#top gun drabble

[lieutenantfloyd]

Jake misses home.

Maybe not the people or the town he left behind, but the little things. Friday night lights, the rattling sound of cicadas high up in mesquite trees on long summer nights, the smell of red dirt earth before it rains.

Between Jake's flourishing career and trying to build a life together, things between you have been nothing but hectic lately. It'd been months since you both had the opportunity to spend any meaningful length of time together.

Last week, Jake barely managed to shut the front door before yelling that, after having some strings pulled, you'd have you'd one week of time together starting that weekend. The wait was agony, but you persevered knowing that it would all be worth it when you two were alone. Excitement meant you both were packed and ready to go long before it was necessary, but you brushed it off by saying that taking a road trip through multiple states took advanced planning to be successful.

The first 5 days of your trip were blissfully uneventful. Packed with side quests and hours spent flying along beautiful stretches of US highway. This was something you used to your advantage when convincing Jake to let you get behind the wheel on your sixth day. Your defense was, aside from him clearly tiring himself out the days prior, you were only a few states from home in a mostly uneventful area. It took some convincing before he eventually relented, though he only did after you swore to wake him if anything were to happen.

Not even five minutes later, he was passed out in the passenger seat of his truck. Something that gave you ample time to reprogram the GPS and take an exit for a small detour. 

It was just before dinner time when you pulled off the highway and threw his truck into park underneath the glowing orange and white sign.

You sit quietly for a minute, thinking of the best way to wake him, only for him to stir awake now that the highway's rhythmic movements have ended. He's as groggy and whiny as always when you try to get him out of the truck. You choose to ignore his protests and questions as to why you couldn't just go through a drive thru before playing slamming the door in his face and crossing the parking lot alone. You barely make it five feet before he's falling in step with you, still muttering and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Ever the gentleman, you laugh when his pace quickens so he can open the door for you. You step inside, and after deciding they you've played it cool this long, you turn around just in time to see a streak of realization dawn on his face. His hand drops from his eyes as he steps inside behind you. He blinks twice, then three times, before turning slowly on his heel as he takes in his surroundings. Completing his rotation, he faces you with knitted brows, forcing you to bite back a smile.

"Are we...?" He questions, only to turn away and push open the door you'd just entered through. Your smile breaks through as you watch him stare up at the massive Whataburger sign you had parked under.

You didn't have the pleasure—or displeasure, considering the occasional story he'd told you— of knowing Jake in high school, but the man sitting in the plastic booth opposite you looks every bit like the boy you'd seen in worn out yearbook.

Considering that you were still several fly over states away from where he was born and bred, things in this place probably weren't identical to how he remembers them. Though if he minded or even noticed those differences, he made not one mention of it. If anything, the sparkle in his eye as he downed a massive sip of his Dr. Pepper shake told you that he loved it all the same.

Taglist: @rosiahills22 @princessofglitterland @bella-law @callsignaries @blue-aconite @katesmadness @oliviah-25 @another-tblr-fangirl @luckyladycreator2 @eliseline @xoxabs88xox @lisedanie @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @nyx2021 @teti-menchon0604 @sass-masterkittenmama @kmc1989

[edelfan]

On the eve of Operation Desert Storm, in a bunk bed on the USS Midway.

"You scared, Mav?"

Long silence and a soft kiss.

"You know what really scares me? Living too long. Losing my hair and my teeth… and my guts and my wind. And my brains… sitting in a room with my hands in my lap, watching daytime tv."

28 years later, Maverick buries his husband on a sunny day in November. It's not missiles or guns that take him away, but a disease born from too much alcohol and cigarettes. 

One week later, Maverick survives the suicide mission. He takes over the permanent special ops Dagger Squad.

Spring 2020 brings a worldwide lockdown. Chipper loses his fight after 19 days in the ICU. Sundown succumbs to loneliness and dark ghosts 8 weeks later. None of the old companions manage to say goodbye.

On a hot summer day a few years on, they lay Hollywood and Wolfman to rest side by side. A tragic car ride in a heavy storm, they stay together in life and death. Slider and Maverick hold each other, last men standing, the medals on their chest too heavy on a day like this.

First, it's small things, forgetting dates, medication, names. Soon Bradley and Jake take Mav in, making sure he's not alone, but it's not getting better. Slider might be a familiar face, Mav knows he's a brother, but he can't recall their history. He doesn't know what the other man means when he talks about a cancer diagnosis.

It's a sunny day when Slider takes them on one last flight over the sparkling blue waters of the Pacific ocean.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Congrats on 5K!!! You deserve it!!!!!!

Would you ever write about BBF jake and Baby B meeting? When did they meet? How did they meet? What was it like? Did they like the other right away? If you are planning in addressing this in the main story, or just don’t want to write it, please feel free to ignore this :)

Thank you babe! Yay a BBF request!! I always imagined them meeting when Bradley and Jake were in high school and Baby B was maybe 3 or so years behind. I think that, even though he likely wasn't physically attracted to her at first, Jake immediately found her to be interesting. Basically, she very quickly became someone he admired and respected. So, without further ado, here you go. Hope you enjoy!

5k Weekend Bash Drabbles

Brother's Best Friend - How They Met

Jake Seresin x Reader

You’re sitting with your brand new, middle school boyfriend on your brand new, middle school bed spread that’s recently replaced your Little Mermaid quilt. You’ve got NSYNC posters all over your walls and you’re very proud of the overall aesthetic you’ve created in your room. Your personal space, which, like always, is rudely infiltrated by your annoying brother the moment he gets home from school.

A sudden crash – Bradley bodychecking your door – makes you and your boyfriend jump apart in a panic even though all you were doing was holding hands. The next moment, Bradley waltzes into your room without even a knock.

“Door stays open, remember?” he reminds you with a shake of his head, giving your brand new boyfriend a dirty look.

“Get out!” you yell, throwing a stuffed dinosaur at his head.

Bradley ducks and the dinosaur lands in the hands of the dreamiest guy you’ve ever seen. Obviously, this is a new friend of Bradley’s, because you would’ve remembered seeing that face before. He enters your bedroom after Bradley, looking around with a smirk. The guy is gorgeous, of course; he’s in high school, unlike your brand new middle school boyfriend.

You glare at the two of them. “Newsflash: this isn’t a public park. You can’t just barge in here with your friends.”

“I wouldn’t have to barge in here if you kept your door open like you’re supposed to,” Bradley says, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Ever heard of privacy?” you bite back grumpily, heading straight for your brother and shoving him back the way he came. “We’re busy.”

“Doing what?!” Bradley exclaims with a laugh as you push him and his friend out the door.

You give your brother a withering look. “Doing it, obviously. Not to mention all the drugs.”

Bradley’s cute friend snorts trying to hold back a laugh while Bradley stares at you in outrage. “Door open,” he warns, backing away and then heading to his own room down the hall.

His friend lingers at your door for another moment, watching you with amusement. He glances over your shoulder at your brand new boyfriend before looking back down at you. “Meth?” he asks casually.

You blink at him in surprise. Is Bradley’s smoking hot high school friend joking? With you? “Well, yeah,” you respond with a completely straight face. Humor is, thankfully, one of your strong suits.

“Jake, you coming?” Bradley calls. “I found the tabs, man.” He’s waving around his acoustic guitar in the doorway to his room.

Jake nods at Bradley and then glances back at you. “Take it easy, Baby Bradshaw,” he says.

“Actually, it’s - ” but Jake walks away before you get to tell him your name.

5k Celly

[kolsmikaelson]

rooster’s the type of guy to always have his hands on you twenty-four seven. not in a weird way, just in the way that he holds such an immense amount of love for you and he wants to always show it. the two of you often walk into the hard deck with his arm wrapped around your waist or his hand in your back pocket. or when you’re watching him and hangman play pool he’ll make sure you’re right there next to him. “gotta have my good luck charm.” he’d wink at you over his sunglasses. at the end of the night he has you in bed tucked into his side, arm thrown over your torso with soft snores leaving his mouth.

[aestheticpearl]

— 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫] bradley bradshaw

[𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥]

“that’s it baby, you’re doing so good for me— shit”

moans filled at the room as bradley finally bottomed out inside of you. he felt amazing filling you up and reaching every sweet spot inside of you

.“god bradley, please move” bradley let’s out a breathless chuckle at your persistence.

