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Drawn Lines

Summary : Jake goes through your drawing notebook and finds out why you’ve never ever allowed so much as people approaching it.

Pairing : Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Important info : Your call sign is Lightning :)⚡️

Disclaimer : English is not my first language so sorry for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading. I have no knowledge in the US Navy or military so sorry for any inaccuracies in that department. Also I don’t draw and I do not have a single artistic bone in my body so sorry if this seems unrealistic or badly written !💞

Word count : 4.4k

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“Mickey…” you warned once, feeling him slowly creep up over your shoulder, trying to peek at the traits your hand was steadily tracing on the blank paper of your journal.

“Oh come on, I’ve already seen your drawings, what, is the process secret defense or something ?” Mickey whined out, sounding as petulant as a child.

Momentarily stopping, you kept your journal close to your chest, hiding its content from his view. He whined, finally deciding to leave you be, choosing instead to go slump on the opposite couch, while making it known just how unfair and mean you were for refusing to get him out of his lethal boredom.

Your morning training flight had ended thirty minutes ago, and Maverick had needed to attend some last minute meeting with Cyclone, leaving you in the briefing room, waiting for his remarks on each of your flying. Everyone had found a way to occupy themselves, except Mickey, who kept bothering everyone, trying to find something that he’d deem amusing enough to focus all his attention on.

He’d already gone to Natasha who had quickly sent him packing, choosing this rare free time to catch up on some paperwork the base’s administrators had been begging her to send for three months.

Bob had been kind enough to propose to share his book with him, but he refused, claiming it was too boring. And you suspected that he had actually found something to do, and that that thing was simply to annoy all of you, who were calmly waiting for the return of your instructor.

His next victim had been you.

You should have guessed it, truly. Peacefully sitting on the couch, tracing lines in your drawing notebook, eyes flicking discreetly every so often to the pool table, where Reuben, Javy and Jake were engaging in a pretty wild game of table football.

“Can I just look at one page, please ?” Mickey tried again, putting on the best puppy dog eyes he could conjure.

“No.”

No one had ever even glanced at your drawing notebook. Even though you’d always carry it around, whipping it out if you had a rare moment of rest during your busy life on base, everyone had learned to respect that boundary, no matter how futile it seemed to some.

“Leave her, Fanboy. She just doesn’t want you to see the naked men she draws in there,” Jake snickered from his spot at the table football.

You simply flipped him off, not even rewarding him with a stare.

Despite your notebook being so firmly guarded, everyone knew you drew beautifully. If they were honest, beautifully wasn’t even cutting it.

While your notebook was strictly off limit, you’d let them see when you’d lazily and mindlessly let your pencil graze the paper of a torn up blank page. They never ceased to be amazed at your ‘talent’, and they’d always let you know whenever they had the chance. Which, it’s not that you hated it, but the word ‘talent’ rubbed you the wrong way. This was no talent, it was years of hard work and practice, none of this had come your way the first time you had grabbed a pencil, and yet, the squad always made you out to be some kind of prodigee.

Everyone knew you drew portraits the best.

The first time it truly hit them was during one particularly boring meeting where Cyclone was just up everyone’s asses and complaining about how none of you ever bothered to do the administration work you were required to do. His scolding wasn’t new, you’d at least get one of these meeting every month, so it wasn’t something you all took too seriously. After a few minutes of sketching you passed off as pretending to take notes, you elbowed Natasha, snickering a bit as you showed her the piece of paper on which you had made Cyclone’s angry face come to life.

But the chuckling you had expected never came. In its place, Natasha’s eyes were wide open, in complete awe of the pencil sketch you had presented her. She quickly, and the more discreetly she could, passed it around the table for everyone to see, pointing to you in pride when the other members of the squad would look, equally as amazed as she was.

Ever since that day, Mickey had begged you to draw a portrait of him. You had always refused, not exactly knowing why, maybe simply for the pleasure of seeing him pout at your constant refusal.

He had been greatly offended when one night you had casually handed Penny a sketch of her you had quicky drawn at the Hard Deck.

“She gives me free drinks,” you had justified, a small smirk pulling at your lips.

“I have your life in my hands every-time we’re in the air, is that not enough for you ?”

