I need a tag that says “Fake dating but one of them thinks it’s real and the one who knows it’s fake actually falls for them and there’s angst but they end up together in the end”
Peace be upon the daughter who helped her parents grow up. Accepted their cold shoulder, excused their anger, pardoned their mistakes, taught them how to be human. Peace be upon the sister who paid the price of rebellion. Screaming to her fullest, shaking like a leaf but standing tall, never letting the dictatorship go without a fight, paving the path for her siblings to breathe easier. Peace be upon the first child of an immigrant father. Aching to find their own purpose in life, firm in their own beliefs, contradicting generations and generations of cultural values. Peace be upon the girl who shouldered her mother's trauma. Swindled it into her own, morphed herself into an image of the womb she once resided in, immersed herself into troubles that weren't even hers, covered up scars that she couldn't even recognize. Peace be upon the woman who forgot who she was. So determined to be the savior of everyone, to fix her family, to nurture and love everyone around her. So deeply lost that she forgot she's just as worthy of love. Peace be upon you.
- Jake and Y/n return to the White House and they get some exciting news from her mother the President of the United States - This is the last part of this small mini series. I hope y’all enjoyed this one
Tag list - just ask to be added @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @frost-queen @elenavampire21 @lover-of-books-and-tea @jssmississippihipie @khouse712 @rootedinrevisions
A strange sensation pulled me back from the void. It was a rhythmic sway, a gentle rocking that felt both unfamiliar and utterly safe. I felt warmth, a powerful, enveloping heat, and a low hum that vibrated through my bones. My head was cushioned against something firm yet soft, and a subtle scent of jet fuel mixed with something distinctly masculine – spice, leather, and a hint of adrenaline – filled my nostrils.
I tried to open my eyes, but the lids felt heavy, glued shut. A groan escaped my lips, a weak, reedy sound that was barely my own.
“Easy there, Sleeping Beauty.”
That voice. Deep, smooth as southern bourbon, laced with a familiar playful arrogance that sent a jolt of something electric through my bruised body. Jake.
My eyes fluttered open, struggling against the persistent haze. I saw the blurred outline of a strong jaw, the defined line of a neck, the faint glint of a silver chain. I was being carried. Carried like a child, cradled against a broad chest. His chest.
The world slowly sharpened. We were outside. The sky overhead was a bruised purple, the first hint of dawn painting the horizon. And then I saw it. The White House. Its iconic white columns, the grand facade, stood bathed in the melancholic light of early morning. But it wasn't the building that truly stole my breath. It was what was parked on the meticulously manicured front lawn.
A sleek, formidable F/A-18 Super Hornet, its wings gleaming under the nascent light, sat proudly on the hallowed grass. My jaw, I realized, was probably hanging open. Because of course, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin wouldn't just land at a nearby airfield. He’d bring his own personal chariot right to my front door. The sheer audacity of it would have been hilarious, if I wasn't so weak and disoriented.
The moment he saw my eyes were open, a flash of pure relief, quickly masked by his patented cocky grin, crossed his face. “Well, look who decided to join the party. Thought I was gonna have to carry you all the way to your room, Miss Travers.”
He was walking fast, his stride long and purposeful, heading towards the main entrance. But we weren't alone. Far from it. The White House, at this ungodly hour, was a beehive of frantic activity. Secret Service agents, their faces a mixture of alarm and barely concealed disbelief, were rushing out, weapons drawn, though clearly unsure who the enemy was when the "threat" was a decorated pilot carrying the First Daughter. White House staff, still in various states of undress, peered from windows and doorways, a collective gasp rippling through the early morning air.
And then I saw them. Two figures, standing side-by-side, their expressions etched with a raw fear that slowly morphed into overwhelming relief as they saw me. My mother, President Evelyn Travers, her usually composed features undone by worry, and Brooke Tames, my best friend, her hand clasped over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
“Y/n!” Brooke’s voice was a choked sob.
My mother, for once, didn't look like the leader of the free world. She looked like a mother who had just seen her child returned from the brink. Her eyes were fixed on Jake, then on me, a silent torrent of emotions passing between them.
Jake didn’t slow down, but he gave my mother a respectful, albeit still slightly arrogant, nod. “Madam President. Your daughter, safe and sound. A little worse for wear, but otherwise intact.”
