summary; Jake is completely bewitched by the calmest four-year-old and her single mother in a four hour flight from New York to Texas.
word count; 3.3k
warnings; FLUFF FEST
a/n; this one came to me in my sleep, i love girl dad jake in any way i can get it honestly, let me know what you think! read part two here
masterlist
Jake Seresin really should’ve booked the later flight.
He’s still a little hungover, the kind that hums behind his eyes and makes his stomach tilt every time the plane jerks with another passenger shoving a bag into the overhead bins. His back aches from the too-soft hotel mattress, and the starched collar of his shirt itches against his neck.
He runs a hand down his face as he steps into the narrow aisle, the low hum of pre-flight chaos buzzing around him. The air smells like coffee, recycled air, and too many people in too small a space.
He’d spent the weekend in New York for a buddy’s wedding — a good time, sure, but too much whiskey, too many late nights, and way too much small talk. He’s ready to go home. Ready for quiet.
“Eighteen C,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the numbers overhead as he lugs his carry-on down the aisle.
He’s one of the last to board, so everyone’s already settled in — headphones on, blankets pulled up, the lucky ones already half asleep. His luck? Historically bad.
He spots his row halfway down the cabin and feels that familiar pinch of dread in his gut.
Window seat’s taken.
Middle seat too — by a tiny girl in pigtails, her legs swinging as she hums softly to herself.
Jake exhales through his nose, amusement and exasperation battling somewhere behind his tired eyes. “Of course,” he mutters under his breath.
A four-year-old. For a three-and-a-half-hour flight. Fantastic.
She’s got a white tracksuit on, the hood shaped like little bunny ears. Her pink backpack is open on her lap, stuffed with crayons and snacks, and she’s so focused on her coloring book she doesn’t notice him right away.
He shifts his bag on his shoulder, preparing himself for the inevitable chorus of “I’m bored” and “Are we there yet?”
Then the girl looks up.
Her eyes are big and bright, her expression open — the sort of kid who’s been raised to look people in the eye. “Hi, sir! Are you sitting here?”
Jake blinks, momentarily thrown. “Uh… yeah. Looks like it.”
She nods solemnly, like this is an official transaction. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. “Glad to hear it, sweetheart.”
The girl beams, turning a little to point toward the woman in the window seat. “Mommy, he’s here.”
Jake follows her gesture — and for the first time, really sees you.
You’re half-turned toward the aisle, hair loosely pulled back, one hand resting protectively on your daughter’s knee. There’s a softness to you that stops him for a second — not flashy, not showy, just… gentle. A quiet kind of pretty that sneaks up on him.
“Sorry,” you murmur, offering him an apologetic smile. “We were trying to keep her things out of the way.”
Jake shakes his head, suddenly more awake than he’s felt all morning. “You’re good. No trouble at all.”
He slides into his seat, careful not to bump either of you, his arm brushing the side of the little girl’s chair for just a moment. The contact is barely there — but he feels it.
And the kid’s not shy, that’s for sure.
As soon as Jake clicks his seatbelt, she turns toward him again, tiny legs still swinging. “Are you going home or going somewhere new?” she asks, bright and curious, like they’ve known each other for years.
He blinks, startled by the directness, then chuckles. “Uh… home, I guess. What about you?”
“I live in Texas,” she announces proudly, “but we went to New York for Mommy’s work. I got to see tall buildings and ride in a taxi and eat a pretzel as big as my face.”
Jake grins despite himself. “That so? Sounds like a good trip.”
“It was!” she says, emphatically. “Except the taxi smelled like feet.”
“Ivy,” you murmur softly, a quiet warning.
She glances up at you, guiltless and sweet. “It did, Mommy.”
Jake’s shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh. You catch it, and your eyes flick toward him — that shy little smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He feels the back of his neck warm.
You lean slightly forward, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sir. She can get a little talkative.”
He waves it off easily, shaking his head. “She’s fine. Really. I’ve had worse seatmates.” He smiles down at Ivy. “You’re not bothering me, sweetheart.”
That earns him a delighted grin and a small, “Thank you, sir.”
You mouth another quiet sorry as the flight attendants start their pre-takeoff checks. Jake only smiles back, settling into his seat as Ivy obediently faces forward.
The hum of the engines deepens. The usual rustle of belts and bags, the clipped voices over the intercom — all of it routine. He glances sideways, expecting at least a little squirming or noise from the kid, but Ivy’s sitting calmly, hands folded in her lap, expression serious.
You lean over her, gentle and practiced, slipping tiny pink earplugs into her ears. “There,” you murmur. “All set, baby.”
Jake watches the whole thing — the ease of it, the quiet assurance in the way you move. Ivy doesn’t fuss, doesn’t whine. Just blinks, takes your hand, and squeezes once. Like she’s done this a thousand times.
He’s… kind of impressed.
Most adults he knows get twitchy the second a plane door closes. But this four-year-old? Cool as can be.
When the plane starts to lift, Ivy presses back into her seat, clutching her little stuffed rabbit — a floppy-eared thing wearing a bow — and hums under her breath again. The sound’s soft, soothing somehow.
Jake finds himself smiling, eyes flicking to you when the seatbelt light finally dings off.
You exhale quietly, relaxing into the seat, and reach for the tote bag at your feet. “Good job, honey,” you tell Ivy, fishing something out. “You can play for a little while now.”
She perks right up, accepting the thin booklet with reverence. Jake catches a glimpse — it’s one of those sticker books, with pages like empty rooms and little sheets of people and furniture to decorate them.
“Which one’s that?” you ask her, smoothing the page open.
“The coffee shop,” Ivy says. “I’m gonna make it fancy.”
You hum approvingly. “Good choice.”
It’s then that you notice him watching, elbow resting on the armrest, that small, crooked smile on his face. You tilt your head, half-apologetic again. “She loves those. I think I’ve bought a dozen at this point.”
“Yeah?” Jake says softly. “She looks like she’s got it down to a science.”
You glance at Ivy, who’s busily arranging tiny sticker croissants in a display case, tongue poking out between her teeth in concentration. “She could play for hours,” you admit. “It keeps her happy when we travel.”
Jake hums, still looking — but not at the sticker book. At you. The way you talk about your daughter, the warmth in your voice, that mix of exhaustion and affection. He feels that unfamiliar tug again — not lust, not quite — something gentler. Something that makes him want to keep watching.
They’ve been in the air maybe half an hour when Ivy suddenly looks up from her sticker-covered page, expression bright and decisive.
“Mommy,” she says, “can I have another book from the bag?”
You glance up from your Kindle, a faint smile already forming. “Another one? You’re not done with your coffee shop yet.”
“I want to make one with…” Ivy pauses, looking straight at Jake. “With him.”
Jake blinks. “Me?”
She nods, serious. “Yes. So we can have a competition.”
You glance between them, torn between amusement and embarrassment. “Sweetheart, I don’t think the nice man wants to—”
But Jake’s already chuckling, leaning forward to grab the tote from under the seat. “You kidding? I never turn down a good competition.”
You freeze for a second, surprised, as he pulls out another sticker booklet and passes it to Ivy. His grin’s a little lopsided, charming in that lazy way he probably doesn’t even realize.
“What’s the game?” he asks, flipping open the first page.
Ivy’s thrilled. “We both make our coffee shops, and Mommy’s the judge. You can’t copy me, though. That’s cheating.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says solemnly.
You can’t help laughing, soft and breathy. “You really don’t have to—”
But he looks over at you then, eyes glinting, voice dipping lower. “Trust me, darlin’, I’ve survived Navy flight school. I can handle a four-year-old with stickers.”
Your face goes warm instantly. You look away, shaking your head, pretending to be exasperated — but you’re smiling.
So they start.
Ivy’s methodical — she narrates every choice: where the counter goes, what kind of muffins she’s “selling,” the people waiting in line. Jake, meanwhile, takes it as seriously as any mission he’s ever flown. He turns his page sideways for “better layout options” and mutters to himself about the placement of the espresso machine.
Every few minutes, Ivy leans over to inspect his work and announces, “That’s actually pretty good.”
Jake grins at that, his heart doing a strange little flip at her approval. “Thanks, partner. You’re a tough critic.”
You’re watching from beside them, one arm draped protectively over Ivy’s seat, your lips curved in a quiet smile you probably don’t even realize you’re wearing. There’s something in the way you look at them — at him — that hits him right in the chest.
He wasn’t expecting this flight to feel… like this.
Not when his head still throbs faintly from last night’s whiskey, and his back’s sore, and he’d been fully prepared to endure four hours of crying or chaos.
Instead, there’s this — the soft hum of the cabin, a kid’s laughter, your eyes meeting his over the aisle armrest.
He clears his throat when Ivy declares she’s finished and spins her page toward you. “Mommy, we’re ready!”
You play along beautifully, taking the role of judge with exaggerated seriousness. “Alright,” you say, folding your hands. “Let’s see what we have here.”
Ivy goes first, pointing out every detail. Jake listens like it’s the most important briefing of his life, nodding solemnly at mentions of pastries and tables.
Then it’s his turn. “Mine,” he says, flipping his book around, “is less about efficiency and more about atmosphere.”
Ivy gasps. “You put a piano!”
“Sure did. Live music every night.”
She narrows her eyes, impressed but determined. “Mommy, who wins?”
You take a long, thoughtful pause — partly for effect, partly because both are honestly adorable. “I think…” you say slowly, “…it’s a tie.”
Ivy lets out a triumphant laugh. “A tie!”
Jake puts his hand over his heart, mock-relieved. “Fair call, judge.”
When you glance at him, there’s a spark of something in your expression — warmth, amusement… maybe a hint of curiosity.
He gives you that soft, easy smile again. “Told you I could handle her.”
You smile back, cheeks pink. “You did more than handle her.”
For a second, neither of you looks away.
Then Ivy breaks the spell with a small yawn, curling sideways in her seat and resting her head on your arm.
Jake leans back, watching as you brush a few strands of hair from her forehead, your hand lingering there. The way you look at your daughter — soft, full of love — tugs at something deep in him.
He doesn’t even notice he’s still smiling.
When Ivy starts rubbing her eyes and fidgeting, you pull a pink iPad out of your tote bag and queue up Tangled. She’s practically giddy as you slip the comically large headphones over her head — they look like they belong to someone twice her size.
Jake grins at the sight. The headphones tilt slightly to one side, almost slipping off, but Ivy doesn’t seem to mind. Within minutes she’s completely engrossed, mouthing along to the songs like this is a regular ritual.
“She’s got taste,” Jake murmurs. “Tangled’s the best one.”
You glance at him, smiling. “We’ve seen it… I don’t know, a hundred times?”
“I can see why,” he says, settling back. “Pascal really carries the movie.”
You laugh softly, and he feels that sound bloom somewhere in his chest — like a small, unexpected spark of sunlight through the window.
He thinks that’ll be the end of it, that you’ll dive into a book or close your eyes for the rest of the flight. But you don’t. You’re quiet, your focus half on your daughter, half on the screen ahead — and Jake finds himself wanting to know more.
“So,” he starts, voice casual, “what do you do, when you’re not running coffee shop competitions at thirty thousand feet?”
You smile at that, the kind that’s half shy, half amused. “I’m an architect. I do mostly residential projects — smaller firms, family houses.”
He whistles low under his breath. “That’s impressive. You the creative type, then?”
You shrug, a little bashful. “I guess. I like the process. Turning something that’s just lines on a screen into someone’s home.”
“Home,” he repeats softly, like he’s tasting the word. “That’s a nice way to put it.”
Your gaze flickers to him, just briefly, and then you look back to Ivy, as if to ground yourself. “What about you?”
He smiles, a little lopsided. “Fighter pilot. USA Navy.”
You blink. “Oh. Wow. That sounds… intense.”
“Sometimes,” he admits. “But not as intense as three hours next to a four-year-old with stickers.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “You handled that very well.”
“I’ve had tougher cases,” he says, deadpan, and that earns him another small laugh — the kind that makes him want to keep going, just to hear it again.
Then, after a moment, he nods toward Ivy. “She’s great, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid that age sit still for this long.”
You glance down at your daughter, her tiny legs tucked under her, the light from the tablet washing her face in soft color. “She’s… she’s my calm in the storm,” you admit. “I lucked out with her. My mom helps a lot too, so I get to breathe sometimes.”
Jake hums quietly. “You doin’ this on your own?”
You hesitate for just a second — barely noticeable, but he catches it. “Yeah,” you say finally, soft but certain. “It’s just us.”
He nods, not prying further. There’s something he admires in your tone — not defensiveness, not self-pity, just quiet strength.
He should leave it there, but the way the sunlight cuts through the small window, landing on your cheek, makes it hard to stop himself.
“You know,” he says, voice dropping just slightly lower, “you’ve got a really pretty smile.”
You turn to him, startled. “What?”
He grins, unbothered. “Just sayin’. I’ve been on a lot of flights, but this one’s got the best company I’ve had in a while.”
Your cheeks go pink instantly. You try to busy yourself with Ivy’s tablet, adjusting the volume even though she’s fine, mumbling something about how kind that is.
Jake bites back a chuckle. He’s always liked flustering people — but with you, it feels less like a game and more like gravity pulling him in.
He angles his seat a little closer, his knee just barely brushing Ivy’s kicking feet. “You blushing, sweetheart?”
You exhale a small, nervous laugh. “You’re flirting with me?”
“Maybe,” he says, grin widening. “But you’re smiling again.”
You are — and it’s soft and unguarded, the kind that makes him want to lean in, to keep you talking for the rest of the flight.
So he does.
You talk about nothing and everything: Ivy’s favorite movies, his favorite cities, how you hate small talk but somehow this doesn’t feel like that. Every time he says something teasing or calls you darlin’, your pulse stutters — and every time you look up at him through your lashes, Jake feels it too.
By the time the captain announces the descent into Dallas, he realizes he hasn’t thought about his hangover or his aching back in hours.
Just you. And the tiny, headphone-wearing four-year-old between you who, unknowingly, might’ve just introduced him to his favorite person on a plane.
The moment the wheels hit the runway, Ivy claps her little hands like they just landed on the moon. Jake can’t help but laugh — she’s so effortlessly joyful that even the people in the row ahead turn to smile at her.
You thank him again for helping with the overhead bag, but he waves it off, brushing a hand through his blond hair. “Please. I’ve faced worse challenges than a carry-on and a four-year-old.”
“I’m sure,” you tease lightly, hoisting your tote over your shoulder as people start filing out.
It takes a few minutes to deplane, and Ivy keeps glancing up at him like she’s thinking something very serious through. Then, right before they step into the jet bridge, she tugs on his sleeve.
She unzips her tiny backpack with great ceremony, digs through it, and pulls out a small sheet of stickers. “This one’s for you,” she says, peeling off a sparkly golden star and sticking it on his hand.
Jake stares at it for a second — the little glimmer of foil shining under the airport lights — and feels a ridiculous warmth spread in his chest. “A gold star, huh? That’s high praise.”
“You were a very good passenger,” she informs him with complete seriousness. “And you helped Mommy.”
You’re instantly flustered. “Ivy—”
But Jake’s already smiling. “Well, thank you, ma’am. I’ll wear it with pride.”
They reach the baggage claim, and he waits with you — partly because he’s a gentleman, but mostly because he doesn’t want to walk away just yet. You make small talk about Texas heat, and Ivy tries to stand on the luggage carousel (“absolutely not,” you say, gently yanking her back).
When your suitcase finally comes around, Jake grabs it before you can move, setting it upright beside you. Then he hesitates, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“So… listen,” he starts, a little awkward now that there’s no plane seat holding him there. “Would it be crazy if I said I wanted to see you two again?”
You blink, startled — and blushing, of course. “Oh. Um. I don’t—”
“I mean it,” he says, soft but steady. “You don’t have to decide right now, but… maybe coffee sometime? No stickers required.”
That makes you laugh, the sound easing the nerves from your shoulders. “Coffee sounds… nice.”
He hands you his phone, open to a new contact. You type your number quickly before you can overthink it.
Jake’s grin is slow and genuine. “Guess I’ll call you then.”
He takes a few steps back, blending into the stream of people heading for the exits, and you turn to lift Ivy onto your suitcase handle, her little legs swinging.
But then it hits you — you don’t even know his name.
“Wait!” you call, and your voice echoes lightly through the hall.
Jake turns, that same easy smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah?”
“I don’t even know your name!” you say, half-laughing, half-mortified.
He chuckles, taking a few steps backward but keeping his eyes on you. “It’s Jake,” he calls out. “But you can call me anything you’d like, sweetheart.”
Ivy giggles, perched on your suitcase, her small hand waving wildly as Jake lifts his in return.
You’re still smiling when he disappears into the crowd — the kind of smile that lingers even as you step out into the Texas sun, a golden star still stuck to his hand somewhere in the airport.
Summary : Despite how much he irritates you, when Jake loses his father’s watch, you go to the moon and back to bring it back to him.
Pairing : Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️ :)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so sorry for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading !💞
Word count : 5.5k
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“Lightning watch out !”
You barely had time to register that Javy was screaming your call sign before a ball came crushing down next to you, sending sand flying everywhere on your opened book and sticky, lathered in sunscreen, skin.
Beautiful colors of pink and violet were painting the sky, the sun beginning his descent towards the western aerosphere. It had shined brightly throughout the entirety of the squad’s monthly beach day, bathing your skin in warmth and golden light.
“For fuck’s sake, Javy ! You guys can shoot down a target from two hundred feet while flying at Mach one but you can’t aim a volleyball for shit !” You snapped, dusting the thousands of grains of sands from your book and towel.
Next to you Natasha was hiding a laugh behind her own book.
Pointing a finger at her, you warned, “don’t you dare laugh at me, Nat.” You got up to brush off more sand off your legs, “that’s why I hate going to the beach with them, there’s nothing less relaxing on this earth,” you mumbled out, a frown making the lines on your forehead prominent.
“My bad, Lightning !” Jake called out, his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound, though his tone was very much not apologetic, and the smirk stretching his lips only fueled the irritation simmering under your skin.
Glaring at him, you debated for a second on yelling back a piece of your mind, indulge into this game he seemed to initiate anytime he could. Riling you up, provoking you and then simply grinning like an idiot when you eventually ended up taking the bait.
But for once, you decided to be the bigger person. So you settled on raising your middle finger high enough that he could very much identify what lovely sign you were throwing his way.
“I love you too, darlin’ !” He yelled back.
You rolled your eyes so hard you feared for a moment that they’d get permanently stuck.
“Careful, you’re blushing,” Natasha snickered, still lying next to you.
Scoffing you flipped her off as well, “which side are you on ?”
“The side of love, darlin’.” She smiled in a perfect imitation of Jake’s Texan drawl.
You couldn’t have contained the laugh that broke out of you even if you tried, “shit, you actually sound just like him.”
“I know,” she cooed, obviously proud of her trick, “is it turning you on ?” She inquired, wiggling her eyebrows at you.
A shocked laugh escaped you, “Geez Nat—“
“OH MY GOD WHAT TIME IS IT ?” Javy’s sudden gasp made you both jump as he came running towards you, where all of the squad’s stuff was and he started abruptly digging through his bag.
“It’s seven.” Bob supplied after a quick look to his watch.
“I was supposed to meet my mom for dinner fifteen minutes ago,” he explained, panicked as he was hastily grabbing all his stuff and throwing it carelessly in his bag. “Jake, can you drive me ?”
Usually, you carpooled to avoid bringing everyone’s car and having to park too far away if the beach was busy that day.
“Let me think about it…” Jake walked over, deliberately slow, pretending to think it over.
Javy groaned, not in the mood to entertain his friend’s antics, “come on, man.”
Jake sped up a bit, raising his arms in mock defense, “alright, alright, don’t throw a fit mama’s boy. I’ll drive you.”
As he was gathering his own stuff, you suddenly saw him frown, and then frantically look around. Lifting his towel, emptying his bag only to pack it again, passing his hands in the sand in visible hope of stumbling upon something…
You were about to throw in a witty remark when you noticed something missing on his wrist.
His watch.
His father’s watch.
In its place was now a tanning line. A ribbon of whiter skin surrounded by his Californian and natural Texan tan.
It didn’t take a genius, nor being Jake’s best friend to know how precious that watch was to him, or to guess that it might have been one of the last few things left from his dad.
He wore it at all times. There weren’t much occasion you had seen him without it ever since you’d met him. It had stayed securely around his wrist all throughout Naval Academy, and then had stayed through every one of his deployment until he got permanently assigned in San Diego. During every flight, every mission, every exam even, every casual outing… You could always see the watch rest proudly on his cuff. Perhaps it was the only thing about him Jake didn’t feel the need to flex, a quiet legacy he carried around with him, feeling the weight of it in his every move, every decision.
The only times he ever took it off was during underwater training and at the beach if he went for a swim. Surely a watch like that was waterproof and even capable of descending a few feet deep, but the fact that Jake was unwilling to bring it with him in an environment it was specifically designed to survive in, was only another proof of its value to him.
He never talked about it. Never ever voiced the words ‘my dad’ out loud, but everyone knew. You knew.
Javy was ready to go, packed bag at his feet as he hastily threw in a t-shirt over his head, “Jake ? Are you good to go ?”
Jake froze for a moment. It was rare to see him display anything other than sheer haughtiness. And it weirdly tugged at your heartstrings to see him look so lost for an instant.
You were about to help him look for his watch — sure you hated him, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel empathy for him losing something so precious to him, when—
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He said a bit absentmindedly, his eyes still frantically looking around as he stuffed, slightly violently, all his stuff in his backpack.
He quickly got up, threw the bag over his shoulder as Javy was waving everyone goodbye and starting to make a run for Jake’s truck.
You watched Jake with a shock you hoped wasn’t too visible. Yes, he was the emotionally constipated type, never one to speak about feelings or do so much as even mention or acknowledge them, but surely when he was about to lose, perhaps forever, the one thing that probably meant more to him than the whole world, he would say something, express himself, let it out.
And you knew that if he’d speak up right now, the whole squad would stop everything and help him look for it. Javy would run right back on the warm sand and rampage through the entire beach if he had to.
Surely, he had to know that the squad wouldn’t see him as weak over getting a little panicked upon losing the one item he held so dearly in his heart ?
But you watched, stunned, and for some reason with a weight pressing down on your chest, as Jake looked one last time at the beach, eyes boring into the sand as if the distance would give him some perspective and help him spot the watch in a nanosecond.
“See you on Monday,” he threw to everyone over his shoulder, soundly halfhearted as he turned around and began to walk towards his truck, joining Javy.
The image stuck with you for some reason. it was like seeing him willingly abandon a piece of himself behind, and for what ? Just so he could hold on to his ‘feelings make you weak’ Hangman persona ?
If you had been closer to him, and in any place at all to call him out on this, you would have screamed at him. Yanked him back by the collar and prohibited anyone to leave this beach until the watch wasn’t back on its rightful place, on Jake’s wrist.
“I think I’m gonna head out as well,” Reuben spoke up, “does anyone want me to drop them home ?”
“Me please,” cheered Mickey, dusting some sands off his chest.
“Yes, please. Thanks Reuben,” Bob smiled, gathering his things.
“I’ll ride with Y/N, we’re gonna head back as well, right ?” Natasha turned to you.
If you had been able to say anything other than insults and provocative remarks, you would have reassured him.
If you had been able to consider yourself his friend, you would have helped him look for it.
“Y/N ?”
But you were capable of none nor were you any of those things.
And still—
“Actually I’m gonna stay a bit longer,” you blurted out without really thinking about it.
“You sure ?” Natasha questioned, skeptical.
“Yeah, the sunset is beautiful, it’s still warm and my book is getting really good, I’ll stay for a bit.” You assured, as if trying to convince yourself more than Natasha.
“Alright,” she conceded, still eyeing you a bit suspiciously, “be careful, you text me when you get home and don’t forget that Penny’s right next door if you have any problem,” she pointed to the Hard Deck which was facing the beach.
“Yes mom,” you chuckled as she playfully rolled her eyes at you.
As Reuben’s car drove away, you stood there for a moment. Watching the waves crash on the beach, the soothing sound of it blending with the distant echo of music coming from the Hard Deck. This beach wasn’t an especially popular one, and you marveled for a second at being the only person standing there.
Why had you stayed ?
You kinda had blurted it out without any real thoughts of what you would actually do once left alone.
Because you hadn’t stayed for the sunset or your book, in fact, the book was getting a bit boring if you were honest.
Jake’s expression when being met with the realization he’d lost his watch suddenly flashed into your mind and it made your heart clench. And perhaps it was what prompted you to start digging in the sand where his towel had previously been lying.
“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” you muttered to yourself while rummaging through the sand, the watch couldn’t be far… right ?
You didn’t even notice when the warm light of the sunset got subsided by the sharp, white one of the moon.
The spot where the squad had previously established its camp was empty. You didn’t find anything apart from a few seashells and a colony of small crabs that you had probably woken up from their slumber.
You probably should have gone home. The watch obviously wasn’t there. But then your gaze drifted out towards the ocean… the guys usually played volleyball closer to the water, perhaps Jake had lost the watch around there ?
The cold breeze coming from the ocean had started to pick up as you searched the grounds of what was previously the volleyball court.
And when you didn’t find anything there, you moved on to other parts of the beach, trying to remember and retrace the entirety of Jake’s steps during the day. Your knees were aching from being constantly on them, hands pruned from the wet sand you’d been digging up, nails completely darkened by the grains. Your phone was slowly dying, using all its battery to shine inside the holes you were digging up, desperate to see a flash of silver. And it was cold, so, so cold. The wind was getting stronger, making you clutch your hoodie tighter around yourself.
The moon had well settled into the sky now, an indicator of just how much time you’d spent there.
You had wanted to give up, oh so many times. But everytime you had wanted to get up and leave, an image of Jake’s face would flash back into your mind. The way he had looked back at the beach, like he was saying goodbye to his dad a second time. And every time, without fail, your brain had conjured images of him getting home, and calling his mom back in Texas, telling her about how he had lost the watch and the image was just too painful for you, enough to bring unwanted and in your opinion, unjustified, tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much.
Anyone could have argued you were being overly dramatic over a guy who you proclaimed your hatred towards from the rooftops. And you would have agreed. But you wouldn’t leave this beach until the watch was secured in your hands.
You were on your hands and knees, near shore where the water was gently lapping up at the sand, bringing new things and taking away some when—
“Y/N ! Is that you ?”
Penny’s voice from the front of the beach made you jumped.
“Jesus Christ, Penny !” You exclaimed, a hand over your racing heart, “you scared the shit out of me !”
Jogging up lightly to meet her, you saw her frown when she took in the state of you, her worried face illuminated by the Hard Deck’s sign.
“What are you doing out there, sweetheart ?” She asked softly, and you could perceive the same tone in her voice she’d use with Amelia sometimes, no doubt that her maternal instinct were kicking in, seeing you all alone, covered in sand and digging up holes in the dark.
“Oh I was— I lost my bracelet earlier, you know we had our beach day with the squad ? Yeah, so the bracelet means a lot to me and I— I couldn’t leave without it.”
You pestered Jake for being emotionally constipated but you couldn’t even admit to Penny, of all people, sweetest woman alive who’d never judge you, that you were doing this solely for him.
“I see,” she said, an empathetic smile pulling at her lips, “I’ll help you.”
“No don’t worry Penny, it’s alright, promise. I’m all good.”
Was there a sick part of you that wanted to be the one to find Jake’s watch ? Maybe, you would deny all of it thought.
“At least I’ll wait for you, I just closed the bar.”
“Don’t worry,” you repeated with the sweetest smile you could mutter out at the moment, “I won’t stay much longer anyway.”
“You sure ?”
“I am, thank you though that’s really nice of you.”
“Could you at least activate your location please ? And also text me when you get home, okay ?”
Saluting her you let out a chuckle, “I will, Penny. Promise.”
“Alright.” She conceded, bregrundly.
She knew this beach was safe, otherwise she would have never left you alone. You parted with a warm hug and watched her drive away, similar to how you’d watched your friends leave a few hours ago now… God, had it been really that much time ?
You were beginning to lose hope, Jake’s watch seemed to have truly vanished, and you tried to ignore the heavy feeling sitting on your chest that came along with this conclusion. Telling yourself to check towards the west side of the beach before leaving, though you knew it was useless, you couldn’t really recall Jake going there, you still crouched, and began to dig, again…
Phone flash blasting in the dark, the light reflected on something then…. Silver !
