thinking about fireman bradley again he plagues me 🚒🚒 imagining our girl getting a cheeky little tour round the station from bradley intended to be completely innocent but they're so obsessed with each other so it takes a little detour... and mav (fire captain at the station i'm thinking?) walks in on them and meets our girl for the first time and of course loves her and wants to properly get to know her "but maybe not wearing your helmet in the locker room, bradley" (the man in question is as red as his helmet and our girl's just there giggling)
It had started out as an innocent tour.
Still in the early stages of dating, and with Bradley's long shifts, he'd figured that while he's pulling doubles all week, he may as well make the most of it.
Except now he has you pressed up against his locker, and he's not sure how he's supposed to go three more days without spending the night in your bed.
His helmet is discarded beside you both, from where you'd just been trying it on, and his hands snake under your thighs to hoist you up against him.
Just then, the door to the locker room bursts open, and you both freeze. Much to your horror, standing in the doorway is Pete Mitchell, Bradley's godfather.
A man who is so important to Bradley that you've seen a multitude of pictures of him already, and who you very much don't want to meet with your legs wrapped around his son's waist.
A squeak escapes from your lips, while Bradley's face starts to steadily redden. "Mav, we were just-"
A hand is raised. "I don't want to hear from you right now." His gaze shifts to you, expression softening a little. "Pete. Nice to finally meet you. Bradley talks about you literally all the time."
"He does?" You're a little surprised. It's only been a few months, and with the hectic work schedules you both follow, you'd been trying to take it slowly. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Mitchell."
"I would rather the circumstances were different, but I suppose, that's all Bradley's fault. Not yours."
thinking about fireman bradley again he plagues me 🚒🚒 imagining our girl getting a cheeky little tour round the station from bradley intended to be completely innocent but they're so obsessed with each other so it takes a little detour... and mav (fire captain at the station i'm thinking?) walks in on them and meets our girl for the first time and of course loves her and wants to properly get to know her "but maybe not wearing your helmet in the locker room, bradley" (the man in question is as red as his helmet and our girl's just there giggling)
It had started out as an innocent tour.
Still in the early stages of dating, and with Bradley's long shifts, he'd figured that while he's pulling doubles all week, he may as well make the most of it.
Except now he has you pressed up against his locker, and he's not sure how he's supposed to go three more days without spending the night in your bed.
His helmet is discarded beside you both, from where you'd just been trying it on, and his hands snake under your thighs to hoist you up against him.
Just then, the door to the locker room bursts open, and you both freeze. Much to your horror, standing in the doorway is Pete Mitchell, Bradley's godfather.
A man who is so important to Bradley that you've seen a multitude of pictures of him already, and who you very much don't want to meet with your legs wrapped around his son's waist.
A squeak escapes from your lips, while Bradley's face starts to steadily redden. "Mav, we were just-"
A hand is raised. "I don't want to hear from you right now." His gaze shifts to you, expression softening a little. "Pete. Nice to finally meet you. Bradley talks about you literally all the time."
"He does?" You're a little surprised. It's only been a few months, and with the hectic work schedules you both follow, you'd been trying to take it slowly. "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Mitchell."
"I would rather the circumstances were different, but I suppose, that's all Bradley's fault. Not yours."
based on the song don't take the girl by Tim McGraw
I. The Creek Behind the Seresin Place
You were eight years old the summer your family moved in next door to the Seresins, out where the Texas roads turned to gravel and the land went flat and gold in every direction, and you were nine the first time Jake Seresin told you, in no uncertain terms, that you could not come fishing with him.
"It's a boys' thing," he said, with all the authority a nine-year-old could muster, hauling his tackle box down the porch steps like it weighed as much as he did. "My daddy's taking me to the creek. You'll just scare the fish off, crying and carrying on."
"I don't cry."
"You cried when Bobby Duncan pushed you off the tire swing."
"That's because it hurt, Jake."
He'd rolled his eyes in that particular way he had, the one that made you want to shove him straight into the nearest ditch, and gone on ahead without you — but you were a stubborn kid, stubborn enough to trail along at a distance through the scrub grass anyway, close enough to keep the creek in sight, because if Jake Seresin got to go on an adventure, you were not about to be left sitting on your own porch all afternoon.
It went fine, for a while. His daddy set up two lines and dozed off in a lawn chair the way grown men did on hot afternoons, and Jake stood out on the flat rock at the edge of the deep pool, showing off, casting his line further than he had any real skill to justify, and you sat in the grass twenty feet off pretending you weren't watching.
You never did find out exactly how you ended up in the water. One second you were standing at the edge trying to see what he'd caught, and the next the bank gave way beneath your sneakers and the creek swallowed you whole, cold and fast and a great deal deeper than it had looked from dry land. You went under once, twice, water in your mouth and your ears roaring, and you would tell people for years afterward that you didn't remember being scared so much as you remembered being surprised, like your body hadn't caught up yet to how much trouble it was in.
What you did remember, clear as anything, was Jake.
He didn't hesitate. Didn't call for his daddy, didn't stop to think about it — just went in after you, fully clothed, fishing rod abandoned on the rock, and got a fistful of your shirt and hauled you both toward the bank with more strength than his skinny nine-year-old arms had any business having. His daddy was already up out of the lawn chair and running by the time they broke the surface, wading in the last few feet to help haul you both up onto the grass, and you would swear afterward that you heard him mutter something under his breath the whole way in, quick and low and half a prayer — don't take her, don't you dare take her, not this one, not today — like the thought of losing the girl next door was one his own heart couldn't survive either.
"I told you," Jake said, when it was just the two of you again, sitting soaked and shivering in the shade while his daddy went to fetch dry towels, "it's a boys' thing. You could've drowned."
"You went in after me."
"'Course I did." He said it like it was the most obvious fact in the world, like there had never been another option on the table. "Wasn't gonna just let you drown, was I. Wasn't gonna be the one who let 'em take you."
You didn't know, at nine years old, what it meant that he'd said it that plainly, that certainly, like the idea of a world without you in it wasn't one he was willing to entertain even for a second. You just knew you stopped being scared of him teasing you after that, and he stopped telling you that fishing was a boys' thing, and by the end of that summer he was hauling you down to the creek right alongside him, tackle box and all, without a single complaint.
II. The Night of the Homecoming Dance
You were sixteen the year Jake Seresin got his driver's license and his ego at roughly the same time, and the two of you had spent the years between the creek and that fall doing what small-town kids did — growing up alongside each other so gradually you barely noticed it happening, right up until the night of the homecoming dance, when you noticed it all at once.
