#Callsign: Cyclone

[kcsplace]

Top Gun + Real But Sometimes Unfortunate Callsigns Pt 1 of ???

Top Gun Silliness

[tgmsunmontue]

I come up with ridiculous stories for some of these call signs... Like Cyclone...it's a brand of washing machine, and a cleaning agent, and a vacuum. And an ice block/popsicle.

Did someone prank him with washing liquid in the machine and cause a sudsy flood?

Was he fastidiously clean in the barracks and always make the other uphold their areas to the same level of cleanliness?

Did he just eat and eat and everyone joked about him being like a vacuum and 'give it to ol' cyclone over there...'?

Did he 'accidentally' have a red shirt in with his whites and everything went pink? (It was 100% another prank and someone chucked in a dye tablet... Did it happen to his dress whites? Maybe just the pants?)

Or was he obsessed with those cyclone ice blocks and can eat one in one mouthful? (Now there's a skill that has some others interested).

[sortagaysortahigh]

Domestic | Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

A/N: Heyyyyyyy guys <3 here's my first TGM fic that's ever hit the dash, and ofc it had to be my favorite douchebagJake Seresin!!!! but ugh the idiots in love fic lmfao. Rivals to roommates to lovers but the catch is they're literally so dense they don't know they're in love <3 UGH I LOVE LOVE! Also thank u to my lover in christ @anxietyandtacos for reading this for me and being a hoe <3

Summary: Moving in with Jake Seresin was the last thing you'd wanted to do, but you were out of options. Turns out, life is nice with Jake, if anything, you both enjoy being a little domestic.

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors (I am who I am), cursing, 2nd person POV, mentions of violence, Jake get's smacked a few times, Rooster and Nat supremacy bye, kissing, hand holding, mentions of hazing (not fraternity level fucked up hazing NEVER THAT!), idiots in love like honestly truly Smut: tongue kissing, spitting, handjobs, jake cums in his pants, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, cowgirl (WOO HOO!), spanking/slapping (tee hee!), creampie (unprotected p in v)

Word Count: 12.4k

Jake Seresin x Fem!Aviator!Reader

This man is such a douchebag i love him <3

Reader's Callsign is Hellfire

Living with one of your co-workers was usually a recipe for disaster, especially when said co-worker was an overconfident douchebag with a Texan twang that irritated you beyond belief. 

Moving in with Jake Seresin was a last ditch effort to move off base after the dagger squad had become a permanent addition to North Island following the success of their first high-risk mission surrounding the destruction of an unsanctioned uranium enrichment overseas.

For the most part, everyone worked very well together. Mainly because the group had learned to swallow their pride and get over their differences when they were in the air. Of course there were still several petty fights and arguments over the comms systems, and several repercussions surrounding mission reports, locker clean outs, and physical torture—being the workouts Maverick had them doing in ninety degree heat. 

You were one of the last members of the squad to look for an apartment, mainly because you hadn’t had the time. Unfortunately for you, one of the most infamous Admirals at North Island happened to be your father, and based on his callsign alone, it was evident that he wasn’t exactly America’s sweetheart. 

Inferno had served almost his entire adult life in the Navy, he graduated at the top of his Top Gun class, had led the Pacific Fleet with Admiral Kazinsky for some time and was currently in the running to take over the Fleet following Iceman’s passing. Upon the news that you’d been selected as one of the elite pilots to be called back to Top Gun he was thrilled.

That was for many reasons, the first being he got to spend more time with his favorite child—something that he wouldn’t admit in front of your siblings, but everyone knew it to be true. You’d followed in his footsteps and joined the Navy, while your brother did the same thing, he wasn’t an Aviator, he chose the mechanical engineering route as an Aviation Machinist. 

The second reason was because he practically lived to torture Aviators in the Top Gun program. With you here, he was able to double down on them, and use you as one of his many pawns in his schemes—to be fair, they weren’t terrible, usually just a bit of sanctioned hazing for the newest recruits. 

But as much as you enjoyed spending time with your father and participating in him reigning hell throughout North Island while simultaneously pissing off other Admirals—especially Cyclone, you also needed to find your own space. 

Moving back in with your parents was not an option, especially with the fact that your younger sister and her husband also lived in their pool house. Not that you had anything against them, but being around your very loud and very energetic family twenty-four seven was like your own personal hell. You liked to spend time with them, then head home to decompress.

So when you started looking for a place to live, you quickly learned that the housing options were slim, and several of the places you’d considered had long waitlists because of the constant influx of military personnel in the area.

Either that or they were overly expensive for a lackluster space, or a downright shitty place.

After complaining at the Hard Deck, Javy jokingly commented that Jake was looking for a roommate, it was somewhat of a joke because you couldn’t stand Jake, and vice versa. You’d met at North Island several years ago, and you were the reason he finished second in the class.

The rivalry should’ve died down in the years that you hadn’t worked with one another, but anytime you’d cross paths—even briefly, you couldn’t help but bring it up. Opting to call him ‘Number 2’ with a wicked smile on your face. As two Top Gun graduates it wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths, your squadrons had worked together on a few missions in the past, and you couldn’t help but bring up the old nickname.

It was better than calling him Hangman or Bagman, you were the only one who could call him Number 2, it was almost special.

Jake had scoffed at Javy’s joke, however upon meeting your pleading eyes, he realized that you were actually considering it. He was genuinely looking for a roommate, rent in San Diego was far from cheap, even with his salary and basic housing allowance. 

Besides he originally moved into the two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with Javy, but Javy had recently moved in with his girlfriend which left the room vacant. 

That day at the Hard Deck you grimmaced before swallowing your pride and asking Jake if he actually needed a roommate, you hated the barracks, and you’d tried staying with your family but it was too overstimulating after having long days of work. You’d even agreed to stop calling him Number 2 for a week—he tried indefinitely but you wouldn’t budge.

It also helped that Natasha, Javy, and Mickey took the time to actually convince him to consider it.

You moved in three days later, and you’d spent most of that Saturday bossing him around. He was already over your shit, then he watched as you rearranged the kitchen—his kitchen—and that left him flabbergasted. You complained that the counters were too cluttered and there wasn’t enough genuine open space.

Jake didn’t care if the counters seemed cluttered to you, everything was clean and everything had its place. Then suddenly, you were like a tornado, knocking everything out of place.

Not to mention your piles that you made, gathering everything like some kind of hamster storing their food for the winter—or like a packrat hiding their stash of goods. You had several piles around the kitchen and dining space, going through each and every one of them—making smaller piles—then finally reorganizing it all and putting the new mixture of his things and your things away. It also bothered him how easily you could just mix your belongings and his—like you were there to stay.

Of course, you’d only agreed to living with him for six months, you paid the first month’s rent up front, and told him that if things didn’t work out, you’d pack your things and find somewhere else to live—either that or you’d kick his ass first then leave.

To make matters worse, two months into living together, Jake Seresin realized he actually enjoyed you being there. Even if you cleaned like an absolute maniac, you also cooked, offered to help with the laundry, and forced him to watch terribly predictable horror movies with you. It was kind of nice in a domestic way.

He hadn’t expected that—at all.

Actually, he expected it to be something similar to your callsign—Hellfire. 

You’d gotten the callsign in flight school for several reasons, of course a major one being you were Inferno’s daughter, and where there was an Inferno, Hellfire followed. It was also because you had your father’s attitude and unfortunately for most of your instructors, his temperament as well. It wasn’t a secret that your father spent his early days of his career a bit out of control, disobeying orders and walking a thin line—you followed suit.

Jake expected living with you to truly be his own living hell. You were annoying as ever, that hadn’t changed, but there was also a sense of serenity with you that had completely blindsided him.

Of course it made perfect sense that after a long day of work anyone would want to relax, but with you, you’d spent all of your time off in a pretty peaceful state. Your usual attitude and smartass remarks were at a minimum, it was rare that you’d make an off-handed remark to him—which was a complete shock for the first few weeks.

If you weren’t such a smartass on base, he’d even consider you a genuine friend.

Hell, he knew you two were friends, even if neither of you would ever admit it out loud. 

You enjoyed living in the apartment, it was a nice space—although it did take some time for you to ‘cozy’ it up, prior to adding your own personal touches, the apartment lacked that extra warmth. It was definitely a man’s apartment, and it even smelled like Jake—that much you didn’t mind. He smelled nice, even after a long day of dogfight drills and Maverick’s usual torture.

It did piss you off that he insisted on using the overhead lights in the place. They made sense in the kitchen, but in the living room? That’s where you drew the line. Eventually you’d dragged him to the local Goodwill to look for lamps that had ‘spunk’ and ‘character’, settling on three different ones after arguing in the middle of the aisle like two crazy people. 

You also yelled at him inside of the local hardware store when he tried to buy lightbulbs that were a cool white light instead of a warm yellow hue. 

That’s also when you found out that he only had one lamp in his bedroom, and it had the bright white bulb in it. You snuck into his bedroom and replaced the light bulb the next morning when he was at the gym.

The first month of living together was full of adjustments on both of your ends, you both had to get used to one another’s schedules and routines. Not to mention the few arguments over how you cleaned, Jake practically storming off into his room to avoid seeing the chaotic mess. You also hated Jake’s cooking, you called it bland and tasteless—which he argued were complete synonyms.

His spice cabinet was embarrassing, so the next trip to the grocery store, you’d bought almost one of every spice in the aisle. Meanwhile he made comments about never needing most of them, but you simply shushed him with your signature glare. There was also the utensil issue, apparently Javy had purchased most of their silverware and upon moving out he and his girlfriend had completely forgotten to buy some—so he’d stolen it from Jake.

He was nice enough to leave two spoons, two forks, and two butter knives. 

So you had to buy silverware as well, and an actual set of kitchen knives considering your sister had stolen yours. 

To his dismay, Jake actually enjoyed shopping with you. The first few trips to the stores were absolute disasters. You drove, which he already hated because you had road rage and a tendency to speed and weave through traffic like a maniac. Then you two would argue in the aisles, going back and forth about what you needed and didn’t need, eventually you’d shush him over and over again until he’d roll his eyes and stop fighting back.

But, things got easier once you two managed to formulate a routine of sorts.

The first major part was that Jake drove. If you needed to go to the store, to the dry cleaners, to drop something off on base, anything that involved you two traveling together and carpooling—Jake was the one driving. 

Then you’d opted to only do your deep cleans when he was at the gym on sunday mornings, that way you had two hours to make your piles and sift through them without his overbearing, controlling, clean-freak nature. 

You usually cooked, you hated his cooking, although you did force him to sit with you on nights that you were both home, and eventually, he started helping and asking for directions. He was still working on the whole ‘seasoning with your heart’ thing, but turns out, he’s a pretty good sous chef.

He vacuumed, you hated vacuuming. But you mopped the kitchen because he hated mopping.

Both of you would play rock paper scissors when it came to dusting. It was the shittiest chore in the house. 

You both cleaned your own spaces, you with the hallway bathroom and bedroom, him with his bedroom and ensuite. He would only clean the hallway bathroom when everyone would come over because he hated people in his bathroom, so it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

One and a half months into living together is also when you found out that he had an array of hair products, which was funny considering his hair was relatively short. You’d caught him one morning heavily concentrated on his hair, two brushes and a comb on the bathroom counter alongside a jar of pommade and something in a spray bottle. 

You laughed at him for twenty minutes over it. 

Learning one another’s routines did help with your combined routine though. Jake knew that on your days off, you didn’t want to be bothered before ten in the morning, meanwhile he was up and ready to leave to the gym by seven. Even if you were awake, you were not a morning person, he eventually got used to your silence as you’d walk into the kitchen and start brewing a pot of coffee.

After work, he would come home and shower first, you’d focus on getting dinner started because you hated showering before cooking because you’d be left smelling like whatever you’d cooked after. It worked too because it guaranteed that you would both get hot water for your showers—also something you’d fought about during the first month of living together.

Every night after about seven you were usually quiet, at first it was alarming to him, because you’d never been quiet—not at work and not at the bar or anywhere else the dagger squad would go together. 

You also liked to watch movies during that time. He hadn’t really expected you to enjoy watching movies the way you did, and turns out, you had quite a few streaming subscriptions, some you paid for outright, others were your siblings that you’d been using long enough that they had profiles specifically for you. 

A month into living with each other you’d invited him to watch a movie with you. It was a bit awkward at first, mainly because Jake didn’t know what to say or do. You weren’t exactly the best of friends, and sitting in what should’ve been a comfortable silence was uncomfortable for him. Or at least it was until you’d kicked your sock-clad feet into his lap and tossed him the other end of the oversized throw blanket. 

Since then, it was an almost nightly tradition when you two were home together. When everyone would go out, or either of you would go out, you wouldn’t watch anything, but when you were both home, he didn’t need to be told to join you, he just did.

You both have been living together for almost five months at this point. 

Within the span of five months you’d pretty much turned his entire apartment around. Before you moved in it was just a regular apartment with standard furniture and a few decorations here and there, he liked to keep things minimal—his logic stood at ‘the less things, the less there is to clean’. 

That logic had been swept out of the door, you’d decorated the entire place, opting for funky rugs with different colors and patterns, your plants were scattered around the living room and kitchen closer to any windows, several knick knacks also lined the window sills, and there were three new shelves in the living room that housed his books and yours, all neatly separated and on display—much to his dismay—especially the romance novels.

His two grey sofas now had throw blankets folded over them with a series of decorative pillows in odd shapes and sizes, and the lamps you’d thrifted all sat in their own designated corners of the large common space. You made it a rule to not use the overhead light as well—and you’d forced him to take the lightbulbs out. 

The walls also had numerous photos and prints now, the wall closest to the front door had a corkboard with different pinned polaroids of the dagger squad that Natasha had taken during one of your beach days—you both agreed it made the most sense to hang photos of your shared friends. You had a collection of classic horror movie inspired prints that sat on the wall around the TV—which you also forced Jake to mount. 

The space felt warm, inviting, and lived-in.

Hell, he’d even taken after your eclectic decorating in his own room, adding a few more knick knacks and lamps. 

You both were comfortable in your routine, and you had boundaries already set, such as your hookup protocol. Whenever the other person was bringing someone home, it had to be approved, mainly because neither of you wanted to hear the other person having sex or deal with the awkward aftermath of a one night stand walking out to see you or Jake in the apartment.

It worked well, and for the first two months you both stuck to it. However, now, neither of you ever really texted one another about bringing someone home.

Jake was under the impression that you just opted to hook up at someone else’s place, and you were under the same impression about him. 

Neither of you had been having casual sex with anyone, you just didn’t feel the need to.

It was odd for Jake to not pursue hookups, he was the former king of one night stands, he’d pick up a new girl every few days for the hell of it. Plus the sex was also a great stress reliever for him. Occasionally he’d sleep with the same girl for a few weeks at a time, but when they’d get too clingy he’d break things off.

But now? Now it was like he didn’t care about the sex.

He also wasn’t as stressed as he used to be, part of him knew it was because of you—but he didn’t want to admit that.

You weren’t huge on casual sex, but you did dabble here and there. At least you used to dabble here and there, every few weeks you’d have a one night stand then spend the next day venting to Natasha about it. Most of the time the conversations revolved around the sex being mediocre for you because of the lack of an emotional connection.

She’d laugh at you, teasing you for needing to be emotionally invested in someone to enjoy sleeping with them, but you know she meant no genuine harm in it. You were just one of the people that needed that connection to really feel satisfied. 

Sure your hookups could make you cum, but that was it, you’d have sex, have a mediocre orgasm, then kick the person out—or you’d get dressed and leave.

Everyone around you and Jake noticed the shift and subtle changes between the both of you. It was obvious to them all, but for some reason you and Jake seemed to be incredibly oblivious to the elephant in the room.

It started a few months ago, something as simple as you two showing up to the Hard Deck together.

Everyone watched as he got out first, rounded the truck, then opened your door for you. Meanwhile you were smiling at him with one of your signature ‘Hellfire’ grins. The same look that everyone knew meant you were up to something.

The windows near the pool tables being adjacent to the parking lot that you two were in was a pure coincidence. But it gave the entire dagger squad a front row seat to whatever show you were about to put on. 

To everyone’s surprise, you grasped Jake’s hand and let him help you out of the truck. Then again it was a somewhat lifted truck that you constantly made fun of him about—something about being from Texas and having a very ‘Texan’ truck. 

The most shocking part of it all though was the way that you grasped his hand, practically pulling him behind you as you walked towards the bar. It didn’t help that you weren’t in your usual Khakis, instead wearing a red sundress that had Jake’s eyes on your figure the entire time. Then you looked back and smiled at him, clearly making a joke that had him laughing and shaking his head.