“i was trying to be a gentleman and let you adjust first” he says lifting your leg slightly to reach deep inside you.

“fuck— i don’t really want a gentleman right now” you can feel yourself stretching to the limit and the feeling alone almost makes you cum.

“if you insist” he says before starting to rock hip into you, it’s a agonizingly slow pace but god is it a deep one. you let out a whine that is music is bradley’s ears and that sound alone encourages him to moves faster.

“you’re so perfect for me, it’s like you were made to take all of me in this tight little hole” another whine falls from your lips. your hand reaches back to grab his thigh as he continues thrusting into you, your nails dig into his hot skin and bradley lets a hiss out from under his breath before leaning down to mark up your neck.

soon your neck resembled some what of a van gogh painting with how many markings were left on your soft skin that apparently bruises more easily than you thought.

“bradley” you whine.

“you close baby?” you nod frantically.

“i can feel you tightening around me”

“please please let me cum— fuck— bradley please”

bradley leans in and whispers into your ear. “shit i’m close too let’s cum together baby, yeah?”

“mhm please”

his thrust feel deeper as he approaches his high and you can feel yourself get pushed over the edge. bradley isn’t far behind as he pulls you close to him, something he always does when he cums inside you. panting now echos off the walls instead of moans and grunts, you’re both trying to catch your breath. bradley seems to catch his before you.

“are you okay?” you nod still panting before you swallow harshly.

“i’m okay, that was amazing”

“it was, now let’s get you cleaned up” you can’t help but laugh as bradley sits up.

“what?”

“nothing you’re just all red”

“i can’t help it, i run hot and whenever we fuck i get super flushed”

“i know, it’s adorable”

“adorable? you’re calling me adorable after i just fucked your brains out?” you nod firmly and smile up at him. “you’re truly something else, love”

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

did i rewrite this whole thing cause i didn’t like how the first one came out? yes.

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

.midnights masterlist

[friend-lover-traitor-narrator]

Flufftober 2024 - Day 4: Apple Cider

Tom is 7 years old when he and his mama learn about the difference between cider and cider.

Tom is born in the U.S. but his parents are not and sometimes funny things happen because of that. Well, they would be funny if his father didn't get angry so easily. Tom doesn't understand why but he knows it scares him and makes his mama cry sometimes.

One of these things happens in October ‘66. Tom gets invited by his friend George to go trick-or-treating with him and a couple of other friends from school. He's excited because he's never been trick-or-treating and he's anxious that his mama says no but unbelievably, miraculously, surprisingly she says yes! Maybe it's because his father is on some kind of business trip somewhere. That usually makes his mama less strict. Anyway, she even buys him a brand new costume! A pilot costume! Because that's what he wants to be when he's grown up. A pilot, so he can fly away with his mama. Maybe then she won't cry anymore. Sometimes he hears her talking to one of her friends saying that she wants to take him and leave but can't. Tom doesn't know why she can't and he's pretty sure he isn't supposed to know that she said that in the first place but when he's a pilot then it will be easy to get away, right?

Halloween comes around and Tom has the time of his life walking from house to house with his friends and George’s mom. When the night comes to an end he's sure he's never seen so much candy in his life! Back at George's home, his mom gets them all hot drinks to warm up again and makes sure they share their haul evenly and now Tom can take his share home with him! If he keeps track he might even have enough until his birthday in two months!

The funny thing though happens when his mama comes to take him home from George’s and she and George's mom have a short chat while Tom puts on his shoes. His mama thanks George's mom for her time, George's mom says it's no problem and how well-behaved he apparently is. Tom doesn't really listen, it's just mom talk, nothing special. What catches his attention a moment later though is his mama’s voice suddenly being alarmed and the words cider and alcohol coming from her.

He jumps up and runs to his mama because now he's worried because she is worried, almost angry. He doesn't want her to be angry and most of all doesn't want to be the reason for it.

George's mom just laughs though and Tom thinks that's rude. Laughing at someone is rude. But then she apologizes and explains that there's a difference between apple cider and hard cider and that’s apparently an American thing and that his mama couldn't know. Tom understands now. There must have been a mix up because his mama isn't American and her first language isn't English.

Now, his mama apologizes a ton of times and then they quickly leave. Tom knows that she easily feels embarrassed because of those language things.

“Next time I come across a weird language thing I'll tell you,” Tom says on their walk back home, swinging his bag of candy around.

His mama doesn't really answer but points at his bag. “You can keep the candy in your room but watch out that your father doesn't find out about it.”

Tom nods. “And I won't tell him about the mix up and that you got angry, Mama,” he adds gravely.

She pulls him against her side and hugs him while still walking home and Tom just knows that he will do everything to make sure his mama is fine.

--

Flufftober masterlist | prev day | next day

Flufftober prompts by @thepenultimateword

[callsign-fox]

Midnight Memories - Rooster

Random Drabble - Lightly Edited 

Pairing- Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Written with @fanficgirl429​

Enjoy xoxo

___________________________________________

The sound of the bathroom door shutting abruptly pulled Bradley from a deep sleep. His eyes fluttered open as he rolled over, stretching his arms out and reaching for the body that was no longer laying beside him. Bradley raised an eyebrow, concerned at the sudden retching sound coming from the bathroom on the opposite side of the room.

Meanwhile, Y/N knelt on the cool tiled floor behind a locked door, one hand pressed to her forehead as she rubbed her stomach gently with the other. She quickly flushed the toilet and closed her eyes as she leaned against the wall, trying hard to get past the nausea. Y/N had been feeling strange for some time now. It was hard to wake up in the morning, she had been craving foods that she wouldn’t normally eat, and this wasn’t the first time she’d thrown up randomly in the middle of the night. 

Y/N and her boyfriend Bradley had been dating for over a year now. In the beginning he was often gone, deployed overseas or off training. After they’d reached the 6 month mark in the relationship, they couldn't stand to be apart anymore and decided to move to his next assignment together. Things were going well, especially in the bedroom. 

One particular night a few weeks ago came to mind, when Bradley had come home late from being away for a mission. They were both eager to have one another, and it wasn’t until now that Y/N had realized they didn’t use any sort of protection. 

There’s no way. 

After the sound of retching subsided, Bradley sat up in bed and turned his bedside lamp on. “Babe, are you okay?”

When there was no response, Bradley pushed the blankets off of him and slowly walked over to the closed bathroom door. There was a sliver of light peeking out from underneath but it was quiet on the other side. 

“Y/N?” he said, tapping his knuckles quietly against the door. 

Y/N let out a small squeal and Bradley heard something fall to the floor. 

“What’s going on in there?” he asked, concerned. 

The door unlocked and slowly opened, revealing Y/N on the other side, her face pale. Bradley glanced down at her hand to see a blue and white stick.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing. 

Without saying a word, Y/N handed him the stick and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Bradley looked down at the stick and read the bold lettering. 

Pregnant. 

“Whose is this?” Bradley whispered, staring at Y/N who started to smile. He glanced down at the stick again, then back up at his girlfriend. “This is yours? You’re pregnant?” 

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, I am pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” 

Bradley immediately dropped the test into the sink and pulled Y/N into his arms. Both of their hearts were racing with excitement and anticipation at the thought of becoming parents.

[withahappyrefrain]

I'm a whore for soft Bradley. Could I request "You look so pretty like this." If you feel it, please?

I'm also a whore for soft Bradley too!

He swears he doesn't do this. It's not what his mother instilled in him.

"Don't expect anything on the first date."

"Offer to walk her to her door."

"Don't ever kiss on the first date. You don't want them to feel pressured."

God, did Bradley try to follow all those rules. He liked to think he was doing a great job too. That is, until you placed your hands in his and looked up at him with those beautiful bright eyes.

"I had a really great time tonight." Your voice was angelic, better than any song he had ever heard.

He squeezed your hands, fighting the urge to giggle when you squeezed back. It was so easy with you.

"So did I. Think we can do it again, honey?" Another rule his mother insisted on.

"Don't call a girl by some pet name. Call her by her God-given name."

But with you it just made sense. You were so fucking sweet, cloyingly so. He wanted to drown in it.

You giggled at the pet name, clearly a fan, "I would love that! Sooner rather than later though."

"I think that can be arranged." He hadn't let go of your hands. Bradley didn't want to, if he was being honest.