He picked you up in his daddy's truck, hair combed for once in his life, wearing a button-down that still had the fold creases in it from the store, and stood on your porch looking so nervous you almost laughed.
"You look nice," he said, too fast, like he'd rehearsed it.
"You look like you ironed that shirt with your hands."
"I did iron it with my hands. Didn't know we had an actual iron."
You laughed properly then, and something in his shoulders eased, and the two of you drove to the dance with the windows down and the radio too loud, and it was, for a while, exactly like every other night the two of you had spent together — easy, familiar, comfortable as an old pair of boots.
It stopped being comfortable somewhere around the third song, when he pulled you out onto the floor and put his hands, careful and a little stiff, at your waist, and you realized you'd never actually been held by Jake Seresin before. Pulled out of creeks, teased mercilessly, driven around back roads at speeds his daddy would've killed him for — but never just held, quiet, close, his chin nearly resting against your hair.
"You're awful quiet," he said.
"So are you."
"I'm concentrating. Don't want to step on your feet in front of the whole school."
"Since when do you care what the whole school thinks?"
"Since it's you I'd be stepping on." He said it lightly, but his hands had tightened just slightly at your waist, and when you tipped your head back to look at him he wasn't wearing the easy, cocky grin he wore for everyone else — he was looking at you like he was working up to something and hadn't quite found the nerve.
"Jake."
"Yeah?"
"You're doing the thing where you almost say something and then don't."
"Been doing that all night, have I."
"Every year, actually. I've just started noticing."
That got a real laugh out of him, startled and a little embarrassed, and he ducked his head, and when he looked back up some of the nerves had settled into something steadier. "Fine," he said. "Since you noticed. I like you. Have for a while, if I'm honest, longer than I've had the guts to say so. Figured I'd tell you before some other fool at this dance beat me to it."
"That's the least smooth I've ever heard you sound."
"I'm aware. Give me a break, I've never done this before."
You didn't make him wait long for an answer. You'd known, somewhere under the teasing and the creek water and a decade of growing up two houses apart, that this particular night was always going to arrive eventually — and when it did, standing on a school gymnasium floor under sagging paper streamers, you kissed Jake Seresin for the first time and felt him go still with surprise before he properly, thoroughly kissed you back.
"Well," he said, a little dazed, when you finally broke apart. "Wish I'd said something years ago."
"You had years. You spent them telling me fishing was a boys' thing."
"I was nine. Cut me some slack."
You were still riding the high of it an hour later, windows down again, radio low this time instead of loud, taking the long way home because neither of you wanted the night to end yet — until Jake pulled into the gas station off Route 9 for coffee neither of you needed, just an excuse to keep the night going a little longer.
The man came in about two minutes after you did. You noticed him before Jake did — the way he stood too long by the door, the way his hand stayed jammed in his jacket pocket like it was holding something he didn't want seen — and you'd barely opened your mouth to say something when he crossed to the counter, pulled a gun on the kid working the register, and told everyone in the store to get down, right now, hands where he could see them.
Jake put himself between you and the man before you'd even finished processing what was happening. Didn't think about it, the same way he hadn't thought twice at the edge of that creek years earlier — just moved, quiet and immediate, angling his body so that whatever came next would have to go through him first.
"Easy," Jake said, low, hands raised, voice steadier than you had any right to expect from a boy still wearing his homecoming button-down. "Nobody's gotta get hurt here. Take whatever you want out of the register. Take my wallet, take the truck keys, they're right here—" He was already working his keys out of his pocket, sliding them slowly across the linoleum. "Whatever you need. Just — that's it. That's all there is to take."
The man's eyes flicked to you, crouched behind Jake's shoulder, and something in his expression shifted, calculating, and Jake's whole body went rigid in a way you'd never seen from him before, not even the day he'd hauled you dripping out of that creek.
"Hey." Jake's voice dropped even lower, every ounce of his usual cockiness stripped clean out of it, replaced by something plain and urgent and entirely sincere. "Whatever you're here for, it's not her. You can have everything else in this store twice over. Take the money, take the truck, take anything you want — just don't take the girl. Please. Don't take her."
Whether it was the money, or the keys, or something in the flat, unflinching way Jake said it like he meant to make good on every word behind it — the man grabbed the cash from the drawer, snatched the keys off the floor, and was gone into the dark before the door had even finished swinging shut behind him.
For a long moment afterward, nobody in the store moved. Then Jake turned, dropped to his knees in front of you right there on the gas station floor, and pulled you into him so hard you felt the shake in his hands through your whole body.
"You're alright," he said, again and again, like he was convincing himself as much as you. "You're alright, you're alright."
"Jake, I'm fine—"
"I know. I know you are." He pulled back just far enough to look at you, and his eyes were wet in a way he'd have been embarrassed by on any other night. "Just needed to hear myself say it a few times."
You reached up and steadied his jaw with both hands, the way you had a hundred times since you were kids, and felt him lean into it, breathing like he'd just come up for air.
"You offered him the truck," you said, half a laugh, half something closer to tears. "Your daddy's truck. Same night you finally told me how you felt. Some homecoming."
"Would've handed over anything in the world," he said, quiet, rough. "Long as it wasn't you. Told myself that at a creek when we were kids. Wasn't lying then. Sure as hell wasn't lying tonight. Don't take the girl — that's the only rule I've got, and I'll say it to anybody who asks."
III. The Waiting Room
The years after that went the way years tend to go — fast, in the way you only notice looking backward. Jake left for the Navy the way you'd always half known he would, chasing something in the sky he'd been chasing since he was a boy standing at the edge of a creek daring the world to keep up with him, and you built a life that bent itself, without much resentment, around deployments and distance and the particular ache of loving someone whose job occasionally required him to be unreachable at thirty thousand feet. You married him in a small church outside the town you'd both grown up in, and Bradley stood up as his best man and made a toast that was somehow both filthy and moving, and life, for a long while, was as good as either of you had any right to expect.
It was supposed to be a normal delivery. That was the thing you kept turning over, afterward — every appointment had gone fine, every scan, every checkup, right up until the moment it very suddenly wasn't fine at all, and the calm hospital room turned into a blur of raised voices and moving bodies and someone telling Jake, very firmly, that he needed to step outside now, sir, right now.
He did not, by his own later admission, handle the waiting room well.
He didn't sit. Couldn't. He paced the length of it in his flight suit — he'd come straight from the base, hadn't even had time to change — boots scuffing the same stretch of tile over and over, jaw locked, hands shoved deep in his pockets like it was the only way to keep them from shaking. Every time the door opened he was halfway across the room before he registered it wasn't for him.
