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somethinginthewayiam · 7 months ago

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The girl behind the bar (Part 2)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: class A banter

words: 3.5k

Summary: You're getting better at your job rather quickly. You already had some regulars, a group of naval aviators in particular. Sadly, Hangman was one of them. Today, you meet a new member of the group...

a/n: Thank you all so much for the likes and comments. I hope you like this one just as much.

Link to my masterlist

Your shifts at the bar got better by the day. Just like you had promised Penny, you learned quickly and improved every day. You already made out some of the regulars who were mostly Navy, young and old, retired, active and newbies, including some naval aviators that were stationed at North Island and the Hard Deck was their afterwork hangout.

You knew most of the naval aviators by their call signs, some even by their regular names. They liked you and you liked them. You seemed to find your footing in San Diego and it felt like it could become your home for at least a little while with every day that passed.

It was another busy evening at the Hard Deck. You still didn’t have the speed that Penny had in serving drinks but she also had three years more experience under her belt, at least here at the Hard Deck.

“Here you go”, you put two tall glasses of beer in front of two older gentlemen that definitely were part of the regulars; retired Navy. “Who’s driving tonight?”, you asked them. “Bert over here”, Carl said and pointed at his friend next to him. His actual name was Ernie but his call-sign was Bert as in Bert and Ernie. Carl’s call-sign was Ping-Pong.

You always thought that everything relating to military had to be super serious and tough, but as it turned out with every naval aviator you met, the names got funnier.

“Alright Bert, you know what that means. One more beer and I’m cutting you off”, you explained like they didn’t know the drill. “Women. Always nagging”, Bert shook his head but with a playful smile on his lips. You knew he was joking and you liked the exchange. “I just don’t wanna lose my favorite customer”, you told him and patted his hand that rested on the bar top. “You make an old man very happy”, he said and put his hand over yours. “Bert! You’re making me blush”, you told him and put your other hand over his. Ping-Pong put his hand on top of yours and now there was a tower of hands. “I felt excluded”, he simply said when you looked over at him and made the three of you laugh.

“Bradshaw!”, you heard Phoenix, a female naval aviator you had come to know through your work at the bar, exclaim over the crowd from the pool table as you turned away from the men to serve other customers. You looked at her first and then followed her eyes to a young man, probably the same age as she was, wearing a Hawaiian shirt as he walked past the bar counter, weaving his way through the crowd towards Phoenix. You just saw his profile and noticed that he was sporting a moustache.

Your attention got pulled away from him by other customers wanting to be served. You looked over at the group by the pool table from time to time. The Hawaiian shirt was an interesting contrast to the khaki uniforms he was surrounded by. You noticed how Hangman and the new guy seemingly went at it with intense stares and tense body language. Maybe they had a past or Hangman was just getting to him. That man could be unnerving.

You delivered a few drink orders to tables and got a new box of beer bottles out of storage when the new guy suddenly appeared at the counter. “Just a moment”, you told him as you put away the last few beers into the cooler. “Sure, take your time”, he said with no hint of sarcasm or impatience. You liked him already.

“Alright, what can I get ya?”, you asked and pushed a strand of your hair that had come loose from the big hair clip behind your ear. It was the first time you got a good look at his face and it was a pretty one. He really pulled off the mustache which wasn’t an easy task. The sunglasses he had on when coming in were now dangling at the neckline of his white shirt.

“A beer, please”, he placed his order. You grabbed a bottle out of the cooler and opened it. “Here you go. That makes 8,50”, you placed the beer in front of him with a smile. He returned the smile as he put a 10-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks. The rest is for you, sweetheart”, he said and winked at you. He had a charming coolness about him. “Thank you”, you said as you took the money. He didn’t leave immediately but instead was looking at you with the same smile from before. “I’m Bradley”, he mentioned and extended his hand. “Y/N”, you told him and grabbed his hand for a surprisingly nice handshake.

“How do you know Phoenix?”, you asked him as you put the money in the register. “We met at the naval academy a few years ago”, he told you and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his beer. “So, you’re a pilot, too?”, you inquired but weren’t really surprised as he nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am”, he said. “What’s your call-sign?”, you continued with your questionnaire. “Rooster”, he answered and looked at you like he was a bit surprised that you knew what a call-sign was. “I just remember the call-signs better than the actual names. I don’t know why”, you explained with a chuckle and shrugged your shoulders.

“Rooster!”, Phoenix called him over to play a game of pool. “Thanks for the beer, sweetheart”, he said. “Thanks for the tip”, you said in return before Rooster pushed himself off the counter and walked over to his friends.

When you looked over, about two seats down from where you stood, you found Hangman looking at you.

"Why does he get to call you sweetheart without you getting all snappy on him?", Hangman asked after he witnessed Rooster calling you by, what he thought was, your hated nickname and instead of getting mad at him you just shot Rooster a wide smile.

"Because despite how our first meeting went, he patiently waited for his drink, said thank you AND tipped me", you explained to the aviator while you walked towards him.

After your first encounter, you had a few more run-ins of the same kind. Always douchey on his part and you always countered in a sarcastic, witty way, or so you’d liked to think.

"I tipped you on the next round", he countered. "I tipped myself on your next round", you told him, hinting at the douchebag tax you charged him.

"But with my money. And I paid your fantasy tax", he doubled down. "Tax isn't something you can avoid, fantasy or not. That's not how the IRS works", you lectured him in a playful seriousness.

"Good god, you're killing me, sweetheart", he rolled his eyes at you. "If only, Bagman, if only. And don't call me sweetheart", you told him off, intentionally using Phoenix' version of his call sign that you knew he hated.

“Are you just here to complain or do you want something from me?”, you asked him and wiped down the counter in front of him. “A beer, doll”, he placed his order. “A definite no to doll”, you immediately told him and wagged your finger in front of his face. “I’m just working my way through the nicknames until you like something or you give in. I don’t mind either way”, he shrugged his shoulder. “Rooster called me ma’am. I can work with that”, you told him and placed a fresh bottle of beer before him.

“I’m not calling you ma’am. I’d rather follow my original plan”, he countered. “You know what might be a crazy idea? Calling someone by their birthname”, you told him and rested your hands on the counter. He stared you down with his piercing green eyes and you felt a little twist in your stomach.

“Nah, that’s not fun”, he simply stated and shot you a wide smile, showing off his pearly whites before he got up and walked back to the others.

You shook your head over his cockiness which could get on your nerves sometimes and it really did, but the banter between the two of you was actually quite fun. The way he presented himself would have you think he was not very popular but actually the opposite was the case.

The way his teammates talked to and about him let you know that he had their respect but he also demanded it. He had no problem voicing that he was always top of the class, one of the best if not the best. He exuded BDE when entering a room, talked up a girl or got up against Rooster for what seemed like pretty much anything.

You didn’t know another way to describe it but he was a pretty boy with a HUGE ego and needed to be put in his place from time to time and you’d happily be the one to do it.

It was later in the evening when the jukebox suddenly stopped playing. You didn’t notice at first because of the wall of voices in the well-filled bar, only when you heard someone tickling the ivories of the piano that was standing right next to the bar circle.

You were making your rounds, collecting empty glasses and beer bottles as you heard someone starting to sing. When you looked up, you found Rooster sitting at the piano and his friends Phoenix, Payback, Fanboy and Bob were standing around him, joining in on his singing. You had just stopped at a table close to them, filling up the last space on your already full trey and smiled at the joy they had singing together. When Phoenix spotted you as you walked past them, she pulled you into the round. You only had about time to quickly put your tray down on the bar top, careful not to drop anything.

"Do you know 'Great balls of fire'?", she screamed in your ear over the music and loud singing around you. "Yes, but...", you tried to answer but she just shoved you next to the piano into Roosters vision. The current song had just ended and Phoenix tapped Roosters shoulder. "Play ‘Great balls of fire’, she’ll sing with you", she shouted at his ear over the loud noise in the bar. "No, guys, I have to work and I don't really wanna sing", you told them and wanted to get back to your trey of empty glasses.

Instead of listening to you, Rooster just started playing and Phoenix and Fanboy blocked your way out of the little circle that had formed around Rooster and you.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain”, Rooster started singing the first line and then looked at you. You just looked at him with big eyes. People from the crowd started looking at you, too, as they expected you to sing as you stood right next to the piano. Rooster just played the part again and again.

"I play it until you sing", he shouted over the music. You looked at him with a distraught look on your face. People started whistling as they got annoyed at the same tune being played over and over again. Phoenix held her bottle of beer in front of you and nudged you with her shoulder. You got a feeling that Rooster could be relentless when he wanted something. You groaned, grabbed the bottle of beer and took a big chug before you handed it back to Phoenix.

"Start again", you told Rooster with your finger moving in a circle in mid-air and cleared your throat. He sang the first line again and this time you picked up the second part of the verse right away. “Too much love drives a man insane.”

You didn't sound bad, quite the opposite, Rooster thought to himself. He sang the next line and you sang back the next. "Louder, Y/N", he yelled and when the chorus came around you sang at the top of your lungs like everybody else around you.

“I’ve changed my mind, this love is fine. Goodness gracious, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!”, you shouted along with everybody else.

“Kiss me baby”, Rooster sang and tapped his cheek with his finger for a moment before continuing to play. You guessed you were swept up in the moment because you bent down and kissed his cheek.

“Ooh, feels good”, he sang and shook his shoulders like your kiss actually made him shiver. Instead of singing along, you let out a laugh that was swallowed by the music and dozens of voices singing along.

When Rooster started playing the instrumental part in the middle of the song, he was really going off. You had no idea he was that good. He looked so cool and totally in his element. And on top of that, he was a fighter pilot. No wonder the girls were throwing themselves at him and he had easy game wherever he went.

You had to admit you were totally amazed and hypnotized by him at that moment. And when the line “Kiss me baby” came again, he didn’t have to ask you to give him a kiss on his cheek again.

You bent down to place your lips on his clean-shaven cheek but at the last second, he spun his head around and pressed his lips directly onto yours. “Ooh, feels good”, he sang even louder and threw you a mischievous smile while he kept playing.

Your eyes got big and you felt your cheeks burning up. Rooster was a real player and not just of the piano.

When you finally broke out of your paralyzed state, you playfully slapped his shoulder and joined back in at “Got to tell this world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine”.

You had to admit you had fun singing with them. When everybody was really going off to another round of the chorus, you saw your chance and sneaked off, grabbing the trey of glasses, and making a beeline around the bar, getting behind the counter.

"Sorry, Penny, they made me sing", you apologized when you came face to face with your boss, starting to put the glasses into the baskets for the dishwasher. "Who knew you had a pipe on you, Y/N?", Penny said and lightly bumped her hips into yours, not looking the least bit mad that you had just taken a singing break in the middle of your shift on a really busy night.

When the song finally ended, everybody cheered and clapped for Rooster. He jumped up on the piano bench and pointed towards the bar. "And give it up for Y/N", he yelled and you saw dozens of heads turning towards you which made your cheeks blush again immediately. Everybody cheered just as loud for you and it sent an excited tingle up your spine. You blew your maestro a kiss from behind the counter and got back to taking drink orders.

