slowly intertwining fingers while the other is driving with rooster because he is SO a holding hands while driving kinda guy i know it in my heart and soul. thank u so much my dear bree!!! <33
Kait my love!! god you are SO right and you should say it louder bc rooster is absolutely a holding hands while driving guy <3 i feel like he just loves skin to skin contact you know? always gotta be holding his love <3 i am so sorry it took so long, but i hope you like it!
...
Sometimes, on the hard days, Bradley will ask you to drive around with him in the Bronco. He never has a destination in mind, just wanting to spend some time with the windows down and the radio on as the two of you drive aimlessly around Fightertown, or along the coast, or even into the city. Wherever the wind and the roads might take him. There was one time the two of you had ended up in Long Beach because you’d accidentally fallen asleep and Bradley had decided to follow the coastline until you woke up. You’d had a good time, of course, once you’d woken up, but that was the furthest you’d ever gone when he needed to work the next morning.
Bradley never tells you what causes the hard days, at least not right away, but you know today is a particularly bad one when he’s completely silent as he comes through the front door. Normally he tries to at least make some noise, banging his boots against the front mat or dropping his bag on the floor to make sure you knew he was there. But the complete silence, even with opening and closing the door, means today is a particularly rough one.
You’re worried, of course you’re worried, but you give him some space and let him come to you. You’ve learned during the time you’ve been dating him that trying to confront him before he’s ready–even if you’re not confronting him you know Bradley will still most likely see it that way–never ends well for either of you. So you listen to him head from the front door to the kitchen, and then up the stairs, and then the sounds of doors being open and shut.
Bradley’s changed into a t-shirt and jeans as he walks into the living room where you’re lounging on the couch, ones you’d washed earlier that day and laid out on your bed for him to change into after work. His aviators are tucked against the collar of his shirt, and he’s got two sweatshirts in his hand as he comes over to press a kiss to the top of your head. It lingers longer than normal, and you reach a hand up to cup his cheek before he moves away.
“Come for a drive with me?” he asks, voice even and lacking his normal warmth. You nod, getting up off the couch and taking the sweatshirts from him as the two of you gather your things and head out the door to the Bronco. Bradley peels out of the driveway almost as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place, slipping his sunglasses on and turning the radio on with the volume down low as he starts to drive.
His right hand is resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm against the kitschy eight ball that he’d told you Natasha had given him as a joke once upon a time. You don’t mention how twitchy his hands are or the hard set of his jaw, but you do rest your hand on top of his where it’s palming the gear shift.
Bradley’s fingers stop tapping almost immediately, the muscles relaxing under your hand.
I’m here. I love you. It’s okay.
You don’t say the words out loud, but as you swipe your thumb along the back of his hand, you let your actions speak for you. You interlock your fingers with his but leave them where they are. Feeling the warmth of his larger, calloused hand holding yours is calming for you, and you hope it is for him right now. He normally finds any excuse he can to hold your hand in his, though normally he liked when he could hold your hand and press it to your thigh–he never even tried to be subtle about it.
But tonight, it’s more for his comfort than it is his love of your body. Bradley brings your entwined hands up to his mouth, and you feel his lips press a soft kiss to the back of your hand. His mustache scratches against your skin, but the sensation is a welcome one, a familiar comfort. It’s his answer, without words, letting you know he’s grateful you’re here. He squeezes once, twice, three times in succession, lingering kisses on each knuckle as he keeps his eyes on the road.
Bradley will talk when he’s ready. Maybe that’ll be in a few hours; maybe it won’t be for a few days. But you’re glad you’re here with him, that you’re in his Bronco with the windows rolled down and the evening air blowing cool across your skin, existing with Bradley through the good and the bad. You’ll always be here for him, and by the way he’s moved your hand to cradle it to his chest as best he can, you’re sure he knows it, too.
Omg Bree that list!! I would love to read 25. goodnight kisses with Bradley?🥺
ahhhh thank you so much Nova!! <3 i am SO sorry it took me so long to get this finished, but i hope you enjoy it!! god this was so adorable to write and i really, REALLY appreciate you picking this one bc it was such a cute idea <3
...
This was the best first date you’d had in a long time. Probably the best first date you’ve ever been on, if you’re being honest, but that’s not something you’re going to admit to your date. You didn’t want to give his ego that big of a boost this early, and also didn’t want him to think about your dating history being any sadder than he might already think it is.
Bradley Bradshaw had asked you out the night you met him at the Hard Deck, where he was drinking with his friends and you’d been convinced by yours to come out for some drinks and the promise of some very pretty Naval officers to look at. Which, you were happy to find, there were plenty of. Bradley included.
You’d thought he was just another good-looking flyboy when he’d walked up to you at the bar top, though his endearing smile and his outrageous taste in fashion had you intrigued enough to say yes; you had no idea how he still managed to look attractive wearing bright blue and magenta, but that coupled with his 70s-esque mustache and very pretty, big brown eyes ended up winning you over. You’d put your number in his phone, let him buy you a drink, and your friends teased you for the better part of an hour about giving your number to the first pilot who talked to you. But there was something special about Bradley, something genuine and funny and maybe you were a little tipsy, but you didn’t regret giving him your number.
Bradley messaged you the following afternoon to ask you to dinner this coming Friday night, and after the initial awkwardness (he’d responded to you with just a thumbs up emoji and you’d used maybe a few too many exclamation points), the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of texting back and forth. You find yourself enjoying talking with him, and looking forward to seeing his name pop up on your phone.