You’d dropped his hand once the both of you had walked into the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd, spotting the Daggers, Jake making a beeline towards them. You opted to head to the bar, ordering another round for your friends while simultaneously spotting your brother—pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

He didn’t hesitate to ask about Jake.

“So, is the pretty boy finally your boyfriend? Seen you two walking in together” you rolled your eyes at Dante, shrugging.

“No, why would he be? We’re friends I guess, although sometimes I wanna kill him. Like straight up wring his throat” your hands moved in a choking motion for a second before you and your brother bursted into laughter.

“Please, my wife wants to wring my throat like six days a week, I think it’s part of the age ol Inferno family charm. Besides, that man looks at you like you hung the stars, and he’s even volunteered to help with Dad’s hazing fiascos on base just to impress him and spend more time with you—“ you shook your head, interrupting him.

“Uh no, he does that because he’s a total show off! We literally live together, I don’t see how he’d ever want to spend more time with me!”

Your brother laughed, shaking his head at you “you’re so smart but so dumb at the same time. Mark my words little miss Hellfire, we’ll be at your wedding in a few years.”

You scoffed “please, I’d rather jump off a bridge than marry Jake Seresin.”

Dante shook his head at you, raising a single brow—in this exact moment he looked just like your father. “Yeah right, sure, that man is literally looking at you right now like you’re the love of his life—look” he then nodded in the direction of the pool tables, you glanced over your shoulder, making eye contact with Jake, raising a single brow.

Then he shrugged, raising his brow—a silent challenge. You scoffed and looked away.

“Please, he’s probably plotting on how he’s gonna piss me off tonight, then annoy me with apologies on the drive back home.”

Your brother nodded slowly “...so the same thing a boyfriend would do?” 

You rolled your eyes again, shoving him while shaking your head.

Before you could respond, Penny placed a few drinks on the bar, whistling to catch your attention. “Here’s that round beautiful!, also when were you gonna tell me about you and Hangman? I saw you two lovebirds smiling at the door! Does Mav know?”

Your eyes widened as you shook your head, feeling the familiar blushing heat overtake your features.

“We aren’t together—oh my god please don’t tell Mav if you think we’re together, I don’t think I’d survive the embarrassment from him, it’s bad enough that I have to fly ops drills with him now that Harvard and Halo are both on leave. God—Mav literally gave me shit a few days ago because I told Bagman to screw off mid-air.”

Penny slowly nodded, exchanging a knowing look with your brother before she shrugged. “If you say so, but your boyfriend and Coyote are heading over here, probably for those drinks”

Then you looked over your shoulder, immediately making eye contact with Jake—again. 

There were other signs of the change in your previous tension filled rivalry relationship as well. The quick-witted quips had turned into flirty remarks on and off base. At first you assumed it was his new way of annoying you, but eventually, you’d gotten used to it and the comments didn’t bother you as much.

You’d take the time to adjust your flight suit on days that were scorching hot while standing on the tarmac and the second Jake would walk by, you’d hear his comments and whistles.

“Looking light a sight for sore eyes today Hellfire, better stop tugging on that zipper before you give us the show I’ve been waiting for”

Or “If you wanted to take your clothes off for me all you had to do was ask”

Once, when you were telling Phoenix that you were excited to take a cold shower he’d even offered to join you. Then he elbowed you playfully and kept walking.

Hell, you’d gone to the grocery store together once and he asked if you wanted a cream pie from him. Then he had the nerve to ask if you preferred to be painted like a toaster strudel while holding both boxes up. 

Jake had said it loud enough in the aisle that a group of teenagers started laughing. That day you nearly slapped him before practically dragging him out of the snack aisle—what made matters worse is he always criticized everything in the snack aisle, but somehow decided that on a random Sunday afternoon, he’d terrorize you instead.

The one singular time you agreed to go to the state fair with everyone, all of you had been drinking and laughing with one another for hours on end. It was in the middle of the spring, a day that wasn’t too hot or too cold, and the longer you all were there, the drunker you’d gotten.

Randomly, Jake had asked you if you preferred riding fast or slow. It wasn’t smooth at all, but it was enough to earn a loud scoff, followed by you hitting him with the large stuffed panda that you’d won after beating everyone at a dart balloon popping game.

“Oh come on! The line didn’t even land! Stop hitting me baby!” he yelled, letting out a dramatic scream as if you’d actually done any damage, then his hands were up, guarding his face while he mumbled about how perfect it was and how ‘his face couldn’t afford the damage’. 

“Stop being a freak Bagman!” he shook his head at your shouting “but I’m only down to get freaky with you baby!” he yelled back in a sing-song voice, earning several looks from the other adults and teenagers walking through the fair—thankfully most of the people with their children had already left.

Bradley and Javy both shared a look before bursting into laughter, meanwhile Mickey and Reuben tried to egg Jake on, ignoring your death glares. 

Bob and Natasha were off getting funnel cakes for everyone, which left you to suffer with the group of drunken idiots. (Granted, they were your drunken idiots)

You forced them all onto the tilt-a-whirl and they’d nearly thrown up during the ride. All letting out high-pitched screams each time their carts spun faster and faster. 

During their time on the ride Bob and Nat had gotten back with the funnel cakes, both of them exchanging a confused expression at the sight of you practically fuming, watching the rest of their friend group squeal like little kids on the ride—Rooster holding onto his stomach while trying not to throw up. 

Mickey had his hands in the air, cheering. Reuben and Javy both were panicking—trying to make sure no one threw up because they’d all managed to squeeze into one of the carts together. The ride instructor said it only seated four max—now they were all smushed with Rooster and Hangman who both looked ready to puke. 

Bob asked if you were alright, considering how pissed you looked. Then you vented to him for five minutes about how annoying everyone was, and how weird Jake was acting—which he’d already noticed but clearly you were oblivious to the evident shift in emotions. Bob shrugged, offering “have you considered the possibility that maybe Bagman might actually be romantically interested in you? And vice versa?”

You blinked a few times, for a couple of minutes you were contemplating it—maybe Bob did have a point. Then as you glanced back over at Jake, who was now standing up from the ride, blinking several times—trying to regain his balance, you shook your head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

Bob sighed, shaking his head then looked at Natasha. “They’re hopeless.”

You didn’t hear his comment, not when you were already making your way towards the area full of wooden outdoor tables. Then Jake practically tackled you, his arms wrapping around your waist while he pulled your back against his chest, a wide smile on his face as he rested his head on your shoulder. 

“That ride was killer Sweetheart, gotta say—you’re an evil woman.” You nodded your head, rolling your eyes while smiling, laughing at him as he held you in place. 

Everyone stared in shock. What no one understood was why you weren’t cursing Jake out anymore, each time anyone would bring up the possibility of you or him having feelings for one another, you’d simply shrug them off, saying it wasn’t true—because for some odd reason, you didn’t think it was.

The shift in dynamic was confusing to everyone except for you and Jake.

Today was no different, you’d all opted to go midnight mini-golfing because the several drinks you’d had at the Hard Deck left you all a little too tipsy to call it a night. Plus Maverick had given the squad the day off tomorrow. So after much deliberation, you all agreed that it would be fun to try out the new mini-golfing place half an hour from base. 

Squeezing into several ubers, was hilarious to most of you. Instead of opting for the Uber XL options, you guys somehow assumed ordering two regular Ubers would be fine. Both cars ended up being Priuses. 

You were squished in the backseat with Jake and Javy while Natasha sat in the front, except you’d managed to beat Jake at rock paper scissors, forcing him to take the middle seat which led to you practically being halfway in his lap, your left thigh completely draped over his right. Meanwhile your head leaned against his shoulder while you laughed at Javy’s jokes.

Nat looked at you and Jake from the rear-view mirror, a single brow raised at your closeness. She’d been skeptical about the two of you for a few weeks now, but she knew if anything had really happened you would’ve told her. Maybe you really were that oblivious.

It didn’t help that Jake looked down at you, mumbling your name not your callsign to catch your attention. You glanced up at him, faces inches apart while holding eye contact. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he shook his head, mumbling a quiet ‘nevermind’ before giving you a kiss on the top of your head.

Javy’s brows knit together at the motion. He met Natasha’s gaze through the rear view mirror, double checking if she’d seen it too. Sure, he was drunk—but he wasn’t that drunk. There was no way in hell Hangman would ever be kissing the top of Hellfire’s head. 

Not in a million god damn years.

Once everyone actually arrived at the mini-golfing spot and tumbled out of the small ubers like clowns leaving a clown car, everyone mostly walked in a large group, but you and Jake were side by side in the back, hands gently brushing against one another with each step. Then you absentmindedly grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers while walking towards the payment booth.

There was already a line of drunk adults waiting to be assisted, so everyone moved to the end of the line in one large cluster of sorts. 

No one said anything about you and Jake holding hands, but everyone noticed. They always did.

Mickey and Reuben exchanged a knowing look. Natasha and Bob did the same thing before shrugging, then Coyote and Rooster blinked several times, squinting with their jaws dropped as if this was the craziest thing they’d ever witnessed.

These are all aviators that have been in real-time active combat and somehow the most shocking thing was the sight of you and Jake not only getting along, but being rather close.

Mickey was the first to crack, he leaned closer to Reuben a harsh whisper as he faced away from you and Jake, looking towards the neon-colored booth with several black lights facing it. “Are you seeing them too? I’m not losing it right? Like that’s actually happening?” 

Reuben nodded, looking back at you and Jake for another brief moment. “You think they finally slept together?”

Coyote interrupted, clearing his throat while interjecting himself between the two men, shaking his head. “No way they have, Hangman hasn’t told me anything—and trust me when I say he tells me everything. Also, he keeps saying he’s not into her—but then he’s kissing her on the forehead like they’re an old married couple”

You leaned your head against Jake’s shoulder again, now looking up at him, eyes tracing his side profile as you spoke “Bagman, you’ve got pretty eyes.” Your words slurred a little from the one too many drinks, and you couldn’t stop the dopey smile on your face while you looked at him.

He nodded his head, looking at you with a brow raised “you flirting with me Hellfire? Don’t you know it’s frowned upon to fraternize with your fellow Aviators?” Jake laughed at his own joke, a wide smile on his face as his eyes trailed your features. “You’ve got pretty eyes too, got a little twinkle to them.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head while you looked away from him, hand still intertwined with his. 

Maybe this was just the liquor and your newfound friendship with Jake, all you knew was you enjoyed the closeness. He didn’t let go of your hand either, even offering a reassuring squeeze as you all moved forward in line.

Everyone was talking about mini-golf, Coyote and Rooster going back and forth about how they were great golfers, so mini-golf would be a walk in the park for them. Meanwhile Natasha shook her head, rolling her eyes while reminding them both that they were two large men who were playing golf with small putters on a course much tinier than they were used to.

They scoffed, brushing her off, even betting that they’d do the best. 

One hour into being out they both quickly realized they were terrible at mini-golf. Rooster looked bulky and awkward trying to drunkenly maneuver around the course, meanwhile Coyote kept over extending his shots, the golf balls flying all over the place, he’d even lost a few in the small man-made ponds and rivers. 

Now, two hours in, everyone was still drinking and you and Natasha had been tied for first place. 

Jake had also helped you with a few hits, his hands on your hips, angling them slightly while he spoke directly into your ear, his low southern drawl giving you goosebumps as he directed your movements.

Everyone tried their best not to acknowledge it, well, everyone that was focusing—which would’ve just been Natasha and Bob, the rest of the squad were too drunk to care about whatever was going on between you and Hangman.

Bradley and Javy were shotgunning beers as if they were twenty-one and the president of a fraternity. Both chest bumping after finishing their drinks before swinging their puts around a little too frantically as they headed towards the next course.

Then Fanboy tripped over one of the small bird-house-esque obstacles, he’d gone face forward into the turf, which had everyone erupting in laughter. He got up quickly, giving everyone two thumbs up before realizing his nose was bleeding. 

Your eyes widened, now stepping away from Jake whose hand had been around your waist, resting gently along your hip. For a second it felt like he didn’t want to let you go, but you gently pushed him away to rush over to Mickey, shaking your head at him while he awkwardly pinched his nose, flashing you a bloody smile.

“Are you shitting me Mick?” you couldn’t help but laugh at him, now digging through your purse, grabbing some tissues and handing them to him before looking over at Reuben who was laughing so hard he’d been hunched over gripping his chest, still laughing.

“Payback, chop chop, it’s time to head home! Fanboy’s officially cut off” you were laughing as you spoke, one hand rubbing gentle circles into Mickey’s back while he pinched his nose with the small stack of slightly crumpled tissues. He was still smiling, eyes hooded, the drunken haze very evident on his features. 

Reuben slowly stood up, still letting out a few laughs, shaking his head while he pointed directly to Mickey “you are an absolute legend man!” 

Bob and Natasha exchanged a look, both sighing as he pulled out his phone, now opening the Uber app—Bob was always the most responsible one on these outings, even after a few drinks. “Don’t worry, Hellfire, I’m calling the uber now. You heading back with them?”

You nodded your head at him. “Yeah, I’ll make sure they get in alright—these two morons might end up killing each other if we let them go alone” you giggled as you glanced between Mickey and Reuben. Both of them exchanged a look before bursting into a fit of laughter, what made it worse was now Reuben was falling over the same miniature house, except he’d managed to land directly on his ass, groaning at the impact.

“I can head back with them, that way Hangman can make sure you get in alright plus you two live together so it makes the most sense—Rooster and Nix are gonna head back with Coyote.” Bob motioned behind him, your eyes following his hand.

You looked over at Coyote and Rooster who were still in their frat-boy era, now trying to coordinate a handshake while drunkenly laughing together, then they both paused, belching loudly.

“Geez, Nat you sure you wanna deal with that?” 

She laughed, shrugging a bit before looking over at them. That’s when you noticed the smile on her face as she looked directly at Bradley, your brows knit together—eyes wide. Before you knew it, you were gasping, catching everyone's attention, then you muttered out an apology, clearing your throat while giggling.

“Phoenix! We have a lot to talk about tomorrow!” 

She blinked a few times, then her eyes widened as she watched your eyes jump from her to Bradley. “Don’t get me started!” both of her brows raised as she looked from you to Jake, which only confused you, there wasn’t anything going on between you and Hangman—at least you think there’s nothing going on there.

You’re friends—ish?

“Alright everyone, as much as we would all love to stay here until someone else gets hurt, our rides are here.” Bob announced, then he called out to Bradley and Javy, who turned so fast they’d managed to smack into one another. 

Maybe midnight mini-golf wasn’t the best idea.

Bob shook his head, pausing before looking back at you. “Hellfire, do you need me to call you a ride?” 

You shook your head, digging through your pockets, eventually finding your phone in one of them. “No, it’s okay—I’ll be fine with Number 2 over there! Be careful getting home guys! Text the group chat when you’re in okay! Or, I guess Bob and Nat text us?”

They both nodded, then the group started heading back towards the initial booth to return the puts, most of the golf balls were now long gone, something that you’d apologize profusely for once you turned everything in.

Jake helped Rooster and Coyote into their ride, Nat shaking her head as she climbed into the front seat while mumbling apologies for the two drunken idiots in the back seat. Meanwhile Bob managed to grab more napkins from the woman behind the golf counter for Mickey, who was getting into the car while still holding his bloody nose as Reuben practically flailed himself into the backseat.

“Good luck Bobert!” he laughed at the nickname, shaking his head at you before getting into the car and waving goodbye. 

Once everyone else was in, you glanced over at Jake who was scrolling through his phone. “Alright sweetheart, looks like we’ve got eight minutes to kill. Apparently those esteemed pilots managed to snag the closest rides here. Unless of course, you count me, y’know what they say about saving horses.”

He tried to be serious, but the second you made eye contact, the both of you were bursting into a fit of laughter. You shook your head at him while smiling.

“Seriously? You think that was smooth or something? No offense Bagman, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle me giving you a ride.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, meanwhile you gave him a flirty smile and a shrug. It was a challenge, that much he knew. You were both overly competitive, it’s one of the major reasons you couldn’t get along when you’d first met—hell it was the entire reason you two were even friends now.

Neither of you said anything else during the wait, it was a comfortable silence, you leaned into him while he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you closer to his side. 

By the time the both of you had gotten home, it was a little past three. 

You were in his bed before four. 

