the best way of life

The sky looks good today 28, '97

[the-shedevil-writes]

Manchild (Jake Seresin x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: After too many heartbreaks and enough horrible dates, you’ve sworn off love completely. But it's hard to resist when every Friday, like clockwork, Jake Seresin shows up flirting like it's his full-time job. So when you say yes, you expect the worst, only to be surprised when he treats you better than any man has before. WORD COUNT: 3.8k WARNINGS: First date fluff! MC hasn't had a good relationship past (nothing crazy). Making out and lots of kissing. NOTES: Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's new song ;) This is dedicated to my ex who, yes, did wear basketball shorts to dates MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Y/n had sworn off dating a while ago. She had called it quits on the modern dating scene after months of failed Tinder dates and self-centered flings. Men didn’t want commitment these days, and she had accepted that. Embraced it even. There didn’t seem to be a point in trying to keep a man who didn’t want to stay. And one-night stands were rarely satisfying enough to make them worth all the effort. 

Working as a waitress in a beach bar right by the North Island Air Force Base didn’t help. She had dipped into the pool of pilots and jumped right back out. After a devastating point of getting her hopes up and being let down by a Top Gun man, she swore never again.

That’s why when Jake Seresin came into the bar every Friday night with his squadron, she paid him no mind. She swatted his flirtations like flies. Even though he was the most handsome recruit she had seen so far, she had gotten her heart broken so many times that it didn’t budge the walls she had built. He was just like every cocky Top Gun graduate that came into The Hard Deck. Though granted, he was the first one with the looks to somewhat match. 

He was persistent, but she didn’t mind. At least, it gave her a little entertainment during her shift. Who wouldn’t want to be flirted with by a hot pilot? To her, it was a brief distraction from the fact that men were only disappointments. It let her play pretend for a little.

“How’s my favorite bartender doing this evening?” He asked one day, leaning on the bar with his forearms. This was the start of their usual banter. His blonde hair was a little messy from the day, and she couldn’t help but notice that he had a slight stubble compared to his usual clean shave. It looked good on him.  

She looked over at the group of pilots in matching uniforms. They were all indiscreetly watching them, finding joy in Hangman being shot down every Friday. 

“She’s doing okay. How’s my most hated patron doing?” She asked while drying a Guinness glass with a rag, not even looking at him. The pilots always came in early, straight from their shifts. Always around sunset, an hour or so before rush. 

He put his hand to his heart. “Ouch. He’s hurt.” He said, shaking his head with a smirk, “I’m doing quite all right now that I get to look at you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear, you get all your lines from 80s rom-coms or something.” 

“I do have a soft spot for Sixteen Candles. We should watch it.” He tapped the bar, and she could feel his sea green eyes take her all in. 

She shrugged and put the glass away. Counting the group of pilots, she already started getting a round of their usual from the mini fridge below. “I’m busy and I prefer Dirty Dancing.” She stated, looking up at him with an exasperated expression. She slid the round of bottles over to him. “Want me to open a tab?” 

“You know me so well.” He said, tilting his head. 

“I just wanna get you drunk enough that you’ll fall asleep and shut up.” She laughed now at the imagery in her head. 

A Cheshire grin formed on his face, and he pointed to her. “There she is. Oh, how I love to make you break.” He said 

She couldn’t help the blush this time, but she kept her face stoic. “Your drinks are getting cold.”

“They can wait.” He said with his hand to his cheek now, just admiring her.

There was a moment of silence as she raised her brows and went to dry another glass. 

“Never gonna say yes to that date?” He asked.

“Are you ever gonna stop asking?”

He smiled again. “When the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen is right in front of you, I don’t think it’s smart to stop.”

Jesus, he was laying it on thick tonight. It was getting harder to keep up the game of pretend. Usually, it was just a few quips, but for some reason tonight he was on another level. 

“Didn’t know you came in already drunk. I should cut you off.” 

“Stone cold sober.”

“Concussion?”

“I’m a better pilot than that, honey.”

Why was he getting to her tonight? She had been strong for months now. Maybe it was that new romance show she’d been binge-watching that made her feel a sense of emptiness. Maybe it was because the nights got chilly, and she found her bed to be much bigger these days. Or the videos that flooded her social media of relationships that were way too perfect to be true. 

It could’ve been any of those things… but she was struggling to keep her guard up. And it seemed like Jake could tell by the mischievous smile on his face. 

“What’s your favorite food?”

She stared at him with a glare that told him to quit it. But Jake was never the type of person to do what he was told. She started wiping down the sticky countertop.

“Come on, humor me here.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. I like a good burger.”

“This is just too perfect. There’s a drive-in movie theater I know that makes a mean burger.” He said, smiling and drumming the table.

“Is that where you take all the girls?” She asked, not looking up from the counter she was wiping. 

“It’s where I’d like to take the girl.” 

She shook her head, frustrated now, and looked up at him. “You think you’ve got all the answers, huh? All the words to make me swoon, but I’m not stupid, Hangman. I’m not the kind of girl to get swept up in all this and believe you want nothing more than my presence.” 

He smirked at that, almost as if he predicted she would say that. As if he had rehearsed this time and time again in his head. “I’ll have you home by midnight. Before then, if you’d like, but if we start pushing ten, we’d have to leave the movies early.”

She laughed in disbelief. This guy had some nerve. 

“If I say yes, will you bring your lukewarm beers to your friends?” 

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to.” 

God, that was kinda hot. She sighed and tilted her head at him. “Saturday night. 8 PM. I live at the Apollo apartments down by the supermarket. Don’t be late.”

That Saturday, she had no idea what to wear. It dawned on her just how long it had been since her last date. She combed through the selection in her closet and eventually landed on something she’d at least be comfortable in. A cropped green tank top with a denim mini skirt. She lined her arms with bracelets that clinked when she walked and put a pair of sunglasses on her head despite the sun going down as she did so.

She was mid lip gloss application when she realized the time. It was eight o’clock on the dot. Eh, she probably had give or take ten to fifteen minutes. It’s not like dates were ever on time, and they often got lost in her apartment building anyway. 

After taking her time collecting her things into her purse, she walked down the outside steps to find Jake standing by his white Jeep, looking around, blocking the sun from his eyes. The first thing she noticed was how he was dressed. He was wearing a crisp white T-shirt that fit him snugly under a brown leather aviator jacket. His jeans were dark and cuffed at the bottom to show his nice pair of suede shoes. 

The second thing she noticed was the bouquet of sunflowers, daisies, and baby’s breath. Disbelief coursed through her. He looked like he was plucked straight from one of the romance novels sitting on her nightstand.

“Hey Hangman!” She called, and he snapped over at her voice. A relieved smile appeared on his face, and he slowly walked forward. Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she strutted over and stopped in front of him. 

“I was starting to worry you’d stand me up.” He said, “You look gorgeous as always.”

Her face was cherry tomato red, and she tried to hide it by looking down at the pavement. She rocked on her heels nervously. 

“Thank you… You’re all dressed up.” She pointed out.

He let out a huff and a confused smile.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brows. But he quickly shook it off. “These are for you.”

“They are?!” She couldn’t help the excitement now. 

“Sweetheart, who else would they be for?” He laughed.

She took the bouquet in her hands and inhaled the botanical smell of it. “I’ve never gotten flowers before. They’re so nice.”

“You’ve… What?” 

She didn’t notice his confusion and smiled up at him genuinely. “Thank you, Jake. I love them so much.”

He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck, admiring her. “I’ll get you flowers every damn day if it keeps you looking that happy.” He didn’t miss the face she made with the widened puppy eyes. As if she couldn’t believe it. “Now come on, let’s get this show on the road.” 

She nodded and walked past him toward the passenger side. Accidentally forcing him to rush past her and open the door himself.

“Oh! Thank you!” She smiled naively. 

Shaking his head again, he ran a hand down his face. “I have a feeling you’re gonna kill me with all this tonight.” He murmured

She tilted her head, confused, and reached up to put one foot on the Jeep's steep step. The car was much bigger than either of them, and she felt a little awkward climbing up in a skirt and heels. 

“You got it?” He asked, coming up behind her and putting his hands out in case he needed to catch her.

She nodded. “I got it.” But as she went to grab the handle grip, her heel slipped and she fell back slightly, Jake catching her waist.

“Oh god Jesus-” He spouted out, panicked, exhaling as she released a loud laugh. 

She got her balance back and climbed into the car. It was almost impossible to ignore the spark his touch had left behind from when his fingers accidentally went beneath top. But it was stifled by her instinct to laugh at Jake’s panicked and flushed face. 

“You’re too cute, Seresin.” She said, looking down at him now, and he let out a relieved sigh. 

The typical confident smirk returned to his lips. “I like it when you flirt back.” He stated before shutting the door for her. 

The Drive-In was nothing like she had experienced before. She had only seen this sorta thing in movies and read it in passages from The Outsiders. So she looked around with curious eyes as he drove through the grass field. 

After finding an optimal spot for the Jeep to see the whole screen, the two walked up to a small concession stand at the back of the car park. It wasn’t very busy, with lots of picnic tables empty. People were mostly pulling in or waiting in their cars for the movie to start. 

They got in line, and she instinctively stood behind him as he looked up at the chalkboard menu. After a moment, he turned to his side, expecting to see her, then turned back around to find her studying the menu in line. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Get over here.” He said, and when she did, he wrapped his arm around her. The leather of his jacket smelled so good. It was covered by a rich, clean scent… Did he spray his jacket with cologne too? She resisted the urge to giggle as he held her, but there was no way to hide the giddy smile and blush across her cheeks. He seemed proud to be with her, and it was driving her wild. 

“But what about when we order?” She asked

“What about it?” 

“Well, how will they know to separate the-”

His eyes widened, and he looked down at her. “Y/n… Are you telling me you expected to split the bill?”

Her jaw dropped slightly. Honestly, yeah, she had. She was so used to it. She never wanted to seem like a snob or a woman who expected all expenses to be paid for. It’s not like she had dated many men with great finances, and she didn’t want to be a burden. Most men eagerly took the option to split, and she really didn’t mind. She nodded at him.

“I don’t wanna waste your money-”

“It’s a five-dollar burger and shake. Are you kidding me?” 

“Uh, no?” She replied anxiously

There was something brewing behind his smile. A sense of vexation that worried her. He shook his head. “I got it.”

They got up to the front of the line, and he greeted the cashier.

“I’ll have the double cheeseburger and… a Diet Coke.” He started, then he looked over at them, “Tell them what you want, honey.” His voice was smooth, and it came out of him so naturally. It felt like they had done this for years. That they were some domesticated couple that was having a night out on the town. Especially when he called her honey like that. He called her that sometimes at the bar, but tonight it felt different rolling off his tongue.

“Uh, I’ll get the cheeseburger and the chocolate shake.” 

He smiled. “Good choice.” He squeezed her shoulder, and they paid.

Not even ten minutes later, they sat on one of the picnic tables with a red umbrella stemming from it. He watched as she sipped on her milkshake and looked around curiously at their surroundings. Fireflies flew by a chain link fence, and there was an area for kids to run around in the fields. 

“Is it good?” He asked, “Gimme a taste.”

She nodded, and she handed him the paper cup. Again, that sense of normalcy between them made her heart pound. Maybe it was the fact that they knew each other already, with them talking every Friday night for months now. But this date didn’t have that awkward feeling that most first dates did. It all felt natural.

He took a sip and blinked his eyes in surprise. “God damn, that’s good.”

She laughed and took it back, swinging her feet under the table. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her face turn red for what felt like the millionth time. When he looked at her like she was a painting in a museum, it was hard not to. 

“What?!” She asked with a pressured chuckle.

“I wanna know what the hell you were expecting tonight. It’s like everything I do surprises you.” He said, placing his elbow on the table and putting his hand to his temple.

She nodded, a lot more comfortable around him now. It was nice. It felt like she could genuinely talk to him compared to the banter-heavy quips at Hard Deck.

“There’s a reason I didn’t say yes to you right away, Jake.” She started.

“I’m sensing that now. Go on.”

“I… I am not used to… this. The flowers. The opening car doors. The whole thing. Guys don’t normally do that.” She explained, “Hell, I was surprised you didn’t show up at my door wearing basketball shorts and a graphic T-shirt.”

His face was horrified. He leaned in. “Guys have worn that on a date?”

“YES! Many!” She said, laughing now. “I-I thought that I just had my standards too high. That those sorta things were just reserved for the movies. Plus, it’s not like many of the dates I went out on were real dates. They felt more like… a means to an end for them. So I figured I’d just quit. Give up on the idea of love and fairytales. And never give the handsome pilot at the bar a chance to make me cry.” 

He reached forward and held her hand. It was silent between them as he thought about what he wanted to say. That last sentence seemed to have struck a chord with him. His thumb brushed over the top of her hand.

“This isn’t just a means to an end for me. I hope you know that.” He said gently.

“I’m sensing that now.” She mimicked him. 

He smiled at her. “Now come on, give me another sip of that shake.”

“NO!”

Thirty minutes later, they sat in the trunk of his car as the opening to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off played on the giant screen in front of them. His radio was set to the frequency of the drive-in so they could hear the audio from the speakers behind them. There were already pillows and blankets that Jake had prepared in the spacious back for them. 

She curled up in the thin brown blanket that he had brought, and he admired how she looked in the silver light of the film. Her eyes looked beautiful as they gazed up at the screen. Then he noticed her give off a  slight shiver. She didn’t even notice.

She was too enthralled in the witty dialogue of the movie at first to realize. Then she heard shuffling and looked over to find Jake, taking off his aviator jacket, and moving to wrap it around her. 

“Are you not gonna be cold?” She asked worriedly.

He scoffed and continued to wrap the jacket around her. “I’ll be just fine.” He said as if it shouldn’t have even been a question. “Could use somebody to warm me up, though.” He said casually.

She smirked at that and pried her eyes off the screen to look up at him. “I think I can help with that.” She replied before scooting over to rest her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her shoulders as hers wrapped around his waist. 

The blanket, the jacket, and his torso all kept her so warm. It was like her own personal heater. A contented sigh escaped her, and he gently started scratching her scalp.  She could fall asleep like this, but she wanted to stay awake and watch the movie. 

Nearing the end of the movie, he looked down to find her eyes sleepily blinking. Her eyes were half open, straining to watch. He chuckled.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, “You’re so comfy.” She murmured. 

“We’ll get you home soon.” He reassured, but she almost didn’t want the date to end. Curse her independence.

After the movie ended, the credits rolled, and she clapped. She looked up at him with a small, sleepy smile and those doe eyes that first captured Jake’s attention.

“You’re so pretty when you’re not stressed behind the bar.” He teased, carefully reaching up to brush some hair out of her face.

“Says the man causing the stress.” She replied with a tired chuckle. 

His hand moved to cup her cheek, and she sat up just a little now to get closer. Their breaths were both heavy in anticipation. Someone needed to move, but they were both hesitant. 

He eventually decided to kiss her forehead. Then move down to place one on her cheek. Then he hovered right above her lips. 

God, this was killing her.

“Please.” She whispered breathlessly.

He smirked. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He murmured before leaning in to kiss her. 

They kissed, and their lips were in perfect alignment. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he went down to her hips, squeezing her closer. When he pulled her in, she couldn’t resist the little sound that came out of her, and that just drove him crazier. Their lips pressed against each other, and his nose exhaled hard, tickling her slightly. He smelled like a fresh batch of laundry and tasted like Diet Coke. She couldn’t help but run her hands through the back of his hair, which was a little obscene for a slightly public area. 

He pulled away first and put her forehead to his. “Sweetheart, if you keep that up, I’m gonna need a minute before I drive you home.” He let out a breathless laugh, and that caused her to as well.

After a moment, he pulled her in to rest her head on his shoulder. Her face kept in the crook of his neck. “This is bad.”

He craned his head down to look at her. “Why’s that?”

“I really like you.”

He chuckled, “God, I sure hoped so.” He said before planting a kiss on the crown of her hair.

After a drive filled with laughter and classic rock music, she didn’t want the date to end. Part of her was embarrassed that it took so long to get here. That possibly the man she had been waiting for had been under her stubborn nose the whole time. He put the Jeep in park. 

“Let me walk you to the door.” He said.

Are you… kidding me? She was used to men dropping her off and speeding away as soon as she shut the door. Their exhaust pipes smoking her and leaving her in the dust. But Jake was so surprisingly gentle. Yes, he was confident and cocky, but he treated her like she was royalty, and she almost feared getting used to it. What if things didn’t work out, and she’d have to go back to basketball shorts and axe body spray? But she silenced those anxieties in time for him to open her door and help her down from the side, as she clutched her newfound flowers. 

They walked up to her apartment in comfortable silence. The crickets chirped, and some horns honked in the deep distance. When they got to her door, she held the bouquet in her hands like a comfort item. 

“This is me…” She said, a little disappointed, staring at the ground. After a moment, she continued, “Look, I- I had a great time tonight. Don’t let it get to your head, but I’d love to do this again. But- but it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, or if I wasn’t what you expecte-”

He suddenly tilted her chin up and pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes were shot open, surprised, until she closed them, relaxing into the familiar kiss again.

“You off tomorrow?” He asked after he pulled away just so slightly.

“Got a morning shift, but I’m free after ten.” She answered way too quickly.

He smirked, “Lunch is on me then.” 

She kissed him again. There was no way she was going back to boys when she had a man like that in her arms. 

[theghostinthelibrary]

pairing: glen powell x f!writer oc (aimee) 

rating: 18+ (minors dni) 

warnings/triggers: smut in overall series  

word count: 12,104

summary: aimee’s first day on set turns out to be so much more than she expected. 

A/N: right on into chapter twooooo! you'll notice i’ve taken some artistic liberties with some of the names, etc. 

as always, endless love goes out to my beta readers, @dreamysiren89 and @marrianena 

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥ 

Traffic was a nightmare. 

A newly discovered tenth circle of hell Dante would surely have written about had there been some form of apple cart/horse drawn carriage gridlock in 1314 Italy. 

“Hey Google,” Aimee enunciated, loudly, as if she was trying to speak a foreign language she thought might be easier to understand if she just raised her voice. “Make a note: tenth circle of hell is traffic. Traffic jam 1314 Italy.” 

She’d definitely look at her notes later and understand what that meant. For sure. 

Aimee scanned the scene in front of her then with a sigh: in all directions, the highway was a Costco parking lot on a weekend. 

Drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, Aimee exhaled sharply as the car in front of her inched forward a whole two feet before stopping again. At this rate, she was going to be late on her very first day on set. Not exactly the impression she wanted to make. 

She was humming a few bars of a Chappell Roan/Gracie Abrams hybrid song when her phone rang, and the car’s navigation screen lit up: Adrienne. 

Funny, she thought she’d changed the contact information to ‘chaos gremlin’ after yesterday’s call. 

Aimee tapped the answer button on the steering wheel, her voice dry, as though she already knew what was coming. “If you’re calling to tell me to be on time, I’d like to inform you that I left on time but am currently trapped in a vehicular themed nightmare.” 

Adrienne didn’t even acknowledge the current predicament. “Aimee! Oh my God. Oh my God! Can you believe today is finally here?” 

Aimee sighed as she lifted her foot off the brake, only to press it back down a brief beat later. “Well, I mean, you only told me about this yesterday, so yes, I—” 

“I mean, I just got the virtual tour, and the set looks fucking incredible. Isla’s vision? Insane. The costuming? Stunning. And the cast, Aimee, the cast! We are talking huge names. It’s just so, so great.” 

Aimee hummed a vague noise of agreement, truly only half-listening as she watched the brake lights ahead of her flicker on and off. Just as she started to have some hope. 

This is how everyone on the highway died in one of those apocalypse movies she hated. Her car would be one of the many scattered along the roadway, overgrown with nature taking back territory after people were gone. 

There was a beat of silence before Adrienne’s voice sharpened. The tone never failed to rope Aimee’s wandering thoughts back to the present. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” 

Aimee winced, shoulders hunched, bracing for impact. “What? Of course, I do.” 

She had a shit poker face; she was glad Adrienne wasn’t on a video call. 

A month or so ago, she vaguely remembered thumbing past an email in her inbox with an excessive amount of exclamation marks in the subject line before making the executive decision to not open it.  

To be fair, it coincided with a time when Aimee’s life was a smattering of court appearances and listening to lawyers chatting casually about custody hearings. Talking like it wasn’t her sense of normal that had been turned upside down and shaken for spare change. 

In the chaos of ‘survival mode,’ she’d quickly banished it to a folder labelled “Stuff for Later” and scrubbed the event from her memory just as rapidly. 

“Aimee.” 

“I definitely read your email.” 

“Oh really?” she challenged, voice incredulous, like Aimee had just tried to sell her on a pyramid scheme involving something called Gut Milk or timeshares in Florida, or both. “Then who was cast as Ivy?” 

“Uh…” Aimee hummed, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel, her mind scrubbing through the last handful of movies she’d seen, “...Anne Hathaway?” 

A long, exasperated sigh that stretched out until it ended in a strangled groan came through the speakers. Then, shuffling, like Adrienne was moving papers around. “Aimee Ophelia Wright—” 

“Oh, come on,” Aimee scoffed. “We both know Ophelia isn’t my middle name.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s what I call you when you’re being difficult and you make me want to drown myself in the nearest body of water like I live in a Shakespearean tragedy,” Adrienne shot back. “Seriously, you didn’t even just, like, skim the email for keywords?” 

“I was busy!” Aimee defended, hands flapping as though Adrienne could see her. “And then I kind of just figured you’d tell me anyway, so…” 

Adrienne groaned again briefly, but Aimee could tell she was still bursting at the seams to spill, so she was already launching into the list as Aimee took a sip of coffee from her travel mug. “Fine. Ivy is being played by Rebekah Davenport—” 

Aimee nearly choked on her coffee. “Wait. Rebekah Davenport? As in daughter of—” 

Tim Davenport and Keighley Spanner. Thirteen-time Oscar winning Director and Victoria Secret model duo. 

“The very same,” Adrienne confirmed as Aimee leaned over, her fingers searching for a stray napkin in the glove compartment to mop up the coffee dripping down her chin. “So yeah, nepotism at its finest. But to be fair, she seems to be talented. And Isla greenlit the casting herself...” 

“I loved her in that movie about the ballerina turned spy—” 

“Well, you should have been on the panel at the BAFTAs then, because I think you and my great aunt—who is like 87 years-old, by the way—are the only two people on the planet who without threat of torture will admit to liking Bulletproof Ballerina.” 

Aimee shrugged. Fair judgement. It had been a straight to streaming movie and Aimee was known to be an equal opportunist when it came to rom coms with the 2000s vibe. 

“Anyway,” Adrienne continued, rattling off a few more names, some familiar, some not. “And now, Aimee…” 

Aimee narrowed her eyes at the indecipherable vanity plate of the car ahead, wary of the tone in Adrienne’s voice. 

“Take a wild guess who they cast as Ben.” 

Aimee wrinkled her nose, mind whirring as she tried to come up with another name.  

For someone who claimed every year at Noah’s school charity trivia night she was the resident pop-culture guru, she was so incredibly bad at this. “…Bradley Cooper?” 

Adrienne made a noise like Aimee had just caused her physical pain. “No.” 

Aimee huffed. “Okay, well, you said wild, and I didn’t say Pedro Pascal, so I deserve credit for that one. And you can’t expect me to just—Wait, is it Pedro?” 

“I’ll give you a hint,” Adrienne pointedly ignored her. Voice on the edge of exasperation. “What’s your dad’s favourite movie?” 

Aimee blinked, confused. “Uh—Hunt for Red October?” 

A sharp sigh, some more shuffled papers. “No, no. Walter’s other favourite movie.” 

Aimee thought for a second, scanning through each childhood memory of reruns, each movie blending with the next. “Con Air?” 

“Jesus, Aimee. Almost, it’s about planes.” 

Aimee’s brain clicked, her response coming out excited. She knew this one. “Oh! Top Gun.” 

“Yes! Yes, okay! Finally.” 

Aimee perked up a little. “Wait. Are you saying—” 

“Yes...” 

“Miles Teller?” 

“No. Warmer.” 

“Jon Hamm?” 

Adrienne sighed. “First of all, I wish. That man is a certified DILF.” 

Aimee made a face. “Okay, well, that tells me way too much about your taste in men.” 

“Not the point. Focus up, Aimee. We’re so so close. Warmer.” 

Aimee made a humming sound, signaling and switching lanes as she sorted through the Top Gun cast. Couldn’t be Tom Cruise, not Miles Teller... so, that left—Aimee stilled. 

“No.” 

“Yes. You’re red-hot, Aimee...” 

Aimee squeezed her eyes shut. “You cannot be serious.” 

“Glen. Fucking. Powell.” Adrienne let the name land with all the weight it deserved. “Twisters. Anyone But You. That Glen Powell.” 

Aimee’s stomach dropped. 

“Aimee?” Adrienne prompted when the silence had stretched too long. 

“I—” Aimee swallowed. 

Glen Powell. 

As Ben. 

Her Ben. 

Glen Powell who would be on the set she was currently driving to. 

Her stomach tossed the lone banana in a sea of vanilla latte she’d guzzled this morning. This was going to be... something. 

The guard at the front of the studio lot gave her a look—one of those polite, neutral expressions that also, somehow, screamed, You’re not on the list. 

Ironically, very similar to the look the cashier gave Aimee last week when she couldn’t find the loyalty card she swore was just in the front pocket of her bag. 

The name tag clipped to his shirt read Hank, and she made a mental note. 

Aimee offered a sheepish smile and a half wave in return as she rolled her window down. She tried not to fumble with the lanyard attached to the pass Isla’s assistant, Casey, had rush couriered her last night and then proceeded to email her about three separate times. 

Don’t forget it. The lanyard. 

You need the lanyard. Don’t detach the pass from the lanyard. 

Seriously. Please. Lanyard. Pass. Don’t forget them. 

Aimee was pretty sure she’d never read the word “lanyard” that many times in one day. 

She looped it through the strap of her tote bag at the front door the night before, muttering the word under her breath like a spell. Lanyard. The more she said it, the weirder it sounded. Lan-yard? Lany-ard. Was it even a real word anymore? 

“Hi, Hank—I’m supposed to have a temporary pass, here...” Aimee smiled before twisting awkwardly toward the passenger seat where her canvas tote lay, half tipped over in the jostle of stop-start traffic. It yawned open, threatening to spill all over and create a crime scene along the floorboards. 

Hank leaned out of his booth, clearly waiting for a name and it took her half a beat. 

“Uh—Aimee Wright. Author. Technically the author, I guess?” 

She was so weird. She could feel it in her bones. It was like an out of body experience where she knew it was happening but couldn’t stop herself. 

Somewhere, in an alternate universe, ala Marvel, there would be someone watching her life on a screen and cringing. Deeply invested in the second-hand embarrassment. 

He blinked at her, carefully, eyes darting to something Aimee couldn’t see on the inside of the booth. “Oh, yeah. The book one. Wright.” 

“Yep,” she smiled, holding up a hold on finger as she went back to rifling through her open bag and instantly regretting every life choice that led her to toss things in it like a raccoon packing for a weekend trip.  

Dumpster fire chic: Loose gum. A nail file she’d been looking for last week. A receipt that was so old the print had rubbed off. “I had the—there’s a badge thingy, I swear.” 

She grabbed the strap of the bag, reaching into the depths and accidentally yanked out a notebook, her backup ChapStick, half a protein bar, and—somehow—a rogue contact lens case. Her only set of contacts. 

The case flopped onto the floorboard with a sickening snap. 

“Nonononono—” 

She automatically dove down to retrieve it, bumping her head on the steering wheel and letting out an ungodly noise somewhere between a groan and a hiss. She could see the contact case, open, one contact floating in a puddle of lens solution with a pebble and a hair and a gum wrapper in a groove of a winter car mat she hadn’t yet had a chance to take out. 

Her contacts were officially toast.  

Gone.  

Floating in mystery lint and stray grass from Noah’s soccer cleats. 

As she straightened, rubbing the back of her head, she could see Hank’s mildly concerned expression from the corner of her eye. “You okay, Ms. Wright?” 

“I’m fantastic,” she lied through the mortification. Spotting the badge (attached to the lanyard) nestled at the very bottom of her tote, Aimee emerged, red-faced and victorious, with her badge in one hand and her dignity in negative numbers. “Just… minor contact lens difficulty. Totally fine.” 

He waved her through as the gate lifted, and she tried to thank him without sounding winded from the struggle.  

The studio lot was already buzzing when she pulled into a parking space somewhere near the back. People in headsets zipped past on golf carts, a woman walked by carrying a tray of croissants, and somewhere in the distance, through her half open window, Aimee could hear a faint megaphone blaring something about blocking and call times. 

Aimee quickly repacked, shoving the now-leaking contact case back into the bag before she fished out her backup glasses. The ones where the prescription was a tad too weak and there was a deep, angry scratch across the top of the left lens.  

Her backup, emergency driving glasses.  

The ones with the thick black frames that made her feel less “interesting new author” and more “English professor who hoards mugs but can’t grasp the basic understanding of how face shape and frame thickness walked hand in hand.”  

They were the Frankenstein’s monster of ocular assistance. The kind of glasses a substitute teacher who moonlights as a taxidermist would choose. 

With a huff, Aimee jammed the glasses onto her face, threw a cautionary glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror, and cringed. Tried not to think about how she’d be walking onto a set full of conventionally beautiful people. 

“Perfect,” she muttered. “Just in time to look like the surprise guest speaker at a library board meeting.” 

...And that is why, I believe, whispering needs to be implemented in a 100-foot radius surrounding the library. 

What do you mean the children were afraid of the plague doctor educational presentation? 

Petition for romance novels to not be removed from the romance novel reading area, formerly called the “anti-sticky pages movement”, now tallying votes. 

Aimee let her forehead rest against the steering wheel for a beat. “You wrote the book,” she whispered to herself, an almost mantra. “You belong here. Ridiculous glasses and all.”  

Now or never. 

She blew out a noisy breath and blindly reached for the door handle before she stepped out, fumbled slightly when her bag strap caught on the stick shift, and powered forward after a beat to untangle it like she’d meant to do it. 

After a few calm steps, Aimee abandoned her calm “fashionably late” strut quickly, sprinting across the lot, tote bag bouncing against her hip, hair a little less put together than she would’ve liked. First day on set, and she was already running behind. 

To be fair, in the history of her lateness, this wasn’t nearly the worst kind of late she’d been. That was reserved for the graduation (her own) she had to sneak into after her seventeen alarms hadn’t gone off because she’d forgotten to plug her phone in. Yet, it was late enough that her anxiety was already thrumming loud and she could feel it in her calves, the weird goopy feeling of weakness.  

First impressions mattered. It was why Aimee was a huge, unapologetic fan of the Scooby-Doo Villain Theory™.  

This was her story. Hundreds of people were working to breathe air into its metaphorical lungs and her first impression on all of them was going to be: late. 

As she neared the soundstage, dodging a zipping golf cart on the way, she slowed just enough to give a quick smile to the security guard checking passes.  

“Morning,” she panted, flashing her badge at the man who looked like he could be Hank’s long-lost twin. “Sorry, I’m running late—well, obviously, but hope you’re having a good one!” 

The guard chuckled, waving her through. “No worries. First days are always a mess.” 

At least someone understood. She made a mental note to bake Hank 2.0 some cookies if she ever made it back to set after today. 

She gave him a mock salute before jogging toward the main set entrance, dodging crew members and half-assembled props. Someone was balancing a precarious armload of cables, their face twisted in frustration. Without thinking, Aimee reached over and nudged the top coil into place. 

“Thanks,” the woman huffed, adjusting her grip. 

Aimee smiled. “No problem. You’re the real MVP here.” Then, after she had already turned, pivoted again, as an afterthought, “Hey, do you know where the table read is happening?” 

The woman tipped her chin toward a building on the far end of the lot. “Room B, second floor. If you hit the craft services table, you’ve gone too far.” 

“Noted,” Aimee said, already moving. “And, honestly, dangerous information to give me. I will get distracted by snacks.” 

The woman smirked as she adjusted the cable load. “Honestly? Wouldn’t blame you.” 

By the time Aimee reached the building across the lot, she was puffing slightly. 

It was her fault. Her first mistake was she’d (incorrectly) hedged on the stairs being faster than the elevator. Her second mistake was wearing a knit sweater on a borderline warm day, the kind that started cold and evolved into a muggy, hair frizzing kind of humid heat. She was used to running, but when it came to climbing stairs at speed, her cardio was absolute shit—combined with the wardrobe miscalculation, she was a hot mess when she made it to the second floor. 

Across from the stairwell, a large double set of doors were closed, but Aimee could hear the chatter of voices behind them. The sign taped to the door was the confirmation she needed. 

BENEATH THE SURFACE 

TABLE READ IN PROGRESS 

The heavy door creaked slightly as she slipped inside, and immediately she knew she had walked into the wrong moment. 

Aimee winced as she carefully closed the door behind her, inciting another creak. 

The long tables arranged in a square in the center of the room were surrounded by actors, Isla Rodriguez seated at the head with a sharp, focused expression. Aimee easily spotted Rebekah Davenport, sitting poised and effortlessly composed, and then— 

Glen Powell. 

Seated beside Rebekah, near Isla, comfortable, casual in the way only someone used to commanding the attention in any room he walked into could be.  

In contrast to her, he fit here.  

His hair was tousled in a way that probably took exactly two minutes to get perfectly imperfect, and his plaid button-up—open slightly to reveal a white T-shirt underneath—had the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms that really should’ve come with a warning label. 

He swept a hand through his hair, then tugged off his ball cap and, seemingly on reflex, turned it backwards and slid it back on. His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip like it was second nature. 

The late-morning light slanted in through the windows behind him, casting a soft halo across the curls of brown-blond hair now spilling from the back of the cap, and catching on the sharp angle of his jaw—dusted with a bit of scruff—and a mouth currently tilted in a subtle, unreadable curve. 

He held the script loose in one hand, curled in his grip, eyes scanning the page with laser focus—until he looked up. 

And his green eyes, iridescent and clear, locked with hers as if she’d called his name. 

His gaze was direct. Intense. Not showy or smug, but steady, like she’d just stepped into the exact scene he was waiting for on a cue she hadn’t been aware of. Like he expected her to hit a mark that started the scene with a clap of a slate.  

And for one stupid second, as her heart stuttered in a way that wasn’t from the impromptu cardio of the stairs she’d climbed, Aimee forgot how to breathe. 

Her stomach did a little traitorous flip. 

Nope. She definitely couldn’t deal with that right now. 

Tearing her attention away and muttering breathless, whispered “sorrys,” Aimee squeezed between a few crew members standing at the edges of the room. She barely had time to dig into her bag for her notebook to take notes before she pulled it out and— 

A soft clatter hit the floor. 

Aimee froze. 

Her pen. And, of course, her damn lip gloss. Rolling to a stop at the back of a shoe and between the feet of the guy standing beside him. 

Clearly, she hadn’t learned from this morning how her packing habits caused trouble. 

The man in front of her looked down and then back up to Aimee, as she flushed and whispered an apology. 

She bent down quickly to retrieve her things from between khaki shorts guy’s feet as the man beside him also shifted and looked down, a few more hushed “sorry”s slipping from her lips.  

The moment she straightened, her hands full of the noisy purse contents, Isla’s voice rang out over the room. 

“Alright, hold up,” Isla’s voice rang out, followed by a few “shushing” sounds. 

From where she stood, peeking around the shoulder of khaki shorts guy, Aimee could see Isla Rodriguez twisted around in her chair, her tone dry but amused as she turned back to again shush a supporting cast member running a line on a scene Aimee vaguely recognized as the scene where Ivy starts her new teaching job. “I’m hearing some un-American levels of humility happening over there.” 

The room chuckled. 

Aimee wanted to die. To shrink into the floor. Blend into a wall. Disappear from this moment entirely. 

Isla turned her attention fully to her now, waving Aimee over with exaggerated gestures. “Come on, let’s go. Get over here. Everyone, let’s meet the woman responsible for all of this.” 

For a brief beat, Aimee considered staying exactly where she was and pretending not to exist, pretend like Isla Rodriguez didn’t know who she was, but there was no way out of this. Heat creeping up her neck, she forced herself to walk forward. 

Isla’s arms swept the table grandly as Aimee stepped away from the crowd, clearing her throat as quietly as possible as she tried to find a spot on the floor, the back wall, somewhere to look other than at all the people looking at her. “Everyone, this is Aimee Wright. If you somehow live under a rock and don’t know, she wrote the book we’re all here making a movie about.”  

She shot a knowing smirk at Aimee who had now reached the table. “Aimee, you wanna say a few words to the cast and crew. Something motivational?” 

Did she? 

No. 

She absolutely did not. 

Could she say something, anything, let alone something intelligent and motivational when she was currently fighting for her life to keep from throwing up?  

She wasn’t even confident about that part right now. 

When she dared to glance up, at nothing in particular, she could see everyone looking at her. Definitely expecting her to say something clever, like something she’d written. 

The alternative was to flee, run and never return. In these circumstances, she’d be okay leaving the pride lands to Scar and his hyena henchmen. 

Isla’s gaze, now turning from encouraging to confused, did not look like she’d be okay with the sudden abdication of her spot in this room, though. 

Well, she’d lived a great life. 

Aimee cleared her throat, shifted her notebook in her grip. Lifted her eyes. Pushed her shoulders back like Allie was scolding her telepathically about her terrible posture. Stood taller. Fake it until you make it. Even though she could feel her soul actively trying to jettison from her body through an escape pod. Except the sci-fi show that was her life had a low budget, too much fishing line, a model of the ship someone’s kid made out of papier mâché and entirely too much scotch tape. 

“Uh… hey. Hi. I’m Aimee Wright, the writer, author, obviously,” she managed a weak smile, a small half wave. “Um, well, first of all—thank you, Isla, for, uh… letting me be here. I mean, I think Adrienne might have twisted your arm a bit, but that’s neither here nor there.” 

Was this a nightmare? This had to be. Ranked up there with going to school naked. 

At her side, Aimee could swear she saw Isla arch a brow, clearly feeling something (probably unimpressed) with her start. 

Aimee’s palms sweated, they stuck to the back of the notebook, and she barely resisted the urge to wipe them down her pants. “I, uh—yeah, this is very surreal. I never thought I’d get to be part of something like this, and I’m… really excited to see what you all do with the story.” 

Her eyes flickered around the table. She took in the expectant faces, waiting or her to continue. Probably onto the motivational part. Right. Okay. She shifted her gaze. 

To the guy whose peaked paper nameplate set out in front of him said he was playing Ben’s cousin, Jeremy.  

To the woman Aimee thought she recognized from an episode of Law and Order: SVU who was linked with the character of Ursula, Ivy’s co-worker who was just the right amount of hardened by years of teaching unruly students.  

Her eyes skipped over to Rebekah Davenport, blonde, long-lashed and doe-eyed: effortlessly gorgeous in a way Aimee’s single mom friend, Louise, had chased desperately for one entire summer. Juice cleanses. Pilates classes “just like R.D. does every other day!”. Blonde extensions. Lipstick too red for her pale skin. 

In Louise’s case, it was easier for Aimee to go with the flow than to stage an intervention with the rest of their single parent group friends—especially when it was so painfully obvious that Louise wasn’t dealing with the elephant in the room: the fact her ex-husband had already remarried. And not to just anyone. After a sinfully short engagement (read: two weeks) he’d married a woman who was likeable in the way that Belle from Beauty and the Beast was kind: wholesome, universally liked by animals, children and adults alike. So unlike Louise it felt as though the universe was putting on a one-night only special of ‘one of these things is not like the other’.  

As a result of the sustained overexposure to all things Rebekah, Aimee, subjected to constant images of the actress in every possible scenario (leaving a spin class in L.A.; slipping out of a club at 4 AM, hand in hand with her BFF Taylor Swift; grocery shopping in an oversized jacket and ball cap) was convinced Rebekah looked like she just stepped off the cover of a magazine—in perpetuity. Currently, she was examining her cuticles closely, uninterested, as her crossed leg bounced absently. 

When her eyes, following the natural progress around the table, shifted over to Ben, Glen, Aimee realized quickly, what a bad idea that had been. She felt it, the lock of his gaze, like a punch to the gut.  

He, unlike Rebekah sitting at his side, was watching her intently. As if they were both suddenly the only two people standing across from each other in the actually very crowded room, Aimee watched as his mouth curved into an easy smile, calm, casual, encouraging maybe? Behind his eyes, there was a flicker of something, a softness that felt like sympathy, but also, possibly, a bit of amusement.  

In another beat, she looked away sharply, as if she’d been burned, but she could still feel his eyes lingering on the side of her face. 

She didn’t blame him, she supposed it was true: looking away from a car wreck, crunched and burning on the side of the highway, sirens wailing somewhere in the near distance, was hard to do. Except in this case, the car wreck was Aimee, and the burning was the slow embarrassment of both being late and unprepared to speak to anyone, let alone a room full of professionals.  

“Anyway,” she finished lamely, plastering a half-smile on, “Thanks for putting your faith in Behind—” Aimee paused, died, came back to life, regrouped, “—Beneath the Surface. I’ll, uh… be over here. Taking notes.” 

Taking notes and quietly wishing for the sweet, cold embrace of death. 

She didn’t say that last part out loud, but quietly, she wished she had a sudden, quick to develop allergy to nuts. The kind that sat on the table beside one of the writers sitting near Isla. 

Anaphylaxis was a good enough excuse to leave and never come back, right? 

She could fake it. Of that she was confident, she’d once faked period pains for an entire semester of gym class. 

There was a short silence before Isla grinned. “Well, I think we can all agree that was sufficiently awkward and only semi-motivational.” 

Laughter rippled through the room. Aimee dropped her gaze, mortified. 

Isla clapped her hands together. “Alright, well, you heard the woman. Let’s make her book into a damn good movie. Aimee, take a seat—let’s get to work.” 

Aimee slid into an open chair, cheeks still warm as she flipped open her notebook. As she settled, a couple of the writers nearby leaned in with quiet, welcoming whispers. 

“Huge fan of the book.”   

“Excited to have you here.” 

“Can’t wait to see what you think of the changes.” 

Aimee managed a small smile, nodding in acknowledgment as she set her pen to the page. Okay. That was nice. Maybe she wouldn’t completely die of awkwardness today. 

“Alright, where were we?” Isla glanced at the script in front of her, made a few noises with her mouth as she scanned, then looked pointedly at Glen. “Ok, right, Powell. Bottom of page sixty-four—Ben meets Ivy.” 

Glen smirked, tapping his rolled script against the table before turning the page. “You got it, boss.” 

Aimee didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But she heard the way he cleared his throat before his voice, deep, the slight hint of an accent, shifted as he started reading, smooth and easy, like he belonged in the role. Like he stepped off a page, ink on paper, modeled like clay and brought to life: Ben. 

Aimee tucked her chin into her chest, scribbled circles into the corner of her paper as Glen read the words she had written aloud. She hated that the timbre of his tone did something unsettling to her ovaries, and she shifted to distract herself from it. 

Why did her words have to sound so good coming out of his perfect mouth? 

“So, we definitely have a lot of ground to cover,” Casey buzzed, taking a deep draw from the chewed plastic straw of an iced drink that smelled overwhelmingly like maple and cinnamon. “We’ve got costuming and makeup, probably video village, then you’re probably going to want to go visit the writer’s lounge—” 

Casey Flannigan, “Isla’s Assistant extraordinaire” as she’d quickly introduced herself after the table read, swooping in to rescue Aimee from further embarrassment, was a tattooed Tinkerbell on a sugar high, wrapped up in converse and a cute pair of Lululemon leggings.  

She’d given Aimee’s sweater a sharp tug and after scrambling to gather her things and (once again) throw them haphazardly into her tote (which she knew she’d regret later), Aimee had chased her out the door without looking back. She didn’t want to make eye contact with a bunch of people who likely felt sorry for her and after listening to Glen Powell work through Ben’s lines for the last hour and a half, she wasn’t ready to deal with that either. Not yet anyway. 

Now, Aimee’s short legs worked overtime to catch up as Casey zipped around the lot. How it was possible that Aimee, a sneeze taller than Casey, had to hustle to keep up, was a mystery of science.  

“And this is Stage B—filming doesn’t start here until next week, but props and set dec are essentially putting the final approval stamps on the lakeside cabin—Ben’s cabin.” Casey motioned to a far corner, not really giving it more than a half glance as she walked, the wire of the unplugged headset bouncing around. 

“You should have been here last week—a bird got in and I think it made a nest and had a nine to five job scoping out crumbs from the snack tables. We had to get animal control in to remove the nest and the birds. But I really think it’s the ultimate seal of approval. A bird, a literal creature of nature and instinct, legit thought our cabin set looked like the real deal.” 

Aimee felt this, the set, a hive of buzzing activity and organized chaos, like she felt that Steve Buscemi meme. She’d shown up, pretending on the back of a singular iota of hope and a whisp of caffeine. But instead of blending, she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was the Hey, fellow kids! line in this scenario, delivered with false confidence that didn’t help what she was trying to project. No one would believe her. Even in this settling, her words on paper, coming to life—the fuel for this entire stream of reality that were sets and soundstages, costumes and lines delivered perfectly. 

Someone, somewhere, was loudly chatting about a missing canoe, another disembodied voice bemoaning a last-minute wardrobe change. 

“So, that read went so fucking well though, right?” Casey took another sip from her maple caffeine mix, chewed on the straw before she continued again. “You totally fit right in, the chemistry was popping off. You totally crushed it. Everyone’s obsessed with the dialogue—” 

Aimee shrugged. “I mean—I wasn’t reading, technically and I think the screenwriters had more to do with what ended up in the final draft. I just kind of sat there being super awkward and trying not to make direct eye contact. Glen sounded great, so did Rebekah.” 

“Oh my god, Rebekah is killing it. She’s just like, so in the Ivy zone it’s like she was born to play her.” Casey was buzzing as she drained the last of her drink and dropped it into the nearest garbage can without breaking stride. She was turned around, facing Aimee and pacing backward when she continued, “I don’t know if you heard, but she signed on the same day Glen did. Like, literally within the same hour. People think she read the script just to make sure he was attached and then pounced.” 

“Is that a thing?” 

Casey scoffed but then cleared her throat as if she remembered herself, recalling that Aimee wasn’t used to the industry gold star standard of rumour and contracting negotiations. “It happens more often than you’d think, especially when Glen is like, crazy hot and has award-season level sexual tension with just about every single actress they put him across. Tumblr has been going off about this since Glen posted that mysterious playlist on his Spotify and Rebekah made a similar one.” 

If Aimee hadn’t spent literal hours trying to decode a single Taylor Swift easter egg, she might have thrown a shade of judgment at the Spotify playlist hype. 

“I have this theory that Tumblr runs on Glen Powell and Pedro Pascal with a sprinkle of Marvel and F1 preservatives. Fight me on it.” Casey grinned. “Seriously though, you ever get bored, and you need to keep yourself entertained? Check out the hashtags Glen Powell and Glen Powell x reader. You’ll either be awestruck or horrified, there’s no in between.” 

Aimee chuckled, but her eyes were on her feet. 

Casey must have sensed the sudden silence, because before Aimee knew it, she had stopped abruptly and was now facing Aimee. “Wait—so you seriously weren’t getting updates? Like… at all? I was trying to make sure they had your contact info right. I’m so sorry about that, I’ll see what I can” 

Aimee tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, cleared her throat. “Actually, that was a deliberate me choice. I kind of just... filtered out everything that wasn’t on fire.”  

Aimee had specifically asked Adrienne to be her city walls, complete with hot tar traps and archers at the ready. Nothing got by that wasn’t super serious on a scale of you’ll live, here’s a band-aid and chocolate to the world is ending, make your way to the closest fallout shelter. “Adrienne’s been shielding me from the chaos unless it was clowns on fire level serious. I think we called it the ‘sanity-preservation protocol.” 

Casey gave her a lingering look before she turned back to her tablet and tapped out something Aimee couldn’t see. In the next moment, Casey was turning the screen toward Aimee. The screen was filled with TikTok video thumbnails. Aimee reached out and swiped up, the carrousel of videos cascading past, half notes of speech and overlay songs playing every time the screen settled for more than a beat. 

Big News! Casting is OUUUUT! 

GLEN POWELL AS BEN. 

SCREAMING INTO THE ABYSS – GLEN IS A PERFECT BEN. 

BTS Movie — Concerns about Casting? #glenyesrebekahno #rebekahdavenport #nepokid 

The screen was still scrolling down when Casey turned the screen away and tapped out of the app. “Girl, this—” she motioned around as a rack of wardrobe rolled past, someone in the near distance shouted directions, “—has been news for literal months. You were trending. Like, Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch, trending. Like, Doja Cat and a goat, doing a viral slime tutorial on TikTok.” 

Aimee blinked, her mind stuttered, trying to conjure the mental image of the singer, a goat and Tom Cruise, couch hopping beside a shocked Oprah. “Sorry, Doja Cat and a goat doing what now?” 

Casey paused, eyeing her cautiously for a moment as if she were trying to determine if Aimee was being serious. After a beat, she waved her hand at Aimee, “Okay, well, we’ll circle back to that one.” 

Casey took another sharp turn that had Aimee pivoting quickly, almost tripping over herself to keep up. She trailed just behind, at Casey’s heels as they powered past a wall of fabric swatches and concept sketches, reference photos and on-site location shots taped up like an art school decoupage. 

The lake house cabin. Quiet and nestled in the thick, placid woods of Virginia. Shots of the exterior of a cabin that looked like it was plucked straight from her mind via the pages of her book. Log exterior, a wide, wrapped porch looking out over a long dock extending like an arm onto the calm, bluish green water. Two Adirondak chairs painted a sage green sat at the end. Swatches of several green fabrics, likely for the blanket in the pivotal scene between Ben and Ivy were stuck beside the photos, labelled, critiqued with “too soft,” “not soft enough,” and “just right?”. 

Ivy’s apartment above the hardware store on main street in Lexington. The stone archway between her living room and the hallway that led to the back bedroom where the floorboard creaked. The distressed paint on the old brick somehow both modern and out of date. The same apartment where she realizes she wants to know more about Ben, the mysterious uncle of her most difficult student. Paint chips of blues were fanned out under a thumbtack; blues Aimee had described Ivy painting the kitchen cabinets when she realized she didn’t want to live in the muted greige of her small apartment anymore.

Quickly, she reached up to shift the cornflower blue to the top of the pile, restacking the array carefully before tacking it up again. 

“Anyway—having you here on set is going to do really good for people like Rebekah. She needs the feedback, you know? Glen’s pretty much dialed into Ben. I mean you saw and heard how he read through the dialogue.” Casey continued from about fifteen feet away, chatting like she didn’t know Aimee wasn’t right beside her. 

By the time Aimee hurried back to her side, Casey was waving her hands, a conductor mid-symphony. “Have you met Glen’s agent yet? Margot? Scary French lady. I swear she manages his every breath like some kind of sea witch with a Black AmEx card. I mean she dresses like she’s going to simultaneously take you to court and lecture you about the most appropriate way to make an espresso.” 

Aimee shook her head, sharply, when Casey’s eyes slid over to her. 

“Well, you’ll know her when you see her.” 

They passed a set of wide double doors open to the lot where a standing army of white trailers sat. A few signs pointing out read “Hair & Makeup”. 

“I just want you to know—” Casey turned to Aimee now as they approached a craft services table where a few of the faces Aimee recognized for the table read were milling about, “—Isla is really hitting her directorial stride. She’s coming into this right off Julietta. She’s passionate about this one. The whole message about rebirth, burning away the old and blooming into the new, like a fucking kick-ass Phoenix.” 

Aimee had seen Julietta at least twice. Once with Allie and then again with her “Single Parents” group. The story of the mother of a murdered daughter, going after the cartel that took her child’s life. Systematically wiping out anyone who stood in her way on her quest for justice. It had won her an Academy Award for Best Director. 

“She’s perfect for this story,” Aimee smiled, not for show, but because she felt it. The excitement ebbing off of Casey, the buzz on set, the palpable, expectant giddiness of the people in the room during the table read. “I think she’s really going to do right by Ivy and Ben and the message behind their story.” 

Casey was nodding before she was finished, guiding Aimee over to the closest table set with water bottles and a few individually packaged snacks. “You honestly picked the perfect time to be here. We’re just about to springboard off the pre-production chaos and into the deep end with shooting. Today’s going to be a lot of blocking and last fits for costumes. Shooting officially picks up bright and early on Monday.” 

Aimee accepted the water bottle Casey extended and tucked away the package of tamari almonds into a back pocket with a crinkle of the plastic. “So, eye of the swirling storm?” 

“Exactly.” Casey snapped her fingers, cracking open a canned energy drink with a hiss. She took a few deep gulps before her eyes were back on the tablet in her grip. “Come on. I’ll show you the war room, or the production office. They’ve got this bananas concept wall that’ll help you transcend. Honest to god. The mood lighting is like, aggressively sexy. You’re on birth control, right?” 

Aimee snorted and Casey’s serious demeanor cracked. “No accidental mood lighting babies, pinky promise.” 

“I knew I fucking liked you,” Casey shimmied on the spot before she clapped her hands loudly, a production slate on the moment. “Okay, okay. Great. This way.” 

Aimee cracked open the water bottle as she followed. 

All of this still felt like a fever dream, like she was walking through an alternate universe where Glen Powell and Rebekah Davenport weren’t just casually running the lines she wrote at the old melamine kitchen table in the house she and Olivier lived in together. The same lines she wrote on very little sleep and somehow always cold cup of coffee and a toddler screaming within her line of sight. 

Then, there was no way she could have imagined this. No chance she could have thought her little narrative therapy book about a teacher looking to rebuild her life from the ashes of her old one, and a man trying to outrun his past would have ever made it out of her Word document. 

Let alone onto the New York Times Bestseller list. 

No way people would talk about how her writing rewired their brains or was the catalyst to leave abusive relationships. 

This was totally normal, right? 

Standing in the primordial beginnings of your book becoming something alive and living and real? 

Yup. Normal. Totally, completely normal. 

Just her fictional universe becoming… real in a way that absolutely blew the wall out between her reality and the fiction that had once only lived in her head. 

Aimee leaned against a water cooler in the corner as it burbled without provocation. 

Casey had disappeared about five minutes ago in a bit of a harried fluster and flourish of the tablet when an “urgent” call came in from Isla. One that definitely sounded half coffee panic and half hysteria over chickpeas. 

Whatever it was, Casey had slipped away with a few quiet apologies and a semi explanation about oat milk and Isla’s aversion to it and someone not getting the notes Casey had very specifically communicated about. Aimee swore she heard a shout about “literal crisis” and “oat milk is the devil” on the other end of the phone Casey pressed tightly to her ear. 

So now Aimee hung around the water cooler, alone.  

Air bubbles burbled as a group of people carrying a variety of armfuls of things. When their gaze slid momentarily to Aimee, loitering, she offered them a quiet, half smile. 

The hallway smelled like fresh cuts of wood in the Home Depot section her dad hung around for no particular reason in the summers of her childhood. If she had to guess where in the maze of the studio lot she was now, she would have guessed she was tucked off to the side of what would be the main soundstage, the one with the set of Ivy’s classroom where the majority of the scenes took place. 

