I've seen a lot of ff writers apologize for their fic being "self-indulgent" which baffles me cause like is that not the entire concept of fanfiction?????
SAY IT WITH ME FOLKS, "FANFICTION IS SUPPOSED TO BE SELF-INDULGENT"
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 !
SUMMARY: Jake "Hangman" Seresin had a reputation for flirting with anything that breathed, which is exactly why you never paid him much attention whenever the Dagger Squad rolled into the Hard Deck. But the more time you spend around him, the more you realize he’s not the arrogant jerk you assumed he was. Against all odds, you fall for him, hard. So when you suddenly start pulling away, Jake can't help but wonder what he did wrong.
WARNINGS: One-sided miscommunication, angst, self-deprecating thoughts, implied daddy issues, jealousy, fluff, cursing, platonic reader x Dagger Squad, lovesick!Jake, making out, probably some inaccurate military details (sorry)!
A/N: Literally hated his character when I first watched the movie, yet the more I watch edits and read fanfiction the more this man has grown on me... which is how this came about. Hope y'all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ jake seresin masterlist
The Hard Deck was buzzing as it usually was on a Friday night. You and Penny moved in perfect sync behind the bar, dodging each other with practiced ease as the room filled with the clamor of laughter, clinking bottles, and the low hum of music from the jukebox in the corner. The scent of citrus and salt clung to your skin, your fingers sticky from pouring whiskey sours and popping lime wedges into beers.
You wiped your hands on a towel tucked into your apron, catching Penny’s eye just as she slid a beer down to a waiting customer. Penny leaned in as she wiped down the bar, eyes flicking toward the entrance. “They’re here.” She murmured, barely suppressing a grin. You didn’t need to ask who. The sound of boots scuffing the floor and the unmistakable blend of egos and energy meant only one thing: The Dagger Squad, fresh off another brutal day of training.
Maverick must’ve put them through hell, judging by the way Bradley dragged his hand through his hair like he might tear it out. Natasha looked like she was already plotting revenge, and Mickey was slumped against the pool table like gravity had it out for him personally. “They look like death.” You noted, already lining up glasses. Penny smirked. “Except for a certain blonde who’s looking at you like you’re his reward for surviving it.”
You threw her a dry look, but heat bloomed at the back of your neck. “You’re imagining things.” Penny rolled her eyes, nudging you with her elbow. “Oh, sure, I must be also imagining the way you check your lip gloss every time he walks in.” You snorted and turned away to hide your smirk, reaching for the tequila. “God, you’re even worse than Amelia.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The squad fanned out across the pool tables, dropping into their usual spots with groans and exaggerated sighs. Bradley clinked his dog tags against the counter like a bell, while Natasha stretched out her shoulders and grumbled something about Maverick trying to kill them. And then, right on cue, Jake Seresin. He swaggered in a few beats behind the rest, as if the doors themselves had waited for his entrance.
His hair was a little messy, his skin kissed by the sun, dog tags catching the low light as they swung against his collarbone. He moved like he owned the room, like he’d fought gravity and won. But you knew better now. He’d fooled you once. That cocky smile, that drawl, that insufferable nickname, Hangman. You’d pegged him for exactly the kind of man who flirted with anything that moved and forgot the names of anyone who didn’t. So you ignored him.
Every night he came in, you barely spared him a glance. And every night, he tried again. But Jake didn’t win you over with charm. He won you with patience. When your car wouldn’t start after a long shift and you were ready to scream into the night, he appeared, hands in his pockets, smile soft. No teasing, no smug remarks. Just a quiet offer to take a look. Thirty minutes later, he had it running again. He didn’t ask for anything in return.
He started walking you to your car after closing, no pressure, no flirting. Just company. And then he started showing up on your off days. Not in uniform. Not with the squad. Just Jake. He’d sit at the bar, nursing a soda or a single beer, and talk to you while you cut garnishes or cleaned glasses. He asked about your family. Your hometown. Whether you liked working nights or if you ever thought about leaving the beach behind.
He never made it about himself, not at first. And when he finally did, it was different. One night, long after the bar had emptied, you found him leaning against the jukebox, staring at the floor like it had personally offended him. “My dad never thought I’d amount to much,” He murmured when you passed him. “Guess part of me still tries to prove him wrong.” You’d stopped in your tracks. That was the moment something cracked. Not in him, in you.
Because behind all that swagger, Jake Seresin was carrying something heavy. Something private. And he trusted you enough to let you see it. That was when you started falling. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Unavoidable. A creeping warmth that found its way under your skin and settled there. So now, as Jake leaned across the bar, sweat-damp and sun-touched from a long day of dogfights, you didn’t feel annoyance anymore. You felt fear.
Because you’d let him in. Because he wasn’t who you thought he was. Because he looked at you like you were more than just a bartender, and you weren’t sure what to do with that. “Evenin’, darlin’.” His voice dropped low into that familiar Southern drawl, thick like honey and rough at the edges, and it sent goosebumps skittering down your spine before you could stop them. Jake leaned one elbow against the bar, casual as ever, but his presence was anything but forgettable.
Sunlight from the open doors caught in his windswept hair, and sweat still clung to the base of his throat. Those hypnotic green eyes, greener tonight under the warm, flickering lights, swept over your face with the same lazy intensity they always did, as if he were memorizing you every time. You arched a brow, letting your hands stay busy with the shaker. The clink of ice helped mask the fact that your heartbeat had kicked up a notch. “You look like Maverick dragged you through a jet wash.”
Jake’s grin curled slow, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was an edge in them, subtle, but there. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was something else. “He sure as hell tried,” He muttered, rolling his shoulder with a wince that was half hidden. “But it’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” You slid a cold beer across the polished wood without looking up, but your fingers brushed his for half a second longer than they should have.
His hand was warm, calloused and steady, and instead of pulling away, he lingered. Just a breath longer. Just enough to make your skin tingle where he touched you. You hated that it made your pulse skip. Hated it even more that he seemed to know exactly what it did to you. Jake gave you that heartbreaker wink before peeling away to join the others, the beer already raised in a half-salute. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
You watched him walk, shoulders still squared from the cockpit, tags clinking lightly against his chest, and tried not to let your eyes linger too long. Penny had, of course, seen all of it. As she restocked the limes with a knowing look, one perfectly sculpted brow lifted in dry amusement. “You keep looking at him like that,” She murmured, voice low as she tossed a handful of garnishes into a silver tray. “He’s gonna think that you actually like him.”
“He already thinks that.” You rolled your eyes, mostly to distract from the flutter blooming in your chest. “Because you do,” She countered without missing a beat, slicing through a lemon with precision. “Might as well admit it before you combust.” You didn’t answer. Not because she was wrong, but because she wasn’t. And you hated how easily she saw through you. The truth was… you did like him. Too much. In ways you didn’t want to admit out loud.
Jake Seresin had wormed his way past your sarcasm and rolled eyes and cool indifference like it was nothing. And the scariest part? He hadn’t even tried that hard. “I’ll be right back.” You muttered, grabbing five beers from the cooler and sliding them onto a tray with practiced ease. You tucked a cold can of Coca-Cola into the front pocket of your apron, Bob’s usual, always sipped with quiet contentment while the others knocked back drinks like they were on shore leave. Penny caught the gesture and smirked.
“Go get your man.” You didn’t dignify her with a reply. Just rolled your eyes and turned on your heel, weaving between the crowds with practiced grace, the tray balanced effortlessly in your hands. But your stomach flipped all the same, traitorous and fluttering, because the moment your eyes found Jake again, laughing with Bradley. And you weren’t sure how long you could pretend you weren’t. Taking a deep breath, and squaring your shoulders you shook those thoughts from your head.
“You all look like you could use a pick-me-up.” Every head at the table turned toward you, some sluggishly, others like your voice alone had jolted them back to life. “A beer for you,” You chirped, placing the cold glass in front of Mickey, who looked like he’d barely survived the day. His forehead rested on the edge of the table until he forced himself upright. “You’re an angel.” He groaned, already reaching for the glass like it might bring him back from the dead.
“And a Coke for you.” You placed the soda down with a satisfying clink in front of Bob, who was seated slightly off to the side, content with his quiet corner and a half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His cheeks turned pink as he straightened his glasses and smiled shyly. “For my favorite WSOs.” You added with a playful wink. Both men flushed under your gaze and responded with a thank you, in perfect unison.
You kept moving, passing out drinks with ease and affection. Natasha muttered something about you being a godsend as she reached for her beer, lifting it in a silent toast before taking a long, grateful sip. Rooster gave you a wink and a crooked smile that probably worked on half of San Diego, though it never really had an effect on you. Javy nodded with an appreciative grin, and Reuben gave you a friendly fist-bump.
“For my favorite pilots.” You teased, grinning as you finally came to rest beside Natasha. She leaned her head onto your shoulder with a contented sigh, her hair brushing against your cheek. “Marry me.” She mumbled, half-serious, half-drunk on exhaustion. Before you could even talk, a familiar voice, smooth, smug, and laced with that Southern twang, broke the silence. “That’s just cruel,” Jake drawled. “I thought I was your favorite.”
Your head turned before you could stop yourself. And just like that, your heart didn’t just skip a beat, it slammed into your ribs like it was trying to break free. Jake stood at the pool table, cue stick in hand, body bent low as he lined up a shot. His back arched just enough to make your mouth go dry. His biceps flexed as he adjusted his grip, veins prominent, forearms corded with strength. His khakis clung low on his hips, his flight belt hanging lazily from a loop.
He looked ridiculous. Unfair. Like he’d walked straight out of a damn recruiting ad, but dirtier. Infinitely more dangerous. Jake’s head lifted slowly, eyes cutting toward you from beneath those long lashes. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk when he caught you looking. Caught staring. “You wound me, sweetheart,” He added, standing to his full height. “All that charm, and I don’t even rank in your top five?”
You masked your thudding heart with a dry laugh. “I said favorite pilots,” You shot back. “Didn’t say anything about most high-maintenance.” The squad erupted in low chuckles, a few of them tossing mock “oofs” in Jake’s direction. Jake only grinned, unbothered, sauntering toward the group with that same easy swagger that made it impossible to tell whether he was teasing or flirting, or both. You forced yourself to look away, turning back toward the tray.
Yet, your stomach was doing somersaults, and the heat creeping up your neck wasn’t from the warm summer air drifting through the doors. You leaned your hip against the edge of the table, tray balanced on one hand, the soft clink of glass against wood fading into the background as you glanced around the table. Everyone looked a little less dead now, drinks in hand, shoulders relaxing bit by bit. “Do I need to talk to Maverick for all of you?” You teased, eyes flicking from one exhausted pilot to the next.
Bradley groaned loud enough to turn heads. “Please do. Tell him we're human. Or at least that some of us are.” Natasha scoffed, lifting her beer toward her mouth with a half-glare, half-laugh. “We were human. Until Mr. Hotshot over there decided he could outfly Mav.” All eyes slid toward Jake. “Okay, whoa. Let’s not point fingers here.” He was already making a face. “You tried to buzz Maverick,” Mickey interjected, half-leaning across the table with animated hands. “In a tight turn. In a no-fly zone.”
