Rooster : You Know Those Things Will Kill You, Right?

Rooster : You know those things will kill you, right?

Y/n : *pouring another glass of whiskey* That’s the point.

Phoenix : *smoking a cigarette* We’re trying to speed up the process.

Bob :*Nods while eating raw cookie dough*

Cyclone: I know you snuck out last night Hangman.

Y/N: Play dumb!

Hangman: Who's Hangman?

Y/N: NOT THAT DUMB!!!

Y/N: Why are you smiling like that?

Rooster: What? Can't I just be happy?

Bob: Hangman tripped and fell in the parking lot.

Y/N: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it.

Phoenix: Just rip the bandage off.

Y/N: It’s Hangman.

Phoenix: Put the bandage back on.

Phoenix : Why are Rooster and Y/n sitting with their backs to each other?

Bob: They had a fight.

Phoenix : Then why are they holding hands?

Bob: They get sad when they fight.

Sun Bleached || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 1)

note: this is a multi part shindig (also on ao3 under the same name by “honeyhurts”) so buckle up babbyyyy

warnings:language and severely mia accurate information regarding planes and the navy

This had to be the dumbest fucking assignment he had ever been on.

“You need to work on being a part of a team. You know, actually having someone else’s back for once,” Maverick had said in the meeting where he introduced this (batshit insane) plan to him.

‘Not a team player’ his last several performance evaluations read. ‘Doesn’t play well with others’.

So Maverick decided to keep the entire team in Miramar while he taught Jake a lesson in teamwork.

Mav and his majesty (Cyclone) in their whispered meetings had decided to make Jake a squadron leader. He’d been allowed to choose most of his teammates (of course, sticking to the crew from the uranium plant mission), and Maverick had agreed that it was a smart, if not safe, choice. Tensions were still high after the last mission, and they had been anticipating a counter strike for a while, so it made sense to fly with a crew who knew the landscape and the magnitude of the situation.

But Admiral Beau Goddamn Simpson had ordered one little caveat. A way to challenge Jake and “strengthen his resolve and bonds with his team”.

“Nothing serious,” he had smirked. “Just a little push to hold you responsible and make you think outside the box.”

And in hindsight, he should’ve known better. Because it wasn’t a “little push”.

He had to choose someone from the graduation Top Gun class to be on his team.

Someone who hadn’t even completed the program yet.

A fucking rookie.

He knew, of course, that any pilot in Top Gun had been sent there because of their skill and talent, and were far from being a “rookie”, but still. They weren’t him or the rest of his team, therefore they were less.

He had never been much of a teacher.

So that’s how Jake “Hangman” Seresin ended up in the backseat of an F-18 with a “rookie” behind the wheel.

And not a very good rookie, at that.

The kid was shaky, all clumsy maneuvers and too loud talking. “Hive” they called him, but Jake hadn’t cared enough to listen to him rattle off the story behind the callsign, choosing to tune him out after basic introductions were out of the way.

The class was running a dogfight practice, every single pilot and RIO out in the clearing to get in last minute drills before graduation the following week. He had noticed with a grimace that this particular graduating class was incredibly small, even for “top 1%” standards. He had only counted four planes total, two piloted by two-man teams, the other two with solo pilots that he and Rooster were currently backseating for. Bradshaw had tried sparring with him over the comms since the drill had started, but Jake was in no mood to deliver his usual barb.

This was pathetic. He had just flown a mission with conditions no pilot in the history of the world had ever come close to flying, and here he was babysitting Hive only a few weeks later.

Top 1% his ass.

“Copper, you covering my wing?” Hive asked, glancing around casually. Jake knew the other teams weren’t too far, but had decided to keep his mouth shut and just let the kids fly.

‘To get a feel for how they normally fly,’ he told himself.

A full throb was beginning to bloom between his brows when Copper’s voice crackled through his headset. “I sure am, looking good.”

If “looking good” meant not doing a goddamn thing and taking what was essentially a joy ride without any actual action, then yeah, they were looking fantastic.

“Good morning fellow aviators,” came the crackle of a sly male voice.

Hive cursed, his shoulders tensing up immediately. His head whipped around frantically, and Jake sat up straighter at the sweat heading at his temples.

“You’re kidding me,” groaned Copper through the radio. “I thought you guys weren’t coming out today, Rev.”

A chuckle rang down the line, followed by an all too calm, “Cheek and I got out earlier than we expected, and thought we might join you guys. So what are we talking about? Our feelings and what girls we think are hot?”

Hive was getting antsier now. Even Jake found himself surveying the sky around them for another plane. The other pilot sighed. “I take it you already know where we are?”

“We do, and I’ve gotta say, you guys look great from this angle,” joked Rev, his tone laced with something almost predatory.

