Jake Seresin survived Top Gun, enemy fire, and Admiral Simpson’s death glare—but nothing prepared him for twin daughters with jet fuel in their veins.
Audrey’s a pint-sized genius who corrects flight instructors for fun. Casey’s a grease-streaked daredevil who tried to install landing gear on the dishwasher. Their mom? A civilian logistics queen who keeps the household airborne with spreadsheets, sarcasm, and unmatched patience.
Between cardboard cockpit crashes, sibling sabotage, and breakfast debates about lift-to-drag ratios, the Seresin family is flying high—and spiraling into chaos.
One - Attitude and Attitude
Two - Flight School Drop In
Three - The Science Fair Sabotage
Four - Deployment Blues
Five - The Anniversary
Six - Wings of Their Own
Tag list - just ask to be added @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @frost-queen @elenavampire21 @lover-of-books-and-tea @jssmississippihipie @khouse712 @rootedinrevisions @lunatygerqueen @itsdesiree86
i was yapping about this on my twitter but… RanWan Aviation AU.
I am here to share my headcanons and also to give me the strength to start writing!!!
BTW! In this AU, they work at a small regional airline. They are all in the same building and weather briefs happen in person which is not the norm for larger PAX and Cargo operations! It does happen, but it isn’t the standard.
Pilot! Chu Wanning/Dispatcher! Mo Ran.
- Chu Wanning secretly enjoys flying Airbus more than Boeing.
- Mo Ran draws little hearts on Chu Wanning’s flight releases. Chu Wanning acts like he hates it, but it makes his day. Mo Ran will also bring him snacks for his flights.
- Mo Ran gets in for his shift early so he can look at the schedule + crews to make sure he gets Wanning’s flights (if he can).
- Chu Wanning has a picture of Mo Ran in his hat, and in his bag. He would never tell anyone this, but he considers it his lucky charm.
- Mo Ran has a bunch of pins and badges on his lanyard. It jingles when he walks.
- When Mo Ran and Chu Wanning go on vacation, they refuse to pay for seats no matter what (unless it’s an emergency or something super important). They hop from gate to gate, airline to airline trying to get the jumpseat. Chu Wanning usually gets stuffed in the cockpit and Mo Ran gets the next available seat. Mo Ran mopes the entire time.
- If they get separated on different planes, they’re blowing up eachother’s phones the whole time.
- Chu Wanning always brings Mo Ran a coffee or tea when he gets in for his flight. In the early days of their relationship, he would leave it on Mo Ran’s desk and run away.
Sirius bringing little Harry into the cockpit and showing him all the things there are to know about flying and aviation and Harry is so fascinated and also a very big fan of Captain Sirius! He soon gets very invested in becoming a Pilot himself one day, learns essential things from an early age and is able to fly his first small real aeroplane independently at an unusually young age with Sirius as his co-pilot dad
Hi, I love the pilot's AU you did for Mouthwashing. How would Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke fit into that AU? What would their jobs on the plane or airline be?
Thank you so much!! I’m glad you like it 🥰🥰 Anya and Daisuke are flight attendants, Swansea is an aeronautical technician (gives maintenance and repairs aircrafts) 😊✨
On her way to a family reunion, Skywalker Airlines First Officer Rose Tico has a problem.
She is the only member of her family not in a committed relationship.
Combine that fact with her aunt, her grand-aunts, and the bane of her existence, her cousin Clarisse, asking, in varying degrees of kindness (or in some cases, the lack thereof) why she is dreadfully single, she is not looking forward to the reunion.
But one act of kindness (or insanity) from fellow Skywalker Airlines employee, Purser Armitage Hux, changes everything.
- Jake tries to enjoy his morning coffee but nothing is that calm in the Seresin house. His twins are different whirlwinds of energy that he and his wife do their best to keep their daughters from destroying their kitchen.
