21/08/2022: NEW COMFORT FIC JUST DROPPED!!!! This Was Adorable, My Heart Just Grew 3 Sizes And I Feel

21/08/2022: NEW COMFORT FIC JUST DROPPED!!!! this was adorable, my heart just grew 3 sizes and i feel all warm and fuzzy!!!!! the song you chose fits their situation so well and it’s beautiful!!!!! and the whole idea is so rooster!!!! it was perfect. here are some of my favorite parts!!!!!

“You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.” i love this!!!!! it doesn’t matter that she’s a little mad with him, bradley continues to be kind 🥺 love the contract between their reactions.

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” maverick showing rooster how its done!!!! this scene is one of my favorites from the original movie and i loved that you adapted it to your own story <3

“He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.” BUT HE FEELS UNREACHABLE!!!!!! ☹️☹️☹️☹️ he’s right there, but his job is so hard and none of them can’t do anything about it!!!! it’s understandable for her to feel this way!!!!

and then bradley starts singing and phoenix and maverick don’t let get away!!!! so cute!!!!

“The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.” of course it’s easier to shut your feelings out but at what cost!!!??? 🥺

“You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.” this moment 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it’s so very rooster!!!!

“Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..” and this part playing just as he reaches for her to hold her in place!!! i’m in love!!!!

“The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.” yeah, she can’t resist him.

"Alright, alright! You win…" 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.” babies 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

again: this was beautiful!!!

Save The Last Dance For Me

Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of. No descriptions of appearance but she/her pronouns are used.

Summary: Bradley attempts to wear you down as you give him the cold shoulder

A/N: This fic is based off the song Save the Last Dance For Me. After watching Top Gun (1986) and longing to have someone serenade me in a bar this self indulgent fic was born. So enjoy!

Masterlist

“I just can’t look at him!” You say before angrily taking your shot on the pool table. The pool stick pounding into the cue ball, clattering the rest all around the table. Bradley had told you yesterday that he was being sent on a two month classified deployment, meaning you would not be allowed to relocate with him for the duration of the mission.

“You know he didn’t have a choice right? They are called orders for a reason.” Hangman butts in from his seat at the nearby table. Throwing peanuts in his mouth, somehow managing to chew them in a condescending manner.

“I didn’t ask for your input.” You snap back. He puts his hands up in the air in surrender after receiving a glare from you that could kill. What he was saying wasn’t wrong, but you were too upset to think rationally about it, and needed someone to blame. Unfortunately that fell onto Rooster.

You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.

“She’s not taking it well I see…” Maverick said, taking a sip of his drink. Rooster chuckled before nodding his head in response as he took a drink of his own beer.

“Not at all… She hasn’t said a word to me since yesterday morning when I told her. I wish I didn’t have to go, but there is nothing I can do. At this point I don’t know how to get her to talk to me again.”

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.”

You watched as Maverick and Bradley talked trying to make out what was being said. You could see Maverick gesturing towards you, and conspiring with Penny. The two of them are planning something. You didn’t care to find out what it was though.

You continued your game with Phoenix, joking around with the rest of the boys to distract yourself from the subtle ache in your chest forming the longer you go not talking to Bradley. He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.

Just as you start to line up your final shot, the jukebox cuts out and you hear the tapping on a microphone over the bar speakers. You try and see what is going on but the packed room makes it impossible to see who currently has the microphone. Music slowly starts to flood the room as you hear a familiar voice start to sing alone to the tune.

"Is that Bradshaw?" Phoenix perks up, setting her pool stick down.

"I hope not…" You grumble, already recognizing the voice growing closer. The crowd parts, revealing the answer to your suspicions. Bradley making his way towards you, microphone held up to his lips as he continues to sing. His aviators hang from the neck of his shirt, tugging it down to show off a peak of his chest and collar bones. His hair is a pile of messy curls, lacking the gel he has to use day to day when on duty.

You can smile every smile for the man

Who held your hand 'neath the pale moonlight…

You try to turn away to walk away from Bradley but you're met with Phoenix grabbing your shoulders to turn you back to face him as he keeps closing the gap between you two. She wears the smile of a traitor as she moves to stand next to you, blocking the path of escape.

But don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for me…

You roll your eyes at Bradley's attempt at breaking you, that slowly is working, and attempt yet again to walk away. This time heading the opposite direction of phoenix. Maverick breaks through the crowd, stepping right in front of you stopping you in your pathway.

Oh, I know that the music's fine..

"Seriously! You're in on this too!?" You try to raise your voice over the music, but it's no use. You cross your arms in protest as Maverick slowly backs you up to where you started. You loved this song, and Bradley knew it. He would put it on before he left for every mission as his promise to come home to you. The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.

Laugh and sing but while you're apart

Don't give your heart to anyone…

You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.

Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..

He places your hand up on top of his shoulder, then pulls you in by your waist to close the gap on the last syllable of the lyric. The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.

I will never, never let you go

I love you, oh, so much…

You softly hit his chest with your free hand in defeat of escape, your palm lingering flat over his heart after impact. Your other arm moves to curl around the back of his neck, your fingers tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck, circling along his scalp. Bradley’s hips are pressed against your body and sway the two of you side to side.

His voice has you in a trance. The softness of the melody mixed with the slightest rasp from his vocal cords gives you involuntary butterflies. No matter how mad you were at Bradley, you knew inside it wasn't his fault he was being deployed, you just hated the lack of say you had in the situation. At this point the rest of the squad, even the usually quiet Bob, and most of the bar patrons have all joined in the serenade.

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for him!

"Alright, alright! You win…"

The bar erupts in cheers. Rooster hands his mic over to Maverick, who gives you a wink, and cups the side of your cheek. You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.

"Kiss him already!" Penny yells behind the bar. "Disrespect the Navy or you buy a round!" She threatens.

You let out a laugh before standing on your toes to meet Bradley halfway. His lips meet yours and the bar yet again fills with cheers. The volume of the bar almost drowning out the softest, most innocent moan of contentment Bradley lets slip into your mouth. The taste of beer lingers on his tongue, his kiss becoming deeper before he finally pulls away.

“I love you, honey.” Rooster whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek. His breath warm on your ear, sending a spark through your body. You interlock your fingers with his as you both make your way back to the tables with the rest of the squad, each of them taking turns poking fun at you for caving in to his cheesy display.

Flight Crew!

@someplace-darker

@nelleicrain

@murrdxcks

@sobachka-korol

Tags

fic recs august im in love 2022 Top gun top gun maverick rooster bradley bradshaw my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing oh to be serenaded by rooster i love that everyone just accepted he’s THE romantic my heart after reading this: ❤️‍🩹

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader)

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date.

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin.

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.”

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders.

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose.

“What? Blood?”

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic.

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?”

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate.

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face.

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?”

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question.

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile.

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?”

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?”

“If they’re better questions, yeah.”

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.”

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?”

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-”

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.”

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.”

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.”

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?”

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?”

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?”

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.

It’s nice.

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.”

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help.

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.”

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly.

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.”

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game.

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?”

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.”

“He gonna let you write that other thing?”

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly.

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend - into the late hours of the night.

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes.

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?”

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.”

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well.

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask.

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ”

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?”

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down.

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now.

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.”

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.”

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.”

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?”

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.”

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?”

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?”

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling.

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?”

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.”

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.”

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?”