You raised your eyebrows, playfully, "You think? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now Bradley."

"With you? Impossible," his words gave you the confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his.

He should step back. That would be the proper, gentlemanly thing to do.

But like a magnet, he was drawn to you. Without realizing it, he had stepped forward, almost closing the distance between his body and yours.

The action gave you the courage to step forward, tilting your chin up to get closer to his face.

That was what gave Bradley the confidence to kneel slightly, allowing his lips to finally connect to yours.

Of course you tasted sweet, why would it be anything less? Your hands found the collar of his shirt, gripping it slightly in an attempt for his lips to remain on yours.

Don't kiss on the first date, Bradley.

Did it help that you had made the first move? Bradley thought so. Still, his hands hovered over your hips, not wanting to go too far.

Your hands found his, placing them on your body.

"You look so pretty like this," he whispered, lips disconnecting from yours for much needed air.

Warmth rushed through your body, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned in to give him another pack.

"You're not so bad yourself Bradley. Actually, you're ridiculously handsome like this."

Now it was Bradley's turn to blush, the tops of his sunkissed cheeks becoming even rosier.

"Would you like to come in?" You stepped away to unlock the door, gripping the handle as you stared back at him.

You were worth breaking the rules for.

[kryptonitejelly]

Flyboy!Jake coded.

i love love love flyboy asks (but i admit i don’t get to them all…. that’s in me) entirely flyboy!jake coded.

also look at those arms 😵‍💫 i can’t even with him in this photo. that casual lean, hand behind his head. his legs..

reading this in the flyboy!era, but post part 6.

-

“Geez Jake, manspread more why don’t you,” Emma says as she walks back to the area where your group, a small sub-group of the Seresin brood, has positioned themselves. She punctuates her barb at her brother by raising a foot to kick his shin lightly.

“Ouch,” he says in response without even a slight change in expression or movement.

“Uncle Jake, your legs,” the little voice that trails behind Emma protests, as Kyle follows after his mother, picking his way past the obstacle that is Jake’s unmoving legs to scramble his aay onto the sofa, arms and legs first, rolling his body up to wedge himself in between his Uncle Jake and father.

“You did just fine buddy,” Jake teases in response, winking down at his nephew as Liam, Emma’s husband and Kyle’s father ruffles his son’s hair.

“You could have moved your legs,” you muse, voice tinged with amusement as you take a step forward, having been trailing behind Kyle.

“I could have,” is what Jake responds, moving his hand from behind his head so that he is reaching out to you. You slip your hand into his, letting him tug you down gently into his lap. Once you’ve perched down onto his lip, and thigh, your legs knocking against his other knee, Jake lets his arm slip around your waist while raising the glass he is holding in his other hand to let you take a sip out of the straw of your drink he had been holding for you. “But then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

“Have you become my own personal armchair,” you joke, “complete with a cupholder?”

“I’ll have you only sit on me for the rest of your life if I could,” Jake’s response is cheesy, sappy and with a tinge of innuendo and it makes the group around you, save for the children, groan in a mixture of disgust and horror.

“You’re the worst,” is what Emma helpfully supplies for the group as she balls up a paper napkin to toss it at her brother’s head.

“Your worst,” is what Jake says as he ignores Emma and tilts his head up towards you asking for a kiss, which you oblige. It promptly earns him another round of groans.

[flor4de4amor]

𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞!

you’re abby’s favorite bartender at her favorite dive bar. she doesn’t take to kindly to people disrespecting her best girl.

warnings: alcohol is mentioned + slight violence

click for palestine! read before engaging with my acc+work

Abby is a regular at your bar. Well, regular is a kind way to put it. At this point, she lives in the dive bar. She’s head over heels for you but has decided obnoxious flirting every happy hour, and a sliver of your attention will suffice. 

Her routine is simple:

Order a beer. From her favorite bartender of course. If anyone offers to serve her it’s deny, deny, deny. She can only accept alcoholic content from her best girl.

Shoot some darts, play some pool, chugging contest. Blah, blah, blah. It’s only fun if she sees you sneaking glances from your station, shooting you a wink while she engages with her team. She likes seeing how flustered she can get you with a thin-lipped smile and wink alone. And the answer is very flustered.

Once she’s seen you steal enough glances, it’s time to go back to the bar and bother you. Sure, order another drink. But, also, flirt with the gorgeous girl serving her. Is that a new shirt? Your hair looks so pretty tonight. She loves the necklace you’re wearing, situated real well between your tits. 

Then stay on the barstool, all night, up until she’s one of the last patrons in the bar. Even though,  she’s gotta be up running drills quite soon after your shift ends. But it’s worth it. If she can make you laugh at least once.

Every time. Without fail. That’s Abby’s routine, and tonight was no different. 

Well, except for the fact that there was some asshole bothering you while you worked. Doesn’t he know that’s her job? Only she can bother you, she’s the only one who does it right. Besides, you looked annoyed while he was talking to you. You never looked annoyed when Abby flirted. Always brushing your fingers on her bicep, giggling as she flexed, giving her a hard time for flinching after a shot. You relished in her attention even. You looked like you wanted to throw up while this guy was talking to you. Abby personally, wants to throw him a punch. Instead, she rolls her eyes and fiddles with the toothpick between her teeth, before calling you over to her. The night’s still early, maybe he’ll back off. She hasn't gotten her slice of your attention yet, so she refuses to let that be cut short. 

“Hey, princess!” She uses a hand motion towards you. Your face lights up as you walk towards her freckled face. You hadn't spoken many words to her all night. It was a relief to see the pilot in her designated stool. 

You throw your towel over your shoulder and place your hands on your hips. “How can I help you, Captain Anderson?” Your tongue pokes between your lips, a coy smile protruding.

Abby rolls her eyes. “I hate when you call me that.” She sighs playfully, “I only let my favorite bartenders call me Abby y’know.” 

You place your hand over your heart, flinching, “Silly me thinking I was the only one.” 

Abby whistles lowly at you. “None of them are half as pretty as you, baby.” She watches as you turn your head to the side shyly. She’s already got you flustered and the night’s just begun. She hasn’t even started throwing darts and flexing muscles with her squad yet.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now. “Promise?” you flirt shamelessly, curious as to what she’ll say.

“Scout’s honor princess,” she kisses three of her fingers and holds them up.

You laugh at her actions. Only Abby can have you laughing at work. In a sticky bar, tight shirt, and light hangover still cascading over you. “Okay, Abby,” You say her name sickeningly sweet. She almost bends over to her knees. “What can I get you tonight?” She smiles, tapping the paper coaster on the countertop, pretending to think. “I’m gonna go with the usual tonight babe.”

You smile, “Boring but expected.” You go to grab a glass and fill it up with ice as a deep baritone fills your ears. “Princess,” the man calls. This new customer was evidently, not privy to the unspoken rules of the bar. He winks at Abby expecting some comradery from a nickname alone. As if friendships are built off disrespecting women. 

You cringe at the nickname and don’t reply. Your legs only move to that call when it’s your favorite captain calling you.

“Oh c’mon don’t be that way.” The man continues. “What? You want a different nickname?” Abby’s jaw is clenched so tightly, that she's sure her molars have cracked. She’s clenching her fist to the point that the white of her knuckles is apparent. 

“She doesn’t respond to that,” Abby replies to the asshole. “She’s got a name.” This man is new sure, but definitely an idiot. He’s choosing to continue squaring off with the Abby Anderson. You know better. You wouldn't disrespect her even with all the alcohol in the world flooding your system. You’ve seen her in a bar fight. She’s never lost.  

“What is this your girlfriend?” He laughs drunkenly. “I mean I’m into that sort of thing,” he snorts to himself. “Why don’t you give us all a little kiss?” He continues chuckling like he’s some world-class comedian. Though, Abby doesn’t seem to find him funny. 

She runs her hand over her face. She looks at you for a moment. “Princess,” she leans in whispering, “How many bar fights in me until you said I was banned?”

You lean closer to her, whispering back, “I don’t think I’m allowed to ban the champ.” Smiling cheekily at her. She winks and clicks her tongue. That’s all she needs as reassurance to kick this guy’s ass.

She gets up from the stool, walking closer to him. Though Abby oozes dominance, when she’s standing over you it’s hard not to shit your pants. She places her hands square atop this guy’s shoulders. “I’m gonna give you just one chance to apologize to my pretty girl or else you’re gonna be banned.” 