Please leave comments or reblog and tell me what you think should happen next 😊
💥 Wings of Chaos 💥
Next part ⏩️
- Tag list - just ask to be added @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @frost-queen @elenavampire21 @lover-of-books-and-tea @jssmississippihipie @khouse712 @rootedinrevisions @lunatygerqueen @itsdesiree86 @read-just-cant-stop
The Seresin household was quiet for exactly seven minutes every morning. I’d timed it. That was the precious window between Jake’s first sip of coffee – black, strong enough to fuel a fighter jet – and the moment one of our identical, yet utterly distinct, ten-year-old twins did something that defied physics, logic, or basic household safety. Today, I braced myself for the inevitable. The faint scent of duct tape and cardboard had been a tell-tale sign since sunrise.
My mental clock chimed. Seven minutes were up.
“Casey, the dog is not a co-pilot!” Jake’s voice, honed by years of shouting over jet engines, cut through the morning air. I heard a thud, followed by Maverick’s enthusiastic barks. I didn’t even need to look up from my tablet, where I was scrolling through base logistics reports, to know what was happening. It was just another Tuesday.
“She’s wearing goggles, Dad,” Casey replied, her voice muffled but determined. I pictured her, grease-streaked hands, probably with a wrench in one and a roll of duct tape in the other, fine-tuning her latest contraption. Maverick, our golden retriever, barked again, a cheerful sound that suggested her current occupation in the cockpit of a cardboard jet taped together in the living room was the absolute highlight of her life. “She’s ready for takeoff.”
Jake appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking like a man who'd just flown a combat mission with a blindfold on. He gestured vaguely towards the living room with his coffee mug, a silent plea for sanity. “You seeing this, Y/n?”
I didn't even look up from the report detailing a cargo manifest for a supply run to Okinawa. “I saw it yesterday when she tried to install landing gear on the dishwasher.” My fingers continued to scroll, buttering a piece of toast with the other hand. It wasn’t apathy; it was a deeply ingrained coping mechanism. If I reacted to every piece of chaos, I’d have lost my mind somewhere between Audrey’s first complex circuit board and Casey’s attempt to hotwire the lawnmower.
Meanwhile, Audrey, my brilliant, sarcastic, and equally chaotic other half of the twin equation, sat at the kitchen island. Legs crossed, glasses perched on her nose, she was engrossed in a book titled Aerodynamics for Advanced Youth. She glanced up, pushed her glasses higher, and delivered her professional opinion. “Technically, Maverick’s center of gravity is off. She’ll crash before she clears the coffee table.”
A groan, deep and full of mechanical frustration, echoed from the living room. “You’re such a nerd, Audrey!”
Audrey, ever so sweetly, returned fire. “And you’re such a gremlin, Casey.” She flipped a page, utterly unfazed by the imminent destruction of her sister’s latest engineering marvel. I stifled a smile. My girls, in a nutshell.
Jake rubbed his temples, a habit he’d picked up since becoming a dad. “I flew combat missions with fewer variables than this breakfast.” He looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of exasperation and a kind of bewildered fondness. He was a man who’d faced down enemy MiGs in the skies, but a cardboard jet piloted by a goggled retriever seemed to truly test his limits.
I finally looked up, a small smirk playing on my lips. “You wanted adventure, Seresin. You got it.” I remembered the early days, how he used to talk about the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline. He’d found me drunk dancing on Penny’s bar top that night, laughing, carefree. He’d caught me when I’d inevitably started to fall, a real-life knight in a flight suit, and I’d thought then that life with him would be an exhilarating ride. It certainly was, just not always in the way we’d imagined.
Just then, a loud, undeniable thud echoed from the hallway, followed by the distinct sound of cardboard ripping and Maverick’s triumphant “Woof!” Casey’s cardboard jet had indeed launched—briefly—and Maverick was now tangled in a blanket, tail wagging like she’d just won a medal for valor in aerial combat.
Jake sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand parental battles fought and lost to the sheer will of a ten-year-old. He grabbed his coffee, now lukewarm, and muttered, “I miss turbulence. It was quieter.”