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.”

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home.

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?”

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.”

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.”

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?”

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?”

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes.

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?”

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -”

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements.

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake.

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?”

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -”

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.”

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse.

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour.

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.”

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls. He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it.

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.”

Ah, and the dream lives on.

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything.

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare.

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other.

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant.

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home.

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal.

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with.

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard.

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to.

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.”

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.”

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff.

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?”

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes.

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?”

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ”

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.”

“I’ll make it,” you insist.

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern.

“Yeah?”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?”

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.”

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back.

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight.

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one.

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji.

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -”

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?”

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.”

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?”

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?”

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in.

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.”

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.”

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.”

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?”

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.”

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this?

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air.

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.”

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit.

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you.

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating.

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold.

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back.

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now.

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!”

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone.

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground.

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.”

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.”

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground.

“Yeah.”

”…How long?”

He swallows. “Since New York.”

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him.

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin.

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern.

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can.

“Sweetheart -”

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened.

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.”

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

---

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.”

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward.

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around.

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem.

They’re not Jake.

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories.

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you.

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add.

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face.

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out.

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out.

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.”

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with.

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated.

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.”

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you.

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?”

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly.

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar.

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.”

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.”

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today.

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.”

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase.

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row.

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path.

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him.

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously.

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.”

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...”

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.”

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last.

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - "

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink.

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.”

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.”

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out.

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks.

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence.

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway.

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole.

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen.

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment.

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat.

He’s really here.

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch.

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.”

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice.

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.”

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming.

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him. “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic.

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?”

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?”

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms.

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.”

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.”

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend.

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?”

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?

People change indeed. In more ways than one.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?”

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can.

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, 2 Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ”

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.”

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully.

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...”

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.”

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.”

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest.

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

Tags

fic recs august 2022 Top gun top gun maverick jake seresin hangman my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing best friends to lovers with jake i’ll never recover SO MUCH FUCKING ANGST i went through a roller coaster of emotions i’m majoring in journalism so this was <3 never getting over “How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” pls tell me they get married

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

11/08/2022: i hate that tumblr doesn’t show the dates of when something was posted so i’m just gonna start adding them myself.

Tags

rant anyways idk what im doing august 2022 diary this is just me being annoying sorry is this how you use tags?

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

14/08/2022: OKAY!!! HERE WE GO!!! i read this one a couple of days ago and can’t stop thinking about it. this bradley has crawled inside of my brain and refuses to leave (and honestly, i don’t want him to!!!)

jordan, this is the first fic of yours i had the pleasure of reading and it blew me away?????!!!!!!! i read the sneak peak and just kept coming back to your profile to see if you had posted the full thing and then you did!!!! and i was so ready to dive into this!!! so now that i’ve (tried to) collected myself enough to try and write something of a coherent and worthy enough review, here it is! spoiler alert: it’s just me screaming over your beautiful writing :)

the description really had me hooked from the beginning, we love a smart, bratty girl!!!! i love her personality so much just as much as i love bradley’s and for you to be able to make her just as real and multidimensional… REAL TALENT!!! she’s opinionated and stands her ground and is funny and so smart!!! i just love her and think she’s such a good fit for rooster.

“Plus, he liked smart girls. There was something about them. It didn’t hurt that the ones he had come across were always a little prissy, a little spoiled - a little uptight.

A little bratty.” of course bradley rooster bradshaw has a thing for bratty girls. of fucking course.

“Over the last two weeks, you had been texting frequently, starting off the day with your Wordle scores and a fun fact. It was cheesy and a little nerdy, but you were a big trivia fan - and San Diego County Barstool Trivia Champion - and Bradley had wanted to impress you. It was important that he impressed you.” in love with both of them playing wordle together and separating little fun facts for each other???? bradley thinking it was important that he impressed her!!! he’s a whore but he’s such a romantic and kind of can’t help it??!!! he really likes her and wants to prove himself even with little things like this 🥺

“You were both on drink number two and the awkwardness of your earlier outburst hasn’t quite dissipated yet. The sexual tension on the other hand? If Bradley had thought it was high earlier, it was stratospheric now.” love this!!!!! LET’S GO STRATOSPHERIC!!!!

“If you’re gonna be a brat about it, at least get my title right, sweetheart,” he snapped, the first time all night. He shoved his knee in between your legs, widening the space between your thighs just slightly. “It’s Lieutenant.” no this whole ranking thing is making me go a little insane… just a little… of course he was gonna take the chance to correct her!!!

“Bradley hooked his foot around your barstool and dragged it even closer to him. You let out a squeak and had to brace yourself by holding onto his shoulders.” AND I HAVE PASSED AWAY. JUST LIKE THAT. ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS. HOW DARE YOU DO THIS?????? WHAT IS THIS?????

“And that was when he knew. Knew as well as the sun was going to rise tomorrow morning that you were going to fuck that night.” please stop i can’t functionnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn THIS IS SOOOSIDHSHHDHSD

“What the fuck did you say to her?” Phoenix hissed in Bradley’s ear, snapping him out of his daydream.

He startled and then gestured wildly. “It was going fine for a while and then I told her I was in the Navy and she started going on about defense budgets and misappropriating government property and Uncle Sam sucking my dick - I don’t know, Phoenix!” PHOENIX MY BFF LOVE OF MY LIFE, LOVE HER LITTLE CAMEO!!!! and bradley’s answer 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 the way he’s just so dumbfounded by their interaction so far!!! he’s so stupid!!! i am in love with him!!! this was so in character!!! you nailed it!!!

“Fuck. He wanted you - desperately. And worse than that, he liked you. Liked how smart you were, liked your sense of humor, liked you. And some part of him felt bad for setting you up.” AND WORSE THAN THAT HE LIKED YOU!!!!! YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE IT WHEN WRITERS EMPHASIZE THIS LITTLE THING!!!!!! because liking someone means so much!!!! and him realizing he did kind of unintentionally hid what he does for a living from her because, let’s be honestly, it normally should’ve come up sooner than it did. anyways, i like that he understands!!!

“You let him take you by your elbow and guide - read drag - you towards the exit, barely stopping to allow you to grab your clutch off the bar top. Knowing Hangman and Phoenix were no doubt watching the entire series of events unfold, Bradley threw his middle finger up over his shoulder, and then let the door close firmly behind his back.” HOT!!!! THE MIDDLE FINGER!!! DRAGGING HER AWAY!!!!!! THIS IS DOING IT FOR ME!!!!

“No, I’m gonna take you home and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight in the morning, that sound good, sweetheart?” You nodded dumbly. “And for the record, it’s not a truck, it’s a Bronco.” STOP i just know he has the time of his life when he gets to correct her on anything!!!! like he finally has some advantage shhfhshcjshdhdhd AND HIS MOUTH IS SO FILTHY I LOVE HIM I CAN’T HELP IT.

“Fuck. Imagine if you weren’t so blissed out getting finger fucked and you could talk back at him? This time he let out a groan.” ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS. I NO LONGER EXIST. AGAIN WITH THE ADVANTAGE!!!!! AND THE FACT THAT HE’S DOING THIS TO HER YOU KNOW!!!! IT’S ALL HIM!!!! ROOSTER’S EFFECT!!!!! I CAN SEE HIS EGO INFLATING LIKE A BALLOON!!!!