The man brandishes off a drunk grin that’s missing two front teeth. “Ban? Me? Ban me? Nah.”

Abby rolls her eyes, “So that’s a no?” She doesn’t even give the guy a chance to answer before punching him straight in the jaw. “See someone else has had the common sense to knock two teeth from that ugly mug of yours, what’s a few more?” She mutters to herself.  There’s slight commotion, but it dies down quickly with the rest of Abby’s aviator squad coming quickly behind her. Beers still in hand, foam coating a few mustaches they ask her what happened. She wrings out her hand, “Go take his picture for the wall of shame and dump him outside.” She huffs, watching her lieutenants follow her orders.

Abby comes to sit by you in her same old worn-down barstool. She smiles as you give her a bag of ice for her hand. “What number fight is that?” You ask her softly and playfully.

“For you or in this bar?” She’s got that look in her eye, nothing but trouble.

You roll your eyes, “Don’t answer a question with a question.” You being to make the drink you never got to give the dirty blonde.

“You’re bossy tonight,” she muses, accepting the drink once you hand it to her, chugging quickly. “Fighting makes me thirsty she muses.”

You repress a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “So Captain,” you drag out the tightly slightly. Watching as Abby raises her eyebrow at you.

“Princess,” she replies with an edge to her voice. 

“When’re you gonna bite the bullet and ask me out? Hasn’t total endless flirting with me gotten boring?” You lean against the bar top, cleavage spilling from your low-cut top. 

“How about now?” Abby works hard to make sure her eyes don’t come to your spillage. She works overtime in doing so even. It’s torturous.

You hum, “Beating up drinkies doesn’t count as a date you know?” You smile at her, propping your face against your hand.

“Our first date wouldn’t be here,” she smiles toothily. “If that’s the case, we’ve had plenty of dates while I sat in this barstool. We’re married even.” She grins at you.

Your tongue licks your lips, “Moving fast, aren’t you? Focus on the first date, Anderson.”

“Yeah get used to saying that last name, ‘cause it’ll be yours,” she clicks her tongue and winks at you. “How about I come to grab you this weekend? A nice dinner, me you, and no drunks up your ass.” 

“Does this mean I’ll finally be seeing you out of that old navy uniform Anderson?” Your smile captivates your face as you tease her. Only you would make fun of her while she’s trying to ask you out.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t go home on the first date.” She teases, laughing softly, ‘cause it’s far from true.

“Liar,” you call her out on her shit, carefully grasping the glinting dog tags that lay around her neck. You pull her in for a kiss, for a moment there’s cheering. You know it’s from her rowdy lieutenants. You smile against her lips and pull away. “I’ll see you this weekend?” You say looking at her loved face.

“Sure thing princess.” She’s stunned. “You know what? Put a round on my tab, for celebration.” She reaffirms.

“No doubt captain,” you smile mocking a salute.

divider by @aqualogia

[sunblchdfly]

honey, it’s alright

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Warnings: Not proof read. Other than that, none! Fluff Fluff Fluff!

Word Count: 619

The wood floor creaks under your husband’s feet. Not shortly after, you hear the squeak of the door hinge. You know who it is already, but you can���t seem to make yourself come out from under the covers.

“Baby?” Bob shuffles over to you, pulling the cover below your chin. “What’s the matter?” The bed dips under his weight as he sits on the edge.

“Just…” You sniffle, voice cracking, “Just not feeling well, love.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He caresses your arm, looking at you anxiously, afraid he had something to do with it.

“No.” You squeak out. You weren’t one to be very talkative when something upset you.

Bob nods silently. He places a kiss on your forehead and covers you back up. He makes his way to the cold tile of the bathroom and turns on the shower.

“Okay,” Bob is back at your side again. “I need you to stand up, my love.”

He takes your hands, helping you up. Tears welled in your eyes. He could tell you were getting upset again.

“Hey, hey, hey, shhh.” Bob brushes his thumb over your tear stricken cheeks.

“You don’t have to do anything except stand for a few minutes. Okay? You’ll feel better, baby, I promise.”

You nod and start making your way to the steaming shower.

He presses a few kisses to your face. “Come on.”

He helps you into the shower, ditching his own uniform to join you.

“Alright, I’m gonna wash your hair, get those tangles out. Okay?” He makes sure to tell you everything he was doing, so as to not startle you.

You nod, hanging on to him for support. Your head rests against his chest, listening to the thump thump of his heart. Bob massages the soap throughout your scalp. He’s right, you were starting to feel better already. Soon, you're pulled out of your trance when he shuts the water off.

Bob wraps you in a towel, stepping out of the shower. He dresses himself in record time. He didn’t want to keep you waiting. He knew you needed rest and wanted to give it to you as fast as possible.

“Okay, careful.” He helps you out of the shower and sits you on the closed lid of the toilet.

He retrieves your hairbrush from your makeup drawer and begins detangling your hair.

“Do you want one braid, or two? I feel like you might be more comfortable with one.” He asked.

“Just one, Bobby.” You felt a smile creep onto your face. “Thank you, Bobby. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. In sickness and in health, remember?” He smiles.

“In sickness and in health.” You repeated, your own smile growing bigger with every word.

“Alright, that’s a damn good braid.” He says proudly. “I’m a hairstylist in another life, I think.” Bob joked.

You feel another smile make its way to your lips. Damn, if he wasn’t good at always making you feel better.

Bob helps you back to bed, turning the heated blanket on. he grabs your water bottle from the side table and makes his way downstairs.

A few minutes later you hear his pattering feet outside of the door. He ran back upstairs while the leftovers from last night warm in the oven. The bed dips next to you again.

“Alright, leftovers are in the oven. what are we watching?” He asks, trading your water bottle for the remote. “No no wait, let me guess. Captain America?” Bob smirks. Pink covers your cheeks after you hear him say it.

“You said it, not me.” You counter, grinning.

“Damn straight.” He pulls you into him.

A/N: Just a little drabble i thought of. Wanted to write it out for anyone having a hard time atm. Nothing too fancy! My DMs are always open. Take care of yourselves <3

[writing-until-i-drop]

Cold Mornings | Comfort Drabble wc: 396

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader

Your bedroom is a little cold in the morning and you don't want to get out of bed buuuuuut Bradley insists...

Warnings: None! It's just pure fluff

@closetspngirl read it and go back to work lol

“It’s time to get out of bed, sweetheart,” Bradley kissed your shoulder. Stretching, your foot slipped from beneath the comforter, hitting the cool air of your bedroom. You gave a little shriek, pulling your foot back so fast the bed shook a little.

“Absolutely not,” You turned, wrapping your arms around Bradley’s waist, reveling in his warmth. Your boyfriend chuckled, kissing your temple.

“I think someone’s a little chilly,” Bradley teased, reaching around you to start pulling down the comforter.

“Watch it, Bradshaw, or I start wearing long sleeves and sleep pants to bed.” He paused. Ever since Bradley had started staying the night, you had found yourself wearing less and less clothing to bed thanks to his need to run his calloused hands over your bare skin whenever he could. Not that you were complaining about having a hot pilot want you naked constantly but still.

“No need for that,” Bradley chuckled nervously, kissing your temple again. “I’ll be good, I promise.” He curled around you, running his hands over your body, keeping you warm. Bradley kissed your neck, presenting a very convincing argument for not wearing more clothes to bed, even if it did leave you freezing in the morning. “We do have to get up though.”

“Nooooo,” You whined, pulling the comforter over your head. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Bradley slipped out of bed, returning with clothes of his in each hand.

“What are you- Bradley!” You laughed as he dove under the comforter from the bottom of the bed, slipping a pair of sweats up your legs, planting a kiss on your stomach. He crawled up your body, kissing everywhere before his head popped out from the sheets. Your boyfriend looked so silly, grinning down at you, his hair messy. 

“Arms up, sweetheart. It’s time for the shirt.” Once you were dressed, Bradley distracted you with a kiss, slowly pulling away the blankets without you noticing until he pulled away. “I love you and I would love nothing more than to spend all day in bed with you but we have to get up.” 

“Fine,” You went to move but he held you in place, an expectant look on his face. “I love you too, baby.” 