Fanboy, Payback and Phoenix sat at the bar, Bob and Rooster stood behind them, completing the circle. Jake and Coyote also sat at the bar, a bit to the side.

When you walked up, you heard the group talking about fake boobs. You placed a new round of beers in front of them and managed to make out who they were talking about. They were all not so subtly looking at a tall blonde at the back of the bar talking to a guy, her boobs suspiciously big and high up for her overall size.

“I don’t know man, I can’t say. Not without touching them”, Fanboy said and cocked his head to the side as he studied the view. “Yeah, as you would ever get the chance to do that”, Phoenix commented.

You wiped the counter and smiled to yourself. “They’re totally fake”, you commented and all their heads turned to you. “Really? How do you know?”, Payback asked. “When she laughs, and she laughs with her whole body, they don’t give at all”, you explained and all their heads turned back to the woman. And as luck would have it, just at that moment she let out a big laugh, holding on to that guy’s arm. She’s totally going home with him tonight, you thought to yourself.

Even after your little time behind the bar, you got really good at spotting stuff like that. And Penny was really good at sniffing out when a fight’s about to break out and defusing the situation.

“Oh yeah, you’re right”, Fanboy said as he made the discovery. “Why do you know so much about fake boobs?”, Rooster asked intrigued. “I worked as a receptionist for a beauty doc in New York”, you told them. “Did you see a lot of boobs?”, Fanboy kept asking. “Probably more than you”, you commented, you couldn’t help yourself. The group laughed and Rooster gave you a high five.

“But it’s ridiculous how expensive they are. Well, if you want it to be good, at least”, you told them further.

The main rush of the night was over and you had a little time to talk, not needing to hand out new drinks every two seconds.

“What was the most expensive pair you’ve ever seen?”, Phoenix asked you. You thought for a second. “I think the craziest were 8k a piece”, you told them and their eyes got big. “For boobs?”, Rooster said a little loud and some heads turned his way. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Hangman looking over.

“It’s crazy how much people are willing to pay for stuff like that. I could never afford anything close to that. But I have to admit they looked spectacular”, you said and formed perfectly round boobs in front of your chest.

“To be fair, you have no need in that department”, Payback toasted you with his beer. Anybody else might have made it sound gross or sleezy, but he had a real charm about him and you knew how he meant it.

“Thank you, but just because they’re natural doesn’t mean they were cheap. The right one’s mostly McDonalds and the left one’s pizza. That’s because it is also the bigger one”, you told them with a smirk. As prove, you bent over and pulled your shirt down a bit, revealing the hem of your breasts. “See?”, you said and had them look directly down your cleavage.

Partially you meant it as a joke, but also you were sure that even they all liked to flirt and joke around, none of them actually considered you as sexy or a potentially datable person. That was just never the case for you. Why should it be different with them?

“Okay, shows over”, you pulled your shirt back up and snapped your fingers in front of their faces. “Pay up, it’s late”, you told them and made them close their tabs for the night. They waved a goodbye at you before they left the bar as a group.

“Pay up”, you said to Hangman as you made your rounds of closing the tabs of the remaining customers. Coyote must have left already as he was sitting there alone.

“So, you moved here from New York?”, Hangman asked as he handed you his credit card, having no trouble admitting that he had eavesdropped on your conversation. “No, from New Jersey”, you answered, not planning on going into more detail as you swiped his card through the machine. “And there were no more jobs left in New Jersey so you decided to torment the good people of San Diego?”, he asked and a mocking smile appeared on his face.

“You know, it has always been my dream to move across the country to become a bartender, getting to serve a green-eyed jerk for a living”, you told Hangman and handed his card back to him.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Here I am to make your dreams come true”, he said with a wink and a sleezy smile.

You waited for a moment then leaned over the bar counter to look at the floor right in front of it. “Nope, you didn’t drop dead. But a girl can dream”, you shot at him with a fake smile.

“You can dream as much as you want about me”, he said with a cocky smile plastered across his face.

“Why are you so easy on the eyes but so hard on the ears?”, you asked him with an eyeroll. “So, you think I’m pretty?”, he asked in return and leaned his underarms on the bar top. “No, you think you’re pretty. And that’s the problem. Have you ever considered therapy? Or a good hit to the back of your head?”, you suggested and polished some glasses.

“Sometimes I get my head banged against the headboard, I don’t always have to be on top”, he told you. You exaggerated a dry-heave motion and sound and Hangman let out a big laugh.

“See ya, Y/N”, he said as he pushed himself off the bar and walked towards the exit. “I hope not”, you called after him.

You turned around to put away the freshly polished glasses and tried your hardest not to picture Jake in bed, naked and sweaty. But you failed. Failed miserably.

next: Part 3

#jake hangman seresin #the girl behind the bar #jake hangman seresin x plus-size reader #topgun maverick #jake hangman seresin imagine #glen powell #glen powell fanfiction #glen powell imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #topgun maverick fanfiction

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arcane-vagabond · 30 days ago

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Fortune and Glory Masterlist

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The year is 1943, and the Nazis are searching for anything that will win them the war. Professor Jake Seresin is a popular instructor at North Island University, a prestigious school that employs only the best and produces some of the most qualified students in their fields. Jake isn't only known for his abilities in the classroom, and when his long time friend, Bob Floyd, interrupts a lecture stammering about a staff and the book of Exodus, Jake knows he's about to get in way over his head. Jake knows his fair share of Biblical lore, but he knows just the person to help him on this quest to stop the Germans from achieving their goal of taking over the world. (Indiana Jones!AU)

Series Content Warning: Twisting of Biblical lore that is in line with whatever the hell Indiana Jones always does, References to the Bible and the book of Exodus, References to Indiana Jones probably, Probably obvious moments of me making shit up as I go. Look, this is an Indiana Jones AU, if you've seen the movies, you'll know what to expect. Also, Jake Seresin is for sure a warning in this. Each chapter will have it's own individual warnings.

This series and anything related to it will be tagged as "Fortune and Glory" and "F&G"

Meet our heroine!

A/N: Yeah, I know I said like not even a week ago that I'm quitting fanfic, but I was having a menty B and now that I'm fine and my friends have bullied me into it, I've changed my mind. Die mad about it actually.

Main Masterlist || Blog Rules || Writing Rules

Series;

Prologue (Coming Soon)

Drabbles;

Nothing to see here yet...

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year ago

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The One I Want

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes: This is part one of a new series.

Warnings: Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Words: 1622

Masterlist

---

You’re going to be new again. You’re so terribly tired of being new. But that's how it’s always been. Never in one place long enough to be considered a usual in town. Never a constant in anyone’s life. No. You’re the new girl, because people don’t give you a choice to be anything else.

You learned it quite young. People’s lingering glances have nothing to do with curiosity or intrigue. They don’t stare because you’re particularly beautiful or unique-looking. Rather, they watch you so they may judge and criticize and tease. You learned it doesn’t fade as you age. People are people, and not all of them grow. Unfortunately for you, those people are scattered about the world as much as the good-hearted ones. But the good-hearted never approach you. They never look your way.

Eventually, as it goes, the life you’re living, surrounded by those people, becomes too much. You get tired again. You leave that disappointing town. You find somewhere new. You repeat. The many places you’ve been have become tainted, and now you’re left with few. So few that two nights ago, instead of four different cities scribbled on notecards to choose from, there were three. The options are slimming. You put the cards in a bowl, closed your eyes, and now you’re a California resident, for however long that may be.

It’s extreme, you sometimes think—writing off a whole city or town when they’re full of other neighborhoods with different people who have fresh pairs of eyes—but it makes you feel better. You can say to yourself that you no longer live in that city or town. That city or town was an old life.

In your new life—born from the moment you crossed the state line all of four hours ago—you’ve yet to feel out of place. Things have kept from souring. No wrong turns. No bad weather. A new apartment awaiting you from an ad you’d answered the day prior. The ad included a roommate you don’t want, but it’s cheap and all you can afford until you get a job.

It’s also a risk. This “Jake” guy could be as bad as the rest, but there’s only one way to find out. And if he is bad—well, you’ve got two more notecards in your bag.

—

It’s nicer than you expected, and that brings forth a hearty handful of questions. Why would this guy need a roommate if he lived here? Why is the rent so cheap? And when you finally knock on the door, Jake is actually…a woman?

You do a quick scan of her face and form. She’s beautiful in nearly every conventional way. Her features fit in all the right places on her face. Her body is proportional, filling out clothes the way they are meant to be filled out. She’s intimidating. Not the roommate you expected, and certainly not a roommate you can handle having. She might very well be lovely, but you don’t need a daily reminder of what you are not.

“Are you…Jake?” you ask.

“Natasha. You’re in the right place,” she replies, moving aside to make room for you to pass the threshold.

Looking around, you almost gasp. The interior matches the grandness of its exterior wrapping. Lofted ceilings; natural light; walls painted in thick, throughout coats so as not to allow the slightest hint of their previous shade to peek through. It officially confirms what you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before—you’ve grown too accustomed to living in dumps. From the shine of the floor alone, you know you’ve never held yourself to this guy’s standards.

Will I have to meet those standards?

“Jake couldn’t be here so he asked me to let you in,” Natasha says. “The key is on the counter.”

“Right, um–” You swallow, unsure how to ask what could easily be interpreted as rude. “And this Jake guy, is he…”

“Not a creep,” she promises with a light smile, “Just irritating.”

“That’s a relief.”

“If you like arrogant pilots.”

You almost tell her that a know-it-all plane man is probably one of the last people you intend to worry about—falling in place next to old ladies, babies, and tiny dogs—but you keep your mouth shut. She doesn’t need your story. And if Jake is a pilot, then it seems safe to say he won’t be around enough to bother figuring you out, either.

“I can handle a pilot.” As long as he keeps to himself—Another thing you don’t say.

The brunette nods. “Then this might work out after all,” she says before giving you a once-over. “He’ll definitely be surprised by you, though."

That stops you, nudging you back into a past you’re trying to forget. It makes your breath catch in your throat. Your ears begin to thump from a quickening pulse. “What do you mean by that?”

Chocolate brown eyes widen briefly before relaxing back into an indifferent mask. “Nothing. I’m sure you’ll get along fine,” she says. Another smile. Same as before. Then, “If you’re okay, I actually have somewhere to be.”

Releasing a tense exhale, you plaster on a smile of your own. “I’m good. Thank you.”

She nods and makes her way toward the door, wrapping slender fingers around the brushed nickel knob. “Jake said to let you know he’ll be back late. So you have some time to get acquainted with the place.”

She twists the knob and steps through the open frame. When the door has nearly eclipsed the remainder of her body, she pauses and her eyes meet yours. “I hope you'll like it here. It’ll be nice to have another woman around to dilute the testosterone,” she says. Then she’s gone.

Standing in the apartment alone, you feel like an intruder. Though Natasha told you to get acquainted, you can't imagine going on the hunt for your bedroom, or unpacking your clothes, or reclining on the couch with a snack from the refrigerator. Something in you says it's better to stand in the same spot until your roommate returns to lead you about the place himself. If only you knew when that would be.

