – what he could very well be enduring in this very moment for his letter was dated over a month ago.

‘Please keep him alive.’

Using your next Friday off you, made a special visit to the shops, collecting things like dried soup, nuts, and other things from Bucky’s list. Chocolate was harder to come by, but managed by accumulating your own rations of it, despite how you could not seem to get enough of it lately. That and apples. The staff in the mess line seemed to always have one on hand for you now, at every meal, after your constant requests, and the first crisp bite brought almost as much pleasure as a kiss from Bucky.

Adding a pair of hideous, in your opinion, mittens to the box of provisions, you sent it off via the Red Cross hoping he would not have to wait too long before the items reached him. A short note was all you added.

As you were making your way up to your room to begin a more detailed letter, you were startled to see Myrtle and Captain Miller walking down the hallway together, heads bent close, the sight giving you more than a little unease. They had not noticed you, several steps short of the landing, and you happily remained hidden behind a stone pillar as they stepped into Miller’s office together.

With a frown, you continued on your way, hoping that nothing was amiss, but struggling to shake the sense of foreboding that had settled around you like an unwelcome, smothering blanket. It was an odd sensation, considering the way that you had been desperately fighting off the deep chill of the English winter that seemed to have snuck its way into the very marrow of your bones. You were constantly burrowing beneath blankets and coats and scarves, even going so far as to squirrel a lap blanket into the bottom drawer of your desk for use during your long motionless periods of typing.

Your suspicions were confirmed when Captain Miller asked to have a word with you in her office the following Monday. Nothing had ever gone well when you spoke to this woman alone and this time proved no exception to the rule.

“How have you been feeling lately, Lieutenant?” She sunk her teeth right into the meat of the issue not two seconds after gesturing for you to take a seat across from where she sat, perched behind a rather ornate desk in her remarkably well-appointed office.

“A…alright I suppose, Ma’am, no complaints.” You did your best to answer lightly, very much desiring to keep your exhaustion, born of the constant worry combined with the demands of your position, from reaching her untrustworthy ears.

“Hm.” Captain Miller replied, tone conveying that she remained utterly unconvinced. “I must say you seem rather changed since your time at Thorpe Abbotts. You look less than well to me, and some of your colleagues have brought such concerns directly to me. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you to see the surgeon tomorrow at 0800, just to be sure you’re right as rain.”

“Ma’am I assure you, I am–” You began to protest, wondering just whom considered you unfit for duty.

“That will be all, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.” She replied brusquely and you rose to your feet to salute her quickly before slipping out of her office, mind racing.

Certainly, your lack of sleep was less than desirable, but your work or various knitting projects were safe haven from the darker thoughts that seemed prone to find you during periods of rest. Aside from that, though you were fine. Improved, even, since communication had been somewhat restored with Bucky, though you could not seem to shake this annoying sniffle. But everything else was just…

Your eyes flew wide as your steps abruptly halted in the middle of the busy hallway, hardly registering the sharp bark of the man behind you as he narrowly avoided slamming into your back. In all your desperation to lose yourself by blindly trudging forward through life, just trying to get through it, it seemed you had lost track of something rather important. Springing back into motion, you hustled to your desk, digging out last year’s calendar, flipping back through the dates, racking your brain for the last time you’d had your monthlies. Your fingertips grew colder with each turn of the page until you reached September. That was the last time you could confidently say that you had bled.

And then there had been the ‘idyllic day’ in London with Bucky. Or more specifically the night.

Looking down at your abdomen as though it were some separate entity; having acted entirely on its own agenda, you felt your lower lip wobble. The door to the office opened, the sound of the pane of glass rattling lightly in its wooden frame startling you into an upright posture as you slammed the calendar closed. The look Myrtle gave you was one of confusion laced with guilt and had you bristling defensively as you vividly recalled her chummy conversation with Captain Miller a few days ago.

Colleagues.

“I trusted you!” You snapped under your breath, the waspish cruelty of your outburst stinging your own ears and flooding your eyes with tears. “How could you go to her…”

“I was worried about you.” She replied guardedly, retreating to her desk as a place of safety. “You are clearly not well.”

You sniffed indignantly but it was beginning to register just how true that statement might be. Because you most certainly had not been taking excellent care of yourself and if…Who were you kidding, four months with no bleeding. The exhaustion, the nausea, the susceptibility to cold. The signs had been there all along, you had simply chalked them up to the emotional turmoil you had been experiencing related to Bucky’s disappearance, capture, and internment as a POW. A strangled sob escaped you before you could stop it, quickly burying your face in your hands as you gasped for air, struggling to get a grip on your rapidly fracturing composure.

The soft ‘snick’ of the lock on the door had you peeking through your fingers as you watched Myrtle approach you not unlike one would a wounded animal.

“I thought as much…How far along do you think you are?”

“I don’t. I’m not.” Every attempt at denial turn rotten in your mouth and though you knew that your words could very well travel from her lips to Captain Miller’s ears, who else did you have to unburden yourself to here in this former girl’s school where women were nothing but replaceable the moment they became an inconvenience. “Three months probably. No, definitely. If I am. Which I’m sure is what I am.”

Myrtle set her hand on your shoulder, offering a short sharp squeeze, fairly rending your heart in two at the realization that it had been far too long since you had received any form of comfort from another human being. “You’ll get to see your family soon.”

It was meant to be soothing, surely, but all you could think of was the ocean that was about to open up between you and Bucky. The statement wrung a fresh sob from you before you scrambled with the lock to get out of that room and down the hall to the now too-familiar sanctuary of the washroom.

The remainder of the day passed in a fog, the looming morning appointment dangling over your head like the executioner’s axe poised to fall. You even felt encouraged to begin tidying and sorting through your belongings that night, starting to assemble them into your suitcases. The puzzle pieces simply fit too well for you to ignore. The faint knocking on your door just after midnight had you tilting your head in confusion, and cracking the door open cautiously.

A rather tentative Myrtle stood on the other side, a small envelope in hand.

“This might help when you get back. Here.”

Take it slowly, your fingers traced over the lump in the middle, opening the flap to reveal a gold ring with a small diamond.

“Myrtle I couldn’t–” You blurted out quickly, certain it was from the man she had lost over Regensburg.

“Oh it’s costume jewelry, and I want you to have it. It’ll make things easier.” She replied firmly and turned to head back to her room before you could reply.

Swallowing roughly, you shut the door and moved to sit heavily on your cot, sliding the ring onto your left ring finger experimentally. It was a bit loose and felt like a lie. Tugging it off roughly, you returned it to its envelope, tucking it into a pocket of your suitcase before turning in to try and get some rest.

The surgeon, as sympathetic as he portrayed himself to be, was utterly convinced you were ‘in the family way.’ However, before he could have you discharged from the Women’s Army Corps, he ordered a Hogben test. Your urine was collected and sent to a local pharmacist to be injected into a frog, or so you were told. If this frog produced eggs by tomorrow morning, you would be confirmed as pregnant and immediately evacuated by to the United States. Until then, he ordered you to rest.

Captain Miller delivered the news personally the following morning, tone more than slightly patronizing. You sat quietly in the chair in front of her desk, trying to take slow, even breaths and remind yourself she would have to eventually run out of things to say. The next words out of her mouth, however, had your spine straightening sharply.

“You know, Lieutenant, this was precisely the situation I was trying to avoid when I recommended you for this promotion back in September.”

“You did this?!” You snapped, feeling somewhat blindsided.

For all her coldness you had never seen her for a schemer. Never once suspected her hand in your sudden removable from Thorpe Abbotts and Bucky’s side.

Captain Miller looked down her nose at you and exhaled impatiently. “You may dislike me, Lieutenant, but all three more weeks at Thorpe Abbotts would have done is hasten your due date.” She narrowed her eyes as she twisted the verbal knife.

“Dislike you?” You repeated incredulously, that icy rage which you had first become acquainted with back in August once more flooding your veins. “No Ma’am. I do not dislike you. I pity you. I pity whatever lack of love you have in your life that you could so easily brush off three weeks with someone you care about.”

The woman was taken aback for a moment. Most likely for the first time in her life, before she cleared her throat. “Please proceed to your quarters and pack your things at once. You will be transported to Prestwick for transport by air back to the United States for immediate discharge due to the medical inability to serve. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Ma’am.” You muttered and gave a half-hearted salute before making your way upstairs.

Your belongings mostly packed, you instead pulled out a fresh piece of paper to write to Bucky to provide him your new return address. The question that hung in the air, however, was whether or not to inform him of your…condition…

Knowing the fragility of such things, and given that his daily life was already such a struggle, it seemed prudent not to burden him with anything unnecessary until this baby was born. Besides, it had been your choice, your initiation – that last, final, reckless, unprotected coupling. You had been a greedy thing and look what it had gotten you.

Your hand found its way to rest on your lower abdomen unconsciously and you let your gaze follow the motion absently. You had never reached the stage in your relationship where you had been able to exchange gifts and yet…here you were carrying what some might call quite a gift.

Most of all, bleak as he found life as a POW you were unwilling to force him into the position of putting that life in jeopardy. He did not need to become reckless as you had been. Inhaling a shaky breath, you put pen to paper to keep it brief and vague.