“And missed.” Reuben added between mouthfuls of peanuts, a smug grin spreading across his face. Jake raised both hands, feigning innocence with the precision of someone who’d practiced. “I wasn’t trying to buzz him. I was maneuvering. Strategically.” Javy snorted covering it up with a cough as he received a glare from Jake. “And we all got punished for it,” Bob chimed in quietly, lifting his Coke as if to toast to their shared suffering. “One hundred push-ups.” You winced at his words, that sounded brutal.
“In flight suits.” Reuben groaned, rubbing his shoulder like the soreness was still setting in. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, the image forming vividly in your mind, Jake, cocky as ever, probably smirking even as Maverick made them drop. The others glaring daggers at him while dripping sweat onto the tarmac. Jake, of course, leaned into the attention with no shame. “You’re welcome, push-ups build character.” He grinned, sliding into the empty chair beside you with smooth ease.
You barely had time to register the motion before his arm draped over the back of your chair, knuckles grazing your shoulder. “You’re lucky they didn’t bury you under the tarmac.” Natasha muttered, but her lips twitched. Jake leaned a little closer, the heat of his body now radiating into your side. His voice dropped a note, low and velvety. “You know, I think I could use a little personal motivation to recover from today.” Your breath caught before you could control it.
His fingers brushed lightly against the bare skin of your upper arm as they “accidentally” adjusted across the tables edge. You turned toward him, ready to make some smart remark, maybe put him back in his place before he got too cocky again, but your gaze collided with his, and just like that… you froze. His eyes weren’t just green, they were alive with something deeper. Mischief, sure. But behind it, a flicker of something that made your stomach swoop. Like he wasn’t just teasing you tonight. He was waiting.
“Jake—”
“Y/N!” Your name snapped through the air like a whip, pulling you back to earth. You turned sharply toward the bar where Penny stood, waving a bar rag like a battle flag. “Bus just pulled up, I need you.” You groaned under your breath but moved fast, peeling yourself away from the table. Jake’s arm slid off your shoulders with a warmth that lingered longer than it should have, his fingers brushing your back as you stood. The moment broke, but not before you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Try not to cause anymore trouble while I’m gone.” You grabbed the empty tray and backed away from the table, shaking your head. “No promises, sweetheart!” He called after you, voice lazy, teasing. But his eyes, they lingered. Watching you like a man who knew the exact altitude you’d started falling. You spun on your heel and disappeared behind the bar, pulse still hammering, trying to remind yourself that you were here to work.
But even as Penny tossed you a bar towel and pointed toward the flood of sailors crowding toward the taps, all you could think about was the warmth of Jake’s body next to yours, and how dangerously easy it would be to let yourself fall. Thankfully, the flood of newcomers provided the perfect excuse to busy your hands and bury your thoughts. You moved, mixing cocktails with quick flicks of the wrist, pouring beers until foam kissed the rim, sliding credit cards back with a polite nod and a practiced smile.
Every small task became a wall, something to hide behind. Something to keep your mind off of Jake. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. As the crowd dwindled and the bar quieted into a low murmur, the shield began to crack. The last round of locals had migrated toward the dartboard. The jukebox slowed to soft rock. A few scattered voices still rose in laughter near the back where the Dagger Squad remained, sunburnt, beer-drowsy and content.
You peeled off your apron with a sigh and glanced at Penny, who gave you a reassuring nod and a knowing smile, motioning for you to take a breath, take a break. Your feet moved before your heart could object. You stepped out from behind the bar, every movement purposeful, steady, because if you hesitated, you knew the ache lingering just beneath your ribs might crawl up into your throat and give you away. You smoothed a hand down your shirt and walked toward the group, fully prepared to ask if they wanted one more round before last call. But then you heard it.
Jake’s voice.
Clear. Familiar. Cruel. Coated with disgust. “I just cannot stand her.” The words stopped you mid-step, your sneakers suddenly glued to the hardwood floor. The air left your lungs in one cold rush, and your feet carried you just far enough to place yourself behind the wooden beam beside the jukebox, half-hidden in the low light, half-ashamed for eavesdropping, but too frozen to move. “She walks around following me like a puppy, flirting, even her voice is annoying.”
Your pulse thudded in your ears, louder than the low hum of music, louder than the clatter of a dropped glass in the far corner. His voice cut straight through you, each syllable like a shard of glass. “She just doesn’t get the hint. I’m not interested in girls like her.” The blood drained from your face. You knew it. God, deep down, you always knew it. Jake Seresin was never going to want someone like you.
You’d seen the women he flirted with, tall, perfectly made-up, curves in all the right places, confident, playful, bright in the way that lit up a whole room. You? You were just the bartender. The convenience. The friend. The joke. The girl with rough hands from long shifts. The girl who hid behind sarcasm because confidence never came easy. The girl who, despite everything, had let herself believe, hope, that the way Jake looked at you sometimes meant something real. A dull ache bloomed in your chest. You pressed your hand against it like that would stop it from spreading.
At least now you knew. At least now the daydream could die. Now you could stop pretending. You swallowed down the lump clawing its way up your throat, nails digging into your palm as you pivoted, quick, silent and fast, back toward the bar. You didn’t even bother pretending to smile. Didn’t care who saw your glassy eyes or the way your breath came out shaky as you ripped the apron from its hook and slung it over the counter.
Penny turned, concern flickering across her face clearly noticing the entire shift in your demeanor, but you simply waved her off with a weak motion and a whispered goodbye. Not trusting your voice to hold steady. Not trusting her not to ask. If she so much as asked if you were okay, you’d break. You were out the door before Jake could even glance up. Before he could offer that sweet, mocking drawl. Before he could try to walk you to your car like he always did, like it meant something. Your heart couldn't take it. Not now. Not after that.
Back at the bar, Jake still reclined in the chair, nursing the same beer he hadn’t touched in ten minutes, finishing his train of thought with a huff. “I just hope Mav doesn’t put her on our training rotation again,” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve told her time and time again I’m not interested,” He continued with a groan. “She just doesn’t get the hint that she’s not my type.” Mickey nearly choked on his drink.
“Yeah, Hangman, we all know what girl is your type.” He grinned, elbowing Bob. Bradley leaned in, all smugness and raised brows. “The pretty bartender you make eyes at every time she’s near? The one you nearly punched me over for breathing near last week?” Jake froze. Bradley tilted his beer toward him, that smirk spreading. “The one you pretend not to care about, then sulk like a teenager when she walks away with anyone else?” Javy whistled. “Dude, just admit it. You’re into her. Bad.”
Jake ran a hand over his face, jaw tightening. “Shut up before she hears you.” But as he turned to glance toward the bar, expecting to find you rolling your eyes behind the counter, maybe catching his gaze just long enough to blush, his brows drew together. You weren’t there. Your station was empty. No apron. No sarcastic smile. No parting wave. Just… gone. His chest tightened without reason. You never left without saying goodnight.
A flicker of unease passed through him, but the others were still laughing, throwing teasing comments like darts, unaware of the sudden shift in his expression. He forced a grin, let the moment pass. But something inside him knew. Something felt wrong. And you, already halfway down the boardwalk with tears blurring your vision, didn’t get to hear the rest. Didn’t get to hear the way his voice softened when he talked about you.
You were cautious, careful, even. Every move you made around him became intentional. Guarded. Since that night, since the moment his words gutted you like a blade between the ribs, you’d started pulling away. Not all at once. No. That would’ve been too obvious. And despite the ache still lodged in your chest like a stone, you refused to let Jake, or anyone else, see you unravel. Instead, it was subtle. Gradual. A slow withdrawal masked as busyness, exhaustion, distraction.
When Jake came to the bar now, you didn’t linger. You took his order without looking him in the eye, handed him his beer with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. No teasing remark. No small talk. Just efficient, impersonal service. The kind you gave to strangers. The kind you gave to men you didn’t want to know. And you definitely didn’t allow his touch to linger, not that he’d had much chance.
Gone were the moments where his fingers brushed yours over a glass, or the way his hand would rest at the small of your back when you passed too close. You kept distance now. Measured it. Maintained it like it was a lifeline. You didn’t let him close. And Jake? He noticed. At first, it was subtle confusion. A longer-than-usual pause when you walked away. A look that lingered too long as you joked with Bob or nudged Natasha’s shoulder with a grin that used to be his.
Then it turned into something else, hesitation, maybe even hurt, though if it was, he didn’t show it outright. Luckily, or maybe tragically, the squad had been kept busy by Maverick all week. Long hours on the tarmac. Briefings that dragged past sunset. Extra sims, surprise drills, and mock dogfights that left them sore, sweating, and barely able to keep their eyes open when they dragged themselves into the Hard Deck each night. It gave you an excuse.
To work the bar, serve the drinks, and disappear behind orders before Jake could try and ask what was wrong. It was easier this way. Safer. You told yourself it would fade, the sting, the weight in your chest, the memory of hearing her voice is annoying and I’m not interested in girls like her whispered in that same drawl that used to melt you. But it didn’t fade. It stayed. Like smoke in your lungs.
You heard it in the silence after your shift when the beach was quiet and the waves were the only sound. You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when someone mentioned his name in passing. You even dreamed about it, twisting memories into warped versions where his words echoed again and again, his face turned away from you, laughter in his throat while you stood invisible behind the jukebox. You hated how much it hurt.
You hated that it still mattered.
The fifth night after it happened, the bar was quieter than usual, just a slow Thursday, a break between storms. You were stacking clean glasses behind the bar when Jake walked in alone. No squad. No backup. Just him. He looked tired. Disheveled in a way that felt different than post-training exhaustion. Like he hadn’t been sleeping much. His hair was messier than usual, shirt a little wrinkled, tags tucked into his collar like they were suddenly too heavy to wear out in the open.
You felt his eyes on you the second he stepped through the door. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t. He approached the bar slower than normal, his boots echoing too loudly in the now-quiet space. You busied yourself with organizing lemons. Limes. Anything not him. He stopped a few feet short of the bar. Didn’t speak. Not right away. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low, cautious, unsure. “You alright?” You kept your gaze focused on the citrus you were already over-slicing. “Fine.”
“You’ve been distant.” He murmured, like he was still trying to piece it together. “Did I do something?” You shrugged. Cool. Detached. “Just tired, Jake.” A lie. But he didn’t push. He just studied you, jaw working slightly like he was chewing on whatever thoughts were flooding in. “Right,” He said eventually, voice quieter. “Of course.” You turned to put the knife down, finally meeting his eyes for a split second. And it nearly undid you.
Because Jake wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t cocky. He looked…confused. A little wounded. The way someone does when they’ve lost their grip on something they didn’t even know they were holding. But you couldn’t tell him the truth. You couldn’t admit that the thing you’d overheard, the words that weren’t meant for your ears, had unraveled you completely. Because what if you were the only one who misunderstood?
What if, worse… you hadn't? So you turned away. Left him standing there with his fingers curled slightly over the edge of the bar, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or walk away. Jake didn’t push. He never did. But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice. And tonight, you knew he’d felt it, that little bit of space you’d suddenly started putting between the two of you. Because if he kept getting closer, you wouldn’t just fall.