“Oh my god !”
You rubbed your eyes to make sure the sight in front of you was real and not the fatigue making you hallucinate. But it was real, the small silver circle was still there.
“Oh my god !” You exclaimed again in a laugh, immediately digging in.
And sure enough, the watch was there. Covered in sand, but there. You carefully inspected it for damage, but other than the general dirt, it seemed fine.
Turning the watch over, your eyes caught something. The initials of who you could only guess was his father were delicately engraved in the metal, G.S. Before you could even think about it, your thumb passed, almost tenderly over the gravure.
A small, disbelieving laugh escaped you again, and it was incredibly chocked up. You didn’t even notice you’d been tearing up until you felt something wet roll down your cheeks.
Quickly you wiped the tears off, a feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck even though you were the sole person standing on this beach, moonlight illuminating your figure.
Forcing your emotions to settle down, it was only a watch for Christ’s Sake, you practically ran all the way back to your car. It felt as if your whole body was buzzing, and you couldn’t explain this weird feeling of excitement and… was it fulfillment ?
A genuine giddiness was coursing through your veins as you drove home, you couldn’t wait for Jake to have his watch again. See him settle, knowing his father’s legacy was in him, like it’s always been and always would be, but the physical representation of it, back on his wrist. The comforting weight of it bringing meaning to every one of his moves.
The excitement kept you awake once you were home, so you took the time to carefully clean the watch. You physically couldn’t give it back to him like that. And soon enough, once you were sure that there was not even the tiniest grain of sand left in any notches, only then, did sleep finally caught up to you.
The sun wasn’t even up yet when you made your way to base the next morning. You had decided that you would just leave the watch in his locker, he didn’t need to know who found it, and maybe he wouldn’t be too happy to see you holding his father’s watch, considering you hated each other…. Right ? At least that’s what you told yourself.
Arriving in front of his locker, you opened his numbered lock, honestly who was stupid enough to put in their birthday as a password ?
But then, anyone could argue that it was weird you knew his birthday, as someone who hated him so much.
Refusing to give this any more thought, you neatly placed the watch in his locker, on a little rag. You made sure one last time that it was perfectly clean, made sure it was not askew, made the sure the rag wasn’t wrinkled…. And for a moment it felt as if you were stalling.
“My god, I need to get a grip,” you mumbled to yourself, finally closing the locker door, a bit more forcefully than you had intended.
“I’m telling you, my mom is obsessed with getting me in a relationship !” Javy complained to Jake on their way to the locker room, “last night she just kept showing me pictures of her friends’ daughters and being like ‘you two would make an adorable couple’ like, oh my god, can’t a man go at his own pace ?”
Jake only hummed, not exactly in the mood to discuss Javy’s mom self proclaimed matrimonial agency.
Each of his step was heavy. Heavy with the lack of sleep and the mass pressing down on his chest. The missing weight on his wrist made him feel strangely stripped bare, like a piece of himself was missing, left where he had abandoned it on the beach the night before.
When Jake had gotten home after dropping Javy off, he had cursed himself. He couldn’t believe he had actually walked away, without even taking the time to look for the watch, no he had just left.
He had to refrain back tears when his mom had called him that night, asking him about his day, and he hadn’t had the courage to tell her what had happened, consumed by sorrow and shame. He felt pathetic. He spent that entire night sulking, thinking about how ashamed his father would be if he saw him like that. It felt like letting him down.
“Like she doesn’t get that I don’t want to settle down, I mean not yet anyway—“
“Yeah, tell her you want to keep bringing girls home from the Hard Deck every weekend for a little while longer, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear it.” Jake finally answered Javy’s rant, trying to give his remark its usual wit.
“You fucking jerk, you’re supposed to be on my side !” Javy whined, opening up his locker.
Jake was abort to retort something but the words died on the tip of his tongue when he opened his own locker.
He froze.
He was met with his watch. Neatly placed on a small rag, looking as new as the day he had received it from his dad, just a few days before losing his battle against cancer.
His heart skipped a beat in his chest. How ?
Jake stayed there for what felt like an eternity to him, but was only a few mere seconds, just staring at the watch. He could faintly hear Javy next to him still talking, now rambling about how his mother compared him to his cousin or whatever, but the sound of his voice was drawn out, an echo in Jake’s ears.
With shaky hands, he gently grabbed the watch and immediately turned it over, eyes fixed on his father’s initials that he traced with a tender pass of his thumb, and his heart clenched, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.
He had no idea how the watch had gotten there, and perhaps it should have worried him a bit more — whoever this was had cracked the impossible code of his locker for Goodness’s sake ! — but he chose to pay it no mind.
Now Jake wasn’t superstitious or a believer of any kind, far from it, actually. But in this moment, he chose to believe that whatever, whoever had found his watch and brought it back to him, had somehow been missioned by his father, who had probably been very upset about his son being so careless with the precious time teller.
Jake knew it was stupid, truly. His father, from the beyond, somehow orchestrating a whole plan to find the watch left on the beach and leave it in his locker on base, was a stupid theory. But the thought of it made a warmth spread out in his chest and his eyes sting slightly. So he decided that for once, he would let himself believe in a little stupidity.
This weird mix of euphoria and serenity hadn’t left him the entire week. He felt good, more confident now that the watch was back on his wrist. And he would sometimes just stare at it for a few moments, in amazement and incredible gratefulness for having been given a second chance, that’s how he saw it. And he would honor his father in every action he took while securely wearing the watch.
He had found a new vigor, a new desire to win, one that made him better, he thought. Though the squad would probably argue it just made him more insufferable.
So that’s with a pumped up step that Jake walked into the Hard Deck that week end, closely followed by everyone.
“Alright, what do you guys want ?” He cheered, still in an exceptionally good mood.
The squad all gave him their orders before going to find some seats, you merely grumbled a ‘nothing that comes from you’ and somehow, Jake understood it meant a virgin mojito.
He made his way to the bar, patiently waiting for Penny to finish off her conversation with a customer.
“Hey, sailor !” She greeted with a smile when she saw him, “what can I get you and the squad ?”
After he told her, she started to prepare the drinks on front of him, making small talk, asking about training, how life was on base when—
“Oh by the way,” she seemed to remember, momentarily stopping the making of your virgin mojito to look at Jake, “do you know if Y/N found her bracelet ?”
Jake frowned, confused.
“Um, I don’t know. I didn’t know she had lost a bracelet,” he said, head turning slightly to look for you in the crowd and he suddenly frowned more, looking back at Penny, “in fact, I didn’t even know she wore bracelets, her wrists are usually bare.”
“Oh, because I saw her last week, after your guy’s beach day. I closed the bar a little earlier than usual because it was pretty quiet, and she was there, digging in the sand, looking for her bracelet. I proposed to help her but she said she was fine. It was quite late though, so it really must have mean a lot to her, that’s why I was wondering if she’d found it. But I’ll ask her myself later then, thanks Jake.”
Penny’s words had the effect of a sledgehammer hitting Jake right in the chest. The realisation dawned on him and he froze for a moment, not sure what to do with the newfound piece of information.
“You okay ?” Penny asked him, his shock seemingly visible on his features.
Her voice got him out of his trance.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good, thank you for the drinks Penny, talk to you later !”
He made a beeline for the spot the squad had settled in, their usual one, next to one the pool tables. He absentmindedly handed the drinks to everyone, keeping your virgin mojito in his hands and making his way over to you. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that it was borderline painful. It seemed as though his vision had zeroed in on you, only you. Images of you on the beach at night, cold, alone, tired but still looking for his watch flashed into his mind and he felt a knot get caught up in his throat.
He barely heard the ‘thank you’s’ the squad threw him.
Leaning over some of the high tables near the windows, you were watching Mickey, Reuben and Bob engage in a heated game of pool.
“No Mickey it’s still my turn,” you watched with a smile as Reuben interjected his friend, “you sinked the cue ball so I get to shoot twice, gosh you’d think that you’d know the rules after playing literally every week end !”
You snorted, amused by their banter. And out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake walking towards you. Expression unreadable but his step visibly determined.
Arriving in front of you, he practically shoved the drink in your hand.
“I told you I didn’t want anything,” you said, monotonously, nonetheless still grabbing the glass.
Any excuse was good enough to start a fight with him.
You turned your gaze back to the pool game unfolding in front of you, but when the quick wit you were expecting from him never came, you turned back to him, frowning.
His jade green eyes were trained on you. Chest rising up quickly, like he’d ran a marathon before coming here. You didn’t think you had ever seen him so… moved.
“You good ?” You asked, letting your tone convey the tiniest bit of concern.
Jake took a shaky breath, “why didn’t you tell me ?”
The hand that was bringing the glass to your lips froze halfway through.
“Tell you what ?”
“My watch.” Was all he said, eyes still boring into yours, seemingly looking for answers you were absolutely not intent on giving.
Your eyes quickly flicked to the leather band sitting proudly on his wrist.
You had noticed it all week, how it was right back on shining on his cuff. How Jake had seemed to smile even more cockily than before, brighter. And you hadn’t been able to ignore the weird, warmth feeling spreading in your chest every-time you had caught him eyeing his wrist with a flash of pride and cherish.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, forcing yourself to keep an annoyed tone as your eyes flicked back up to meet his.
“There’s no use in lying, I know it was you.” He said, voice firm and steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke him up, “why ?”
You weren’t known to give up that easily.
“Jesus Seresin, I literally told you I have no idea what you’re talking about, go win at darts or something, leave me alone.”
Swallowing uncomfortably under his prying gaze, you silenced the tiny voice in your head that was telling you just how much similar to Jake you were in terms of showing feelings.
Facing your stubborn resolve in not telling him the truth, Jake let out a small, humorless laugh, “Y/N I just want to thank you properly, so please, for once, just let up.”
Let up. Stop fighting me for a second, was really what he was saying. And looking at him be willing to be honest and open for once did something to you.
“I did it because you looked all pathetic, okay ? And really, I didn’t want you sulking all day on base and mess up every training.” you finally conceded, tone annoyed despite the loud thumping of your heart in your chest, “besides it was just underneath where you had put down your towel, so really you could’ve found it if you had put a bit more effort into it. But I guess that it’s just another thing I’m better at than you, huh ?”
It was a complete lie. And both of you knew it.
Just the fact that you had been the only one to notice he had lost his watch told him everything he needed to know. And he knew from Penny that you had stayed well past midnight looking for it. To see you in front of him, knowing the length you had been to for him — despite what you were saying — made his heart do something inexplicable.
And Jake moved before he could think any more about it. He slightly bent down to wrap his arms around you, slipping under your own and hugging your middle, bringing you into his chest, chin resting on your shoulder, head touching yours.
All your muscles stiffened on instinct. The contact took you by surprise and you stayed frozen like that for a second, letting him hold you without reciprocating the touch.
He was warm, very warm. His arms were tightly wrapped around you, one draped across your shoulder blades and the other one across your waist. His body was firm against yours and for a moment, you almost thought you could feel the thumping of his heart against your chest. Your head was resting just shy of the crook of his neck, on his shoulder, and despite yourself, you caught a whiff of his smell, residue of jet fuel, his expensive cologne, the warmth of his skin and something so undeniably him it almost made your head spin.
“Thank you,” he whispered shakily, a small crack in his Hangman armor.
Those words and his tone felt like a detonator, hearing him sounding so small almost broke your heart. It only took a second after that for your arms to wrap around his neck. And as soon as your arms made contact, you felt his whole body relax and melt into you.
“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered back, rubbing his back comfortingly.
He seemed so small in this moment and it pulled at your heartstrings to know he was letting you be the one to seem him like that.
“You don’t know how much this means to me.” He murmured into your neck.
Oh, but you did. That was the whole reason you had done it.
It seemed as thought the entire bar had gone quiet, leaving only Jake and you, wrapped up in each other. You had no idea how long you stayed like that. But you certainly weren’t complaining, your arms tightening around him was met with the same intensity from Jake.
But the sudden sharp sound of a glass hitting the floor and shattering in pieces took you both out of the peaceful and comfort trance the embrace had took you both in. And you both found yourselves pulling away, reluctantly.
You noticed the slight pink hue dusting Jake’s cheeks, and his green eyes were bright, almost glassed over, shining with unshed tears.
God knew that if you had the courage you would take him into another embrace right here and then, and not let him go until the first rays of sunshine peaked through the windows, or realistically, probably until Penny kicked you out.
But unable to succumb to your deepest desire, no matter how much you wanted to, you instead fell back into your old ways.
“Try not to lose it again, cause I won’t get it for you next time.” You warned, though your tone was missing its usual bite.
You would.
You would do it all over a hundred times if needed.
Jake let out a laugh, a bit choked up, but a genuine one nonetheless.
“I promise.” He said in a smile as bright as a thousand suns.
And you had a scary realization then.
That in fact, there was not a lot you wouldn’t do to see him smile like that again.
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author's note : I have had this fic idea for literally forever and I’m so happy I finally got down to write it.
I really wanted to kinda ‘dig deep’ into Jake’s character here, I hope it worked and that I was able to do him justice. He’s my baby I love him so much.💞
Also quick question, are we sick of Jake and reader being rivals ? It’s like my favorite trope with Jake and the only one I really see fit with a character like him, and I have so many more ideas but they are all with rival reader and I don’t want it to feel redundant for you guys, so tell me what you think !
pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader
summary: your enemies-with-benefits deal with jake is simple: fight, fuck, pretend it never happened. until one bad day in the air makes you call it quits, and hangman starts acting different. now you’re stuck figuring out who he actually is, and realising you never hated hangman at all. you just didn’t know him yet.
tags: enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits (?) to lovers
warning(s): reader drinks alcohol, reader only hooks up with hangman while tipsy, swearing
word count: 10.1k
note: i feel like this was inevitable ever since i posted my rooster fic in october. this wip has been bothering me for a month and i finally locked in after finally watching glen powell’s snl episode. i hope you enjoy!! 🍯💛
masterlist
You woke up perfectly warm.
That was the first sign that something was wrong. For a few long seconds, you stayed still, eyes closed, brain suspiciously quiet.
Comfort wasn’t part of your morning routine. This was different; no jet engines, no early calls, just the steady rhythm of someone breathing behind you.
You turned your head a fraction, glancing over your shoulder.
Jake Seresin’s arm was slung over your waist, heavy and warm. His chest rose and fell against your back, legs tangled with yours.
Fuck. You really needed to stop drinking tequila.
Your mind caught up in stages. Last night at the Hard Deck, you had told Phoenix you were definitely not going home with anyone. Then, you had told yourself you were definitely not doing this again. And lastly, you had told Hangman, well, whatever it was that led him between your sheets.
Again.
He never stayed the night. That was one of the two rules you had, the other being that you never ever acknowledged what you were doing. It kept your confusing cycle of getting drunk, fighting, and hate-fucking private from the inevitable judgment of your squadron.
Yet here he was, evidently not gone.
You lay there, very still, while irritation travelled up your spine. Of course, Hangman had to stay the one morning you needed him gone. His breathing was obnoxiously relaxed.
You shifted, and his grip tightened around you.
“Morning, honey,” Hangman mumbled against your shoulder, voice rough with sleep. His Texan accent was thicker in the morning, heavy like molasses.
Your eyes shut on instinct. Hangman’s morning voice was unfairly sexy, even as he used the condescending nickname he’d given you when you met.
“Get out,” you snapped, no patience for civility. “We don’t do sleepovers. You were supposed to be gone by now.”
“Funny,” he hummed, kissing the bare skin of your shoulder far too casually. “You didn’t sound this mad when you were begging for me last night.”
Classic Hangman. You should have known he’d be petty first thing in the morning.
You pushed his arm off and sat up, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. “You need to go. Phoenix will be here any minute.”
“Phoenix already knows I sleep naked,” he said easily. “She’ll survive.”
“Hangman,” you warned. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He said it with that lazy drawl that meant he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.
You climbed out of bed, grabbed the clothes on the floor, and tossed his service khakis at his chest. “Up! Clothes, now.”
Hangman caught them one-handed without sitting up. “Sweetheart, if you didn’t want me here, you wouldn’t have picked a fight with me last night.”
“You’re easy,” you scoffed. “That’s not my problem. And I was drunk.”
“You weren’t that drunk. You knew exactly who you were dragging home.”
“I made a bad decision after three drinks. You were sober. You knew not to overstay your welcome.”
Hangman laughed under his breath. “Don’t act like I’ve lost my mind. You can’t keep your hands off me.”
You bristled. “Don’t worry, this is the last time you need to worry about my hands being on you.”
“I’m not worried,” he murmured, eyes dragging down your body leisurely. “I know I won’t have to wait much longer.”
“I mean it, Hangman.”
He looked at you like you’d just said you were moving to Mars. “Sure you do. You’ll mean it next time, too.”
Annoyance flickered hot under your ribs. The worst part was that Hangman wasn’t entirely wrong, and that always made him intolerable. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of giving in.
“Screw you,” you shot back. “It’s never happening again.”
Hangman pushed up on his elbows, watching you with sharp, alert eyes. The shift of muscle in his biceps hit your stomach before you could ignore it.
“Course it is,” Hangman said. “You always say the same thing. It’s cute; you pretending you don’t give me fuck-me eyes as soon as everyone’s gone.”
He moved slowly, like he was humouring you, and stepped out of the sheets. He was, regrettably, a glorious sight: all lean planes and long lines, muscles pulling tight under golden skin as he stretched. Every flex was a reminder of exactly how he’d used that strength to his advantage last night.
His mouth curved, his grin dangerous and knowing. “You always get real serious when you’re lyin’ to yourself,” Hangman added, smug as all hell.
“Oh, please,” you snapped. “If I’m lying, you’re delusional. You strut around base like you’re God’s gift to naval aviation when most of the time you run on sheer dumb luck.”
Hangman’s jaw tightened. “Right. And you’re, what? The poster girl for righteous indignation? You start a fight with me every time you see me.”
“You think everything’s about you,” you said. “Typical.”
He closed the space between you in three steps, one hand cupping the back of your head.
“You really think this is the last time, honey?” Hangman murmured.
You should’ve pushed him away. You meant to push him away. Instead, you pulled him closer the second he pressed his lips to yours.
Hangman kissed you as if he were making a counterargument.
It was deliciously familiar: his lips expertly weakening your knees, his thumb sliding over your jaw. You hated the way your body answered before your mind did. Your hands were already on his shoulders, your mouth already opening against his.
He angled his head, chased your mouth, swallowed the tiny sound you made.
You broke away, breath unsteady. “You need to go,” you said, glancing at your alarm clock. “Phoenix is almost here.”
That earned you a slow, smug curl of his mouth. “Sure, Bee,” Hangman drawled. It was almost impressive how he made every nickname of yours sound patronising—even your callsign. “Whatever you say.”
He started dressing piece by piece, pulling on a tank top and then his trousers. He wasn’t touching you, but your body reacted like he was kissing his way down your neck.
It didn’t matter how good the sex was. Or how Hangman looked right now. He was a bad habit, and you sure as hell weren’t going to let this happen again. Eventually, one of you was going to crash and burn, and it wouldn’t be you.
“See you at briefing,” you managed once he was dressed.
Hangman smirked, taking one last chance to sweep his gaze across your kiss-bitten lips. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
When he was gone, you exhaled hard.
New rules: no more tequila, no more Hangman, no more mistakes.
You walked into morning briefing with Phoenix thirty minutes later, pretending you hadn’t just made out with your sworn rival.
Hangman was already in his seat, leaning back like he owned the place. He caught your eye and smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes and sat beside Rooster, because getting caught punching Hangman by your superior officer was frowned upon.
“Alright, today we’re running three-versus-one drills,” Maverick declared once everyone arrived. “Let’s see how many of you can work together to take me down.”
Cue the disgruntled groans. Fanboy mimed slamming his head against the table.
“You’ll be running mixed teams,” Maverick continued, ignoring your dramatics. “Team leaders have been selected for the day. First up,” he checked the clipboard, “Is Bee.”
The room looked at you in unison, nodding in collective respect. You were the only person in the room who could cut through everyone’s nonsense and get them pointed in the same direction without sounding like a drill sergeant or a babysitter.
With you in charge, they flew cleaner, faster, and better.
That moment of silent affirmation was immediately shattered by a much louder complaint from Hangman.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said, chortling. “Honey Bee?”
You rolled your eyes. “You should really work on your jealousy. It’s not very professional.”
“I’m not jealous,” Hangman fired back immediately. “I just think the team leaders shouldn’t be slow, overcautious, and afraid of a little risk.”
Phoenix kicked the back of his chair without glancing up from her pre-flight notes. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not in charge, Bagman.”
Maverick ignored all of you. “Bee, your team is Hangman, Phoenix, and Bob.”
The groans that rose from your side of the room were perfectly synchronised.
You slumped a fraction in your seat. Across from you, the light visibly faded from Bob’s eyes. Phoenix didn’t bother masking her irritation; she just kicked Hangman’s chair again, harder this time.
Beside you, Rooster whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”
“Prayers aren’t enough,” Bob said, shaking his head in resignation.
Hangman smirked and tapped his pen on his desk. “Can’t wait.”
You resisted the urge to throw your binder at his head.
In the air, Phoenix tightened the formation around you without question, sliding neatly into place. Her and Bob’s trust in you was bone-deep.
Hangman, on the other hand, never enjoyed taking orders from you.
“Team Leader, requesting permission to actually use my aircraft instead of admiring the scenery,” he drawled.
You smiled. “Permission denied. Stay on my wing.”
“You really get off on saying that, don’t you?”
“Only because it annoys you.”
Hangman huffed. “One day you’re gonna admit you like flying with me.”
“One day you’ll stop talking,” you replied sweetly. “And then I will actually like flying with you.”
Maverick’s voice sounded through the comms. “Team One, I hope you’re paying attention,” he said.
Your breath sank low in your chest. It was easy to slide into the clean, dependable part of your brain that always focused when you were in the air.
“All right,” you said calmly. “Phoenix, left side containment. Bob, keep your eyes on the radar. Tell me the second you see Maverick. Hangman—”
“Let me guess,” he interrupted. “I’m the watchdog?”
You scoffed. “If I wanted a watchdog, I’d get one that barked on command, not whenever he feels like it. You’re right-flank aggression. Don’t you dare take that as permission to—”
Hangman launched himself forward like a missile. “Right flank engaged,” he announced.
“Hangman!” Phoenix barked. “You asshole!”
You gritted your teeth so hard your jaw clicked. “Hangman, return to formation. Now.”
He made a low, playful hum. “Oh, Honey Bee. Your whole thing is patience. Let me be the excitement.”
“Your thing is getting everyone else killed,” you shot back. “Return to formation. That’s an order, Hangman.”
Maverick dove at you out of the sun. You rolled left, Phoenix sliding under you, the two of you syncing with the kind of ease that only months of practice could build.
“Sloppy,” Maverick observed. “Bee, you’ve got Phoenix covered, but you’re flying without a wingman.”
“Only because someone’s allergic to teamwork,” Phoenix quipped.
You steadied your breathing. “Hangman, tighten up. You’re leaving too big of a gap.”
Bob chimed in, gentle as always, “He’s coming around again—two o’clock, descending.”
You saw it cleanly: Maverick’s angle, his speed, that little off-kilter move he did to tempt you into lunging. But you’d practised this scenario before, and you were ready to face him.
“Phoenix, pinch him left,” you ordered.
“On it.”
“Bob, let’s get a lock on him.”
“Copy.”
You dipped low—just enough to look exposed and make Maverick think you’d gotten overeager. It worked. You tracked the tiny twitch in his angle, the micro-shift he always made when he thought he saw an opening.
Hangman chimed, “Careful, Bee. You’re pushing too close.”
Of course, he’d say that. King Reckless himself warning you about boundaries? You didn’t dignify it with a reply.
You just pressed the advantage, rolling smoothly back toward Maverick’s tail.
“Come on, Bob,” you said, eyes locked on Maverick’s plane. “Give me tone.”
Phoenix shifted into position, and you knew Bob would be able to get you a tone with that clear line to Maverick. You nudged the nose of your jet another degree. Almost there. Almost—
You exhaled, ready for that sweet hit, when everything went to hell.
Hangman shot through Bob’s line without any consideration for all the work you’d put in, engines screaming loud enough to rattle your teeth.
“I got him!” he shouted.
You watched in a moment of awful, slow-motion clarity as Hangman blocked Bob’s perfect shot. Without a wingman to help you and without Bob getting a lock on Maverick, you were doomed.
“Hangman, don’t—”
The high-pitched squeal of Maverick getting a lock on you rang throughout your plane—a final, devastating blow. Maverick had slipped beneath Hangman with a single elegant roll, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment of idiocy.
You were a sitting duck after playing bait.
“That’s a fail,” Maverick said happily, like he hadn’t crushed your soul. “Team One, you’re dead. Sorry, Bee. It would’ve worked if your entire team had followed your lead. Team Two, suit up.”
You sat in stunned silence for a beat, breathing hard as fury made your pulse spike.
You had him. You had sacrificed yourself to give Phoenix and Bob the perfect shot, and you lost just because of Hangman’s typical self-interest.
This was why you couldn’t stand Hangman.
The flight back to the hangar was suffocating in its silence. Your jaw locked so tightly your molars ached. You weren’t sure which made you angrier: what Hangman just did in the air, or the knowledge that you’d let him put his mouth on yours that morning.
By the time you landed, your heart was pounding, your breath clipped and shallow. You tore your helmet off so fast that the chin strap scraped your jaw. You didn’t even wait for the ladder to settle before swinging a leg out, boots hitting the metal rungs with sharp, angry clanks.
You saw Hangman descending his own ladder with that maddeningly casual confidence. He didn’t seem to think he’d just blown your chance to finally best Maverick, but that wasn’t anything new.
Bob offered you a sympathetic wince before putting distance between himself and whatever volcanic event you were about to become. You just moved, boots hitting the ground with determined strides as you marched toward Hangman.
The second he spotted you, that infuriating smirk began to form. You didn’t give him the chance to finish it.
“You asshole—” you screeched, shoving Hangman so hard he toppled backwards.
“Woah, woah, woah!”
“Bee, chill!”
Rooster and Payback each caught an arm as they passed, steering you away. They were already headed out for their turn in the exercise, and the last thing they wanted was you getting written up—even if Hangman had it coming.
Bob reluctantly helped Hangman up.
“I can’t believe you—” you began, chest still heaving from anger.
“I almost had him,” Hangman interrupted, maddeningly calm.
“You sabotaged us! You flew directly into Bob’s shot!” You jabbed a finger at him, heat prickling across your face. “You just had to make it about you.”
He smirked. “It’s always about me.”
“Not when I’m in charge,” you corrected. “And not during a team exercise.”
“I was helping.”
“Yeah, helping Maverick kill me!” you snapped, your voice cracking upward into a pitch that made Rooster flinch beside you. “You undermined the chain of command,” you said. “You ignored formation. You showboated. You risked everything—”
“Look, you had a nice little plan going,” Hangman allowed. His gaze flicked to Rooster’s hand still around your arm before he dragged his attention back to you. “But if you hadn’t been crawling like you were driving your grandma to Sunday brunch earlier—”
“Do you seriously think you can blame me for this?” You stepped forward, and Rooster’s fingers tightened instinctively to keep you from closing the distance. “I played the bait, I had Maverick hooked!”
“And I had a better shot.”
You barked out a laugh so sharp it made Hangman’s shoulders tense. “Apparently, you’re delusional as well as a selfish bastard.”
“You’re welcome for trying to get us a win.”
“Us? Us?!” You yanked your arm free from Rooster, giving Hangman’s shoulders another shove.
It made your skin crawl that you’d had him this close only hours ago.
You laughed incredulously. “You threw the entire drill because you can’t stand someone else getting a hit first! It doesn’t matter who gets a lock on Maverick, but it does matter that you fucked it up for everyone else!”
Phoenix saved you. “Okay, let’s go hit the showers,” she said, ushering you off the tarmac.
You let her guide you a few steps, your pulse still hammering in your throat. You turned to see Hangman raise his chin, already bracing for another round.
“You know what your problem is?” you said. “You’re terrified that if you’re not the one who gets the win, no one will bother noticing you at all. All that bravado,” you flicked a hand dismissively at Hangman, “is just you trying to outrun the idea that you’re only as good as your last solo victory. And God forbid anyone else shine for half a second.”
Hangman’s posture twitched just enough for you to notice.