Sealing the envelope with a kiss from lips coated with fresh lipstick, you made a trip down to the post box before visiting the mess for an early lunch.

Within twenty-four hours, you were enduring your first plane ride, clinging to the seat inside a C-54 on the first leg of your journey from Scotland to Iceland. It was uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and on a plane filled with seriously wounded men, you stuck out like a sore thumb. The flight nurse had the grace not to comment, but the slightly oversized engagement ring you had ultimately decided to wear felt like a piece of armor on your left finger when her eyes fell onto it.

Bless Myrtle and her foresight. Whatever her motivations in bending Captain Miller’s ear had been, she had provided you with some of the best defence against judgement you could possibly have been afforded in your complicated situation. A wedding ring would have been too easy to disprove with no marriage licence. An engagement? Well it was still a bit fast of you to have spread your legs before the wedding, but at least he had bought you a ring first. Or so it appeared.

------------

The ongoing mail issues finally resolved in a flood of mail in early March. Two letters and a large package arrived from you, bringing a broad smile to Bucky’s face after a barren, cold set of months. The food was quickly stashed to be meted out, but the mittens were not to be shared. There was some kind of magic in the yarn you used that trapped your perfume and held it for several weeks. He supposed it was because you had to cradle and hold it close for some time in your crafting of the garments you sent him.

He had never been jealous of clothing before, but life was full of new experiences these days.

Turning to the pair of letters next, he was immediately drawn to the impression of your lips on the slimmer of the two envelopes, tearing into it with utmost care to preserve the mark for later use in the darker, more private hours. The letter inside, however, was the most confusing and vague piece of correspondence he had ever received. And it was not due to some obvious attempt to skirt censors or other prying eyes. You were being evasive.

Tearing into the thicker envelope with less concern, he noted an earlier date, though only by a few days, but no trace, not even a hint of an explanation, for the second, odd letter.

As he and Buck went on their daily walk about the camp – a necessity to keep fit and stave on the stir-craziness that came from spending too many hours indoors – he exhaled slowly before breaking the silence.

“Hey Buck?”

“Hm?” His friend lifted his head from where his eyes traced their boots through the endless, frozen mud that had become their landscape.

“What do you think the odds are on a WAC getting a discharge to care for a grieving mother?”

Bucky did not need to hear his answer. Buck’s doubtful facial expression said it all.

-------------------------

Read Part Six - "Trust Me, Doll..."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas, @carpediem1219, @blueberry-ovaries

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan imagine #john egan fic #john egan #john bucky egan #mota fic #masters of the air fanfic

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lovemadethemdoit · 1 year ago

Text

Hangster FIC RECS (complete fics only!) 🤠💘🐓

There are some high-quality long fics in this fandom and I’m sharing my faves with you because I’m nice (and selfish and want these authors to write more fics, duh.). Promise me one thing though? If you read a fic off my list and love it? Leave a comment for the author. They’ll be PSYCHED and write more. Possibly.

Okay, let’s go. More than 30 hangster fics for you to read. 😍😍😍

Under the cut. Feel free to reblog this post far and wide to energize this fandom, too!

********* wanting (18641 words) by bottledyarn

Additional Tags: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Internalized Homophobia, Pining, Banter, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Kiss, Suicidal Thoughts, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Canon Timeline, Canon Compliant, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Emotionally Repressed, 5+1 Things, Sort Of, 6+2 things, Jake can't emote and I can't count, Character Study

Summary:

Six times Jake Seresin assumes Bradley Bradshaw is something he can want but can't have, and how he learns the truth.

Jake Seresin is very good at a few things. Flying, obviously. Pissing people off. Wanting things he can't have.

But he's never been very good at dealing with Bradley Bradshaw.

During the mission, Jake is just trying his best to be better.

***

hold me through the shakes (7477 words) by spiritsontheroof

Additional Tags: Hurt Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Mentally, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Pining Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Exes, Getting Back Together, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, it's like. lightly discussed, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary:

Bradley spills hot coffee on his hand three days into their post-mission leave.

It’s not until he can’t get the bandage over the blister that he realizes his hands are shaking.

***

I Long For You (To Hold Me Ardently) (10265 words) by perishablealex

Additional Tags: POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Canon Compliant, Light Angst, Pining, Kinda?, Smut, Getting Together

Summary:

“We don't have to talk about it.” His eyes dart away from Bradley’s face, afraid that they will betray just how much he wants to talk about it, that they will reveal the vulnerability Jake feels in that moment, caught in a momentary suspension of time. The moment feels unreal with the golden light pouring over piano tiles long forgotten in his childhood, the man at his side that feels close enough to reach but not quite hold, the way that time stretches like molasses, sweet yet torturously slow and thick.

“I think we should, don’t you?”

Or: Rooster and Hangman sleep together after the mission without realizing that it may not have been meaningless for either of them.

***

No One Can Find The Rewind Button (71073 words) by FabuMazX

Additional Tags: Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Slow Burn, Accidental Pregnancy, Mentions of miscarriage, IceMav are the best granddads

Summary:

It was only one night. But that's all it takes, isn't it?

Bradley and Jake are on good terms since the mission. Friends even. But they're not together, not like that. So why the universe decided to force them together with an unexpected surprise is anybody's guess.

***

something to be sheltered (19075 words) by MayWilder

Additional Tags: Found Family, Post-Mission, Meet the Family, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson is a Softie, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Temporary, no beta we die like goose, Father-Son Relationship, Light Angst

Series: Part 2 of Feels Like Home

Summary:

“My wife has asked that you join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Beau says carefully.

“Your wife, sir?” Jake’s brow furrows. “Why would she like to meet me?”

“She thinks its important that my mentee sees a healthy work-life balance.”

“I’m your mentee?” Jake teases, smirking lightly. “And you talk about me enough that your wife wants to meet me?”

“You can continue to be a pain in my ass,” Beau sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Or, you can take the offer of a free dinner with a beautiful and intellectually stimulating woman.”

“Oh, I definitely want to see this side of Cyclone,” Jake grins. “Domesticated.”

“You’re bordering on impertinence.”

“Me? Never.”

“Let’s go back to when you respected me and my position.”

Jake appears to settle down, but only slightly. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “I’d be honored to attend dinner with your family, Admiral. Just tell me a date and time.”

*** or, Beau Simpson didn't mean to adopt a fully grown naval aviator, but, you know; shit happens.

***

flames look beautiful (if you forget what they can do) (8359 words) by Ravens_Words

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Protective Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Idiots in Love, Getting Back Together, Background Relationships, Hints at IceMav, Hints at BobNix

Summary:

Bradley Bradshaw returns to consciousness with a gasp, hand going to his side, where a searing pain makes itself known.

"-ster, hey," Jake snaps, holds his face in both hands and forces him to look his way, "breathe."

Bradley does as he's told, as painful as it is, and his vision clears somewhat. Jake's crouched beside him, concern etched on his face, and what happened comes back to him in flashes.

The mission going sideways at every possible turn, seeing Jake's plane get shot down in the sky, the less than smooth emergency landing in the woods that followed.

***

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away? (48614 words) by LoveMadeThemDoIt

Additional Tags: Jake Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Homophobia, Emotional Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jake POV, Bradley POV, Protective Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Protective Javy “Coyote” Machado, Protective Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, Self-Denial, Jake “Hangman” Seresin Needs A Hug, Threats of Violence, Blackmail, Homophobic Slurs, Dissociation, Training Accidents, Jake is in the hospital at some point but he’ll be fine, Bradley makes sure Jake gets sleep, navy inaccuracies, Closeted Character, a dusting of IceMav, Beau „Cyclone“ Simpson is a softie, First Time, Anal Sex, Bottom Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Post-Canon, Gay Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Bisexual Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Bad Parents, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Self-Worth Issues, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, the movie plot is maybe three paragraphs at the beginning but this is POST-CANON

Summary:

Jake has no illusions he’ll come back from this mission. He’s the best fighter pilot the Navy has got on staff and this is not his ego talking. He’ll fly the mission, and it’ll be a shit show, because none of them have even managed to fly the simulation in the way they need to.

In his weaker moments, Jake wonders if his father is how he’s gotten this gig.

***

baby, I'm howlin' for you (87473 words) by hangmanbradshaw

Additional Tags: Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Supernatural Elements, Full Shift Werewolves, think teen wolf meets twilight meets vampire diaries, Vampires, Witches, Werewolf Hunters, it's got all the things, they can shift but any romance stuff happens as humans fyi, Slow Burn, POV Alternating, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Possessive Behavior, also there's alphas and stuff but it's not abo, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Arranged Marriage, kind of, Also this takes place in like a medieval setting a la game of thrones, rut but not the sexy kind more the cuddly kind, Hand Jobs, Smut, Mating Bites, Accidental Voyeurism, Kinda, Top Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Bottom Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary:

His smirk widened. He may not have been happy about this, but he could appreciate that Bradley gave as good as he got. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.”

Bradley stared at him, expression battling between annoyance and what appeared to be a slight amount of amusement and intrigue. Jake continued, “Say, how does a werewolf get the nickname Rooster anyhow?”