He wasn't a praying man, as a rule. Hadn't been to church regular since he was a boy, hadn't found much use for it out on the flight line where the only thing that saved you was your own hands and your training and a healthy dose of luck. But standing in that hallway, staring at a closed door he had no clearance to walk through, he found himself doing it anyway, low and rough under his breath, over and over, the same handful of words.
Take me instead, if somebody's got to go. Take whatever this costs out of me. Just don't take the girl. Please. Don't take her.
He didn't know how long he stood there. Time did something strange in hospital hallways, stretched and compressed in ways that made no sense afterward. He thought about the creek. He thought about a gas station off Route 9 and a night he'd once thought was the scariest of his life, back before he knew what real fear cost. He thought that if the universe was going to keep asking him to make the same choice over and over, it could at least have the decency to let the answer stay the same every time.
Don't take the girl. Take me, if somebody's got to go. Just not her.
The door opened.
He was across the hallway before it had swung halfway, already searching the nurse's face for whatever verdict she was carrying, braced for the worst the way you brace for turbulence you can see coming — and then she smiled, tired and warm, and said the words he would replay for the rest of his life like a mission debrief he never wanted to forget a single detail of.
"She's asking for you. Both of them are just fine."
He didn't remember crossing the room. He remembered the door, and then he remembered you — exhausted, pale, smiling at him like he'd hung the moon, a small, furious, red-faced bundle held against your chest — and he remembered crossing to you in three strides and dropping to his knees at the side of the bed like his legs simply couldn't hold him up any longer, one hand finding yours, the other coming to rest, feather-light, like he was afraid he'd break something, against the baby's tiny fist.
"Hey, flyboy," you said, voice cracked and hoarse and utterly delighted. "You look terrible."
"Feel terrible. Best terrible of my whole life." His voice wasn't steady, and he didn't try to make it be. He pressed his forehead to your hand, to the baby's fist, breathing like a man who'd just pulled out of a dive he genuinely hadn't been sure he'd survive. "I thought — for a minute there, I thought—"
"I know." You freed your hand just enough to card your fingers through his hair, the same gesture you'd been doing since you were kids and he'd come up from that creek soaked through and shaking, and it steadied him now the same way it had then. "I'm here. We're both here."
"Yeah." He let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere very deep, pressing one more kiss to your knuckles, then to your temple, then finally — carefully, like he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed — to the crown of the baby's head. "You're here."
He stayed on his knees at that bedside a long while, not saying much else, just holding on — to your hand, to a story that had started at the edge of a creek and very nearly ended in a hospital hallway, and to the two people in the room he had, in the end, never once considered a world without.
"Guess this makes three times now," you murmured eventually, half-asleep, teasing even through the exhaustion. "The creek. The gas station. Now this. You've spent our whole life telling somebody or something not to take me."
"And I'd say it a fourth time, a hundredth time, if it came to that." He pressed his lips once more to your hand, quiet, certain, the same nine-year-old conviction still sitting under every word. "Don't take the girl. Simplest thing I've ever known to be true. Just glad I get to keep saying it instead of meaning it."
★・・・・・・★
a/n: its been a while since i listened to the song to i had it on in the background while writing, country music is like the one thing i think that makes me yearn that i was a small town southern american girl like i love the accent ngl (and cowboys lol) (then i remember its america lol but allas)
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
fireman bradley fireman bradley fireman bradley viv he's all i can think about now
You do not hook up on the first date.
Ever.
And what's more, you consider any guy that does want to hook up on the first date the reddest of red flags.
But does that really count when you were the one to initiate it?
Sure, Bradley had kissed you first - dipped head and his moustache tickling your upper lip. You'd figured it was about as chaste as he could manage.
But you had been the one to pull him in by the shirt, crashing your mouth to his after a brief moment of pause.
You had been the one to move his hand to your tit, practically moaning into him when he tweaked your nipple through your sundress. It hadn't mattered to you that you were very much in public, and that anybody could come out of the restaurant and see him crowding you up against the brick wall.
Bradley had asked if you wanted a ride home - to save rhe Uber fare. You both knew what that meant, under the circumstances.
Clothes discarded haphazardly in your hall, before giving up on your attempt to make it to the bedroom. He'd eaten you out on the stairs, your thighs bracketing his head as your thoughts were reduced to just his name. Bradley Bradshaw.
The name would be stupid for anybody but him.
You realise that you're completely and utterly fucked when he carries you up to the bed for rounds two and three, peppering soft kisses across your face as he goes.
Like the two of you have been together for years, rather than on a first date.
Ari is new(er) she is best friend with Lauren and her number one hype woman. She has always kinda been around but I finally decided to figure out what she looks like.
I’m in a very unmotivated slump. I desperately want to continue but I’m not enjoying a lot of my hobbies right now because work has been sucking the life out of me.
Trust me, I think about it all the time and ideas for it. I’m just struggling. Then here shortly I’m moving. Life is taking the wheel right now.
Summary : There wasn’t anything in this world you feared more than the sight of blood. And when Jake gets hurt during a mission, despite everything, he’s the one who steps up to calm you down.
Pairing : Jake "Hangman" Seresin × Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️:)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading, also I have zero knowledge of the military or the navy so sorry for any inaccuracies in that area ! Also, reader in this has a phobia of blood, which I do not have at all so the writing of it might be widely inaccurate, deepest apologies for that.
And more than that it was a true fear that you harbored for the liquid pumped by your heart, sending life flowing through your veins.
It had been that way ever since you were a kid. Just the sight of the tiniest speck of blood made your skin crawl. It wasn’t always easy, considering the thing you were so afraid of lived just beneath a thin layer of skin, so easily breakable that just a scrape could reveal a crimson red that would send you into an irrational and uncontrollable state of panic. But you had always managed. Turning your head away and squinting your eyes closed during medical check ups and blood drawings, always being careful of the parts of your body that could easily get scratched or scraped — especially your hands… just some little things you were extra careful about in order to live a normal life.
Not a lot of people actually understood your phobia, most thought it was stupid and downright ridiculous. And you partially agreed with them, but that was the thing with phobias, they weren’t meant to be reasoned. They were, by nature and definition, irrational. Besides, this was not something you could do anything about, so really you just let all the dumb jokes and question roll off you. You had to admit some questions were quite funny though. If you were feeling down, you’d remember that one time Mickey asked you if that meant that you were afraid of your own period blood and it would still make you laugh as hard as when you’d first heard it.