The second you’d walked into your shared apartment, he was on you. As soon as the door shut, he had you pinned against it, looking down at you in a lustful drunken haze, eyes slightly hooded while he smirked. 

You raised a single brow. Eyes moving from his blue irises to his lips—that’s all the confirmation he needed, his lips were on yours in seconds. You weren’t sure what happened or what changed tonight, but something shifted between the both of you—the previous gradual change had now fully tipped the scales.

Jake Seresin kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. One of his hands firmly held your waist, the other caressed the side of your face, thumb on your chin, lightly tugging against your bottom lip for a brief moment—just long enough for him to slip his tongue between your lips. 

Your hands gripped his shirt as you did your best to keep up with him, but it was clear this was one competition you wouldn’t be winning. So you shoved him back slightly, biting his bottom lip as he pulled away, your eyes meeting his again.

He licked his lips as he nodded, eyes stuck on your kiss-swollen lips “what was that you said earlier? You wanna go for a ride?” his voice was deeper than usual, and it had you biting your bottom lip and nodding.

If anyone were to ask you how you ended up half-naked in Jake Seresin’s bed with him between your thighs? You wouldn’t have a proper answer. One day you couldn’t stand the man, the next he was leaving bruising kisses along your body, then biting into the plush skin of your thighs. 

You looked down at him, biting your bottom lip as he ran his tongue along the bite mark on your inner thigh. He was already looking up at you, steely blue eyes on yours while he kissed a trail along your inner thighs, the way he stared at you was downright filthy.

Your clothes and his were in a scattered mess, trailing from the living room to his bedroom, your panties now dangling from your left ankle while he spread your thighs even further, moaning at the sight of your glistening core. 

“Fuck—wanted to taste you for so long baby” your eyes widened at the confession, but before you could say anything, Jake’s tongue was already lapping at your cunt. With zero hesitation he rapidly flicked his tongue along your swollen clit, your back immediately arching, one hand grasping his sheets, the other in his hair, tugging on the blonde strands.

He moaned against you, alternating between fast movements to slowly, deliberately trailing his tongue along your clit. He was practically french kissing your cunt—the motions had you whimpering. 

Jake didn’t care about the obscene wet sounds coming from his mouth against your pussy, if anything it turned him on even more. He focused on your clit—gauging your reactions to different speeds and pressures, doing his best to build a rhythm that would push you over the edge. 

Then he paused, biting his bottom lip at the low whine you let out.

“Jake—don’t tease me”

His cock had never been harder in his life. Jake Seresin had never once cum in his pants from going down on a woman—but today that might change. With the way you were tugging on his hair and whining his name and the taste of your cunt on his tongue—he was seconds away from finishing.

He nodded his head “don’t worry Sweetheart, I’ll give you what you need.” then one of the hands holding your thighs in place moved, now sliding into the apex of your thighs, right below his tongue. 

The feeling of one of Jake’s fingers fucking into you had you moaning his name desperately. You were practically begging for more already, rolling your hips against him. 

Jake nodded his head “fuck, you’re so tight baby—gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock. Pretty girl, you need more don’t you” 

You didn’t hesitate to moan “Fuck—yeah please-please Jake” his name sounded absolutely filthy leaving your lips in a desperate plea. 

Then he was wrapping his lips around your clit, hollowing his cheeks and harshly sucking on the swollen pearl while sliding a second finger into you, the combined sensation had your eyes rolling back, hips rocking against his face and fingers, trying to chase your high that he was dangling right in front of you.

He sped his fingers up, curling them slightly—just enough to have you moaning his name again. 

You were begging to cum, moaning a slurred mixture of pleas and his name. 

Jake didn’t care about anything else in this exact moment except for making you cum. What pushed you over the edge was the feeling of him slipping a third finger inside of you—your thighs practically caging him in—back arching off the bed, eyes squeezed shut.

“Jake—oh fuck! Oh fuck—Jake—” 

He moaned against you, a deep guttural moan as his entire body stiffened up, then it happened. Jake’s eyes widened as he kept his motions up, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he could—letting you wrap your hands in his hair and cage him in with your thighs.

When you finally pushed him away, he licked his lips, slowly sliding his fingers out of you, free hand gently caressing your hip—thumb rubbing half moons along the soft skin as you slightly winced from your own sensitivity. 

You were out of breath as you watched him sit up, the bottom half of his face covered in your slick while he tried to steady hsi breathing. Then your eyes were trailing along his body, Jake had always been muscular—that much you knew, and of course he was easy on the eyes, but you’d never seen him like this.

Chest rapidly rising and falling, a red flush to his skin, lips swollen, lust evident in his gaze. Then your eyes trailed even lower, taking in the defined ridges of his abdomen, and the trail of hair that led to the waistband of his briefs. However, nothing prepared you for the sight of his half-hard bulge below the grey Calvins with a dark patch evident on them.

“Did you—?” he shushed you, shaking his head, now looking slightly embarrassed as he looked away from you.

“Fuck, don’t ask me that—y’know I did. I’ve never—it’s never happened—shit don’t laugh at me baby” His drunken rambling was cute, it was clear that Jake was embarrassed, but he did little to nothing to hide it from you—he was comfortable around you and that had your heart doing somersaults.

You did your best to stop laughing at him, biting your bottom lip while raising both brows. “Yeah, never had pussy this good?” you tried to be serious, but you laughed again, and that caused Jake to laugh as he shook his head at you.

“You’re the bane of my existence y’know that? No wonder they call you Hellfire, you’re terrible” he nodded as he spoke, shifting slightly, trying to ignore the fact that he was getting hard again. Something about this—how intimate it was—was sending his caveman brain into overdrive. 

Then you were sitting up, grasping his hand, pulling him towards you. Once he was on top of you, you rolled over, the two of you in a fit of laughter at your lack of finesse—you blamed that on the drinks.  

Eventually you managed to properly straddle him, now unclasping your bra, tossing it across the room. His eyes widened at the sight of your tits, he licked his lips, looking at one, then the other, already imagining biting into them—maybe he had a thing for biting—Jake was discovering a lot about himself tonight.

You didn’t hesitate to tug on his briefs a bit, sliding them down just enough to grasp his cock, laughing at the sticky wetness to it, raising both brows at him as you wrapped your hand around his length, hand pumping along it as he gasped. You could feel how hard he already was—but based on his reactions, he wasn’t there just yet.

“F-fuck, you’re gonna kill me baby” 

You smiled at that, “not before I get my ride, how else am I gonna save a horse?”

His moan was animalistic, Jake covered his face with both hands, muffling his own moans while your hand moved faster, wrist slightly twisting, adding to the sensation. It didn’t help that you were slotted directly behind his cock, giving yourself the perfect view of it—and he had the perfect view of you. 

When he moved his hands, he watched as you spit onto it, a thin string of spit leaving your tongue, landing on the head of his cock, you quickly used it to move your hand even faster now. Then you looked at him, holding eye contact as you spit again.

Jake had to start doing mental math to stop himself from cumming. He was in his head calculating the force behind pulling four G’s in-air. 

This was a side of you that he knew nothing about—he’d never once in his life heard you talk about your sex life, nor did he know if you were actually out hooking up with people—but he didn’t care—not at this moment when you were jerking him off like a vixen straight out of a porno.

“Is now a bad time to say I’d wear one of your hats if you asked me to—not tonight though—I think you might go into shock or something” your light hearted tone, giggles, mixed with the fact that you were suggesting wearing one of his cowboy hats while simultaneously jerking him off had him squeezing his eyes shut, taking in a sharp intake of breath and thinking of Maverick—doing his best not to cum again.

It was terrible, having to think of your mission instructor just to avoid cumming for the second time in one night—Jake was humiliated—which might’ve been making the situation even worse.

“Why the face?” he blinked a few times at the question, taking a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, do you realize how sexy you are right now? I’m over here five seconds away from cumming—again. Between me and you, I’ve gotta think about Mav to stop myself from finishing”

You paused your movements, eyes widening before bursting into a fit of laughter, head thrown back with a wide smile on your face. “Hangman! Seriously?!” he nodded, rolling his lips inward and taking a deep breath.

“So, if you could, I’d like that ride—before I end up embarrassing myself twice tonight.”

You nodded at him, grasping his cock again, now sliding your body forward, lining him up with your dripping entrance, then you were taking his cock—slowly at first. You moaned at the stretch, toes curling, eyes rolling back slightly. It was obvious that he was big—but feeling him stretching you out was euphoric.

Then he grasped your waist, biting his bottom lip, trying not to buck his hips into you. 

By the time you had him fully sheathed in your cunt, you were slightly out of breath, now leaning backward slightly, hands resting on his toned thighs, your head thrown back while you adjusted to the feeling of him. “You’re so fuckin big—fuck me.” 

Jake was on cloud nine, his head practically spinning. He must’ve died and gone to Heaven—and the exact moment he was asking himself if this could get any better, you were lifting yourself off of his cock, using his thighs to brace yourself, then slamming back down.

He expected you to take it slow, but you had your own ideas. 

When you said he wouldn’t be able to handle you riding him—he now realized you might’ve been right.

You bounced on his cock without a care in the world, too cock drunk to think about anything but fucking Jake Seresin. Hips rapidly moving up and down along him, skin slapping against skin as your cunt practically swallowed him—soaking him in your essence.

He bit his bottom lip, moaning at the sight of your bodies connected, his cock practically shining, covered in a thin layer of your slick while you rode him. At this rate, he could hardly remember his own name, hands moving from your hips to your tits, he was testing the waters now, landing a gentle but firm slap to one of them, earning a choked moan from you.

The sting only intensified your pleasure, you moved one hand now, sliding it between your own thighs, two fingers rubbing circles into your clit—walls fluttering around his cock at the sensation. Jake’s hips bucked into you uncontrollably. 

Before he could start apologizing, you looked at him again, still fucking yourself against him, still rubbing your clit, and letting him play with your tits. “Fuck—do it again Jake—please”

He was in heaven. This was it—or he was in Hell and you’d be torturing him for eternity—using him for your pleasure. Actually—that wouldn’t be torture, not when he felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire and all he could focus on was the slick vice grip your cunt had him in.

Jake planted his feet on the mattress, one hand firm against your waist-grip bruising—then he started fucking up into you, meeting each and every one of your movements. 

You were a whining, moaning mess. It wasn’t long before you were practically begging him to cum—asking him for permission. That had his mind hazy again.

“Fuck, y’wanna cum baby?” His voice was strained, deep, and that texan drawl was driving you crazy. “Yeah, keep taking this cock—fuck just like that—such a good fuckin girl—best pussy I’ve ever had—Fuck—” Jake’s words were strained, at this point he hardly knew what he was saying, his filter was gone, all he could focus on was your pleasure and his. He pushed your hand out of the way, using his thumb to rub hard circles into your clit.

That sent you over the edge, you practically fell forward as you came, moaning his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around him so tight that he couldn’t hold it—you felt his cock twitch inside of you then he was coating your walls in ropes of cum—the warmth spreading throughout you.

It took a few minutes for both of you to fully come down from your shared high. You rested your head against his chest, eyes fluttering shut while you caught your breath.

“Seresin—I’ve never been fucked that good before”

He laughed at your hoarse voice, nodding his head while he massaged your scalp with one hand. “Pretty sure you fucked me, not the opposite”

That had both of you laughing again.

Eventually you slowly slid off of him, biting down against his shoulder as you winced. Then you were rolling onto your back, looking at the ceiling, biting your bottom lip and laughing. He slipped out of the bed, heading to the bathroom for a few minutes. 

When Jake came out you were already half asleep, a dopey smile on your face while you looked at him, it had his heart racing. You looked so beautiful, the warm glow of the light against your skin made you look like a renaissance painting, all soft edges and sweet smiles—the definition of beauty itself. 

He had a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips, then he was back between your thighs, gently maneuvering your body around, a warm washcloth between your thighs as he cleaned you up, taking a mental picture of his cum leaking out of you—something he’d think about later when it was just him alone at night.

Eventually when he was finished, he handed you one of his older PT shirts, ‘NAVY’ across the front in bold letters, the shirt was definitely one that he didn’t wear often—you knew that based on the fact that it was actually an oversized shirt. Jake Seresin was the kind of guy to only wear fitted t-shirts, showing off his body that he’d ‘spent so long curating’. 

You sat up in his bed, looking at him for a few seconds, finally sobering up—well from the drinks—admittedly you were still a little cockdrunk and fucked out.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he smiled at you, nodding his head. 

“Nothing I’d want more.”

Both of you expected the next day to be awkward, when you’d woken up on the sofa, tangled together under your usual blankets with the TV displaying an ‘are you still watching’ screen. But neither of you felt awkward about the previous night, you’d had sex—arguably amazing sex, and that was it.

He gently got off of you, helping you off the sofa with a wink. You raised a single brow “don’t get any ideas Seresin, my thighs are on fire” then you laughed, shrugging before walking off to your bathroom. 

Jake watched you walk off, his eyes trailing your figure, brows knit together, trying to process his own feelings. Sure you were still his annoying overly competitive friend—but you weren’t just his friend. You acting so casually also didn’t help, not a single awkward laugh or moment of eye contact. You’d gotten up and made a joke about it, and that was it.

Before he could dwell on it, the doorbell rang. He glanced over at the clock you forced him to mount near the kitchen, it was barely nine, who the hell would be showing up to your place at nine in the morning?

When Jake opened the door, the sight of Natasha in a pair of sweatpants, blacked out sunglasses, and a very oversized ‘Margarittavillle’ t-shirt told him everything he needed to know. Especially considering that was the same shirt Rooster wore to the gym all the time. 

They exchanged a knowing look. Natasha’s brows knit together as she noticed Jake’s half-naked form, her eyes trailing him skeptically. Then she noticed the evident reddish purple bite-marked shaped bruise on his shoulder. 

“Long night Hangman?” 

He nodded “You too Phoenix?”

She nodded. He then stepped to the side, making room for Phoenix to come into the apartment, which she gladly did, mumbling a ‘thanks’ while Jake shut the door behind her, locking it then scratching the back of his neck.

“So, are you here to debrief with Hellfire over your freaked out sex with Rooster? Is now a bad time to make a joke about his coc—” 

“Jake Seresin! If you finish that sentence I’ll personally kick your ass!” you shouted from the hallway bathroom, now stepping into view, pointing your toothbrush directly at him, both brows raised—shooting him a warning look. He knew that look well, it was better than the usual warning glare though—that one was a little scary.

Nat sat on the smaller sofa, raising a brow as she took in your disheveled appearance. Most notably the Navy t-shirt you had on that hardly even covered anything—it had just enough give to keep your bits hidden, but the second you turned around, she was flashed the bottom of your ass.

“Put some pants on Fire! Your ass is out!” 

Ten minutes later you were mostly dressed and brewing a pot of coffee, Jake decided to skip the gym for the first time in a very long time, instead he actually joined you and Phoenix for the debrief. Mainly because he wanted to be nosey about their relationship. 

While you stood in front of the coffee pot, he slid right behind you, hands on your waist while he kissed the side of your exposed neck—your hair all braided into two thick braids now. You giggled a bit at the feeling, trying to hold in your smile, lightly swatting at him.

“Stop it Jake!” your giggles gave you away, he then wrapped his hands around your waist, holding you against his chest. 

“C’mon baby—can’t I just be sweet and doting?” 

You scoffed, pushing him away while shaking your head. “No, don’t make me start doing my weekly deep clean early!” his eyes widened at the threat, shaking his head.

“Please—God please no. The piles are crazy! It drives me insane! It makes no sense!” 

You shrugged, now turning back, grabbing three mugs from the cupboard above you. “It makes perfect sense, you’re just mister neat freak, although you’re not very neat when it comes to se—” his hand was over your mouth, you laughed against it, while he blushed.

“None of that! Jesus—Phoenix is here!” 

You pushed his hand away, shrugging while pouring each cup of coffee, then you grabbed the milk that you’d gotten out already, pouring some into his coffee and dropping a singular cube of sugar into it—the way he liked it. He’d told you that a few months ago, said his mom drank it like that, so he did too.

Then you focused on making yours and Phoenix’s, adding the vanilla coffee creamer in until both cups were the right color. He shook his head at the sight.

“Y’know how much sugar is in that shit? It’s terrible for you Sweetheart.”

You raised a single brow “what are you, my almond mom? As a top Naval Aviator who was number one in my Top Gun class, I think I'll be okay drinking coffee with vanilla creamer. Besides, if it kills me at least I’ll die happy—not depressed with bitter nasty coffee.”