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “That’s none of your business.”

The Wolves & Foxes AU

***

When you're ready (45445 words) by The_Splendid_Wren

Additional Tags: I know you all saw it too, Idiots in Love, Hangman is actually not a dick, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rooster POV, Father-Son Relationship, Maverick is just trying to make Goose proud, Phoenix is a bro, Lots of staring into the scenery, Eventual Smut, Finally I have a reason to obsess over Top Gun again, References to Canon, Post-Canon, did i mention Hangman is a momma's boy?, not beta read we die like men, Slow Burn, Homophobic Language, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Therapy is good for everyone

Summary:

After the suicide-mission-that-wasn't the pilots of TOP GUN go their separate ways to enjoy a much earned week of leave. Rooster is set to spend his time with Maverick in an attempt to rekindle their familial relationship but it gets complicated when unresolved trauma from nearly dying keeps him from truly opening up. With a host of other issues like his unknown next assignment and his feelings for a rival paralyzing him, he truly has no idea how he ends up at the Seresin ranch house in Austin, Texas with the object of his desires right in front of him.

Or, Rooster is suffering PTSD and his friends and family try to help him. Whether that's getting therapy or confessing his very deeply buried feelings remains to be seen.

***

I will love you, dear, forever (17574 words) by FlowersOnMyMind

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Alpha Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Explicit Sexual Content, Jake loves Bradley so much, Dagger Squad, Found Family, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Pining, mentioned icemav - Freeform, brief bobnix, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pining Jake

Summary:

"Do you have someone to take care of you?" Jake asks.

"Are you offering, Seresin?"

"Are you asking, Bradshaw?"

Jake and Bradley help each other through their ruts and heats.

Jake pines.

***

You Love Him, and No One Else (50269 words) by Sceld

Additional Tags: Pining, LIKE TOO MUCH, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, just a collection of tropes because I Am Cringe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, oh yeah and lots of it, very gay, derogatorily, Family Issues, Idiots in Love, idiots in general honestly, i hate it too don't worry, First Dates, but unofficially, Bad Cooking, Meeting the Parents, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, not graphic though, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Baking, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

“I’ve got it,” Jake offers, holding his hand out, but Rooster only tuts disappointedly.

“What kind of host would I be if I made you carry your own bag?”

Jake blanks on a response, his mouth twisting into a smile without his permission. Rooster turns to where Jake can now see the Bronco. Its engine is still running, and it’s warm inside when Jake closes the door behind him, clicking on his seatbelt by feeling along while he stares intently at the glove compartment in front of him, waiting while Rooster puts his bag in the boot. He doesn’t feel as weird as he thought he would, as he probably should. Every conflicting feeling from the F-14 is returning in waves. He’s helpless to resist the pull of the tide. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

or;

Jake's apartment floods and his only other option is to stay with the last person in the world he wants to spend time with. Shenanigans ensue.

***

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) (64769 words) by thegeckbros

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Age Difference, it's 10ish years, Past Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Power Dynamics, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Casual Sex, author built a very elaborate world for like no reason, Tags May Change, Humor, or at least i like to hope, Explicit Sexual Content, Daddy Kink, like it’s a sugar DADDY au so it comes w the territory but still it’s there and it’s heavy

Summary:

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?”

“Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.”

a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

***

Speak Softly, Love (67000 words) by Renai_chan

Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Iceman is a Mob Boss, Bradley is his heir, Icemav adore Jake, goose and carole are alive because i said so, Violence, Blood and Injury, tags to be updated as I go, Tattoos, Suit Kink, Lingerie, Rimming, Polyglot Bradley, Gun Violence, Revenge

Summary:

Jake leaves behind his crappy life in Texas and moves to California. There, he meets Bradley, a gorgeous man who works at a charity helping the homeless. They fall in love, and everything is sunshine and rainbows until he learns that Bradley is, in fact, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, heir to the empire of his godfather, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, who rules the underbelly of Los Angeles with ice-cold ruthlessness. Suddenly, Jake find himself embroiled in the dangers of the LA Mafia

***

Forever your begonia (17576 words) by MerielTLA

Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Enemies to Lovers, Secret Crush, Secret Admirer, Flowers, Language of Flowers, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a Little Shit, Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin, no beta we die like goose, Jake needs some romance in his life, Rooster is bad at feelings, unrequired required love, Emotional Constipation, This came out of nowhere, don´t blame me, Ice is alive, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives

Summary:

“This is not for me.” Mickey grinned like a fucking maniac as he held out a small envelope for everyone to see, pointing at the signature in it.

Jake.

The blond felt his world tilt as he frowned at the offending four letters of his name. What. The. Fuck. He pulled the card away from the other´s hand as he looked at the fancy lettering in horrified amazement.

“Oh my GOD! Bagman has an admirer?!” Paybay yelled

Jake Hangman Seresin had never gotten flowers...until he did.

***

hanging on to ambiguity

(34033 words) by

haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Lifeguard Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Surfer Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, First Aid, Head Injury, Mutual Pining, Protective Javy "Coyote" Machado, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Miscommunication, they're bad at talking again, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Multiple, Breaking Up & Making Up, Implied/Referenced Sex, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Drunkenness, drunk Jake is a mess, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is So Done, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Unhealthy Relationships, you might not like Bradley in this one (but you can still love him), Hospitalization, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, everyone gets therapy

Summary:

an accident on the beach, a lifeguard to the rescue, and the repercussions of an unexpected reunion

***

it seemed so natural, darling, that you and I are here (20181 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Pilot Bradley Bradshaw, Las Vegas Wedding, Accidental Marriage, Drunken Shenanigans, Memory Loss, the inherent awkwardness of having a crush on the guy you're married to, Javy "Coyote" Machado is a Good Friend, Bradley gets his own Javy to hang out with, Sexual Content, Jealous Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, POV Alternating

Summary:

“Did we really do this?” Bradley asked. It was the first thing he had said since Jake’s brainwave and Jake was not a fan of how upset he sounded. “Are we- did we get married?”

or: what happens in Vegas...

***

you were almost too much for me (9648 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard Bradley, Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Returning Home, Post-Break Up, Love Confessions, Jealous Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Wealthy Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Arguing, Reconciliation, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

Jake’s ex works for his father and that complicates things when he heads back home after The Mission ***

Men Like Us (41265 words) by DancingDisaster

Additional Tags: Breaking Up & Making Up, Getting Back Together, All aboard the Bradshaw-Seresin Shitshow Extravaganza, Idiots in Love, Ice Lives By Popular Demand, A romantic dramedy about two Idiot Flyboys

Summary:

Seresin men love with reckless abandon. It’s put every man before him in the ground.

Jake refuses to be buried.

He flies like he has nothing left to lose (he doesn’t), a one man army (he is), leaving everyone else in the dust (so they don’t leave him). Admiral Kazansky claps him on the shoulder, says he expects great things from him, and Jake’s smile is feral as the rest of his flight school cohort looks on in disbelief.

Hangman, they all say, like Jake’s entire personality was a long con, and he ranks first in class.

Rooster doesn’t look at all.

(They've got history spanning the better part of a decade and they are absolutely, positively not over it.)

***

like shooting stars (12737 words) by bottledyarn

Additional Tags: Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Anxious Jake "Hangman" Seresin, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Texas, Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Getting Together, Soft Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Post-Canon, Just a little pretend relationship, as a treat, Only One Bed

Summary:

“Well," the gate agent said. "Only uniformed military members and their spouses can board priority, but—”

“That works out,” Bradshaw said, his voice tinny and distant in Jake's ringing ears. “Because this is my fiancé.”

If Jake hadn’t been able to choke down a piece of toast this morning, he thought he might be light-headed enough to just pass out right then and there.

Jake is trying to fly home for Thanksgiving and not have a panic attack on the airplane. Bradley is trying to skip town and spend the holiday in a mountain cabin to distract from another Thanksgiving alone. Between the two of them, they might both get where they need to go.

***

learning steps (20530 words) by vannral

Additional Tags: Friendship, Getting Together, Oblivious Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Idiots in Love, Pining, POV Outsider, Instructor!Bradley, Teaching, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Students, Reunions, Eventual Sex, Happy Ending

Summary:

”So, an instructor?”

A straight hit. Bradley shifts uncomfortably on the leather seat and clears his throat. ”… Yeah.”

In which Bradley becomes an instructor after the mission, Jake keeps showing up to his classes and his students are very curious about their dynamic.

***

unsportsmanlike conduct (16871 words) by ginnydear

Additional Tags: alternative universe, NFL, Enemies to Lovers, Bickering, Minor Injuries, Sexual Content, tweets as a plot device, everyone's alive because I say so

Summary:

He didn’t expect there to be highlight reels of him and Jake Seresin arguing and jawing at each other after their first game against each other. His Uncle Mav’s recorded it, saying it’s the beginning of his long, successful career - to have a rival.