The aftermath of the 'Maverick-1's maiden flight was precisely what you’d expect. The cardboard wings were crumpled, the duct tape having given up the ghost mid-flight. Maverick, bless her heart, was still convinced she was a hero, attempting to retrieve a piece of cardboard fuselage as if it were a fallen enemy.
“See?” Audrey said, ever the purveyor of cold, hard facts, peering over her book at the wreckage. “Center of gravity was off. And your lift-to-drag ratio was completely suboptimal, Casey. I could run some simulations for you, if you’d like. I’ve been working on a new aerodynamics program on Dad’s old laptop.”
Before she could finish, a clanking sound started emanating from under the kitchen sink. Casey, already having moved on from her downed aircraft, was now partially obscured by the open cabinet, her legs sticking out. She was wearing her trusty goggles, a wrench glinting in her hand as she tackled the garbage disposal.
“It’s not broken,” I said, not even attempting to hide my exasperation. “I literally just used it.”
“It’s not about broken, Mom,” Casey’s voice was muffled from the depths of the cabinet, the clanking continuing. “It’s about optimization. I think the impeller blades could be angled better for efficiency. Less energy consumption, more grinding power.”
Jake, who had been surveying the cardboard carnage with a critical eye, turned to me, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I tried to teach them about flight plans, Y/n. About precision, about following a checklist.” He leaned against the counter, shaking his head. “Seems I only taught them how to improvise and then fix everything they break.”
I watched him, a wave of affection washing over me. Jake, the legendary Hangman, the calmest pilot in a crisis, was constantly flummoxed by the sheer ingenuity and stubbornness of his own offspring. He’d gone from commanding aircraft carriers to trying to command a living room full of cardboard and canines. His struggles with letting go of control were evident in the way he’d pace when the girls were attempting something particularly outlandish, but he never truly stopped them. He loved that spark in them, that refusal to accept limitations. He’d always say he wanted his girls to be fearless, and they sure as hell were. He’d just underestimated how much fearlessness he’d signed up for.
“Audrey, your design was flawed from the start,” Casey grumbled, emerging from under the sink, a smudge of grease on her cheek. She held up a small, shiny metal piece. “This tiny adjustment, and it would have flown.”
Audrey sighed dramatically, closing her book. “Casey, you can’t just ‘adjust’ physics. Your structural integrity was compromised by the adhesive choice alone. I’m telling you, if you let me just redesign the wings for better lift… I have some theories about symmetrical airfoils versus cambered designs for low-speed, high-angle-of-attack scenarios—”
“No more simulations before breakfast!” I interjected, my voice calm but firm. Our breakfast ritual was one of the few things that maintained a semblance of order in this house. The girls needed to eat, and I needed five minutes of them sitting still. It was a fragile truce, but one I fiercely guarded.
Casey groaned, but she started to collect the cardboard pieces, Maverick enthusiastically trying to “help” by wagging her tail into everything. Audrey, meanwhile, just nodded, already mentally sketching new wing designs. The wheels of their minds never stopped turning.
Miraculously, we finally sat down for breakfast. Audrey was quietly eating her cereal, occasionally scribbling equations on a napkin. Casey, having declared the garbage disposal "optimally efficient" (I'd have to check it later), was wolfing down pancakes, occasionally making engine noises with her spoon. Maverick, having scored a few dropped crumbs, was now napping under the table, undoubtedly dreaming of future aerial conquests.
Jake reached across the table, his hand finding mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. His eyes, still holding that hint of bewildered amusement, met mine. In that moment, surrounded by the organized chaos we’d created, we shared a silent language. A look that said, Can you believe this is our life? and Wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I remembered that night at Penny’s, the way he’d looked at me, all charm and swagger, but with a surprising gentleness in his eyes. He’d promised me adventure, and he’d delivered, not just in the high-stakes world of military aviation, but here, in the daily, beautiful, exasperating adventure of raising these two extraordinary girls. We weren’t just managing the chaos; we were orchestrating it, together. He was the thunder, I was the quiet storm, and our girls were the lightning that struck us both daily.