—

The only thing clueing you in that, at some point, you’d fallen asleep in the armchair by the bookshelf is the key-in-lock sound now stirring you awake. You jolt up out of the chair to find the sun had set so long ago that not a sliver of orange on the horizon remains. How many hours had been wasted making up for lost sleep when you should’ve been rehearsing how to respond to all possible reactions your roommate might have upon seeing you?

It doesn’t matter. You’re out of time now.

You’ve barely readjusted your shirt to hide the exposed line of your bra by the time the door opens. But the man who walks through is far from what you imagined, and you had imagined plenty.

You wait for a second, breath trapped in lungs. But then you realize he has yet to notice you, so with curious eyes, you use his unaware moment to truly notice him.

He’s tall, broad, with short sandy blond hair and a jawline you’ve not seen on any man outside of a TV screen or glossy magazine page. Sharp like etched marble. His stubble is a day's worth, and while you suspect it’s not a representation of his usual appearance, you can’t say it doesn’t suit him well.

Through pink parted lips you hear the exhale of his sigh, and suddenly see from the slump of his shoulders as he removes his jacket to hang on a nearby hook that he’s as tired as you are. Likely for very different reasons, but tired all the same. An affliction of sorts you understand too well.

When he runs a hand down his face, as if to wipe off the exhaustion like a wet rag removing dirt from skin, you get your first full image of him. Before it was just his profile. That was enough to tell you plenty, but straight on he’s…more. From the hallway light, you catch a glimpse of the green hue of his eyes. You notice the tanness of his arms–not natural, but from spending too much time in the sun–and the veins that trail along them like rivers in the earth.

You’re suddenly not so sure what you’ve gotten yourself into. Men like him you’ve dealt with before, and it doesn’t often do you well. However, you promised yourself that with each town, you’ll pretend your past pain doesn’t exist so you may approach the new people and places without preconceived opinions. It’s a struggle of a promise to keep, but you do your best. And having just arrived, it would be silly not to try to do your best here as well.

Those green eyes finally find yours and he stops short, almost stumbling as if he forgot to expect you. But he recovers quickly, standing straight and sturdy to confirm his height. His slightly slackened jaw coupled with the stare he gives you, however, doesn’t quite manage the same impressive recovery rate. His face can’t hide his surprise.

A throat-clearing is followed by, “You’re my new roommate?”

You can’t tell if there’s judgment in his tone. Disappointment, maybe? He’s still staring.

“Yes,” you say calmly, giving him a chance to not be the prick you suspect he might be. Don’t break your promise, you internally scold.

His gaze lingers on each feature of your face. Eyes pause at your lips before traveling lower; much lower until he reaches your toes then makes his way back up to where he started.

A beat passes. He swallows hard. Then that deep voice, having turned a bit husky, mutters a soft, “Fuck.”

---

A/N: again, this is a new series. So part 2 soon. I hope you liked it :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @tgmavericklover @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @penguin876

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin x plus size!reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x you

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tgmsunmontue · 8 months ago

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From the top 1/6

IceMav, (eventual) Explicit, (background Hangster who are already established). Set post-TGM. (No dead Ice obviously).

Featuring not-mistaken identities (where they (Ice and Mav) pretend to be in the dark for REASONS), Ice is Jake's Uncle Tom, Mav is Bradley's Dad, everyone knows everyone, (un)requited love, coming out as an older person, and a little bit of a circus-vibe where Ice has a horrible realization that this is indeed his circus and these are also his monkeys.

An AU where Mav married Carole and adopted Bradley to make things easier legally. A USNA Bradley who has been very careful to separate Dad/Pete from godfather/Maverick. They had an argument prior to TGM, but it was around Maverick being careless with his life (RE: Darkstar because Bradley got the call that Maverick was missing, presumed dead). So it was about risk taking and thinking while flying, so that was happening and Bradley admits to the Dagger Squadron that Maverick is his godfather and they have a ‘complicated relationship’ which isn’t a lie per se, however it’s… complicated.

He and Bradley haven’t reached the stage yet where they’ve met any of each other’s family. They haven’t even introduced each other to their friends as boyfriends yet, and their circle of friends overlap. And he’s okay with that. More than okay actually. Doesn’t quite know how he’d broach the whole by the way I’m sort of related to the COMPACFLT through my mom conversation. He’s close with Tom now, closer than he is to any of his mom’s other cousins that’s for sure. Idolized him when he was young, and now also holds a deep-rooted respect and affection for the man. It had also helped knowing he had someone to look to as a role model, someone who was gay in the Navy and got so high up no-one could do anything to him now. Jake wanted that. Badly.

But he also kind of wants his Uncle Tom to be happy. Although, hell, for all he knew he could have had a secret lover all these years. If anyone could keep it hidden it’s Uncle Tom, face quiet and impassive, unmoving and unflinching. He’d really hoped for a callsign half as cool as Iceman, and even if Uncle Tom jokes that he does have a literal half with man, he wishes he didn’t have the connotations of Hangman, even if it’s because of fucking song lyrics he was forever quoting and now twisted into something that make people assume things before they even know him.

Not that he really has that problem now, with the Dagger Squadron being made a permanent detachment and with them all knowing each other so well now. They know he’s got their backs when it actually comes down to it. And he likes being based where his Uncle Tom is, because while he’s meant to be based in Hawaii they’ve made some concessions due to his cancer treatment. He knows their entire family is grateful, not least his Aunty Sarah. God, he knows it’s the high of surviving a literal suicide mission but life feels so good right now. He’s expecting Bradley to turn up any minute, they’ve got plans for dinner and a movie and then sex, not necessarily in that order.

When he opens his door and Rooster is there, he can’t help the little happy swoop his insides do and he lets Bradley kiss him hello.

“Hi.”

“Hi. How are you?”

“Good. Little annoyed… my dad is talking about getting back together with an ex…”

“Is this the ex you like, or don’t like?”

“You can safely bet money that it’s nearly always an ex I don’t like. I don’t think he’s ever had a relationship with anyone I’ve actually liked… shit that’s depressing.”

“Maybe you just have really high standards for him?”

“You mean unlike for myself, where my standards are really low?”

“Hey!”

They end up play-wrestling which quickly morphs into not-play making-out and yeah, the sex comes before dinner but he was sort of banking on that, making food that would be perfectly fine just staying warm in the oven. They end up curled around each other on the sofa, queuing up a movie and Jake asks about his day. Listens as Bradley talks about going out to Maverick’s hangar to work on the plane, having lunch with his dad and he wonders if Maverick has met Bradley’s step-dad. Obviously he must have, he’s been around even longer, although it must be weird to have two people called Pete wandering around, he guesses that’s why Bradley calls Maverick Maverick, and his step-dad dad. Stops the confusion.

He knows Maverick and Bradley had a falling out of some sort, they’d been very angry with each other. He figured out that Maverick flew with Bradley’s dad, was the pilot when his dad died, and he’d thought it had been that. But then Bradley had dropped the bombshell that Maverick was his godfather and they’d had a fight over something he can’t talk about, but they would be fine. So Jake hasn’t pushed wanting to also hang out with Maverick, because when Bradley talks about the P-51 and the hangar his fingers itch but he gets Bradley wanting to mend bridges with his godfather.

More than that though he wants to meet Bradley’s step-dad, doesn’t understand Bradley’s reticence about introducing them. It’s not like he’s going to care. But they’ve only been doing this, whatever it is, for a couple of weeks, which he guesses is early days, but with everything they’ve gone through in the last couple of months it also feels like several lifetimes. Then again, he’s in no rush to introduce Bradley to Uncle Tom, so maybe it’s for the best they wait a few weeks. Or months.

“You still thinking about your dad?”

“Yeah. I just need to get him seeing someone else. Anyone to take his mind off getting back with Georgia. Or any of his exes for that matter. Georgia especially is… well. I have no idea what she gets out of sleeping with Dad. She’s anti military for a start.”

“The fact that she gets to sleep with him?”

“Ew, gross…”

“Maybe she thinks she can convert him to a non-military life one blowjob at a time…”

“You could try that on me you know, see if you can convince me to do something with a blowjob…”

“Don’t think I need the promise of a bj to convince you to do anything,” Jake says with a grin. “You know, my uncle Tom is gay, maybe we could set them up? Well, assuming your dad swings both ways?”

“Huh. Yeah… He does. Keeps that pretty much on the down-low, very much on a need to know basis. Pretty sure I only know because I saw him trying to sneak a guy out when I was seventeen. Did make me feel safer about coming out to him myself though.”

… … …

“Jake, I am not installing Grindr on my phone, work, personal or otherwise.”

“Thought you might say that, so I bought you a burner. Well, please don’t actually burn it, but you know what I mean.”

“Jake…” Tom lets out an exasperated sigh. “I wouldn’t burn it. I know what a burner is. I’m not an idiot. I just don’t want to go on a date…”

“Okay, so you don’t actually have to go on a date. All my cards on the table. I’m using the app to introduce you to the step-dad of my… uh, a friend.”

“A friend huh? Is this the same friend you won’t introduce to the family?”

“Yes. The exact one. Anyway, I just want you to send him a couple of messages. Let’s say ten messages. After that you can go back to ignoring it, remove the battery from the phone and pretend it never happened. Okay?”

“Will you let it go if I do this?”

“I mean… yeah. I hope you make a friend or something, but he’s military as well, so you guys have something in common at least…”

“Fine. But I want the name of your friend.”

“No! You’ll just look him up.”

“He’s Navy?”

“No!”

“He is! Good job.”

… … …

“Bradley! Why is Grindr amongst my recently installed apps!”

“I’m setting you up!” Bradley calls out, grabbing two beers to go with their takeout Chinese.

“I don’t need setting up. I can find my own dates. I don’t need an app!”

“Yes, you do. You can’t get back with Georgia just because you’re lonely. Look, I’m not going to make you swipe through dick-pics…”

“Maybe I want to swipe through dick-pics!”

“Mav, be serious! You just said you didn’t want the app!”

“Seriously? You’re the one that installed Grindr on my phone.”

“God, maybe this was an awful idea.”

“Yeah, you think?”

“Okay, give me a second,” Bradley mutters, rolling his eyes and pulling his own from his pocket and thumbing into his contacts.

“Hi… how’s it going?” Jake asks, voice quiet, and he must still be at his Uncle’s house.

“Not well. You think we can maybe just set them up with an app that blocks their numbers and then just let them talk that way?”

“Can’t hurt to try… your dad resisting the Grindr approach too huh?”

“So much. And I get it, HE’S REALLY OLD,” Bradley says, raising his voice while looking Mav dead in the eye.

“Hey! I heard that!”

“You were meant to!”

He ignores the glare Mav shoots him and pokes his tongue out at the back of his head as he walks away.

“Okay, let’s see what we can find. I’ll message you and let you know.”

“Sure thing.”

Fifteen minutes later Jake has sent him the information, an end-to-end encrypted messaging app, one which hides the number of the phone sending the message. It’s silent and has to be manually opened to check for notifications, which is very old-school but means there’s no potential odd sounding pings. The icon is a mundane looking tower symbol and he guesses that could mean anything.

“Okay Mav – you need to give this guy a chance okay? Please?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I will stop bothering you about… uh… your love life for six months?”

“No deal. I want to meet the guy you just rang. Who’s he in all this?”