All too quickly, though, Friday night arrives and he picks you up in what is obviously a very old, but very well loved, truck. He’s got sunglasses on, big mirrored aviators, but no Hawaiian shirt tonight (he’d later tell you that he’d received advice that he should wear something a little more toned down for the first date, and you couldn’t say that a black t-shirt and jeans didn’t suit him just as well as what he’d been wearing the night you met him). He’d lifted his sunglasses off his face, clipping them on the front of his shirt as he got out of his truck, and a wide grin split across his face as he caught sight of you coming out of your house.
“You look amazing,” he says, and the words come out loud and earnest–it’s a genuine compliment, and his smile is infectious to boot. You smile as you return the sentiment.
“Not so bad yourself. I like this look,” you tell him, and you see him puff his chest out just a bit. As you walk towards him, he reaches into his truck and comes back out with a bouquet of sunflowers tied with a yellow ribbon. He holds them out to you, and you take them from his hands.
“These are for you,” he says, and you look down at the flowers. They’re beautiful, the loveliest shade of yellow from soaking up the warmth and love of the sun. “I didn’t know what you liked, but they reminded me of your smile, so I hope these are okay.” Bradley’s just a little bashful, and you rest one hand on his forearm.
“They’re beautiful,” you tell him, and it’s the truth. They are, and the fact that they reminded him of you? You don’t know how he can say that with a straight face, and if it came from anyone else you might be embarrassed. You still are, a little, but you’re just a little pleased, too, that he’s been thinking about you. You take the flowers inside, quickly putting them in a tall glass of water before heading back out to where Bradley and the Bronco are waiting. You head around to the passenger side door to pull it open… but it won’t budge. You try again, but still no dice. Oh, god, did you break his car? This is a classic, right? That’s what a lot of older cars are. He gets you beautiful flowers and you break his car. Wonderful. You look at Bradley, and he grimaces. Oh no.
“The, uh, the door sticks sometimes. Lemme get it for you,” he says, coming around to fiddle with the handle before the door pops open. You feel some relief, then, knowing that you didn’t just bust his car, and you climb in and he shuts it behind you. Then he’s getting in on his side, and the two of you head out to the restaurant he’d told you about for dinner.
It was a place that Hangman had recommended, Bradley told you, but he only decided to take that recommendation seriously when Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy had all confirmed it was good. And you’d have to remember to thank Bradley’s friends the next time you see them, because they were right. It was a small place, not too far from the Hard Deck, with the best food you’d had in a while. The atmosphere was friendly and it was busy enough that you and Bradley had plenty of time to talk between your server’s check ups, but not too busy that you felt rushed or couldn’t get a table.
The two of you got through the basic first date talk pretty quickly; he’s a much better listener than the last few guys you’d gone out with, and actually asked you some questions when you were telling him about some work drama you’d been dealing with. You enjoy the way his big, beautiful brown eyes crinkle at the corners with crows feet when he smiles, and how he scrunches his nose when he laughs. He also talks with his hands, you’ve come to realize, and he nearly knocks his glass of water off the table no less than four times as he’s telling you a story about what had happened at work earlier today.
“Anyway, so the radio was totally shot, right? So I’m inverted above Coyote, Phoenix and Bob are freaking out, there’s no way to communicate and we still have half a training exercise to complete. Can you believe that?” Bradley has his hands in an awkward position, trying to give you a visual as to what things had looked like. You can tell by the way he talks that he absolutely loves what he does, and he loves being able to fly. And there are very few things more attractive than seeing a man get so excited to tell you all about how he managed to get his plane upside down and scare the shit out of his friends and co-workers when no one was able to talk to each other in the air.
Dinner is over all too quickly after that, though, but thankfully nothing gets spilled during the rest of Bradley’s animated descriptions of his completely serious job duties. After you’d left the restaurant, since it was still light out, Bradley suggested that the two of you take a walk together along the beach behind the Hard Deck. He swore up and down that watching the sunsets from there were phenomenal, and, not wanting the date to end just yet, you agreed to go with him. He drove you there, and the two of you left your shoes in the back of his truck while you walked along the sand, continuing your conversation from dinner.
Bradley was absolutely right about the sunset, too; it was gorgeous, seeing all the blues and pinks and oranges, and every colour in-between, painting the sky in front of you and the water softly splashing against the shore. The two of you stop walking and talking as the sun hits the horizon, the cool water gently lapping against your feet and washing the sand all around. You swear you feel the back of Bradley’s hand ghost against the back of yours as the two of you stand there, side by side.
There’s a soft breeze blowing, putting a little chill in the air, and you find yourself shuffling a little closer to Bradley. Warmth radiates off of him, and as you look at him out of the corner of your eye and see him bathed in the burnished glow of the setting sun and how it gleams in his eyes, you think all the warmth and light of that sun must have been soaked up into him. And the more time you spend here with him on the beach, the happier you are that you didn’t let the date end after dinner–and that you gave him your number in the first place.
Once the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, the two of you make your way back to Bradley’s truck as the night sky faded from dusky twilight to a deep blue. You do keep a few steps behind him, though, to admire the way he fills out his t-shirt and jeans from the back. He’d once again popped the passenger door open for you, and closed it for you before he made his way back over to the driver’s side. Then, once he’s situated in the driver’s seat, he’s peeling out of the parking lot and heading back to your place.
The windows are rolled down as Bradley’s truck speeds along the road, and the cool breeze from earlier is back and blowing through the cab of the truck. The drive passes by all too quickly, with you needing to give Bradley directions the closer you get, and before you know it he’s pulling into your driveway. He parks the truck and turns the engine off. A beat of silence passes between the two of you before you turn to him and smile.