“So do us all a favour,” you finished. “If you don’t want to be part of this team, put in for a transfer. At least then we won’t have to worry about you getting us killed on a real mission.”
Phoenix’s hand landed between your shoulder blades. “Bee,” she warned quietly.
Hangman exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so sharp. “Funny,” he said, his voice matching your cutting tone. “For someone who’s so damn sure she knows how to lead, you crumble the second anyone challenges you. That’s the real reason you’ll never be team leader outside of a simulation.”
His words punched harder than you expected. Not because they were true, but because he’d designed them to hurt you.
Phoenix tugged you away firmly this time, steering you off the tarmac before you could keep the argument going.
“You’re a saint for not killing him,” she muttered under her breath.
You hummed noncommittally, trying to ignore the sick twist in your stomach.
Last night you’d had your hands in his hair, tugging him closer. Today, you’d used them to push him hard enough to lose balance. You hated being stuck in this cycle.
By the time the squad hit the Hard Deck that night, the teasing had already started.
“Here we go,” Harvard said, elbowing Yale. “Bee and Hangman. Round… whatever this is. Are we counting by years or fights?”
Coyote grinned. “I’m losing track. We should make it a drinking game. Every time they say something hurtful, take a shot. No, wait—every time there’s a physical altercation, take two shots.”
You exhaled and leaned against the rail. Everyone assumed you and Hangman would fall into the usual routine: fight, make some sarcastic quip, get aggressive, and argue until everyone went home.
Little did they know what you used to do after all that noise.
The squadron kept teasing you, even though you’d already decided you were done with anything that involved Jake Seresin.
“Sober Bee,” Bob said, passing you the Coke you’d ordered. “I approve.”
“Thanks,” you said, accepting the glass. “I’m done getting tipsy and letting Hangman bait me into an argument.”
Bob grinned and raised his own Coke. “I admire your commitment.”
Fanboy overheard and groaned loud enough for half the bar to look over. “Sober Bee? Guess we’re starved for entertainment tonight.”
“Truly the end times,” Fritz said dramatically.
Phoenix didn’t look up as she lined up a shot on the pool table. “Calm down, boys. It’s not like she gets drunk every week,” she defended you.
Rooster smirked. “She’s only sober because she almost bagged Maverick today and wants to remember the glory in crystal clarity,” he said, pulling you into a side-hug so tight you almost spilt your drink.
“Your team almost had a kill shot,” Halo said, pointing at you like you were a celebrity. “If Maverick had been one second slower—”
You held up a hand. “Alright, children, let’s not rewrite the story. We didn’t bag Maverick. He Houdini’d out of our trap like he always does.”
“Yeah, but you rattled him,” Payback said, grinning proudly. “He seemed proud.”
The table erupted in agreement.
Halo gave you a look. “Face it, Bee. You’ve been flying better than all of us ever since the squadron became permanent. You’re the only one who can stay calm up against Maverick.”
“Unsettlingly calm,” Bob confirmed, nodding sagely.
You chuckled. “Calm is good, Bob. Calm means no one ends the night with a black eye.”
“Hangman ends every night with a black eye,” Phoenix said. “Emotionally speaking.”
That earned her a round of delighted laughter.
Rooster tilted his head, conspiratorial. “Speaking of Hangman, he’s watching you.”
Coyote grinned. “He’s malfunctioning. Doesn’t know what to do when Bee isn’t screaming at him.”
You rolled your eyes at their dramatics. “I’m choosing peace from now on,” you declared. “If that means I don’t have to talk to his arrogant ass tonight, then I call that a win.”
Your squadron’s laughter, their drunken banter, and Hangman’s sidelong glances were background noise for the rest of the night.
That is, until Bob ducked away toward the bathroom. Because who else would slide into the vacant space but the devil himself?
Hangman leaned one elbow on the rail, posture loose in that unbothered manner he’d perfected.
“You’re behaving tonight,” he said, voice low and amused. “Should I be worried? It’s getting late. If you’re planning to start something, now’s your window.”
You held up your glass. “Sorry to disappoint. No hostile takeover scheduled.”
Hangman blinked at your Coke. “You’re sober?”
“Tragically.”
“Really?” He looked you over, slow and assessing. It infuriated you that it still made your spine tingle. “I mean, it’s not like you’re drunk all the time. But I thought after today…” You raised an eyebrow. “I just mean you aren’t usually glued to Bob all night long.”
“It’s called having a conversation,” you said. “You should try it sometime.”
His mouth curved. “I don’t do ‘conversation.’ I’m more of a hands-on communicator.”
And there it was—subtext thick enough to choke on. Heat shot low in your abdomen, annoying and immediate. You straightened your spine like that would shove the feeling back down where it belonged.
You were frustrated at the effect Hangman’s words had on your body, and infuriated that he had noticed it.
“Well,” you said sharply, “good thing I’m off duty. No ‘hands-on’ anything. No more… whatever this was.”
Hangman’s brows lifted in amusement. “Sure,” he said lightly. “We’re doing the whole ‘pretend to fight because people are around’ routine.”
“Hangman, I’m not pretending.” You heard the sharpness in your own voice. “We argue because we never agree on how to do our jobs. Not because other people are around.”
Hangman’s smirk faltered. “Come on, honey,” he murmured. “You’re still mad about this morning? You wanted to win your way, and I wanted to win the right way.”
“‘The right way’?” You gave a short, bitter laugh. “You tanked a team drill because you needed to be the hero.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“That’s exactly what happened.”
Hangman leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost your cheek. “You think you’re the only tactician in that cockpit?”
“No,” you said, “but I was the team leader, and ignoring me made you a liability. When you’re a bad teammate, you’re a bad pilot.”
You knew that would hit its mark.
Hangman’s shoulders tensed; his jaw flexed hard. His eyes darted to your Coke again, like he wished you were tipsy so he could recognise this behaviour as foreplay. But you weren’t drinking, and you weren’t starting a fight just to tear his clothes off later.
“So that’s it?” he asked, brows pulled together in mild confusion. “You’re done?”
“I told you this morning it was the last time,” you reminded him. “I meant it.”
“Thought it was just post-sleepover dramatics,” Hangman admitted.
Something flickered behind his green eyes; the memory of your warm hands on his shoulders and in his hair last night. You refused to acknowledge any of it.
He huffed out a laugh, but it came out thin. “So this is it?”
“Yes.”
“And this isn’t a cooling-off period?”
“Nope.”
Hangman stood there, letting the silence stretch. His eyes kept drifting to your mouth in quick, guilty flicks he clearly didn’t mean to give away. You accidentally mirrored the movement before catching yourself.
Nope. Not happening.
Hangman’s voice dropped low enough that you felt it in your ribs. “So we burn the whole thing down and walk away?”
“What’s there to burn?” you asked. “We don’t even like each other.”
His laugh was sharp and humourless. “Never said we did.”
“Exactly. I’m tired of waking up feeling like an idiot.”
Hangman nodded once, too sharply. “Right.”
Then he pivoted on his heel, swagger switched back on, and headed toward the bar to flirt with the nearest warm body.
Bob returned a moment later, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, I think I’m done for the night. Did you want a ride home?”
You nodded, chugging the rest of your Coke. “Yeah, I’m definitely done.”
The change didn’t happen overnight. It was more of a slow radio static you kept trying to tune out until it got too loud to ignore.
A couple of days later, during morning drills, Hangman missed an opening so obvious it was practically outlined in neon.
He was flying at Rooster’s five, perfectly positioned to take the clean shot Maverick had left open as bait, but he surprised everyone. Instead of swan-diving into the shot with that infuriating confidence, Hangman waited.
He just stayed there, keeping an eye on Maverick long enough for Payback to slip in and tag the target.
“Uh—thanks?” Payback said, confused.
Hangman just nodded. No bragging, no gloating, not even a sarcastic salute in your direction acknowledging his teamwork. Nothing.
You felt a prickle on the back of your neck, but it was too early to understand what was wrong.
It wasn’t just the lack of gloating. Hangman was almost silent over the comms. And, fine, maybe you looked at him a half-second longer than necessary, purely because you were waiting for the punchline. He didn’t deliver one, and that alone was unsettling.
By the time you landed, you thought you’d imagined it.
But the next few days didn’t snap him back to normal. If anything, the errors got stranger. Hangman was a beat too slow here, hesitated awkwardly there. Twice, he overshot an angle he could’ve flown in his sleep. Another time, he clipped a pass so wide that Phoenix muttered about checking him for head injuries.
You noticed the other things no one else would’ve clocked, like the way his fidgeting changed. Most of the time, Hangman was all effortless swagger, fingers tapping on the table. Now his tells were silent: tight little flexes of his gloved hand, averted eyes.
Day five made it impossible to brush off.
You were halfway through a dogfighting sequence when Hangman chose the defensive angle over a ballsy opportunity he’d never ignore. His flying style was starting to resemble yours, one he often made fun of you for adopting.
You felt the disruption before you really understood it. Your instincts were reacting as they always did when Hangman was about to barrel through a gap, and you’d already adjusted your angle to make room for him.
But Hangman didn’t take the risk, so you lost the positional advantage you’d built. Maverick slipped out of your trap and tagged Phoenix before she could blink.
On the tarmac, Phoenix stared at the sky in shock. “What the hell was that?”
Hangman pulled off his own helmet. “Didn’t want to compromise the team’s spacing.”
You and Phoenix exchanged a look that said Who is this man, and what has he done with Hangman?
But Hangman wasn’t being entirely unlike himself. He still muttered at Phoenix under his breath. He still rolled his eyes when Rooster was being overdramatic. He even smirked at you once, but it came out wrong, like his mouth had forgotten the shape of it.
You knew what Hangman’s real smirk looked like. You’d seen it on nights you pushed him far enough to end up in your bed, and you’d felt the shape of it against your neck.
This one wasn’t it.
The next time the squadron hit the Hard Deck, you didn’t talk to him. You hadn’t interacted much since you decided to stop hooking up. There wasn’t a need for it; you weren’t friends, and you’d never tried to get to know each other.
By week two, the whole squad was convinced he had a virus of some kind.
You were running a tight-knit combat simulation when Hangman raised his hand during planning. “Maybe we keep Rooster on high cover,” he suggested. “Safer for the team that way.”
The entire room turned to look at him.
Fanboy began muttering, “He’s sick. He has to be.”
Rooster just stared at Hangman like he was possessed.
You were waiting for Hangman to throw a jab at you, bait you into arguing, or make some snide crack about your flight speed. But he never looked at you long enough for you to register anything on his face, so you had no idea what he was thinking.
After the simulation, the team regrouped on the tarmac.
“Does anyone else think Hangman’s been replaced by an alien?” Fritz asked quietly.
Harvard sighed. “I miss when he was insufferable.”
You just sipped water and watched Hangman, who stood out of earshot, double-checking a checklist you know he’d memorised back in flight school.
The picture of responsibility; the antithesis of Hangman.
He wasn’t doing anything, but that was the problem. Hangman’s worst qualities made him a pain in your ass, but his best qualities kept the team sharp. He was the idiot who risked someone else getting hit so he could make a clean shot.
You’d never realised how much of your own flying relied on reacting to Hangman—dodging his chaos, anticipating his arrogance.
Without Hangman flying the way he always did, the team was failing. The little mistakes and miscommunications were starting to add up.
In week three, after a messy practice that would’ve gotten you all grounded if Cyclone had been watching, Rooster finally snapped.
“Okay,” he exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward Hangman, “what is going on with you?”
Hangman barely shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Phoenix muttered.
Bob elbowed her, reminding her to keep things light. “We’re just a little confused,” he said. “You’re not flying like yourself.”
You stood there, helmet under your arm, watching Hangman stare at the ground. His shoulders were strong as ever, but the set of them was too careful.
Your chest tightened. It wasn’t your problem, and you didn’t owe Hangman anything, but it was throwing everyone off. Even as you tried to shut it out, you couldn’t avoid the fact that the once well-oiled machine of your squadron was misfiring.
When Hangman finally looked up, his eyes flicked to you once before skittering away.
Phoenix pulled you aside and said what everyone had been tiptoeing around. “You need to talk to him.”
You frowned. “Why me?”
“Because you’re good at this,” she insisted. “You’re the one who fixes people when they’re screwing up. You did it for me at Top Gun, and you did it for Rooster last year before the Uranium mission.”
“Hangman and I don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter if you two fight every time you breathe in the same direction,” Phoenix cut in. “Someone has to get him back on track, and you’re the only person on the team he actually respects as a pilot.”
You knew she was right. Hangman was a crucial member of the team, and the team was falling apart. Unfortunately, you happened to be their glue.
Perfect. A heart-to-heart with the man you’d been avoiding for the last three weeks. What could go wrong?
You barely lasted ten minutes before approaching him. As you walked beside him after debrief, matching his pace, Hangman kept his eyes on the ground.
Every step toward him was a battle with your frustration. Despite everything, you couldn’t let Hangman spiral. You had to be the Bee the team relied on, not the one who remembered all your reckless spats.
“Hangman,” you finally said, because someone had to say something.
Nothing. Hangman just blinked and kept walking.
You knew that slow and deliberate expression, the one he used when he was thinking too fast and trying not to show it. Only you had the dictionary of Hangman’s moves, the little provocations and glances nobody else ever endured.
Fine. You could be rude, too.
“You’re flying weird,” you declared bluntly.
Hangman exhaled. Not annoyed, more like he’d been waiting for you to bring it up so he didn’t have to. “I’m flying safe,” he corrected you.
“That’s the problem.”
His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk that never fully formed. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”
“I don’t appreciate you switching up the entire rhythm of the team without warning,” you said. “Nobody knows how to fly around you right now. Do you think that’s helping?”
Hangman didn’t answer. He just kept walking, boots scuffing against concrete, hands tight at his sides instead of swinging with that usual swagger.
After ten paces of silence, Hangman spoke. “I don’t like the idea that my role on the team is to get people killed.”
You stopped walking.
Hangman got a few steps ahead before he realised you weren’t beside him anymore. When he turned, his face was pinched.
You hated how much it mattered to you; how unwilling you were to let him falter, even if he’d never done the same for you.
“That’s not your job,” you said quietly.
Hangman tilted his head. “You’d know, right? Since you’ve always had such strong opinions about how I fly.”
“You make it very easy to have opinions,” you snapped.
He stepped closer, a little too casually. “Are you watching me that closely?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Didn’t say you liked what you saw.”
You glared. “For once in your life, can you not make this about your ego?”
“Is that what you think this is?” Hangman asked. His voice was calm and practised.
Your chest tightened.
“Tell me,” you said carefully, “What’s going on?”
He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m the one who takes the shots no one else can; the one who pulls the moves that’d get most people into trouble; the one who—” Hangman cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I don’t like that the only reason I’m useful to the Navy is that I’m willing to risk your lives.”
Something twisted behind your ribs. You’d said versions of that to Hangman’s face several times since you first met. You’d judged him for it, rolled your eyes at it, built half your rivalry on the assumption that he was a self-centred showboat with no concern for others.
It hadn’t occurred to you that he’d actually thought about the cost.
Suddenly, it felt like you’d been picking a fight with someone who’d already been bleeding.
Hangman scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “So I’m trying something different.”
“And it’s making the team fly worse,” you added, softer than you intended.
“Can’t win, can I?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
You closed the distance. Hangman’s shoulders were tense, his posture tight.
“Hangman,” you said, and you hated the way your voice gentled automatically. “Being reckless isn’t the same thing as being careless.”
He blinked at you. It was the same look he used to give you at the Hard Deck, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to argue with you or pin you against the wall.
“You fly instinctively,” you continued. “Aggressively. Sharply. Sometimes stupidly, yes, but you take the crazy shot so the rest of us don’t have to. That doesn’t make you a liability. It makes you important.”
His throat bobbed when he swallowed.
The air between you tightened in that annoying, hot way that made you acutely aware of the two weeks of silence and the history that came before it.
“Look,” you said, shoving the feeling aside, “you don’t have to calculate risks and think of what’s best for the team. That’s my job.”
Hangman’s head tilted. “Then what’s mine?”
You hesitated. “You’re the wildcard. You take the stupid shot, so the rest of us get the safer one. You’re still a pain in my ass,” you added, because you were well past lying to him. “None of this should give you a big head.”
Hangman chuckled. “Too late.”
It tugged at something annoyingly low in your stomach, the same part that was overly aware that Hangman knew exactly how far he could push without hurting you.
You exhaled. “Whatever this is,” you gestured vaguely at Hangman, “you need to knock it off. The team needs you to be you. No matter how much that seems to clash with me being me.”
Hangman didn’t answer at first. He just watched you, expression unreadable. But for the first time in weeks, he didn’t look away.
Finally, he nodded. “Alright,” he said.
You turned before he could see the way your conversation had rearranged every label you had on him.
Great, now you respected Hangman. The thought made you shiver in discomfort.
You walked toward the locker rooms, muttering “Idiot,” under your breath.
Behind you, you heard him reply, “Control freak.”
At least some things never changed.
You were pleasantly surprised that your conversation with Hangman actually made a difference. A few days later, he was flying like himself again: sharp, ballsy, and irritatingly confident—but less prone to throwing others under the bus to get his perfect shot.
The team’s rhythm snapped back into place with the same neat click as a helmet visor locking.
There was one difference, though: you and Hangman weren’t fighting.
Sure, you still made comments under your breath, berating and cursing him. He still smirked when you screwed up the simulation timing by half a second. You still gave each other looks that said I could push your buttons if I wanted to, and you know I could.
But you never did.
Every time one of those almost-fights hovered between you, there was a strange little beat you didn’t know how to fill. Usually, you would’ve thrown a jab, or Hangman would’ve rolled his eyes. Now you both just looked away.
You pretended you weren’t thinking about it.
Maverick wanted you early to help set up for a multi-ship coordination drill, which meant deciphering his handwriting and loading flight paths before the others arrived.
When you rounded the corner of the hangar, you paused. Hangman was in the hangar beside his jet, too busy working to even notice you.
The side panel of his jet was open, one of his hands braced against the metal frame as the other tightened something inside the wiring. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, a smear of grease on his forearm, mouth set in concentration.
Watching him like that made you feel like you’d stumbled onto something private.
Hangman just glanced back, gave you an unimpressed once-over, and returned to the wiring. “Morning to you, too, Honey Bee.”
You stepped closer before you realised it, drawn in by his quiet focus. “What are you doing?”
He ignored your question, “Hand me the wrench.”
You blinked. “You’re trusting me with tools?”
“Trusting you to pass them to me,” he corrected. “Not use them.”
You found the wrench on the cart and gave it to him. Your fingers brushed, but neither of you acknowledged it. Hangman tightened something with clean, practised movements.
“Just some quick adjustments and tightening,” he said. “Saves the mechanics a few minutes.”
You stared. “Do you do this often?”
“Whenever I can spare a minute.” Hangman shrugged. “If something feels off in the air, I want to know I didn’t ignore it on the ground.”
You hadn’t expected that from him.
“That…” You hesitated. “…sounds like something I’d say.”
Hangman paused for half a second. Then he cleared his throat and kept tightening the bolt. You didn’t see the faint grin he tried to smother as he angled his face toward the jet.
He snapped the panel shut, wiped his hands on a rag, and turned to you. “You’re here early. Maverick rope you into cone duty?”
“He needs someone who can read the runes he calls handwriting,” you said. “Apparently it’s me.”
Hangman snorted. “Good luck with that.”
You nodded, then added, “I’m convinced it’s going to get the Navy in legal trouble one day.”
He cracked a genuine smile at that. You felt something in your chest unclench in relief. Hangman wasn’t quite back to normal with you, but at least he looked more like himself.
“So, you’re an unofficial mechanic now?” you asked.
“Only for the boring stuff.” He shook out his hand, though it looked suspiciously like he was shaking off nerves. “And before you say it, I’m not doing it to impress anyone.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I know. If you were trying to impress someone, you’d be doing it shirtless.”
Hangman made a face. “It’s six in the morning.”
“Never stopped you before.”
You both chuckled. Yours fading a little quicker, Hangman’s dragged half a beat longer. The lack of unity made that extra moment stretch awkwardly.
You were both acutely aware of how new laughing without menace was for you both. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever had a conversation with Hangman that didn’t end with someone storming off or tossing insults like grenades.
“So,” he said, tilting his head, studying you with that too-familiar focus. “Why’d Maverick need you early?”
“He likes to make me suffer,” you said. “It’s character building.”
Hangman scoffed. “You don’t need more character. You’re already annoying enough.”
His words didn’t land with their usual edge. Instead, he looked strangely friendly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to tease you gently yet.
“Says the man who colour-codes his clothes,” you shot back.
“I do not—”
You raised one eyebrow.
“…fine,” he muttered. “Once.”
“You mean you only got caught once.”
“By you,” he said.
You laughed, surprised because it wasn’t the you’re-an-idiot you usually aimed at him. You couldn’t remember the last time someone made you laugh like that, and you definitely hadn’t expected it to be Hangman.
He looked away, but not quickly enough to hide the fact that he was laughing too, like he couldn’t help himself.
You started heading towards Maverick’s office together.
“Honestly, I’m happy to be early,” you admitted. “Gets me out of 5am pickleball practice.”
Hangman groaned. “Don’t say pickleball to me. Coyote’s trying to recruit me like it’s a cult.”
“It is a cult,” you agreed vehemently. “If one more person asks me to ‘just try a game,’ I’m joining the Air Force.”
He smirked. “So we’re hiding out in the hangar until the cult loses interest?”
“That’s the plan.”
Hangman watched you with mild amusement, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “Weird,” he said.
“What is?”
“Talking to you without you threatening to throw me off the carrier.”
You fought a smile. “I still might.”
“Good,” he said. “I was worried you might’ve gone soft.”
“You just admitted that you worry about me,” you pointed out, smug. “At this rate, I should be exhausted from how often I’m running through your mind.”
Hangman huffed a laugh at your comeback, shaking his head.
“Seriously, Hangman,” you went on. “Rent-free. Have some shame.”
“That sounds exactly like something my little sister would’ve said to piss me off growing up.”
You blinked. “Weird. Didn’t think I’d have anything in common with anyone in the Seresin gene pool.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “My sisters don’t let me get away with anything, and they definitely don’t take my shit.”
“You have sisters?”
“Both younger and a lot smarter than me.”
“That tracks.”
Hangman nudged your shoulder with his. “What about you?”
You smiled faintly. “I’m close with my family. I just don’t see them much.”
“Mine complain about the beach constantly when they visit,” he said. “Guess that’s what happens when you grow up far from it.”
“Right,” you said, smirking. “Texas farm boy. I get it, though. I used to get seasick just looking at boats—being on them was hell.”
Hangman chuckled, agreeing. “First deployment, I used to skip meals so I wouldn’t throw up.”
“Seriously?” you asked, a laugh already bubbling.
“Seriously,” he said. “I learned the hard way when my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt an Admiral.”
You burst into unrestrained laughter, and Hangman joined in naturally. For once, neither of you rushed to fill the silence that followed. It wasn’t even awkward, just surprisingly pleasant.
“I should go find Maverick,” you finally said, glancing at your watch.
“Right,” Hangman said. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”
You walked side by side to the other end of the hangar.
You’d known Hangman for years, just not this version. You knew the pilot, the competitor, the guy who made a hobby out of getting under your skin. You knew the version you saw in the air and the one you fell into at night when you both should’ve known better.
You’d spent so long assuming Hangman was all sharp corners and ego. But you enjoyed it when you weren’t fighting. For years, you’d both been too busy competing to ever actually talk. Now that you had, every assumption felt a little off.
You didn’t make it three steps into the Hard Deck before your squadron shouted your name. It was loud enough that Penny shot all of you a warning look over the bar, which Fanboy ignored by whistling loudly.
“Beeeeee!” Coyote sang. “Our favourite early bird.”
Hangman, sitting beside him, smirked. “Maverick had her running errands before sunrise. You know him, never met a chore he wouldn’t outsource.”
The table dissolved in giggles. You dropped into the empty chair across from Hangman, who looked pleased that he’d made you laugh.
“You think Maverick forces me out of bed just to annoy me?” you said lightly. “That was only half the reason tonight.”
Phoenix leaned forward. “If he had you in early for anything other than his horrible handwriting, it must’ve been important.”
You shrugged. “Well… he wanted to tell me before he told anyone else.” You tried to make it sound casual, even though your stomach had been doing Olympic-level gymnastics ever since.
“Tell you what?” Rooster asked, brow raised.
“Cyclone made me team leader for the upcoming mission,” you said, and the second the words left your mouth, the table went still.
And then all of them absolutely erupted.
Phoenix slapped both palms on the table so hard the salt and pepper shakers toppled over. Coyote launched halfway out of his seat. Rooster choked on nothing. Even Bob pushed his chair back in pure shock.
“Bee, holy shit!”
“Finally!”
You laughed as Phoenix grabbed your shoulders and shook you like a maraca. Bob beamed at you with shiny eyes, and you caught Hangman’s expression softening into genuine satisfaction.
“Mav said Cyclone was watching our last drill and thought it was time someone other than Mav took the lead,” you said. “And, more importantly, he already told Penny that drinks are on him tonight.”
Phoenix raised her beer. “To Bee! Our fearless leader!”
You felt your face warm despite trying to play it cool. You all toasted, clinking bottles and glasses happily. Somewhere in the noise, Hangman’s “to Bee” came in just half a second late.
Your eyes flicked to him on instinct, catching the faint smile he smoothed away before anyone noticed it. Something low in your stomach tightened.
Everyone was in a fantastic mood for the rest of the night.
You meant to enjoy the party, but you kept noticing things you’d never really paused to see before; things that had been happening right under your nose while you were too busy hating Hangman.
Coyote dragged you into a darts game, and you immediately sent your first throw wide enough to make him wince. He laughed, nudging your shoulder, and you were lining up your second shot when Phoenix’s voice cut across the bar.
“No way, Hangman, that’s a scratch,” she said, sharp, competitive, and fond.
“That’s called natural talent,” Hangman argued, grinning widely.
“You clipped the eight-ball.”
“I nudged the eight-ball.”
Phoenix rolled her eyes and reset the shot while Hangman leaned against the table, amused and unbothered.
Your eyes tracked the loose curve of his posture before you caught yourself and looked away.
Hangman ceded the table with a little salute after Phoenix sank her next two shots in a row. She smirked, victorious. He smirked back, gracious enough to let her have it.
A little later, Rooster roped you into picking a song for the jukebox. As you scrolled through the options, he hovered like he wasn’t trying to influence you. You elbowed him, he shoved your shoulder, and you landed on a song you both liked.
When you turned around, you saw Hangman and Bob at the end of the bar. They were joking back and forth, Hangman pretending to be offended while Bob said something bone-dry enough that Hangman let out a loud cackle.
Your eyes tracked the shape of his grin like you were memorising it.
It was easy and comfortable in a way you hadn’t realised they’d become over the last ten months since the squadron became permanent.
“I’ll get the next round,” Hangman said like it was non-negotiable, patting Bob’s shoulder and grabbing nearby empty bottles with one hand.
Hangman was still arrogant, still insufferable, still absolutely capable of grinding your nerves into dust. But the more you looked, the more you noticed all the things you’d never given him credit for.
As you let your eyes linger on his hands picking up the next round, you missed the way Hangman’s gaze kept flicking back to you. It was as if he was checking if you were still there, because he didn’t want to miss anything you did.
You forced yourself to look away before you started thinking about those hands in ways you absolutely shouldn’t.
When Fanboy’s attempt at doing a cartwheel forced you to rescue an airborne beer bottle an hour later, you went to the bar to get another round.
Penny smiled. “Congratulations, Bee.”
“Thank you,” you said, grinning.
Before you could ask for the drinks, someone slid into the empty space beside you. A tall, objectively attractive man you didn’t recognise, with an easygoing smile.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to interrupt. But your group’s been celebrating you for the last twenty minutes, so I had to come over and say congrats.”
“Oh.” You blinked. “Thank you.”
He laughed. “You Navy pilots? Or just very enthusiastic bar patrons?”
You talked for a few minutes, just light, friendly small talk. The guy flirted softly, and you didn’t shut him down. You recommended your favourite coffee shop, and you politely laughed when he asked if you’d be there this week.
Across the bar, Phoenix slapped Rooster’s arm.
Yale murmured, “Uh oh.”
They turned to Hangman, waiting for the inevitable snark. The classic, she’s not worth your time, man, or she’s a walking red flag.
