on my rewatch and currently obsessed with this clip.
i don’t care what you tell me that is NOT a look of “why in gods name does this man still exist i need to smite him.” that is a pure “we ‘met up’ last night and you said we’d never see each other ever again” kind of fear
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Bob just says what’s on his mind. It took some time for him to open up, to accept that he is welcome to chime in whenever he feels like it. Now he is confident with his comments, makes jabs here and there with a grin, bolder with his attitude.
John loves hates how that crooked grin steals the air from his lungs. At the same time, he envies Bob so, so deeply.
Because John chokes on his words, too caught up in his own head. He thinks over a simple sentence until the opportunity passes and Ava leaves the conversation. He keeps turning a simple opinion on a movie in his mind, worried if it is well-developed enough, until Yelena shrugs and drops the topic.
He shoves everything down until he is forced to shut up— until it becomes impossible for him to put his thoughts and feelings into words.
So yes, he envies how easy it is for Bob to share what’s on his mind. Bob easily argues about movie preferences, about how regular sour and patch kids are better than the grape flavoured ones, explains, with great enthusiasm, where to find the best food trucks around the area.
He doesn’t flinch away from sharing an opinion, doesn’t worry if Yelena will walk away when they disagree.
John used to be like that, so bold and unapologetic with his words. But after spending years alone on solo missions— his mistakes and fuck-ups marinating in his mind, he starts second-guessing himself. He is still loud about his preferences but doesn’t share much. Because what if he is rejected.
Hypothetically, if they were to go on a mission where they end up in a lab and one thing were to go wrong after another and they were to get exposed to some sort of a mystery liquid from one of the test tubes…
And suddenly, lying isn’t so easy anymore. And keeping silent isn’t even an option. Because whatever they had in those test tubes rips the truth from them no matter how hard they try to stop it.
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That You were great there, Bob from John making Bob bat his eyelashes at him as he thanks him for the recognition makes me think of established Voidwalker with John being super aware Bob glows whenever he's told he did good.
So he makes sure Bob knows he recognizes his efforts/work and praises him as soon as Bob accomplishes something.
Bob did the dishes that had been in the sink all weekend.
John thanks him, kisses his temple and takes a minute to appreciate Bob’s bright smile.
Bob went back to therapy after missing a couple of seasons because he wasn't feeling good.
John tells him he's so brave.
“It's not a big deal, it's just therapy,” Bob shrugs.
“Are you kidding? It takes a lot of courage to go back and be vulnerable. You made the right decision”, John tells him with a pat on his shoulder that turns into a hug.
“You think?” Bob asks, squished in John’s arms.
“Trust me”
Bob stands for himself when Valentina tries to push his boundaries with her demands on the progress of the control of his powers.
Bob puts her a stop, she's even surprised he did, she looks almost proud.
Everyone pats his back, cheering him for his win against evil Valentina.
John grabs his face with both hands and plants a kiss on his lips with a loud laugh.
“That's my Bobby! You gave her hell, baby”, John cheers.
“She's going to be so mad”
“Fuck her. You can tell her to fuck off again. I know you are shaking now but once your head clears you will see you did so good. I'm so proud of you”
If it was possible Bob would glow golden for how good those words make him feel.
It can go from the smallest to the biggest accomplishments, John always makes sure Bob knows he notices them.
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sentryagent would also be the funniest direction for the thunderbolts to take. i think being divorced and having his kid taken away, then being trapped in an oven by his employer, and having his body and ego wounded several times over was enough to crack the door open on the vault of john walker's carefully sealed off self-awareness, but we need more. we need to hit him with a bisexual awakening via someone he considers below himself. it's not the only way to get him to reconsider and recontextualize his entire life and identity, but it is the coolest. and bob needs a boyfriend. thank you for attending my philosophy lecture, please feel free to grab a pamphlet on your way out
You can't convince me Jake would not enjoy the mom group dynamics. He would bask in the attention the moms would inevitably give him.
This is crack treated only semi-seriously. Tbh, I giggled my way through this thing.
***
Jake's heart is overflowing with love as he watches his little girl bounce around the park. Her big brown eyes wide with joy, her smile too bright for this dull world. She’s the most beautiful human being under the sun, parental bias be damned.
Resting in his palm, like a treasure, is a glittery pink bow, long forgotten by its little owner, traded instead for a little too big, well-loved San Diego Padres baseball cap adorning her long chestnut curls like a crown for the princess she is.