“You know,” Jake said, buttering his toast, his voice a low rumble, “sometimes I think about pitching a new training program to Rooster. Forget fighter jets. Just give him a couple of ten-year-olds and a dog. He’d be a broken man by noon.”
I chuckled, squeezing his hand back. “And yet, you wouldn’t trade it.”
He grinned, a flash of the Hangman I knew from so long ago. “Never. Not for anything in the world.” He took a bite of his toast, then glanced at the twins, who were now arguing softly about the optimal density of pancake batter for structural integrity.
He looked at me again, a playful glint in his eyes. “They haven’t even touched the flight simulator yet.”
I sighed, but a smile touched my lips. I knew what lay ahead. More calculations, more duct tape, more near-misses. And I wouldn’t miss a second of it. This was our wild, wonderful adventure, and I was ready for takeoff.
- Jake and Y/n get called in by base security and find out something their girls managed to get into and they also think back on how they used to be before they had the twins
- Please leave comments or reblog and tell me what you think should happen next 😊
The shrill squawk of the base security alarm was not the kind of morning serenade I usually enjoyed. My coffee, barely touched, sat precariously on the kitchen counter. I knew, with the sickening certainty of a mother of ten-year-old twin girls, exactly what that sound meant. It could only be one thing, or rather, two small, mischievous things.
“Seriously?” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Before 0800?”
Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Jake. His caller ID flashed, accompanied by a picture of him grinning, aviator sunglasses perched on his nose, looking every inch the cocky pilot I’d fallen for. Now, he was Commander Jake Seresin, father and husband.
I answered, bracing myself. “Don’t even start,” I said before he could get a word in.
“Y/n, you are not going to believe this,” he began, his voice a low growl of exasperation mixed with… was that a hint of pride? It was always a delicate balance with Jake and our girls. “I just got a call from Security. Your delightful offspring have managed to ‘liberate’ simulator bay three.”
I sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. “Mine? I believe those are ‘our’ delightful offspring, Seresin.”
“Semantics, sweetheart. Point is, they bypassed a triple-lock system and a motion sensor. How did they even get past Maintenance?”
“Probably offered them homemade cookies,” I deadpanned. “Or Audrey hacked the system while Casey sweet-talked the guards with a sob story about needing to ‘borrow a wrench’.”
Jake chuckled, the sound rumbling through the phone. “You’re probably right. I’m heading over there now. You wanna come pick up your juvenile delinquents?”
“I’m already in the car,” I said, starting the engine. “Don’t yell at them too much. You know how they get.”
“Me? Yell? Never,” he said, but I could practically hear the grin. “See you in five.”
When I arrived at the flight sim building, the scene was exactly what I’d pictured. Two formidable MPs stood guard outside the bay door. Inside, through the reinforced glass, I could see the twins. Audrey, perched in the pilot’s seat, her brow furrowed and her small hands glued to the joystick. Casey, leaning over her shoulder, a wild grin on her face, occasionally jabbing at a button. And in front of them, the massive curved screen displayed… a burning wreck.
Jake was already inside, arms crossed, looking from the scorched digital landscape back to his beaming daughters. He caught my eye through the glass, a mixture of 'can you believe this?' and 'they get it from me' warring on his handsome face.
“Alright, ladies,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Care to explain what’s going on here?”
Audrey looked up. “Mom! We didn’t mean to break anything, but Casey wouldn’t stick to the flight plan! We almost had a perfect approach, a real textbook landing until she decided to ‘improvise’ and activate the emergency eject sequence at Mach 2!”
Casey bounced in her seat, completely unfazed. “It was boring, Mom! Audrey was taking forever with all her calculations! And besides,” she gestured wildly at the smoldering wreckage on screen, “look at that explosion! That was epic! Just like Dad used to do!”