“Seresin, you absolute madman!” My mother’s voice was tight, a mixture of fury and gratitude. “My lawn! Do you have any idea the… the protocol violation this is?”
Jake merely winked at me. “Had to make an entrance, ma’am. You know how it is. And for Y/n, no violation is too big.”
The Secret Service agents, still trying to process the sight of a fighter jet on the lawn, were now trying to form a perimeter around us, but Jake merely navigated through them with an air of practiced ease, as if carrying the First Daughter off a jet he’d illegally landed on federal property was an everyday occurrence. Which, for him, it probably was.
The White House hospital wing was surprisingly well-equipped, a stark reminder of the unique pressures of living where I did. The sheets were crisp, the room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the hum of medical machinery was a soft drone in the background. My side throbbed, a dull ache now, thanks to whatever they’d pumped into me. A bandage was tightly wrapped around my ribs.
I woke up properly this time, the fear and pain a receding nightmare. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting streaks across the polished floor. And there, in a surprisingly comfortable-looking armchair, was Jake.
He was still in his flight suit, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms. His dark eyes, usually so sharp and teasing, were softer now, filled with a quiet concern as he watched me. He must have been there all night.
“Hey,” I rasped, my throat dry.
His head snapped up, a smile immediately spreading across his face. “Well, good morning, sunshine. Took you long enough.” He stood, stretching, and moved to my bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I went ten rounds with a bear… and the bear won.” I tried to push myself up, but a sharp twinge in my side made me wince.
Jake was instantly there, a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Whoa, easy there. Take it slow. Doctor said you’ve got some cracked ribs, a nasty concussion, and enough bruises to make you look like a modern art masterpiece. Nothing a little rest and my charming company can’t fix.”
I managed a weak smile. “Your charming company is what got me into this mess in the first place, isn’t it?”
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “Hey, I saved you, didn’t I? Pretty heroic, if you ask me. Landed a Super Hornet on the White House lawn. That’s gotta get me some points, right?”
“Points for utter insanity, maybe,” I teased, a small laugh escaping me. “My mother’s probably still having an aneurysm. I saw her face.”
Jake shrugged, a familiar glint in his eyes. “She was torn, I’ll give her that. One minute she was tearing me a new one about aerial trespassing and national security risks, the next she was just… your mom. Kinda terrifying, actually. More so than a MiG.”
“She called you a madman,” I reminded him. “And wanted to know how you even managed to get permission for this little rescue mission, given our… situation.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Had a little chat with the President just before we launched. A very… candid discussion, you might say. Told her everything. About us. About why I was gonna bring you home. She wasn’t thrilled, but she understood. Turns out, even Presidents have a soft spot for their kids.”
My heart fluttered. He’d told her. He’d laid it all out there, risking his career, everything, for me. “She let you come?”
“She did. Didn’t make it easy, though. Said if I so much as scratched a blade of grass on her lawn, I’d be scrubbing latrines at Gitmo for the rest of my days. Guess I'm on latrine duty now,” he said with a wry grin. “But it was worth it. Every damn blade of grass.”
I reached out, my hand finding his. His skin was warm and firm. “Jake,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you. For everything.”
He squeezed my hand. “Always, Y/n. Always.”
Just then, the door swung open, and Brooke burst in, a whirlwind of relief and barely contained excitement. My mother followed, her expression still betraying a hint of presidential sternness, but her eyes were undeniably softer.
“Y/n! Oh my god, you’re awake!” Brooke launched herself at me, careful not to jostle my injuries. She buried her face in my shoulder, sniffling. “I was so worried! We all were.”
“Hey, hey, I’m okay, Brooke,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “Thanks to him.” I nodded towards Jake.
Brooke pulled back, her eyes red-rimmed but shining. She looked at Jake, then back at me, a wide, knowing smile spreading across her face. “Yeah, I heard about the… special delivery. Only Jake Seresin would make an entrance like that.” She shot him a grateful look. “Thank you, Jake. Seriously.”
My mother stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over me, checking for any new signs of distress. “Y/n, my dear. How do you truly feel?”
“Better, Mom. Much better. The doctors here are incredible.” I met her steady gaze. “And Jake’s a pretty good bodyguard.”