“Shh, shh, that’s a good girl, yeah? Such a good girl for me.” NOT A GOOD GIRL DROP. INSANE INSANE INSANEEEEEEEEEEE.

“A few moments later, the Bronco practically rolled into his driveway on two wheels. Thankfully, Bradley had left the porch light on so the house wasn’t entirely dark. You looked at the house critically and he desperately wanted you to like it.

It was important to him that you liked it.” NO BECAUSE HE WAS ALREADY UNCONSCIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT THE FUTURE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!! HE NEEDS HER TO LIKE THE HOUSE!!!!! HE’S SUCH A ROMANTIC I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL!!!!!! i love this change in the narrative in between their heated moments so much. it adds so much depth because it’s slowly becoming so much more than just lust. i feel it’s always been a little morr than just lust with them? ❤️‍🩹

AND THEN HE CARRIES HER FROM THE CAR TO THE HOUSE!!!!!! EVER THE GENTLEMAN!!!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!

“In turn, you smacked his back. “And you would know all about that - making demands. Hostage negotiations, CIA blacksites - mmmhh!” she’s ridiculous i love her and this made me laugh!!!

“Navy’s good for one thing, I guess,” you muttered against Bradley’s neck while your hands ran over his body.” SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

“When he eventually pulled away, your eyes met, and he rested his forehead against yours.” favorite little detail 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 tenderness in the middle of so much frantic want!!!!

“Fuck me, Bradley - please?”

You said his name. Not lieutenant or asshole or some other slightly condescending moniker. You said Bradley. As in you wanted him - the guy who had originally asked you out. The one you had tried so hard to impress all those days and nights spent texting.

And who was he to say no to that?” was he getting a little insecure? MY BABYYYYYYY I GO BALLISTIC WHEN HE GETS EMOTIONAL!!!!

“Please,” you whimpered sometime later. It was a simple, one word response, but it proved to be his undoing.” i forgot the name of this kink but rooster definitely has it!!!!! anyways IT PROVED TO BE HIS UNDOING????? DUDE I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH.

AND PAUSE- NOT HER TRYING TO TALK ABOUT CO2 EMISSIONS WHILE RIDING HIM HOW IS HER BRAIN STILL FUNCTIONING LIKE THAT??? in the next line of dialogue i know she doesn’t remember the amount or whatever but the fact that she even tried to bring it up shdgshchhshdhdhd silly!!!

“The absolutely blissed out expression on your face made him groan. “God, look at you now, all cock dumb for me. What happened to that smart girl from before?” GODDDDDDDDDDD.

AND THEN HE LISTS THE PRESIDENTS I CAN’T-

“Good boy,” you just managed to get out before Bradley really felt himself losing control.” IT WASN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU TO THROW THAT GOOD GIRL IN MY FACE YOU HAD TO BRING A GOOD BOY DROP INTO THIS AND EXPECT MY BRAIN TO STILL BE ABLE TO ABSORB ANYTHING AFTER? how???? and the fact that he likes it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ugh!!!!!!

“Gotta wait a couple more dates before we start talking about kids, sweetheart.” THE WAY MY STOMACH STARTED CARTWHEELING OVER HERE LIKE IT’S THE FUCKING OLYMPICS MY GOD. FAVORITE FUCKING PIECE OF DIALOGUE I DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYTHING ANYMORE.

“You both laid there, side by side, chests rising and falling heavily. Fuck. Neither of you knew what to say - if there even was something to say. It had never been like that with anyone else - ever.” IT’S NOT LIKE THIS WITH OTHER PEOPLE!!!! between all the banter and teasing they just really like each other so much!!!!! yeah!!!!

“So, how do we really feel about the stache?” You brought your finger up to his mouth and dragged it across his mustache and then to his lips.” skchjsjdjdjdjdjd i love her!!! and this is my second favorite detail. but absolutely do not mess with the mustache.

“You’ll change your mind after riding my face.” WHORE!!!

“He kissed your nose. “You know us military guys, ready with a moment’s notice.” You yawned. “Or maybe not…” i think i take it back, this might be my favorite detail. the fact that he notices the yawn and probably of course notices that she’s getting tired and sleepy so no round 2 for them at that moment but maybe later 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 rooster my beloved!!!! (the bar is very low i am aware).

“He so rarely allowed himself that time during the week - the ability to ‘just do’ and not over think everything. To do whatever he wanted. But that Saturday morning was different.

Because that Saturday you were there.” HELL YEAH BECAUSE THAT SATURDAY YOU WERE THERE AND IT CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!

“Morning,” he rasped as he opened his eyes. You were staring at him, looking like a deer in headlights. “How’d you sleep?” like a deer in headlights! i love this comparison, it made me visualize the scene perfectly!!!

AND YOU HAD TO GIVE US A SCARE I REALLY THOUGHT SHE WAS GONNA LEAVE FOR GOOD I WAS STARTING TO GET SO SAD. very mean of you.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hide his smile or the relief he had felt.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 babies!!!! it was all for fun and giggles, a little humor in the morning!!!

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Smart girl.” FUCKING KILL ME.

“You ignored him. “You already fly in that death trap plane and can handle all the g-force so the astronaut training programs shouldn’t be - don’t look at me like that, all surprised I know what g-force is, I’m not an idiot.” i can see him just staring at her in awe while talking about this!! i can see it!!!! he’s so amused!!!!

“He wasn’t about to give up on this just yet.” *JUST INSERT SO MANY HEART EMOJIS* one of my favorite lines!!!!!

“He pulled his lips away from yours. “- Wait, wait - it’s not okay for me to exploit foreign nations, but it’s okay for me to potentially colonize space?”

You straddled his waist, barely moving your lips away from his neck as you gave a reply. “Shh, shh, we can work out the details later…” no because i’ve been watching for all mankind on apple tv+ for the past month and that’s exactly the plot of the show (and there are so many elements in it that connect to the top gun universe) like, bradley’s right on this one sjdhjshdjdjdsjjdjd this made me laugh!!! and it was a perfect ending for the part 1 of their story!!!! i love their relationship so much!!! i love the way you write!!!!!!

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay [part ½]

Summary: in which lieutenant bradshaw has a thing for smart girls - and maybe ones who hate his guts on principle. a lie by omission is still a lie after all and bradley never exactly told you what he did for work…

OR you take on the us military industrial complex one hinge date at a time…well sort of

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), idk basically she’s a bit of a brat? and he likes it? it’s kind of filthy, but it’s supposed to be kind of funny and a little silly?

A/N: thanks to everyone who liked the sneak peek and provided such positive feedback! but i really have to give a shout out to my buddy sol (desertsagecelestial) for being the absolute best sounding board with this fic! definitely check out her wip, it’s amazinggggg. anyway, enjoy! (9.9k) Part 1.5

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fic recs august 2022 Top gun top gun maverick rooster bradley bradshaw my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing bratty reader and rooster have my heart i fucking loved this will be rereading until the end of time so many [redacted] thoughts as well i need to breathe horny jail meme is so real

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

27/11/22: super quick adorable read!!! domestic bradley bradshaw will always be my favorite he’s so malewife it hurts me it pains me. he was born to be a husband!!! this was so cute and i could picture everything and i saw the little note where it said you haven’t written in 5 years, well, i for one am VERY HAPPY you decided to start again and share this with us!!! my favorite parts are below 💞

“Rooster hummed, looking up at you, small smile on his face. He’s been wearing that smile since he returned from his short detachment, happy to be in your presence again.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🤲🤲🤲 so precious!!!