One year, for his birthday, you had finally decided to grant him the one thing he kept begging you for. Mickey had literally screamed, yes screamed in sheer excitement when you had handed him the portrait you had drawn of him. It now stood proudly on his bedside table, adorned by a beautiful frame.

You drew beautifully, there was simply no other way to put in.

“Please, Lightning, I’ll do your paperwork for a month if you let me see,” Mickey had resorted to bargaining.

“No.” You said again, firmly camping on your position as the movement of your pencil grazing the page could faintly be heard.

“Good morning aviators.” A booming voice made every single one of you jump out.

And then immediately salute when you realized it was your commanding officer. Mickey nearly toppled over from how fast he stood up.

“Captain Mitchell has some other matter to attend to. I reviewed all of your flight footage so I’ll be the one debriefing you today.”

You swore you audibly heard Reuben swallow next to you.

Your commanding officer wolfishly grinned, a terrifying indicator that this debrief wasn’t really about to go as smoothly as when Maverick was directing it.

“Let’s move to briefing room three, shall we ?” He smiled, seemingly impatient to share his mind about the way you all flew.

Reluctantly, you all followed with a dutifully soldier step, though not without dread.

“You’re gonna get chewed up, man.” Javy whispered to Jake, snickering.

And he did. After absolutely destroying him, Maverick would have at least, discreetly, praised the risky maneuver he had pulled off.

But commanding officer Whitman was nothing like Maverick. After words that were anything but kind about his flying style, he was sent back to the main briefing room, like a child sentenced to think about his behavior.

Jake guessed he had maybe grown too accustomed to Maverick being somehow of an older and just as reckless version of him that he had forgotten that most of the moves he pulled could get anyone not only written up, but grounded, for good.

Jake sat down with a sight, the feeling of having been scolded like a child, something that hadn’t happened since the Naval Academy, sitting heavily on his chest. He groaned when he felt that he had carelessly sat down on something, the futile action only serving to upset him more after what he had endured a few doors down.

But all irritation suddenly vanished when he lifted himself to glare at the object daring to pester his sulking.

He froze.

Lying there, rarely unsupervised, was your drawing notebook, Sitting neatly where you must have dropped it when Commander Whitman had walked in.

The light green cover was a little worn out from you carrying it every where you went. He gently picked it up, took it out from under him so he could sit down again. His fingers hesitantly toyed with one corner, debating on opening it.

Why were you so adamant about no one looking through it anyway ?

While he mainly joked about it, Jake was convinced you were actually drawing naked people in there. What other reason would there be for your constant refusal ? You were talented as hell, wouldn’t you want to share that with everyone ?

Jake spent more time than he’d like to admit just watching you, nose buried in that stupid notebook, sketching away God knows what. The little furrow in your brow when you seemed to draw something just a tiny bit difficult, though he knew without seeing it that it’d look effortless no matter how much of a struggle you seemed to display.

His stare was fixed on the notebook in his hands. There would be no way for you to know he had gone through it if he put it back in the same spot, right ? He would just have a quick, harmless look. Besides, it wasn’t like he would be reading through your diary, it wasn’t anything too imitate.

And besides, he figured that if you did find out, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. You’d scream at him, sure, but again, it wouldn’t be different from any other day, no matter how hard he wished it wasn’t the case.

Still, he found himself still hesitating. Even if you never found out, it was basic respect to honor a boundary you had made abundantly clear throughout the years. But just as he was about to, though not reluctantly, put the precious notebook back down, curiosity with a mix of self deprecation, knowing that at least now you’d have a real reason for disliking him, made him open it.

And—

Well.

To say that it was underwhelming would be a tremendous understatement.

The first page greeted him with the beautiful sight of a Lily. Though, perfectly drawn, it seemed to be taunting him. Was this really what he had defied your prohibition for ?

Why would you even hide this ? Oh, what, did you think the flower was out of proportion ? Embarassed because you hadn’t drawn the petals as accurately as Mother Nature had carefully crafted them ? He had a little chuckle to himself, yeah, that was probably why. You thought your work was shit even thought it looked straight out like a Lily seed had been planted in your pages and you had dutifully took care of it to grow it into the beautiful flower staring back at him right now.