“She’s the sweetest,” Veronica leans in, bumping into his shoulder. Her eyes follow his line of sight and she smiles, a pleased private thing, only for Jake to see. They stand like this, shoulder to shoulder, watching the scene unfold in front of them.
The kids play some sort of game only they know the rules of. They're in the middle of an excited outburst when Veronica's little boy, overwhelmed by the noise, new surroundings and too many friends all at once, starts to spin on the spot, screaming his lungs out.
And Jake’s little girl, bless her, joins him in immediately, matching his energy. She spins with her arms outstretched, dress twirling. Leaning her head back, she loses the cap, but she doesn’t care. Jake watches enamored, noticing that with her head thrown back like that, her hair almost reaches under her knees. It’s a miracle, she hasn’t yet pulled half of it out by stepping on it.
The rest of the kids run to join them too, making it look like a flash mob, rather than a successfully dissolved tantrum. They soon switch to a weird version of tag, chasing each other while still spinning.
That’s when Jake turns back to Veronica, not really keen on seeing the next skinned knee the game will inevitably bring upon them.
“She’s always ready to include him, no matter what,” Veronica says gratefully. “Got a heart of gold, your little one,” she adds, squeezing his shoulder. Her words make Jake’s heart expand in his chest.
Sometimes, the feeling gets so big. It’s like he’s ready to explode any moment, letting it consume him in a way only love can do. But then he holds it in for a while, cradles it in his aching arms. And lets it loose to the world. Everytime, his heart stays a little bigger than it was before, aching with the intensity in the best possible way.
“Well,” he aims for a joke, because there’s no way he can let her see what’s happening inside of him right now, “She’s got it from her dad,” he says with a smirk.
Veronica laughs at that. “Sure, ‘cause you’re such a sweetheart yourself.”
Jake winks at her, enjoying his own secret joke, while maintaining his persona. He was not talking about himself, but she doesn’t know that. Him. Not yet.
“Yeah, well, I made the raspberry pop tarts she loves so much,” Veronica says, waving her hand at the table their little group is currently occupying.
Jake nods his thanks while he turns around to take in the rest of the women currently setting up what looks like an entire aisle of snacks of the nearest supermarket spread onto the wooden picnic table.
They might not look like it, but they're his people. Together, they form one very average mom group - perfectly curated, very typical, a bit bonkers. Just the way he likes it. They’re like pokemons and he has them all.
There’s Alice, the I-can-and-I-am-doing-it-all single mother, who hit on him HARD the first time they met but backtracked immediately when he flashed her the ring on his left hand, becoming his bestie instead. They’re THE team when it comes to field trips and class meetings. Always ready to jump in and help each other when life and school pick ups get complicated.
Then there’s Tess, the overzealous extroverted stay at home mom, who will plan everyone’s week just so she doesn’t have to stay with her kids at home alone. Play dates and coffee dates organized for the rest of the school year, art supplies always ready.
Veronica, always complaining about anything and everything, but secretly the most tender and loving person, who makes the best and most beautiful cakes. She’ll also drive around half of the town just to come back for you when your car won’t start.
Also Emily, the chaotic mom, always running late, kids in mismatched outfits picked by themselves, her cheeks covered in sparkles from the last time her little boy wanted to try his hand at make up, fake Anna and Elsa tattoos covering her forearms.
And then there’s Jake, the designated dad of the group. Always cracking jokes, always low-key flirting with all of them at once, basking in the attention naturally given when a group of mothers adopts a fellow parent who also happens to be a man.
They've been his village for the last five and a half months, since his little girl started school and Bradley left for his latest deployment.
They follow all the unwritten rules of any mom groups out there:
Do not ask too many questions. Any information must be given freely.
Talk about the kids. Safe territory.
Complain about your partner once in a while. The group’s foundation stone is solidarity.
Engage in the WhatsApp group chat, for fuck’s sake. We need to hear your opinion.
Be there for each other. Everyone needs an adult conversation once in a while.
“Oi, darling, careful,” they hear from afar, and that’s Emily. Arms full of backpacks and hats and snacks, finally arriving, only forty minutes late this time. She’s stumbling behind her three kids that are already running wild joining their other friends on the playground.
Jake runs up to her, taking all the backpacks from her arms.
“Hi Em, are you moving or something?” he asks jokingly, looking down at the amount of stuff she’s bringing.