Before Casey zipped away, they’d been on their way to visit a few “close to ready” sets filming would begin on next week; the interior of Ben’s lake house, the cabin that served as his fortress of solitude; the teacher’s lounge; the bar where Ben would get into a barfight. 

Now, Aimee stood just a few feet back from a rather plain looking plywood door with a label created with green painter’s tape and a sharpie, “Ben’s Cabin”. It called to her, begged her to open the door that was already cracked ajar, a warm yellow light cutting across the floor. A beacon to passing curios minds like a lighthouse in the storm. 

Aimee picked at the label on her mostly empty water bottle. Shifted her weight like she did when Noah was a baby, and he wouldn’t sleep. Now, she did it when she found herself standing still for too long. Part of her was already walking up to the door, slipping into the golden light and immersing herself in whatever she’d find behind the door. 

Aimee pulled out her phone, scrolled aimlessly past the text threads. Pulled up her social media profiles that hadn’t been updated in ages except with the posts Adrienne begged her update. Scrounged through the email folder she’d condemned all of Adrienne’s emails to, full of casting updates and director squabbles. When she locked the screen, the door was still open, possibly a little more than before. 

It called to her, a crooked finger goading her. 

Well, she never presumed to be the person who survived in a horror movie. In fact, she was sure the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” applied to her 89% of the time. 

With a dramatic huff, Aimee gave one last long glance to the spot where Casey had disappeared earlier. 

Two minutes, right? What harm could taking a look at one of the sets that was technically (kind of still) her intellectual property cause? She was sure Casey had meant to show her that next anyway. 

The first thing that caught her attention as she approached, careful, like she’d be caught if she had a thought that was too loud, was a few polaroids fanned out across pages of the script. 

INT. BEN'S CABIN – NIGHT 

Wide shot of the rustic cabin interior. The fireplace glows low. A storm rumbles in the distance. BEN stands near the window, his silhouette tense against the flickering light. 

BEN  (quietly, with weight)  I thought I’d lost every chance I had to love. Every single moment slipping through my fingers... and all I could do was let them— 

CUT TO: 

INT. BEN'S CABIN – BEDROOM – NIGHT 

Tight pan to the ONE BED tucked beneath a sloped ceiling. IVY sits on the edge, blankets tangled, expression caught between disbelief and amusement. 

IVY  (laughs, dry)  This isn’t a serious situation, is it? 

Aimee’s fingers grazed the words as she passed, catching a few messily scrawled notes on an array of coloured sticky notes. More swatches pinned here and there. A polaroid of a sun setting on the porch. A stack of photos topped with Ivy’s jacket on a hanger. The distressed shirt that Ben wore the night after they shared a bed together for the first time. 

When she pushed open the makeshift door, Aimee felt something catch in her throat, a feeling she couldn’t name, but could definitely place: the feeling of seeing a sad commercial, the choking feeling of emotion she had to clear her throat around. 

The first thought that crossed her mind, once her thoughts settled into something cohesive, was how incredibly large the set felt. So much so that when she stepped through the door, it felt like she had stepped through a hidden door at the back of a closet in her strange uncle’s house. 

She felt as if she were stepping into her own mind, a step off what you thought was the last stair, only to find another under your foot. 

Surreal. Uncanny in the best of ways, stretching out in front of her eyes. Bursting with the deep greens of pine trees, tinged with the changing leaves on the edge of fall and somehow, impossibly, the smell of the air right before rain. 

Beneath her feet, the crunch of fallen pine needles, mixed with gravel from the small path that led to the half constructed front porch. Aimee was climbing it, fingers dancing along the wooden railing as she ascended to the green front door, slightly weathered from the elements. Just as she’d described. She wouldn’t be surprised if she looked close enough and could see the layers of paint over the years, chipped away in certain areas to reveal all the lives it had lived before—bright orange, a deep, orient express red, a sea foam green. 

As if she owned it, Aimee gripped the handle, twisted and pushed open the door. 

It creaked exactly like she had described it in chapter eleven as she stepped over the worn front mat. There were muddy boots by the entrance, a green blanket tossed over the back of the brown leather couch, paperbacks on the shelf with faded, cracked spines. The kind of well-loved tomes Ben would’ve read as he spent his summers there, hiding away. The kind of titles Ivy would tease him for when she stayed here with him in chapter eighteen. 

She moved slowly, reverent. Let her fingers trail along the edge of the couch as she rounded it. She allowed herself to fall into it for a moment and leaned back, eyes falling closed, breathing in deep the scent of sawdust, the smell of cedar, and something faintly herbal—probably whatever they used to fake pine and woods and nature. 

It was almost too much. Too close. Too raw. Something ripped out of her mind like a silvery memory dropped into the Pensieve in Dumbledore’s office. 

Pushing herself to her feet, she wandered into the kitchen space, opening a cupboard on a whim, just to see if they’d gone as far as to stock it. Maybe with Ben’s favourite tea or a half-empty bag of coffee beans waiting to be ground. She knew it likely wasn’t even supposed to be in frame, but sure enough, there were dishes. Mugs. A cereal box with the label half-covered, opened in the way a man would open a box of cereal. 

“You know I think if you’re looking for snacks, craft services might be a better start.” 

Aimee jumped so hard she squeaked—and the cabinet door detached from its hinges with a thunk, immediately claimed by gravity as Aimee’s hands flew to brace it before it hit the floor. 

“Oh my God, fuck, fuck,” she gasped, turning in a panic, her mind already fumbling for an excuse. “I didn’t—this isn’t—” 

Leaning casually in the doorway, Glen Powell looked far too amused for her comfort. His arms were crossed, one brow raised.  

“Oof. Well, Brad’s definitely gonna have an aneurysm.” There was a teasing edge to his voice that Aimee didn’t miss, even in her panic. 

Brad? Who the hell was Brad? Aimee could feel her eyes widen, wild with a frantic kind of spiral she was well used to. 

“Prop guy.” Glen supplied when it was clear Aimee had no idea who he was talking about. 

“I wasn’t even—I just opened it and—I wasn’t even pulling that hard,” Aimee stuttered, horror-struck, trying to lift the door, slot it into the place where it looked like it had once been attached. 

Since when were cabinet doors so unreasonably heavy? 

How fast could she slip off set before anyone (other than Glen Powell of course) noticed she’d vandalized a Hollywood movie set? 

How soon could she crawl into a hole and cover herself to avoid the approaching shame storm with a cold front of sheer embarrassment coming her way? 

“It just—came off. Look, see it’s not even attached properly! Oh God. What do I do? Do I leave? Should I leave? Am I banned?” 

Glen casually pushed off the wall, strolled past the couch Aimee had been sitting on a moment before, carefully approaching the kitchen. 

He looked like he fit here. In this world that Aimee had built from the fragments of sad songs, the whisper of a plot from her favourite Hallmark Christmas movie, a dash of her own heartbreak. 

If she hadn’t been going through the idea that she’d be fired and owe someone money, lose the book deal, lose her house, become homeless and die in a tent city next to a man named Orson who talked to an imaginary dog, she might have seen how comical it was: how relaxed and at ease he was next to her sheer, unfiltered chaos. 

“It’s fine. When we were filming Twisters, I broke the passenger door off the storm chaser truck in the middle of a take. Took four hours to reset the shot. I definitely thought I was going to be written out of the movie by lunch the next day, or worse—replaced by Zac Efron.” 

Aimee’s mind stopped momentarily, catastrophizing thoughts slowed to an ebb for a beat. “Really?” 

He grinned. “No. But it made you feel better for half a second, right?” 

Aimee sagged, a strangled groan falling from her before she hugged the evidence closer. Maybe she could get rid of it somehow. Throw it in the fake lake like a bloodied knife, the sole evidence tying her to a crime. “You’re not helping.” 

Maybe no one would notice.  

Maybe she could just set it just so that it looked like it was fixed and... 

“Honestly, don’t worry about it. This is the most interesting thing to happen this morning—well, if you don’t count the table read, anyway. That was—” 

“—a disaster—” 

“—interesting—” 

Aimee blinked at him for a moment. She could feel her brow pull together. 

She wasn’t sure if he was being sincere. He looked to her like he was. The easy, relaxed lean he’d adopted against the kitchen island, the way his lips always looked like he was a moment away from a full, bright smile. 

She settled on sincerity. The feeling that he was trying to do something, she just wasn’t quite sure what that was, yet. 

“Thanks for the reminder. I’d almost forgotten about that car crash...” 

“Why?”  

There it was, that smile. So incredibly close to megawatt territory. She was convinced someone hadn’t yet thought of how to harness its power and that was the only reason why it wasn’t powering an entire city sized grid. 

Aimee felt her stomach flip.  

Felt the heat climb of the back of her neck. 

She was suddenly reminded of the time she tried to talk to that cute barista in high school and tripped over a box of mugs instead. She’d left without saying a word to him, instead apologizing to the mugs under her breath. Truth be told, she still (nineteen years later) had trouble going into that particular coffee shop without remembering her embarrassment. 

She didn’t miss the irony that she now lived on writing romance, when, historically, she was so bad at romance in real life. 

“It was memorable. You made an impression.” 

Her mouth was dry. Why was her mouth so dry? 

Did her breath smell bad? She’d only had three coffees that morning.  

Did she even have gum? Or mints? Mints would be acceptable. 

“When you say impression,” Aimee was already half-turned, back to the open cabinet face, her mind flicking between solutions now, “if you mean I humiliated myself in front of you and Rebekah and the entire cast and production team...” 

Glen shrugged, planted his hands on his hips, smiled. “Semantics.”  

She didn’t blame Rebekah for jumping on Beneath the Surface when Glen signed on. If that was actually what had happened. What woman with a pulse wouldn’t? 

Aimee was already trying to find a makeshift screwdriver, (a knife, a bobby pin, a coin, something) when the telltale creak of heavy boots on the front porch and the low rumble of voices caused her to freeze. Her wide eyes were already turned back to Glen who had straightened, if only a fraction. 

“Oh no,” she whispered.  

Why did it have to be the top cabinet?  

Why did she have to open it? 

Glen’s expression shifted in an instant. “Oh, that’s definitely Brad,” he muttered, eyes darting to the broken cabinet and then back up to Aimee. “Here.” 

“What?” Aimee’s frantic gaze turned back to him, and she could feel the wobble in her knees when her green eyes locked with his. 

“Trust me.” He held out his hands, his chin tipping to the suddenly very heavy evidence in her grip before his eyes, a dark rimmed green flicked up to hers.  

Assurance.  

A plea to trust him. 

Quickly, with a bit of reluctance, she handed off the door like it was smuggled contraband, careful to make sure the screws that had come out with the hinges didn’t get him in the hand-off. Once he had it, Aimee reflexively shrunk behind the kitchen island, tucking her knees into her chest. Instinctively, she made herself small, channeling her inner child playing hide and seek.  

Glen breathed a quiet sound that might have been a laugh as he tucked the cabinet-less door casually under one arm. He turned just as Aimee heard the door creak and the head set guy—Brad, presumably—stormed in. 

“We need to get this spot all cleaned up before—” the voice was already mid-speech when it paused. Aimee could hear it in the silence. The voice (Brad) was likely putting two and two together now. Cabinet sans door, Glen, standing there, the other half of the equation in his hands. 

Glen cleared his throat. Casual. Full of nonchalance. 

“Powell!” Brad barked in a way that said he’d been working far too long with people who didn’t respect his craft.  

From a reflection in one of the “lake” facing windows, Aimee could see him stopped, frozen, just beside the coat rack by the entrance. “What the hell are you doing with my cabinet door?” 

Glen shrugged and gave him what Aimee assumed was his most innocent, I-don’t-know-what-happened-but-my-face-is-pretty smile. Maybe she’d filled in the gaps from what she could see from her floor vantage point in the side of his face. The strong cut of his jaw flexing as he smiled. “Method acting.” 

It didn’t even sound like he wasn’t sure. She supposed that was why he was the actor, and she was, well, the writer. 

Under pressure, in chaos, Glen pivoted. Committed like an improv session, prompts throw out by a semi-inebriated crowd. 

Under pressure, Aimee edited and tweaked, polished and practiced. Stalled, overthought the meaning and weight of every word, every mark of stylistic punctuation. 

Brad was silent, his reflection squinting at Glen. “What the fuck kind of scene involves you holding a broken cabinet door on my finished set, exactly? That’s not in the pages from this morning.” 

Aimee could see Glen dragged his free hand over the scruff along his jaw, a smirk already on his lips before he shrugged as if he were giving away a state secret. 

“Well, I’m kind of riffing. See, I’m trying to build Ben’s inner turmoil through symbolic and literal destruction,” Glen said, deadpan. “Wanted to give the author some ideas for a few deep dive scenes for Ben’s character. Just wanted to workshop them a bit.” 

Aimee’s pulse jumped at the base of her throat. 

Reflection Brad was wiping a hand down his face, shaping his beard, the faded tattoos, black ink shaded blue, on his exposed forearms shifting. 

“Like, did you know, Brad—” Glen started again, shifting the door to rest against his hip, “—Michelangelo actually hammered off parts of his sculptures after—” 

Reflection Brad was waving his hands, cutting Glen off before staring at him for a beat. “Let me be the first to say, I don’t care. Truly.” Brad huffed out a long breath, “All I have to say is that you’re lucky you’re charming.” 

“Thanks Brad, that’s what my therapist says.” 

“Just leave it,” the floor creaked by the door again, reflection Brad was leaving. “I’ll get someone to fix it later. Just do me a favour and don’t fuck anything else up for at least half an hour. Isla wants to do a final walkthrough before her noon goat yoga or some shit.” 

“You’re a gem, Brad.” Glen carefully placed the door down on the top of the island above Aimee’s head and raised his hands as if it were a weapon he wouldn’t dare use. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Next time you have notes for the writers,” Brad started, “don’t do any of your workshopping on my fucking sets, got it?” 

Brad snorted, a sound that didn’t scream amused, before he muttered something about “goddamn actors,” and retirement in Vermont and stomped off, pulling the door shut sharply behind him. 

When Brad’s footsteps clomped down the porch stairs outside, Aimee waited a half beat before she looked up in time to see Glen lean down, peering around the side of the island. 

“I think you can come out now,” he said, voice low, warm. “Crisis averted. You’ve officially survived your first on-set emergency.” 

He offered his hand and hoisted Aimee up to her feet easily when she took it. 

“Mazel tov.” 

It took Aimee a beat to realize that she was still holding his hand, soft and warm. Comfortable. Safe. 

“I’m pretty sure that was the fastest lie I’ve ever seen in action.” Aimee cleared her throat, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans when she’d recovered enough of her stream of thought to realize she probably shouldn’t still be holding his hand. 

“I’ve had practice,” he shrugged, casually nudging the cabinet door on the counter. “You survive in Hollywood by developing very specific skills.” 

“Such as: lying with confidence and taking the fall for strangers when they break sets?” 

“And making it look good, don’t forget that part,” he added, flashing a dazzling grin. “Which I think I did pretty convincingly.” 

He had to know what that smile did, right? 

“For what it’s worth, I’ll be sure to put you in for an Oscar nomination,” Aimee rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to fight a smile. “Do you do this for all the new writers, or just the ones who accidentally vandalize set pieces and freeze like a deer in headlights?” 

Glen’s eyes slid to her, his eyebrows quirking up briefly. “Just the cute ones.” 

She blinked. 

He blinked. 

It was a joke. 

Definitely. 

Kind of.  

Sort of.  

It was, wasn’t it? 

Right? 

Her laugh was short, surprised. Maybe a bit incredulous. Probably too loud. The kind that shook startled birds from trees like a gunshot. 

It took Aimee a minute to compose herself before she stepped around the island, past Glen and jabbed her thumb toward the door. “Okay. Well, I’m just going to go, before Casey thinks I’ve stolen set secrets and run to Hulu. I should possibly consider never returning at this rate.” 

“I hope you come back,” Glen said, turning toward her. “Like I said, most interesting morning I’ve had on a non-shoot day in a long time. I mean it.” 

Part of her wanted to believe he did mean it, and she wasn’t sure why. “You say that, but I don’t know if I want to know what your definition of interesting is after you’ve worked with Tom Cruise. A dude known for climbing literal hundred floor buildings without safety gear.” 

“Ah, you know, it was mostly the part where Isla made you stand up and introduce yourself to the whole room like it was the first day of high school. Instant classic.” 

Aimee had already paced to the back of the couch in the living room, her hand resting on the green throw blanket as she groaned. “Okay. Got it. So, your definition of interesting is watching the slow, death by embarrassment of a woman who claims to be an author but almost forgets the title of her own book?” 

“Exactly,” he was nodding again, large hand on his hip. 

Aimee had to do just about everything in her power to remind herself that she shouldn’t be cataloguing the way he moved, the way his tongue jutted out on his perfect bottom lip. The way he seemed to be scanning her for tells, something that might tell him more about her other than weirdo in thick frames.  

“Top-tier, nightmare fuel content.” 

Aimee shook her head, a dry laugh escaping her lips. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll outdo myself next time. Show up with a thong stuck to the back of my sweater or something equally mortifying.” 

It was out before she could stop it, riffing, as Glen had called it, herself right into a foot-in-mouth situation. Classic. This was classically her, wasn’t it? 

Like the time she’d cheerfully said, “you too!” to the very confused kid behind the popcorn counter who had just told her to “enjoy the movie”. 

Glen’s laugh, genuine in a way that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, smoothed down her panic quickly. Soothed a part of her that felt the immediate cringe of the words after they were already gone and irrevocable, the bell rung. 

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep,” he shook his head, “but thanks for that visual.” 

Aimee stopped herself before she could even process the thought to offer finger-guns in response. Instead, settling on: “Oh, you’re welcome. Anytime. Fresh embarrassment served daily, apparently. Also, free.” 

When his laugh had settled into quiet, Aimee breathed within the walls of the comfortable silence for a beat before she broke it. She’d broken the cabinet. Glen had covered for her. The storm had passed. 

“Anyway, I guess I’d better flee the scene of the crime before Brad comes back,” Aimee patted the blanket, picked at a pilled piece of material before she looked up again. 

“See you around, Wright.”  

Aimee opened the plywood door as quietly as possible, slipping out into the hallway between soundstages, carefully closing it so it looked just the way she had found it before she went in and caused havoc. 

She brushed off her pants, cleared her throat, paused to check the bottoms of her shoes for any evidence of the pine needles or the gravel. 

Somewhere, in the near distance, she thought she heard a (loud) conversation about what she swore was the cabinet door. 

“What the fuck do you mean someone broke the door? Who? Just want to talk to ‘em for a minute.” 

“Bottom line is: The door is broken, Pete. Doesn’t matter who the fuck did it, it needs to be fixed before noon.” Brad, Aimee recognized his voice. 

“I fucking told them to lock that shit up until the walkthroughs.” 

There was a grunt and a half explanation—something Aimee couldn’t hear. 

“Oh, don’t you worry, good ol’ Pete will fix everything.... Fix the classroom set, Pete. Oh, Pete, Ms. Rodriguez doesn’t like the placement of the fairy lights on the mini putt set...”  

The response was sarcastic, dry. 

Aimee sidled up to the water cooler, tested what she thought was a “casual” lean before she abandoned the attempt, deciding against it. She wasn’t good at pretending to be innocent. She was historically bad at lying. 

“Oh, good! There you are!” 

Aimee nearly jumped out of her skin as she startled and then pivoted, Casey, all bright smile and bounce in her step, rounding the corner. She waved an iced coffee at Aimee, as she approached, her pace clipped, but she didn’t sound winded. “Sorry about that, Isla needed a better coffee—” she tipped her head toward the one she held, made a face that suggested the existence of the coffee was appalling, “—and a pep talk about the super tight schedule Netflix has us on. She’ll be good for like, another hour or so, I think.” 

Aimee smiled, tightly, maybe too tightly? She was trying to workshop this whole pretending to not know anything about what had just happened, feet away. “Oh, no worries at all!” 

“You didn’t get too bored, or wander off?” Casey had already balanced the iced drink on top of the still burbling water cooler, her face tipped down to the tablet in her grip, tapping away. 

“Nope.” 

Aimee cracked open her already empty water bottle, tipped it back until the last little droplets drained. She dipped and turned her attention to carefully filling her bottle.  

She could feel her pulse hammering, she needed to take a breath, to calm down. 

She needed to figure out how to act like a woman who hadn’t just experienced her own rom-com moment with the stupidly gorgeous, unfairly charming male lead on a set based on her work. A male lead who saved her from a murderous set designer/prop guy with a frightening number of keys clipped to his belt, like it was nothing.  

Like he lived to save damsels in distress. 

It was the kind of meet-cute moment she’d likely have written, a clumsy female protagonist opposite the dashing male lead who knew exactly what to say and when to say it. 

Get it together, Aimee’s mind thrummed, scolding, you’re not the main character and this is real life, not a Nora Ephron movie. 

She definitely needed to stop thinking about the neither here nor there stat about men and green eyes and how she swore Glen’s eyes were the perfect shade of jade, hinted with blue like the lapping flow of the lake at— 

Aimee jumped, shocked back into the present when the water started to overflow from the spout of her bottle.  

Taking a steadying breath, Aimee exhaled carefully. Her brain felt like it had exactly 17 tabs open, one of which was elusive, playing “embarrassing memories from 2009” on full volume and she tried to find it before she was sick with anxiety. 

“Perfect! Great! Okay—” Casey looked up as Aimee shook the water off her hand, wiped it instinctively on the back of her pants, “—I think we’re gonna head over to costuming next. They’ve got these killer pieces in Ivy’s wardrobe. There’s this knit sweater for the pinnacle Ivy decision scene. I think it’s gonna absolutely break the internet, no cap.” 

Quietly, Aimee was thankful Casey seemed to be adept at ignoring awkward situations, because she didn’t blink twice before swishing off toward the next objective, her hand waving for Aimee to follow. 

Pausing to screw on the cap of the now full bottle, Aimee threw one last glance toward the door with the painter’s tape label. Tried to shake off the thought of the lingering embarrassment. 

She couldn’t see Glen from here. It was possible he was gone, slipped out through another hidden exit. 

She didn’t know, but what she did know was she wasn’t going to ask.  

That wasn’t what she was here for. 

She actually wasn’t even sure what she was here for... yet. 

a/n: stay tuned for more Glen trying to kill Aimee with his smile and mild flirtation.

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[bykaitlynann]

Feels Like Home

Summary: It all started with a care package. What began as a few thoughtful letters quickly unraveled into something deeper between two friends.

Warnings: Pining, Masturbation (male), Nudity, Consensual Intercourse, Protected Sex (Condom use), Girl on top, P in V sex. 

Word Count: 6,687

Jake’s bunk was quiet when he stepped in, the kind of still that only came after a sixteen-hour day. It had been filled with flight drills, debriefs, and a sun that wouldn’t quit. He dropped his duffel by the door and rolled his shoulders, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. 

He didn’t notice the package until he turned toward his bed.

It was there on the thin Navy standard issue blanket. Just brown cardboard and a label slapped on it. The corners a little smushed in from the journey to get to him. It was nothing fancy. But the handwriting on the front was unmistakable. He’d know it anywhere. Curvy letters, a little rushed but still neat. Her name in the return address.

He smiled before he even touched it.

Jake sat down on the edge of the bunk and pulled the box into his lap. It smelled faintly of something sweet. Vanilla, maybe. Or lavender. It was soft, barely there, but it was still there. 

The tape came off easily. She always used too much. She’d do a layer then worry if it would hold so would add two or three more sloppy layers on top. 

He opened the flaps and was met with a folded sweatshirt on top. It was his sweatshirt. Faded gray, soft as hell, worn down by years of use. One from his basic training days years ago. He’d left it at her place back in the spring when he’d visited home for a long weekend. She’d told him she was keeping it hostage and never giving it back. Apparently, she’d finally given in to his requests for it back.

He lifted it to his face and breathed in.

It didn’t smell like his cologne anymore. It smelled like her detergent. That comforting, clean scent that reminded him of nights on her couch watching bad movies, of her laundry basket always overflowing in the corner of her room cause she hated folding, of her curling up beside him in pajamas while she made fun of whatever he picked on Netflix. And under all of that, barely noticeable unless you were looking, was her perfume. That soft floral warmth that always clung to her skin and hair. Faint, but there.

Jake’s throat tightened.

He set the sweatshirt aside and dug deeper.

Snacks. His favorites. Sour gummies, barbecue flavored sunflower seeds, and the off brand licorice she used to buy in bulk just because he’d mentioned once that he liked it. There was a little plastic container of trail mix she definitely made herself. His kind. No raisins, but heavy on the M&Ms. She’d taped a note to the lid in blue ink.

This mix is 80% sweet, 10% salt, and 10% health. Just like you.

He huffed a laugh and shook his head, fingers brushing over the handwriting. It was so like her, casual and playful, the kind of teasing that came easy after years of knowing each other inside out.

There were more notes scattered through the box.

One taped to a pack of gum: So your breath doesn’t kill anyone in the cockpit.

Another tucked inside a second bag of trail mix: You’re welcome for the peanuts. Even though they’re gross.

He kept reading as he picked up each one. Every one made his smile stretch wider, softer.

She didn’t have to do any of this. But that was her. Always going out of her way. Always remembering the little things.

At the very bottom of the box was a sealed envelope with his name on it.

No teasing note. Just Jake written in that same handwriting. He turned it over in his hand before carefully tearing it open.

The letter was shortz, just a few lines, but it hit him harder than anything else in the box.

I figured you might be needing a piece of home. So here’s your hoodie, your snacks, and a little chaos in paper form (that’s me). I know things are tough right now and I wish I could do more than send you a box, but I hope this helps even a little.

Don’t forget to sleep.

Don’t forget that you’re loved.

Text me when you get this.

He folded the letter slowly, and tucked it into the inside pocket of the hoodie like it belonged there.

Jake leaned back against the wall, hoodie in his lap, the scent of her still clinging to the air around him. His fingers ran over the edge of one of the pictures she’d included. Mostly her making funny faces, her and their friends at a bonfire, a beach trip from spring break. 

He hadn’t even gotten to the last one yet. The one tucked in the back. The one that would hit him in an entirely different way.

But for now, he let himself sit in this moment. Warmth in his chest. Bittersweet, comforting, familiar.

She was his best friend. She always had been.

And God help him, she was everything he wanted and nothing he was allowed to touch.

Then he noticed the last one.

It was her on the beach. Alone this time. Standing in the sun, wearing that tiny little bikini she used to joke about but never actually wore when he was around. She was tan and golden, hair a little windblown, and blowing a kiss to the camera. Lips pursed. Hip cocked. Chest out. And the look in her eyes…

Fuck.

Jake swallowed hard, eyes stuck to the photo like it might burn if he looked too long.

It probably would.

He ran his thumb along the edge, then flipped it over. Scrawled on the back in blue ink were five words.

Wish you were here ;)

He should’ve laughed. Or rolled his eyes. Teased her in return. But instead, his stomach tightened.

He looked back at the photo. That bikini didn’t leave much to the imagination. And suddenly, imagination was all he had.

His hand slipped into his sweatpants before he even realized what he was doing. A slow, almost subconscious motion. His fingers grazing the waistband, eyes still fixed on her body in the picture. She was dripping wet, droplets on her skin catching the sun, glistening in places that made his pulse throb in his throat. His cock stirred beneath the fabric, thickening with every slow breath.

Jake closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow. The hoodie was bunched up against his chest, and without thinking, he pulled it higher, buried his nose in the fabric.

That scent again.

God, she was everywhere. His mind. His nose. His fucking dreams. He was so gone for her. And she was gone for that stupid guy she had been dating that he was sure was sleeping with girls behind her back.

The tension in his body deepened as he pressed the heel of his palm against his length, just enough to feel the ache sharpen. His fingers flexed, wrapped around himself through the thin cotton of his boxers. He was already half hard and only getting worse. Or better. Depending on how much guilt he was willing to live with when this was over.

She has a boyfriend, his brain reminded him.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

But his imagination didn’t care.

The sand is hot beneath his feet, but the breeze is cooler. It’s salty and soft as it rolls in off the Gulf. She’s standing just a few feet away, dripping wet from the ocean, water beading on her skin. That bikini clings to every curve, leaves nothing to mystery.

She walks toward him slowly, deliberately. Hips swaying. That same flirty smile playing on her lips.

“Miss me, Hangman?” she teases, voice low and warm, like a summer night.

Jake swallows hard and reaches for her waist. She steps in between his knees, still damp, water dripping down her legs. She straddles his thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands on his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

She grins. “You like trouble.”

Her hands slide down his chest. Her fingers toy with the chain around his neck. She leans in, lips brushing his jaw, and every inch of him sparks alive.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about this,” she whispers.

Jake groans, hands digging into the back of her thighs. “Since the damn day I met you.”

Her mouth crashes into his. Hot, urgent, desperate. Her body rocks against his, wet heat grinding into his lap. He groans again, this time into her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Then stop pretending you don’t want me.”

Jake’s hand is working inside his sweatpants now, fingers wrapped tight around his cock. He’s leaking already, precum slicking his palm. His jaw clenches as he thrusts up into his grip, slow and shallow, trying not to lose control too fast.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, biting it off like a sin.

The photo lies beside him. That kiss she blew frozen in time, her lips parted just enough to make him imagine them wrapped around something else.

He lets out a low, strangled sound and fucks into his hand harder. Sweat beads at his temples. The hoodie is still tucked under his chin, still thick with her scent. He breathes her scent in like oxygen. Like he needs her to survive.

She’s on top of him, riding him slow and dirty, hair sticking to her skin. His hands are gripping her hips, guiding her movements. His fingers just barely grazing the tiny strings. One little pull is all it would take to have her bare right now. Every bounce of her body sends heat coiling low in his belly.

She moans his name, and it tears right through him.

Her fingers clutch his tags again and she pulls him up to her.  She leans down, pressing her forehead to his. “You’re all I think about.”

“You’re taken,” he groans, voice cracking.

“I don’t want him,” she whispers. “I want you.”

Her nails dig into his chest. Her rhythm quickens. His hips meet hers. She throws her head back, crying out as he feels her clench around him.

And he’s gone.

Jake’s thighs tense, toes curling. He strokes himself faster now, more erratic, on the edge. His back arches, hoodie crushed against his chest, the scent of her flooding his lungs.

Her name slips out before he can stop it. He comes with a shudder and a growl, biting down on his lip hard enough to hurt. Warmth spills over his hand, thick and hot, and he rides the wave until it leaves him raw.

Silence crashes into the room like a slap.

Jake lies still, chest heaving, eyes glazed. The photo is still there. So is the guilt.

✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️

The airport was quiet for once. Jake’s boots hit the tile floor with a steady rhythm as he scanned the space. And then he saw her. Tank top. Short shorts. A messy ponytail like she’d barely bothered to try, but somehow she looked better than half the girls who’d spent hours getting ready. 

Jake blinked once, twice, forcing himself to breathe through the punch of heat that rolled through him. She waved when she spotted him, that big easy smile on her face that made something shift in his chest.

He missed her. More than he would let himself think about while he was over there. He walked toward her, duffel slung over one shoulder, posture relaxed even though every muscle in him felt tight.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, stepping forward.

Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into a hug. Not a half assed one either. His arms wrapped fully around her, tucking her into him like she belonged there. She smelled like coconut and sunshine, and he had to grit his teeth to keep his hands from wandering.

“Damn, it’s good to see you,” he murmured, voice a little rough.

“You too,” she said softly, pulling back a little, but not far.

Her eyes studied him, and for a second, he let himself get lost in the moment. Let himself pretend that she was his. That he could kiss her, whisper stupid things in her ear, carry her out of here like every fantasy he’d had in the desert.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped back. “You, uh…forget your pants this morning?”

She grinned, not missing a beat. “Nah. Figured the shorts would be a warm welcome.”

He shook his head with a small laugh, swallowing down every thought he didn’t have the right to say. “Well, consider me welcomed.”

With every ounce of restraint in his body, Jake kept it light. Kept it friendly. Because she wasn’t his. No matter how bad he wanted her to be.

The ride back from the airport was full of all the usual catch up chatter. How the flight was, how good it felt to be on solid U.S. ground again, how Jake didn’t realize how much he’d missed real air conditioning until he got into her car.

She had the windows cracked, music low, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly in the car. There was something he couldn’t quite name that he felt every time she laughed or tucked her hair behind her ear in that nervous way she always seemed to.

“You hungry?” She asked as they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex.

Jake turned his head, smirking. “Starving. You offering to feed me?”

She cut the engine and grabbed her bag. “You’re staying with me, remember? It’s my job to make sure you don’t live off gas station burritos and protein bars.”

“I happen to like gas station burritos,” he argued half heartedly, following her up the steps.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, and it all seemed to hit him like a wall. The entire space felt like her. It felt familiar and warm. There was a scent in the air. Something floral layered over the faint smell of cleaning products. Knowing her she had probably done some cleaning before she came to pick him up.

Her place looked a little different from last time. It felt brighter. There were more plants, and more pillows. Just more things that seemed like she had picked them versus the bachelor pad vibe their last place had to it.

“Go sit,” she told him, toeing off her sneakers. “I’m making dinner.”

Jake didn’t argue. He sank into the couch, dropping his duffel by the door. His whole body relaxed into the cushions like it hadn’t in months. He watched her move into the kitchen, confident and barefoot, digging through the fridge with practiced ease.

He knew exactly what she was making the moment he saw the ingredients come out.

“You’re doing the garlic chicken?” he asked, lifting a brow.

She turned, shooting him a grin over her shoulder. “I remember your favorites, don’t I?”

God. She really did. It made something twist low in his stomach, something he wasn’t sure he had the right to feel.

Her hair was pulled up, tank top riding just a little higher every time she reached for something in the cabinet. He tried not to stare. But Jesus. She was effortlessly sexy, and she didn’t even know it. That was the worst part.

He let his head fall back against the couch, watching her through half lidded eyes. The sound of the pan sizzling, the soft hum of her singing along with the music. It was the kind of thing that should’ve bored him. Domestic. Mundane. But not with her. With her, it felt like something he could fall into and never want to leave.

“You’re staring,” she said without turning around.

“I’m not,” he lied.

She glanced back at him, smirking. “You are.”

Jake shrugged, lazy and unbothered, even as his pulse ticked up a beat. “Just appreciating the view.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

He exhaled slowly, gaze trailing from her bare legs to the way her hips swayed when she moved. The way she hummed to herself, a little off key but familiar. This was dangerous. Her, in her kitchen, cooking for him like she’d done it a hundred times before.

He’d been with plenty of girls. Girls who’d tried to be impressive, seductive, and unforgettable. But none of them had ever made him feel like this, like he wanted to come home to them. Like he wanted to sit on this same damn couch for the next forty years, watching her cook in a tank top and laugh at her own bad singing.

Wifing her up. Jesus. Who even thought like that? But the thought came anyway, loud and clear, and he didn’t bother trying to shove it away.

Jake leaned forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. He needed to clear his damn head. Shake off the image of her in a sundress, barefoot in this kitchen, laughing at something he said like it was the only sound that ever mattered. Shake off the thought of her being his.

She’s not yours, he reminded himself. She never was.

Still, something gnawed at him.

His brows drew together as he looked around again, slower this time. Not just at her, but at the place itself. The couch was new. Lighter color than the black one she used to have. Throw pillows with tassels sat beside him. The rug wasn’t the one he remembered. The walls were the same soft white, but...they were bare. No photos on the side table. No stupid framed pictures of her and that guy doing pumpkin patch crap.

His mouth opened before he could second-guess it. “Hey...this isn’t your old place, is it?”

She stilled at the stove.

He sat up straighter. “Did you move?”

She didn’t look at him right away. “Yeah.”

Jake frowned. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for a plate, turned the burner off, and started plating the food like nothing was wrong. But he saw that her shoulders were just a little too tight, her movements just a little too careful.

He stood up slowly. “Hey.”

Still, she didn’t turn around.

He moved a little closer. “You guys break up?”

That made her glance over her shoulder. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” he repeated quietly. “You wanna give me the unfiltered version?”

She gave a breath of a laugh. “He kicked me out.”

Jake’s stomach clenched.

She shrugged like it didn’t matter, even as her voice went quieter. “Turns out I wasn’t the only one he loved. There were two others. Maybe more. Guess I was just one of the rotating favorites.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Jesus.”

She finally turned to face him, setting the plate on the counter. Her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I was planning on marrying the guy. I should’ve seen it coming, honestly. He was always looking at his phone, always had some excuse when I wanted to do anything real.”

Her voice cracked on the word real, and it gutted him.

Jake didn’t think. He just moved. Closed the space between them and pulled her into his arms before she could wave it off or fake another smile. She was stiff for a half second, then melted against him, forehead to his chest.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms tighter around her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “I should’ve been here.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she whispered.

“Still.”

Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world stilled. His guilt tangled with something else—hope, maybe. A thread of it winding through his ribs. Hope that maybe he hadn’t missed his shot entirely. That maybe this time, the guy who knew how to love her right wouldn’t be too late.

But he didn’t let that hope lead. Not now. Right now, she didn’t need a guy with a crush. She needed a friend. A safe place to land.

So he didn’t kiss her. Didn’t tell her she deserved so much better. Didn’t say I could be that guy.

Instead, he smoothed his hand up and down her back and let her stay in his arms for as long as she needed.

When she pulled away, her eyes were glassy but dry.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just embarrassed about the whole thing, mostly.”

“You don’t have to be.”

She gave a small smile. “Thanks for saying that.”

“Anytime.”

They stood there for another beat before she sniffed and nudged his arm. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”

Jake followed her back to the counter, the scent of garlic chicken thick in the air, and something else lingering between them now. Something heavier, something real.

He didn’t know what it would become. Didn’t need to. All he knew was that whatever she needed right now, he was going to be it.

Even if it meant ignoring the part of him that wanted so much more.

✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️

Jake leaned back into the couch, a plate of food balanced on his thigh and a satisfied grin stretching across his face. “Okay, I’m not even gonna pretend this isn’t the best damn chicken I’ve had in years.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, settling in beside him with her own plate. “You’re just saying that because I fed you like a stray dog.”

“I mean, if this is what I get I will definitely be hanging around here a lot more often like a stray.”

She laughed, nudging his knee with hers. They were sitting close—closer than maybe they should’ve been—but neither of them moved. It was easy, falling into old rhythms. Joking. Eating. Pretending the world hadn’t tilted just a little when she’d broken down in his arms a half hour ago.

They finished eating with casual banter and low humming music playing in the background. When their plates were empty, she took them to the kitchen while Jake kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

“Movie time,” she called over her shoulder. “Your pick.”

Jake glanced at the TV. “How about something dumb and romantic so I can make fun of it the whole time?”

“You mean so you can secretly enjoy it and pretend to hate it?”

He shot her a grin. “Don’t blow my cover, sweetheart.”

She tossed a throw pillow at him on her way back to the couch, then queued up a rom com. He didn’t recognize the title, but within five minutes, he knew exactly what kind of movie it was. Sappy as hell. Cute guy, quirky girl, meet cute in a bookstore. Jake was already counting the minutes to the rain-soaked kiss.

It was halfway through the movie when the male lead pulled the cheesiest move Jake had ever seen. The guy fake-yawned, stretched his arms wide, then oh-so-subtly dropped one around the girl’s shoulders.

Jake snorted. “Unbelievable.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right? That would never work. No girl falls for that middle school arm stretch move.”

Jake turned his head slowly to look at her, his mouth twitching with mischief. “You sure about that?”

She gave him a look. “Positive.”

Without a word, he exaggerated a dramatic yawn, stretched his arms overhead, then ever so slowly draped one along the back of the couch behind her.

She burst out laughing. “Wow. Really? That’s your move?”

“I’m just saying, you’d never see it coming.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping in mock seriousness. “One minute you’re judging a movie, the next—boom. Arm’s around you. You’re swooning.”

She laughed again, but this time it faltered just a little when their eyes met.

He wasn’t trying to be serious. Not really. But suddenly, it was serious.

His arm was still on the back of the couch, but now his body was angled toward her. Her smile faded, not in a bad way. More like her brain caught up to her heart and suddenly realized how close he was. How quiet the room had gone. How the glow from the TV danced across the lines of his face.

And then her eyes flicked to his lips.

His stomach flipped. Just a little.

But then she blinked and sat up straighter, a quick, small shift, like she’d just remembered something she wasn’t supposed to forget.

She scooted forward, grabbing the blanket off the armrest and wrapping it around herself as if it could shield her from whatever had just cracked open between them.

Jake let his arm fall back to his side, cleared his throat, and leaned into the cushions. “Told you it was a killer move,” he said lightly.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “You’re such a dork.”

They didn’t talk for a while after that.

The movie played on, but Jake wasn’t watching it anymore. He was staring straight ahead, hands folded in his lap, and heart knocking hard against his ribs.

Because for one second he swore she’d been about to kiss him back.

Half an hour later the credits rolled and neither of them moved. The room felt a little too still, a little too quiet. Finally, she stretched and stood, gathering their plates and heading into the kitchen.

Jake sat there for a second longer, grounding himself. The moment on the couch had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. That almost kiss, that flicker of heat—it hadn’t been nothing. And the worst part was, it didn’t feel one sided.

He got up and followed her into the kitchen, finding her at the sink already running water.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “You doing dishes? That might be a first.”

“Hey, I can be domestic. I’m great at domestic shit,” he said, grabbing a towel and nudging her with his hip. “Besides, you fed me. Least I can do is help clean up.”

She chuckled and passed him a rinsed plate. “Dry that, Mr. Domestic.”

They fell into an easy rhythm—she washed, he dried. Their elbows bumped now and then, and the warmth between them hadn’t cooled since the couch. If anything, the close quarters only stoked it.

She reached for the spray attachment on the faucet, turning it toward a stubborn pan. “This thing’s been acting up lately—”

Before she could finish, the sprayer popped loose from the hose with a sharp clack, and a high pressure jet of cold water shot out, drenching her straight in the chest.

“Shit!” she gasped, jumping back.

Jake doubled over laughing as the water ricocheted off the sink and hit him square in the side. “Oh my God your sink just tried to murder us.”

She scrambled to shut off the faucet, her tank top soaked and clinging to her like a second skin. “I told you it was broken!”

Water dripped off her chin and eyelashes. Jake grabbed a dish towel and offered it, but neither of them moved for a beat. Something shifted. The humor still hovered in the air, but the laughter slowed as Jake’s gaze dipped.

Her cream colored tank top was soaked through, nearly transparent now, hugging every single curve. He could see the pale pink of her bra beneath it. Lacy. Delicate. And not something he should be thinking about his best friend in.

It was the same color as the bikini in those photos.

His breath caught.

Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, and Jake had to physically force his eyes upward, past the slope of her chest to her flushed face. She was looking at him, frozen, her chest rising and falling a little too fast.

His mouth went dry. He swallowed, hard.

Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers skimmed her skin, lingering just long enough to make her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You had a little…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn't need to. Her eyes opened, and for a beat, they just stared at each other. The air between them crackled, thick and buzzing with everything they weren’t saying.

Jake’s hand hovered at the side of her face, thumb brushing the soft skin beneath her cheekbone. He was close enough to kiss her. Close enough to want to.

Jake didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

He just leaned in and kissed her. And holy shit. Fireworks. Butterflies. That ridiculous spark people always talked about but he’d never really believed in…he got it now. It was all there. Every cliché slammed into him like a freight train as her mouth moved with his, hungry and hot and aching with years of almosts and not yets.

She kissed him like she’d been waiting for it. Like she was done waiting.

His hands slid down, fingers brushing the damp hem of her tank top. He felt her shiver not from the cold, but from him. From his touch. From what this was about to become.

She lifted her arms wordlessly, and he peeled the soaked shirt off her. The pink bra underneath was still damp. Still see through. And still driving him absolutely insane.

His palms skimmed her bare waist, up her ribs, then down again, reacquainting himself with every inch of skin he didn’t know he’d memorized. She reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head, her hands bold now, tracing the lines of muscle like she had every right to.

Jake groaned low in his throat. He’d imagined this. Dreamed about it. But this was better.

He bent down and hooked his arms behind her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and setting her on the counter. She gasped, laughing softly into his mouth, and it was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.

He stepped between her legs and kissed her again, deeper this time, more need than finesse. His hands gripped her hips as her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, anchoring him to the one place he suddenly never wanted to leave.

His mouth left hers, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. He sucked gently at the curve where her shoulder met her throat, then bit, just enough to make her moan.

“Jake,” she breathed, head falling back.

His cock jerked hard in his jeans at the sound of his name on her lips like that. A moan and a prayer wrapped in one breath.

He reached behind her, fingers working the clasp of her bra. It gave with a soft snap, and he slid the straps off her shoulders, exposing her completely.

She didn’t hide. Didn’t flinch. She just looked at him, eyes heavy, mouth parted, and it hit him again just how goddamn beautiful she was.

Jake cupped one breast, kneading gently, as his mouth closed over the other. She whimpered, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, like she couldn’t get enough. Like she didn’t want him to stop.

And he wouldn’t. Not now. Not until he wrung every single sound out of her.

Jake’s mouth was still on her skin when his hands drifted lower. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and popped the button in one smooth motion.

Before she could process what was happening, he grinned, scooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Jake!” she squealed, laughing and kicking gently against his chest. “Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said, smug as hell, his hand braced firmly against the back of her bare thighs. “You’re already half undressed. Might as well commit.”

“You’re such a caveman—”

Smack.

She jolted as his palm landed squarely on her ass. Not hard, but not soft either. A test. A question. A tease. She sucked in a breath, biting back the sound that tried to escape her throat.

Jake heard the sharp inhale, felt the way her body went still for half a second, and made a mental note. He was going to explore that more. Later. Slowly. Thoroughly.

But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to take his time. Tonight he wanted to make love to her.

He kicked open her bedroom door and strode in, dropping her gently onto the bed. She bounced slightly, hair splayed around her face, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

Jake wasted no time. He tugged her shorts down, taking her underwear with them in one slow motion. She lifted her hips to help, completely unashamed, completely his in this moment.

His gaze dragged over her, hungry and reverent all at once.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough.

He slid a hand between her thighs, fingers parting her gently before easing one inside.

She moaned softly, head tipping back. He added a second finger, curling just right, just enough to make her gasp.

“You’re already soaked,” he said, voice low and ragged.

“Maybe,” she breathed, meeting his eyes with a heat that nearly undid him.

His cock twitched hard in his jeans. He needed to be inside her. Now.

Jake pulled back just long enough to unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. He popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down with his boxers in one rough motion, his cock springing free, thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.

Her eyes dropped, widening slightly, and he swore he saw her throat bob with a swallow.

He grinned. “You okay, darlin’?”

She nodded slowly, eyes hot. “Better than okay.”

Jake sat back on the bed, legs spread, his hands settling at her waist as he gently guided her forward.

She followed his lead, climbing into his lap, but the moment she realized what he was asking of her, she hesitated. Her body stilled, hands lightly braced on his chest, eyes searching his.

He noticed instantly. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft, the kind of tone he used when things mattered. “What’s wrong?”

She bit her lip, a blush rising in her cheeks. “I…I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Jake blinked. For some reason, that admission made his chest ache. Not because she was nervous, but because she trusted him enough to say it out loud.

He cupped her cheek with one hand, tilting her face to look at him. “You can’t do it wrong, baby.”

It slipped out before he could stop it. Baby. He’d never called her that before. But now? It fit.

The pink on her cheeks deepened, but she nodded slowly.

When he pulled her closer again, she didn’t resist. She rose up onto her knees, bracing herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching between them to guide him.

Jake sucked in a breath as the head of his cock brushed against her entrance, hot and slick and perfect.

“Easy,” he murmured, helping her. “Take your time.”

She started to lower herself onto him, inch by inch. His grip tightened at her waist, a low groan rumbling from his throat.

Fuck.

The heat, the pressure, the way her body wrapped around him—tight and so damn wet—it was overwhelming.

When she finally sank all the way down, both of them stilled. Her fingers dug lightly into his shoulders, and she looked at him like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to move.

Jake opened his eyes and saw the hesitation on her face. Her lashes lowered as she glanced down at their bodies, then back up to his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, softer this time.

She let out a breath. “I still…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Jake smiled, his thumb brushing her hip. “Whatever feels good.”

She bit her lip again, nodded once, then slowly lifted herself off him an inch or two, and sank back down.

Jake’s head dropped back against the headboard, a curse escaping under his breath.

“Like that?” she asked, shy and unsure.

He let out a huff of laughter, voice rough with disbelief. “Jesus, yes. That’s perfect.”

She did it again, a little more confident this time. The slow drag of her around him was insane. It was like he could feel every inch, every pulse, every shift.

She moved again. And again. His hands gripped her hips, but he let her take the lead.

The room filled with soft breaths, stifled moans, the quiet creak of the bed beneath them.

She found a rhythm, her body rolling with his in slow, deep strokes, and Jake was losing it.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders. Her head tilted back slightly, chest rising and falling fast.

And then it hit him. Too fast. Too much.

His hands jerked at her hips, holding her down as his body went rigid beneath her.

He grunted, breath breaking, as he spilled into the condom.

Her eyes widened. “Did you just—?”

Jake’s chest heaved. His head fell back again, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Yeah, I—fuck.”

She blinked, still flushed and catching her breath, but then the smallest smile tugged at her lips. “That fast?”

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Don’t make it worse.”

“I wasn’t—”

He peeked at her through his fingers and gave a breathless laugh. “You’re outta your damn mind if you think you don’t know what you’re doing. You just broke me.”

She giggled then—actually giggled—and leaned in to kiss him.

Soft. Sweet. Honest. And Jake…couldn’t stop smiling into it.

There they were, bare skin pressed together, breath still uneven, her cheeks flushed pink, and he couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he murmured against her lips.

“I’m not,” she said, clearly lying as she tried to stifle another giggle. “It’s just…your face. You looked like you short circuited.”

“I did,” Jake said, deadpan. “You blue screened me.”

That made her laugh harder, and she buried her face in his neck. “Oh my God.”

He let his head fall back against the pillow, arms sliding around her waist to hold her close. “Glad you find this hilarious.”

“You came so fast, Jake.”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, his chest shaking with a soft laugh. “You feel like heaven, and then you started moving like that? I was doomed.”

She kissed the side of his jaw, still grinning. “Guess I do know what I’m doing after all.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Her eyes were bright, mouth still curved in amusement, but there was something soft in her expression too. Like she hadn’t expected to enjoy this as much as she did. 

Jake smoothed a hand along her back, his voice dropping a little. “I meant it, you know. You can’t do it wrong. Especially not when you’re laughing with me like this.”

Her smile faltered just slightly—just enough for her to press another kiss to his lips, slower this time. “I’ve never…laughed like this during. Not like this.”

He pulled her a little closer. “Good. Let’s make it a habit.”

She snorted. “You’re gonna start cracking jokes every time I take my shirt off, huh?”

Jake smirked. “Only if you want me to. I have a whole set ready to go.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a hand over her hip. “But you’re still sittin’ here naked on top of me, so what does that say about you?”

She leaned in until her nose brushed his. “That I might be a little ridiculous too.”

Jake kissed her again—slow and deliberate, with just a hint of promise.And when they finally curled up under the covers, the afterglow laced with warmth and laughter instead of awkwardness, Jake couldn’t help but think—This. This right here. This is what I didn’t know I needed.

[teacupsandtopgun]

Love Me Double

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Felicity ‘Flick’ March (OC)

Summary:

Author’s Note: This takes place in the year after Pacific Pining. To see where Flick x Jake's story began, visit my masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Swearing, alcohol, sexual references.

Word count: 5k

Flick groaned and squinted at her phone screen in the early morning gloom.

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: Happy Valentine's Day darlin’ 💌. Apologies if I woke you, but I wasn't sure when I’d get another time to text today. I've left a little something for you on top of the kitchen cabinet (you might need a chair to reach it though 😜)

I love you, Teacup. I'll be home soon.

A warm fuzzy feeling spread through Flick’s limbs as she stretched out under the covers. Every time she thought Jake couldn't be any more wonderful; he managed to prove her wrong. She didn't even mind the cheeky dig at her height (or lack of it).

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, baby. You did wake me, but I don’t mind – not when your message is so sweet. I’ll go right back to the land of nod as soon as I roll over, but you can be certain I’ll be dreaming of you. I’m excited to find my surprise later – even if I have to go right on my tippy-toes in my tallest heels 👠.

I love you. xxx

As promised, mere moments after she hit send, Flick drifted back into a peaceful cosy slumber, safely cocooned by feather-filled bedsheets and thoughts of Jake.

Once she’d fully indulged in her much-needed lie-in, she took a leisurely shower (with Jake’s soaps, like she always did when he went away – he bought extras now, just for her), threw on some loungewear, then cooked herself some brunch (poached eggs and avocado on toast with homemade hollandaise sauce – Jake had taught her how to make it).

She caught up on some TV, attempting to prolong the anticipation of her Valentine's surprise as long as she could bear. But, sometime around 2pm, Flick finally gave in. She dragged a chair to the kitchen cabinet and went in search, eventually finding a pink heart-stamped envelope tucked between the crock pot and a muffin tray.

My little Teacup,

I'm sorry that we couldn't spend Valentine's Day together, and I'm sorry that it’s for the second year in a row.

 I was so looking forward to bathing in rose petals, sharing heart-shaped chocolates and dancing around the apartment to all the sappiest of love songs with you. But duty calls. Though I suppose I can't really say that this time around, can I? This trip is an opportunity, not a deployment, and I'm incredibly grateful that you encouraged me to take it. So, I should begin by saying thank you.

Flick smiled softly. Jake was right, neither of them could exactly curse the Navy for keeping them apart on this occasion. The training Jake had travelled to New York for was completely optional. It was a leadership skills course, specifically designed for promising Lieutenant Commanders, across all branches of the armed forces, who were exceeding expectations and might one day have what it took to make Captain.

As soon as Jake revealed he’d been nominated to attend, Flick firmly insisted he grab the chance with both hands. She didn’t allow him to even suggest turning it down; despite knowing he’d be gone on Valentine’s Day. She was never, ever going to hold his career back, especially not because of a silly over-commercialised holiday. She knew Jake would show her career the same respect too, if it came to it.

I love you endlessly, darlin’. Like you said, we don't need to play by the rules of Saint Valentine. He's not in charge of our hearts. Rose petals, chocolates and slow dancing can happen any day, because we love each other every day.

Still, I can't wait to come home to you and show you again and again how much you mean to me. These two weeks will fly fast, I'm sure. But, in case they don't, I’ve sent a special envoy to keep you company. I think the two of you will have a great time together. I can't wait to hear all about it.

Don't forget to let the sunshine in, babe.

Forever yours,

Jake

Flick scrunched her brow. A special envoy? She hadn’t the foggiest idea who or what Jake was referring to. But his gifts were always thoughtfully sweet and perfect and fun, so she supposed she would have to wait and see.

Her day carried on as normal until the early evening when there was a knock on her door.

“Typical,” Flick huffed. She’d just settled into some ‘alone time’ with her newest smutty novel, armed with her favourite vibrator, as well as her phone and air pods in case she needed to listen to a couple of Jake’s dirty voice messages to get her over the line. Things had begun slowly, her mind drifting too much from the task at hand, but now she would have to start all over again.