Bradley thinks it’s a pain in the ass.

or - the hangster nfl au

***

one foot left, and then we're going down swinging (15944 words) by SaintClaire

Additional Tags: Dagger Squad, I put Hangman through the washing machine, but he's fine he comes back out, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, this is my sand pit, Found Family, life affirming kissing but everyone's pants stay on, for now, attempted abuse of barnyard poultry (not by Hangman), the horse lives, uhhh I don't think this is whump because I kiss it better, but if not let me know, damn good piloting skills, everyone has emotions

Summary:

“I’m still here.” he says, because it helps Bradley to be reminded sometimes. For all he’ll mouth off about Jake never shutting up, the sound of Jake’s voice can get him to drop the rigid set of his shoulders and relax, sit a little easier in the cockpit. “Still on your wing, Roo, just a little further away than normal.”

Jake gets shot down on a mission, tracker blown to smithereens and on his own in enemy territory. The thing about Hangman is that he might be a damn good pilot but that means he comes with the bloody-mindedness to see his shit through. He's got a family to get back to.

***

all my roads lead back to you (17094 words) by liadan14

Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Secret Marriage, nonchronological storytelling, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Needs A Hug, Jake Seresin Needs A Hug, Communication via interior design, Accidental Marriage, the inherent romanticism of joint financial decisions, Alternate Universe: they weren't exes during the movie, they were just very bad at being a couple, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Size Kink, Jake pavlovs Bradley into having a size kink, just trust me on that last one, outsider pov, Relationship Reveal, Polyamory Negotiations, implied threesome, Implied past Icemav, Current Mav/Penny, Maverick about extremely unhealthy relationships: it was acceptable in the 80s, Penny and Bob are vying for the only braincell in the team championship

Summary:

“Where does this leave us?” Bradley asks eventually.

Jake snorts. “In what way?”

Bradley shrugs. “I don’t know. Emotionally, physically. Legally.”

Jake thinks he might be dizzy. He hasn’t drunk that much tonight, but he has been wondering about the answers to that question for a long time. Finally talking about it…it barely even feels real. “Let’s start with the last one,” he says. “That sounds like the easiest part.”

“Well,” Bradley says gamely. “Legally speaking, I think we’re, like, one piece of paper away from being married.”

***

never had a heart to mend (3735 words) by un_familiar

Additional Tags: Miscommunication, Cheating, (but not really i swear), Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, sorry this took a month to write thats embarrassing, Post-Canon, what do you call pining when youre already dating them, sorry about this (lying)

Summary:

Bradley won’t stop looking at him with concern, laying kisses on his bare back and asking softly, “Are you okay,” until Jake wants to scream You know what you’re fucking doing to me, but he can’t or he won’t and he’s never felt this helpless in his life. The best he can manage is a soft, “Just tired,” turning back into Bradley’s embrace and thinking God, just let me keep this.

***

of a feather (2501 words) by lilgreyarea

Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Halloween, Trick or Treating, Fluff, Post-Canon, Getting Together, (kinda), idk it’s just cute fluffy nonsense

Summary:

jake and his three-year-old daughter, sophie, run into bradley while trick-or-treating

***

The death of piece of mind (27595 words) by MerielTLA

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Rooster is bad at feelings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Amnesia, I blame the title song, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Injured Rooster, no beta we die like goose, Miscommunication, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, It was supposed to be heavier but it evolved on its own, Hangster, sereshaw, IceMav, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon

Summary:

Last time he had seen Jake, had been fourteen months ago. More than a year since Bradley had escaped, like a coward, and had completely lost contact with the man his body missed with a strength that terrified him. The man that had been there for him as he had woken up, disoriented and scared. The man that had taken care of him, as he fought against his ruined leg and a fucked-up mind.

The one he had abandoned, at the first chance he got.

The man that was his husband, the one he didn’t remember.

Or Bradley left after losing his memory and forgetting his relationship with Jake, but now he has begun to remember and it's time to get his hubby back. ***

How do you like your coffee? (23355 words) by WaffleToaster

Additional Tags: Memory Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Accidents, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Smut, Sex, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Injury Recovery, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Summary:

Javy receives the first call after Jake makes an emergency landing on the tarmac and Bradley has to deal with the complications that arise.

“Do we get along now?”

“We do, yes. We’re.. good friends.”

“That’s good. Cause you seem like a nice guy, Rooster.” ***

lover be good to me (18920 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baker Bradley, Long-Distance Relationship, Birthday Fluff, like literally so much of it, this one is super birthday centric, Strangers to Lovers, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, as per usual, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Soft Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Sex Toys, Relationship Reveal

Summary:

Jake picks a random coffee shop to go be pensive in when he receives a birthday card he doesn't want and things turn out better than he ever could have imagined

***

you hang me up, unfinished (with the better part of me no longer mine)

(13140 words) by un_familiar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Character Study, javy is the best friend ever, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jealousy, eventually, complete and total abuse of italics, Pining, the absolute minimum research went into this, do not look too closely at it!, Jake Is A Menace All Of The Time, javy and natasha are sick of them!, Miscommunication, Eventual Fluff

Summary:

There are a million things standing between Jake Seresin and his soulmate–gender, Jake’s tendency to overthink and run his mouth, the fact that his soulmark is high up on his ribs, hidden, the bruises his dad leaves, but the biggest one is probably the simple fact that he has no idea how to love. ***

Got to Make It on My Own (14196 words) by Renai_chan

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Bradley, Omega Jake, Alpha Javy, Accidental Bonding, Drunk Sex, Ex-Somethings, One Night Stands, The Inherent Dubiousness of ABO, Platonic Sex, Javy is the BEST Bro, Marking, Biting, Bonding, Being an asshole as a coping mechanism, Jealous Bradley, Knotting, Idiot Men who Don't Communicate, Angst, Happy Ending

Summary:

Jake and Bradley spend one night together under the heavy, heavy influence of alcohol. It does not go well. But it goes worse for Jake than it does for Bradley because he wakes up with a bonding bite and his new alpha nowhere to be found.

When they're recalled for a special training detachment eight years later, Jake finds out that Bradley doesn't remember giving him the bite at all and Bradley finds out about it for the first time.

It still does not go well. ***

the long way home (5982 words) by nocturnelight

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Parental Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Raise Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Healing, Therapy, And love communicated through scrambled eggs

Summary:

Jake and Bradley had come in late last night and settled into the guest room of Maverick and Iceman’s beach house. Jake had driven them both up at Pete and Tom’s insistence after Mav’s voice on the phone and Jake’s hand running up and down his back hadn’t been enough to get Bradley to stop shaking when he’d woken up screaming from a nightmare.

He's hoping being there will be good for Bradley, maybe finally get him to talk about how he's been feeling. Because Bradley's the one who's bottling everything up.

And Jake is perfectly fine. He swears.

ENJOY READING! LEAVE COMMENTS FOR THE WRITERS. WOHOO!!

#hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #top gun maverick #fic rec list #fic recs #hangster fic recs #fanfiction

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hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months ago

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1935 La Jolla, California home built by renowned architect Cliff May, known as the father of the California ranch house. 2bds, 1ba, needs updating and current owner has approved plans for a new primary suite w/bath (which the new owner will have to put in) but, they're still asking $2.5M.

Entering, we can see that it's been freshly painted white, has great beamed ceilings and original tile in good condition.

Large, sunny living room has a lovely Spanish style fireplace and a floor-to-ceiling window wall with a view of the deck.

Semi-open concept dining room has so much light from window walls, plus a door to the deck.

Original kitchen has charm, but I suspect that the cabinets are knotty pine under the yellow paint. New counters and matching backsplash complete the updated look.

The home is relatively small with just 2bds and 1 bath. This would be the primary and it gets lots of light plus a view of the deck. They chose to paint the ceiling beams white in here. Gives it kind of a cottage effect.

Bedroom #2 has a cute little alcove and smaller windows, there's still a view of the deck and scenery.

The art deco bath has everything original except the toilet and maybe the white tiles are newer.

The deck is interesting b/c the floor is tile, rather than wood.

The deck goes right across the house, b/c you can see it from every room.

Has a great ocean view.

There's also a brick patio with potential for a garden.

Looks like the road and driveway both need some help.

The lot is .33 acre.

#california ranch home #rustic homes #spanish style homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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moniquill · 6 months ago

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On Wednesday 6/12/24, our bill H-7477 passed the committee, allowing it to go to the house floor.

The bill has to be posted first, then voted on. First Councilman John Harris was told, by representative Camille Vella-Wilkinson, that the speaker Shekarchi wouldn't allow the bill to be put on the floor, knowing the Senate was going to kill it.

We'll be at it again in January, fighting for the recognition that we the Seaconke Wampanoag tribe deserve. John had some very encouraging words from representatives who were supporting our bill. They're ready to fight with us to make this possible. Thanks to all who volunteer their time!

#seaconke wampanoag #this is some bullshit #fuck Dan McKee and fuck Joe Shekarchi

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sexylonestar · 6 months ago

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Socks # 7477

#sockfetish

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kestarren · 5 months ago

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"He felt as a morsel..." Illustration by Sidney H. Sime, 1912. The drawing that inspired the story: "The Quest of the Queen's Tears" by Lord Dunsany. Image via MONSTER BRAINS (Aeron Alfrey) Link to the story: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/7477/7477-h/7477-h.htm#THE_QUEST_OF_THE_QUEENS_TEARS

#Sidney H. Sime #art #drawing #story illustration #Lord Dunsany

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glendaisys · 3 months ago

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Hey, y'all. I realize that I'm not very active on here these days, but one thing that will always remain true for me is that I started this blog as a soap blog and I will continue to support my favorite characters and ships from those shows, always.