Pages after pages, he was met with objects from your daily life, drinks from the Hard Deck, a sunset at the beach, flowers that grew behind the base... One particular drawing of your F/A-18 that looked like one of the engineer on base had themselves drawn it had him staring a bit longer. And he found himself wondering just how many hours you had put into this, into all of this. How many years did it take for you to master life around you so effortlessly ?

He continued to turn the pages, snatched away by the beauty of your work. Jake was almost halfway through it when he suddenly froze.

A mirror was his first thought.

It felt like looking in a mirror.

His own face was staring back at him on the page, the only difference was the serious air he was harboring on the drawing, a huge contrast to his jaw hanging open at the sight of it.

He didn’t even have that fleeting second of astonishment, of doubt, of ‘oh my god is that me ?’. Because there was no place for doubt. It was, undeniably, him.

After the moment of shock had passed, his heart began to pound in his chest to the point it was almost painful. His eyes flicked to the page right next to it, him again. A small smile stretching his lips and a toothpick in between his teeth.

Jake stayed in what felt like a long time just staring at the perfect pencil drawing of his face. The knowledge that you had been the one to delicately trace every line of his face was spreading a warmth all throughout his body. He felt a flush bloom from his neck all the way to his ears and he laughed slightly, embarrassed by his own reaction.

Jesus, these were only drawings, he tried to reason himself. You drew people often, hell you had even drawn Commander Whitman in various state of fury a dozen of times, though his pounding heart didn’t seem to agree.

Willing himself to move on, he turned the page—

His breath got caught in his lungs.

The next page showed three little sketches of him, all different emotions that somehow covered a good part of the wild range of his personality.

On one he was harboring his usual cocky expression, smirk stretching his lips wide, eyebrows slightly raised in a defying air, and there even was a teasing and arrogant twinkle in his eye that made the drawing seem all the more alive.

The one right next to it showed his profile, head looking down at what he guessed was a pre flight checking list. Expression closed, focused, like every pilot ought to be while checking the plane that would bring them up to fifty thousand feet in the air.

The last of the three little sketches showed his upper half, a cue stick in hand, a genuine smile, staring off into the distance, where normally the Hard Deck pool table would be. But there was no scenery, only him. Happiness and relaxation evident in the way he held himself.

His heart wasn’t exactly beating the way it should, a weird mix of a flutter and a stutter that made his whole chest feel tight.

Jake felt seen.

And seen by your eyes, you, was the greatest honor he could think of.

His eyes widen when he saw the next page. Taking up almost the entire paper, he was drawn down to his midthighs. Swimsuit sitting low on his hips, Adonis belt on full view, abs carefully defined, puffed up chest, a grin illuminating his face and sunglasses to hide his precious green eyes from the sun.

Jesus fucking Christ, you had even gotten the mole on the left side of his hips. His flush only worsened, made him feel like his whole body was on fire. The harsh fabric of his flight suit suddenly feeling like too much on his feverish, sensitive skin.

Jake exhaled shakily. It felt overwhelming, and overwhelming wasn’t even cutting it.

His hands acted on their own as he continued to turn the pages. Each filled with images of him. Because to him, they were images. Not drawings. Images you had wanted to capture, keep a piece of. Stolen moments you had wanted to keep ingrained on paper, had wanted to keep him.

Almost half of your notebook was of him. He got to the last page you had drawn on.

A close up on his face from his neck. The brightest smile illuminating his features, the kind that allowed the creases near his eyes to make an appearance. A glint in his gaze that made him look warm, loving, almost tender like.

Writings at the bottom of the page caught his attention. The date was marked, like all the other drawings, he realized.

He frowned reading it.

The date on that last drawing was marked from the day before… which was a Sunday.

….You hadn’t seen each other on Sunday.

Something short circuited in his brain and in his heart.

Did that mean you were able to draw him by memory alone ? That you had every crease, every hair, every mole, freckle, every line of his face so deeply ingrained in your brain that you were able to render them that faithfully without even looking at him ?

It felt dizzying.

Eyes still transfixed on the drawing, steps coming from the hallway got him out of his trance and without thinking, he shoved the notebook into his flight suit.

“How did it go ?” He tried for casual as the rest of you walked in.