She just laughs. At herself mostly. She may always bring chaos with her, but she’s never in a bad mood. “The camo one is yours, actually,” she says, nodding with her chin to an old worn-out camo backpack that’s got a pink stuffed arm of Jake-doesn’t-know-what peeking out of it.
“Mine?” He asks, eyebrows raising.
“Yeah, Bee said it was her dad’s?” she says, frowning. “She gave it to Timmy last time he was at yours. Apparently, he had collected too many rocks and needed something to put them in, so he could bring them home,” she clarifies while unloading another snack aisle on the already overflowing table.
At the same time, Jake spots the rooster keychain dangling from the zipper and understands. “Oh, right. Her dad’s,” he mumbles with a little smile.
The thing is, they haven’t met Bradley yet.
The thing is, they haven’t heard of him yet either. At least as far as he knows.
Though their little girl is always talking about her dad, they have no idea there’s two of them.
He fights the urge to giggle. It’s a little stunt they pull anytime they get the chance. And they move a lot, so there are always new opportunities waiting.
It doesn’t work out everytime, but when it does, it’s glorious.
“Jake, did you manage to get that gluten-free cake thingy for Hallie?” Tess asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Of course,” he drawls, “but I’m never going back to that shop ever again. As much as I love Hallie,” he adds quickly.
Tess frowns but Alice snorts, almost drowning in her Iced Blond Vanilla Latte. “You should have seen him,” she’s laughing now, coffee splashing around as she shakes with it. “He almost fell out the door, basically running to my car,” she heaves with laughter, taking the piss out of Jake, because she knows she can. “He jumped in, go, Alice, go!” She mimics Jake’s drawl, which earns her the group’s full attention and one very intense green-eyed stare.
“And I’m like… all confused, what the fuck’s going on, is there a zombie going after you?” she’s acting out the whole scene now. “But before I can even start the car, there’s a lady bursting out of the shop, Sir, sir!” And Alice apparently missed her calling because she should have been an actress. Jake can already feel the embarrassed heat reaching his cheeks. “And she’s waving the paper bag with the cake up in the air like it’s a handkerchief and she’s flagging down fucking Titanic.”
She has too much fun with the story. That’s when Jake needs to intervene and try to save some of his own dignity. If that’s even still possible, that is. “Alice,” he cries out, “you saw her! She was insane. She literally wrote her number on the,” he lowers his voice, because there are kids running around and he’s a good parent, for fuck’s sake. “Fucking paper bag.” He says, eyes wide, emphasizing the words quietly. He rummages the table to find said gluten-free cake thingy, and from underneath pulls out a paper bag, which has, indeed, a phone number written on it in big black, desperately looking numbers.
“And,” he continues pointedly and fishes out the receipt from the bag, “on the fucking receipt, too,” he says, pulling out the thin strap of paper, showing the unmistakable digits to everyone. He holds it high above his head, pinning Alice with his glare. She’s still laughing, nonetheless. “She would have written it on the fucking cake, if she could,” he mumbles, scrunching the receipt and paper bag in one ball and throwing it into the trash can resolutely.
They’re all laughing now, mostly at his and Alice’s dramatics, rather than Jake’s despair, but he’ll have none of that. “I’m a married man, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, arms crossed over his chest, lips pouting, willing the blush from his cheeks away.
“Speaking of which,” Alice sidles up to him, “When’s your significant other coming?” she asks, eyebrows raised, all business like.
And suddenly, there are four very intense pairs of eyes on him. They circle him like prey. “You promised.”
Yeah, he did.
Jake thinks back to the day he made that promise and his heart thumps a little faster in his chest. It was the day Bradley finally came back home. After long, long six months of deployment in stupid, far away, across-fucking-too-many-time-zones Japan, he came back. And Jake was so happy, holding their girl and his husband in his arms, after so long. The three of them finally together again.
He made that promise on a whim, out of pure happiness.
“Should be here any minute,” he says, smirking, confidence back where it belongs.
“Oh, I can’t wait to finally meet her.” - “Is she even real?” - “She must be a real one, putting up with you.” - “Little Bee must be her mini-me, right? ‘Cause she sure didn’t get those curls from you, blondie.” - …
He doesn’t correct them.
His eyes go back to his little girl. She’s sitting in the grass, laughing at something Timmy just said. The sun is painting her hair in gold, her skin too. She’s picking daisies the way all the kids do - the cap in her lap full of flower heads with no stems. Jake forgets how to breathe for a while.
