– In which a trip down to the San Diego Naval base to visit an old friend turns out to be more than a simple reunion, as the reader finds herself in the presence of an infuriating, cocky blonde and an old flame she thought had long fizzled out. –
Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader
Word Count: 2k
Contains: Bi!Natasha | Reader is old friends with Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Reader has a past with Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw” | Reader has a lot of feelings about Jake “Hangman” Seresin
Warnings: lots of angst/fluff, explicit language, references to drinking/alcohol & sexual activity
A/N: Here it is! Part four! Tag-list is at the bottom, go ahead and send me a message or reply to this post if you'd like to be added for future parts of this story. Most importantly, I hope you enjoy! <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader
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4:
You didn’t hear Natasha when she got home last night, your mind was too busy dreaming about Bradley. You haven’t dreamt about him in months. In fact, you’d just shaken that recurring dream where he shows up at your door, but when you run to him, eager to feel your body collide harshly with his, he disappears. All it took was last night's short reunion to bring him back to your dreamscape, placing him back at the center of your desires. However, this time when your subconscious conjured him, he was solid, his arms wrapping around your waist, his lips inches from yours.
You awake just as his lips pressed softly against yours, the sun streaming in through the little window above Natasha’s desk, casting shadows across the linoleum floor. You groan and flop onto your stomach, pulling the closest pillow over your head.
“You can’t be hungover,” Natasha jokes. You peek out from under the pillow, watching her do up the zipper of her flight suit. She turns from the small mirror inside the closet to face you, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed, coaxing the pillow off your head. Sighing, you kick the covers off your body and sit up. Her eyebrow quirks. “That’s not mine,” she observes, her eyes narrowing at the sweatshirt covering your torso.
“No, it’s not,” you agree. “It’s Bradley’s.” Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth, but you cut her off. “And before you ask, no, nothing happened. He just gave me a ride.”
“Uh huh, a ride,” she winks.
You shake your head, shoving her playfully as you rise from the bed, bending over to stretch your back. “I swear, it was just a ride in his pick up truck.”
“Be careful, if you get caught, you become a registered sex offender.”
You look up at her, your face void of any enthusiasm. She returns your stare with a smirk, winking. You roll your eyes and lunge forward to swipe your tennis shoes from their spot at the end of the bed.
“I’m going for a run, see you when I get back?”
She shrugs. “I’m flying a course with Bob, Payback, and Rooster all morning, part of the new training, so if not today, then tonight – Hard Deck?”
“Do you guys go anywhere else?”
“You wanted the full Top Gun experience, didn’t you?”
You just nod and wish her luck, quickly exchanging your pajama bottoms for running shorts, slipping your shoes on and heading out the door.
The run you planned was short lived on account of the finicky weather. Unlike the past few days, the early morning cloud cover never broke, the fog dense on the beach as you tried to push through it, the vapor soaking through your clothes. You wondered what might become of Natasha’s training as you made your way back to base, looking up for a sign of her, but there wasn’t a jet in the sky.
So, you wound up back near the common room, your foot inching over the threshold as you check both ways down the long hallway before committing your crime. The tension in your shoulders eases at the sight of the empty halls and you enter the quiet room, your stomach rumbling loudly. Shushing it, you wander over to the pantry, rummaging through it for something, anything.
“The rule breaker strikes again.” Hangman’s familiar voice echoes through the room. Before you get a chance to turn and address him, he’s at your side, one hand on the pantry door handle, the other lifting the cereal box you’d just picked from the shelf out of your hands. “And this time she’s after the Cheerios.”
“My tax dollars pay you, these are just as much mine as they are yours,” you snap, turning to face him. Heat rises to your cheeks at the sight of him, completely shirtless, a pair of black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His chest and abdomen are sculpted as if out of marble, every tan ripple and muscle on display for you.
A light chuckle brings you back to reality, your neck snapping back up to meet his gaze, a lazy smile on his lips. He’d caught you ogling. Shit. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself; you’ve done worse with him than this innocent stare. He’s gorgeous — he knows it, you know it, you could be adults about it. Even after your heated make out session.
You snatch the cereal box back from him and he takes a few steps back, leaning against the counter to watch you search for a bowl, a spoon, and some milk. Clattering around, you huff, finally locating everything you needed after a bit of fuss. It would be easier if this Adonis wasn’t watching your every move.
“Don’t you have anywhere else to be? Like, up in the sky?” you press, scooting him over with a flick of your wrist so you can assemble your breakfast.