She sighed and pushed back down her skirt to make sure she was decent and put on a practised smile. Whoever was waiting for her outside the flat didn’t deserve her sexually frustrated ire.

Except, when she opened the door, there was no one there.

Just Jake.

A life-sized, topless, smugly grinning, red silk shorts-wearing cardboard cut-out of Jake, accompanied by a bouquet of crimson heart balloons.

A merry laugh bubbled form her lips.

Of course. Only Jake would have enough self-confidence to do something as ridiculously cheesy as this. He must have posed especially for the photo too, Flick reasoned. She’d certainly never seen those red shorts before. Did he get a shoot done professionally, just for this occasion? Was there a whole collection of Valentine's themed pictures, with Jake in various ‘lothario’-like poses, lounging with a rose between his teeth or sitting astride a white stallion like the cover of Mills & Boon novel? She hoped so, what a treat that would be. Or had he roped Javy into his scheme? Flick couldn’t imagine he would have asked anyone else in the squad; they'd have let slip by now.

Flick dragged Jake’s double and the balloons into the flat. He was stiffer and more cumbersome than she expected, and it took some effort not to accidentally decapitate him or bend his arm in a direction it wouldn’t naturally go.

She propped him up against the kitchen counter.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked aloud, hands on hips.

Jake just grinned back, all pearly white teeth, gorgeous dimples and dazzling eyes, a ray of sunshine brought indoors for Flick to keep.

She’d let the sunshine in.

The first request of Jake’s letter had been fulfilled. All that was left to do now was have some fun. And she had the perfect idea to kick things off with. A little photoshoot of her own.

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: My special envoy has arrived. He's gorgeous. We're going to run away together.

Jake tapped on his phone screen to reveal the image Flick had attached to the message.

Was it possible to be jealous of yourself?

His cardboard twin stood proudly in front of the bedroom mirror; eyes somehow gleaming with the confidence that came from admiring one’s own reflection. Flick was beside him, leaning close, with one hand splayed against his broad chest. Her siren-stamped lips were pursed and pressed to his cheek, leaving behind a luscious red print.

“Fuck.”

Jake would have swapped places with his cardboard doppelgänger in a heartbeat if he could, he missed Flick so deeply. Just the promise of a sweet, scarlet kiss was enough to make the yarns of yearning tug at his insides, but Flick had taken things a step further. She was ruffling his feathers on purpose.

He groaned and slumped back on his hotel bed. Visions of Flick’s soft curves covered in delicate pastel pink lace were going to taunt him incessantly for the next two weeks. The sheer babydoll that skimmed the tops of her thighs was new too, it had to be. Did she buy it especially for Valentine's Day? He would’ve taken a hell of a lot more convincing to go on this training course if he'd known.

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: You're killing me, babe.

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: Do you like the picture? 😇

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: I love it. I want to abscond from training and jump on a flight straight home to you.

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: Permission not granted. You stay right where you are, mister, or I’ll throw away the babydoll and delete the rest of the photos I took.

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: No! Please don't. I'll stay right where I am, I promise. Won’t move a muscle.

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: Good boy. Pics incoming. 💋

Over the next two weeks, Jake was going to get a lot more pictures and videos than he bargained for.

“AHHHHHH!”

Bradley’s shriek of shock, horror and confusion sliced through the eardrums of every occupant in the building.

Flick had been buzzing with anticipation ever since she’d left his flat an hour or so ago, and she’d been plotting all weekend, corresponding with Bradley’s boyfriend, Zak, to set the most perfectly timed trap. But Bradley’s reaction was so much better than she’d dared hope. If only she could have stuck around to see his face at the exact moment he realised - but Bradley’s bathroom was just as small as her own and there wasn’t anywhere for her to hide (she couldn’t wait until the new house she and Jake were buying was ready to move into; the ensuite was twice the size and the main bath was a thing of beauty).

Still, Flick had a very vivid imagination. Tears filled her eyes as she cackled with mirth and revelled in the mischief she’d caused until her cheeks began to ache, and she was bent double, clutching her ribs.

Her phone chirped. The canary in the coal mine.

Zak 🎶: Angry bird incoming.

As if the message had summoned a deadly reckoning, Bradley’s name flashed across the screen and the device began to vibrate with a mighty fury.

Flick heaved in a breath.

“Hello, you've reached the March-Seresin residence; how may I help you?”

 “You can help by removing your oaf of a boyfriend from my fucking shower,” Bradley grunted.

Flick half-suppressed a giggle.

“Jake’s in your bathroom? I was wondering where he'd got to,” she mused, injecting her voice with a plummy false sweetness.

“Don't play innocent with me. I know you put him there.”

“I'm sure he's just trying to be friendly, Bradley. I thought you Navy boys shared showers in the locker room all the time?”

“No. We don’t. I have never shared a shower with Bagman, and I never will. And, if his infernal lookalike isn't removed from my property within the next 5 minutes, I will tear him apart and shove him down the garbage disposal.”

Bloody hell, Bradley.

“Alright, alright! Flick cried, frantically shoving her feet into the closest pair of shoes. “I'm on my way.”  

Suddenly things weren't so funny anymore. Now she was embarking on a vital hostage extraction mission, with the threat of Jake’s dismemberment looming over her head. It was her sworn duty to protect Jake with her life, and that extended to protecting his likeness too.

She raced upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and skidded to a halt at Bradley’s door. It opened instantly without her needing to knock.

“He's fuming,” said Zak, stating the obvious. He bundled Jake’s (thankfully intact) cardboard body into the hallway. “He knows I must have let you in to set the trap too.”

“We make an excellent team,” Flick replied heartily, relieved Jake was safe. She shook her accomplice’s hand, a formal recognition of Zak’s good work. “I am sorry you're the one that has to deal with the aftermath though.”

Zak just smiled and waved away her concern. “Grumpy will be fine once I've fed him. He might even see the funny side when he’s properly cooled off and I show him the video.”

Flick squealed. “You got a video?!”

“Sure did,” Zak confirmed, proudly holding up his phone. “I've played many a prank in my time, Little Red. You're working with a pro.”

“Can I see? Can you send it to me? I have to show Jake.”

Flick tried to reach for Zak’s mobile, but he snatched it away and held it high out of her reach.

“I could send it… for a small distribution fee. Like you said, I'm the one dealing with the aftermath of your little scheme.”

“I’ll do anything. I need that video, Zak,” Flick begged.

Zak folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, pondering.

“Good to know. But I think I'll let Bradley decide on his price. That would be only fair, right?”

You idiot, Flick. You’ve been working with a double agent all along.

“When I pictured how my life was going to play out. Never once did I envision having to get this close to Jake’s nether regions.”

“Quit being a drama queen Fanboy, I'm practically going to have to make out with the man.”

“You're very welcome to swap, Rooster,” Mickey snapped back.

Bradley glanced down the line and considered the position of Mickey’s shot glass versus his own.

“You know what, I'm good.”

Flick chuckled and made her way to the end of the bar, positioning herself at Jake’s feet. She gave Bradley and Mickey friendly but mildly patronising pats on the back as she went past.  

“You should all feel honoured,” she said pompously. “It's a privilege I'm letting you get this close to my man's perfect body at all. You’re living the dream. And Bradley, Jake is an excellent kisser. He does this amazing thing with his tongue…”

Bradley, Mickey, Natasha, Reuban and Javy all gagged and heaved loudly in disgust. Even Bob, too polite to make a noise, scrunched up his nose in revulsion.

Flick felt decidedly pleased with herself.

“Can we just get this over with?” lamented Natasha.

All heads turned to face her. “This whole charade was your idea,” Reuban retorted.

“Yeah, but that was before Flick mentioned tonguing Jake. Now I genuinely feel like I might vomit.”

“Lucky all you need to do is stick your nose in his belly button,” Mickey huffed, still adamant he'd got the shortest straw.

“Unsurprisingly, that doesn't make me feel any better.”

“Y’all are too stressed. Bob and I ain’t complainin’.”

Now the squad rounded on Javy. He'd unintentionally transformed the once warring factions into a united front. United against him and Bob, that was. Mickey led the charge.

“We wouldn't be complaining either if all we had to do with suck a peck or lick an ab. They’re literally Hangman’s only redeeming qualities.”

Flick opened her mouth to defend against the group's opinion on Jake's better features, but Penny beat her to it. She had finished pouring their drinks.

“There you go. Six shots of cherry sours for the weirdest drinking game I’ve ever seen. Now, if you could please knock them back quickly and remove Lieutenant Commander Seresin’s body from the top of my bar, I would be very grateful.”

“I think we all would be,” Natasha muttered.  

“Hear hear.”

Flick clapped her hands sharply, drawing attention. She pulled out her phone and began to record the scene in front of her.

“Shall we begin proceedings?”

As the only one of them who couldn't drink alcohol (doctor's orders), she had nominated herself to film the game for Jake’s entertainment instead of taking part.

She panned the camera, showing the six shot glasses filled with bright red liquid and lined up along the centre of Jake's body, then took in the six aviators that stood before them, ready to compete.

“Welcome to the inaugural, and likely last, Dagger Squad Body Shot Contest. Thank you to the gorgeous Jake for kindly volunteering to be the body. And thank you to our wonderful host, Penny, for providing the shots.

The rules of the game are simple. Fastest to down their shot, complete a lap of the bar, then place the empty glass back exactly where it came from, wins. No sabotage, no spilling, and you have to drink every drop, or you're disqualified. My decision is final. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Thank you, Javy.”

“Suck up.”

Flick ignored Bradley’s muttered whinging.

“Winner gets to choose who pays tonight’s tab. What's the damage looking like, Penny?”

Penny checked the till and then sucked some air through her teeth. “Not sure you want to know. It's going to hurt; I'll tell you that much. Wouldn’t want to leave it up to chance, that’s for sure.”

“High stakes indeed,” Flick concurred. “Oh, and one more thing. Hands behind your back at all times. Is everybody ready? Actually – I don’t care. Let the game begin in three… two… one… GO!”

“You’re an artist, Bob, truly. This is incredible.”

Drawing tattoos on Jake had been Mickey's idea, but when Flick said she'd only allow it if they used wipeable markers and that she would get to preapprove any designs, most of the squad decided they were no longer interested. They went back to playing pool or darts and chatting shit, disappointed that Flick wouldn't let them permanently ink Jake’s defenceless likeness with penis drawings, rude quotes and childish doodles.

All except Bob. Bob had actually given the creative opportunity some thought and proposed a design that tastefully combined Jake's love of Texas with his passion for aviation; a Longhorn skull layered on top of an aerial view of his beloved FA/18.

So, Flick gladly handed over her pencil case and Bob got to work illustrating Jake’s chest.

Flick added her own contributions, of course, staking her claim to her lover’s chiselled Adonis belt. After much deliberation and Pinterest board surfing, she settled on a cowboy hat and “too good to be true” in gentle cursive on one hip, and a delicately drawn teacup on the other.

None of her additions took very long, but she was perfectly content to spend the rest of the evening watching Bob create his masterpiece, mesmerised by how each brush of his pen brought the image even more to life.

When he was done, she snapped a photo of Jake’s illustrated torso and sent it to him straight away.

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: Hey baby, if you ever get a tattoo, it's only allowed to be one of these.

You’ll never guess who drew them…

“If I had more time, I could do a lot of extra shading, really make each element pop. But I think I'm happy with it,” Bob said modestly.

“It's brilliant,” Flick insisted. “Where did you learn to draw like this?”

Bob took a sip of his drink and leant back into the booth, perhaps deliberating how much he wanted to reveal about his secret talent.

“I drew a lot as a kid. My mom was a teacher, and she would bring me home art supplies if any went spare. She always said a pen, some paper, and the freedom of expression was the best way to settle down a rowdy kid. Drawing kept me quiet and out of trouble.”

“I have a hard time believing you have ever been trouble, Bob,” Flick said.

He returned her words with a wry smile and a mysterious twinkle in his eye that Flick never noticed was there before.

“But this is more than you drawing occasionally as a kid,” Flick probed. “This is professional.”

Bob shrugged. “I spent a lot of time in the Art Room at summer camp, and I've taken a few classes here and there. I kept up the hobby, I guess. Bri will tell you; I've got stacks of sketchbooks hidden away at home. I actually almost went to art school instead of joining the Navy. I might have become a tattoo artist one day if I'd followed a different path.”

Robert Floyd was a man of many surprises.

“How did you choose between art school in the Navy?”

“It was a close call, but I figured I could keep art as a passion all throughout my life. Joining the Navy had a time limit – it’s something I could only be part of when I was young.”

“Makes sense,” Flick said. “I wish I was creative like you, but I guess some people don't have it in them.”

Bob shook his head. “I don't believe that. Everyone has creativity, we just express it differently. Some people write or dance or make music. Others show it through how they decorate their homes or the clothes they wear.”

He made a pointed glance down at Flick’s feet, using her choice of shoe as evidence of his assertion; chunky pale pink heels stamped with bright red hearts.

“We all appreciate art in our own way, too. Some of us want to produce it, but other people are happy to admire it when it's framed or on a wall. I always liked how tattoos were a way for your body to become your personal art gallery, a collection of memories or inspiration you can always carry with you.”

“I love that. Are you allowed to have tattoos in the Navy though?” she probed. She vaguely remembered reading somewhere that it wasn't permitted, but she couldn’t recall if that only applied to the British Navy, the American, or both.

“Oh yeah, I'd be in trouble otherwise, considering I've got a massive-”

Bob’s eyes went wide, and his mouth clamped shut. Flick had created too much of a safe space, and now he’d stumbled into revealing something he’d never intended to divulge.

“You have a tattoo?” Flick asked softly.

“I - Yes. I do – a few, actually. They’re all on my back. I designed them myself.”

“Wow. That's amazing! Do you have any pictures?”

If Bob’s own tattoos were anything like as nice as the one he'd drawn for Jake, Flick was desperate to see them. But then she remembered Bob’s initial hesitancy, so she rowed back.

“It’s ok. You don't have to show me, not if you don't want to.”

But Bob had already produced his phone from his pocket and swiped through the photo gallery.

Suddenly, Flick was looking at the most stunning and unique tattoo arrangement she’d ever seen. In the centre of Bob’s back was an elegant jellyfish with sweeping, twirling tentacles. The tentacles also tastefully preserved the modesty of a naked woman who posed among them. She was the jellyfish, a beautiful, fantastical goddess of the sea. Flick could tell from the woman’s confident, voluptuous figure that she was modelled after Bob's wonderful wife, Briony. Accompanying her were a cutely mischievous-looking sea turtle and a characterful seahorse, playing hide and seek between the tentacles. The turtle and seahorse were slightly less faded than the jellyfish, both added later yet still seamlessly incorporated into the design as if they belonged there all along.

“I’m sure you’ve probably guessed, but the Jellyfish is for Bri, the turtle is for Rupert and the seahorse is for Bonnie,” Bob explained. His wife, son and daughter. Each member of his young family permanently etched into his skin, his soul, to be loved for evermore.

“They’re all so beautiful, Bob. You’re incredibly talented. I’ve never seen a tattoo like it. I’m sure I never will. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

A little colour went to Bob’s cheeks. But he also looked proud.

“No one really knows about this though,” he said. “Out of the squad, I mean. I’d like to keep it that way if that's OK.”

“Of course, Flick said. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“You’re doing so well, darlin’. You're so gorgeous, touching yourself like a good girl for me.”

“I – Jake - Fuck.”

“Wish I could hear those pretty sounds you're makin’. Can just imagine ‘em - all filthy and breathless. Want you to say my name like it's a prayer, babe. Like I'm the only thing you ever need, the only one who can take you where you wanna go.”

“You are, Jake – the only thing I need - I”

*Knock knock!*

“Shit!”

Flick grunted and slapped the bed wildly. She yanked her air pods from her ears as if they were burning her and threw them at her pillow, not bothering to see where they fell and leaving the recording of Jake’s voice to talk to itself.

She was so fucking close. But, yet again, a desperately needed orgasm had been sullied by a badly timed delivery.

Flick was expecting a new kettle. The one she’d brought with her from England had finally packed up the other day, and she refused to go longer than was necessary without the proper means of making tea. In fact, she’d almost threatened to break up with Jake over text when he suggested she just put her mug in the microwave for the time being after moaning to him about it – was he insane?!

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: It would be probably be faster than waiting for the kettle to boil anyway.

…

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: Teacup?

…

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: Flick? Are you still there?

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: I’m re-evaluating our whole relationship. You’ve insulted me and the entire British Isles. The sacred bond between our nations will never be the same.  

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: Because I said you could make tea in the microwave?

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: 🤯 You’re asking me to commit blasphemy. Sacrilege. High treason. I’ll never be able to set foot on English soil again. If I do, I’ll be taken to the Tower of London then be paraded through the streets where furious crowds will pelt me with PG tips and Tetley teabags until I repent my sins.

*attached “shame” gif from Game of Thrones*

Sunshine ☀️ ❤️ 🤠: I have ordered you a new kettle.

*attached image: Amazon receipt.*

Teacup ☕️ ❤️ 🇬🇧: Thank you, baby 😘 I love you.

There was no way Flick was going to risk missing the delivery of such an important item.

“Can't even blame you this time, can I?” she huffed in the direction of Jake’s cardboard cut-out. She thought having Jake’s life-sized image in the room with her might help things along. It hadn’t. Of course, he gave no response. Frankly, she was a little tired of his endless grin. She wanted the real thing. The Jake with a pulse. The Jake that was warm and huggable. The Jake that would kiss her back and touch her in all the places she wanted, no, needed, to be touched. She wanted the Jake that could brighten her gloominess with true sunlight, not the artificial kind.

But she'd have to wait at least another day.

Flick slung on her dressing gown over her lingerie and babydoll (which she’d put on in the hope of feeling a little sexier) and made her way through the flat, leaving her vibrator buzzing on the bed, helpless and alone.

She took a moment to check she was decent – not wanting to give the delivery person an eyeful – then opened the door.

“Jake!?!”

“Happy late Valentine's Day, darlin’.”

Flick covered her mouth, but there was no hiding her delighted giggle. The cardboard cut-out in her room had come to life. The real Jake stood tall in front of her; shirtless, beaming, and wearing nothing but a pair of red silk shorts.

Before he could say another word, Flick pulled him by the waistband and dragged him across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, sighing into his mouth and tugging at his hair until he moaned along with her and wrapped her fully in his embrace. Solid. Grounding.

Gravitational.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered against his lips, breathless and just the tiniest bit desperate. “Your special envoy was fun, but I much prefer the real thing.”

Jake squeezed her hips.

“Hmm. It certainly looked like you were enjoying each other’s company,” he drawled. “I’d say I was jealous of my doppelganger, but I don’t think I'll be volunteering to be the ‘body’ for body shots anytime soon. Or going anywhere near Bradley’s shower, for that matter. Some things just aren't meant to be seen.”

Jake toyed with the belt of her dressing gown and raised an eyebrow in enquiry. Why was she wearing it in the middle of the afternoon? She guided his hand under the robe so that his fingers met the lacy edges of her bralette, and he could feel the soft pink chiffon begin its cascade from beneath her breasts to the tops of her thighs.

His face lit up with delight and he pushed her robe open the rest of the way, sliding it over her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

“Oh darlin’…But this? This was meant to be seen.”

Jake took Flick’s hand and lifted it above her head, coaxing her to twirl under his arm and show herself off. She spun twice, deliberately swinging her hips so the skirt of the babydoll swirled around her body, then blew Jake a kiss and ended with a curtsy, only for him to reel her back in.

She traced her finger through his downy, barely visible hairs, slowly drawing a heart over the real one that beat beneath his golden skin.

“You know, I was kind of in the middle of something when you knocked,” she said, gazing into the eyes she had so often dreamed of.

Jake licked his lips.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Would you like to come and help me finish things off?”

This was a fun one! Thank you for reading, I would love to know your thoughts! Who won the body shot game? And what was Bradley's price for the video...🤔😂

Masterlist

Tagging people who have joined in with Flick and Jake's story along the way:

@97lala @angelbabyange @atarmychick007 @avengermultifan @bradshawburner

@briseisgone @cherrycola27 @colourplanes @desert-fern @dizzybee03

@djs8891 @eli2447 @elisha-chloe @emma8895eb @entertainmentgirl80

@eolsens @ereardon @fanficfandomlove @fogle97 @gigisimsonmars

@halstead-severide-fan @hangmandruigandmav @hardballoonlove @horseshoegirl @horseslovers2016

@just-in-case-iloveyou @katiedid-3 @kmc1989 @lyn-js @lynnestra44

@memoriesat30 @mini-bee-bee @mizzzpink @nervousenemyduck @nobodynocrime13

@one-sweet-gubler @onlyxforxus @palepeanutponyshoe @penguin876 @purplevortexx

@sarahsmi13s @scarlettwidow19 @sehnsuchts-trunken @senawashere @shanimallina87

@sizzlinginternetdreamer @snoopmary @sofisabe @sometimesanalice @sorchathered

[teacupsandtopgun]

London Calling

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Felicity ‘Flick’ March (OC)

Summary: Jake has set himself the mission of a lifetime, planning a surprise trip to London, the city Flick loves most in the world, with the intention of asking her very important question. Yet, when Flick finds her feet on home soil, she comes to a realisation that might derail all of Jake’s best-laid plans. Can they both “mind the gap” that’s opened between what they each desire?

Author’s Note: This one has been in my mind for a very long time - I'm excited to finally share it with you! To see where Flick & Jake's story began, visit my masterlist.

Disclaimers: Please excuse any inaccuracies regarding medical conditions, Naval aviation, Top Gun and the US in general.

Chapter 1: San Diego -> London Heathrow

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ no minors please. Swearing, SMUT: oral sex m!receiving, explicit pinv.

“Oh for goodness sake! Not another bloody fan contest. Are they ever going to play any actual baseball? That's what it says on the ticket. At what point do I get to sue for misrepresentation of product? Oh look, two dads have been shoved into Zorb balls for a race. Because that's way more interesting. Why not resurrect Bruce Forsyth and let him give the winners a cuddly toy and a toaster while we’re at it?”

Jake had no clue who Bruce Forsyth was, or why Flick was talking about toasters, but he didn't have enough time to ask because Flick’s patter had already changed course.

“Are all American sports like this? I thought the Super Bowl was ridiculous, but it was the Super Bowl. So I could forgive the fireworks and flypasts and adverts and musical interludes, but this is just some college-friendly. Why are they bothering with all this nonsense?”

Flick was on a roll now. Jake loved listening to her when she got like this (unless her opinion was one he vehemently disagreed with, but that was rare). There was something about her scathing wit and pithy barbs, all mixed up with a dash of hoity-toity presumed British superiority that completely tickled him pink, and Flick was so overcome by her indignance that she wouldn't notice how he gazed at her, barely able to contain a brazen smile.

“When we eventually go to England together, I'm taking you to see a football match. One where they will play real football and the sport itself will be the main event. There won’t be any hideously cringy side shows or cheerleaders or unbearably peppy team songs.”

Jake shifted in his seat, the two plane tickets he’d bought the day before burning a hole in his back pocket. He couldn't wait to surprise her with them. He just wasn't quite sure when or how.

He didn't hear what Flick said after that. He barely noticed the whooping and wolf whistling of the crowd as the next entertainment started. He was too busy imagining the adorable squeal of happiness and jump for joy that Flick would do when he told her they were flying to her beloved London in two weeks' time.

“Jake? Jake, look.”

Flick was tugging on his sleeve.

“Jake, we're on camera. We're on the big screen, look.”

His eyes followed her pointing finger. Lo and behold, there they were, made up of pixels with a huge heart surrounding their heads.

Kiss Cam.

Jake laced his fingers with Flick’s and leant into her side, his nose almost in her hair.

“I'm up for it, but only if you are darlin’,” he whispered. He wanted her to know there was no pressure if this level of public display of affection was a step too far.

“Go for it, man!”

“Just kiss already!”

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!"

The crowd were chanting and clapping now, egging them on. Flick laughed brightly, her aura shimmering and sparking for all to see. “Only in America,” she lamented, rolling her eyes with a smile, before pushing Jake back into his seat and planting the mother of all smackers on his lips.

The stadium erupted, but Jake drowned out the noise by kissing her back passionately, wrapping his hands around her frame and almost pulling her into his lap.

They only broke apart when the iconic da da dada dada! motif played.

“I think you were one ass grab away from landing yourself a public indecency charge there, babe,” Jake said when they finally came up for air.

Flick just grinned at him, flushed and giddy. “I'll cash it in later.”

Jake leaned against his truck and observed the scene in front of him. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the parking lot in a warm orange glow, and the chattering crowds were gradually dispersing into the cars, buses and coaches that would take them home.

Flick had been corralled into taking a photo of a family in front of the stadium and stood with her back to him. He was rather enjoying the view. In honour of the Texas Longhorns, and to celebrate her home state's roots, she was wearing her white floral patterned cowboy boots; the ones she had bought from Daisy Steps Boutique on their first road trip to meet Jake’s family. Her gorgeous freckled dusted thighs were on display too, and her ass looked sinfully good in her “cheeky” (as she called them) denim shorts.

But Jake barely noticed any of that. What truly got his blood pumping was the baseball jersey. His baseball jersey. The one his sister, Georgia, had customized for his birthday a few years ago. The one that had 'Seresin' emblazoned on the back.

Felicity Seresin had a nice ring to it, he thought. He couldn’t help but smile as he turned the words over in his mind, relishing the prospect of Flick introducing herself with his name, proudly declaring to the world that they had promised each other forever. He longed for the day he could say “Have you met my wife, Professor Felicity Seresin?” and everyone would know that this incredible, formidable, intelligent, firecracker of a woman had vowed to share her life with him.

Hold your horses now Jacob. You need to ask her first.

If all things went to plan in London, he and Flick would be landing back on American soil as fiancées.

“There’s my gorgeous cowboy.”

Flick bounced up on her toes to give Jake a lingering kiss.

“You ready to go, Teacup?”

Her “hmm” in return was rather non-committal. She looked up at Jake with an innocent expression, but her hands were telling a different story, trailing up and down his thighs.

“You know what these jeans do to me baby,” she said softly, pressing her lips to Jake’s again. “They’re indecent. Should be for my eyes only.”

“I’m all yours, darlin’, you know that.”

Flick grinned. “I do. You’re all mine. I’d like to cash in that ass grab now, if that’s ok? And maybe you could throw in an upgrade?”

Jake laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

Her fingers were dangerously close to his crotch and her breath was hot in his ear.

“I want to kneel down in the back of your truck and suck your cock.”

Fuck. Suddenly his jeans were a little tighter. His mouth dryer. Her boldness never failed to throw him through a loop.

Jake cleared his throat and gripped hold of what remained of his composure.

“The ass grab can certainly be arranged,” he confirmed. “As for the rest, I’ll have to consult with management.”

Flick snorted, but the excited glint in her eyes told him she knew he would say yes.

As her palms made their way around to his derriere and squeezed, Jake decided now would be the perfect time for a surprise.

“Left pocket darlin’. I got you a present.”

Her fingers slipped under the denim and slid out a folded envelope with 'My Little Teacup' scrawled across the front.

She opened it, scanned the letter’s content, and then gawked at Jake in disbelief.

“You’ve booked me an afternoon tea at the Ritz next month?”

“Sure have.”

“Jake, that sounds wonderful, I’ve always wanted to go but - baby… this voucher is for the Ritz hotel in London.”

“I know.”

“But -"

“Right pocket.”

Flick retrieved a second envelope, confusion still etched across her face. Jake watched her read the information on the flight tickets probably three times before she shrieked with delight.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! Oh my god - are these real? We’re going to England? You’re taking me to London?”

“Yes ma'am. In ten days from now, you’ll be sipping 'proper' tea at the Ritz and gazing out at Buckingham Palace, Big Ben and Tower Bri – oof!"

Flick squealed and flung her arms around Jake's neck. His hat was knocked clean off and she plastered his entire face with joyful kisses.

Her eyes welled with tears.

“Oh, thank you, Jake. I love you so fucking much. Thank you thank you thank you!”

Jake was pretty sure his nose, cheeks and forehead were covered in sticky pink lip-gloss prints when she pulled away, but he didn't care. Her hands were back on his thighs again.

“Have you had time to consult with management?” she enquired sweetly. “My offer of a car park blow job still stands.”

The parking lot blow job turned into a whole lot more than either of them could have foreseen.

Luckily all the other cars had filtered out from the grounds by the time proceedings reached their denouement, otherwise, they might have caught sight of Jake’s truck rocking and rolling and the windows steaming up.

Not that either Jake or Flick paid any attention to the thought of someone catching on to what they were doing, they were far too absorbed in each other to care.

“Oh Jake, that’s perfect - yes - oh fuck - you’re perfect.”

Flick was sprawled across the back seats, one leg propped up on Jake’s shoulder, the other hooked around his waist. He was half knelt on the upholstery, half standing in the footwell for better leverage as he fucked into her, mesmerised by the ecstasy that contorted her face with each of his thrusts.

Her loose tank top had been hiked up, revealing her gorgeous breasts, and there were still damp patches visible on the thin purple lace of her bra - evidence of Jake mouthing at her nipples minutes before. Her shorts were… well, Jake couldn’t remember where they were, but he knew for certain that her matching lilac panties were hanging from his back pocket. Most importantly, she was still wearing his Seresin jersey. She'd tried to slip it off early in proceedings, but Jake baulked and absolutely insisted she keep it on. Thankfully, she was soon too busy with worshipping his cock to question his motives.

Her pink gloss was smudged around her lips even now. But she still looked as pretty as ever.

“Oh, fuck Jake – yes, yes! – Oh - Tell me all the places we’re going to visit in London, tell me what we’re gonna do.”

“That's all up to you, darlin’ – fuck - I want Teacup's authentic city tours; I want to see all the places you love so much.”

Flick shook her head.

“You will - promise – oh - but right now I want you to tell me about ‘Lie-cester Square’ and ‘Totten-Ham Court Road’.”

Ah. Jake was beginning to catch her drift. They’d played this game before. She wanted him to say the place names wrong like a “silly American”. She wanted to play the “know-it-all Brit” and correct him. He could work with that.

He kept up the rhythm they were both enjoying, only now each thrust was punctuated with a malapropism.

“We’ll visit Lie-cester Square for sure,” Jake began. “And we’ll promenade along the Thames,” he added, rhyming it with James, not hems. “Then we’ll rub shoulders with royals at Bucking-ham Palace, see if the King of England is home.”

Flick moaned.

“He’s king of a lot more than just England – fuck - Why do Americans always say that?”

Apparently, his last cultural faux pas was so egregious she'd forgotten to correct him on all that came before it.

“King of you maybe, but not king of me,” Jake drawled.

“Mmm. Thankfully I can say the same about certain – ah - Presidents,” Flick retorted.

Touche.

“Not considering US citizenship anytime soon then?” he enquired.

“I – oh fuck – Maybe one day – oh - It seems like a lot of paperwork though – ugh – I - I’d need a pretty good reason to stick around,” she added, teasing yet breathless.

I’ll show you, Jake insisted to himself. Soon, I’ll promise you forever.

He leant down further, bringing them chest to chest and nose to nose. Flick keened and her entire body curled up towards his, as if a mighty magnetic pull was drawing their hearts together.

Jake captured her lips in a messy half-kiss, his tongue sliding wetly against hers then slipping to her cheek and lapping up a smudge of her raspberry-flavoured gloss. He moaned into the side of her perfumed, sweat-slicked neck, almost completely overcome.

Her pussy clenched him so tightly in response that he lost control of himself for a second. His hips jerked wildly, shunting them both across the seats.

“Oh fuck, Jake!”

Flick cried out in pleasure and flung a desperate arm out behind her head, protecting herself from hitting the door panel. Thankfully, Jake found a moment of clarity through the haze of lust and summoned the wherewithal to tighten his grip on the dough of her hips. He replanted his foot to strengthen his stance and held Flick steady and safe from harm, then continued to treat her to his cock over and over again, until she bathed in utter bliss.

“I’ll give you plenty of reasons darlin’,” Jake vowed, his voice darkening to a richer, smokier timbre beside the delicate shell of her ear.  “Just you wait.”

“So, what brought all of that on?” Jake asked as they were clumsily redressing themselves ready to finally leave the now barren parking lot. “Or are you really just that feral over the sight of me in these jeans?”

Flick giggled and Jake couldn’t be sure if she was still flushed from their antics or if it was the answer to his question that reddened her cheeks.

“Those jeans played a big part; I’m not going to lie. But mostly… it was the way you kissed me in front of a whole stadium of people,” Flick said softly, reaching out to fix his hair. “I kind of liked the idea of showing everyone that I’m yours and you’re mine. Then you give me the most incredible surprise. You’re borderline irresistible at the best of times Jake, but how could I not want to jump your bones after all of that?”

It was with an apprehensive hand that Jake knocked on the front door of Flick’s mother’s condo. And the minute or so it took for her to answer felt like it dragged on for an age.

“Oh! Jake! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Betty peered around him, checking to see if he had company.

“Is everything alright? Is Felicity ok?”

Jake was happy to reassure her.

“Flick’s great. She’s having dinner in the city with a few friends from work. I was just out for my evening run and thought I’d drop by.”

“Oh, that’s good. Now, where are my manners? You must be thirsty. Come inside. I’ll make you some coffee.”

Jake stepped inside and immediately felt the heat being emitted from what appeared to be a hundred candles occupying every available surface. The orbs of light cast a warm glow over Betty's colourful hodgepodge of furniture which, as Jake followed her deeper into the house, he realised had been rearranged. Betty’s patchwork rug had been replaced by swathes of newspaper and her coffee table had been swapped for a pottery wheel. A vaguely jug-shaped hunk of clay sat atop it.

All that was missing from the room’s ambience was the musical accompaniments of Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Oh no honey, I’ve always got time for a fellow Texan, especially you. Sit, sit.”

They entered the kitchen and Betty gestured to the table, which was covered with her first attempts at pottery. She set about making Jake a coffee and gave him the rundown on her latest hobby. Its origins (Jake was not surprised to hear) were found in a recent re-watching of Ghost. So far, Betty had succeeded in sculpting a series of wobbly bowls, a lumpy vase and a set of mugs. She had also tracked down the owner of a local pottery cafe and convinced them to let her fire her creations there for a greatly reduced price.

“I promised I would make it worth their while. I've already arranged for my book club girls to meet there next month, and I'll make sure to tell everyone how supportive they are for local artists in the community, like me.”

Although Flick and her mother had many differences that distinguished them, Jake enjoyed it when their similarities revealed themselves. Flick and Betty’s accents hailed from opposite sides of the globe, but the confident pride that swelled their voices when they spoke about their passions was almost identical.

He’d heard people joke that women often turn into their mothers as they age. Though he doubted it was entirely true, beyond the logical results of nature and nurture, by all accounts Betty was a warm, generous and incredibly loving woman. If, as Jake hoped, she was to become his mother-in-law, he’d be landing on his feet for sure.

“Oh, listen to me waffle on. You must have come over for a reason. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Jake steeled himself. He wasn’t nervous about Betty’s response to what he was about to say (he was 99.9% sure it would be positive), but stating his intentions out loud made him feel vulnerable, even so.

“I wanted to tell you that when Flick and I are in London, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Betty gasped and her hands shot to her mouth.

“Oh goodness! Really?!”

She leapt from the table and wrapped Jake up in a hug. The jagged shapes of her statement necklace dug into his chest and his nose filled with the scent of her sweet perfume, citrus and lavender tickling his senses, leading him to the edge of what could have been a disastrous sneeze.

“Oh Jake, that’s such wonderful news! My little girl adores you. I adore you, you’re like a son to me already.” Betty clasped her hands together. “I’m so excited! A wedding! Felicity will be over the moon.”

Jake had imagined the pivotal moment so many times, picturing the pure, unbridled joy he hoped would illuminate Flick’s face when he popped the question. But the vision still had the fuzzy edges of a faraway dream, one he couldn’t fully let himself believe in yet, not until it came true.

“You think so?” he asked, in a rare showing of bashfulness.

“I know so. She’ll say yes before your knee even hits the ground, I’m sure of that. Do you have a ring?”

“Not yet. I was hoping -”

Betty raised her hand to cut him off, thinking she knew what he was about to say.

She looked down at the two rings she still wore: a simple gold wedding band and a classic cut diamond solitaire. She slid them both halfway towards the knuckle and seemed to hesitate, battling with herself over the right thing to do. Then she tugged them off the rest of the way and presented the engagement ring to Jake like a prize.  

He didn’t take it.

“I could never ask you to part with the ring Stephen bought you, Betty. I know Flick wouldn’t want you to, either. Thank you, truly, but it’s yours, it always will be.”

A tear shone in Betty’s eye. She traced the circumference of the band gently with her thumb before gliding it back into place and nestling the wedding ring on top, enduring reminders of her and Stephen’s love.

“I’m hoping to buy the ring in London, from Flick’s favourite jewellery store,” Jake explained. “Molly tells me there’s a branch in Covent Garden. My plan is to take her there to buy a necklace or earrings that she likes, and then I’ll go back on my own and get the matching ring.”

“Well now, you just get sweeter by the minute, don’t you?” Betty cooed.

“Reckon it’s all that pecan pie my grandma used to make for me,” Jake replied, flashing his trademark smile.

They spent the next half hour or so swapping stories of growing up in Texas and the delicacies they craved since leaving home. They might have clashed over the best barbecue methods, but they both agreed the Lone Star State was home to the world's best comfort food (despite their British partners claiming otherwise).

Halfway through his second cup of coffee, Jake noticed the sky darkening outside and checked his watch.

“I’d better get going. I promised to pick Flick up from the restaurant and drive her friend home.”

He was halfway out the door when he remembered.

“Actually Betty, can I ask you one more thing?”

She squeezed Jake’s hand.

“Anything for my future son-in-law. Anything at all.”

“Maybe it would’ve been helpful to write a list?”

Flick knew it was a reasonable comment. Practically anyone would have asked the same thing in Jake’s position, watching the chaos unfold as she rushed about the bedroom, flinging open drawers and frantically squashing the last few remaining items into her suitcase, which was already bursting at the seams.

“I did make a list.”

Jake raised an eyebrow.

“It's in here,” Flick insisted, pointing to her head. “Anyway, I’m almost done, I just need my scarf and some gloves.”

“We’re going England, not the Arctic circle.”

“It gets cold in England.”

“It's April.”

“Exactly! Any English person worth their salt knows April is the ficklest of all months when it comes to the weather. There could be torrential rain, a heat wave, or snow -possibly all in one day.”

Jake sighed. “I believe you. But Teacup, we're going to London for two weeks, not two years. Do you really need all this stuff?

Flick grunted.

“Jake, I swear, if you make one more snippy comment about my packing style, I will dump out my case and shove you in there instead.”

“I’d probably fit.”

Which was probably true. Her case was huge and she'd still managed to fill it to the brim. Not forgetting she'd also insisted on paying for extra baggage so she could take an additional case just for her shoes. An economical packer she was not.

Flick understood why Jake was so irritated. The taxi to take them to the airport was due any minute and she'd only started properly packing that morning. It was times like these when her personality was at its most contradictory. Where her need to take the “right” outfits and not forget anything met her whirlwind approach to general tidiness and timekeeping. But Jake knew all of this. They’d been on trips together before. And Flick knew his “suggestions” were only supposed to be helpful, but in her frenzied, frustrated state, she couldn’t interpret them as anything but nagging.

She squeezed her second scarf (in case she misplaced the first one) into a gap between some rolled-up skirts and began her attempt to zip up the case.

Flick predicted Jake’s next line of reasoning would feature something about how being in the military had taught him to ‘prioritise the essentials’ (or some kind of bullshit like that), so she decided to get in ahead of him.

“As you're very much aware, Jake, I am not – huff - and never have been – huff - in the Navy. I never learned to pack like Marie Kondo’s jacked American cousin.”

The difference between her and Jake's luggage was laughable. How he had managed to fit two weeks’ worth of supplies into one holdall and a small carry-on bag, she would never know.

Fuck. The zip wouldn’t budge. She was going to have to sit on the case, maybe with her full weight she might stand a chance…

Jake’s phone buzzed. “The taxi’s outside.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” Flick said, clambering onto the bed next to her case.

“Would you like any help?” Jake asked, a little too innocently. Flick could sense the laugh he was trying to hold back.

It was a tempting proposition. Obstinance had its place, but perhaps now was the time to admit defeat.

She stepped back and gestured grandly.

“All yours.”

Jake forced the top down with one hand and zipped it up with frankly irritating ease.

“Thank you.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to mean it.

Jake saluted smugly. “Marie Kondo’s jacked American cousin, at your service.”

“Sheesh! Good thing I took my vitamins this morning!” the taxi driver joked as he hauled Flick’s luggage into the back of his car.

A lightbulb went off in Flick’s head. One of those flashing spinning red ones that are accompanied by the sound of sirens.

“Shit! I forgot my medication! I know exactly where it is, it will only take a second -”

She tried to duck past Jake and back into the house, but he blocked her path.

“Jake-”

“Felicity.”

And, before she could say another word, her face was in his hands and his lips were on hers.

“Your medication bag is in my carry-on.”

“It is?”

“It was the first thing I packed.”

“Oh.”

She remembered now. She’d prepared the bag so it was ready to take and then watched him pack it yesterday, with a comment about how she needed all the room in her case she could get.

He loves you, Felicity. He really loves you.

“Thank you.” This time those two words were as sincere as they could be.

Jake pressed another kiss to her lips. “No thanks needed. Now, let’s go before you realise you've left behind the kitchen sink.”

Flick hadn’t wanted to admit it. The first time she and Jake flew together (for their trip to a spa hotel in the Caribbean), she’d tried to act normal whilst the plane finished boarding, chatting away to Jake about this and that, but the fear lurked in the dark corners of her mind like a creature of the deep. She told herself to be a big girl, she was in her 30s for goodness sake, she’d flown loads of times, and was she truly about to confess to her boyfriend, who was literally a naval aviator that defied the laws of gravity in his fighter jet every day, that she was an anxious flyer?

But, as soon as the aircraft began to taxi towards the runway, she couldn’t contain her anxiety. Her hand flew out to grab Jake’s like her life depended on it. He glanced down at their tangled fingers and felt the tension in her rictus grip, then looked back up at her face. His lip quirked.

“Teacup, are you afraid of flying?”

“No.”

“No?”

“…Maybe?”

Flick glanced out the window to check how close they were to taking off. Too close for her liking.

You might as well admit it, Felicity, you’ll embarrass yourself either way.

“Yes.”

Jake squeezed her hand.

“Then you’re in luck,” he drawled. “You’ve picked the best seat in the house, right next to a decorated naval aviator; some might even say the best in the Pacific fleet.”

“That’s all well and good, but you’re not the one flying the plane.”

“You want me to go knock on the cockpit door and ask to swap? I’ll take the captain’s seat, and they can sit here and hold your hand instead?” he teased.

“Obviously not,” Flick grumbled. “I don’t mind the ‘up in the air’ part,” she explained. “I just don’t like take off. Or landing. I don’t like how my stomach lurches and my ears pop or the feeling of hurtling into the unknown at breakneck speed in a glorified tin can. It’s not - it’s not natural.”

Jake looked at her intently, as if trying to figure out what angle to approach her fear with next. She felt a little flushed under his gaze.

“I’m scared of spiders.”

That’s what he settled on?

“If we’re confessing fears, I need to share one too. To make us even,” Jake reasoned. “I don’t like spiders. Even the little ones freak me out, there are too many legs and the way they move makes my skin crawl.”

He shuddered and Flick snuggled closer into his side.

“Then I promise to be chief spider remover in this relationship from now on.”

Jake kissed the side of Flick’s head.

“And you can hold my hand when we fly for as long as you need darlin’. I’m not letting you go.”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is first officer Richardson speaking. Just to let you know we’re about to begin our final descent into London Heathrow.

As you may be able to see out the windows, we’re being welcomed back to good old Blighty by glorious grey skies and a refreshing drizzle of rain. The temperature on the ground is 13 degrees Celsius, that’s 55 Fahrenheit for the Yanks among you. Positively balmy, I’m sure you’ll agree.

The local time is 5:25pm and we expect to be landing in approximately 15 minutes. So, if you’re hoping to make it home before kick-off, you’re in with a fighting chance. If the baggage handlers have got their skates on, anyway. Though, if any of them are United supporters... maybe not.

Finally, on behalf of Captain Crieff and myself, I would like to thank you for flying with us, and for laughing gamely at my excellent jokes. We hope you’ve had a pleasant journey. If not, please keep any complaints to yourselves. Cabin Crew, prepare for landing.”

“Nice of the weather to play ball,” Jake muttered, among the resigned groans of surrounding Brits, the dreary forecast acting as the final death knell to their California dreaming.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring the sunshine with me.”

But Flick was beaming, positively buzzing with excitement.

“The weather is perfect Jake. I’ve missed grey skies and drizzle so much! Besides,” she said, taking Jake’s hand again and snuggling into his side for comfort ahead of landing. “I’ve got all the sunshine I’ll ever need right here.”

The e-gates at Heathrow airport were undergoing maintenance, so Flick and Jake both had to join the long and winding queue for border control, leading Jake to wonder aloud if they had actually landed in Edinburgh and been made to walk the rest of the way, which earned him a few titters from the surrounding crowd. But Flick didn’t mind. She was English, after all. Queueing was a national pastime. And she passed the time by chattering to Jake about all the amazing places in London she was going to take him to.

“You’re going to love it here, I’m sure of it. I know you’ve been to London when you were a kid and done all the touristy stuff, but this time will be even better because I can show you-”

“You’re up darlin’.”

They’d reached the front of the line, and a border control booth to their right had just become free.

“To be continued,” she said and left Jake behind to wait his turn.

“Evening.”

Flick handed her passport to the officer, who began her checks.

“You've been away for a while,” she noted, seeing Flick’s travel log.

“I suppose I have. I moved to California for work over two years ago now.”

“Ooh, lovely. A shame you couldn’t bring some sun back with you!”

“Wouldn’t fit in my suitcase. But would you believe me if I said I missed English weather?”

“No.”

They both laughed.

“This is your first time back since moving across the pond?”

“Yes,” Flick confirmed. “I'm surprised I made it past six months though, I miss England so much, London especially. But I met someone.” Her voice softened at the mention of Jake. “I managed to bag myself a cowboy. He’s what made the roots really start to grow.”

She glanced over at Jake and smiled. He was just stepping up to get his own passport checked a couple of booths away, but he caught her eye and sent her a grin and a wink back.

“He's certainly easy on the eye,” the officer said, witnessing the exchange.

“He's easy on the heart, too.”

The border control agent slid Flick’s passport back across the desk and gave Flick a nod.

“Welcome home Miss March.”

As Flick moved onwards, she felt slightly overcome. She was home. After almost two and a half years spent an ocean away, she was finally back on British soil. She even felt the need to pinch herself, to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. In just a few short minutes, she would step out into the cool evening air of her favourite city, hand in hand with her favourite person. He was the one to make this wonderful trip a possibility, after all.

Speaking of Jake, he’d finished getting his credentials checked out and was strolling towards her with his signature effortless confidence that still stole her breath, even now.

They locked eyes. Flick pulled a face and snapped her fingers.

“Damn it! I told the officer not to let you into the country. Clearly, she didn't listen.”

Jake chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist. Flick gladly leant into his touch.

“That’s too bad darlin’, looks like you're stuck with me. Now let's grab our luggage and get out of here so we can experience some of that drizzle you love so much.”

Thank you for reading!

As always, I would love to know your thoughts.

Part 2 is in progress 🥰

Masterlist

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[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 1

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: When you try to surprise your brother with a visit in the hopes of mending your strained relationship, it does not go as planned. Rudely dismissed by Scott, you decide to get a little revenge. And who better to do it with than the head Tornado Wrangler himself... Word Count: 3509 TW: Family Conflict, Brief Mention of Reader's Clothes/Breasts, Unsucessful Flirting, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Grabbing your backpack off the seat beside you, you stood and joined the crowd of passengers making their way to the front of the bus. You stopped to let an elderly couple join the line in front of you and used the momentary pause to glance out the window at your destination. A small diner in need of a fresh coat of paint and a good window washing sat off to the left while several rows of gas pumps were lined up on the right. Trucks, vans, campers, and SUVs filled almost every parking spot and spilled into the grassy field around the lot. Some vehicles were ancient, rusted machines that barely looked driveable while others were so fresh and high-tech they could have just been driven off a lot. Those were the vehicles you were looking for.

Stepping off the bus, you headed towards the group of four shiny new vehicles on the other end of the parking lot. On the way, your head was on a constant swivel as you took in everything around you: a middle-aged couple arguing loudly about who forgot to tie down the lawn chairs the last time they stopped, a somewhat familiar-looking man in a cowboy hat unloading a piece of equipment from his huge red truck while another long-haired man filmed him, a woman with dreadlocks fiddling with a remote control only for a large drone to drop out of the sky a moment later and land at her feet, a few children racing towards the diner with their exasperated mother trailing behind yelling at them to watch where they were going. 

It was utter chaos and you loved it already. 

As you approached the vehicles, you saw the Storm PAR logos printed on the sides and breathed a sigh of relief that after this sixth bus stop, you had finally tracked them down. You still didn’t see who you were looking for, so you walked up to a man with dark curly hair wearing a white button-down Storm PAR shirt who was currently crouched down examining a weird solar panel-looking piece of equipment set up next to one of the vans. As you cleared your throat, he looked up from the machine and blinked, as if he was shocked to see someone standing there despite the crowds of people around him. Glancing around, he asked, “Um…can I help you?”

You guess you shouldn’t be too surprised by his reaction. In your cut-off shorts, boots, and halter top, you looked like you should be hanging out one of the trucks you passed when you first got off the bus, not the polished, company polo shirt-wearing tech heads milling around the Storm PAR vehicles. And you didn’t even want to know what your hair and makeup looked like after four hours on that poorly air-conditioned packed bus. 

So, instead of taking offense at this guy’s slightly dismissive tone, you smiled as you adjusted the backpack on your shoulder. “Hi. I’m looking for Scott.”

The man glanced over his shoulder but made no move to stand up. “He’s here but he’s in the middle of some data calculations. Can I help you with something?”

“Not really. I had time off college and he mentioned you guys were having a really active season so I figured why not come out and see all this in action.” The man was still looking at you like he couldn’t understand why you were talking to him and you suddenly realized you hadn’t explained the most important detail. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I should have mentioned, Scotty’s my older brother.”

Instantly, the man’s demeanor shifted and a huge toothy smile spread across his face. “Oh! You should have led with that. Nice to meet you.”

Rising to his feet, he stuck out his hand and you shook it, officially introducing yourself. When he said his name was Javi Rivera and it was your turn for things to click into place. “Javi! You’re Scotty’s business partner, right? He’s told me about you.”

Javi let your hand drop and his eyes shifted towards his equipment once more. “Really? Well, um, you know, I’ve, uh, heard great things about you too.”

You grinned, grabbing onto the straps of your backpack. “Scotty never even mentioned he had a sister, did he?” Javi gave a slight shrug, still not looking directly at you and you laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Never wants to get personal, everything’s about business with him. To be honest, I don’t see or hear from him that much which is just another reason I figured I’d come surprise him when I had the chance. Plus, I read some research Scotty left lying around last time he came home and it was really interesting. I’m excited to be able to see what you guys do firsthand.” 

“Well, I’m sure Scotty will be glad to see you. Let me go grab him.”

Javi turned and disappeared into one of the vans. A moment later, he returned with your brother following closely behind. “Javi, I was in the middle of some important calculations. Why did I have to–” Scott stumbled to a stop as he saw you standing there.

Since he was a teenager, Scott had mastered the art of keeping his emotions hidden. He could be fuming mad, joyously happy, or heartbrokenly sad, and in each case keep the same perfect mask on his face. However, you knew his one tell. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his eyes. And right now, you could practically see flames burning within them. 

For the first time, you wondered if coming to see him had been such a good idea. Shifting from one foot to the other, you tried to force a smile as you half-heartedly held out your arms. “Surprise.”

Scott remained rooted to the spot, his only movement the constant forceful chewing of his gum. Javi glanced back and forth between the two of you, the smile slowly draining from his face. Hesitantly, he explained, “She said she was your sister so I figured…”

A cultivated smile spread across Scott’s lips but it didn’t reach his eyes as they continued to burn into yours. “No, it’s all good. I’m just surprised to see her.” Without breaking eye contact, he held his tablet out to Javi who took it from him. “Give me a few minutes to talk to her and then I’ll get back to those numbers.”

Javi started to protest, assuring him there was no rush and he could take his time, but Scott had already closed the distance between you. Grabbing your arm tightly to the point of slight painfulness, he guided you past the rest of the Storm PAR vehicles and into the empty field. 

Once you were far enough away that you knew none of his co-workers could hear you, you wrenched your arm from his grasp, snapping, “Get off of me!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, his mask finally slipping as his nostrils flared and lips curled into a snarl.

“Well, hello to you too!” You examined your arm where he had grabbed you, massaging it gently. “Can’t a girl come visit her big brother?”

“Not when she wasn’t invited or even asked if she could come beforehand! What were you thinking? This isn’t one of your wild party vacations. This is my job!”

“I know that. I wasn’t expecting you to drop everything and take me sightseeing. I just thought I could hang around and watch you guys in action. I’ve read some of the research you left at Christmas and I was hoping maybe I could learn a little more about it.”

Scott shook his head, his hands on his hips. “This is our busiest time of the season. I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“What do you think I am? Eight? I don’t need you to babysit me. I told you, I’m interested in what you do and thought I could just hang around and see how it all works.” You shrugged, “Maybe you could even take me on a chase or two.”

“Hell no. I won’t have you getting scared and causing us to have to turn around in the middle of a storm run. Javi and I have worked too hard to get this company to where it is and I’m not going to let you ruin that because, on a whim, you thought it would be fun to see a storm.” Scott scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “It’s so typical of you to still think that just because you want something or because Mom and Dad will pay for it, everyone else will bend over backward to accommodate you. Well, I don’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore.”

You took several deep breaths and tried to keep your anger in check. This was not at all how you thought this would go, but lashing out right now would only make things worse. So, in a calm, steady voice, you tried to shift approaches. “Scotty, we haven’t spent any real time together since you left for MIT. And back then…I’m not proud of the person I was and I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. But I was a kid who didn’t know any better! I’ve grown up since you left. And this trip isn’t just something I thought would be fun to do ‘on a whim’. I worked hard to save up the money to come here because I wanted to see you and spend time with you—however little time you may be able to work into your schedule. And I promise I won’t get scared or make you stop your chase. If I don’t like it, I’ll suck it up until it’s over then not ask to go again.” Taking a step forward, you gently placed your hand on his arm and gave him a timid smile. “Let me show you who I am now…how much I’ve changed. Please, Scotty.”