Until…
“God almighty!”
“Holly fucking shit!”
And of course, that gets Jake’s attention. “Come on, there are kids arou…” His scolding fades away as he catches the sight of his friends. They are staring, jaws half way on the ground, hands on chest.
He follows their line of sight and oh…
He forgot. He totally forgot.
Bradley had an official meeting today. Which means he’s now striding towards them, all easy confidence, crossing the park like the whole world belongs to him, in his uniform.
And Jake stares too.
Because he’s allowed to. Because he couldn’t for so long. Because it’s Bradley.
It’s that simple.
He’s … Gorgeous. He’s always been the most handsome man Jake has ever laid his eyes upon. And he still is, after all those years. Even with silver strands in his chestnut curls, even with his midsection getting fuller over the years. All of these things only add a layer of beauty to the man he once was. A layer of life. A shared one. A layer of love.
The uniform leaves nothing to imagination, hugging him at all the right places, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders, his impossibly long legs, the swell of his strong arms. The sun finishes the picture by painting him in every shade of gold, from his curls, to his skin, to the deep brown of his eyes. The uniform cap is tucked under his arm. The wings, pinned on his chest proudly, glitter with light.
Eyes and heads turn in his direction. Women stop in their conversations, ducking their heads, trying not to stare too obviously. And failing. Kids stop in their tracks, eyeing him suspiciously - in the intense way only kids are able to.
But Bradley’s eyes are on his own target. He strides with intent, crossing the grass like it’s tarmac and he’s ready to embark on a mission. Only the mission is Jake.
He doesn’t slow down until he’s right in front of their group. All eyes on him. He stops then and smiles, eyeing Jake’s friends with amused grin - Jake’s forever favourite expression of his.
Jake’s always so excited about the big reveal. He can’t wait to see his friends finally connecting the dots. Laugh at their surprised faces. But he always misses it, too busy staring at his perfect husband.
Alice is the first one to come to her senses. She clears her throat, breaking the moment of silence.
"You looking for something, Sir?" she squeaks, cheeks pink, all her usual game gone with the wind.
Bradley smiles a bit more, steadfast and confident. “No,” he answers simply. And there’s a whole life hiding behind that one short word. “I’ve got everything I need,” he adds, locking his eyes with Jake.
And Jake knows what flying feels like, he knows what being the best of the bests feels like, what being completely utterly totally free feels like. But nothing ever compares to this.
He can’t hold his act any longer, he needs his husband’s arms around his waist, his lips against his lips, the affection currently consuming his whole body and soul out of his system before he explodes with it.
He takes a deep breath. How is it possible that after all those years, he still gets butterflies in his stomach just by looking at the man? He smiles at that thought and makes a move to finally step closer and erase the distance between their bodies, but someone beats him to it. And Jake can’t even be mad about it.
“Daddy!” a happy squeak breaks the silence and Bradley has just about the right amount of time to turn around so he can catch his little girl jumping into his arms. She hugs him with all of her body, koala-style, burying her face into his shoulder, uniform be damned.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Bradley says with the soft voice he only keeps for his little girl. He hugs her back tightly, but she’s a kid at a park and has no time to waste, so it only takes a second before she wiggles her way out of his embrace, running back to her friends again.
She makes room for Jake to finally step in. He leans in, planting a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Hello, darling,” Bradley purrs, pulling him closer by the belt loops on his pants.
“Hi, husband,” Jake says, grinning into another kiss, chasing Bradley’s lips.
Top Gun: The Gay Agenda (A Goose’s Lament)🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈
1986, Miramar, California.
Nick "Goose" Bradshaw was a patient man. A devoted husband. A loving father. A steady RIO. A rock. But as he sat in the locker room, towel around his neck, while Pete "Maverick" Mitchell ranted in full, barely-repressed-gay-glory about one Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Goose realized something truly chilling:
He was going to die surrounded by idiots.
"—and he's got these stupid, pretty blue eyes, Goose. Like—like oceans. Judgy, Arctic oceans. And his jaw? What the hell? It's like Michelangelo carved it himself. It's infuriating. He’s got these annoyingly capable hands and this silky, mocking voice like a villainous opera ghost, and he—he thinks he’s better than me just because he’s tall and broad and slim and hot! And don’t get me started on that beauty mark—I wanna punch his stupid angel face and kiss it at the same time and that’s messed up, right?!"