Then you were grabbing the mugs and walking past him, walking around the kitchen island, heading over to the sofas, handing Phoenix her mug before taking a seat in your usual spot on the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket then taking a sip of your coffee.

You and Phoenix both looked back at Jake who was leaning against the kitchen island with his coffee in hand. 

“We’re not including you in our debrief if you stand there like a creep Bagman.” You hummed in agreement with Natasha. Jake let out a dramatic sigh before walking over and sitting on the couch beside you, using one hand to lift your legs into his lap.

“Are you two together? Everyone on the squad wants to know. Even Mav” 

You and Jake exchanged a confused look, then you both looked back at Nat.

“No, why would they think that?” You shrugged as you spoke.

Jake spoke at the same time as you “No, who said that?”

Natasha slowly nodded her head at the interaction. “You two are like heavily domestic, and we’re at that age where two people who are heavily domestic are usually in a relationship. I mean look at this apartment, it’s all warm and cozy and screams ‘I let my girlfriend decorate’. You two hold hands in public now, you laugh and smile at each other? You haven't been chewed out about arguing during ops for like two months now! Y’know Mick asked Inferno if he knew his daughter was in a relationship”

Your eyes widened at her last sentence. Everything else hadn’t bothered you, you didn’t really notice the shift in your relationship with Jake—honestly you liked the shift. But Mickey telling your overbearing nutcase father that you were in a relationship? That was a problem in and of itself.

“I wouldn’t say we’re heavily domestic, I dunno, we just get each other.” Jake spoke with a shrug, the same oblivious nature that you had evident in his tone. Natasha sighed and shook her head, pinching her nose bridge slightly as she finally slipped off her hangover sunglasses. 

“You two are hopeless. Nothing about your current dynamic screams relationship to either of you?” 

You and Jake exchanged a look, then you both shook your heads. 

“No.” followed by “Nope.” 

Natasha didn’t get it—she truly didn’t understand either of you. She was currently sitting in your shared apartment, that you’d practically bullied Hangman into redecorating, you constantly bossed him around and he responded as if he liked it. You two had your arguments and disagreements—but nothing was major anymore and you both simply brushed things off. 

Holding hands in public was one thing, but she’d literally watched him kiss your head in an uber as if it was a normal gesture? If any of the daggers kissed her head she’d probably smack them.

You two naturally gravitate towards one another now, then the fact that you’d both managed to fall into a regular routine while living together, spending quality time with one another—completely dropping all of your previous hookups. Now you’d clearly had sex with one another, and somehow, someway, you two were still convinced that there was no romantic inkling in your dynamic?

Natasha had a headache already, and you two were making it worse.

“You two are morons. Anyways, now it’s time to talk about why I’m a moron.” 

The three of you laughed together. Then Natasha went into her story-telling mode, and she’d even given you and Jake all of the details on her and Bradley’s changing dynamic. 

They’d been friends since flight school, and they kept in touch, to the point that she’d been genuinely mad at him when he hadn’t told her that he was finally stateside again following the original assignment and callback to Top Gun.

“But here’s the thing, I don’t know if I’m genuinely into him, or if I’m just lonely and crave a relationship and domesticity! We’ve been friends for a long time, it’s not like you just randomly develop romantic feelings for your friends.” 

She sighed as she spoke, now slumping into the sofa, her mug on the coffee table while she wrapped herself in another one of the throw blankets, a pillow in her lap.

“Actually, it’s pretty common to randomly develop feelings for your friends, especially as you get older and realize that they have genuine traits that you like—plus Bradleys not exactly ugly. I’m sorry but he’s fucking fine, that man is like a 6’2 wall of muscle, and have you seen his hands?” 

She nodded as you spoke, meanwhile Jake scoffed. 

You glanced at him, raising a brow “is there a problem Twosie?” He rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Of all the names you have, I told you not to call me Twosie, it sounds like I’m a damn child.” you shrugged at him.

“Oh well, don’t throw a fit like one then. Now why are you scoffing, what are you gonna disagree that Bradley’s not super sexy? He’s like sex on legs.” Jake rolled his eyes at that comment. “Anyways, back to what I was saying before the Ken doll interrupted me. Bradley Bradshaw is a catch, and honestly Nat, with the way he looks at you whenever you two talk? I wouldn’t be shocked if he has a thing for you too.”

Jake nodded his head at that “yeah, that man looks at you like a lovesick puppy.”

“So he looks at me the way you look at Hellfire?” Natasha spoke with such a matter of fact tone that she had you actually thinking about how Jake looked at you. Everyone was constantly saying that the way he looked at you meant something—but you just didn’t see it.

“I do not look at her like a lovesick puppy.”

She rolled her eyes “yeah, sure Bagman. Back to me now.”

The three of you spent the rest of the morning and afternoon talking, eventually you’d also called Mickey and Reuben to get their advice on the situation, both of them agreeing that Natasha very clearly had romantic feelings for Bradley. Hell, the second you texted Bob, he sent a thumbs up, followed by ‘yeah, she’s into him.’

Eventually Natasha left, and you were back with just Jake.

Your brows knit together as you sat on the couch again, now staring at him.

“Jake?” he nodded his head, eyes practically glued to the TV as he scrolled through Netflix, looking for something interesting to watch tonight. You told him to pick once because you always pick, so now, once in a blue moon he cashes in his ‘it’s my turn to pick’ card.

You cleared your throat, he got the message and turned to look at you. Your brows were knit together, a confused expression on your face, while you looked at him.

“Yeah? What’s the matter sweetheart?” He sounded so concerned, and that only added into the confusion you were feeling.

“Are we in a relationship?”

Jake shook his head “uh no, we’ve never even been on a date.” Then he started thinking, you two had never really been on a date, neither of you had asked one another out.

But you did go to restaurants together, and you dragged him to several art galleries, the two of you drove to the beach to watch the sunset, you went to the movies together, whenever he saw something that you might like he jotted it down for later, taking you as a surprise.

Hell, just last weekend Jake had woken you up early, forced you to get ready just to drive two hours away to go cherry picking with him because he’d overheard you mention cherry picking season to your sisters on FaceTime two weeks prior. 

Then when you’d gotten there, he paid for everything and let you drag him around the entire orchard while he carried an eight pound bucket of cherries. Once you’d gotten home, he also helped clean each of them, and helped you bake for nearly five hours before taking you to your parents house to drop off several pies.

Jake had also managed to meet your mother, he already knew Inferno—but showing up to his house with his daughter in tow was something he hadn’t exactly thought through, so he was grateful that the man was on base. 

He also understood why you didn’t enjoy living with your very loud, very rambunctious family. They were all amazing, and he fit right in—which your mother teased you about—-but between the yelling, children running around, animals all over the place, and your brother’s family showing up as well, it made sense why you liked having your own slice of peace.

Your mother had also told Jake that he really liked him with you—which at the time, he simply shrugged off with a smile. Not wanting to get into the whole ‘we’re friends’ debacle with the woman that managed to stay married to a man as intense as your father for over twenty years.

Not to mention, the woman had also managed to raise your psychotic self—although Jake liked you for who you were.

His eyes widened “holy shit, we have been on dates—like a lot of dates. Wait, I think we are in a relationship—when’s the last time you’ve had sex—outside of last night.”

You shrugged, trying to think back on it “I think like three or four months ago now? I dunno, I just stopped having casual sex with people—I didn't really want to anymore.”

Jake nodded “yeah, actually. It’s been a few months. I preferred one night stands for the stress relief, but I haven't really been stressed in a while.”

“Isn’t that also around the time that we started getting close?” He nodded again with a light hum. 

Then he glanced around the apartment, thinking about what Phoenix had said, it hadn’t really bothered him when you started redecorating, and sure he’d argue a bit, but for the most part he just did what you told him when it came to moving things, mounting things, and rearranging.

All of your stuff was mixed with his stuff outside of your separate bedrooms. He didn’t mind, usually he would’ve—but with you it was different.

“Listen Sweetheart, I know we’re not friends. That much is for sure.”

His tone wasn’t venomous, not in the slightest. He sounded sincere, and almost vulnerable. But Jake was right, you weren’t friends. This was different—much different. 

Mick, Reuben, and Bob were your friends. You would never sleep with them—drunk or not. You also wouldn’t do their laundry willingly or cook dinner for them, or spend your decompressing time with them. 

Natasha was right, you and Jake were downright domestic.

Even after having sex with him, there was nothing awkward, there wasn’t a single sense of regret in either of your bodies. There was no awkward ‘oh this was a mistake we’re never speaking about this again!’ conversation. It felt normal, you felt normal.

“Jake, I think we’re in a relationship.” 

He nodded his head “yeah, no, that tracks. Considering you’re the only woman I want to spend my free time with, actually, if we’re being honest, I wanna spend all of my time with you. It’s part of the reason I’m always kissing your dad’s ass.” 

You laughed at him, smiling “don’t worry Bagman, I like spending my time with you too—otherwise I would’ve kicked your ass and stolen your apartment. But I think I just made it our apartment instead.” 

“We should’ve had sex sooner then.”

“Jake Seresin!” you paused, eyes widening “oh my god—my dad probably already thinks you’re my boyfriend. I’m so sorry for what Inferno’s gonna put you through.” 

He shrugged “it’s fine, I made it through the Hellfire, I’m sure I can handle the Inferno.” 

“Have you seen the way he hazes new Top Gun recruits? Not sure if you’re really ready for what Inferno’s gonna put you through.” you smiled at him, pulling him into a kiss.

Fin. 

-

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 As always feedback is appreciated!

[avengxrz]

the fool, the golden boy, and everything in between ⁃ jake "hangman" seresin [epilogue]

pairings: jake seresin x higherrank!reader (callsign: rogue) word count: 26.5k words (i am sorry) synopsis: what do you call a man who once flew too close to the sun, only to fall willingly, stupidly, beautifully for the one person who turned his recklessness into devotion, his chaos into quiet love, and gave him a home, a family, and a son asleep on his chest? warnings: filthy smut, breeding kink, pregnancy sex, soft!jake, jealous!jake, public teasing, emotional angst, comfort, fluff, domestic chaos, baby fever, hurt/comfort, jake being obsessed with you (as he should), and language that would make cyclone retire early. 18+ only. don’t read this on your grandma’s kindle. flight log: goodness, we’ve come to the epilogue now—wild, right? from enemies to lovers, to co-commanders, to baby-making soulmates… it’s been a ride. thank you for being here, for reading every chaotic chapter, and falling in love with these two fools right alongside me. and hey, who knows—i might drop a few bonus chapters if anyone’s curious about post-baby chaos or wedding shenanigans (hint hint). just say the word. ♡ disclaimer: my works are not made using ai. every word comes from me, my thoughts, my hands, my time. do not steal, copy, or feed my fics into ai for any reason.fuck ai and what it’s doing to creative spaces. support real writers. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ main masterlist part one , part two , part three , part four , part five , bonus chapter

Six months ago, you would’ve sworn—sworn on seared pride and buried rage—that you would never, not in a thousand lifetimes, so much as touch a hair on Jake Seresin’s head. And yet, here you were now. Bare skin tangled in cotton sheets, a warm, familiar weight pressed behind you, his arm slung over your waist like it belonged there. Like he belonged there. The morning light filtered through the blinds, golden and drowsy, casting lazy stripes across your shared bed. Jake’s heartbeat thudded slow and steady against your back, and without even realizing it, your breath synced to his.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It hadn’t been awkward in a long time. It was... quiet in the way only true comfort could be. The kind you didn’t question. The kind you couldn’t fake. Jake was still asleep behind you, mouth parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in a rhythm you knew like your own. He’d shifted once already, tugging you closer in his sleep, and when he’d murmured your name into the curve of your shoulder, half-conscious and warm as a prayer, you’d closed your eyes and pretended not to hear it. You hadn’t trusted yourself not to melt.

Meanwhile, the apartment was still. Only the distant hum of the ocean outside and the occasional creak of wood settled into the quiet. Somewhere under a heap of Jake’s Navy hoodie and your half-zipped duffle bag was your phone, buzzing silently with texts from the squad. You ignored it. There was no flight today. No emergency debrief. No Hell Day looming. Just a soft morning, sunlit and slow, wrapped in sweat and afterglow and the scent of his skin.

You hadn’t told anyone. Not officially. Not even the squad, which was a miracle in itself considering Payback couldn’t keep a secret to save his life and Fanboy was nosier than a Sunday tabloid. It wasn’t shame. It was protection—of rank, of respect, of careers neither of you could afford to gamble. You were the higher rank. You knew what people would say. And Jake, for all his reckless charm, hadn’t argued once. When you explained it—halting, careful—he’d just nodded, cupped your jaw in his hand, and said, “Then we wait. For as long as you need.”

Still... you had your suspicions. Jinx side-eyed you more than usual. Ruin had made one too many jokes about pilots suddenly “growing up overnight.” Maverick? Well, Maverick just watched you both like he knew every damn thing and was waiting for you to admit it. But they never said a word. Because you’d earned your place. Because Jake had changed. Because your glare could still cut glass when you wanted it to.

Then Jake stirred behind you with a low, sleepy groan, voice thick with dreams. “You’re thinkin’ too loud again, sunshine.”

You smiled into the pillow before you could stop yourself. “Am not.”

“Are too,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice barely a breath.

And for a moment, the world outside your bedroom faded. All the years and wounds and mistakes blurred into the kind of peace you never thought either of you could deserve.

“So… about last night,” he drawled, voice husky with sleep and something thicker.

You rolled your eyes, but you could already feel the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t start,” you warned, your voice barely above a murmur. “I’m still recovering.”

Jake chuckled, low and smooth. “Recovering? Sugar, I was the one who couldn’t feel his legs for a solid ten minutes.”

You shoved him lightly, and he grabbed your hand before you could pull away. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, slow and reverent. “You know I mean it, right?” he said. “This… you. Me. All of this.”

Something in your chest softened, melting like sugar over heat. He wasn’t just joking anymore. There was that quiet, tender honesty again—the one he didn’t always wear so openly, but never faked when it showed up.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, closing your eyes against the weight of it all. “I know,” you whispered. “And I do too.”

“You should be sore,” Jake murmured, voice thick with sleep and sin, his palm already sliding between your thighs like he owned the space there. “Because last night? I didn’t just fuck you—I ruined you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, but it hitched halfway, because his fingers were already brushing over your folds—wet, swollen, aching from how hard you’d come hours ago and already greedy for more. “You sound pretty cocky for someone who begged me to let you come,” you shot back, lips curved in lazy defiance.

He grinned, slow and wolfish, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. “Damn right I begged. You make me pathetic,” he whispered, voice a rasp, fingers circling your clit like he was playing a song only you got to hear. “You make me lose every last bit of control.”

Your body arched, hips tilting up to meet his touch. God, he was barely doing anything and you were already soaking his fingers. It wasn’t fair. He knew exactly how to take you apart—what made you whimper, what made you scream. And the worst part? He loved knowing it. Loved watching you fall apart because of him.

“Jake,” you whispered, already breathless.

He kissed down your chest, lips wet and hungry, until his mouth closed over your nipple and you gasped. He sucked hard, biting just enough to make you jolt. Then he pulled off with a pop and looked up at you, pupils blown wide, sweat already beading at his temples.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You didn’t even hesitate. The second you did, he shifted down and dragged his tongue up your center in one slow, devastating stroke.

“Oh my God—”

“Not God,” he growled, voice muffled against your cunt. “Just me. And you’re gonna pray to me anyway.”

He devoured you—no finesse, no teasing, just filthy, open-mouthed hunger. His tongue circled your clit, then flicked it quick and merciless while two fingers slid inside you, curling, pumping, coaxing you toward that edge with ruthless precision. You were already shaking, already crying out his name like a chant.

“Fuck, Jake—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, lifting his head just enough to speak while his fingers stayed buried deep. “Let me hear it. Let the neighbors fucking know who owns this pussy.”

Your orgasm hit hard—violent, shaking, stars behind your eyes. You came with a broken scream, thighs clamping around his head, and he moaned like he loved it. Because he did. He lived for it.

He slid up your body, mouth shiny, beard slick with you, and kissed you like a man deranged.

“Taste that?” he rasped. “That’s mine.”

You were still trembling when he flipped you over, dragged your hips up, and shoved his cock in with one brutal thrust that made your mouth fall open. No teasing. No easing in. Just Jake, raw and ready and filthy.

He fucked you from behind, one hand twisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard you’d have bruises for days. His thrusts were fast, deep, punishing—like he was trying to ruin you all over again. And God, he was.

