– 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: 3.5k
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: angst ahead ya'll, explicit language | italics indicate a flashback |
A/N: Part nine! I'm sorry this took so long for me to post, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! 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. Special shoutout to @thebeautifullydamnedone for helping beta & run through ideas with me! Also I hope you all forgive me for this lol <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or 5. Or 6. Or 7. Or 8. 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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9:
The Hard Deck is packed, not unlike any other night, but tonight the air is electric. Whoops and hollers bounce off the walls, mixing with the music, men and women shouting to one another. You smile, basking in the warmth of the room as you push past bodies towards the mass of khaki uniforms in the familiar back corner of the bar.
Natasha’s eyes light up as you emerge from the crowd, her smile stretching from one ear to the other. She drops the pool cue in her hand and throws her hands in the air, running to you. It’s a warm embrace, the scent of her floral perfume swirling around you. You missed her. You missed this, of all things, being in this bar surrounded by khaki uniforms and classic rock music. The rest of the guys – Payback, Fanboy, and Bob – swarm you next, pulling you in and out of hugs. You’re happy to see them, happy the mission was a success; that it brought them all back home.
Someone hands you a beer and you smile, tapping your bottle against theirs. A hand snakes around your waist, tugging you in for a hug before you have a chance to knock bottles with the rest of the team. Laughing, you breathe in the scent of Bradley’s familiar cologne. He’s solid beneath you, his arms squeezing you tightly, your breath catching in your throat as you try to exclaim.
He releases you after a moment and you finally get a chance to take him in. He looks the same: it had only been two weeks since you saw him – any of them. He looks refreshed, happy to be here, happy to have the pressure of the mission lifted from his shoulders. Smiling, he taps his beer bottle to yours and you both take a drink, your eyes holding one another’s gaze.
“I told you I’d see you here,” you say, swallowing your mouthful of beer. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“It’s good to be back,” he sighs.
You thought that maybe seeing him here tonight might be too much, even though the last time you spoke was entirely amicable. You love him. He loves you. That would be a constant for you. It just can’t be. It won’t be, and that’s okay. Being here with him now, seeing him again, is just the same as seeing Natasha and the rest of the pilots: you’re simply happy they’re safe. Besides, it’s not Bradley you left on bad terms with. It’s not your conversation with him a couple of weeks ago that haunts you.
“Bradshaw!” an older man sitting at the bar shouts. Bradley tears his gaze from you to nod at the man, laughing as he waves him over. “Come here, I’ve been telling Penny all about you.” Bradley shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, placing his hand on the small of his back to pass by you.
“Good to see you, Bradley” you whisper as he moves through the crowd. You watch him as he moves between the bodies of the room and you scan the faces of each person he passes, your subconscious searching for the one person you’ve yet to find. Blonde hair. Piercing green eyes. That cocky, lop-sided, Ken doll smile. Any piece of him.
Sighing, you return to the group, your heart settling itself into its familiar home somewhere between your chest and your stomach. You hoped you’d find him here tonight: it was part of the reason you came at all. You wanted to apologize, to explain that what you did – leaving him that night – was wrong. To tell him that every moment you were apart, he consumed your every waking thought. You felt awful, leaving him like that before the biggest mission of his career and it killed you not knowing how he felt. It was, perhaps, your biggest regret. But, he clearly didn’t want to see you; not now and not then.
“Jake, come on,” you beg, banging your open palm against his bedroom door. “Open the door. Please.”
The silence is deafening as it consumes you, swallowing you from all sides. There’s not even a rustle of movement behind the door and somehow, that’s worse than anything. It hurts more knowing he was already so set in his decision against you. Knowing that you’d fucked up everything in a matter of minutes, all because you’d been so desperate to see Bradley. If there was an inkling that Jake might still be deciding, that he was still making up his mind – the soft echo of footsteps as he paced the floor of his room or the jostle of the door handle – you could cling onto some sort of hope he might forgive you. But it’s just silent.
It’d been hours since you left him. You lost track of time with Bradley, a habit you never really kicked. When you left the air hangar, you searched everywhere: The Hard Deck, the common room, the beach, but he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t help that he apparently hadn’t told anyone where he’d gone, Omaha and Coyote could only shrug their shoulders and offer blank stares when you asked them. It was hopeless, so you returned to the last place he might be, but now the idea he’d holed up in his room feels foolish.
Steadying yourself, you wrap one hand around the door handle and push down, your heart thumping roughly against your ribcage as the cool metal clicks, the door opening.
“Jake?” you ask, stepping through the frame. You half expect to see him curled up in his bed, his back turned to you, but the bed is empty, still unmade. You spin around, your eyes catching every detail of the room: the photos of him and his family on the dresser, his sunglasses on the desk, and his sweatshirt draped over the edge of bed. You step towards it and run your fingers across the material, smiling at the memory.
“So now do I get to turn you in for trespassing?”
You jump at the sound of his voice, strained as he catches his breath. He doesn’t wait for you to turn around, moving into the room with a seemingly unaffected confidence. Brushing your arm, he moves towards the dresser in front of you, tugging a drawer open. Your breath catches at the sight of him and you swallow hard, suppressing the desire bubbling inside at the vision of him shirtless, a pair of dark gray running shorts hung low on his hips.
“The door was unlocked,” you reason, taking a step towards him. “I was looking for you.”
He nods slowly, pulling a shirt out from the drawer and slipping it on in the same second. He turns to face you now, leaning against the dresser, his arms crossed.
“I was out for a run.”
“You went for a run in the middle of the night?”
“I needed to clear my head,” he asserts. His words are short, his tone sharp, just as yours were to him mere hours ago.
“Look, Jake, I’m sorry, I-”
“Hey, I get it. You’re right. It was a good night.”
“Wait, Jake, no,” you stammer, closing the space between you in one last step. Your hand brushes his arm, practically begging him to relax, to undo his arms and take you into them. You knew he had something he wanted to say to you and you needed to know, even if you had to physically pry it out of him. Or, perhaps after you abandoned him, that desire to share his feelings with you vanished into thin air. You look up at him, scanning his face for something you could decode, but he’s unreadable. His eyes avoid yours, looking past you rather than at you, his bottom lip curled up into an expressionless line.
“Can’t we talk about this?”
“I don’t know what else there is to talk about,” he sighs, shaking his head. “You’re the one who said it. You’re the one who left me tonight to go see your ex!”
You open your mouth to argue, but stop yourself. He’s right. You’d done those things and you did them without a second thought about how they’d make Jake feel. You owe it to him to hear him out, to give him space to breathe, to think it over and figure out how he feels. He’d given you that, even if it wasn’t his choice.
Jake groans, uncrossing his arms to rake a hand through his hair roughly, ruffling the soft blonde strands. Drifting from the dresser to the bed, pushing past you, he heaves a rather heavy sigh, his eyes finally landing on you. That familiar thread wraps itself around your heart and pulls gently, encouraging you to follow suit and plop down onto the bed next to him, but you ignore it, knowing Jake deserves his space. It’s not the time for selfishness.
“Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. And I’m glad you came back. I don’t know what happened between you and Bradley tonight and I don’t want to.” He drops his head, his hands clasped together loosely between his knees. You watch as his thumb rubs small circles into his skin, working to soothe himself. He takes another breath. “But I think we should leave it. At least for now. I-I can’t be a second choice.”
No, no. He’s not the second choice, he never has been. A heaviness settles in your chest knowing what you’ve made him feel. You suck in a breath.
“Jake, I-” you start, taking a step towards him.
“Plus, with the mission coming so soon, I can’t…” he looks back up at you, his green eyes surrounded with red; you’re not sure if it’s exhaustion, stress, or tears. “I can’t do this. We have to be so focused right now and I just-”
You shake your head, lifting your gaze from him to the ceiling. It’s suddenly no different than before. The pilot doesn’t matter, nor does the timing or the connection or the feelings. It’s all the same. Sniffling, you just nod, choking back tears. He’s cleared his head. He’d come clean.
“If that’s what you want, Jake.”
There’s not much you remember after that. The sting of the conversation, the chill of his words and his nonchalance numbed you from the inside out. The gap in your memory from your last words to your departure the following morning haunts you, even still. It’s probably for the best that you don’t remember, though, Natasha’s retelling of that night doesn’t paint a pretty picture. Despite your leaving the day before their mission, you secretly hoped Jake might change his mind, that he might try to come find you, but he didn’t. You couldn’t blame him; it would be selfish of you to ask that of him or even assume it to be possible. But still, there persists that part of you that just wishes to be chosen, fervently, in spite of the uncertainty of life, no matter how unrealistic that fantasy might be.