“Rooster’s cheeks grew hot, and he was up off the couch to follow you out to your car, pinching your behind as you two went.” the little teasing because he likes to eat healthy 😭

“Rooster, who had the basket in his free hand, hummed in content as your thumb slowly rubbed his hand. “So why the sudden desire for cookies?” my favorite part!!! i could picture this so well!!! the basket in one hand and holding HER hand in the other!!!

and the way he was worried about her trying to reach the high shelfs by herself when he was gone 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I’m really happy you’re home.” You admitted, having missed these late nights of domesticity and simple pleasures.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

hi pals! top gun: maverick has once again stolen my heart, but this time i need an outlet, so here i am! a more formal post will come sometime soon(ish) with who i’ll write for/what i’ll write, but for now, i leave you this <3

w/c:

summary: late-night grocery shopping with rooster, female!reader

warnings: none

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i need him fic recs 2022 Top gun top gun maverick rooster november bradley bradshaw my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing SO CUTE IT HURTS!!! late night grocery shopping is a love language i wanna bake him cookies :(

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

30/09/22: IT IS FRIDAY AND I’M GOING TO BINGE READ THIS!!! prologue was perfect, so much tension, (i read a couple of chapters already and i’ll work my way through reblogging with highlights, but i already know this bradley is a dickkkkkkkkk and i can’t help but KNOW i’m gonna fall for him and i’m already waiting for his redemption arc!!! i know you’ll do it justice!!! i loved the whole college setting, the halloween party, BRADLEY AND JAKE BEING KIND OF ROOMATES I LOVE IT BRING IN ALL THE DRAMA!!! you’re so creative!!! OK TIME FOR MY FAVORITE PARTS:

can i just say i love that you start with this “It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around.” and it sounds SO SWEET and SO BRADLEY and then everything goes off the rails after and he’s a dick and i just loved you breaking all expectations.

“He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.” he’s just emotionally unavailable we can fix him 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 we wil fix him!!!

“Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.” a sprinkle of fake dating i’ll take it. thank you. AND I ALSO LOVED HOW WE GET INTRODUCED TO HER!!!

“You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.” love this description!!!

“He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.” reddish-blondish-brownish is the most accurate description of bradley’s hair i’ve read to date akhcjsjdjsjd it changes so much with the lighting like??? anyways. you are correct.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.” ooooooh a little degrading a little flirtingggggg

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.” YOU’RE SO SO GOOD AT WRITING DIALOGUE I CAN’T EMPHASIZE IT ENOUGH!!!

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” WELL-

“He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.” he’s such a little shit!!!

“Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —” this whole part was too funny, bradley going through all possible scenarios shchhshxhshdhd

“Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.” i just know that flashbacks are going to KILL ME.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.” AND THERE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.” love this!!! favorite line!!!

and i loved it when you switched from describing bradley being uncomfortable in this scene to her being uncomfortable as well shxhsjhchshhdhss you switch their povs with so much ease!!!

“It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.” BUT YOU WILLLLLLLLL!!!

so so so good as always. you never disappoint.

My Future in You | Prologue |Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin ! Reader

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: allusions to sex (fear not, there will be flashbacks in later chapters), eventual accidental pregnancy, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, no major warnings in this chapter

…

“Smile, dude, you’re bumming me out.” Jake elbows Bradley playfully. Bradley turns his head and plasters a forced grin onto his face, then leans back against the wall behind him. He brings the red cup to his mouth and drinks.

“It’s Halloween — the sluttiest night of the year, stop crying about your midterm and enjoy it!” Jake pats Bradley’s shoulder and heads for the living room. Bradley purses his lips as he looks around him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Jake, for once, is right. A C-minus probably isn’t worth sulking over. It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around. If he does, then this time next year he’ll be in flight school and things will be back on track.

He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.

He looks down at the brown liquid in his cup and swishes it around, deciding that the plastic looks empty enough again for a refill. Bradley turns and heads for the kitchen, brushing past a sea of horny co-eds as he does.

He steps into the kitchen with his head down, grabbing a bottle of jack from the centre of the kitchen island. He pours it, mixes it with coke.

“Here he is.” A hand wraps around his forearm. Bradley looks up, brows raised, confused. You loop your arms around his arm, press your body into his side. Bradley looks down at the barely dressed firefighter hanging off of his arm, then up at the person you’re looking at, a lanky guy from another frat with a pissed off look on his face. “This is my Adam. Hi, baby.” You breathe out, squeezing your arms around his and then smiling up at him.

Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.

“Oh.” He says out loud. “Yeah. I’m… Adam.”

Not one of you is impressed with his less than Oscar-worthy performance. Bradley smiles at the frat boy. He looks back at you.

“This guy bothering you?” He asks bluntly. Absolutely no regard for the picture you’re trying to paint of letting this guy down gently. You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.

He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.

“No, we were just talking.” The other guy puts his hands up defensively. Bradley tilts his head at him. “I didn’t realise she had a boyfriend. Sorry, man.”

Even though you had told him you had a boyfriend eight times and had even made up a fake name and backstory for the imaginary individual.

You pull yourself closer to Adam, who studies anthropology, is left handed and drives a 2006 Toyota Corolla, then grin at the frat boy sweetly. Bradley watches him leave the kitchen. Once he’s gone, Bradley’s chin turns and he looks down at you. You realise you’re still curled around his arm, resting your cheek against his bicep. It feels strong. Warm. He smells nice.

You withdraw quickly.

“Sorry.” You giggle sheepishly. His eyes aren’t on your face anymore. His lips quirk as he looks you up and down.

“‘S alright,” He answers, lifting his drink and taking a sip. You stand back and watch the way he checks you out so unashamedly. You smile. “Wouldn’t leave you alone?” He nods his head in the direction that little asshole just scuttled off in.

“Yeah, he’s been bugging me for like an hour.” You explain. You hold your hand out towards the stranger in an eagles jersey and tell him your name.

This time he smiles. He takes your hand and shakes it loosely. “Bradley.”

“Who are supposed to be?” You ask. He’s just wearing jeans and a green jersey. He smiles around his cup and turns around. Your eyes linger on the way his shoulders stand out, the way the fabric grows looser around the bottom of his toned back. He points to the name on the back of the jersey with his free hand.

“Nick Foles.”

You scoff. “Man, that is scary.”

Bradley scrunches his nose as you turn and grab vodka from the island. You grab a new cup, nodding your head to the music as you go. The stupid plastic fireman’s hat wobbles on your head as you move.

“Oh really? — Who’s your team?”

“Longhorns, through and through.”

Bradley visibly grimaces. He shakes his head as he takes a long gulp. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Why’s that?” You challenge him, mixing pineapple juice with your triple measure of vodka.

“You know what? — I agree,” You tell him sweetly. Bradley’s just thinking about how diplomatic of an answer that was, how level-headed and sweet you must be, when you continue. “We’re both fours.”

Bradley scrunches his face up, “I’m a four?”

You turn your body fully towards him. You look him up and down. Shrug your shoulders. “On a good day, I can’t see why you wouldn’t be.”

He smiles at you.

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.

He takes a drink, then nods his head as he looks unashamedly at the fishnets that disappear under the black leather. “I do.”