You’d crash.
The days blurred. Long shifts, short sleep, aching feet, and a heart you couldn’t seem to quiet. You kept your rhythm sharp, precise, like it was armor. You showed up, moved through the motions, mixed drinks, gave smiles, told stories to sailors who needed a little kindness. And avoided Jake Seresin like he was a fault line waiting to break beneath your feet. You weren’t cold. Just distant. Detached in a way that made you feel like you were watching your life from the outside in.
It didn’t go unnoticed. Late one night, the bar winding down into a lazy hum, Penny passed you a glass of water and leaned her elbows onto the bar. You felt her gaze before she spoke, quiet, steady, knowing. “You alright, Y/N?” You didn’t look at her. Just nodded, wiping down a spill that didn’t need wiping. “I’m fine.” It was clipped. Dismissive. Enough to signal that the door was closed. You had mastered the lies and excuses, yet Penny wasn’t stupid.
She knew you like the back of her hand. She watched you for a few seconds longer, watched the way your eyes didn’t meet hers, the way your fingers trembled slightly when you reached for the towel. She gave a tiny, imperceptible sigh, then pushed away without pressing no matter how much she wanted to know what was wrong with you. Safe to say, you were grateful for it. Because if she had asked again, your walls might’ve just cracked.
Jake wasn’t doing any better. After your "talk", if you could even call it that, he’d been a wreck. Not the kind anyone outside the Dagger Squad would immediately notice. No, Jake Seresin still smiled at the rookies. Still strutted across the tarmac with his usual confidence, boots scuffing against the concrete, sunglasses low on his nose like he didn’t have a care in the world. But those who knew him best could see the cracks forming.
The way he flinched when your name was mentioned. The way he scanned the bar every time he walked into the Hard Deck, hoping, praying, that this would be the night you looked at him like you used to, eyes soft, smirk tucked behind your lip, leaning on the bar like you were daring him to flirt first. But that look never came. And it was driving him insane. Even in the air, his escape, his safe place, he felt off. Slower. Sloppy in a way that set off alarm bells in every seasoned pilot’s gut.
His reaction times were lagging, the sharp, lethal precision that earned him the call sign Hangman dulled under the weight of something heavier than G-forces. Natasha had picked up on it immediately. “You’re flying like you’ve got a piano strapped to your back,” She muttered through comms one afternoon after a sim run went sideways. “The hell’s going on with you?” Jake’s jaw had locked so tight, he didn’t even answer. Back on the ground, it was no better.
Bradley had cornered him near the locker room the next morning. “You’re off, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” He told him bluntly. Jake ran a hand through his hair, matted from the helmet. “I’m fine.” Even he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re not.” Jake simply shrugged. “Let it go, Rooster.” But they didn’t. Not really. They just watched. Waited. Wondered what the hell had happened that turned cocky, unshakable Jake Seresin into a man unraveling from the inside out.
What they didn’t know, what he wouldn’t dare say aloud, was that it was you. The problem was you, or more accurately, the way you’d slipped through his fingers before he even realized how tightly he’d been trying to hold on. He didn’t understand it. How things had gone from warm glances and shared touches and that night where you had almost let something real slip between you… to now. To this cold distance. Where you wouldn’t so much as look at him unless it was absolutely necessary. And the worst part?
He didn’t know what he’d done.
The nights dragged on like this. Jake would come in with the squad, sit down like nothing was wrong, but the light in his eyes was gone. His jokes were duller. His smirk half-hearted. Even his beer sat untouched longer than usual, condensation dripping down the bottle as he watched you move around the bar like a ghost he couldn’t reach. Sometimes, he’d almost say something. His hand would twitch, or he’d lean half out of his seat, like he was on the verge of getting up.
Of walking over. Of fixing it. But you never gave him the chance. You never looked long enough to invite it. A deep, sinking pull in his gut. Like something was breaking open inside him and he didn’t know how to stop it. And so the distance remained, a thick, aching thing that hovered between you both, invisible to everyone else but suffocating just the same. Neither of you said a word. Neither of you walked away. But neither of you dared to move closer, either.
And it was killing you both.
Four days later, the Hard Deck was full, buzzing with heat and voices and that low, salty tension that clung to late summer nights on the coast. Dagger Squad was there, scattered across their usual pool table. Jake wasn’t with them yet. And for once, you were thankful. You could breathe without feeling his eyes track your every move. Or so you thought. You were behind the bar when you saw her walk in. Tall. Glossy.
Designer jeans that clung perfectly to her long legs and a strappy black tank that dipped low in the back. Blonde hair curled, nails perfect, and a walk like she owned every pair of eyes in the room. You recognized her instantly, one of the women you’d seen Jake flirt with a few times before. Only this time… she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking for him. And then, like a movie in slow motion, Jake walked in. He hadn’t seen her yet.
He was laughing with Bradley, dragging a hand through his hair, unaware of the way her eyes locked on him like a target. She moved toward him with purpose, lips already curling into a smile, like she knew he’d be hers the second he looked up. Your chest constricted so sharply it almost knocked the air out of your lungs. You turned away fast, heart hammering like you’d been punched. God. You were such an idiot. What were you expecting? That he’d pine over you?
That he’d choose you over someone like that? You braced your hands on the edge of the bar, the stainless steel biting into your palms. Don’t cry. Don’t cry here. Not in front of him. You grabbed two beers off the counter, trying to ground yourself in the moment. If she was what he wanted… fine. You weren’t going to compete for someone who’d already made their choice. But you could prove that he didn’t affect you anymore. At least, not on the surface.
So when you saw Bradley standing alone near the dartboard, you moved toward him without thinking, hips swaying just a touch more than usual, the corner of your mouth lifting in a practiced smirk. “Hey, Bradshaw,” You breathed as you passed him a beer, your fingers brushing his arm as you leaned close. “You winning?” He blinked, caught off guard by the softness in your tone, then chuckled low in his throat, catching on quickly. “I am now.” You laughed, light and teasing, and let your hand linger just long enough to be seen.
It wasn’t real. Not really. But it didn’t have to be. Not when Jake was watching. Because he was watching. Across the room, Jake's head snapped around the second he heard your voice. He’d been leaning against the bar, cornered by a girl with glossy lips and a laugh that grated on his nerves. She was touching his chest, twirling her straw between her fingers like a goddamn prop, but he hadn’t registered a single word she’d been saying.
Not since he walked in and saw you glowing in that golden Hard Deck light, laughing with everyone but him. But now? Now you were touching Rooster? His jaw clenched. There it was, that look. That flicker of heat buried deep in his eyes, something possessive and raw curling beneath his cool exterior. He was trying to keep it contained. Failing. You’d been giving him nothing but distance all week. Cold shoulders. Professional smiles.
And now you were here, cozying up to Bradley fucking Bradshaw, touching his arm like it meant something. Jake barely acknowledged the girl in front of him. Didn’t even glance her way when she laughed again, too loud, too fake. He stepped away like she wasn’t even there, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he moved. Fast. Direct. Heat rolling off him like the pavement in July. You tried to stay cool. Calm. Unbothered. But the second you felt him behind you, everything inside you began to splinter.
His shadow fell over you before his voice did, low and rough, like he was holding back something sharp. “Can we please talk?” No drawl. No swagger. Just those four words, spoken low enough for only you to hear. You turned slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his. And what you saw there made your throat go dry. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together like he couldn’t trust what might come out next. His breathing was shallow.
His chest rose and fell like he’d just finished a sprint. And his eyes, God, those eyes, were burning. Not with arrogance. Not even with anger. But with desperation. Desperation and hurt. Something cracked in your resolve. You'd spent days convincing yourself you didn’t care. That you were over it. Over him. That whatever you thought was between you had been imagined, one-sided. Stupid. But the way he was looking at you now? There was nothing one-sided about it. You hesitated. Your mouth didn’t move. But your heart answered for you.
You nodded.
And Jake exhaled like it was the first real breath he’d taken in days. Wordlessly, he led you outside to the back patio where the air was cooler, salt-stung and quieter than the inside. The string lights overhead glowed gold against the dark, and the music became just a dull vibration through the wood beneath your feet. Jake stopped near the railing, raking a hand through his hair like he didn’t know whether to speak or scream. His chest rose, then fell, like the effort to stay composed was costing him something.
“What the hell’s going on with you?” His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even demanding. It was tired, frayed around the edges. You folded your arms across your chest, forcing your spine straight, your eyes sharp. “Nothing.” Jake scoffed. Harsh. Humorless. “Bullshit.” He stepped forward. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. You won't even look at me anymore.” You turned your face away, blinking too fast. The ache in your throat burned. “Maybe I’ve just been busy.” He exhaled through his nose, slower this time. “Did I do something?”
You wanted to scream. To shove the words into his chest and make him feel what you’d been carrying since that night. But fear twisted around your tongue like barbed wire. So you said nothing. Jake took a step closer. Slower now. Careful. Like you were something on the edge of shattering. And you hated it, hated how much you wanted him to reach out. To touch you. To say something that made it all make sense. “I—I heard what you said,” You whispered, voice thin and raw. His brow furrowed.
“That night. After training.” You swallowed hard. “You were talking to the squad. You said you weren’t interested. That I wasn’t your type.” A bitter laugh escaped your throat, hollow and trembling. “God, it’s my fault, really. I was stupid enough to believe that Jake Hangman Seresin, serial flirt, legendary pain in the ass, would ever want someone like me… when he could have Malibu Barbie throwing herself at him.” The words spilled out before you could catch them. Sharp. Bare. Bleeding.
Jake flinched. Confusion flashed first, wide-eyed, disoriented, then understanding slammed into him like a punch to the gut. “No,” He breathed, face paling, panic crashing behind his eyes. “You thought I was talking about you?” Your silence was answer enough. He stumbled back half a step, hands dragging down his face. Like he needed to wipe the guilt from his skin just to breathe. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His voice cracked. Rough. Gutted. “I wasn’t talking about you. God, no. I didn’t even know you were there.”
“Doesn’t matter.” You looked away, arms tightening around yourself like armor. “It does matter,” He snapped, voice raw. “You think I could ever, ever, talk about you like that?” His voice faltered, and he ran a shaking hand through his hair again, pacing once before turning back. “You think I’d look at you and say your voice is annoying? That I’m not interested? Are you serious?” You finally met his gaze, and what he saw nearly dropped him to his knees.
You weren’t angry. You were hurt. Really hurt. “I don’t think you meant to,” You whispered. “But you don't see me. You never do.” Jake looked like he’d been hit. The silence stretched, tangled between you, trembling and thick. Then he stepped closer. One step. Then another. His voice came softer now. Hoarse. Frightened. “I see you.” You shook your head. “I see you,” He repeated, louder this time, like if he said it enough it would finally reach you. “More than anyone ever has. And it scares the hell out of me.”
Your lips parted. A sound escaped, half-breath, half-sob, and the first tear slipped free before you could stop it. You turned your face away, but his hand lifted, gently brushing the drop from your cheek like it hurt him to see it. He hesitated, fingers twitching near yours, unsure if he was allowed. Then, with a breathless whisper, “Darlin’… I don’t want Malibu Barbie in there,” You blinked brows drawing in confusion. His hand hovered near yours, trembling.