“Uh… I guess he’s my boyfriend.”

“Ooohhh… it’s new huh? You’re in that new loved-up stage where you want everyone around you to be in the same stage.”

“Uh, I mean we’ve known each other for years, but we’ve recently… come to an arrangement.”

“Is it boyfriends or friends with benefits?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly friends before, so definitely closer to boyfriends I guess,” Bradley says, carefully skirting the fact that Mav actually already knows Jake quite well.

“Great. I’ll send what, ten messages to this guy and then I get to meet your guy in two weeks.”

“No! Three months. And twenty messages.”

“You realize you can’t force me to do anything right? You have no bargaining power here?”

“I know, but… for me?”

“Ugh… sad cow eyes. Fine fine, put them away. I’ll message the guy. But I do want to meet your guy when you feel the timing is right.”

“Yeah, of course.”

God he hopes this works because he has no idea if Mav will like the fact he’s with Jake or not.

… … …

They meet up every week when they’re both in the same place, and it’s been a treat these last few months, but also a trial. Usually the distance has been a unintended blessing, making his unfortunate case of unrequited love easier to ignore. When he was younger he’d thought it was just a crush, that it would just… fade away. Instead the opposite has happened, time and distance have hardened and solidified similar to how pressure and temperature turn limestone into marble his love for Maverick is a solid and unmoving object that is ever present. Every time Mav walks through his front door he has to fight the urge to enfold him in his arms and just hold him. Every time.

“Did you ever want kids of your own?” Pete asks and Tom startles, looks across at him.

“No. I have nieces and nephews and cousin’s kids coming out my ears. They’re enough trouble to be getting on with, without adding my own genes to the mix. Wasn’t ever going to happen anyway,” he tacks on, and he wonders if this, today, this moment, will be the time it twigs and Mav will ask what he means.

“Too much trouble by half. Do you know what Bradley did the other day? Installed a dating app on my phone.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“He thought I was considering getting back with Georgia for some reason.”

“And you’re not?”

“No. Anyway, he’s trying to set me up with someone. At least you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’d be surprised. My cousins kid bought me a phone, a burner phone, with a dating app installed on it.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

Tom swallows.

Okay.

No more subtle hints.

It’s now or never.

“Grindr.”

�� He didn’t purposely wait for Mav to have a sip of his drink, but he still sprays it out across the coffee table, eyes bugging out and he can’t seem to look Tom in the eye and he feels his stomach start to sink.

“You… ah… you know that app is for gay guys right?”

“I’m aware.”

Pete just stares at him and he wonders if this is it. The moment his best friend just gets up and walks out of his life.

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

“Yeah well, there was a whole thing about not asking and not telling until about ten years ago so… sorry if I thought you’d have maybe mentioned it. Or at least… alluded to it.”

“I did Pete. With something called subtlety. I know it’s not your strong suit, but I tried to leave it there in the open for you to pick up on. I’m only just… getting to the grips with the idea of being more out.”

“Okay. Uh. Does anyone else know?”

Tom snorts.

“Yeah, my whole family for a start. Had to get them to stop trying to marry me off. Slider of course.”

“Why of course? Why Slider?”

“He’s known me for a very long time.”

“I’ve known you for a long time.”

He doesn’t want to mention that Slider figured it out, because he’s had to learn to be subtle, and his weak point has and will always be the man in front of him. And he can never let him know. Still, Mav sounds annoyed.

“Slider figured it out. He’s too perceptive for his own good,” Tom mutters, because he’s also the one person who knows about his lifelong torch bearing.

“Huh. Okay.”

… … …

Tom locks the house up, Mav having left to go home after Tom had soundly beaten him at chess. He knows it isn’t one of Mav’s favorite games, that he really only plays to humor Tom and give them something to do while they talk�� his brain is catching on something and it’s going to bother him until he figures it out. Pete. Playing chess simply to spend more time with him...

He stops.

Blinks.

Pete had said Bradley had installed a dating app on his phone.

Within a day of Jake giving him a phone with Grindr installed, which quickly morphed to a simple encrypted messaging service.

He’s learnt to not ignore his gut and this is deeply suspicious with the coincidence.

He wonders if Jake and Bradley are dating. The idea of that makes him smile, even if it’ll cause an administrative nightmare. He knows they know each other, they’re part of the same squadron and there are rules, however it wouldn’t surprise him at all if both Bradley and Jake decided that that particular rule was for other people.

Wait.

He suddenly needs to know which app it is exactly that Bradley installed and he has his phone in his hand ringing him before he even considers the time of night, or where Bradley might be right now.

“Hey Uncle Ice… Everything okay?”

“Hey Bradley. Sorry for the late call, Just, uh, Mav mentioned you installed a dating app on his phone. You mind telling me which one it was?”

“Uh… Grindr. Why?”

“Oh. No reason. Just curious Thanks. Have a good night.”

Why would Bradley install Grindr.

Maverick’s not gay.

To his knowledge Maverick isn’t even bisexual. Or anything else that might imply he’s anything other than overwhelmingly heterosexual.

Maverick didn’t say anything tonight when he learnt about Tom’s own sexuality.

Maybe Bradley knows something Tom doesn’t.

Scratch that.

Bradley definitely knows something Tom doesn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

#IceMav #From The Top #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #Top Gun fanfic

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beezelarts · 4 months ago

Text

So, I’ve been thinking.

One of my favourite tropes in books, movies or shows is the obsessed artist. A mixture of genius and insanity. So, I’m trying to think of ways in which Bradley and Jake might fit into that category.

For Bradley, it’s pretty straightforward in my opinion. He’s obsessed with proving Maverick wrong, obsessed with flying as best as he can and (but this is kind of a headcanon) obsessed with Jake. He can’t get over how Jake always seems to be the superior pilot, someone who is seemingly better at everything where he himself is lacking. He tries to compensate by telling himself that Jake is a bad team player and arrogant (true, but I think he might still be the better pilot). From the second time watching TGM and rewatching TG1986 it was clear that there are parallels between Mav and Hangman whereas Rooster seems more like Ice. At least when it comes to the way they fly. This might also be a reason for why Bradley and Jake seem to not get along at all. Now, this is purely a headcanon based on what I read in Hangster fanfics: Bradley being obsessed with Jake as a sexual object. While a lot of those stories are advertised as romance stories the way Bradley thinks about Jake and about what he likes about him seems very superficial and oftentimes solely focused on Jake’s body.

In conclusion: Bradley is obsessed with proving Mav wrong and with Jake, either as his rival and/or the object of Bradley’s sexual phantasies.

Now, when it comes to Jake being obsessive there’s a lot more room to play: we don’t really know much about Hangman aside from his tendencies to leave people behind and only care about himself. And of course his callsign. While the movie suggest that his callsign refers to him leaving his teammates hanging or his air-to-air kill (hangman = executioner) I think it’s secretly because of his dyslexia (solely headcanon). Therefore, it must have been a great struggle for him to get through school, the academy, flight school and Top Gun. The fact that he most likely excelled is probably because he, too, is obsessed with flying and being the best.

However, this still leaves his character kind of flat.

One of my favourite shows is Queens Gambit, a series about a young female chess genius in the fifties and sixties who is truly obsessed with the game to the point where she fails to take proper care of herself. (If you’ve watched it you know what I mean, if not… I really wholeheartedly recommend it. It’s on Netflix.)

Something I’ve read in numerous fanfics is how Jake never joins the others whenever Bradley is at the piano playing and singing. And this might either be due to his jealousy towards him because Bradley seems so much more popular and likeable. But today I remembered something my music teacher in high school said. He once told us about this one man with whom he sang in the church choir and how worked up the guy got when people sang off-key. That was because he had absolute hearing and couldn’t handle people singing in a different pitch even if they didn’t sound off-key to anyone else. So, Jake never joins the others because Bradley frequently sings in a different pitch compared to what the original sounds like. This leads to my other not-navy/flying related obsession. Music. It’s either the piano or the violin.

In my head, he inherited this trait from his mother, a great pianist or violinist, started to play at a very young age and became great at it himself. In this case, Jake kind of grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, a seemingly perfect childhood. However, behind the scenes he has a neglectful mother and an uncaring father who doesn’t bother supporting his wife through her depression and other mental illnesses. The only thing binding Jake to his mother is their common obsession with music. A vivid memory of Jake with his mother is how he’d watch her take numerous pills, downing them with either wine or bourbon before sitting down next to her on the piano stool. As an adult he refuses to take any opioids or anxiety medication and has a love-hate relationship with music because it always brings him back to those moments.

When Bradley and Jake eventually move in together, Bradley finds about Jake’s musical talent. He learns new songs playing by ear because he can’t read sheet music and sometimes struggles to find the right note.

„This song is written in C minor, Bradley. Try with G and then E flat.“

I love this headcanon because it gives Jake so much depth not related to flying and has great angst!potential.

Now, this was a long-ass, poorly structured post. Apologies for that and kudos to everyone who made it to the end. Further questions and suggestions are greatly appreciated! This is a lovely and welcoming fandom ♥️

#hangster #rooster x hangman #sereshaw #hangman x rooster #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #hangster fanfiction

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dullgecko · 6 months ago

Note

Okay another list!!! One happy and one sad for each

Fabian has night terrors- many of them related to that one dream he got in Leviathan

Fabian is now a happy host to the best setup service in the school (dating the former president has its perks in terms of gossip, and your best friend being a brilliant rogue is also very helpful)

Adaine is allergic to a very specific washing detergent and it never comes up until one time Jawbone and Sandra Lynn buy it and she wakes up with rashes all over

Adaine is slowly learning how to eat a normal amount of food, and very quickly discovering how much she loves food

Gorgug once in a while will get very, very angry for seemingly no reason (it's a part of Orcish physiology that has never been studied; a means of protection for their clubs (orc family groups) and never harmful to said members). The bad kids have learned to recognize the signs and do their best to calm him down, but often during it he'll say some very hurtful things. Afterwards he always shuts down, and won't speak at all. He often has nightmares about hurting the other bad kids.

Gorgug will happily let any member of the bad kids climb on him. He loves being a jungle gym, and to be honest, it's a really good workout.

Fig has the worst period of any of the bad girls. It leaves her literally stuck in bed and no amount of medicine helps save very addictive painkillers. So she's stuck in bed for a bit.

Fig actually is very good at pop music, she has the voice for it, and she likes practicing or warming up with a pop song

Riz has never gotten over when Grix cast Dominate Monster on him. He hasn't told his mother (and never plans to), but he gets nightmares about his friends leaving him because he's "monstrous"

Riz is the best person to ask to remind you of something. He has a notebook specifically for things members of the bad kids have asked him to remind them of. Aside from that, he has a very good memory, which helps with research.

Kristen has super bad body dysphoria. She often doesn't like to look in mirrors and can't look down at herself. She wears lots of baggy t-shirt when it happens (she runs far too warm to wear hoodies; Helio's blessing on her as his chosen one when she was a kid).

Kristen is always the life of the party. She thrives in making others smile and all in all being a good host. Her and Fabian throw the best parties, and given their more introverted friends, also always have an introvert corner/quiet space at said parties.