You bite your cheek. He watches you drink from the cup.

“What’s your major?”

You lean into him. Tell him that you don’t go to school here, you’re just here with some friends visiting your big brother. He studies political science. He’s a senior.

You are too, but you have to mention that you’re graduating two years early. He teases you for being a know it all. He’s easy enough to get along with. Even easier to look at.

“No you don’t.” You scoff at him. You tilt your head and the fireman’s hat wobbles. “You’re just trying to get me upstairs.”

Maybe. Rooster grins, pleased that you’re playing along. But he really does have the ball. He opens his mouth to tell you the story. All about how his Uncle Mav took him to a game on his seventh birthday and made sure they left with a signed ball. He closes it again.

He shakes his head, not wanting to think of Mav. He’s having a good time, he can’t let that asshole ruin it.

“Seriously, I have a signed Paul O’Neill baseball. It’s in my room.” He nods his head, pouring himself another jack and coke. “I’d offer to show you, but I don’t know if I can trust a longhorn.”

You smile at him sweetly and tilt your head to the side, offering him a wink, “You shouldn’t.”

He sticks his hand out, “I’m sold. Come on. This way.” He takes your hand in his without waiting for you to extend it to him.

You giggle as he pulls you from the kitchen.

You take a sip of your drink and set it on his nightstand. You silently judge his bedsheets. He could’ve come up with something a little more original than navy blue.

“I’m not an interior decorator.” He reminds you.

“Thank god, I don’t think you’d be very successful.” You answer back. He chuckles softly as he crosses the room to you. You lift your chin, lips hinting at a smile.

He tilts back the plastic fireman’s hat, then lowers his head and kisses your mouth. You relax against his chest, grabbing at his hips as he grabs at the back of your neck.

“Mm, what about the baseball?” You remind him. He furrows his brows as he pulls back to look at you, he’s halfway to smiling.

“You really want to see it?” He asks.

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” You’re certain he’s lying. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He chuckles as he lets you go and turns around.

You watch him pull open his closet. He pulls a box down from the top and opens it. He’s standing a little bit away but you can see the box is filled with childhood trinkets and sports memorabilia.

He turns back towards you and presents the baseball in and open palm. He watches as you read the signature and look up at him silently. Your mouth twitches as you try not to laugh.

He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.”

You laugh as you grab a fistful of his jersey and pull him forward into you. He tucks an arm around you as you fall into soft navy sheets, his knee slides between yours, his hand cupping your jaw as he works his lips against yours.

The next morning he slips out of bed early and goes for a run like he always does. Showers next. Doesn’t spend much time thinking about the girl that he left in his bed. Not until he comes back downstairs in the late morning in search of something edible that isn’t last night’s pizza.

He scrunches his face as he rounds the bottom of the stairs. He looks down the hall into the kitchen. You’re in the kitchen, in a new outfit and tidying up last night’s mess. Did you bring an overnight bag to a frat party?

Bradley hesitates at the end of the hall. He considers how to politely tell you to stop cleaning and leave. This hasn’t ever been a problem before. When girls wake up and he’s gone, they usually take the hint and leave. He should ask-

Jake.

Jake swings an arm around your shoulder and hugs you tight to his chest. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair isn’t done. He grins as he hugs you. This isn’t how Jake treats girls he hooks up with - he likes to impress them by always looking immaculate and keep them interested with gentle teasing. Bradley’s eyes widen.

Jake must really like you.

Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —

“Love you.” Jake grins, he messes with your hair as he turns to admire the job you’ve done cleaning up the kitchen this far. Bradley winces. He wonders how quickly he would be able to move out. This is going to make the team dynamic really awkward. Jake still has no idea that Bradley’s even watching. “You’re too good.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too…” You answer back. Your back is to Bradley. You have no idea that he’s there.

Jake looks up and clocks Bradley standing at the bottom of the stairs through the kitchen doorway. He clasps his hand down onto your shoulder and gives a nod of acknowledgement to his teammate.

“Bradshaw!” Jake smiles, he has no idea. You turn, your eyes meet Bradley’s. He’s wearing a baseball cap to hide the fact that his curls dried weird this morning, and a plain black t-shirt. He smiles sheepishly at you.

Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.

Bradley looks between you and Jake. Fuck, that’s so much worse. Jake’s in an especially good mood this morning. He grins proudly as he tucks his arm around your shoulder. You smile softly. Bradley looks between the two of you again.

He wants to bang his head against the wall.

How the fuck did he not notice that before? - That’s the exact same, smug smile. And you’re a longhorns fan - nobody likes the longhorns but Jake. This is bad. He fights his body’s natural impulse to slap a hand over his mouth.

Bradley realises that he’s still frozen, panicking, stood silent, still at the bottom of the stairs. He wonders if his movements look as robotic as they feel as he heads towards the kitchen. He forces himself to smile politely as he shakes his head. He hopes he isn’t red.

“I don’t think I have.” Bradley answers.

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.

You listen to Jake and Bradley’s small talk as Jake helps you clean the kitchen. Bradley remains firmly on the other side of the counter, like the possibility of coming into contact with you is terrifying. Which, it is.

Bradley knows that Jake likes to hold grudges.

“Alright, I should probably drive you home.” Jake decides finally. You let out a breath of relief and nod gratefully. You can’t stand being in this kitchen a second longer.

It’s bad enough that he snuck out this morning without saying a word. It’s even worse that he’s practically trembling now, worried about what your big brother would think. Lame.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley.”

Bradley smiles for Jake’s sake, his knuckles whitening around the counter as you pass by him.

“Sure — you too.”

It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.

…

Tag List:

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fic recs 2022 Top gun top gun maverick rooster september bradley bradshaw my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing A ROOSTER COLLEGE FIC WHERE HE’S A DICK I’M SO INVESTED it’s just such a different side of him from other interpretations of him i kind of love it i’m so excited to see the CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT jake being her big brother oh i’m smiling i love your writing so much if you only knew

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fivsecondsflat

1 year ago

HYPERVENTILATING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

more dom!hazel would be so appreciated if u can hehe 🫶🫶

+ another anon who asked for a cleaning bruises fic

𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬 & 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

More Dom!hazel Would Be So Appreciated If U Can Hehe 🫶🫶

Hazel Callahan x fem!reader

Summary: "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?"

Warnings: Established Relationship, Hyper feminine!Reader, PJ as her own warning, Mentions of Bruises, Mentions of Violence, Cleaning Hazel's bruises, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut (+18 Minors DNI), Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Fighting Kink?, Fingering, Dom!Hazel, Sub!Reader, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Overstimulation

Can be seen as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

Your afternoon had been almost perfect, with Hazel nestled between your open legs just a step lower on the school bleachers. Her head had been thrown back, with her curls running rampant against your skin and tickling your chest. You smoothed her hair down in vain intervals while she played with a loose string on the stitiching of your plaid skirt as she droned on and on about the unlikelihood of being enlisted as a bomb tech by the US Army.

"I don't really know where else I could use my particular set of expertise. What else could I do that won't ultimately lead me down the path of... you know, treason and terrorism?" You nod vaguely as Hazel continues her equal parts aloof and equal parts worrying rants. All while combining your fingers through her hair, "I mean, I just feel like World War III is probably upon us, you know-"

"Ugh, could you guys get a room?" You had been so enamored by Hazel's ranting that you failed to notice PJ at first. Her and Josie made their slow ascent on the bleachers until their shadows blocked your afternoon sun.