Jake cleared his throat, a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Casey. My explosions are always intentional for the enemy.”
“But yours were never that pretty, Dad!” Casey insisted, her eyes sparkling. “It was like a fireworks show! All red and orange!”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “It was a failure, Casey. A complete and utter disregard for structural integrity and principles. We barely made it past the initial ascent profile before you started fiddling with the flap settings. And don’t get me started on your airspeed fluctuations.”
“Flap settings are boring, Audrey! I wanted to see what would happen if I turned everything to max power and then went upside down!” Casey retorted. “It was a scientific experiment!”
“No, it was a death wish!” Audrey snapped back.
Jake stepped between them, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. Both of you. Audrey, a perfect flight plan is commendable, but sometimes things don’t go to plan and you need to adapt. Casey, adaptation does not mean throwing caution to the wind and actively seeking out a spectacular crash. There’s a fine line between improvisation and reckless endangerment.”
Casey pouted. “But I learn more when I break things!”
“And I learn more when things don’t break!” Audrey countered.
One of the MPs appeared at the door, catching Jake’s eye. “Lieutenant Seresin, Base Commander Davies would like a word.” His tone was polite, but firm.
Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figures. Alright. You two,” he pointed at the girls, “stay put. Don’t touch a single thing. And you,” he looked at me, a silent plea in his eyes, “help me out here.”
I nodded. “Just try not to look too proud when they explain how they bypassed the mainframe, honey.”
He grumbled something under his breath about ‘inheriting their mother’s mischievous charm’ before following the MP. I knew he was embarrassed, but I also knew he was secretly beaming. His daughters, ten years old, had breached top-tier security. It was infuriating, but undeniably impressive.
I walked over to the girls, who were now silently inspecting the simulator’s control panel, Casey already trying to figure out how to reset it. “Girls, this isn’t a game. You know the rules about the base. This is serious.”
Audrey, for once, looked a little contrite. “We just wanted to try it, Mom. Dad talks about it all the time. We saw him use it one day, and… well, we just wanted to see if we could.”
“And you did,” I conceded. “But at what cost? Dad’s going to be in trouble, and so are you.”
Casey piped up, “But it was fun! Can we do it again?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No, Casey. You absolutely cannot. Not unless you want to spend the rest of your lives grounded, with no video games, no tinkering, and no access to any of your books, Audrey.”
That got their attention. Audrey actually gasped. “No books? That’s inhumane!”
“Then you’ll have to convince Commander Davies that you deserve to be here,” I challenged, a plan already forming in my mind. “You’ll need to prove that you’re not just troublemakers, but genuinely interested in learning.”
Commander Davies was a man in his late fifties, with a stern face and a gaze that could peel paint. Jake stood beside his desk, looking slightly less self-assured than usual, but still radiating that inherent Seresin confidence. The twins sat on a bench against the wall, unusually quiet, though Casey was subtly trying to pry a piece of gum from under the bench with her fingernail.
“Mr and Mrs. Seresin” Davies began, his voice a low rumble. “Care to explain why I have two highly intelligent ten-year-olds breaking into restricted areas on my base before breakfast?”
Jake shifted. “Sir, with all due respect, they’re just… curious. They’re bright kids. And they love aviation.”
“Curiosity and a love for aviation do not grant them clearance, Lieutenant. They bypassed multiple security protocols. This isn’t a playground.” He turned his gaze to me. “Y/n, I understand you’re their mother, and also a civilian logistics coordinator here. Do you have any explanation for this?”
I stepped forward, meeting his gaze directly. “Commander Davies, I understand the gravity of the situation. My daughters were out of line, and they know it. However, I believe this incident, while misguided, also highlights their incredible aptitude and passion. Audrey just demonstrated a remarkable understanding of flight theory, and Casey, while impulsive, has an intuitive grasp of how to push systems to their limits.”
Jake blinked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Davies raised an eyebrow. “Aptitude? Their ‘aptitude’ just cost us an hour of down time and a full security review.”