Some people were scared of clowns, others of spiders or snake, some were even deathly scared of the ocean and could not set a foot in it. Your fear was blood, and in some way you were grateful for your brain to have selected that phobia among the thousands that inhabited and plagued the human mind, at least this one kept you out of harm’s way most of the time, never would you be caught attempting something stupid just to receive validation, or prove yourself. That’s how you decided to see it.
And right now your blood was quickly flowing towards your legs, seemingly preparing to choose the ‘flight’ option over the fight. Except that there wasn’t anywhere for you to run in the cramped confine of your cockpit.
Your ears were ringing and you could feel your blood pumping in your ears, your heart jackhammering through them. The only thing your mind was able to register was the loud, incessant beeping of your jet, while an urgent, mechanical voice was urging you to pull up. You could faintly hear Maverick’s voice through the comms, screaming at you to eject but his instructions were wildly overridden by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. The mission had seemed pretty simple on paper. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing you couldn’t do with your eyes closed. And yet.
You wouldn’t even be able to explain how and when everything started going to shit. Oh well, maybe you could. It all had started when Maverick designated you as Jake’s wingman, that alone should have warned you about how this mission would end, up in flames. Quite literally.
A louder beeping overtook the first one, this second one was higher, almost screeching, so loud in fact you thought you felt you eardrums pop for a second. A quick check to your panel control showed you that you right engine was on fire. Jesus fucking Christ could this get any worse ?!
How could a mission on your own soil could go this wrong ? You guessed the very little time of preparation for it and having to cooperate with a squad from another base you knew nothing about certainly didn’t help. And a close fly by with another pilot and their wingman had sent both Jake and you into an unrecoverable flat spin.
“Y/N !” Maverick’s voice finally came through the panic fog clouding your brain, “there’s nothing you can do, eject, now !”
Cursing, you grabbed the handle situated in between your legs and pulled as hard as you could. You had never had to eject before, and you prayed you’d never have to do it again. For a split second after you pulled the trigger, you must had pulled something like fifteen G’s, your body flew out of your cockpit while your jet continued its supersonic descent towards the ground.
You were thankful your instincts kicked into gear to somehow try and maneuver the parachute, trying to secure you a safe landing on the ground. The loud sound of your jet splitting the air had you turning your head at the last second, just in time to catch sight of your precious, multi million dollar SuperHornet crashing into some nearby trees in a roaring and deafening sound. Your heart fell down at the pitt of your stomach and an uncomfortable and dreadful shiver shook you at the realization that this could’ve been you, had you not listened to what your wise instructor was yelling in your ears.
Landing was rough. Your legs couldn’t quite maintain you upright with the speed at which you hit the ground, the force of it sending you stumbling forward, even rolling in on yourself. Flopping miserably on your back, you were just thankful you didn’t break your legs or impaled yourself on some tree. You got up on shaky legs and hastily put your parachute away in its bag while trying to contact the base.
“Maverick…? Rooster…? Phoenix…?” You tried, without receiving any answer on the other end, you tapped the side of your helmet where the microphone and speakers were, “anyone ?”
No answer.
Shit, the comms must have gone to shit when you ejected or hit the ground. Well, at least you weren’t on foreign soil so there wasn’t any immediate danger you had to worry about. Looking around you caught yourself thinking that there were worse places to land in after an emergency and possibly deadly ejection. The grass was bright green where you had tumbled, trees were standing high and proud, guarding the borders of what looked like a valley that led to some hills. That was definitely a contrast compared to the sandy and arid grounds of San Diego, and it was a surprisingly welcome one, despite the situation.
You were turning on your beacon when the roaring sound of a jet’s engine made you jerk up. Immediately looking up, you spotted Jake’s jet, spinning at uncontrollable spin towards the high trees. Your heart stopped in your chest, surely he had already ejected and had safely landed somewhere near the end of the valley ? There was no possible way a pilot like him — no matter how much you hated admitting how good he was — still thought he had a chance of coming back from a spin like that—
But your lingering fear suddenly hit you full force in the chest when Jake’s engine sputtered on and off, the undeniable sign that Jake was still inside, trying to pull up his F/A-18.
Good god was he fucking dumb sometimes !
You watched, frozen and powerless as his jet continued its supersonic descent towards the trees. It was like time had stopped for a second, a suspended moment where the only thought flashing painfully in your mind was : Jake is going to die. This is it. After all the shit he’s pulled, his fucking ego is gonna take him out because mister thinks he’s just that good that he would be able to recover from an unrecoverable spin.
But before your thoughts could spiral anymore and your heart stop completely at the prospect of losing the one man you claimed you hated body and soul, you saw something fly out of the jet, mere seconds before the metal bird crashed though the trees. You inhaled sharply, a breath that felt like breaking through the water after being under for too long. And before you could think about it any longer, your feet were already carrying you towards where Jake’s parachute was falling.
Helmet in hand, and heavy gear slowing you down, you still sprinted as fast as you could through the trees, mindful of potential holes and roots. Jake hadn’t even been no where near close the altitude he should have been at to eject safely, he’d been alarmingly low and you feared that his parachute wouldn’t slow his fall enough. Damn him and his stupid fucking ego.
Calling out his name as you got near where he should have landed, the lack of response was making your skin prickle with anxiety and dread.
“Jake ?” You called out, voice growing more desperate than you’d ever admit it.
You stopped, intensely listening for any answer back when—
“Over here !”
His voice felt far away and…strangely strained. You desperately tried to ignore how your heart clenched, no matter how much you hated him and could not stand him, Jake was still one of your squad mate, it was normal to worry about him, right ?
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you resumed your dart in the direction of his voice, and after a full minute of sprint in your entire gear, your lungs were screaming, and a side stitch was beginning to puncture your left side. But you didn’t stop, continuing to run towards him.
And finally, when you felt like your legs were actually about to give out, you spotted Jake, sitting up against a tree, facing a clearing. Rushing one last time to get to him, Jake’s face seemed to illuminate when he spotted you.
“Took you long enough,” he said when you kneeled down next to him, “thought you were about to leave me here for a second.”
You glared at him, catching your breath, “keep up the attitude and I just might do that.”
His infamous smirk slowly pulled at his lips as his eyes took you in.
“You hurt ?”
“No, you ?”
Jake shook his head and you eyed the way his helmet was weirdly placed on his lap.
“Are your comms dead as well ?”
“Yep.”
“Did you activate your beacon ?”
He let out a laugh at that, “Jesus Lightning, do you think it’s my first day in the navy or something ?”
His arrogance rubbed you the wrong way, like it always did.
“It might as well be !” You snapped a little, “I mean what the fuck was that, Seresin ? Ejecting at low altitude could have gotten you fucking killed ! But let me guess, you thought that the great Hangman would be able to undo an unrecoverable spin ?!”