“Hey, are you okay?” Natasha asks, leaning in, her lips near your ear. You turn to her, emerging from your head back into the room. Nodding, you smile, pushing the last memory of Jake from your mind.
“Of course, I’m great.” you mumble.
Natasha glances around the room then back to you. “You’re still a shit liar, you know that, right?” She has a way of seeing right through you. It’s a blessing and a curse. Setting down your beer on the edge of the pool table, you sigh.
“I just hoped that maybe Jake would be here.”
“Yeah,” she sighs, “me too.”
Your brow furrows and you look at her, a question in your gaze, hoping she’ll continue to explain herself. She shrugs and takes another drink of beer.
“Tash, do you know something I don’t?”
She hums, shaking her head. “If I knew where he was I’d tell you.” Holding up her right hand, she crosses it over her heart, “scouts honor.”
“I’m going to choose to believe you,” you smile.
“Even if he was here,” she starts, “do you think you could handle seeing him again?”
You shrug your shoulders, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider her question.
“I don’t think I could handle not seeing him again,” you say. “There’s already too much left unsaid, you know?”
Natasha just nods, her hand instinctively moving to your hair, tucking a stray piece back behind your ear as she combs through the strands with her fingertips. It’s the same motion she repeated over and over in an attempt to comfort you the night Jake called things off while you laid sniffling in her lap late into the night.
“He hates me,” you cry, tucking your head farther into your sweatshirt. Ironically, it’s the one Bradley left you with, yet the familiar scent of his cologne doesn’t work its usual magic in calming you down.
Natasha clicks her tongue, running her fingers through the ends of your hair with one hand, the other passing you tissues as you need, your near constant flow of tears disintegrating the soft paper in seconds.
“He doesn’t hate you.”
You lift your head from her lap and she smiles softly at you, apprehension in her eyes as she takes you in – a snively, red-nosed, teary-eyed mess. You dab the tears at your eyes with the sleeve of Bradley’s sweatshirt and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with air. You feel awful to burden Natasha with this, especially when she’s exhausted, but she refused to let you drive home. Apparently this was the most “together” you’d been in hours. The only thing you remembered was rushing to the bathroom after leaving Jake and sliding to the floor, praying there was no one else around to hear your sobs. When Natasha found you an hour later, you’d assumed full-fetal position: not your proudest moment, but definitely your most dramatic. You’d never been one to handle rejection well and something about it coming from Jake – after your heart had chosen him – was a deeper cut than you could’ve imagined. It seems as though no matter who you choose, you weren’t chosen in return. There was always something in your way.
“I left him for Bradley, of course he hates me. Or, he thinks I hate him, which is worse. H-he thinks he’s my second choice or that we won’t survive the mission and I didn’t even get to say –”
“Hey,” Natasha coos, taking your hand between hers. Her skin is warm and soft, reassuring. “He just needs a second to think is all, give him some time. He’ll come around.”
“I don’t think so Tash,” you say, wiping your nose on yet another tissue. Your eyes connect with hers as you sigh. “I fucked up.”
“We all fuck up, it’s a part of life.” She releases your hand and exhales a gentle breath, “so we have to learn to give ourselves some grace. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”
“Come on,” Natasha nods, smiling to herself as she notices you come back to her and to the present moment. She points at the open pool table across the bar. “Would kicking Bradshaw’s ass at pool help distract you?”
“Maybe,” you sniffle, knocking hips with her.
The night went better than you expected. Whether it was the continuous flow of beer, the somehow superb shuffle of music coming from the jukebox, or the hilarious retellings of the same stories from each pilot’s point of view, you weren’t sure, but they all mixed together to help mend your broken heart and easily distracted mind.
On the drive back home, you only thought about Jake once, maybe twice. When Bradley sang his praises earlier in the evening, raising a glass to him for saving his and Maverick’s lives on their most recent mission, crediting him with a second air combat kill, you could basically see him before you, his smug smile prominent. He’d run his tongue along his perfectly white teeth and wink, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t his proudest accomplishment, but something he did on the regular. A month ago, that smile would’ve sent your eyes rolling, but tonight, your heart yearns to witness it even just one more time. Your heart aches at the notion that you weren’t able to congratulate him. It seemed unlike him to miss a night like this and especially a chance to gloat in front of his friends, but you pushed the questions aside, choosing to focus on the moment happening before you instead.
When you arrive home, you send a message off to Natasha, assuring her that you’d made it home safely and thanking her for the night out. It’s much quieter here, in your small seaside neighborhood than on-base. On most nights, you’re grateful for the silence and the gentle chorus of crickets in the distance, but tonight it does anything but comfort you. It’s easier for your mind to wander here in the silence. Brushing thoughts of Jake aside, you trot up to the front door and unlock it, slipping through the door frame and tucking out of your shoes and jacket with ease.
Sighing, you flick on the lights and head towards the kitchen, hoping a glass of water might help cure the alcohol-induced headache beginning to knock at the base of your skull.
Your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your jeans, startling you. Assuming it’s Natasha reacting to your last message with some kind of emoticon, you fish it from your pocket and flick open the messages. Your heart lifts at the sight of Bradley’s contact photo at the top of the screen.
Bradley: Hey! Just checking in. Are you okay?
Exhaling a sharp breath, you look between the message and the floor, unsure of what he means. You type a message back quickly, working to reassure him. Though, you’re not sure what kind of answer he’s looking for; or why he’s asking.
You: Yeah, I’m fine!
Bradley: Well, that was super convincing.
You didn’t think anyone else other than Natasha picked up on your mood tonight. In hindsight, it was foolish to assume Bradley – of all people – wouldn’t notice. After all, he was the only other person who knew about your feelings for Jake, even if you never told him directly.
You: What can I do to convince you?
Bradley: You just didn’t seem quite yourself tonight – you didn’t even gloat when you beat me at pool.
You: That’s because I felt bad for you!
Bradley: I just want to make sure you’re okay, is all…with everything that’s happened.
A tinge of pain strikes your chest followed closely by a swell of emotion soothing it over. Whether he knew what happened between you and Jake or not, it’s nice to know he cares for you. And you’re not lying, you really are okay. You tap your way across the screen, halfway through composing your next message when the chime of the doorbell echoes through the house, capturing your attention.
You glance up at the time on the microwave, it’s nearly midnight. Your doorbell almost never rings; if it does, you rarely answer, choosing to stand behind the door instead, watching intently through the peep-hole until the visitor finally gives in and walks away. Something about tonight feels different, though, your heart racing in anticipation rather than your usual Pavlovian response of fear or annoyance at the sound.
Pushing yourself off the counter, you continue typing as you make your way towards the front door.
You: Wait…where are you right now?
It’s stupid to assume it might be Bradley behind the door, but somehow, it wouldn’t surprise you. He’d often show up unannounced when you were together with either a bottle of wine or take-out from your favorite restaurant he picked up after a full day of training. It was his favorite way to apologize for not being around and it was your favorite way to see him: Rosé in one hand, California Rolls in the other, topped off with a playful smile and deep brown, apologetic eyes.
Sighing, you traipse into the entryway and unlock the door, not bothering to spy through the peep-hole. You check your phone one last time, worried you might have missed a notification, but there’s still nothing back from Bradley.
You tug the door open, your eyes landing on a familiar, tall figure. The full image of him comes into view as your eyes adjust to the darkness, but it doesn’t take long for you to recognize the silhouette: the one you hadn’t been able to shake from your mind for the past month. His cutting jawline is on display for you as he lifts his chin from the ground up to you, his green eyes connecting with yours as he sucks in a breath.
“Jake?” you ask, breathless.
His face brightens under the gentle glow of your porch light at the sound of your voice, his lips lifting into that heart stopping smile.
Hi friends! I thought I would make a masterlist of every HeartFirst chapter to make it easier to navigate for first time readers & those of you who might want to go back & re-read. Below you will find the series summary & warnings, links to each chapter, as well as other links related to the HeartFirst series (such as playlists, etc.)
Thank you for loving on this story & happy reading (or re-reading) <3
...
Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader
Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader
Series Summary: 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.
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: explicit language, references to drinking/alcohol & sexual activity
...
HEARTFIRST:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Bonus Chapter: "Muscle Memory"
...