“Say it,” he growled, snapping his hips so deep you sobbed. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, voice high and desperate.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Jake—fuck—I’m yours!”

He bent over your back, mouth pressed to your neck. “You’re gonna come on my cock again. Gonna feel me so deep, you won’t be able to sit without thinking of me.” He reached around and rubbed your clit hard, fast, relentless. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you milk me.”

You shattered again—body locking, cunt spasming around him, and Jake cursed as he came too, loud and guttural, hips jerking, spilling into you like he needed to mark you from the inside out.

The only sound left in the room was the ragged panting of two people who had just seen God—and decided He wasn’t enough.

He collapsed next to you, chest rising and falling fast, pulling you against him with shaking arms.

“I should’ve fucked you like that years ago,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

You laughed, dazed and warm and still pulsing with aftershocks. “Would’ve saved us a lot of bullshit.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to earn you like this.”

The shower was scalding, steam curling into the air like smoke off a battlefield. Your body was still buzzing, thighs aching, skin raw from the way he’d taken you—twice, maybe three times if you counted what he did with his mouth before that last round.

And yet, here you were. Back against the cool tile, water running down your shoulders, your legs wrapped around Jake’s waist like you hadn’t just come undone minutes ago.

His mouth was on your neck, your jaw, your collarbone—biting now, not kissing, like he was trying to leave proof you were his. “Fuckin’ can’t get enough of you,” he growled, hands gripping your ass like he was holding on for dear life. “I just had you and I still want more. What the hell did you do to me?”

You whimpered, grinding against him, feeling how hard he already was again. “Maybe I wrecked you.”

He looked up—wild, flushed, pupils blown to hell—and grinned. “You did. And now I get to return the favor.”

He slid in with one brutal thrust, and the sound you made was damn near filthy—a broken, strangled gasp that bounced off the tile. You were still so sensitive, still stretched from before, and he knew it. He could feel every twitch, every pulse of your walls clenching around him.

“Jesus, baby,” he hissed, forehead pressed against yours, hips grinding slow and deep. “You’re so tight like this. So fuckin’ wet—”

“It’s the shower,” you managed, but your voice cracked halfway through.

“No,” he snapped, slamming into you again, making your head hit the wall. “That’s me. That’s your body needing mine.”

And fuck, he wasn’t wrong.

He rocked into you like he was trying to break something open—slow, punishing thrusts that had you shaking, water and sweat mixing down your back. One hand held you up, the other slid between you to rub tight, hard circles on your clit.

“Jake—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, biting your bottom lip between his teeth. “You’re gonna come again. Right here. On my cock. Against this wall. Let it drip down my thighs. Let me feel it.”

You were already so close. Every thrust dragged across every nerve ending. Every grind of his fingers sent sparks up your spine.

“Do it,” he demanded. “Come on. Give it to me.”

And when you came—again—your whole body snapped. Your back arched. Your legs trembled. You screamed into his mouth and clenched around him so tight it nearly broke him.

He followed instantly, hips jerking, spilling into you with a groan that echoed like a thunderclap in the wet heat of the shower. His whole body went tense, then slack, and he buried his face in your neck, panting like he’d just flown a Mach 10 mission and barely survived.

For a while, the only sounds were the water, your ragged breathing, and the distant hum of reality returning.

Then Jake leaned back, looking at you with a cocky little smirk and wrecked, reverent eyes.

“Round three?” he asked, like a fool.

You laughed, legs still trembling. “Let me stand first, you absolute menace.”

He grinned, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “I’ll hold you up, baby. Always.”

You didn’t even make it out of the bathroom.

He was still toweling off, chest flushed, abs glistening, hair dripping into his eyes—Jake in his final form—when you turned, yanked the towel from his hips, and shoved him down onto the counter like he was the plaything now.

He blinked, stunned and stupidly turned on. “Baby—”

“Shut up.”

Your voice was low. Commanding. Dripping with authority that had his cock twitching back to life in seconds. You climbed into his lap like it was your throne, dragging your fingers up his chest, watching the way his breath hitched under your touch. His hands flew to your hips, ready to grip, control, guide—

“Touch me and you don’t get to come.”

His hands froze. Just like that.

His eyes met yours—wide, glassy, pupils blown so far there was no green left. Just hunger. Just desperation.

You lined him up and sank down slowly, painfully slow, inch by inch, keeping your eyes locked on his the whole time. Watching him break. Watching the cocky fighter pilot beg with his eyes. His head fell back, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt.

“Jesus fucking Christ—”

“Nope,” you said, grinding your hips in slow, torturous circles once he was buried deep. “Just me. And I’m going to ride you ‘til you forget your own name.”

He choked on a moan, hands twitching at his sides like they were dying to grab, anchor, survive. You started to move—hips rolling, slow at first, deliberate. Your pace was lethal. Pure torment. Every drop of you squeezed around him like a vice and he was losing it.

“Please—please, Rogue—let me touch—”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice a venomous purr. “Didn’t I just warn you?”

Then you started to fuck him. No rhythm, no mercy. Just frantic, reckless movement, skin slapping, breath shattering. His head fell forward, mouth open, and you could feel how close he was. His thighs were trembling under yours, stomach tight, every muscle locked down.

“You like being used like this?” you whispered, hand wrapping around his throat—not tight, but enough to own him. “Like being just a cock for me to ride?”

His groan was feral, strangled. “Fuck, yes. Anything you want. Anything—”

You moved faster. Harder. Your nails dug into his chest, your breath ragged, your thighs burning. And he watched you, wide-eyed and reverent, like he was witnessing a goddess losing her mind in the sky.

When you came, it hit like a bomb. You cried out, body locking, nails raking down his chest. And when you leaned forward, mouth crushed to his, letting him feel the quake of you unraveling—then you whispered, “Now you can come.”

And fuck, did he obey.

Jake let out a growl so deep it shook his chest against yours, then snapped, hips jerking up into you as he spilled inside, trembling, breathless, completely and utterly wrecked.

You stayed there, on him, around him, both of you panting, shivering, sweaty. His hands finally found your thighs, holding you like you were all that kept him grounded.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

You smirked, dragging your fingers down his cheek, then tugging his face up so he met your gaze again.

“You still cocky, flyboy?”

He looked at you—fucked-out, flushed, breathless—and whispered, “Marry me.”

“Shut up.”

You were barely off his lap when he grabbed you—one arm around your waist, the other under your thighs—and walked you back toward the bed like you weighed nothing. His cock was still hard, already twitching back to life, slick with your release and his own, and you knew the second your back hit the mattress—

He wasn’t done.

He hovered over you, jaw clenched, eyes blown black. Not cocky. Not smirking. Just obsessed.

“I need it,” he rasped, voice ruined. “Need to feel you come around me again. Need to get deeper. Need to fucking breed you.”

Your breath caught. Everything inside you clenched—because fuck, the way he said it? Like he meant it? Like it wasn’t just some filthy talk but a mission statement?

“Jake—” you breathed, already squirming, already soaked again.

He gripped your thighs, pushed them back, wide and open and helpless, and growled, “You’re gonna take every drop. Gonna let me fuck you full and keep it in.”

Then he slammed into you in one brutal stroke.

You screamed—high and wrecked—as your body arched, already raw and sore and overstimulated. And he just groaned, deep in his chest, like your tight, used heat was all he’d ever wanted.

“That’s it,” he grunted, thrusting hard, fast, balls slapping against you with wet, obscene sounds. “That’s my girl. So fuckin’ perfect. So ready for me. Your pussy wants it, doesn’t it?”

You nodded frantically, gasping. “Yes—yes, please—fill me—”

“Oh, I will,” he growled, slamming into you harder. “Gonna put a baby in you. Gonna fuck you so deep your body has to take me.”

He grabbed your jaw, forced your eyes to his. “Say it.”

“Put a baby in me,” you cried, wrecked. “Breed me, Jake. Fill me up.”

That broke him.

He lost all rhythm, hips pounding into you like a man deranged, sweat dripping, hair stuck to his forehead. He grabbed your hips and forced you down on him with each thrust, chasing that final high, that last act of claiming.

“Take it,” he snarled. “Take it like my good fuckin’ girl. My wife. The only one I’ll ever breed.”

You came hard, body locking up, a scream tearing from your throat as you clenched around him like a vice.

And then Jake snapped—hips jerking once, twice—and he came with a guttural moan, pouring into you, hot and endless, thick ropes spilling so deep you swore you could feel it in your chest. He kept moving, slower now, grinding it in with each lazy thrust, like he was trying to make sure not a drop got wasted.

When he finally collapsed, body pressed to yours, both of you drenched in sweat and panting like you’d just run through hell and back, he didn’t pull out.

No. He stayed inside.

“Not done,” he whispered, lips pressed to your throat. “Gotta keep it in. Gotta make sure it takes.”

You laughed—broken and breathless. “You trying to give me twins now?”

He chuckled, still inside you, still rock hard. “I’ll give you a squadron if that’s what you want, baby.”

And the worst part?

You almost wanted him to.

You didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep—still full, still warm, still claimed—until his mouth brushed over your lower stomach.

Soft. Reverent. Filthy.

“Think you’re holding onto me already,” he murmured, voice wrecked and raw, lips ghosting over the curve just below your belly button. “Think your body’s already makin’ a home for it.”

You whimpered, barely able to lift your head, thighs still slick and shaking. “Jake… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered. He was between your legs again before you could breathe, dragging your legs open slowly, carefully, tenderly—like you were breakable now. “You will. Just one more. Let me love you like this. Let me seal it in.”

You shivered. Because holy hell, you were ruined and overstimulated and aching—and you wanted it anyway. Wanted him.

He didn’t slam into you this time. No, this time he pushed in slow, inch by aching inch, watching your face like a man watching the sunrise after war.

You gasped—so full, too full—but he stilled the moment he bottomed out, letting you feel the stretch, the heat, the intimacy of it.

“That’s it,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Just feel me, baby. Let me stay in you. Let me fill you again. I need to.”

And he moved—slow, deep thrusts that had you keening, trembling, tears springing in your eyes because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he groaned, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “You were made for this. Made to take me. Made to be mine.”

His hand slid between your bodies, rubbing tight circles over your clit again, and your whole body bucked—pleasure sharp, unbearable, blissful.

“Jake, I— I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can. Just one more, sweetheart,” he whispered, mouth at your throat. “Come for me. Milk my cock. Take all of it. I wanna fuck it in so deep you’ll still be leaking when you walk tomorrow.”

You shattered. Screamed. Clawed at his back like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your orgasm tore through you like fire—hot and electric and endless.

And Jake? He followed—groaning your name, pressing so deep into you you swore he touched your fucking soul, spilling into you again, harder this time, longer, like his body was trying to carve a legacy inside you.

When he finally collapsed, still inside, still hard, he wrapped his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

“I hope it sticks,” he whispered, one hand cradling your lower belly, the other stroking your thigh. “I want everyone to see you swollen with me. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

You were too gone to answer—just clung to him with everything you had left.

But in your chest?

You were already hoping it stuck too.

The sun had risen higher than you’d expected. Its golden light spilled lazily through the open window, warming the tangled sheets and the well-wrecked bed you still lay in. You blinked at the clock sluggishly, brain swimming in post-orgasm haze, only to see the glowing red numbers: 9:03 AM. Your heart jumped in mild panic as your eyes widened. “Shit,” you rasped, voice still hoarse from sleep—or more accurately, from the downright sinful things Jake Seresin had done to you just hours ago. “I’m late for work.”

Before you could fully bolt upright, a warm hand pressed lightly to your stomach, keeping you anchored to the mattress. “Relax,” Jake murmured beside you, voice rough with sleep and still laced with that smugness that always meant he was hiding something. “I already called Jinx. Told him you’re not feeling well.”

You blinked again, disoriented. “You—what?”

He grinned, sleepy and cocky, propped up on one elbow, his other hand lazily smoothing over your waist beneath the oversized shirt he had put on you sometime after round three or four—when you’d passed out cold and he, the menace, had tucked you into bed like you weren’t the same woman who’d ridden him raw against a bathroom mirror. His boxers hung low on your hips, loose and warm and entirely his. “Said you woke up with a fever,” he added. “And you’re showing...symptoms.”

You scoffed, pressing a hand to your forehead dramatically. “Oh? And what symptoms would those be?”

Jake leaned in close, voice barely a whisper as he brushed a kiss to your jaw. “Soreness. Fatigue. Uncontrollable trembling in the legs.” His hand squeezed your thigh pointedly. “Classic post-Seresin syndrome.”

You groaned, flopping back against the pillow. “They’re going to know, Jake. Jinx is not stupid.”

“Let them know,” he replied with a shrug and a wicked smile. “I also called Maverick. Told him it was an emergency.”

Your head shot up. “Jake—what kind of emergency?!”

“The kind that involves a bed, a lot of sweat, and you screaming my name,” he said without missing a beat.

You smacked his arm with a pillow, laughing despite yourself, cheeks already heating from embarrassment. “You’re gonna get me killed.”

“Nah,” he drawled, pulling you closer and kissing your cheek. “They’ll just be jealous.”

Then, as the laughter started to die down, the room softened. Jake reached for his phone, scrolling through a playlist before one quiet, scratchy old tune began to play from the speaker—some 60s ballad that your dad probably danced to with your mom in the kitchen when they were young. You arched a brow. “Really? You’re playing this right now?”

Jake stood and offered you a hand, completely unbothered by the fact that you were both half-dressed and still radiating sex like the whole damn house couldn’t tell. “Dance with me,” he said simply, like it was the most normal thing to do at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday after being thoroughly fucked into the mattress.

“I’m not dancing with morning breath,” you said, sliding out from the covers on shaky legs. “Give me thirty seconds before you start pretending we’re in a rom-com.”

Meanwhile, Jake just watched you with soft, fond eyes as you disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t need the music or the sunlight or the moment to feel perfect—but hell, they didn’t hurt.

You returned a few minutes later, face washed, teeth brushed, hair loosely tied back. His shirt was still hanging off your frame, sleeves too long, collar wide and falling over your shoulder. He was already waiting in the middle of the room, hand extended again, expression gentle now—no smirk, no teasing. Just him. Just Jake.

And this time, you took it.

His hand closed around yours, warm and sure, pulling you gently into him like gravity had nothing on the way your bodies naturally fit together. You rolled your eyes a little as the soft croon of the old song filled the room—something wistful and full of crackling vinyl charm, the kind of music old souls kept hidden away for rainy days and love-drunk mornings.

Jake pressed a kiss to your temple and swayed with you slowly, guiding your hands to his shoulders while his rested at your waist, fingers splayed just beneath the hem of his shirt. The motion was simple, lazy, just a soft back-and-forth like neither of you had anywhere to be—and you didn’t, not today. Because he’d made damn sure of that.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, though you made no move to step away. You even rested your head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat lull you deeper into the haze.

“And yet you’re still dancing with me,” he murmured, spinning you a half-step before pulling you back in close, chest to chest, nose brushing yours. “Must mean I’m doing something right.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, even though your lips were already curving into a smile. “The bar is so low, Jake.”

“Good,” he smirked, dipping his head so his mouth hovered near your ear. “Means I can clear it without spilling you.”

You snorted, but didn’t protest when he tightened his arms around you and rocked you gently, rhythm matching the slow tempo of the song. Then, in a moment that caught you off guard, his voice dropped even softer.

“I could dance with you like this forever, you know.”

That made your breath hitch—not because it was cheesy, but because he meant it. He always meant it when he got like this—when the cocky smirk faded and that rare, unguarded honesty bled through. You lifted your head to look at him, to meet those sea-green eyes full of everything he couldn’t say out loud in a crowd, but always told you when the world was still and the room was quiet.

“I’d let you,” you whispered, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. “Even if it’s to music like this.”

Jake chuckled, twirling you lazily before pulling you back into his arms again, your bare legs brushing his as you swayed. “Don’t act like you’re not secretly into it.”

“I am not,” you said with faux offense.

“Sure,” he said, lowering his mouth to yours. “That’s why your hips are moving like you’re in a black-and-white movie and I’m about to carry you off to war.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else—just a soft press of lips, slow and sweet and so wildly at odds with the way he’d wrecked you hours ago. Then you buried your face in his chest again, letting the song wrap around you both like a second blanket.

And in that little cocoon of music and stolen time, nothing else mattered.

Not Maverick. Not Jinx. Not Ruin. Not the Dagge Squad. Not the world outside those walls.

Just him, and you. And the music between your breaths.