Hangman surprised them all by saying nothing. His jaw was locked to hide the fact that seeing you flirt with some guy was affecting him.
If you’d been looking his way, you would’ve seen how carefully he inhaled and exhaled, like he was reminding his body to behave.
The guy at the bar leaned in a little—not close enough to overstep, but close enough to show he was interested—and that was enough for Hangman.
He didn’t storm over or square his shoulders. Hangman walked like a man doing something he had decided on long before his brain caught up.
“Hey, honey,” he said smoothly, sliding into your space.
The nickname, one you’d only heard him use condescendingly, was sugared and affectionate. It was claiming you in a way that made your blood warm.
Your heartbeat tripped at the sudden proximity. Partly because you knew what Hangman was doing and weren’t sure how you felt about it, but also because this was familiar territory.
Only this time, he wasn’t getting close to you to pick a fight.
Hangman gave the stranger a polite nod. “Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to make sure you had help carrying all the drinks back.”
The guy blinked. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know—”
“Oh, we’re not—” you started.
“Yeah, we are,” Hangman insisted.
Your heartbeat jumped hard enough that you felt it in your throat. Hangman wasn’t wearing the smug, heat-soaked look he usually used when he wanted to get under your skin. His eyes held yours like he was quietly pleading with you to hear him out.
The man picked up his drink and backed off with an easy smile. “Nice meeting you.”
You didn’t answer. Your focus was on Hangman.
“What was that?” you asked.
Hangman took a slow breath, gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s step outside.”
“I’m not—”
“Please, Bee.” His tone wasn’t commanding but startlingly sincere.
You followed him out to the back deck, where the ocean air cut through the heat of the bar. You crossed your arms, more for balance than defence, and took half a step back.
“You don’t get to swoop in like that,” you said, pulse still unsettled. “I wasn’t interested, but you don’t—”
“I know.” Hangman rubbed a hand over his jaw, shoulders tight. “I know you weren’t.”
“Then why—?”
“Because I didn’t like watching it.”
There it was. A truth Hangman would typically have buried under three layers of arrogance.
You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “You don’t get to be jealous.”
“I know.” His voice dropped into something quiet and aching. “But I was.”
Hangman stepped closer, not boxing you in, but closing the distance slowly. Close enough that you felt the warmth of his body through the cold wind.
“You and I…” He shook his head. “We spent so long fighting that it felt like the only way we knew how to talk. And it worked for a while. Until it didn’t.”
You didn’t move—your body refused.
“And once we actually talked, it changed things for me.” His voice softened. “I know I can be arrogant, and stubborn, and a pain in your ass. I know you have every reason to think I’m not worth the trouble.”
Hangman’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“But I also know that the more I get to know you, the more I’m sure I want you. And not the way I used to have you, when we’d argued so much that sex was the only way to relieve the tension.” He steadied himself. “I want you for real.”
You inhaled so sharply it was almost a gasp.
“I know I’ve messed up, and I know you’re not looking for a guy to fix. I’m not asking you for anything right now. I just…” Hangman hesitated, then confessed, “I think I could deserve you, if you gave me the chance to prove it.”
The wind rustled the string lights overhead. Inside, the jukebox changed songs again, its sound muffled through the glass.
You stepped toward him.
Hangman’s breath caught when you did. He didn’t reach out to you, even though you were more than close enough now. He just stood, waiting, eyes tracking every inch you moved.
“Jake,” you said quietly.
His name on your lips did something to him. His chest rose sharply, his lips parted just barely, and his whole posture went attentive in a way that was entirely open to you.
“I don’t know what this is,” you told him honestly. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”
“Me neither.”
“But I want to try,” you said.
The breath he let out was shaky and reverent, like you’d knocked the wind out of him.
You didn’t rush it. You stepped close enough that your chest brushed Jake’s, and he dipped his head just slightly, waiting for permission. Lifting your hands, you curled them into the front of his shirt, and that was all he needed.
Jake kissed you like he’d been holding himself together for weeks.
At first, it was restrained, almost careful, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he went too fast. His mouth was warm, steady, patient in a way he’d never kissed you before. He wasn’t trying to win, or provoke, or dominate.
And then you kissed him back.
Jake’s restraint broke like a wave. His hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse, not pulling you closer but holding you like you were something precious.
This kiss wasn’t like the drunken, angry ones in the dark corners of parking lots or your hallway or his truck. Those had been frantic, messy, born of adrenaline and frustration and the fastest route to forgetting why you hated each other.
You kissed him back with equal parts want and disbelief.
You slid a hand up the solid line of his chest and into his hair, and Jake groaned quietly against your mouth, pulling you flush to him. He angled his head, deepening the kiss with a low sound in his throat that almost made your knees buckle.
Heat shot down your spine so fast you felt dizzy, the world narrowing to nothing but the press of Jake’s mouth and the way his fingers flexed at your waist.
He knew you too well—how you liked pressure, where you liked tension, the exact moment to ease off just enough to make you chase him.
When his tongue brushed yours in a slow, deliberate sweep, your stomach tightened hard enough that you had to brace your hand on his shoulder to keep steady. Jake responded instantly, tilting you back a fraction, kissing you deeper, slower, hotter.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing hard but steady, you kept your forehead pressed to his because pulling back felt wrong.
Jake whispered, voice rough, “Honey?”
You whispered back, breath still uneven, “Yeah?”
“That was…” He exhaled, chest rising against yours. “Wow.”
You huffed a breath of a laugh against his lips. “Shut up.”
Your pulse still wouldn’t settle. You weren’t sure it ever would around him again.
Inside the Hard Deck, the squadron had gone dead silent at the sight of you two through the back window.
Payback slowly lowered his beer, eyes huge. “What the hell—”
Phoenix slapped a hand flat on the table so hard the darts jumped. “Absolutely not! No, just no!”
Rooster pointed at the window like a man who had just witnessed a crime. “Am I have a stroke?! Someone check my pulse. I think I smell burnt toast—”
Fanboy gasped, clutching the bartop. “I feel light-headed…”
Bob, who had been quietly sipping his Coke through a paper straw, shrugged. “I mean… they’ve been hooking up for, like, six months, right?”
Every single head snapped toward him in eerie, synchronised horror.
“What?!” the table exploded.
Bob blinked at all of them, unbothered. “I thought it was obvious. Why do you think they always fight until we’ve all left the Hard Deck?”
Outside, Jake huffed a quiet laugh, his forehead still against yours. You slid your hands down, looping them loosely behind his shoulders.
“Jake?” you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth despite your best efforts. “You gonna drag me home and finish what we started?”
You meant it half as a joke, half as a challenge.
“No,” he said, voice steady in a way that made something low in your stomach tighten. “I’m gonna take you out.”
That pulled you up short. “Like a date?”
“Yeah,” he said, thumb brushing your cheekbone in a barely-there pass. “A real one. Dinner. Walking you to your door. The whole thing.” His smile deepened. “We already know we’re good together in bed. Now I get to show you I’m worth more than that.”
You blinked. “You… want to take me on a date.”
“I want to take you on a hundred,” Jake murmured. “But I figured I should start with one.”
Your chest tightened. “You’re being serious,” you said quietly.
“I’m being very serious,” Jake said, meeting your eyes without flinching. “You gave me a chance. I’m not gonna waste it.”
Something warm and helpless pulled in your chest. You pressed your forehead to Jake’s again, smiling widely.
“I guess I could get used to that,” you whispered.
SUMMARY In which, Jake discovers that he loves having his hair played with and you discover that he has an 'off' button.
CONTENT fem reader (no use of Y/N), slightly suggestive, mostly just fluff, barely edited
WC 1.5k
A/N you know the drill: another reupload from my old account. this is inspired by a Fred Weasley fic I read awhile ago and thought was very cute. please enjoy!
Jake Seresin did not know how to take care of his hair. That was just a fact, a quintessential reality that rang true no matter the circumstances. Whether it was the 12 pounds of gel he put in his hair every morning—practically slicking the strands back with a cement mixture strong enough to withstand a tornado—or the fact that he didn’t really believe in conditioner, Jake Seresin’s hair had not felt love a day in its life.
“I bought you shampoo and conditioner,” you gesture to one of the bags sitting on the kitchen island as you begin unloading food into the fridge.
Jake grabs one of the bottles, flipping open the cap and giving it an unsure sniff before looking at you questioningly. “I have shampoo and conditioner.”
“Your two-in-one abomination to society doesn't count.”
He pouts, setting the bottle down and moving to help you. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Well, everyone else does,” you pull out a bottle of orange juice from the grocery bag. “And I cannot keep defending you when they say you don’t know how to shower.”
“Who’s saying that?” Jake scoffs. “I think you’re the only person who cares this much about my hair, angel.”
“I’m the one sticking up for you,” you protest. “Even Rooster thinks he has better hair than you.”
Jake wrinkles his nose at the thought. “That’s just not true. Pretty sure I saw him scream when Phoenix accidentally put her hairbrush in his locker.”
“See,” you elongate the vowel. “You gotta have better hair than Rooster, baby.”
He plucks the bag off the counter and hands it back to you. “I already do.”
“Please, Jake?” You pout at him softly. “I just want to be able to play with your hair.”
“I already let you play with my hair,” he argues.
“Yeah, but—,” you shudder, “—it’s all crusty and gross. It’s like running your hands through dried pasta.”
Jake lets out an offended squawk. “That’s so rude. This is why I don’t agree to do these things.”
“Baby,” you ignore him, trying a different approach as you wrap your arms around his neck. “To wash your hair, you need to shower.”
He furrows his brows. “Well, yeah angel, that’s kinda how it works.”
“And I wouldn’t want to shower with my clothes on.”
“Oh—Oh!” His eyes light up in realization. “You know, I’ve thought about it and I think you’re right. My hair could use a wash. So could your hair actually. And your boobs, now that I’m really thinking about it. And—,”
“Jake!” You let out a laugh, securing your grip on the grocery bag and making your way to the bathroom.
You don’t even have to look behind you to know that Jake is following you.
“There’s something different about Hangman.”
You turn to look at Penny, who’s sitting in a lawn chair close to your towel, watching the group of aviators who have begun a game of dogfight football.
“What do you mean?” You lift your sunglasses up to get a better look at your boyfriend.
“I don’t know…” Penny trails off. “He just looks—,”
“Oh!” You turn to her excitedly. “It’s his hair.”
“Yes, that’s what it is! It’s his hair.”
“Yeah,” you set your sunglasses back on the bridge of your nose, now feeling a smidge more proud of yourself. “I switched up his hair care routine.”
Penny laughs. “That bad, huh?”
Before you can tell her just how bad it was, Jake lets out a loud holler to grab your attention.
“Babe! Will you grab my shirt?”
The brief eclipse of clouds had passed, meaning the sun is beating down relentlessly and you yourself are grateful for the umbrella Jake had set up for you before he joined the rest of the group. You move to grab his shirt, shooting Maverick a smile as he jogs over to seemingly sneak off with Penny, getting up and making your way over to Jake.
“Seriously?” He gives you a look, holding up the light gray shirt—though now it’s more dark gray, you forgot you used it to dry off your hair after your dip in the ocean.
“Oh, did I accidentally use your shirt to dry my hair?” You look at him innocently. “My bad. I guess you’ll just have to walk around without a shirt. What a shame…”
Jake freezes, processing your words with a blink. “What are you doing?” He questions you slowly. “I’m the one who’s supposed to do things to try and get you naked, not you. Take it back.”
He lunges at you when you shake your head, only just missing you as you exclaim, “Jake Seresin, I wanna see your rippling pectorals every day of my life!”
“No, stop it!” Jake tries—and fails—to hold back his laugh. “And don’t say pectorals. What is wrong with you?”
You can’t hold back your giggles as you take off down the beach, Jake’s thundering steps sounding off behind you. You make it back to your towel before he catches up to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and setting you on your towel before falling on top of you. You let out a soft grunt, but relax as he makes himself more comfortable on your chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Jake lifts his head to look at you.
“How dare you objectify me like that,” he teases you.
“What do you mean?” You laugh quietly, happily threading your fingers through his now much softer hair. “Am I not allowed to love up on you?”
“I can think of other ways we can love up—Mmm.”
Your hands fumble in his hair and you look down at Jake in startled surprise. He hardly notices, his eyes closed in satisfaction. If Jake is anything, he’s a menace. For him to stop mid-innuendo? It’s unheard of. Testingly, you wrap a finger around a strand of his hair and pull it softly. He makes the noise again.
“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You do have an off button.”
If Jake’s aware of your teasing, he doesn’t react—yet another thing that Jake does not do—instead letting out a soft sigh as you scratch his scalp. You bite back a smile at the way his grip tightens on your waist, eyes closed and features looking so content as the only sounds that fall from his lips are soft noises of enjoyment. You hardly notice Rooster coming over to the two of you, Phoenix and Bob not far behind him.
“Did losing to our team really tire you out, Hangman?” Rooster teases and you feel slightly embarrassed at the intimate position they’ve all found you in, but no one else seems to mind—least of all Jake.
“Don’t know why you’re bragging about being faster on the ground than in—,”
Your fingers scratch lightly on his scalp as he moves to get up and Jake practically melts right into you again.
Rooster raises his eyebrows in surprise and you understand his alarm. Starting shit with Bradley is Jake’s favorite pastime. “What?”
“I said you’re fucking slow—,” To further test your hypothesis, you move your fingers to muscles of his neck, massaging them softly. Almost immediately, Jake’s face lights up in a blissful smile, whatever insult he was attempting to hurl at Rooster forgotten.
“What’s wrong with him? Phoenix whispers loudly to Bob and the WSO shrugs lightly in his own version of shock.
Rooster looks at you accusingly. “Did you tranquilize him?”
You raise your eyebrows at him.
“Leave my girl alone, Bradshaw,” Jake grumbles from on top of you. “It’s not her fault you have the voice of a ban—Mmm.”
His last word—banshee you assumed—gets lost in a soft hum as the pads of your fingers move to his temples.
Phoenix almost looks in awe of you. “Can we take you everywhere we have to be with him?”
You let out a soft laugh at the way Bob hastily nods next to her, Jake’s grip tightening around your waist.
“I agree. You should be with me all the time and never be away from me ever.”
“Okay, I’m gonna be sick,” Rooster lets out a melodramatic gag, turning to head back to the beach and away from whatever has happened to his sort-of-rival-sort-of-friend. “But thank you for your service, you’re stronger than the Marines.”
You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully at his antics, but when Jake looks up suddenly, eyes full of enamored love for you, suddenly everything else fades into irrelevance.
“See how nice it is when you take care of your hair?” You tease him softly.
Jake only smiles in agreement. “‘S nice.”
Then he’s relaxing back on your chest, closing his eyes as the shade of the umbrella, the sounds of the ocean, and your hands in his hair lull him. It’s quiet for a moment—long enough for you to think he might have fallen asleep.
“I have better hair than Rooster, right?”
Wrapping one of your fingers around another blond strand, you smile. “You have the best hair, baby.”
please don't copy, repost, or feed my work into ai, thanks!
Summary: When Jake Seresin realizes he’s in love with his best friend—you—he does what any emotionally repressed Navy pilot might do: sets you up with other guys instead. But after three bad dates, a paper airplane, and one squad-intervention later, Jake finally stops playing Cupid—and starts being honest.
Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader
Word count: 13.6k
A/N: This was in fact loosely inspired by “10 things i hate about you” but it was also inspired by this one book i read a very long time ago that kinda had the same vibe, not sure what the name was it was at least 5-6 years ago but i still think about it sometimes 💔 also omg?? i think this is the longest thing i’ve ever written! just a disclaimer this was written almost 2 months ago, it was apart of my test subjects before i released “honor & duty”. ALSO MIGHT LOWK MAKE A HANGMAN MULTIVERSE TOO??
Warnings: Second person POV, slow burn, mutual pining, slight sa scene (just a bit of inappropriate touching), jealousy, bad date scenarios (including one with a taken guy), light swearing, emotional tension, one knee-drop romantic gesture, meddling squad behavior, and one very flustered Hangman trying his best.
pt 2
There were a few things you’d come to accept as non-negotiable truths during your time at Top Gun:
Coffee tasted best when stolen from Rooster’s thermos.
Phoenix and Fanboy would always argue like siblings during preflight.
And Jake Seresin—Hangman himself—couldn’t mind his own damn business to save his life.
You were midway through a morning briefing, half-listening to Cyclone run through upcoming mission simulations, when Jake leaned over just enough to whisper out of the side of his mouth.
“You know, I heard Supply Guy is single again.”
You didn’t even turn your head. “And I heard you should shut up before Cyclone catches you talking.”
Jake grinned, unbothered. “Just trying to help. I’d hate for your roster to run dry.”
You gave him a side-glare sharp enough to slice steel.
Across the room, Phoenix stifled a laugh.
The air in the briefing room was its usual mix of cold coffee, jet fuel, and pure, unfiltered sarcasm. Jake Seresin lounged in a rolling chair near you, boots kicked up onto the empty seat beside him, arms crossed over his chest like he hadn’t a care in the world. His sunglasses were still on. Inside. Because, of course, they were.
“Y’know, Hangman,” Rooster drawled from the front row, “it’s called a briefing. You’re supposed to look at the screen, not just bask in your own reflection.”
Jake tipped his sunglasses down just enough to make eye contact. “I multitask.”
“You can’t spell ‘team’ without ‘me’,” Fanboy muttered, not even looking up from the protein bar he was dissecting with a spork.
“Not how spelling works,” Payback shot back, smirking.
In front of him, you were half-paying attention, flipping through a file with one ear tuned into the mission rundown and the other eavesdropping on the squad’s banter. Bob sat next to you, pressed shoulder to shoulder like always, posture straight and focused—but when Hangman piped up again, you felt Bob shift subtly beside you, like he was biting back a grin.
“Some of us,” Jake said, lifting his voice just a little, “don’t need to memorize the brief. We are the plan.”
“You are insufferable,” Phoenix replied flatly, finally turning toward him with a look that could’ve knocked a lesser man on his ass.
“Didn’t hear a no,” Jake replied with a wink.
Coyote groaned. “I swear to god, if this is how today’s going to go…”
It was how today was going to go.
You’d all been grounded the past week for maintenance drills and mission prep, so the tension in the squad was ramping up like coiled wire. Too much time on the ground made everyone itchy. Especially pilots.
By the time the briefing was about to end, you were already winding down from the tactical talk, scribbling a note in your logbook. Bob leaned toward you, voice quiet.
“You flying lead today?”
You nodded. “Rooster’s wing, but I’ve got lead. Try not to make me look bad.”
His smile was small but genuine. “You could fly solo and still make us all look bad.”
“Flattery gets you… nothing,” you teased, “Except maybe some snacks in the ready room.”
Bob’s face lit up like you’d just promised him classified intel and a hug.
-
Cyclone dismissed you all fifteen minutes later, and as you filed out into the hallway, Jake was still going.
“I’m just saying, I’ve got a gift. A sixth sense for chemistry.”
“That’s a choice,” Jake shot back, fixing the collar of his flight suit. “I’m out here doing the Lord’s work. Playing Cupid.”
Fanboy groaned. “God, not this again.”
“You don’t even believe in monogamy,” Phoenix said, crossing her arms as she walked backward in front of you all.
“I believe in giving people a little push,” Jake replied. “Like matchmaking. Strategically. For morale.”
“Since when do you care about morale?” Coyote snorted.
Jake pointed at you. “Since she’s been moping around base like she lost a bet.”
“I haven’t been moping,” you argued, though you knew exactly what he was referencing. One shitty date with a comms officer and suddenly Hangman was acting like he needed to fix your whole life.
“You’ve been quiet,” Bob added from your other side, his tone gentle. “Quieter than usual.”
“I’m allowed to have quiet days.”
Jake leaned in again, smirking. “Or maybe you just need someone to make some noise in your life.”
Phoenix punched his arm. “Back off, Casanova.”
-
The pre-flight was smooth. You were zipping up your G-suit when Jake wandered over to your jet, dragging Coyote along like an accessory.
“Need help strapping in, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning against the wing like a car salesman trying too hard.
You gave him a flat look. “Only if you want a wrench to the temple.”
Coyote snorted.
“I was just saying,” Jake continued, completely undeterred, “you’re the picture of confidence. Someone should be here to appreciate it.”
“Jake,” Bob called from a few feet away, arms crossed as he leaned against your jet’s ladder. “You hit on her one more time and the plane might spontaneously combust just to escape the cringe.”
“Ohhh,” Rooster added as he approached, dragging his helmet in one hand. “Burned by Baby on Board. Rough morning for you, Seresin.”
Jake grinned lazily. “Hey, you all mock now, but when I’m the best man at her wedding? You’ll wish you were as charming.”
You raised a brow. “You volunteering?”
“Best man? Groom? I’m flexible.”
You groaned. Bob muttered under his breath, “Flexible like your ego.”
-
You all made your way toward the flight deck, helmets in hand, the morning sun bouncing off the tarmac. The simulation was in forty-five minutes, and you were itching to get in the air—partially because it was the one place where Jake couldn’t talk your ear off.
The air was different on base lately.
It wasn’t just the hotter-than-usual summer, or the fact that everyone had started sneaking ice pops from the freezer in the officer’s lounge. There was something else. A shift.
Everyone was restless. The mission load had eased slightly, giving you all more downtime. And when Top Gun pilots had too much downtime? Stupid things happened.
Betting pools. Pranks. Unnecessary competitions.
And, in this case: matchmaking.
Jake’s obsession had started as a joke—something he said after your third bad date in two months. But now, it was gaining momentum. He’d already made one match between a junior lieutenant and a flight mechanic (they’d gone on two coffee dates and then ghosted each other, but Jake claimed it was a success). And now, unfortunately, you were in his line of fire.
But what you didn’t know—what none of you knew—was that the boys had made a bet.
It started that night. A few hours after debrief, Rooster invited the squad over for drinks and poker.
-
Rooster’s house smelled like beer and leftover pizza, and Jake was already two whiskeys in when the idea started forming.
“Admit it,” he said, shuffling cards with a flourish. “I could get her a date that lasts longer than a week.”
“You think you could find her the right guy?” Fanboy asked, incredulous. “You’re the worst person to set anyone up.”
“I have charm.”
“You have trauma,” Payback muttered.
Jake smirked, unfazed. “I’m serious. She’s just… picky. And I know her type.”
Coyote raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s her type?”
Jake sipped his drink. “Someone with a sense of humor. Smart, but not arrogant. Good with their hands. Probably someone in uniform.”
“So… you,” Rooster said dryly.
Everyone laughed.
Jake rolled his eyes. “No. She’d hate dating me.”
“You sure?” Bob asked quietly, brows lifted.
Jake hesitated. “Yeah. She’d kill me before the first appetizer.”
“Let’s make it interesting,” Fanboy said, leaning forward. “Twenty bucks each. You pick someone—set her up. If it lasts more than five dates, you win. If not? We keep the cash.”
“Make it fifty,” Jake challenged.
The boys stared at him.
“Confident much?” Coyote said.
Jake shrugged. “She’s my friend. I know what she needs.”
The pot grew to $300. Jake grinned.
-
You had no idea what you’d just become the center of.
But the next morning, when Jake asked casually if you’d ever considered dating that guy from supply again, you should’ve known something was up.
The next morning broke clear and sharp over the base, the sun spilling golden through the narrow slats of your blinds. You were still half tangled in the remnants of a restless sleep when your phone buzzed with a text.
Jake: “Hey. So… you ever thought about dating supply?”
You blinked, sitting up, the question feeling more like a prank than a genuine suggestion. Jake Seresin, your self-appointed Cupid, was already in full swing.
You typed back with a dry smile:
You: “You’re starting early.”
-
The squad gathered for the morning briefing in the usual cramped room, the air thick with anticipation and the faint smell of burnt coffee. Cyclone was rattling off last-minute mission details when Jake sidled up next to you again, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.
The morning sun had barely crept above the hangar roof when the squad gathered for the day’s briefing. The cramped room hummed with quiet anticipation, punctuated by the rustle of flight suits and the faint buzz of comm chatter filtering through the air vents. Cyclone’s voice was all business, drilling through the mission simulation details like a machine.
But no one was really paying full attention—not you, and certainly not Jake Seresin.
Leaning against the wall beside you, Jake’s eyes gleamed with that familiar spark of mischief. “Alright, today’s the day,” he whispered, a grin tugging at his lips. “My matchmaking game is officially live.”
You rolled your eyes but fought a smile. Jake had been on this ridiculous kick since last night at Rooster’s, practically bursting with excitement over the stupid bet with the boys. You weren’t sure whether to be amused or mildly concerned.
“Seriously, dude, give it a rest,” you muttered, but he just shrugged and turned back to the briefing.
-
Once dismissed, the squad filtered out toward their jets, the metallic clang of helmets and gear blending with the distant roar of engines warming up. The familiar adrenaline spike coursed through your veins as you slid into your cockpit, fingers expertly running over the controls. Flying was always your sanctuary—the one place where Jake’s antics faded into white noise.
That was until your comm crackled with Rooster’s voice, thick with mock warning. “Hey, Hangman, keep your eyes on your wingman today. No matchmaking during maneuvers. We’ve got enough chaos as it is.”
Jake’s tone answered back, playful and teasing, “I’m just out here doing the Lord’s work. Somebody’s gotta fix this mess.”
You chuckled softly, settling into formation as the jets lifted off in perfect synchrony. The sky was a crystal blue canvas, the sun gleaming on your visor as you sliced through the air.
Flying helped.
Whatever chaos lingered on the ground got swept away the moment you lifted off. You and Rooster made clean turns, slicing through the California sky like it owed you something. Over comms, you could hear the easy banter between Payback and Fanboy, the static-muted smirks between Phoenix and Bob.
Jake, of course, never stopped talking.
“Hey, Bagman,” Phoenix called out mid-loop. “You miss basic training where they teach you how to shut up?”
“You love it,” he fired back.
“I’d love silence.”
“Don’t lie to yourself.”
It was all clockwork—banter, barrel rolls, and bullshit. But it was in the rhythm, in the instinctive trust that came from knowing every one of them would be there when it counted, that you found your balance.
You didn’t realize you were smiling until Bob’s voice came over the comm.
“You’re humming.”
“Shut up, Bob.”
“You’re humming over the intercom. I think that’s a first.”
Jake’s voice cut in, “She’s humming because I’m inspiring.”
Bob immediately: “I’m ejecting.”
-
Back on the ground after a flawless simulation, the squad dispersed toward the mess hall in a slow, hungry shuffle. The air was thick with post-flight energy—half adrenaline, half exhaustion—and someone behind you (probably Rooster) was humming the Top Gun anthem under his breath like he did after every mission.
You were barely through the door, already scoping out whether the snack bar had restocked the decent granola bars, when Jake popped up beside you like a damn prairie dog.
“Hey,” he said, voice pitched low, too casual to actually be casual.
You side-eyed him. “What now?”
He hesitated. That alone was enough to make you stop walking.
Jake Seresin? Hesitating? That was new.
He rubbed the back of his neck, expression a strange mix of nerves and smug determination. Like a kid about to admit they broke a window and that it was totally worth it.
“You remember the supply officer? The one from last week?”
You frowned. “Yeah. What about him?”
Jake cleared his throat. “Well… I might’ve, uh, invited him out for dinner. As part of my… project.”
You blinked. “Project?”
“Matchmaking,” he said, like duh. “Obviously.”
You laughed. Loud enough that two airmen passing by looked over.
“Jake, you can’t just ‘invite’ people for dates like it’s a mandatory training exercise.”
He shrugged, attempting nonchalance but failing miserably. “It’s not an official date. Just… a social outing. A vibe check.”
“A vibe check?”
“I figured I’d do some of the heavy lifting,” he continued, walking beside you now as you made your way toward the salad bar. “Save you the trouble of awkward small talk. If it’s a bust, you can blame me. If it works, you’re welcome.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You do realize this is borderline insane?”
“Borderline charming,” he corrected.
“Borderline manipulative.”
“Potato, po-tah-to,” he said, waving a hand.
You stopped at the drink cooler, opening the door with more force than necessary. “Let me get this straight. You, without telling me, set me up with someone I barely know, because you think you know better?”
Jake looked smug. “Yeah. And you’re gonna love it.”
Before you could respond—probably with something that would’ve gotten you written up—Phoenix slid between you both like she’d been waiting for the right moment to intervene.