“Thank you for tonight,” you tell him, and you catch a flash of his teeth as he smiles.
“I should be thanking you. I’m glad you let me take you out.” He’s so earnest, maybe just a bit too earnest, but you have a feeling that he’s not quite as slick as some of his friends had been at the bar when you’d met. Which wasn’t entirely a bad thing; as pretty as the green eyed blond who’d been chatting up your best friend had been, he seemed just a little too full of himself. Bradley was much more your type (though you’d probably wait to admit that, that’s more of a post-third date kind of thing, if you got a third date, that is. You hope you do).
Though you don’t really want to date to end, judging by the time glowing on the dashboard of the truck (which Bradley had insisted was only thirteen minutes behind and it had been since his father owned it, and was lovingly referred to as running on ‘Goose time’, which you hoped he’d explain in the future), it was getting pretty late and you weren’t sure if he had to work in the morning. If he did, then he probably should have been at home a while ago.
“I should probably let you get going.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you almost saw a pout cross Bradley’s face. But he nods, unbuckling his own seatbelt.
“At least let me walk you to your door,” he says, and before you can protest he’s popping open his door and you watch him jog around the front of his truck to your side. He fiddles with the door handle for a minute before he gets it open, and when he does he offers you his other hand to help you out of the Bronco. You take it, and once you’re clear he closes the truck door–and doesn’t let go of your hand as he walks all the way down the driveway, up your front steps, and stops in front of your door.
The two of you stand on the porch, his calloused hand still clasped around your own as the dim, yellow light shining above your door illuminates the space around you. A few moths are bobbing and weaving around said light, a few of them getting a bit too close and dropping down before flying back up again in an endless cycle.
“Is it alright if I kiss you goodnight?” he asks, voice a little huskier than it had been all night as he breaks the silence, and you feel cool relief flood through you when you nod because yes, absolutely, you definitely want this man to kiss you, and it feels good to know he wants to kiss you, too.
You hadn’t been quite sure what to expect, though; would he be eager? Pushy? Sloppy?
Thankfully he’s none of those things–sure, Bradley’s lips are more than a little chapped, but that’s not surprising given what he does for work. But they’re also warm, and the gentle pressure behind the kiss has you closing your eyes and leaning into him. His mustache tickles against your skin, brushing against it as his mouth works against yours.
When you pull back due to the rather unfortunate need that your body has for oxygen, you take a moment to scan his face in the dim porch light. He’s got scars on his cheek, chin, and neck, you realize, and they gleam almost silver as you take them in. There’s a tiny smattering of barely there freckles that dot his nose, and one of his deep brown curls is hanging loose and slightly over his forehead. You wonder what it would be like to reach up and brush it away, but decide that the first date maybe isn’t the right time for that. His eyes are crinkled at the corner, crow’s feet softening his deep brown eyes as he looks down at you.
“That was… wow,” he tells you, which is probably pretty close to what you’d have said, because he’s not wrong. “I mean, better than just wow, but this is probably where I should get going before I make a total fool of myself. Thanks again for tonight.” He squeezes your hand one more time before he’s turning and stepping back off your porch to head towards his truck. You dig your keys out of your bag and unlock your door.
“Get home safe,” you call after him, and he waves back at you over his shoulder with a loud laugh. You step inside after you watch him get into the driver’s side, and close and lock your door as you hear the Bronco speed off into the night.
And about half an hour later, while you’re laying in bed, your phone screen lights up with a notification from Bradley–he’s home safe, he just wanted to let you know so that you don’t worry about him, and he’d love to take you out again, if that’s something you want. You look over at the sunflowers on your dresser, yellow ribbon still tied around them, and you can’t help the smile on your face as you tell him a second date is more than alright with you.
Mutuals who I have hardly spoken with but we instead communicate through silently liking and reblogging each other's posts... I hope you're all having a lovely day ✨
hi bree!!! may i please request knuckles brushing against each other and person A getting shy with bob floyd? thank youu ily <33
ahhh hi kait!!! thank you so much for the request!! i love bob sm and i loved writing this!! ily too, i'm so sorry this got away from me and is much longer than i wanted but i hope you like it! <33 (this is bob x fem!reader, i hope that's okay!)
...
The clock on the wall reads six o’clock, and you can’t help the smile on your face as you know your favourite customers are about to come through the doors.
It’s almost like clockwork at this point; every Friday night after they’re done work for the week, a group of young aviators you’ve become very well acquainted with comes to the Hard Deck to relax, hang out, and get drunk. There’s quite a few of them, too; on days when they can all make it, they number thirteen–though their thirteenth member usually spends his time sitting at the bar and making moon eyes at Penny while she laughs at his terrible jokes. But they usually come in a group of six, sometimes eight, depending on deployments and detachments and things that they explained to you when you’d asked, once, back when you first met them.
The music from the jukebox, which you can vaguely recognize as Kenny Loggins, is playing through the Hard Deck, loud enough to enjoy but not so loud that you couldn’t hear yourself think, or hear anyone else who might try to talk to you. The Hard Deck is still pretty empty, just a few people sitting at the bar or having gotten drinks and taken them to a table.