If you don't know by now, it was recently announced that Kelly Monaco was fired from General Hospital for no reason, and we're not happy about it. She has given twenty-one years to this show, putting blood, sweat, and tears into playing Sam McCall, and to see her treated this way is so incredibly terrible.

GH fans have created a petition in support of Kelly that currently has just over 10k signatures, we're sending letters to ABC, emailing, and calling the network's hotlines. If you would like to help, feel free to write a letter or call a hotline but at the very least, I hope that anyone that can would be willing to sign our petition. Thanks!

#kelly monaco #general hospital #sam mccall #jasam

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 2 years ago

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2019 - Miramar, California

Chapter 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description:

It's been eight years since you received your soul markers on your twenty-first birthday. In that time, your life has changed a lot. You've established your career as an Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer and traveled all over the world. You've also made friends in Naval Bases all over the world. But after years of travel, you're excited for the chance to prove yourself on solid ground working out of Naval Air Base North Island. North Island brings you the chance to connect with some old friends and meet someone who you're immediately drawn to.

Bradley's never thought he would want to find his soulmate, not when he's seen so much of the bad parts of being connected to your soul. But after his close calls during the Uranium Mission, he's craving that connection. He's instantly drawn to this girl he helps at the Hard Deck. But his reaction is anything but great when he sees how close she is to Hangman. Why is he so drawn to her then? Can he avoid her while she's stationed out of Miramar?

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Excessive alcohol consumption. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 7477

A/N: Hey All! Welcome to the first official chapter of You Are My Soulmate! We're going to see sparks fly, literally and figuratively between Bradley and Tinkerbell in this part. It's not good sparks, I'm sorry to have to report. Bradley is incredibly rude and chauvinistic and misogynistic in this part. He's also incredibly confused because his heart and his mind are telling him two different things. I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks to @girl-in-the-chairs-void and @sarahsmi13s for all of your help proof-reading and giving me feedback on this chapter! You both are the best!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

A wave of heat greets you as you leave San Diego International Airport with everything you own in three colossal suitcases piled on an airport trolley in front of you. The heat feels incredible against your skin, causing a near-instant sheen of sweat to collect on the backs of your knees, your forehead, and the back of your neck. Your thin sweater and cuffed jeans were appropriate for battling wind shear on an aircraft carrier, but they're a bit much for San Diego. You strip the thin outer garment off and stuff it into your purse, fishing out a pair of sunglasses and basking in the sun while searching through your messages to see when your ride is meeting you.

"Tink! Over here!"

You grin when you see him, obnoxious though he may be, and push the precariously piled trolley up to him.

"Hey, Cowboy! How are you?"

If you'd told your younger self that Jake Seresin would become one of your closest friends, she'd have laughed and laughed before calling him a Cowboy Ken Doll to his face.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He looks good, golden and tanned, and the same as ever, even as new smile lines crinkle the corners of his eyes as he smiles sunnily at you.

"Stop flirting, Cowboy. Shut up and hug me."

His embrace feels like you’re finally home. You follow him to the tailgate as he hefts all three of your colossal suitcases in. Jake won’t let you lift a finger to help. You know it from experience, so you stay propped against the side of his truck and soak up the sun a bit longer. It’s an easy silence for a few moments as he settles your luggage.

"How's being back in San Diego treating you so far, Tink?"

Your groan as you settle into the plush, buttery soft leather of his F-150's seats is near pornographic. You prop your feet on his dash and grin at his heatless glare.

"I missed the sun. I've been stuck in the bowels of an aircraft carrier for the past three years. And I've only been stateside long enough to clear out my base housing and fly here. I swear the ground still feels like it's rocking. And don't get me started on the food and the lack of company."

"Well, that's not a feeling you’ll forget anytime soon. But you're in Miramar now, baby!"

His smile is salacious as he smirks at you from the driver's seat.

"And you've got this amazing specimen,” he gestures to himself greasily, “to show you all the best food troughs and watering holes."

You yank his sunglasses off of his nose and tip your own down so you can groan and shudder theatrically in disgust.

"Never." You shove at his forearm lightly, "Never call yourself an amazing specimen ever again. Eww. That gives me the heebie-jeebies."

Leaving the airport, the two of you are immediately in traffic, just as you remember from the last time you were in San Diego. But you're home, so even the traffic feels oddly welcoming. And you haven't seen your best friend in months, so you're happy to talk about his family, soul, and how Miramar has been. The two of you chat about anything and everything, pausing to scream-sing the lyrics to some of the songs playing until the traffic breaks.

"Alright, alright. So what's in the cards for you tonight?" Jake's teeth shine in the sunlight as he grins at you, looking like the cat that got the canary.

"Well…. I gotta take a good look at my cars and bikes, and I need to make sure you haven't trashed my house while you've been here. God knows why I let you take care of it while you’ve been stationed out of North Island."

"Your house is just fine, Tinkie. I even weeded your garden beds over the weekend."

"You?!" You're grinning, relaxing in the company of your best friend, "Weeding a garden?! Since when? I wasn't aware you'd figured out the business end of a trawl since the last time you tried 'helping' me garden."

He's grinning a smug self-absorbed grin when you look at him.

"Well, maybe I got a bit of help from Mav."

You're gawping unflatteringly at him as you let your feet land back in the footwell of his truck with a harsh thump.

"You're telling me you got Maverick Mitchell, the living piloting legend, to help weed my garden?! And he agreed?!"

"Yeah. Mav's not so bad, Tink. He's a great person. And he lives up to his reputation. He made it a squad team-bonding event! He's crazy. He has a few motorcycles and cars himself. And he restored a P-51."

"No way!" You're giddy. "Have you seen it? Is it gorgeous?! I will literally die if you've been up in it."

“It’s beeee-yootiful!” God, he’s so smug, his Texan drawl stretching each syllable. It’s nice to see he hasn’t changed at all in the years since you’ve seen him.

"That settles it. Come Monday morning, I'm driving my Kawasaki to work."

“Somebody’s a fangirl.”

“Jake! C’mon! Seriously! The man’s a living legend. He’s larger than life! He’s quite literally the best of the best. Other than you, he was the only other active-duty pilot with air-to-air kills. The way he flies a plane? It’s pure poetry. I’ve only seen him fly once, but I might swoon if he’s in one of the planes I will maintain on base.”

“Just wait until you have to call him “Admiral Mitchell, sir!” and salute when you’re introduced to him. I will bet you 15 bucks that you can’t do it without making a fool of yourself.” He’s so sure you’re going to make a fool of yourself.

“Make it 50, and I get to pick the punishment when I win.”

“You’ve got a deal, Tinkerbell.” He’s smiling smugly as he pulls the car into your driveway.

You step out into the sun and stretch, grinning at how good it feels to be home. You’d fallen in love with the cutest mid-century bungalow on the beach years ago when you’d been stationed on North Island shortly after graduating from all your qualifying courses. The sweetest old couple owned it, and you’d audaciously dropped by one afternoon offering your help. They’d treated you like their granddaughter, as they didn’t have any children or grandchildren, and you’d loved them too.

It had broken your heart when a lawyer contacted you during one of your early deployments, informing you that they had passed away in their sleep. You had sobbed on the phone as you found out they had left you their house. Since that day, you’ve been trying to live like that lovely old couple. They were each other’s soulmates and had adored each other from the day they met to the day they died. You’d kept the house, hoping it would be as lovely to you and your soul as it was to the two of them. It was now your home base every time you were stateside, and now where you’re fortunate enough to be living long-term for the first time since you inherited it.

You can feel your life slot back into place, the exhaustion and stress of being onboard an aircraft carrier for so long melting away as you step into your home.

"I'll set your bags in the master bedroom. You stink, Tinkie. Go shower, and then I'll buy you dinner and take you out for drinks." You roll your eyes at the mock disgust on his face when you’re sure he’s smelled much worse.

"Love you, Jay!" You blow smooches into the air, pretending not to notice how he staggers dramatically, catching them before walking into the bathroom and sloughing the filth of travel, and Naval ship showers off your skin. You take your time in the shower, exfoliating and shaving every inch of your skin while deep conditioning your hair. You step out of your bathroom, garbed in a soft fluffy robe with your hair finally in fluffy soft waves down your back.

“Hey, Jay?” You yell out your bedroom door. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“How do you feel about tacos? Wear something casual. And for god’s sake, not your uniform. Give that a break until you need to wear it again on Monday.” You can hear a football game from your living room and are glad he wasn’t bored while you spent an inordinately long time in the shower.

“Kay!” You chirp back, going through your closet and fishing out one of the sundresses you’d left in San Diego the last time you shipped out. It’s a flirty number with a flared skirt covered in a raucous floral print. It’s perfect for a summer night out with your best friend. You pair it with a set of cork espadrilles and throw your hair into a fishtail braid before flouncing out the door with your phone and wallet in a little bag.