Goose stared at his best friend for a long, harrowed moment. “Mav.”
“What?”
“Sweetheart. You're in love with Iceman.”
Maverick blinked at him.
Goose turned, stood, and walked directly out of the locker room to call his wife.
That night, at the Bradshaw’s house, Carole, radiant queen of his universe, cackled like a banshee as Goose paced.
“I’m telling you, babe,” Goose moaned, massaging his temples. “It’s mutual. I overheard Iceman call him a ‘stupid green-eyed cutie.’ That’s not combat language, Carole, that’s foreplay!”
Carole nearly dropped the baby.
“I have spent weeks, WEEKS, keeping those two from killing each other or accidentally making out on the flight deck! And now? Now I have to make sure I knock before entering the locker room or I’ll walk in on Maverick’s legs around Iceman’s waist again! There were noises, Carole. Noises. I need hazard pay.”
But for all his complaints and grumblings, Goose was happy for his friends. And for himself, because, at last, he could put an end to the saga of emotionally repressed gay pilots.
He must have suspected this wasn't the case.
Goose never thought he’d be grateful for witnessing one emotionally-repressed Navy homoerotic slow burn resolve into a marriage, but the peace that settled after Ice and Mav tied the knot was glorious. Until…
The Phone Call.
“Hey, Dad?” Bradley’s voice, now grown and inflected with slight frustration, echoed through the line.
“Fine. Mostly. Except this one guy—Jake Seresin. Ugh. He’s got these stupid pretty green eyes and this smug beautiful smile and he talks in this Texas drawl like he’s hot or something—he’s got dimples, Dad. Dimples. I swear, I wanna punch his annoyingly handsome face right in the—"
Goose froze. The coffee cup slipped from his hand in slow motion.
“Carole,” he whispered, handing over the phone like it was a live grenade. “Talk to your son about his OBVIOUS crush for Seresin. I—I can’t go through this again.”
On the other end: “WHAT?! It’s not a crush! I don’t even like him! He thinks he’s so slick just because he—he flies like he was born in a cockpit and he’s always—NO, MOM, STOP LAUGHING—this is serious!”
Goose was already on the other line, calling Iceman and Maverick.
“You DID this to him!”
Goose’s furious screech could probably be heard from orbit.
Maverick’s laughter came in unholy wheezing bursts, while he tried to say: “Technically, Goose, we never corrupted him. He’s just… following in our flightpath.”
“YOU TAUGHT HIM TO CRASH INTO GAY FEELINGS AT MACH THREE!”
Maverick wheezed, “I’m so proud of the kid. He’s even ranting like me!”
Iceman took the phone. “Hi, Goose.”
“Don’t you ‘Hi Goose’ me, Ice Prince of Gay Pining! This is your fault too!”
Iceman reply, calm and dry. “We accept full responsibility for corrupting your son. We’ll send a fruit basket. And tissues.”
“You cursed my bloodline with emotionally constipated, pilot-loving disaster men! You infected my son with your drama! Now he's as emotionally constipated as you two assholes”
Maverick gasped. “Goose. Goose. Did you just say that out loud?! Honey!”
“DON’T 'HONEY' ME, DEAR. I HATE YOU BOTH. I WANT NEW FRIENDS.”
“You’ll never do better,” Ice said serenely.
Carole could be heard in the background, howling.
Goose thought it couldn't get worse.
Until it did. Until it happened.
The Closet Incident
A week later, Goose received a call from Admiral Ron "Slider" Kerner. Current CO of NAS Pensacola. Goose braced for a tragedy.
“Hey, Goose. Slider here.”
Goose immediately felt dread.
“You're not going to like this, but—well—I just found Bradley and….”
Silence.
And then…
Goose isn't sure he heard correctly, but he swears something sounded like a dog choking on a bone. Was Slider choking?
“Bradshaw!” Slider chortled. “You’re not gonna believe this—I just caught your Gosling and Seresin in a storage closet. Doing things. Noises, Nick. NOISES”
Goose blue screen. He must have misheard Slider. He prayed he did.
“Say again?”. Please, PLEASE, tell me I heard wrong. Goose was at his wits' end, and he was sure this was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Trauma response. A form of PTSD. That must be it.
Instead: “Bradley and Jake. Storage closet. Caught them mid-thrust. Jake saluted me while still having your son inside him. Just thought you’d want the full picture, Admiral Dad.”