However, when you hear the door open, you look over and you don’t see the normal group of aviators you’ve come to expect. No, the only person walking in is Lieutenant Robert Floyd, also known as Bob. He’s the sweetest and the quietest of the group, but one you’d find yourself looking out for, singling out among the group to talk to when you brought them drinks or when you spoke to them when they came over to the bar top. He was also pretty easy on the eyes, you’d be happy to admit, and today was no exception. He’s wearing a tight fitting white t-shirt, tighter than he normally wears, and tight jeans with some light brown leather boots. He’s got a baseball hat on his head, though he’s quick to take it off as he approaches where you’re standing behind the bar.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he greets you, ducking his head slightly. He’s always been polite, almost too polite, but it was endearing coming from him. You think so, anyway. His big, sweet-looking blue eyes shine behind his glasses, and you can’t help but lean forward on the bar towards him.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Floyd,” you greet him, and he ducks his head again. You look around, between the tables, the pool tables in the back, and the front door. It’s more than a little unusual to see him on his own; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him at the Hard Deck without at least two or three of the other aviators. “Is it just you tonight?”
“Oh, uh, no, everyone else is coming by later,” he explains, still clutching his baseball hat in one hand. He shrugs with one shoulder. “We were supposed to meet here at seven, but I didn’t get the message until I was already in the parking lot here. And with traffic, if I went back home and came back here I’d really just be driving for an hour, so…” His voice trails off, and he looks around. It’s unusually quiet for a Friday, even this early in the day, and there are only four or five other people besides you and Bob and Penny, who’s talking with someone else at the other end of the bar top. There’s plenty of open tables in the Hard Deck, and none of the pool tables are being used, but it wouldn’t be much fun for him to play by himself. So you decide to be bold.
“Well, there’s plenty of seats available at the bar, if you’d like some company while you wait.” You try to be as nonchalant as possible as you wait for his answer. His eyebrows raise and his mouth opens just a bit in surprise, but then he’s blinking and nodding his head.
“I’d like that very much, ma’am,” he says, nodding once again as he politely addresses you. It’s very sweet, but you put a hand on your hip and shake your head.
“You can call me by my name, if you’d like.”
“Only if you call me by mine.” You’re not expecting him to retort so quickly, but it’s definitely not unwelcome.
“Deal.” You smile at him as you grab a clean glass and start filling it up with his usual drink of choice, a club soda with lemonade. You slide it across the bar to him before starting a tab for him on the register behind the bartop. You also grab him a fresh plastic cup filled with peanuts, holding it out for him to take as well. A faint pink flush spreads over his cheeks as he takes that too, his hand brushing yours.
As your skin makes contact with his, you see the pink flush deepens into a rosy red colour, spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. His glasses slip down his nose just a bit, and you feel yourself melt inside, just a bit, at how shy he is, and you just stand there and look at each other for a moment before laughter from behind you breaks the spell. Bob clears his throat, sitting down on the closest stool and putting his hat back on his head. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose while you grab a cleaning rag and start wiping down the area around where he’s sitting. You start talking to him, asking about his day, and the two of you slip into conversation from there.
He’s so easy to talk to; he keeps his eyes on you the entire time you talk, nodding along and laughing at the appropriate times. Not fake laughs, either; his laugh is like a guffaw, which you hadn’t thought was real until you heard him laugh, and you love the sound of it. You find yourself confiding in him, telling him about your week, about the latest drama with your friends, about everything and nothing and anything in-between. You do get other customers who come up for drinks, and regulars who come by to say hello, and you serve them in between topics of conversation with Bob. He also tells you about his day, about the ups and downs of flying multi-million dollar planes, and about how if he has to do any more push-ups because of Hangman and Rooster’s eternal pissing contest, he’s gonna lose it (well, okay, those aren’t the exact words that Bob uses, but if he wasn’t so polite you’re sure he’d word it like that).
But before you know it, nearly an hour has gone by since Bob first walked into the Hard Deck and sat down with you. And while he’s watching you with a smile on his face, you know you’ve been going on and on for most of it. Which is a little embarrassing, but it was just so easy. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I’ve been talking your ear off this whole time,” you tell him, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought. Hopefully you haven’t been boring him.
“Don’t apologize. I liked it.” Bob is quick to offer you reassurance, almost as if he can read your mind. He adjusts the hat on his head, and his fingers sweep some loose golden blond hair up under the navy cap. You can’t help but watch, wondering if his hair is as soft as it looks. You’d bet it is. “I like the sound of your voice. It’s nice to listen to.”
You’re not quite sure if he’s flirting with you or genuinely that kind. It might be a mix of both. But it gives you some relief, and the two of you chat for a few more minutes before you hear Penny call out a greeting from behind you. You look towards the door to see that the rest of Bob’s usual company is walking in now. As usual, Pete makes a beeline for the bar top to say hello and shamelessly flirt with his girlfriend, while the others go off to claim a pool table and some seats nearby.
Bradley looks in your direction, very noticeable in a bright green and yellow Hawaiian shirt and ripped jeans, and then he nudges Natasha to look over at you as well. There’s a big grin growing from under his mustache and he does so, which isn’t too far from normal for him, but as he waves to you and Bob before grabbing a pool table, you can’t help but wonder if he’s behind the hour delay tonight. No, it couldn’t be. Bradley’s not sneaky enough to do anything like that.
But now that they’re here, you know that Bob is going to go and join them; that’s what he’s here for, after all, not to sit with you and let you talk his ear off all night. Not that you’d mind his company, though. You honestly would gladly give him this spot permanently, just to hear his laugh and see his pretty blue eyes behind the glasses that you were finding more and more attractive on him as the night progressed.
So you decide to do something bold, wanting to keep talking to him. You grab him a clean glass and, while he’s busy looking over and waving at the others, you grab a napkin and a pen from your apron to scrawl your name and number down. You fill the glass with club soda and lemonade, and place it in front of him with the napkin when he turns back around to look at you. He reaches into his pocket, presumably for his wallet, but you shake your head.