“Listen man, he even gave me shit,” Mickey complained, seeming still offended by what had happened, “I don’t even fly the goddamn plane !”

By the look on all of your faces, Whitman didn’t have anything nice to say to any of you.

Jake felt his heart stutter when his gaze shifted towards you, who were engrossed in a conversation with Natasha, most likely bitching about the debrief. It felt weird, to see you like that, knowing how you carefully sketched him every change you got.

You caught his gaze and frowned.

“What are you looking at, Hangman ?”

He smiled, and he wasn’t exactly sure if it turned out like a smirk or a genuine one.

“Nothing, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes and Jake could decipher the smallest quirk of your lips, the lightest blush on your cheeks and wondered if it had always been there but just been too blind to see it.

You didn’t say anything about your notebook, didn’t seem to notice it was missing, too distracted by the morning’s event.

That night, Jake went home with the notebook. He didn’t quite have the heart to let go of it yet. Lying wide awake in his bed, with what had become a precious artifact, open, he kept staring at that very last page. Carefully, he’d trace the lines out with his fingers, in adoration of the way you saw him. Touch over every brush of the pencil you had evidently, carefully thought about.

He struggled to find sleep, whenever he would finally turn off the light, it would only take minutes before he’d turn it on again, grab the notebook and flip through it. He felt like his insides were melting every time his eyes raked through the pages.

Knowing he had been your secret muse all this time was setting a new desire alight in his chest, burning as fiery hot as a SuperHornet engine. Jake wanted, almost foolishly, to pose for you. Look into your eyes as you’d trace every single line of his face, body and soul, knowing you wouldn’t even have to stare at him to get him perfectly, down to every detail.

When he finally managed to fall asleep, you visited his every dream, and being haunted had never sounded so delightful.

“Where the fuck is it,” you grumbled under your breath, frantically moving the couch cushions around.

It was only when you were already at home that you noticed the very unusual absence of your drawing notebook. The realisation that you had forgotten it on base was scary. But the realisation you had in this instant, as you had come earlier than usual to look for it, that perhaps you hadn’t simply forgotten but downright lost it, was terrifying. You trusted your squadmates enough to believe that they would respect your boundary even without yourself present to firmly remind them of it, but what if any other people found it ?

God, you’d actually have to transfer base.

“You looking for something ?”

You jumped and grabbed at your chest where your heart had a similar reaction as you turned around.

“Jesus Christ, Seresin ! Don’t sneak up on me like that !”

“If I really wanted to sneak up on you, sweetheart, I can assure you I wouldn’t have announced myself quite this loud.”

Your eyes rolled automatically, a reflex you had taught yourself a long time ago whenever Jake spoke.

“Yeah, right, thank you, you can leave n—“

You stopped dead in your tracks. Eyes fixed on Jake’s right hand and what it was holding.

Jake saw you freeze and suddenly he lost the cocky edge. He cleared his throat.

“I think you forgot this yesterday.” He now held the notebook in both hands in front him, but not quite holding it out for you yet.

You didn’t dare to meet his eyes, because you knew, without even him saying anything, you knew. He had gone through it. Mortification couldn’t even begin to describe the feelings going through you as you stayed there, just staring at your notebook in his hands. Somehow, despite this situation being your worst nightmare, in the back of your mind something told you that in between Jake’s hands, the notebook felt at its right place. The muse holding close to him every piece of art he had inspired.

You knew. And Jake obviously knew you knew.

“You’re very talented.” He finally said, trying to break the silence.

“It’s not talent it’s—“

“Hard work,” he finished with a small, endeared, smile. “I know. And it shows, how hard you work I mean. It’s beautiful.”

You gulped. “What is ?”

“All of it.”

A pitt was forming in your stomach. You hated how he was dancing around it, hated how careful he was around the subject and a small part of you wished he could have just laughed at you, made some cocky remark, at least that way you’d have gotten some reaction out of him. You didn’t truly understand his behavior, did he think he was showing you mercy after going through the most intimate item in your life, one that was practically a pathway into your mind and heart ?

You cleared your throat, knowing you’d have to be the one to address the obvious elephant in the room.

“Are you not gonna ask why I draw you over and over again like a maniac ?” You asked, trying to sound jaded and uninterested despite the beating of your heart.