He shakes his head. “Training’s been canceled. Bad weather.” Hangman walks around the counter and settles into one of barstools directly across from you. His green eyes bore into you, his smile still ever present, the sickening combination sending your heart racing. You do your best to ignore it and lift a spoonful of cereal to your lips, chomping on it harshly to distract yourself, forcing yourself to look away from him.
“So is the mood because you’re hangry or have you been left unsatisfied another night?” His lips curl around the word as he probes with his question, his eyes dropping to your sweatshirt.
“Why do you care?” you ask, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, settling into your right hip.
“Well, your mood is either going to improve in just a few minutes here,” he tips his head in the direction of your cereal bowl. “Or I’m going to have to offer my services and take matters into my own hands.”
Your choke on the milk in your mouth, shocked but not surprised at his forwardness. Swallowing, you meet his gaze and shake your head. “Why? Have you run through every other viable option here or what?”
He chuckles, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “I always have options, sweetheart. I just know you were having a good time with me the other night, I thought you might like to keep it going.” He raises an eyebrow, taking his lip between his teeth. God, he was relentless.
You groan, rolling your eyes. “Do you have an off button, Jake?” you mumble between bites.
His eyes light up, widening as his name falls from your lips. His smile shifts, lifting on the right, a smug cockiness settling in as he chews his bottom lip, his eyebrow raised. “So you do remember,” he winks.
His arrogance is almost too much to bear, his confidence boost palpable. He shifts in his chair, straightening up, flexing every muscle of his abdomen. You roll your eyes and turn away from him, placing your cereal bowl in the sink. He hums quietly, drumming his fingers against the countertop, awaiting a response.
You sigh. “Yes, fine, I remember.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to forget. No one can.” He lifts his knuckles to his lips, blowing on them and rubbing them against his chest. Cocky son of a bitch.
“Whatever, Hangman.” You walk out of the small kitchenette and cross the room to the couch, plopping down on the leather.
“Come on, I told you to call me Jake.” He spins around in the barstool, his eyes still on you.
“And I told you I was drunk. It’s never gonna happen, Hangman.” You look down at the sweatshirt you’re wearing and smile, looking back to him, eager to taunt him. “I think I’ll just keep collecting these while I’m here, it’s more fun that way.” You trace your fingers over the embroidered US Navy logo, humming.
Hangman’s eyes narrow, his mouth opening to say something. The sound of voices and laughter growing closer stops him, familiar faces pouring into the room. You make a pointed smile in his direction before turning to the commotion. Natasha and Bradley are bickering about something you can’t quite figure out. Some of the other guys you met last night at the Hard Deck – Bob and Payback – follow close behind them, commenting on whatever the argument was.
“All I’m saying is that when I say go, we have to go,” Natasha nags.
Bradley sighs loudly, nodding. “I know, I got it, next time.” You recognize that sigh, one of discontent, one he huffs to make his annoyance known. He clearly hadn’t retired it. He used it with you a few times, mostly when you asked him to put aside his obsessing over work for just one night.
Hangman crosses his arms, interjecting their conversation. “Rooster’s always been hesitant. It’s that kind of shit that gets you killed out there.”
You glance at him, not fully agreeing with his statement. Bradley had never been hesitant in all the time you’d known him. There was nothing hesitant about the way he loved you – or the way he left you behind. When he knew what he wanted, he’d drop anything for it. Including you. Pushing the thoughts aside, you look back to Rooster, his eyes locked on Hangman, a look of defiance in his glare.
“Hangman,” Bradley says, looking the man up and down with obvious distaste for his lack of public decency. Seems Hangman isn’t popular with most of the group and you couldn’t blame them. Bradley takes a step forward from where his friends linger by the door. “You look good.” His tone is dry, sarcastic, but Hangman runs with the lackluster comment. He rises from his chair, walking over to clap Rooster on the back.
“I am good, Rooster, I’m very good.” His eyes move from Bradley to where you sit on the couch, his smile stretching as his eyes drink you in. Bradley follows his gaze, smiling something soft at you before turning his eyes back on Hangman, all of the kindness draining from his face, scowling.
Bob mumbles something about their training, crossing the room to the kitchen and you mentally thank him for easing the tension in the room, everyone else joining in on the new topic of conversation. Natasha pushes past Bradley and sits down next to you on the couch, knocking Bradley out of his head and back to reality. Hangman returns to perch on his barstool, leaning back cooly against the counter, drinking in the commotion his simple comment caused.
Rooster waves him off and crashes into the pillow of the couch, his knee knocking into yours as he does so. You smile and he returns it, his eyes slipping down to his sweatshirt pooling around your body.