But Scott yanked his arm away and took a step back. “I don’t care where you go, but you need to stay away from me and Storm PAR. Now, I have work to do.” He took one last look at you, and, for just a moment, you thought maybe he felt bad for what he said and was reconsidering things. But then, he blew a small bubble with his gum and popped it loudly in your face. You jumped slightly, the sound sharp and startling, before glaring at him. He had been doing that since you were kids and he knew how much you absolutely despised it. Shooting you one last smug smirk, Scott turned and walked off towards the cluster of Storm PAR vehicles. 

You turned to look out into the open field, lip quivering, as you fought against the tears that were burning your eyes. Things between you and Scott had been pretty bad when he left for college, but you hadn’t realized he still really thought so poorly of you. The last few holidays or family events he had been forced to come to, things seemed to be getting a little better. You thought that maybe you had reached a turning point in your relationship. But now it was clear you had been very wrong.

Looking back at the diner and overflow of vehicles, you wondered what you should do now. You had no idea when the next bus came by or how to get a ticket home or if there was a motel nearby you could stay in for the night or how you would even get there if there was or what you would do in the morning or—

UGH! The longer you stared at the Storm PAR logo on the side of the van Scott had disappeared into, the less hurt you felt. Instead, the pain began to shift into outrage. How dare Scott treat you like this? You had spent a lot of money and wasted two weeks of your summer vacation to take this trip to see him. You knew it would involve listening to him drone on about numbers and graphs you could barely comprehend for most of the time, but you were willing to smile, nod, and seem interested to show you cared about what he did. But no! He didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself or prove that you weren’t here to interfere with his work. He had just torn you down before turning his back on you and walking away. That asshole!

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky and you realized standing here fuming about Scott wasn’t going to help your situation. You could do that once you found a bus schedule or a place to stay for the night. However, as you stormed back through the parking lot, something caught your eye. 

When you had come through the first time and passed the familiar-looking man and the long-haired guy with the camera, you had only seen their truck from behind. But now that you were looking at the front, you noticed the distinctive metal logo attached to the front of the truck’s grille: a tornado with horns jutting out the top of the vortex. And you realized why the man in the cowboy hat looked familiar. 

Scott might not talk to you very often, but during the instances that he had, you had heard plenty of complaints about Tyler Owens and his group of Tornado Wranglers. Everything they did was the complete opposite of how Storm PAR operated and it drove Scott crazy that while he was out there doing the “real work”, this group of amateur YouTube chasers were the ones getting all the attention and acclaim when all they were really doing was getting in Storm PAR’s way. 

And Scott seemed to have another level of hatred for Owens himself.    

Out of curiosity, you had looked up the Wranglers’ YouTube channel and found it pretty entertaining. While Scott viewed every aspect of his work with complete seriousness and professionalism, these guys tackled the same work like they were having the time of their lives. They were still informative, explaining to their viewers how tornadoes formed and the types of destruction they can cause, but they would then drive straight into the center of a funnel or take chat requests of crazy things to do in the storm. It honestly seemed like a great way to get people excited about learning about tornadoes while also keeping them entertained. And it seemed like their nearly 850,000 followers would agree. No wonder Scott hated them so much. 

Suddenly, you had an idea—the perfect little act of revenge.

Changing directions, you made your way over to Owens’s truck. You could see he was now alone, tinkering with the equipment attached to the bed of his truck. He had traded his white cowboy hat for a faded backward cap and had pushed his sleeves up above his elbows as he worked, his sun-bronzed skin on full display in the dying light.

Though you had only watched a handful of the Tornado Wranglers’ videos, you had a pretty good idea of the kind of man Tyler Owens was and how you could persuade him to help you. After all, these narcissistic, jacked-up truck-driving, overcompensating pretty boys were all the same. The kind who had been fawned and swooned over their entire adult lives just because they flashed a charming smile or a playful wink in the right direction. However, with just a little stroking of their ego or a bat of your eyes, they could become putty in your hands. All you had to do was introduce yourself.

Reaching the side of the truck, you tucked your hands into your back pockets so it thrust your chest forward and, biting your lip, called out coyly, “Hey there, cowboy.”

Owens glanced up, a curious smile curling across his lips as he saw you, his eyes traveling from your head to boot and back up. “Well, hello there.”

Giggling softly as you placed your hand on the side railing, you asked in a sing-songy voice, “You’re Tyler, right? The big...bad…tornado wrangler?” With each word, you walked your fingers across the railing, your eyes locked on his.

He leaned back, wiped his hands on his jeans, and said, “I might be. Depends on who’s asking.” He was still looking at you but his smile had slipped slightly and you realized you might not have grabbed his attention as well as you thought.

Placing both hands on the railing now, you pushed yourself up slightly, your chest pressed together, and you looked up at him from under your lashes. “What if I’m asking?”

Owens stared at you for a long moment, his eyes still examining you thoughtfully, though you were shocked to see they stayed locked on your face and didn’t dip down to your breast like you had expected. Then, finally, he said, “You seem like a nice girl, sweetheart, but I don't think I'm what you're looking for. Good luck though.” He gave you a kind, yet dismissive nod, and went back to whatever he had been working on.

Your jaw dropped, lips moving silently as you tried to figure out what just happened. This kind of thing always worked on guys like him in the past. Show a little skin, stroke their egos a little, and they would be wrapped around your finger in no time. But he hadn’t even given your act more than a passing glance. t was possible you weren’t his type or maybe he was in a committed relationship, but neither of those things had exactly deterred guys in the past. 

You turned around—properly dismissed—and were just about to walk away when another thought crossed your mind. What if…what if you had misjudged him? What if he wasn’t the kind of guy you assumed he was? From what you had seen in his videos, he was cocky and overconfident and a huge flirt, but what if that was all for the cameras? During your very brief interaction, he seemed polite and respectful even as you tried to throw yourself at him, something no other guy had ever done in that situation. 

Maybe you had gone about this all wrong. Maybe you needed a different approach. A more honest one…

You hurried around the other side of the truck so you were in front of him once more. Dropping all the over-the-top flirtatiousness from your voice, you said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I thought…it doesn’t matter what I thought, but the point is I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve had a really shitty day and approached this situation all wrong.”

Owens didn’t raise his head, but his eyes drifted back in your direction. Feeling like he was offering you a chance, you explained, “Listen, the deal is I came here to surprise my brother with a visit, and as soon as he saw me, he told me he doesn’t want me here and I should fuck off out of his way.”

That got his attention. Looking up, his brow furrowed, Owens asked, “Your brother said that to you?”

You rolled your eyes and hit the heel of your palm against the side of the truck. “Well, not in those exact words but the sentiment was there. The point is, he told me he didn’t care where I went as long as I left him and his team alone. So, I plan on respecting his wishes…and wondered if I could hang out with your team instead.”

“Well–” He leaned back, clearly not interested in your request, but you cut him off before he could turn you down.

“Please! It’ll just be for a day or two. I promise not to get in the way or mess with any of your work. I just know he has a problem with you guys and seeing me with you will drive him insane.” 

Putting down the wrench he was holding, Owens shook his head. “Back up…who are we talking about now? Who’s your brother?”

You realized you needed to get better at introducing people into a conversation before jumping right in. “Scott? He works for Storm PAR?” He hesitated so you sighed and turned towards the other group of storm chasers at the other end of the lot. With one hand on your hip, you pointed lazily with the other, “The surly tall one who never takes off his stupid baseball cap?”

Instantly, Owens straightened up and you knew you had piqued his interest. Chuckling, he asked, “Wait, so you’re telling me Mr. Clipboard and Chewing Gum is your brother?” You nodded. “And you want my help messing with him?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up. So, will you do it?”

The cowboy leaned over the side of the truck and gave you a wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve come to the right place.”

Part 2 coming 8/19!

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[callsign-cacti]

Bet on it (P1)

Finn x F.Reader 5.3k words

Summary: A missed meeting, a drugstore bag with a fake pregnancy test, a forgetful Kenny Roper, and intimate knowledge about a bet made by the STU baseball team. What could go wrong?

Rating: Mature: drug use, drinking, future chapters will be 18+.

Warnings: Mentions of faking a pregnancy for a prank/ revenge. If this triggers you, please don't read!

You had made it a point to never step foot in either of the South Texas University Baseball houses. For any reason, be it for work or, other recreational purposes. However, here you stand, hand seconds away from banging on the front door of the house.

The neighbors probably thought that you were yet another scorned lover, come to beg for yet another piece of the baseball boys. Yet that couldn't be any farther from the truth.

Taking a moment, you recall all the anger from early as you had sat in the library, waiting for Kenny Roper to show up. And he never did.

As the minutes turned into an hour, and your anger continued to grow with the passage of time, you became more and more sure that today was the day. You had been holding onto this little nugget of information for when one of them truly pissed you off, and you knew that the bunch of idiots, would in fact, do something dumb enough to warrant this.

Kenny Roper was just the poor soul that pushed you over the edge.

So you felt no remorse as you banged on the door, not hesitating to throw it open, as you knew the dumbasses never locked it. You bit your lip as some of the boys yelped, all turning to see who was storming in. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you were assaulted with the stench of stale beer, weed, burnt food and B.O.

Wrinkling your nose, you scanned the room, taking in about half the team lounged about the living room. And then you found Roper, tucked behind McReynolds. Looks like he wasn't so dumb after all, if he immediately knew that you were here for him.

Finn recovered first, "Well look who it is, I thought you had taken a solem vow to never step foot in this cursed house!"

"Shut the fuck up Finn!" You snapped, eyes never leaving Roper. "Roper, where the hell have you been?"

As Roper pales, the rest of them start snickering.

"Actually, I don't give a shit where you have been, 'cause I don't want to hear your dumbass excuse! Upstairs, now!" You barked, knowing it would be easier to compose yourself in front of Roper then it would be with half the team watching you. And lord knows you would need some composure for what you were about to pull off.

As Roper silently led you to his bedroom, passing a door with a sign that read, Fornication. Under. Consent. of King, you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Behind you, the boys began to whoop, Plumber was even dumb enough to shout, "Get it Rope!"

At that, you whirled, ripping the sign off the door and chucking it at Plums head, promptly shutting him up.

As Roper closed the door behind him, you heard shuffling coming from downstairs, the boys being as subtle as a pack of elephants in their snooping.

"I cannot believe that you didn't fucking show up Roper!" You yelled at him, beginning to pace back and forth. "I literally rearranged my whole schedule for you, and you don't even have the gall to show up! This class is quite literally the only thing that is keeping your ass off the bench!" You're screeching now, knowing that you need to be loud enough for the entire house to hear.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't show, but practice ran late, and then coach wanted to talk to me after. By the time I finished at the field, I figured that..."

"You figured what?" You bit out. No need to fake your anger for this part. You knew that the baseball boys felt entitled due to the treatment they recieved from students and professors alike, but this was on another level.

"You just figured that since you were a little late it would be okay to make me sit for an hour waiting on you? That since your on the goddamned team I would do the entire thing for you? That I would bend over backwards for you, yet again!"

"Just calm down!" He tries to placate, rising up off of his bed, hands outstreched in front of him as if you're a wounded animal that he's trying not to scare. You can practically hear the collective intake of breath from his teammates.

You're not sure if even Brumley is dumb enough to tell a woman to calm down when she's this mad.

"Calm down, you want me to fucking calm down?" You hiss at him, tone dangerously low. The realization that he is well and truly fucked washes over him, his face going pale, limbs tensing. Now he's the one taking a step back as you advance on him. Eventually, his legs hit the bed, leaving him to fall back onto it.

"How in the ever loving fuck am I supposed to calm down when I am stuck with your dumbass for the considerable future. When you can't even show up for a meeting for a class that would keep you on the team. Now that I know for sure that I can't trust you as far as I can throw you!"

Throughout your little speech, you had been gripping the bag tightly, using it as an extension of your hand as you waved it around. Now, you brought it up to your chest as you lowered your voice, Ropers eyes squinting as he tried to figure out it's contents.

"How am I supposed to calm down, when I just took this!" And with that, you fling the bag towards him. He just barely manages to catch it, holding it slightly away from his body as if it was going to bite him.

Cautiously, he opened it, squinting as he reaches down to pull it out. It's barely out of the bag before it's being dropped on the floor as if it's poisionous.

"What the hell is that" Fear has edged into his voice as he finally looks at you.

"You know exactly what it is!" Crossing your arms, you glare at him, not giving him an inch.

"But it's not mine right?"

"Well do you see anyone else in here with us dipshit?" You spat, pinching the inside of your elbow, desperatly trying to keep the laughter that was clawing it's way up your throat down.

"But, we've never... we didn't... did we?" He's reached back down to tenatively pick up the pregnancy test. He looks at you, then back at the test, then back at you, then shakes his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

"You're shitting me Roper. You mean, you don't even fucking remember sleeping with me?" Your voice is dangerously high at this point, and your hoping that it will pass as you trying not to cry instead of you trying not to laugh. In the other room, something crashed, and you heard the whisper yelling at whoever had knocked it over, but your eyes never left Roper.

“I can’t believe this!” You screeched, throwing your hands up into the air.

“How the hell am I supposed to trust you with a baby if you can’t even remember the simplest fucking thing like a meeting, or the night that you fucking impregnated me!”

And with that, you threw the door open, not at all surprised to see the guys strewn about the hallway, desperately trying to look as if they hadn't been eavesdropping, and failing miserably.

You rushed down the stairs and flew through the back door, barely holding yourself together. It was only once you were outside that you allowed the laughter to escape.

This was the part of the plan that had taken you the longest to decide on. You knew that the money would come out very quickly, but did you want to let Roper stew in what was surely a full on crisis?

As tempting as it was, you also didn't want the rumor that you were pregnant getting around, let alone with Kenny fucking Ropers baby.

So, as soon as you composed yourself, which took a couple minutes, as the look on Kenny Ropers face was not something that you would be forgetting any time soon, you let yourself back into the house, went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and popped the top of.

Unfortunalty, you wouldn't get the full amount today, as only half the team was here, but you had the time to collect, and a pocket full of blackmail material.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled your camera out, and began to head for the stairs.

Once you got within eye sight, you began taking pictures. Finn was collecting the money, McRenyolds was sitting next to Roper on the bed, who was still clutching the pregnancy test in his hand. Plum and Dale were both on the ground laughing, and Coma was pulling out his wallet and counting bills.

As Coma put the bills in Finns hand, Plum collected himself enough to pull himself up off the floor.

"I mean, really dude, how the fuck did you forget sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, especially with that much money on the line." Coma chimed in, reluctantly placing his bills in Finns hand.

"I mean,first of all, she's hot as fuck..."

You raise your camera again as you speak and began to snap away.

"Well thanks Plum!" You say, a grin spread wide across your face. Most of the heads in the room, except for Roper and Plum snap towards you, and you beam as you capture the pure fear and confusion as it flits across their faces.

Plum, bless his heart, just continues on. "I mean, you guys literally told me about this bet on the first day of practice!" And just as the guys begin to violently shush him, he connects the dots on his own, his head whipping towards you.

Once you get a picture of his face, you lower the camera, tucking it into your bag as you take another sip of your beer. They all watch as you walk across the room towards Finn, taking the money from his hand and putting the beer in it's place.

Once you make sure it's all there, you shove it into your bag, and take your beer back from Finn.

Brumley, the dumbass, is the first one to break the silence.

"I don't think your supposed to drink if your pregnant. It's bad for the baby!" He exclaimes, nodding at the beer in your hand.

Rolling your eyes, you look around the room. You can see it in there faces who has figured it out, Finn, Dale and McRenyolds being the only ones who have figured it out. The rest are still looking between you and Roper in confusion.

"I'm not pregnant dickheads!" You hiss. "I mean, you think I'd touch him with a ten foot pole? Not fucking likely!"

When you don't get a response from anyone, you take one last drink from your can before shoving it back into Finns hand.

"Well, this has been fun, Roper, I'll see you Friday for our presentation!" And with that, you head for the stairs, pausing to look back over your shoulder. "And I expect to see you with the rest of my money. I know the whole team was in on it!"

And you left as pandemonium broke out upstairs.

-

They found you the next day in the dining hall at lunch. Heather, your roommate, had literally just walked out for her class, and you remained behind, having a few more minutes before you needed to leave for class.

Opening your book, you pulled out your pens as you lifted a fry off your plate, only to have your fry snatched from your hand as you watched someone else slide your book out from in front of you.

You looked up to see Finn munching on your fry as Dale closes your book. You smirk as Roper and McRenyolds pull out chairs in front of you, and flinch as the chair Nesbit is dragging over squeals on the tile floor.

They have you completely surrounded.

"Hello boys," You smirk, picking up another fry. "Come to give me the rest of my money?" Popping the rest of the fry into your mouth, you summon a smug smirk as you lord your win over the boys.

Finn chuckles as he throws his arm around the back of your chair.

"We'll give you the money."

'Perfect," You interrupt him, holding out your hand.

"If, you tell us who squealed to you about the bet." McRenyolds finishes for him as Finn high fiving you before reaching to steal yet another one of your fries.

"Nice try, a reporter never squeals on her sources!" Batting Dales hand away as he reaches for your plate.

"Come on, you owe me!" Roper states, leaning across the table to take your drink. You scrunch your nose as he puts it back down in front of you, and reach over the table push it back towards him.

"You can have it, I have no interest in catching whatever diseases you may carry!" Beside you, both Finn and Dale chuckle, and you lean back to cross your arms so that you can effectively death glare at Roper.

"And I owe you, owe you for what exactly?" You let all traces of humor drain from your tone.

"Umm, for yesterday?" Roper offers up weakly, well aware that he just fucked up.

"Oh, I owe you for completely rearranging my schedule to fit around yours, only for you to stand me up and leave me to do all the work on a project worth thirty percent of our grade. Oh, and lets not forget about the little bet that you started with the entire baseball team about who could sleep with me first. I owe you for that?"

"Well, I didn't fucking start it... W..." McRenyolds kicked him under the table, promptly shutting him up.

"What he means to say, is that he is truly and deeply sorry, that he regrets all of his actions. And that we would all truly appreciate it if you could, just this one time, fudge your morals a little bit, and tell us who ratted on us!" Finn proclaimed, as Roper nodded along with him.

"In fact, I think we all owe her an apology!" Finn stated, a grin stretching across his face.

"Y/n, I am very, very sorry about the bet! It was very wrong of us, and we will never do it again!"

"Your damn right you won't!" You mutter rolling your eyes at Finn. Dale and McRenyolds scoff at him, as Nesbit smothers "Asskisser" in a very fake cough.

“C’mon guys, you gotta be better then that, y’all gotta butter her up. Right now, she’s fifty bucks richer and still riding the high of Ropers embarrassment!” Finn chastises.

“She already took our money!” Dale whines. “C’mon, don’t you wanna be a good friend and tell us who squealed?”

You snort at this, throwing a fry from your plate at him. He catches it and winks as he throws it into his mouth.

"It's cute that you think we're friends!"

Now, Nes chimes in. “It was obviously someone who was least likely to win that squealed!”

“So, you!” Finn says, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Guys,  it was probably someone who already graduated. Figured they would sabotage the bet because they didn’t win.” Roper adds, looking at you with suspicion.

“I mean, statistically speaking, I’m the one who would win.” Finn says, tightening his arm around you. “Right honeybunch!”

This sends the guys into an uproar so loud they don't notice your low hum.

“Why the fuck do you think you would win!”

“Bullshit”

“Shut the hell up Finn!”

“Tell him he’s wrong!”

You scoff. “As if I’d touch any of you with a 10 foot pole. I’m very content not having any STDs thank you very much!”

“I mean, look at the rest of the guys she slept with…” Finn starts, before your turning to look at him.

“Keeping tabs on me Finnegan?”

And he doesn’t even hesitate. “Course I am. Gotta see who floats your boat, so I can imitate them, and subsequently win the bet.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove him off you. “You’re all disgusting!”

And as the rest of the guys begin to protest, you snatch your book off of Dales lap, shoving it into your bag, and ignoring Finns eyes on you as you walk away.

-

Your not even the least bit surprised when Finn finds you the next day, even though your tucked away in your little corner of the library.

“Ok, I know you’re the type of person who appreciates the whole, no bullshit thing,” which Finn and the team had learned the hard way when they had all attempted to flirt with you on your first team interview after a game last year.

Your response, listing off all of the simple mistakes they had made, and insinuating that they were all very, very small because of those dumbass mistakes.

That was the night the bet was born.

“So I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’re a liar. A hypocrite, if the shoe fits.” You narrow your eyes as he finishes his statement with a flourish, bringing that stupid pipe to his lips. Leaning forward, you snatch it from his hands, throwing it down onto the table.

“You can’t smoke in the fucking library dipshit. And also, how dare you call me a liar. You don't know jack shit."

“But you don’t deny being one?” Finn was smart, you would give him that. It was a damn shame that he wasted it all on beer, baseball and pussy.

“And why would I lie Finn? Isn’t being with one of the baseball boys the goal? From what I’ve heard, I’m supposed to shout it from the rooftops, maybe even get it tattooed on my forehead. I slept with one of the baseball boys!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s way too long to fit on your forehead. It would probably be better on your lower back, you know, like a tramp stamp!”He grins as he says it, leaning back into his chair, propping his feet up on the table, and crossing his arms behind his head. You try to ignore the way it makes his biceps look, and you definitely don’t notice the way it makes the veins on his forearms stand out.

“Did you come here for a reason Finn, or do you just find enjoyment in bugging me?" You snap at him, looking back down at your paper.

“Well, I clearly came for the pleasure of your company! And also, to… sate my curiosity, if you will.”

“Well, you asked your question, and I gave you an answer, now you can leave me alone so I can work on my paper!” It was a clear dismissal, but he didn’t move a fucking inch, continuing to stare. You kept your eyes on the paper, your hand moving to write down shitty sentences out of pure spite. You were definitely going to have to rewrite part of this paper.

“You know, I can go away real easy for the low price of just two words, a name is all it takes sweetheart!”

“I told you Finn, I have never slept with anyone on the baseball team, ever. Now leave me alone!”

“See sweetheart, the thing is I don’t believe you when you say that. You hesitated for too long yesterday, and quite frankly, we are all good looking guys. Well… most of us. And you cannot tell me that watching us play doesn’t get you all hot and bothered!”

“I have literally never been less turned on then I am when I am watching y’alls games.” You deadpanned. Which was a lie of course. He wasn’t wrong. The team had some very good looking guys, and those pants did wonders for their asses.

“Sweetheart, please, you can’t bullshit the bullshitter!” Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to your work, hoping that maybe if you stopped giving him your attention, then he would go away. He was silent for a few seconds, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand, only for him to pull out the chair your bag was in, drop it to the floor, and seat himself.

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way…”

“Shut the fuck up Finn, we aren’t in one of your stupid spy thrillers!”

“Please!” He begs, so loud that a few other students turn to look your way. The attention doesn’t seem to phase Finn, although you should have known that it wouldn’t. If anything the new eyes just egg him on.

“Why do you even want to know so bad huh? The bets over, no one won, it doesn’t matter!” You spat.

 A part of you debated on just telling him. He was as hard headed as you were, and the likelihood of him giving up was slim to none. There was always the option of just giving him the name of one of the seniors that had graduated, no harm no foul, but this was also Finn. If he found out that you had lied, then it was just going to make things worse.

You could revisit the idea of telling their coach. The probability of any of the players getting benched was slim to none, but you did have a little bit of pull, as you were the one writing half the articles the scouts were reading. You would never actually write untrue things about the guys and their game, for several reasons, but they didn’t need to know that.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by Finns snapping by your ears, flinching at the loud sound.

“How am I supposed to make my argument if you’re not even listening to me?” He pouted, leaning back in his seat once he was sure he had your attention.

“I don’t know Finn, maybe you could take the goddamned hint and leave me alone so I could get some work done?”

“I’m just saying, you had to find out from someone, and the team has been sworn to secrecy to never tell! The only thing I can think of was if someone was pussy..." He trailed off, remembering who he was talking too as he snapped his mouth shut.

“So you just wanna know who blabbed. This has nothing to do with me?” You innocently ask, batting your eyelids at him.

“Mm, exactly. See, you’re a smart girl, I knew you would…”

You lean forward, gesturing for him to come closer. Trailing your hand up his arm before cupping it around his ear as you leaned in to whisper a name.

"Walt Finnegan."

And that shuts him right up, allowing you to quickly shuffle your papers together and gather your bag, leaving a shocked Walt Finnegan left behind.

-

After Finn found you that morning in the library, Dale cornered you as you were coming out of class, demanding to know who told you. Then it was McRenyolds, who had shoved a girl off of him, before marching up to you, spouting some bullshit about the sancitity of secret keeping on the team, and how, as captain, he needed to know and some other crap.

The next day, you saw Nez coming out of the cafeteria, and you had to put up with his badgering the entire fifteen minute walk to class. The class that you shared with Coma. And you might as well have skipped it, seeing as you spent the entirety of the fifty five minutes shoving the notes from him off of your desk.

After class, you met up with Heather on the green, practically collapsing onto the blanket she had laid out.

"Rough day?" She asked, a smirk fully gracing her face as she took in her misery.

"Their tenacity is surprising. They have been bugging me all day!" You whine. "It almost makes it not worth it. Almost!"

After you explain your day to her, the two of you lay on the green in silence for a few minutes, before she begins packing up. She still has one more class to attend before she's released for the weekend. Once you confirm your plans for later, she is off.

Flopping back down onto the blanket, you pull out your book, letting out a content sigh.

It’s the first time in days that you aren’t doing homework, or writing articles, or being assaulted by the entire baseball team, or stressing about all three. Your laid out in one of your favorite corners of the green, sun shining down on you as you open your book.

You get five minutes of peace and quiet before Finn sits down next to you, effectively ruining your alone time.

“No!” You shout, the frustration in your tone clear. “No, not right now Finn. This is the first time in days where I haven’t been busy. I've been alone for like, five freaking minutes and…”

"Well, I could give you some peace and quiet if you just tell me the truth!" He says, that signature shit eating smile of his firmly in place. When you stay quiet, he nods. "That's what I thought!"

And then he surprises you, shifting so his back is against the tree next to your blanket, and lifts your legs, pulling them onto his lap. Without another glance at you, he pulls out his own book before opening it to the dog eared page.

Quickly, you snatch your legs back, moving to nail him in the leg, but he's faster then you, wrapping your ankle in a steel grip.

"Ah ah ah, you want peace and quiet don't you?" Then he's gently placing your legs back in his lap.

You gape at him, not quite comprehending what was happening, or what angle he was trying to play. But his focus never strayed from the page.

Now you were torn, if you said something, he would probably start in on you, and you were too tired to really fight him on this today.

Maybe you should just leave it alone, and not look a gift horse in the mouth. You really didn’t want to get up and go inside, and if he was being quiet, then who were you to protest. It also didn’t hurt that he looked really, really good with his dumb fluffy hair and stupid tight shirt that strained across his biceps.

Your decision was made for you as his hand begins sliding up your calf, kneading at the muscles there. You're barely able to catch the moan that threatens to escape.

Suddenly, your assaulted with visions of running your hands through that hair, finding out if it was really as soft as it had always looked invaded your mind, nails raking down that toned back…

“I can feel your staring!” He teased, breaking you out of your trance, and made you snap your attention back down to your book in an attempt to hide the blush that heated your face.

And you tried to focus on your book, you really did. Finn didn’t seem to have any problems paying attention to his. At least, that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to explain why his hand was crawling up your leg. His fingers moving higher as the patterns he was tracing got larger.

Yes, that was it. He was just distracted, and he didn’t realize what he was doing. And he also didn’t realize that you were making absolutely no effort to stop him.

But when you looked up from your book, you found his eyes on yours, a smug smile plastered on his face as he trailed his fingers dangerously high on your inner thigh.

“So, we’ve slept together huh?”

You hum, refusing to break eye contact with him. “Shame you don’t remember, although, with your performance, I’m not surprised you blocked it out.” You had fully intended for the comment to be biting enough to get him to back off. However, your voice came out unexpectedly breathy, undercutting the snark of your words.

A smirk grows on his face as he shifts his weight, bringing his face closer to yours so that he’s whispering right in your ear, his fingers dangerously high close to where your thighs meet.

“I know that’s a lie sweets. You wanna know how I know it’s a lie?”

You know you should push him off you. Finn was a fuck boy, and more then that, right now he was motivated, not to sleep with you, but to get some answers. But instead, you found yourself nodding, the sensible part of your brain having left the second his fingers made contact with you.

“There’s a few reasons. One, you could quite literally cut the tension between us with a knife, but somehow, your managing to keep your hands off me, which means I’ve yet to work my magic on you!”

Your moving to swat Finn away, the moment ruined by the return of Walt FInnegan to his natural state, a cocky asshole. But one again, he's moving too fast for you to comprehend, swinging your legs off of his lap and leaning over so that he's hovering above you, faces inches away from the other.

“Besides sweets, if we fucked, there’s no way in hell I would forget that.”

And then he’s standing, brushing off his jeans and winking before walking away.

You sit in shock for a second, watching as he fades into the throngs of people milling about campus.

Finn won that round, you can admit to that. But there’s no way he’s winning the war. Gathering your things, you plot the entire way back to your room, practically throwing the door open, grinning manically when you see Heather beat you back.

“Get up! Change of plans, we’re going out tonight!”

-

I still don't get why you won't just sleep with him!" Heather whines are she puts the finishing touches on your hair. With a flourish, she spins your around to the mirror, and you smile at what you see there.

"Thanks babe, your a godsend!" She just winks at you before moving to start on her own makeup.

Your original plan had been to stay in and do a movie night, but after Finns stunt earlier, you weren't content to let him have the upper hand for long.

So now, the two of you were getting ready for the Sound Machine, knowing that was the baseball boys party of choice when they weren't throwing their own or out of town.

And, to top it all off, James, a smarmy asshole from your English class had told you he would be there tonight. Which made him the perfect unknowing accomplice in your little game with Finn.

In the back of your head, you knew that you were walking a fine line, especially with Finn. When you had chosen to play that little prank with Roper, you severely underestimated the boys need to know who had told you.

And you never thought that Finn would take this much interest in getting to the bottom of it.

Although now, you were beginning to question if you would have done anything differently.

Your snapped out of your thoughts when Heather emerges from the bathroom, still ranting about the baseball boys.

"At this point Heath, it's a principle thing. I can't go sleeping with the athletes! I would lose all my credibility. Also, I have spent the last three years of my life insulting their very manhood. It would be hypocritical of me to fold now."

"And Walt Finnegan has spent the last three years panting after your ass babes!"

"Oh has he now, is this before or after he's stuck his tongue down three quarters of this school's female population?" You spit back at her.

Walt Finnegan didn't want you. He wanted to win the bet to rub it in his friends faces. He wanted you because he felt like you were unattainable.

And most importantly, he couldn't have wanted you that bad, because he had already had you, and he had forgotten about it.

[roosterforme]

Mr. Right Now Part 7 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: There's a difference between sex and intimacy, and Jake is feeling the latter for the first time in a long time. When he tells you that it's important to make sure your partner knows what you want and need, your reaction feels like the nail in his coffin.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, adult language, oral sex, p in v intercourse, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

You weren't exactly sure what to think of the fact that Jake took the time to get out a washcloth and soak it in warm water before setting you down on the bathroom vanity and cleaning you up. He kissed you softly, nudging your knees so you'd spread your legs apart, and he gently ran the washcloth along your most intimate parts. Both of you were still naked, and even the sight of him soft while he took care of you made your heart pound.

He just took your virginity, and now he was whispering, "Take your time to get cleaned up and get dressed, Darlin'. I'm going to get you some more ice water, and then we can finish the pizza."

"Okay," you replied, unsure what else you should say. He walked out of the bathroom leaving you alone with skin that felt too hot and a nervous energy that you couldn't identify. You wished he was still touching you, so you quickly used the bathroom and dug around in his dresser drawer for a clean shirt before rushing out to the kitchen.

You felt a little sore, but it was a delicious ache that left you on the verge of smiling as soon as you saw him filling a wine glass with water in his underwear. "I'm ready for cold pizza," you announced, and he turned to take in the sight of you wearing his Texas Longhorns shirt with wide, green eyes.

Jake grunted in response as he headed your way with the wine glass in one big hand. When he dropped down onto the dining room chair he vacated earlier, he lured you over with his smirk and the sentence, "Nothing else is going to taste as good as you." Your steps faltered as you sucked in a deep breath, but he wrapped his free hand around your bare thigh. When he patted his lap, you met his eyes. "Have a seat."

You settled down as gingerly as you could on his thigh as he slid your glass of water next to the open pizza box, but your lips were already so close to his, you ended up kissing him. His thumb skimmed along your hip as he parted your lips with his own, tasting your tongue. He groaned softly, and your fingers threaded through his hair like that's where they belonged. Jake smiled against your lips.

"Alright, feed me some horrible pizza, or else I'll just keep wanting to taste you all night," he murmured.

You pulled away from him slowly and reached for one of the slices in the box. It was cold, and the cheese looked honestly not so great now, but you bit the end of the slice before holding it out for him.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," you said, licking your lips. "This is delicious."

Jake hummed as you fed him another bite from your hand. "I would eat this with you all the time." Your blood felt warmer as it pumped through your veins, and Jake leaned in to kiss your ear. "Do you want to stay over again?" 

His place was comfortable to you already, but you were in so deep. You could hardly understand how you got yourself here, having the best weekend you could remember with this man who you barely knew but for some reason were certain you could trust. 

But you took too long to answer, and as you stared at him with the half eaten slice of pizza in your hand, Jake muttered, "I can drive you home after you're done eating."

"No," you whispered. His gaze dipped down to your mouth as he frowned slightly, but you kissed him before you said, "I want to stay."

----------------------------

Jake was enjoying the nasty, cold pizza and the way you made him feel warm while you sat sideways across his lap. He was enjoying all of it too much. Just like he'd enjoyed you in bed. It was all too much, and he still wanted more.

You said you would stay over again, but what did he expect to happen tomorrow night? Especially when he could already tell he'd want even more. When he finally got you all snuggled against him in the bath earlier, you told him you had classes every morning at eight. He was going to have to drive you home at some point tomorrow, and he didn't know how to ask you if that was it. Or if there could be more.

He took another bite of the pizza from your hand and watched you nibble on the crust. You seemed contemplative, but that eager look was always there. "What's on your mind?" he asked, and you leaned against his shoulder, burying your face against his neck.

"Just reviewing the lessons in my mind," you whispered. "Making sure I don't forget anything."

Great. You were thinking about his lessons now when he just wanted to go off script. Showing you so much of himself the first time he had sex with you was probably his worst decision of all. He should have kept lesson eight simple, but instead he put himself out there, insisting he could show you more. Show you that there was a difference between fucking and intimacy. And now there was a pain in his chest. That's what he got for needing to be the best and somehow falling for you in the process.

Jake could feel your eyelashes flutter against his neck as your hand trailed down his chest to rest on his abs. You had no idea what you were doing to him, otherwise you'd definitely stop touching him like that. Or else you'd agree to never leave. 

"Is there a ninth lesson?" you asked softly.

All Jake needed was for you to always be safe and get exactly what you wanted. He tucked his fingers beneath your chin and tilted your face up so you were looking at him. "There's always another lesson," he said, kissing you softly before running his thumb along your lips. "Lesson nine: make sure you tell your wants and needs to your partner. Then everyone will be clear about the expectations."

"That makes a lot of sense," you replied, chin still resting in his palm as your fingers skimmed the top of his underwear. Your eyes were wide with innocence and something more. "So, what do you want?" you asked boldly. "What do you need?"

Jake's cock throbbed against your leg, and your lips curved into a little smirk. "Come on, Darlin'. That's not fair."

You dipped your fingers into his underwear and shifted your leg as you whispered, "What's unfair about it?"

He swallowed hard, wrapping his hand around your wrist before you could touch his erection. "This is supposed to be about you. Not me."

You moaned his name, sending his mind into a frenzy as your other hand tangled in his hair again. "I got exactly what I wanted, and somehow you also gave me something I didn't know I needed."

He closed his eyes as your lips met his neck. "This is about you first and foremost, Darlin'. Remember? It's never about the guy."

You kissed along his skin as you asked, "Even when he's as sweet as you are?" His hand left your wrist so he could cup your face, and before he knew it, you were wrapping your warm fingers around his cock. "I want to give you head if you'll let me. Or I want to at least try."

Jake's head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as he throbbed shamelessly in your hand. There was no way he could make up an excuse or lie to you, not after the day the two of you had together. "I both want and need your mouth on my cock," he groaned, already wondering if he could last long enough to enjoy it.

He stood up and hauled you over to the couch where he'd made a mess all over you earlier, prepared to do the same again now. He kissed you hard on the mouth, hand rough at the back of your neck. You whimpered in response and rubbed yourself against him. He wanted you every which way he could imagine. He wanted you to experience everything with you. But right now, you were the one pushing him down so he was sitting with his hard cock hanging out of the front of his underwear.

You looked too good in his Texas Longhorns shirt as you leaned down with your hands on his knees. "I've never done this before. Just so you're clear about your expectations."

"Jesus Christ," Jake grunted, and you sank to your knees between his spread legs as your hand slid up to wrap around his cock. He shimmied his underwear down lower on his thighs, and you looked up at him before pulling them completely off.

"But I have watched porn," you promised, letting your lips brush along his tip.

"Fuck," he growled. "Every time you say that, I lose my mind a little bit more."

You gave him a little nudge with your nose, clearly comfortable around him. "Will you tell me if it's bad? I don't want to be bad at this."

Jake held eye contact with you and slowly shook his head as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock and gave him a little swipe with your tongue like you were enjoying a lollipop. His balls tightened up knowing you'd never had another man like this. Another slow swipe of your tongue and he had to reach for your cheek and stroke your soft skin to keep himself grounded.

"It won't be bad. It couldn't be," he promised, swallowing hard. "You're smart, and frankly guys are easy to please when it comes to some pretty lips and an eager tongue."

Your lips were a little puffy from all of the kissing between the two of you, and when you pulled him free, you gave him a little pout. "But I want to be good for you." He felt dizzy again. "I want to know what you like, the same way you told me to be vocal about what I like. You've had blowjobs from probably dozens or maybe hundreds of women."

You were probably overestimating those numbers, but Jake could barely think as you grazed him with your nose again. "Darlin'," he grunted without another single thought in his head.

"Should I... take this shirt off or something?" you asked, gaze innocent even as your lips brushed along him. "You know, to turn you on more?"

Jake laughed as his head tipped back against the couch, dizzy all over again. "If I were any more turned on right now, you'd have my cum everywhere."

"Oh," you gasped, voice sounding delighted, drawing his gaze back to your pretty face. That's when you let go of him to tug his shirt over your head, discarding it on the couch next to his leg, and all he could do was stare with his mouth hanging open at how damn bold you were.

He was hard as a rock as your tits swayed while you repositioned yourself, and then your took a few inches of him. It didn't feel like you didn't know what you were doing, and he couldn't decide if that's because you were a natural or because he'd find anything you did to be a turn on. Your eyes were trained on his face as you took another inch of his cock, clearly looking for some feedback, but all he could say was, "Please, don't stop."

You made a soft sound as you took more of him, and as soon as your lips brushed his trimmed pubic hair, you gagged. Stars clouded his vision as his fingers wrapped around the discarded shirt. You gagged again and started to withdraw him, and when he was able to look at you clearly, he was panting slightly.

"Does that feel good?" you asked, mindlessly pumping his wet cock with your hand while you waited for an answer.

He nodded and said, "I'm going to finish distressingly fast. Especially given how long I was able to last in your perfect pussy."

You looked so proud of yourself as you whispered, "Tell me what you like."

As soon as your lips wrapped around him again, he placed one gentle hand at the back of your head and muttered, "I'll show you."

-------------------------------

Jake's breathing grew more ragged each time you took him deep enough to make yourself gag. And you loved the sound of his grunts and groans as much as you loved the pressure of his hand on your head and neck.

"That's it," he crooned when you sucked on him just like he had instructed. "That's it, Darlin'." His hips were rolling slightly now as you licked and sucked, absorbing everything he said and did. While he only gave you subtle instructions, it seemed like it was all designed to make you more curious. And now you desperately wanted to make him come. You wanted to taste him and feel him in your mouth at the same time.

When you needed to catch your breath, you licked around his balls, and the sound he made was one of the hottest things you'd ever heard. "You like that?"

"Uh huh," he grunted, eyes wild as you did it again. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm getting real close. Jesus Christ, your tits look good. You're fucking killing me."

You smirked, knowing taking the shirt off had been a good idea. The only problem was that you wanted to taste him, but your pussy was also wet with desire now. He did tell you to let him know what you needed and wanted, so you went for it. "Jake, my pussy is soaked," you whispered before licking a steady line back to his tip. "Will you fuck me again later?"

"For the love of god," he groaned, rubbing his free hand over his face. "I'll do anything you want. I'll fuck you all night. Anything, Darlin'."

You felt strangely powerful as you took him all the way again, reveling in the way it felt to gag on his cock. When you bobbed your head, you could feel how tight his entire body became. Like a coil ready to snap.

"I'm so fucking close," he whined as you sucked. "You don't have to swallow." You frowned up at him with your mouth full. "You want to swallow?" he asked softly, and you nodded which made him groan again. "It'll be different than when I came on you, and some women don't like the taste."

You pulled him free and said, "I already tasted you earlier. I want to feel you to cum in my mouth," before taking him deep one more time. Jake moaned your first name as his fingers tightened around the back of your neck. 

"God damn, god damn," he chanted, cheeks ruddy. "So good."

And then he came, and you tasted him. It was shocking how suddenly your mouth felt full, but he tasted as good as he did before, and you tried to swallow him quickly. But you could feel some of his cum drip down your chin as you looked up at him. 

Jake dragged his thumb through it before coaxing your lips apart. You licked it clean before he scooped up a little more and fed it to you. His breathing was calmer now as his cock softened and rested on his thigh, and you couldn't stop looking at what you'd turned him into. He was somehow relaxed and also more keyed up than ever.

"I love the way it tastes," you whispered, already feeling your face heat up at the simple admission. "I already want more." You weren't sure if it was just Jake who tasted so good that you'd happily drop to your knees at the mere suggestion of it, or if it was every man. But his next sentence had you scrambling onto his lap.

"You already sound like a cum slut."

But you knew no shame whatsoever, completely naked in his arms. "Will you cum in my mouth again? Please?"

He kissed you, swiping his tongue along yours, and you could imagine just how that tasted. Then his fingers dug into the tops of your thighs, and he pulled you up so you were standing on his couch on shaky legs with your pussy right in font of his face. "I said I'd do anything you wanted, and I meant it. But right now this is what I want to do."

Jake was being bossy, and you loved it. He guided you where he wanted you, and then his mouth was all over your pussy. Lesson nine... lesson nine... make sure your partner is clear about what you want and need. "I want to come all over your face," you gasped, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep yourself upright as his tongue traced a devilish little circle around your clit.

"You will, Darlin'."

-------------------------------

The floodgates had opened. You were just as insatiable as Jake was. It was so late now as you and he worked through the rest of that box of condoms you found in his bathroom, exploring each other in every way imaginable. Every time he even looked at you, it was with more intent than he was used to, and that was just fueling how badly he wanted you. And you welcomed his every suggestion, surprising him at every turn with some of your own.

There was a condom wrapper abandoned somewhere near the couch where you'd asked him to fuck you doggy style. The lack of eye contact didn't feel any less intimate when he had his lips pressed to your neck and ear, coaxing your orgasm from you one word at a time. 

There was another condom wrapper on the bathroom vanity where he was currently giving you a slow thrust from behind where both of you could watch each other in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed pink as you gasped his name, and his lips connected with the side of your neck. "Good girl," he whispered, praising you every time you thrust back against him. "Get what you want. Tell me what you want."

The front of his body was pressed to yours, and he was gently squeezing your breasts, enjoying the look and feel of them as his thrusts made them bounce. You grabbed his wrist, never breaking eye contact in the mirror as you dragged his hand lower and said, "Make me come."

Sex was never this simple or this complicated for him before. Being with you felt effortless. Both of you were making your expectations known, and he was enjoying every second of being in your presence. But he was already hesitant about dropping you off at your dorm. When he kissed your shoulder and dragged his fingers along your clit, he knew he needed to say something about the feeling in his chest, but he just couldn't do it. That's not why you were here.

"I think you made me good at sex," you whimpered, bracing both hands on the sink vanity as you tossed your head back and came on his cock. It was beautiful. All of it. He slowed his fingers as you rode out your orgasm, and his hand came to rest low on your belly. 

"There was never a single moment when you weren't," he promised, and then you were kissing him over your shoulder. It wasn't just sex either, because now he couldn't wait to get you cleaned up and take you to his bed for the rest of the night. And that thought was enough to make him come inside you for what felt like the hundredth time today.

He was exhausted. Wrung out. He had nothing left to give you physically at the moment, but as if by instinct, you turned around in his arms to face him as soon as he was done grunting your name, and you tossed your arms around his neck. He kept you caged in there between his body and the sink in his dimly lit bathroom while you gave him the sweetest kisses, bodies slick with sweat. Neither of you said a word for a long time, even as the kisses tapered off so your cheek was simply resting on his chest, and he traced soft shapes along your hip. He felt you yawn, and he had to fight the urge to as well as he finally forced himself to take a step away from you.

"It's late, Darlin'. Let me get you cleaned up," he whispered as he removed the condom, not bothering to find the wrapper to join it in the trash can. He reached for a clean washcloth, and you let him take care of you while you yawned again, and then the two of you brushed your teeth side by side before he took your hand.

The window was still cracked from last night when you had asked if he could hear the ocean in his room, and he pushed it open a little further as you climbed into his bed like you belonged there. He was going to be completely unable to separate his feelings from the physical acts between you and him this weekend, but he tucked himself in behind you anyway. Once again fell asleep to the sounds of your soft breathing and the waves crashing in the distance. 

-----------------------------

I love them, but they are so oblivious about what the other one is feeling. Darlin', there's a reason you're so comfortable around Jake. Jake, there's a reason you can't get enough of her. Just a few more chapters left. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[roosterforme]

Mr. Right Now Part 6 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: When Jake makes a promise, you know he'll see it through. You're not even nervous as he spreads you out on his bed like you're something to be savored. He hasn't disappointed you yet, and you're beginning to think he's starting to feel the same way you do... like you don't want the weekend to end.

Warnings: angst, fluff, adult language, oral sex, p in v intercourse, 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

When Jake promised to take care of everything before his lips pressed against yours like they belonged there, you knew you had nothing to worry about. His hands were a little rough, but his touch was gentle. Even as he dipped his fingers inside the elastic of his boxer briefs that you'd been wearing around his place all day, he was firm but never demanding.

You had a brief flash of understanding in your mind. It would never be quite like this again. It would never feel as good. He was being so domineering, making sure you learned all of the lessons he had to teach, because he could back it up by being not only skillful but also sweet. He wanted you to have everything you needed.

"Jake," you gasped, his heavy knuckles running along your body as you reached for him, willing him to stay close. His green eyes were almost too pretty in the dim light of his bedroom, and you let the soft strands of his hair slip through your fingers while he caressed you everywhere.

He held eye contact with you as he started to pull the fabric down your hips. When you nodded, the boxer briefs ended up on the floor, and not for the first time, you were bare before him. Too innocent. Too unsophisticated. But his hands already knew every inch of your body, and you could feel how hard he was for you in spite of everything. Jake kissed along your neck and collarbones down to your breasts, and you arched off the bed as his big hand smoothed down your belly until he was barely touching your pussy.

"It feels so good," you gasped, rolling your hips up for more as his fingers ghosted along.

"Don't rush it," he murmured. "Please, don't rush it." He eased you back down with his hand on your hip, thumb drawing a little shape that felt like a heart on your side. You almost said something, but his lips were working their magic on your breasts again while he stroked up and down your slit with one sure finger. 

It was all designed to make you lose your mind. It had to be. He knew everything you liked, and he was the only man who had ever given it to you. He was making it all about you.

But you knew better by now. You really did. He was just getting started with the foreplay. The best part. But you felt like the entire weekend up to this point qualified as foreplay, and you were convinced you were going to ignite with desire for this man. His lips wrapped around your nipple just like last night, and the pull of need low in your belly had you moaning his name.

He smiled against your furled nipple. "It sounds so good when you say it."

"Jake," you whispered, drawing it out the way he was drawing out everything you were feeling. Even his breath on your damp skin felt like too much, and as soon as he met your eyes again, his lips were on yours.

His kisses were a little wilder now. More intense. He was all tongue and teeth and the scrape of facial hair. You never wanted this to stop.

"Fuck," you grunted, tugging on his hair to try to keep yourself grounded as that one sure finger dipped further into your slit before circling your clit slowly. "I want it so bad. Am I supposed to be nervous? Because I'm not. I'm so horny, Jake, I feel like I'm going to die."

You didn't even let him respond before you wrapped your calf around his thigh, needing to feel his full weight on top of you. He was delicious, all muscular and in charge, but he followed your lead and let you feel him.

"Darlin', I'm trying my best here, but you're not helping," he gasped, pressing his cock to your wet pussy through his gym shorts. He was breathing deep, and there was a beautiful vein in his neck that you couldn't help but kiss. 

"I want it so bad," you repeated, your lips brushing his skin as you reached down to yank him free from the last of his clothing. But in an instant, he caught both of your wrists in his hands and pressed them to the bedding above your head.

The rapid rise and fall of your breasts had your nipples brushing his chest hair, and you clenched around nothing as he kissed your ear and whispered your name. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat that reminded you of his voice first thing in the morning when it was rough from sleep, and you decided you could listen to him like this all night long. 

His hands tightened a bit around your wrists as he whispered, "We're at a bit of a crossroads here, Darlin'. Lesson number eight could be one of two things. But I don't think I can make it both."

Confused, you looked up into those beautiful eyes and whispered, "What do you mean?" You knew he wasn't going to leave you hanging, but it was taking everything inside you not to grind yourself against him for some relief right now. Then he looked at you with a little smile that made your heart skip around before he kissed you softly.

Everything felt a little fuzzy and he let his lips skim down to your chin before he said, "We could have sex. I could fuck you." He kissed your neck as you tipped your head back for more. "Try my best to make it real good. Make sure I don't hurt you. Go slow when you want me to and faster if that's what you like. I could make sure you come. And I'd do it happily."

"God, yes," you whined. "Yes. Yes."

"Or," he whispered, voice shaking a bit as his lips met your earlobe. "Or, it could be something more."

His words made sense, but they didn't. "More?" you asked, brushing your fingers along his hair. "How could there be more than you rocking my world right now?"

He huffed out a laugh. "There's more to intimacy than fucking."

Your fingers slowed as you ran your foot down his calf. He was right. There was more to it. But you didn't end up here because you were looking for intimacy. You had the desire to lose your virginity, and Jake begrudgingly offered to help you. But... somewhere along the way you ate pizza and took a bath and snuggled and spent the night. All of the sex in the world wouldn't be able to replace those things, and you knew it. There was a reason you weren't nervous around Jake. He made sure you knew you could trust him before he got you to this point.

You tugged gently on his hair until he was looking at you. His cheeks were pink, and he had a hesitant look in his eyes, but you smiled. You ran your thumb along his lips and whispered, "Show me."

He blinked a few times. "Yeah?"

"Show me everything."

--------------------------

Offering up even more of himself was the worst decision he could have made, but when it came to you, Jake was a mess. You wanted him to show you everything? He was tripping over himself for the chance to teach you that sex was better when intimacy was involved, but even he didn't have much experience with that. At least not recently. 

But he could already feel around the edges of his brain and his heart that you were different. Better for him than anyone else. Someone who would keep him on his toes and make him want to improve. Someone who took him seriously where it mattered and let him just be comfortable in your presence.

Your virginity wasn't a trophy, but he wanted it all for himself anyway. It wasn't something he would ever gloat about, but in the back recesses of his mind, he'd always know he was your first. He planned on being the best, but to be your only would be impossible. Especially when that was never what you asked him for.

There were words on his lips that he knew he couldn't say. He couldn't ask you to stay with him. All he could do was show you how much he wished you would. He would taste you and fuck you and give you an orgasm, but he was also going to indulge himself in the first woman in ages who made him feel something.

"I'll show you," he promised, kissing your lips and your neck. He stroked your breasts with his thumbs, coaxing little sounds from you as he nipped his way along your soft skin.

You were aroused, and he could smell you. It made his mouth water. You were wet and sweet, and as soon as he indulged, you relaxed for him. "You love this," he mused between long, languide swipes of his tongue through your pussy.

"I love it," you moaned, spreading your legs a little wider. You were so eager for him, just dripping with need.

Jake kissed your thigh and met your gaze. "After just twenty-four hours of me eating your pussy, you're addicted." You whimpered. "It's okay, Darlin'. I think I'm addicted to you, too."

He savored you. Lapped you up and devoured you as you just got wetter. He hoped his bed smelled like you after this. The whole room, even. Every time he closed his lips around your clit, you grabbed at his hair and whined.

"Show me. Show me more."

He didn't have a choice. You were about to see every bit of his feelings where you were concerned. Making you feel good was quickly becoming one of his favorite things, and soon your legs were shaking. Nobody else had ever done that to you besides him. He reveled in it.

Edging you wasn't something he set out to do, but no matter how slow he went, you seemed to be right on the cusp. And he'd be damned if you came before he had his cock in your sweet pussy. Even when he pulled his face away from you, kissing your clit and your belly, you shook with need. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, and your leg hitched around his thigh, coaxing him up your body until his mouth was on yours once more.

He could tell you loved the way you tasted, and it was all over his face right now. It was obscene the way you reacted to him. There was no hesitation in you as you licked his chin, and now he was yanking his cock free of his shorts so he could feel your warm pussy resting against him.

"Oh my god," you whimpered. "Lesson number eight. Please, Jake."

He kissed you hard until you were shaking again, eyes filled with desire and trust. His voice came out raspy when he pressed his lips to your ear. "Let me love every inch of you."

------------------------------

You couldn't remember all of the lessons. You could barely even recall your own name. If you were anything more finite than a pile of lust on Jake's bed, then that was news to you. You watched him pull his body away from yours, and you instantly wanted it back. But he slipped out of his gym shorts, and then he was naked from head to toe. His cock was thick in his palm, and you tried to sit up as far as you could, but you only got to your elbows.

He kissed your bent knee and muttered, "Let me grab the condoms," before trailing his hand down your calf.

You made some sort of sound in agreement and watched him walk into the bathroom. That half empty box of extra large condoms was yours now. You wanted to use them all up so Jake would have to go to the store and think about you the next time he slept with one of his tag chasers. The idea of another woman in his bed knocked the air from your lungs, and you sat up abruptly.

There he stood, framed in the doorway, box in hand. The delicate light barely touched his face, but he was so handsome, and you had already memorized everything. You'd never forget what he looked like.

"You're beautiful," he said, voice piercing the silence, making your heart pound. He didn't need to say it. There was no pretense of anything other than sex happening in the next few minutes. So he must have meant it.

"Come back," you whispered, and he walked right to you. 

The box ended up on his nightstand, but he had one condom in his hand. Jake kissed your forehead before lounging back on the pillows and reaching for your hand. "Remember, always use a condom. Don't let guys cut corners." His green eyes were bright and attentive. "Got it?" When you nodded, he opened the wrapper and said, "I'll show you how to put it on."