"Could you get a girlfriend?" The words had snipped off your tongue with harsh vexation as you instinctively cradled Hazel closer to your chest.

"Jesus-" Hazel had muttered, as she craned her neck up to stare at PJ and a disgruntled Josie, "Why are you trying to hijack my boob time?"

You had to reign in all murderous intentions as PJ grabbed hold of Hazel's forearms and forcibly dragged her up off the bleachers… out of your arms.

"You don't get boob time until we all get boob time. And need I remind you that you're going to be late for Fight Club," You heaved a very loud, very obnoxious sigh as you tilted your head backwards, letting the rays bounce off your pink sunglasses, "You guys should seriously get a room." Said PJ, "Stop giving the entire football team a show. Come on, you're setting us back like 69 years-"

Before PJ sunk her claws into Hazel completely, she bent down until her lips pressed against your cheek, and she whispered, "I'll see you back at my place, yeah?"

Your heart deflated at her confirmation that she was indeed leaving you for Fight Club, "Hazel..."

"Shh, shut up. Just say yes,"

But before you could wrack your brain for something coherent to say, PJ had already begun to make her descent off the bleachers, taking your girlfriend along with her.

You did not hate PJ, nor were you her biggest fan at the best of times. However, nights like tonight made your vexation grow to unimaginable heights simply because PJ is completely and utterly inescapable.

This evening, however, waiting for Hazel to get back from Figh Club, had been perfect. Etta James had been oozing through The Callahan's home speakers as you prepared the butternut soup- Hazel's favourite Post Fight Club recovery meal (although she hated admitting it, because she did not want to put you out of your way).

You are perfectly content, trapped in your web of make-believe as you prance around Hazel's kitchen, assembling your respective bowls needed for the soup. Mrs Callahan had let you in, as she always did after school, with a dismissive wave while she babbled into the receiver of her iPhone. Before she completely disappeared into the innards of her sprawling house, Mrs Callahan vaguely threw over her shoulder "Hazel is at her thing until 5 but I'm sure you've been made aware," and you were left in this great big labyrinth to entertain yourself.

Sex had been even more seldom, given that Hazel was rarely ever in any shape to commence any form of coitus due to the various bruises popping up in unlikely places. You wish you can safely tell yourself you despised seeing her bloody and battered state - that you gain absolutely nothing from Fight Club and that you most likely never will.

But you're staring dreamily into the pot of soup, and you're stirring and stirring, with your heart racing in anticipation of Hazel's inevitable return with her inevitable bruises smeared across her perfect little face.

You had not planned on cooking for anyone because seducing Hazel in her inevitably bloodied state was on the forefront of your mind, and Mrs Callahan had a very tempting bright pink apron hanging on the hook.

So perhaps you did do this all for her.

Perhaps you were waiting for her, to stride on through the foyer, nursing a streak of dried blood down her nose, eager to catch her reaction at seeing you so comfortable in her space while you rushed to swoop in and fawn over her.

This near perfect daydream might have actually manifested…

Were it not for PJ's loud and obnoxious voice bleeding into the kitchen from the foyer, accompanied by the heavy groan of the front door slamming shut. Your shoulders visibly sag as you empty the rest of the soup into your bowl just as the trio rounds the corner into the kitchen.

"Oh my God - soup!" PJ exclaimed rushing towards you with her gaze zeroed in on the bowl locked firmly in your hand. You had been so focused on keeping the bowl from PJ's incessant grabby hands that you failed to see the dazed, almost breathless look that sprinkled over Hazel's face who drifted slowly behind Josie despite this being her house.

Suddenly, every thought about the impending bruise she was facing due to not dodging a right hook earlier vanished from her mind like doves in the wind. Hazel's head was completely flooded with the image of you, in her kitchen, with your cute as fuck little skirt grazing just above your knee.

This almost did not feel real. Less than a month ago, no one barely blinked in her direction, but now...

So enamored was Hazel by your act of service, she nearly failed to catch PJ's innate need to flirt whenever you were in the vicinity.

"You look hot by the way," PJ had slyly said, still reaching for the bowl of steaming soup, which you only drew higher above your head.

"Sorry PJ, only people who make me cum get to eat my cooking."

"Is that an invitation?" She asked, leaning against the counter, "That sounded like an invitation."

Hazel cleared her throat, finally succeeding in having your eyes wash over her. "Can we probably not talk about you fucking my girlfriend, maybe, I think?" She said cooly, discarding her bag somewhere on the floor before making her up closer towards you. Her slouch was even more prominent and you swear the air in your lungs thinned as she brushed up beside you and muttered, "Hey,"

"Hey yourself." And Hazel's tummy instantly warmed as you discarded the bowl on the counter, turning to cup her cheeks in your hands as you observed her latest shiners acquired from Fight Club. Something sinister flashed through Hazel's mind as your big dark eyes scanned over her visage, eyeing the new bruise splotched across her eye and the horizontal laceration on her cheek.

"It doesn't hurt," She can barely find her words under the overwhelming feeling of your care and attention. Your scent is all encompassing, and before she ever allows for anymore of her arousal to stain her boxers Hazel attempts to draw her face out of your palm.

"Jesus, Hazel!" You squeal, pulling her head down closer to your height, until Hazel has to support herself with a hand on the counter behind you, "Please don't tell me you were sparring with anyone on the football team again!"

You hoped you succeeded in masking how turned on that thought actually got you...

Hazel's voice is deep and low as she replies,

"Jeff said that if I can at least dodge his left, left, right hook next time, I could probably be ready for the whole team." You breathe out and airy laugh almost the same time as her, the both of you silently aware of what the other was doing.

"Ugh, you're such a virgin." PJ mutters under a mouthful of soup.

"I literally have a girlfriend," Hazel mutters without looking away. Her gaze was nearly trapped in yours as she allowed you to pull her limp body away from PJ and Josie. "Come on, I need to clean you up."

And that's how you had found yourself, cross-legged on Hazel's bed with her leaning against the headboard like your Oh so compliant little patient. Her gaze is yet to waver from yours, in fact, cleaning the laceration had been utter hell, right up until this point because Hazel had taken to drawing various circles against the skin of your exposed thigh.

The skirt had ridden up marginally from your seating position, and Hazel seems perfectly fine toying with your various emotions.

"You look really pretty," Hazel breathed out as if those words were sitting heavily on her heart ever since you applied the wet gauze against her left cheek. You try to hold your composure, keeping a firm eye on the dressing of Hazel's wound as you say, "I don't really think I want you going to fight club anymore,"

"Tch'yeah okay," she snickers dismissively, "Hey, is this skirt new? It's hot- like 'gay 50s housewife' kinda hot," There's an edge to her voice that has Hazel sitting taller against the headboard before incriminatingly letting her hands drift just a little higher on your thigh. Your breathing becomes heavier as you fight hard to maintain your crumbling composure.

"I'm serious, Hazel," you had begun to whisper. Why had you begun to whisper?

"I don't wanna have to stitch you up every time-"

As soon as the gauze was plastered onto her cheek, Hazel's head was already melting into your chest, nuzzling at your open cleavage exposed by your Pastel v-neck as she says, "God, I love it when you mommy me,"

"H-Hazel," any warning you tried to inject into your tone gets fizzled out by the embarrassing moan that escaped your lips as Hazel's teeth dragged lightly against the skin of your chest. Her hands were restless, as if she was testing herself as to how far she'd allow herself to go so quickly.