The song faded into silence, leaving only the soft hum of the morning and the lazy beat of Jake’s heart beneath your ear. He didn’t move right away—just held you like he was trying to memorize the exact way you fit against him, the smell of your hair, the quiet way you sighed when you felt safe.

Then, without warning, his arms tightened around your thighs and lifted you clean off the ground.

You squeaked in surprise, arms flying around his neck. “Jake!”

He grinned, cocky and unbothered, carrying you like it was nothing. “What? You danced. You earned breakfast delivery.”

“I can walk—”

“I know you can. I just don’t want you to,” he said smugly, brushing a kiss to your cheek as he padded barefoot toward the kitchen, both of you still dressed in barely-there remnants of last night’s chaos. His shirt on you, his boxers barely clinging to your hips, and his scent absolutely everywhere.

When you entered the kitchen, the smell hit first—eggs, bacon, toasted sourdough, and the lingering whisper of coffee.

“Wait,” you blinked. “You cooked?”

Jake set you gently on the counter, your legs dangling as he turned back to the stove and grabbed a plate. “Yeah, I’m a man of many talents. Fighter pilot by day, domestic god by morning-after.”

“You cooked before or after you wrecked me into a coma?”

“Little of both,” he said over his shoulder, plating eggs with a precision that was honestly terrifying. “Had the bacon going before round two. Turned it off. Turned you on. Multitasking.”

You stared, vaguely scandalized. “You timed our sex between flipping bacon?”

Jake looked over, eyes glinting. “Well, not intentionally, but if we’re giving out awards…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin creeping across your face. “Unreal. You’re unreal.”

He handed you the plate, then picked up a second for himself and leaned against the counter beside you, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Eat up. Gotta rebuild your strength.”

You gave him a flat look. “Jake.”

“Baby, I’m just saying... you’re gonna need it. We’re not leaving this house today.”

Your stomach flipped, and not just from the scent of breakfast.

Meanwhile, the coffee maker burbled behind you, sunlight pouring in through the window like the universe was in on the joke—like it knew the two of you were wrapped in something bigger than just heat and hunger.

Something softer.

Something permanent.

You took a bite, and he watched you, eyes lingering on your lips like he hadn’t just kissed the life out of you three times over. And as the music shifted to another slow tune in the background, he reached out again, brushing your thigh with the back of his fingers.

“After breakfast,” he said, voice low, “you’re mine again.”

And you believed him.

Because you always were.

After breakfast and a bit of lingering—okay, a lot of lingering, with Jake nibbling kisses along your shoulder every time you tried to put your plate in the sink—you finally managed to peel yourself away and head for the bathroom to shower properly. You shut the door behind you with a firm but playful “Stay out, Seresin,” and heard him let out the most dramatic groan from the hallway, like you’d just exiled him from paradise. Which, honestly, you kind of had.

By the time you stepped out, hair still damp, fresh-faced and finally wearing real clothes instead of his shirt and boxers, Jake was sprawled on the bed like a man in mourning. One arm tossed over his eyes, the other resting across his bare chest like he was waiting for someone to come and play a sad country song over his broken heart. He lifted his head the moment he heard your footsteps.

“You dressed?” he asked, voice a mix of genuine betrayal and outrage. “You got out of the shower and got fully dressed without calling me back in?”

You glanced down at your jeans and tank top, drying your hair with a towel. “Yes, because unlike you, I have errands to run. We need milk. Also vegetables. We can’t survive on bacon and orgasms.”

Jake let out an actual whine, sitting up on the bed and reaching for you like you’d just announced you were enlisting for war. “But why do you have to go? We were having such a nice time. There’s eggs. We have leftovers. I’ll cook again. I’ll make pancakes. You like pancakes.”

You raised an eyebrow as you tugged on your shoes. “Pancakes aren’t gonna keep us alive when we run out of coffee and toilet paper, Jake.”

He stared at you for a second, then dramatically stood up, completely naked and unbothered by it. “Take me with you.”

“No.”

His jaw dropped. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean, you’ve ruined my entire body. My legs still feel like jello. I’m going to do the one normal thing today that doesn’t involve being pinned against a surface, thank you very much.”

Meanwhile, he crossed the room like a puppy denied his favorite toy, trailing behind you as you grabbed your keys and shopping list. “Please let me come,” he said, voice pitiful. “I’ll carry the bags. I’ll push the cart. Hell, I’ll even use the self-checkout without complaining.”

You turned around, arms crossed. “Jake. You don’t even like grocery stores.”

“But I like you in grocery stores,” he insisted, eyes wide with devotion and desperation. “You get this little furrow between your brows when you’re deciding between two brands of pasta sauce and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I need to witness that again.”

You tried not to smile, but your lips were already twitching.

“I’ll behave,” he added, now clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “I won’t even make a scene when you ban me from the snack aisle again. Scout’s honor.”

“Jake, you weren’t a scout.”

“Fine, but I am a fool. For you. Let me come, babe. I’ll wear a shirt. I’ll even brush my hair.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed your tote bag. “I don’t know what spell I put on you, Seresin, but it’s clearly too strong.”

Then, while you weren’t looking, he grabbed a shirt off the floor and began putting it on with the speed of a man trying to make a plane.

Jake, did, in fact, not behave.

It began well enough—he held the basket like a gentleman, followed you through the produce aisle without once trying to juggle the apples, and even nodded seriously when you debated the merits of frozen versus fresh spinach. For a brief, shining moment, you thought maybe—maybe—he would actually make it through one single errand without devolving into chaos incarnate.

That illusion shattered somewhere near aisle five.

You had turned to check the grocery list—half-distracted by the absurd number of brands under the “almond milk” label—when Jake’s voice echoed out like a proud child: “Babe. Look what I got.” He was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, holding up the very last box of your favorite double-chocolate cookies, the ones that were almost always sold out.

Except you were pretty sure those hadn’t been on the shelf a second ago.

You narrowed your eyes. “Where’d you get that?”

He tried to look innocent, which only made him look more guilty. “It was just... there. On the edge of the display.”

Suspicious, you glanced past him—and that’s when you saw the child. Maybe seven or eight years old, standing just down the aisle, eyes wide and watery, lower lip trembling in real-time horror. His small hands were still frozen in the air, like he’d just reached for something that wasn’t there anymore.

“Oh my God, Jake,” you hissed, smacking his arm. “Tell me you didn’t just steal cookies from a child.”

Jake looked between the boy, the box in his hands, and you. Then he leaned closer, voice hushed and defensive. “Okay, first of all, he was taking too long. It was like a three-second window and he wasn’t committed. I was.”

“Give them back!” you whisper-shouted.

But Jake was already stepping back, holding the box over his head like it was the golden idol in a temple full of booby traps. “It’s the last one,” he said, the tiniest, most chaotic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Survival of the fittest.”

Then he stuck out his tongue at the kid.

You were horrified.

The child’s mouth started to wobble. His eyes brimmed with tears.

“Jake, he’s going to cry!”

“Run!” Jake shouted, already grabbing your hand as he turned on his heel and sprinted down the aisle with you in tow.

You both darted past the paper towels and dish soap, breathless with shock and a little too much laughter, while Jake clutched the box of cookies like it was the Declaration of Independence. Shoppers turned their heads. One woman gasped. Another glared. But neither of you stopped until you rounded the corner and ducked into the cereal aisle, hiding like criminals.

Panting, you leaned against the shelf, trying to catch your breath. “You’re insane. I cannot take you anywhere.”

Jake was grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You can’t leave me anywhere, either. That’s the real problem.”

Then he offered you the box with a dramatic little bow, like he was gifting you a national treasure. “For my queen.”

You snatched it and smacked his arm again, trying not to laugh. “We’re going to hell.”

“We were already on the list,” he said, winking. “This just bumped us up to first class.”

Once the cookie heist adrenaline wore off, you both returned to your regularly scheduled shopping—albeit with a few more giggles under your breath and the occasional glance over your shoulder, just in case the child’s parents were plotting revenge. Jake behaved for the next few aisles, which in his case meant only tossing two unauthorized bags of snacks into the basket and humming the Star Wars theme song under his breath while pushing the cart with entirely too much swagger.

And then you passed the baby section.

It was tucked into the corner, just past the seasonal displays, where pastel-colored onesies hung on little plastic hooks and tiny socks were bundled together like clouds. It wasn’t even on your radar—until Jake suddenly stopped walking.

You glanced back and saw him frozen mid-step, basket in one hand, staring wide-eyed at a rack of baby clothes like it had just whispered state secrets to him. His face was lit with something ridiculous—wonder, mischief, and the kind of open awe that made your stomach twist.

“Jake?” you called, cautiously.

He turned toward you, eyes still locked on the rack. “We should get these.”

You blinked. “Get what?”

He was already moving, grabbing a tiny navy-blue onesie that said Daddy’s Co-Pilot in white lettering. Then he picked up another—this one soft gray, with a little jet embroidered on the front and a patch that read Squad Goals.

“They’re on sale,” he said like that explained anything.

You squinted. “Jake. We do not have a baby.”

“I know,” he said, not looking the least bit discouraged. “But look at this one. It’s got aviators printed on the butt. That’s hilarious. C’mon.”

You walked closer, lowering your voice. “You’re seriously proposing we buy baby clothes just because they’re cute and discounted?”

Jake looked at you then, really looked at you, that playful glint softening into something warm beneath his gaze. “No,” he said, quieter now, thumb brushing along the edge of the fabric. “I’m saying... maybe we could use them someday. And in the meantime, I’d like to imagine it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but your heart had already jumped straight into your throat. Because for all the teasing and chaos and chaos-causing, Jake Seresin was standing there holding a onesie with a tiny fighter jet on it, looking at you like you were the missing piece in every future he’d ever imagined.

Then, before the moment could get too heavy, he held up the onesie again and added, “Also, this one says My Daddy Flies Faster Than Your Daddy, and I kind of need it.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you pulled the cart forward. “You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m in love,” he corrected, tossing the onesie into the basket like it belonged there. “Let me dream, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers still brushed his gently when he caught up with you—and you didn’t move away.

Not even when he reached into the basket again, pulled out the ridiculous jet-butt onesie, and held it up to his chest like he was already imagining matching flight suits.

You sighed, long and exaggerated, but it didn’t hide the way your lips twitched when he started making plane noises under his breath and pretended to fly the onesie like it was on a carrier launch sequence. The man was a literal naval aviator—a decorated, sharp-as-hell fighter pilot—and yet here he was, making vroom sounds with baby clothes in a grocery store like a five-year-old with a new toy. It should’ve been absurd. It was absurd. But it was also Jake.

And Jake was impossible to stay mad at when he looked this damn happy.

“Alright, Hangman,” you muttered, tossing another onesie into the basket—one that said Future Wingman with little dog tags printed across the front. “We buy three, and that’s it. We’re not starting a collection for someone who doesn’t exist yet.”

He beamed at you, actually beamed, and for a second you forgot you were in the middle of a Target next to a display of car seats and pacifiers. His fingers curled gently around your wrist as you moved to push the cart forward again, grounding you in place.

“You’d be a great mom,” he said suddenly, voice low, almost too serious for the moment.

You froze, blinking at him. “Where the hell did that come from?”

He shrugged, but his gaze never left yours. “Just thinking. Watching you plan and make lists and drag me through produce aisles like it’s war prep. You’re organized. Patient. And you didn’t let me return the cookies after I emotionally traumatized a child.”

“You literally stole from him,” you pointed out.

Jake smirked, unapologetic. “All I’m saying is—you take care of people, even when they’re ridiculous. That’s kind of your thing.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Your hand tightened a little on the cart handle, the soft rustling of plastic packaging the only sound between you. And then, like he could sense the emotional weight tipping just a little too far, Jake bumped your hip with his and grinned. “Also, I’m like ninety percent sure if we ever do have a kid, they’ll come out with a pilot helmet and ask for clearance to taxi.”

You barked out a laugh, the tension breaking like sunlight through clouds. “They’ll come out with attitude, that’s for sure.”

“And perfect hair,” Jake added, flipping his own with dramatic flair.

You gave him a look. “I will personally shave your head if that attitude passes down.”

“Worth it,” he said, sliding his arm around your waist as the two of you finally made your way to the checkout line. “Totally worth it.”

Meanwhile, a passing elderly couple gave the two of you a smile—the kind reserved for people who look like they’ve figured it out, like they’re just starting something real and don’t even know it yet. Jake nodded politely, but once they passed, he leaned in close to your ear.

“We’re buying matching flight suits for Halloween next year. It’s not a suggestion.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the cashier started scanning. He was chaos, he was relentless, and he was yours—God help the world when that baby ever did exist. Because if Jake Seresin had anything to do with it, the poor kid would be flying paper airplanes before they could walk.

The sun was warm on your skin as you stepped out of the grocery store, bags in hand and the gentle hum of a perfect morning settling between you. Jake, of course, had insisted on carrying everything—even the lighter bags you clearly could’ve handled yourself—but he strutted down the sidewalk with all the pride of a man protecting national treasures. You didn’t argue. You just adjusted your sunglasses and strolled beside him, listening to the paper rustle with every step.

You passed a few little storefronts as you headed toward the car—bakeries with hand-lettered signs, a florist already putting out midday bouquets, and a vintage record shop that immediately caught Jake’s eye before you tugged his sleeve and pointed to a tiny bookstore tucked between a café and a candle shop. The display was charmingly crooked, with a chalkboard sign out front that read Half Off Paperbacks, Full Price Escapes.

You gave his sleeve another playful tug. “Come on, we’re going in.”

But Jake had stopped walking.

His head had whipped to the left like he’d just seen something he wasn’t supposed to, body going a little stiff. His grip on the bags shifted, like he was about to bolt—or do something deeply suspicious.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He glanced back at you, far too casual for someone acting so obviously not casual. “Hey, babe, go on ahead. I’ll be back in a sec.”

You blinked. “Where are you going?”

Jake hesitated. “Just, uh... there was a... navy buddy I think I saw across the street.” He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction, nowhere near the traffic lights or crosswalks. “Just wanna say hi real quick.”

“You wanna cross four lanes of traffic to maybe say hi to someone who might not be your friend?”

He nodded, grinning with that innocent who-me? expression that never fooled you. “Exactly. Won’t be long.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He raised his hand like he was taking an oath. “Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout, Seresin.”

He winced. “Right. Forgot you remembered that.”

Still, you let him go. You rolled your eyes and shoved the bookstore door open, muttering under your breath about chaotic pilots with secrets and terrible excuses. A little bell rang as you entered, and the familiar, dusty smell of old pages and quiet corners wrapped around you like a soft blanket.

You wandered between the shelves aimlessly at first, fingers trailing the worn spines, until you hit the graphic novel section—and there it was, practically glowing on the middle shelf.

A Star Wars comic.

Not just any issue, but the one Jake had been whining about for a week—the continuation of the arc he’d blazed through at 2 a.m. with a bowl of cereal in hand and zero patience for cliffhangers. You’d told him to go buy it himself. He hadn’t. Typical.

You pulled it from the shelf, flipping through the glossy pages, already imagining his smug little smile when you handed it to him. For all his cockiness and chaos, Jake Seresin had the attention span of a golden retriever with too many toys and not enough time. He would absolutely devour this one by sundown.

You brought it to the register, paid in cash, and tucked it into one of your grocery bags, smiling to yourself as you stepped back outside.

But Jake wasn’t waiting where you left him.

He was across the street, looking shifty as hell, standing near one of those boutique jewelry stalls that sprouted like wildflowers in this part of town.

Your brows lifted.

What the hell was he up to?

You barely had time to process the scene before Jake noticed you watching him. His head jerked up from the stall—eyes wide, like a kid caught red-handed in the cookie jar for the second time in one day—then he grinned, bright and crooked, and took off into a full jog across the street.

“No running!” the vendor called after him, waving a paper bag, but Jake just offered a sheepish salute and sprinted toward you like the sidewalk was a runway and you were the touchdown point.

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed, but the sight of him bounding toward you—with the wind tousling his hair, grocery bags swinging in one hand, and something clutched carefully in the other—made your chest tighten in that familiar, dangerous way.

He stopped just short of you, slightly breathless but beaming, and held something out between you.

A bouquet.

Not just any bouquet—white lilies. Your favorite. The petals still held traces of dew, edges soft and glowing in the sunlight, and Jake’s hand trembled ever so slightly as he offered them like they were the most sacred thing he could give.

“For you,” he said, a little bashful now, that confidence softening into something boyish and warm. “I saw them and... I dunno. Thought they looked like you.”

You blinked. “Like me?”