Evelyn Travers turned her attention to Jake, her presidential persona slowly reasserting itself, though a faint tremor in her voice betrayed her lingering relief. “Seresin. While I can’t condone your… unconventional methods of transportation, I must commend your bravery and your swift action. You brought my daughter home.”
Jake stood straighter, a respectful nod. “Just doing my job, ma’am. And a little extra, given the circumstances.”
My mother’s lips twitched. She knew exactly what he meant. She reached into the pocket of her tailored jacket and pulled out a small, velvet box. She opened it, revealing a gleaming golden eagle pin, its wings spread wide, crafted with intricate detail. It was a more elaborate, more distinguished version of the standard Top Gun pilot’s insignia.
“This,” she said, her voice clear and resonant, “is a custom-made presidential commendation. For exceptional service, above and beyond the call of duty. And for showing my daughter what true courage looks like.” She pinned it carefully onto the lapel of his flight suit, a gesture of profound respect and, I dared to hope, acceptance.
Jake looked genuinely surprised, a rare crack in his usual composure. He touched the pin, his gaze softening. “Madam President… it’s an honor. Truly.”
“And one more thing, Seresin,” she continued, her eyes flickering from him to me, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. “Your… relationship with my daughter.”
My breath hitched. My heart pounded. This was it. The moment of truth.
“I confess, I have my reservations. Your world is dangerous, Y/n’s is… less so, generally. And the politics of it all…” She paused, then met my eyes, a warmth entering her own. “But I see how he looks at you, Y/n. And I see how you look at him. And I remember what it’s like to find that kind of connection.” She turned back to Jake, her expression firm but kind. “Just promise me you’ll always bring her home safely. And that you’ll be worthy of her.”
Jake met her gaze head-on, his usual swagger replaced by a solemn sincerity. “I promise, ma’am. With my life.”
My mother nodded, a profound sense of peace settling over her features. “Then, with my full permission, you two may be together.” She looked at me, a gentle smile. “Go on, honey. Live your life. And write your story.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you, Mom.”
A few days later, recuperated and cleared for light activity, I found myself back on the White House lawn. The F/A-18 was still there, a constant source of secret service headaches and public intrigue. Repairs had been made to the turf, but the imprint of the landing gear was still faintly visible, a testament to Jake’s audacious arrival.
Jake stood by the jet, looking ridiculously handsome in his flight suit, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Brooke was there too, holding a thermos of coffee for my mother, who was currently on a video call from the Oval Office, probably fending off questions about the unexpected new lawn ornament.
“Alright, Y/n,” Jake called out, gesturing to the cockpit. “Time for your private lesson.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re letting me fly it?”
“Well, you gotta know how to drive your boyfriend’s ride, don’t you?” he winked. “Besides, think of the story this’ll make. First Daughter, flying a Super Hornet off the White House lawn. It’s got a certain ring to it, don't you think?”
He guided me up the ladder, helping me into the front seat. The cockpit smelled of jet fuel and Jake. He showed me the controls, his hands guiding mine over the unfamiliar panel. My heart hammered with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
“It’s a powerful machine, Y/n,” he said, his voice low and serious for once. “But it listens to you. You just gotta trust yourself.”
He took the back seat, securing himself in. “Alright, pre-flight checks are done. You feeling ready?”
I took a deep breath, hands gripping the stick. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get you airborne, ace.”
With a final nod from Jake, I pushed the throttle forward, feeling the incredible surge of power. The engines roared to life, a thundering symphony that vibrated through my entire being. We started to roll, picking up speed across the hallowed turf. The ground staff, already used to this bizarre spectacle, stood by, some waving, others just shaking their heads in amused resignation.
As we lifted off, the White House shrinking beneath us, the city lights beginning to sparkle in the twilight, I felt a rush of pure exhilaration. The wind whipped past the canopy, the world spread out beneath us, vast and breathtaking. I was flying. Really flying.
Beside me, Jake’s voice crackled through the comms, easy and confident. “You’re a natural, Y/n. Knew you would be.”
I banked gently, turning the powerful jet towards the open sky, the golden eagle pin on Jake’s lapel a silent promise of future adventures. This wasn’t just a flight; it was a testament. A testament to courage, to audacious love, to finding your way back home. And as the horizon beckoned, a vast canvas of endless possibilities, I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my soul, that this was it. This was my epic love story. And it had only just begun.