He guided his hands along with yours over his hard length, and even now he was taking his time, doing everything right. When the condom was secure, you stroked his balls and watched his head tip back against the pillow. He reached for your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist while your body thrummed with need. You didn't just want him, you needed him.

"You gotta knock that off, Darlin'," he said with a grin as he rolled you onto your back. His cheeks were tinted pink again as he braced himself over you and kissed you so gently, your body ached for more. "I need to make this good for you."

Part of you wanted to duck your face away from him, but he never hid himself from you. Sure, he'd masturbated in the bathroom, but he never tried to conceal the fact that you made him hard. And right now your body was reacting to every little brush of his chest hair on your skin. Every little tilt of his handsome face.

"I am so turned on," you whispered so softly, you could barely hear yourself over your pounding heart. "Jake."

His lips skimmed along your neck. "I'm going to love this more than I should," he murmured, gently spreading you open wider with one hand on your thigh. "You ready for me?"

The weight of his cock against your core was enough to drive you insane, and the drag of his stubble along your shoulder excited you even more. You didn't even need to ask him to be gentle, because you knew he would be. He was going to take care of everything.

"Yes."

Jake's bicep flexed as he guided himself through your slick, and then he pushed his hips forward, green eyes glued to your face. Your lips parted on a soft sound, and he paused to kiss your cheek. "I won't hurt you," he whispered, "but you need to tell me if you want me to stop."

You nodded, a jerky motion, and you felt him stretching you as he moved one inch at a time. There was some pain, but there was a lot more pleasure. "Oh my god," you gasped, reaching for his bicep while your other fingers wound through his hair. When he paused, a question flashing in his eyes, you added, "Please, don't stop."

Jake's lips were all over yours, kissing and claiming as he pushed onward, filling you until the stretch felt impossible. And then his body was resting against your clit, and you were panting into his mouth, making pleasurable little noises that you couldn't control. You were no longer a virgin.

It wasn't like you suddenly understood some deep seated secrets of the universe, but you did know the stretch of your body around Jake. You knew the sound of his groan as he filled you and kept you full. And you knew the way your fingertips tingled as he inhaled a shaky breath every time you exhaled.

"You alright, Darlin'?" he rasped, stroking his fingers along your cheek almost reverently. When you nodded in response, he kissed the side of your nose and then said, "I need to hear you say it."

You bent your leg more and let it rub against his thigh, and you rolled your hips ever so slightly, making yourself moan. Every breath you took seemed to fill your belly with an ache, a need. You gasped when your pussy tightened around him like your body was asking for more. "You feel incredible," you whispered.

He buried his face to your neck and squeezed your shoulder like he was trying to control himself. "Lesson eight... oh, fuck... lesson eight. You're in charge right now. You're ruining me."

You were still processing his words as he started to withdraw himself, and just when you were about to beg him for more, his hips pressed toward you again. Full. You felt so damn full at the end of each slow thrust as Jake kissed you, like each of his movements was designed to make a different part of your body light up with desire.

He drove himself deep once again, leaving you moaning as he whispered, "You're so fucking beautiful. My god." His gaze was darting from your lips to your eyes as you whimpered his name unintelligibly. "All this for me?"

You thought you knew, but you actually understood nothing until right now. This wasn't like the porn videos. At all. That's not how you were reacting to him, and that's not how he was treating you. This was something even better. Maybe there would be a time and a place for something wilder later on, but this... this didn't feel like just fucking. Not when his lips were as soft as his words even though you could feel the slow build of your orgasm working its way through your body.

This was perfection. You never had to fake anything with Jake. The sheen of sweat on his brow as he moved in an intoxicating rhythm made you feel like he didn't have to fake anything with you either. Maybe it would never be this good again, but you let yourself melt against his touch, determined to feel everything with him right now.

-----------------------------

Focus.

Jake watched a bead of sweat roll down the tip of his nose and land softly on your lips. When your tongue slowly swiped it away, he felt his balls tighten up. Then you kissed him, and it happened again. Damn. You were tight and lovely and he never wanted this night to end.

But he needed to focus. It was all about you and the arch of your back and the desire in your voice. It was about the way you couldn't seem to say anything except his name as he made love to you. When he planted his lips between your breasts, tasting the salt of your skin, you clenched around him, and his vision blurred.

"Wow. Holy shit. You're fucking tight."

"Sorry," you murmured, a hazy smile on your lips as he laughed.

"You got nothing to be sorry for, Darlin'. Not hurting you?"

"No," you moaned long and loud. "Feels good."

He had to clench and unclench his fist on the pillow next to your head as you dragged your fingers through his hair like the two of you had done this a million times. He wanted to do this a million more times. But this was the one that needed to count for something. 

You would probably think about him from time to time as your first, but he wanted those thoughts to be something that made you do a double take or slow your steps to a halt while you're walking. He wanted you to be distracted by the memory of him right here and right now. He wanted to know that this hazy, lovestruck look would be all over your face whenever someone started calling your name but ultimately have to try several times to get your attention.

The hold you had on him was incredible, both emotionally and physically. It was too easy to picture you here every weekend, telling him his favorite pizza toppings were stupid while you took a bath with him. He'd fill up his wine glasses with ice water until you turned twenty-one, at which point he could take you back to the Hard Deck with his arm slung over your shoulders and your real driver's license in his hand.

Your body was his undoing. He was trying not to thrust, but to no avail. He let you have a few rapid strokes, and your eyes went wide as you gasped and clung to him. "I got you," he promised, kissing the crook of your neck, trying to slow down.

But then you gasped, "I love that," and he thought he was going to lose his mind. You loved being fucked by him. In fact, you were rolling your hips up to meet his every stroke. You were needy and eager and everything he never knew would make him come completely undone. But he needed to hold himself together, because he wanted you to love it even more when he made you come on his cock.

He wrapped his hands around your hips and used his body to push your thighs a little wider. "Good girl," he crooned, kissing you gently at first and then a little rougher. Your tits bounced with each thrust as he did his best to stave off his own pleasure. "God, you're good."

The little smile on your lips was kissed away immediately, leaving you whimpering his name again. You took him stroke by stroke as he slid his thumb along your clit for some extra insurance. "Oh!" you nearly screamed, tugging on his hair until he thought he was in trouble. You were clenching him hard as he stroked you there again. "Jake!"

You seemed to like every fucking thing he was doing to you, so he rubbed sure circles around your clit before applying a little more pressure, and you arched off the bed, eyes wide. You shivered, lips quivering slightly as your legs shook where they squeezed his hips. "I'll take care of you," he promised again, letting his thumb rest gently on your clit. And that was enough. That was all it took. 

You were rubbing yourself all over him, babbling his name and kissing his face. Every time you lifted your head from his pillow, it sank back down almost immediately as you arched yourself into him. Each thrust now was grueling for him. He was sweaty and exhausted from fighting against his every base urge to go as hard as he could. Then your lips parted on the prettiest sound he ever heard as your orgasm took over.

A few seconds of your pussy milking him for everything he was worth was all he could handle. He kept one hand on your hip as he drove himself deeper, and he stroked your cheek and neck with the other. "You feel good, Darlin'? Did I make you feel good?" he asked, voice deep as you shouted his name.

"Jake, Jake!"

Yeah. You'd think about his face and his kisses in a few years when some other guy just wasn't doing quite enough. When he couldn't hit the right spots or take the time you deserved to get you to this point. And whoever that guy was, he would be missing out on the most beautiful thing that Jake got to experience.

-------------------------------

You were losing your voice, throat scratchy as you said his name for probably the thousandth time in a row. It felt like your orgasm lasted for an hour. It was that good. Jake was that good. Even as he started to move again where he had collapsed half on top of you, your leg came up to his hip to hold him in place.

"Not yet," you begged, barely able to talk now. He answered with a deep chuckle next to your ear. That was the third time you told him to stay put, but he felt too good, and you didn't want to lose this yet. "You told me I was in charge now."

His lips were on your neck as he mumbled, "Smartass." You were convinced he meant it as a compliment by now, and you smiled. "We still have to finish your disgusting, cold pizza." You giggled as he moved a few inches and ran his hand along your shoulder and up your neck until he was cupping your cheek. "I don't know about you, but I worked up an appetite."

You didn't want to tell him you were already hungry for round two in his bedroom. Surely none of the other girls were already asking for more while he was still inside them. You tried to turn your head, embarrassed by the very thought of it when he stopped you with his lips on yours.

"Let's get cleaned up," he whispered. "Then I'll try to convince you to sleep over again tonight."

-------------------------------

She wants more. He wants more. They are so hot together. They are so good together. What could possibly go wrong? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 3.0 | Jake Seresin x Reader

previous chapter | epilogue | masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, inaccurate injuries, major character death revenge, wc: 3.8k

There’s no rush to open your eyes. The ache and throb, and painful dryness of your lips brings you no respite from the way things had been before you had fallen asleep. Blacked out. Whatever you want to call it— it hadn’t helped. 

Your nose wrinkles at something offensive. Sterile and sharp smelling. Wrinkling it comes with a crunch, and sharp pain. There’s a dry feeling in your nostrils where old blood still sits. 

The smell is chemical, antiseptic. It’s so strong smelling through all of that blood and pain that it forces your eyes open. That’s worse. That hurts more. Fluorescents above you. You’re left with no choice but to squeeze them shut again— and the sudden realization that you’re not where you were before, at all.

There’s no hard, painful metal chair holding your weight. The burden of being held now falls to something much softer, so soft that it feels like you’re sinking into it like sand. It doesn’t hurt much less. 

Your legs hurt, a prickling static feeling. Your ass hurts from however long you were sitting there like that. Your back hurts, a numb and stiff feeling. You attempt to turn your head and your neck reminds you suddenly not to overlook it— a gasp tears from your mouth and makes your lungs burn almost as much as your bruised throat.

Two voices say your name at once. A chair scrapes across the ground, two sets of shoes hit the floor. People are coming. The gasp, despite your burning throat’s protests, becomes a choked whimper. 

“Don’t— Don’t touch her,” Allen. You’re dreaming again, just like you had been when you heard Jake’s voice. “Maybe we should get the doctor.” 

You try once again. The bright, blinding white stuns your sore, unadjusted eyes. You squint through it, determined as ever. Allen’s weathered face steadies and becomes more clear. His mouth hangs open, watching your bruised face start to move with recognition.

“Stay still, sweetheart, don’t move.” He’s speaking to you. He lifts his hand and reaches. His fingers extend towards you and your skin comes alive, buzzing with electricity like you’re being shocked as you tear back from his extended palm.

He winces as you cough out a choked cry, doubling over in pain from the sudden movement. 

“Doctor Owens?— Doctor Owens!” Your mother. Her voice is further away, growing in urgency. She’s barely recovered herself. She shouldn’t have come.

The monitor beside your bed beeps wildly as your heart rate kicks into another spike, and footfall echoes in the hall as people rush for your room. So many shoes hitting the ground at once that you can’t place how many of them there could possibly be.

“Don’t.” It comes out choked and horse, but loud. “Don’t touch me. Allen. Don’t— I don’t want—“

“Calm down, it’s alright,” He tries, he really tries. The footfall grows closer and you thrash as Allen’s fingers graze the curve of your shoulder. You’re just hurting yourself more. “Stop. Try to stay still, alright? — You’re — Stop. Stop!”

There’s nothing peaceful about the way you’re sent back to sleep, thrashing and crying and screaming as your IV is adjusted and filled. With everything that you’ve been through, they had warned your loved ones that recovery was going to be far from linear.

Over the course of the next two days, you wake three more times and are put back to sleep in a similar fashion. With your stitches and recovering internal injuries, they need you to be still. For now, every time you have opened your eyes has been another fight that your body just isn’t ready to take.

The fourth time comes easier than the rest. Your broken nose has started to heal by now. Under the hospital gown, your ribs are black and blue. Your lungs have stopped making that rattling sound when you inhale deeply now. Still, everything hurts.

The fluorescent lights are off. The curtains are open, the television is on. You blink heavily, your chest aches as you breathe in. 

Allen looks up at the soft rattle of your first breath in. His brows furrowed slightly, green eyes widening as he watches your eyelids blink heavily. 

“Hey…” He whispers cautiously, like he’s afraid to spook you. Your gaze settles on him, the fuzziness of the picture dissipating with each heavy blink. His face is sullen, tired. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s just me. It’s just us, you’re okay.”

Just us. The idea is more comforting than anything you’ve heard in a long time. It’s not really just the two of you, but Allen keeps that to himself. You don’t need to know the amount of security posted around this building.

You want to answer him, but your throat is dry and hoarse when you try to speak. Allen sits forwards, grabbing the underside of the chair with his good hand and pulling it closer.

“It’s alright.” His voice voice croaks. It’s not alright, but you will be. He hopes you’ll understand, when it’s time for you to learn how it all went down. 

Stubble coats his jaw and his hair is longer than he usually ever lets it grow, salt and pepper all the way through. Your fingers twitch and your arm aches as you force it slowly upward, reaching for him. Allen grazes the tips of his fingers over yours. He slides his hand slowly into your palm, and watches your eyes fill with sudden tears.

“What… happened?” You whimper.

“I’ll tell you everything once you’re feeling a little better,” He whispers, thinking back to the strict orders from your mother not to upset you. He lowers his mouth just slightly and presses his lips to your knuckles, squeezing your hand tight. “You scared the shit out of me for a second, there.”

A burning sensation behind your eyes makes you wrinkle your nose, your bottom lip trembling as your chest flares with heat. There’s real fear in his eyes. He shouldn’t even be here, he’s supposed to be retired — there’s no money in this for him.

And yet, he’s the only person at your bedside.

He’s holding your hand, and holding your gaze firmly. Letting you think it’s all okay. Your throat hurts as you swallow softly. 

There’s a news broadcast on the television to Allen’s right. The skyline buzzes, alight behind him. It plays on as he opens his mouth to speak again, he seems to have forgotten that it’s playing.

“Following the events of Thursday evening, we have received word that due to complications, a second surgery would be necessary — which is underway as we speak,” The reporter explains solemnly. She and her co-anchor are both wearing black. “The nation’s thoughts are with you, Mr. President.”

You blink at the fuzzy television screen. The picture they used of your father is from your kindergarten graduation. He’s younger there, his hair dark rather than they grey it has been growing into more recently — he’s got an arm around you, and he’s grinning proudly.

“Shit.” Allen breathes out, sitting up suddenly straight.

 The news broadcast is gone with an abrupt beat. Allen drops the remote down onto the side and scrubs a hand along his salt-and-pepper stubbled jaw, studying the ground.

Your lips flatten into a firm line, your muscles screaming as you lift your head from the pillow. 

Your gaze hardens. “Is he alive?”

Allen swallows. He gives you a small, serious nod. “Yeah. He’s upstairs, in surgery.”

The tone of his voice makes your chest ache. Serious in a way Allen rarely is.

Creeping into his office in your pyjamas. Scolding him for all the times he missed you teddy-bear tea parties. Sitting with him on the swing set in the backyard of the first house you remember. All the times you had told him you hated him as a teenager. How strongly you had meant it the last time.

Your gaze flickers back to the blank television screen, losing yourself in its sudden darkness. 

“How?” You croak out.

Allen hesitates. He presses his lips together and shakes his head softly. “I’ll explain everything when you’re feeling better.”

You turn your head, blinking heavily as you look around the sprawling hospital room. Your parents really spared no expense. Well, your mom— you guess. 

“Jake?” You ask.

“He’s here,” Allen nods solemnly. “He’s sleeping.”

And you can’t see him. It wouldn’t be good for you to see him, not until you’re feeling better.

“Is he—?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Allen sounds sure, and not in a sugar-coated way. He sounds more positive than he had about your father. “You should rest. He comes to see you in the mornings.”

Being on a ward himself, Jake’s been getting on the nurses’ nerves around here, trying to break the rules so he can wander out and see you for as long as possible. His shoulder is just about fine now, he can almost roll it back the way he used to. The doctor says an injury like his doesn’t heal that fast, but Jake has always been ahead of the curve.

He has spread his time between your room on the fourteenth floor, and where the President has been falling in and out of being classed as critical on the fifteenth with little regard for the fact he’s recovering from a surgery on his shoulder himself. With you breathing, he couldn’t care less about being hit himself.

If the bullet hadn’t caught his shoulder, it would have torn through your father’s lungs and killed him right then and there.

You shoot a quick glance toward the darkened hallway. Allen sighs.

“No.”

“I want to know what happened.” You don’t. Not really. You want to pull these foreign covers up over your head and hide and cry your eyes out, scream this whole place down. There’s no easy way to say it, and really, no one knows how you’ll handle it.

You close your eyes for a moment and wait. 

Somehow, you’re safe — you’ll be okay. Jake’s okay. Your father won’t make it through the week. You don’t remember a thing. None of it makes sense.

Jake remembers every detail. He sits awake too, not in his own room but in the hallway of the twelfth floor — as close as he can get to the operating room without being put on his ass by a serviceman. 

In the mornings that he’s able to visit you, Jake likes to talk to you. You’ve been out of the woods for a while now, everyone knows that it’s just a waiting game until you’re stable enough to be awake. Really awake. On the Monday just passed, you had opened your eyes for a few seconds and just blinked at him.

Brows drawn together all stern, your lips pursed, your eyelashes fluttering. He never thought he would be so grateful to see you frowning at him.

He has heard about the past few days. The panic and stress. He has made a strong case for himself to be allowed to be there, but the people who make the calls won’t budge. It’s just not the right time. 

That’s not true. It’s his punishment. 

It’s his punishment, for not being the one in that operating room with his chest cracked open and twelve surgeons fighting to keep his heart beating.

Having spent most of his adult life working in environments where he was the expendable one, Jake had heard a lot of stories. He had heard, most frequently, that time always slows down in the moments that matter.

Not that day. It had been a blur. He had walked into that exchange with certainty; you would be leaving there with him. 

To an extent, he had been expecting Elias to be bluffing. No man on the planet couldn’t be bought — Jake had been expecting a bidding war, and he knew your father had the right amount of money to make this go away.

It hadn’t been that at all.

His stomach twists when he thinks about how they had paraded you before them. The look on Matthew’s face as he studied the dried blood in your hair, and the fresh blood trickling from your temple.

They had hurt you to prove a point. Almost killed you, to send a message. It was too far gone to be about the money.

Jake knows that he isn’t responsible for this, he isn’t the one that put your father in this situation. He’s the only reason that those surgeons are even trying right now — if he hadn’t been there, you’d both be dead. 

He’ll never not be there again.

Jake sits there through the surgery. On the floor with his elbows on his knees, his head rested back against the wall, he sits there for six hours. It should have taken six hours.

At a little after seven, Jake is startled awake by an orderly rushing past him with a rattling metal cart. He checks his watch, which is now settled on the wrong wrist due to his sling, and clumsily pushes himself up from the ground.

“Hey, buddy,” Jake strains, sighing at the ache through his side and clearing his throat as he finds his footing. “How’s he looking?”

The twenty-something year old in scrubs whips around to look at Jake, his eyes wide with heavy blue marks under them. He looks like he’s been up even longer than Jake has.

“You’re the bodyguard.” The kid seems to realize, blinking as his rattling cart comes to a stop. He glances back in the direction of the theater, then at Jake. “Uh… I don’t know. It’s going to be a while before they can say, I guess.”

A muscle in Jake’s jaw ticks. At seven, Jake walks to your hospital room and usually starts to bug whoever is in charge of watching you until they let him visit early.

He glances towards the operating room, and then back at the orderly. This could take hours, something urgent could happen in the next few minutes. He hesitates.

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his sweats. Jake takes it from his pocket and glances quickly down at the screen, with every intention of answering the kid in front of him.

She’s awake. Asking for you too. 

And Jake’s mind is made up. He can’t wait a second longer. His heart feels like it’s in his mouth by the time he’s pushing open the door to your hospital room.

He has seen the bruises fade from blue to yellow, and the IV lines and monitors all around you every day for almost a week. It does nothing to prepare him for the sight of all of those things once you’re awake and staring at him.

“Honey…” His breath catches in his throat, his brows drawing together.

The comprehensive list of your injuries is still typed up at the foot of the bed. Jake could list them off by heart, by now. Fractured eye-socket. Broken ring and middle finger on your right hand. Soft tissue damage to your left foot. Extreme bruising to the abdomen. The fracture in your rib. Every single one of those god-damned bruises.

Your right eye had been swollen shut that first day. Now, it’s wide open. The bruise is yellowed and sore looking, your eyes filled with fear. 

“Jake.” Your voice cracks and your breathing hitches.

It doesn’t matter that Allen is standing right there, sitting back against the window ledge with his arms folded over his chest. Jake couldn’t care less that your mother is watching him like a hawk. 

She has been every single time he has visited.

The security guard steps out of the way as Jake charges forwards. He takes slow, long strides. He’s trying so hard to remember what you’ve been through, and remind himself to be slow with you, but every fibre of his being wants to pull you close and never let you go again.

He stops at the side of your bed and hesitates, just for a split-second. His eyes scan across your face, searching for doubt or fear. As he makes his decision, you make yours too.

 He leans forwards swiftly as you ball your not-injured hand into his shirt, his fingers curling gently around the nape of your neck and pulling you against him.

The room falls silent. Your nose fills with his smell, your cheek presses firmly into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His thumb strokes at your skin.

For all you care, the other people in the room could have disappeared from the second that Jake touched you. He holds you close, silently. He doesn’t know how much you know yet, whether it’s all or nothing, and he doesn’t care. For now, you’re okay, and you’re with him.

It takes a moment before you notice that he’s only got one arm around you.

Jake watches as you pull back, searching for answers and landing on the blue sling resting around his shoulder, covering his right arm.

“I’m fine,” He assures you instantly, already shaking his head as his palm moves to cup your jaw. He holds your gaze, certain. “I’m fine. It’s superficial. We’re okay.”

Superficial. Allen bites his tongue, but can’t help but disagree. That bullet tore through ligament and bone, and Jake is lucky to be recovering so well. It was far from superficial— the surgery had taken all night. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, weak sounding and trembling. You drop your head forwards to rest against his unbandaged shoulder. “This is all my fault. This is all my fault, you shouldn’t ever have even met—“

“Stop.” Jake whispers, turning his face towards yours and trying to coax you back to look at him. He closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to your temple. “It’s over now. I’m never going to let anything happen to you again. It’s over.” 

Your mother watches. There’s a cautious, nagging feeling that tugs at her that she really doesn’t know you at all. There isn’t much that feels familiar about watching you with him — she wouldn’t have a clue how to calm you the way that he does.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, balling your hands tighter into his t-shirt. If he didn’t know any better, he’d guess that you’re trying to pull him right into your hospital bed with you.

“Yeah, a couple more days, honey,” Jake nods his head. He’s been speaking with your doctor. Once they’re certain that you’re stable enough, you’re free to go. “We’ll get you back to the house.”

“No.” You rush out, so fast that it almost makes you hiccup. It’s then that your head turns, your eyes wide and searching as you look around the room. Just as quickly, before you’ve even met the gaze of Allen or your mother, you bury your face into the crook of his neck and squeeze your eyes shut. Just quiet enough for Jake to hear, you whimper softly. “I don’t want to go back there. I want to go with you.”

Jake feels your mother’s gaze burning into his back, and knows what she must be thinking. She’s about to lose her husband and she thinks that Jake’s going to take you too.

“With me?” He murmurs, stroking a hand over your hair. Your mother has been taking pride in maintaining it — she has cared for you in so many quiet ways recently. Jake will tell you all about it, another time.

“Could — maybe we could see your mom again?” It feels ridiculous to ask, and from the second that the words leave your mouth, you’re already worrying about the kind of danger you could be putting them in.

But for Jake, it makes his heart catch with sudden relief.

“Yeah,” He hums. “Yeah, we can do that.”

He perches on the edge of your bed, draping his good arm around your shoulders. Your mother watches as you curl against him, closing your eyes and finally unballing your fists.

The room falls quiet, and stays that way. 

Allen lets the two of you have the peace and quiet. Your mother, simply, has little to say. 

An hour later, a little after eight, there’s a commotion in the hallway. Jake watches the bustle between the security guards silently, a heavy feeling settling in his gut as he braces for what is coming. 

He feels you perk up at his side as their voices grow more hushed, trying to peek over him.

He turns his face towards your hair and kisses the top of your head softly, wrapping his arm tighter around you. “It’s alright.”

He pities the poor guy who opens the door to the room, forced to meet your mother’s gaze with a sullen expression. He clears his throat weakly, hands tucked behind his back. “Ma’am.”

Your mother isn’t a dumb woman. She doesn’t need it explained to her. The doctors had explained the risks, and explained that he might not make it. Her husband is dead.

…

[sunlightmurdock]

ain’t afraid of a little thunder | tyler owens

“now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” his gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the middle of your thighs. “just because of a little thunder?”

warnings: minors dni, 18+. smut. unprotected pinv. oral (m+f). no physical descriptions of reader except some hair pulling mentioned.

…

Blinding white light flashes, spilling through and under the gaps in the curtains. The furniture is, at once, illuminated a ghastly white. The room remains still, aside from where you lay in your bed, tangled in sheets and breathing softly. 

What comes next isn’t the rolling kind of thunder that usually spills across these parts, there’s nothing slow or melodic about it. It comes as an almighty clap, shaking the old farmhouse down to its foundations. 

Seemingly spurred on by the sound, the wind joins the symphony by crashing into the window, slamming at the shutters and making the two panels swing wide open.

The storm howls now, spilling through these old walls and waking you with a start. You shoot upright in bed, eyes wide and heart thundering in your ears. Rain splatters on the worn floorboards as you look frantically around your childhood bedroom.

“Shit.” You huff out, hurling yourself out of the creaky, old metal-framed bed you had spent your teenage years in. You stumble towards the whirling wind and wrestle the window shut, snapping the latch shut once again.

You had been jolted so violently from your dreams that you aren’t even sure your eyes are open until you’re staring at streaks of lightning painting the dark sky. With a trembling hand, you reach for the edge of the curtain and pull it back across the window.

Even with your view gone, as you slip back into bed it’s impossible to pretend that the storm isn’t happening. It whips at the house, making the foundations creak and groan. Every few seconds, the sky will streak bright white and will roar with another clap of thunder. 

Eyes squeezed shut and the sheets pulled high isn’t cutting it. The weather rages just beyond these four walls, refusing to be ignored. Your heart thunders along with the bellowing horizon.

You toss onto your left side. Then your right. A frustrated sound slips your lips as you thrash onto your back. It’s like the storm is just getting worse. Closer. 

Each flash of lightning feels brighter. Each clap of thunder feels louder. You tremble under the confines of your comforter, lips pursed. You shoot a quick look toward the little digital alarm clock on your night stand. 1:55. 

Panic flares in your chest. You remember being small in this room, terrified of these same storms. The nights where you would tear out of bed and race down the hall to the safety of your parents’ bed.

You’re a little old for that now, and they chose this week of all to be vacationing at Niagara Falls. 

You pull the blankets tighter around yourself, momentarily blinded by the prospect of being alone in this big, rickety house all by yourself in the path of a storm — you’re miles away from help reaching you.

But you aren’t all alone. 

After a tough few days of field work, you had opened your doors — well, your parents’ doors — to a… colleague, of sorts. If that’s what you could call Tyler. You had a common goal, and he needed a place to stay while the two of you got some work done, that was all. It was easier than sending him to the motel an hour away.

He’s down the hall, probably sleeping like a baby, in the guest room.

You couldn’t possibly wake him. He would hold it over your head for the rest of your life. You would never live it down. Being a meteorologist who can’t sleep through a little—

Storm.

It’s that last, tremendous crash of thunder that sends you flying, once again, out of your childhood bed as it rattles the house. You’re cursing yourself under your breath already as you pad, barefoot down the hallway. 

Past pictures of yourself missing teeth and grinning, sporting pigtails and wearing overalls — all images of yourself that you would rather the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ himself hadn’t seen. 

The only thing that stops you is a brief moment in front of the door to the guest room, where you stand debating whether it would be better to knock or to just slip in and hope that he doesn’t even notice you.

You should knock. He could be naked. Shit. 

Swallowing both your pride and the lump of solid anxiety in your throat, you close your eyes and rap your knuckles softly against the door. Maybe he doesn’t hear you over the storm, or maybe he’s just a deep sleeper, but he doesn’t answer.

You should leave him alone.

But you can’t stand the thought of being by yourself through this. What if it’s something big? — You should have checked the radar.

You’re already twisting the doorknob, as slow as you can. It complies silently, the door slipping open without a peep. You would have gotten away with it, if you had thought about the light in the hall.

You get a glimpse of him while he’s still asleep. Sprawled out across the bed, laying on his back on the side closest to the door, his hair mussed and his face turned away from you. Curtains wide open, still. His clothes are thrown on the chair in the corner. The sheets are slung low on his waist. A flash of lightning illuminates the ridges through the golden skin of his abdomen. 

Then, that darned light from the hallway casts across his face and wakes him. He stirs, groaning in soft complaint as he lifts his head from the pillow and blinks angrily in your direction.

He says your name, his voice deep and growly from sleep. His tone vaguely suggests that he’s checking if it’s really you, but you’re too distracted to answer him.

Tyler twists his neck and looks around for a clock, pushing himself up just a little and letting the sheets fall to reveal the waistband of his navy boxers. “What time is it?”

“Late. Sorry,” You mumble out, still standing in his wide-open doorway like an idiot. “You should go back to sleep.”

His brows knit together as he turns his head to look at you again. Grumpy looks good on him. Especially when he’s laying in bed, his hair disheveled and his clothes on the floor. 

He presses the base of his palm into his eye socket, every bit as disgruntled as he looks as he rubs the sleep away with his big hands. 

“You gonna stand there and watch me all night if I do?” 

Your immediate reaction is to put your hackles up and get defensive at the accusation, like that’s not kind of exactly how the situation would appear to him.

“No, I just… I couldn’t sleep.” Your answer isn’t really an answer at all. Tyler reminds you of this by simply raising his eyebrows, as if to say ‘and what might that have to do with me?’. You shrug your shoulders. “I was just coming to see if— if you were up.”

“I am now.” Tyler offers. “What did you want?”

Desperately to go back to sleep. You’re exhausted. These past few days have been some of the hardest of your life — and here you are, unable to sleep, trying to find a bed to sleep in, like a child.

You stand there, debating for a moment if you’re going to come clean. It would be easy enough to just admit your irrational little fear and crawl into bed, and deal with the constant teasing from then on. 

Unfortunately, your body makes the decision for you. Thunder and lightning crash together, shaking the house once again. The rain whipping at the shutters does nothing to conceal the gasp-bordering-shriek that slips your lips as you jump and rush into the room.

Tyler’s eyes widen through the dark. His gaze is quizzical as he studies the abject panic on your face, then looks to his window. Then, he looks slowly back to you. 

His mouth twitches. Excitement flashes across his face with a burst of lightning as a grin twists at his mouth.

“Now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” His gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the tops of your thighs. “Just because of a little thunder?”

“Don’t be a dick about it — I know it’s ridiculous, I just can’t sleep.” You rush out, folding your arms across your chest. As you do so, your shirt bunches and rides up just enough to prove that you are, in fact, not wearing any shorts. He’d been wondering about that.

As he studies your face for the next few moments, you can see that he considers being a dick — and decides against it.

He holds his palms up in surrender, and shrugs his shoulders as he peels back the other side of the covers. Amusement coats his words as he drawls a playful, “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Closing the door to the hallway, the room is plunged into darkness once again. You trudge around to the other side of the bed, begrudging every moment of this ridiculous night. You should have had him sleep in the barn like you had threatened to. But then you really would be all alone in this big old house.

His eyes follow your silhouette around the foot of the bed, as the sky flashes white once more he takes note of the way your cute graphic tee sits a little higher in the back, giving him just the smallest glimpse of where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

He waits for you to reach the bed and set one knee on before he goes back to trying to rest. He lays down on his back and closes his eyes as the bed shifts slightly with your weight and the covers wriggle around with your movement.

Then, things settle.

The bed goes still, and so do the both of you as you lay side by side in it. It’s not an especially large double, but the two of you both seem to be choosing to ignore the way his warm shoulder is pressed right up against yours.

It’s just his shoulder. His bare shoulder, sure, but it’s not like you could ask him to put some clothes on — you’re the one who came crawling into his bed in your underwear. You’re just grateful that there’s just about enough room for the rest of you to not graze him at all.

You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. This whole house usually smells like lavender and vanilla, but not now. This room smells like spiced oak and pine, and the familiar smell of his cologne lingers on his clothes, his belongings— his bare skin.

His voice cuts through the dark. “So, you’re not like a bedwetter or anything, right? — D’your parents usually like give you a stuffed animal to get through this kind of thing, or—“

You reach out and smack him hard in his stomach. His hard, taught stomach. “Shut it, Owens.”

The bed rattles with his soft laughter.

“I just— I’m blindsided,” He admits, still laughing. He tucks an arm behind his head, meaning your shoulder now sits in the curve of his underarm. “You’re afraid of thunder.”

You throw yourself onto your side, turning swiftly away from him and tugging away his share of covers just out of spite. “No one will ever believe you. I’ll tell them you’re crazy.” 

He grins in the dark.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna tattle on you — you have no idea how much I’m enjoying being the only person who knows that Little Miss ‘Do As I Say’ gets this rattled over a little rain.”

You roll your eyes, then close them. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

The bed shakes again with another bout of his quiet laughter. “Yeah, g’night, honey.”

The pet names are going to be put to an abrupt end first thing tomorrow morning. You’re going to give him hell before he even gets a chance to open his stupid, pretty mouth. Until then, you have to keep yourself from doing anything that might have you exiled back to your own room.

Once again, the room settles. The rain whips at the windows, soaking the soil outside. Thunder rumbles closer again, but the lightning flashes don’t seem quite so bright. 

You focus on the sound of him breathing. Deep, slow inhales. He’s calm as could be, his weight pressing into the mattress and his body heat radiating under the shared covers. Uncomfortable on your right side but not wanting to be facing him, you roll onto your back.

Unconsciously a few moments later, you roll back onto your right side. Maybe then your left side. After that, your back again. Then your front.  

As you sigh and twist, Tyler sucks in a sharp breath from beside you.

“God damn, will you sit still? — You’re gonna spin yourself out of this bed.” It’s not until he’s done complaining that you realize he’s now holding you. His arm is secured tight enough around your middle that you couldn’t roll over again, even if you wanted to. Facing away from him, your eyes stare at the painted wall.

He huffs, closing his eyes and flexing his arm around you as he drags you closer.

“Go to sleep.” He mumbles groggily, his breath tickling at the nape of your neck. 

Well, if you were struggling before, then the sentiment is entirely hopeless now. 

You lie awake, watching the sky crackle and glow with flashes of colour. Tyler lies with you, feeling you flinch at every boom that follows.

He shifts suddenly behind you, feeling you go rigid.

“This thing really has you spooked, doesn’t it?” His fingers sprawl across your covered stomach, his voice coated with a softness you weren’t expecting. You feel him lift his head and peer over your shoulder, trying to get a look at your face.

“No.” You bite back, trying to tug yourself free from his hold and shift closer to the edge of the bed. You’ll be hanging off of the side if you keep this up.

“Here, c’mere,” Tyler murmurs, catching your bicep and turning you back around. Your brows furrow and your face grows stormy, and he can just tell that you’re batting up to argue with him. 

He opens both of his arms and wraps them around you at once, giving you no choice but to squish against his chest. Your eyes squeeze open as he presses his lips to your hairline. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

You stare at the freckle on his neck up close as his fingers stroke at the length of your trembling spine, frozen.

“Listen,” He mumbles against your hair as another clap of thunder tears across the sky. “Two, three, four, five — it’s already getting further away. Was just passing us by.”

“I know that.” You mumble begrudgingly against his chest, hating the way your fingers instinctively splay across his bare ribs.

Quiet falls between the two of you. You get it, he’s just trying to help — and frankly you are being a little ridiculous. He gets it, sometimes there’s no explaining fear. It’s just there.

His fingers stop at the base of your spine, disrupting the soft pattern he had going. Just for a moment, before he skims them all the way to the nape of your neck and curls them around the curve of your shoulder.

Once again, his mouth grazes your temple. Barely a kiss. Maybe even something platonic. He’s just trying to settle you. But then, there doesn’t feel like there’s much platonic about the way you’re wrapped together.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs. You can feel the rumble of his voice in your chest as he gives your nape a soft squeeze. “Breathe with me.”

Tyler takes long, deep breaths. Slow, and steady, but not patronizing. The kind that make you feel a dizzy kind of sleepy. You could fall asleep just like this, wrapped in his arms and copying his breaths, but you won’t let yourself. 

You dip your head forwards just a fraction, and press your lips to his bare shoulder. It’s small, and again barely a kiss, maybe even something platonic. Just like his was. He doesn’t say anything about it, and the quiet continues for a little longer.

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat as he leans in, turning his nose towards your hair. “That’s it.” 

You turn your head too, closing your lips softly around his collarbone. This one’s an inch less polite than the others, just a bit more daring, but still easy to misunderstand.

Opening up your palm, you trail your nails along his side, brushing softly from his ribs to his hips. Then, you stretch your neck and reach higher.

His fingers squeeze at your nape as your lips close against his throat. His free hand comes from its resting place against the sheets to curl around your thigh.

The tip of your nose bumps his chin in passing, he looks down while you look up until your eyes are locked together through the dark.

You would never live this down. Your work is too important to risk it all by— he’s kissing you before you’re done arguing with yourself, and your mind is made up.

His stubble scrubs at your cheek as he presses against you, capturing your mouth with his, kneading at his hold on your thigh. 

Your palm presses into the muscle of his back, firm and pulling him against you. You’re the one who hikes your thigh around his hip. He’s the one who twists the two of you and plants you firmly on your back between the pillows.

And then, you’re looking at each other again.

Lightning flashes across the sky, making his green eyes glow emerald for a moment. They search across your face while his hands take hold of your hips.

He looks at you in a way he never has before, all those days working together, his eyes hungry with lust. The intensity in those pretty, green eyes sends shocks of electricity up your spine.

“Just for tonight, and we never speak of this again.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tyler’s lips twitch.

“You’re gonna regret those terms.” He promises, letting that cocky grin of his twist across his mouth, raising his brows in challenge. You swallow, narrowing your eyes back at him. “But, sure. Whatever you say.”

Right as you’re starting to think that maybe this isn’t worth its risk, he leans forwards and turns your head to the side, closing his mouth around your pulse point. 

His teeth graze against the spot, just sharp enough of a sting to make you gasp before he’s pressing against you harder, kissing harder, soothing his mark with his tongue. 

The tip of his angled nose bumps the curve of your jaw, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin. You hike your leg higher around his waist, pressing your foot into his thigh. His tongue dips from between his lips, flicking across your jugular before he captures the spot with his mouth.

Your fingers curl around his neck, squeezing at his nape, holding his mouth against your throat. A moan slips your lips as his teeth graze over your skin. He sucks a firm kiss into the spot below your ear.

He hums as your fingers slide up into his hair, rewarding you with another open-mouthed kiss in a spot that makes you squirm. Your eyes close contentedly as his mouth works against the smooth skin there.

When the next crash of thunder shakes the foundations, you almost forget to flinch. 

Tyler twists his head sharply and with a sudden, mutual urgency, you crash together. He pulls you flush against him, sliding his tongue into your mouth and caressing it expertly against yours.

Then, his attention turns to the large, old local team jersey you had worn to bed. It was the first thing you had found in your closet. He doesn’t seem to care, bunching it around your middle and tugging you forwards to lift it over your head.

Lightning strikes as the jersey hits the floor. As his knees sit between your thighs, Tyler studies your body. He has thought about this before, what you might look like under all that office-wear. His imagination doesn’t compare.

He sits back on his knees, cupping his palm over the tent straining against his boxer-briefs. Your gaze flickers downward, eye-lids drooping with want as you watch him palm a hand over his cock.

“Don’t move.” He mumbles, reaching out to settle his other hand against the soft curve of your bare waist. It’s clear that he has a plan in his head, you can practically hear the gears turning as his darkened eyes study your body.

Stroking himself carelessly, he drops his hand to the inside of your thigh and pushes it back just a bit. Then, Tyler groans as he lowers his mouth to your chest. One of his warm, weathered hands comes up to caress your breast while his mouth cares for the other.

He kisses softly over the swell of skin, more gentle than you would have expected someone like him to be. He glances up at you as he purses his lips and blows softly, fanning cool air against your already half-hardened nipple.

Then, that talented tongue dips from his lips again, and traces the colour of your nipple, flicking back and forth across the bud before he finally closes his mouth around it. 

Your head sinks into the pillows as your chest arches eagerly toward his kisses. Moans spill from your lips, and you just know that you’ll be soaked by the time he finally touches you.

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. Amidst his parade of kisses, as he’s approaching your navel, his hand dips between your legs. You almost flinch at the contact, keening into his touch instead. 

His fingertips are featherlight, trailing the seams of your underwear where they sit between your thighs. His thumb presses firmer, experimentally sliding between your folds. 

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance down as he looks up at you. His mouth twists as your excitement spills through the lace against the pad of his thumb.

This is most definitely territory that neither one of you have business venturing into. It’s certainly going to make your next venture a little bit more tense than usual. The irony of it being your common venture that had led you here isn’t lost on either of you either.

Tyler makes it known that he has every intention of bringing his usual cockiness to this encounter, smirking as he presses his mouth to your hipbone, circling his thumb softly over your clit.

Bright, white lightning streaks again outside the window. It bathes the farm you grew up on in sudden, harsh light. The rumble of thunder doesn’t come until Tyler’s sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh— he was right, it is getting further away.

And he’s getting closer.

You gasp sharply as he opens his lips and dives forwards, mouthing at your soaked core through the flimsy constraints of your lace underwear. 

The next streak of lightning catches all of the shadows in the muscles of his back, working and flexing as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He kisses the length of your legs, nipping and biting as he goes, tossing the lace to some far corner of the room as soon as he’s done.

Your fingers shoot into his hair, squeezing firmly as he buries his face between your legs. Eager and animalistic, he sucks and licks, holding your thighs over his strong shoulders. You shudder. He groans as you tug at his sandy roots.

As you have found with everything else he does, Tyler’s ginormous ego seems to be well-founded. He has every bit the right to be so confident. 

Though, you’ll never admit that outside of these four walls.

He doesn’t need you to. The way your body thrashes and arches against his mouth tells him all he needs to know. 

You hum softly like you haven’t been moaning openly into the chilled room, tugging at his short locks once again. He groans into your excitement. At once, ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

The sharp gasp it draws from you goes straight to his cock, eliciting another deep groan from his chest as he grinds himself against the patterned sheets.

All you can do is breathe, heels pressing into the mattress as you chase his mouth. Unhindered whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. Incredible, even.

For the sake of your dignity, you’re grateful to lack the ability to tell him how good this feels. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Tyler takes a break to nip at your thighs and coax you towards the finish line you’re already desperate to cross. He looks up at you from between your legs. Your head is thrown back into the pillows, your muscles tensed and trembling. You’re fucking yourself on his fingers. “Take what you need. You gonna get yourself there?”

Then, he leans down and licks one stripe along your core, making you cry out. “Or you need me to do it for you?”

“God, you’re an asshole,” You rush out, brows furrowing in concentration as you desperately chase that high. He chuckles softly, leaving you hanging as he waits for your answer. “Yes! Alright? — I need you.”

Tyler takes that answer with delight, pinning your thigh back against your middle with sudden strength as his fingers twist into you. You shiver as his mouth takes charge once again.

It doesn’t take him long to blind you with your orgasm, your eyes balled shut so tight that you’re seeing stars. You’re trembling as he’s kissing across your stomach

He licks his lips, still grinning as you drag his glistening mouth back to yours. Meeting you with exactly the same fervor, rolling his hips into yours. You groan at the gentle scratch of his stubble, holding him close.

“Fuck me.” You mumble against his lips, trying to reach between your bodies to push down his boxer-briefs. Your fingertips graze his straining cock, stilling immediately. You glance down, eyes wide as you take note of his size.

“I don’t have a condom.” He mumbles back, kissing you hard before you have enough time to comment on what he’s been packing beneath that stupid, huge buckle this whole time.

“You— You don’t?” You pant, trailing your nails down his back as he sucks at your throat.

“Didn’t think I’d be needing one.” His hands skim up your middle and grab at your tits together, kneading them in his capable hands. He drops his head to suck at the tops of them, his stubbled cheeks scratching at the sensitive skin in the best way.

You almost growl in frustration, thighs trying to clamp together around his hips. You don’t want the night to end here.

“I’m on birth control. If you’re—“

“I’m responsible, we’re good.” Tyler swears, flicking his tongue across your pebbled nipple. “If that’s what you want, baby. You want me bare?”

Your core throbs at his deep voice, so close and so filthy.

“Yes.” You whisper, arching your chest into his mouth as he turns his head to pay equal attention to your other breast. “Fuck, yes.” 

He finally pays himself some attention, sitting back on his knees and dipping his hand into his boxers. Your lips part, watching through lust-hooded eyes as he fists at his cock from between your legs.

“Take them off.” You demand, more urgently than you’ve been before. Tyler’s lips twitch, but you’re not letting him have this one without playing first. “You’re not shy, are you?”

He rolls his shoulders back, giving a slow and certain shake of his head. No, of course he isn’t shy. Why would he be? 

Your mouth goes dry as he pushes the boxers down his thighs and kicks them off of the bed. His cock springs free, standing to attention against the trail of sandy brown hair that trails Tyler’s navel.

It’s impressive, and pink at the tip. Annoyingly as pretty as the rest of him is.

He looks carved from stone, kneeling between your legs with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Hair sprawling across his pecs neatly, and just down his sternum. The same kind of pretty light brown as his hair. Angled hipbones. He’s defined all over, with strong thighs to match.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” Tyler’s admission catches you by surprise, and the shock of it is just registering in your system as he leans down and covers your body with his. 

His weight leaning against you feels better than you’d like to admit, caging you in. The storm feels far, far away. 

The tip of his cock notches at your entrance and you forget all of the doubts you just had about what he had said.

“So, do it. Please,” You breathe out, turning your face towards his neck, kissing the vein that trails there. “I want it.”

Tyler revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you. He really has been waiting a long time for this.

He had made the effort in the beginning, tested your boundaries and swung by your motel rooms every now and again. Every interaction you’ve had has been strictly professional, and he wasn’t going to keep chasing someone who didn’t want to be chased.

As your walls squeeze him tight and your mouth sucks at the column of his throat— fuck, he wishes he had chased a little harder.

You roll your hips into his eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in. You trail your nails along his shoulders, squeezing your thighs around his hips. Thunder rumbles somewhere far away, deep and low like the sounds of Tyler’s groans.

“You feel like you’re fucking made for me.” He mutters, pressing his fingertips into the supple flesh of your ass as he hugs you as close as he possibly can. Buried in you as deeply as he possibly can be, he stills for a moment and pants hard.

You make an incoherent sound of vague agreement, nipping at the curve of his jaw as you rake your nails along his shoulder. He groans at the feeling, his hips stuttering.

Pulling out slowly one last time, Tyler glances down at where the two of you are joined. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he buries himself into you once again, hard this time. Then, he’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again.

The old bed creaks in complaint under the two of you, but it’s the furthest thing from your mind as your moans threaten to muffle the sound all together.

The sky rumbles again, another loud clap of thunder making your eyes snap open. Breathless, your head whips towards the window. You watch the streaks of lightning paint the sky shades of electric blue and white. 

Again, that irrational feeling starts to gnaw at you. 

Tyler’s fingers curl around your chin, turning you back to face him.

“Look at me,” He orders, giving a sharp snap of his hips and revelling in the way it makes your mouth fall open. “I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.” 

Dumbly, you nod your head. Your fingertips skim the ridges of muscle in his arms. Warm and strong under your touch, his body surrounds yours. His green eyes are focused and unwavering, his hands anchoring your hips to the bed.

There’s no room left for that stupid, irrational feeling. It’s all him. Fucking into you, and staring down at you, weighing you down into the creaky mattress. 

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. Tyler’s hand abandons your hip to hook around the back of your shoulders, grabbing a firm fistful of your hair. 

His other hand shoves hard at the back of your thigh, bending it up and out of his way. Your ankle rests against his shoulder, your mind going blank as this new position allows him to angle himself deeper.

“Fuck— Tyler.” You whimper, eyes wide as you look up at him. 

His hand flexes around your roots, tugging hard and making you cry out. You muffle yourself in the crook of his neck, kissing at his salty skin. 

“I’m gonna come.” You breathe out. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, lips grazing your ear as his thrusts grow deep and fast. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Make yourself come on me.”

You don’t need to be told twice, grabbing onto his shoulder for leverage with one hand as the other dips between your colliding bodies. 

His mouth is hot against your throat as you circle your clit, his deep and desperate groans filling your ears, the smell of his sweat and faint cologne making you want to bury closer to him.

It isn’t long before you’re spilling over that edge. You bite at his throat, moaning at the way he keens desperately into the feeling. Your thighs squeeze around him, trembling through the feeling. Your fingers scramble for purchase against his bicep. 

Tyler grunts hard as your body tenses all over, your walls squeezing him tight. His pace stutters just briefly, then picks up. Your brain feels like mush, your eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard.

His head falls forwards, resting against your collarbone as he cums hard. His fingers flex around both your thigh, and the nape of your next, his voice strained as he groans. His chest heaves with his next few breaths.

You sigh, contented as you turn your face towards his neck and close your eyes. He lingers there for a moment, covering you like a blanket, gently stroking the spots he had grabbed so tightly moments before.

Then, he pulls out of you with a sigh and turns to flop onto his back. You’re surprised as he drags you with him, eyes wide at the prospect of the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ being a cuddler of all things.

He turns your head toward him, wasting no time in capturing your mouth with his. “How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, turning your face towards his bare shoulder for a moment. “Tired.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath and enjoying the comfortable silence. His fingers trail the length of your spine, swirling soft patterns into your skin.

You almost let yourself fall asleep like that. He makes room for you to get up and watches you walk away as you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

He’s silent, but there’s a smile on his face when you slide back into his bed instead of your own. 

When the sun-rises and pours through the window, it wakes you first. You would complain about the curtains being wide open and the lack of sleep you had managed to get through the night, but it’s hard to when you turn and admire your view.

Tyler is asleep on his back, one arm outstretched toward you. You had been sleeping on top of it. The sheets are strewn messily around his middle and there’s a distinct purple mark at the base of his throat, a reminder of where your mouth had been.

His chest rises and falls steadily, his face calm. His hair is still disheveled, another reminder from last night. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight. 

Then, you remember what you said. Never again. How he had promised you would regret those terms— and you already do, thinking of how you’d like to wake him and repeat last night.

Unprompted, Tyler stirs in his sleep. In doing so, he shifts his hips and announces his morning wood as it stands against the sheets. 

Given that you’re still in the same room, and it’s still technically the same day, this surely doesn’t count as a separate encounter. Your terms could still stand, you reason with yourself as you lean down and kiss his shoulder. 

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he doesn’t stir at all as you kiss your way down his muscled chest. 

His brows knit together as he starts to come to. He blinks through the abrupt morning light, squinting at the brightness as he remembers where he is. He jolts at the feeling of you mouthing along the length of his cock, eyes going wide.

He takes note, then, of the shape under the covers that sits between his legs. He peels them back slowly, meeting your gaze as you kiss his tip.

“Good morning.” You greet him cheekily. 

Tyler quirks a brow, but smiles. He shifts his hips and tucks a flexing bicep behind his head, settling back down against the pillows.

“It is now.”

[roosterforme]

Mr. Right Now Part 4 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: Nobody is more surprised that Jake asked you to spend the night than Jake himself. But somehow he's sweeter with you around, and every time he touches you, he wants to be the best.

Warnings: adult language, sexual touching, oral sex, fingering, cum play, 18+

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

When you woke up, your body was warm even though you could feel cool air on your face. Everything smelled good, and when you moved a bit, you realized you were a little sore. The distant sound of waves crashing kept you relaxed even as you started to recognize that something out of the ordinary was definitely happening. When you flexed your fingers, you realized you were touching someone else.You jolted a bit as your eyes flew open, and you were met with a handsome face, green eyes and a smirk.

"Morning, Darlin'."

"Jake," you croaked, voice unprepared for the immediate wave of relief you felt when you recognized who you were with. But then you stared at him in surprise. He invited you to spend the night. After he made you come. Twice. After he'd had his mouth all over your body. "Jake," you murmured again, trying to fight the urge to kiss him and see how rough his stubbled cheeks felt now.

He responded by collecting you against his chest so you were mostly on top of him, and he stroked his finger along your lips. "You sleep okay?" When you nodded, he smiled and said, "Me too. Want me to make some breakfast?"

You tried to bite your lip and act cool. You wanted to respond to him the way any other hookup he had sleep over might, but instead you blurted out, "I liked what you did to me. With your mouth."

Jake's smile grew, and he carefully rolled you onto your back. "Is that right?" he asked, bracing himself above you with thick biceps and messy hair.

"Your hands, too," you whispered with a nod, and then his mouth was on yours. You were immediately curling your fingers into his hair and shifting your legs beneath him as he nibbled on your lips. The stubble felt a little rougher than last night, and you desperately wanted to feel it everywhere. 

He seemed to know what you were thinking as he kissed his way to your ear and softly asked, "You want me to do it again, don't you?"

You barely spoke the word, but he was already moving as soon as you said, "Yes." When he shifted the covers, you felt the cool air on the rest of your naked body, and you watched him ease himself lower until he was eagerly kissing your belly button. Then, without hesitation, Jake's mouth was on your pussy, and he was coaxing your legs further apart with his big hands. "Oh," you whimpered, head turning on the pillow to look out the window at the perfectly clear morning as the ocean crashed onto the beach somewhere in the distance.

Was this what it would be like to have a boyfriend? Waking up to oral sex before breakfast whenever you let Jake know you wanted it? Not that you'd be with Jake. But you could probably be with Cooper. Maybe he'd treat you to his mouth just like this. 

Your legs shook slightly as Jake sucked on your clit, and then all coherent thoughts vanished. His grip on your thighs tightened, and he plucked you with his lips, something you had no idea would feel that good.

"You like that?" he asked, swirling his tongue around your clit as you pulled on his hair. "You can tell me what you like. I want to know."

You moaned and let your eyes close as his soft breath teased you. "I like this a lot. It feels better than I thought it would."

Jake chuckled, sucked on your clit a little harder, and then pulled his mouth away, making your legs shake even more. "You like it a little rough," he grunted, and your legs spread open wider for him. "And you're so sensitive." Instead of feeling any shame, you rolled your hips up to his mouth. "Needy, too," he drawled with a grin before licking you up and down.

It was the steady rhythm with just the right amount of pressure that had you whining nonstop, and then your whines turned to loud moans, and then you heard yourself begging Jake to make you come. "Please! Oh my god! Please!" You were so close, gently clenching around nothing, but his unhurried movements seemed to make it better the longer it took. Your heart was pounding and your vision wavered a bit as he worked his tongue up, down and around. But when he pulled your clit between his lips one last time, he got you there.