Links, Etc:
Rooster x Reader Playlist
Hangman x Reader Playlist
Read on Ao3
Read on Wattpad
Look at this cute little graphic I made! This is what I imagine HeartFirst would look like if it wasn't in your computers and was on a bookstore shelf instead :')
– 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: 3.3k
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 this time around ya'll, explicit language, references to drinking/alcohol & sexual activity
A/N: Part seven! Omg! 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! Also hope you forgive me for the angst here lol <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or 5. Or 6. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader
...
7:
The room is dark when you wake. You’re not sure what time it is; whether you’ve been asleep for hours or mere minutes. You shift under the covers, or, you try to. You’re locked in place, something heavy draped over your torso. Lifting your head off the pillow, you see Jake splayed out, his arm wrapped tightly around your middle, your back pressed against Jake’s chest, his head inches from your own, his mouth hanging open as he breathes.
Shit.
You shimmy underneath him, trying to wiggle free from his grasp. You could get out of here and back to Natasha before anyone woke. Sighing, you kick your leg out from underneath the covers and over the edge of the bed, hoping it might give you some leverage to escape Jake’s grasp. Straining, you feel Jake’s arm constrict around you. He stirs, humming to himself as he tugs you back into him. Escaping, turns out, is easier said than done.
“Hangman,” you breathe, moving your hand to where his rests on your stomach, pulling at his fingers. “Let go.”
A loud sigh fills the room followed by a yawn. He shifts his weight but keeps his grasp on you. Rolling your eyes, you take another deep breath. You move under the covers and under his arm, turning over onto your other side to get a look at him. His eyes are still closed, feigning sleep, but there’s a smug smile on his lips. It’s only then when you realize how close your face is to his, your nose an inch or less from touching his.
“Jake, come on, let go.”
“Can’t. Too comfy. Too early,” he groans.
“I, uh, have to pee,” you lie.
He chuckles lightly and loosens his grip on you, giving you just enough room to slip out from underneath him and out of the bed. Jake sighs and stretches out, his muscles flexing under the covers, his eyes on you in the morning darkness. Shivering, you tug on the pants you left on the floor the night before, doing up the zipper and button. You collect your t-shirt and bra, sliding out of Jake’s sweatshirt and into both of them. The last thing you needed was to be caught in another pilot’s sweatshirt; wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. Laughing to yourself you fold the sweatshirt and lay it across the foot of the bed, catching Jake’s eyes as you do so. He looks as if he might say something, might ask you why you changed or might offer to let you keep it, but he only yawns.
Your eyes connect one last time before you leave the room, stepping out into the hallway.
The clock inside the common room catches your eye as you pass by – 3:47am.
Natasha and the rest of the pilots would be up in a couple of hours for training. You consider heading back to her room but think better of it, knowing she’d need her sleep to get ahead of the hangover she’d definitely have in the morning. Besides, she’s under the impression you’re with Bradley. If only she really knew where you’d been, how the night progressed for you. Shaking your head you cross into the common room – a place you found yourself all too often and the epicenter of virtually all of your problems – and snuggle into the couch. You tug the throw blanket draped over the back of the leather down onto your lap and exhale, throwing your head back over the edge of the couch.
Your eyes fall shut, the empty room disappearing, images of Jake flooding your mind. The subtle rise and fall of his chest as he laid in bed this morning, the feeling of his arm draped around your torso and the way it sent the butterflies in your stomach fluttering. His soft blonde hair messy against the pillow as he turned onto his side, his cocky yet reassuring smile as he handed you his sweatshirt. The way his face softened when he opened up to you, listened to your past. Fuck, Hangman.
The vision of his lush, spring green eyes is the last thing you remember.
Radio static disrupts your image of him, the vision of Jake dissipating before you as you reach out for him, your mind waking, your body coming back to life. The noise continues, echoing through the little common room, voices coming in between the static popping.
Sitting up, fighting off sleep, you glance around the room, your eyes landing on a small, industrial looking radio sitting on a side table in the corner underneath the large bay windows overlooking the tarmac. The radio pops and cracks one last time before the voices on the other end come through loud and clear.
“Rooster, jesus, what the fuck were you thinking?” A man’s voice you don’t recognize comes through first, but your heart sinks at the mention of Bradley. Your eyes flicker to the clock – 8:52am. Flight training.
“Are you trying to get us killed?” Natasha’s exasperated voice echoes through the room next. You can tell she’s exhausted. They all are. It’s clear that tensions are high.
“You told me not to think, Mav!” Bradley shouts, his voice crackling as it comes through the speaker.
“Same old Rooster,” Hangman cuts in, scoffing. “Can’t commit. Not to the mission, not on the ground.”
You suck in a breath, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and traipsing over to the radio. Looking out the window, you turn your face to the sky, wondering if you might see them, but the sky is empty. Something pulls at your chest and you wonder, for a moment, if the tug is from Bradley or Jake.
“Do you have something to say, Hangman?” Bradley’s voice cuts in again and you turn back to the radio. You can imagine the look on Bradley’s face now as he speaks, that defiant scowl present on his brow.
“Keep making your mistakes, Rooster. They only benefit me in the end.” You can hear the smugness in Jake’s voice, practically see his one-sided, prideful smile.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Lieutenant, enough,” the unfamiliar voice warns.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Fail this training and I get your spot on the mission. Keep fucking up on land, too, and you’ll just push your girl right into me instead.”
Your stomach drops as Jake speaks. The way he’s using last night, everything you told him about your past with Bradley, to mess with his head doesn’t sit well with you. You don’t like being leveraged. Not as you were just beginning to think Hangman could be more than his callsign. Not when you were just starting to like him. Or, rather, admit to yourself that you like him. It’s a punch to the gut, but a confirmation more than anything else – Hangman was just as cocky and self-serving as everyone made him out to be. Callsigns ring true.
“You son of a bitch,” Bradley sneers.
“Lieutenant, I said enough.”
“He’s not cut out for this mission. You know it. You know I’m right.”
“You’re all dismissed.”
The radio clicks off in the next second, dead air filling the room. You sink down to the floor by the window, tugging the blanket closer to your body, exhaling loudly. This is exactly what you didn’t want. You wanted to be here for Natasha, see her again, have a little bit of fun. You didn’t expect any of this, to become a distraction again, Bradley already loathed you for that. Sure, Bradley fucked up, you’re upset with him, but his silence over the radio is deafening. If you know him, you know he’s beating himself up right now, going into self-defense mode, throwing himself deeper into work as a way to escape, desperate to prove himself. And Jake. Fucking Jake. It was stupid, to have wedged yourself between the two of them, even if it was all accidental. Even if somewhere, in that accident, you’d developed feelings you couldn’t name but wanted to follow. Not anymore, though.
You had to leave. It wouldn’t do any good to stay, it’s not your place. It was a mistake to stay as long as you did, to pretend like everything was normal in the midst of some of the most intense training of these pilots' lives. It was selfish, really, to assume you could be at the center of all of this. You’d collect your things and bow out before things got worse, you’d let Bradley and Jake make amends and refocus on their shared mission. They’d train, complete whatever this mission required, and make it back alive, that’s what really mattered.
You’d have left earlier if it weren’t for Natasha. You couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to her, not after you’d just rekindled your friendship and certainly not after she’d put up with everything you’d done during your few short days here. It didn’t take long to pack your things: after all, you hadn’t come with much to begin with.
“Hey, there you are! How was last night?” Natasha sings as she rounds the corner into her room. Surprisingly, she’s smiling and you wonder if it’s genuine or an act she’s putting on not knowing you’d heard how tense this morning’s training really was. Perhaps she’s truly excited to hear about your night. Too bad that was a disappointment, too. Her smile quickly fades as she stops at the foot of her bed, a few steps from you, taking in the scene before her. Your duffle bag is stuffed to the brim, the zipper done up sitting on the bed beside you. Her eyes flicker between you and the bag, her brow furrowed. “You going somewhere?” she asks.
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna head home a couple days early.”
“What? Why?” She shakes her head and closes the space between you, sitting down next to you. Her eyes widened. “Did something bad happen last night with Rooster?”
“No,” you sigh. “Well, yeah, but that’s not why I can’t stay. I just think it’s a bad idea for me to be here right now. You guys are so busy with training and I’m just a distraction, it’s not fair for me t-”
“Who said you’re a distraction?” Natasha interrupts. “I love having you here! I’m sure the guys do too.”
You hold a hand up and shake your head. Time to come clean. “Tash, I heard Jake and Bradley on the radio this morning in the common room.”