“Your drinks are on me tonight. As a thank you for being such good company,” you tell him, and once again his knuckles brush yours as he takes the drink and napkin from you. He thanks you, his voice soft, as he turns and heads over to where his friends and co-workers have gathered. He greets Natasha first, putting his drink down on the table she’s leaning against, and talking to her. Some of the others approach the bar top and you fetch them the drinks they request, making small talk for a few minutes before they head back towards the pool tables.
Bob and Natasha are still talking when you look back at them and he’s since grabbed a pool cue to play, but you see her look at his drink and the napkin you’d given Bob with it. She points at it, saying something you can’t hear. Bob walks back over to the table to look at it, while she takes his pool cue and starts playing against Jake.
You see Bob look down at the napkin, and then he’s pushing his glasses further up his nose and pinking it up to bring it closer to his face. Then he looks up and his big blue eyes meet yours from across the bar. He points at the napkin, and then at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s got a tightlipped, nervous smile on his face. You nod, and you can’t help the giggles that come out as his entire face lights up, his smile becoming more relaxed and you can see the pink flush that spreads across his cheeks under the warm orange glow coming in from the big windows in the back of the bar near the pool tables.
(And when you get a text message later on from an unknown number, one that identifies themselves as Lieutenant Robert Floyd who hopes he entered in the right number and is looking forward to speaking with you again, you can’t help but hope that next week the others get delayed as well)
summary: it's always been fun to flirt with jake, though you'd never cross the line to take you from friends to something more because while he flirts back, does he really mean it? well, bradley bradshaw decides this is something they're gonna rectify, and it definitely ends in your favour
pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x fem!reader
warning(s): language; references to alcohol
word count: 4.2k
notes: here is my very first attempt at writing tgm, and at writing hangman. this is all completely thanks to @katsu28 who has entertained all my tgm thoughts. this one's for you kait!! <3 also, there are a couple alternate endings for this one too 👀 if anyone wants to read them when they're finished or maybe have them turned into other fics, let me know!
...
Friday nights always seem to be the busiest nights at the Hard Deck. Or, well, they have been since you started working there.
It always seems to start getting packed not long after dinner time, usually by a good mix of civilians and members of the Navy who were stationed in Fightertown. A lot of them seemed to know Penny, especially the aviators. Penny had warned you about them when she gave you the bartending job; about their flashy smiles, their nicely styled yet somehow perpetually windswept looking hair, and all the trouble that comes with them. There’d been a fond smile on her face when she said that, so you were sure there was a story (or maybe many) behind her warnings.
It was on your very first Friday that you’d met Lieutenant Jake Seresin. Well, you’d actually met most of the Dagger Squad (which you’d been told was what they were called by Mickey after a few Fridays together), but it was Jake who stuck out to you the most. You’d be a liar if you said his sparkling green eyes and dimples weren’t attractive, and he absolutely had the confidence you’d expect from someone who flew million dollar planes for a living. The way he leant on the bartop, grinning at you as he ordered a beer and introduced himself was full of charm, and the slight southern drawl that curled his words drew you in immediately. But you didn’t let him know that; no, you pointed him to the back of the line of people waiting to order, and handed Bradley Bradshaw his drink instead.
That was the start of your friendship with Jake, and your infatuation with him. That part you keep to yourself, though. At first it was because you didn’t think it was anything other than a tiny crush, but then when that didn’t go away no matter what you did (or what Jake did). And then it was because he’d become a friend by that point, a familiar face and someone you enjoyed seeing and talking to, just like the rest of his squad of aviators, and you didn’t want to risk losing him like that. That’s what you told yourself, at least. Plus, the two of you had built up quite a fun back and forth with each other, all witty jokes and subtle flirting (on your end; Jake tends to flirt heavily with just about anyone) and you looked forward to it whenever you see the squad of aviators walk in the door.
This Friday night is no exception; they’ve been here for about an hour already, drinking and laughing and unwinding from the stress of the week. Bradley had told you earlier that one of the Admirals had a particularly large stick up his ass lately, and their squad in particular had been feeling the heat. Which meant they were keeping you busy, because Pete and some of the older aviators had commandeered Penny’s attention. Not that you were complaining, because you enjoyed talking to all of them and getting paid to do so.
Jake approaches the bar top on his own for the first time since arriving; he’s got a grin on his face as he leans his arm on the polished wooden surface closest to you. It’s early enough in the evening, not long after the bar had opened for the day, that it’s not very busy yet so you can give him your full attention while Penny chats with Pete and the patrons at the other end.
He’s wearing a soft-looking green button down shirt, with the top few buttons undone. The colour brings out his eyes, His sleeves are rolled up just above his elbows, and you can see the silver chain that holds his dog tags disappear further down past where his shirt buttons are undone. And while you can’t see it from where you’re standing, you’re sure he’s also wearing those jeans you know work absolute wonders for his ass—not that you’d ever tell him that, of course, because his ego is inflated enough already. But you might sneak a look later on.
“Hey darlin’, another beer for me on the sore loser,” he says by way of greeting, grin curling his lips up and showing off his dimples. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, and you peer over it to see Bradley standing back at the pool table the aviators had claimed. He’s wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt you’ve never seen before, and he’s got a defeated smile on his face. His shoulders are slumped and he’s leaning against the pool table as he catches you looking and waves. You wave back, smiling and winking at him before your attention turns back to the blond in front of you.
“You got it. The usual?” you ask, and he nods. You reach under the bar top to grab a bottle of Jake’s preferred beer, popping the cap off for him before you place it on the counter in front of him. “You won a game already? You haven’t been here that long.”