Jake watched your hissed rant with raised eyebrows, and despite yourself you noticed how strangely pale he looked.
“Careful,” he cooed, seeming all too satisfied by what he chose to be worry over him and not pure infuriation over a stupid and downright unprofessional behavior, “your soft spot for me is showing, but don’t worry I won’t tell the squad, I know how you like to keep your feelings secret.”
You scoffed, shaking your head, “I still don’t know how you haven’t got suspended for all the shit you pull,” you said, choosing to entirely disregard his take on how you allegedly felt for him.
“I’m too good,” he grinned, and your heart did something weird in your chest when you noticed his smile looked weirdly strained, forced. The pitt in your stomach felt like it was getting deeper, clawing away at your insides, a discomfort that only grew stronger the longer you stared at Jake, “they can’t afford to put their best pilot on the bench.”
Letting out an exasperated sigh, which Jake keened at, annoying you apparently being his second favorite thing behind flying, you began to get up.
“Let’s move in the middle of the clearing, so search and rescue will locate us better and it’ll be easier for them to land and come get us.”
“No.”
Dusting your flight suit once you were standing on your own two feet, you frowned down at Jake.
“The fuck you mean ‘no’ ?” You could feel yourself getting irrationally irritated, a familiar recurrence whenever you spent just more than a few minutes in Jake’s presence, you took a deep breath to try and swallow back the anger bubbling up in your throat, “I’m sick of your shit, Seresin. So stop being an asshole whose sole purpose is to disagree with me for a second and do what I say.”
“Come on, don’t be so mean Lightning.” He tried to joke, but the usual glint in his eyes was missing, he took in a labored breath, “besides moving is not gonna change a thing for search and rescue, don’t worry.”
Stopping for a moment, you got a good look at him. He was acting weird. He hadn’t so much as moved an inch ever since you had found him, he was just sitting there, his stupid helmet sitting on his lap covering a good chunk of his side with one of his hand seemingly under it.
“Why is your helmet on your lap ?”
“Why not ?”
You let out an incredulous laugh at that, “seriously, what is going on ? You’re being super weird it’s kinda starting to freak me out.”
Jake seemed to freeze, if only for a second.
“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one freaking out over nothing and asking weird ass questions. Just sit down and wait for search and rescue.”
But you stayed right where you were, towering over him — which didn’t happen often — and stared down at him, crossing your arms stubbornly.
“I—“ he started, before wincing almost imperceptibly, “I got a bruise, that’s all. Hurt myself when I landed.”
“And what, you’re telling that it’s the bruise making you act like that ?” You let out disbelieving scoff, “I mean are you hearing yourself ? You sound insane ! I don’t know about a bruise but you definitely hit your head when you landed, that’s why you’re saying weird shit.”
Jake didn’t answer, he just stared right ahead, past your standing frame, a far away look in his eyes. Worry began to seep into the hollowing hole in your stomach, maybe he had actually hit his head and he had commotion ? Or worse, what if he had brain damage or internal bleeding or something ? Just the thought made you shiver in horror. If he was truly hurt, it was best not to move him. You eyed him intensely, as if you could somehow get a look inside of his head to make sure he was okay.
You watched as he readjusted himself against the tree with a groan, the movement making his helmet roll right of his lap, revealing his second hand, very obviously pressing down hard on his side.
“Mmh, applying pressure on a bruise,” You mused, squinting your eyes at him in sarcastic fashion, “is this a new technique I haven’t heard about ? Did you attend a new medical seminar I wasn’t invited to ?”
“Will you just stop talking for two minutes, please ?” He asked, voice breathy.
“I mean, shit, honestly I never pictured you as a masochist, you were always more of a sadist type in my mind.“
That finally made him look back at you and you promptly ignored the slight and short lived feeling of relief it gave you. A grin made its way back on his lips, it was strained but it successfully illuminated his face, for a moment giving it the flair it usually held.
“Glad to know this is something you have clearly thought about,” he huffed out, “if you were so curious you should have just come to me my dear Lightning, you know I’d be more than happy to prove your theories.”
Seeing him joke and tease you like that eased your discomfort, and you turned around, pretending to look at your surroundings while you were hiding the small, incontrollable smile pulling at your lips.
“I mean this place seems pretty quiet, I guess we could give a go to outdoor sex if you’re open to it.” His smug voice said behind you.
“Okay shut up now.” You chuckled despite yourself, keeping your back to him to not give him the idea you were happy to see his quick wit was back.
Your eyes took in the forest that spread out in front of you, the cool wind coming from the clearing behind offering you some relief from the sweat clinging to your uniform. It honestly looked beautiful.
Just as you were about to turn back around, your eyes landed on a random piece of wood lying on the ground and—
You froze.
Whole body becoming rigid, the hair on your nape standing up, nervous system kicking in your flight or fight reflex for the second time in an alarmingly short time span.
The piece of wood was long and wide, chips coming off it, and the end of it was covered in a deep and thick crimson liquid.
No, no, no no no—
Your breath hitched in a pathetic choked up sound, one that held every bit of the terror paralyzing your body. Your stomach churned violently.
Behind you, Jake, alarmed by the sound coming from you, anxiously followed your line of sight, and he cursed under his breath when his eyes landed on the piece of wood.
“Lightning, look at me.”
But you couldn’t move. Your gaze was still fixed on the blood dripping from the piece of wood, staining the forest ground and painting it in that fateful color. Jake’s voice barely registered in your ears, it felt like a distant echo, drowned out by your own heart beating loudly and frenetically in your ears.
“Y/N.” His voice called out again, uncharacteristically gentle, and calm despite the situation, “look at me.”
And you don’t know why, but something in you instinctively listened to him this time. Slowly turning back around, your legs were shaky and threatening to give out at any time. When you were facing him again, your heart lurched, because your eyes didn’t immediately settled on his face, instead landing on the hand that was desperately applying pressure on his side. That same hand that was now stained in blood, the thick liquid coming through the gasps between his fingers. And now that you were looking, the fabric of his flight suit underneath his hand was ripped, letting you catch a glimpse of a deep hole into Jake’s flesh, one that was profusely leaking blood.
Funnily enough, your own blood drained from your face so fast it almost made you dizzy, and a horribly frightened sob left your lips. You didn’t remember your legs giving out but suddenly you were on your knees again, next to Jake.
“Don’t look at it, look at me.” Jake said again, his voice somehow breaking through the terror fog holding your brain hostage.