Natasha exhales a breath, humming in partial understanding. She nods, knowing you knew tensions were high. She no longer has to pretend. You continue.
“Last night Bradley kissed someone else. I don’t know why, but I did, too.” You glance at her and decide to confess. “It was Hangman. Again. It didn’t get too far, thanks to you.” She looks at you, confused, her eyes dropping to the floor as if trying to remember. A second later, her face lights up.
“Oh my god you were in that stall…with Hangman…”
You nod. “We didn’t do anything, I realized it was a mistake and stopped it after that. But then he offered to drive me back and I wound up in his room and we talked and I told him everything – about me and Bradley.”
“Shit,” she groans. “That explains why they were so at each other’s throats this morning.”
“The worst part,” you choke, suddenly trying to hold back tears you didn’t expect, “is that I like him.” Natasha’s brow softens. She scoots closer to you and drapes an arm over your shoulder. Instinctively, you rest your head in the crook of her neck, grateful for her friendship. “But when I heard him say those things, just to mess with Bradley, I-”
“Hey,” Natasha coos, “it’s okay.”
Sniffling, you lift your head from her shoulder and force a smile. “Is Bradley okay?”
Her lips press into a hard line, her eyes darting away from your gaze. Your stomach drops.
“He’s okay, he’s just – you know – in his head. It’s a lot going on: you, the mission. But you’re the only one who can get to him, you know that.”
You groan, “Tash this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I knew seeing Bradley would be too much.”
“I know, but you can’t just leave now, what good would running do?”
“He’ll forget about me, just like he did before. He’ll be able to focus.”
She shakes her head. “Even if that did work, which we both know it won’t, what about Hangman?”
“What about him?” you scoff.
“He’s an asshole, trust me, I know. But I think you’ll regret not seeing him through. I think you’ll regret a lot of things if you just leave now.”
Natasha’s right. It’s spineless to leave, benefitting no one. You don’t know what you want, but what you do know is that you owe it to yourself (and to Bradley and even Jake) to try and find out.
“I hate when you’re right,” you say, your voice low. Natasha just smiles.
A shadow stretches across the hallway, pulling both of your attention as a figure rounds the corner knocking rhythmically on the doorframe. Jake comes into view, his head high, smiling.
“Thought I might find you here,” he says nonchalantly. He rests into his hip against the doorframe and crosses his arms. His eyes move between you and Natasha, not sure how much she knew or how much he should reveal. Your stomach drops but your heartbeat quickens its pace at the sight of him.
“Well I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I shouldn’t be in the common room, so…” your voice trails off. Jake chuckles, amused by what he assumes is your small effort at a joke, completely unaware that you’re upset with him. How could he know? Last he saw, you were in his bed, your eyes lingering on one another as you dressed yourself: a lover’s stare.
“Oh shoot,” Natasha interrupts, rising from the bed. She drops your hand and you groan, knowing she was about to leave you alone with Jake. Talk about a Hangman. “I’m supposed to meet with Bob about that thing, I’ll see you guys later.” She leaves the room in a hurry and then there were two: you and Jake.
He pushes himself off the door and crosses the small room, eager to close the space between you. Crashing down onto the bed, he props himself up on his elbow and looks at you, still smiling. You remain in your spot, arms crossed, your thumb rubbing circles into the skin of your bicep as you process your thoughts, your mind flicking from anger to disappointment to lust and back around with rapid speed. He looks gorgeous – his tan skin somehow glowing under the fluorescent lights of the bedroom – not run down or tired, as if the competition and the training for this mission was fueling him rather than draining him.
“What do you want, Jake?” you ask, breaking the silence. His eyes lift from where they’d settled on your chest, flashing up to meet yours. His smile drops a half-inch as he notices the indifference in your voice accompanied by the harsh line between your brows. It’s not the reaction nor the tone he expected from you after last night. Regardless, he carries on, clearing his throat, flashing his bright smile once again. Your heart flutters at the sight, but you quell the feeling, placing a hand over your chest, hoping the pressure might be enough to hold it down. It’s not.
It is in that moment, as he opens his mouth to speak, that your phone chimes, lighting up in the little pocket on the outside of your duffle bag. You know it’s just an email alert so you ignore it, your attention still focused on Jake. He, however, takes notice of the large bag sitting on the other side of you for the first time, a look of puzzlement crossing his face as his head tilts dramatically to the right.
“Are you leaving?” He sounds hurt, his voice low, his eyes shifting between you and the bag.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
You just nod. “I think I’m a distraction.” Exhaling a breath, you shift in your seat, knotting your fingers together. “And you guys have bigger things to be focused on right now, you leave in a matter of days.”
Jake smirks, any ounce of what you thought may be sadness suddenly absorbed and turned into another plate of his hard exterior. It might be easier to ask him to take it off, to remind him that you’d both already shed that last night, if you weren’t fighting your feelings towards him.
“I happen to love a little distraction,” he boasts.
“Right,” you scoff. Your skin prickles at his words and you’re talking before you have a chance to think about what to say. “Because they don’t really mean anything to you! You just see them as points on some scoreboard – something that’ll benefit you in the end.”
Jake sits up, his eyes wide, surprised to be faced with his own words from earlier. Words he didn’t know you heard.
“What are you talking about?” he half shouts. “I-”
“Save it, Jake. I heard you talking to Bradley on the radio: you’ll get ‘the mission and the girl,’ right?” The words spill out of your mouth, a dam that hadn’t just cracked under the pressure, but fully fractured, water rushing out into the open, flooding the streets. You can’t stop it, so you don’t try. “You know, I confided in you last night because I trusted you, believed you might actually be a good guy! Then to hear you throw all of that into Bradley’s face in front of everyone…for what? For the glory of getting this mission? To leverage me? For the satisfaction of beating Bradley?”
“Hey, I didn’t know you were listening,” he reasons.
You push yourself up off the bed, your skin hot, heat rising from the pit of your stomach up into your chest and neck, licking at your cheeks. “It doesn’t matter that I was listening, Jake.” The words somehow manage to come out calmly, your voice in no way reflecting the anger bubbling under your skin. Sighing, you continue. “What matters is that I confided in you because I thought you – thought that maybe we could be…”
He rises from the bed, too, as if trying to close the space between you, but you take a step back. Hurt flashes across his face and he sucks in a breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. A few moments ago he looked ever the golden boy, but now he appears tired, the lines around his mouth prevalent as he tries to stop himself from frowning.
“Don’t you want to know why I was looking for you?” he questions, looking back at you. His eyes are soft, his brows loosely knit together, his pink lips hanging open just slightly as he breathes. For a second you want to say yes, give him the benefit of the doubt like your heart so desperately begs, tugging at you, urging you to say something, anything.
“It doesn’t matter, Jake. Like you said, you’re good for a night.” You take another step away from him and he sighs, watching you grab your jacket from the hook on the back of the door. You slip into it and reach for the handle, yanking the door open. “And it was…one good night.”
A/N: I genuinely cannot believe we made it to part 7 (and by we, I mean me bc I've never been this motivated to write or finish a story before) -- I hope you all are liking it, I'm so sorry for all the angst here but we needed some conflict baybeee!! This was a bit of a challenge to write & this chapter went through MANY iterations of itself, but here we are :) As always I'd super appreciate any thoughts if ya wanna leave them here or chat in my asks <333333
– 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: 3.2k
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: Part six, y'all! 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. Or 4. Or 5. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader
...
6:
Hangman wasn’t kidding. He is good. Very good.
His lips are at the hollow of your neck, peppering kisses across your collarbones and back up to your jawline. He pushes you back gently against the door of one of the small stalls you'd slipped into, bracing against it, grateful the room was empty. You moan softly, your hands yanking the hem of his t-shirt up so that you can splay your fingers across his bare back, his skin hot and sweaty. He hums into your skin as you toy with him, your fingers grazing up and across his back, mapping each inch of him, goosebumps rising in your wake. He sucks harshly at a spot just under your ear, his tongue soothing the area as he pulls away a moment later.
“How’s that for a souvenir, sweetheart?” he growls. Desire pools between your legs at the sound of his voice, deep and rough, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers. His hand replaces his lips, his calloused fingertips tracing across your new mark, his eyes dark.