The both of you are stuffing your faces at this little Taqueria downtown with the best tacos you've had since you were in Mexico when Jake picks up the catch-up conversation again.

"So?" He's grinning, his eyes glinting mischievously as he asks, "Did you find them? Did you find your soul?"

"No. There hasn't been a single person I've met who I've felt drawn to."

"Are you sure you didn't just hide away from the whole world like you do when you get all shy, Tinkie?"

"Urgh…. Fuck you. Not everyone has known their soulmate since they were fourteen years old." You steal a bite of his barbacoa tacos in compensation for that uncalled-for comment.

"Fair enough." Jake crumbles his napkin up after eating his last taco in two bites. He takes a long draft from the bottle in his hand. "What marks do you have again?"

"I have five." You glare playfully at his wolf whistle. "A scent: Sandalwood, a few features: auburn hair, whiskey eyes, and big calloused hands, a song: Tramp by Otis Redding; and an occupation and an important item. I'm not sure which is which. I have fighter jets and an antique blue truck."

Jake's thoughtful as you number each mark on your fingers, lips pursing with each item until you reach the last.

"And, what, Tink, would you say if I tell you that I might know exactly who your soulmate is?"

"I mean… I already promised to love you forever the day I met you. And I apologized to Javy for that, so what more could you need?"

"You buying my drinks at the Hard Deck every time we're both there for a month."

"Deal. Are we heading there now?"

"Yup. It'll give you a chance to meet the squadron you're working with and meet who I think is your soulmate."

You can feel butterflies and excitement swarming in your chest. This feels like everything you've been waiting for. Are you really going to meet your soul tonight? You'll happily pay for Jake's drinks for the rest of your life to pay him back for this if he's right.

You can already see yourself falling head over heels for your soul. It’s your dream to start a relationship with your soul and become better people together. You can also see yourself growing round with your soul's children, his ring on your finger. And you can only imagine how amazing it will be to spend those late-night feedings exhausted but so in love with each other and the babies you brought to life together. Finally, you can see the two of you growing old together and watching proudly as your babies grow into gorgeous adults. And you can see yourself sitting in twin rocking chairs in the house that became a home for you both, with your children and grandchildren arrayed around you.

The sweet ache of your dreams intensifies as Jake chivalrously leads you into the bar. It's packed in the Hard Deck, despite being only a little past 8 o’clock. You're craning your head to see if you can spot anyone you know or recognize. You can feel a sense of anticipation sink into your veins. Tonight more than ever, you feel like your soul is nearby. You’re thankful for Jake’s broad frame as he charts a course directly to the bar where a familiar face is holding court.

"Well, well, well, look at you, Missy! Long time no see, gorgeous!" She still sounds the same as she did three years ago. If anything, she’s lighter and happier than the last time you saw her.

"Penny!" You stretch over the bartop to hug the older woman. Penny was like a mom to you the last time you were on North Island. "Can I get you your usual?"

"Yes, please!" You yell back, straining your vocal cords to be heard. Your drink is prepared in short order, and you grin approvingly as you take a sip.

"Let's catch up later?" You mouth over the crowd, smiling at her signal for a-ok before following Jake towards a rowdy bunch near the pool tables. He's already trash-talking the players, and you elbow him in the gut to remind him you're there.

"Lady and gents, this is Tinkerbell. She just got into town today and will be stationed with us at North Island for a while." He winces and rubs at his stomach before pointing each squadron member out to you by callsign.

"It's nice to meet you all!" It's no time before you chat with Jake's squadron like you've known them forever. It helps that Javy is there, and you can squish your best friend's soul in a ridiculously long hug. It's never been this easy to talk to a squadron whose planes you'll be working on before. Your drink runs out far sooner than expected, and you fight back to the bar for a refill.

You're humming tunelessly and trying to avoid being crushed when a hand smacks down onto the bartop next to you. A body follows it, and you're automatically preparing to fend off whatever flirty bullshit this stranger will lay on you.

"That's a fantastic song."

Okay, that's not what you were expecting. You turn your head and see dark eyes and curls like in your soul mark. He's wearing an obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirt and has a mustache from an eighties porn flick. But his voice? You could melt into a pool of primordial goop just at the feeling of his voice in your eardrums. And he likes your song clue too. You're not doing it any justice, but he'd still heard and recognized it.

"Yeah, it is. I heard it a long time ago."

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a Navy bar?" He’s smirking now. There's the flirting you expected. You can’t help your eye roll as he tries and fails to charm you.

"I'm out with some friends. Came up to the bar to get a refill on my drink."

"Hey, Bradley!" It's Penny again. So she knows this guy. Maybe he's not a creep.

"Hey, Pen. I'll take a beer and whatever this pretty girlie drinks on my tab."

"Pen, I'll take my drink on my tab. Thank you very much," is your quick rejoinder.

He lifts his hands to placate you before going back to standing stylishly against the bar. You can feel his eyes on you as you order your refill, and you're constantly self-conscious of every word pouring out of your mouth. And speaking of your mouth, is your lipstick smeared out of place? You've just ascertained that everything looks good in a napkin holder when things get frantic in the bar.

There's yelling and screaming, but no matter how you search, you can’t see what is happening. Soon, Penny's ringing the bell, and the crowd surges around you. When you’re sure you’ll get trampled in the rush, hands are on your waist, helping you until you're perched on a barstool. The stranger leaves his hands on your waist for several long moments. You're barely breathing. With each shallow breath you take, you can feel the heat of his big hands searing into your skin. You can see the flashes of gold in his whiskey eyes this close to him.

The intense urge to kiss him surprises you. Your mark containing your soul's physical features and song is checked off, but you're still unsure if he's your soul. But you desperately want to kiss this cocky, gorgeous stranger. You feel this intense ache to feel his mustache press against your skin and numb your lips as he kisses you wantonly, urgently. More than your neck and lips, you want to know what his mouth feels like against your cunt. How that mustache would feel against your tender flesh as you scream for his talented tongue. Those hands propped so innocently against your waist? You want them everywhere too.

You're shaken out of your reverie by the crowd's repeated chanting of 'Overboard'. And then the hands clasped around your waist withdraw. Just as you're about to say something, anything to hear that beautiful voice again, you hear Jake calling for you. You wave to catch his attention. Jake comes bounding up just as you hop down from the stool.

"Hey, Tink. Are you alright?" He pulls you into a tight hug, and you'd accuse him of being smothering had you not known how much he cares.

"I just saw the crowd rush the bar, and Phoenix said you'd come for another drink." You can see the worry on his face as he finally releases you and steps back.

"Yeah, I nearly was. But this guy saved me. He hauled me onto a barstool and kept me from getting jostled there until the chaos died." You turn in place to thank the stranger for his help, but he's not there anymore. "I wonder where he went? I wanted to buy him a drink to thank him." Your drink stands on the bar top, but the beer he ordered? It’s gone, leaving only a ring of condensation on the wood.

"I have one more member of the squadron for you to meet. C'mon. Grab your drink and follow me." Jake's vibrating out of his skin. You haven't seen him this excited since he introduced you to Javy as his soulmate, not just his wingman.

He pushes you by the shoulders to the pool tables again, keeping up a stream of funny stories that make you giggle. That’s when your heart seems to start beating in double time. A familiar broad-shouldered silhouette is propped up against one of the pool tables, a beer held languidly in two fingers of one big hand as he laughs.

Jake pushes you towards the pool tables, and when he's determined you're close enough, he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"Oi, Rooster. This here is Tinkerbell. She will be working with the squadron as one of the Aviation Maintenance Duty Officers. Tink, this is Rooster, Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"We met earlier. Thanks for the save back there when things got crazy."

The warmth in Bradley's eyes at the bar seems to have completely drained away. He's not smiling anymore and definitely not flirting when he responds, "Good to meet you." gruffly back at you.

The hope you felt at the song and his eyes, hair, and hands sinks like a lead balloon. An awkward silence falls over the pool table, punctuated only by the low clicking as the Jukebox switches the song playing. You’re more than a little taken aback. Bradley Bradshaw had seemed so nice at the bar. Flirty, sure, but nice. You’d enjoyed the joy sliding effervescent through your veins at each word you spoke. Jake pulls you towards the dart table.

"That's the guy I thought would be your soul. No luck?"

"I thought I felt the spark earlier, but no luck."

You're confused, but ultimately, chalk the electricity you felt to your exhaustion and the heat inside the bar. The rest of the night is easy and light. You're going to have fun working with the Dagger Squadron. And the atmosphere stays that way until you hear Rooster's conversation with Payback and Fanboy as you walk back toward the pool tables after a stop at the restroom.

"So? What do you think of her, Rooster?" It's Payback who asks that.

"Come on. There is no way she's a good Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer. She's all over Hangman. What a slut." His voice has a cruel slur as he spits out the words.

"She does seem close to him." That's Fanboy, you think.

"Hah. Even if they're soulmates, I doubt there is a single thought in that little head. I bet she got here on her knees."