“I want you. The girl who makes Bob blush. The one who doesn’t back down when I flirt, who gives it right back. Who knows when I’m lying through my teeth even when I don’t.” He reached again, this time slower, curling his hand around yours like it was sacred. Like letting go would ruin him. To his surprise, you let him. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. His fingers threaded through yours like they belonged there, like they’d always belonged there. And God help you… they did.
You were silent for a long time. Then, finally, so quiet it almost wasn’t real, you spoke pushing past the lump in your throat. “I thought I wasn’t enough.” Jake’s heart cracked clean in two. “You’re everything,” He whispered. “Everything, Y/N." Jake’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand like he couldn’t stop touching you now that you’d let him. His gaze was locked on yours, open in a way you’d never seen before, no walls, no smirk, no cocky bravado. Just Jake. Real. Unfiltered. Bleeding.
“I’ve been gone for you since the day you rolled your eyes at me instead of blushing.” You blinked, caught off guard. He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so wrecked. “I flirted. God, I poured it on. You remember? That night I tried to buy you a drink and you told me to grow up and learn how to pour my own?” A reluctant smile tugged at your mouth. “You called me a heartbreaker.” You whispered recalling the moment as if it were yesterday. “Because you were,” He whispered, voice cracking just slightly.
“You are.” You swallowed, hard, but he didn’t stop. “I kept telling myself I just liked the chase. That I could move on. That you were just another pretty face behind the bar, except—” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “You’re not.” Your brows knit, but you didn’t look away. “I told you about my dad.” Jake’s voice dropped, softer now. “I didn’t even realize I’d done it until after. I’ve never talked about him. Not to anyone. Not like that.” The memory came back instantly. That night after last call, lights dimmed, your elbows resting on the bar between you.
He’d looked so tired, so open. You’d asked one small question, something about his hometown, and suddenly he was talking about Texas and silence and a man who never really told his son he was proud. Jake stared at you now, breathing hard like he was barely holding himself together. “You didn’t say anything when I told you. You just… listened.” He looked down, eyes catching on your joined hands. “You let me be someone I don’t let anyone see.” He swallowed. “I noticed everything about you, Y/N.” Your lips parted, but nothing came out.
“I know you hate wearing your hair down when you’re working because it sticks to your lip gloss and drives you crazy. I know you pretend to be annoyed when Bob leaves peanut shells on the bar, but you never actually throw them away until after he leaves, because you don’t want to make him feel bad.” Your eyes stung. His voice was reverent now, like he was listing truths he’d memorized like scripture. “I know you tie your apron the same way every night, double knot on the left, even though you’re right-handed,"
"You hum when you count cash. You clench your jaw when you’re about to cry and you never cry in front of people, and—” He exhaled, blinking fast. “I know how it felt. That night you sat beside me after training, shoulder to shoulder, not talking much.” He was close now. Closer than before. “I replay that night more than I want to admit,” Jake murmured. “The way your knee brushed mine and you didn’t move it. The way you leaned into me without even realizing it. I wanted to grab your hand so bad, but I was scared it’d ruin it. Scared you’d pull away.”
You hadn’t realized your breath had hitched until he reached up, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m not scared now.” You were blinking back tears. “I was falling for you then,” He breathed, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “And I’ve just kept falling. Every damn day. Even when you stopped talking to me. Even when it felt like you were slipping through my fingers and I didn’t know why.” His voice dropped to something trembling and soft. “You’re it for me, Y/N."
"The real thing. No games. No stupid lines. Just you.” You opened your mouth and closed it. Shaking your head, just slightly. “But I’m not your type.” You whispered, voice thick with emotion. Jake smiled, and it wrecked you. “Darlin’,” He coaxed, stepping even closer, pressing your joined hands gently against his chest. “You are every type I didn’t know I needed. You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted to stay for.” Your heart was a drumbeat in your throat. Jake leaned in, breath warm and uneven between you.
“I want late nights on this patio with you. I want to sit on your kitchen counter while you complain about your day and steal your snacks. I want you in my bed. In my arms. In my life. All of it. You.” The tears spilled freely now. “I don’t want Malibu Barbie, or any of those girls who laugh at jokes I didn’t even tell. I want the girl who saw straight through me before I even knew who I was.” Your fingers clutched his shirt now, knuckles white. Jake leaned his forehead gently against yours, voice barely a whisper now.
“I love you, Y/N.”
The words hung there, raw, open, real. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest lifted. Because he meant it. And he’d never looked more terrified… or more certain. Your breath caught. There it was, laid bare between you. His heart, stripped and beating in your hands. Jake Seresin, the man everyone thought was untouchable, cocky, invincible was standing here, terrified. Loving you with everything he had. For the first time in weeks, the fear that had been curling like smoke in your chest started to ease.
But it didn’t vanish. Because you were still scared. Not of him. Of you. Of how badly you wanted this. How deeply you felt it. How vulnerable it made you to need someone this much. You lifted your head slowly, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, your breaths mingling in the salt-tinged air. “I love you too Jake.” You whispered, and it cracked something open inside both of you. His eyes squeezed shut as he let out a slow, unsteady breath, like he’d been drowning, and those words were the air he’d needed for weeks.
“But I’m scared,” You admitted, your voice trembling, fingers still clutching his shirt. “Scared that this is just a moment. That you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not what you want. That I’ll never be enough.” Jake opened his eyes, and the look on his face made your chest cave in. There was no hesitation. No uncertainty. Just devotion. He cupped your face like you were something fragile but precious, like he was honored just to hold you. “Y/N…” He breathed, stepping even closer, until your body was flush against his.
“I’m gonna spend every damn second we have proving just how wrong that voice in your head is. Every second.” You blinked fast, your heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to reach him. “I’ll show you,” He whispered, thumb sweeping along your cheek. “Not just once. Not just tonight. Every day. I’ll show you in the mornings, when you’re grumpy and still half-asleep and stealing the covers. I’ll show you when you’re mad at me, and I’ll deserve it, but I’ll still be there, because I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, just barely.
Like he didn’t want to overwhelm you, only remind you he was there. “I’ll show you when things get hard. When I have a bad day, and you have worse, and we’re tired and angry and still choosing each other anyway. That’s love, darlin’. And I’ve got it bad for you.” Your breath hitched, and your hands came up to grip his forearms. “I’ll prove it in every single look, every word, every time I hold your hand or brush your hair behind your ear or make you laugh after a long shift,” He murmured.
“I’ll remind you that you’re it for me. You’ve always been it.” The tears returned, but this time they came softer. You looked at him through the blur, voice nearly lost. “What if I fall even harder?” Jake smiled, gently resting his forehead against yours again. “Then I’ll be there to catch you. Every damn time.” You didn’t mean to lean in first. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, wild with devotion, soft with fear. Maybe it was the way he said you’re everything like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Maybe it was just that you couldn’t take it anymore, the aching distance, the space you’d both been tiptoeing around for too long. But suddenly your lips were on his. It was slow, searching. Like you were both discovering what it meant to be held this close by someone who knew you, who had seen you, in the mess, in the fear, in the fire, and chose you anyway. Jake let out a broken breath against your mouth.
Like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he wanted to admit, and kissed you like it might kill him not to. It started slow, trembling. His hands cradled your face with aching reverence, thumbs trembling slightly against your cheekbones. But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted on a gasp, everything between you snapped, weeks of tension combusting all at once. He kissed you harder. Hungrier.
One hand slid into your hair, curling into your ponytail, while the other held your waist like he needed you closer. Like he couldn’t bear another second of space between you. His mouth moved against yours with heat and purpose, lips molding, tongue brushing yours, breath hitching as your bodies pressed together like magnets pulled tight. You whimpered softly against his mouth when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, the sound swallowed by him as if he’d been starving for it.
He tasted like mint and beer and Jake, home, somehow, even in the chaos of it. Your teeth grazed, breath catching. Then your tongues slid together again and it was messy and warm and real. His hand fisted gently in your hair. You pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, dizzy from how easily your body molded to his, how his chest rose and fell in stuttering exhales, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. He kissed you like it was a promise.
And you kissed him like it was the first breath after drowning. Jake finally broke the kiss, gasping softly, but only just enough to press his forehead back to yours, breath mingling, both of you shaking. “Believe me now?” Jake grinned, the edges of his mouth still curved from that kiss, the one you were still trying to catch your breath from. He leaned in, nudging your nose with his playfully. Your lips twitched into a smile, still dazed. “It’s hard not to after a kiss like that.”
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm and rich, before dipping his head to press one last, lingering kiss to your lips, this one slower, softer, like a promise more than punctuation. “Come on,” He murmured against your mouth, hand already sliding into yours. “I want to show off my girl.” Your heart fluttered hard in your chest, giddy and unsteady. His girl. You could definitely get used to that. The two of you walked back toward the patio doors hand-in-hand, the cool ocean breeze still trailing behind you.
Jake was practically glowing, his grin wide, his shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. You could feel his thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles as you walked, grounding you in the surrealness of the moment. As you stepped into the warm buzz of the Hard Deck, the shift in the room was instant. Bradley let out a long, low whistle, raising his beer. “Well, finally.” You flushed instantly, heat crawling up your neck as Natasha gave you a knowing grin from across the table.
Jake didn’t even hesitate. Still beaming, he strolled right up to the squad’s table, pulled out an empty chair, and dropped into it without letting go of your hand. Before you could react, he tugged you gently down into his lap. You gasped, startled by the sudden PDA, hands bracing against his chest as he held you there, one arm wrapped around your waist like a vice, the other resting lazily on your thigh. His body was warm beneath you, solid and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to hide.
Now that he had you, really had you, Jake Seresin clearly had absolutely no intention of letting go. The squad erupted in cheers and teasing jeers, beers clinking, boots scuffing against the wooden floor. But then something caught your eye. You watched, wide-eyed, as Mickey, Reuben, and Javy each reached into their wallets and started sliding bills across the table, straight into the waiting hands of Natasha and Bradley. “Hold on,” Jake barked, brows shooting up. “You assholes had a bet going?”
“Please. We’ve been placing bets since the second she didn’t slap you the first night.” Natasha leaned back smugly, counting her winnings with all the grace of a champion poker player. “I thought I heard someone say ‘by Valentine’s Day or bust.’” You muttered, staring at Bradley as he fanned out a crisp stack of twenties. Jake turned, brows raised in mock betrayal. “Bob.” You looked toward the quietest member of the group, who was sheepishly sliding a twenty toward Natasha, cheeks flaming.
“Not you too!” You gasped dramatically. “I-It was obvious.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were all just waiting for the two of you to stop being blind and realize you were already in love.” Mickey stayed matter-of-factly. Jake groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic flair. “Unbelievable.” But then he turned, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Well you’re right about one thing Fanboy, damn straight I love her.” He declared, suddenly and loudly.