He scratched the back of his neck, still holding the bouquet toward you like he wasn’t sure if you’d take it. “Yeah. Kinda impossible to miss, kinda... I dunno. Bright. Clean. Right.” His voice dipped a little, the words less rehearsed now, more raw. “Didn’t wanna leave without them.”

Your hands reached out on instinct, wrapping around the stems. They were cool against your skin, firm and freshly cut, and your fingers brushed his when you took them. “Jake...”

“I know,” he said quickly, trying to downplay it even as his ears turned pink. “It’s corny. I just... wanted to get you something. Something real.”

Meanwhile, your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, wild and sure all at once. You stared at him, this ridiculous man who stole cookies from children, flew jets for a living, made plane noises with baby clothes, and now stood in front of you—nervous, hopeful, and holding lilies like they were some kind of vow.

So, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft and slow and right there on the sidewalk, lips pressed to his like you’d waited your whole life for this exact moment. And maybe you had.

Then, when you pulled back, you smiled and said, “You’re lucky I like flowers. And bad liars.”

Jake grinned, exhaling like you’d just let him breathe again.

“I’m lucky you like me,” he said, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Even when I’m the worst.”

“And the loudest,” you added.

“And the hottest,” he said shamelessly.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, looping your arm through his as you started walking again, grocery bags and lilies in tow, the comic still tucked safely inside like a secret surprise.

The sharp clack of your boots echoed through the halls of North Island as you moved with the practiced confidence that only came from years of doing this job and doing it damn well. The sun outside was already brutal, casting heat across the tarmac, but inside the debriefing room, the air was cool and sharp with tension. The Dagger Squad had assembled early—some perched on the edge of their chairs, others leaning back like they didn’t have a care in the world—but all eyes turned the moment you walked in.

You wore the uniform like it was etched into your skin, every patch earned, every rank commanding respect without needing to say a word. Behind you, Ruin and Jinx followed, their expressions unreadable save for the way they both slid a very knowing glance in your direction. You met them with a hard stare, unflinching. Jinx smirked and Ruin arched a brow, but neither said a word. Wise. You didn’t have the energy for their commentary—not after yesterday’s chaos, and definitely not with Jake sitting two rows back, looking at you like you’d hung the stars and wrote the manual on gravity.

Which, to be fair, you sort of had.

You moved to the front of the room, clearing your throat once. The chatter died instantly.

“Dagger Squad,” you began, voice sharp and clear, “as of last month, your status as a provisional unit has officially ended. You are now a fully recognized elite squadron under North Island’s command structure.”

There were a few exchanged glances, a low whistle from Payback, and an unmistakable fist-pump from Fanboy. You kept your expression flat, but your eyes flicked toward Jake—who was, unsurprisingly, not paying attention to the details. His chin was resting on his hand, eyes fixed on you with that same ridiculous, love-struck awe he always tried to hide but never succeeded in doing.

You ignored him and continued.

“Six months ago, we launched the Gauntlet. A multi-phase crucible to evaluate this squad’s operational effectiveness. Each of you was pushed to your limit—physically, mentally, tactically. Not just to see how well you fly, but how well you adapt when everything goes wrong.”

Your gaze swept the room. There were no green pilots in here. Every single person had earned their seat—some with blood, some with bruises, and all with absolute grit.

“Fuel-starvation, altitude suppression, no-comm blackout tactics. Every element of the Gauntlet was designed to find your pressure points. And for four more months after that, we watched. We observed. We threw you into unannounced drills, paired you with different command chains, monitored your formation cohesion, and tracked every recovery you made under stress.”

Behind you, Jinx crossed his arms and Ruin gave a quiet nod. They’d been there for all of it—your wingmen not just in the sky, but in the planning room, in the briefings, in the chaos. The three of you had built the test together. Survived it together. And now, the countdown had begun.

“In another four months,” you said, steady, “the three of us rotate out of North Island. New command will take over, and you’ll be on your own.”

The reaction was immediate—a ripple of disbelief, frustration, and disappointment threading through the squad. Bob sat a little straighter, like maybe he misheard. Phoenix's brow furrowed. Even Hangman looked rattled, though he schooled it fast.

“Make no mistake,” you said, firm, “this isn’t a punishment. You’ve graduated. You’re ready. But the mission structure is evolving, and so is the command. You’ll be taking point on live ops across the Pacific corridor starting next cycle. The next time you fly together, it won’t be for training. It’ll be for real.”

Meanwhile, Jake hadn't moved.

He was still looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered—like the speech, the assignment shifts, the impending command change didn’t even register on his radar. And honestly, you could feel it. His stare burned into the side of your jaw, warm and steady, and when your eyes flicked over to meet his—just for a moment—he had the audacity to wink.

You almost lost your composure.

Almost.

But instead, you reset your shoulders, flicked your eyes back to the squad, and said, “Debrief begins in ten. Final Gauntlet data packets are loaded in your files. Study them. You’ll be replicating Phase Three this Friday with Maverick observing. Questions?”

The room didn’t erupt exactly—but it rumbled. Subtle at first, like a brewing storm over the open ocean. The kind you could feel in your bones before it cracked the sky.

Fanboy was the first to speak, hand shooting up before you even dismissed the floor. “Wait—leave?” His voice cracked halfway through, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “As in... permanently?”

You exhaled slowly. “As in we’ve completed our rotation. We’re being reassigned to the Pacific Theatre Command for intel design and integrated air defense simulation. Forward strategy.”

“But that’s not—fair!” he protested, standing now, arms thrown in the air like you’d just announced the squad was being grounded. “We just got good at this!”

Payback muttered something about mutiny under his breath, and Bob nodded with all the solemn weight of a man who’d just been told the family dog was moving out.

Then Phoenix leaned forward, elbows on the table, her expression sharp. “So that’s it? We get through hell, pass your little flying crucible, and you’re just... gone?”

Ruin let out a soft, measured sigh. “You didn’t pass, Trace. You survived. There's a difference. And we’ve trained you to stand on your own.”

“But we don’t want to,” Fanboy interrupted, clearly on the verge of something dramatic. “You three—you're like the brain and the anger and the wrath of God. How are we supposed to function without that terrifying combo?”

That earned a small snort from Jinx, who was trying—and failing—not to smile. “We’ll still be in the Navy. You’re not losing us. We’re just not in your hangar anymore.”

“And besides,” Ruin added, tilting his head toward you, “the wrath part’s staying with you a little longer. Rogue’s got a longer leash. She’ll be the last to rotate out.”

Fanboy looked at you like you’d betrayed him personally. “Then at least take me with you. I’ll carry your bags. I’ll cry silently in meetings. I’m very adaptable.”

Jake chuckled low from his seat, but didn’t speak. His eyes were still locked on you—not with concern, not even with amusement, but with that same silent, unwavering pride. Like he was watching the best thing he’d ever seen and didn’t want to interrupt.

You ignored the butterflies in your gut and leveled the room with a stare. “This squad doesn’t depend on us. We were just the match. You are the fire. What you’ve built—what you’ve survived—that’s yours now. And what’s coming next? It’s going to demand everything from you. The training wheels are gone. You’re flying solo.”

Fanboy visibly slumped. “You’re so mean when you’re inspirational.”

You allowed the corner of your mouth to twitch. Just a little.

Then, behind you, Jinx added, “And for the record? You’ve got the best damn chance out of any unit we’ve trained. Don’t waste it wishing we were still here yelling at you.”

That silenced the room. Not in defeat—but in understanding. These pilots had bled for this squadron. They’d clawed their way through blackout drills, near-failures, and your infamous no-warning 0400 strike alarms. They were the best. Because you made them the best. And now, they had to be it.

Meanwhile, Jake hadn’t moved a muscle.

And even though you were surrounded by elite pilots and two of the most formidable officers in the Navy, it was still his eyes you felt anchored to—the quiet promise that even when duty pulled you apart, he’d still look at you like you were gravity itself.

The door swung open at the far end of the debriefing room, and the energy shifted immediately.

Captain Pete Mitchell—callsign Maverick—stepped in with that usual mix of casual defiance and command presence that still turned heads no matter how many decades he’d been in the cockpit. Dagger Squad straightened, and even Jinx and Ruin reflexively stood a little taller as Maverick approached. He gave a nod to the room, then looked directly at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of something respectful in his eyes.

“Commander Rogue,” he said, voice low but carrying. “Permission to take the floor?”

You gave a crisp nod. “It’s yours, sir.”

He turned toward the Daggers, hands behind his back, shoulders squared. “You’ve all come a long way since I first saw you fly this deck. Some of you were cocky as hell.” His eyes flicked briefly to Hangman, who didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Some of you didn’t believe you’d make it. And all of you were thrown into a crucible none of you were ready for.”

He paused.

“But you survived it. You earned your wings all over again under these three.” He glanced over to you, Ruin, and Jinx, nodding once. “This squadron wouldn’t be what it is without their leadership. Their brutality.” A pointed look at you. “And their belief in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourselves.”

You felt something twist in your chest, but you kept your posture sharp, unmoving.

Then Maverick turned back toward the front. “I’ll be taking over interim command as they prepare for rotation. I won’t be recreating the Gauntlet—” more than one pilot visibly exhaled at that “—but I’ll be reinforcing the systems they’ve put in place. You’ll keep flying hard. You’ll keep pushing. And you’ll keep proving that this isn’t just a name on your patch. It’s a legacy.”

There was a quiet, collective breath taken across the squad, a shift in the weight of the moment. You could feel it settle in their bones. Then Maverick relaxed just slightly, the edge of formality lifting.

“Oh—and one more thing.”

He looked at you three again, this time less like an officer, more like someone who knew what it was to build something and have to walk away.

“Penny and I are throwing a small thing at our place Friday night. Just a thank you. Nothing formal. You three in?”

Ruin didn’t miss a beat. “Hell yeah, we are.”

Jinx clapped once. “I will eat so much potato salad. And I’m bringing bourbon. The expensive kind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize we were celebrating just yet.”

Maverick gave you that slight grin—the one that always meant he knew more than he was letting on. “You built a family, Commander. That deserves at least one good night.”

You hesitated only a moment. “...Sure. We’ll be there.”

And just like that, the weight of transition felt a little lighter. A little warmer. You weren’t just handing off command—you were leaving it in good hands. In capable hands. And whether they realized it yet or not, Dagger Squad had already become something stronger than any one officer.

Meanwhile, behind the rest of the group, Jake tilted his head and mouthed something at you when no one was looking.

“You’re still the boss.”

Friday night rolled in slow and golden, spilling soft light through the blinds as you stood in front of the mirror, dabbing a final touch of highlight along your cheekbones. Your uniform had been replaced by something more casual—black jeans, a fitted tee under an open button-down, sleeves cuffed, dog tags still tucked beneath your collar because some habits refused to die. You were going for that lethal mix of effortless and “don’t mess with me,” and it was working, if you did say so yourself.

You leaned in closer, fixing the wing of your eyeliner with the precision of someone who once flew through a canyon at Mach speed. Outside, a breeze rustled the palm trees. The smell of charcoal already teased the air from somewhere distant, and your stomach rumbled in agreement.

Then came the whine.

“Baaaabe...”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet!”

“I do, actually. You’ve been trying to seduce me out of this barbeque for the last hour.”

Jake’s reflection appeared in the mirror behind you—half-shirtless, towel still slung around his neck from the shower, hair damp and tousled in a way that was definitely intentional. He looked like sin and Southern charm and bad ideas wrapped in golden-boy packaging. And he was pouting.

Full lips. Puppy eyes. Bare chest. Weaponized everything.

“Look at us,” he said, walking up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder. “We could just stay in. Watch some old movie. You know... something with a loose plot and convenient fade-to-blacks.”

You smirked, grabbing your mascara. “Jake. You mean sex. You’re describing sex.”

“Netflix and chill is a cultural institution,” he murmured against your neck. “It would be rude to abandon tradition.”

You snorted and flicked him away with the back of your hand. “You’re not getting me out of this, Seresin. I want ribs. I want brisket. I want potato salad that’s mostly mayonnaise and regret. And I want to see Ruin try to pretend he doesn’t cry when Maverick gives speeches.”

Jake groaned, dramatic and loud, flopping onto the edge of the bed like you’d wounded him. “But you’re hot, and you smell like vanilla and sharp decisions, and I just shaved. This is prime conditions for a full-blown house arrest scenario.”

You turned and gave him a look over your shoulder. “We made a promise. We show up. We eat meat. We thank Penny for putting up with all of you.”

“But you’re my meat,” Jake mumbled into the mattress.

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw stars. “That is disgusting, and I’m telling Maverick you said that.”

Jake peeked up, grinning. “Tell him. He’ll be proud.”

You ignored him, stepping away from the mirror to grab your shoes and slide them on. “You’ve got ten minutes to get dressed or I’m leaving without you.”

He sat up immediately. “Do you think Hangman would really miss a party thrown by the legendary Maverick? The man literally saved the Navy’s ass and then married a woman who owns a boat bar. He’s my hero.”

You gave him one last look—messy hair, towel, bare chest, and that wide, stupid grin.

“Then get your ass in gear, Hangman. We’re going to a barbeque.”

The engine purred under your control, the windows down just enough to let the salty California breeze snake through your hair as you cruised down the winding road toward Maverick and Penny’s place. The sky was slathered in that perfect sunset gradient—deep orange bleeding into rose and lavender, like the whole horizon had set itself on fire just to show off.

Jake sat in the passenger seat, finally dressed, finally presentable—well, barely. His button-down was undone halfway, and his aviators hung lazily off the collar like an afterthought. He looked criminally good, lounging with his arm against the open window, tapping the dashboard to the beat of a country song you weren’t even sure was playing. All smug confidence and denim-wrapped thighs—until he suddenly snapped upright like he'd been hit by lightning.

“WAIT.”

You slammed the brakes on instinct, the tires skidding slightly against the pavement as your hand shot out across his chest, years of flight protocol kicking in like second nature.

“What the hell, Seresin?!”

Jake turned to you, eyes wide with panic, breath caught somewhere between full-blown anxiety and chaotic energy. “We can’t arrive together.”

You blinked. “What?”

“They’ll know!” he said, flailing one arm toward the dashboard like it was somehow guilty in your imagined crime. “Ruin and Jinx already gave us that look. And now we’re gonna show up in the same car? We might as well walk in holding hands with matching wedding bands and a neon sign that says ‘Been boning for months, thanks!’”

You stared at him, then slowly pulled the car over to the side of the road, parking beneath a palm tree that cast swaying shadows across the hood. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“I am, and I hate it,” he whispered, staring ahead like a man who’d seen the future and didn’t like what it held. “They’re gonna say things. Hangman cannot be the punchline. I’m the one who makes the punchlines.”

You leaned an elbow on the steering wheel and looked at him coolly. “Relax.”

Jake turned to you like you’d just solved climate change. “...You have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.”

“Does it involve a rooftop insertion or a stealth op under the grill?”

You reached for the gear shift and smirked. “Just trust me, Lieutenant. You get to make your dramatic solo entrance like the attention-starved manchild you are. I’ll be there already, drink in hand, pretending I barely remember your name.”

Jake looked both horrified and delighted. “Oh my God. You’re unhinged.”

“And you love it.”

He sighed, sinking back into the seat like the weight of the world had been lifted. “I really do.”

You glanced at him once more before hitting the gas again, pulling the car back onto the road. “Now shut up and let me execute the op. I’ve got a very specific window if I want to get there before Maverick starts one of his war stories.”

“And when do I show up?”

“When the ribs hit the grill.”

Jake let out a low whistle. “Ruthless. Sexy. Tactical.”

You grinned. “I know.”

By the time you pulled up to Maverick and Penny’s place, the backyard was already buzzing—grill smoking, music humming low through crackling outdoor speakers, and pilots strewn across folding chairs and patio steps like sun-dazed dogs. Someone had already opened the good whiskey. You could smell the ribs in the air, and it was divine.

You parked just far enough down the street to make it look casual. Intentional. Not at all like you’d spent fifteen minutes strategizing this exact entrance.

Jake had slipped out of the car a beat later, adjusting his shirt like it was armor, running a hand through his hair for the tenth time since you left the base. He followed a few paces behind you, like he wasn’t totally sure if this was a setup or a blessing. But either way, he was in it now.

You pushed open the side gate and stepped into view just as the golden hour light hit the backyard, sunglasses still perched on your nose like you were walking into a runway instead of a barbeque.

Heads turned instantly.

Rooster raised his beer. Bob blinked twice. Coyote said “Well, damn,” under his breath, and even Phoenix sat up straighter on the picnic table like something had just clicked in the Matrix.