“That’s more like it.” Bradley gave you one more sweet kiss before getting out of bed, holding out his hand to pull you up as well.

[edelfan]

Jake is leaning back against the wall of his room - probably more of a cell though as he’s locked in and all he has in it is a bed and a toilet tucked away in a corner. At least it is heated. In other holding places in the past that wasn't always the case and it could get really cold when you're not even allowed clothes.

He can barely remember his life before this, when he still had a family. His parents used to have a farm in rural Texas before everything turned to shit.

Before Jake can sink too deep into his memories though, he hears his door being unlocked. He gets up on his feet to stand in the middle of the room like it has been drilled into him over the years.

His guard steps inside. Jake doesn't even know his name, has never spoken a single word with him. He lets him shackle his wrists in front of him before he is being led into the hallway.

After they pass several rooms - other cells, Jake knows, even though he has no contact to the others - they stop in front of a door and he realizes what is waiting for him.

The guard opens the door and pushes Jake through. He stumbles through a curtain into a small spotlight before dropping to his knees.

“This is a fine object. HM8821… As you can see, fine body and very well trained. It would be an honor to provide him as an award to a hero of the Navy.”

Award? The word makes Jake look up even though he knows he isn't supposed to. Besides his slave trader there are two men in dress blues in front of him - the older one with dark hair and a sleek face, the younger sporting a moustache.

He’s not being sold? Given away as a gift? Jake doesn't understand. The younger man comes closer, crouching in front of Jake. His hand is shaking ever so slightly as he reaches for Jake's arm, but the touch never comes. His fingers linger in the air over Jake's skin for a long moment before he pulls back again.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw?”

The younger man turns around to the other one in uniform.

“What do you say? Will you take this one? You definitely earned it with this mission…”

Jake looks up again and for one second their eyes meet.

“Yeah, Admiral. I will take him.”

I might write more in this universe...

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Yay!!!!!!! 5K!!!!!! This is such a cute way to celebrate!

May I please request something for BBF? Like a beach day with Jake and both Bradshaws (or maybe the whole dagger squad, idk it’s up to you!) and Jake can’t keep his eyes off of Baby Bradshaw? It could be before or after they admitted their feelings!! Your choice!! Congratulations on hitting 5k!

Ahh this is a super cute request! And thank you so much, lovely :D Here we go, beach day with the Bradshaws: this scene takes place before they get together (and before Jake realizes he has feelings for Baby B).

5k Weekend Bash Drabbles

Brother's Best Friend - Beach Day

Jake Seresin x Reader

Jake is out of the water in five seconds flat when he sees some random guy approach you back on the beach.

“Dude!” Bradley calls after him. “The ball, man!”

But Jake has no idea where the ball’s gone because he doesn’t even turn around to look for it. He doesn’t know why it bothers him that this guy is showing interest in you, but it probably has something to do with how little you’re wearing. All he knows is, you’re off limits to anybody who approaches you while your ass cheeks are barely contained by your tiny-by-comparison bikini bottoms.

“What’s going on?” Jake says sternly, stopping at the edge of your beach towel after jogging over.

You’re lying down on your stomach and Jake tries his best to keep his attention squarely on your face when you look up at him rather than your aforementioned butt.

“We’re just chatting, man,” the guy – who’s obviously a fucking moron – replies as though Jake had been addressing him.

Jake shoots him a threatening glare. “She’s reading,” Jake remarks, gesturing to the book in your hands which you’re actively setting aside.

“I’ve got a bookmark,” you say, sliding your book away and sitting up on your towel.

Jake grimaces at you. How could you possibly be enjoying this guy’s advances when he’s such a nuisance? “Still rude to interrupt,” Jake reasons.

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. Jake promptly looks away because your tits are, as a result, squished together and Jake has no interest whatsoever in ogling his best friend’s baby sister’s tits. “Rude to interrupt, you say?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at him.

Jake glances back at you in surprise. He hasn’t considered that he’s the one doing the interrupting.

“You’re dripping on my towel,” you note when he doesn’t respond.

Jake makes a face. “It’s meant to get wet.” Before you can argue that fact, he changes the subject, “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

You look down to examine your chest. “Why, am I burning?”

Jake winces inwardly as he attempts, once again, to refrain from staring at your cleavage. He crouches down to grab some sunscreen out of the beach bag and hands it over to you. “You’re burning,” he confirms. Burning, scorching, extremely fucking hot. It’s all the same.

“Sorry,” says the guy who’s still just awkwardly standing there. “Didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

Jake looks between you and your new friend as he starts to walk away. “No, he’s not –” you start, but the guy just shrugs and takes off down the beach. “Fuck,” you mutter, spreading a thick layer of sunscreen over your stomach.

Jake, who feels unexpectedly pleased at being referred to as your boyfriend, scratches his brow in thought as he watches the man shrink in the distance. Then, he shakes his head distastefully. “You can do better,” he finally declares.

5k Celly

[sebsxphia]

admiral jake when you’re wearing a sundress..

￫ warnings: breeding kink and sex.

￫ authors notes: tee hee! thank you so much for this incredible thot, my dear anon! 💌

i can picture this on a sunday morning. you’re getting ready to visit admiral cyclone and his family. since jake became an admiral himself, a far greater respect had been built up between the two of them.

jake was tying your little girls shoes as he asked with a smile, “where’s your mama, hm?”

she squealed in response as she saw you coming through the doorway, with your barely one year old little boy attached to your hip.

“here i am!” you cheerfully replied.

jake looked up and immediately his throat went dry. he licked at his bottom lip to try and gather some salvia as he took in the breathtaking sight of you.

suddenly, he was back in the hard deck when he met you for the first time and you were wearing a pretty little sundress.

it was the first time that you had worn one this year and jake could feel himself twitch. it covered and hugged every inch and every curve of your body. it wasn’t revealing by any means, but jake thought that you might as well have worn his favourite set of lingerie.

once all four of you were ready to leave, jake gave you a soft kiss on your lips and caught your ear.

“do you remember what happened when you wore that last?”

“mhm, he’s right here.” you chided with an all knowing smirk and squeezing at your little boy on your hip.

jake let out a low grunt and squeezed at your ass through your sundress. you had to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop the squeal escaping you.

the day had gone by in a flurry and went off without a hitch.

jake now had your hair fisted in his palm and another gripping onto your hip. he was scrunching up your sundress material into his knuckles as he fucked you deeply from behind on your shared bed, with your kids fast asleep.

“so fuckin’ pretty for your admiral, aren’t you sweets? you goin’ to give your admiral permission to breed you again?”

the illusion of family dad jake was shattered.

this was admiral jake fucking you within an inch of your life.

[i314flix]

the one where jake seresin likes to call it ‘welfare checks’ whenever he’s checking how you are—but let’s be real, everyone knows that it’s only an excuse he uses because he can’t seem to erase the uneasiness he feels whenever he knows you’re not fine.

pairing: jake seresin x fem!reader

word count: 5.8k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, enemies to lovers au; ft. naval aviator!reader

warning/s: swearing, alcohol consumption, making out, sexual innuendos, daddy issues(?), mentions of feeling pressured, mentions of drunk driving (nobody drunk drives here though), mention of a near death experience, most likely wrong info about naval aviators and the nature of their job sksks i'm sorry this is strictly fiction okAY

opening note. idk how this ended up being almost 6k LMAO. but anyways, i was so inspired to write this one scene (which you can read below) and ended up just adding so many details and back story that now here we are???? hope you guys like it though! jake seresin brain rot is real and i'm admittedly a goner for—as glen once put it—navy draco malfoy 😭

Jake knocks on your door three times, patiently waiting and looking around the street as if he’s afraid that someone followed him here. He knows that it’s unwise to be at your doorstep at this hour, but he was done eavesdropping and subtly asking around about your absence, bothered that it’s been almost a week and you haven’t been attending training like you should be. He heard Phoenix tell Bob that you were taking a short break because of the near-death experience you had while flying along the course last time, in fact almost quitting entirely if it weren’t for Maverick who instead offered you to breathe for a few days and then come back to see if you still wanted out of the mission. You were considered by your fellow TOPGUN graduates to be one of the captain’s top candidates to lead the mission, so Jake understood why Maverick didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

A few seconds pass and he contemplates on knocking again or leaving, deeming this idea as ridiculous—but then he sees the lights open and you’re peeking through the curtain of the small window beside your front door, disappearing again only to unlock the dozen locks on your door and opening it to greet Jake who meets your gaze immediately.