“And it also showed us that our current physical security measures could be improved, which is a valuable lesson,” I countered smoothly. “Perhaps, instead of just punishing them, we could channel that energy. They clearly have a thirst for knowledge that this base, with its unparalleled resources, is uniquely positioned to fulfill.”
“And what exactly are you proposing, Y/n?” Davies asked, wary.
“I’m proposing that we allow them to observe training sessions, under strict supervision, of course. Let them sit in on classroom lectures, perhaps even shadow a few mechanics, or—heaven forbid—allow them some supervised time in an unrestricted simulator. They could be a valuable asset in the future, Commander. Future engineers, future pilots. Or perhaps, future security analysts, given their talents for bypassing systems.”
A small smile touched Davies’ lips, quickly suppressed. “Are you suggesting I turn my base into a daycare?”
“No, sir. I’m suggesting you invest in the next generation. Jake and I both believe in the mission here. And these girls? They embody that spirit, albeit sometimes… unconventionally.” I glanced at Jake, who gave me a subtle nod of encouragement. “They need guidance, not just containment. Give them a chance to learn, to understand the discipline and precision involved. I’ll personally vouch for their good behavior, and ensure they are never unsupervised.”
Davies leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his desk. He looked from me to Jake, then at the two, now wide-eyed, girls. My thoughts drifted back to a time before these girls, before the responsibilities and the early morning security alerts. A time when my nights were defined by sticky bar floors and the sweet taste of freedom.
The air in Penny’s Bar was thick with the scent of stale beer, cheap perfume, and desperation. It was a late Friday night, the kind where the music was too loud, the drinks flowed too freely, and inhibitions slowly, deliciously unraveled. My friends, Sarah and Chloe and our bride to be Leah, were currently demonstrating the latter, whooping and egging me on from the sticky floor during Leah’s bachelorette party.
“Come on, Y/n!” Sarah yelled over the blare of Kenny Loggins. “‘Danger Zone’ is your song! You basically work on a military base!”
Chloe giggled, sloshing her drink. “It’s destiny! You gotta do it! Dance on the bar!”
My cheeks were flushed, not just from the cheap tequila shots, but from the sheer audacity of the dare. Penny’s bar was notorious, a dive where pilots unwound, and civilians stumbled into trouble. Dancing on the bar to “Danger Zone” was practically a rite of passage, or a quick ticket to a concussion.
I was usually the quiet one, the observer, the one who tried to keep everyone sane. But tonight, something felt different. The alcohol had loosened the tight knots of my shyness, replacing them with a giddy, reckless spirit. I was barefoot, having kicked off my uncomfortable heels hours ago, and felt a strange surge of fearlessness.
“You guys are insane,” I yelled back, but the smile on my face betrayed me.
“No guts, no glory!” Leah hollered.
With a deep, liquid courage-fueled breath, I made my decision. I scrambled onto a sturdy barstool, then, with a little boost from a surprised bartender, hoisted myself onto the scuffed, sticky surface of the bar. The music seemed to swell, perfectly timed with my ascent.
“YEAH! Y/N!” my friends screamed, sounding genuinely shocked I’d actually done it.
The bartender, a burly man named Gus, just shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “Just don’t break anything, kid.”
The bass vibrated through the soles of my feet, sending a thrilling jolt up my legs. The lights, flashing erratically, painted the scene in strobing chaos. And then I started to move. It wasn’t graceful, not by a long shot. More flailing, really. But it was joyful, uninhibited. I threw my arms up, swaying to the insistent rhythm, laughing at my own ridiculousness. The world narrowed to the music, the flashing lights, and the exhilaration of doing something completely out of character.
I was vaguely aware of cheers from the crowd, a few whistles. But one gaze, in particular, cut through the haze. He was leaning against the far end of the bar, a group of equally swaggering pilots around him. Even from a distance, he exuded an almost magnetic confidence. Tall, dark hair, a grin that could charm the paint off a wall. Jake Seresin. “Hangman,” as he was known. Fresh off a training win, I’d heard. And he was watching me. Not with judgment, but with an amused admiration that made my stomach flip, even in my tipsy state.