The smile that stretched his lips was soft.

“I don’t need to.”

Something in you bloomed at the way he looked at you.

Jake finally handed you the notebook, which you took with shaky hands that you struggled to hide.

You both stood in silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. Dancing on your feet, you chewed the inside of your cheek. What the fuck were you supposed to say ? This felt like too big of a conversation to have at six in the morning just before the morning flight.

“You—“ you immediately cringed at the way your voice was strained and cleared your throat, “do you wanna take one ?” You offered, eyes looking everywhere but directly at his eyes.

His eyes seemed to widen in barely hidden shock before he schooled himself.

“Of course I do, you know I’d never missed an opportunity to have my own face hanging around my place.”

You chuckled, feeling at ease by the way he lifted off a bit of the emotional tension. You handed him the notebook back, him holding it didn’t look as terrifying now.

“Here, choose and just rip it out.”

You’d thought he’d take some time to think about it, ponder about his decision, but no. Jake opened your notebook with a speed and ease that suggested he knew exactly what he was looking for, and he did, landing at the last page. Jake showed it to you.

“Can I ?”

You nodded, temporally surprised by his overly respectful behavior. He laid the notebook down on the nearby table and began to carefully rip the page.

When he finished, he handed it back to you, keeping the page he had ripped for him.

“Thank you.”

Silence filled the room again. And when you finally dared to lift your gaze and look in his eyes, it almost took your breath away. How gently, how patiently he was looking at you, a small, almost encouraging smile on his lips. You realized that he was waiting for you to talk, allowing you to take that next step and you guessed it was only natural. You were the one drawing his face everywhere in your notebook like a psychopath. He didn’t need to ask, he had said. Didn’t mean that in his heart he wasn’t dying for you to say it out loud.

You took in a big breath, and took a step towards him. A small physical reconciliation that you hoped you’d be able to morph into an emotional one.

“Listen, Seresin, I—“

The sudden boom of the door bursting open made both of you jerk back from each other.

“Damn,” Mickey whistled, “you’re here early.”

The rest of the squad followed close behind him, and most of them were barely able to hide the small, knowing smile pulling at their lips. Mickey seemed to be the only one confused.

“Hey, did we interrupt somethi—“

Bob elbowed him before he could finish his sentence, and he only shot his friend a death glare when he loudly exclaimed his pain and whined about ‘what was that for ?!’.

You hurriedly scurried back to your usual spot on the couch, feeling caught red handed even though you had only been standing in front of one another. Jake, much more relaxed than you, settled down next to Javy on the other couch, across the room and facing you.

You feigned a normal behavior by opening your notebook, about to pretend to draw like your world hadn’t shifted on its axis just a few seconds before.

Right as you opened it, something fell right from between the pages and into your lap. Frowning, you picked it up. It was a folded piece of paper, you carefully opened it and felt your heart stutter in your chest.

On the paper were drawn two very simple stick figures. Though, simple, they were very recognizable. It was you and Jake. The fucker had drawn himself with an eight pack and it tear a quiet laugh from you.

The two stick figures were holding hands and their mouth lines were quirked up in happy smiles. Objectively, it looked bad, primary children level. But it was his. He had drawn that while thinking of you.

Warmth bloomed throughout your body and you looked up, searching Jake’s gaze. You didn’t have to search long because he was already looking at you, awaiting your reaction. Truth be told, you don’t exactly know what you did, perhaps you bit your lip, shyly smiled, or even simply stared at him in astonishment, whatever you did, it seemed to please him.

Jake smiled. And he suddenly looked exactly as you had drawn him on that page that now had found a new place in the front pocket of his flight suit. A sight that would have blinded you had you not learned to love its brightness.

And without thinking, almost on instinct, you picked up your pencil.

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Author’s note : omg it felt like such a long time since I’ve written for my babyyyy !! Just some little fluff, hope you like it !💞💞

Also is this projection about me wanting to be any good at any sort of art ? Yes it might. And the title sucks because I couldn’t, for the life of me, find something else.

Alsoooo, I feel like lately my fics have been having very little dialogue and a lot of internal thoughts about feelings and stuff ? Is that annoying to read ? Please be honest guys

Taglist : @football1921 @eroqista @mng0731

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