“I’m just that good at pool, darlin’.” Which is true; you know he’s beaten just about all of his fellow aviators, and you’d bet he’s hustled others at the Hard Deck too. Maybe even at other bars. Jake’s cocky, but unfortunately he’s got the skills to back up all his talk.
“Or maybe Bradley’s just that bad and you’re taking advantage of him.”
Jake doesn’t answer but he laughs as he reaches for his beer. His hand brushes yours as you hand him the bottle of beer, the pads of his fingers gliding over your knuckles and the back of your hand. His touch tingles, and you find your cheeks growing warm as those fingers trail electricity that fades all too quickly when he takes his beer. He holds eye contact with you for a beat too long before he’s winking and turning back towards Bradley and the others.
It was basically routine at this point. On Friday nights, the aviators would show up after they’ve finished for the day. Pete would find Penny, the two of them taking over one end of the bartop to flirt like they’re not in a bar full of people. The rest of them would come over to greet you, order their first round, and then either commandeer an open pool table, or grab a few tables to themselves to wait for one to open up. As soon as it did, they’d all take turns playing, with the losers buying the winners drinks. Jake tended to win more than he lost; and lately, he seemed to be winning against Bradley much more than he had before. Not that you kept track of that (except, of course, that you did).
The night goes on as the Hard Deck fills up, and you’re kept busy with the steady flow of customers that come your way. The aviators definitely keep you on your toes, and Bradley’s tab just keeps getting bigger as he continues to lose against Jake (and Natasha and Javy, you notice), and others keep buying rounds. You’re definitely happy with the tips you’re getting, though, and between you and Penny you manage to keep up with all the orders that just keep coming. Thankfully, though, it starts to get more steady than busy, and you’re thankful to start getting lulls between customers ordering drinks so you can do some cleaning. You begin wiping down the bar with a clean, wet rag from the bucket by your feet.
Bradley approaches the bartop, and up close you notice that his bright blue Hawaiian shirt is covered in magenta flowers, the colours almost too loud to look at. His cheeks are a little ruddy, and the top half of his shirt is unbuttoned and showing off the dogtags he’s wearing against his bare chest. His sunglasses are poking out of his shirt pocket, and he’s got a wide smile on his face as he places his hands in front of him on the slightly wet polished wooden surface. You stop wiping down the bar in case he’s here to get something from you, or maybe to close out his tab–though it’s a little early in the night for that.
He looks back over his shoulder towards where the others are, and you also look in that direction to see Jake staring at the two of you, a pool cue held in his hands and his brow furrowed. Mickey hoots, and sends you a thumbs up. You’re not sure what for, but his enthusiasm is sweet and you shoot him a thumbs up in return. Bradley looks back to you.
“You here for another round?” you ask, and his smile drops momentarily.
“No, I don’t think I want to add to my tab.” You pull it up, and then shake your head because no, he really doesn’t. Bradley grimaces and sighs, leaning forward towards you. “Actually, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I’m not ringing the bell on Jake just because he’s beating you at pool,” you warn him. “He’s got to earn it. Trick him into dropping his phone on the bar like a normal person.” Which Reuben had done with Bob last week, and you’d felt a bit bad for the bespectacled aviator but the rules are the rules. Bradley chuckles, and leans closer to you over the bartop.
“No, actually, Mav’s birthday is coming up and we wanted to do something for him and Penny. A surprise for the two of them” He looks behind you, seeing Penny and Pete where you know they’re decently close, and he gestures for you to lean forward. He moves his head next to yours, and starts whispering to you, wanting to keep this a secret. “We’re thinking about all chipping in and getting the two of them some kinda weekend away, maybe something fun in the city. D’you think you’d wanna get in on that?”
That’s definitely not what you were expecting, but your heart melts at the idea of being able to give your boss and her boyfriend a nice little vacation together. Penny’s been an amazing boss since you’ve started working for her, and you know how hard she works. She deserves this, for sure. “That is actually really sweet. Yeah, I’d be happy to do that for them.”
That’s when you hear Penny’s voice from behind you, startling you a bit. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you bothering my bartender?”
With a smile he probably thinks makes him look completely innocent, he moves away from your ear and answers her with a “No, ma’am!” and then wiggles his eyebrows at you before he turns and heads back towards the pool table. You watch him as you go, and you see when he gets back that Reuben slaps him on the shoulder while Natasha hands him her pool cue. Your eyes drift towards Jake, and you see him with a deep frown on his face, his pool cue leaning against the table as his arms are crossed over his chest. You can’t tell what he’s saying from this far away, but he’s moving up to get in Bradley’s face. Maybe the older aviator was actually supposed to get a round? You don’t know, but they’ll eventually work it out. They know if they start a fight in the bar that Penny will squash that real quick. Not that it wouldn’t be entertaining.
You resume your cleaning, gathering up some glasses that have been left on one side of the bar to put in the dirty dish bin to be washed later. An older man approaches the bar and asks for a whiskey neat, which you pour him, and he pays for it and thanks you before leaving. You put the bottle back in its place, and then all of a sudden Jake is standing in front of you.
“Hey, sailor. What can I get you?” you ask. You notice he’s not smiling like he normally would; his forehead is wrinkled and his eyebrows are furrowed as his green eyes look at you. His normally neatly coiffed blond hair is looking just a bit dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it and moving it out of its usual style. You start to worry when he doesn’t answer you; Jake is usually completely unbothered by anything, never being fazed and always taking things in stride. He’s always in control of every situation and every interaction he’s in. But that’s not how he’s looking now. Something’s got him looking almost frazzled, and it has you worried for him. You bite that worry down, though, as you watch him run a hand through his hair now.