Sorry i took so long to get to this one, these big asks are harder for me to answer on a dinky phone screen. I had to wait until i got home so i could reach MAXIMUM WPM with a keyboard.

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

//Fabian has night terrors- many of them related to that one dream he got in Leviathan//

Fabian occasionally has night terrors, and as the years go on he keeps getting more and more horrifying scenarios to add to them. It started off with the night his father died and he lost his eye, and sometimes he dreams he wasnt there in time to save his mother.

It only gets worse from Laviathan and the nightmare forest, and becomes a rotating parade of Chungledown Bim, Whitclaw, his swim in the ocean, him being a passenger in his own body while he watches himself stab the Hangman (this one is sometimes swapped out to him stabbing Riz instead), that dream he had where he basically became Gilear, and of course that fucking sexy rat.

Junior year just adds a lovely sprinkling of him being in his house, alone, and when he leaves his house the town is also completely empty.

He usually wakes up in a panic and calls Riz (who he knows is probably still awake, and even if he wasn't still answers by the second ring) and gets him to info dump about whatever he's working on until his heart rate calms down.

//Fabian is now a happy host to the best setup service in the school (dating the former president has its perks in terms of gossip, and your best friend being a brilliant rogue is also very helpful)//

It started during junior year when he was hosting his lofi study nights, he wasnt dating Mazey yet but they were still friendly with eachother. She was an absoloute sucker for romance, so she tended to keep a finger on the pulse so to speak of what the most recent crushes were, and who wanted to ask out who. Fabian was more than happy to start helping her nudge these budding romances along (and Riz begrudgingly got roped into delivering confession notes from time to time... its fine, he got extra credit in his rogue classes which he forced Fabian to sign the paperwork for).

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

//Adaine is allergic to a very specific washing detergent and it never comes up until one time Jawbone and Sandra Lynn buy it and she wakes up with rashes all over//

Adaine would never know she was sensitive to some kinds of laundry detergent, simply because the laundry detergent used in her house had been some sort of fancy elven concoction that would have cost half of Jawbones salary. This new one smelled really nice, and had been half off, but was apparently created to torture Adaine specifically.

The rashes went away after a few hours and an antihistamine, but she had to use prestidigitation on all her clothes to make sure there was none of the residue left. Prestidigitation left the clothes clean but now without the nice scent and also just a little bit scratchy because there was no softener left between the fibres.

Jawbone tossed the almost completely full box in the trash, and purchased one specifically for sensitive skin the same day (and they made sure to test it for Adaine by washing a small rag and holding it against her arm so they could check for a reaction).

//Adaine is slowly learning how to eat a normal amount of food, and very quickly discovering how much she loves food//

Elves, as a general rule, don't eat a very large amount of food or even need to. Even with that said, Adaine was never given very much food even by elven standards when she was growing up. Once Jawbone found out, he makes sure that she has both a good breakfast every chance he gets AND snacks packed in her bag for throughout the day. Not to mention dinner and desserts and hot drinks before bed AND midnight snacks. All of it delicious, and Adaine loves every single bit of it (oracle visions use up a LOT of calories it turns out).

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

//Gorgug once in a while will get very, very angry for seemingly no reason (it's a part of Orcish physiology that has never been studied; a means of protection for their clubs (orc family groups) and never harmful to said members). The bad kids have learned to recognize the signs and do their best to calm him down, but often during it he'll say some very hurtful things. Afterwards he always shuts down, and won't speak at all. He often has nightmares about hurting the other bad kids.//

He cant really help it, but his friends and family have given him some pretty good coping mechanisms throughout the year. It mostly manifests as him getting an extreamly short fuse for a few days, and a lot of restless energy, which can cause him to snap and be mean even if he doesnt really mean the things he says. If he can feel the anger coming, usually he'll completely remove himself from the situation before he hurts someone and will try to burn off some energy by either going for a run or swinging his ax around until he's exhausted.

//Gorgug will happily let any member of the bad kids climb on him. He loves being a jungle gym, and to be honest, it's a really good workout.//

Gorgug was surprised at first by how willing the other kids were to clamber all over him, but he supposed it made a sort of sense. Initially it was just Riz, but he would climb ANYTHING to get a higher vantage point if it stood still long enough. The goblin was also absoloutley fearless when it came to heights and rather than just jumping on him for a piggy back ride like Kristen and Fig he would stand and perch and, if Gorgug held his arm out straight, would walk along his outstretched arm as if he wasnt nearly twice his height off the ground.

The other kids would also lean on him whenever he sat down, or flop across his legs, and would just laugh and let him pick them up and move them somewhere more comfortable. On one occasion they got into a conversation where the topic of 'how many of your teammates could you pick up and get out of danger in an emergency' came up. The answer was all of them, but they had to get creative with the configuration because he only has two hands.

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

//Fig has the worst period of any of the bad girls. It leaves her literally stuck in bed and no amount of medicine helps save very addictive painkillers. So she's stuck in bed for a bit.//

It started getting bad right around when her infernal characteristics started coming in. The doctors can't really do much rather than throw medication at her and give her excused absenses from school. Their best guess for the reason its so bad is so common it literally transcends realities "we dont know, its just like that sometimes, take some painkillers and use a heat pack". Even in Spyre where magic and fantasy abound, womens health can be an absoloute joke.

//Fig actually is very good at pop music, she has the voice for it, and she likes practicing or warming up with a pop song//

Fig is an incredibly talented bard, and as long as she's feeling the vibe she can absoloutly nail whatever song she feels like performing that day. She doesnt even have a genre thats really her favorite, she just listens to and sings songs she likes. Sometimes that's going to be pop, maybe country, and sometimes she gets REALLY into some death metal.

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

//Riz has never gotten over when Grix cast Dominate Monster on him. He hasn't told his mother (and never plans to), but he gets nightmares about his friends leaving him because he's "monstrous"//

Riz has an incredibly deep self-hatred for the part of him thats a monster, so much so that he tries VERY hard to present himself in such a way that people will overlook it. The manners, the way he dresses and the way he acts in public is all supposed to project an aura of 'i'm harmless, im just a polite little guy in a nice suit, im smart and well read and i help people in my job. im not like those creatures that are the bad guys you tell your children at night'. The other bad kids didn't even know he had a tail for almost a full YEAR after he met them because he kept it tucked away so he had a less monsterous appearance. The children at his first school used to bully him horribly about it, and he has on more than one occasion had it pulled or stomped on hard enough to cause bones to break. His tail is part of his SPINE and is incredibly sensitive, only very close family and lovers are even allowed to touch it in goblin society and injuries like that are debilitating.

His friends accepting him for the way he is is very slowly helping him get past that, but the acting principal casting dominate monster on him hurts a lot more than he lets on. Not dominate person, specifically dominate monster. It makes him feel sick to his stomach and he backslides into the self-hating pretty hard afterwards and his dreams reflect it (when he even sleeps that is, his primary method of self-harming is denying himself sleep so that he can keep being useful and un-monsterous). Jawbone does his best to help when he notices something is wrong.

//Riz is the best person to ask to remind you of something. He has a notebook specifically for things members of the bad kids have asked him to remind them of. Aside from that, he has a very good memory, which helps with research.//

Riz has an excellent memory, but he'll still write it down as long as its not something that could be used against them later. He's a smart enough rogue not to leave evidence behind if he can help it. Even the more mundane things he writes down though are in his own personal cypher, but he hasnt yet had to actually use the notes he takes in order to remember to do something. Its more of a backup just in case of memory wipes.

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//Kristen has super bad body dysphoria. She often doesn't like to look in mirrors and can't look down at herself. She wears lots of baggy t-shirt when it happens (she runs far too warm to wear hoodies; Helio's blessing on her as his chosen one when she was a kid).//

It starts after she revives herself in the Nightmare Forest. She literally recreated her body from a single finger bone and sometimes it feels like she did it wrong somehow. Sometimes she'll catch herself scrutinising her face in the mirror, wondering if she always had that freckle or if her nose really was that shape before she died. Were her arms always that long, did her ears always poke out to the side like that, was her hair always that specific colour or was it more red?

Once she starts working out the body dysphoria starts to get a little bit better, pushing herself to physical exhaustion helps keep her grounded and makes her feel like YES this is my real body, i exist in it and it belongs to me. Its a process, but she's working on it.

//Kristen is always the life of the party. She thrives in making others smile and all in all being a good host. Her and Fabian throw the best parties, and given their more introverted friends, also always have an introvert corner/quiet space at said parties.//

Bad kid parties are an absoloute event. The more social members of the party all have their roles to play and damn do they play them well. Kristen for her part is in charge of the general health and wellbeing of everyone at the party, making her rounds to make sure everyone is having fun and doing okay and generally having a good time. Its a very Cleric role to have, but thats what makes her so good at it.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #d20 #riz gukgak #bad kids #fabian seacaster #gorgug thistlespring #adaine abernant #fig faeth #kristen applebees

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compacflt · 1 year ago

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Hi, big fan of your fics. I've just found your Tumblr and binged everything Icemav-related. When reading about Icemav's political beliefs, I've gotten curious. Does Bradley share the same political beliefs as Ice (and Mav)? Does being raised by them or them pulling his papers influence how he votes? Or there are other factors in the play (e.g. generations, social media)? How about Jake and the other Daggers? How does this young generation of the Navy perceive politics (elections, gender, etc.)? My apologies for bombarding you with questions. But as a non-American, American politics have always been something we must pay attention to. I've seen many interesting interpretations on Tumblr but it feels more or less wistful than realistic, but I might be wrong (again not an American) so I would love to see your perspective on this. Thank you.

a good politics roundup post before i leave this blog

icemav & their conservatism: here, here, here

ice’s NECESSARY conservatism as commander of the pacific fleet (i.e. officers who are most likely to get promoted to the highest ranks do NOT break the service line when it comes to domestic politics, so by necessity ice would’ve had to keep his mouth shut, he Cannot be both a four-star and a revolutionary, like he just can’t; and being a revolutionary is otherwise antithetical to his character anyway): here, here.

and the original “ice & mav politics post” which is being updated here: here

I’ve gone back and forth on everyones politics over the last year of me being involved with these characters, but let me just tell you where I’ve ended up headcanoning them politically, if ur interested

ice: reagan democrat. “educated moderate” who was more right-leaning pre-9/11. now just a regular ol liberal (did you SEE those gay little round glasses in tgm? no way this guy isn’t a straight-up lib) with absolutely no strong feelings about most domestic politics besides “fascism bad”. Has some foreign policy opinions that areeeee questionable at best, like all members of the military elite (hangman voice: DO NOT ASK ICEMAN ABOUT CHINA. WORST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE). foreign policy neoliberal favoring the dovish side of the spectrum. A force conservator (“let’s save our military assets [read: my boyfriend maverick 🥺] for when we really need them, not for any old conflict. the deterring specter of the American war machine should outweigh the risk of underperforming”). He’s in favor of marriage equality of course, but treats it like a privilege and not a right. would be sad/upset if it got repealed but wouldn’t necessarily fight for it. “well at least my marriage will always be legal in california so i just won’t leave, problem solved.” Normie median Biden voter.

mav: political wildcard tbh. original 1986 mav is DEFINITELY right-leaning (i think i’ve written elsewhere, “he fully believes bill clinton is an affront to god”). i get young republican vibes from him. Full on patriotic (but dispassionate) 1980s reaganite anti-commie neoconservative. but after the 2010s i am very confused tbh. Tom cruise’s political aura is an insanely confusing one. idk. No matter what, Mav has some Hot Takes that a.) can immediately be shot down by ice using Facts and Logic at any time and b.) are not strictly partisan. He’s registered democrat just to support marriage equality (his marriage is his top priority but he doesn’t care about Other gays’ marriages, only his own), doesn’t care about any of the party’s other lines. Votes however ice tells him to. I get real “kind clueless libertarian” vibes from 2022 maverick tbh. Especially with the “isolating himself in a hangar in the middle of the mojave desert.” that has a political connotation to it for sure. bro just does whatever he wants out there

also, ice & mav live in San Diego, which… while in blue/democrat leaning California…is famously a bastion of right-wingers & has a hitler particle level off the charts… (sorry its not my favorite place in the world). That’s why they’re both continually so disgusted by San Francisco (a metonym for effete liberal homosexuality). Theyre from San Diego, hatred of SF & liberal SF politics is kinda par for the course down there.