They laugh, and that's officially when the night sours for you. The first time you meet Rooster and he's already decided to hate you. You haven't gotten here on your knees. The accusation disgusts you. Why had you come out with Jake tonight? If only Bradley Bradshaw had stayed a handsome stranger. Maybe then you wouldn't feel like your heart was ripped from your chest and stomped on.

You walk towards the bar, thinking about his words. They hurt more than you’d expect, considering how you’ve heard many variations of them before. A particular class of Navy men hates that a woman knows the ins and outs of a plane better than them. You’ve been victim to the nonsense spewing out of those men’s mouths before. And you thought you’d formed a thick skin and knew how to handle it. In hindsight, you should’ve known it would take only one devastatingly handsome man’s ill-thought words to tear down all your inner strength and confidence.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when a drunken sailor nearly knocks you over as you walk. He’s heavy but oh so warm. You look up, wanting to know if the sailor is okay, and see none other than the man you’ve been thinking about for much of the night. Bradley Bradshaw sends the same electricity singing through your veins as he steadies himself with those big hands on your waist yet again.

“Tinkerbell. You okay? I didn’t mean to run into you like that.” He’s drunk. He’s completely and totally drunk. You can smell the beer seeping from his pores and something woodsy and delicate that you can’t place. How can he act like his words didn’t flay you open? You can feel rage course through you at the clumsy way he’s patting you down to ensure you’re alright.

You brush his hands off your person and nearly growl at him, “Why? I’m just another garden-variety slut, right? The only way I got to where I am in my career is on my knees, right? You don't need to apologize if that’s what you think.” Rage and pain sit hot in your chest as you spit his words back to him.

He looks taken aback, something unknown swimming in his eyes as his throat works. But before he can flay you open again, you walk away. You’re thankful now that you’d settled up your tab with Penny before you headed to the restrooms. You're quick to leave after that, the alcohol in your system magnifying your anger and pain until you're lost to it. Outwardly, you smile and say your goodbyes to everyone in the squadron before telling Jake you’ll meet him and Javy in the morning for brunch and book a ride-share home.

You can’t help meditating on what you heard in the car and vow that on Monday, you'll be perfectly professional, even if every time you look at Bradley Bradshaw, you'll feel the pressure and heat of his hands on your waist. That's the part that bothers you about this whole thing. It had felt electric having him that close, at least for you. But there is no way he's your soul, right? He's too much of an asshole for that. Why else would he have said what he said?

Rooster

There is nothing like the feeling of being up in the air, going faster than the speed of sound. Many people work hard for their careers, and he’s had to do that too. But Bradley Bradshaw maintains that he was born to fly. It’s in his blood. After all, his dad, Uncle Mav, and other uncles flew. So it’s no wonder that he’s one of the best of the best. And he’s on an elite squad hand-selected by the Navy to fly those missions that nobody else can. Things are finally looking up. His career is excellent. He’s connected with his Uncles again. He’s part of a squad that works like a well-oiled machine. Only one thing could improve his life: if he weren’t so lonely.

Bradley Bradshaw has always been the life of the party. So why does it hurt nowadays after the party ends and he’s staggering half-drunk into the apartment he’s been given on base? Sure, he’s not lacking companionship. All it takes is a flirty wink, a couple of notes on the piano, and scores of badge bunnies appear ready and willing to drop everything to get into his bed. Getting his dick wet has never been so dull. All those girls flirt the same. They moan the same at the exact same times, and they always, always, always cum the same way.

So sue him. He is over thirty years old, and he's bored with everything in his life except for flying. And even with the squad, they do the same things nearly every night. Most of the squad has found their soulmates. So when they aren’t out with their soulmates, the whole crew is clustered around the pool tables at the Hard Deck. On Saturdays, he heads to the hangar in the desert with Mav to work on the P-51. Sometimes Penny and Amelia are around, sometimes not. And Sunday night is dinner with his Uncles. That's been his life since Mav crashed back into his life with the Uranium Mission. And every workday is full of flying, the high-octane rush of it the only time he feels alive.

It’s a Friday night like any other as he rifles through his closet for a Hawaiian shirt. The squadron had finished their hop debrief for the day and made plans to meet at the Hard Deck at half past 8. It is just about 8:45, and that is typical too. He's always late, and once he’s at the bar, he always downs a beer or two and then plays a few songs on the piano before taking whichever badge bunny catches his fancy home.

At least San Diego never fails to disappoint. It's gorgeous out. Bradley's sunglasses are on, and the wind whips through his hair as he drives his Bronco to the bar. If there's one thing he loves more than flying, it's driving this car. The one his dad left him. It's one of the only places he has left where he can be Bradley Bradshaw, not Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw.

There's something funky playing on the radio as he drives up to the Hard Deck, and it lifts his mood just a little. It's that old Otis Redding tune, Tramp, and he can't help the swagger in his hips as he walks into the bar. It's packed tonight, and people are dancing, chatting, and laughing from wall to wall. He can feel a strange electricity in the air, and everything feels different tonight. He can’t place what about the Hard Deck looks different, though. It looks like the same sea of Navy Personnel and badge bunnies, both male and female, milling about with alcohol in hand. Amidst the crush of bodies, he finally grasps something new. There’s a glimpse of brightly patterned fabric against the bar, colorful and flower printed. It’s like sunshine on a cloudy day.

He can feel the stretch of his muscles bunching underneath his jeans as he walks towards the bar. Each stride is nearly smooth, except for the catch in his leg, which broke years ago and still twinges when it’s damp out. It’s several moments before he sees that captivating colorful glimpse, though. It’s a girl, though a woman would be a better descriptor, wearing a floral printed sundress. The bodice clings to her figure, and the skirt is full, flaring out to just below her thigh and revealing miles of supple leg ending in wedge sandals. Her glistening hair looks thick and soft as it lies in a braid, something finicky and delicate that he couldn’t name if he tried. Could this be her? His soulmate? With only two soul marks, there is no way she could be his.

She’s humming. It’s not the most tuneful rendition, but it is instantly recognizable regardless, Otis Redding’s Tramp. Bradley lumbers forward, laying his hand heavily on the bar top beside her while waiting for Penny to make the rounds. His actions get her attention, and he’s at the mercy of big doe eyes as they glance right up at him. But she’s not coy like other girls are when he’s next to them. She looks like she’d do anything besides talk to him.

"That's a fantastic song."

Bradley can see the warring emotions behind those beautiful doe eyes as she tries to figure out how to respond.

"Yeah, it is. I heard it in a dream a long time ago." Her voice is sweet and soft but with a backbone of steel. And those expressive, expressive eyes. He can read exactly what she’s thinking in those eyes.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a Navy bar?”

Her eyes roll, her plush lips pursing and nose crinkling as she realizes he’s flirting.

"I'm out with some friends. Came up to the bar to get a drink."

"Hey, Bradley!" It's Penny who interjects. She must know this pretty girl and feels strongly about protecting her too. Bradley's on the business side of a glare like he hasn't received from her since he was eight years old and being babysat by Penny while his mom was running errands.

"Hey, Pen. I'll take a beer and whatever this pretty girl drinks on my tab."

"Pen, I'll take my drink on my tab. Thank you very much." She's beautiful and quick as a whip. Bradley resolves to stay on her good side. This girl will not accept any free drinks. Bradley lifts his hands placatingly in her direction, taking long glances at the slope of her nose and the shape of her burgundy-stained lips as she gives Penny her drink order, something fruity and sweet.

That's about when things turn upside down in the bar. A fight breaks out at some of the tables. He can barely see the drunken idiots going at it from where he’s propped against the bar. There's yelling and screaming, and Penny quickly rings the bell. The crowd surges around the bar, and he makes an executive decision. He hoists the pretty little thing he's been trying to chat up and plops her down on the bar stool in front of him, using his body as a barrier. She's staring at him in shock now. Those pretty, plush lips are parted just enough for him to glance at her tongue.

He has this sudden intense urge to kiss her, to taste the residue of sugar-laden liquor on that perfect pink-stained mouth and tongue. Bradley wants to do more than kiss her, too. He has a sudden flash of those gorgeous eyes teary as those plush lips wrap around his cock. He wants to feel the weight of her pert breasts in his hands, to make those pretty little hands grasp his hair as she screams his name. He's never felt like this with anyone before. And he finds that he's embarrassingly growing hard just at the thought of her.

Her skin is soft and hot through the thin fabric of her dress as his hands rest in the dip of her waist. Her chest heaves with each shallow breath as she looks at him. He’s just about to tell her his name, ask her what she’s thinking, or do anything to hear another word out of that pretty mouth when the cry of ‘Overboard’ fills the bar. It looks like the men who had been fighting are getting thrown out. That’s when he realizes his hands have been around this girl’s waist for far too long. He steps back with his throat dry as he lifts his hands from around her. He can still feel her against the pads of his fingers as he flexes his hands uselessly at his sides.

The bar is soon back to normal around him. Penny drops off her drink and his beer, and as he grabs his drink and turns back to the pretty girl, he can hear Hangman calling for her. Her eyes are wide with recognition, and she waves at him. So she’s Hangman’s something, though he’s not sure friend is the best term. Bradley slips away just as Hangman reaches her, drawing her into a protective embrace.