“You owe me five bucks,” she said to Jake, grabbing a Gatorade from the cooler behind you.
Jake’s smile faltered. “You bet on this?”
“Obviously.” She winked at you. “I said you’d go off on him the second he opened his matchmaking mouth.”
You glared at them both. “This entire squad is feral.”
Fanboy appeared from behind the soda machine, his tray already stacked with two grilled cheese sandwiches and a mountain of fries. “Hey, are we still on for movie night?”
“Depends,” you muttered, eyeing Jake. “Is it a movie I pick, or one Hangman picks based on who he’s trying to set me up with?”
“Ouch,” Jake said, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”
“She’s got a point,” Coyote added, showing up just in time to steal a fry off Fanboy’s tray. “You’re making this personal crusade way too obvious.”
Jake’s eyes flicked to you for a second. “It’s not personal. I just think she deserves someone solid.”
“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said, sipping her drink like she wasn’t starting a fire with every word. “And definitely not you.”
He grinned, sharp and defensive. “Exactly.”
You narrowed your eyes.
You weren’t blind. You’d known Jake for years—flown with him, fought with him, gotten blackout drunk with him during Coyote’s infamous Vegas birthday weekend. You knew what he looked like when he was bluffing.
And this?
This was a bluff. One he’d doubled down on way too hard to back out of now.
“Fine,” you said slowly, popping the lid on your water bottle. “I’ll go. One dinner. But if this guy’s weird or tries to tell me about his crypto portfolio, I’m blaming you.”
Jake grinned like he’d won something. “Deal.”
Phoenix shook her head as she walked off. “You’re playing with fire, Hangman.”
Jake called after her. “Lucky for me, I like the burn.”
-
Movie night started like they all did—overcrowded, under-supplied, and dangerously close to devolving into chaos.
Rooster was balancing a tangled knot of wires in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other, muttering something about HDMI adapters and “government-issued bullshit tech.” His ancient projector—the one that had survived deployments, sandstorms, and one very unfortunate encounter with tequila in San Diego—was propped up on two old aviation textbooks and a can of Pringles.
Fanboy arrived ten minutes late and unapologetically smug, cradling a six-pack of Dr. Pepper like it was a rare treasure. “Don’t worry,” he declared loudly, “I saved movie night. Again.”
“No one asked you to,” Phoenix called from where she was elbow-deep in a duffel bag looking for her Captain America fleece blanket.
“Democracy asked me to,” Fanboy retorted. “You’re welcome.”
Bob, sweet dependable Bob, came bearing the only thing anyone actually appreciated—cookies. His sister in Lemoore had mailed him two Tupperware containers filled with snickerdoodles, peanut butter blondies, and something suspiciously green that no one questioned. The second the plastic lids came off, the room collectively moaned like it had just been released from purgatory.
Jake, of course, brought nothing but opinions. And himself. Both in equally large supply.
“Who voted for Hot Fuzz?” he asked, hands on his hips like an outraged PTA mom.
“Me,” you said flatly.
“And me,” Bob added, already curled into the arm of the couch with a cookie in hand, quietly smug.
Jake turned toward you like you’d personally betrayed him. “We could’ve watched John Wick, and you went with British satire?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, completely unapologetic. “Are you anti-cornetto trilogy?”
Jake blinked. “I’m anti-being-bored.”
“Then maybe don’t bring the same six stories about your exes to every hangout,” Phoenix muttered.
“Rude,” Jake replied, not denying it.
The lights dimmed. Rooster finally got the projector to cast a halfway decent image against the white wall, and Payback threw a sock at him when the subtitles didn’t match the audio. Someone screamed “SHOTGUN!” for the beanbag chair that had mysteriously migrated from Coyote’s room. Popcorn flew. The floor space vanished in seconds.
You wound up sprawled beside Bob, your back against a floor cushion that may or may not have once belonged to Hangman before it got appropriated during a game night standoff. Your sock-clad toes brushed against Bob’s shin; he didn’t even flinch, just nudged a peanut butter blondie toward you in a wordless offer.
You took it.
Coyote wandered in halfway through the opening credits carrying two slices of pizza stacked on top of each other, looked at the chaos in the room, and just sighed. “This is why we don’t have nice things.”
“You’re just mad I got the last slice of Hawaiian,” Fanboy sang from the corner.
“We talked about pineapple on pizza,” Coyote said darkly.
Meanwhile, the movie hit its stride—quick edits, dramatic zooms, jokes that landed even harder because everyone in the room had already memorized the lines.
“Point Break or Bad Boys II?” Jake called out in his best Nick Frost impression.
“Which one do you think I’ll prefer?” Rooster responded instantly from across the room, already grinning.
Payback lobbed popcorn at them both. “If y’all quote this whole damn movie, I’m leaving.”
“You say that every week,” Phoenix said, rolling her eyes. “And then you fall asleep halfway through with your mouth open.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
Jake flopped onto the arm of the couch behind you, like gravity had simply decided that spot belonged to him. His knee brushed your shoulder, lingering a second longer than necessary, and you didn’t shift away.
“You good?” he asked, voice pitched low so the others wouldn’t hear.
You tilted your head back, craning to look at him upside-down. “Define good.”
His lips twitched. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
You hummed. “Depends.”
“On?”
You gave him a saccharine smile. “Whether this guy turns out to be a serial killer.”
Jake laughed, and it was real—low and sheepish. “He’s not. I promise. He’s a little weird, maybe. But not murder-y.”
“Solid endorsement.”
“You asked me to look out for you,” he said, still smiling, but there was something beneath it—something quieter. “That’s what I’m doing.”
You stared at him, upside-down still, and for just a second the playful banter faded into something else. Something more loaded.
Your gaze held his for a second too long. Then you looked away, your neck aching a little from the angle. You shifted your weight back into the couch cushion.
“Just don’t make this a habit,” you muttered.
Jake didn’t answer right away. You felt him move behind you—his elbow brushing the back of your hair as he leaned forward slightly.
“Would it be so bad if I did?”
The question hung in the air.
It wasn’t flirtatious, not really. There wasn’t that usual drawl to it. He wasn’t playing this time. There was no smirk. No teasing. Just… curiosity. And something softer underneath it that he probably didn’t even realize had slipped through.
You glanced at him again, your expression unreadable. And for the first time, Jake actually looked unsure.
Before either of you could say anything else, Coyote and Phoenix started arguing across the room about whether or not Nicholas Angel—Simon Pegg’s character—was technically the villain of the movie.
“I’m just saying,” Phoenix started, “he ruins everyone’s fun.”
“By solving murders,” Coyote countered.
“You can’t prove Timothy Dalton didn’t have a point!”
You let their voices fill the room. Let the squad’s laughter and the chaos and the comfort of familiarity drown out the tension curling low in your chest.
Because the truth?
You didn’t hate the attention. You didn’t hate the way Jake always checked in, or the way he always saved you a spot without saying anything, or how he laughed harder when you were around. You didn’t hate any of it.
You just didn’t want to think too hard about why it mattered that it came from him.
Not yet.
-
The next morning arrived with zero fanfare and a whole lot of regret.
Not regret over anything you had done, but regret in the shape of Jake Seresin’s smirking face as he leaned against the edge of the table in the mess hall, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t just offered you up like tribute the night before.
“So,” he said, drawing the word out, “you excited?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, halfway through your oatmeal. “Excited for what?”
Jake blinked, all innocence. “Tonight. Dinner. Supply officer.”
Fanboy perked up from across the table. “Wait. You’re going out with the walking spreadsheet?”
Rooster choked on his juice. “The one who alphabetizes the peanut butter?”
You gave Jake a look that could have melted steel. “You told everyone?”
Jake had the audacity to look affronted. “I didn’t tell them. I just—mentioned it.”
Phoenix leaned in, grinning like she smelled blood in the water. “Did you also mention that she was strong-armed into this by you?”
Jake shrugged. “It’s not coercion. It’s encouragement.”
“Encouragement usually involves enthusiasm,” you muttered. “Not bribery and peer pressure.”
“I didn’t bribe you.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘If you go, I’ll never bring up that time you accidentally FaceTimed me from the bath again.’”
Fanboy nearly spit out his coffee. “What?”
Jake held up his hands. “Not what it sounds like.”
You stood, grabbing your tray and ignoring the stares. “You’re all children.”
Phoenix cackled. “Be sure to send us a group text if he turns out to be a taxidermist.”
Jake called after you, “He’s a very normal guy! You’ll have a great time!”
You didn’t respond. But you did flip him off on your way out of the mess.
-
It was 7:00pm sharp when you arrived at the seafood place Jake had suggested—off-base, casual enough to avoid dress uniforms but nice enough to warrant eyeliner. The place had string lights, polished wood tables, and the kind of menu where everything came with a “reduction” of something or other.
You spotted your date—Mike, the supply officer—before he spotted you. He was seated in a booth, already halfway through a glass of water, his posture too perfect and his shirt just a little too tucked-in.
“Hey,” you said as you slid into the seat across from him.
His face lit up with the same earnest enthusiasm he’d had when you’d signed for your new flight gloves last week. “Hi! You made it!”
You smiled politely. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
Conversation started off… fine.
He asked about your squadron, complimented your call sign (which he’d mispronounced twice), and talked about how he’d minored in aviation logistics at Purdue. He had a laugh that was technically charming, and a habit of straightening the salt shaker every time he leaned forward.
He wasn’t creepy. Or mean. Or even weird, really.
But the longer you sat across from him, the more glaringly obvious it became that this was not going to be the beginning of anything remotely romantic.
Your brain betrayed you somewhere between the appetizers and the main course. Because all you could think about was Jake.
Jake, who never sat that straight. Jake, who never got through a meal without sharing food off someone else’s plate. Jake, who once made up a fake call sign for Rooster just to mess with a group of visiting officers (“It’s ‘Cockadoodle-Doom,’ sir, and he earned it.”).
Jake, who had set you up on this date. Who had pushed you toward it with that easy smile and the kind of confidence that only someone with absolutely no self-awareness could manage.
“So,” Mike said, snapping you out of your daze, “are you into board games?”
You blinked. “Board games?”
“Yeah. I host a game night sometimes. We do Settlers of Catan and Terraforming Mars. I’ve got an expansion pack for Wingspan that adds European birds.”
You took a sip of your drink. “That’s… specific.”
Mike grinned. “You’d like it. You seem like someone who appreciates rules.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not usually what people say about me.”
He looked slightly panicked. “I meant—like… structure. Not in a bad way!”
You laughed once, politely. Then glanced at the time on your phone.
Still forty minutes to go, if you were being generous.
-
Back on base, Jake was restless.
Bob watched him pace from the armchair, where he was trying to read. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the rug.”
Jake ignored him, turning toward the window like he could somehow see the restaurant from there. “You think she’s having fun?”
Bob didn’t look up. “You mean the girl you tried to pawn off like an Amazon package?”
“I didn’t pawn her off.”
“You did. It was weird. You should’ve just asked her out yourself.”
Jake froze. “I don’t— That’s not what this is.”
Bob finally looked up. “Isn’t it?”
Jake didn’t answer.
Didn’t have one, honestly.
-
By the time you made it back to your place, you were tired in a way that had nothing to do with your day. Mike had walked you to your car like a gentleman and given you a hug that lasted half a second too long.
“You’re really cool,” he’d said earnestly, eyes hopeful.
You’d smiled and thanked him.
And then you’d sat in your car for five full minutes, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, wondering what the hell you were doing.
Your phone buzzed.
Jake: “So… still alive? Didn’t join a cult?”
You stared at it. Debated. Then typed back:
You: “Barely. He asked if I wanted to see his board game collection.”
Jake’s reply came instantly.
Jake: “That sounds like a euphemism.”
You: “It wasn’t.”
Jake: “That somehow makes it worse.”
You smiled in spite of yourself. Tossed your phone onto the passenger seat beside you. The night was still. Quiet.
And the only thing louder than the silence was the thought you’d been trying to avoid since the moment Jake first brought this whole “project” up.
Why was he so interested in trying to get you to date?
And why was HE of all people on your mind all of a sudden?
-
The squad didn’t do boredom well.
Two days after movie night and that god awful date, Phoenix convinced half of you to join a beach volleyball tournament on base. You weren’t even sure how it had been sanctioned—maybe the C.O. was just as restless as the rest of you—but suddenly there were nets set up just past the tarmac, and someone had roped off court boundaries with neon cones and caution tape.
You showed up in gym shorts and a tank top, hair pulled back and sunscreen barely rubbed in. Bob handed you a water bottle as you arrived, his cheeks pink from the heat despite the early hour.
“Phoenix and Rooster already claimed each other,” he said. “So I guess you’re stuck with me.”
“Poor thing,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.
He just smiled—calm, steady Bob—and tugged his cap lower against the sun. You loved flying with him. Loved hanging out with him. Sometimes you thought maybe you loved everything about Bob, full stop.
Fanboy was the one who brought the speaker. Of course. He queued up a playlist titled “Top Gun Top Hits” that had everything from Kenny Loggins to Doja Cat. By the time the first game started, Rooster was dancing between points and Phoenix had already spiked a serve into Hangman’s chest.
“That one was for your ego,” she said, tossing the ball back over the net.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” Jake shot back.
You and Bob held your own, surprisingly enough. You weren’t flashy, but you had good instincts. And Bob was sneaky—he didn’t talk much during games, but he always seemed to know where to be.
“Okay, that was kind of hot,” you admitted after he dove for a save and landed in the sand.
He just looked up at you, winded and flushed. “You like that?”
You did. Too much. And maybe Jake noticed, because suddenly he was rotating in as your opponent with a little too much enthusiasm.
Afterward, you collapsed on a towel with Phoenix, both of you gulping water and yelling at Coyote for eating all the orange slices.
“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Phoenix muttered.
“Yeah, well, next time bring more,” he shot back, mouth full.
By late afternoon, the squad scattered—some toward the showers, some to grab food, and Jake? Jake lingered.
“You’re free tomorrow night, right?” he asked, nudging your foot with his.
You narrowed your eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just… remember that avionics tech from the hangar? The one with the buzz cut and the arm tattoo?”
“The one who said Star Wars is overrated?”
Jake winced. “Okay, so he’s not perfect. But he’s free. And I figured—just a quick drink. Harmless.”
You groaned. “Why are you like this?”
“It’s for morale,” he said smugly, already walking backward toward the barracks. “And entertainment.”
-
The bar was dim and vaguely sticky, tucked into a side street just outside the base gates. It smelled like old beer and buffalo sauce, the kind of place that tried to pass itself off as “divey” in a charming way but never quite nailed the charm. Off-duty personnel clustered at the high tables, uniforms swapped out for jeans and team shirts, most pretending not to watch the pilots coming and going like it wasn’t their entertainment for the night. Country music played over the speakers—loud but not loud enough to cover the clink of bottles and the low buzz of half-drunken conversations.
Trevor—aka Buzz Cut Guy—was already seated at a corner booth when you walked in. You spotted him instantly. Tight black t-shirt, designer watch, one leg sprawled out too far into the walkway like he wanted people to trip over him. His cologne hit you before his smile did: something aggressively masculine, the kind of scent that tried too hard to say I lift without any actual lifting.
He stood when you approached, teeth flashing in a grin that felt more practiced than warm. “You must be Jake’s friend,” he said, sliding a hand across the table and pulling out your chair with the sort of flair that implied he’d rehearsed it.
“He said you’d probably try to bail.”
You raised a brow, pausing halfway into the seat. “That’s a weird opener.”
Trevor chuckled like that was somehow endearing. “Just messing. I’m good at reading people.”
You doubted that.
Still, you sat. Mostly because you didn’t want to give Jake the satisfaction of knowing you almost turned around and left the second you saw that buzzcut and smug expression in person.
“Figured I’d keep it casual tonight,” Trevor said, nodding to the waitress as she came over. “Can I get you something? Beer, wine, appletini?”
You blinked. “I’ll just take a ginger ale, thanks.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No alcohol? That’s cute.”
Your jaw clenched. “Or maybe I just have early drills tomorrow and don’t want to show up hungover. Wild, I know.”
Trevor shrugged, unbothered. “Your call. I’m off tomorrow. I usually am. Perks of being indispensable.”
Oh boy.
It only got worse.
Trevor was, admittedly, attractive in the technical sense. Broad shoulders, straight teeth, a tattoo of what looked like a circuit board wrapping around his bicep—but every sentence out of his mouth made you question how many brain cells it took to put on deodorant in the morning.
“I’m kind of a genius with electronics,” he said, not even a full five minutes into the conversation. “Like, borderline savant. I rewired my mom’s entire security system when I was sixteen. She still doesn’t know how I did it.”
You nodded slowly, sipping your ginger ale like it was spiked with the patience of a saint. “Impressive.”
“I don’t get why people worship Maverick, honestly,” he continued, tipping his beer toward you like you’d agree. “Bit of a burnout vibe, don’t you think? Washed up. Always breaking the rules.”
You blinked. “You do realize everyone in my squad reports to him, right?”
He waved that off. “Yeah, but come on. You really think he’s still got it? Dude’s a relic.”
You forced a smile, digging your nails into the underside of the table. “So what made you join avionics if you’re such a prodigy?”
“I could totally be a pilot if I wanted. I just don’t want to deal with all the bullshit training. So much red tape, man. You guys live in the cockpit, but I live in reality.”
It was almost impressive—how quickly someone could become more unbearable with every word. You found yourself cataloging the signs like a checklist: talks over you, check. Makes his job sound harder than yours, check. Thinks The Matrix was “based on real science,” check.
“Oh, and don’t get me started on women who fly. No offense,” he said, glancing at you with that same fake grin. “Just seems like a tough gig. Like, do they even make helmets that small?”
You blinked. Slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Kidding,” he said quickly, hands up. “Joking. Lighten up.”
You had lasted thirty-seven minutes. You decided to be generous and make it to forty. Not because he deserved it, but because walking out before the forty-minute mark would just give Jake ammo to say I told you so.
You nursed your ginger ale. You let him talk. You imagined throwing his phone into the jukebox. And finally—finally—you stood.
“Well,” you said, pushing your chair back with a polite smile that barely masked the storm brewing in your chest. “This has been… something.”
Trevor stood too, reaching for your hand like he thought this was going well. “This was nice. Maybe next time you let me pick the music. Jake says you like weird stuff.”
You pulled your hand back. “Jake’s never heard me complain about music.”
Trevor blinked. “You sure? He said—”
“I’m sure,” you said firmly, already turning for the door. “Thanks for the ginger ale.”
The second you stepped outside into the cool night air, you exhaled like you’d just surfaced from a dive. Your boots hit the sidewalk harder than necessary as you made your way toward the parking lot, fingers already curled around your phone.
Jake 🙄
So??
You stared at the text. A dozen responses came to mind, ranging from sarcastic to profane, but you settled for closing your phone without replying. Not yet.
Let him sweat.
-
It was the kind of late afternoon where everyone lingered in the hangar instead of showering—half still suited up, half in undershirts, flopped on crates or leaning against the wing of Rooster’s F/A-18. No one had the energy to leave yet, and unfortunately for you, that gave them plenty of energy to gossip.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Phoenix said, cracking open a water bottle and tossing another one at you. “That bad?”
You caught it with one hand and gave her a look. “It wasn’t good.”
“Oh, do tell,” Fanboy said, perking up immediately. “We’ve been waiting for the post-mortem.”
Jake, of course, chose that moment to walk in, sunglasses still on despite being indoors and half the sunlight gone. “Here we go,” he muttered, under his breath but not low enough to go unheard.
You ignored him and sat on an ammo crate. “Okay, well. His cologne could’ve killed a small animal.”
Coyote winced. “Yikes.”
“Buzzcut Guy didn’t pass the vibe check?” Rooster asked, adjusting his backwards cap. “I thought Jake said he was ‘normal enough to survive a night with her.’”
You turned slowly. “He said that?”
Jake held up his hands. “In my defense, I said it in confidence to Rooster.”
Phoenix raised her brows. “So you knew he was questionable and still sent her out there?”
“I didn’t know he was that questionable!” Jake protested, finally removing his sunglasses and hooking them onto his collar. “I mean—how bad could it have been?”
You looked at him flatly. “He said, and I quote, ‘Do they even make helmets that small for female pilots?’”
There was a beat of silence. Then—
“Noooooo,” Payback said, wheezing.
Fanboy doubled over like he’d been physically struck. “Nooo shot. Jake. Jake.”
Even Rooster looked horrified. “He said that to your face?”
“Loudly,” you said, sipping your water. “Like he thought it was charming.”
Phoenix’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “He sounds like a national treasure. Jake, where do you find these guys? Do they have a club? Is there a pool you dip into specifically marked ‘do not recommend’?”
Jake looked genuinely pained. “Okay, first of all, Trevor didn’t say any of that shit when we were at the gym.”
“Because of course you recruit men at the gym,” Phoenix said.
“Next you’ll be setting her up with a guy who thinks ‘Top Gun’ was a documentary,” Payback added.
Jake looked at you, eyes a little sharper now. “So what—you’re mad at me again?”
You shrugged. “Not mad. Just impressed you managed to pick someone even worse than the last one.”
Fanboy raised a hand like he was in class. “Question: how do you keep managing to top yourself? Is this a long game to ruin her faith in men so she just gives up and settles for you?”
The squad howled.
Jake’s jaw clenched. “That’s not—”
“I mean,” Rooster said casually, spinning a socket wrench in his fingers. “You do seem to care a whole lot about who she ends up with.”
“Because I’m trying to help,” Jake snapped.
“Help yourself into her pants?” Phoenix offered, deadpan.
“That’s not—oh my god,” Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
You watched him, letting the squad’s laughter drown out the weird warmth under your skin. Jake wasn’t looking at you now, not directly. His ears had gone a little pink.
“Just admit you’re bad at this,” you said calmly, tossing your empty bottle into a nearby bin.
Jake scowled. “You know what? Fine. I’ll do better next time.”
“Oh no,” Rooster said. “There’s gonna be a next time?”
Jake ignored him. “Give me one more shot. I’ve got someone in mind already.”
Coyote looked alarmed. “He said that like a man about to suggest someone who drinks Monster for breakfast.”
Phoenix put her face in her hands. “This is gonna be another ‘I swear he’s normal’ guy, isn’t it?”
You crossed your arms, amused despite yourself. “Is this how you flirt? Just slow psychological warfare until I give up?”
Jake met your gaze. This time, his expression softened. “I could stop if you asked me to.”
You held his stare for a second too long—again—and didn’t reply.
Fanboy clapped his hands. “Alright! Next date pool starts now! Who wants to put money on this one lasting less than thirty minutes?”
“I’m giving her fifteen,” Phoenix said.
“Ten,” said Coyote.
Jake looked around, scandalized. “You guys are actual traitors.”
“Traitors with taste,” Rooster added.
The squad fell back into their banter, placing increasingly dramatic bets, and you let it wash over you—grateful, at least, for the distraction. But as Jake sat beside you on the crate, a little quieter now, you didn’t miss the way his knee bumped yours.
And stayed there.
You glanced back at Jake, who was pretending to be interested in the banter going on with Rooster and Payback, but his knee was still casually brushing yours. Your chest tightened, a weird mix of comfort and something unspoken hanging in the air.
“Alright, Cupid,” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “If you’re so confident, when’s my next ‘date’?”
Jake gave you a mock offended look. “Whoa, slow down. You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of serial dater.”
“Well, you are definitely the reason I’m meeting these characters.” You smirked. “And don’t think I forgot that you specifically picked Buzz Cut Guy.”
Jake shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. “Quality control.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, quality control right into the dumpster.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping an octave. “Hey, I’m trying here. It’s a process.”
You caught the glint in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during briefings, in the heat of missions, and now here, in the middle of all this ridiculous squad chaos. It was easier to tease him, easier to laugh, but your heart hammered with every accidental touch, every shared glance.
“Just… try not to kill me with your ‘dates,’” you teased.
Jake’s smile softened. “No promises.”
For a moment, the noise around you faded, the room shrinking until it was just the two of you—two friends tangled in something neither of you was quite ready to name.
Then Rooster shouted from across the room, “Hey, you lovebirds, quit hogging the crate!”
Jake’s knee finally slid away, but the spark between you lingered.
“Come on,” you said, standing and stretching. “Let’s see what disaster you have planned next.”
Jake was already on his feet, quick on the comeback. “Oh, it’s going to be legendary.”
You laughed, feeling the familiar warmth of the squad around you and something a little more dangerous simmering just beneath the surface.
-
The next morning, the base was buzzing with its usual hum—pilots prepping for missions, techs bustling through equipment checks, and the faint scent of strong coffee drifting from the mess hall. You were sitting at one of the picnic tables outside, scrolling through your phone when Jake strolled up, his flight jacket casually slung over one shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, dropping into the seat across from you with that familiar smirk. “So, about dinner last night…”
You arched a brow. “What about it?”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flickering sideways like he was debating how much to spill. “Trevor wasn’t exactly my best pick.”
You chuckled, setting your phone down. “That’s one way to put it.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I thought he’d be better. But then again, I guess it’s hard to find someone who doesn’t suck.”
You snorted. “Thanks for the glowing endorsement.”
Jake grinned. “I’m just saying, your standards are high.”
Before you could respond, Payback and Fanboy appeared nearby, carrying trays loaded with breakfast. Payback gave you a knowing look.
“Talking about your love life again?” he teased, plopping down beside Jake.
“Only because Jake here is apparently moonlighting as a matchmaker,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.
Jake defended himself. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. And I’ve got a new candidate lined up.”
“Oh god,” you groaned, half-exasperated, half-amused.
Rooster wandered over, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Another date?”
Jake nodded, eyes twinkling. “Yep. This one’s different. Supposedly a real stand-up guy. Name’s Marcus.”
“Marcus,” you repeated slowly, trying the name out. “Sounds promising.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jake said, waving a hand. “He’s a cop. Good with his hands, apparently.”
You squinted at him. “How do you know all this?”
Jake smirked. “Let’s just say I do my research.”
The squad chuckled, settling into easy banter as you all ate.
-
The restaurant was dimly lit with an ambiance that felt more like an exclusive lounge than a casual dinner spot. Soft jazz floated through the air, blending with the quiet clinks of silverware and murmurs of other diners. You sat at a small, candlelit table across from Marcus, the cop Jake had set you up with. From the start, you knew this was going to be a challenge, but nothing prepared you for how quickly it spiraled.
Marcus smiled with that easy confidence cops often carried—the kind that told you he was used to getting his way. His eyes lingered a little too long, and the way he spoke felt less like a genuine conversation and more like an interrogation.
“So, Jake thinks we’ll hit it off,” Marcus began, swirling his glass of red wine with practiced ease. “Apparently, he’s a big fan of mixing things up.”
You smiled politely. “Yeah, Jake has his own ways.”
He chuckled but didn’t take the hint to dial it back. “So, what do you do for fun? I mean, besides dating mystery men?”
You raised an eyebrow but answered carefully. “I’m pretty into my work. Flying missions, training. It keeps me busy.”
Marcus nodded as if that was expected. “I get it. Structure, discipline. I’m all about rules myself.”
You tried to steer the conversation to something more neutral, but the undertone grew heavier.
“You know,” Marcus said, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping an octave, “a woman like you probably likes a man who knows what he wants. Someone who takes charge. Makes decisions.”
You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. “I’m pretty capable of making my own decisions.”
Marcus smirked, clearly amused. “Sure, but there’s something nice about a guy who can show you the way. Keep things simple.”
You shifted in your seat, trying to maintain your composure. The subtle power play was becoming obvious.
“So, what’s your idea of a perfect date?” Marcus asked, but it wasn’t a question so much as a challenge.
You shook your head slightly, feeling the conversation close in. “Honestly, I just want someone who respects me.”
Marcus’s smirk faded just a little. “Respect’s earned, you know.”
At that moment, Marcus’s hand slid from the table, moving slowly until it landed on your thigh. The contact was light but unmistakably deliberate.
You froze, your stomach twisting. “Marcus…”
He didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he let it drift further back, brushing the curve of your hip, and then—before you could react—he gave a quick, possessive squeeze on your lower back.
Your breath caught, and your polite smile hardened. You pulled your chair back slightly, creating distance.
“Look, I don’t know what Jake told you about me,” you said quietly but firmly, “but I’m not here to be touched without consent.”
Marcus’s face tightened for a moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, but he masked it with a forced laugh.