“I need–” He sighs, shaking his head slightly. He takes in a deep breath before he starts again with, “Look, I need to talk to you. It’s important. Can we go somewhere private?” This is one of those nights you really wish that Jimmy was working, or that Penny had another bartender besides you because you really couldn’t just leave her alone before your shift was over. You pull your phone out of your pocket, checking the time.
“Uh, not right now, but I’m done in about an hour. Is that okay?” you ask, sliding your phone back in your pocket and looking at the aviator in front of you. He sighs, but not in an unkind way, and he nods. But there’s no wink, no smile, and no sign of his adorable dimples. You didn’t think you’d miss them as much as you did, but seeing him like this, with something bothering him, makes you realize that you’re kind of in over your head with him. “Are you okay, Jake?”
Jake nods again, letting his lips turn up slightly at the corners in a closed mouth smile. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” You’re stopped from answering when Mr Whiskey Neat comes back up for another drink and you reach down to grab the bottle. Jake nods at you, moving away from the bar top and heading in the direction of the bathrooms. “I’ll talk to you in an hour. Meet me outside, my truck’s farthest from the door.”
And then he’s gone and you’re pouring a drink, and you’re feeling confused, worried, and a little annoyed that your conversation had been cut short. What could Jake Seresin possibly need to talk to you about privately? And what exactly is bothering him? You only have the next hour to worry about it in your head, and you already know that’s not going to be fun.
The last hour of your shift goes by much too slowly for your liking, but as the minutes creep closer, you wish you had just a bit more time. You’re more than a little nervous to talk to Jake when it’s over; he’d closed out his tab with Penny while you’d been busy getting another round for some other customers, including Natasha and Bob, who were sharing secretive smiles as they chatted with you. Maybe there was something in the water at the naval base, or maybe all the stress of the week had really gotten in their heads. You weren’t sure which was worse.
But then you’re done, and it’s time to go talk to Jake, and you find yourself stalling on your way out. Penny must notice the change in your demeanor, because she stops you to ask if everything is okay before she lets you go.
“Was someone giving you a hard time?” she asks, keeping her voice low as you clock out. Your bag and coat are in the back room, which she gives you the key to, and you shake your head. “Pete can walk you out of here, if you need. Or I’m sure one of his squad would be more than happy to do that too.”
“I’m okay, Penny, I promise,” you assure her. You leave quickly to grab your things, and return to give her the key back.
“Text me when you get home!” You wave your hand to her, and then you’re leaving the Hard Deck and walking out into the cool night air. You pull your coat a little tighter around your body, walking towards the end of the parking lot. It takes a minute to see him in the dark, but Jake is leaning against the front of his truck when you spot him. He’s all the way at the far end of the parking lot just like he’d told you.
There aren’t too many cars left, and no one else is out and walking around so it’s just the two of you that you can see. He must see you coming because he pushes himself off of his truck and waits for you to get close enough before he greets you. The set of his shoulders is tense, and they’re up close to his ears. The smile on his face looks a little forced and you shift your weight between your feet as you look at him.
“What did you want to talk about? Seemed pretty important.”
He sighs, one hand coming up to tug at his hair. It shines even in the dingy, yellowed lights coming from the street lights set up in the parking lot, and you briefly wonder if it would feel as soft as it looks now, or if maybe it was crunchy with gel. You hoped it was soft. But that was not the point, and you push that thought away for now. “Look, whatever Rooster told you… just ignore him, okay? He’s drunk. I didn’t even drink half the beers I won off him, he did. He didn’t mean anything he said.”
Okay, now you’re confused. What did Bradley being drunk have to do with Pete’s birthday present? The mustachioed aviator hadn’t seemed that drunk when he spoke to you; you’d seen him absolutely shitfaced before, just once, and tonight was definitely anywhere close to that. You still mourned the t-shirt you’d been wearing that night, it had been one of your favourites. “Really? But I thought it was pretty sweet.”
That seems to irritate Jake, and he rolls his eyes. “But it’s not his business telling you that, he was just being an idiot. He’s a lightweight, and he’s probably puking on Bob’s shoes right now.” Now that was a funny image, and you hoped for Bob’s sake that Bradley throws up somewhere else and not on Bob’s shoes. You’d ask Natasha about that the next time you see her. “Rooster just thought he was being funny, is all. I wanted to make sure you knew that and make sure it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“It seems like it made you uncomfortable. Don’t even deny that you’re not! I can tell. I’m good like that.” He doesn’t take the opportunity to make a joke, or grin and wink at you like he normally would, which just served to bring your point home. You know he and Bradley can get under each other’s skin like no one else can, but this was a whole new level of grump.
But that’s when Jake comes out with it. “Of course it made me uncomfortable, him telling you that I like you like that! It wasn’t his business to do that.”
You’re not sure you heard him right. You blink, taking a moment to process his words. There’s no way you heard him correctly. He thinks Bradley Bradshaw told you, completely seriously, that Jake likes you. And that’s why he’s been acting so weird. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together now.
“Like me? What?” you ask, but you don’t give him time to answer. “Bradley didn’t say anything about you, he was telling me about Mav’s birthday present, asking if I wanted to pitch in for a trip for him and Penny.” Even in the dim light in the parking lot, you can see the colour drain from Jake’s face. His jaw even drops, just a little, as he stares at you. If you were thinking properly, you’d want to take your phone out and snap a photo of Jake Seresin, lost for words. You’d never seen it before. It was kind of cute. “You like me? As more than a friend?”