Your breath was coming out ragged as your eyes finally found his, bright green irises that held nothing but an eerily calmness in them.
“It’s okay, don’t look at it, just focus on me, everything will be alright.”
“What the fuck, Jake ?!” You exploded once it seemed your vocal chords were not entirely frozen by fear anymore, “what— “ you choked up on a sob and only then did you realize the ocean of tears dripping down your cheeks, “what happened ?! Oh my god—“ you felt a sudden wave of dizziness hit you as your eyes quickly darted back over to his wound, like despite the bone chilling fear you were still attracted to it like a magnet.
“It’s nothing, I told you I got hurt when I landed.”
“You told me it was a bruise !” The end of your sentence ended in a desperate cry, your hands were shaking on your lap, chest heaving furiously with each frenetic breath you took.
“It’s barely a scratch,” he assured, and the soothing tone in his voice did not have the intended effect, only drowning you further in panic.
How the fuck was he so calm right now ?
You could feel your chest contract, and suddenly it felt impossible to take a full breath, it felt as if your lungs were somehow too small, sheer panic was settling deep inside your bones with no apparent prospect of leaving.
“Lightning, don’t freak out, it’s gonna be okay, everything is fine.”
There were so many thoughts swirling in your head. The protocol for when someone got hurt during a mission, the knowledge that Jake was bleeding out in this fucking clearing while acting like everything was fine, the black dots obstructing your vision…
“Just take a deep breath for me, yeah ?” Jake’s calm voice reached your ears, “turn around if you want, you don’t have to be near me. You can even wait in the clearing for the helicopter.”
The fact that was he straight up proposing you abandon him so you didn’t have to endure the sight of him bleeding out broke your heart and only worsened your sobs.
“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re okay, everything is fine, I promise,” he soothed again, his voice never wavering no matter how much in pain he must’ve been in.
You took a deep breath that did little to calm you down, but it at least cleared your thoughts a little.
This wasn’t right. Jake wasn’t supposed to be the one reassuring you right now, he was fucking bleeding out for God’s sake ! You were a fighter pilot, amongst the best in this entire world. You had been trained for this and you’d be damned if a little blood was blocking you from doing your job and saving your squad mate.
“Move your hand,” you said in a shaky breath, definitely not as assertive as you had intended, your eyes fixed on him.
“What—?”
You didn’t give him the time to comprehend, instead blindly removing his hand from his side and putting both of yours, and pressing down, hard. He winced, letting out a pained groan and you ignored the pinch in your heart.
For the first time ever since you found him, he seemed to be the one panicking.
“No, hey, hey hey what are you doing ?”
“I’m helping you,” you supplied, with tears still raining down your cheeks, “this is the protocol. And besides you weren’t putting enough pressure on it.”
You squeezed your eyes closed as Jake’s blood started to push back against your hands, the warm liquid trying to spill through your hands as you desperately tried to keep it there. The sensation made you shiver in pure horror and disgust.
“Hey, Y/N, I don’t want you to freak out on me, yeah ?” His hand, the one that wasn’t stained in blood, hovered over your shoulder, unsure if he should touch you in your emotional state.
Your eyes remained closed, trying to focus on anything else rather than Jake literally bleeding out beneath the palm of your hands. The wind brushing your face and the sound the trees made swaying lightly because of it, birds chirping in the distance, the grain of Jake’s strained voice…
“Why didn’t say anything ?” You asked, your voice coming out as a shaky whisper.
When his answer didn’t come fast enough, your eyes snapped open, scared that he might have lost consciousness, but Jake was just staring at you, the faintest of smile pulling at his lips.
“Is that a serious question ?” He laughed a little, wincing when his chest shook a bit from the force of it, “no offense, Lightning, truly, but I don’t know if I would have been able to handle you fainting in my state.”
‘My state.’ You didn’t like that, didn’t like that one bit. His face was paler than you’d ever seen it, his natural Texan tan nowhere to be seen. His green eyes were missing their usual brightness and the underside were horribly dark and sunken.
You were about to say something, probably tell him to shut up, when blood suddenly came rushing out of his nose.
“Shit—“ he cursed before rapidly putting a hand over his nose, frantically wiping at the blood that just kept on coming out. “Don’t look, it’s okay.”
Your heart was beating so fast and hard against your rib cage it was borderline painful. This couldn’t be good.
“Y/N, please don’t look.” Jake’s voice sounded almost pleading now as he was desperately rubbing the blood away and keeping his hand in front of his nose, making him sound nasally.
Blood.
There was just so much of it. Never in your life had you seen so much of the dreadful crimson liquid, and you honestly didn’t know if you were more likely to throw up or faint at this point.
And lingering at the back of your mind, came another whisper of your mind, one that was progressively and terrifyingly becoming louder and louder, overtaking all your senses. There was a lot of blood, yes, and Jake was the one losing it.
Jake was bleeding out, alarmingly fast, out in the middle of nowhere while the only thing you could do to help him was just keep your hands on his gaping injury and prayed that search and rescue would hurry the fuck up.
“Look away, sweetheart, please.” He said again, tilting his head back lightly, as much as he could really, in an attempt to stop the blood from leaving his nose.
But not looking was not gonna change a thing anymore. Because somewhere along the lines, the fear had shifted. Blood still very much terrified you, no doubt, but right now you were covered in it, and yet, you weren’t dead, you hadn’t fainted and the world was still spinning.
And still, something was very, very wrong.
Jake’s nose bleed seemed to have calmed down, he finally put his hand away, which was bright red, and stared at you.
“You know, you are doing much better than I thought you would,” he praised, and given the situation it absolutely shouldn’t have made your stomach flip, “look at you, could it be that the great Lightning has finally conquered her fear ?” He grinned.
You didn’t know if you should be happy he was joking again or not. Your hands had begun shaking again where they were pressing against his bloody side, you still couldn’t bear to take a look at it but you knew by the way it was still profusely leaking blood against your hands, and by how big the piece of wood looked a few centimeters away from you that his injury must have been deep, way too deep.
Very unaware of your internal breakdown, Jake just kept on talking.
“I didn’t even know it was possible to overcome a phobia as deep as yours, but hey, I guess there’s no stopping you, huh ?”
“Stop talking,” you said, trying to hold in a fresh wave of sobs, unwanted images of him lying dead in your arms kept flashing through your mind.
What the actual fuck was search and rescue doing ? It wasn’t like you were on the other half of the fucking planet, you weren’t even on the other half of the country !
Jake didn’t pay any mind to your order.
“At least crashing was good for something in the end.”
Him saying that while literally bleeding out was physically tearing your heart apart.
“Shut up.” You said through clenched teeth.