“Hey, I’m just trying to show you I’m interested.”
You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Interest isn’t physical if it makes me uncomfortable.”
The rest of the meal was a blur of awkward silences and forced smiles, each minute stretching longer than the last. Your mind raced for a way out, but you were trapped by the formalities and the restaurant’s watchful eyes.
Finally, you excused yourself, mumbling something about the restroom.
Inside, you locked the door behind you and pressed your back against the cold surface. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and frustration flooding your senses.
You pulled out your phone, fingers trembling as you fumbled to unlock it. Your breath hitched as you typed the message again, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot twisting tighter in your stomach.
You: Jake, please come get me. Marcus is… not what I expected. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m about to lose it.
The silence stretched. Then your phone buzzed.
Jake: Hang tight. I’m leaving now. Don’t do anything stupid.
You exhaled shakily, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. But you couldn’t help the worry gnawing at you.
A few minutes later, your phone rang. You answered quickly.
“Jake,” you whispered, voice cracking.
“Hey,” Jake’s voice was low but tight, laced with anger and concern. “What the hell’s going on?”
You bit your lip, suddenly feeling small. “Marcus… he crossed a line. I told him to stop, but he—he touched me.”
There was a long pause on the other end. Then Jake’s voice dropped, deadly serious.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. Just… uncomfortable. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Goddammit,” Jake muttered, his frustration clear. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped this before it even started.”
You pressed your forehead against the cool bathroom wall, trying to calm your racing heart. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I should’ve. I’m on my way, alright? Just stay put. Locked door, no matter what.”
“I will,” you whispered.
Jake’s voice softened for a moment. “I’ll be there soon. You’re not alone.”
As the call ended, you pressed the phone to your chest, letting the sound of Jake’s promise settle in. Somewhere between fear and relief, you realized you trusted him more than anyone else right now — and that maybe this ridiculous matchmaking project was turning into something a lot more complicated.
Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath, glanced at your phone’s screen — Jake had texted back, I’m waiting outside. Don’t say a word until you get here.
You slipped out of the bathroom door quietly, heart thumping so loud you thought it might give you away. The restaurant’s dining room buzzed with muffled conversation and clinking glasses. You ducked behind a pillar, weaving past tables with your eyes on the exit.
The cool night air hit your face as you slipped out the side door, the city sounds washing over you in relief. And there he was—Jake, leaning casually against his car, arms crossed, watching the street like a sentinel.
“You made it,” he said softly, voice just for you.
You barely nodded, sliding into the passenger seat before he even opened the door. The car smelled faintly of leather and pine-scented air freshener, oddly comforting in the tension of the moment.
Then, out of nowhere, the front door of the restaurant slammed open and Marcus stomped outside, scanning every shadow.
“Where the hell did she go?” Marcus growled, voice thick with frustration.
Jake’s eyes narrowed, and before you could blink, he pulled the door closed and locked it with a quiet click.
“Hide,” Jake hissed, pulling the seatbelt tight.
You ducked lower, barely able to keep from laughing as Marcus prowled past the car, his angry muttering unmistakable.
Jake cracked a grin. “Looks like your charming date doesn’t have a clue.”
You giggled, the absurdity of the situation hitting you. “Yeah, real smooth.”
As Marcus circled the block, you and Jake exchanged amused looks, the kind that said, Can you believe this guy?
A laugh escaped you, and Jake’s grin widened until it was all teeth and mischief.
“You know,” Jake said, voice dropping a notch, “we make a pretty good team.”
Your eyes met his in the dim glow of the dashboard, and suddenly the air shifted — the easy humor melting into something softer, something more electric.
Jake’s gaze lingered on you, warmth pooling in his eyes like a silent confession.
“Uh…” he cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I should probably drop you home now.”
You nodded, cheeks flushed for reasons beyond the cold night air.
Jake started the engine and pulled away, the city lights blurring past the windows.
“I’m sorry you had to put up with that asshole,” he said quietly.
You reached over, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for saving me.”
He glanced your way, that grin teasing the corners of his mouth.
You laughed softly, the tension finally unwinding as the car hummed along the quiet streets.
-
The car pulled up outside your place—a modest, familiar building that felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the night. Jake cut the engine and glanced over at you, his expression softer now, the easy teasing replaced by genuine concern.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice low.
You nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, you reached into your bag, pulling out the small jacket you’d tossed over your shoulders earlier. The cold was creeping in now, but you barely noticed.
Jake stepped out and walked around to your side, opening the door. You hesitated for a moment, then slipped out, the night air cool against your skin.
You stood side by side on the sidewalk, the silence between you thick but not uncomfortable. It was as if the city itself had paused to let this moment breathe.
Finally, Jake broke the quiet.
“Next time, i’ll leg you pick out the date,” he said with a small, crooked smile.
You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the distant hum of streetlights and passing cars.
“Deal,” you whispered.
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, fingers lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Neither of you said more, but the weight of everything unspoken hung in the air—something tender, something promising.
With a final look, you turned toward your door, and Jake watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.
-
Two days after the restaurant escape, everything felt a little brighter. The sky over base was stupidly blue, the coffee in your hand was criminally good, and for once, your morning wasn’t crawling with tension. Instead, you walked through the hangar bay doors with a little spring in your step, humming under your breath, the lid of your cup pressed to your smile.
Bob was the first to notice.
“Wow,” he said, blinking behind his glasses as you passed him. “Someone’s chipper this morning.”
You smirked, biting back a reply as you took your usual seat beside Phoenix on the toolbox near the main maintenance station. She leaned toward you immediately, squinting. “Okay, what gives? You look like you’re about to break into song.”
Fanboy glanced up from where he was trying to fix the squad’s broken coffee machine. “Please don’t. I haven’t had caffeine in three hours. I might actually cry.”
You held up your cup in mock apology. “I had mine already.”
“Traitor,” he muttered.
Jake looked up from where he was half-bent over a clipboard with Rooster. The second he saw you—your smile, the little crinkle at the corners of your eyes—he felt something twist in his chest. He didn’t say anything, just watched as you took another sip and tried not to grin too hard.
You were glowing. Genuinely glowing.
And it wasn’t because of him.
Coyote joined the group, tossing a wrench onto a nearby cart. “Alright, spill. You’re grinning like you just found out Maverick’s paying off everyone’s student loans.”
You glanced around at all their faces—expectant, amused—and finally caved.
“I met someone,” you said.
Jake’s clipboard snapped shut in his hands. No one else noticed, but his jaw ticked.
Rooster tilted his head. “When?”
“This morning. At a coffee shop, just off base,” you said, twirling your cup slowly. “I was in line, and we started chatting. He’s… funny. Really charming. Works in environmental science or something.”
Phoenix raised a brow. “So not in the military?”
“Nope.”
“Already a green flag,” Fanboy said under his breath.
You laughed. “Right? And he asked me out.”
Jake’s stomach dropped.
You kept talking, unaware of the spiral unraveling behind his practiced expression. “We’re getting dinner tonight. He suggested this little Thai place near the beach. Said it’s his favorite spot.”
“He’s got good taste,” Phoenix said.
“He sounds promising,” Rooster added. “Better than Buzzcut and Cop Guy.”
You winced. “God, don’t remind me.”
“Wait,” Fanboy said, lifting his head. “You’re saying this one might actually be decent?”
“I think so,” you said softly. “He seems… different. It’s not just about looks or whatever. There’s something about him.”
Jake was frozen. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t nod. He was staring at the floor like it held the answers to every single one of his bad decisions.
Because it had just hit him—like a missile to the gut—that he didn’t want to see you smiling like that because of someone else.
He’d wanted it to be him all along.
And now you were going on a date with someone who hadn’t made a complete ass of himself in front of you. Someone you were actually excited about. Someone who made you glow.
Jake couldn’t breathe.
Phoenix noticed the change in his posture and gave him a strange look, but he stood before she could say anything.
“I, uh… I gotta check something in the breakroom,” he muttered, walking off without meeting anyone’s eyes.
Phoenix frowned. “The breakroom?”
Bob glanced at Rooster, then at Fanboy. “We don’t even keep anything in there anymore.”
Rooster sighed. “He’s losing it.”
-
Later That Night
Bob’s place was already filled with the scent of pizza and the low hum of music when the squad filtered in. There was a pile of shoes near the door, two half-full coolers, and a lopsided stack of movies no one would watch.
Jake sat on the couch, beer in hand, eyes glazed over as the rest of the squad cracked open drinks and teased Fanboy for trying to light the fire pit with a lighter too small for the job.
“She’s not here, you know,” Coyote said, flopping onto the other side of the couch.
Jake didn’t reply.
“She’s probably having the time of her life right now,” Fanboy said with a smirk, strolling past with a handful of chips.
“Let it go, man,” Rooster added, nudging Jake’s leg. “We’ve accepted the fact that you’re the world’s worst matchmaker.”
Phoenix dropped down beside them and rolled her eyes. “It’s actually impressive how bad those dates were. I mean, come on—Buzzcut? Marcus?”
Jake took a long sip of beer. “They weren’t that bad.”
“They were terrible,” Phoenix replied. “And now she found someone by accident. Coffee Shop Guy is already in the lead.”
That was the moment her phone buzzed on the table.
Phoenix didn’t look at it right away. She was in the middle of tossing a gummy worm at Rooster’s head. But when it lit up again, and again, she finally picked it up.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh my god.”
Everyone paused.
She turned her phone around and held it out. “Look.”
It was a photo. Taken an hour ago, timestamped. You were on the pier, sitting on the railing, hair blowing in the breeze. Ice cream cone in hand. Laughing. Glowing.
Next to you, a guy. Not Buzzcut. Not Marcus. Someone new. Handsome. Casual arm on the back of your bench.
He looked just as happy.
Jake felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
“That’s him?” Bob asked, peering over her shoulder.
“I guess so,” Phoenix muttered. “My friend saw her and sent this. I had my phone on DND. This was taken, like, an hour ago.”
Jake stood up so fast the couch shook.
“Jake?” Rooster asked.
Jake stared at the picture. And then, before anyone could stop him—
“I love her.”
Everyone froze.
Phoenix blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
Jake ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “I freaking love her. And I’ve been setting her up with losers because I didn’t want to admit it. But I love her.”
Rooster dropped his beer. “Dude.”
Fanboy choked. “WHAT?”
Coyote threw a pillow at him. “You moron! You let her go on four dates?”
“I KNOW,” Jake groaned.
Phoenix stood up. “You have to tell her. Like now.”
“But she’s with him. Look at them!” Jake pointed at the photo. “They’re probably planning their damn wedding.”
“No,” Bob said calmly. “They’re eating ice cream.”
“We need to find her,” Phoenix decided, grabbing her keys. “Now.”
-
“You want to what?”
Rooster stared at Jake like he’d just suggested they storm the Pentagon in flip-flops and Hawaiian shirts.
Jake stood in the center of Bob’s living room, hair sticking up in every direction, chest heaving with chaotic energy and pure desperation. “A paper airplane. I’m writing her a message. On a damn paper airplane.”
Silence.
Then Fanboy, holding a beer and looking deeply unimpressed, said flatly, “What the hell kind of third-grade rom-com fantasy are we living in right now?”
“I’m serious,” Jake barked. “She told me once—like a year ago—that if someone ever gave her a paper airplane with something meaningful written on it, she’d cry. Happy cry. She said she’d marry them on the spot.”
Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “Wait. She really said that?”
“She was drunk,” Jake admitted, pacing like a man on the edge. “We were playing Truth or Drink, and she was tipsy off two margaritas. She said it was the kind of gesture no one makes anymore—personal, sweet, thoughtful. Like… actually knowing her. Not just pretending.”
Bob, from the armchair, blinked slowly. “You realize that means she probably meant it.”
Jake nodded fast, almost frantic. “Exactly. That’s why I have to do it.”
Rooster tossed a piece of junk mail at him. “Here, use this—wait. Never mind. That’s a Domino’s coupon.”
Coyote reached into his backpack and chucked a half-used notebook across the room. “Use this. But don’t waste the back pages—I have my gym log in there.”
Phoenix snatched a pen off the coffee table and pointed it at Jake like she was about to knight him. “Write from the heart. But don’t be cringe. I swear to god, if you start it with ‘Dear beautiful,’ I’m lighting you and the paper on fire.”
“Noted,” Jake muttered, sitting down like he was about to defuse a bomb instead of write on lined paper. His knee bounced. His fingers drummed. The notebook sat in his lap, untouched, and the squad stared like they were watching a live soap opera unfold on Bravo.
“Bro,” Fanboy said. “Just start with her name.”
“I’m not writing her a letter,” Jake said. “Not like that. I’m writing… pieces. Memories. Stuff I wish I’d done right.”
Bob tilted his head. “Like a patchwork confession?”
“Exactly,” Jake murmured, flipping the notebook open to a clean page and clicking the pen. “Things I should’ve said. Dates I should’ve taken her on. Dumb moments I should’ve known mattered.”
He began writing.
For a long time, the only sound was the soft scratch of the pen and the occasional beer bottle clinking against the coffee table. Jake’s brows furrowed, his mouth tugged into a tight line as he scribbled fast, pausing only to cross something out or shake his head at himself.
One by one, the squad wandered closer, like a group of nosy aunties pretending not to read over his shoulder.
On the top right corner, Jake wrote:
should’ve asked you to be my date to Coyote’s promotion party — you looked so good that night I forgot my own damn name
In the center:
remember that diner in El Centro? I should’ve asked for your number before we even got our food
I should’ve kissed you on the tarmac after that night flight
I should’ve told you that your laugh ruins me
Near the fold:
I kept trying to set you up with guys who weren’t me
because if I admitted I wanted to be the guy — and you didn’t feel the same — I’d never come back from it
Near the tip:
I want to take you on real dates
the kind with car karaoke and milkshakes and pulling you closer on the couch when the movie gets boring
the kind that end with you in my sweatshirt
Near the tail:
I’ve been in love with you since that time you punched Rooster in the arm for making fun of Bob’s playlist
I should’ve told you
I didn’t
I’m sorry
In the bottom left corner, nearly hidden:
I don’t deserve a second chance
but if you gave me one
I swear to god I’d never waste it
By the time he finished, the squad had gone quiet.
Jake exhaled hard through his nose, like the act of putting it all down on paper had taken something out of him. He stared at the page. Folded it. Creased it carefully, like it was a sacred artifact. With practiced fingers, he turned the notebook page into a perfect paper airplane and held it in both hands, like it might break.
Fanboy looked dumbfounded. “Okay, I take back all the slander. That was not stick figure energy.”
Jake stood up slowly, paper airplane in hand, and said—more to himself than anyone else—“I’m giving it to her tonight. I don’t care if it makes me look insane.”
Phoenix grinned. “You already look insane. But also? Kinda hot.”
“I hate how much I’m rooting for you,” Rooster muttered.
Coyote clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Let’s go find her, man. You made your plane. Time to fly it.”
Jake groaned. “That was awful.”
“Thank you, I try,” Coyote said with a wink.
And just like that, the mission was a go. Paper airplane loaded. Feelings confessed. The squad ready to take on the world—or at least the city—in the name of rom-com chaos.
Next stop: the pier.
If she was still there.
If Jake wasn’t already too late.
-
The paper airplane sat on the coffee table like it held nuclear launch codes. Jake didn’t take his eyes off it.
“It’s not even that late,” he muttered, already pacing again. “They could still be at the pier. Maybe walking around or eating somewhere else nearby.”
Phoenix pointed at the picture on her phone again. “Okay, but which pier? That’s the problem. This could be anywhere. There are like seven piers in the county.”
Rooster squinted at the photo. “Zoom in on that sign behind them. The one next to the bench.”
She did, dragging her fingers across the screen. The image was grainy, and the lighting was terrible, but you could just barely make out a few blurry letters.
Fanboy tilted his head like a confused puppy. “That says ‘Pelican something.’ Pelican Wharf? Pelican Bay?”
Bob perked up. “Pelican Point. That’s a real place—it’s by the old marina past the naval museum. There’s a pier right next to it, with that same kind of bench. I’ve been there with my mom.”
Coyote grinned. “Bob, you beautiful genius.”
Jake was already grabbing his keys. “I’m going. I’ll drive out there. If she’s not there, I’ll keep looking.”
Rooster held out a hand like a crossing guard. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can’t just drive off into the night like it’s a Nicholas Sparks movie.”
“I absolutely can,” Jake said, and then paused. “And technically, it’s more like 10 Things I Hate About You.”
Phoenix raised a brow. “So, what? You’re Heath Ledger now?”
Jake pointed at her dramatically. “If the shoe fits, baby.”
Coyote clapped his hands once. “Alright, alright. Let’s not waste time. Jake, you take your truck and go to Pelican Point. If she’s not there, call us.”
Fanboy stood up too. “Wait—we should track her location.”
Everyone turned.
“She shares it with Phoenix!” he added quickly. “Remember when we all went camping and she said if she got murdered in the woods, she wanted someone to find her body?”
Phoenix nodded. “Yeah. I still have her on Find My Friends.”
She pulled up the app. “Okay, last ping was almost two hours ago. But—” She tilted the phone. “—she’s not at Pelican Point anymore.”
Jake frowned. “Where is she?”
Phoenix zoomed in, and then frowned too. “Uh…she’s home.”
A beat of silence passed.
“Wait,” Bob said slowly, “so she’s not on the pier anymore?”
Phoenix shook her head. “Nope. She’s back at her place.”
Fanboy looked around. “So…should we tell Jake not to go?”
“No,” Jake said instantly. “I’m still going. I’ll check the pier just in case the location’s lagging, and if she’s not there, I’m heading to her house.”
Phoenix crossed her arms. “And what’s the plan? You’re just gonna knock on the door and say what? ‘Hi, sorry all your dates sucked. Turns out it’s because I like you?’”
Jake didn’t blink. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Bob smiled softly. “Don’t forget the airplane.”
Jake grabbed it from the table with a reverence normally reserved for flags and championship rings. He looked at the squad, still wide-eyed and vibrating like a caffeinated hummingbird.
“I have to try,” he said, voice low. “Because if she actually liked this guy—if he’s good to her and he makes her smile like that—and I just sit back and let her be with him, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Rooster groaned into his hands. “God, you’re in deep.”
Phoenix threw him his hoodie. “Go. But call us if she’s not there.”
Fanboy pointed at the airplane. “And don’t chicken out. That thing’s not gonna launch itself.”
Jake nodded. He turned and made it to the door.
Then paused.
“…You guys coming?” he asked, glancing back.
The squad looked at each other.
And then, like a slow-building mutiny, they all stood.
“We’ll follow you in Rooster’s Bronco,” Coyote said. “But from a distance.”
“We want to see what happens,” Phoenix added. “And make sure you don’t wimp out.”
Bob stood too, grabbing his car keys like they were tactical gear. “Also, if it goes badly, you’ll need backup.”
Jake huffed a disbelieving laugh. “You guys are insane.”
Rooster patted his shoulder. “Welcome to the club.”
They poured out into the night like a small military unit on a love-fueled recon mission. Jake climbed into his truck. The squad piled into two cars behind him. The paper airplane sat on the dashboard like a little talisman.
Operation: Find the Girl was officially underway.
-
Jake’s headlights swept across the gravel lot as he pulled up to the edge of Pelican Point. The pier jutted out into the water like a dark, jagged silhouette against the horizon, the last traces of sunset bleeding into the sky. He threw the truck into park, killed the engine, and stepped out into the warm coastal air.
The wind coming off the ocean hit him like a wall—salty, humid, and just cool enough to feel cinematic. His boots crunched over old wood planks as he walked the length of the pier, scanning every shadow, every bench, every corner where a couple might still be wrapped up in each other.
But it was empty.
No laughter. No clinking silverware from the food shack that had already shut down. No dimly lit photo booth glowing in the background. Just the creaking of wood and the soft lap of waves beneath him.
Jake let out a long, slow breath. “Shit.”
He stood at the railing for a second, holding the paper airplane in both hands, his fingers tightening around the folded wings. The edges were soft now—creased from where he’d clutched it all the way here. His pulse thrummed in his ears.
He glanced down at it again, rereading the scrawled notes across the wings and tail:
“Wish I took you to that rooftop jazz bar instead of setting you up with Trevor.”
“Should’ve kissed you after that night on the beach.”
“You looked so happy at the wedding last spring. I wanted to be the reason.”
“I like you. God, I like you so much it makes me feel twelve.”
He swallowed. Looked out at the water. Then grabbed his phone and hit Phoenix’s name.
She picked up on the first ring.
“Not there?” she asked, no preamble.
“Nope.” Jake dragged a hand through his hair. “Pier’s dead. Not a soul in sight except two drunk teenagers making out on the stairs.”
“Gross.”
“She’s not here, Phoenix.”
“I told you she was home—”
“I know, but I had to check.”
Behind her, he could already hear chaos brewing. Rooster shouting something about Google Maps, Coyote yelling at Fanboy to stop touching the AC controls.
Then Phoenix must’ve put the call on speaker, because suddenly the whole squad was in his ear.
“Abort mission?” Rooster asked.
“No,” Jake snapped. “Not aborting.”
“Then what’s the play?” Fanboy demanded.
“She’s at home. You gonna just roll up and throw the airplane at her window like a boombox?”
“Not a bad idea,” Coyote muttered. “Very Say Anything. Classic.”
Jake turned and leaned his back against the railing, staring up at the sky. “I don’t know, man. I feel like I missed the window. She’s probably sitting on the couch right now with this guy, talking about how great the date was.”
Silence.
Then Bob’s voice came in, quieter. “If that were true, she wouldn’t be home alone.”
Jake blinked. “What?”
“I mean,” Bob said, “if the date went that well, wouldn’t he still be with her? Or at least walking her to the door, staying for a drink, texting her right now? You think she’d really be sitting there by herself?”
Jake said nothing, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“She’s not texting,” Phoenix added. “I can see the read receipts. Last message she sent was a meme about a raccoon eating french fries. That was two hours ago, so your best hope is that she’s not sitting on that couch and making out with that gorgeous man right now”
Rooster groaned. “Why do you know this much about her phone activity?”
“Because I care, Bradley.”
Jake pushed off the railing. “Okay. Okay. I’m going. I’m heading to her place.”
“Hell yeah,” Coyote said immediately.
“Good,” Phoenix added. “And this time, don’t chicken out. Don’t make a joke. Don’t try to flirt your way around it.”
“Be honest,” Bob said gently. “If this is your one shot, take it seriously.”
Jake looked at the paper airplane one more time. Ran his thumb over the wing that read: “Wish I’d told you the truth sooner.”
He nodded to no one.
“On it.”
He hung up.
The squad, for once, didn’t say anything else.
Back in the truck, he laid the airplane carefully on the passenger seat, like it was more fragile than it looked. And for the first time all night, Jake Seresin wasn’t overthinking the landing. He was just aiming straight and trusting the wind.
-
Jake didn’t remember the drive to your place.
Somewhere between the pier and the turnoff to your street, his brain just… blanked. He barely noticed the green lights, the low hum of country radio still buzzing through the truck’s speakers, or the way his hands clenched the steering wheel so tight his knuckles cracked.
All he knew was that the paper airplane sat on the passenger seat like it held his whole heart.
He hadn’t even realized how fast he was driving until he practically skidded up to the curb outside your place, tires whispering against the pavement. His boots hit the ground hard, truck door slamming behind him.
He took the steps two at a time.
Then three.
And then he was there — fist raised, pounding on your front door like it owed him money.
“Open up!” he barked. “Come on, come on—”
He was still muttering to himself when the door opened.
And then you were there.
In a hoodie. Hair pulled back. Eyes glassy.
You looked… wrecked.
And Jake’s voice immediately faltered.
“I—I was gonna—” He waved a hand around like it could pull the words out of the air. “Shit, sorry, I know it’s late, I just—listen, I should’ve said something a long time ago, I was stupid, I thought I was helping you but I was just—God, I’ve been in love with you since that day at the hangar when you made fun of my playlist—”
“Jake.”
“I know you probably hate me,” he rushed on, words tumbling out. “But I had to try, okay? I had to say something before it was too late. I don’t care about the other guys, I don’t care about Coffee shop guy or whatever his name was, I care about you, and I swear to God if you tell me to leave I will—but just let me say this first—”
“Jake.”
You cut in again, softer this time.
He finally looked at you—really looked.
And the words died on his tongue.
You weren’t just tired. You weren’t just annoyed he’d shown up unannounced.
You were upset.
Something in your expression cracked like porcelain under pressure. Eyes rimmed pink, lower lip trembling, arms folded around yourself like armor.
Jake’s chest tightened.
“What happened?” he asked, voice low now. “Are you okay?”
You swallowed hard and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“I left the date early,” you muttered. “He—he has a girlfriend.”
Jake blinked. “What?”
You laughed, bitter and broken. “Yeah. She showed up halfway through. Started yelling at him. Apparently this is a thing he does. Picks up girls at coffee shops and sees how long he can keep the lie going.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. “I’m gonna kill him.”
You didn’t answer.
Just stared down at the floor like it held the last shred of your dignity.
And that’s when Jake’s whole demeanor shifted.
The flustered panic drained from his face. The tension in his shoulders melted, replaced with something raw and real and steady. He took one careful step forward, then another, until he was right in front of you.
You didn’t flinch when his hand cupped your cheek. You just leaned into it—soft and broken and trusting.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
You shook your head. “It’s not your fault.”
“I think it is,” he said. “I think if I’d said something sooner, you never would’ve gone on that date.”
Silence stretched between you.
And then Jake reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the folded paper airplane.
“I was gonna just give you this,” he murmured. “Let it speak for me. But now I think you deserve more than a folded-up piece of notebook paper.”
He stepped back.
And then—to your absolute shock—he dropped to one knee on your porch.
“Jake—?”
“Don’t freak out,” he said quickly. “I’m not proposing. Not unless you want me to, in which case I’ll go grab a ring pop from the gas station, we can make it official.”
You snorted despite yourself.
He smiled.
Then he held the airplane out in both hands like an offering.
“I wrote everything I should’ve said,” he said quietly. “Everything I didn’t say when I should’ve. It’s all there. Every missed chance. Every almost. Every wish.”
Your fingers brushed the paper.
Jake’s voice wavered, just slightly.
“I thought if I couldn’t find the right words… maybe I could fold them.”
You didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, stunned, holding the paper like it might shatter if you breathed wrong.
“I know it’s late,” Jake added. “I know I’m late. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every day making up for the days I didn’t say the right thing.”
You blinked fast, trying to keep the tears in.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you whispered.
Jake stood.
“I was scared,” he said honestly. “Because once I told you… it’d be real. And if you didn’t feel the same, I don’t know if I could’ve stood next to you every day pretending it didn’t kill me.”
He looked at you.
And something cracked open inside you.
You didn’t even think. Just stepped forward, dropped the paper airplane gently to the porch, and reached for his collar.
Jake barely had time to register the movement before your mouth was on his.
The kiss was everything.
Long-overdue and breathless. Gentle and feral. All teeth and tears and tangled hands in hair and whispered promises between gasps.
When you finally pulled back, Jake was grinning like a fool, forehead pressed to yours.
And then—
A honk.
From the street.
You turned, squinting into the dark—
And saw two parked cars.
One held Fanboy half hanging out the window, fist pumping in the air.
The other had Phoenix leaning on the horn and Rooster hanging a “FINALLY!” sign out the passenger side.
Jake groaned. “Oh my god.”
“They followed you?”
“I hate them so much.”
“I love them,” you corrected, grabbing the paper airplane and tucking it close to your heart. “And I think I love you.”
Jake blinked.
Then grinned.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
You kissed him again.
Longer this time.
From the cars, a chorus of victorious whooping erupted—cheers, clapping, and at least one bottle of champagne being popped (probably Coyote’s doing).
But Jake didn’t hear any of it.
He was too busy falling into the kiss like it was his softest landing yet.
Summary: You love pushing your boyfriend’s buttons. And this time, you do so with the help of a little internet prank. Having it end in a way you weren't expecting it to.
WC: 3k
Contains: smut / 18+ mdni / fluff / female reader / oral (f receiving) / overstimulation / a bit of manhandling / Jake being a menace / Jake being a sweetheart / established relationship / starts off silly before we get to the steamy parts 💗
a/n: We're going to ignore that this has been in my drafts for like ten months... 🥲 But when the bestie requests something (even if it takes me forever sorry 😭) she gets it 💗 So thank you to my beloved Mon for inspiring this 💞 Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡
top gun masterlist || main masterlist || library blog
You were pushing your luck with Jake all day and you knew it.