There was obvious nerve in Copper’s tone when he spoke, breaking the tense silence that had settled. “Hey Cheek, you wanna take it easy on us today?”

Hangman listened, ears straining past the static, only to hear Rev click his tongue. “Sorry friend-o, Cheek is in the zone, but I’ll go ahead and let you know, it’s not looking good for you guys.”

Jake caught sight of Hive’s knuckles turning white on the wheel, his posture completely rigid and firm. “Cut the shit, where are you?”

A laugh came down the line this time, full and loud and happy.

A distinctly female laugh.

“Can’t tell you, where’s the fun in that?” a voice dangerously close to honey giggled back.

Hive looked ready to hit something. “Just once, Cheek. I’m begging you.”

Silence. Then, “I’m right where you’ve always wanted me, baby.”

A sharp “fuck!” sounded from Copper before she continued.

“Underneath you.”

“Hive, she’s right below you, she’s fucking belly to belly with you,” Copper’s backseat, Texas, hissed. Jake found himself peeking out the window as if he could see straight down to whatever lurked beneath them.

The pilot in front of him let his shoulders slump, defeat written across the lines of them. “Cheek, baby, don’t do this to me. Not now. I was doing so well.”

He wasn’t, Jake wanted to cut in, but kept quiet.

That same laugh sounded again, raising the hair on his arms in a way that made him shiver. “Maybe I can be convinced to go after the other guys first.”

“Maybe we can be convinced,” Rev corrected.

It was Texas who responded, his voice like syrup and dramatically sweet. “Oh sweet Cheek, won’t you spare us? We’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Round of drinks on you guys, top shelf only,” Rev decided. A sigh of relief sounded through both planes.

“Fine,” Hive agreed.

And like magic, a plane appeared, barreling ahead of the team quickly and disappearing against the terrain just as quickly.

“Follow her,” Hangman instructed, his voice coming out before he realized he was talking.

Hive accelerated, his posture loosening now that the other plane was out of sight, but his tone took on an intensity that betrayed how he was feeling. “Cop, stay on my ass like a rash if you have, don’t let that shit happen again.”

They flew and flew until shouts sounded over the headset.

“What the fuck was that?” came a voice Jake instantly recognized as Bradshaw.

“Dead,” Cheek replied simply, followed by a slew of explicit s from whatever sorry team she had gotten her lock on.

Jake could practically hear the scrambling of the other team between their indistinguishable shouting and commands.

“I got eyes on them,” Texas declared, and Hangman lifted his head to get a look.

“Dead.”

And then there were three. Hive, Copper, and Texas seemed to realize the same time he did that they were the only teams left.

“Get around her!” Hive shouted, breaking hard right to try to scoop around the plane now aiming for the space between them.

But Copper had heard the command too late, and Jake heard the alarm sound signaling he had been caught in her sights.

“Oh Hive,” Rev singsonged.

A chill ran down his spine before he could stop it, and he wanted to smack himself for being nervous.

Nervous over a rookie dogfight.

How about that?

They managed all of 47 seconds before Cheek and Rev had slid their way right behind Hive, giving him a cursory, “sorry bud” and peeling off as the alarm started.

The ride back to the tarmac was quiet, but not tense, as if Hive had already anticipated this loss and even accepted it.

Jake pushed the canopy up the moment the wheels stopped spinning and dismounted as quickly as he could. His eyes slid across the planes gathered until he spotted a small crew collecting around one that had just cut engine. He had just sidled up next to Rooster with a frown when the canopy popped up and a sly smile popped up from the backseat.

“Hello fellas. Nice to see you all.”

Rev stood and hopped down without assistance, landing with a bounce in his step. He oozed confidence that had to be earned, and Hangman didn’t miss the way another pilot (Bandana, he thinks his name was) rolled his eyes silently.

But Jake’s eyes don’t linger on Rev long, snagging on the pilot slowly pulling herself out of the cockpit. Rev is there in an instant, gentle hands leading her down and settling her in the tarmac and there she is.

Cheek.

‘Pretty’ a small voice inside of him comments and he clamps down on that internal leash, ready to strangle it.

‘Reckless’ he insists instead, but there’s no bite to it, even to himself.

Cheek’s grin is broad and unchained, full of teeth and bright eyes, and Jake wants to scoff at it for some reason.

Rooster only says, “damn”, before turning on his heel and stalking back to the rest of their team now gathering in the hangar.

Hangman wants to follow, but his feet feel like lead all of the sudden. Cheek’s eyes are roving over the group, laughing at whatever these dorks are saying to her, and then her gaze settles on him. Her smiles shrinks into one of polite confusion, but Rev is clapping her shoulder and pulling her attention away soon enough.

Without further preamble, Jake Seresin, squadron leader, spins on his heel and stomps off.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5