You laugh, shaking your head. His eyes meet yours as you jut out your bottom lip, bringing his attention down to your mouth. He slides his thumb across your cheek, running the digit along your lips, encouraging them apart. You oblige, looking up at him, those green eyes drinking you in as you take his finger between your lips, rolling your tongue around the tip, sucking harshly. He moans, letting his head fall back slowly, revealing the soft skin of his neck, his Adam's apple prominent. You take advantage of the moment, releasing his thumb to lean forward and kiss his neck, letting your lips wander across his skin. As you do, your hands work at the hem of his shirt, undoing the final few buttons that remained. Pushing the fabric back from his shoulders and down his well-toned arms, you’re able to really appreciate his physique, running your hands across his chest, feeling the ripple of each muscle.
“Jesus, Jake,” you moan, pulling back from him, your eyes dropping to his abs. His eyes light up at the way your voice shakes as you say his name, your want for him music to his ears.
He clicks his tongue in quick succession. “It’s rude to stare.” He smiles, one so smug that if he wasn’t standing shirtless in front of you, his hands on your hips, you’d quite enjoy smacking it off his lips. But this version of Hangman is undeniable, you’d do anything he asked if it meant you’d get to feel his body on top of yours.
“Let’s make it even, then.”
You toy with the hem of your top, but Hangman quickly replaces your hand with his, easing the fabric up and over your head. He exhales at the sight of you, a light moan escaping from the back of his throat as his eyes rake over your chest. You lift your hand to his chin, tilting his head back to look at you. “It’s rude to stare,” you whisper.
He groans and you laugh, pressing your body against his hotly, reconnecting your lips. He sneaks his hand between your bodies, his fingers brushing lightly between your legs. You inhale sharply, grinding your hips down onto his hand, desperate for more.
The creaking of the bathroom door opening echoes through the room forcing you and Hangman apart, the sound of footsteps across the tile floor getting closer.
Shit. You’d totally forgotten where you are, so caught up in Jake — and the tequila — any ounce of responsibility or logic gone from your mind. He stands dangerously close to you, his breathing labored, his cheeks flushed red, his desire apparent beneath his jeans. You were legitimately about to have sex with Jake Seresin. At the Hard Deck. In the bathroom. Your friends on the other side of the door. All because of Bradley. It’s a new low.
The voice hums a tune playing outside in the bar, all too familiar. It’s Natasha. Of course. Her feet pass by the stall on her way to the one next door. Your eyes meet Jake’s and he smiles, clearly getting a kick out of almost being found out. You shake your head at him, placing a finger on his lips at which he rolls his eyes. Your heart is beating wildly inside your chest, you couldn’t be caught: not here, not now, and not by Natasha.
It’s a mistake. All of this. Jake. Bradley. You scoot farther from Hangman in the stall, raking a hand through your hair as you wait to hear Natasha’s next move, her humming stopped. Her humming resumes as she exits the stall a minute later, the flush of the toilet echoing through the room. Her feet pass by the stall you’re hidden in and you let out a gentle breath, keen to hear the sink turn on and off, the ripping of paper towels and the door creak open once again.
There’s another beat of silence before you finally fully exhale, tilting your head back to rest against the stall door. She’s gone. Silently, you thank her for the interruption, for bringing your senses back to you.
A second later, Jake is back on you, his hands on your hips, his lips at your neck. “Now, where were we?” he asks, sliding his hand back around to your backside. You shrug out of his grasp, turning towards the door, your fingers working at the latch. He sighs something heavy, tugging his shirt back over his torso, his head hanging low.
“We can’t. This,” you say, pausing as you push the stall door open and turn back to him, “this was a mistake.”
He clears his throat, looking around the room then back at you. “I mean, the bathroom’s not ideal but I’ve tried much worse.” He smiles at a memory you can’t see.
“No, Jake, not the bathroom. This.” You gesture to yourself and then to him. “Me, having sex with you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Ouch.”
“That’s not what I meant,” you sigh. “I just…don’t think we should do this. Right now.” You turn to make your way towards the door. You could find Natasha, catch a ride back to the base, and get some sleep. Everything would make sense in the morning.
Fucking tequila.
“Wait. Hey, are you okay?” Jake’s hand catches your arm, though, stopping you. Sighing, you turn into him, looking up. His brow is furrowed, his eyes scanning your face for answers. He looks – well – concerned. Kind. Something new for him. “If I crossed a line, I-”
“No, Jake, you didn’t. Not at all.” you cut him off. “ It’s just been a really shitty night, okay? I’m sorry I brought you in here, I should go.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He loosens his grip on your forearm, but his hand stays in place. He moves his thumb across your skin, as if trying to comfort you, but he stops just as quickly, seeming unsure of himself. His eyes meet yours and he takes a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about it? We can get out of here.”
You don’t know what you want, so you just nod. You don’t want to think, don’t want to have to make decisions – you always choose wrong. So, you let Jake choose for you and hope you don’t regret it; the night couldn’t get worse.
Thirty minutes later you’re sitting on Hangman’s bed. His room looks just like Natasha’s, but it’s down at the end of the hallway, something you were grateful for as it let you slip in without drawing attention from or running into anyone else. You wouldn’t know where to begin if you had to explain the events of tonight to Natasha. Or Bradley.
You tuck your feet up under you as Jake digs around in his dresser for something. He turns around with a sweatshirt in his hands.
“In case you’re cold.” He holds it out to you and you take it, unsure of his motives. He shrugs. “I heard you’re collecting them.”
You laugh and turn the sweatshirt over in your hands, lifting it up to see the logo on the front. It’s strikingly similar to the ones Natasha and Bradley owned, but gray instead of blue. You hadn’t asked for clothes. You hadn’t asked for anything, really. The two of you had only exchanged a few words since leaving the Hard Deck. It felt nice, though, in a weird way, the silence. The night had been too much, too wild, spiraling out of control. Somehow, in all of it, Jake became the calm center you needed.
“This will definitely be a nice addition,” you say, laying the fabric over your lap.
He nods slowly, crossing the small room to where you sit and plopping down next to you. He leaves enough space between the two of you so that you don’t feel crowded. There’s a beat of silence. Neither one of you knows what to say or do, how you even wound up here, or how to proceed. You could slip out now and head back to Natasha’s room, but something keeps you rooted in your spot next to Hangman.
“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” he asks, the low rumble of his voice filling the room.
“Would it matter if I said I did?” you reply, turning your head to look at him. He looks cozy here, his rough edges softened amongst the fabric and pillows of his bed. This Jake is less demanding, less in-your-face cocky, but still as alluring as ever.
“What’s with you and Rooster?”
You suck in a breath, your heart dropping into your stomach. There’s another second of silence.
“Nothing.”
“Right.” He chuckles to himself and you glance at him, chewing on your bottom lip. You think about leaving it there, letting the lie live, but it’s clear that he’s caught onto something. Of course he has, no one could be that oblivious to you and Rooster. Except maybe Rooster himself. Oblivious to how much you wanted him even after all he’d done. Even still, now. But you’re here, with Jake. And it feels…good. After what you did tonight and the fact that he’s here, with you, when Bradley’s not, convinces you to come clean. You sigh and shift your position on the bed, turning to face him completely, crossing your legs.
“We dated before he got accepted into the Naval Academy. It’s been almost two years since we broke up – he broke up with me. This whole thing,” you point to the Navy logo on his sweatshirt, “was really important to him. More important than me.”
Jake’s eyes widen, then narrow, a line wrinkling between his brows as he listens.
“And here I just thought you two slept together the other night.”
“And here I just thought you were a totally oblivious asshole.”
He clicks his tongue. “You and Rooster are obvious. The sweatshirt exchange in the common room? The way you were all over each other tonight?”
“Yeah, that worked out well, huh?” you scoff. He looks at you, a question in his eyes. “He kissed someone else,” you clarify. “I was stupid to think us being together again would lead to anything. I got jealous. I was hurt. So, I lashed out.”
“And I was part of your revenge scheme, hmm?”
“Was it obvious?”
“You looked upset, so it wasn’t hard to put everything together. Plus, I figured you wouldn’t have changed your declaration against me so quickly without a reason.”
“Is the Hangman doubting his skills? His charms?” you tease. To your surprise, the conversation is easy – almost fun. Hangman’s easy to be around, even in a time like this. Even after abandoning your almost hookup. Even after confessing your past with Bradley. Even after what you now considered to be one of the worst nights of your life.
“You came onto me tonight, remember?” He fights.
You wave a hand in the air, dismissing him. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I think it turned into something rather nice,” he remarks, his eyes moving around the room and settling softly on you. “Most of my dates run out after the sex, so this is new.” He points to you sitting on top of his covers, fully clothed. You laugh.