Your voice sounded raw as you loudly got off, pleasure washing over you until you weren't moving or talking at all. When you cracked one eye open, Jake's green eyes were wild as he looked up at you from his spot between your thighs, and you tried to reach for him. Your arms felt heavy, and you giggled softly as you whispered, "You told me to tell you what I like."

"Yeah," he grunted, cheeks flushed pink as he kissed your thigh.

"Well, Jake, I really, really like getting head. I thought maybe when I came last night that it was a fluke and it wouldn't ever happen again," you rambled. "But then it did, and now I'm thinking you might be some sort of sex god? You can get me off way better than I can get myself off."

"Fuck." 

He was breathing heavily, and that's when you realized he was touching himself. His naked body and hard cock were perfection to look at, but as you sat up, he moved away from you. You licked your lips and watched him palm himself. "Are you going to fuck me now? Should I get my condoms?"

"Darlin'," he groaned. "Just... I need a minute. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

Then he vanished into this bathroom.

----------------------------

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Jake tried his best to be quiet as he jerked himself off with four strong pumps of his hand around his cock. He was never quite this keyed up around a woman to begin with, and then you had to go and ask him if he was going to fuck you. He laughed at his facial expression in the bathroom mirror. No way he could have fucked you like this. He would have lasted two minutes, tops. 

He couldn't imagine anything worse for your first time than a guy who was so worked up, he came almost immediately. He knew he shouldn't be reacting to you like a teenager with no self control, but you really got him going. As he cleaned himself up, he licked his lips, and he could still taste you there. He could still smell you on his skin.

"No," he groaned, knowing it would be all too easy to get hard for you again if he let it happen. He needed to cook breakfast and reevaluate if he could actually handle fucking you, but when he walked out of the bathroom, you were still sprawled out on his bed, naked and gently trailing your fingers along your tummy.

"I thought you were going to meet me in the kitchen," he said, desperately hoping his bathroom activity wasn't so loud that you knew exactly what he had done.

You turned your hazy gaze toward him as you sat up, and Jake was honestly surprised by how fucking good you looked in his bed when smiling at him across the room. "Can I borrow something to wear? If my leather skirt is impractical for getting fucked in, it's probably not much better for eating breakfast in."

The fact that your little skirt was still on his kitchen floor from last night hadn't escaped him. Neither had the fact that he still hadn't actually fucked you. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. And that starry-eyed expression on your innocent looking face wasn't helping him stay soft.

"Come here," he coaxed, turning toward his dresser and yanking open a drawer. "Pick what you want to wear."

You sashayed over to him, slipping your warm body under his arm when he held it out for you. "Anything I want?" you asked.

Jake nodded as he looked down at your pert nipples and kissed your temple. "Anything you want. And then I'll make you breakfast."

His hand slid down to your hip as you reached for one of his gym shirts and a pair of his athletic boxer briefs with the stretchy waistband, and he grabbed a pair of clean underwear for himself. 

Once you were dressed, you smirked and asked, "How do I look?"

Jake grunted and shook his head in response. The tee shirt you'd selected was one that he tore the sleeves off of, and when you turned in a small circle for him, he could see your breasts through the sides. "Cute," he drawled as you met his gaze. "And I can see your tits, so that's always a plus." When you realized what he was talking about, you tucked your arms against your sides which made him laugh. "You're worried about that now? Darlin', I've already seen and touched every inch of you."

When you tried to duck your head in embarrassment, he reached for your chin and asked, "What do you want for breakfast?"

You kind of shrugged and said, "Whatever you usually eat is fine."

He guided you out of his bedroom as he said, "I hope you're hungry then."

"I actually did work up an appetite," you replied in your sassy tone as his hand slid down to cup your ass. "Maybe you did, too? You were working pretty hard, Jake."

"Have a seat, Smartass," he murmured, pulling out one of the stools at his kitchen island for you. Then he bent to pick your skirt up from the floor and waved it in the air before tossing it toward the couch in the living room. He honestly was a little worn out, and he hadn't even properly fucked you yet. As he turned on his coffee maker and pulled bacon and eggs from his refrigerator, he realized he was already thinking about what you might want to eat for dinner. He also realized he wanted you to still be around at dinnertime, which was an absolute anomaly for him; most women didn't make it to the morning after. 

"Do you need help with anything?" you asked him, elbows propped on the island. He wasn't sure if you were showing off your tits on purpose at his point or if he was just lucky that you happened to choose that shirt.

"Nah. Conserve your energy. You still have a lot to learn."

----------------------------

You watched as shirtless Jake cooked bacon and eggs while a pot of coffee brewed. His movements were graceful, which made sense for a fighter pilot, but he was also humming along to some unknown song which made you smile with how intimate it all felt. He even leaned in to kiss your cheek when he handed you a new wine glass full of ice water, and you couldn't help but grin like a lunatic. You were getting the full sleepover experience with this man. 

When he turned off the stove burner and started to plate the food, you said, "You know, you still haven't fucked me yet."

His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. "I thought you said you were enjoying getting head."

"I am," you said with an eye roll. "But I was promised a full dicking down."

Now he was laughing in spite of himself as a mug of hot coffee and a plate of delicious smelling breakfast were set down in front of you. "I already told you that you still have a lot to learn about sex."

As he slid into the seat next to yours, you poked at your eggs with your fork. "Please," you scoffed. "It's not that complicated. I've watched porn before."

Jake chuckled and shook his head, shoving a huge bite of food into his mouth. He studied you as he chewed, and then he asked, "So you think that makes you an expert on sex?"

"I mean... the porn I watched was hot," you admitted. "I touched myself and got off. Not that complicated." You blew on your mug of coffee and stole a glance at him as he grunted.

"Nothing wrong with that, but it's inauthentic."

Your eyes went wide. "What? You don't like to watch porn?"

Jake casually took another bite of food before he murmured, "I didn't say that.... I said it's not real."

You let his words circle around your mind as you bit into the perfectly cooked bacon. "But you don't need to have real feelings for someone to sleep with them. Even I know that much."

When his big hand settled on your thigh, you had to suck in a deep breath to stay calm. "I don't want you to have unrealistic expectations. Those people are getting paid to fake multiple orgasms. You don't always get off like that in real life."

"You always get me off." 

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, his fingers were tightening on your leg, digging into your flesh. His pupils were wide, the green of his eyes, fading into neediness. His voice sounded deeper now.

"Time for lesson five: not all guys are the same. Just because I'm more than happy to take the time to make sure you're feeling pleasure, that doesn't mean it'll always be that way." When his lips brushed the side of your neck, you moaned. "I know you like the way that feels. I like it too, Darlin'. But you can't learn what chemistry and intimacy are like without experiencing them for yourself. But not every experience you have with men is going to be a good one. Especially if you don't pay attention to the lessons."

"Okay," you agreed as your lips met his. "I'll pay attention to the lessons."

Jake's lips were gentle and perfect as he returned all of your kisses. "What was lesson five?" he asked as his hand made its way higher up your thigh.

"Not all guys are as good as you are," you moaned.

"Fuck. Close enough," he confirmed, pulling you onto his lap so you were facing him. You knew you'd let him do whatever he wanted to, and you ended up straddling his thighs with your pussy resting right on his cock through two layers of thin fabric. You could feel that he was a little hard, and your lips parted wordlessly as you made a desperate sound. "It's okay," he promised, one big hand sliding down to your lower back as you rolled your hips inadvertently.

"Jake," you gasped, surprised by your reaction to him even after spending the night in his bed.

"I know, Darlin'," he crooned. "I want it, too. But I need you to be patient. Finish your breakfast like a good girl, and then lesson six will start on the couch."

----------------------------

Eventually, the two of you finished eating while you shared one seat, and then you started pulling him toward the living room. "I'm ready for my next lesson," you practically sang, but he dug his feet in. He was a little concerned that another trip to the bathroom first was necessary, but he just wanted to get that shirt off of you. It left nothing to the imagination anyway, and he was convinced you were teasing him at this point.

"You don't even know what the lesson is," he reminded you as you came to a stop.

"Doesn't matter. I already know I'm going to like it," you whined, turning so he could see into the side of the shirt.

"Brat," he whispered, reaching for your chin so he could kiss you before you started pulling him toward the couch again. "Lesson six covers masturbation and mutual masturbation."

Your pretty lips were pursed as he held you there, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "What's mutual masturbation?" you asked innocently, and Jake was already twitching in anticipation.

He released you and took you by the hand instead. "You touch yourself. And then I touch you."

Jake dropped down onto the couch, and you stood between his splayed legs, an eager look on your face. "Do I get to touch you?"

Even as he examined you before him, he groaned in need; he'd have blue balls again soon enough, but he needed to stay focused. "Get undressed," he whispered, and you did exactly as you were told. Shit. This was already the most gratifying weekend he could remember. As you pulled his gym shirt over your head, he leaned in closer and kissed around your belly button. Then when you yanked his boxer briefs down your hips, he kissed your pussy. And damn it if you didn't moan his name.

It took all his willpower not to bend you over the coffee table and fuck that pretty pussy from behind, but if you could be patient, so could he. "Turn around," he said, voice deep and harsh, and then he was presented with your ass as you glanced back at him over your shoulder. "Okay, Darlin'. Have a seat."

Jake bit back a groan as you settled onto his lap with your back pressed to his bare chest, and he had to kiss along your shoulder until he had composure. Then he let one big hand rest low on your belly while the other slipped up your soft body toward your breasts. "Spread your legs for me," he coaxed, tracing little shapes along your inner thigh. He kissed the side of your neck as you shifted a bit. "That's a good girl. Now I want you to touch yourself."

"How?" you asked, turning to meet his eyes over your shoulder.

He kissed your cheek and whispered, "However it feels good."

"Okay." You pressed your lips together, and Jake leaned to his left to watch your fingers slide along your skin and down to your pussy. Your head tipped back against his shoulder, and you worked at it for a few minutes, legs barely shifting at all against his. He could feel the muscles in your arm flexing, but eventually you made a frustrated sound.

Jake kissed your ear and said, "You told me earlier that I can get you off way better than you can get yourself off. Why do you think that is?"

"Because you know what you're doing?" you complained. 

"Perhaps," he chuckled. "But you also react differently to a partner than you do to your own touch." He let his fingers trail up from your thigh to stroke your slit as he gently bit your shoulder, and you arched your back in response.

"That feels so good," you gasped. "So much better."

He kissed the soft skin behind your ear and whispered, "You can touch yourself, too." You let your hands settle on your tits, and he added, "There you go. You're an excellent student." He dragged his thumb down over your clit and you jerked in his lap. 

"Do it again," you begged. "Please?" you whined, and he pressed a little harder but kept his pace slow. "I love it when you touch me."

"Fuck." With another gentle kiss to your neck, Jake whispered, "Making you feel good is a pleasure." His cock was once again painfully hard as you ground your ass against him, and he wondered if you'd even notice if he came in his underwear. Chances are you wouldn't if he could get you in that hazy, post-orgasm state again. God, he was already kind of obsessed with that fucked out expression you got after he did a number on you.

When he pinched your clit, you made a sound that could rival one of the porn stars you'd apparently watched, and Jake had to bite his lip. "No, no, no," he coaxed when you tried to close your legs. "Nice and wide, or I'll stop." 

You reacted by spreading your legs further apart when he stopped touching you for a split second, and Jake's lips curled into a smirk as you whined again. Now you were getting wet, further evidence that he got to you as much as you were getting to him. He wanted to fuck you, feel you squeeze him tight while he got you off. Before he knew what he was doing, he had two fingers buried deep in your pussy, and you were gasping his name.

"Jake." Your hands were scrambling to reach for his thighs, and he pumped his fingers deeper. He meant to take his time with you, he really did, but you were too fucking hot, and you trusted him to make you feel good.

"Do you like that, Darlin'?" he asked.

You nodded vigorously, back arched, head tipped back against his shoulder. Jake fucked you with two fingers while he stroked your clit with his thumb until he felt like his wrist was going numb. He wanted to suggest switching positions, but he could tell how close you were. He finger fucked you nice and hard, the wet sounds music to his ears.

"Come on," he coaxed, kissing your shoulder as you squeezed his thighs with both hands. Your soft whine got louder and louder, and when you rolled your hips forward, Jake pressed on your clit until you shook against him.

"Oh my god," you moaned, your pussy gripping his fingers, and he realized he was absolutely going to need to excuse himself once again. But you wiggled out of his grasp and turned around on his lap, eyes wild as you panted, still working through your orgasm. He was about to tell you he needed the bathroom, but your lips found his, and he devoured all the little sounds you made.

Your kisses were absolutely fucking filthy, all tongue and teeth, and he held onto your waist with his slick fingers as you had your way with him. "I want to feel you," came your soft whine, and before he knew what was happening, you were reaching your hand into the front of his underwear. "Please, let me touch you."

"No, no, I need a minute," he protested, but you wrapped his cock up in your warm fist and gave him a tug that had him thrusting up for more. "Oh... feels good," he gasped. Then you ran the tip of his cock through your slick pussy while you watched in wonder, and Jake knew this wasn't going to end well if he didn't excuse himself immediately. "Darlin'," he groaned, but you just licked your lips and met his gaze while you teased yourself.

"I know what you did in the bathroom earlier," you whispered, voice dripping with pleasure as you rubbed yourself against him in your hand. "I know you were hard last night, too. I know you touched yourself, but you didn't have to. I would have touched you if you let me. I wanted to."

Jake rubbed his hand over his face before he pulled you closer with both of his hands on your hips. "You're killing me."

You just looked at him, uncertainty in your eyes now as you stroked him slowly through your pussy. "Do you like this? Does it feel good?"

Like the perfect student you were, you'd already learned how to ask him the same things he'd been asking you. "I'm pretty sure I'd like anything you do." Now your smile was sincere, and you leaned in to kiss him softly. He let you keep going for another few strokes before he murmured, "But you need to stop, because I'm going to come."

You gasped and said, "I want you to," before kissing him harder. "I want to make you have an orgasm."

Technically, you'd already given him two orgasms, they just didn't happen while you and he were in the same room. And he couldn't see himself shaking you in time to try to make it to the bathroom now, so he leaned back a little bit and let you watch him slowly lose his composure for you.

"Oh my god, Jake," you whispered, jerking him a little harder with a bit more finesse than he expected from you. Then you gently touched his balls with your free hand and asked, "Are you close?"

"I fucking am now," he panted, head tipped back. He squeezed his eyes closed for a beat, and whispered, "Jesus Christ." Then as soon as he opened his eyes, he was painting up your tummy and your pussy with his cum, and you squealed in delight with a big smile on your face. "Oh shit." 

You jerked him off until he was drained and the mess he made was starting to drip onto your thighs. Then he got to watch you run your finger through his cum before raising it to your lips, and you moaned softly and smiled when you tasted him. He reached up to cup your cheek and guide your lips back to his while he gently removed your other hand from his cock. He wanted to taste it, too. But he wanted to taste it in your mouth.

He was treated to you running your fingers casually through his cum while you lay curled up on him with the sticky mess coating the both of you. He had his arm wrapped around you while you licked at your fingertip and asked him, "Are all penises as big as yours? You look the same size as the guys in the porno. Will you let me try to give you a blowjob? I really, really want to. And when are you going to fuck me?"

He took your chin gently between his fingers again and swept his tongue along yours before kissing you softly to stop your rambling. "Just be patient, Darlin'. We'll get there," he promised with a grin.

--------------------------

It's hard to be patient with Jake around just doling out the orgasms. But the dynamic is slowly changing, and he might be the one who really needs some reassurance here. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[sugarcoated-lame]

Sometimes A Bride | Jake Seresin x Reader

18+ only, minors DNI

Jake Seresin x female Bradshaw!reader

part two of Always A Bridesmaid

Synopsis: You’re having some pre-wedding jitters and there’s only one person you know can help calm you down.

or

You and Jake sneak off for a quickie before the two of you say ‘I do.’

WC: 11.5k (another long one oops)

warnings: a smidgen of angst?, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, smut, fingering, unprotected piv, slight overstimulation, i think jake calling reader a good girl deserves a warning, unspecified age gap (reader is in around mid-late 20s, jake is in early-mid 30s), once again jake being too damn charming for his own good, tonssss of disgustingly sweet tooth-rotting fluff, really sweet fluffy moments with big bro bradley, natasha being the best sister-in-law and maid of honor, jake still being an absolute menace, i'm literally the worst at coming up with titles for my fics, moodboard is not any indication of reader’s appearance

a/n: The very long-awaited (I’m sorry 🤍) sequel to Always a Bridesmaid. Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around and shown the first part so much love and support, and waited so patiently for this story! I love y’all 

beautiful dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

〰・♡・〰 reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated! 〰・♡・〰

You love weddings. 

It's a fact you try to remind yourself of as you take a deep breath, taking in your reflection in the vast vanity mirror.

Hair styled to pristine perfection, professionally done makeup better than anything you’d ever be capable of doing yourself, in a gorgeous white dress that fits just right and makes you feel more beautiful than ever.  

You love weddings. You love the fancy clothes, all the chatter and the sweet scent of champagne flowing through the air at the reception, the contagious laughter and dancing.

But, most of all, you love getting to watch two people profess their love for each other and promise themselves to one another for the rest of their lives through beaming smiles and tears of joy. 

It’s been a little over three years since Bradley and Natasha said ‘I do’, and after meeting the love of your life at your big brother’s wedding, how could you not love them? 

Three years since that fateful night that you met Jake and both of your lives were changed forever, and the two of you have been pretty much inseparable ever since. Well, nearly ever since.

Initially, both you and Jake were scared by just how much you liked one another. 

After spending the night together at your brother’s wedding — and the morning after — you had feared that it was just that rose-colored haze of love in the air that comes along with weddings, and you wondered if that magical pixie dust was going to wear off eventually — and take your feelings with it. 

But it never did. 

Even at the beginning, back when Jake had tried to push down his feelings for you and said he couldn’t offer much more than no strings attached fun, ‘because I’m going to be away on deployments and dangerous missions all the time, and because you’re Bradshaw’s little sister.’ 

Because he ‘didn’t have time for anything serious’ – but really, because he was afraid of just how strongly he felt for you – even then, you were so drawn to him and Jake couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed spending time with you.

How he thought about you and that amazing night you’d spent together nearly every second of every day. 

From the moment he’d wake up in his boring, lonely apartment, to the hours spent in briefings or flying dangerous maneuvers in his F18, to the moment he’d go to sleep alone every night in his bed that all of a sudden seemed too big. 

And, what scared Jake the most was that it wasn’t just the sex – though, that was definitely a great part of it – that he yearned for. It was just you. 

You, with your bright eyes and your radiant smile, your melodic laugh and effervescent personality. You had quickly wormed your way into his heart and lit him up from the inside out. 

He no longer found himself wanting the mundane and meaningless hook-ups or one night stands that places like the Hard Deck had to offer, which had become routine for him since his time as a young pilot at Top Gun. 

You brought Jake’s world from dull grayscale to vibrant technicolor and he found that he just always wanted you around. 

He’d never felt that way about anyone before, and it terrified him.

You’d never wanted anyone so bad, and you were fearful that it wasn’t going to last. 

But, try as you might, the two of you just couldn’t seem to stay away from each other for long. 

Once Jake got his head out of his ass and he took you out on a few proper dates – which, naturally, ended in you fucking each other’s brains out a few more times – you both agreed to try to take things slow, because your feelings for each other were real and neither one of you wanted to mess things up. 

However, you quickly learned that there was no such thing as slow when it comes to you and Jake. Before you knew it, things between the two of you had become pretty serious, and you realized – much to your brother Bradley’s dismay, that the two of you share a very real connection. 

Through all of the ups and downs — triumphs and hardships, happy times and tears, the silly fights and even sillier make-ups that these past three years have brought the two of you. 

From going mad missing each other when Jake is away on deployments, up until his recent request for a more permanent position at Top Gun so he can be closer to home – closer to you –  you and Jake have stuck together through it all like super glue.

Three years of unconditional love and support, of growing and becoming better together, loving and living life with your best friend.

You’ve never been quite sure if you believe in the concept of soulmates, but if they do exist, you’re positive that Jake is yours.

And, you love weddings… so why are you currently freaking the fuck out, today of all days? Oh, right… because it’s your wedding day. 

You’re pretty sure that your vision is beginning to blur, your body growing a little dizzy as you watch the constant stream of people flitting all around you through the glass of the large vanity mirror.

Your bridesmaids chatter excitedly as they too work to finish getting ready, sipping from mimosas as they make their way into their dresses while Natasha – the best sister-in-law and best maid of honor you could ever ask for – helps to keep everyone focused and on schedule. 

She paces the room with her phone in hand, probably texting Bradley to make sure things are running smoothly in the groomsmens’ suite as well. 

There are at least three people at any given moment hovering around you like bees, fussing over your hair, doing last minute touch-ups on your makeup, and making sure there’s not a wrinkle in sight on the beautiful wedding gown of your dreams that you’re oh-so nervous for Jake to finally see. 

Not nervous because you’re worried he won’t like it – he’s told you plenty of times that he’d be more than happy to marry you if you were wearing a trash bag – but because this is your big day, the beginning of the rest of your lives together and you just want it to be perfect. 

After all the months of painstaking planning – from centerpieces to seating charts, the choosing the color of the napkins to the dinner menu and countless trials of cake flavors. From finding the perfect venue, to the best floral arrangements, and of course the dream wedding dress. 

After being so hyper-focused on this day for months, now that that day is actually here, you just need everything to be perfect.

Not even the two and a half mimosa’s you’ve had this morning have been enough to quell the stress currently coursing through your veins, and the buzz of the busy bridal suite is beginning to make your head spin. 

Between all of the running around you’ve done since waking up — way too early — this morning, the little bit of alcohol and all the commotion going on around you now, your face feels too hot, a tiny sheen of sweat beginning to shine through your makeup.

You can’t help but wonder if Jake is feeling this flustered right now too. Probably not, the man is cool and calm about just about everything; it’s one of the things you love about him.

As the makeup artist powders your nose for the fifth time in ten minutes in an attempt to tamper down the shine, you feel your resolve beginning to crack. You try to take in a deep breath to shake the nerves, but feel as though there’s not enough air in the room to fill your lungs and you find yourself feeling like you need to escape. 

As if she can sense your distress from all the way across the room, Natasha — ever the dutiful maid of honor — materializes behind you with a comforting hand on your shoulder, politely excusing the makeup artist and everyone else that’s currently milling around you, before meeting your gaze through the mirror with a gentle smile. 

Though, you know your sister-in-law too well and you can see the concern in her brown eyes.

“You okay?” When Natasha gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze, you close your eyes and heave out a deep sigh, grateful for a moment of calm. 

It’s in the same moment that you open your eyes and give her a nod and an unconvincing smile that there’s a knock on the bridal suite door just behind you, and you turn your head to find Bradley opening it a crack and peeking his head in. 

“Everyone decent?” Your older brother asks, meeting your eyes with a soft look and you swear you could cry.

Through all her running around to help make sure that your day is perfect, you’d seen Natasha on her phone and you figure that, always knowing just what you need, she must have texted Bradley – and that’s exactly what she did. 

Natasha had let her husband know that his sister was feeling some pre-wedding jitters and could use some reassurance that she knew you could only get from your big brother, and he immediately made his way from the groomsmens’ suite to come to your aid.

“Yeah, come on in!” Natasha calls out with one last squeeze to your shoulder before meeting Bradley at the door and greeting him with a quick kiss on his cheek.

She gently pushes him towards where you stand in front of the large mirror smoothing your hands over an invisible wrinkle on the flowy white skirt of your dress, before ushering the rest of your bridesmaids and everyone else to the other side of the large suite to put their finishing touches on their looks and give the two of you some privacy. 

You turn around to face Bradley, standing there in a classic black suit with a bow tie, and you could swear your brother gets a little misty-eyed as he takes in the sight of you in your lavish white dress, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mustached lips when he asks, “You okay, sis?”

You think about lying for a second and telling him that you’re just fine, but this is Bradley -– your big brother and self-appointed protector for all your life, even when you don’t always want or need him to be, and you know that he’d be able to see right through you.

Blowing out a small sigh, you carefully take a seat on the plush couch that sits in the nearest corner, making sure to arrange all the layers of fabric that surround your lower half in a way that they won’t become too wrinkled.

“Honestly… I’m kind of freaking out.” You tell your brother as he joins you on the sofa. Your voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough that he’s able to hear due to his close proximity.

You’re looking down at where you nervously wring your hands in your lap when Bradley speaks. 

“Why? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” His words are matter-of-fact, but his voice is soft in that comforting, brotherly tone that’s only reserved for you.

“I- I don’t know.” You tell him with a light shake of your head. “I guess I’m just nervous?” 

The words come out as a question and your gaze lifts to meet Bradley’s before you continue on.

“You know, it’s such a big, important day that I’ve spent so long dreaming of and planning for and– that I’m going to remember for the rest of my life and I just…” your voice trails off as you realize you’re rambling, stopping to take a breath before you continue. 

 “I just love Jake so much and I… I just want everything to be perfect.”

Bradley takes in your frazzled expression, nodding in understanding. “You’re right, it is a big deal, and it’s totally normal to have some nerves.” 

The pensive look on his face shifts to one of what looks like amusement as he glances across the room to where his wife is chatting away with the rest of your bridesmaids, before leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially. 

“I was scared shitless when I married Nat.” 

Your eyes widen at Bradley’s confession, a small puff of laughter escaping your lips as you question him, “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” Your brother’s smile grows at the sight of your own, a quiet chuckle leaving him. “But, then I remembered that I was marrying my best friend and all of those nerves just sort of melted away.”

“Which is why you should believe me when I tell you–” Bradley reaches over to take your hands in his, his brown gaze warm as he speaks earnestly.

“It’s going to be perfect no matter what happens, because you and Jake will be together.”

Your lips can’t help but quirk up a bit at your older brother’s reassurance. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Bradley gives your hands a gentle squeeze. “In fact, I know so.”

“Because, I have never seen you happier than you have been these past few years since you’ve been with Jake.” That small smile never leaves his lips as he continues talking and your heart nearly melts in your chest at the sincerity of your big brother’s words. 

“It’s clear that the two of you love each other very much.”

You have to admit it’s a bit of a shock to hear those words from Bradley of all people – sure, things have gotten a lot better between your brother and your fiance over the years, but you’d still consider them frenemies at the best of times. 

You realize that you haven’t said anything in response, being too stunned to speak, when Bradley continues on with a knowing smirk on his face as he takes in your dumbfounded expression.

“Trust me, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea of you dating Jake in the beginning, but I see how much he cares about you. Above anything else.” 

You nod your head in agreement, but not without a laugh and a playful roll of your eyes. With your brother’s reassurance that everything would be okay so long as you and Jake are together, and the reminder of just how much your husband-to-be loves you, now you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face if you tried. “Yeah, he does.” 

Bradley takes in the lovesick smile on your face and tilts his head, raising a brow in question. “We feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” Feeling much more calm now, it’s your turn to squeeze Bradley’s hands, nodding happily at him before releasing them. “A lot better. Thank you.”

“Good.” Bradley stands, offering his hands to pull you up off the sofa as well, before pulling you into a hug. 

With a quiet instruction to ‘call me if you need me’, your brother releases you from his arms, venturing over to Natasha to place a small peck to his wife’s lips before making his way out the door and back to the groomsmens’ suite.

You really do feel a whole lot better, but all this talk about your fiancé and his love for you, and how truly, utterly happy he makes you, has you missing him. Yearning to be with him in this very moment, and you realize that the only thing that would really put your mind at ease is right now Jake himself. 

Jake’s head perks up as the door to the groomsmen’s suite opens for the second time in about fifteen minutes to reveal Bradley, adorning a tux matching that of all the other groomsmen. 

It’s still crazy for him to think about the fact that your brother, who was so adamant about you not seeing Jake all those years ago, would be one of the groomsmen at his and your wedding. 

“Where’d you disappear to, Rooster?” A relaxed smirk lifts up the corner of Jake’s lips as he fixes his tie in the mirror.  

“Just went to check on the bride-to-be.” Jake’s smile softens just a bit at the mention of you.

“You know, I never thought the two of you would last this long, so I had to check and see if my sister was ready to back out yet.” 

Bradley drops down onto the sofa next to Bob and Coyote, who are quietly snickering at his teasing of the groom. 

“Oh, ha-ha.” Jake’s smirk grows devilish at the joke, turning his sights on the mustached man ready to tease him right back. “Face it, Bradshaw. We’re gonna be brothers real soon.” 

Bradley only rolls his eyes goodnaturedly at his soon to be brother-in-law, a fact that Jake has made a point to remind him of, all the time, since the two of you got engaged a little over a year ago. 

“How is she, though?” Jake asks, and Bradley can hear the sincerity creeping into the blonde’s tone. 

“She’s good. Was just dealing with the usual pre-wedding nerves, but it’s all good now.” Bradley tells him honestly. 

Jake only nods in response, already retreating into his head, into his worry for you, causing your brother to speak up again.

“Jake, I promise, everything’s good.” Bradley reassures him with a small smile.

“Yeah… good.” Jake nods once more, making an attempt to paint the best smile he possibly can on his lips.

He’s not worried because he thinks that you might not want this, or him – he knows without a shadow of doubt just how vast your love for him is – but, because he knows how you get when you put your heart into something and that you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to get everything perfect.

Jake’s seen firsthand just how painstakingly you’ve worked to plan this wedding, all the months spent making sure that every little detail is just right. 

He knows that all of that time and stress, culminating to this one day, is likely weighing on your mind now that the day has finally come. 

And in this moment, Jake wants nothing more than to just be able to see you – to hold you and comfort you and let you know that everything is going to be just fine.

He knows the old superstition that the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the ceremony, but…

“Fuck it.”

The two words escape under Jake’s breath just before he’s shrugging on the jacket to his tux and quickly making his way to the door. 

“Where are you going, man?” Javy questions his best friend, drawing the attention of the rest of the Daggers — sans Phoenix who’s with you getting ready in the bridal suite — toward where Jake stands in the now open doorway, one hand on the knob and one foot already out in the hall. 

“Just gotta check something with the wedding planner. Be right back.” 

It’s not a total lie. Sure, you had forgone hiring a wedding planner and chose to do everything yourself — with the help of Natasha and Penny of course -— but that technically made you the wedding planner. The guys don’t have to know that.

Jake traverses the winding halls of the venue, the anticipation of seeing you building up as he walks briskly in his dress shoes until he finds a door with a paper sign that reads, ‘Bridal Suite’ in loopy, cursive lettering.

Taking a breath, he knocks on the door, and he’s lucky to find that a moment later, it’s you who answers.

“What-” Your eyes widen in surprise and you’re hardly able to get a word out as one of Jake’s hands grasps yours, swiftly pulling you out of the door and into the hallway with him. 

You don’t get a chance to finish your question, because within seconds your fiancé is practically sprinting down the long hallway, pulling you along with him with his large hand wrapped around your smaller one. 

You can't help but giggle at Jake’s antics as the two of you run through the halls, watching his free hand reach for a few knobs along the way only to find them locked, finally stopping when he finds a door that seems to be open. 

He quickly peers into the room just to make sure that it’s empty before gently pulling you into the dark space, lit only by the natural light that shines in through the windows, and closing the door. 

You're still laughing breathlessly when you find your words again, Jake’s own breathy chuckle mixing with yours in the quiet of the room.

“Wha— Jake? What are you doing, you’re not supposed to see me in my dress before the ceremony!”

“Screw that, my girl needed me.” His warm hand is still in yours, his free hand moving to clasp your other one. That emerald gaze that you’ve come to know so well bores into you as he smiles down at you lovingly.

Your eyes lift to meet Jake’s and it’s like any and all nerves just melt away.

You always feel safe when Jake is near and just the sight of him now, being in his presence, has a toothy grin making its way onto your face.

Another giggle escapes you, trailing off into a content sigh as you look up at the gorgeous man in front of you.

The two of you just gaze into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and with a light shake of your head, your grin becomes coy. 

“Hi.” You find yourself whispering into the quiet of the room.

Jake lets out a chuckle, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling up in the way that you love when smiles at you. “Hi.”

Without letting go of your hands, Jake takes a step back to really take you in for the first time since breaking you out of the bridal suite just a few minutes ago. 

Finally getting a good look at you in your wedding dress that beautifully accentuates the shape of your body, your makeup done to perfection — though Jake doesn’t think you ever need it — and hair styled prettily but still flowing and free just the way he likes, renders your soon-to-be husband practically speechless. 

All he can say is, “Wow…”

You can hear the pure awe in that one word and can’t help but smile bashfully, heat rising in your cheeks. Jake’s compliments still manage to make you flustered, even after all this time. 

“Wow, yourself.” Your gaze sweeps up and down the length of his body, taking in the crisp black tuxedo and matching bow tie, and the white dress shirt underneath. Appreciating the way it fits him just right, how you’re still able to tell just how toned his body is even under the layers of clothing.

Jake’s hands tenderly squeeze your own, pulling you a little bit closer once again as his eyes search out your own. “You doing okay, honey?”

And though you were definitely feeling anxious before, you couldn’t be more content than you are now when it’s just the two of you, standing here holding hands with the love of your life.

“Yes,” You nod gently. “I’m just a little nervous.”

You look down at your joined hands before quietly continuing. “I just want this day to be perfect.”

“Hey,” Jake lightly swings your joined hands to get you to look up at him again, and when you do, you see that he’s still wearing that confident smile. “It’s going to be perfect because it’s all coming from you. And everything you do is perfect in my eyes.”

You have to bite back your giggle at his sentiment, in disbelief that this sweet man is soon going to be your husband.

“It’s going to be perfect because it’s us. Together.” You correct him with a playful grin. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jake’s hands leave yours, wrapping warmly around your shoulders to pull you in for a hug. Nestled in his embrace, your own arms wrap around his middle, your head moving to lean on his chest, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne as he leans his head on top of yours. “Together.”

The two of you stand like that for a few moments, wrapped snugly in each other’s warmth, Jake beginning to sway you just lightly as you breathe each other in.

It’s with your cheek pressed against his pec that you finally take a look around the room the two of you are standing in, realizing that it’s another suite similar to the one you had been getting ready in earlier.

“You know,” You lift your head from Jake’s chest to look up at him as you speak, a playful tone filling your words. “This feels oddly familiar to the night we met.”

“Sneaking off to a dark, empty room,” You continue with a growing smirk, arms unlatching from around Jake’s waist and pulling back just a touch, his own arms falling from around your shoulders. “Just the two of us.”

Your hands slide gently up Jake’s torso over the fabric of his suit jacket, up past his broad shoulders to rest at the back of his neck. 

Jake’s gaze leaves you for just a moment to glance at the space around you. An airy laugh leaving his lips as his hands reach for your hips over the soft fabric of your dress to pull you a little bit closer, his green eyes falling back onto you. 

Faces just inches away from one another, the two of you share matching silly grins as you think back to the night of your brother’s wedding. A look of pure love and adoration passing between your eyes and his as you both absorb the fact that you’re here, three years later, at your own wedding. 

“Yeah, we’re just missing the champagne.” 

Jake softly brushes his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to connect his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. 

Tasting the remnants of the sweet mimosa on your lips, he hums against them before pulling back just slightly. “But it seems like you’ve already got that covered, Sweets.” 

The familiar nickname paints his favorite smile on your lips that has Jake diving back in for another kiss, this one deeper as his tongue dips into your mouth to taste the lingering sweetness of champagne and orange juice on your tongue.

His large hands pull you in closer by the waist as your fingers find the short blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, a groan falling from Jake’s mouth and into yours as your fingernails gently scrape along his scalp.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your body still responds to his touch after all this time; your knees going weak, and you’re practically melting into him as you feel wetness begin to pool in the skimpy, lacy white panties of your bridal lingerie that you’ve been dying to show Jake since you picked it all out a few months earlier.

The kiss quickly becomes more heated, lips slotting feverishly together as though one can only find much-needed oxygen within the other’s mouth, tongues swirling in a well-known dance and relishing in the familiar taste of one another. 

Jake’s hands are all over you, pulling your body flush against his as he sucks your bottom lip between the both of his. Your skin feels hot from his touch even through the fabric of your dress, and the realization of his quickly hardening length pressing against your hip has you mewling against him.

Jake pulls back from the kiss, his gaze still hungry, but you also catch the mirth in his eyes as he chuckles at his bride-to-be.

“Always so needy for me.” He slowly shakes his head with that classic, cocky Jake Seresin smirk that still makes you weak in the knees. 

“Me?!” You scoff, eyes wide as you look up at him incredulously, though you’re fighting back a smile because you know he’s right. 

“Well, I’d say someone is also pretty needy.” 

Your hand leaves the back of his neck to travel between your bodies to prove your point, reaching down to palm at his hard length through the fabric of his dress pants. Your brows raise in a playfully vindicated look that screams ‘I told you so’, as Jake lets out a groan at your touch. 

“Yeah, o-okay.” Jake’s chuckle is breathless this time as you cup your hand around him a little more firmly, grinning up at him and batting your lashes. “Always needy for you too, Sweets.” 

His hand wraps around your own to remove it from his bulge, already missing the friction as he brings your knuckles up to his lips in a sweet kiss before letting it go.

Before you even know what’s happening, both of Jake’s hands are reaching down to grip your thighs through all the layers of lace and tulle, a squeak emitting from your throat as he sweeps you off your feet and carries you over the nearest wall. 

“Jake! What are you-” Your arms circle around his shoulders, legs parting of their own volition to make room for him between them. Bracketing his hips as your back lightly hits the wall, the fabric of your dress all bunched between the two of you exposing your calves as he holds you in his strong grasp.

Large palms wrapped around the underside of your thighs, his weight pressed against your front and the wall at your back keep you upright as you giggle in your soon-to-be husband’s arms. 

Jake is beaming back at you, the adoration in his green eyes clear as they crinkle up due to his grin. 

“I love you, so much.” He lifts a hand up to your face, the backs of his fingers caressing along the soft skin of your cheek and Jake shakes his head as if he can’t believe that this is real, that you’re real. 

He leans in to press a soft, but dizzying kiss to your lips before murmuring against them, “I wanna show you how much.”

A part of you feels like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice, at just how well Jake loves you and how he’s never shy to make it known. 

But mostly, you just feel the white-hot pooling of arousal growing in your belly, your eyes glazing over with a look of both love and lust as you gaze back at him.

“Yeah?” You nod up at him in a daze, biting back a grin as you take in the hunger in those pretty green eyes. 

“Yeah.” He places a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes you whimper and you can feel his smile against your skin. “Let me show you.” 

You nod your head again, mind in a haze of want at the feel of his warm breath on your skin, your hands squeezing at Jake’s broad shoulders. 

Feeling the velvety-soft fabric of his black suit jacket beneath your fingers, it’s only then that you’re shaken out of your stupor and you remember where you are – what today is.  

“Wait-wait, Jake, we can’t!” Your fingers continue to absentmindedly play with the fabric covering his shoulder. We’re supposed to be getting married like… now.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the predicament you’ve found yourselves in, though it’s very unsurprising for you and Jake. 

Jake’s laugh mingles with your own as you begin to lightly shake your head, and you feel his strong shoulders shrug beneath your grasp as you watch his lips quirk up into a mischievous grin. 

“All our guests–” Jake interrupts your words with another quick peck on your lips, laughing at your stunned expression. 

“The guests…can wait.” He states matter-of-factly. “Can’t exactly have a wedding without the bride and groom, now can they, Sweets?” 

Jake’s smile is smug and you can’t fight the one materializing on your own lips as you continue to shake your head. 

“Besides, would we really be us if we didn’t sneak off to have sex at a wedding?” He finishes off the question with a kiss to your jaw before trailing his lips down the column of your throat, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck – careful not to leave a mark – before soothing it with his tongue.

Jake was right. It had happened the night you first met at Bradley and Natasha’s wedding, and had become a tradition of sorts for the two of you at every wedding you’d been to in the three years since – and there have been quite a few.

You can feel your resolve quickly beginning to crumble as Jake presses his hips more firmly against yours, his hard length pressing up against where you need him most, the friction not nearly enough through all the layers of fancy clothing. You’re already soaking through your panties for him and you know you’re a goner.

You drop your head onto Jake’s shoulder with a sigh, before looking back up at him through your lashes. 

“Fine, but we have to be quick.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you give in, but with the most stern tone you can muster and it only makes Jake laugh. 

“Ain’t nothing slow about me, sweetheart.” You can’t stop the snort that escapes you, or the playful roll of your eyes at his words, leaning up to kiss that stupid grin off of Jake’s face. 

“Please, just– just shut up and fuck me already, Seresin.” you manage to get out through your giggles.

“With pleasure.” Jake’s lips claim yours in a hungry kiss and you feel one of his big hands venture underneath the skirt of your dress, traveling up your thigh and past the frilly fabric of your white garter in search of your core.

When his fingers brush against the damp lace of your panties, you choke out a gasp against his lips and Jake pulls back to take in your expression — your brows furrowed in pleasure and eyes heavily hooded with need. His kiss-swollen lips lift up into a smug smirk as he feels how wet you are for him. 

Jake’s deft fingers press more firmly against that wet spot, rubbing along your seam through the damp fabric. You can’t hold back your whine, already writhing against him as his thumb finds your clit, expertly circling it through the lace. 

“So wet and I’ve barely even touched you.” He breathes out a laugh and there’s a hint of smugness to his words — because of course there, it’s Jake — but you can also hear the awe present in his voice, see it in his emerald gaze that burns into you lovingly and it makes heat creep up your cheeks.

His hand dips beneath the waistband of your panties and you and Jake groan in unison as his fingers make a few quick circles around your wet, swollen clit. 

Your head falls back against the wall behind you and Jake takes the opportunity to kiss at your neck again as his hand dips down further to collect more of your wetness. 

“Already all ready for me, Sweets?” Jake’s words are whispered next to your ear as his fingers graze your entrance, your hips bucking toward them of their own volition.

“For you, ahh–” Your words are cut off by a shaky moan as Jake slides two long fingers inside of you, up to the knuckle in one swift motion. Your breath hitches and you’re practically melting against him, your voice already sounding wrecked as you whimper for him, “Always.”

Jake groans at how easily your slick walls envelop his fingers, gushing with new arousal as he fucks them in and out of your tight hole to get you ready for his cock -– not that you really need much prep with the way you’re already soaking his hand.  

“Such a good girl for me.”

Your walls clench tight around his digits, from both the praise and the way he curls them inside of you, that coil in your belly quickly winding up. 

“Fuck- Jake!” He can hear the desperation in your plea of his name, can feel it in the way your hips chase his fingers each time he pulls them almost all the way out. You’re already feeling so close, but you’re needy for more. Need to be full of him. 

Your perfectly manicured nails dig into Jake’s bicep, the heel of your foot pressing into his backside in an attempt to pull him closer as you gaze up at him through your lashes. “Please, baby– need you.”

“I got you, honey.” 

Your chin falls against your chest and you cry out as Jake scissors his fingers inside of you a few more times before they retreat completely, leaving you clenching around nothing and keening at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

The hand that was in your panties begins to trail slowly back down your thigh, and though you can’t see it through all the fabric of your skirt, you can feel the trail of slick it leaves along your skin in its wake. 

As Jake clutches your thigh in his firm grasp to hold you more securely against the wall, his other hand moves to the tent in his tight trousers where his throbbing length has been neglected.

How he’s able to hold you up with one arm while the other hand unfastens his dress pants is beyond you, but it’s moments like this that you’re grateful to have a big, strong naval aviator for a husband-to-be. 

Jake pushes his suit pants and underwear down just far enough to finally release his cock and you can’t help but moan at the sight of it. Long and looking almost painfully hard, the tip red and angry and weeping with precum. 

Jake lets out a groan as he wraps a fist around his length, relishing in the friction as his hand moves along the shaft and works to spread the pearls of his arousal from his tip down to the base. 

His hand then leaves his cock to push up the skirt of your dress as far as it can go. 

Deft fingers pry the seat of your panties from where they stick to your slick-soaked core, and gingerly move the fabric to the side so he can access your dripping cunt before he grabs ahold of himself again.

Jake lines his tip up to your entrance and pushes in slowly, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that pushes the air out of your lungs, stealing your breath and leaving you dizzy with it as his tongue tangles with yours. 

Your hands glide up the soft, expensive fabric on Jake’s arms, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you gasp and writhe against him. Relishing in the feeling of him all over you. 

His lips covering your own, short breaths mixing with yours as you both pant and moan into the frantic kiss. His strong body, solid as the wall behind you as his front presses taut against you to hold you up, his long cock pushing deep inside of you with every single thrust and leaving you feeling so unbelievably full of him.

Jake pulls back from the kiss and looks down to where the two of you are connected. His length glistening with your arousal as it moves in and out of your tight walls, your beautiful, intricate wedding gown all bunched around your hips as he fucks you, and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him when he thinks about how crazy this is.

“Wha-what’s so funny?” You ask breathlessly through kiss-swollen lips, your eyes that had previously been shut tight in bliss now opening to search out his green ones. 

“Just— this,” Jake’s gaze lifts to meet your eye as he continues to laugh, unsure if his brain is going fuzzy with pleasure, or if that’s just the intoxication of being with you. 

“My beautiful, perfect bride,” his hips slow just a touch, pressing forward in a particularly hard thrust that has you gasping and clutching onto his shoulders tighter, you and Jake moaning in unison before he continues, panting through his words.

“All a mess for me — fuck– right before we’re supposed to say ‘I do’ in front of all our family and friends– and pretty much everyone we know.”

Your eyes widen, lips tugging up into a bashful smile and you can’t help but giggle along with him, burying your head in his shoulder and speaking into the soft fabric of his jacket as he continues to fuck you.

“Oh god… well, I’m sure there’ll be some time to steam the dress again before I have to walk down the aisle.” 

You can feel Jake’s laughter reverberate against your cheek just before he cups your chin, lifting your face back up to be level with his and beaming at you with that megawatt smile. “There's my wife!” 

You’re both still grinning when he pulls you in for another kiss. Teeth gnashing against one another’s, mingled laughter and moans coming out in breathy puffs against each other’s lips as his cock works inside of you, his hips still moving against yours at an even pace.

“This is crazy.” You can barely get the words out, still giggling between messy kisses. 

“Yeah,” Jake punctuates with another press of his lips on yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip and drawing out a quiet whimper as he pulls it back towards him and releases it before continuing. 

“It is crazy,” – Another kiss – “You make crazy, Sweets.”

With one more firm peck to your lips, you feel both of Jake’s hands wrap tighter under your thighs, rough fingers squeezing your ass as he hikes you up a bit higher against the wall, pressing impossibly closer to keep you firmly in place. 

The change of the angle combined with his thrusts accelerating in speed has you crying out loud as he ruts up into you, Jake’s lips moving to cover yours once again and muffle the sounds of your moans. 

You shudder against him as his tip prods against that spongy spot inside you that makes stars appear behind your closed lids with each and every thrust, and you feel that coil beginning to tighten again, the familiar heat rapidly licking at the base of your spine.

Jake knows you’re close when your nails begin to dig into his shoulders through the jacket of his tux as you gasp for air, your lips parting from his with a string of saliva still connecting them for a moment that makes him growl as your head lulls back to lean against the wall. Eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as you quietly, breathlessly, cry out his name like a mantra.

Your body is sandwiched tightly between Jake’s and the wall as his length fills you, hips pinned to yours and barely able to pull out on each thrust for how tightly your walls are clamping around him, the coarse but neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock deliciously grazing your clit and setting your whole body alight.

He's the only thing keeping you upright when your orgasm hits you. His mouth swallows your cries as your whole body goes taut, holding Jake in a vice grip as you fall apart on his cock. 

Jake can feel it as all of the tension leaves your body. He continues in slow, shallow thrusts, the quiet of the room only accentuating the salacious sounds of your release flooding around him as he works you through your high. 

He pulls back from the kiss as your moans begin to subside to get a look at your fucked out, blissful expression. 

Your eyes are still closed, lips parted and now devoid of any of the nude-pink lipstick shade you’d been wearing before, and your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat. 

Your chest rapidly rises and falls beneath the fitted white bodice of your wedding gown, accentuating your cleavage with each little pant as you try to catch your breath.

“So fucking pretty, honey,” Jake begins a light trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your warm cheek, and up to your hairline where he whispers against the slightly damp skin. “My beautiful bride.”

Your hands scramble for purchase on his back, whimpering as you attempt to pull him in closer. 

“Jake- '' Your legs tighten around his hips, heels pressing against his backside where they’re crossed at the ankles, your desperate mewl mixing with Jake’s deeper grunt as the movement pushes him even deeper inside of you.  

“‘M so lucky to- to get to call you my husband,” Jake swears that his cocks swells just that little bit more at your loving words. “Cum for me. Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck.” The sweet praise whispered from your pretty lips sends him into a tailspin. 

You’ve barely come down from your high when Jake’s hips quicken their pace as he begins to chase his own release, the beginnings of overstimulation making you cry out a string of broken moans, incoherent whimpers of curses and his name. 

The fullness and the delightful drag of his cock through your tight walls making you clench around him harder, and the assault of his tip against your g-spot leaving you feeling boneless, your grip on his shoulders tightens like you’ll float away at any moment.

The way your velvety walls are squeezing him, your release soaking his length and the obscene sound it creates as he continues to fuck into you, have Jake right on the edge of his own high. 

His head falls to your shoulder where he grunts deeply into the crook of your neck. 

“So good, baby. So good for me.” He praises, peppering sweet kisses to your hot skin, a stark contrast to the harsh force of his hips pounding against yours as they begin to lose their rhythm. 

After a few more sloppy thrusts, Jake finishes inside you with a strangled groan. The familiar sensation of his cum filling your still-spasming walls pulls a contented sigh from your lips. 

Jake’s lips dot a trail of soft kisses along the heated skin of your shoulder and neck, then under your jaw before he lifts his face to be level with yours. Pressing his forehead against your own, the two of you stay there just breathing each other in as you catch your breath.

When the groomsmen realize just how much time has passed with still no sign of Jake, and with only minutes until the supposed start of the ceremony, Bradley is seeing red. 

For a moment, jumping to the worst conclusion — that Jake may be standing his little sister up on her wedding day — and he’s just about ready to murder the groom.

It’s only when Natasha knocks on the door to the groomsmens’ suite, looking frazzled as she asks him and the other Daggers if any of them have seen the bride, letting them know that you’ve gone missing as well, that Bradley and his wife both quickly come to the realization that the two of you must be together. 

So, Natasha and Bradley begin the hunt to find the soon-to-be newlyweds, the latter rolling his eyes before grumbling, “They’d better not be off somewhere fucking.”

Natasha only responds with a snicker because she knows that’s probably exactly what the two of you were doing. She offers her grumpy husband a sympathetic look and gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before they split up to search through the maze that is the halls of your wedding venue. 

In no rush to move just yet, you and Jake just rest for a moment, foreheads pressed together, your body still sandwiched between his broad frame and the wall. His softening cock still inside of you, puffs of air warming each other’s lips as shallow pants become more steady breaths.

You know that you and Jake’s little er —detour— has almost definitely put things behind schedule for your big day, but in this moment you honestly couldn’t care less. 

When it’s just you and the love of your life, bodies intertwined and relishing in each other’s warmth, shared breaths becoming one, you can’t help but think that this day already couldn’t be more perfect.

You feel a flurry of excitement, your heart bursting at the thought that it’s always going to be like this. Solace in the fact that you’re Jake’s and he’s yours, that this is only the beginning of the rest of your lives together. 

He seems to share in the sentiment, pulling back to admire you for a moment before you feel his smile against your skin when he lightly presses his lips to your forehead. 

One of his hands reaches up to cradle your cheek, those green eyes are boring down into your own with that look of pure adoration once again as Jake moves to speak.

“God, I can’t wait to marry you,” His voice is breathy and full of awe–almost a laugh, eyes crinkling up at the corners in that way that you love as his smile begins to take up more of his face. “I’m so happy that you’re gonna be my wife.”

“Jake…” If you thought your heart was bursting before, you think it’s about ready to break free from your chest now, your eyes glistening with emotion as you lovingly look up at him through your lashes.

“You’re gonna make me cry and I don’t want to mess up my makeup any more than I probably already have,”

The two of you share a quiet laugh, smitten as ever as your hand makes its way up to cover his where it still rests on the side of your face. “But, to have you as my husband… I couldn’t be happier.”

Jake leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips before whispering against them. “Love you, Sweets.”

It’s only after you return his kiss and those three little words that have become as easy to you as breathing, that Jake finally pulls out of you and the two of you let out a simultaneous sigh. 

He reaches down to where the mix of his and your release begins to dribble out of your spent hole, a shattered moan falling from your parted lips as your head lulls back against the wall once more. 

Your legs begin to shake from the overstimulation as two of Jake’s long fingers push his cum back into you, expertly thrusting them in and out a few times before pulling them out again, and you find yourself grateful for the sturdy wall behind you when he purposefully brushes them against your oversensitive clit, leaving you breathless as he shifts your panties back into place to keep his cum inside. 

Your mind is cloudy of all things but Jake — his scent and his warmth and the feeling of his hands all over your skin, his pretty green eyes and his voice and his gorgeously cocky smirk — each one of your senses being invaded by him and you couldn’t be more content. 

And, you love knowing that underneath all the layers of fancy lace and tulle, right before the biggest moments of your lives, that you have his cum inside you.

Just as you part from one another, a knock on the door causes you to jump. 

You can hear Natasha out in the hall calling out your names and you and Jake share a look, wearing matching guilty smiles. 

However, it’s not long before his smile shifts into a more of a smirk, and you have to bite back a giggle as he rolls his green eyes playfully before leaning in to peck your cheek, pulling back to mouth the words ‘you good?’. 

With your grin and nod of confirmation, Jake leaves you with one more kiss, fastening the button on his pants and straightening out his dress shirt as he makes his way over to the door.

He pulls it open, still wearing that signature smirk on his face and Natasha glances up at him before she cautiously peeks her head in to see you too, hair smoothed out as much as you could manage on such short notice, the skirt of your wedding dress now back in place and hiding the fact that Jake’s cum is soaking through your underwear and beginning to drip down your thighs. 

“Thank god you’re clothed. I wasn’t looking to get scarred for life today.” Natasha breathes a sigh of relief and steps fully into the room. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t find us five minutes earlier.” Jake chuckles as you lightly smack his chest, that ever-cocky smile on his handsome face that you’ve come to love so very much over these last three years. 

You can’t help but snicker along with him when you catch sight of Natasha’s nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“Ok, ew… And you’re lucky I found you and not Bradley.” Natasha gives Jake a glare before clapping her hands in front of both of your faces. “Now come on, hurry the fuck up. The ceremony — your wedding ceremony — is about to start soon.”

You nod your head frantically, as if only just remembering where, and when, you are.

“Right, yeah! I just gotta go… clean up a bit.” you squeak out to your sister-in-law with a bashful grin before scurrying off the bathroom of the suite you’d snuck into. 

Natasha just gives Jake a deadpan look that conveys her slight disgust before leaving the room, making her way out into the hall to call Bradley and let the him know that she’s located the happy couple. 

After taking care of the mess between your legs and wiping off the smudged remnants of your lipstick in the bathroom mirror, you return to find Jake, who’s leaning up against the wall opposite the door, looking cool and calm and handsome as ever in his tux. 