Bradley: as u will see in the extras i definitely hc Bradley as an activist, but because he’s… in the navy and also like in his 30s… It’s not college campus activism, it’s just “things all of us in the left wing can agree upon” activism. so, like, BLM or pride, etc. He’s an “in this house we believe” yard sign liberal. He is 38 years old. hes a solid millennial so not politically hip with the kids (me)

Bradley & ice/mav disagree on the VISIBILITY of politics. Ice & mav, who did live through the vietnam era draft/near-dissolution of American society in the 60s and 70s, are not in favor of possibly losing their job/honor they have fought and killed for, for the sake of a political statement. And they believe their relationship IS a political statement, whereas Bradley would rather encourage them to treat their relationship like, I don’t know, a relationship that has a right to exist independent of politics!

Jake and the other daggers: idk. i don’t really give a shit about the daggers sorry. They r blank slates 2 me. jake especially is canonically frat-boy sexist in a way that gives me the heebs, much like original 1986 maverick and ice. But the navy tends to be the most left-wing (or thought of as left wing in common thought) service of the military, if that helps. But it is also the most traditional service of the military, and by traditional I mean BRITISH!!!! 🇬🇧💂there’s so much pomp and circumstance and hoity-toitiness that comes from the navy’s origins in the Royal Navy. A lot of sticking to outdated tradition in the very fabric of the navy itself, while the navy’s enlisted demographics shift younger and more left-wing/“revolutionary…” some interesting conflicts there. Like that one sailor who got blasted by multiple congressmen on social media for (with permission!) reading a poem about their queer identity on the USS Gerald ford’s intercom a few months back, if I remember correctly. Hoo boy the Takes that day were wild. Younger Americans tend to be more liberal but YMMV with officers, who are by nature trying to uphold outdated traditions of the navy for the sake of keeping the navy a unified service

i am of course writing carole as a christian republican who has gay friends and a gay kid not by choice but by the Grace of God

#i realize some terminology in this post is so hyperamericanspecific that you may need to Google it #like the in this house we believe yard sign #it’s… like… i can’t even describe it. it’s a kind of well meaning liberal who can sometimes be a little cringe.#and Reagan democrats (which ice is) are a whole political subgroup in and of themselves #maybe not Reagan democrat but like conservadem? but no that’s different too #blue dog democrat? but not sure he’s that conservative #THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY HAS BECOME SUCH A BIG TENT POST TRUMP THERE ARE 50.000 TYPES OF DEMOCRAT YOU CAN BE #san francisco as a metonym for effete liberal homosexuality of course (it’s where im from 😎😎)#it’s a ten hour drive from SF to San diego like they might as well be different countries. san diego secede from the US when 🙏🏽#pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #icemav #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #normie median biden voter ice #the navy is liberalizing but veeeeery slowly #most of the conservative pressure ive seen towards the navy is external! policymakers & budget drafters etc #the navy is very liberal BUT that makes it a laughingstock among conservatives!#so a desire from higher-ups to push the Navy more conservative to be taken seriously…is kinda understandable #when being taken seriously means more ships more capability more money etc #instead of GOP culture-war-pilled pennypinchers going ‘hey why are we givin the gay service so much money’#take this post with a grain of salt. i have never been old enough to vote in a federal election.

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saltsicklover · 1 year ago

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Part Thirteen

This is a long chapter for this fic! It's most definitely a rollercoaster and I should probably just put a huge warning on this chapter because it's a lot! Hangman Sucks, Natasha Sucks, Bob sucks, hell even Sunny sucks towards the end. It's one giant suckfest, most definitely a whump at the end. That's to say, I'd love to know what you think about it!

ALSO This Fic has just surpassed 40k words with this chapter! Technically its over 43k but still! Thank you for reading so many of my words! I love and appreciate all of you!

Title: Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6300+

Rating: R

Warnings: Tobacco, Swearing, Fighting, Blood, Crying, Anger, so so much Anger. Bob being slightly obsessed with Sunny's perfume in what could be a low key creepy way.

Second Chance Romance!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bob Floyd, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

The trilling of Natasha's cellphone does nothing to pull Sunny out of her dumbfounded state, her brain playing Nat's bombshell of a sentence over and over again on loop. A broken record minus the squeak of the vinyl.

"It's about time, Bagman," Natasha answers the call with a swipe of her finger, her voice carrying an aggravated tone. She tucks her phone between her shoulder and her cheek, leaving her hands free to stir her coffee.

"Phoenix," Hangman's voice comes through the phone a bit muffled, like his hand is covering his mouth, "I fucked up,"

If he fucked up, maybe he should sound a bit more remorseful, but Natasha doesn't point that fact out. It's really not important, and it's not like she plans on letting him forget about this any time soon.

"Yeah, no shit," That much is obvious to her, and finally Jake realizes it too, "Glad you finally put that together, what, twelve hours later?" Natasha does nothing to hide her annoyance. If it wasn't for Jake storming from the Hard Deck, his phone going unanswered, then Natasha and Sunny could have been out on the town by now. They would be shopping until Sunny couldn't possibly stuff anything else in her duffel. What's paying for one more checked bag, right?

"Yeah- well, I remembered when I woke up an hour ago-"

"An hour ago?! And you're just returning my call now? Jesus, Bagman, how hung over are you?" Natasha rolls her eyes, her hand coming back up to grasp her phone, though Hangman won't be able to see either action. She hopes that he will hear it in her voice- how ticked off she is becoming. If anyone could make the vocal eye roll a thing, it would be Natasha Trace.

Glancing over at Sunny, Natasha notices she still has the same bewildered expression painted on her features. She can see the gears in Sunny's head turning with the way her eyebrows are furrowed, lips pursed, the only thing missing is the steam that should be pouring out of her ears. Then, Hangman's sputtering from the other side of the phone drags her back to that conversation.

"Spit it out Hangman,"

"I came out to my truck to grab her bag and bring it into my place so it would be safe until you got here, but, Phoenix, it's not here," Seresin's almost whispering the last bit, Natasha even hits her volume button with her thumb in a failed effort to hear him better.

"What?"

Confusion. Natasha hopes she heard him wrong.

"It's not here, Phoenix. Sunny's bag, it's not in the bed of my truck. It isn't in the cab either,"

"What?"

Anger. She hadn't.

"I didn't even remember that I had it until I got my phone plugged in this morning. Damn thing has been dead all night," Jake swears to himself under his breath, feeling the tension growing over the dead space of the call.

Pinching the bridge of your nose is supposed to help stop headaches. Nat has never believed that fact, yet she pinches the bridge of her nose hard with her fingertips.

"I swear to God, Hangman, I am going to murder you if you don't find Sunny's duffle," That gets Sunny's attention, the wheels in her head slowing, expression changing, confusion visible on her face. But, as soon as she locks eyes with Nat, her eyebrows lift to her hairline in question. Natasha pulls the phone away from her ear, but makes zero to attempt to cover the microphone when she tells Sunny, "Hangman fucked up and if he doesn't fix it, I am going to kill him,"

The nod that comes from Sunny pleases Natasha, the trust the younger woman has for her is evident in her lack of concern. Hangman is almost humming through the phone, impatient. The sound of a slamming truck door accompanying the swearing he is failing to cover up.

"Fix it, Hangman," Is the last thing Natasha threatens the man with before hanging up the phone.

"What was all that about?" Sunny has laid herself back down in the sun, one arm under her head, the other coming up to shield her eyes. She still squints a bit, her whole expression wrinkling over.

Natasha notices just how relaxed she is, even with all of the bullshit that has been going on, so she takes a moment to think of her next move. Sunny wriggles a bit in her chair, watching Nat closely, waiting impatiently for an answer. So, Phoenix huffs, releasing a large breath from her lungs.

"Somewhere between last night and this morning your duffle bag disappeared from the back of Hangman's truck," Natasha tries to wave her hand as if to emphasize that this little bit of information is really no big deal. She doesn't necessarily believe this herself, but she doesn't want Sunny's trip to get any worse than it has been already. After all, this isn't exactly how Phoenix had imagined their first visit going. "He is going to find it, but until then, lets find you something to wear and we can use it as an excuse to get you a new outfit."

The wink that Natasha sends Sunny across the deck makes Sunny giggle. Though she knows she should be worried about her lost items, Sunny can't find it in her to care all that much. The biggest disappointment would be having to replace the bag itself. Everything else in that damn duffel bag could go up in cinders and there wouldn't be any big loss. After all, Sunny already abandoned the most important thing to her at Bob's feet, the night before at the Hard Deck.

"Give me a cute shirt to put on over my dress and we can go shopping, how does that sound?" Sunny shoots her friend a smile.

"Deal,"

After Sunny manages to pull her day old clothes back onto her body, fighting off the way they feel tear stained and gritty from the sand, she combs her way though Nat's closet. Her fingers wonder over the hangers, one by one. Each piece is different, but all of them soft and well loved.

"I'm surprised how many pieces ofclothing you have in here," Sunny teases, her voice light as it meets Nat's ears over the sound of running water. "So feminine, too, Nat. I thought you'd dress a little more, I don't know... President of the boy's club,"

Natasha tries to feign offense but the toothbrush that's set between her closed lips keeps her quiet.

"I mean, half of this is still uniform pieces, I know that, but still so feminine," Sunny jokes, trying to ignore the way Nat hangs her upper body out of the bathroom, narrowing her eyes at the younger woman.

"You're in a fucking dress, you yahoo," Phoenix speaks through a mouth of suds, her toothbrush in her hand.

"I know that, and I'm trying not to be," Sunny shoots back, sticking her tongue out.

"I know a few Aviators that would love to help you with that problem," Phoenix's voice sounds a little more muffled from her space in front of the sink, but definitely lacking in suds.

"Bradley would never!" The gasp is fake, but the giggling coming from both women is all too real.

"Maybe not, but I can think of one very deserving man, and one who is less so, who would both be equally thrilled."

"And who exactly is the deserving one, Nash?" Sunny inquires, yanking a t-shirt off of a hanger before tugging it over her head. She ties it in a knot at her waist, allowing the skirt to peak out below it.