“No!” It comes out quickly, much too quickly, and you can hear the crack in Jake’s voice. It kicks your brain back into gear, and you feel a tingly warmth spread through your chest not unlike what you’d felt earlier when Jake’s fingers had brushed the back of your hand. It makes you almost giddy, the thought of Jake liking you like you like him. That you haven’t been pining over him and agonizing over whether it was worth ruining your friendship for nothing, and that his flirting had actually meant something. But you can’t resist teasing him about it, just a bit.
“Wait… so you don’t like me?” you ask, feigning disappointment–it’s hard, though, keeping the grin off your face as you do so. Jake shakes his head, taking a step closer and his hands coming out to hover in front of you, close but not actually touching you yet.
“No! No, I do like you!” Jake is so quick to backtrack, and you have to bring a hand up to cover your mouth to hide the smile and the laughter that’s threatening to come out. You think maybe that part of it is some sort of hysterical relief and joy at hearing Jake Seresin, Hangman, the most confident man you’d ever met, blurt out that he likes you like a child on a playground. God, you’ll never get over this, and this will absolutely be the story you’ll love to tell people when they ask how the two of you start dating. Which you know he’ll hate. But that’s something you’ll worry about later. Right now, you think Jake looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm and that would probably be counter productive. So you decide to throw him a bone.
“Well that’s good, seeing as I like you too,” you tell him, moving your hand away from your mouth to smile at him. That’s when you see his shoulders sag and the colour starts to come back to his face as he processes your words. And if you take that opportunity to confirm that yes, he is wearing those jeans that do wonders for his ass, well, that’s something you’ll keep to yourself.
“You do?” he asks when he finds his voice, and you nod. That’s when you see a smile break out across his face, and his dimples are back in full force.
“What, you think I flirt with just any aviator who comes into the Hard Deck?” That gets a laugh out of him, and you love the sound. It’s a real laugh, a rumble from deep in his chest, and you definitely want to hear that again. You hope you will.
“Well, I’m not just any aviator,” he confirms, walking just a bit closer. His hands are still out, and you reach out with one of yours to take his. They’re big, and warm, and the callouses rub against your skin in the best way. More tingles shoot up your arm, and you squeeze his hand with yours. “Then I guess it’s about time I ask you out, darlin’.”
“It’s not nice to leave someone hanging, you know.” He rolls his eyes. “Here, gimme your phone. We’ll trade numbers.” He digs his out of his pocket while you grab yours, and you unlock it and bring up your contacts for him. He does the same, and you enter your name and number before you hand it back. You see his name and number in yours. “I should get going so I can get home and text Penny before she sends out a search team. Call me!”
You get about five steps away before you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out, and see Jake’s name across your screen. You answer the call.
“So I was thinking I could take you out sometime. Does tomorrow night work for you?” he asks, his voice coming over the speaker and also from behind you. You laugh, nodding as you hold the phone to your ear.
“Tomorrow works just fine. What do you have planned?” you ask. You don’t turn around, but you can imagine him leaning back against his truck as he talks, watching you walk away. You hope he enjoys the view.
“Gotta leave some things a surprise. Just make it home safe, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.” You assure him that you will, because you really do want to get home because you know Penny really will send someone out to check on you if she’s worried. “Goodnight, darlin’.”
You hang up the phone, waving back over your shoulder as you leave the parking lot. You hear Jake’s laugh behind you, and it puts a spring in your step all the way home.
Yeah, you’re absolutely sure he’s gonna kick Bradley’s ass for forcing his hand, but you got a date with Jake Seresin out of this. You can’t wait for Saturday night.
rules: post a screenshot of your lock screen photo, a screenshot of the last/current song listened to, as well as the last photo of a celebrity that you saved in your phone.
no pressure tags! @sunshinesteviee @starryeyedstories @stevestummy @stevebabey
rules: post a screenshot of your lock screen photo, a screenshot of the last/current song listened to, as well as the last photo of a celebrity that you saved in your phone.
no pressure tags! @sunshinesteviee @starryeyedstories @stevestummy @stevebabey
being mutuals is like we’ve never talked but i saw your vent post and do you want me to kill that person for you. still won’t talk to you tho bc that is scary sorry. love you
hope everyone’s having a good night!! come chat about it while i’m writing? or tell me anything? i’ve missed u all so much and i wanna hear from you <3
“i wanna hold your hand” - excuses for your characters to hold hands
prompt list by @novelbear
"your hands are cold...let me warm them up for you."
taking advantage of the fact that they're walking through a crowded place and holding their hand so that they "don't get lost"
maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship
"something's on your finger. give me your hand, let me see.."
mentioning that they want to compare hand sizes
pinky promising over everything so that it's easier to naturally intertwine their fingers with the others'
"okay, but if i'm right then you have to hold my hand!" "that's not much of a punishment but alright babes, whatever you say."
"can you hold this for me?" "there's nothing in your hand." "exactly."
going in as if they're just innocently fiddling with the other's fingers, then trapping them about thirty seconds later
making the effort to find where their partner is and dragging them by the hand rather than just calling them over to where they wanted them in the first place.
"you need me to hold your hand so you can read the instructions?" "it helps me concentrate!"
grabbing onto the other's hand out of nervousness
slowly intertwining fingers while the other is driving
"they always hold hands and rub it in everyone's faces, i want us to look cute too!"
going on a rant about how much they love to hold hands, hoping that the other would take the hint and offer
baratheonpilled
areudirty
2087
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