Goose screamed into a pillow for eleven minutes and then started therapy.
He was absolutely billing Iceman and Maverick.
After Slider's call (which the entire Top Gun '86 class knew about, thanks to Slider and Maverick), Goose was confident nothing worse could happen. Sure, the call he had with Bradley where they discussed guidelines for proper conduct regarding storage closets use in the Navy was awkward, but now everything was back to normal...sort of.
And then it happened again. On an ordinary day, a bomb landed on Admiral Nick "Goose" Bradshaw's desk.
In the form of a letter.
Dear Admiral Bradshaw,
Please accept my formal apology for the incident in the supply closet. While our timing was… unprofessional, my feelings for Bradley are entirely sincere.
I'd like to take this opportunity to officially ask for your blessing to have a relationship with your son (even though we've already had sex—again, sorry for the inconvenience—and we've done other things).
I really care about Bradley; he's perfect. I want you to know that I will always treat Bradley like the prince he is, because I'm sure your son is becoming my world.
I promise to always be the best version of myself for your son, because that's what he deserves. He makes me want to be better. To fly better. He's my wingman. And I will always take care of his wing.
Also, Bradley told me that you're close to Admiral Kerner (and I must confess that you and your friends intimidate me), so could you ask him to stop making faces and sounds every time he sees me? I'm worried he'll die of suffocation from laughing so much.
Respectfully,
Jake “Hangman” Seresin.
Goose practically ran the entire way home. Read the letter to Carole. Then together, they called Maverick and Iceman and read it again.
As Carole read the letter (and cried with laughter) Goose stared off into space like a man haunted by the ghosts of his past and Maverick could practically be heard on the floor laughing (gasping for air) Iceman, always composed and serene, said: “I like him. He asked permission. Good manners.”
Goose, finally out of his trance, said, "Iceman, you're paying for my therapy forever, man. This is worse than when I had to listen to you read poetry to Maverick while we were on the USS Enterprise.”
Iceman: “Fair.”
And so Admiral Goose Bradshaw carried on, wiser, wearier, and only mildly traumatized. He had survived the IceMav saga, and now the BradleyJake operation was well underway.
Sometimes, he looked up at the stars, wondering if future Bradshaws would continue this glittering, chaotic legacy of falling for their cocky flyboy nemesis.
He prayed not.
But just in case?
He increased the Navy’s mental health budget.
And added “Emotional Disaster Preparedness” to flight school training.
Jake’s worst nightmare came to life one pleasant evening at the Hard Deck. A secret he’d kept to himself all these years was exposed like a raw nerve for all to bear witness. He had no one to blame but himself, really.
He’d gotten too complacent, too soft. The allure of being a part of a group instead of lurking on the outer edges had him in a vice and wouldn’t let go. It started on the carrier on that fateful day, so caught up in the elation of everyone coming home that he’d thrown his arms around Phoenix, and then Bob, who’d welcomed him with happy smiles. He’d inexplicably started trading high fives and friendly pats with the others, a sense of tactile camaraderie he’d never had with his other squadrons or classmates. He’d even ruffled Callie’s hair a time or two. Picked up Fanboy in a bear hug. They’d smiled back at him.
The Daggers wanted him. Him. Jake. Volatile, sometimes mean, always bratty, but they’d made it clear: you might be a jackass, but you’re our jackass.
The sentiment touched Jake Seresin like nothing else ever had. He had brothers growing up. He’d had teammates. Rivals. Acquaintances. But - barring Javy- he’s never had “friends”. Much less an entire squadron of them. Friends that laughed and cut up and joked with him. Friends that called him out on his occasional shitty mood and bad attitude, but wanted him anyway. It was a novel experience.
He glanced over at Rooster across the bar chatting with Phoenix. At the proof you didn’t have to be friends with someone to sleep with them. Many, many times. But even Bradley Bradshaw had warmed up to him after the whole “this is your savior speaking” thing. Bradley Stupid Bradshaw with his devastatingly sincere cow eyes and his cutely quirked mouth. He’d been extra “friendly” lately after that handshake.
No, you know what? This was all his fault. They were all at fault.
Jake had never been so caught up, so distracted, so free-flowing in the gentle whirlwind that is friendship and love. His little sister, the book nerd, gushes about this popular literary phenomenon called “found family”. Perhaps that was what this was.