Natasha is leaning out from the bathroom once more, grinning at Sunny as she fixes her clothes in the mirror. The shirt reads FORD is large blue letters across the front. It clashes a bit with Sunny's dress, but the fabric is so soft she can't help but claim it for the day. She chuckles to herself, thinking it's most definitely something Bob might have owned once upon a time, and that thought warms her a bit on the inside.

Natasha is grinning because she knows that shirt wasn't hers, once upon a time. It had been stolen from Bob one day when she came home from a night out and found it discarded on the hardwood by the front door. It was intended to be a little piece of blackmail, but this, this was better. She wants to let Sunny know that little tidbit of information, but decides to keep it to herself, enjoying the joy on her friend's face. Maybe Bob will see her in it and say something, or maybe he will enjoy getting to see her in it too.

"Behave while I am in the shower, would you?" Natasha's voice is muffled by the now closing bathroom door, the sound of water coming through the pipes erupts a moment later, giving Sunny zero time to actually form an answer. With a mumble of "not likely" to herself, Sunny runs her hand over a garment bag that's hung towards the back of the closet. After a chance look back towards the bathroom to insure the door is still shut, she pulls the zipper on the garment bag down, revealing Natasha's stark white Dress Uniform in all of it's official glory. The damn thing is almost blinding in person between the pristine fabric and the shining of the buttons.

An idea that hits Sunny almost makes her laugh out loud. With nimble fingers, Sunny pulls the entirely too white jacket off of the hanger. She pulls it on, carefully easing the stiff fabric up over her shoulders. With one gentle finger, Sunny feels the coldness of the nametag pinned to the chest.

The plate reads the wrong name, Trace, filled in with white paint.

Sunny takes in the sight of herself in the full length mirror Nat has propped up against the wall in the front of her bedroom. She attempts to ignore the tight feeling in her chest.

The bright red of Sunny's dress, and the gray shirt she had just pulled over her body a few moments before, now partially obscured by the bright uniform top. It looks funny on her, from the way her eyes look to innocent against the hardness of the uniform to the way her fingers dance along the stiffness of the fabric.

The urge to see Bob in is own uniform tangles in her chest along with the tight feeling- there is not enough space for both and she wants nothing more than to rip the fabric from her body. But, as she moves to pull it from her shoulders, she catches a glance of herself in the mirror one last time, pain in her expression, loneliness in the spaces of darkness below her eyes and suddenly, the uniform looks a little bit more correct.

---

When Bob pulls his truck into the driveway later that morning, he carefully shifts down into park, shutting off his truck with a feeling of defeat clawing at his chest. He knows he shouldn't be tiptoeing around his own home, or holding his breath over the fact that Natasha's car is still parked out front. Yet, he can't shake that feeling from his bones. Both women still have to be home, not that Bob really expected anything different. After all, Sunny'sduffle is sitting in the passenger seat of his truck and he didn't expect her to wear her day old clothes out of the house.

It's not like Bob thought she would mind, exactly. Sunny grew up on a ranch after all, and day old clothes worn in the city are still cleaner than any workwear found on a ranch. But, it's the principal. At least, that's what Bob has been telling himself.

The fact that Hangman took off with Sunny's bag last night in the first place ticked Bob off, and so Bob went over to Jake's place to get it himself. Bob told himself when he pulled into Jake's driveway that he was doing the right thing- fixing his wingman's problem. He planned to call him later and let him know that the bag had been picked it up. Jake was bound to be sleeping off some sort of monster hangover, right? And there was no selfish motivation behind it, right?

Bob lays his head against the steering wheel, forcing a couple of deep breaths into his system. It's getting increasingly more difficult to lie to himself about Sunny, now that she had walked back into his life, looking like everything he had ever wanted. Hell, she looked better, if that was even possible. She looked like his future, and up until she opened her mouth and the pieces fell into place, Bob thought he might break out his rusty moves and flirt the night away with her.

That certainly didn't happen.

Now that he has Sunny's bag, he's going to have to face her, right? After all, he can't exactly avoid her the whole time she is here, that wouldn't make him a very good host. Even if all of this history is stuck between them like some sort of unconquerable dividing force. Bob put himself in this situation, twice now. First when he abandoned her all those years ago, and again just this morning when he drove himself to Hangman's house and pilfered the bag from the back of his truck.

The urge to unzip the bag and let the smell of Sunny's perfume flood the cab of the old Ford is almost too tempting. He can smell the faintest bit of left over fragrance on the bag itself, the smell all wood smoke and cedar under the lightest brush of vanilla that seems to be fading faster than the rest. Bob can't help the way the corner of his lip curls up at the scent. Sunny has never been a flowers and sweets kind of girl, those scents all too feminine and soft for a woman like her, at least, that's how Bob saw it. Hell, the damn burnt woodsmoke smell reminds him of home and it just makes sense that Sunny would wear it.

Sunny has always been the worlds strongest girl in Bob's eyes. Maybe that's what allowed him to be so mean to her during school, and why he stood there and took her verbal beating in front of the crowd at the bar. Growing up in a Man's world, on a ranch in Florence, no doubt forced her into being strong- and if she couldn't punch her way out, she could sure as hell use her words. All Bob cared about was the fact that those words were directed at him, even if they hurt as he replays them over and over in his mind.

There's that old saying, you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl. Bob assumes the same thing can be said about Montana. After all, Duchenne- Sunny is a Montana girl through and through and he can't separate them in his head.

Hell, even if Bob has to remind himself over and over again that Duchenne isn't the one sitting in his house, it's Sunny now, all grown up, Bob still looks at her and sees, strength, sees home. He can see the clear of the sky in the smoothness of her skin. The wind plays through her messy hair, now in metaphor but still all there, fresh and crisp, bringing goosebumps to his skin.

The damn smell of cedar and woodsmoke just completes the picture in his head; it leaves him yearning, which in a way feels just like home too.

There isn't a way he can put it off anymore without a fear that he will throw the car into reverse and not come back until dark, so Bob pulls the bag over his shoulder and heads into the house. The sound of water running through the pipes hits his ears as soon as he walks in, and a deep breath he has been holding makes its way out of his lungs.

Maybe he'll get lucky, he thinks, maybe she's in the shower and he can give the bag to Phoenix, delay talking to Sunny for another day, maybe two. Bob stalks up the stairs, the weight of Sunny's duffle threatening to collapse him at any second.

It's not the weight, not really.

It's the impending doom of it all. The bomb just a few seconds before it goes off, fragile and ticking down with each step he takes.

The floor board creak beneath him, and it's a fitting sound, really, the groaning of the house matching the aching of his bones as he fights against the gravity pulling him down; pulling him in. It's the dizzying smell of woodsmoke that is flooding his senses that really seals the deal. It is stuck in his nose, much like the scent of jet fuel used to be. A part of him hopes that it also takes weeks to fade, to become something he no longer notices, that way, he can drown it while she is here, but then it will disappear our the door with Sunny.

There is a moment where, just for a second, Bob wants to turn right around and head back out to the truck. Maybe not to leave, but to just exist in that scent for a little while longer without the fear of losing it. He hopes that it will stick around, that it will have embed itself into his upholstery.

Hell, he hopes Sunny will stick around too, but that thought is fleeting and too far fetched to entertain for more than a second. After all, what's worth sticking around Miramar for, anyway?

The flash of stark white in his peripheral stops Bob in his tracks at the top of the stairs. There are few things in this house he knows to be that color, that bright, and none of them even come close to making his blood rush through his ears like the sight before him does. Sunny stands twisting her body in the mirror in Phoenix's room, the older woman's dress uniform jacket pulled carefully over her shoulders. Bob can't help but watch her, his mouth slightly agape has he takes in her form, clad in stark white, his Ford t-shirt speaking out between the open buttons.

Suddenly, Bob is fighting against his own body to drag some sort of breath into his lungs.

There is a wave of jealousy that snakes through Bob at his core. If she's in anyone's dress whites, she should be in his. Bob knows Natasha poses no threat, and hell, he is acting like Sunny is his to protect when in reality she is almost the furthest thing from that. From him and his love and his hands. But still, there is a part of him that's thankful that the jacket is hers, if Sunny has to be in someone else's. For a moment, the thought of Sunny is Hangman's uniform flashes through the forefront of his mind, but he doesn't entertain it any longer than it takes for the anger to drift out to his fingertips.

The anger sits there, in his hands, beating under his fingernails and in the densest part of his palms. It's hot, searing, burning.

Bob is not a stranger to the feeling, to the yearning. No, it's second nature by now.

He is fighting for another breath, the ache somewhere between swallowed salt water and broken ribs.

Anger will not ruin this moment, Bob won't let it. Instead, he watches as Sunny's polished nails run over the pristine fabric, the lacquer only making the jacket look brighter. Bob takes in the subtle gleam in her eyes as she adjusts one of the cuffs. The wave of jealousy rolls through him again, this time, though, Bob wishes it was him under her well polished fingertips, so he could see the way the red of them pops out against his skin as she adjusts his cuffs.

He almost lets himself imagine it- Sunny helping him into his dress whites. Bob has been in the Navy long enough to not need help with a uniform, he can pin his own ribbon racks on and make sure his name plate is sitting straight on his chest. Bob doesn't need the help. Yet, he can almost feel the gentleness that would be Sunny's touch, buttoning up those tacky gold buttons. He swears, if he closes his eyes he can see Sunny smiling up at him, the bright white of the uniform shining in her eyes like sunlight and it would be beautiful.

And so he does. Bob closes his eyes right there, on the top landing of the staircase and lets himself imagine the way her fingers would bush over his uniform, too delicately, and how he would have to practice the upmost level of self control to keep himself from kissing all of that gentleness out of her.

He takes the image of Sunny, smiling up at him on Prom night, under the stars, and lets himself remember how she felt under his hands. How it felt to kiss her. The feelings ebb and flow through him, his imagination pulled completely out to sea. He can feel the way her rings would dig into his skin, like they had years before. That feeling has never been forgotten. He wants to know how it would feel for Sunny to run her hands down the fabric of his uniform- or how it might feel for her to unzip the impossibly long zipper of his flight suit.

Bob stops himself before his mind wanders too far- before he's unable to reign it in.

When Bob finally cracks his eyes back open, Sunny is standing there, her hands still on the crisp white fabric near the bottom of the coat, eyes meeting, gaze tangling with Bob's own. Her gaze is a bit more sad, or maybe grief stricken, but she no longer looks angry as she stares at him. His breath hitches, the strangled breath caught in the denseness of his chest, and like a deer caught in the headlights, he has nowhere to go. The only thing left for him to do is squeeze his eyes shut and wait for the impact. And yet, he can't even get himself to squeeze his fucking eyes shut. Not when Sunny's finally looking at him with such kindness in her eyes.

God, how Bob missed that look.

The way Sunny looks at him is like a rush of blood straight to his head; like turning three-sixty in the cockpit a few thousand feet in the air. But that he was trained for- this? Nothing could have prepared him for this. For the softness behind her eyes where he has only been met with sadness in meetings past. Then, Sunny quirks an awkwardly shy expression, the whole thing coming out a little bit sideways and so very guilty.