His words were loud enough to carry over the music, his drawl curling around the words like honey. The table lost it, laughter exploding around you, but all you could do was stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart thundering in your chest as he tugged you tighter into him, pressing his lips to your temple, warm and unashamed. And just over Jake’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the blonde from earlier, the one who’d been leaning against him when your heart had first started to break.
Her mouth twisted, her eyes narrowed. She scoffed, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the bar without so much as a backward glance. Only, Jake didn’t even see her leave. Because his focus was entirely on you. Not some bottle blonde who he didn’t know the name of. As you leaned back into his chest, the smell of salt and citrus and something utterly Jake wrapped around you like a memory, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. Not of falling. Not of love. Not with him holding you like this, like he’d waited a lifetime to.
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summary: ever since becoming a pilot for the navy, you had earned the call sign chatter box. but there was one pilot that never seemed to mind, until he did.
warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, soft dom jake, slight sub reader, language, jake is a little mean (but he makes up for it), friends/roomies to lovers, no use of y/n
word count: 8k
a/n: i'm back! jumping into a new fandom and i'm hoping to post whenever i have free time. thanks for supporting me!
masterlist
your call sign: chatter box
Being a part of the Dagger Squad was one of the best things that happened to you. You were a young, talented flyer; it was evident to anyone who saw you in the sky. You quickly made your way to the TOPGUN program, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but determined nonetheless.
On your first day, you were paired up with Jake Seresin. He had squinted his eyes at you, like he couldn't believe you had made it to the same program as him. But as soon as you took to the sky, all assumptions about you were gone. He was quick to correct his cocky attitude, especially after you flashed a sweet smile his way after both of you dusted the other team in training that day.
Jake and you became quick friends, and he learned quickly why your call sign was Chatter Box. It wasn't that you were constantly talking; no, you knew how to control yourself around admirals and other higher-ups, but when you flew, it was hard to tell whether your jet or your mouth was moving faster. You knew how to make friends anywhere and always managed to make new recruits feel welcome. Bright smiles and genuine questions were a constant with you. Jake swore you were the friendliest person he had met.
So, when you reunited with him in San Diego for a coveted, top-secret mission, you were quick to sweep him into a tight hug. The other aviators watched as you fired question after question in Jake's direction. He smiled the entire time.
Jake had grown to miss your constant chatter in the few years you had been a part. Quickly after you both had graduated from TOPGUN, you were both called to different parts of the world and lost touch. But seeing you again, here of all places — he should've known you'd be called for this mission — was like fate. It wasn't that Jake didn't have a lot of people he could call friends in the Navy, but he hadn't ever clicked with a pilot as quick as he did with you.
The squad saw how close you and Jake were, and honestly, to them, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Jake was a cocky, stubborn, headstrong, self-absorbed, know-it-all. You were sunshine in a person, all smiles and chitchat to anyone who even glanced your way. But when you were around, Jake seemed to soften. The constant talk thrown his way and little comments every few seconds would've driven him crazy if it came from anyone else but you. They were surprised that he put up with it, let alone fed into it. Always asking you about the latest TV show you were watching or how your family was doing, hell, even the weather could get your motor mouth running. And yet, he never shied away from it, away from you.
You were used to noticing people grimacing or tapping their feet as you made conversation. You expected it at this point. But during your time at TOPGUN, Jake had never once tried to escape your constant chatter. He always made eye contact with you, would hum along with the story you were telling, and even barked out his signature laugh at times. It all made you feel a little mushy inside. Even if you'd never admit it to anyone else, Jake's constant attention during your time together had given you the self-confidence to continue being your outgoing self. It was hard at times to stay bright in the Navy, but with Jake by your side, you never found yourself feeling anything but happy.
It was a no-brainer to ask you to be his roommate when Maverick had told the squad they would be a permanent fixture in San Diego until further notice. Sure, he could've asked Mickey or even Bradley, but everyone on the squad had their own little quirks that he just didn't think he would be able to get past. Bob seemed innocent enough, but one comment about how he had never taken less than two hours at the grocery store was enough for Jake to be driven straight to your arms.
Living together had proven to be even more fun and stress-free than Jake had ever imagined. You had standing Wednesday pizza and movie nights that Jake looked forward to every week. Sure, he had to sit through a lot of chick flicks, but seeing your heart eyes at the sappy stories made it worth it. But it was only because Jake liked to see you happy, not because of the way that your breath would catch without fail when the first kiss or love confession happened. Your lips parting just a bit, and your eyes would go wide, and he didn't know if you had realized it, but you always fiddled with the dainty charm on your necklace. No, he just liked the pizza and the way you let him pick out whatever toppings he wanted. That was definitely his favorite part about Wednesday nights with you.
Jake had a few habits, too, that you didn't seem to mind at the end of the day. He was always up before you, way earlier than you. But he made sure to be quiet as he snuck out of the house for his morning workout. You would only be awoken a few hours later to the smell of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen.
This was Jake's favorite part of the day. Reading over briefing notes from Maverick and having some hot coffee was a great way to settle into his mornings.
"Good morning, sleepy head," he called out. Jake always greeted you as such in the mornings. You figured your bedhead had something to do with it.
"Good morning, Jake," you quietly said back. You were always so soft in the mornings, he thought. The way you padded down the hallway, no sense of urgency, just one slipper in front of the other. And the way you always came into the kitchen looking like you had just rolled out of bed. Your baggy tees and sleep shorts were always a little askew as you reached up into the cabinet for your coffee mug. Jake always took a minute to watch you during this part. You picked a different mug every morning, something he noticed a few weeks into living with you. The way you stretched to reach your coveted cup of choice was cat-like, your shirt and shorts rising just a bit, showing more skin than Jake felt okay seeing as just your roommate.
"Sleep well?" he asked you, not looking up from his laptop as you poured yourself a cup of the coffee he had brewed for the both of you.
"Mmhm," you hummed into your mug. Eyes closing at the first sip, letting the warm liquid flow down your throat. Jake's eyes came up to watch this part of your little routine, always returning to his screen before you could open them back up and catch him. "Anything of note this morning in Mav's announcements?" you asked him as you moved around the kitchen, beginning to make breakfast for the both of you.
"Actually, yeah. Something about a new op in a few months. Says we're going to start training this Monday," he told you with a look of concentration on his face. He looked up to see you staring just as intensely at the eggs you had just cracked in the pan, as he was staring at his laptop. He wanted to smooth out the crease between your brows with a firm, calming fix of his thumb. Instead, he opted to quell your worries with his words. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. Nothing we can't handle anyway."
You nodded at this and began to settle back into your routine. Jake didn't miss the way your throat bobbed, though, or the way your hands were a little less steady as you sliced the oranges for breakfast.
"Hey," he called out to you, pulling you out of your own mind for a second. "We'll be okay, I promise. No use in worrying about it until Mav tells us the whole story. Plus, we gotta go grocery shopping later and I'm gonna need your organization and that list thingy you always have."
"My Notion list?" you put down the knife as you faced him now. "I don't understand why you need me to go with you every week. And why does it take two hours every time? My list is very organized, sectioned, and everything."
"I just get a little distracted," he shrugged. You rolled your eyes at this, but he didn't miss the small smile that crossed your lips as you went back to slicing the oranges. Turns out, two-hour grocery trips weren't as bad as Jake had thought they were.
જ⁀➴
You were a month out until Operation Black Jay was set to take place. You had been put on the same team as Jake, like always. Even Maverick couldn't deny the great back-and-forth in the way you worked together. Flying together always had its perks. You were the only one on the squad who could keep up and predict Jake's every move. You didn't mind following his lead in the sky as you were already so in tune with him. The squad was always amazed at the way you both flew in sync, but even more than that, they were impressed at the way you and Jake talked the entire run and always managed to hit your marks. Your chatter didn't seem to bother him one bit; instead, it was like your voice and constant talking made him even sharper, move quicker, fly with a freedom that didn't come easy.
But for the past few weeks, Jake had been thrown off center. It came after Maverick started training with both of you as the enemy pilot. He had come out of nowhere, driving you away from Jake in seconds. You tried to avoid him, but it was to no avail.
"Maybe if you focused more on shaking me off your tail than talking with Hangman, you'd still be alive, Chatter Box. You can't be distracted like that again, pilot," Maverick half-chastised, half-teased you.
"Mav, it's how she concentrates!" Rooster chimed in on the channel.
"Yeah, come on, Mav. She can't help it. Especially when Hangman is such a dedicated, attentive listener," Phoenix snickered over the same channel. You could feel your cheeks flushing at her comment. Damn Chili's bottomless margaritas and your loose lips. You had sworn Phoenix to secrecy after she had told you about your ramblings the night before. You covered your face as she recalled the constant talk of Jake walking around shirtless in your shared apartment. And to horrify you even further, Phoenix told you it wouldn't have been so bad if your recollection of his V-line wasn't so accurate and descriptive.
But while you were drowning in embarrassment from your friends, Jake heard something entirely different. You were distracted, distracted by him, and that let Maverick catch you off guard; he had gotten you killed. And to make things worse, Phoenix had pointed out the one thing he had always known but didn't really realize. You were talkative, but with Jake even more so than anyone on the squad. If you had been paired up with Rooster, maybe you could've gotten away from Maverick. Bradley was always good about getting you to focus, but Jake couldn't help it. You talked, he listened.
You had sent him a thumbs-up as you strapped into your jet. Maverick was still drilling you on the various runs and situations you might be in. And today, he would be taking to the air again, going after both of you. Jake was determined to make this run one that counted. One where you both came out alive.
Jake had been trying. Trying to quiet you down, not feed into you as much. He just wanted you to focus, and he was your main distraction. But like always, you had found something to talk about.
"Can we get olives on the pizza tonight? I know you don't especially like them, but we could just do them on half. I've just really been craving that this week." It hadn't even taken 5 minutes to be in the air and you were off.
"Yeah, sure. Turn coming up, stay locked," he quipped back. Jake didn't want to ignore you completely, trying to remind you to stay focused.
"Yay, okay! Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be. I think the last time I brought up olives on our pizza, you fake gagged for like 10 minutes. It was dedication, I'll admit that," you didn't bother responding to his command verbally. You always followed Jake through the air in perfect sync; today was no different.
The airway was quiet for a few seconds, and Jake sighed in relief. Maybe you were finally focusing, looking for Maverick, realizing the stakes at hand.
"And I know I picked last week, but I've been really meaning to watch People We Meet on Vacation. I just finished the book, and I've been putting off watching the movie until I was done. But now I am! And I think it would be so fun for us to watch. What do you think, Jake?" your voice came through his comms, and he felt his heart rate increasing. Maverick was nowhere to be seen, and you were worried about what he thought about the movie tonight, not about the mission facing you.
The Dagger Squad chuckled at your constant ramblings to Jake. But as they watched you fly, you never strayed from Jake's path.
"How does she do it? I think everything just runs a million miles an hour for Chatter Box. Mind and mouth," Mickey joked as the rest of the squad hummed in agreement. Their laughter and comments about your nature were quickly stopped as Maverick appeared next to you and Hangman.
"Surprise, pilots!" he called out, and you could tell he was grinning under his helmet.