“What the hell are you doing here?” is the first thing you say, flummoxed by his presence. You and him aren’t exactly the closest among the crew, and there have been several times in which you’ve displayed how annoyed you were by everything Jake either says or does.

“I’m visiting you,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t been in training for a week now. Are you quitting or something?”

You stare at him, appearing in deep thought or perhaps attempting to read his mind, and suddenly, you’re closing the door.

Jake widens his eyes in surprise but is quick to extend a hand out to prevent you from doing so.

“Really?” he complains. “You’re going to slam the door in my face?”

“Look, Hangman,” you begin, sighing and making your tired state known, “if you’re here to give me shit, don’t, because I have no will to show you the patience I typically have on a normal basis.”

“I’m not here to give you shit.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“I told you—I’m visiting.”

“For what? To make sure that I’m not going back so that Maverick can assign you as team leader?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay. I heard you’re doing fine, but I just wanted to see it for myself.”

You’re quiet again, and you revert back to staring at him, as if you’re waiting for him to admit that this is just some prank. Jake doesn’t say anything though, he just returns your stare, appearing sincere for once, worried and waiting for you to realize that he’s not aiming to piss you off every time an opportunity presents itself.

You open the door wider. “Now you see me.”

“You doing good?”

“I’m doing good,” you affirm. “Just… I don’t know. Going through some stuff. Mixed thoughts—feelings—I don’t think you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’m here and it’s past 11 p.m.,” he says. “If I didn’t want to be bothered, I would have done this welfare check another time.”

You snort at the term he used in visiting you. “Are you sure? You don’t peg me as a good listener, to be honest. I don’t want to pour my heart out and end up listening to your life story instead.”

“I’m not like that. I could be a good listener if I tolerate the person enough.”

“You hate me, though.”

He laughs. “I don’t hate you, Goldie.”

Goldie. Jake liked your call sign because he liked the way you scowled whenever he was the one who utters it. The story behind the name was that your very first squadron saw a picture of you wearing these ridiculous platform gold sneakers when they were snooping around your Facebook profile, finding a photograph taken years ago by your mother at some family gathering you no longer remember. Eventually the joke turned into them calling you Goldie, and when the callsign review board was held, every member of the squadron voted for it to be your call sign and got it approved.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say. 

“I just like driving you insane,” he admits with a smirk, and now you’re more reminded of the Hangman you know. “It gives me great pleasure to get under your skin. You never know how to fake that look on your face whenever you’re mad—it’s very funny.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

The edges of your mouth twitch. “Fine, come in. I have beer. Or wine if that’s what you prefer.”

Jake contemplates about it—because like what he thought of earlier when he arrived on your porch, it’s unwise to be here. It wasn’t like in TOPGUN or the Hard Deck wherein there were other people around you for him to always be cautious of his actions; he’s afraid that he slips up or let his repressed romantic interest in you get the best of him since he has you alone.

At the same time however, he just didn’t care enough about the consequences for him to miss this chance of getting to know you better. 

“Beer would be nice,” he tells you as he steps inside.

You nod and turn to head to the kitchen.

The house is a standard bungalow. When you walk in, you’re met with the living room, and then a few steps away from that is the kitchen. On the left side of the house, there’s a hallway leading to what Jake assumed to be the bedroom and washroom. He takes a seat on the sofa upon your instruction, scanning his surroundings and taking in the actuality of the situation he allowed himself to be in.

“Here you go.” You hand him an opened beer and he mutters his thanks, watching you go to the chair near him and plop down.

There’s silence, the two of you just drinking. You engage in small talk for a while, conversing about the most trivial things and matters that he’s not that even keen to know. The topic bounces on and on, until he can’t help but finally break it, impatient now and wanting to know what’s really been going on with you for the past few days.

You smile, amused by his little outburst. “You really want to talk about what’s bothering me?”

“I'm certainly not here to drink and talk about how hot it is on the beach.” He points out. “Just get on with it. You don’t have to tell me your whole life story. Just tell me why you’ve been gone since the accident.”

He catches you wince at the mention of an accident. “I’m resting.”

“You’re resting?”

“Yeah. It’s what Maverick wants me to do. He insists that I take a breather and then go back once I’m feeling better.”

“And have you been feeling better?”

“No,” you admit. “Actually, I…” you hesitate, flickering your eyes to Jake who’s listening intently. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re the last person I should be—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I know. But that’s the thing, Hangman,” you say. “I think I have to tell someone about it or else I’ll end up more conflicted about the whole thing. And you know what? You might actually be the right person for this.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t give a damn whether I have  your approval or not.”

He scoffs out a laugh. “Wow. Thanks, I guess?”

You grin; you loved teasing him as much as he did the same to you. “I’m planning to quit.”

His hand halts as he’s raising it to get another sip of the beer. He didn’t expect you to drop the bomb that quickly. “What?”

“I want to quit.”

“Because of what? Because of a near death experience? I know your record, and this isn’t even the first time you experience an occurrence that involved—”

“It’s the third time,” you clarify before he’s even done speaking. “I promised myself I’d quit if I almost ended up dead three times.”

“That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“I never wanted to be a fighter pilot, Hangman.” You confess and he’s stunned by the revelation.

It seemed impossible and untrue. You graduated at the top of your class and you have the reputation of being one of the best in the field. Your leadership skills were top tier, your flying was superb, and you were fearless in the face of danger. He didn’t understand how a person who didn’t want this occupation to have all those qualities and be an overall amazing naval aviator.

“You’re lying,” he says, not knowing how to reply to that other than accusing you of being a liar.

You lean back on your chair, bringing your feet up and holding your knees together. “It’s because of my dad. It’s the typical shit you hear about a daughter wanting her dad’s approval. He’s just… he used to be a fighter pilot himself—and then he got into an accident, lost one of his legs after it happened, and got forced to retire.” You bring the rim of your beer bottle to your lips. “I think he was depressed for a while. He didn’t talk that much anymore and when he did, he was always so angry. Mom always encouraged him to talk to a therapist, just to release all the pent up frustration he must be feeling about what happened, but he refused. He didn’t believe in therapy. He was convinced that he could solve it all on his own.

“Anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought if I could live the life he couldn’t continue and be a naval aviator myself, he’d feel better—or at least, he’ll be the father I used to have. Turns out I was right. Do you know how much he changed when I told him I sent an application to the Naval Academy? He was so pleased. He did a complete 360. Suddenly, it felt like I was his daughter again. It was clear to me then that if I wasn’t Goldie, I wasn’t anyone worth knowing.” You bite your lip, trying not to get emotional. Jake can see that, noticing how your lips are slightly quivering and how you’re avoiding eye contact. “But in a way, I still had some self-respect left. So that’s why I told myself that if I almost get myself killed in three different instances, I’d quit and I wouldn’t care about what Dad thinks. I’ll just go and live my life how I’d want to live it.”

“And last time was the third time.” He reiterates.

“Yep.”

He nods and downs the last gulps of beer.

There’s that silence again, but it’s not awkward. Jake is absorbing everything you just shared to him and you’re trying not to regret the fact that you told all of that to Jake. It’s a story you’re not used to disclosing to just anyone, especially not to someone like Jake who before this night was the reason why your temper was often brought to its highest limits. Yet you can’t deny that a huge weight has been lifted off your whole body thanks to the impromptu venting session; you appreciate the manner in which he stayed quiet and let you finish talking, not once interrupting and not once taking his attention away from you.

“Does Maverick know about this?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m already drafting my request for resignation.”

“You know that most of the time, those requests get rejected, right?”

“Yeah.” You groan, finishing your beer as well. “But I don’t care. I’d at least try. Then if they won’t allow me, maybe I’ll just orchestrate a fourth near death experience and—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jake cuts you off and you raise your eyebrows at him. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I was just joking.”

“It’s not a good joke. You know better than to joke about things like that.” He’s serious, the most serious you’ve seen him in a long time.

He’s right. You know he is and it pains you to admit it to yourself. You swallow hard, abruptly ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just all over the place these days.”

“It’s fine.”

“I was being stupid.”

“You’re going through a hard time.”

“I’m sorry for trauma dumping.”

“It’s alright, Goldie.”