You know he doesn't like pranks, even the silly harmless ones. Which is of course why after seeing a silly trend online, you decided to try it out for yourself. Calling your boyfriend buddy or pal—your friend—shouldn't be too bad, right? Surely, Jake will find it funny.
Jake in fact, did not find it funny.
And you would have to face the consequences of that.
Your face is pressed against the pillow, hands gripping the sheets on either side of it like a lifeline, silent screams of pleasure between attempts at catching your breath fill the air. A few whines slip through, but it's mainly a string of incoherent babbles that causes Jake to double his efforts as he brings you to your third orgasm of the night.
How ever did you find yourself here?
It started in the early hours of the morning. While you and Jake were making breakfast, your mind wandered to a video you saw the night before. A silly prank from one of those couple pages, one where a girl decided to call her boyfriend her friend all day to film his reactions. You thought the way he reacted was cute, and it made you wonder how Jake would react. You weren't sure if you even wanted to go through with it though, it just seemed so silly. But you must have been thinking about it too much because it eventually slipped out all on its own.
“Could you open this for me?” You held out a mason jar of your favorite jam in his direction, struggling to open it. Jake turned to you, stopping his pancake flipping to help you out.
“Sure, sweetheart," he easily popped it open, "Here.”
“Thanks, buddy. You’re the best.”
Jake’s brows pinch, freezing for a second, seemingly mulling over your words before brushing them off. There was a small speaker on the kitchen counter shuffling through a mix of his and your favorite songs. The music was low enough to not be obnoxious, but loud enough to drown out some noise. Surely, that must have caused him to mishear you.
You definitely said baby, not buddy.
Jake pays no mind to whatever he thought he heard—which isn't exactly the reaction you were looking for. Before you can do anything about it, however, he gently grabs your wrist to pull you into his chest. He starts swaying to the music, hands sliding to your hips to guide you to the rhythm. He's singing along to the lyrics, some cheesy love song, causing you to smile despite yourself. The way he looks at you is no short of a man hopelessly in love.
After such a sweet morning, did you have the heart to continue your silly little prank?
Yes.
Yes you did.
When Jake comes back home from deployment, a part of him looks forward to running errands with you. It might seem strange, but domesticity is a breath of fresh air for him. The grocery shopping, visits to the post office or stops at the bank—hell even retail shopping. He looks forward to all of that with you because it's a small yet integral part of your lives that is now intertwined, and he likes that.
And after a morning that stretched into the afternoon of running errands with you, there's nothing more he'd love than a coffee.
Jake pulls up to the drive thru of a local coffee chain, one you two frequent often. He knows your order by heart and easily recites it along with his own, before he pulls up to the window to pay. You think back to this morning and the same idea pops into your head. You don't say anything at first, not until he hands you your drink.
"Aw, you remembered my order, thanks pal."
The usual smile Jake wears around you falls off his face. This time Jake definitely heard you. The radio was on way too low for him to give you that excuse.
“I’m not your pal, darlin'," he says coolly, drinking a bit of his coffee as he pulls away from the drive thru. He's trying to play it nonchalant, but you can tell by the way his jaw ticks, he knows you're up to something.
You smile at him innocently. “But you are, you're my best bud," you reply sweetly, taking a sip of your own drink as you watch him side eye you. He's still playing it calm and collected, but you know you're starting to get under his skin. The way he's swirling his drink in his hand like he's trying to process what you're saying says as much.
“You’re pal, huh?” He says it like he's giving you a chance to rectify yourself. His expression is slightly hidden under his sunglasses, and by the way he hasn't taken his eyes off the road. But you'd kill to see the look in his eyes right now.
“Mhm," you hum out simply, studying him for any kind of response. He doesn't give you one though, just nodding thoughtfully as he lowers his cup into the cup holder. That same hand, cold from his drink, snakes its way onto your thigh, exposed by the shorts you're wearing. The icy touch causes you to hiss lowly, eyes darting to the gesture and missing the way the corner of his mouth twitches in response.
He gives your thigh a slight squeeze, voice low in warning, “You do know I could get you off right here, right now, right?”
You hate the way he says it so casual like getting you off is a walk in the park for him. Which it is, but that's not the point right now. You also hate the way your body instantly reacts to him, fidgeting in your seat as your mind runs through examples of exactly how he could do it. And he catches it instantly, smirking and giving your thigh another squeeze with a bit more pressure to tease you.
Maybe he thinks by flustering you he can get you to back down or stop, but with this development in his reactions, it only makes you wonder how far you can push it—push him.
This just means the next time you choose to continue your prank has to be strategic. Enough time to make him feel safe before you throw it on him again. So for now, you'll play it safe, make him feel like you're conceding—like he's won.
You lift his hand from your thigh, intertwining your fingers and bringing it up to kiss your joined hands, almost like a silent apology. His smirk melts into a softer smile, giving you the sign that he's taken the bait. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze as if saying 'it's alright'.
Now to get him when he least expects it.
It happens at dinner. You're sitting across from each other having light conversation when it hits you. You haven't thanked Jake for cooking dinner yet.
“Thanks for cooking dinner, bud. I really appreciate it.”
He stops chewing, sea green eyes looking up from his plate to shoot you an unamused look, "Sweetheart…"
“What?”
His lips form a thin line, “Don’t play coy, you know what.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you dismiss him before changing the subject. He blinks, eyes narrowing warily at the way you switched between topics so quickly. There's no way you're done just yet. You're not. In fact, you only let the conversation go on for another five minutes before you try him again.
“Could you please pass me the dressing, pal?”
That does it.
“Darlin’, I don’t think a pal would have done what I did last night,” he reminds you, taking his time with his next bite of food to keep himself composed. Oh, he shouldn't have said that.
“Mm, I don't know,” you bite on your bottom lip to stop the smile that threatens to show itself, “I’ve been with a few buddies that do that, so…”
Jake’s fork clatters as it drops onto his plate.
You shouldn’t have said that.
He leans back slowly against his chair, dinner long forgotten in front of him. His gaze travels your form, like a predator seizing up his prey. His eyes darken with heat and warning as he all but dares you, "Say that again."
A shiver of anticipation and nerves runs up your spine, more electrifying than anything. You've come this far to back down now.
“I said that I've been with a few buddies that—" He doesn't let you finish. In seconds he's up and striding toward you. When you're within reach he's hauling you over his shoulder like some barbarian. You shriek, flailing in his hold as he takes you away, yet your heart stutters with a giddiness you can't ignore.
“Jake! What are you doing?” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he's got a tight hold on you. You barely register you're in your shared bedroom when you're tossed onto the bed. You gawk at him, but all he does is grin at you like you have no idea what's coming for you. “Reminding you exactly who I am to you."
Instantly he cages you beneath him, your rebuttal dying in your throat as he kisses you deep and feverish. That kiss a first sign of many that his patience is running thin. He wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes with expert precision, tossing them haphazardly around the room. His hands grasp at every inch of skin they can reach greedily, while yours get lost in his hair, tugging just enough to pull a deep groan from his chest.
“You and your little games," he nips at your bottom lip, shaking his head, "you enjoy riling me up too much.” It's not long before you feel the brush of his fingers against your core causing your lips to part in a needy gasp. He smirks against your mouth, feeling for himself how wet you've gotten for him. He traces a line up and down your slit with just enough pressure to have you stirring underneath him. "Not so talkative now, are we darlin'?" He mocks you with the smugness of a man who knows he's got you right where he wants you. You curse out his name which only serves to amuse him more. His lips connect with yours again, kissing you harder until its all tongue and teeth. One hand cradles the back of your head to keep the kisses deep while the other stays at your cunt. His thumb circles your clit, desperate little moans slip from your lips, and Jake greedily swallows every single one. He's kissing you like he wants to steal all the breath from your lungs until all you're breathing in is him.
It's not until your lungs beg for oxygen that he pulls away. He grins in satisfaction at your kiss swollen lips, but even more so at the way you practically whine at the loss of him. He gives you one quick chaste kiss before he starts traveling down your body. Every press of his mouth to your skin, every devout touch of his hands leave an ardent heat in its wake. Each one is full of a possessive reverence, one that only a man who knows and loves you entirely could give. It's enough to placate you until he reaches the place where you need him most.
When his mouth finally presses against your core, it's slow and torturous. He hikes up your legs, placing them over his shoulders to trap himself between your thighs—exactly where he wants to be. His tongue flicks slowly, lapping lazily, taking his sweet time exploring your cunt as if he doesn't already know every inch of it. Like he doesn't know exactly how you like it and in turn hits you in every way that leaves you wanting more.
You fist the sheets impatiently, hips bucking against his face for more friction, but the grip his hands have on your thighs holds you down. You call out his name in wanton frustration, but he elects to ignore it. His response comes in licking one long stripe up your slit until reaching your clit and mouthing at it, making your legs jerk like you're trying to get away. Jake's eyes shoot up at the action, his gaze locking with yours—dark and heady. "Stay still," he demands, voice muffled from where his lips refuse to detach themselves from your core. “I can’t—please—I can’t,” you beg in between broken breaths. You know what you're begging for, he knows what you're begging for. But he's not exactly inclined to give it to you just yet.
“Yes, you can, sweetheart. You’re always so good for me," he praises you, twisting his head ever so slightly to nip at your thigh, "Are you this good for all your pals?” That last word is said with a harsher edge, with a bit of ire at the thought of anyone else having you in the way he has. You shake your head immediately, “No! No, baby. Only you.” He hums, the vibrations against your thigh making the ache between your legs worse, “What was that?” He bites down a bit harder on your skin, clearly wanting to leave a mark. And every time you try to speak up, he bites and sucks another mark into your skin, rendering you speechless as your need hits a boiling point.
"Jake!" The way you say his name makes him pause. You're on the cusp of utter ruin in the best way and he keeps depriving you of it, and you're sick of it. He chuckles, a wolfish gleam in his eye as he decides he's toyed with you long enough. He removes his mouth from your thigh, preening at what he's left behind for you to discover tomorrow. The intensity in his stare and tone is almost too much for you, “Now darlin', you be good for me, 'cause if you don’t stop moving and I have to stop what I’m doing—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow with what I'll do to you.” You swallow hard, heart racing in your chest knowing he'd make good on that promise. So you decide to listen—for now.
It really does seem like Jake is done prolonging your punishment, as the next time his mouth connects to your cunt he goes at it harder, fervently. Alternating between suckling and fucking your core with his tongue, driven by the desperate sounds falling from your lips. Eating you out like you had starved him of this all day. Giving you exactly what you need to reach the peak he has been holding you back from getting to all this time.
“That’s it darlin’, give it to me.” You barely hear him grunt out the words as your own moans ring in your ears. You come hard, one hand reaching down to tangle in his hair like you need it to ground you from the euphoria he's taken you to. But he doesn't stop there. He continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm, and then some. Not even stopping when you tug at his hair to get him away, a deep growl falling from his lips at the mix of pain and pleasure.
Jake keeps going, pulling away for a moment only to readjust his position to allow two of his fingers to enter you. He pumps them inside you at a rhythm that drives you crazy, crying out in want. He curls them just right, hitting the spot that makes you see stars, lips sealing around your bundle of nerves and sucking hard. His free hand slides up your body to palm at your breast, stimulating you even further until you can't seem to form any thoughts. At this point, you're riding his face shamelessly, driven by pure desire.
You come a second time, covering his face in your essence. Mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure as you're positively overwhelmed by everything you're feeling. From the top of your head to the tip of your toes, you're buzzing with an all consuming bliss. Jake finally decides to take a bit of mercy on you. He laps at you softly, easing you from your climax in a gentler manner than before. Dropping whispers of praises into your skin of how good you were for him and how much he loves you.
“You made a mess, baby. Look at you,” he groans in utter want, staring at how soaked you've left his hand and sheets beneath you. He's suddenly aware at how painfully hard his dick is straining against his pants. He's honestly surprised he didn't come undone with how badly you have him worked up.
Jake's clothes suddenly start feeling stuffy, so he reluctantly removes himself from you to get rid of his shirt. Even in your post orgasm haze you find yourself shakily sitting up, hands reaching out to help him remove his belt. He chuckles in disbelief at your readiness to keep going, hooded eyes looking up at him, tempting him to go all the way. But when your hands reach for the button on his pants he stops you. You frown at him, a pout starting to form that he swipes away with a soft brush of his thumb. He cups your face with both hands, your own landing on his bare chest, golden skin beneath your finger tips as he pulls you in for another kiss.
But this time its different. It's searing, full of worship. He holds you against him like only you matter. Like you need to understand this had nothing to do with your silly little prank, and all to do with something he needed to prove.
When the kiss breaks, he's staring at you affectionately, but there's a seriousness to his gaze that pins you in place. “I’m not your buddy, bud, pal—none of that. I’m yours. And I’m gonna remind you of that all night, darlin’.” He whispers a promise full of devotion and heat before falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. You know when Jake's determination has taken a hold of him there's nothing that can stop him.
You're about to have a long night indeed.
a/n: Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated my lovelies! ♡♡♡
top gun masterlist || main masterlist || library blog
“Anything you want, baby,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader
Genre: Friends to lovers, romantic smut
Word count: 4.9k
Summary: Your feelings for Jake resurface after you tried to push them away, leading to an extremely intimate night with your best friend.
a/n: I really hope there's still an audience for Top Gun Maverick smut because I really loved writing for Hangman and Rooster. Also, I’m currently working on the requests in my inbox but as always feel free to send any my way! I hope you enjoy <3
You're best friends with Jake, in fact you're the only one who he doesn't seem to have an attitude with. Working at The Hard Deck allows you to see him even more frequently, which you truly enjoy.
You know not to get too attached to him, you know how he is with women, you know that given the chance he would simply fuck you and leave your life forever. So of course you’ve entirely given up on the chance of ever being anything more than just his friend, his best friend.
The doors swing open with Mav and his team bounding in, he greets Penny, glancing over at you as you lean over a table obviously lost in thought.
“What are all of you doing here? I’m not even open yet,” she starts to scold but Maverick brushes her comment off.
“I thought you could make an exception for us,” he shoots her a sly grin and she rolls her eyes. Hangman gives you a gentle pat on the back as he passes you, saying a soft hello.
Phoenix chuckles as she stands in front of you, “Hey Y/N,” you groan in response.
“Hey, bagman.” Phoenix addresses the blond who's standing at the pool table, “What's up with Y/N?” Hangman turns toward Phoenix and raises an eyebrow in response to her question. He didn't seem particularly interested in the conversation, but his attention was piqued nonetheless.
"Hm? Oh, Y/N? What about her?" he said, leaning against the pool table with a nonchalant tone.
“I mean, just look at her. She looks like she's got something on her mind.” she says, nodding in your direction. Their gazes fall on you, watching as you wipe the same place over and over. He approaches you with a frown on his face, clearly noticing your distracted state.
He stands in front of you, his arms folded across his chest, and observes you silently. "You look like you're in another world, sweetheart," he finally says in a low voice, tilting his head to get a better look at your face.
You glance up at him, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, something like that.” you mutter.
“Well, don't just say that and not give me the details.” he raises an eyebrow, watching the way you look away. Something was definitely on your mind, he could tell by the look on your face alone. He knew you all too well, and your usual mood was certainly not this solemn.
He leaned down a bit, making sure he was in your field of vision again, his arms still crossing his chest. “Come on, you can tell me. What's going on?” he prodded, a hint of concern in his voice.
“It’s nothing,” your expression softens as you toss the rag into the red bucket under the counter.
“Oh, really now?” he says with a doubtful tone. He knew you were lying straight to his face, you were usually a pretty terrible liar. He leans against the counter a little bit, keeping his eyes on you. “I know there’s something going on in that pretty little head of yours. So spill it.” He spoke in a firm tone, trying to get you to open up to him.
“It's just,” you purse your lips as you choose your words carefully, making sure he doesnt find out you're talking about him. “Just some guy, has me distracted.”
“A guy?” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. There was something off about the way you spoke, like you were intentionally being vague. But his curiosity quickly shifted into jealousy as you mentioned you were distracted by another guy.
His arms tensed across his chest as he leaned a little closer towards you. “Who is this guy? Is he bothering you?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He didn’t like the idea of someone else capturing your attention, let alone making you distracted.
“Don’t worry your pretty head over it.” you tease him, your mood becoming a bit more lighthearted.
He rolled his eyes at your teasing, a small hint of a smile appearing on his face. But he was still determined to figure out who this other guy was, who was taking your attention away from him.
He pushed off the counter, moving to stand in front of you so that you were now face to face. “Come on, spill it. Who is this guy?” he said, a hint of insistence in his voice.
“I don’t want to make you jealous.” There was a hint of a smirk on his face as you mentioned making him jealous. He knew you were teasing him, but his competitive nature couldn’t resist the challenge.
“Oh, you think I’d get jealous?” he said, a hint of mock arrogance in his tone. “I don’t get jealous, sweetheart.” you think for a second, realizing that maybe getting advice from the man who's bothering you so much, might actually be your best option.
“Fine,” you pull yourself up on the counter, sitting on the edge in front of him. “He’s an ass sometimes, all he cares about is getting laid so I know I need to stay away. But.. I just can’t stop thinking about him.” you sigh.
Hangman looks a bit surprised by your admission, he wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt about the situation. He wants to tell you to forget about the guy and focus your attention on him instead, but he knows he doesn’t have any claim over you.
He leans against the counter next to you, his arms resting across his chest once again. “Sounds like a player, why bother with him?” he asks, trying to sound indifferent.
“I don't know, it’s just that he's always on my mind.” you lean back on your palms, “I guess that's why I’m so distracted today.” He can see the hint of frustration and confusion in your expression, it was clearly bothering you that this guy was constantly invading your thoughts.
He’s silent for a moment, his mind racing with different thoughts and feelings. But eventually he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You can do so much better than some player,” he says with a slight scoff, “You don’t need a guy like him in your life.”
Your eyes wander across his face as you sigh, “I know..” your voice trails off. He looks down at you, noticing the way your eyes are wandering across his face. He can see the hint of disappointment in your expression, as you admit that you know you can do better.
He steps a bit closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face. “So why bother with him then? Why waste your time and energy thinking about a guy who doesn’t deserve you?"
“I should get back to work.” you smile softly at him, hiding the frustration at his admission. He didn’t want you to go, he wasn’t ready to let the conversation end just yet. The way you smiled softly at him, a hint of frustration in your eyes, made him want to keep talking to you and find out more.
But he knew you had a job to do, and he didn’t want to come off as needy or overbearing. He nods in response to your statement, forcing a small smile back.
“Y/N,” Penny smiles warmly at you, “How about you call it a day?” she presses her hand to your back.
“Are you sure?” you question her, she simply nods at you. You find your way over to the pool table watching the pilots play.
The pilots are in the middle of a game of pool, laughing and teasing each other as they take turns shooting. Hangman in particular is clearly enjoying himself, relishing in the competitive atmosphere. He knows he's good at pool, and he's not afraid to show it.
He’s the first to notice your approach, and his demeanor changes slightly. He glances at you, a hint of a cocky smile on his face. “Finished working already?” he teases, his eyes watching you intently.
“Yeah, but my ride won't be here for a couple more hours.” you bite down on your bottom lip, gazing at him.
He steps even closer to you, his gaze unwavering. “If you don't want to keep waiting, I can drive you home.” his voice lowered as he stares down at you.
“Actually that sounds like a great idea,” you smile up at him, thankful you won’t have to stay any later.
He can't help but feel satisfied that you agreed so easily to his offer, pleased that he'll have more time alone with you. He grins back at you, his arms still crossed in front of his chest.
"Alright then, let's get going." he says, jerking his head towards the exit. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the doors. You wave goodbye to Penny and Mav who are deep in a conversation.
“Do you maybe have time to watch a movie with me?” you fiddle with your fingers, “I mean, it's been a while since we've hung out just the two of us.”
He listens to your question, his mind racing with different thoughts, but he quickly shoves them down. He would do anything to spend more time with you. He pretends to act a bit indifferent, but his voice betrays him as he replies.
"Sure, we can watch a movie." he shrugs, trying not to seem too eager. "Got one in mind?" you reach for the handle of his passenger side door.
“Hm, we could watch anything. I just want to be with you,” you admit carelessly while getting into the car.
He can’t help but feel a flutter in his chest at your admission, his heart races a little bit faster as he watches you get into the car. He quickly gets into the driver’s seat, trying to act like your words don’t affect him.
“Anything, huh?” he teases, glancing over at you quickly as he starts the car. “Even a cheesy romance movie?” he smirks, knowing how much you love them.
You gasp in response, “Obviously, you *know* they're my favorite.” his mind goes back to the discussion you had earlier as you smile at him.
He lets out a soft chuckle at your response, “Of course I do, I can’t forget your obsession with them.” he teases, his eyes staying focused on the road as he drives. But his mind starts to wander again, thinking about your earlier confession.
As his mood shifts slightly, he glances over at you with a hint of a frown on his face. “So, uh, this guy you were talking about,” he says, breaking the silence in the car. “How… how serious are you about him?”
“Hm?” your eyebrows furrow softly. His grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly at your reaction, his eyes staring straight ahead as he continues to drive.
He can’t help the pang of jealousy that runs through him, he glances over at you, his face trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. “I just mean, you said you didn’t want to get in trouble with a guy.” he says, his tone guarded.
“I don’t know.” you sigh looking out the window.
His heart does a backflip at your words, he tries to maintain a neutral expression, but he can’t help the small smirk that appears on his face. “So, you’re single, huh?” he teases, a hint of hope in his voice.
“Mhm, why do you ask?” you question him. He continues to drive, keeping his eyes focused on the road as he answers your question.
“Just wondering,” he replies casually, trying to feign indifference. But he can’t help the nervous energy that’s building inside of him. He glances over at you, his gaze raking over your face thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve been single for a while too,” he adds, an underlying hint in his voice.
“You’re always single,” you retort, “you prefer hook-ups over relationships, right?” you tease him.
He lets out an annoyed huff, not expecting you to tease him like that. His face flushes slightly as he remembers all the past hookups he’s bragged about to you, in an attempt to make you jealous. “Hey,” he says with false annoyance in his voice, “I can be in a relationship if I wanted to.”
“And would you want to?” you question as he pulls into the parking lot of your building.
He parks the car, his heart racing slightly at your question. He turns to look at you, hesitating for a moment. The thought of being in a relationship, with you, was something he’d fantasized about for a while. But he’s also a coward, terrified of being vulnerable and getting hurt.
He takes a deep breath, trying to maintain a casual composure. “Maybe, if it was the right person.” he finally responds, his eyes searching your face for a reaction. You nod in response, slightly disappointed with his answer.
“Who’s your right person?” your voice is quiet. He’s taken aback by your question, the subtle disappointment in your voice stabbing at his heart. He glances down, his mind racing with different thoughts and emotions.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. His heart pounds even faster as he musters up the courage to answer you. “Well.. I think you already know.” your eyes widen at his implication, feeling his hand moving to cup your cheek.
He can see the surprise in your eyes as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb stroking your skin softly. His heart is racing as he looks down at you, his eyes searching your expression for a reaction.
He takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “Do you… do you feel the same way?” he asks, his voice soft and nervous.
“Jake.. I.” your heart races as your words get stuck in your throat. His chest clenches as you struggle to speak, his stomach in knots as he waits for your response. His hand is still gently caressing your cheek, his eyes never leaving your face.
He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure. “Please, just tell me. I need to know.” he says, his voice quiet but firm. Finding yourself speechless, you respond by pressing your lips to his.
He’s taken by surprise by your action, his eyes widening for a split second before he responds to your kiss. A wave of relief and happiness washes over him as he feels your lips against his, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief as he realizes the asshole you were talking about earlier just so happens to be him.
He moans softly against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he kisses you back, passionately and hungrily. You lean closer to him, your hands cupping his cheeks as he slips his tongue into your mouth.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue twirling with yours. He can’t believe this is actually happening, that you feel the same way he does.
He pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips and guiding you onto his lap. He moans against your lips, his hands roaming down your sides, his touch both gentle and desperate at the same time.
“Jake,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his bulge pressed against your heat. He shudders hearing his name leaving your lips, his eyes darkening with desire for you. He can’t help but moan softly as he feels your body pressed against his, his hips instinctively bucking up slightly in response.
He pulls you even closer, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips trailing down your neck. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I want you so damn bad.” you moan quietly, leaning into his touch.
“We need to go inside,” your voice and gaze are filled with desire. His heart races at your moan, his body aching with need for you. He nods in agreement, his eyes filled with the same desire.
“You’re right, we should go.” he mutters, his hands roaming over your hips, unable to keep himself from touching you.
He lifts you off his lap, opening the car door and practically dragging you out with him. He shuts the door behind you before pulling you towards the building’s entrance, his eyes filled with impatience and lust.
He presses you against the wall of the elevator, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of exposed skin. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire. He kisses and nips at your neck, unable to get enough of you, your soft moans fill the cramped space.
He can’t help but smirk to himself as he hears your moans, his heart racing as he realizes he’s the one making you feel this way. He feels a surge of pride and satisfaction knowing he’s the one who has your heart racing and your body yearning.
“Jake, fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” The ding of the elevator pulls you both out of your trance as the doors open, revealing the empty hallway. He grabs your hand, practically dragging you towards your apartment.
You fumble with the doorknob as you unlock it, feeling his desperate hands around your waist.
He can't keep his hands off you, his fingers tracing the exposed skin of your waist as you fiddle with the keys. Impatience floods him, his desire growing with every second.
He presses himself against you from behind, his lips finding your neck once again. "Hurry up," he mutters against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "I need you, right now."
You pull the door open, smirking at his impatience. He traps you between his arms, your back pressed against the closed door, his body pressed firmly against yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and low. He leans down and captures your lips in a fierce and passionate kiss, his body desperate to get closer to you.
You press against him, your palms against his lower abs, as you lead him to your bedroom blindly. He follows your lead through the apartment, his lips never leaving yours. His body is on fire, the feeling of your hands on his abs driving him wild.
He pushes you against the doorframe of your bedroom, his body pinning you to it as he continues to kiss you deeply and hungrily. He can't get enough of your mouth, his tongue tasting every inch of it. He slips his knee between your thighs, pressing into your sensitive pussy. You moan into his mouth, your eyebrows scrunching in pleasure.
His knee presses against your sensitive core, his tongue exploring your mouth greedily. He can hear your moans, your breath hitching as he presses into you. He feels a surge of satisfaction as he knows he’s the one who makes you feel this way.
He nips at your bottom lip, his hands roaming down your sides, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “You like that, sweetheart?” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. “You want more?”
“Please,” you grasp onto his sides, moaning desperately, “I need more please.”
He can hear the desperation in your voice, your fingers gripping his sides. His heart aches at your plea, his body responding instantly to your need.
He moans against your mouth in response, his hands roaming down to your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you into your bedroom.
He gently but firmly presses you against the plush comforter of your bed, his eyes devouring every inch of your body. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting shadows across your flushed cheeks and the passionate hunger in his gaze. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, and it sends shivers down your spine.
With a low growl, he starts to peel away the layers of fabric that separate his skin from yours. His rough hands glide over your smooth flesh, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each piece of clothing that falls away reveals more of your beauty to him, and he can't help but moan in appreciation. His eyes are locked onto yours, watching the way your pupils dilate with every touch, every kiss.
He nips at your earlobe before tracing the line of your jaw with his teeth, making you squirm under him. His hands are everywhere, exploring the curves of your body, learning every dip and peak that makes you gasp. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your neck as he sucks soft hickeys into your skin. You can feel the pressure build, the promise of bruises that will be a secret between the two of you.
Your breath comes in pants as he kisses down your chest, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipples. You arch your back, pushing your breasts closer to his eager mouth, your hands tangling into his hair. He groans, the vibration of his pleasure echoing through your body, making your core clench with need. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and you can't help but bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.
His mouth continues to travel downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your stomach. His eyes never leave yours, the hunger in them growing with every inch closer he gets to your wet pussy. You can feel your heart pounding against your ribs, the anticipation of his touch making your skin tingle with excitement.
With surprising gentleness, he spreads your legs apart, his gaze lingering on the wetness that's already gathered there. He groans, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his pants. He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, and you can't help but moan out his name as he kisses the inside of your thigh.