His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to follow every clumsy, joyous movement. A slow grin spread across his face, a private smile just for me. It was the kind of smile that made you feel like you were the only person in the room, even with a hundred eyes on you. And in that moment, fueled by tequila and his attention, I felt truly fearless.
I spun, my arms outstretched, mimicking a plane. The wood beneath my bare feet was slick. Too slick. My left foot slid out from under me, and time seemed to stretch, agonizing and slow. My arms windmilled wildly, a gasp caught in my throat. This was it. Face-first into a puddle of beer and regret.
Then, strong arms were around me. One firm hand gripped my waist, pulling me against a solid chest. The other deftly caught my flailing heels from where they’d been discarded on the bar top. I hung there, suspended, my face inches from his, the scent of expensive cologne and something uniquely masculine filling my senses. His grin was wider now, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes.
“Well, hello there,” I slurred, a goofy smile on my face. “Are you my knight in a flight suit?”
His grip tightened, steadying me. The deep rumble of his laugh vibrated through me. “Only if you promise not to fly solo again.”
He didn’t let go immediately, just held me there, letting the moment hang in the air. The music, surprisingly, had shifted to something slower, more suggestive. My friends were still cheering, but their shouts seemed distant. It was just him and me, suspended in the space between a spectacular fall and an even more spectacular catch.
My heart was doing a frantic drum solo against my ribs. He brought my heels up, dangling them playfully. “These yours?”
“Uh, yeah,” I managed, suddenly feeling very sober, and very aware of his proximity.
He set me gently back on my feet, his hand lingering on my waist a moment longer than necessary. “Jake. Jake Seresin.”
“Y/n, Y/n L/n.” I replied, my voice a little breathless. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. He released my waist, but his thumb brushed my hip as he did.
“You’re quite the dancer, Y/n. Almost took out that entire row of whiskey bottles.”
I blushed. “I usually stick to the ground.”
“Good,” he said, his gaze intense, playful. “Because you’re much better off with a wingman. Especially one who’s good at catching.” He winked, then gestured to the bar stools. “Care to join me for a grounded drink?”
I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. Commander Davies was still watching me, a thoughtful expression on his face. Jake, catching my gaze, gave me a small, private smile that said he knew exactly where my mind had just been. He remembered. He always remembered.
“Alright, Y/n,” Davies finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll give them a chance. On two conditions.”
My heart gave a little leap. “Name them, sir.”
“First, they are your responsibility. You or Lieutenant Seresin must be with them at all times when they are on base, outside of their designated school or home. No more solo missions, as Lieutenant Seresin often calls them.” He shot a pointed look at Jake.
“Understood, sir,” I said, nodding firmly.
“And second,” Davies continued, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at the girls, “they must maintain a B average in all their subjects. This is a privilege, not a right. And if they cause any further security incidents…” He trailed off, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air.
“They understand, don’t you, girls?” I prompted.
Audrey, usually so quick to argue, nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir! We promise!”
Casey, surprisingly, followed suit. “No more crashing, Commander! Unless it’s really cool-looking!” Jake shot her a warning glance, and she clamped her mouth shut. Davies, however, chuckled.
“Very well. Lieutenant Seresin, you’ll coordinate the access points and schedules with Y/n. And perhaps,” Davies added, a glint in his eye, “you might want to consider locking down the simulator bay a little more effectively.”
Jake grinned, a hint of his old, cocky self returning. “Sir, with all due respect, I think my daughters just proved our systems are just fine. They’re just… exceptional.”
Davies just shook his head, a genuine smile finally breaking through. “Get them out of here, Seresin. Before they learn how to hotwire a Hornet.” As we walked out of the office, the twins practically skipping, Jake and I shook our heads in amazement.