"Break! Formation 2B!" Jake barked through the comms. You were quick to follow his orders, dropping in elevation and darting away from Maverick.
"If that doesn't sound good, though, we could watch that one action one you've been talking about. Ooh, or the new one with Timothée Chalamet! I remember hearing Bob talking about it a few days ago at lunch," you chimed in, not even seconds after Maverick's appearance. Jake's stomach churned at the thought of this run going awry again.
"Lost tail. Confirm position Chatter Box, over," Jake's voice came through your channel.
Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior. "Um, coming back into formation. Tail lost, over."
"Copy, let's gun it through the canyon, try to lose Mav before he finds us again," Jake's voice was firm. But his heart rate wasn't slowing down anytime soon. Not until you were back down on the ground, safe.
"Sounds good, lead the way. Over," you replied. Letting out a deep breath, you tried not to think too much about Jake's behavior. It only took a few seconds for your voice to come through the channel once more. "We don't have to watch my movie or get the olives, sorry, I just- Oh shit! Mav's incoming, 3 o'clock! Breaking to 4D!"
Jake's eyes flew to Maverick's jet, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "Copy, going into formation 4D."
"Are you mad at me?"
Were you seriously asking this? Right now?
"Because if you're mad, that's okay! We can talk it out, and I won't suggest olives again. I know I don't like it when you suggest pineapple, so I guess it's only fair."
"Chatter Box-"
"And we don't have to keep watching rom coms. Honestly, I'm surprised at how many you've sat through at this point. I thought for sure after Legally Blonde you would be done."
"Any sign of Maverick? I think-"
"But can we please grab a pint of that one ice cream we both like on the way back tonight? I've been thinking about that today, too, ever since I saw Payback eating a Snickers earlier today. Sorry for exposing you, Payback, but it did look really yummy."
"Confirm position, have you spotted Maverick?"
"Or we could save it for this weekend. Like a little treat for a week of perfect runs, y'know! We've been doing so well recently."
Jake hadn't realized it, but you had made it out of the canyon. You had finished the run. No mishaps, maybe a close call or two, but everything was on the up and up. Like you had said, it's been a perfect week of runs so far. So why did his chest still feel so tight? Why was he gripping his controls like he was afraid they'd run away from him? Why wasn't his heart slowing down?
You touched down on the tarmac and practically jumped out of your jet. The team had lined up near your and Hangman's jets for the quick debrief Maverick would give.
"Nice job aviators-"
"God, do you ever shut up and just focus?" Jake's words sliced through the praise Maverick was about to hand out to both of you. "It's like you can't help yourself! Mav's on our tail, and all you can talk about is ice cream or pizza! I mean, what the hell was that? You're not invested! You don't care, and it's so fucking obvious, I don't get it! I'm trying to get us back down, back to the base, make sure you're safe. And what are you doing? Fucking talking! Constantly! I just-"
"That's enough, Seresin!" Maverick's commanding voice boomed. It was like Jake had been shaken awake at the call. His eyes finally met yours, and what he found was awful.
Tears were pooling in your eyes, one slipping down your cheek as you tried to blink them away. Your bottom lip is tucked under your teeth, probably to stop the wobbling of your chin. And your left hand had traveled up to your dainty little necklace, playing with the charm, like you were trying to distract yourself from Jake's fire. Jake's heart broke in a million pieces as your eyes met his for a fraction of a second before returning to the ground, the tears seemed to flow freely now.
"Drop and give me five hundred for the outburst. The rest of you are dismissed for the day," Maverick's voice was steadier this time, but just as biting.
Jake's eyes widened as you began to turn away from the scene. Not even staying to rip into him the way he deserved. "Wait, I didn't-"
"Drop! Now! Make it a thousand!" Maverick stepped in his line of sight, blocking any connection Jake might be able to make with you right now.
You wanted nothing more than to run to the locker rooms, strip out of your flight suit, and take a scalding hot shower. But just as you were about to escape, you felt a large hand wrap around your shoulders and pull you into a tight embrace. And you broke. Standing in the hanger, your tears were flowing freely against the kaki uniform that was pressed against your cheek. One hand rubbed soothing patterns into your back while the other wrapped around your head, providing some protection from prying eyes.
It felt like your whole world was coming down on you. Was that really what Jake thought of you? That you weren't invested, weren't focused? Just because you talked? And you thought he liked it, liked when you talked. Maybe you read all his smiles wrong, when you should've been looking to see if they held more pity than sincerity.
Hiccups began to come up from your throat, and the arms that were wrapped around you just tightened.
"It's okay. I know that was rough, but you're okay. None of what he said was true. You're going to be okay, and I'm right here for you."
At his words, you began to sob harder. Your body was shaking now.
"Do you think we can move to the locker room? I want to sit with you, make sure you're okay. Does that sound okay?"
You just nodded, your hand gripping onto his uniform even tighter as you fell apart. Guiding you through the hanger and into the locker rooms, you felt the strong arms that were holding you up begin to loosen and help you to sit up against the lockers.
"You're already doing so much better. Breathing so good. You're going to be okay, I promise."
He was right, the sobs had started to subside. The hiccups disappeared as you drew in deep breaths. The shaking began to turn back into a steady, strong body as his big hands rubbed up and down your back and cradled you in his hold.
After a few minutes like this, a few minutes of catching your breath, you untangled yourself and looked up at the man who held you so dearly.
"Doing better? I'm sorry, that really sucked," Bob's face was screwed up and looked a little sour as he looked down at you.
You just nodded, unable to find the words for how you were feeling.
"I can go grab Phoenix, she can help you out of your flight suit and rinse off. I know you must-"
"Please don't go yet." Your voice was the quietest Bob had ever heard.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm right here," he said, nodding his head. You nudged back into his hold, and he felt a new batch of tears begin to soak his shirt again.
જ⁀➴
You were thankful you packed such a good go bag. Maverick had given the squad Thursday and Friday off after everything that happened. Said everyone needed to calm down and unwind for a few days. Phoenix met you and Bob in the locker room a few minutes after he had managed to calm you down. She ushered both of you out to Bradley's jeep, ignoring your protests and insisting you would stay with the three of them for the long weekend.
And you were grateful for that. Going back to yours seemed too daunting right now. Having space away from Jake would be good. At least that's what you were trying to tell yourself as the countless calls and texts rolled in throughout the weekend. You hadn't looked at them or listened to the voicemails either. But it was Sunday morning, and you knew you would have to face Jake sooner rather than later.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Phoenix asked as you loaded your things into the back of Bradley's jeep.
"I'm sure, Nix. I'll be okay, I promise," you grasped her hands and squeezed them tightly.
"Yeah, and I'll be there just in case any ass-kicking does need to happen," Bradley chimed in with a shit-eating grin that made you both laugh.
"You'll be okay. I know he didn't mean it, you guys will be okay," Bob said sweetly. He always balanced all of the hot-headed, impulsive pilots so well.
Walking over to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Thank you for everything. You're the sweetest ever, Bobby, seriously." As you pulled back, you saw the subtle blush creep up his neck. He just shook his head and gave you a bashful smile.
"Ready?" Bradley asked as he started the car. You nodded and climbed into the passenger's seat. Waving bye to your friends, you were off, not quite sure if you were ready to face Jake yet.
Bradley didn't grill you about what you would say to Jake when you got home or how you were feeling about everything on the drive over. Instead, he just turned the radio on and let the wind flow around you. It whipped your hair in every which way, but it was nice to feel the freedom of sitting in Bradley's passenger seat, just letting the world go by around you. His silence was something you liked about him; he was always so grounded and careful. It was admirable, especially to someone like you.
Soon enough, Bradley stopped outside your small rental house. He helped you with your bags and walked you to the front door, almost letting you turn the key, but before you could do so, he wrapped an arm around your waist and then your shoulders. It was sweet. You could feel every bit of Bradley's emotions in the hug. Telling you to be strong, to not back down, but that it was also okay to call for help and to cry.
"Good luck, call us if you need anything."
"I will Roo, thank you again."
"I mean it seriously. I will take any opportunity to smack Hangman around," his grin told you he wasn't being serious, well, at least not completely.
"Okay, okay. I'll call if I need any muscle," you giggled at the man. He nodded and squeezed your shoulder one last time before turning to walk back to his car.
When you entered the house, everything was a mess. It seemed as if a tornado had been wreaking havoc in the living room, the kitchen, the hallways, and Jake's room. The only thing that had been left untouched was your space. You made a beeline for your room, slipping off your clothes and starting your shower. If Jake were sticking to the schedule for your Sundays together, he would be at the grocery store for another hour or so. That gave you more than enough time to take a nice, long shower.
The hot water was refreshing, like a nice cleanse from this weekend. You knew in your heart that something else was going on, something else had caused Jake to act like that. But it didn't mean it hurt any less.
Jake stumbled through the front door, grocery bags in tow. Without you to shop with him, Jake had been more efficient than usual, already back at your shared place in under 45 minutes. He took a minute to set down the groceries on the kitchen counter, and it was then that he heard the shower running down the hall. You were home.
Like a madman, he ran around the apartment cleaning everything. He hadn't expected you to come back so soon. God, he was such a dick, took out his frustration on you for no good reason. After his push-ups, Maverick had sat him down to take a look at the flight path you had run that day. You were reactive, smart, and focused. You flew better than Jake had, taking each turn with an eased precision. Maverick hadn't said anything the entire time, just let Jake stew in his stupidity.
The entire weekend had been torture for him. He half expected you to ignore him the entire time you were home, but when he got back to an empty apartment, he knew he had messed up big time. Jake tried calling you, texting you, checking your location. He just had to know you were okay.
It was about the 5th voicemail he had left you. His eyes were red and raw, and his voice a little shaky. His large body had been sprawled out on the couch; he was camping out in your living room just in case you decided to come home.
"Hey, just calling to see if you're okay. Bobby texted me that you're staying with them, which is good. I'm glad you're with them," he sighed, trying to stay composed.
But the thought of you not even wanting to be home with him broke his heart. Not wanting to talk to him. To try and work things out.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, honey. I know I fucked up, and I know you didn't deserve that. I took out my stress on you, and that's not okay. Please just come home. Please. I want to talk to you. I just want to-" The beeping from his phone signaled that Jake was out of time. He slammed his phone down on the coffee table in front of him.
Jake spent days like that. Grieving your relationship, grieving what could've been. It was hard for him to admit, but Jake had fallen for you. From the early-morning scramble you did to get out of the house on time, he remembers watching you hop around the house in one shoe, keys in hand, always managing to forget something. The way you would sit on the couch and read for hours on end during the weekends. More often than not, he would join you for a bit, take your feet, rest them on his lap, and give you a foot rub on occasion. Other times, you would complain that he was purposefully trying to tickle you, so you swung around and rested your head in his lap instead. The way that your eyes always found his during a joke, like you were looking to see his reaction and share that moment with him. How you would always glue yourself to his side during busy nights at the Hard Deck, either looping a finger to his belt or guiding his hand to rest on your hip as you maneuvered throughout the crowded space. Jake wasn't dumb; he didn't miss all of these things as they were happening right in front of him. But he never thought he would lose you like this. That one day, all of it would just stop, disappear forever.