Perhaps that’s what had just spurred Payback to - instead of just stepping around him like would have in the past - grasp Jake’s exposed, vulnerable side just under his ribs, to bodily guide him sideways out of his path to the pool tables. It wasn’t a forceful gesture, just a gentle press and squeeze of a massive hand and strong fingers into the soft skin of his belly through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. An innocuous, friendly, decidedly physical “excuse me”. The reaction was immediate, and Jake actually could sooner stop that missile than what was about to happen.
He spasmed.
A full-bodied, seizing, violent shudder, and then he buckled like he’d been electrocuted.
He only just managed to keep his feet, but it was dramatic enough to draw the attention of the rest of the Daggers, who of course, all dashed over to his side in a panicked flurry.
“Oh my God, Jake!” Callie was drunk and frantic and motherly, her hands coming up to grasp Jake’s face. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Dude, what did you do to Hangy?” Fanboy smacked his pilot on the arm, and then ducked out of the way as Trace and Bob elbowed their way into the fray.
“Jake, are you hurt?” Natasha was nothing but business, even as buzzed as she was, and Bob, ever the loyal watchdog, tried to shepherd Jake to sit on a barstool.
“-Javy, why are you laughing,” Callie scolded; Javy hadn’t even moved from his seat. “I thought Jake was your bestie!”
Javy, who had in fact been grinning like a loon the entire forty five seconds this Greek tragedy had played out, laughed harder, head thrown back in peels of beer-fueled mirth. “He is my bestest bestie!”
Jake glowered. Of course his oldest friend knew his deepest secret, and had been sworn to secrecy the instant it had come to light. “Javy, you promised!”
“Hey, man, have I said a word?”
“Not a damn word!”
“I didn’t!”
“Ever!”
“Never!”
“He’s ticklish.”
Rooster.
That slimy bastard hadn’t so much been sworn to secrecy as, well, Jake had just assumed the act by which he’d found out had been so illicit that Bradley would have never dared to say it out loud in front of people.
Apparently - unfortunately - he held no such inclinations.
Javy, the traitor, had to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling off his stool, his mad cackling causing patrons across the bar to turn their heads. He’d kept his word, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna enjoy the aftermath.
The collective gasp from the rest of the Daggers was so synchronized it almost seemed choreographed. “No!”
“Oh, yeah,” Rooster said, “he’s crazy ticklish. All you have to do is touch his ribs and he’ll be a screaming, squirming mess.”
The Daggers’ eyes lit up with glee.
“Wait,” Payback said, brows drawing in confusion, “how do you know that?”
Bradshaw smirked and raised a shoulder, as coy as could be. “See for yourself.” He said with a flourish toward Jake, who had been edging out of the group and toward the bar’s exit.
Jake froze at the words. “Bradley-“ he breathed out, eyes wide in shock. He looked akin to a rabbit caught in a trap, and as the Daggers turned toward him like a pack of hungry dogs - eyes wild and grins feral - he felt like one, too. “-no.”
He blinked, and then he bolted.
The door leading to the beach banged against its hinges as first a desperate blond and then a pack of loud, gleefully drunk aviators tore out into the darkness and sand beyond.
Rooster chuckled and sipped at his beer, nodding to Javy as he moved to sit beside him.
“So,” Machado began, “you and my boy, huh?”
Bradley grinned wickedly, fondly, listening as the pitiful pleading began in ernest in the distance - “…no no, no please please, Bob… Bobby I thought you loved me! NoooOO-”
The rabbit had been caught.
The sound that came from decorated naval aviator Lieutenant Jake Seresin’s throat could only be described as squeal. Manic laughter and the shrill, belting screeching of a man being tickled mercilessly almost drowned out breaking waves on the beach.
“Yep. Me and your boy.”
Javy nodded, listening to the sounds of pure joy outside, his Jakey the center of it for the first time since he’d known him. He met Rooster’s knowing gaze and reached over to clack their beer bottles together. “Good.” He gestured at the wide open door and the helpless begging beyond. “Shall we?”
“Oh, hell yeah, I want a turn.”
Now when Jake is being too much of a brat, all any one of them has to do is sternly catch his eye from across the room and wiggle their fingers at him - silent, threatening - and he will instantly, with a shuddering breath, become quiet, wide-eyed, docile.
Mav and Cyclone are both confused and amazed. Maybe the kids had gotten into some kind of witchcraft over the weekend. But the third time witnessing the odd finger wiggles turning Hostile Hangman into Sweet Jake, well, who were they to question it?
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