Making your way over to him, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, letting out a little snort as your hands reach up to delicately fix his hair where it sticks out in a few places—no doubt from your tugging on it during your recent activities. 

Once Jake’s golden locks are back in a more presentable state, you smooth a hand down the nape of his neck, leaning up to attach your lips firmly to his. 

Jake groans into it as his mouth moves against yours with just as much fervor, his hands reaching blindly for your waist to pull you in closer, and the two of you share one last passionate kiss that you hope conveys both your love for him and your excitement to be marrying him — though Jake already knows. 

“Alright, Natasha’s going to kill me if I don’t get back in the next two minutes.” You pull away from his lush lips, reluctantly and breathlessly, wanting to live in this moment with him forever. 

Your arms unwrap themselves from behind Jake’s neck, but you don’t get very far when he reaches out to take one of your hands in his own, and you can tell he’s just as reluctant to end the moment too when he brings it up to his lips to kiss a trail from your knuckles to the tips of your fingers.

“Yeah, I’m not really looking forward to dealing with your brother either.” 

His words make you laugh in that sweet, boisterous way that he’s so ready to hear for the rest of his life and with that, Jake chuckles and lets you go, his hand still holding onto yours until you’re too far out of reach. 

Jake calls out your name just as you reach the door and you stop short, turning around to face him just as you pull it open. You stand in the threshold, brows raised, and look at him expectantly. 

“See ya out there, my beautiful bride.”

You’re surprised your cheeks don’t perpetually hurt from how much this man makes you smile.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dashing groom.” You leave him with a playful wink and that intoxicating smile, in a flash of flowing white fabric as you quickly retreat into the hallway. 

Jake chuckles to himself, moving over to the mirror to make sure he looks presentable, smoothing a hand over his hair and giving himself one last once-over before he makes his way back to his groomsmen. 

Trailing behind Natasha, you quickly make your way through the halls back to the bridal suite, giving her your most innocent smile when she peers back at you over her shoulder with a pointed look.

Your sister-in-law sends you a half-hearted scoff and a playful roll of her brown eyes, but you can see the smirk just beginning to grow at the corner of her lips before she turns and reaches out to open the door. 

“Come on.” Natasha half laughs, half groans, ushering you into the room.

Before you know it, you’ve got a plethora of people surrounding you once again — one giving your dress a very last minute steam to get rid of any wrinkles your activities with Jake a few minutes earlier had caused, others rushing around to touch up your hair and makeup and to finally pin up your veil. Although, this time around, you find that you’re unbothered. Feeling a lot more at ease, and you’re back in tip-top shape in record time. 

You’re practically vibrating in excitement and anticipation as Natasha and the rest of your bridal party shower you with hugs and their own squeals of excitement and encouragement before they make their way outside to the beautifully set up venue to get into their places for the ceremony. 

You give yourself one final once-over in the mirror, unable to curb the smile that grows at how beautiful you feel. 

It's only a few moments later when Bradley pokes his head in the door once more to ask if you’re ready. He takes in the giddy — and much more self-assured than earlier  —  smile on your face when you turn to him and nod your head excitedly. 

“Ya know, you can still back out of this if you wanted.” Your brother jokes, his tone teasing as his mustached lips form into a sly grin.

With a punch to your older brother’s shoulder, you pin Bradley with a pointed look and a sarcastic ‘ha ha’.

“Come on, I’m sure the Bronco would make a great getaway car!” He chuckles as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Bradley!” You move to punch his arm again, but he quickly ducks out of the way this time, and though your eyes are now narrowed at him in a feigned scowl, Bradley can tell that you’re not really angry with him by the way your lips are fighting back pulling up into a smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to hold my peace when that part comes up.” He raises his hands up in surrender and you can’t help but laugh along with Bradley’s joke, though not without a playful shake of your head and roll of your eyes. 

“You better!” Your big brother flinches as you lurch at him again, but this time, instead of hitting him, your fingers reach up to pinch his ear and it’s like the two of you are kids again; you giggling maniacally while Bradley — now a big, tough 6’1 fighter pilot — yelps in pain, arms flailing as he tries to get out of your grip.

He’d probably pull your hair like he did when you were kids too, if it wasn’t all styled to perfection with your beautiful sheer veil pinned to the crown of it, all ready for your big day. 

“I will, I will!” Bradley hisses through his teeth, chuckling as you release your hold on him to grab your bouquet that’s a beautiful mix of both yours and Jake’s favorite flowers, and then move to link your arm with his to begin the path down the hall. The path to the rest of your life and you couldn’t be more excited. 

As your brother guides you through the venue’s winding halls towards the doors to where the outdoor ceremony is being held, a gentle grin befalls your lips as you think about how you got here — and your big brother’s part in all of it. 

“You know… I know you told all the guys at your wedding to steer clear of me.” 

Bradley stops in his tracks at your divulgence, pulling you to a quick stop as well and nearly tripping you over your heels and the fabric of your long wedding gown.

“You wha- huh? You know?!” 

Admittedly, Bradley thought he was taking that secret to his grave.

“Yeah, I know.” You can’t help but giggle at your brother’s flustered expression. “Jake told me, a few months after we started dating.”

You’ve known for almost three years and you never said anything. Huh. 

Bradley stands there with his lips parted, but no words are coming out. He’s still in shock at the fact that you’re laughing about this. 

“So… you’re not mad?” He asks the question apprehensively, a grimace on his face as he awaits your answer. 

“No, I’m not mad.” You shake your head, still smiling as an airy laugh escapes you. 

“Well, maybe I was for like a second back then. But, I appreciate how much you want to protect me, Bradley. Even if it does make you an idiot sometimes.” 

You playfully roll your eyes and Bradley finally relaxes, shoulders dropping as he laughs along with you. 

“For what it’s worth, you and Jake actually aren’t a half-bad couple.” You playfully smack his chest in response to the — albeit sweet — jest. 

“Thank you.” You beam up at your brother, content knowing that that’s his way of letting you know he truly is happy for you and Jake. 

Bradley links his arm with yours again and continues leading you towards the doors. “I wish Mom and Dad could see how beautiful you look today. They’d be so proud.” 

“Oh, come on, Bradley! You’re gonna make me cry off my makeup!” You whisper-yell at him half jokingly as you finally reach the doors that will lead you out to the ceremony — to where you’ll very soon be married to the love of your life. 

“Me too.” Giving Bradley’s arm a gentle squeeze, the two of you share a smile, knowing that your parents will be there in spirit. And grateful for the fact that your uncle Mav who’s always been like a third parent to you will be there too. “Now, come on. Let’s go get me married!”

The wedding ceremony goes off without a hitch — albeit a little bit later than planned. 

When the music starts and Bradley walks you down the aisle, you’re surrounded by the smiling faces of friends and family. 

Although, your eyes are only on Jake — looking so unbelievably handsome in his tux and his wide smile and you can’t believe just how lucky you got — and his mossy green eyes are focused on only you. 

Both of your eyes shine with tears and it’s as if only the two of you exist in that moment when you meet him at the altar, the two of you happily joining hands with matching lovesick grins adorning your faces.

Though he’ll never admit it — and Natasha will never let him live it down — Bradley definitely shed a few tears himself as he listened to you and Jake exchange your vows. 

It’s been a long day of running around getting ready for the ceremony — and sneaking off for a quickie, of course — before marrying your soulmate in front of practically everyone you know, then taking countless family photos and enjoying a cocktail hour with your friends and family showering you and Jake in congratulations and well wishes. 

But, it’s all worth it because you’re finally able to call Jake your husband and you couldn’t be happier.

You’re both more than ready for the reception, ready to let loose and enjoy your time together as a newlyweded couple. 

After a nice dinner comes the best man and maid of honor speeches from Javy and Natasha, and a speech from Uncle Mav that includes a few embarrassing anecdotes about your childhood that have you giggling as you hide your face in Jake’s shoulder. 

Then it’s time for the newlyweds to make a toast before sharing your first dance to Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere, the first song you and Jake danced to on the night when you met three years ago at your brother’s wedding. 

The two of you hold each other close and sway along to the music without a care in the world, Jake dipping you towards the end of the song and claiming your lips in a long kiss that has the entire room cheering — although again, it’s as if you and Jake are the only two who exist in that moment.

When Jake pulls back from the kiss, one of his large palms is still cupping your cheek, fingers gently grazing your skin as his green eyes gaze down at you in adoration. 

“I can’t believe you’re my wife.” He lightly shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m never gonna stop saying that — my wife.”

You’re smiling against one another’s lips as you pull Jake down for another kiss, giggling when you mouth parts from his. 

“I love you so much, my husband.”

You can see that familiar look of both adoration and hunger beginning to overtake Jake’s features in response to your words as your first dance comes to an end.

After sharing what would traditionally be a father-daughter dance with Mav, he returns you into your husband’s loving arms as others begin to join in on the fun, the dance floor now filling up with your guests. 

Jake sees his opportunity to whisk you away from the dancefloor, using the commotion to make a sneaky getaway — again. 

You should be used to it by now — his large hand warmly encompassing yours and pulling you along with him — but you still can’t help the giggles that break free as you quicken your pace to match his as best as you can in your heels, sprinting until the two of you have disappeared from dancefloor, and soon from your wedding reception entirely.   

Out of the ballroom doors and into the empty hallway, the loud music and sounds of your guests having fun now a muffled to barely-there background noise, you find yourself alone with Jake. Your husband.

You pull on Jake’s hand to bring him to a stop in front of you, turning him around and pulling him in closer to you as you lean your back against the closed door, gazing up at him with a lip-bitten smile. 

“What are we doing?” You question through a breathless laugh, although you’re pretty sure you already know the answer. 

Jake’s broad frame crowds you in closer to the door and you find your breaths coming in quicker as he presses the front of his body up against yours.

Your eyes flutter shut as he leans down even closer, his nose gently brushing yours, lips just shy of touching your own. His breath fans against them and it sends a shiver down your spine, a jolt going straight to your core when he speaks.

“Well, we’ve gotta consummate our marriage, Sweets.” Jake whispers against you, his mouth just barely grazing your own. “And I’d like to consummate it as soon as possible.”

The evident hunger in his voice has you frantically nodding against him, eyes still squeezed shut when you feel his front press impossibly closer to you — and the growing bulge there. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey. Gonna consummate the shit out of you.” 

Jake’s whispered words, and their mirthy tone, have you bursting into a fit of giggles, your head falling back against the door behind you. His own laugh joins in with yours as you shake your head at his silliness. You love this man so much.

Your hands reach up to the sides of his neck to pull your husband down for a kiss, lips and teeth clashing as neither of you can break the smiles from your faces. 

“You’re such a dork, Seresin.” You whisper sweetly against Jake’s lips.

“Yeah, but you love it… Mrs. Seresin.” His large hands squeeze your hips, both the heat you feel on your skin through the lacy fabric of your dress and the name making you giddy.

“Well… lead the way, Mr. Seresin!” 

You’re unable to contain the massive smile that breaks out on your face as Jake presses one last kiss to your lips, before grabbing your hand and beginning to pull you along with him once more, and you don’t care where takes you as long as your hand gets to be intertwined with his for the rest of your lives. 

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Thank you for reading! x

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[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (epilogue)

synopsis: on her 29th birthday, nora wakes up in her new home.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, swearing, smut (brief oral sex and shower sex), bradley is an idiot (affectionate), nora and jake are happy and domestic and in love. (wc: 4.4K)

note: i'm saving my sappy note for the end, but if you'd like all of the vibes, listen to daylight before or while reading 🩵

previous chapter | series post

TAGS: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @sometimesanalice @callsignspark @hangmanbrainrot @kandierteveilchen @startrekfangirl2233 @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @mlibbydp @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @kajjaka @roosterbruiser

On the morning of her 29th birthday, Nora is awake before the sun.

At her side, Jake is fast asleep, a pillow crease across his flushed cheek, visible proof of how early it really is because between them, Jake is usually the earlier riser. He’s such a morning person. It’s almost obnoxious. 

During the week, he gets up at the crack of dawn – sometimes before, 4:45 AM sharp – and runs the five miles up the coast to Torrey Pines. He’s back with enough time to kiss a groggy Nora good morning and shower before he has to drive the half hour down to North Island.

It doesn’t make much sense logistically for him to sleep over during the week and drive an hour to and from the base – sometimes more with the evening traffic – but when Nora brought it up to him, watching a movie with him on the couch, tucked into his arms, Jake shrugged it off and said, “It’s worth it to me,” with a sweet kiss on her cheek. 

Weekends are nicer, slower.

On a slow weekend morning – a morning like this one – Jake sleeps in. He does a shorter run with the intention of catching her still in bed after; slipping back under the covers, freshly showered with dripping hair, a clean soap smell to his skin; hoping to convince her to spend another hour in bed with him.

(She never needs much coaxing.)

But now, for once, Nora’s the one who is awake.

She rolls onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, at the exposed wood beams that slant overhead; listening to the steady rhythm of Jake’s even breaths at her side and the faint clicking sound of the AC switching back on – because Jake runs warm and Nora lived in the city too long to be able to sleep without some sort of background noise  – and outside, the gentle sound of the songbirds, flitting between the branches of the lemon trees in the garden, chirping softly. 

Is there enough bird seed in the feeder? She makes a mental note to check. 

She gives herself a few more minutes to will herself back to sleep before she gets up.

She’s never awake this early. She shouldn’t let it go to waste. 

Nora quietly patters across the room to the dresser and digs blindly around the top drawer for a blue one-piece she knows is in here somewhere. She doesn’t want to pull out her phone and use the flashlight, not when Jake is still sleeping so Nora continues to feel around in the near darkness in the mess of a drawer. 

She’s actually been thinking about clearing it out, moving everything in it to the second drawer so…

So Jake can have his own drawer.

She’s never lived with a boyfriend before – never gotten serious enough with one to get to that stage – and while Jake doesn’t actually live with her, he has started to leave some of his clothes at her place. 

It was unintentional at first. He'd come back from a run and throw his sweat-stained shirt into the hamper out of habit and forget to grab it from the laundry room. And then, Jake asked if Nora minded him leaving a spare linen-button-up in the closet for those nights when Nora wants to put on a little black dress and blow $50 on drinks alone at some beachside wine bar in Del Mar. 

She has been finding his clothes here more and more and always ends up leaving them in the closet or folded on the dresser, but Jake should have a place to leave them, have a place here.

She finally finds the swimsuit and ducks into the bathroom to change.

He’s still asleep when Nora comes back out, chest rising and falling, steady like the sea, arm outstretched into the slight indent in the mattress where Nora used to be. She catches her lip between her teeth, smiling, and slips outside. 

A pre-dawn chill lurks in the late summer air as Nora locks the blue door behind her and heads down to the beach. She’s grateful for her extra layer, a faded NYU sweatshirt that’s almost long enough to cover the hem of the linen shorts Nora pulled on inside. 

She doesn’t see a single person on the sidewalks on her short walk to the beach. It’s quiet and calm, and within a few minutes, Nora kicks off her sandals and sinks her blue-painted toes into the cool sand.

Dropping her bag in the sand, Nora casts off the sweatshirt and shorts and stuffs them into the bag.

She wades waist high into the ocean and curses sharply under her breath.

A sunrise swim might sound very dreamy and all, but goddamn, it’s so cold.

“Fuck,” Nora hisses.

She sucks in a harsh breath, bracing herself, and swims deeper. 

She adjusts to the cold after a few minutes – a few long and cold minutes – and after that, Nora floats on her back, letting the waves rock her closer to the shore and back out again, always keeping an eye out to make sure she doesn’t drift too far away. 

It’s quiet out here and so still, and with sea salt on her lips, Nora lets her mind drift with the tide. 

It’s been a little less than a month since Nora decided to stay in California.

At the end of July, Charlie helped her pack what little Nora had on North Island into a suitcase and a few boxes that ended up in the back of Penny’s garage while Nora went back to New York. She wasn’t there for long. She grabbed cocktails with a few of her friends who still lived there, shipped the rest of her stuff across the country, and hopped on the next flight back to San Diego.

She hardly left the house in the week that followed, busy unpacking her boxes in the cottage-style house, settling in to this next chapter of her life. 

Natasha and Bob were kind of enough to come over and help her with some of the unloading, diligently washing and putting away the meticulously bubble-wrapped kitchen boxes, organizing the built-in shelves in the living room. Nora left Bob in charge of the latter and came back from a coffee run to find the books separated by genre and then alphabetized. She could’ve kissed him. 

Jake and Bradley rallied Javy, Mickey, and Reuben into Nora’s own personal movers, and in a single afternoon, the Daggers carried in and unpacked the couch, bed, and bed frame and didn’t complain once. She had to promise them pizza and beer, but still.

Who needs movers when Nora has Uncle Sam’s finest?

From there, Nora has started to slowly furnish the rest of the house.

She’s been searching online and frequenting the local consignment stores with a very particular vision in mind, a vision of creams and pale blues; white linen and oak; sea shells and cowboy boots and gold.

Last week, Nora picked up the most gorgeous rug for the living room, one that picks up all of the blue accents and makes the whole room look bright and open. It’s perfect. It feels like a coastal dream, like hers. 

It is hers, Nora reminds herself again.

She doesn’t have somewhere to go, somewhere to be a month from now, four months from now. It’s all on her time now. And damn, isn’t that something?

When Nora heads back, the mid-August sky is a patchwork of blues, denim clouds and fading stars and the barest thread of gold creeping over the horizon. 

At home, she quickly rinses off in the shower and pads back into the bedroom. 

She slips back into bed and snuggles into the crook of Jake’s shoulder, resting her head on his outstretched arm again, and Jake mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep and tugs her closer, breath stirring the strands of pale hair at her forehead.

She’s asleep within minutes.

Sunlight pours into the bright room and spills across her back when Nora wakes up again. At a much more reasonable 9 AM. 

Stretching, Nora reaches her arms above her head and extends her legs in front of her, kicking into the sheets. She rubs the sleep from her bleary eyes and looks around the room. She’s alone.

A familiar shirt sits in a crumpled pile on the hardwood, like evidence, unmoved from when Jake cast it aside before bed, but Jake is gone. He even made up his side of the bed, meticulously straightening the sheets and pillows, stretching the wrinkles from the fabric. A military habit that’ll never cease to amuse her. 

Huffing out an amused breath, Nora plucks the shirt from the floor and slips it over her head.

She wanders out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, following the faint sounds of movement in there.

She’s greeted with the sight of his bare back,  ripped muscles and golden skin, rolling and flexing, as Jake moves between the pans on the stove – bacon, from the smell – and the humming espresso machine in the corner of the counter. Charlie gave her that as a housewarming present, and Jake’s made it his mission to make the perfect oat vanilla latte.

He’s humming a country song under his breath, one Nora doesn’t recognize.

It sounds happy.

She quietly crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around him from behind, setting her cheek against the strong line of his spine, and Jake makes a startled sound like a sleeping cat that’s been unexpectedly patted on the head. She secretly grins. 

“No,” Jake protests immediately, shuffling to shield the breakfast from her view, voice comically close to a whine. "Go back to bed."

She laughs against his back. "No?"

"You heard me," Jake insists. "Get outta here. I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed."

Despite his words, Jake sets one of his hands over hers and intertwines their fingers. He has a spatula in the other hand, still pushing the eggs around the pan.

Grinning, Nora presses a kiss against a freckle on his back, against a dimple of muscle between his shoulder blades.

"I don't need breakfast in bed," Nora says. "Let's eat on the patio. It's beautiful outside."

She uses her most convincing voice, but Jake is stubborn, determined.

He gently argues – as if Nora suggested digging their breakfast from the Hard Deck dumpster – and eventually, Nora gives in with an amused shake of her head. He can win this round.

Mostly because Jake is adorably excited about the idea of bringing her a birthday breakfast in bed.

A few minutes later, Jake comes into the bedroom, balancing an iced latte and a few plates: blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. It's delicious, which isn't a surprise because Nora's come to learn Jake is a damn good cook.

Handy because Nora is only well versed in cocktail and dessert recipes.

When Nora's finished, Jake cleans up the dishes and brushes her hair out of her face. He kisses her cheek, her temple, the corner of her lips with a kind of reverence, like Jake can't stand to kiss her just once.

He ducks his head and murmurs, "Happy birthday, sweetheart," against her shoulder.

She catches his chin and kisses him, as honeyed and sweet as the maple syrup on her lips.

After breakfast, Nora gets a call from Bradley.

He's in the neighborhood – on his way to Penny's where, Bradley later reveals over coffee, is basically Maverick's these days – and wants to swing by and quote, see the birthday girl.

A cool breeze blows in from the coast, smelling like salt brine and sea lavender, so Nora shows Bradley to the stone-lined patio in the back and grabs a sweatshirt from the bedroom. She pulls it on over her linen dress on her way outside.

It’s only when Bradley raises his eyebrows that Nora realizes it’s a Dallas Cowboys fleece, one of Jake’s. 

“Shut up,” Nora says preemptively. 

She hands him a homemade Americano and sits next to him on the bench in the back, crossing her legs under the dress, looking out at the blue horizon of the ocean, a misty grey from the fog that lingers in the mornings.

“Didn’t say anything,” Bradley half-laughs, clearly holding back some joke about her being a born-again Cowboys fan. “Is Hangman here?” 

She shakes her head and sips her coffee through a glass straw.

"He's with Javy. They're going for a run in Point Loma." A run that Nora practically had to push him out the door for because Jake wanted to cancel all of his plans for her birthday. Both sweet and ridiculous. "He'll probably be back in an hour if you wanted to hang around and wait for him."

"Nah, I'm alright. I see him too much already." She gives him a look, and Bradley cracks a smile and knocks his knee against hers, all playfulness. "I'm here to see the birthday girl anyway."

“And drink her coffee.” 

He drops his shoulder in an easygoing shrug, brown eyes twinkling. “It’s good coffee, Rogers.” 

She grins. “Thanks, Bradshaw. You get me anything?” 

"Yeah, but I'll give it to you when I leave so I don't get punched."

He's wearing a cryptic expression, an I know something you don't know grin.

But before Nora can press him further, Bradley expertly changes the subject, distracting her with the latest gossip from the base, including Captain Mitchell all but moving in with Penny.

She still makes it down to San Diego a few times a week to hang out with Jake and see the rest of her friends. She pops down for the occasional night of cheap drinks and pool at the Hard Deck, meets Natasha for brunch at Little Frenchie, or spends the afternoon on Penny's boat with Bradley; but Nora will probably never see them as much as she did before. It's a strange and bittersweet feeling.

She's done with the documentary, and Nora doesn't miss the work, but she does miss seeing them every day.

Bradley drains the last of his coffee and sets the mug on the weathered wood of the bench. Another secondhand find from a neighbor who didn't need it anymore.

As if reading her mind, Bradley says, "We all miss having you on the base, you know? We all got used to having you around. It's not the same without you."

A faint smile as Nora says, "It's kind of weird, isn't it?"

"Don't you get bored out here?"

"So bored sometimes," Nora exhales, laughing, and Bradley chuckles, "but I really feel like I need to be bored right now. It's good for me." This is the longest break Nora has given herself in... well, ever maybe. She needs the space to recharge and breathe and feel like herself again. "It's nice to have some room in my brain to be bored for once. I felt so... scattered before."

"And I like it here," Nora continues. "I like having a place that's mine."

He goes quiet for a long and thoughtful moment, a slight scrunch between his brows.

“I’ve been thinking…” Bradley starts slowly, almost cautiously, testing the weight of the words. “I might want to move out of the apartments on the base and maybe get a house or something, I don’t know.” 

She looks at him, surprised. “You do?”

He chews on his bottom lip. Nods. “Why not? My squadron’s stationed here. Maverick’s probably going to propose to Penny soon. I won’t be leaving San Diego anytime soon, and I’m not getting any younger. I want something that feels more… grounded, you know?” 

She does know.

“Giving up on the bachelor life already, Bradshaw?” 

A cheeky grin pulls at his mouth as Bradley shrugs again. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say that. I should probably start with the house. Take it slow.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.” 

“Yeah?” 

An undercurrent of uncertainty leaks into his voice, and Nora softens. 

“Yeah,” Nora reassures. 

A moment passes, settles, and Nora’s lips pull into a slight smirk.

Noticing, Bradley asks, “What?” 

“Don’t go too slow though. You said it yourself. You’re definitely not getting any younger.” 

He makes a face, and Nora can’t hold back a laugh.

“You need to kick Hangman out,” Bradley grumbles, good-natured. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.” 

Another laugh bubbles from her lips.

“He doesn’t even live here.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

She ignores the pointed look Bradley gives her sweatshirt and continues, “And besides, I happen to like spending too much time with him. He’s my boyfriend.” 

She expects him to make a disgusted noise or fake gag like Bradley did when Nora first called Jake her boyfriend in front of him, but Bradley watches her and doesn’t say anything.

Her leg nudges into his. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just…” A shake of his head. “Hangman’s happier. You seem happier. I’m happy for you. It’s nice to see for both of you,” Bradley says sincerely. He drops an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him. “I’m glad you’re here, Nora. Glad you stayed.” 

Moisture pricks at the corners of her eyes, but Nora blinks it back and swallows the rising lump in her throat. 

She leans into him. Presses her face into his solid shoulder.

“So am I.” 

On his way out, Bradley gives her a hug and her birthday present.

She sits crosslegged on the couch and slowly pulls the crumpled blue tissue paper out of the gift bag until Nora finds a messily wrapped rectangle. He must’ve wrapped it himself. She smiles to herself and carefully rips the paper away.

It’s a small waterproof camera, complete with a wrist strap so Nora doesn’t have to worry about losing it in the ocean. She can bring it on her next morning swim or the next time that Bradley invites her out on the boat. It’s sweet, so sweet that Nora’s a little confused.

She pulls out her phone.

Nora, 11:24 AM: Thanks for the camera! So sweet of you!

Nora, 11:24 AM: Why’d you think I’d punch you??

Bradley, 11:27 AM: There’s something else in there.

Curious, she pulls the rest of the paper out of the bag until she finds a rolled-up shirt at the very bottom. It’s a deep blue, a soft fabric. She lets it fall open and holds it up to get a good look at the words printed across the front.

“Oh,” Nora says out loud, reading. “You asshole.” 

Nora, 11:32 AM: Proud Navy Girlfriend???

Bradley, 11:33 AM: Do you like it?

Nora, 11:33 AM: What is wrong with you?

Bradley, 11:34 AM: Happy birthday, Proud Navy Girlfriend :) 

She sends him back a picture of her middle finger.

A hour later, Jake comes back, and Nora’s on the phone with Charlie.

He strolls in the front door, headphones around his neck, shirtless and drenched in sweat. Sweat shouldn’t be allowed to look that hot on someone. It should be illegal… or something. His dog tags gleam from the center of his collarbone. His shorts are slung obscenely low on his hips, low enough to reveal the mole there, and admittedly, Nora has only heard every other word out of Charlie’s mouth since Jake entered her line of sight.

“Nora?”

A droplet of sweat runs down his neck and pools in his glistening collarbone.

“Uh huh.” 

“Do you need to go?” 

Jake stretches his arms, folding them over his head, running his long fingers through his damp hair and setting his baseball cap back down, and Nora doesn’t even pretend not to watch the ripple that passes through his abs. 

“I, uh…” 

He catches her, of course, and smirks – a slow and humiliatingly smug smirk – and it’s all Nora can do not to fan herself. She coughs. 

On the other end of the line, Charlie snorts. 

“I’ll let you go. Have a good birthday.” And Charlie adds knowingly, “Tell Jake I say hello.” 

“Love you, bye,” Nora exhales and all but throws the phone across the couch, cheeks burning. “Charlie says hi.” 

“Hi Charlie.” Jake pushes the bill of his cap up with one finger, like the brim of a cowboy hat, and drops a slightly salty kiss onto her lips. His voice softens. “Hi, sweetheart. Did I already say happy birthday?” 

“A few times, yeah.” 

His eyes gleam. “A few? That’s not enough.” 

She bites her lip, grinning, and Jake presses his face into her neck, inhaling the smell of her perfume with a soft groan and also smearing sweat across her cheek. She wrinkles her nose at him and pushes him back by his shoulders.

“You need a shower. You’re all sweaty and gross.” 

“You weren’t lookin’ at me like I’m gross,” Jake drawls. He clambers onto the couch and puts his full body weight – his sweat-covered body weight – on top of her. She makes a high-pitched sound of protest, which quickly dissolves into a laugh, and Jake shakes with laughter. “You’re pretty gross now too, sweetheart.” He puts his lips to her ear, and Nora shivers under him. “Wanna join me and conserve water?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Nora says, which isn’t a no, feeling a little breathless.

Grinning, Jake allows her to push him off the couch.

He ends up on his knees on the blue rug and looks up at her, green eyes glittering.

Jake reaches for her ankles and pulls her to the edge of the couch, begins to slowly push the hem of dress up, one inch at a time.

“What about that shower?” Nora asks, watching as Jake pulls the fabric higher and higher, exposing more and more of her bare thighs, which part slightly for him, almost like a reflex.

“In a minute, sweetheart.” 

He spins his baseball cap backwards – a move that should be douchey and shouldn’t even remotely work for her but infuriatingly, because it’s him, absolutely does – and bends down to kiss the center of her panties.

He licks at her through the fabric, drinking in the soft sounds Nora makes. 

“Jake…” Nora exhales. She knocks his hat from his head, burying her fingers in his damp hair, pulling on the strands. “We should… You shouldn’t…” Her brain isn’t doing its best work right now, and Nora can come up with is, “Guests sit on this couch.” 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jake reassures, voice low and syrupy. “I’ll get it all.” 

"Fuck," Nora breathes.

He slides her panties down to her knees and spreads his tongue over her, and Nora’s head drops back on the couch, hair fanning across the back.

His mouth doesn’t leave her until Nora’s come apart on his tongue. Twice. 

After, Jake hikes her legs around his waist and carries her into the shower, hands spread across her ass, curled in her hair. 

It’s slow and certain as Jake works her open with his fingers and pushes into her from behind, warm water misting on her face, dripping down her front; hot lips pressing lingering kisses along her shoulders and throat. He pulls her dripping hair away from her neck, slowly winding it around his fist, pulling her head to the side to lick a stripe up the side of her neck. 

And all the while, Jake is murmuring in her ear.

Words full of praise and adoration and desire, and Jake smells like coffee and lavender shampoo and sweat and him, so very him, and god, Nora likes this, likes him more than she can put into words; loves this, loves – 

It’s burning, molten hot, full of feelings, pushing through the soil like early spring flowers, and when Jake breaths her name, it sounds like three precious words stitched into one. 

Around noon, Nora curls up in the arm chair near the front window, soaking in the feeling of the sun at her back, casting a shadow in the shape of her on the rug and the knotted floor boards. She loves the light in this room, gleaming, reflecting off the sun catcher that Nora hung in the window, sending a fractured light across the room in the afternoons. 

It’s her favorite spot in the whole house. 

She has a lot of free time now, and in that free time, Nora’s been sitting in this chair and digging through the buried files on her laptop; rereading old screenplays from college; half-written and abandoned drafts that Nora let her own perfectionism shred into something unrecognizable.

She’s been combing through the wreckage, hoping to make something new from the pieces.

And Nora finds herself coming back to the same idea – an ink-stained and half-formed whisper of an idea that’s lived stubbornly in the back of her mind for years now.

Something hopeful about losing your way and finding it again; about losing people and meeting them again; about soulmates, both platonic and romantic; about meeting someone and being absolutely sure.

She is scribbling in her journal when Jake settles into the chair within reach of hers.

He reaches for her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles, a smile dimpling his cheeks, crinkling the corners of her eyes. He’s humming again, something happy, and Nora feels like a firework has gone off inside her ribcage.

She says his name to catch his attention.

And then, Nora says, “I love you.” 

And Jake grins in that easy and self-assured way that Nora’s come to love so much, like Jake knows her, really knows her. 

“I’ve loved you since June,” Jake says easily, so easily it steals the air from her lungs. “Just been waiting for you to catch up, sweetheart.” 

And just this once, Nora’s too happy to fight for the last word. She lets him have this one.

A year from now, Nora will be 30.

Not long after, Nora’s first feature film will come out. She’ll go to the very first screening. A small affair for her friends and colleagues and a few fans. She’ll wear a pale blue dress, and Jake will wear a suit and matching tie and pat his pocket the whole night to make sure the ring hasn’t fallen out, his grandmother’s ring.  

That’s later. This is now.

And now, Nora’s 29 and in love and for the first time in a long time, the world doesn’t feel like it’s ending. It feels like it’s just beginning. 

So Nora starts at the beginning. Starts with what she knows.

She opens to a blank page. And writes about love. 

end note: i finished this last month and fell into a bit of writer's block – slash post-creation depression lol – and didn't want to actually edit what i wrote, my bad.

i love nora and jake and everything BIHO has become so much. i love being here with all of you, and i love you for reading it and being so generous with your words and your feedback and your attention. 🩵 i'm also hoping – please, writer's block, i'm begging – to write more in this universe so if you really want to see anything or want to know any of my random post-biho headcanons, let me know!

likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day, and i'd love to hear from you.

[missathlete31]

Hondo comes in on a rare day off after the Uranium Mission to see Hangman running the training course. Concerned, Bernie realizes fairly quickly that Jake Seresin is not quite the man Bernie thought he was.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Hondo only wanted a quiet day.

After the craziness of the Darkstar incident, followed by his immediate reassignment to Top Gun to help Maverick train the team for the Uranium Mission (and also contain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell as much as anyone possibly can), Bernie was really just hoping for a few days of normal. The Daggers were all on a three week leave, Maverick included, which meant Top Gun, being in between classes, was a virtual ghost town.

Just the way Bernie liked it.

It wasn't that he hated pilots, quite the contrary; he had nothing but respect for the men and women who risked their lives for their country every time they stepped into a cockpit. However pilots, especially Top Gun pilots, had egos, and while warranted, it became a bit suffocating for the crew that had to deal with them on a daily basis.

Getting a respite from that was just what Hondo needed.

Bernie strolled the halls of Top Gun leisurely, heading towards the tower to see who was on shift today. With no training scheduled it was no doubt going to be a boring one up there, and Hondo figured he could kill some time for the poor lonely operator. He saw pretty quickly it was Jimmy, a good friend of the bespectacled man and also someone good to talk movies and the newest binge watching obsession with. Hondo couldn't contain his smile as he headed inside, "hey Jimmy” he greeted warmly.

"Hey Hondo" the man greeted back with a wave, "what are you doing in today? Thought you were off for a few days?"

Bernie shrugged, "wanted to catch up on a few things. Since it's quiet."

"That it is" Jimmy agreed, turning back to the empty skies, "although we do have one hop today, should be up shortly."

"A hop?"

The control operator nodded towards the charts. "One of your Daggers requested it" Jimmy explained, "wanted a practice run."

"Which one?"

Jimmy moved over to the sheets, though he looked in no hurry, "um let me see" he flipped to the correct page, "here it is, Lieutenant Seresin."

Bernie grimaced, confused to hear that Hangman was on base but not entirely surprised. The cocky blonde pilot always seemed hungry to be up in the air, reminding the warrant officer of a certain Captain most days. He moved closer to his friend, making sure to read the name for himself, "Does Cyclone know about this?"

He got the other man's attention as Jimmy turned to face him, "should he?" the operator questioned. It wasn't unusual for pilots to try to get hops in and certainly on a day like today, with nothing scheduled, no real permission was needed. However Lieutenant Seresin was meant to be on leave for a reason, the physical and emotional toll of the mission weighing heavy on everyone's mind. Hondo doubted Admiral Simpson would be happy to hear Hangman was already trying to get back in the air, especially because he had heard whispers from the COs that they might make mandatory psych evals before anyone would be allowed back in the cockpit.

"Don't okay him yet" Bernie requested, trying to appear casual, though failing miserably. Jimmy's brow raised, "Hondo" he began, "what aren't you saying?"

"I just want to talk to him first" the warrant officer explained, "check where his head is at."

"That sounds concerning." It wasn't said with judgment, but Hondo still felt a sense of protectiveness over Mav's Dagger squad, even the more obnoxious members like Lieutenant Seresin. Bernie gave Jimmy a grimace, "you heard about the mission?" he asked, knowing that despite being top secret, Naval bases were notorious for gossip.

The control operator shrugged, "heard it's a miracle everyone came home. Not much else."

Bernie nodded, "that's true, and this guy" he motioned to the clipboard bearing Seresin's name, "he was a big reason why that miracle happened."

"The air to air kill?"

Hondo's lack of reply was confirmation enough and Jimmy sat back in his chair, "damn" the man spoke up, his tone a mixture of awe and sadness. The taking of any life was always hard to fathom, despite their profession. He looked back to Bernie, "Cyclone ground him?"

"Not technically" the warrant officer replied, "but I don't think he would exactly approve of him flying either. Let me go talk to Hangman, see what this is all about. I'll let you know if you should give clearance."

"Sounds good" the other man agreed, "if he seems edgy let me know, I'll blame a squall coming on shore or something and ground the flight."

"Thanks Jim" Bernie spoke, moving to head out the door. Before he got all the way though, he reached back for the clipboard. "Can I borrow this?" he asked. When he received confirmation, he hurried back out the door, hoping to catch Hangman before he got to the tarmac.

It was a quick run but Hondo was still winded by the time he got down. He saw Lieutenant Seresin ahead of him, finalizing his pre-flight checklist and preparing to board his jet."Lieutenant” Hondo hurried over, just managing to catch Jake before he headed up the ladder. The blonde looked surprised to see him though stayed silent. Bernie gulped to catch his breath before speaking, “Lieutenant" he called, "what are you doing out here? You're supposed to be on leave."

Jake clutched his helmet a little tighter, his aviators obscuring his eyes though he refused to meet the stare of the man in front of him anyway. "Don't need the leave" the pilot explained, trying for nonchalance but not quite pulling it off with his clear uneasiness, “and I'm not going hard anyway. Just here to get some practice in."

"Practice?" The older man's gaze turned scrutinizing, "Practice for what?"

Hangman waved a hand dismissively, "Just... honing skills" he informed, his tone much more subdued than the usual larger than life pilot tended to act.

Hondo looked at the flight manifest on the clipboard, his eyes widening as he recognized the route, "this is the training run" he shared.

"Hmm?" Jake fiddle with one of his straps, looking purposely distracted, "yeah" he finally agreed, "a training run, like I said. It's no big deal."

Bernie's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "This is the course from the mission Lieutenant, you want to do the Uranium course?"

The blonde gave a half-hearted shrug under the assessing glare of the Warrant Officer, "I was hoping to do a time trail of it, yes."

"Why?" Hondo's tone turned to stone, a flash of uncharacteristic anger flaring in his gut. Was Hangman really that cold? That unaffected by everything that happened? Hondo voice was as deadly as a dagger as he addressed the man in front of him, "Nearly losing two pilots wasn't real enough for you Lieutenant?" he asked harshly, "You want to relive it again-"

"It's not reliving for me though is it?" Hangman cut in sharply, yanking his sunglasses off to meet the other man's eye, "I didn't do it."

Bernie leaned back on his heels by the force of Jake's ire. "Is that what this is about?" he asked softly all his anger disappearing when he realized Seresin's true intentions. It wasn't that Hangman was unaffected, it was the opposite. He couldn't get past it. When he received no response by the pilot, Bernie tried again, "You were still apart of the mission Lieutenant."

"I know that." The young man in front of Hondo seemed a bit ruffled after admitting so much, so used to being the unflappable and perfectly composed Hangman. But Bernie had seen the true Hangman, the one who begged to launch on the carrier that day. The man who looked devastated when he thought Maverick and Rooster were both lost. The pilot who risked his career to launch without permission.

Bernie liked that Hangman.

The older man cleared his throat, waiting until Lieutenant Seresin met his eye, "You have nothing to prove here Lieutenant."

"I know that" Jake repeated, though just like before it didn't sound like the pilot believed it, "but I want to see if I can do it. Under 2:15" the blonde tried to muster up some bravado, "beat Pops-"

"You want to be able to say 'you did it'" the bespectacled man filled in, "because you weren't picked."

The blonde straightened, his face tense but it was obvious what Hondo said had hit true. "Yes," he finally acknowledged, "I wasn't picked."

The two stared at each other for a few moments until Hondo sighed, "you still flew though Lieutenant, and while the others might not realize how fast you peeled away to go save Maverick and Rooster, I do" he shared with a knowing look, "You should take the rest-"

"I can't-" Jake shook himself, cursing his emotions. His green eyes looked watery in the bright sunlight and for one horrifying moment Hondo thought the kid might cry. Instead Hangman found his resolve and moved his face back to some semblance of stoicism. "I can't relax until I know I could have done it" he shared, "It's not about showboating or anything I just need to do it." He looked down in a rare display of shame, "I need to show myself. It sounds strange I know-"

But it didn't sound strange to Hondo, not at all actually. He offered a small smile, "Fine" he agreed cutting Seresin off and getting a surprised look in return, "but you only get one try okay? Then you're grounded."

Hangman levied the older man with a look, "I'm not sure you have that power-"

"Oh I know you think you're persuasive" Bernie interrupted with a wiry grin, "because you got me and the flight crew to let you go against orders on that carrier but you got nothing on what I can get the crew team to do" he informed sternly though there was an edge of playfulness to his tone, "Do we understand each other Lieutenant?"

A shadow of a smirk appeared on Hangman's face. It was nothing like his normal one, but it had enough of an effect to tell Bernie he was doing the right thing here. Jake gave a salute, "Yes we do Warrant Officer."

"Alright" Hondo offered a knock to the body of the F-18, "then get on up there Lieutenant, I'll keep the clock for you."

A few minutes later Lieutenant Seresin was in the sky, flying like all the greats. No hesitation and no fear. Spending years around Maverick had given Bernie a front row seat to amazing flying and he was privy to witness it again while watching Hangman fly. The kid was good, very good (as he liked to proclaim) and he flew his plane through the course like the jet was an extension of the blonde himself. It was mesmerizing to watch and when he finished, and was able to climb out of the 9G incline, Hondo couldn't contain the smile as he looked at his watch.

2:12

The kid had done it.

When Jake landed once more, Hondo was the first one to greet him, climbing up the ladder to be there when the cockpit glass opened. "Congratulations Lieutenant" the older man announced, showing the watch, "your time was 2:12.”

Jake sank back into his pilot seat with a content sigh, "I did it" he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment to center himself.

"You did," Bernie reaffirmed with a smile, giving Hangman an affectionate pat on the shoulder, "although I'm fairly certain you were the only one who doubted you could."

The blonde looked ready to argue, "But Captain Mitchell-"

"Chose Rooster, yes," Hondo filled in, waiting for Hangman to turn and listen. When those green eyes were on him, the bespectacled man continued, "Rooster was picked for a lot of reasons" Hondo took a breath not wanting to speak ill of his friend but knowing that Seresin needed to hear this. "Believe me when I say the choice wasn't easy Lieutenant, and maybe some things were taken into consideration that wasn't entirely fair to you" he admitted. "But you being picked as Dagger Spare wasn't a slight, it was where you were needed most."

Jake looked away, his green eyes stubbornly staying on his console as he controlled his emotions, "I know I don't come across as a team player all the time but I wouldn't have left them hanging out there-"

"And they know that" the older man shared, "because you showed them when it mattered most. The spot was never about talent Lieutenant, it was about specialties, and your specialty was getting there, getting to Rooster and Maverick, and never hesitating."

The tiniest whisper came from the man in the cockpit, "Thank you" it murmured.

Hondo smiled, "you're welcome. Now come on Lieutenant, you taxed yourself enough for today. Let's get you out of here before Cyclone has both our asses in the grinder." It was a weird idiom, one that his grandfather always used to say that made a young Bernie laugh. It had the same impact on Hangman who chuckled in his seat. "'Ass in the grinder'?" he repeated merrily.

"Yeah it means Admiral Simpson will chew us both out and believe me, you don't want that tongue lashing."

Hangman shuddered, no doubt remembering the lecture after he got back from saving Maverick and Rooster, "no Warrant Officer, I don't think I do" he agreed.

Hondo offered a hand to help him up and then headed down the ladder. Once the two were back on the ground, Hondo offered his hand again but this time for a shake, "and it's Bernie, Lieutenant" he informed as Hangman met his grip, "you can call me Bernie."

"Does that mean you can stop calling me Lieutenant" the blonde asked, a shit-eating grin on his face, “I do have a call sign you know.”

Hondo tried to look serious, “it’s 'Bagman’ isn’t it?" he replied mockingly, pleased to see Seresin take the joke well. Hangman laughed again, any trace of the stress from before melting away. “I think that's reserved only for Phoenix" he shared conspiratorially, “and talk about having your ass in the grinder if you piss her off” he joked.

”Duly noted Hangman” Bernie replied, “duly noted.”

The two headed back inside in jovial moods, especially Seresin who seemed to move with the freedom that only comes when the weight of the world is finally off your shoulders. As the young pilot headed towards the locker room with a promise to go home and rest, Bernie moved to go back to his office, surprised to see Maverick waiting at his door. "Pete" Hondo questioned, "is everything alright?"

Maverick looked up at his friend's voice, the smallest hint of worry on his face, "Did he do it?" the Captain asked, no need to elaborate any further.

Bernie nodded, holding up his stopwatch, "2:12” he confirmed.

Maverick let out an impressed whistle, "Damn" the man exclaimed, "even faster than I thought he would be."

"He's a talented pilot."

The older man frowned, letting his insecurities show. "I was worried I ruined that" he admitted quietly. "Ruined his career, ruined his promise."

Bernie stayed silent for a moment, taking in the Captain at his side. Maverick was a good man, and a good leader, even if his methods weren't always orthodox. Though Bernie didn't quite agree with the pick of Rooster for the team, especially given all the emotional turmoil between Mav and his godson, the fact was, they all made it home, something that wasn't entirely promised with a different pairing. "Well" the warrant officer sighed, "I won't say that I don't think it hurt him, not getting picked, but Seresin seems pretty resilient. I think he'll be okay."

Maverick still looked guilty. "I'll talk to him when we regroup" he decided, "let him know that it wasn't a reflection on his skills."

"I think that would mean a lot to him" Bernie agreed, before he noticed Maverick giving him a look, "What?" he questioned, "what is it?"

"Nothing" the pilot shrugged, "just surprised to see you defending Hangman. Figured you'd say he doesn't need any boost to that confidence."

"Hey" Hondo nudged, "we all need a pick me up once and again. Even you Captain."

Pete had the grace to concede the man's point, "Good thing we all have you around to lift us up Warrant Officer. I know I for one would be lost without you."

Bernie only scoffed in amusement, "Don't I know it Mav."

The other man grinned widely, "come on" he motioned down the hallway, "I have it on good authority that Cyclone had some F-35 Lightning's brought in" his face brightened like a kid in a candy store, "maybe we can play with one?"

"Do you want him to kill you?" Hondo asked in exasperation.

Maverick's smile turned mischievous, "he'll have to catch me first" he shared as the two headed towards the hangar. Bernie only sighed, wondering how he ever could have thought he'd get a quiet day while working with Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. He shook his head, "I might be able to swing it with Jimmy to let you up" he admitted, not surprised to see a skip in the almost 60 year old pilot's step next to him at the news.

"What are we waiting for!" Pete called, hurrying faster. Hondo only laughed, watching his friend speed off. Yes, working with Maverick sure meant chaos but hell, if it wasn't the greatest job in the world.

[trickphotography2]

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x unnamed female!reader, callsign Ladybug (story from Jake's POV)

Word count: 12.8k (sorry, it's a really long one)

Synopsis: Jake's not entirely sure how the bet came about other than being too drunk and maybe a little bored at the Fourth of July party. But after shaking on it with Yale, he agrees to help the new WSO - Ladybug - out with her crush on Rooster and figure out how to get the two of them to the Navy Ball together. With four months to get it done, it'll be simple. But when the reserved aviator is harder to get to know than expected, Jake has to push her to get out of her own way.

Written for @sorchathered Rom-Com challenge, with a prompt of She's All That

Warning: This fic does include angst (mentions of drunk driving and the aftermath, PTSD, loss of consciousness, and toxic men) with fluff

18+, minors DNI

Crossposted on Ao3 | My Masterlist

---------------------------------------

The Hard Deck was busy for a Monday, which suited Jake just fine as long as he still had access to the dartboard and could flirt with some of the fresher faces while avoiding his previous mistakes. After a long day in the classroom, he was ready to let off some steam, and the pretty blonde thing by the bar looked like she’d do nicely. 

Downing the rest of his beer, he threw his last three darts, ending the game against Coyote with a decisive win and making his way to the bar. Yale and Omaha were there, but the rest of the Daggers were huddled by the pool table. As he passed, he could hear Phoenix telling everyone about the new WSO she was sponsoring that was finally arriving after her orders got pushed back - he still didn’t understand why she volunteered for the extra duty. Sponsors were great, but unless you had kids, getting established on a new base wasn’t hard - show up on time, figure out your housing, and report to command ASAP. There was no need to have someone hold your hand through the process. But that was just his opinion. If Phoenix wanted to spend her spare time being pen pals with folks moving to San Diego and running around to help them get settled, more power to her. 

Getting the blonde’s number was hardly a challenge, and she grinned at him while walking away to rejoin her friends. Jake motioned to Jimmy for another beer, and the older man quickly slid one over the counter. Moving closer to his fellow aviators, Jake leaned against the bar and surveyed the crowd. “Found yourself another tag chaser?” Yale chuckled, sipping his drink.

“Like shootin’ fish in a barrel,” Jake shrugged and smiled as the girl looked at him again. He threw a wink for good measure and saw how the friend group giggled.

The front door opened, and his eyes darted to the woman walking in. Even if she hadn’t been wearing her khakis, the god-awful birth control glasses that Bob also favored would have given her away as military. Jake let his gaze rake over the unfamiliar woman, clocking the double bars and wings as she looked around nervously. And then he heard Phoenix call out, and she looked up. 

Omaha looked up from his drink, tracking the woman as well. “Shit,” he hisses through his teeth before lifting his glass and taking a swig. “That’s Ladybug?” Twisting, Jake watched her reach Phoenix, who seemed to be introducing her to the rest of the crew.

“Ladybug?” Yale asked, straightening from where he leaned against the bar. His eyes tracked her as she moved, barely hiding a sneer behind his drink. 

“My new backseater,” Omaha sighed. Since Halo had gotten orders to Pensacola, the aviator had been waiting for his new WSO to arrive. 

“And would you look at that - girl’s swingin’ way out of her league.” Even from across the bar, Jake could see Ladybug blushing as she talked to Rooster and reached up to adjust her glasses. Phoenix, standing between them, caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow. Smirking, he turned away, his attention settling back on the table of women who weren’t subtle about their looking at him. Lifting his beer, he grinned around the mouth of the bottle before slapping the bar and pushing away from it.

“If you’ll excuse me, gents - looks like I’ve got an audience.” 

It was still early when he closed out his and Kristen’s tabs, and Jake reflexively looked back toward where the Daggers hung out. Most were still there, but he noted that Ladybug had already left. The scowl Phoenix shot him when she sensed his gaze let him know he’d get an earful tomorrow about not welcoming the new kid, but he’d deal with it.  

“Ready?” Kristen purred, running her hand up his back as she came alongside him. Grinning down at her, he nodded before signing his receipt and shoving his wallet into his back pocket.

“Let’s get outta here.” 

Weeks bled past, punctuated by a party at Payback’s for the Fourth of July. As the married man in the crew, the Fitch family was always happy to host.

And while Jake wasn’t purposefully keeping tabs on Ladybug - “Bug is fine,” she’d told everyone - he started to notice her absence more. While in the Ready Room, she often looked out the window and listened to the radio chatter while others played foosball and messed around. Omaha said she was good but missed Halo and joking around in the cockpit. Bob, Fanboy, and Phoenix seemed to be the only ones to get her to open up and crack a rare smile. She didn’t join them at lunch in the cafeteria or for drinks at the Hard Deck. 

And every time Rooster got near her, she got flustered. Her usual reserve and cool seemed to disappear, and she either clammed up or rambled. 

So, seeing her show up at the party with a fruit platter was surprising. Payback’s wife, Maria, quickly offered her a drink, and Bug joined Phoenix and her girlfriend, Kerri. From the grill, Jake watched as she mingled, and he wondered how she was wearing jeans on a day when the temperature was already reaching the mid-80s. Most of the other women had opted for shorts or summer dresses - god, he loved summer dress season - but Bug’s only concession to the heat seemed to be a short-sleeved shirt and occasionally pressing her cold soda can to her neck.

“I gotta ask,” Kerri said, her arm looping through Bug’s as they walked into the kitchen to grab food. “What’s the story behind Ladybug? Nat told me there’s always a story behind the callsign.” While assembling his burger, Jake found himself listening to their conversation.

“I, uh… I worked with a lot of…new… pilots when I was starting. There were a couple of close calls and,” she shrugged. “Ladybugs are good luck.” 

“Shit,” Rooster said, glancing up from spooning pasta salad onto his plate. He grinned, a sunburn already appearing on his face. “I remember you on the Ford now - you were the WSO with the kid just out of FRS who panicked when his landing gear got stuck and nearly skidded into the ocean.” 

Bug’s eyes were big behind her glasses as she flushed, pouring chips onto the table when she missed her plate. Quickly, she set the bag down and cleaned up her mess while muttering, “Yeah.” 

“Damn. That was a bad one - thought he was gonna ram the back of the carrier at first.” Rooster put down his plate and lifted his hands to demonstrate. “I heard the pilot started descent without realizing his front gear wasn’t down, missed the tailhook, and almost didn’t accelerate fast enough to recover. They circled and had to dump fuel while they got the barricades up, but they came in too low and nearly clipped the back of the ship before finally skidding in.” 

“Jesus!” Kerri said, looking at Bug. “Seriously?”

“It was his first carrier landing,” the woman replied with a shrug. “He got better.” 

“After we all had to sit through a lecture on the basics of landing,” Rooster smirked while grabbing his plate and throwing a wink at Bug, who flushed bright red. “Didn’t you both have to sit front and center for that one?”

“It was a good refresher.”

“He still flying?” Jake asked, biting into a carrot stick. Bug’s eyes flashed with something before her gaze dropped to her plate. 

“Not anymore,” she said softly, quickly heading back outside with her plain burger and a handful of chips. He and Rooster exchanged glances as Kerri got a worried look on her face. 

The drinks flowed, and Jake enjoyed himself as he hung out with his buddies. As fun as it was to have Mav around, it was also really nice when the soon-to-be-Admiral chose to hang out with his wife and stepdaughter, allowing the younger crowd to cut loose. Payback and Maria had already offered anyone who'd drank too much a safe space to crash, and Jake would take advantage of it. He and Yale went shot-for-shot in beer pong, and his tongue was red from the jello shots he’d consumed. 

“She’s delusional,” Yale slurred, punching Jake’s arm and pointing to where Bug and Rooster were chatting. “Not hot ‘nough to pull an aviator.”