You suck in so much air as Hazel's palm cradles the inside of your thigh and because you're cross legged, closing your legs is nearly impossible. "Fuck, I'm so turned on, right now," her voice cracks as she brings her face up from your boobs. Pressing a hand to your cheek, she tries and fails to bring your lips towards hers.

Hazel frowns as you say,

"You think it makes me feel good seeing you like this?"

You ignore the budding voice in your head echoing the loud and very obnoxious 'yes, yes you do like seeing her like this. You like seeing that reckless smile blossom onto her cracked and battered face. It gets you wet and you know it does-'

But your voice is full of fragile conviction as you say, "You think I like seeing my girlfriend beaten up everyday of the week?"

Hazel blinks once before she succinctly replies, "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?" An entire desert ecosystem is suddenly born inside your mouth, and you swallow thickly as your eyes evade Hazel's uncomplicated, piercing gaze. She tilts her head, smiles gone, simply waiting for your response.

"Do you want me to tell you what I think?" She asks before steadily closing the distance between you once more. Only, you're so terrified of being caught out, so utterly embarrassed at the thought of her finding out about the pool of wetness that had begun soaking completely through your panties, that you back away the closer she gets. Your slinking backwards only allows Hazel to crawl closer until she's hovering above you in the centre of her bed.

You have her undivided attention, and she has yours. Your eyes recklessly scans her face, every cut, laceration, and every old bruise buried under a new one has your lips turning downward as a small, almost imperceptible whimper forces itself out of your throat.

"There she is…" Hazel whispers with a palm cradling your cheek, "There's my needy little girl," You're quickly slipping into subspace right in front of her and Hazel is more than grateful. A single silver pendant dangles from her throat as she dips down, finally connecting your lips in a quietly passionate kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut, and so does hers. The both of you are utterly enamored by the sheer lust communicated by the intensity of the kiss alone.

"Fuck," Hazel curses, momentarily breaking apart to peel off her oversized graphic tee. You're watching your girlfriend in her sports bra with unbridled lust shining heavily on your pouty lips.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She says, "Please, Baby."

You're slipping deeper and deeper but you still have half a mind to lightly whisper, "Hazel, they're right downstairs-" She's already crashing her lips back down onto yours.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She murmurs against your lips, never being able to stray too far.

The hand that isn't holding her up, hovering above you, is once again, underneath your skirts, only this time, the tips of her fingers are dragging up against your inner thigh with no chance of stopping.

"Fuck, Hazel,"

"Is that supposed to be an answer?"

You're already pulling your own hips off the bed, seeking her hand out like a whore as you break the kiss only to whimper, "Yes, okay, fine! I'm so wet for you, Hazel- just, please!"

She watches completely fargone as you let your soaked panties meet her awaiting palm. Watching you grind yourself against her hand has Hazel's mind absolutely descending into lust.

"God, you're so beautiful," she says, before finally pressing her own hand against your soaked panties. She rubs in harsh, rough circles, eager to bring you to the very edge of insanity. She needed to see you fall apart for her again and again-

"Inside," You whisper, watching your girlfriend rub your cunt with bated breath. You're still wearing your skirt but you figure Hazel needs to fuck you in it to fulfil some sort of fantasy and you don't entirely mind. Not at all.

"Hazel, Please. I need you inside-"

"Fuck- you're such a slut-"

Your head immediately falls back against the bed as Hazel's movements against your soaked panties increases.

"You like it when I call you a slut, baby?" Your hips stutter upwards in vague response as you moan loudly into the air.

"Fuck- Hazel, I'm close- I'm so fucking- fuck," the orgasm sneaks up on you like a villain in the night and you're spamming underneath her, while Hazel continues to rub your cunt through the torrid sensation. Before you've ever even come down from your high, there's a knock on the door, and look towards it with slightly parted lips and blurry vision.

"Hey- you have no more soup, and I think you two are fucking in there so Josie and I are just gonna g-"

"Fuck off, PJ!" Hazel screams at the door, failing to hear the small little 'Okay, rude' before she's lifting your skirt until they're pooling at your hips.

"Hazel, what're you-"

"Another one, okay?" She nods encouragingly before shifting your panties aside and pressing the colds tips of her forefinger and middle finger against your soaked cunt. "You're going to give me another one. I wanna see if I can do it."

You can't even roll your eyes at her unnecessary display of pride because your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as she drags the essence of your arousal along your clit. "Fuck, you look so hot-"

"H-Hazel," the aftershocks from your previous orgasm rack through your upper body just as the oncoming tempest of lust gears you up for the next one. Hazel leans over you once more as she continues to rub at your clit, "Just one more, baby, I know you can do it. Show me, baby." It's downright evil, the effect her manipulation has on your body as you descend further and further into your lust.

"Look at how perfect you look," she says with a voice thick with lechery, "Fuck, you get me so wet to, baby," she murmurs before instinctive pressing her lips to yours once again, as if something nestled in her being, craved the touch of your lips against hers.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Fuck- Hazel-"

"I'm right here, angel," she whispers, before bringing the tips of her fingers to your opening. Hazel is quick to slide her index and middle finger into your pussy until she's fucking you hard and deep. It takes a few short pumps for you to clutch mindlessly at her forearms with your vision slightly waning as you look up at your smiling girlfriend who watches you descend into your orgasm.

"That's it," she coos as you clench around her fingers, "You're doing so well for me, baby,"

"F-Fuck!" You stutter out as you fall into the depths of euphoria. Your mind is flooded with nothing but Hazel, all thoughts previously plaguing your brain is made null and void. In the end, you're just a beacon for her to release her frustrations out on. Even if it means overstimulating you until you become a noisy, helpless mess.

For a while, each other's heavy breathing is all you hear.

That is, until you hear a loud bump against Hazel's closed door, drawing both your attention.

"PJ-" whispers Josie with unimaginable frustration.

"Oh my God, they're definitely fucking-"

Tags

fic recs 2023 november I NEED HER hazel callahan hazel callahan x reader bottoms 2023 my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing fanfiction hall of fame also pj is hilarious in this characterization for everything is ON POINT

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

22/09/22: i’m going absolutely insane over this!!! EXASPERATED SLEEPY FRIENDS TO LOVERS INDEED!!! this was genuinely so fun to read, your writing flows so easily, you’re so talented AND THE WAY YOU WRITE JAKE IS SO-!!!!!! ANYWAYS!!!! MY FAVORITE PARTS ARE BELOW THE CUT!!!

“Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.” what an image!!!

“You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.” this part already shows so much of their dynamic i love it so much.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.” JUST A TOUCH TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT!!! I JUST KNOW HE DID IT ON PURPOSE LITTLE SHITTTTTTTT

“You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.” droopy eyes and floppy hair. i see it all. i want him. also love how she gets lost in thought ajxhsjhxhshdhshd

“Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.” 🥲🥲🥲

“Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.” THAT’S NOT IT AT ALLLLLLLLL :(

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.” why is he so ridiculous and dramatic i can’t ajxhsjxhshdhhsdh

“Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.” love love love how she’s already thinking about an answer to throw at him but decides against it because HE REALLY IS A WARM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.” AAAAAAAAAAAAA SCREAMING ALREADY

“You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.” i love this quote <3

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.” NO IT’S NOT!!!!!! HE PAID ATTENTION!!!!! HE LIKES YOU!!!!

“Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.” absolutely losing it they’re so touchy with each other and COMFORTABLE WHILE DOING IT AND THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE JUST GOOD FRIENDS??? GOOD PALS??? HELLO??? also the way you wrote this ❤️❤️❤️❤️

“You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.” NOW MY BRAIN IS STARTING TO SHORT-CIRCUIT!!!

“He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail.” STOP I’M GOING TO CRY AND THROW UP HE PUT THE FINGERS BACKSJCHSHCSHCHDHCHDHHFHSHDDH STOPPPPPPP

“I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.” i’m not like you meaning jake is a slut i mean she’s not wrong there. BUT ALSO: THE WAY AND THE CONTEXT IN WHICH HE SAYS GOOD GIRL I HAVE JUST PASSED AWAYYYYYYYYYY

“How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.” this line hit so hard. she really had set in stone in her mind that he didn’t have feelings for her oh GOD HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN PINING FOR EACH OTHER I’M GOING TO CRY!!!

“All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.” OKAYSJCHSUCYYSYCHSHXHSHD

“And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?” TELL YOU ABOUT ALL THE TIMES I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT TAKING YOU APART I CAN’T DO THIS HOW DARE YOU I HAVE NO WORDS.

“His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i’m going through it right now 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.” EXACTLY!!! OH MY GOD!!!

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.” CAN HE PLEASE STOPSJDJSCHSHDHDH

“But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin.

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?” slut ❤️

“Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.” feeling so many emotions right now this is so beautiful!!! getting her grounded!!!!!! there’s so much trust here at the same time that she really doesn’t believe it’s actually happening (which would make her a little insecure) but it’s jake ❤️❤️❤️❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒

“He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.” THEY’VE WANTED EACH OTHER FOR SO LONG HAVEN’T THEY AAAAAAAAA

“Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.” YESSSSSSS NEW FAVORITE PEOPLE EVER WHY AM I EMOTIONAL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.” no words. no words. i refuse.

“Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?” STOPPPPPPPSHCXHSHXSHHXHS

“You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.” YEAH.

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” god he’s SO COCKY AND IT’S LIKE YOU SAID IN THE BEGINNING OF COURSE HE’S COCKY FOR A REASON NO ONE IS THIS CONFIDENT WITHOUT REASON TO BACK IT UP. I HATE HIM. THIS PART IS PERFECT. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.

“As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.” MAYBE YOU’LL SPEND YOUR DAYS TRYING TO ELICIT IT FROM HIM AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE I LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE THEM!!!

“When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.” this is all so sweet and endearing my heart is getting arrhythmia.

“You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.” HE REALLY WOULDN’T BECAUSE HE LIKES HER SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😡☹️☹️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 but she still can’t help feeling a little insecure but that’s okay!!! all will be resolved!!!

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.” AND THERE IT ISSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

this was so good!!!!! friends to lovers with hangman hits so differently!!! and combining that with the way you write, the way you set the scene??? perfection. AND YOUR SMUT??????????????? WILL BE NEEDING SEVERAL WEEKS TO RECOVER!!!!!

have you considered maybe writing a part 2 about them or a little prequel? so we see more of their dynamic? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 sorry i’ve fallen in love, they’re just adorable and i can’t wait to read more of your work!!!

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

GIF by when-in-doubt-eat-pizza

Technically, it’s the middle of the night.

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door.

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings.

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set.

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life.

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks.

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal.

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy.

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants.

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring.

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue.

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch.

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies.

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs.

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts.

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps.

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird.

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable.

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart.

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.”

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge.

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you.

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name.

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw.

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts.

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak.

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin.

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs.

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process.

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan.

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry.

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow.

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up.

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you.

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you.

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here.

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips.

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words.

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter.

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks.

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly.

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck.

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss.

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom.

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it.

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?”

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger.

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock.

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

Tags

fic recs 2022 Top gun top gun maverick jake seresin september hangman you nailed it my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing FRIENDS TO LOVERS WITH JAKE MY HEART IS GONNA BURST OUT OF MY CHEST feeling very dizzy after reading this i wanna reread it forever mutual pining <3 wish i could highlight literally every sentence from this it was all so perfect AND SO IN CHARACTER LIKE THAT’S LITERALLY JAKE SERESIN HE SPEAKS EXACTLY LIKE THAT HE’S EXACTLY LIKE THIS i guess i have a brat kink it’s time to admit it i’m putting this in the jake seresin fanfiction hall of fame

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

reading texas sun isn’t enough, i need it injected into my VEINS!!! best piece of writing i’ve read in a long time. it just keeps getting better!!! this is THE joel miller dope you need in your life. SUCH GOOD CHARACTERIZATION I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT FOR POST-OUTBREAK I KNOW YOU’RE GONNA NAIL IT!!! i haven’t been able to properly post reviews about each chapter yet (i’m so sorry but i read it religiously) but i’m planning to reread it and highlight my favorite parts soon because THIS IS LITERATURE, BABY!!! i did not have “obsession over tlou” on my bingo card for the year at this level, but here we are!!!

texas sun - series masterlist (joel miller x f!reader)

series summary: Twenty years later, Joel still doesn’t know how to describe what you were to him. You’d never made any promises to each other, but you loved his daughter like she was your own. Had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have let you go.

description: plot inspired partially by this request. pre-outbreak! joel miller x f!reader, slow burn(ish), eventual smut. will end up covering game/tv show events. reader does not have a name, and there's no use of y/n, but she does have a fully fleshed-out backstory, friends/family with names.

warnings (will update as needed): fluff, angst, romance. multiple pov's. time jumps. smut (18+ only, minors DNI), alcohol use, marijuana use, descriptions of absent & abusive parents, eventual canon-typical violence & content. More specific warnings on each chapter.

a/n: super excited about this one, i've had so many ideas for it and it has been a pleasure to write! will try to update roughly every week or so, but i have a full-time job, so it just depends on what i can reasonably accomplish. i don't rush things out before they are ready, so please be patient. :)

fic playlist | writing masterlist | read on a03

chapters: "*" = contains smut

volume i volume ii volume iii volume iv volume v* volume vi* volume vii* volume viii volume ix volume x volume xi volume xii volume xiii

Tags

april the last of us fic recs im obsessed 2023 joel miller tlou I will die my silly little goodreads masterclass in writing fanfiction hall of fame absolutely no thoughts just texas sun TEXAS SUN JOEL MILLER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! truly shakespearean in so many ways you are very insane and i love you for it am i 100% absolutely pretending we’re never gonna get to post-outbreak? you bet i can’t wait for you to OBLITERATE US keeping up weekly is like therapy i love the end of the week because we get TEXAS SUN!!!

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fivsecondsflat

2 years ago

college and my internship have been simultaneously kicking my ass!!! i just wanna lay down!!!

Tags

rant 2022 diary november no more girlbossing just girlresting oh wow it’s already november i wanna watch movies and read fanfiction but my anxious brain won’t allow me because i start to feel guiltyyyyyy at least i got my salary on the 31st bought a bottle of wine inspired by midnights so i’m very excited for it to arrive at my little home oversharing <3

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