You stand up, getting his empty bottle and trudging to the kitchen to place them on the counter. “If you want to go, you’re free to. It’s late.”

“I can stay here if you need company.”

You laugh humorlessly. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not babysitting.” He pushes himself off his seat and follows you. “I just don’t feel good leaving you in this state. You’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m okay,” you correct him. “Like I said, I’m just all over the place these days. I need time alone to think and be sure of what I want to do.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great loss to the Navy if you quit.”

You snort. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Why do you think I like pissing you off? It’s because you’re competition. You’re almost as good as me.”

You’re leaning on the counter and Jake’s standing beside you, his hand a few inches from your waist. 

“Actually, I’m better than you, Hangman.” You smirk. “And maybe so is Rooster. He’s certainly better than you when it comes to being a leader.”

“Yeah, but I’m faster than him.”

“You’re reckless compared to him.”

“I can beat him in a dogfight.”

“He doesn’t leave his teammates behind.”

“Yeah, he forces them to go as slow as he is.”

“It’s not a bad thing. He’s being careful.”

“Slow doesn’t equate to being careful.”

“It doesn’t matter. I like him better than you anyways.”

“You like him better? You sure about that?”

You don’t know how it happened but you’re suddenly standing very close to Jake, your faces tilted towards each other that you’re certain if one of you moves any nearer, you’ll end up kissing. You’re reminded of how the squadron often teases you both, saying that the reason you bickered a lot was because of the sexual tension that both of you shared, but you always made an effort to deny it, declaring that there was no way in hell that you saw Hangman in the sense and you’d rather make out with a frog than the said cocky pilot.

Being in this situation with him right now though? After sharing a beer and letting yourself show your most vulnerable side to him? Seeing how genuinely concerned he is for you? How he actually see you as a highly skilled and capable naval aviator? It messes with your head a bit, makes you think that maybe you’re just really excellent with pretending that you’re not affected by his stupidly handsome smile, or drawn to gazing at his toned body whenever he’s in his uniform, or distracted when he’s sputtering off nonsense meant to rile you up and instead you’re noticing how pink his lips are, how soft they must be, how dozens of girls have fallen victim by his charm and how good he must at working those lips of his…

“You’re staring,” he whispers.

Your eyes move up. “What?”

Jake grins, like he understands what’s happening at this second. “You’re staring at my mouth, Goldie,” he says. “Is there something on my mouth?”

You shake your head. Your cheeks are warming up. Your heart is beating faster. You’re aware that he’s teasing, that he wants to get a reaction from you, and you’re annoyed that he’s getting what he wants. “It’s late,” you repeat your statement from earlier. “You should head back. Get some sleep.”

He thankfully steps back and you exhale.

“When are you coming back?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.” You start leading him to the front door. 

Once you’re there and opening the door for him, he stops for a second, looking at you. “Hey, if you need someone to talk to… you can call me, alright?”

You find yourself smiling in amusement. “Tonight doesn’t make us friends, Hangman.”

“Good.” He returns the smile, sly and that teasing glint still in his eyes. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Before you can quip back a reply, he’s saying goodnight and marching down the steps of your porch, going inside his car and driving off.

****

You came back two days later and returned like you never left.

He didn’t talk to you again after that night. You didn’t call if ever you did need someone to talk to, and he didn’t approach you unless he really had something to say. You two weren’t avoiding the other per se; there just wasn’t a need to be within the other’s vicinity nor the obligation to initiate the conversation that much. However, in Jake’s case, he wanted to check on how you were doing, especially after being briefed on why you were having second thoughts about your position in the Navy—he just didn’t think it was okay for him to do so, not when he had a feeling that you didn’t want acknowledge the fact that you did tell him your story out of everyone in the squadron.

Eventually, it was decided and announced by Cyclone that Maverick would be appointed team leader to conduct the mission, seeing him to be the most fit among the graduates he was supposedly training for the job. Maverick chose Phoenix and Bob to accompany him, picked Rooster along with Payback and Fanboy to head the second strike team, and assigned Hangman as the emergency action pilot.

Jake saw how you were disappointed not to be given responsibility for anything for the mission, which didn’t make sense since you didn’t even want to be here in the first place. He figured you must have been looking forward to being appointed nonetheless, maybe driven by your desire to make your father proud still that you were willing to go on this dangerous operation to please him.

“Hey,” you called just as he was about to hop on his aircraft. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He grinned, tilting his head at you in a mocking manner that makes you regret for saying anything. “Are you going soft on me, Goldie?”

You scoffed, but you were flashing him a grin in an instant. “You wish. I just don’t want you to get yourself killed so I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, that’s totally why.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”

He gave you a wink before carrying on with what he was doing while you made a show of rolling your eyes before walking away.

After that, despite how the events weren’t as smooth sailing as you liked, nobody ended up arranging anyone’s funeral and Jake was even hailed as one of the heroes since he successfully saved Maverick and Rooster when they were heading back to the carrier. 

And now, the whole squadron is doing some kind of post-mission celebration. It’s held in the Hard Deck, the bar near the naval base, and as Jake drinks with the rest of the crew and secretly relishes how everyone no longer saw him as only an arrogant pilot but an arrogant and reliable pilot, he finds himself trying to spot you among the crowd of aviators and every significant staff that made this mission successful, wishing he can know what are your thoughts about what has happened today.

“You see Goldie anywhere?” Jake asks Javy, placing the empty bottle of beer on the counter.

Javy scans the area and shakes his head. “No. But I think I saw her going out earlier.”

Jake nods.

Without further ado, he decides to go out of the bar and try starting his search there. He’s grateful he doesn’t need to explore the whole seaside to spot you plodding to where he’s guessing your car is parked, your legs wobbly and all, appearing you’re preoccupied with no regard to your surroundings that allow him to catch up beside you inconspicuously. As soon as you notice him though, you’re blinking multiple times, pausing for you’re surprised to see him here when you know he should be with the others.

“Jake,” you say, and he ignores the odd feelings that erupt in his chest upon hearing his name from your lips. “What are you—”

“Welfare check,” he explains. “Where are you going?”

You laugh out loud. He realizes you’re a bit drunk. “These welfare checks are becoming frequent.”

“It’s the second time. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Two times is too much for you.”

He changes the subject. “You’re not planning to drive home when you’re drunk, are you?” 

“No, I’m not that stupid.” You scoff. “But I was planning to sleep in my car, just until I’m feeling okay to drive.”

“I can drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Let me do it anyway.”

You stare at him and he holds the stare, green eyes piercing through yours that you can feel right in your core. You’re mesmerized, caught in the moment, similar to that time in your kitchen, and before you understand your actions, you’re handing him your keys and going to the passenger’s side.

****

You don’t verbally invite him in but he follows you regardless, taking the sign of you opening the door wider for a few seconds as he walks from behind the invitation itself. You allow him to act as some shadow as you cross the living room and go to the kitchen to get a water bottle from the fridge, no words spoken from the both of you, and it’s only when you turn around to say something that it’s dawning onto you how it was maybe a bad idea to have him over.

You trust Jake as a man who won’t take advantage of you, but you don’t trust yourself with the thoughts you’ve been having about him lately. After that night when he did his first ‘welfare check’, you couldn’t shake him off your mind as fast as you usually could; you’ve spent a lot of your free time thinking of him and how you don’t exactly hate being in his presence like you’ve been telling yourself. Worse, you’re considering how you might truly be attracted to his infamous charm, captivated by that Texan accent and confidence whenever he went, steering the attention of everybody in the room.

You watch him take slow strides in your direction. You’re not moving, you’re not attempting to get away, and when he stops directly in front of you, your heart is doing that thing again—palpitating and striving to burst out of your ribcage.

“Are you going forth with your resignation?” he suddenly asks.

“Not yet, I suppose. I talked to Maverick about it today, and he’s offering to endorse me to the Admiral and Vice Admiral to make me an instructor in TOPGUN.”

“And are you taking it?”

“Maybe.”

The lights inside the house aren’t open. It’s only the lamp you had beside your sofa; its warm hue illuminates your faces and creates this sense of intimacy that you can’t brush off. Jake’s expression tells you he’s in deep thought, as if he’s having a dilemma of his own, and you’re under the impression that perhaps he’s confused with what’s going on right now as much as you are.