So when he heard the shower running in the distance, Jake made sure to get his shit together.
He heard the shower stop running just as he had finished folding the throw blankets in the living room. His heart was hammering in his chest. Would you come out of your room? Talk to him? Or would you lock yourself away for the night? Ignore him? Maybe you just came back to get all your things. To pack everything up and leave.
His thoughts were cut short at the sound of your slippers; the familiar sound was music to his ears. Your hair was still wet, you were in an oversized Navy shirt, and your sleep shorts, and your eyes were a little red and puffy, something that was definitely his doing.
"Hey," you said.
"I am so sorry, honey." Jake saw the way your eye began to well up at his apology. He took a step forward, not wanting to pressure you, but also needing to hold you so badly. "Can I... Can we talk? I'm not sure if you got my messages, but I want to talk to you. I want to apologize."
You nodded your head as another tear slipped down your cheek. Making your way over to the couch, Jake hesitated for a moment before settling next to you.
Just as he was about to start his speech, your voice broke through the silence. "Why'd you say that, Jake? I thought," Your voice was fragile-sounding, and you took a deep breath before continuing. "I thought you liked it when I talked to you. I thought it made you fly better; you always told me you fly better with me. I'm sorry I didn't-"
"Don't you dare say sorry," Jake was quick to cut you off. "I'm sorry. I was a jerk, and all those things I said, I didn't mean them. I know it's not an excuse, I know that, but I've been so worried about this mission. I don't... I don't know what I would do if I were the reason you didn't make it back safe."
"What?" Your brows furrowed as you looked at the man sitting next to you. His hands were twitching at his sides, like he was aching to reach out and hold something. To hold you. Slipping your hands into his, you started again, "Jake, there's no universe where I don't make it back because of you. You make me better. You make me want to come back down."
At your admission, Jake's throat tightened. "I just... This mission is different. I'm leading us, and I'm responsible for you. I don't know what I would do if... If something happened and I didn't tell you." Again, you were confused by his words. The look on your face urged him to continue. "I... I don't know what I would do if something happened to you and I didn't tell you how I felt. If we never even got to try. If I never got to kiss you or hold you or tell you how much I love you."
Jake heard your breath hitch. Your mouth parted and eyes wide. Your fingers found your necklace once more. His eyes found yours, then they flickered down to your lips, then back up to you. Inching closer to him, you nodded your head at him. That's all it took.
His hands grasped your face, bringing you forward and into his hold. The kiss was gentle, but hungry. Jake kissed you like you would leave any second, like this wasn't real. And to him, it didn't feel like it. Your soft lips were even better than he had dreamt about. And the way your eyelashes fluttered shut almost undid him.
After a particularly bruising kiss of his lips, you gasped into his mouth. Jake took the opportunity to push further into your mouth, to take all that you were giving him. At this, your hands flew to his shirt, to his hair, just trying to hold onto something, something to keep yourself grounded.
"Jake," he heard you whisper as he started kissing down your neck. His hands now wander down your side, slipping under the old tee you were wearing, finding purchase at the softness of where your tummy meets your hips. His lips lifted off of you as he looked into your eyes, hands never loosening.
"I'm sorry, honey. Let me make it up to you. Can we try this? I promise I'll be good, I'll take care of you." With each word that left his lips, you felt the throbbing in between your legs grow stronger and stronger. You nodded, and he was back on you. His lips tracked down your throat, taking his time to make you squirm in his hold. His hands inched further up underneath your shirt, and he looked at you for permission.
"Yes, please. Touch me, please," your voice soft and breathless. Jake could've sworn he was dreaming. His rough hands met no resistance as they crawled up your torso, his cock throbbing when he felt your pebbled nipples, no bra covering them. At the first roll of them in between his fingers, you whined and pushed your hips into the couch.
Jake sank off the couch and knelt in front of you, tugging your shirt off as he continued to worship you. After you threw the tee onto the ground, he was quick to grab your hips, tugging you toward him. His mouth latched onto one of your nipples as his hand tugged at the other. He hovered over you, and all you could do was arch up into his hold. His free hand slithered down the front of your shorts, and upon feeling your heat, Jake groaned.
You were soft in his mouth. Jake swore he could spend hours flicking your tits until you were squirming from overstimulation. Seeing how reactive you were to his movement was nothing compared to his fantasies of having you like this. Your whines were quiet, and your eyes rolled back. But that would have to wait for another time.
Feeling how wet you were, Jake sucked harder around your nipple, squeezing and tugging around your other boob harshly. Grinding into the couch seemed like his only salvation as his fingers dipped lower and lower into your underwear. His middle finger teased your entrance as his thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as you continued to arch into his hold.
"Please, Jake. Need you to touch me more, please," your voice came out in a small whisper. God, you were perfect. He didn't even have to ask you to tell him what you wanted. Saying please like the sweet girl you were. It was only fair that he rewarded you.
Sinking a finger into your heat, your jaw dropped at the stretch. "Feel good, honey?" he asked, and you immediately nodded your head. "That's good, being so good for me. Want me to finger this little pussy 'till you come around me? Want me to take care of you?"
"Yes, yes. Please take care of me," you gasped at his words. Core pulsing around his digit at the way he was talking to you.
"Anything for you, honey. I'll take good care of you," he groaned, feeling the way you tightened around him. Watching your face twist with pleasure was his new favorite sight. His mouth latched onto your nipple again as he sank another finger into your entrance. Your whines were music to his ears as he continued to work on your clit.
Pleasure was building up in your belly, and you didn't know how much longer you could hold on like this. Sure, you had imagined what kissing Jake might have felt like or the way he would hold you as he fucked into you, but seeing him on his knees, worshipping you, was something else entirely. Your hips chased his movements, and you made the mistake of glancing down at his own hips. They were flush against the couch, rubbing in a firm and steady pace. You clenched around his digits at the thought of him inside of you, fucking you in that steady rhythm.
"Gonna come for me, honey? I can feel your tight, little pussy gripping me. You can come, it's okay," he said in between kisses to your neck.
You hummed at his words. "Okay...Okay. Gonna come, Jake. Oh gosh." Your fingers buried themselves into his hair, tugging as you arched in his hold. The knot in your tummy unraveled as he continued to kiss all over your body.
Jake watched the way your eyes fluttered shut, how you tugged your lip between your lips, the way your perky tits rose and fell in shallow breaths. He couldn't wait to see what you looked like falling apart on his cock. The way your eyes would roll back as it sank into you. How you would grip his arms as he pushed in, inch by inch.
"Gotta have you, baby, please. Need you so bad. I'm about to explode in my shorts if I can't have you," he confessed to you, lips tugging the skin around your jaw.
"Yes, Jake, please. Need you too."
Upon your admission, Jake scooped you up into his arms and charged down the hallway. There was no way your first time together was going to be on the couch you had gotten off Facebook Marketplace. He'd probably have you ass up on it another night, face digging into the cushions. Another thing to look forward to for Wednesday movie nights. But for now, he wanted to show you how much you matter to him. He wanted to take care of you.
Lying you down on your soft sheets, Jake tugged your bottoms off, kissing around your inner thighs as he worked himself out of his shorts and shirt. You propped yourself up on the back of your forearms and watched the sight. Giggling to yourself, Jake's eyes met yours. But as soon as his shorts dropped to the ground, your giggles stopped. To say Jake was well-endowed would be an understatement.
"Not laughing anymore, huh, honey," he teased you as he caged your body around his.
"Wasn't laughing," you huffed. "You're just a little eager, is all, makes me smile."
Jake narrowed his eyes at the mischievous look on your face. "I got another thing that will probably make you smile," he grinned at you. You rolled your eyes at his cocky attitude, but still held a small smile on your face. "Got condoms in here, honey?" he asked as he reached over you and tugged the drawer of your nightstand open.
"No, but it's okay. I'm on birth control and clean. If you're okay with it?" you bit down on your bottom lip, a little nervous for his response.
His eyes found yours quickly. "Oh, if I'm okay with it?" You just hummed, avoiding his eyes. "I'm okay with that, honey. I wouldn't mind feeling your tight, warm pussy around my dick. Can only imagine what it'll feel like when you come around me."
"Jake!" you cried out, cheeks flushing at his vulgar words. But just as you were about to continue to chastise him, you felt one of his hands guiding his member towards your entrance. And soon, all the air was sucked out of you.
Pushing into you made Jake's eyes roll back into his head for a few second, but he was quick to put his focus back on your face, your body. On the way he saw the veins on his cock pulse as it pushed deeper into you. Or the way your face screwed up a bit, mouth open though, giving him the perfect in. He kissed you hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth, and he felt the effects of his actions immediately at the clench of your pussy around him.
"Fuck, honey. Feel so perfect. Pussy's all ready for me, feels so good," he groaned in your ear as the last inch of him sank into you. His heavy balls resting on your ass, his fingers gripping your hips. You could tell he wanted to move, but held back. "Feeling good? Want you to feel good. This is for you, okay."
His words made your heart beat a little quicker. And the way he kissed the top of your forehead didn't help either. Soon, Jake's mouth made its way down to your cheeks, to your nose, to your lips. You kissed him deeply, humming into his mouth. He felt your legs wrap around his waist and a slight nod of your head.
"Ready? You can tell me to stop anytime, honey. I want to take care of you," he kissed your lips one last time before he started moving in and out of your wet pussy. Groaning, Jake dropped his face into your neck as he moved his hips in and out.
He was slow at first, taking the time to let you adjust, to see how you reacted to his body. But after a few minutes of working you on his cock, Jake's right hand left your hip and started playing with your tits. This elicited a whine of his name from your mouth, as it was ever the sensitive area for you. Picking up the pace, Jake felt the way you began to grab onto him. Arching into his hold, trying to meet the rhythm of his cock sinking into you. You needed more.
"Please, Jake. Need more," you gasped.
"Yeah? Need more? Want me to fuck you harder?" His words made your mouth fall open. The way he talked to you was so foreign, but not unwelcomed.
"Mhm, please."
"Okay, honey. I've got you. Gonna fuck you the way you want, the way your little pussy needs." With that, his hips began snapping into you, grinding the same rhythm that you saw earlier on the couch.
The weight of his body on yours was heavenly; you could feel the thick muscle working against you. Your clit hits the perfect spot in his firm stomach. His hands grip your hips, hard. Surely there will be bruises tomorrow, but it will be worth it.
The bed creaks at Jake's pace, and he throws an arm above you, holding onto the headboard with a white-knuckle grip. He watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust, nipples all perky and red from his teasing earlier. But the way that his cock disappears into your entrance makes his stomach churn. You're taking him so well; your noises are music to his ears.
Sure enough, after a roll of his hips, you grip onto him, tugging him closer to you. Jake's arms wrap around you as he pistons in and out, the new angle making your moans grow louder and louder with each thrust. Bringing his thumb down to your clit, makes the pressure in your tummy snap.
Jake revels in the feeling of your nails scraping down his back, the way your legs shake around his waist, and most of all, the way you say his name, whispering it so soft and sweet. That makes the thread snap in him as he pumps his load into your soft, warm pussy. His hips slow down and he kisses all over your hairline, whispering sweet nothings to you.