Neither of the pair is willing to speak first. Just the night before, Sunny couldn't keep her mouth shut and Bob wanted nothing more than to speak to her. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness. But now, they both stand in the cross fire of silence and desperate stares and it's not as heavy as either expected it to be.

The sick swarming feeling of anxiety is back in Bob's stomach, still raging but less sour than before.

When hasn't this girl, this woman before him, not made him anxious?

Maybe it's the softness of her eyes that quells it, or that guilty little grin that hasn't left her face even as the tinge of crushed raspberries takes over her skin. Bob tastes blood, the crimson invading his mouth from how hard he is biting his cheek.

His heart hits against the backside of his ribs, calling out to her hands once more, the feeling threatening to make him as dizzy as her perfume.

Silently, Bob slips her bag from his shoulder, taking a few steps closer to the bedroom door. He stops just outside of the jamb, still in the safety of the hallway. He brings a hand up to the jamb, leaning in just a little bit, just to get a little closer to her. Bob is chancing everything with this, as he leans, but he's do anything right in this moment if it meant he could be just that much closer with her eyes on him. Hell, he'd do anything to keep her smiling at him like that, even if it looks so damn guilty as it does nothing to cover up the sadness in her eyes.

Then, Sunny is moving towards him, still clad in that damn white coat, sad eyes, and guilty smile.

Bob's heart almost stops. The closer she gets, the more irradic it beats. He can see his Ford t-shirt under the open jacket and that's almost kills him.

But, his heart keeps beating, he keeps living, so he holds the bag out to her like a peace offering, though he could never use it as one. It dangles between them, the muscles in his arm flexing to keep the heavy duffle from meeting the floor. The look Sunny gives him almost brings him to his knees, a fit place for him to beg for forgiveness, though his tongue is dry and still in the prison of his mouth.

Then, her hand is reaching. Inch by inch, second by second, until her fingertips run over the back of his hand, so soft but still there, before grasping the strap in her own fist. He can't believe the moment that has just transpired between them; how soft her touch was or the fact that it was really her who touched him.

And again, Bob's heart calls to her hands like the moon calls to the waves and he is left wishing that it could be strong enough to pull them closer; until he is gifted with something just as sweet.

"Thank you, Bobby," The words leave Sunny's tongue as no more than a mere whisper, but Bob wouldn't have missed it. He couldn't have. Not when it was her words- not when it's her.

Words fail him again, but instinct kicks in and he is bringing his free hand up to his hat, nodding at her with a gentle touch to it's brim. Bob lets his fingertips graze over the brim just as soft as Sunny's touch grazed over his hand. The smile he is given lights his nervous system up, sending pin prick sparks dancing across the expanse of his body. Then, he is backing away, back towards the stairs.

Bob knows he has to get out of there, he just has to. There needs to be just one moment between them that isn't tainted. And Sunny smiled at him, in that fucking jacket that she had zero business wearing with his t-shirt underneath and it sent his mind reeling the closer she stood. So, he has to go.

The takes the first two backwards before finally turning his back to her, unable to fight the smile trying to claw its way into his face. In that moment he knew he finally murdered Dr. Jekyll, and the feeling of standing over the metaphorical corpse of a twisted doctor is almost as good as that smile of hers when it's directed right towards him.

When Natasha finally exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel in her hand as soaks up the water droplets that still fall from her hair, she is met with the sight of Sunny. She is still clad in Nat's coat, her duffle in her hand, staring out the doorway into an empty hallway. She stands so still, so quiet, Natasha thinks something might be wrong from the way the younger woman is just standing there. That is until she notices the smile on Sunny's lips and the doe eyed look that has taken over her features.

That makes Phoenix smile too, her expression filled with a little too much knowing. She can almost picture the way Bob must look, leaning up against something, with that damn cowboy hat in his hand, or maybe held against his chest to cage in the beating of his heart. He's wearing that same fucking smile, that same doe eyed, hopelessly, head over heels in love look.

Natasha want's to scream "go after him, you idiot!" but it's too soon, they need more time. Bob needs more time to figure out just how to make up for it all, and Sunny needs more time to trust again, to trust him again. Phoenix then notices the bit of sadness in the depts of Sunny's eyes.

"Sunny," Natasha's voice is quiet, in attempt to not spook the lovesick look of of her friends face. Sunny doesn't turn from the door, still staring hopelessly into the hallway. She mutters a "Yeah?" in response. "Did he walk away from you again?"

There is anger spiking through Natasha now, her fists balled, knuckles white.

"Yes,"

That's all Natasha needs to hear. Suddenly, she is pushing past Sunny, rage taking over her in an instant. Nat is already down the hall, leaving her standing there sputtering.

"Robert Floyd!" Natasha comes crashing into the living room. There is no answer from inside the house, so she turns, heading right for the front door. Sunny is clamoring down the stairs behind her, confusion and fear laced over her features.

"Nash!" Sunny is hot on her friend's heels, her duffle bag now thrown over her shoulder, as the door swings shut with a loud slam. The walls shake, the nob still vibrating as Sunny pulls the door open.

By the time Sunny makes it out to the driveway, Natasha is pulling Bob close by the collar of his shirt. Then, she is throwing him to the ground. His body hits the pavement hard; he winces, his glasses falling from the bridge of his nose. Bob opens his mouth to speak, but is met with a sharp right hook to the jaw. Then, a fist meets his nose.

It's not clear which is louder in Bob's ears, the crunching of cartridge or the small scream that manages to escape from Sunny. He can taste the blood, metallic and sharp in his mouth, leaking into the paces between his lips and gums.

"I told you not to hurt her again, Floyd," Bob is groaning, not in response but out of pain. He makes no effort to fight back as Phoenix drops on top of him, ready to hit him again.

But the punch never comes.

And then her weight is being dragged off of him, Phoenix protesting the whole time. Bob carefully brings his hands to his face, blood smearing all over his skin. It's already dripping from his chin, collecting in dark, angry patches on his shirt.

"What the fuck was that, Natasha?!" It's Sunny's voice that cuts through Bob's bleary state, his whole face wet. Sunny is still holding Natasha back, her hands pulling Phoenix's elbows together behind her back. He was just standing there, smoking, thinking about how fucking pretty Sunny looked in his shirt, and the way she touched him, and the next thing he knew, Natasha had him, and now he couldn't be more confused. This's an answer he wants to hear, too.

"He had one more chance, Sunny, and he fucking hurt you! What else did you expect me to do?" This is the most angry Bob had seen her, even after yesterday. Sunny doesn't exactly look surprised, but God, she looks hurt.

"No," The word is so stern it get's Phoenix to stop fighting against her grip. The anger is slowly simmering out of Natasha, and Sunny may as well have been absorbing it because she is fucking livid now.

"But he hurt you, Sun-"

"No," She starts again, letting go of Nat's elbows, only to put herself between her friend and Bob. Suddenly the aviators are wearing equally confused expressions, but neither dare interrupt Sunny's angry tirade. "First of all, Natasha, you do not get to come out here, acting like a goddamn fucking fool then turn around and use that nickname with me. When I told you to call me that, I thought we had an understanding. Be there for each other, not fight each other's battles," Sunny's pointing a finger in Natasha's face. She is inching closer and closer, and it's taking all of Nat's will not to slink away.

"Second, Bobby didn't do a goddamn thing. If you would've stuck around instead of going all Rambo, you might have found out what happened. We actually came to an understanding," Sunny's not sure if that's really what happened, or if an understanding is really something that could be reached between them, but it seems to be the best word to describe the complicated situation right now.

Natasha looks at the blindingly bright jacket on Sunny, now decorated with Bob's blood. The coat is ruined now, stained with anger and lines crossed. She glances down to her hands, taking in the bright crimson decorating her knuckles. Natasha feels sick.

"Third," Sunny takes her outstretched finger and tips up Natasha's chin with it, making the older woman look her in the eyes. Sunny pays no attention to the tears threatening to flood over her waterlines. "Look me in the eyes when I'm speaking to you. Even if he did hurt me, that doesn't give you the excuse to punch him, let alone break his nose! What the hell were you thinking?"

Tears are slipping from Natasha's eyes now, her lower lip quivering. She chances a look over Sunny's shoulder to Bob, who is still bleeding profusely from his nose. He doesn't try and stop the blood, instead to focused on the women in front of him and the way Sunny is defending his honor. Then, she is shaking her head, sidestepping Natasha and heading back for the front door.

Both Bob and Natasha watch her go. Nat is doing the best she can to hold in her tears, push them back down as she sniffles. Bob wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, already too coated in blood to really help anything. It just smears the blood further over the expanse of his rapidly bruising face.

When Sunny returns a moment later, she has two purses slung over her shoulder, an ice pack and a set of keys in her hand. She approaches Natasha, she is shoving the keys and the smaller of the two purses into the older woman's hands. Natasha sniffles again, taking the items from Sunny's hands without a word. Hell, even if Natasha knew what to say, she wouldn't have been able to peel the words from he tongue.

Then, Sunny is moving towards Bob. She kneels down, grabbing his now bent glasses from the pavement. Folding them up as best as she can, she places them on Bob's thigh. She is shucking the once crisp white coat from her shoulders a second later, wrapping the icepack in it before offering it to him as a sort of rag to help with all the blood. Bob takes it with a shaky hand. She guides it in his hand up to his nose. Sunny attempts to give him a reassuring smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Natasha is going to take you to the hospital," The words are sharp and loud, loud enough for Nat to hear. They are meant for her anyway. If Sunny's tone of voice didn't make him feel sick, the completely crushed expression on Phoenix's face would have.

With a quick squeeze of Bob's thigh, Sunny is moving away. As she stands, she swipes the still smoldering cigarillo from the ground, bringing it up to her lips. The look Sunny sends Natasha as she grabs her duffle bag from the grass sends chills down both her and Bob's spines. Then, Sunny's back is turned to the pair as she heads down the driveway.

The Aviators watch as she goes, turning down the street and slowly disappearing into the distance. Neither dare to move, dare to speak. After all, there is nothing to say, not when there is so much understanding between them now. Natasha knows now, how Bob felt at the Hard Deck as he watched Sunny walk away. Her anger clouded her eyes before, too focused on getting answers. But, she knows now, too, having watched Sunny walk away in a cloud of stolen smoke.

When Nat finally turns back to Bob, he looks at her with such empathy, and that fucking breaks her.

A strangled sob wracks through her from deep in her chest, clawing its way out of her throat as hot tears all but burn trails down her face. Then, Bob is holding a bloody hand out to her, beckoning her closer, to sit with him. So she does, the tears coming hard and fast, almost choking her. Bob wraps a comforting arm around Phoenix's shoulders, pulling her into him, a makeshift way to ground the both. She buries her face into the now crimson jacket as Bob rubs her back, letting her cry. As the sun gets higher in the sky, and the tears slow, neither attempt to move from their space on the concrete. Both are too weighed down from the day, from the fight, from watching Sunny walk away from their fucking mess.

And so, the pair sit on the pavement, up against Bob's truck, covered in slowly drying blood; watching the road that their girl disappeared down, just hoping, praying that she might turn back around.

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