talk to me, goose

He hides it well for the military, but back home he’s one of a dozen cousins whose photos have been pinned to the cork board at the county sheriff’s office since they were in middle school (they aren’t bad boys, they’re just crazy as hell).

Who (allegedly) shot off the illegal fireworks in the Garrison’s cow pasture and caused a stampede on Main Street? Who (allegedly) knocked over all of old Joe’s corn in “crop circles” and called the local news station with false reports of an alien invasion? Who (allegedly) stole all the road signs in town and hung them up in Uncle Sylas’s shed? Who bought 50lbs of tannerite from three local hardware stores and (allegedly) blew up a rusty old grain cylo just for shits and giggles, and the BOOM was heard two counties over and the state bureau of investigation was called in to investigate a potential hidden meth lab? Who (definitely) picks out the biggest, meanest looking group of out-of-towners in the local bar to hustle at the pool table every Friday night?

Those damn Seresin boys.

Imagine Bradley beaming in delight when Jake invites him to “go noodling with me at this secret little spot on the river, Bradshaw, it’s real pretty.”

He’s about to take his shirt off and get all cozy in Jake’s fishing boat for some good old-fashioned romantic “noodling” (or whatever Jake said in that cute country twang), when Jake suddenly, randomly hops into the water, disappears for a few hair-raising seconds, and then comes back up with a splash, a shit-eating grin, and a sixty pound, thrashing catfish biting his arm all the way up to his shoulder that he immediately hefts up into the boat beside him.

Bradley - the unapologetic California city boy - screams so loud he causes another stampede at the Garrison farm.

^ Seresin boys on a random Tuesday evening.

Anyone But You (COMPLETE)

TGM | Explicit | Bradley Bradshaw/Jake Seresin | 36.5k

---

When Jake Seresin is peer pressured into taking a last minute vacation, he certainly doesn’t expect Bradley Bradshaw to tag along. He also doesn’t expect to discover that his hotel is a hotspot for newlyweds. Nothing, however, could be more unexpected than finding himself on a fake honeymoon with his coworker, who just so happens to be inconveniently attractive.

OR

Bradley convinces Jake to fake a marriage for a fruit platter (and other reasons).

---

chapter 1 - love island is a documentary

chapter 2 - bradshaw(s), baby

chapter 3 - some people are immune to good advice

chapter 4 - tequila sunrise is a truth serum

---

boxerina my love ❤️

your style fits them so much it’s so perfect 🥹🥹

Ahhhhhhhh thank you, I'm trying to work out a solution for the prints ! I promise <3

In the meantime, have a random Wings AU Mav that's been in my wips forever.

Version without the wings under the cut.

I gave him peregrine falcon wings, since they're the fastest birds ever.

How am I just finding this out 5 years later, my mind is blown

Jake 100% would have given him the callsign Boomer

🖤

Jake and Bradley met one early morning on the beach after both of them couldn't sleep. They share a look, that look—the haunted, faraway stare born from years in the sandbox (or other places) seeing the worst horrors of the world.

At first they're cordial. A friendly sort of jerk of the chin in greeting, like ships passing.

Until one day Bradley is too deep is his memories, nightmares clawing at the walls of his mind and making them feel too real, that he doesn't notice Jake is there. Jake notices that Bradley looks stricken, dark circles under his eyes and hands trembling in his lap, staring out at the water, not like a surfer analyzing the waves but like he wants to just...wander into the depths and not come up for air.

So Jake, in his stubborn, protector glory, saddles up right next to Bradley and states, "we should surf together."

Just once. Just to try it out.

Bradley stares but nods, silent as a ghost.

They paddle out a good ways, and then just—sit there. Jake knows talking always feels like a double edged sword, so he doesn't bother asking Bradley anything. Just calmly sits beside him as they rock gently on their boards, watching the sun rise over the horizon, painting the water a beautiful array of oranges and yellows until it fades into an almost iridescent blue.

Bradley doesn't say a word until they make it back to the shore, soaked and chilled to the bone, but shoulders noticeably less tense. "..Thanks."

Jake waves him off. "Same time tomorrow?" Like it's that simple.

And they just—keep doing that. Meeting up in the early morning, before the sun is up, and paddle out a good twenty yards out and just sit there and watch the sunrise. Eventually they do start talking, but it takes awhile. Mostly simple, generic topics at the beginning, throwaway comments about the weather or recent sports scores, or even about what they ate the day before.

It takes much longer to broad the topics of their tours, and even it's choppy, fractured by anger and anguish and held tongues.

One morning they end up getting breakfast nearby, and Bradley tangles his feet with Jake's under the table like it's second nature. Like it's perfectly normal, an earned intimacy over countless mornings spent learning how the other works and operates.

And Jake?

He curls his foot a little tighter around Bradley's ankle and smiles into his coffee.

A Human-Centered Framework Top Gun: Maverick | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw/Jake “Hangman Seresin | 17,472 words | Rated E

"We have not been flirting," Bradley manages to say, eventually. "I've been telling everybody that you're an idiot once a year in a globally ranked academic journal while you desperately try your best to prove me right." "Like I said," Seresin smirks. "Flirting."

or; academic rivals to lovers by way of published papers

featuring: college professors, academic abstracts, the 'oh no he's hot' moment, the author's barely disguised career from their twenties, and unforgivable misrepresentation of the academic peer review process

imagine being banned from social media for saying what bro did to the manager