"Did so good for me, honey. Felt so good. Gonna pull out, start us a bath, okay?" he asked in between kisses to your face. Humming at his words, he ducked down to kiss your lips one last time before pulling out and running to start a bath for the both of you.
જ⁀➴
The squad wasn't the least bit surprised when they saw Jake fusing over your flight suit and helmet on Monday before our trial run. You swatted his arms away from your head, but he went right back to tightening your chin strap.
"So, he finally told her," Bradley said with a hum.
"Took both of them long enough," Phoenix groaned. "I swore if I hear another story about Jake did this for me this weekend, or Jake did that, isn't he so sweet? I was gonna barf." The squad cackled at her imitation of one of your love-sick rants. But it would go unknown to the two of you who were meters away from the squad.
"Jake, it's too tight now. I feel like my teeth are glued together," you complained as he fiddled with the straps on your helmet.
"Good, that means it won't come flying off or rattle," he grinned down at you, patting your head. You rolled your eyes, but he was being quite cute. After your bath last night, he had ordered takeout from your favorite place in San Diego, and you finally got to watch the new rom-com on your list. He never left your side the entire night, and you're pretty sure the deliveryman thought you were in a hostage situation with the way Jake was holding onto your hip. But true to his word, he took care of you. Talked to you. Made you feel better about everything that happened the week prior.
Not even twenty-four hours later, he was back to fussing about you and your safety.
Jake saw you squint up at him through your visor, and chin strapped be damned, he almost unclipped it to pull your helmet off and kiss you. Instead, he opted to smoothing down your shoulder, squeezing up and down.
"Ready to kill it, baby? Week two of perfect runs," he asked with a teasing smile.
"Sir, yes, sir! Maybe I could lead this time, y'know cause I'm so reactive and quick and-"
"Not happening. You follow me, I need you looking out for my behind," Jake huffed.
"Mm, not a bad view," you teased with a wink. Jake just narrowed his eyes at you as you began to laugh to yourself.
"Alright, love birds! Let's try this again!" Maverick's voice startled the two of you out of your moment. But just as quick, you caught Jake's eyes again. You both made your way to your jets and strapped in.
Jake looked towards you, and soon his voice was filling the channel, "I'll see you up in the air, honey."
"You'll hear her before anything, Hangman," Rooster chimed in, and you both heard the laughter of the squad in the background.
"That's mighty fine with me. Just me and my Chatter Box. Ready to smoke you all, again," he said with his signature Texas charm.
"Let's see about that," Maverick called out. "Hangman, Chatter Box. You are a go."
When Jake stumbles into your office attempting to flirt with you, all you can do is humor the fact that your husband seems to have forgotten you.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Wife!Reader — 1.6K
▸ WARNINGS: Pure fluff, slight amnesia, injured Jake, sexual jokes
▸ A/N: wrote a quick small idea because i love a good secret relationship and a flirty hangman
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The crash outside piques your curiosity. You abandon the latest report you’re working on and get up to swing open your door right on time for a certain blonde aviator to spill into the infirmary. Jake barging into your office is not news; he barges in probably more than he really should, particularly when you’re with patients.
“Boundaries” becomes the most used word in your relationship.
Only thing is, this time, he’s looking at you with big, surprised eyes. The tinges of blue around his emerald eyes are even more prominent when they’re blown up. “Who allowed you to look this good, Doc,” he says with a swagger in his step, eyes droopy now as he leans against the doorframe.
Before you can question him, Rooster walks through the door, a pitying look at Jake. “He’s on the good stuff. Maybe too much of it.” You quirk an eyebrow. “Sedatives.”
Your eyes dart briefly to Jake who is still eyeing you with interest but now he has taken over your chair, propping his chin up on his palm with his elbow on your desk. That smug smile, albeit a little sleepier, is still plastered across his face.
“He crashed earlier–” The smile wipes off your face quickly and Rooster instantly adds, “Nothing big, managed to get out, but he landed wrong cause he ejected too close to the ground. We had to take him to the hospital. Most of it’s around his ribs, but he’s okay.”
Drifting over to Jake, you cup his face and tilt him to look up at you. While he’s busy giving you dark, flirty glances, you are checking him for any signs of permanent damage. He has a few scratches on his face, you notice now the new band-aid he’s sporting on his cheek.
You’re on your knees then and you’re slowly unbuttoning his uniform. If he’s really injured here, he should probably be wearing something more breathable. You remember he packed an extra short-sleeved shirt this morning.
“Whoa, at least take me out to dinner first,” Jake teases, which earns a roll of your eyes.
“Told his dumb ass he should be going straight home but he insisted on making a pit stop here. Something about getting a second look. He might’ve also said something along the lines of visiting the pretty doctor.” Your eyes snap up to Rooster, who holds his hands up in defense. “His words, not mine.”
Humored, you look at him playfully, accusingly. “So you don’t think I’m pretty?”
“That’s not what I said!” Rooster immediately replies, face flushing crimson. “Anyways, before I dig a deeper hole for myself, I’m going to leave him in your very capable hands. Whenever he’s done, one of the guys can drop him off at home.”
“I’m going to wrap up soon so I've got him, don’t worry.”
“You got his address?”
You fight to keep a straight face. “Yeah, it’s on his records.”
“Awesome, thanks, Doc. See you tomorrow.” With that, Rooster makes his exit, the door slamming shut behind him.
You wait a moment and thank the heavens that Jake has the false reputation of being an incorrigible flirt. That will hopefully throw off any suspicion of your relationship.
When you know you’re in the clear, you inspect Jake a little more closely. There are bandages wrapped around his abdomen and you wonder how severe the accident was if they had to give him sedatives. Then again, it’s entirely possible that Jake was being a little bitch and they gave it to him just to shut his mouth.
Aside from the minor injuries, he seems to be in pretty good shape. Physically at least.
Mentally – you look up at him and he’s still smiling stupidly at you – he’s perhaps not quite there yet.
“Jake, honey, I’m going to need to move you to the bed.”
“So soon?” His eyes blow up comically before the expression falls away to a confident grin. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
A disgruntled sigh slips past your lips. Even when he’s drugged up, he still manages to be insufferable. You position his arm around your shoulders and slowly help him to his feet. Jake leans his weight on you, but more so because he really likes being this close to you. The man is heavy to say the least. All six feet of him. You lead him carefully towards the infirmary bed with him nuzzling into your hair the entire time.
He hums thoughtfully and grins against the side of your head. His hot breath tickles your neck right as you plop him on top of the comforter. He avidly refuses to lie down, instead scooching his way in until he’s sat with his back against the wall.
Jake turns to you, grinning smugly with teeth in full view.
“Damn, darlin’, you smell so good. Do you have a boyfriend?”
You’re just sitting down on the edge of the bed when you hear it and freeze. “Come again?”
“Sweetheart, we haven’t even come once,” Jake retorts, seeming all too pleased with his joke. The ‘we’ is cute, very considerate of him to include both of you in the conversation. However, you’re too distracted by his question.
“You’re asking me if I have a boyfriend.” You repeat, incredulous.
Jake nods aggressively, likely jumbling his head even worse.
A smile tilts the corner of your lips. You raise your left hand, showing him the back of it. “I’m married actually.”
“Married?” He gasps, completely aghast. He looks crestfallen and then stares at the ring in annoyance. “I mean, of course, you’d be married. You’re so smart, and so pretty. You also embarrassed Rooster? God, you’re fuckin’ perfect. Who’s the lucky person? Do I know them? Are they on base?”
“You do know him, very well in fact. He is on base.”
A growl rises from his throat. “He better watch his back, I’ll get him if he even thinks about slipping once.”
“Really? How would you do that?”
“I could fight him.”
You chuckle. “Right, you’ll fight him. That might be a little hard.”
“Why is that?”
“He’s pretty tough. He’s tall. Very strong. Very handsome too.”
Jake scowls. “Alright, so he’s Mr. Perfect because you’re also perfect. Well, if I ever catch him not being perfect, I’m going to swoop in for the kill. Neither of you will ever see me coming.”
A grin stretches across his face at your laugh. “Good to know, Seresin. I’ll make sure to warn him.”
“Hm, so you’re really married,” Jake repeats again in a deep, disappointed sigh. He takes your left hand in both of his, looking down at the spectacular rock on your hand. He lets out a low whistle before he grimaces, realizing who he’s complimenting.
Actually, not even realizing who he’s complimenting.
“He did good, your husband.” Jake turns your hand, letting the diamond catch the sunlight. The facets sparkle, speckling the room with blinding polka dots. “Gorgeous ring for a gorgeous girl.”
Heat creeps up your cheeks. “Thank you.” You pause before dropping another bomb on him. “I should also probably tell you that you’re also married.”
Jake jerks back, nearly getting whiplash from how quickly he turns to look at you. “I am? To who? I think I’d know if I was married.”
“A very lucky woman.”
“Well, shit.” Jake grunts. “Well, if I married her, then I’m sure she’s as perfect as you.”
“Probably more alike than you think,” you mutter under your breath.
Jake is smiling at you softly and you see his eyes begin to close. His eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open. It’s as if he is striving to commit your face to memory. “I think I’m kinda sleepy, Doc.”
“Well, you best get your rest then.”
“When I wake up, if you happen to be single, you let me know right away. Or even before I wake up, that might just do the trick.”
“You got it, Hangman.”
–
“I had the strangest dream,” Jake tells you on your drive home.
He’s in the passenger seat, his head still spinning a little from the heavy slumber. He had woken up when everyone else was long gone and found you flipping through your novel, waiting for him. He didn’t seem to remember what happened just an hour prior, so you let it play out, told him he just slept the entire time.
“Hm, what about?”
“I was flirting with this woman,” he says, sounding even more confused than you should be. “I promise, sweetheart, I’d never hit on anyone else. I haven’t hit on anyone else, not since that time I flirted with you when you first joined.”
You hide your smile, focusing instead on the road. “Yeah, was she pretty?”
Clearly, a part of him does think so because he hesitates before responding. “Would you be upset if I said she was? I can’t even remember her face. I just remember thinking she was so fuckin’ stunning.”
“Should I be concerned about this fictional woman?”
“Definitely not,” Jake scoffs, crossing his arms over your chest. “Dream woman could never compare to you. The real deal.”
You let out a little mm-hmm as you pull out something from your pocket. His dog tag dangles from your hand, glimmering right next to the wedding band he keeps around his neck. “Rooster gave it to me before he left. Said you dropped it in your landing.”
He gratefully accepts the necklace and clasps it around his neck. “Thank you, did he ask about the–you know.”
“You mean your wedding ring? The one you’ve been wearing since you married me a year ago? The one you keep secret from your squadmates because no one knows you’re married and you let them believe you’re still a cocky, unbearable flirt?”
Jake laughs. “That’s the one.”
“Yes.”
“And what did you say?”
You smirk, “Told him it was a purity ring.”
“Darlin’,” he groans, “I have a reputation to maintain.”
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!! 🍯💛
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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: 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.