“She’s an aviator too, dick,” Jake rolled his eyes, watching as Bug pressed her cold soda can to her throat. The movement shifted her shirt, and he could see that she had the beginning of a sunburn on her arms. Squinting, he stared at the raised red line that reached the middle of her bicep, and, as though feeling his gaze, she looked at him. Her eyes darted down to her arm, and she quickly adjusted her sleeve to hide it, her face flushing. 

“Oooh, Hangman’s gotta crush on Bug!” He rolled his eyes at the immaturity, sipping his beer and anticipating the hangover he’d have in the morning for mixing alcohol. 

“You’re drunk. She’s a decent WSO and keeps Omaha’s dumbass alive.” And that was true. As much as he never wanted a backseater, he couldn’t help but notice how methodical Bug was. She was the first on the flight line doing her pre-flight checks, talking to the flight crew and mechanics about anything that felt off in the jet. She took thorough notes during a mission brief and conferred with the other WSOs to triple-check things before heading out. He knew that Mav was keeping an eye on her, probably vetting her for a reference to a test program. 

The conversation shifted, and Jake could feel his tongue getting looser the more he drank. That was how he was somehow talked into a dumb bet - that Bug would catch Rooster’s eye and go to the Navy Ball with him. 

And Jake would help.

Bug left the party before night fell, missing the impressive fireworks and sparklers they set off in the front yard. They had to brush debris from their hair and use the hose to put out minor fires in the grass, but thankfully, the only injuries were minor burns.

As he lay on Payback’s couch, Jake closed one eye to stop the room from spinning when his phone started going off. He ignored the few messages asking what he was doing and if he wanted to come over, wishing he was sober enough to drive home instead of listening to Yale’s snoring. 

As much as Jake wanted to forget his drunken bet with Yale, the other pilot was adamant they followed through because he’d shaken on it. And, never one to back down from a challenge, he reluctantly agreed. 

His first step was reconnaissance. With four months until the Navy Ball, he knew he had enough time to enact his plan once he figured it out. He knew Rooster and the type of women he usually dated. And it wasn’t that Bug was unattractive, just that she seemed not to give a shit what she looked like. Which wasn’t great because Rooster usually dated women who did. They wouldn’t have been caught dead in public without a perfect face of makeup, while Bug seemed content with eyeliner, not even bothering to hide the pimples that occasionally decorated her face. The few times he saw her off duty, she favored comfortable clothes over cute, and he never saw her hair out of anything but the regulation bun or a ponytail. 

However, Jake's most significant obstacle was her confidence. While Bug had no problems with her confidence regarding her job, the moment the conversation strayed outside anything to do with work, she seemed anxious. And if she was going to get Rooster’s attention, that would need to change. 

The first thing he had to do, though, was to gain her trust. Without that, she wouldn’t hear him out on any of his suggestions.

Which was why he found himself approaching her at lunch after seeing her sitting outside at one of the few tables under the trees that the smokers usually used during breaks. She looked down at her phone, occasionally tapping the screen as she picked at her lunch. “Mind if I join you?” Jake asked, not bothering to wait for her answer before tossing his heated-up chicken and rice onto the table and sitting. Bug gave him a surprised look but returned her attention to her phone, eyes occasionally flicking toward him as he ate and watched her finish her apples, cheese, and crackers. She blushed every time their eyes met, and he noticed she wasn’t tapping her phone as much. He was about to say something when she frowned, tossed her apple back into her lunch container, and tucked the phone to her ear.

“Hey, gimme a second.” With a tight smile, Bug gathered her things and shoved them into her lunch bag, slipping it over her arm before standing and walking away. 

Jake tried again the next day, only to find that Bug wasn’t at the table. Instead, he saw her walking around the building with her headphones in, her flight suit tied around her waist, and one of her sleeves pushed up. On the third day, he beat her to the table and saw her pause when she caught sight of him. “I don’t bite, Bug,” he called out and saw her shoulders tense. Her gaze was guarded as she trudged to the table and sat, not saying a word as she pulled out her container of apples, cheese, and crackers with flavored water. His eyes darted over her meal as she opened the container. “So what’d’ya think about the new group of trainees?”

Her hand froze as she dug in her pocket, eyes slowly lifting to meet his. “They’re cocky.” Her answer made him smirk as he reached across the table to grab a hunk of cheese from her lunch. “Hey!”

“We were all cocky when we got here. The instructors and Adversary students will beat it outta them.” Bug gave him an incredulous look as he popped the cheese in his mouth and grinned. 

“Clearly, they didn’t beat it out of everyone.” The steely look she gave him was the most animated he’d seen her. She slapped the back of his hand when he reached for a cracker. “You have your own lunch, Hangman.” 

“That’s not a lunch, Bug, that’s a kid’s snack. You need protein.” She ignored him and pulled out her phone, tapping on the screen. Chuckling, he opened his lunchbox and took out his meal, stirring the chicken and rice together. He watched her as he ate, smirking every time he caught her glancing at him and noting the rising blush on her cheeks. “Why do you hide out here?” he asked. 

“I hardly think sitting outside the office is hiding,” came her clipped response. 

“It is if you’re avoiding your squad.” 

“Maybe I just like peace and quiet while I’m eating.” 

“And scrolling social media.” 

“I’m not - ” Bug lowered her phone enough for him to glance at the screen, seeing it covered in text. “I just like to read in silence, okay? Do you mind?” Jake shrugged and didn’t say anything for a few minutes until he finished eating, his fork clattering in the glass container as he tossed it down. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“What are you reading?” 

“A book.” 

“Is it any good?”

“It’s hard to tell when someone keeps interrupting me.” 

“What type is it?” 

“An e-book.”

“No,” he chuckled. “History? Non-fiction? Biography?” The faded blush roared back, and she refused to meet his gaze. His grin grew as he asked, “Is it a sex book?”

Bug locked her phone and set it face down on the table. Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifted her chin, lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want, Hangman?” 

“Nothin’. Just trying to get to know my new squadmate.” 

“You don’t have to know me,” she snapped, shoving her things into her lunch bag. “I already have a sponsor and a pilot.” Startled by her response and the tears glistening in her eyes, he pushed to his feet as she stood.

“Bug - ”

“Just leave me alone, Hangman.” 

For as close as the squad worked together, Bug was good at holding herself apart from the team. After slipping a note into her locker with a quickly jotted ‘Sorry’ and feeling like he’d regressed to high school, Jake left her alone. Losing a bet wasn’t worth being an asshole and causing a rift in team dynamics. 

But while she was ignoring him, it was good to see that she was at least talking to Phoenix. And, every once in a while, Rooster, who still seemed oblivious to her crush. Jake tried not to look at Yale whenever the two interacted, not wanting to see the mocking eye-roll the other aviator would send his way. The way she’d blushed and tripped over her boots when Rooster patted her shoulder after a run where Omaha managed to get tone on him with her guidance was enough for Yale to go on a ten-minute tear about her at the Hard Deck.

Jake had walked away. He hadn’t even stayed long enough to pick someone up and went back to his apartment, wondering what the hell Yale had against Bug.

An August rainstorm drove Bug inside to the cafeteria, and Bob waved her over to join them. The only seat left was between Jake and Rooster, and she reluctantly settled between them and opened her salad. Jake was happy to see bits of grilled chicken in it but forced himself not to say anything. He was relieved that Yale, Harvard, and Fritz had decided to go to the food court for lunch so he wouldn’t have to witness how Bug kept herself apart, how she picked at her food, and how her eyes were downcast. When Phoenix mentioned the upcoming beach trip, she didn’t hear the offer to join until Rooster nudged her, brow furrowing in concern. 

“Yeah, sure,” she murmured, not seeming to realize what she agreed to. 

Later, when they were in the desk farm, Jake saw Bug jump out of her seat and leave quickly, phone pressed to her ear.

And Yale glared at her while looking up from his phone.

Bug needs help and you’re the closest. Here’s her address.

Jake stared at his phone as he sat at a red light. Halfway to the beach, he quickly flicked his blinker to pull a U-turn and head back toward his house. Bug only lived a few streets away from him, in one of the apartment complexes that had gone up over the last year.

He spotted her standing by her car, phone pressed to her ear and lower lip between her teeth. Jake frowned when he drove behind her, seeing the tilted vehicle. Rather than pulling into a spot, he parked behind her and hopped out to see that two tires were slashed. Her eyebrows rose behind her glasses when she saw him, and she quickly spun to avoid his concerned gaze, her floor-length floral skirt fluttering. 

“Whatever is closest, I don’t care,” she said, and he could hear the barely constrained tears in her voice. “Yeah, two tires…. Alright, thank you.” He crouched and ran his finger over the puncture mark on the back tire, glancing up to see that Bug’s shoulders were up by her ears. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I told Phoenix that I didn’t need anyone here.” 

“Someone slashed your tires.”

“It happened to a few people last night,” she shrugged, slowly turning to face him. “It’s an annoyance, but nothing I can’t handle on my own.” 

“Was that the insurance company?” 

“Yeah. They’re going to tow it to a garage for me.”

“Alright, how long are they gonna be?”

“They said an hour, which probably means two. You should go and enjoy the beach.” 

“I’m not going, Bug. Did you call the police?” 

“They’re the ones who let me know it happened. One of my neighbors called them after he came out and saw his slashed.”

“So you’ve got the report number?” When she nodded, he ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’m gonna move my truck.” 

“Hangman, I’m serious - ”

“So am I. I can sit in my truck or wait by your car, or we can go inside, but I’m not leaving until they get your car. And then we can go to the beach.” 

“I’m not going to the beach.”

“We’ll see.” Bug’s lips pressed into a thin line as she crossed her arms, hip cocking to one side. He smiled at the sight, eyes snagging on the red scar on her arm. With his sunglasses on, she didn’t notice.

Her apartment was nice, in the ‘recently moved in and haven’t fully unpacked’ way. As she grabbed some water, he looked at the cart of books sitting by her couch. One caught his eye, and he flipped to a random page. 

Patroclus is breathing harder than the effort to hold our princess down requires, and his cock is so stiff, it’ll be a fucking miracle if he doesn’t come just from foreplay. It’s fine if he does. We have all of tonight and tomorrow. 

“What are you doing?” 

Jake looked up from the book and grinned, holding it so the cover faced her. “I didn’t realize you were reading porn at lunch.” 

“It’s not porn,” she snapped, reaching for the book. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he held the book higher and read aloud. 

“I plan on tucking these two in for some rest after I fuck the worry out - oof!” He doubled over when her fist collided with his stomach, not enough to hurt but to startle him. Face bright red, Bug snatched the book from his hand and returned it to the cart, standing protectively in front of it. “That’s definitely porn,” Jake chuckled. “Good for you. Didn’t take you for a threesome kinda girl - ”

Bug let out a strangled sound before she lunged forward to press her hands to his mouth. “Will you shut the fuck up, Hangman?” Fighting back the urge to lick her palm, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from his mouth, unable to keep from grinning. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Bug. I won’t tell anyone that you avoid talking to us so you can spend your lunch reading sexy - ”

“Thanks for stopping by; now get the hell out of my house,” she cut him off, ripping her hand out of his hold and pressing it to his shoulder, trying to turn him toward the door. He shook her off, choosing to collapse onto the couch instead. She glared at him briefly before sighing heavily as he reached for one of the water glasses she’d dropped onto the coffee table. Sitting on the opposite side, she grabbed the other glass and ran her thumb through the condensation already forming on the sides. “You really don’t have to stay. The tow driver’ll take care of my car, and I don’t feel like going to the beach after this.”

“‘M startin’ to get the feeling that you don’t like us, Ladybug.” While his tone was teasing, Jake meant every word. “You don’t eat with us, you won’t go to the Hard Deck, and now you’re avoiding a beach day? Those are pretty much mandatory for the squadron.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes, and Bug’s teeth dug into her lower lip. “I… I don’t dislike you guys. I just… there’s a lot of stuff that - ” Her cell started vibrating on the coffee table. Jake’s eyes shot to it, catching the name RISK and seeing a picture of a guy in a flight suit, smirking up at the camera and flipping it off. Bug snatched the phone up, eyes darting toward him. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” Quickly, she stood while answering it and walking toward her bedroom. “Hey, how’s it - ”

The door closed, muffling her voice. Jake stared at it momentarily before pushing to his feet and walking to the fridge to get a refill. While the rest of the apartment was pretty bare, the refrigerator was covered in magnets from across the world, puns about books, a few bills, and a couple of pictures. He recognized the man from her phone screen as the one with one arm around Bug and her head on his shoulder as they sat in the shadow of an F-18’s wing, hair a tangled mess with her helmet between her knees and a pair of glasses with brown frames perched on her nose. They were there in a group, Bug laughing while sitting on his shoulders and his fingers digging into her thighs to hold her steady at an outdoor concert, the hem of her dress sitting on his head. There were pictures of a softball team, Bug grinning with a bat resting on her bare shoulder.

And Jake realized it was the first time he’d seen her smile like that. 

That thought irked him. And it definitely didn’t make him pay more attention to the calendar hanging in the kitchen. Sipping his water, his eyes darted over her small, neat handwriting, and his brows furrowed. Risk’s PT. Deposition. PCP follow-up. Chiro follow-up. FS reassessment. 

When the bedroom door opened, he was back on the couch, reading one of Bug’s books. Her eyes were red when she stepped out, and he clocked the fake smile. “Tow truck driver just called and said he’s pulling in.” When her eyes landed on the book in his hand - the Kiss Quotient - color rose in her pale cheeks. 

“Good timing. We’ll get that taken care of and head out. Harvard’s already texted me a list of things people forgot, so we’ll grab those at the store on the way.” 

“Hangman - ”

“Bug.” It was his turn to cut her off, the playful tone absent in his voice. “Come on. Give us a chance. If nothing else, Rooster’ll be there.” 

“Why would - ”

“I’m borrowing this, by the way,” he added, raising the book and tucking it under his arm while walking to slip on his shoes.

“What? No - you don’t want - ” The front door shut behind him, and Jake couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard Bug open the door and call for him to stop. He ignored it, going to greet the tow truck driver. 

It was hard not to pay attention to Bug after that day at the beach. She’d declined every offer to play a game, instead sitting on her towel and reading. She didn’t even change into a bathing suit - choosing to wear that long skirt that covered all but the tops of her feet and a t-shirt that gave her a farmer’s tan. The most skin she showed was a flash of ankle when she walked along the water with Kerri, pausing to pick up shells occasionally as Rooster and Phoenix trailed them. Jake tried not to pay too much attention when, on the way back, Kerri and Phoenix pulled ahead, leaving Rooster and Bug walking side by side and chatting.  

But she stayed through the late afternoon retreat to the Hard Deck, sipping cranberry juice and ginger ale. When she stood beside Rooster as he pulled his usual party trick of playing the piano, Jake tried not to notice how her skirt and his hideous Hawaiian shirt almost matched and pay attention to the woman chatting him up. He saw Bug looking at her phone a few times but only slipped away twice before calling it a night. She declined his offer to drive her home when he managed to shake off the woman - Jackie? - for a few minutes, and said goodbye to everyone instead of disappearing as usual. 

And now that he was watching, he noticed how frequently she left work early on days they weren’t in the air. The occasional wince when she turned too quickly to look at something, and how she sometimes favored her left side toward the end of the day. The handful of over-the-counter painkillers she took after they did PT and drove home before hitting the showers. 

She didn’t join them at lunch every day, but she started to make appearances, even though she mostly stayed quiet and frequently left to answer a phone call before the end of the break. And Jake found himself seeking her out at the smoker’s table. After he returned her book, teasing her mercilessly about the explicit sex scenes in the story, she just put in her headphones and flipped him the bird before going for a walk. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but the book had been hot. And it made him wonder what else Bug was reading, face blank as she sat across from him. 

The only one who seemed unhappy about the change was Yale. Jake caught the aviator watching her through narrowed eyes a handful of times and noticed how she went out of her way to avoid him. When he asked Bug about it, she just shrugged and changed the topic. 

The only activity she had yet to do was a night at the Hard Deck, so Jake found himself standing at her front door, grinning at her confused expression. “We’re going out,” he said, reaching over her head to open the door wider and inviting himself inside. 

“What? No, bra hours are done.” Laughing, he kicked off his shoes and spun, planting his hands on his hips. She crossed her arms over her chest, making the thin material of her t-shirt cling to the swell of her breasts and a thin strip of skin appear over the waistband of her sweatpants. 

“Come on, Bug. You need to do a Hard Deck night with us. Everyone’s gonna be there in a few, and it’ll be fun.” When she stared at him, he forced his smile to not falter. “You can’t tell me you didn’t have fun the two times you’ve been there before.” 

“I…” she paused and took a deep breath, eyes pinching behind her glasses. “I appreciate the invitation, Hangman, but I want a quiet night. I’m exhausted and - ”

“Just a couple of hours. Have a few drinks, play some pool, and then I’ll bring you home. Promise.” The longer he looked at her, the more his smile faltered. So he played his ace - “Rooster’ll be there.” 

Her brows knit together for a moment before her expression cleared. “I’ll give you one hour,” she sighed.

“Three.”

“I’m not putting my bra back on for three hours. Two or no deal.” 

“You’ve got it. As long as you wear something other than jeans.” 

“What’s wrong with jeans?” she demanded, squeaking in protest when he pushed past her into her bedroom. He flicked on the light, glancing quickly at her unmade bed and rumpled sheets before moving toward her closet. “Do you even know what boundaries are?” 

He quickly flicked past her flight suits and uniforms, finding what he was looking for in the back of her closet. Grabbing the hanger, he grinned while turning to see Bug’s scowl. “Wear this,” Jake said, trying to hand her the hanger holding a sundress. She stared at it, eyes slowly raising to meet his.

“No.” 

“Come on.” 

“No.”

“You’ll look hot in it.” 

“I’m wearing jeans or nothing.”

“Not sure why you’d be naked instead of wearing a dress, but I’m not opposed.” She blushed, shaking her head. 

“Goodnight, Hangman. Thanks for stopping by, but I’m tired.” Jake sighed her name, making her eyebrows shoot up. He’d never called her that before, and he wasn’t sure why he did it now. She was always Bug or Ladybug. 

“Wear the dress. Come out and have fun with your friends. Please?” Their gazes met, and he could see the conflict in her eyes. And, after a long moment, she reached out to take the hanger. Their fingers brushed, and he tried to keep his eyes trained on hers but couldn’t help but notice how her breathing had increased. The slight tightness around her mouth as she blinked quickly. And the subtle way her body trembled. 

“I-I’m going to jump in the shower.” 

When the bathroom door closed, Jake had the urge to knock on it and tell her she didn’t have to wear the damn dress. That she could go in her sweatpants and he wouldn’t care. That he was an idiot for asking, Yale’s reminder about their bet ringing in his ears as he drove past her street. She didn’t have to wear a damn dress to get Rooster’s attention, and she shouldn’t have a crush on a guy who was so oblivious.

Instead, he walked back to the kitchen, opened the cupboards until he found a glass, and helped himself to some water. He stared at that picture of Bug on the man’s shoulders. Her eyes nearly closed behind her glasses with how broadly she smiled, one hand holding a cowgirl hat to her head, the other thrown out to keep herself steady with a beer clutched in her hand. 

Jake couldn’t believe that Rooster wouldn’t remember a girl like that. Even without the makeup and smiles, there was no mistaking Bug. Behind those birth control glasses, he could still see glimpses of that woman in the WSO. And it bothered him not to know what had happened to dim that shine. 

He was a few chapters into another book he’d plucked off the cart when he heard the shower turn off, the blow dryer starting a few minutes later. Jake glanced at his phone to check the time, ignoring the texts asking where he was and if he was going to the Hard Deck. Instead, he set his phone beside him. He settled on the couch, leaning against the arm and making himself comfortable as he read about a group of guys who got together and read romance books to save their relationships. 

Jake was lost in Gavin and Thea’s story when he heard a throat clear. Sitting up quickly, he spun in his seat, jaw nearly dropping at the sight of Bug. But not his Bug - the Bug from the picture, standing in her doorway with a teasing smirk on her red lips and uncertainty in her eyes. She shifted under his open admiration, hand lifting to adjust the glasses that she wasn’t wearing. “Let me guess, you’re gonna borrow that one too?” 

“I…uh… yeah,” he nodded, moving to stand before her. She hadn’t pulled her hair back into its usual bun or ponytail, leaving it down so it curled against her shoulders. Jake let his gaze dance down her body, and Bug’s shoulders pulled back under his blatant inspection, inadvertently drawing his attention to her breasts pressing against the sweetheart neckline of her dress. When she crossed her arms, his attention went to the raised red scar on her right arm, and he had to stop himself from reaching out and tracing it with his fingertips. It was about the width of a pencil, curling from the top of her shoulder to the middle of her bicep. Sensing her discomfort, he tore his gaze away, allowing it to drift lower. Her dress skimmed the top of her knees, and he bit back a groan at seeing cowboy boots on her feet, red scars decorating the skin on display. 

Bug’s hand was clenched tightly around a jean jacket, and Jake could feel the discomfort radiating off her. But she met his eyes when they lifted. He wasn’t a makeup expert, but he could appreciate how her eyeshadow and winged eyeliner complemented her eyes, and he found it heartening that he could still see the little divot on her nose from her glasses. “Can you even see without your BCGs?” Jake asked after clearing his throat. 

The apprehension drained from her face at his gentle teasing, and Bug scoffed while rolling her eyes. “I hate wearing contacts, but I’ll put up with it for a couple of hours.” Shaking his head, he reached for her jacket and took it, holding it out to help her slip it on. His fingers accidentally grazed her neck, and he caught the subtle scent of something floral when she turned toward him. His eyes went to her lips like they were a painted target, and her voice was a little breathier than usual when she spoke. “I’ll meet you there?” 

“I’ll drive,” he answered, voice husky as he stepped back.

“I’ll drive so you can have a couple of drinks.”

He shook his head, digging into his jeans pocket for his keys. “You can be my WSO tonight and pick the music, but I’m driving.” That made her roll her eyes, and Jake had to force himself not to stare at her ass as she walked in front of him out of the apartment and down to his waiting truck.

In the dark interior of his truck, he could smell her perfume and gripped the shifter to keep from placing his hand on the expanse of her thigh that flashed in every streetlight they drove under. Seemingly oblivious to his struggle, she sang along to a 90s station about kissing in the moonlight. 

And, once they were outside the Hard Deck, she paused, her hand slipping into his for a fleeting moment. He could feel her shaking and squeezed her fingers before she let him go and stepped into the bar. 

Everyone would have paused to witness the not-improved-by-different Bug if it had been a movie. But no one seemed to notice them enter, and Jake reclaimed her hand to help tow her through the weekend crowd to where he knew the Daggers would be waiting. And that was where Bug got the recognition she deserved, when Kerri catcalled her, making a flush rise on her cheeks as Phoenix’s girlfriend took her hand and dragged her from Jake, encouraging her to do a little twirl. He saw a couple of glances at her scars, but thankfully, no one said anything. 

And Jake spent the night catching men checking her out, but Bug remained oblivious. When he went to the bar to get them some sodas - he overheard a conversation from two pilots about not recognizing her. “Now that’s the Bug I remember,” Rooster said as he joined him at the counter, setting down his empty beer bottle. Jake glanced at his wingman and nodded as they watched her laugh at something Omaha said to her and Fanboy. 

“Hey, Jake,” a somewhat familiar voice said, and he felt a hand on his lower back. A woman slid into the vacant spot beside him, smiling coyly. “Long time no see. Wanna buy me a drink and catch up?” 

For his life, he couldn’t put a name to her face, but he was pretty sure they’d slept together. Beside him, Rooster snorted and ordered his beers. Jake tore his gaze away from the woman and caught Penny before she left. “I’ll get two Cokes, please.”

“That’s not my usual,” she giggled.

“No, it’s my friend’s,” he replied. He shouldn’t have enjoyed the shocked look on her face, but he felt relieved when her hand lifted, and she disappeared into the crowd. 

But when he looked over to see what Bug was up to, she’d also disappeared. When he returned to the group, Bob said she’d stepped onto the patio to take a phone call. Jake sipped his soda and tried not to keep glancing at his watch, but his eyes darted to the back door. Yale arrived, pressing a beer bottle into his hand as they played darts, and he didn’t think before drinking it. 

Forty minutes had passed when he finally decided to look for her. The late September night was still relatively warm, but it was breezy by the water. The laughs were loud on the patio, but he didn’t see her at the tables. The parking lot lights spilled out onto the beach, and Jake caught sight of a flash of color in the corner of his eyes. His feet moved before he realized it, shoes sliding in the soft sand. As he neared, he could see Bug had removed her boots, her forearm across her raised knees as she curled into herself, trying to make herself as small as possible. “It’s okay, Risk,” her voice was soft, and he could hear her sniffle. The sound made him move faster, shrugging off his bomber jacket as he neared. 

Sensing his approach, Bug lifted her head, and his heart broke at the sight of tears on her cheeks as she talked on the phone. In the weak moonlight, he mouthed, “You okay?” She looked at him for a long moment before shaking her head, letting her forehead drop back onto her arm. Jake hesitated a heartbeat before draping his jacket across her shoulders and sitting beside her. The sand was cool, and he rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his wrist and trying not to listen to Bug’s call over the crash of the waves. 

“Risk, I… yeah. But it’s getting… I need to…” she heaved a weary sigh, digging her nails into her shoulder. “I’m going to go, alright? We can talk tomorrow and… I told you, I'm with some friends toni - ” The voice on the other side of the line got loud, and she lifted her head to swipe at her eyes. “No, I’m not fucking any of them, Risk.” The words made his blood boil, but Bug just sounded so tired. “I’ll talk to you - alright, good… I know you’re upset, but I ne - please don’t say that…Risk, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight.” 

They were silent for a long time, the only sounds were Bug’s occasional sniffles and the tide coming in. A weight hit his bicep, and Jake turned to see that she’d rested her head on his shoulder. He lifted his arm, tugging her closer. She was trembling, and he knew it wasn’t from the cold. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he didn’t push. 

“Risk is…was,” Bug said, voice rough with suppressed emotion, “my pilot before I got here. W-we were really close.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say that didn’t give him a right to say that to her, but her next words froze him. “We were in a bad car accident coming h-home from my going away party.”

“How bad?” Jake asked, not wanting to know the answer. 

“Bad. We were t-boned by a drunk driver and - ” she gasped, letting him pull her closer when she started to shake. “Rolled a few times.” Her hand lifted to touch her temple. “I woke up, and everything was upside down. I hit my head so hard that my glasses broke. But I was lucky. Just had a concussion and cuts from crawling out of the glass. Risk wasn’t… he…he was turned to look at me when  we got hit, and he took the brunt of it.” 

“Is he okay?” 

Bug shook her head, tears dripping off her face as she stared at the water, her voice sounding distant. “Paralyzed from his chest down. The docs think he might get some feeling back, but he’ll never walk again. Never fly again. They’re med boarding him out for that and the TBI.”

“Fuck.”

“One minute we were having drinks and he was telling me he was in love with me, and the next everything was literally upside down.” It was his turn to tense.

“D-did… do you love him?”

“Like a brother.” Jake nodded, pushing away the feeling of relief at her words. His heart cracked when he heard her soft sob. “He’s so angry with me. He doesn’t remember the crash, but I do. I think I was conscious for the first two rolls, and…he was so still. I thought he died. I thought I’d lost my best friend and couldn’t do anything to help him.” Acting on instinct, he pulled her into his arms, her knees digging into the sand by his hips as he held her. He could feel her warm tears on his neck as his hand swept her back, holding her tightly. 

But while he half expected her to fall to pieces, Bug just let out these little hiccupping sobs that broke his heart. “I’ve gotcha,” he said, whispering her name as his lips brushed her hair. 

“I should have let them ground me.” The words were so quiet he would have missed them if they weren’t so close. “I had to leave the day after he woke up. I stayed as long as I could, Hangman, I swear. But the flight surgeon cleared me for duty, and I had orders. I had to come here.” 

“You had orders,” he echoed. “He can’t blame you for that.” When she nodded, he repeated himself. “He can’t blame you for that, Bug.”

“He feels like I abandoned him. That I left my wingman. I-I figured you all would feel the same way… Yale does.” 

“What does Yale have to do with this?” 

“He was in our squadron before he got stationed here.” A chill ran down Jake’s spine, bits of information slotting into place. It was quickly replaced with anger. 

Gently, he pulled away from Bug until he could meet her watery gaze. Her eyes were guarded, exhaustion etched in every feature as he ran his thumb across her cheeks to try and clear away the mess of her makeup. “You did nothing wrong, honey. And no one can blame you for what happened - the accident or you being here. Understood?” When her eyes lowered, unable to meet his, he cupped her cheek and raised her head. “Understood?” 

“Did you drink?” His stomach dropped, tasting the beer Yale had given him on his tongue, smelling it on his breath. 

“Just one.” Bug nodded, bracing her hands on his shoulders and pushing to her feet. It took everything in him not to stop her, his hands sliding to her hips as she looked down at him.

“I’m gonna get a car.”

“I can drive - ”

“No.” He let his hands fall to the sand, hating himself for forgetting his promise. “It’s fine. You should stay and have fun.” 

As much as it killed him, he waited with her in the parking lot for her car to arrive, wanting to pull her into his arms but resisting the urge. But when she tried to give him his jacket, he pushed it back into her hands. “I’ll get it later and grab yours before I leave.”

Bug nodded, saying as she slid into the backseat, “Thanks for tonight, Hangman.” He waited until the tail lights had pulled out of the parking lot before turning and making his way into the Hard Deck. 

He wanted to get the hell out of there and pushed his way to the counter to close out his tab. Bug’s jacket was by the pool tables, and he threw down the pen to retrieve it after signing his receipt. Fury rose in him as he spotted Yale laughing with Harvard and Omaha. Without thinking, he stalked toward him, shoving the other aviators out of the way to grab him by his collar and pushed until Yale’s back hit the wall. Jake ignored the ‘Hey!’s and ‘Whoa!’s, the hands trying to pull him away as he leaned close to hiss, “You leave her the fuck alone, hear me? Leave her alone, or I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” 

Hands curled around him, yanking him away, and Rooster banded an arm around his chest while Harvard stepped between them, holding back his pilot. The bar quieted in anticipation of a fight, but Jake only had eyes for Yale, who grinned. “Finally told you, huh? So much for never leaving a man behind.” 

Rooster pulled hard, Payback catching his arm when he raised his fist. “Come on, man,” Rooster grunted, hauling him away. “It’s not worth it.” 

He grit his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose as he shook off the other men. Grabbing Bug’s jacket, he stormed out of the bar, avoiding Penny and Mav’s gaze and the whispers that followed. 

Bug’s jacket sat on his front seat as Jake drove into work on Monday. He’d texted to check on her over the weekend, but she told him she was okay and didn’t want to see anyone. His phone had been blown up with the other Daggers trying to figure out what happened on Friday, but Jake didn’t know how to tell them without sharing Bug’s story - and that wasn’t his to tell. 

The morning briefing was short, and they were dismissed to the Ready Room to prepare for their flights. Jake was going up in the first group. But before he headed out to the flight line, he stopped Bug on her way out of the classroom. “I’m fine,” she said, answering his unasked question. He could see the dark circles under her eyes and the silent request for him to not say anything. So he didn’t. Other than telling her that her jacket was in his car, Jake asked if she’d brought lunch or a kid’s snack. That earned him a tired smile, and she said she would have to buy lunch today. 

But they wouldn’t get that opportunity.

Bug went up in the second group, and Jake listened to the radio chatter while lounging on the couch. He was happy to have gotten tone on Yale and Harvard, pulling riskier moves that Cyclone wasn’t pleased with, but it had been definitely worth it to hear the asshole cursing him over the mic. 

Their flight started routine enough, and Jake was helping himself to a cup of coffee when he noted a change in Bug’s tone. “Hey Omaha, you with me?” she asked after he’d pulled a quick roll into a dive to avoid Fritz’s attempt to lock on them, climbing to regain altitude as they neared the hard deck. “Omaha?”

“Omaha, come in,” Fritz echoed. “Bug, his radio out?” Even though they were out of sight, flying over the desert, Jake’s eyes flicked to the window.

“Negative, radio’s fine. Omaha?” He could hear the tension in her voice. 

“Shit - level wings, Omaha.”

“He’s out!” 

“Inbound,” Rooster called. The Ready Room was silent, and Jake didn’t realize he’d moved closer to the radio until he felt the volume dial in his fingers, cranking it higher. 

“Bug - status?” the tower called. 

“Losing altitude. Fuck!” Hot coffee splashed over his hand as Jake squeezed the paper cup, and he quickly set it down, shaking away the burning liquid at the sound of her panic. 

“Omaha, recover!” the tower yelled. “Someone give me details. 

“55 nose low, 67 bank,” Fanboy called out. 

“They’re diving,” Phoenix breathed. Jake felt a hand on his shoulder but couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but listen to Bug’s panting breath over the radio. 

“Come on, Omaha,” Payback barked. 

And then Jake heard it - Bitchin’ Betty telling Omaha to pull up. “Punch out,” he whispered. His hand itched for the throttle and stick, adrenaline racing as he pictured the dive. As a backseater, Bug was helpless. There was no stick, no throttle. Just the radar, letting her know how close to the ground they were. Their speed. It was her pilot’s job to keep her safe. He was vaguely aware of Coyote coming up beside him, probably reliving his G-LOC blackout just a year ago. 

“Tone,” Fritz called. 

“8G, mach,” Fanboy called. “Alt 500.” They were nose down, headed toward the ground at the speed of sound. 

“Recover, Omaha!” Rooster yelled. But then one voice drowned all the rest, a scream that Jake would hear in his nightmares for years.

“Neil!” 

“Climbing,” Fanboy called.

“Back, I’m back,” Omaha panted. “Fuck.” 

“Knock off,” the tower ordered, scrubbing the rest of the exercise. “Alright, Omaha, climb back above 12,000.” 

“Payback, knockoff.”

“Fritz, knockoff.”

“Fuck, Bug, you good?” Rooster’s question went unanswered, so he repeated it. “Bug, status?” 

“Bug?” Omaha said. 

“9K and climbing,” came her shaky voice. 

“Rooster, knockoff. See you on the ground.”

“You good?” Coyote asked.

Twenty-seven seconds. Omaha had been out for the longest twenty-seven seconds of Jake’s life. 

“She’s good, Hangman,” Phoenix said. But he didn’t hear it. He focused on the radio, listening to the tower guide everyone back in. Rooster refused to land before Omaha, wanting to keep an eye on everything from the air. The room emptied, and he stayed there until Omaha alerted the tower that he was in the landing position. 

And then he bolted, sprinting past the others to the tarmac, barely restraining himself from running to the jet as Omaha landed and taxied. It took ages for the engines to stop and the canopy to lift. There wasn’t any movement for a long moment until Omaha stood, turning to look at his WSO. He extended his arm, and Jake was relieved to see her arm reach up to bump fists. His breath was sawing in and out of his chest as he raced toward her, barely skidding to a halt as the two embraced as soon as their boots hit the tarmac. “So fuckin’ sorry, Bug,” Omaha breathed. “Never happened before, and it - ”

“Are you alright?” Jake demanded, forcing himself not to shove the other man away, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to draw deep breaths. 

“We’re good,” Omaha answered.

“Are you alright?” Jake demanded again, gaze not leaving Bug’s wide eyes. Her face was damp, and he could see the imprint of her mask on her pale face, but otherwise, she seemed fine. 

“We’re good,” she repeated, her voice steady. But when he pulled her into his arms, he could feel that she was shaking hard and smelled the sharp scent of sweat. He was vaguely aware of the others arriving, their questions going unanswered as Bug rested her helmeted head on his shoulder, hiding her face from them.

“I’ve gotcha.” He didn’t want to let her go, but he knew they needed to make their way to medical. She and Omaha would need to be checked out and debriefed. Eventually, she pulled away and looked up at him, and Jake made himself give her a reassuring smile as he reached to unclip her helmet. Her hair was sleek with sweat when he lifted it from her head, tucking it under his arm. 

“Hey,” Rooster said, appearing beside them, glancing between the two. “You good?” 

“Yeah,” Bug nodded, stepping toward him and throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Rooster.”

“‘Course. You ready to get checked out?” She nodded, glancing at Jake. He handed her the helmet and tipped his chin to where the flight surgeon was already talking to Omaha. It hurt to turn away from her, and he caught a flash of something in her eyes as he moved away to shake Fritz’s hand. Rooster threw him a look before tossing an arm over Bug’s shoulder and walking her toward the doc, stopping so she could hug Payback and Fanboy along the way. 

They spent the rest of the day in the classroom, neither Omaha nor Bug joining them. When Jake left work, he saw that her car was already gone. There was talk of getting together to have a few drinks at the Hard Deck, but Jake had no interest in going - especially not when Bob had quipped about another lucky landing for Ladybug.

He’d planned on going straight home and having a glass of whiskey. It was his preferred way to wind down after a hard day, and this one hit harder than most. It wasn’t the first time he’d almost lost a wingman, and he knew it would take some time to shake, but this time was… different. 

This time, it was Bug.

Jake was parking at her apartment and knocking on her door before he realized it. His fist collided with the metal when she didn’t answer. “Bug, it’s me,” he called. She was there - her car was in its spot. But she didn’t answer. He banged again, then rested his forehead on the door, calling her name. When he heard the flick of the lock, he straightened. 

Bug’s eyes were red when they met his, her hair a tangled mess on her shoulders. She was still in her flight suit, the sleeves tied around her waist and her black undershirt discolored with sweat. They stared at one another for a heartbeat before Jake stepped closer, cupped her face, and kissed her. His lips were rough against hers, and he took advantage of her surprised gasp to deepen it. Her hand carded in his hair and he walked them into her apartment, pausing only long enough to kick the door closed. He moved his hand to curl around her neck, guiding her to just the right spot while his other hand slid under her shirt, wanting to reassure himself that she was alright. Bug moaned as his hand curved around her waist, fingers digging in and pulling her close enough to feel her heart beating against his. 

Jake tasted spearmint on her tongue and, when they broke apart to catch their breath, the salt on her skin as his lips sealed on her throat. His fingers curled in her hair, tugging lightly to encourage her to give him more access as he nipped and soothed the hurt with his tongue. “Fuck,” she breathed. 

“Don’t scare me like that, honey,” he whispered, relishing the soft whimper she let out. “Can’t do that to me.” 

“I was so scared,” she admitted. “It was just like the crash. I couldn’t do anything but watch.” His mouth covered hers, unwilling and unable to think about her being in situations where he couldn’t do anything to help. Standing by the radio and listening, being helpless, had been the worst kind of torture.

They froze when there was a knock on the door. And then Jake felt as though he’d been doused in cold water when he heard Rooster call out, “Bug?” He pulled away and stared at her, taking in her kiss-swollen lips and the red marks he’d left on her throat. “Bug?” 

“J-just a minute,” she called back. The glint in her eye dimmed slightly as he stepped away, dropping his hands from her body. Jake ran a hand down his face before licking his lips, savoring the taste of her mouth, tongue, and lip balm before he cleared his throat while continuing to back away.

“I’m… I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“You don’t have to - ”

Jake didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence, turning on his heel to open the door. Rooster took a step back, surprise written across his face, as he pushed past him and hurried toward his truck.

He’d fucked up, and he knew it. 

Jake hated himself, but he wasn’t sure what for - kissing Bug or leaving her. Probably a bit of both. 

But he definitely hated himself for going out of his way to avoid her. For seeing the hurt in her eyes, knowing that he caused it, and doing nothing to make it better. Actively making it worse when she sought him out - avoiding her at lunch and flirting with a woman the night Bug surprised everyone by showing up at the Hard Deck. He knew it was a dick move to walk the woman to her car, leaving her disappointed when he said goodnight without so much as a peck on the cheek. Jake knew what it looked like when he climbed into his truck and drove away rather than going back inside. He spent the rest of the night alone in bed, trying to forget the taste of Bug’s skin, only to paste on a fake smile and whistle as he strode into work the following morning. Bug hadn’t looked at him all day, but he’d definitely caught angry glances from the others.  

It had taken everything in him not to stand on the tarmac the first time she climbed back into a jet and watch the entire flight. Instead, he forced himself to play foosball with Coyote and pretended not to listen closely to her on the radio.  

If there was a benefit to Jake denying himself her company, it was that Bug was getting closer to the rest of the squad. She was eating lunch with them when he dodged her, eating outside or in his truck. She was joining them at the gym instead of sneaking away. The first day he saw her in running shorts instead of pants, Jake wanted to go to his knees in front of her and kiss every scar on her legs to let her know how gorgeous she was. 

And she’d agreed to take the last open seat at their table for the Navy Ball. 

Jake wasn’t sure if he would go until a few hours before it started when Phoenix texted that she’d castrate him if he skipped. So he ironed his dress blues and shaved, promising to leave right after the ceremony and dinner. He didn’t even get his truck washed before heading to the hotel, tossing his keys to the valet, and going straight for the cash bar. 

Phoenix and Kerri were getting pictures taken, and Jake spotted Payback and Maria chatting with Mav and Penny. Fanboy and Bob were mingling, and he didn’t want to sit at the table by himself, so he decided to circulate as well. He’d never enjoyed these nights but knew it was important to get his face out there and show that he was a good sport, especially since he’d be pinning on his gold oak leaves in a few months when he was promoted to Lieutenant Commander. 

One more step toward his goal of being an admiral. 

When he was almost finished with his whiskey neat, Jake made his way back to the bar for another but decided to wait until dinner. But as he walked away, he heard someone call him, turning to see Yale motioning him over. “What?

“Just thought I’d rub it in your face that you lost our bet,” the other man smirked, pointing behind him. Jake glanced over his shoulder, watching as Rooster led a woman to their table and pulled out her chair before collapsing into the one beside her. His arm went around her shoulders, and he tugged her in to kiss her temple. “Looks like you didn’t get Rooster to pick Bug after all.” 

“Our bet was over months ago, asshole,” Jake spat. 

“You sure about that?” 

“It was stupid to do in the first place.”

“What, you betting that you could get Rooster to be attracted to Bug?” He frowned as Yale looked over Jake’s shoulder and winked. 

“You what?” 

He closed his eyes, wishing that it wasn’t her. But when he turned, Bug stood there, shock and hurt written across her features. She looked gorgeous in a tight, floor-length navy blue dress with some type of short, glittery sleeves. He could just see the scar on her arm peeking out, and he ached to press his lips to the curve of her neck. “Bug - ”

“A bet?” 

“Yup,” Yale said, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder that he quickly shook off, fists clenching. He couldn’t punch him here, not in front of all the officers, but he wanted to. “All a bet.”

“It wasn’t,” Jake said, reaching for Bug. She stepped back, her red lips pressed into a thin line. “It started out that way but - ”

“Just - ” she cut him off, lifting a hand to stop him. “Just stop, please. Don’t ruin tonight for me. At least, not more than you already have.” 

“Bug - ” But she was gone, pushing through the crowd and exiting into the hotel's main lobby. Turning, he faced Yale, who smirked into his highball glass. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that?” The other man shrugged. 

“You ever think I’m doin’ you a favor? That Ladybuy might not be a good luck charm but a curse? Look at the other pilots she’s been involved with - I mean, fuck. Omaha’s never G-LOC’d before, and a couple of months with her as his WSO and suddenly he’s almost crashing?” 

Aware of the eyes on him, Jake forced himself not to lift his clenched fist as he stepped closer to Yale. “You shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Gentlemen,” Cyclone said, appearing beside them. “You’re blocking the bar.” Jake lifted his chin and stepped back, feeling the air boss’s eyes on him. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, sir,” he forced himself to say. “I’ll get out of your way.” His eyes darted across the room and saw Rooster standing up from the table. Angry, he followed the pilot, intercepting him on his way to the men’s room. “Hey!”

Rooster startled at Jake’s bark and raised an eyebrow. “Hey?”

“Why didn’t you come with Bug tonight?” 

“Bug? Why would I come with her?” 

“Because she likes you, you jackass!” 

“Me? Bug doesn’t like me, jackass. At least, not like that.” 

“Yes, she does. She’s had a crush on you since she got here.” 

“Aren’t you two dating?” The question brought Jake up short. “Everyone’s kind of thought the two of you were together.” 

“No… no, we’re not. She’s not - she likes you. We’re just friends.” 

“Wow,” the other man said, crossing his arms and smirking. “I didn’t realize what a fucking idiot you were. Bug and I are just friends - you two aren’t friends. Or, at least, not just friends.” 

“But…”

“Wow. Phoenix is gonna love this,” Rooster laughed, clapping the other man on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta piss and then get back to my date. Maybe you should go find yours.” 

Jake stood there for a long moment, playing the last few months over in his head. It had been a while since he’d seen Bug blush whenever Rooster looked at her. And, if he thought about it, she’d always looked confused when he mentioned Rooster being somewhere as an incentive for her to go out.

And she’d kissed him back. 

Maybe…maybe what he’d taken for an adrenaline crash on her part had actually been… 

“Fuck,” he groaned, realizing that maybe Bug did actually like him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d caught feelings over the last few months. And she thought he’d only talked to her because of a bet. 

She ignored his phone calls, and he couldn’t find her anywhere in the hotel. He was about to get his car back from the valet and drive to her apartment when he saw her walking back into the ballroom and had to force himself not to run after her. Bug settled at their table, taking a spot between Kerri and Maria. Both women looked at him as he stood behind Bug’s chair and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Can I talk to you?”

“No.”

“Please?” When she turned away from him and started talking to Maria, he bit back a groan. He sighed her name and watched as a blush rose on her cheeks. 

“Maybe you should sit down, Hangman,” Phoenix said, smirking as she nodded to the seat directly across from Bug. Their squad had thrown in together to get two tables, and he was relieved to see that Yale was sitting at the other one. “Speech is about to start.” He sighed, rubbing a knuckle along Bug’s shoulder and watching the goosebumps rise. She ignored him, and he retreated to sit between Bob and Rooster’s date. Bug continued to ignore him as he stared at the pretty blush that stretched from her cheeks to her chest. He was paying so little attention that Bob had to elbow him when the color guard entered, and he saluted, not watching the guard but instead watching Bug as she stood at attention with her back to him. 

If asked, he couldn’t tell you a damn thing about what the keynote speaker said over their 45-minute speech other than hazarding a guess that it had something to do with the Navy and Marines celebrating their birthdays together. Instead, he watched Bug turn in her seat, occasionally facing him as she sipped her water. During the short break, he stood and tried to catch her before dinner was served, but she looped arms with Maria and retreated to the ladies' room.

“Didn’t think tonight would have a show with it,” Payback chuckled, sipping his beer and setting a glass of wine by his wife’s plate. 

“This is perfect,” Phoenix agreed, tapping her rum and coke against Fanboy’s. 

“Shut up,” Jake grumbled. When Maria and Bug came back, Maria tucked herself under her husband’s arm while Bug checked her phone. He caught the way her brows furrowed, and her shoulders slumped, finger hesitating over the screen before tapping it and returning it to her clutch. When her eyes lifted, they met Jake’s before flitting away to focus on the floral centerpiece. 

The same thing happened as they ate dinner. Jake had never realized how hot it could be to watch someone eat… that lipstick smudge on her water glass. When they cleared away dinner and cut the birthday cake, he grabbed them both a piece and fantasized about smearing the icing on her collarbone and licking it off. 

The DJ kicked off the music, and as soon as Bug put down her fork, he pushed to his feet and circled the table. “Dance with me?” he asked, extending his hand over her shoulder. She ignored him, as expected. Her skin was warm under his palm as he rested his hand on her shoulder and leaned to whisper in her ear. “One dance, and I’ll leave you alone. Promise.” Bug sighed, and Jake grinned when she grabbed her napkin from her lap and threw it onto the table. He pulled her chair back, chuckling when she ignored his offered hand. 

“One dance,” she said, holding up a finger before walking to the dance floor. She waited expectantly for him at the side, and he took her hand, leading her to the middle of the floor where they could hide in the crowd from their friend’s prying eyes. But even as she stepped into his arms, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other in his, she didn’t look at him. 

“Bug, I’m sorry.” When she didn’t say anything, he forged ahead. “The bet was stupid, and I made it before I really knew you.”

“When?” 

“What?”

“When did you make the bet?” 

“The Fourth of July.” He watched her lips press into a thin line as they swayed to an old song, her eyes fixed on his metals rather than meeting his eyes. Jake sighed, “We were drunk, and it was stupid, and I don’t even know why I did it. And it was before I knew that you and Yale even knew each other before this. But, what I’m tryin’ to say is that I’m sorry that I made the stupid bet, but I’m also not.”

Bug pulled them to a stop, anger flashing in her eyes as she finally looked at him. “You’re not sorry?”

“No,” he smiled, applying gentle pressure to her lower back and pulling her closer. She resisted. “You promised me one dance, Bug, and it’s not over.” Reluctantly, she stepped closer and resumed their awkward dance. “I’m not sorry, at least not entirely, because I probably wouldn’t have tried so hard to talk to you if I hadn’t been tryin’ to set you up with Rooster. You’re not the easiest person to get to know.” 

“Are you blaming me?” 

“No, just stating a fact. You avoided talking to any of us about anything other than work. If it wasn’t for the bet, I wouldn’t have gotten to know you - I’d only know Ladybug.” 

“I am Ladybug.” 

Jake smiled while saying her name, his hand lifting from her waist to trace the scar on her arm. “You’re more than Ladybug. Ladybug doesn’t read sexy books over lunch or think that apples, cheese, and crackers are a meal. She doesn’t play softball or answer her friend’s call even knowin’ he’s probably gonna hurt her. That’s all you, honey. Ladybug’s great, but I think I’m fallin’ in love with you.” 

Bug stopped for a second time, her red lips falling open as she looked at him. “What?” 

“I said, I think I’m fallin’ in love with you.” 

“Even though you were trying to set me up with your friend?” she asked after a moment. 

“If you think about it, I wasn’t really trying too hard.”

“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”

“‘Cause I didn’t want to see you with him, but I want you to be happy. And if you’d be happier with Rooster, then I guess I can figure out some way to break up him and - ”

“Are you serious right now?” her voice was getting louder, and they were starting to draw attention. Noticing this, Bug squared her shoulders and stepped out of his arms, storming off of the floor. Jake hurried behind her, heart in his throat as they exited the ballroom and entered the hotel lobby.

“Bug, please - ” Spinning on her heel, she marched back toward him and poked his chest. 

“You… you jackass!” 

“I’m hearing that a lot tonight.”

“You’re an idiot!”

“Heard that, too.” 

“You don’t tell someone that you ‘think you’re falling in love with them’” - she made air quotes while throwing his words back at him - “and then try to set them up with your friend.” 

“How am I supposed to know? This is the first time I’m doing this.” 

“This is - ” Bug paused, ruby lips falling open as she let out a little gasp. Crossing her arms, she cocked a hip and pinned him with a glare. “This is the first time I think I’m falling in love with someone, too, and even I know that, you idiot. It’s pretty common sense.” 

Jake’s grin was blinding, and he hesitantly reached out to wrap a hand around her waist, stepping into her space. Bug tilted her chin to meet his eyes, her lip twitching as she fought a smile. “You think you’re fallin’ in love with me, Bug?” 

“Maybe.”

“Well… maybe I don’t think I’m falling in love with you. Maybe I know I’m in love with you. I think,” he leaned down, his breath ghosting over her face as he stared at her lips. “I think maybe I knew when you nearly burned in.” 

“Maybe I knew it then, too.” 

Jake’s nose brushed hers before he kissed her. This time, it was soft. Teasing. Testing the waters. They pulled away to stare at one another for a heartbeat before Bug threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to lick into his mouth. Jake smiled, his arms going around her waist and pulling her close, his fingers curling around the nape of her neck. And then, just like before, they were interrupted. But this time, it was by a catcall. 

“Finally!” Rooster laughed. 

“Get a room, you two!” Phoenix ordered before kissing her girlfriend’s cheek. 

Bug and Jake looked at one another, and she reached up to wipe the red lipstick from his mouth. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes when she said, “I do have one… a room. Here. If you wanted to.”

“Fuck, honey,” he groaned. “Let’s go.” Her blush deepened as she pushed onto her toes to whisper in his ear.

“So… you should know that I’ve only slept with one person. And only once. Just in case it’s not…so you don’t get your expectations too high.” 

Jake stared down at her, forcing his jaw not to drop. “Bug, please tell me he at least made you cum.” Rather than answer, she pressed her lips together tightly, and he groaned again. 

“I have so much to teach you, honey. Starting tonight. Let’s go.”

“My key’s in my clutch. At the table.” 

“Right.” He nodded, bending to kiss her again. 

“It might, um…have been a while. But I’ve read a lot,” Bug said, as though trying to assure them both. And Jake couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I know. I’ve read some of your sexy books. Want me to reenact them for you?” Bug’s breath caught, and he chuckled, pecking her lips. “Be a good girl, and wait here for me, honey.”

There was some good-natured teasing when Jake hurried to their table and snatched Bug’s clutch. He ignored it all, wanting to get back to her quickly.

But he did detour to the cake table, picking a slice with extra frosting. 

----------------------------------------------

Author's Note: This one really got away with me, and I was shocked that I managed to write it in about 2 days. A huge thanks goes to May for beta'ing this for me and making sure that Jake still felt like Bug was interested in Rooster throughout.

I love the idea of Jake reading romance novels because his girlfriend likes them. Three that were mentioned here (in order) are: Wicked Beauty by Katee Roberts, The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang, and The Bromance Bookclub by Lyssa Kay Adams. You know that he would absolutely lovingly tease his partner about reading them, and then be blown away by just how much one can learn from reading smutty literature. There are definitely some book shopping trips he'll be treating Bug to in the future.

Ladybugs have historically been seen as a sign of good luck. I liked the idea of Reader having that as a callsign, as she wouldn't have anything to do with piloting the plane, but could serve as good luck for her pilot. Even in scrapes, she's there to help them out. For Risk, on his first carrier landing, she was able to keep him calm, and later in the accident, she was able to keep him stable until help arrived. For Omaha, she was able to snap him out of G-LOC by screaming his name. And for Jake? Well, ladybugs can also mean luck in love and expanding family.

A bit about the trauma in the story. Bug would meet the diagnostic criteria for post-trumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and probably should have been grounded for a little while. But disassociation from the traumatic event can help someone compartmentalize their trauma and get back to work (can attest to this from personal experience) - she was medically cleared by the flight surgeon and was back on duty. As of this posting, the Air Force is the only branch with a policy that allows aviators to get 60 days of mental health treatment without needing a return to duty waiver/clearance. Bug would have benefited from treatment, which might have further delayed her PCS and made Yale not hate her. She's not "cured" of PTSD by falling in love, but hopefully there's some therapy in her future to help her process the traumatic events. As for the G-LOC, there is no way for a WSO to take control of the aircraft, and the F-18s haven't been retrofitted with the technology to have autopilot reengage when the pilot loses control.

Risk would undergo the medical discharge process - "med board" - to be separated from the military with an honorable discharge following the accident, as he would be unable to preform the duties of his Military Occupational Specialty (MOS). I don’t imagine him as a bad guy, trying to hurt Bug, but traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) can cause emotional dysregulation and aggression that can be hard to deal with.

If you're interested, this is the dress that I imagined Bug wearing to the Navy ball (not representative of how I think she looks).

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