The jolt of irritation that shoots through him at the sight is filled with something uncomfortably close to jealousy. He can feel something nasty crawling out his chest at the sight of the sweetest girl he's ever spoken to being swept up in Bagman's arms. The worst part is that she looks like she belongs there. Bagman'd bragged unendingly about his soulmate before. This must be her. It figures that she’s got a soul already. That her soul is Bagman is just salt in another open wound. He takes a swig from the cold bottle in his hand and turns his back on the sight, moving through the crowd to the pool tables. Phoenix and Bob are trouncing Payback and Fanboy in a game of nine-ball, and it’s looking to be just like any other Friday night the squad has had since it became permanent.

He’s brooding, and the squad can no doubt sense the suddenly foul mood seeping from his pores. Outwardly, he's trying, really trying to keep it from showing in his tone. Sure, she's Hangman's. That just means that his soul has to be out there, right? He still remembers the pact he'd made in that hospital bed years ago when he’d gotten his marks. Would his younger self begrudge his need to find the person who's right for him? It's exhausting having to play a part day in and day out. Even with Mav, he can't let his guard down. Bradley’s not even sure when he started looking for his soul in earnest or when the revolving door of girls got stale and boring.

All he knows is that one day he woke up and wanted everything his mom and dad had. He wants happiness like the time before Top Gun when it was just the three Bradshaws and his Uncle Mav. All the light and love and happiness. Neither his mom nor his dad had any family left before they died. He’s it. He’s the last of their lines. And after his close calls over the past few months, he never wants to feel like he’s at the end without a soul who loves him ever again. He just has to find her and hope she can love him despite his life's mess and stress.

Hangman pulls him out of his reverie by pushing his girl toward the rest of them. She grins at him, and he can hear her giggles as Hangman drapes an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into his side.

"Oi, Rooster. This here is Tinkerbell. She will be working with the squadron as one of the Aviation Maintenance Duty Officers. Tink, this is Rooster, Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"We met earlier. Thanks for the save back there when things got crazy." God, her voice still sounds so good, melodic, and sweet. But, the nasty little voice in his head screams at him, ‘She’s not yours. She’ll never be yours. What about you could a sweet little thing like that want?’. The irritation ever-present since he realized she’s Bagman’s soul colors his tone as he nearly barks, “Good to meet you.” back at her.

He can see a little of the joy shutter in those doe eyes and immediately kicks himself for making her feel that way. An uncomfortable hush surrounds the tables. He can feel eyes on him. Hangman’s, Bob’s, and definitely Phoenix’s. He takes a swig of his beer, but before he can apologize or ease the hush, he’s dragged away by an incandescently incensed firebird.

“What the fuck was that, Bradshaw?” He’s pissed Tasha off. He hadn’t seen her this angry since Hangman left her and Bob behind while they were training for the Uranium Mission.

“I dunno, Tash.”

“Well, you better figure it out. Tinkerbell’s going to be working with us. You don’t fuck with the girl who maintains your plane, birdbrain. Not unless you want to be falling out of the sky.” Bradley can’t argue with her reasoning as she steals his beer and saunters back to the pool tables.

The worst part is that Tinkerbell doesn't even seem to care that she's set his whole world on fire. She's laughing and giggling with Jake and Javy by the dartboard as they take turns covering her eyes and showing her how to throw the dart accurately despite being unable to see. It's a shot he's seen Bagman make about a billion times, but he can't stand seeing their hands on her skin.

For the rest of the night, he's acutely aware of exactly where she is. It's like he's orbiting her, and he makes it a point to stay as far away from her as possible. But no matter what he does, he can’t make the nasty feeling in his chest disappear. Tinkerbell fits in so easily with the rest of the team. She’s laughing with Phoenix and has even pulled Bob out of his shell more gracefully than Hangman had all those months ago. But no matter how he tries, Bradley can’t force himself to be nice to her. So he makes what is probably the worst decision he’s made all night and starts knocking alcohol back. Bradley’s indiscriminate about what he drinks. He does shots of Tequila with Phoenix and then knocks back beers with Fanboy and Bob shortly after.

A few hours after he’s started drinking in earnest later, he’s feeling loose, and that knot in his chest is fading at least a little bit. Payback and Fanboy are laughing in a corner by the windows, and he wants to know what they’re laughing about. It’s a struggle to make his legs move, and he nearly bowls Fanboy over in his clumsy journey to laugh with them.

“Woah, Roos! Man, you’re so drunk!” Fanboy’s always a giggly mess when he’s been drinking. Tonight is no different. He and Fanboy are propped carefully against each other, giggling unendingly when Payback shoves a glass of water into each of their hands. Payback waits until both Fanboy and he have downed the water and sobered up a little before asking his question. "So? What do you think of her, Rooster?"

“Think’a who?” He’s slurring as he speaks, fighting back juvenile giggles as Fanboy makes silly faces next to him.

“Tinkerbell, Bradshaw. Y’know, the girl you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of all night?”

“Oh, her.” Bradley’s so drunk he’s looking for her again. He can’t see her patterned sundress or her pretty hair or her sweet smile or melodic laugh anywhere. But he does see Hangman with his eyes alert, watching for her.

“Bradshaw. What do you think of her?” Payback’s trying to keep his drunken self on track. Bless him.

“She’s beautiful. But, come on. There is no way she's a good Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer. She's all over Hangman. What a slut." His voice has a cruel turn as he slurs out the words.

“Aren’t you being a little harsh, man? You don’t even know her. So what if she’s close to Hangman? That doesn’t make her a slut.”

"She does seem close to him." Fanboy is finally tracking a little bit of the conversation.

"Hah. Even if they're soulmates, I doubt there is a single thought in that little head. I bet she got here on her knees." He can feel his sense of balance reel just a little as he turns away.

He staggers through the bar looking for Penny to close out his tab and get more water. That’s when he makes contact with the one person he’s been trying to avoid all night. He nearly bowls her over, too, in his overeager drunken haze.

“Tinkerbell. You okay? I didn’t mean to run into you like that.”

He can't resist dragging his hands up and down her soft waist as he looks into her eyes. Those expressive eyes look hurt and are swimming with barely suppressed tears.

“Why? I’m just another garden variety slut, right? The only way I got to where I am in my career is on my knees, right? You don't need to apologize if that’s what you think.” It hurts hearing that gorgeous voice sound so rough. His hands sting from where she’d slapped them away.

His throat is inexplicably dry again. But Tinkerbell’s gone before he apologizes or says anything to redeem himself. Well, he’s not sure what he would have said anyways. He staggers to the bar, accepts the glass of water Penny hands him, and looks drunkenly at the squadron as they continue to have fun without him. He catches glimpses of Tinkerbell as she says what looks to be her goodbyes and flounces out the door.

“Bradley, hey, kiddo.” When did Penny get here? “D’you want me to call Mav to take you home?”

He can’t find the words to reply, alcohol weighing his tongue as he fights to talk about everything he’s been feeling tonight. Penny must have decided to call Mav anyways because the next thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Mav in front of him. He’s speaking, but it takes a few moments for Bradley to identify what he’s saying.

“Hey, Baby Goose. Penny called me. She said you needed a ride. D’you have your wallet and the keys to the Bronco?”

“Yeah, Mav.” He fishes the keys out and hands them to his uncle. It’s a bit of a struggle to get out the door, and he can’t help babbling at his uncle and one of the only dads he’s ever known as he staggers out the door propped against his shoulder.

“She was so pretty, Mav.”

“Who, Baby Goose?” Mav sounds confused, and Bradley can’t keep the goofy look off his face as he incoherently talks about Tinkerbell and how much he loves how she looks.

“Why do you like her so much, Brad?” Mav’s still trying to make his words make sense, and the more lucid part of Bradley’s brain understands exactly why. “She feels like what you told me it felt like when you met Uncle Ice. And what you told me Dad felt like when he met Mama.” Having a life like his parents, it's all he can think about, even when he’s blazingly drunk.

It’s quiet in the car as Mav drives him back onto the Naval base and towards his off-base quarters. That silence continues until Mav’s gotten him into his apartment and onto his bed. And that’s when the rest of the story spills out of him.

“But she’s Hangman’s, Mav. Why does she feel like she should be mine if she’s Hangman’s?”

“I dunno, Baby Goose.” His uncle’s running his fingers through his hair like he used to when Bradley was a kid and had a nightmare. “Maybe there’s more going on there than you know? Try to get to know her without assuming she’s someone else’s soul. Try to get to know this girl as she is, and maybe you’ll find that she’s what you need when you least expect it.”

“But what if she wants nothing to do with me?” Bradley’s not surprised to hear a tremor in his voice as he asks that one final question. Sleep’s already pulling on every sense as he fights to stay awake.

“Just be yourself, Bradley. And if you’ve truly done so much damage in one night that you can’t get past, then there’s nothing you can do but hope.” That’s the last thing Bradley remembers before he falls asleep, and he hopes he’ll be able to do what his uncle says the next time he sees her.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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