“If you take that job, then you’re staying here, aren’t you?” he guesses, and you shrug.

“Most likely.”

“Then there’s no chance we’ll be deployed again in the same squadron.”

“I wouldn’t say there’ll never be a chance again but—it’s a high possibility,” you say. “Why? Can’t stand to be directly in the same team as me anymore?”

He chuckles. “Partly.”

“Partly?” you exclaim. “You really don’t like me that much, huh?”

“It’s not that. You think I’d be here if that was the case?”

“You said the other day you didn’t want to be friends.”

“Yeah, and being friends is still the last thing I want with you.”

“Fine by me. My feelings are very much mutual, I assure you.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re not understanding what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m glad we won’t be placed in the same squadron again because there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest.”

You’re left speechless, the implication of his words causing you to overthink. Is he telling you what you think he’s telling you? Are you completely missing his point? Is he just messing with you? Playing mind tricks to have you wrapped around his finger? Whatever it is—whether your suspicions are right or not—you don’t let yourself think about it further, for this tension between the both of you is heightening and there’s a voice in your head that tells you to kiss him to find out what he really sees you as.

So you do. You kiss him, closing the gap between your lips and throwing your arms around his neck to tug him closer. It’s probably because you’re drunk that you’re brave enough to execute such a crazy gesture; you think how liquid courage indeed does wonders to your brain and your ability to know what’s wrong and right. And you can literally hear the gears in Jake’s brain moving as he stands there, hesitant at first to reciprocate, but eventually succumbing to it with an intensity you didn’t know he’s capable of giving, a hand falling on your hip while the other presses against your cheek, his fingertips inching forward to your hair that you quietly moan at.

Every sense you have is enhanced as the two of you make out. You can discern the pounding of your hearts; you can hear every pleased sound he makes as well as yours; you’re aware of every action he does, what he decides to do with his hands which moves to your waist, to your back, and lower… and even lower than that… 

However, it ends as fast as it starts, and before you can properly react, Jake’s already breaking the kiss.

 He looks grudging. It’s clear that he didn’t want to stop. “You’re drunk,” he whispers, an explanation to why he still did.

“Just tipsy,” you correct, about to try kissing him again but he dodges it, instead placing a lingering kiss on your cheek that spreads chills all over.

“We’re not sleeping together unless you’re sober.” His lips are on your ear, and you’re awfully getting mixed signals. It’s like he’s saying no yet continuously seducing you.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I drove you home because you are.”

“No, you insisted on driving me home.”

“Because you were planning to sleep in your car, Goldie. Come on, are you seriously arguing with me on this?”

You groan, frustrated. Your head is starting to hurt because of the aftermath of the kiss and the thinking and the analyzing when it comes to what he’s saying to you and the actions he’s showing tonight.  “Am I getting the signals wrong? Isn’t the reason you went here because you want to sleep with me? You just told me you didn’t want to be friends—because obviously, friends don’t fuck.”

Jake’s laughing once more. It certainly doesn’t seem you’re sober from the way you’re talking to him, too blunt and careless. “You didn’t read the signals wrong. I do want to sleep with you.”

“Then why are you rejecting me? I’m practically begging here. It’s goddamn embarrassing.”

“____,” he utters your name, still grinning in amusement yet his features are softer now as he stares at your half-lidded eyes boring into him, “if you were any other girl who’s asking me, I’d gladly sleep with you. You’re not some girl though—and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“What?”

“I want to date you.”

“Okay, hold on.” You whip your head back in shock but you’re not pushing him away which Jake takes as a good sign. “Are you kidding? You better not be messing with me right now.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

“There’s no way in hell you want to date me, Hangman.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“You don’t even know me that well.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to elope and run away with me.” He chuckles and steps away, giving you a bit of room to breathe. “I’m just saying I like you and I want to get to know you better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline that’s never going to arrive. “You’re nuts.”

“Hey, you’re the one who kissed me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I thought you only wanted sex!”

“I still want sex.” He smirks and you squint at him in distaste. “But after a couple dates maybe. I take it slow with women I actually like.”

“You take it slow? You?”

“In relationships and in bed—if that’s your thing.”

“God, you’re giving me a migraine.”

You head to the part of the kitchen where you have a pouch of medicine for instances like these. From your peripheral vision, you see Jake already getting your unfinished water bottle to hand it to you as soon as you popped the aspirin in your mouth. 

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” he says. “You should rest.”

“I should wake up from this nightmare.”

“I didn’t know jumping on me and begging for sexual intercourse was part of your nightmares, Goldie.”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Go to bed. I’ll leave right after.”

“How are you going back to the Hard Deck?”

“I’ll book an Uber.”

“Okay.”

You let Jake usher you to your bedroom, saying that he’ll visit you first thing in the morning. You tell him that he doesn’t have to bother but he replies that he needs to do another welfare check which you roll your eyes at, reckoning that it was cute the first time but now it was getting old and corny. He just laughs at you, for what seems like the nth time that evening, the reality of what happened between the both of you is beginning to sink in—and you’re not freaking out anymore. You think you kind of like it; you like the idea of Jake taking you seriously and conveying how serious he is by making his intentions clear.

“Good night, darlin’,” he says, brushing a portion of your hair away from your face.

You take a deep breath. You still kind of want to jump on him still but you immediately push those inappropriate thoughts away.

“Good night, Jake.”

****

The next day, a huge part of you genuinely thinks that everything that transpired last night was only an infuriating almost-sex dream. 

You would have slept all day if it wasn’t for the heat of the sunlight seeping through your windows. When you opened your eyes, you saw that it was past 11 a.m. and your head was already killing you, causing you to sit up and head groggily towards the kitchen to wash your face, brush your teeth, and find the aspirin that could help with the headache. You’re the type of person who prevents a matter from worsening while it’s still possible, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your day wincing and complaining about your condition when it could easily be solved.

The moment you swallow the medicine, your brain thinks it’s the perfect time to bombard you with memories of what commenced the day prior. In an instant, you’re remembering the drinking, and then Jake driving you home, that odd tension between you two, and—oh, God. The kiss. The conversation after the kiss. Jake confessing what he felt for you and what he was going to do about it now that he said it out loud.

As if on cue, a knock pulls you away from your thoughts and like a robot, you mechanically go to your door to greet whoever it is that’s on the other side. You don’t even have the energy to peek through the curtains first like you usually do, and you realize that it’s a huge mistake that you forgot that step because once you’re swinging the door open, there’s Jake on your porch.

“Woah, not so fast.” He puts a firm hand on your door as you attempt to shut it on his face, very reminiscent of the other night. “I see you’re not planning on using an amnesia card on me because of yesterday.”

You grimace at the reminder. “Go away. My head hurts and I can’t deal with you today.”

“Good thing I bought hangover soup then. Can I come in?”

“No.”

“What if I say please?”

“Still no.”

“Alright, come on,” he’s still resisting the force you’re putting on the door to close it, “at least take the soup.”

You glance at the paper bag he’s holding and reach for it. However, he slyly moves it to the opposite direction.

“Hangman.” You grit your teeth.

“If you’re taking the soup…” he trails, “then that means you’re agreeing to a date. Will you still take it?”

It’s ridiculous. It’s such a middle school tactic, you think—yet there’s a little something fluttering inside your chest, a bit amused at how Jake is approaching this. There’s truly nothing like a man who goes out of character for the woman he adores; from the manner in which he’s acting, it’s apparent that he’s not afraid to show you a side of his personality that isn’t the usual macho, cocky, and self-absorbed one. Somehow, even if you’re aware that he’s going towards the cheesy route, you’re digging it.

With a roll of your eyes, you snatch the paper bag from his grasp and saunter back to your kitchen.

“Are you coming in or what?” you call, noticing that he hasn’t stepped in.

He strides to where you are, this cheeky look on his face as he reverts to his standard overconfident self. You remark how he goes after you, soon caging you by the sink while you’re getting the utensils from its designated cabinet to use for this so-called hangover soup he brought with him. You’re not fazed despite the proximity and how this scene mirrors last night when you face him, even raising your chin a bit higher to appear further composed.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he says.

Jake makes a familiar show of his eyes flashing from your eyes to your lips, smirking, and just when you think he’s leaning down to continue where you left off, you tease him by placing a palm on his face and gently shoving his face away.

“Shut up, Bagman.”

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