“Dates? The illustrious bagman goes on actual dates?”
“I try, they don’t always stick.”
“Do they run or do you chase them out?” you question, raising an eyebrow. If you learned one thing during your short time on base it was that Hangman had a reputation. It’d been obvious from the moment he laid eyes on you that he’d been eager to do the same with you. He’d been relentless. It had been working. Shit, it might even be working right now.
Jake laughs now, shaking his head. “I just know I’m good for a night, not forever.” He slides a hand up over his shoulder behind his head, the muscle of his bicep on full display, straining underneath the tight cuff of his white t-shirt. Oh, he’s good.
“What makes you say that?” You lean forward. Something in you yearns to reach out and stroke his forearm. You stop yourself. You don’t know why.
He sighs. “It’s hard with all of this.” He shrugs and points to the Navy logo on the sweatshirt, just as you did a few moments ago. “So, it’s easier to just take it night by night. That way everyone gets a happy ending.” He winks, “pun intended.”
You smile, watching his hard, pretentious exterior fall away and then rebuild itself in the next second. You’d never really considered what life was really like for Naval pilots, you only knew what it felt like to be abandoned by them. You’d never thought about what it felt like to have to keep love and others at bay for the sake of work. Jake’s words send you into your mind, reanalyzing every moment of your relationship with Bradley. Maybe the two of them weren’t so different after all.
A hand waves in front of your face, bringing you back to reality. “You alright there?”
“Yeah,” you say softly, shifting in your seat, your eyes dropping to the floor. “Just tired I think.”
“Here,” he says, rising from the bed. He leans down and tugs the sheets back to where you sit. Tapping the bed with the flat of his hand, he looks at you. “Take the bed.”
You shake your head. “No, I’ll just go back to Natasha’s. She’s probably wondering about me anyway.” You push yourself up off the bed and stand next to Jake, taller than him for only a brief second before he straightens back up.
“Yeah, sure, right,” he breathes, his face falling. You’re not sure why. Did he really want you to stay? Did you? If you didn’t, perhaps you would have left by now. Perhaps you wouldn’t have come at all. But here you stand, a foot away from Jake, feeling pulled to him almost as if a string connects your chest to his. Is he feeling that same pull? He’s full of surprises tonight.
“But, she’s probably asleep by now.” You’re speaking before your mind has a chance to process, but you don’t stop yourself. “It might be easier if I just…stay.” You move your eyes from the floor to the clock then back to Jake, a lithe smile on his lips. Looking back down at the bed you say, “I can’t take your bed though.”
“Why not?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s your bed.”
“So? You’re sleeping in Phoenix’s bed.”
You shake your head. “Well, we’re friends. And we share. Seriously, I’ll just take the floor.”
He takes a step into you, the skin around his green eyes crinkling as his smile grows. “We basically had our hands down each other's pants about,” he pauses to glance over your shoulder at the clock, “an hour ago. I think we can share a bed for the night.”
Jake doesn’t wait for an answer, deciding to just jump into his routine. He takes a step back from you and lifts his shirt up over his abdomen and shoulders, sliding out of it with ease. He tosses the shirt across the room where it lands in a hamper. A blush crawls across your cheeks as he then moves to slide the pants he’s wearing down his legs and steps out of them, tossing them in the same direction as his shirt. He's left standing before you in nothing but a pair of boxers. You consider turning away but stop yourself, remembering that he was right — you’d done things (or almost did things) more intimate than this. He slides into the bed between the covers and rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, looking from the empty space next to him up to you, his eyes questioning.
“Close your eyes,” you say, pulling at the hem of your top hesitantly. Hangman groans, flopping over onto his back, his hand covering his eyes. You quickly unclasp your bra from behind and pull it out from underneath your shirt, dropping it to the floor. Undoing the button of your pants, you slide the fabric down your legs and step out of them, the breeze from the small oscillating fan in the corner blowing over your skin, goosebumps forming in its wake. Your shirt is the last thing to come off and you quickly dive into Jake’s sweatshirt, swimming in the fleece material.
“My god,” he breathes. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as you look back to him. His hand is still over his eyes, but his fingers are separated just enough to peek through. He drops his hand and smiles lazily, running his tongue over pink skin, wetting his lips.
You throw the shirt in your hands at him, nailing him right in the face. “I told you to close your eyes!” you laugh, closing the space between the two of you in a few steps, bouncing down onto the bed.
“Sorry,” he says, “old habits die hard.”
You slide between the covers and smack his arm. Jake laughs too, scooting over to make room for you. He closes that small space in the next second, his bare skin warm against yours and you gasp at the feeling. It’s not much different than the warmth of him back at the bar, but it takes you by surprise: how electric it still feels even without the tequila or the sexual charge.
“Don’t go changing for me, Hangman.” you say, turning your back to him as you shift onto your side. Part of you wants to turn into him, to snuggle in close to him, but you can’t. You shouldn’t. It would be dangerous to get any closer, to drop your guard any more. That feeling pulls at your chest but you ignore it, taking a deep breath and letting your eyes fall shut.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckles. You hear the sound of the covers swishing as he adjusts his position, choosing to place his back against yours. “Goodnight,” he mumbles softly, reaching up to flick the lights off.
A/N: Ahhh I hope y'all liked pt. 6, it was super fun to write, to indulge in Hangman for a bit -- Hangman girlies this one goes out to you!! As always I'd super appreciate any thoughts if ya wanna leave them here or chat in my asks <333333
– 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: 2.5k
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: more angst this time around ya'll, explicit language
A/N: Part eight! I low-key love this part & I really hope y'all do too! My apologies, in advance :) 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! Also hope you forgive me for the angst here lol <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or 5. Or 6. Or 7. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader
...
8:
The walk across base was longer than you anticipated. Not by distance, though. The air hangar where Bradley holed up after training wasn’t actually that far from the common rooms. The weight of your heart that dropped and landed somewhere between your chest and stomach makes every step ache, though, your feet heavy as you cross the street towards the large metal building. Natasha told you where to find him after you sent a text labeled “urgent” her way as you stormed away from Jake. Part of you wishes that you didn’t, wishes you would have thought about it for half a second before walking out on him. He looked hurt, after all, but you had to see Bradley. Foolish as it was, you had to make sure he’s okay. He might not even want to see you, might have nothing to say to you – you’re not even sure you can stand to see him after last night. Regardless, you had to try and figure it out. You can’t leave without knowing.
It’s a quiet evening on base, the tension palpable in the air, the silence washing over you as you stumble out of the impending night and into the air hangar. The scent of oil and jet fuel fills your nose, your stomach churning in an unconscious response. A familiar tune plays faintly in the hangar, echoing off the metal walls, and you hum along quietly to yourself as you pad across the concrete floors in search of Bradley.
You cross behind the small jet sitting in the middle of the hangar, admiring its glory, stopping briefly in front of an open electrical panel. Bradley’s soft humming mixes with yours, pulling your attention from the plane. You step away and continue making your way around, your eyes landing on him. Bradley sits at his work bench on the opposite side of the hangar, tinkering with tools you can’t name. He rarely looked up while working, getting lost in the tools and parts, a fine line settling between his brows as he pieces together the puzzle he’d made for himself. You sigh, taking in the sight of him from behind: his broad shoulders strained underneath his black t-shirt as he works, his light brown hair flecked with gold as the setting sun casts him in the few remaining minutes of light. You fight the urge to sneak up on him from behind and slide your hands down the front of his chest around to his back and press your body against his. It’s odd, acknowledging that the urge is still there, even after the events of last night. You’ll always care for him though. That urge might always exist.
Looking over your shoulder out the garage door, you spy the sun halfway through its descent in the sky, painting the base in a golden orange hue, shadows stretching over the concrete outside. It’s something to behold. You breathe in and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. Birds call to one another in the darkening sky, inviting one another home for the evening, returning to their beds for the night. You consider for a moment calling Bradley away from his work, asking him to return home with you, but you remain in your spot, knowing he won’t return your call. So, why do you secretly hope he does? You don’t want him to come with you, do you? You’re upset with him, aren’t you? Maybe not. Maybe your love for him will always eclipse your disappointment. You came here to check in on him, after all. Or, was that really all? Maybe you’re hoping for more and maybe that’s foolish, especially with Jake on the other side of the door.
“I know you’re there,” Bradley says, breaking the silence. You turn back and find him spun around in his seat, wiping his hands on a stained white towel, his eyes intent on you. He doesn’t smile. Neither do you.