“Oh,” you exclaim, sitting up. “Here, you should take this back before I forget.” You slip your arms out of the sleeves and shimmy the fabric over your neck and shoulders, a chill running down your spine as you adjust to the new temperature. Your tank top gets caught as you undress, showing the smallest strip of naked skin that you quickly work to cover, tugging the top down at your sides. You feel eyes on you and you look around the room, your eyes connecting first with Bradley’s and then Hangman’s, his pupils dilating at the sight of you. It takes him a second, his mind working quickly as he watches you toss the sweatshirt to Rooster, the two of you exchanging a knowing glance.
You notice Hangman’s posture change out of the corner of your eye, his shoulders hunching, his hand instinctively moving to the back of his neck. He mashes his lips together in a harsh line. His eyes meet yours and you look away just as quickly, avoiding his gaze.
Rooster hums, turning your attention away from Hangman. He runs his fingers over the sweatshirt and hands the fabric back to you.
– In which a trip down to the San Diego Naval base to visit an old friend turns out to be more than a simple reunion, as the reader finds herself in the presence of an infuriating, cocky blonde and an old flame she thought had long fizzled out. –
Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Contains: Bi!Natasha | Reader is old friends with Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Reader has a past with Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw” | Reader has a lot of feelings about Jake “Hangman” Seresin
Warnings: lots of angst/fluff, explicit language, references to drinking/alcohol & sexual activity
A/N: Here it is! Part three (it's heavy on Rooster x Reader for this part)! Tag-list is at the bottom, go ahead and send me a message or reply to this post if you'd like to be added for future parts of this story. Most importantly, I hope you enjoy! <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2.
...
3:
Even in only the low light of the moon you know it’s him. Bradley. Your heart lifts as a sinking feeling settles in your stomach, your mind unsure of what to do or what to think. He slams the truck door shut roughly, giving the truck one swift, hard smack. The truck was – for lack of better terms – a piece of shit. It was on its last leg back when you were dating, or so you thought. It lasted him longer than you expected.
Whistling, he tucks his aviators into the small chest pocket of the pastel Hawaiian print shirt he’s wearing. The muted peaches and greens light up his tanned complexion even in the dark. His light brown hair is messier than normal, the short curls frizzy from the humidity of the night. He looks beautiful, of course, someone like Bradley never faltered in that department.
Part of you wants to run to him, but the logical part of you stops that idea from going any farther before it even has a chance to develop. As far as you know, he doesn’t know you’re here. You can only imagine his reaction if you popped up out of nowhere after a year and a half on his home base. He never looked back after the breakup, never reached out, never checked in. It was obvious that he didn’t think about you as much as you did him.
You slip around the corner of the building, not wanting to be found. Things would be easier that way. A perfect plan. Well, almost perfect.
It’s hard to make anything out at night, especially the two tin trash cans behind the bar. You knock into them, the metal clattering loudly as one tips over into the other, glass bottles spilling out onto the deck.
“Of course,” you grumble to no one, tossing your hands up towards the sky in exasperation. Just, perfect. You think about running, leaving the mess behind, but you can’t. You could blame it on some raccoons, but your guilty conscience would never recover. Cursing, you bend down to pick up the bottles, scooping them up in your arms.
Footsteps grow closer, Rooster’s listless whistling coming to a stop. His head peers around the corner, his eyes widening at the sight of you. He calls your name out into the night, picking up his pace to a slow jog, closing the space between you.
The sound of your name on his lips, the way his mouth wraps around each syllable with such ease even after all this time, makes your heart flutter and sends a signal to the back of your knees, making you weak. You lock your knees, clear your throat, and toss the bottles into the still standing tin, smoothing the front of your blouse. Rooster stops just in front of you, his breath rolling out into the clear night, all of his striking features coming into focus.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his eyes scanning your face. He looks down, taking in the sight of you standing before him, almost unsure if what he’s seeing is real.
“Natasha invited me out for a bit, we haven’t seen each other in a long time.” Your eyes move across his face and down his body with the same ferocity, worried he might just dissipate into the night, as if he’s a mirage.
Rooster nods, swallowing. “You could say the same for us.”
“Yeah, I – uh – was worried I’d run into you at some point. I thought about calling to warn you.” You let out a light laugh, hoping it would ease some of the tension or make him smile. It doesn’t.
“You should’ve.”
“You wouldn’t have answered.”
“You don’t know that.” His eyes soften as he speaks.