The first suck is gentle, but firm, and you feel your pussy clench in response. He starts to suck dark hickeys along the sensitive skin, each one a little harder and closer to your center. Your hands tighten in his hair as he works his way closer to your core, the pleasure building with every mark he leaves.
“More, Jake, please!” you beg him, your voice desperate and needy. He chuckles against your skin, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your back arches as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. You moan loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls of your small apartment.
He inserts one finger inside you, feeling the slickness of your arousal. You gasp as he starts to pump in and out, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, teasing and taunting it. His eyes watch yours as he reads every reaction, making sure to hit all the right spots.
You're close, so close, but he knows you can take more. He adds another finger, stretching you just right, the friction making your toes curl. Your eyes roll back into your head as he starts to pump faster, his mouth never leaving your clit. He feels you tighten around his fingers, the warmth of your orgasm approaching.
He keeps his rhythm steady, not letting up even when your moans turn into whimpers of pleasure. You're so close, your body begging for release. His eyes never leave you, the intensity of the moment causing your chest to heave with every ragged breath. And then it hits you, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave.
You scream his name, your body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps his mouth on you, drinking in your release, savoring the taste of your arousal. As the waves subside, he kisses up your body, his hands still holding you in place.
"You taste so good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice filled with satisfaction. He can feel your legs shaking as his own need for you grows with every second. He strips off his own clothes, his eyes never leaving yours, and then he's on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress.
He positions himself at your entrance, his cock aching to be inside you. He looks into your eyes, searching for permission, and you nod eagerly. He takes a deep breath, then gently pushes in, feeling your warmth envelop him. You gasp as he stretches you, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any signs of pain or discomfort.
As he’s fully sheathed in your wetness, he holds still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being connected to you so intimately. He starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, torturous rhythm. Each time he thrusts into you, your eyes widen and a moan escapes your lips. He loves the way you react to him, the way your body moves with his.
He keeps his movements gentle, not wanting to overwhelm you, despite his own desperate need to claim you completely. His hands are everywhere, stroking your skin, feeling your curves, as he kisses along your jawline. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your legs tightening around his waist.
Your thighs squeeze around him, your heels digging into his back as he continues to thrust into you, deeper and deeper. His movements become more urgent as he feels your body tightening around him, the walls of your pussy clenching down on his cock. You moan his name, urging him to go faster, harder, and he responds eagerly, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm.
You can feel yourself on the edge of another orgasm, your breaths coming in short gasps. Hangman’s eyes are locked on yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze, feeling the power he has over your body. He can’t believe how beautiful you look, your face contorted in ecstasy, your eyes glazed over with lust.
Your body begins to spasm around him, your pussy clenching down hard. He groans, his hips stuttering as he feels you start to cum. The sensation is overwhelming, your muscles tightening around his cock like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through his body.
With a sudden jolt, he pulls out of you, unable to hold back any longer, his cock spurting cum onto your stomach with a loud groan. His eyes never leave your body, watching as your orgasm takes over, your pussy pulsing and gripping at nothing.
He's left breathless, his chest heaving as he looks down at you, his expression one of awe and satisfaction. He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, before his eyes drift down to the mess he's made of you.
He watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body trembling with the pleasure he’s given you. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction at the sight of your beautiful, sated body.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and exhaustion. His eyes rake over your form, taking in every curve and plane, every mark he’s left behind.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he mutters, his fingers tracing the lines of his bites and hickeys on your skin.
“Now let's get you cleaned up, hm?” He lifts you up, wrapping his strong arms around you, and carries you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, letting the water run until it warms up, before placing you gently under the spray.
He steps in after you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to lather your body with soap, his hands moving over your skin gently but possessively. You exhale contentedly as you press into his chest, relaxing in his embrace.
He holds you close, his arms encircling you, as the water cascades over your bodies. His hands run over your body, washing away the sweat and evidence of your passionate encounter. Jake nuzzles his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, a sense of peace washing over him. He murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, his voice low and soothing.
“You’re not just fucking around with me are you?” your voice is uneasy as your stomach twists with anxiety. He freezes, taken aback by your vulnerable question. He can hear the anxiety in your voice, and it pierces his heart.
He pulls away slightly, turning your body to face his, cupping your face gently in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are intense but filled with understanding.
“No. No, sweetheart, I’m not just ‘fucking around with you’.” His voice is firm but tender. “What we did tonight, it meant something to me. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. You mean way too much to me.” your eyes soften as his gaze into yours with sincerity.
“Good, because I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” you bite down on your lip. He feels a rush of tenderness and protectiveness wash over him as he hears your sincere words. He pulls you closer, your wet bodies pressed against each other, his arms encircling you in a firm embrace.
“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he mutters against your hair, his voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and possessiveness. “You’re all I want too, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I need you.”
Summary: The Dagger squad don't know much about Jake's personal life. And when he gets hurt during an exercise, they are surprised who comes to look after him.
Enjoy.
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Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulled out the pair of sunglasses he had been carrying around with him for the last few weeks. The sun here back at home was intense and he couldn't stand the migraines it gave him. Even when he was up in the air, he often had his sunglasses on. He didn't care about the way the glasses pinched his ears or gave him splitting pains in the sides of his neck.
If Bob could wear his prescription glasses to see, then Jake could wear his sunglasses to stop him squinting so much and relieve the headaches he got that were becoming chronic.
His hands fell to his hips once his visors were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked around.
It hadn't taken Jake nearly as long as he thought to complete his physical. They were doing physical assessments and training every other day to get them ready for their next assignment. They were going to be going against gravity, travelling up to G9 range and it would cause problems with breathing, taking in oxygen and could starve their brains for a few seconds, if not longer.
They all needed to be at their best physically and mentally to prepare for this and up to now, Jake was ready and rearing to go.
Today was training exercises on the ground rather than in the air. They were all doing different activities and now that Jake was rejoining the rest of the squad after his physical, he was supposed to be doing safety and maintenance checks.
He took a look around the open air field. Bradley was over to one side, looking like he was trying to do some physical exercises, but he kept stopping to quietly argue with Maverick who was following him around like a dark, looming shadow. Jake wasn't going to be going over there. He noticed Phoenix and Bob were at their aircraft in the middle of their maintenance. While Coyote was off to one side doing pushups; he had messed up somewhere if that was his punishment. And Jake had already passed Fanboy who was on his way for his own physical.
He busied himself finding one of the clipboards and he jogged over to his aircraft, smiling and patting his hand against the bulk like it was an old friend he was meeting up with.
He circled the aircraft like a vulture, checking the wings, the engines- which had had a run in with a flock of birds two days ago which Jake had been lucky hadn't completely ruined his left engine. He checked the wheels and made sure they were all clipped and chained down so the craft wasn't going anywhere without him.
Once all the outside checks were done, he climbed up the ladder and hopped inside.
It always felt weird to sit in the plane without his proper flight suit or his signature red helmet, but he wasn't going anywhere today. He was only turning the engine on to check everything was working and making sure he got all the right responses to show he would be ready for whatever training exercise he had to go out on next.
He slouched back in the seat, spreading his knees apart with the clipboard in front of him and the pen twisting between his fingers.
After ticking a few boxes, Jake tilted his head back and poised the pen behind his ear while his hand shifted to undo the first button on his uniform. He slid his hand beneath his shirt until his fingers found the familiar silver chain hanging around his neck.
He imbedded the ring into his palm that hung on the end of the chain, always tapping and jostling against his chest whenever he moved.
It felt safer to have his wedding ring on his chain rather than his finger. If he had any accidents and needed to be taken for a scan or for surgery, they would cut his ring off. Rings got in the way, jewellery got in the way and got lost but a chain around his neck was private and secure and more importantly, Jake had that ring as close to his heart as possible.
A soft look crossed his face as he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the ring that had created a halo indent in the centre of his hand.
"I'll be home soon." He murmured against the ring as a picture of (Y/n) flashed before his eyes.
The last deployment Jake had been on had almost killed him. Three and a half months away from home. Three and a half months where he couldn't see, touch or feel his wife in his arms or have her lips against his or her body pressed up against his own. All he got were a few brief phone calls or five minutes of faceTime every other day, if he wasn't being shipped straight out from dawn until dusk.
He was much happier here where he could spend each night in his own bed, safe in his home with his wife. He didn't have to sleep alone or feel like he was going insane from having absolutely no physical touch or contact with (Y/n). Never before had Jake thought or believed in having withdrawal symptoms for another human being until he got married and had to face the prospect of leaving (Y/n) behind.
When he was done with his checks, Jake heaved himself up to his feet and climbed down back to level ground again.
He waved his clipboard up and down in front of his face like a fan, relishing the slight breeze it created to his melting skin. If he were back home in this heat his shirt would already be off and he would be lounging around in a pair of shorts. Or be would be on the beach in this weather. Either of those thoughts sounded very appealing right now.
He stood still for a few moments, taking in his surroundings and wondering what the next task would be, but his mind kept wandering off to the girl waiting at home for him. Exactly where he wanted to be right now.
"Bob, are you almost done?" Phoenix tilted her head back with an exasperated sigh, one hand clamped around her hip as she the other held onto the ladder Bob was perched on top of.
He was filling up their aircraft with fuel, they had half a tank but it was better to be safe than sorry because they didn't know how long they would be out on their next flight exercise. The last thing they needed was to be marked down and sent to do two hundred push ups because they thought half a tank would be sufficient.
"Almost." His voice was as passive as ever while he swiped his arm across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the afternoon sun.
"Bob, come on we've got other stuff to do."
He didn't know what happened.
One moment Bob was pushing his glasses further up his nose, rolling his eyes at his impatient partner calling up the orders below him. But the next, a shockwave was rattling up the ladder he was perched on and set him off balance.
His hands scrambled to steady himself before he fell off and he subsequently dropped the fuel line that had been in his right hand just as he unclipped it from the air craft that was now fuelled up. Bob scrambled for balance, bashing his legs into the side of the plane and earning a cut down his left forearm that scraped along a jagged edge on the ladder.
But it was the fuel line he was concerned with. It wasn't like filling up a car at the fuel station. The air crafts were large with tanks high up at the back. They had to use large funnel lines that looked like double sized garden hoses with a large round metal clip on the end the size of Bob's hand. That metal created a sizzling sound that sliced through the air when he dropped it.
The line swooped through the air like a bird trying to land but Bob could of cried when he heard a sickening crunch below him. He didn't want to imagine what it collided with- who, it collided with. His eyes snapped closed and he clung to the ladder, trying to gain his balance back so he didn't fall and break an arm or a leg.
The resounding crack echoed around the base and shuddered through everyone within close range. It was a sound no one expected to echo through the open air like that, it travelled far and wide and had everyone coiling in on the spot.
The metal end of the fuel line pelted down, gaining strength and speed as it swung past the ladder, lifted slightly into the air and smacked straight into the right side of Jake's head. Upon impact, his sunglasses snapped and flung off his nose and took flight on a course of their own, six feet across the base.
An awful crack shuddered through Jake's ears and rattled through his head as his eyes automatically snapped closed and his shoulders hunched up. Both arms recoiled into his chest as his clipboard slipped through his fingers that twitched and spasmed, unsure what to do as his body seemed to shutdown and recalibrate all at once.
The force sent his head snapping backwards until his neck got whiplash and his body followed his head's sense of direction, thrusting backwards until he landed harshly on the concrete floor.
Shockwaves rattled through his body causing his legs to shake and spasm out against the floor as if he was kicking and throwing a tantrum and all the air left his lungs when his back hit the floor. It took a few seconds for his diaphragm to loosen and allow his lungs to take in a deep breath, but when he did, a choked moan escaped his lips.
It felt like he'd been shot in the head.
He could feel his pulse throbbing through his temple and circulating all around the circumference of his head like someone pelting round a relay race. He could feel his veins throbbing and the blood steadily trickling down the right side of his face. The feeling of blood oozing down the bridge of his nose and around his eye socket made his nose scrunch up in disgust.
His hands curled and twisted against his chest, desperate to move but the sudden onset of trembling in his bones made it impossible for Jake to coordinate his body properly.
The trembling continued even as Jake suddenly realised he couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't open his eyes. No sounds broke through the static barrier building up in his ears. He had no control over moving a single part of his body. It felt like his head had been severed from the rest of his body.
"Jesus Bob, what the Hell?!" Bradley spun on his heels and made into a sprint towards the three of them, Maverick hot on his heels.
The sight of Jake, laid out on his back, body overwrought with trembles and blood pooling steadily down one side of his face was a sickening sight none of them ever wanted to witness.
"I wasn't- didn't you see the ladder?" Bob hissed like a snake as he shakily slid down the ladder onto unsteady feet.
His hands began to rake up and down his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his trousers as his glasses started to fall down the bridge of his nose. He hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't just let go of the fuel line; Phoenix bashed into the ladder and knocked him off course. He would have fallen if he didn't scramble for his balance. It could just as easily have been Bob's head split open if he fell the other way or completely lost his footing on the ladder.
"I'm sorry-"
A groan spluttered past Jake's lips and stopped all their ramblings. He managed to curl his fingers around the middle of his shirt and he scrunched it up in his fists as tightly as possible. His legs continued to thrash against the floor but when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't seem to do it.
"Oh God." He tried his best to reach his hand up towards his head but he could barely lift either arm from trembling against his chest.
Without his glasses that had been broken and flung off somewhere on the base, the sun was beating down on him with unwavering strength. His right eye was blinking furiously to try and stop the blood from getting into his eyes that were rolling to the back of his head that was pounding like a drum.
"Everyone shut up." Maverick's voice snapped through the air like a whip and stopped all their ramblings at once.
He crouched down beside Jake with Bradley on his other side with Bob and Phoenix hovering anxiously in the background and Coyote running over at the sound of commotion.
The wound looked bad. Maverick tilted Jake's head back and tried to touch his hairline to get a proper look. A large slash line went from his hairline towards his eyebrow and the skin had been split apart so neatly it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife. Blood oozed out in every direction and splattered across Jake's temple and down his nose towards both his eyes like a jam donut had been tossed at his head.
He couldn't see his skull or any bone which was a good sign, but the blunt force could have been enough to crack his skull and give him a fracture. He most definitely had a concussion which meant he could have side effects.
He could start throwing up, he could black out or go fully unconscious, he could have a seizure if the impact was bad enough.
"Get him down to the medbay now." With a click of his hand over to the left, Coyote hurried forward and knelt down behind Jake while Bradley shuffled forward.
The pair of them carefully took one of Jake's arms each and looped them around the back of their necks.
"Alright, up. Let's get you up Hangman." Bradley looped his right arm around Jake's waist while his left hand gripped Jake's wrist. He held his breath and slowly pushed up onto his feet, slowly pulling Jake with him who looked very worse for wear.
Jake's head flopped forward as soon as he was sitting up. He groaned again, spluttering through a moan, spit forming on his lips and blood still trickling down his face. He could feel the shock setting in because even his neck was shaking now and once he was on his feet, his knees wavered and his legs felt oddly heavy and useless. He could barely stay upright and when his knees gave way, he slumped down like he was trying to sit on an imaginary chair.
His hands scrunched down around Coyote and Bradley's shoulders as each of them held his waist and kept him up on his feet.
Both Jake's feet bent awkwardly and the toes of his shoes scraped against the floor as the pair of them dragged him slowly towards the open hanger doors. He tried to move his legs and he did somewhat help them, but he relied on them to drag him along because he felt like collapsing to the floor and curling up into a ball.
He managed to find the will to open his eyes once they were inside, but the sight of the tiled floor disappearing and all the lines blurring before his eyes made his head swoon.
He found his eyes rolling around in his skull before he jolted forward with a croaky "Gonna puke."
True to his word, Jake tossed up his lunch the moment the boys paused in their quick shuffle towards the medbay. He felt a little better after that and he managed to lift his head once the three of them began their awkward tandem walk together.
By the time they were near the medic bay, Jake managed to place one foot in front of the other. He did an awkward walk and started to help them so they didn't have to heave him the whole way there.
"We've had an accident. The fuel line cracked Hangman straight in the temple and knocked him out. He threw up on the way down here." Bradley looked between the two medics idling around and waited for one of them to point towards the bed in the left corner of the large bunker space.
They trotted to the left and turned around, carefully easing Jake down until he was sat in the middle of the bed.
He felt more alive and a bit better once he was sat down. His head flopped back until the base of his head was touching the back of his shoulders and his shaking hands gripped the edge of the bed with intensity to keep himself sitting upright. It took all his effort to stop himself trembling and he tried to take deep breaths to ward off the sickness and the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him.
"Okay Seresin, let's take a look."
Coyote and Bradley backed up until they were stood to one side. Neither of them fancied going back outside to finish off their exercises when Jake didn't look in his best shape. They would rather wait here to make sure he was alright and then head back to the rest of the team and tell them how he was fairing up. It was clear that Jake would be going home early today, he was lucky not to have been killed with that force, there was no way he was carrying on with any work today after this.
Jake begrudgingly lifted his head when one of the doctors stood in front of him. He let the man hold his chin and tilt his head from side to side to assess the damage and when he shone a pen light across his eyes, Jake winced.
A frightful yelp left his lips when the man tried to touch the wound and he reeled back with a groan.
"Afraid I'm gonna need an X-ray before I can stitch it. I'll clean the wound and get you some painkillers first." They were lucky the wound was on his head as they had a small, portable X-ray scanner in the back room they could use just to double check they didn't have to send him to hospital for urgent treatment. But if it looked okay, he could get some pain relief, be stitched up and sent home for the day.
"Great." Jake winced, trying to form a lopsided smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.
At least he would get to go home earlier than he thought.
***
"Hey," Bob groaned as sweat dripped off his body and onto a small puddle forming on the stone beneath him. His arms trembled as he tried to continue his push ups now that he was well into the hundreds. "Who's that?"
He nudged his nose against his shoulder to push the glasses further up his nose while he indicated his head to the left, signalling Phoenix's attention towards the person advancing across the base.
Maverick had told Bob and Phoenix to finish off Jake's safety checks, prep his fuel tank too and then do a set of two hundred push ups. They both knew they should have been more careful and they shouldn't have started squabbling like children when Jake was hauled off to the medic bay.
Phoenix lifted her head and glanced her eyes around, trying to find out who Bob was referring to. When her eyes set on a woman walking their way, her brows furrowed and she watched where she was walking.
She wasn't in uniform, whoever she was. She had on a baby blue tank top and a pair of denim shorts that stopped just before her knees. Her bag was hung on her shoulder, the strap clutched tightly in her hand and there was a nervous look plastered across her face.
The woman seemed to spare them a glance, noting that they were both sweating through their uniforms, before her eyes set on Maverick and she made a beeline for him.
"Mav, where is he?" (Y/n) bit her lower lip nervously when she reached Maverick who greeted her with a warm smile and a hand on her elbow.
"He's with a doctor, come with me."
(Y/n) nodded and let Maverick lead her inside the base. She couldn't quite believe how high up the ceilings were or how large the bay doors were, it was like everything was amplified as if giants worked and lived here. It felt strange to be walking round here with Maverick when Jake always said he would give her a tour round one day. Plans changed.
She had been expecting much worse when Maverick rang her and said Jake had had a 'minor accident' at the base, but knowing it was nothing to do with a crash or him being in a plane at all made (Y/n) feel better. It stopped her from having a breakdown or a panic attack as she drove down here, but she couldn't fathom what had happened. What kind of accident would her husband have when he was supposed to be safe here on the ground?
She glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the two others who had been doing press ups were now following after her and Maverick, presumably so they could see Jake too. They must be part of his team.
"What happened?"
"Phoenix and Bob, behind you," Maverick tossed a look over his shoulder and pointed his thumb in their direction. "Had a mishap when they fueled their plane. The pipeline dropped and caught Jake in the temple. I think he's got a mild concussion, but he'll be fine."
(Y/n) brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hearing her shoes clicking loudly against the tiled floor as she followed Maverick around three corners and down a long corridor until they were in front of a medical wing.
That didn't sound too bad. That wasn't nearly as bad as she had been expecting, but it still wasn't good.
Her husband shouldn't be getting into accidents like this at work. He shouldn't be getting smashed in the head with their equipment. He was a pilot, an aviator. He was training every day to be in top physical performance and here he was with a concussion because his team had clearly lacked concentration.
It took all the effort (Y/n) had not to run ahead once they walked into a large open unit almost the same size as the open field outside. There was only one patient in here and (Y/n) set her sights on him immediately.
Jake was sat on the side of a bed, his legs swinging back and forth like a child at a doctor's appointment. His hands were clutching either side of the bed, his lips were set in a firm line and he kept squinting and closing his eyes as a doctor was stood in front of him, cleaning his wound.
Once they were close enough, (Y/n) hurried past Maverick and dropped her bag down by the foot of the bed. She didn't want to get in the way when the doctor was clearly trying to assess Jake and sort him out, but the moment Jake glanced to the left, his eyes widened and he jerked out of the doctor's grip.
"Baby." The surprise was evident in his voice and he let go of the bed to reach an arm out in (Y/n)'s direction. As soon as he started curling his fingers in a grabbing motion, (Y/n) smiled and moved forward.
Jake immediately coiled his arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her closer until she had to plant her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His fingers squeezed her hip tightly and he kissed the top of her chest before he glanced over her shoulder towards Maverick.
"You called my wife?"
The shock was evident in Jake's voice, but it was the looks of the rest of the team that made him wince. He hadn't mentioned to any of them that he happened to be married, that knowledge was on a need to know basis and as his superior, Maverick was the only one who needed to know. For emergency situations like this if Jake ever got hurt or shot down or sent to hospital.
There was no way they could let him drive home and since he had been injured, Maverick knew it was best to call (Y/n) and let her know so she could come and pick him up.
"You got concussed and you won't be able to drive home. Yes, I called your missus. You're welcome."
Maverick placed his hand on his hip and tilted his head to one side. Once Jake was silenced with that one look, Maverick nodded to himself and turned to leave. He knew none of them would be doing any more exercises today and he was okay with that, they would call it a day and start again tomorrow.
"You're married?"
"You never mentioned you're married to such a stunning girl."
(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, figuring the man that said that must be Bradley, the one Jake said was close to Maverick. He had a raised brow and his lips quirked into a smile beneath his moustache while both arms folded tightly over his chest.
She could feel the glares Jake was sending towards Bradley, squinting and glaring over in his direction before he looked back up at his wife.
With a quiet groan, Jake moved his hands from (Y/n)'s hips so he could bind his arms tightly around her waist. His hands feathered up and down her back and he pushed forward until his lips attached to her exposed chest just beneath her collar bone.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"Why did you need to know?" He countered, smirking tiredly against (Y/n)'s chest and he twisted his head so the left side of his face could press down against her skin. His cheek nuzled into her chest and he looked over at the team, watching the blush that rose to Bob's face that tilted down to look at his shoes and the way Phoenix rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.
He hadn't told them because it wasn't their business, they didn't need to know. He was in love, he was head over heels in love with his wife and in Jake's eyes, she was his little secret.
He didn't want the team teasing him or asking about her or trying to make jokes that he was tied down. He had dealt with that in the past with other people he worked with and he didn't like it. He smiled when people flirted with him in bars, but he kindly turned every one of them down and didn't let them get too close. (Y/n) was the reason why.
Sometimes it felt safer to keep (Y/n) as his little secret. What they did was dangerous, they had all lost friends in this job and it was hard to bring friends and family into this life. Jake didn't know if introducing (Y/n) to his team would be too much.
For him, it felt better to keep work and home life separate.
With a sigh, Jake lifted his cheek from (Y/n)'s chest, his lips forming a thin line as he stared up at her despite the headache that was swirling around behind his eyes. He scanned his eyes around the team who were all watching on eagerly like this was their favourite tv soap.
"Darlin', this is the dagger squad," Jake waved his hand around, muttering their call signs to which (Y/n) nodded earnestly. "Guys, this is my wife, (Y/n)."
"Nice to meet you all, even under strange circumstances," (Y/n) quirked a brow when Bob tipped his head down with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Clearly he felt guilty for the accident and (Y/n) was sure she heard him mutter a soft 'sorry again' clearly directed towards Jake.
He wasn't going to hold a grudge. It had been an accident and a few stitches was much better than some of the injuries he'd gotten on this job. But he would be holding this over them in the future and he knew he had earned himself a few free beers down at the Hard Deck for this.
"How bad is it then?"
Jake felt shockwaves coursing through his blood when (Y/n)'s hands moved from his shoulders to gently cup his face in her hands.
He loved the feeling of her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones just beneath his eyes and the way her fingertips tapped behind the tip of his jaw near his ears. His lips curved into a smile, despite the aching in his temple that had gone down a little when he took the aspirin and painkillers he was given.
His eyes squinted up at his wife whose lips curved into a pouting smile while her head tilted to the side, inspecting the wound on his temple.
All the blood had been cleaned from Jake's face and neck and his head had been X-rayed and dabbed with anticeptic, all he needed now was stitches.
"What am I gonna do with you?" (Y/n) murmured softly while she tilted Jake's head down in her hands so she could pepper kisses against the middle of his temple which no doubt would be aching. She didn't want to touch or go too near the wound, she knew even a light touch was going to hurt and she didn't want to hurt him. But he leaned into her touch and groaned, tightening his arms around her waist while his hands slid further down her back.
"I can think of a few things."
"I don't think I wanna see that." Coyote ran a hand down his face and patted Bradley's chest before he began to walk. He would see what Maverick wanted them to do, whether they were all getting the afternoon off or just Jake. He murmured a soft "Nice to meet you, Mrs Seresin." And laid a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as he passed her.
"Yeah, us neither. Sorry again, Hangman, we'll owe you a few rounds when your back in action." Phoenix waved her hand towards Jake and dipped her head before she headed out with Bob following in her wake.
He uttered a soft "Nice to see you, sorry Hangman." before he followed Phoenix, silently praying they wouldn't have to finish the last twenty six push ups they had skipped when they followed Maverick and (Y/n) down here to the medic bay.
"Well, you look like your in good hands, so I'll catch up with you later. Maybe we'll see you soon, Mrs Hangman."
Once Bradley disappeared, (Y/n) managed to untangle herself from her husband's arms, causing him to grunt and pout dramatically. His hands reached out for her but she didn't move far. She stepped out from between his legs and moved to stand on his left side near the end of the bed he was perched on. Her arm looped around his back and her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze while she kissed the good side of his temple.
"When can I take him home?"
"I'll just do the stitches and then he's all yours."
Jake couldn't hide the grimace that flooded his face when he saw the needle and thread. He didn't like the inconvenience of stitches. His eyes briefly glanced up at (Y/n) before he shimmied round on the seat so his back was towards her. And he slowly reclined his head until the back of his head was settled down on (Y/n)'s shoulder.
He did his best to keep his head steady and his eyes fell closed when he saw an injection needle coming close. The numbing agent to make the stitches more bearable.
A low whistle passed his lips and when (Y/n)'s free hand curled over his thigh, Jake reached down and curled his hand over hers. He squeezed tight and tried to take slow, deep breaths when the needle finally started puncturing through his skin. It didn't exactly hurt, but he felt a sharp sting and each time the thread was pulled tight, Jake could feel his brow lifting as the skin was dragged back together.
Six stitches later and (Y/n) could barely feel her hand from how tightly Jake was squeezing it. She leaned her head down and kissed the top of his head, nudging her nose against his soft wavy hair as Jake finally opened his eyes.
"You're good to go with a mild concussion, Seresin. No flying for twenty-four hours, and if you go any higher than G7, I'll need to see you back here for a check over."
"Copy that."
"Thank you for patching him up."
When Jake hopped up from the bed, (Y/n) moved her arm lower to secure around his waist and she pressed a quick kiss to the side of his jaw which caused his lips to pull into a wide grin. He draped his arm over her shoulders, feeling much better than he did earlier.
The last thing he wanted to do was lean on (Y/n) and have her dragging him out of here like the guys had heaved him in earlier. He could walk on his own two feet again.
"That's going to leave a scar." (Y/n) murmured softly, reaching her left hand up to graze her fingers over his brow just beneath the row of navy blue stitches on his temple. It wasn't going to leave a dent or a prominent, deep line, but it would leave a faint streak of white like a dash of paint across his skin.
She pressed another kiss to Jake's jaw until he tilted his head down and captured her lips in a soft, burning kiss instead. "I know," He muttered softly against her lips, kissing her again and again as they walked as slow as possible out of the base.