“You caught me,” you reply, holding your hands up in innocence. He cracks a small smile at your gesture and your heart pulls at your chest. “What are you working on?”
Bradley sighs, rising from his seat and tossing the rag onto the workbench. His brows knit together as he looks from his tools to you. He shrugs and tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You want to talk about the electrical panel of an old F-15?”
“Well, I thought we might ease into the other stuff…”
“I didn’t think you’d come looking for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I figured you wouldn’t want to see me after last night.”
“I admit, it’s a little harder to recognize you without that blonde woman all over you.” The words feel like venom on your tongue and you watch them cut him, his lips flattening into a thin line. Restraint is difficult for you today, it seems. You sigh, not quite regretting the words, but not proud of them, either.
“Okay, I deserve that.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, crossing and then uncrossing his arms in the same breath. He sighs, running a hand roughly along his jawline. The action is familiar to you, a physical manifestation of his discontent. “You’re mad. I get it, I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“I can never stay mad at you, Bradley, that’s the problem.” It’s quiet for a moment, crickets chirping loudly in the distant night. You watch as Bradley’s face softens as he takes in your words, a wave of relief washing over him. You’re not finished, though. Taking a breath, you gain the courage to continue. “Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bradley,” you breathe, shaking your head. “You have to be honest with me. I mean, we have to be honest with each other now. Please.”
He sucks in a breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. “She works there – at the Hard Deck. We’ve flirted a handful of times over the years and she came onto me last night. I didn’t push her away because I was scared.”
“Scared?”
He nods. “And upset.”
You look at him as he reconnects his eyes with yours, confusion apparent in your gaze.
Sighing, he continues. “Scared to get close to you again because of this mission. I don’t know what’s gonna happen out there. If I get picked, I don’t know if I’ll come back.”
You choke on your breath, the air hitching in your throat. The gravity of the situation hits you, knocking at your chest, but you remain standing in your place, curious to hear him out. He watches you intently, his eyes softening as he sees the realization hit you.
“Upset because,” he begins, “because I saw you with Hangman.”
“Bradley, I-”
“Not just last night. I saw you the first night, kissing him, before you knew I was here. You looked happy, care-free. I hadn’t seen you like that in a long time, so I left you alone. I thought, maybe, I could let you be happy, you know, let you have your fun. And then we ran into each other the next night and I then knew I couldn’t.”
You’re not sure what to say, but thankfully Bradley continues on.
“And then he kept looking at you.”
“Hangman?”
Bradley just nods.
“And that bothered you?”
“Still does… but then you smile back at him,” he says, “and I know I’m just fucking everything up and pushing you away, pushing you into him, but I don’t know what to do.”
A tinge of pain strikes your chest hearing him reference exactly what Hangman said to him earlier in the day. He’d clearly taken it to heart, just as you suspected. A feeling of guilt follows, knowing you heard everything.
You take a step into him, curious to see if he’ll move. To your surprise, he does, taking a step towards you, too. Your heart thumps loudly against your chest as you pull him in for an embrace, wrapping your arms around his middle, your hand rubbing his back, working to soothe him. He relaxes under your touch, exhaling a heavy breath. Your head fits perfectly under the curve of his chin, his head resting in the soft nest of your hair.
“You don’t have to know what to do, Bradley. But you have to know what you want.”
Silence feels the space between you, the song playing from the radio in the corner of the room seeming to grow in volume. He hums something low, his chest vibrating against you. The song is familiar, one you know he loves. Bradley starts to sway, his right hand staying in its place behind your back while the left skims your skin as he moves to lace his fingers through yours, holding your arms up at a loose ninety degree angle. You shake your head as he sings along quietly to the music. You look up at him, but he’s already looking at you, his expression soft, his eyes on your lips.
“I want to dance,” he sighs. “I love this song.”
“I meant about us, Bradley.”
“I know.” He spins slowly as the chorus of the song hits, pulling you closer to him. “Right now, I want us to dance.”
“And what about later?” you press, steadying yourself against his chest.
“Do we have to have a plan?”
You nod. “A good plan prevents mishaps.”
“They also are the killer of spontaneity and surprise.”
“Since when are you the purveyor of spontaneity and surprise?”
He hums. “Seeing you again reminded me how nice surprises really are.”
“Bradley,” you whisper, shaking your head as he continues to sway along to the music. Looking up at him, into those enchanting brown eyes as he speaks such magic, you could choose to stay here with him forever. The sun is almost set now, shadows of the night casting across his face, highlighting the faded scars marking his left cheek. You reach up with your free hand and run your fingers across them.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, interrupting your private thoughts. “What do you want?” He spins you out of his grasp as the song fades out. For a moment, your fingers slip through his, but he catches you just in time, twirling you back into him. This time, he wraps his arms around you as your back is pressed against his front. He hugs your waist, dipping his head to rest in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the exposed skin underneath your ear. Lost in a haze of him, your eyes fall shut as you breathe him in.
“I want things to be different this time,” you begin. “But I can’t change it by myself.”
He sighs, “I can’t change the job, you know that. I don’t know how much I can change.”
You open your eyes now, your gaze landing on the far corner of the room with no real focus, your eyes blurry. Your stomach flips at his words, the sting no different than when he said them the first time two years ago.
Swallowing hard, you open your mouth to say something, but you’re cut off by Bradley’s gentle gasp.
“What’s this?” he asks, lifting his head from your neck to brush his fingers through your hair, pushing the strands aside to get a better look. Your heart drops into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat.
“Nothing,” you lie. Flinching, you lift your hand to your neck, covering the mark Jake gave you last night. You’d totally forgotten.
“What was that thing you said about honesty earlier?” He releases his grip on your waist and you spin around to face him, sighing.
“It’s from last night,” you admit. “From Jake.”
Bradley sucks in a breath. You think about explaining everything, telling him that what happened with Jake didn’t go any farther than this mark on your skin. Something stops you, though. What’s happening between you and Jake doesn’t involve Bradley. That was a decision you made and though it might have started in spite of Bradley, that didn’t mean he was entitled to know. After all, you’re here with Bradley, not Jake. You’re asking him to change, not Jake. Shouldn’t that be enough?
“What does he want?” Bradley asks, breaking the silence.
You look up at him. “I don’t know. I came to you.”
“What if I can’t give you what you want?”
“Then I think I should give you your sweatshirt back.”
He shakes his head. “Keep it.” His voice is soft as he speaks, as if the undeniable truth of the fate of the two of you is just starting to hit him. “Just don’t light it on fire this time, hmm?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips lifting into a half-smile.
“I promise,” you reply, wrapping your arms around him. He looks taken aback, but he doesn’t stop you, wrapping his arms around you, too. His arms are strong around your waist and you breathe him in deeply, working to commit the smell of his cologne to memory. For a moment you think about kissing him, one last time, but you know you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s bittersweet, this moment. But for once, you feel in control, saying what you need. This decision isn’t just his, it’s yours, too.
“So is this goodbye, then?”
You look up at him, admiring the cutting edge of his jaw from below before your eyes find his.
“It’s ‘see you later’, Bradshaw,” you say, swallowing hard to hold back the tears threatening to escape. “After the mission at the Hard Deck – your friends are my friends now, remember?”
He laughs lightly, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.”
The feeling of his lips on your cheek are the last thing Bradley leaves you with. As much as you wanted to stay, you couldn’t. He offered to drive you back to your room, but you couldn’t drag out your goodbye any longer. You untangled yourself from him and shared one last embrace before you left the hangar and wandered out into the cold night.
You’d released Bradley. You should feel lighter, but you don’t. Something is still tugging at your chest and in that moment you realize it was never Bradley pulling the invisible string. It’s been Jake this entire time.
Natasha was right: you had to see him through. You had to know what he wanted – why he came to see you earlier – but it’s anyone’s guess if he’ll see you now. Not likely after you left him for Bradley, after you accused him of being the villain. Sighing, you turn your head up to the dark sky and breathe in the night, the scent of salt water and damp sand filling your lungs, cleansing you from the inside out.
A/N: Well, here it is, the long(??)-anticipated part 8! I'm honestly really curious to see what y'all think of this and where the story is going...What do we think of Bradley? Of reader? Of Jake? So many things! Also sorry it's kind of bittersweet, but that's kind of my favorite thing ever, sooo. Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy this -- your love on this fic and your kind words mean literally the world to me and these fics are all I can give in return <3333
– 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
...
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.