“Hey I just thought about something, if I die out here you’ll become the best pilot in the squad, perhaps I should be worried this was your plan all along—“
“Shut up ! Shut up, shut up !” You snapped, eyes wide and staring straight at him with a mix of despair and fear, “stop fucking talking about dying ! It’s not funny, and for fuck’s sake stop wasting your breath saying useless shit, just shut up !”
Tears were freely raining down your cheeks now, and you didn’t know how it was possible you still had any left to cry.
Jake was stunned for a second by your outburst, he just stared at your for a moment before his expression broke into something undeniably soft and gentle, his features morphing into something you’d use to approach a frightened animal.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, that was a joke.”
You didn’t think you had ever heard Jake apologize in all the time you’d known him.
“Well it’s not funny !” Your bottom lip quivered, another pathetic sob threatening to break out.
“I know, I’m an idiot,” he said, “you’re right, that wasn’t funny.” His voice was low, acting like a soothing balm on your own open wound, the one ripping your heart apart at seeing him like that.
His hand that had been awkwardly hovering off and on above your shoulder finally made contact, squeezing you lightly. And his touch completely finished to break your heart. You burst out in a very inelegant sob, you couldn’t even see through the tears clouding your vision. It was the inevitable consequence of enduring all the events of the day, the mission going to shit, the ejection, the crash, the blood, Jake…
“I don’t want you to die,” you cried out, completely exhausted and at the end of your rope, “so stop saying that.”
“I’m not gonna die, sweetheart,” his thumb rubbed gentle back and forth on your clothed shoulder, occasionally squeezing it.
“But you’re b—“ a hiccup interrupted you, “you’re bleeding out !” The word alone burned on your tongue.
You heard the sound of a zipper opening, trying to blink the tears away you saw Jake open the top of his flight suit before his blood stained hand, the one that wasn’t on your shoulder, came down to take one of yours that was still pressing on his open wound.
“No, no, no Jake— you need pressure—“ you tried to say when he took your hand away, guiding it to his chest.
“It’s okay, honey,” he soothed, “just don’t look down, remember ?” he added when your eyes almost darted down to both of your bloodied hands.
Jake, while maintenant eye contact with you, his green eyes holding an almost tender glint, guided your hand up to his chest, right over his heart.
“You feel that ?” He asked, voice slightly hoarse due to the effort and the pain, but never ever losing its gentle edge.
And sure enough, underneath your palm, was the steady beat of Jake’s heart. A calm and rhythmic thump-thump that didn’t waiver and the rational part of your mind wondered how he could stay so calm under such circumstances, and it probably should have worried you a bit, but the irrational part of your brain, the one that had been running on fumes ever since you spotted the first speck of blood, seemed to finally quiet down a bit.
You let out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding all this time.
“Yeah, that’s it, see ? I’m okay, it’ll be fine.” His hand was placed right on top of yours, his warmth seeping into your skin and radiating in your entire body.
Your fingers flexed a bit against his clothed chest, a sudden urge to feel more of him, make sure that his words were real, that he was truly gonna be fine, shook you. Jake gave you a reassuring smile and between the tears that still blurred your vision, you took the time to look at him. His blond hair was disheveled and darken by dirt, his jade green eyes held an immense tiredness to them but the tender glint in them, directed towards you, never ever left. There was some dried blood just underneath his nose, and a bit of it also on his lips, that still held that little reassuring smile. His whole face was livid, as pale as a ghost and the visual stripped him of his usual Hangman bravado. Objectively, he wasn’t looking good right now, he looked sick. But somehow, to you, he still did, looked good. There was something so vulnerable and tender about him right now, something that was slowly stitching back together the pieces of your heart Jake had himself, involuntarily, broken.
But being yourself, there was no way you’d be able to properly express the overwhelming whirlwind of emotion taking your body hostage, so instead—
“You look like shit,” you said, sniffling.
Jake let out a chuckle, the sound alone warming you from the inside out.
“Yeah, well, you don’t exactly look like you could run a marathon either, sweetheart.”
That made you laugh. You didn’t even want to think about what you must looked like right now, blotchy and red eyes from the tears, cheeks stained with the salty liquid, hair wild from the ejection… But you didn’t see any disgust or reject in his gaze. Only fondness.
Suddenly feeling bashful under his stare, you made a move to look down but before you could, Jake’s hand that was on your shoulder moved quickly, surprisingly so for someone that injured, catching your chin with two of his fingers, preventing you from looking down at the bloodied mess on which you still kept a firm pressure with your free hand. Instead, he made sure your gaze stayed right on him. This quiet gesture that so blatantly showed how much he cared about how you felt, which definitely felt ridiculous next to his predicament, just sent a sudden rush of affection run through you.
Not knowing what to do of this overwhelming urge, but nonetheless needing to express it, to get it out, to show him, your body acted on its own. Your hand still on his heart, you leaned in and gently placed your lips on his forehead, hoping the soft press would somehow convey every bit of what you were feeling. You stayed perhaps a bit too long for a conventional forehead kiss. Almost imperceptibly, you felt his heartbeat quicken under your hand, the realization making a warmth akin to the first summer rays spread out in your body. When you pulled back, there was a flash of something unreadable in Jake’s eyes.
“You’ll be okay,” you said with a tiny smile, lips wet from your tears and voice hoarse from your sobs.
And truly you said it more for yourself than him.
Jake reciprocated your smile and squeezed your hand, “you’re so brave, Y/N.” He said, full of admiration, and just a tiny bit choked up.
Before you could add anything, tell him how ridiculous it was for him to say that while he had to step up and be the rock for the both of you while he was on the verge of dying, the faint and distant sound of propellers could be heard coming from over the clearing. And just seconds later, the search and rescue helicopter came into view.
The biggest sigh of relief left your lips, you felt the tension slowly leave your body. You, not without regrets, retracted the hand that was on his chest to put it back on his wound, the added pressure made him groan.
“Sorry, sorry, I know,” you said, “it’s almost over, Jake, we’re almost out.”
He smiled at you, and you tried to ignore the ridiculousness of you trying to comfort him at the last minute, while he had spent the entire time trying to calm you down.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
The helicopter landed in the clearing, as close to you and Jake as possible, and seconds after six people from search and rescue came rushing towards you. They carefully hosted up Jake on a stretcher and up in the helicopter, all the while your hands never left him.
“Alright, Y/N, you can stop now, he’ll be fine, we’re gonna clean and bandage him up,” Martin, the main medic, told you just as the helicopter was taking off to the air.