“Come on Bradley, it’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair, we don’t have to do this,” you gesture at the space between you with your finger. “You should go, your friends are waiting for you. I’m headed back anyways.”
He glances down at his watch, knitting his brow together. “Already? A little early for you, if my memory serves.” He looks back at you, a small smile crawling across his lips. There it is. You push down the feeling of heat rising in your cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest. No. You won’t fall for it again.
“I’m a guest, I have to be on my best behavior. Wouldn’t want to stand in anyone’s way of rising up through the ranks. Wouldn’t want to be a distraction.” The word tastes bitter as you say it, but it’s too late to take it back. His face contorts, twisting up with hurt. You know it’s a low blow.
He sucks his teeth and nods, feeling the sting of your words. You watch him think over his next move, the deafening silence threatening to overtake the sound of the waves crashing on the shore nearby. His eyes glint under the moon, the low light turning them from deep brown to a sparkling amber. He sighs.
“I can catch up with everyone tomorrow. Let me drive you back.”
“I don’t know, do you think she can make it any further?” you tease, referring to his truck. He laughs softly and you’re surprised he hasn’t reeled back from you yet. Maybe he’d been wishing for a moment like this, too. Despite the awkward start, it feels natural – normal – to banter with him again.
“Come on, she still runs like a dream. Get in and you’ll see.” He pulls his keys from his pocket, jangling them in the space between you. The tinkling metal sounds almost hopeful.
You want to say no, but he’s here – in front of you – something you never thought would happen, only hoped. So you don’t. You follow the pull of your heart, ignoring your mind yelling at you: no, no, no.
The drive back to base is mostly quiet, neither one of you sure of what you want to say. It feels nice though, the silent familiarity. You watch him from the passenger seat, being careful to keep him in your periphery, not wanting to turn yourself to him and expose your desire to just drink him in unabashedly. His right hand rests firmly on the stick shift, while the left has a loose grip on the steering wheel, his fingers drumming a makeshift beat against the sunbaked leather. You remember when his hand used to rest on your thigh instead, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin. You hum at the memory, catching his attention, his eyes slipping from the road to you for half a second.
The summer night breeze blows through the windows, blowing your hair in all directions, that evening chill settling into you.
“You cold?” Bradley asks.
You shake your head, teeth chattering.
“Well that’ll give you away,” he taunts. He shifts in his seat, reaching behind himself in search of something. A few seconds later he turns up with a sweatshirt and holds it out to you. “Here.” He sets the bundle of fabric in your lap.
“Really, I’m fine,” you insist. “We’re almost back, I can wait and borrow Natasha’s.”
“Just put on the damn sweatshirt,” he sighs.
You roll your eyes and slip the fabric over your head, the sweatshirt pooling around you, the sleeves dangling past your fingertips. You snuggle into the soft cotton blend, the familiar woodsy scent of his cologne mixed with the spice of his deodorant wafts around you, delighting your senses.
“Better?”
“Mhmm,” you hum, breathing him in.
“Don’t get any ideas about stealing it, I really like this one,” he glances at you, “almost as much as the one I know you still have.”
“That jacket may or may not have been burned in a beach bonfire a couple of months ago.”
“Shit, I was hoping I could get that one back.”
“Too little, too late Bradshaw.”
He groans, the truck lurching to a stop as he pulls up in front of the building. He shifts the gear into park and cuts the engine, leaning back, his head hanging lazily as he turns to face you. His eyes light up at the image of you in his sweatshirt, damn, he missed that view.
You start to take the jacket off, slipping your arms out of the sleeves, but he stops you, placing a hand on your bicep.
“What? You want this one back, don’t you?” you mock, looking up at him.
“Just, keep warm for now.”
“Okay,” you say slowly, studying his face for an explanation. You come up short, unsure of what he’s really thinking. “Thanks.”
There’s a beat of silence before you unlock the passenger side door and push it open, reaching back to unbuckle yourself, stepping out of the truck in one swift motion. Rooster just watches you, his head hanging low, his lips parted as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Well, goodnight.” You shut the door and smile, turning on your heel towards the building.
“Hey, wait,” he shouts out the open window. You spin around, meeting his gaze, your chest lifting, that all-too-familiar feeling of hope fluttering in your stomach. “It’s good to see you, thanks for letting me drive you back.”
“Thanks for the ride, Bradshaw.” You return his smile. “And the sweatshirt,” you taunt, pulling at the fabric. He shakes his head. You spin back around and wave him off, the sound of his laugh muffled as his engine roars back to life.