– 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: 1.8k
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: explicit language, drinking/alcohol, & sexual activity
A/N: Here it is! Part two! 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.
**Italics indicate a flashback**
...
2:
The morning passed by slowly after Natasha left, leaving you unsure of yourself and your place on base. You’d long finished your book and needed something to clear your head. Thankfully, the sun emerged from behind the clouds by early afternoon, granting you access to the beach.
The salty ocean air filters through your lungs as you pant, your feet pounding against the sand as you run. Waves swell and crash loudly over your shoulder, the sounds of seagulls crooning and kids playing in the sand at your feet numbing your busy mind. Looking down at your watch, you slow yourself down, stopping just short of a pier looming ahead. Your hands travel mindlessly to the crown of your head as you breathe, desperate to fill your tired lungs.
Once you’ve calmed your erratic heartbeat, you kick off your shoes and settle down in the sand, leaning back on your forearms. You tilt your head back to the sun, letting your eyes fall shut. The sun warms your skin as a cool breeze blows over you, sending your hair dancing across your cheeks and nose. You breathe in the scent of the water, a memory washing over you.
“Come in, the water’s fine!” Bradley shouts, waving at you as he sinks lower into the waves, letting the current carry him for a moment.
You lift your hand to block out the sun, watching him, shaking your head. “I think I’ll stay right here.”
He pouts, splashing you from afar even though it couldn’t reach you safely on the shore. Shrugging, he stands, making his way back towards the sand. Water drips from his light brown hair, running down his sunburnt cheeks and chapped lips, continuing to flow down his chest and abdomen, bringing your attention to the way his boardshorts hang low on his hips, showing just a strip of pale skin that has yet to be tanned.
“Guess I’ll have to bring you over here myself,” he mumbles, picking up his speed, jogging towards you.
“Not a chance in hell, Bradshaw!” you shout back, pushing yourself up off your towel and jumping to your feet. He laughs loudly, the sound of his footsteps growing closer behind you as you run. You glance back at him and your feet betray you, falling into a hole in the sand and sending you tumbling forward.
A pair of strong arms wrap instinctively against your middle, the feeling of warm, wet skin saving you from certain doom.
“Gotcha,” Bradley whispers, his lips by your ear when he swipes you up, lifting you from the ground. You look up at him, his dark brown eyes wild with adrenaline, his mouth hanging open happily, his laughter mixing with yours. His skin is slick against yours as he carries you, running back to the water.
“No, no!” you scream, nuzzling farther into him as he crashes into the waves, the water soaking you both. He sinks lower into the water, letting the waves take the two of you out farther, his grip on you loosening. You cling to him, glaring. “You are such an ass, Bradshaw.”
“But you love me anyway,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes like salt and sunscreen, the bristle of his mustache tickling your upper lip as you deepen the kiss, wanting more of him.
Shaking your head, you clear the memory from your mind, forcing your eyes open again. You always wanted more of him; that was the problem. You wanted more and he couldn’t give you that. You’d been something to distract him when his Naval Academy application was first denied, a pretty girl to get his mind off of losing the one thing he wanted. But he never stopped thinking about it, never stopped training and preparing even when you were together. It consumed him, the idea of following in his father’s footsteps, becoming half the man he was. When he finally got accepted, he told you that he had to refocus, put all of himself into the academy, and ultimately leave you behind. You hadn’t seen him since then. Well, you saw him through Natasha’s posts – you hadn’t realized just how small the world was until they entered the academy together, both trained for and assigned to Top Gun.
Your phone buzzes, pulling you from your memory. You fish it from your pocket, a message from Natasha on the screen. Laughing, you rise from the sand, shoes in hand, and head back down the beach towards the base.
The Hard Deck is packed, the sunset casting the beach shack in a golden orange glow, the string lights on the porch just beginning to light up in the dark. You shoot off a quick text to Natasha, who was waiting for you inside. Squaring your shoulders, you make a promise to yourself to actually remember tonight. You were a guest here, after all, you should be on your best behavior.
“You alright there, sweetheart?” A shadow creeps over your shoulder, the silhouette stretching farther across the sand as he gets closer.
You turn to find Hangman, that stupid ken doll smile plastered to his lips.
“Perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You step away from him, walking towards the bar, hoping he’d pick up on your curt reply, but he follows you closely, humming to himself. “Can I help you?” you ask, turning back to him as you step through the threshold of the door.
The room is buzzing, music blasting from the vintage jukebox in the corner, the floor practically shaking as the crowd dances along to a track you couldn’t quite make out over the chatter and laughter. It would be a lighthearted, inviting environment if it weren’t for Hangman hanging over your shoulder.
“Just wondering if you came back for a repeat of last night, is all.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and raises an eyebrow, his gaze drifting down towards the low cut of your top.
“You must not have been very memorable,” you say passively, looking around the room for Natasha. It’s a sea of khaki uniforms – she could be anywhere. “I don’t remember last night, so it doesn’t count.”
Hangman nods, releasing his lip from between his teeth, running his tongue across the skin. He brings a hand to his chin, rubbing at his stubble, watching you. The action brings something to the forefront of your mind, something familiar about the way his hand runs over his chin, his eyes intent on you.
A hazy vision of him comes out of your memory as someone passes by with a tray of tequila shots.
“Jake,” he mumbles between kisses, his lips hot and wet as they move down your jawline and neck, sucking harshly at the space just above the hollow of your collarbone. “Call me Jake.”
You hum in agreement, pushing him gently against the bar, not particularly caring what his name was. Tequila made you like this: needy and hot. This man was the perfect way to take your mind off the burn of the alcohol at the back of your throat. He groans and pulls a barstool underneath him, sitting down, beckoning you onto his lap with a wag of his finger. Following solely the direction of your desire and the tequila, you submit to him, sliding onto his lap. He grips your hips, running his hands over your thighs as you reconnect your lips. He lights up every one of your senses, his hands warm as they lightly stroke up and down your legs. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and a musky cologne mix when you breathe him in, eliciting a groan from you as his hand travels around your middle and up your back, stopping at the base of your neck, his fingers knotting in your hair.
“You sure you don’t recall?” Jake’s – Hangman’s – voice reminds you you’re still in the bar. You force yourself out of your memory, his face coming back into focus, that smile still taunting you.
“Nope, can’t say I do,” you lie. He narrows those gorgeous green eyes, considering calling you out, but he thinks better of it.
“Well, I’ll be around if you need a refresher.” He brushes past you, placing his hand on the small of your back to get by, the smell of his cologne hitting you. Breathing him in, you force a smile, ignoring the electric feeling of his fingertips traveling across your skin.
“That’s it, we can’t come here anymore,” you groan. Natasha shakes her head as you approach, opening an arm to pull you in for a hug.
“But why? I love this bar,” she complains, taking a swig of beer.
“I obviously cannot be trusted to make good decisions here,” you sigh. “And those decisions won’t let me forget.” You nod in the direction of Hangman and his friends near the jukebox.
“Bagman bothering you again? I’ll have Fanboy and Payback beat him up for you.”
Two men perk up from their positions around the pool table, the taller one stepping forward, leaning on his cue. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity.”
You look between the men and Natasha. She takes another drink, her eyes widening.
“Shit, right, uh, guys this is my friend – the one from college,” she gestures to you. “And these are the guys: Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, Omaha, and Bob.” She points to each man as she goes through the list and you do your best to keep track.
“Hi,” you wave. They return the gesture with a variety of smiles, waves, and cheers.
“There, now everyone’s acquainted,” Natasha smiles.
The night kicked off from there, the beers flowing along with the conversations, everyone talking loudly about the newest mission that brought them all together. You sat on the edge of the pool table as they all played around you, giving you pointers. You listened intently as they all took turns telling you about how they got into the Navy and how they became so fascinated with flying in the first place. It was sweet, how they took you into their little family, you were beginning to understand why Natasha spoke so kindly of them; why she liked it here so much.
You dismissed yourself from their festivities early, not wanting to succumb to the alcohol nor another cocky Naval pilot with a pretty face. When you emerge from the bar, the night is cold, the moon high in the sky, its bright light illuminating the silver sand. Shivering, you cross your arms and rub at your skin roughly trying to warm the goosebumps away.
The sound of tires rolling over loose gravel followed by the echo of backfire in the distance raises the hair on the back of your neck, forcing you to look back into the parking lot. The sight of a beat up, rusting, pick-up truck stops you in your tracks, your feet frozen in place as the door swings open, a familiar figure stepping out.
Bradley Bradshaw.
...
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