But you hesitated. With the stress and emotion, the time you had spent out there in the clearing had felt like an eternity, and it felt scary to let go of him now, even though you knew it was to leave him in better hands. While deep in your thoughts, you didn’t register Jake asking for a cloth, it was only when you felt his hand land on top of yours that you got out of your anxious trance.
“Everything’s fine now, remember ?” He said gently as his eyes bore into yours, “they are gonna take good care of me, you can let go.”
His hands very gently took yours off his side, cleaning them with the cloth all the while keeping eye contact with you.
“But I don’t wanna leave you,” you said in a breath.
It was a strange feeling, to feel so open and raw emotionally, a state that had been forcefully provoked by the unfortunate events of the day.
“You’re not leaving me, you’ll stay by my side, right ?”
He let out a small, fond chuckle when you nodded almost solemnly.
“Nobody’s making you leave, baby.” He said, tossing the cloth away after wiping your hands clean of his blood.
“Jake ?” Martin grabbed both your attention, “we’re gonna put you under,” he explains, showing off an oxygen mask, “we’re gonna start patching you up while on the way to the base’s hospital.”
Jake nodded before looking at you.
“You gonna kiss me goodnight ?” He asked, his characteristic smirk making a return on his face.
Wordlessly, and perhaps a bit too happy by him prompting it, you leaned in, placing your lips in a delicate kiss on his forehead, one hand coming up to cup his face. You heard him let out a little breath as you pulled away and placed another lingering kiss on his cheek.
“Sleep tight.” You smiled as a tear rolled down your face, not out of fear or sadness but simply out of feeling too much in such a short amount of time, and you quickly wiped it away.
Martin put the mask on Jake’s face.
“Alright Lieutenant, take a few deep breaths for me.”
Doing as he was told, Jake was looking at you with furrowed brows.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he lazily protested, voice already slurred from the anesthesia kicking in.
“I’m not crying,” you assured, a genuine smile stretching your face, “it’s fine, go to sleep, Hangman.”
“I prefer when you call me ‘Jake’.” He whined.
Yeah, he’d be gone any minute now.
You chuckled, “sorry, Jake.”
“That’s better,” his eyes fluttered closed and opened again, clearly fighting the anesthesia, “and when I wake up you can find out.”
“Find out what ?”
“You know…” he trailed off, his eyes closing entirely now, “if— if I’m a masochist or not…”
You burst out laughing, and even in his dazed and near coma induced state, Jake smiled at the sound.
“We’ll see about that, cowboy,” you said when your laughter died down a bit.
And just like that, he was out.
Looking at him just a second longer, feeling your heart settle down at knowing he wouldn’t feel any pain and would be taken care of, you moved away from him, letting the team of medics do their job. Martin kneeled beside Jake and began to cut his flight suit open around his wound. Removing the fabric, about to reveal just how bad the injury was, he paused and turned to you.
“You’re not afraid of blood, are you ?”
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Author’s note : I have mixed feelings about this fic, the idea had been in my head for soooo long and I fear I failed the execution of it, but oh well, I hope it was still good for you !
I’m gonna repeat myself but I do not have a phobia of blood at all so if the way I wrote reader’s reaction seems unrealistic I’m really sorry, please do let me know if it’s so unrealistic that it stops being enjoyable to read, I’ll try to change it if that’s the case
Also if you’ve read my others fics Saltwater Monster and 8-pool meltdown you might notice a pattern, that I desperately need to be comforted by Jake, and those fics are my most popular ones so I’d say we’re all in this together !💞
Finally (god sorry I’m talking a lot) a huge thank you to @berrybigpossibilities who agreed to read the first part of the fic when I was feeling really down about it and gave me their opinion, it helped a lot to finish it so thank you again !🫶
plastic surgeon!jake seresin x social worker!reader from my top gun medical au :) coming soon
“Who is that?”
Bradley follows Jake’s gaze, to where you’re currently standing with Kazansky, peering over a chart of one of your consults. You look at home in the ER already. That’s probably why you feel so comfortable bossing him around already. “Nuh-uh. Don’t even think about it.”
Jake scoffs. “Who shit in your cornflakes? Jesus. Can’t a guy just want to know who he might have the pleasure of workin’ with in the near future?”
Bradley rolls his eyes, almost to the back of his head. “Little Miss Paperwork over there is on my ass already about forms. She doesn’t even know her way about yet, and she thinks she can tell me I’ve been charting wrong for the past decade?”
“Bossy. I like it.”
If looks could kill, Jake Seresin would be a dead man. “I don’t like it. I miss Craig.”
“You hated Craig. He was shit at his job. Now, tell me everything you know about her."
Very very random moodboard request! If it’s okay, flatline Bradley taking care of a very drunk cheeky Floyd :)) i love flatine sorryyy love you and your ficsss muah
Bradley loves that you trust him enough to get wasted.
It beats any kind of buzz he could get from a beer, hands down. Knowing that your gaze will search him out in the largest of rooms, because you feel safe with him.
Of course, it doesn't help that cocktails make you needy.
Really, embarrassingly needy.
Except Bradley thinks it's the hottest thing.
Normally not one for PDA, each drink straps back your inhibitions, until you want nothing more than to attach yourself to his side for the rest of the night.
"Mhm, Bradley?" You slur, fingers curled round his bicep to keep you upright. Even if you fell, he's being vigilant enough that he'd catch you.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"I love you. You know that, right?"
An amused grin tugs at his mouth. "Love you too, honey. But you've told me that four times in the last ten minutes."
"Really?" Your brow furrows. "I... I don't remember that."
"Don't think you'll be remembering much of tonight, if I'm honest."
Jake with a shy, midsized, and a little bit of a busty reader who surprises him with a swimsuit that’s more skin showing and cheeky than she is used to. She typically wears one pieces or a tankini. Maybe something like this(the first picture). He just falls in love with it and hypes her up.
posting a moodboard every hour or so until my inbox is empty!
"You don't think it's too much?" You mumble, examining yourself in the mirror. Jake appears at your back, resting his chin on your shoulders, peppering kisses along your jaw.
"You look beautiful," He replies firmly.
You're unconvinced, continuing to take note of each blemish on your skin, each imperfection exposed by the bikini.
Jake clocks your movements immediately, and settles his hands on your hips to spin you around to face him. "Come on, honey - what's going on?"
"It's just so much skin-"
"And? You look hot as fuck, sweetheart. God, if we didn't have plans, we wouldn't be leaving the house because I'd need to have my way with you. Okay?"
"Okay," You reply, lip between your teeth, softening as he leans down for a kiss.
pixelskylines
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origamiaround
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stormborns
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