And then they saw him.

Jake, hands in his pockets, trying his best not to look too happy. He trailed behind you by a few steps, gaze caught somewhere between “kill me now” and “I would die for this woman.” His cheeks were faintly pink. Not from sunburn.

You tugged your sunglasses down just enough to meet the crowd’s suspicious silence, cocked a hip, and said with full authority, “Seresin hitched a ride with me. Said his car battery died because he left it running while trying to fix his hair.”

A beat.

Hangman made a wounded sound, halfway between a scoff and a betrayed gasp. “That is not what happened—”

You raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I logged it under ‘pilot incompetence.’ Already filed the incident report.”

Phoenix choked on her drink. Rooster laughed so hard he nearly dropped his plate. Bob looked between the two of you like he was watching a courtroom drama unfold.

Jake, for his part, just looked devastated. Shoulders drooped. Eyebrows knitted together. He glanced around at the others, eyes wide like an injured golden retriever trying to understand why no one was standing up for him.

“She made me ride in the backseat like cargo,” he mumbled, voice quiet and wounded.

“I should’ve made you sit in the trunk,” you shot back easily, brushing past him.

The group howled.

You could feel Maverick and Penny watching from the porch, and when your eyes flicked toward them, Mav just gave you a subtle nod, a ghost of a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. Penny raised her glass slightly, sipping it like she’d known this would happen from the moment she set the guest list.

Meanwhile, Ruin and Jinx were already posted near the grill, absolutely giggling behind their beers like two school kids who knew exactly what game was being played.

Jake finally caught up to you, falling into step at your side, voice low. “You are evil.”

You smirked, reaching out to straighten his slightly wrinkled collar. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

He blinked. “You’re lucky I’m into terrifying women.”

You leaned in, close enough for only him to hear. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell them you asked me to pick out your shirt.”

He groaned into his hands as you strutted away, completely and utterly victorious.

The sun had dipped lower now, casting long amber shadows across the backyard as the barbeque roared to life—flames licking the grill, the scent of charred meat and smoke curling into the air like a battle cry. Maverick, ever the wise host, had somehow vanished just as responsibility was about to be handed out. Penny, with that sly glint in her eye, passed the spatula off to you and Jake with a grin that said “have fun” and a wink that promised chaos.

Which was, of course, exactly what followed.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Jake declared the moment you both stepped up to the grill, eyeing the meat like it had personally offended him. “Last time you cooked anything, Rogue, I swear the burger mooed when I bit into it.”

You turned slowly, spatula in hand like a weapon. “Excuse me?”

“I’m still in therapy.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “The center was pink, not raw. That’s called flavor, Lieutenant.”

Jake dramatically pointed to the steak on the tray. “That is called endangerment of personnel. I’m not trying to get salmonella in front of my squad. Again.”

You snapped the tongs open twice, as if testing their readiness. “And what about the last time you cooked, huh? You incinerated the chicken so badly I thought we were being attacked by a drone strike.”

“That was intentional.”

“That was arson,” you fired back, flipping a rib with so much force it slapped the grill with a loud hiss. “You seasoned it with gasoline.”

Jake grabbed the seasoning with a flourish, shaking it over the slab in front of him like a showman. “Better than the time you thought garlic powder and cinnamon were interchangeable!”

“That was one time! And I was distracted because you kept licking the damn spoon and flexing like you were auditioning for a cooking calendar.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Still got the job though, didn’t I?”

You leveled him with a look so cold it could’ve frosted the grill, then turned to flip the next slab of ribs.

Meanwhile, the Dagger Squad had gathered in a loose semi-circle a few feet away, holding their plates like theatergoers watching a chaotic stage play. Bob had slowly stopped chewing, mesmerized. Phoenix was barely holding in her laughter, Rooster whispered “five bucks says Rogue throws him into the pool,” and Coyote was holding up a phone like he was definitely filming this for evidence.

Jake leaned in, voice lower now, playful. “You know this whole ‘bickering in public’ thing? It’s dangerously close to foreplay for us.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Touch my ribs again and I will throw you onto that lawn chair so hard it becomes part of your anatomy.”

Jake took a small step back and raised his hands. “So hot when you threaten me.”

The grill hissed louder as if groaning in protest at the combined heat—flames, meat, and whatever fiery tension was practically vibrating between the two of you. The smoke curled up, and somewhere behind you, Maverick’s laugh floated through the breeze, followed by Penny yelling, “Don’t set anything on fire this time!”

You both called back, in perfect unison: “No promises!”

The grill kept sizzling like it was trying to warn everyone that something unholy was about to happen. You and Jake were still locked in your verbal knife fight—tongues sharper than the skewers, egos even bigger than the brisket—but the meat was cooking, and somehow, no one had died yet. A win.

You reached for the sauce, elbow-deep in rib duties, when a familiar voice slinked up behind you like a cat that had way too much confidence for someone who still couldn’t land a perfect vertical descent.

“Well, well, Commander Rogue,” Rooster drawled, leaning on the picnic table with a grin that was a little too smug. “Didn’t know you moonlighted as a grill master. Should I be impressed? Or concerned?”

Jake didn’t look up, but his jaw flexed just slightly as he flipped a steak with what could only be described as violence.

You didn’t miss the tone, but you played along, lips quirking. “You should be concerned. I’ve got full jurisdiction to throw people into the pool for flirting with their superiors.”

Rooster grinned wider, teeth flashing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I got wet for a woman in command.”

Jake coughed so hard it almost sounded real. Almost.

“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. “No, no, no—this is not happening.”

Rooster stepped a little closer, resting his elbow on the grill’s side, eyes flicking over you like you were a target he was just brave enough to chase. “You know, if you ever need help in the kitchen, I’m real handy with my hands.”

Jake dropped the tongs.

Clatter. Sizzle. A moment of sheer disbelief.

“You okay there, Seresin?” Rooster asked innocently.

Jake bent to grab the tongs, muttering, “Oh, just dropped my will to live.”

You smirked, but before you could fire back, Jake straightened up and slid way too close to you, all heat and muscle and the smell of citrus body wash. He leaned an arm casually on the grill right next to yours, cutting off Rooster’s line of vision.

“Actually, Rooster,” he said smoothly, “she already has help in the kitchen. Certified, in fact. I passed the meat handling seminar twice.”

You side-eyed him. “One of those times you were asked to leave.”

“Still counts,” Jake fired back, then turned slightly toward Rooster, voice perfectly pleasant but with just enough bite beneath it. “Anyway, you might want to cool it. Wouldn’t want you to get burned, Bradshaw.”

Rooster blinked. “...From the grill?”

Jake smiled. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

The tension was palpable. Phoenix was now openly eating chips and watching like it was her favorite soap. Bob whispered something to Coyote, who mouthed “Oh, it’s getting good.” Even Penny glanced out the kitchen window, eyebrows raised like should I intervene? Or is this foreplay?

Rooster, to his credit, chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Standing down. Don’t want to come between a man and his meat.”

You almost choked on your soda.

Jake gave him a tight smile. “Good choice.”

As Rooster walked off—still smirking, because of course he was—Jake turned back to you, bumping your hip gently with his.

“You liked it, admit it,” he muttered, voice low so no one else could hear. “Got all jealous and southern and everything.”

You rolled your eyes. “You threatened him with steak energy.”

Jake beamed. “That’s love, darlin’.”

Dinner was in full swing now, the backyard steeped in that warm, dusky glow that made the ribs glisten and everyone’s cheeks a little more sun-kissed. Laughter spilled from the picnic tables like smoke, plates were stacked with dangerously unhealthy amounts of meat, and Penny had finally broken out her famous strawberry bourbon.

You’d barely sat down on one of the benches, cold drink in hand, ribs stacked on your plate like you were claiming dominance through protein, when he appeared.

“Room for one more?” Rooster asked, already sliding into the seat beside you without waiting for an answer.

You blinked at him, then shrugged, scooting just an inch to the left—not too much, but enough to keep up appearances. “Sure, Lieutenant. Long as you don’t steal my cornbread.”

Rooster leaned in with a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Unless it’s the kind with jalapeño in it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “It is.”

“Then I’m dreaming,” he said smoothly, nudging your shoulder.

Across the table, Jake Seresin paused mid-bite.

His fork hovered above his brisket like it was caught in enemy fire. His seat had been stolen—his seat—and now he was forced to sit directly across from you, watching Rooster lean in a little too close, laugh a little too loud, and eat his damn jalapeño cornbread.

You didn’t even need to look at Jake to know he was internally combusting. His jealousy was so loud it might as well have been on AM radio.

“So,” Rooster said, mouth full of buttery heaven, “remind me again—what exactly do I have to do to earn a second round of training from you, Commander?”

You took a slow sip from your drink. “Well, first? Learn how to finish the first round without crashing into a mountain.”

“Ouch,” he winced, but he was grinning.

Jake stabbed his rib so hard the table shook. “You doing okay over there, Hangman?” Phoenix called from the next bench, sipping her drink.

“I’m great,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fantastic. Loving the seating arrangement. Real cozy.”

Rooster leaned back slightly, throwing one arm along the back of the bench behind you. Jake’s eye twitched. Twitched.

You leaned in to whisper, “He’s doing this on purpose.”

Jake muttered back, “He’s dead to me.”

You smirked, playing innocent. “He’s got good teeth though.”

Jake dropped his fork with a clink and muttered, “I will commit a war crime.”

Meanwhile, Ruin and Jinx were not helping. They were watching this unfold from their own corner of the table, laughing into their drinks, whispering like two agents of chaos blessed with front-row seats to the slowest breakdown of a very territorial pilot.

“Man,” Jinx said under her breath, “I haven’t seen Seresin this twitchy since the last time we locked him in a sim with Rogue and cut his comms.”

Ruin chuckled. “If he flips this table, I called it.”

Jake exhaled sharply, then stood with the slow precision of a man trying very hard not to commit violence in front of his superiors. “I’m gonna go get more potato salad.”

Rooster called after him, “Bring me some if it’s the spicy kind!”

Jake didn’t even turn around. “I hope it’s empty.”

Jake returned five minutes later, holding a single scoop of sad, unspiced potato salad like it had personally insulted him, which—judging by the way he slammed the paper plate down in front of his seat—maybe it had. His jaw was tight. His eyes locked on the table, not on you and Rooster, who were now deep in a suspiciously lively conversation about call signs gone wrong.

You were laughing—genuinely, stupidly laughing—and it sent Jake spiraling.

“So, wait,” you said through your giggles, nudging Rooster’s arm. “Someone actually called you Beanstalk once?”

Rooster grinned. “Mhm. Right out of the academy. I was lanky, awkward, and apparently climbed everything like a freaking kid on a jungle gym.”

“Oh, my God,” you wheezed. “That’s terrible.”

Across the table, Jake finally snapped his head up. “It wasn’t that bad. I’ve heard worse. Hell, I’ve been called worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Jake blinked. “Uhhh…”

Jinx leaned over, oh-so-helpfully. “Didn’t someone call you Blondie Backfire for a while?”

Ruin spit out his drink.

Jake glared. “That was one time and it was not my fault that missile malfunctioned, JINX.”

Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying this. “Blondie Backfire? That’s kinda hot.”

Jake stood again, like his chair had personally offended him now too. “I’m getting a drink.”

“I thought you had a drink,” you said sweetly, glancing at the full cup beside his plate.

Jake blinked, then picked it up and dumped it in the grass. “Now I don’t.”

Rooster was cackling now, leaning into you like you two had been friends forever—his arm definitely still behind you on the bench, his voice low and conspiratorial. “He’s real twitchy tonight.”

“Mmhm,” you said, not hiding your grin as you watched Jake stalk toward the drink table like it owed him something.

“Think he’s mad?”

You shrugged. “He’ll live.”

Meanwhile, Jake grabbed a cup with such force it cracked in his hand.

Maverick wandered by just then, side-eyeing him with that ageless pilot wisdom and decades of dealing with emotional men in uniforms.

“You good, Seresin?” Mav asked casually.

Jake stared into the drink cooler like it held the answers to all of life’s betrayals. “Peachy, sir.”

Maverick raised an eyebrow. “Sure looks like it.”

Back at the bench, you were sipping sweet tea, eyes flicking over to Jake’s back as he muttered curses at the ice cubes. Rooster was definitely trying to be charming, and you were definitely letting him. A little.

When Jake finally returned, he didn't sit. He just stood behind your bench, arms crossed, the picture of a man scorned. You leaned your head back and looked up at him with a faux innocent blink.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

Jake leaned down so his mouth was by your ear, voice low and dangerous. “You are testing me.”

You smiled without turning. “And you’re failing.”

Rooster, still oblivious—or pretending to be—took another sip of his drink and said, “You know, I always liked the idea of two strong pilots clashing. Very Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Lots of tension. Chemistry.”

Jake leaned in just a fraction more. “Keep talking, Bradshaw. I dare you.”

Rooster raised a brow, catching the shift in Jake’s voice for the first time. He glanced between the two of you, pausing, brow furrowing just slightly—like a man suddenly doing very important math.

Jake straightened up. Smiled sweetly. “So, Bradshaw… how much do you like your kneecaps?”

Rooster blinked.

You turned back to your plate like none of that just happened.

It was always going to be chaos. That much was clear the moment Maverick handed off hosting duties and disappeared toward the grill like he hadn’t just left the two most unhinged pilots on base at the same damn picnic table. The only question was when someone—Jake—would break.

The answer?

Exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds after Rooster leaned in just a bit too close and said, “You’ve got something on your cheek.”

You blinked, lifting your napkin, but Rooster caught your wrist midair with that signature lazy grin. “Let me,” he offered, thumb already reaching for your face.

Jake’s soul left his body.

He’d been watching—burning—from behind your bench, fists clenched, drink abandoned, and knees bouncing like he was trying to keep himself from launching over the damn table. Rooster’s fingers hovering near your cheek were the last straw.

“That’s it.”

The words were low. Clipped. Nuclear.

Rooster turned slightly, eyebrow raised in confusion, but before he could blink, Jake rounded the bench, hand snaked around your waist, and dragged you up into him like a man possessed.

“Wait—Jake—” you started, caught off guard.

Too late.

His lips crashed into yours with zero warning and absolutely no chill. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was full-on, toe-curling, spine-arching claiming. His mouth moved over yours with the kind of desperation that screamed mine in every tongue imaginable. One hand anchored at your hip, the other threaded through your hair, tilting your head just right so he could deepen the kiss—and God, did he ever. You barely remembered where you were. The backyard? The whole damn planet?

Everything else blurred.

Rooster froze—mouth open, hand still awkwardly raised from where he’d almost touched your face. Phoenix gasped so loud it echoed. Bob dropped his fork. Jinx let out an unholy screech. Ruin shouted, “FINALLY!” like he’d been holding it in for a year.

When Jake finally pulled back, breath ragged, lips flushed, pupils blown wide, he kept you tucked against him. Possessive. Proud. Like he’d just walked off a battlefield holding the enemy’s flag.

You blinked, completely dazed. “...What the hell, Seresin.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, eyes still locked on yours. “He was gonna kiss you.”

Your eyebrows flew up. “So you assassinated him with PDA?”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Rooster stood there, arms half-raised in surrender, lips twitching into a grin despite himself. “So… I’m guessing the whole ‘we hate each other’ thing was an act?”

Jake turned to him, expression flat. “Back off, Bradshaw.”

Rooster gave a mock salute. “Yessir. Message received.”

Phoenix stood up and slow clapped. “Oh my God. This is so much better than the time Coyote accidentally tasered himself in the sim.”

Jinx doubled over, nearly spilling his drink as he wheezed out, “I told you! I told you! I said if Seresin had to watch another man breathe in Rogue’s general direction, he’d explode like a malfunctioning Sidewinder!”

Ruin was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, pointing at Jake like he’d just witnessed the second coming. “I had ‘six weeks’ in the betting pool. SIX. You made it three and a half!”

Jake didn’t care. Jake looked like a man who had just sunk a carrier with one missile. He tightened his hold around your waist, pulled you close again—though this time it was soft, grounding, not a declaration of war—and dropped a smug kiss to your cheek. “Couldn’t help it. He was flirting. And you were letting him.”

You tilted your head at him, one brow raised. “I was not letting him.”

“You giggled,” Jake deadpanned.

Phoenix walked past behind him, muttering loud enough for the entire backyard to hear, “Yeah, you definitely giggled. It was alarming.”

You elbowed Jake, not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to remind him who the real threat was. “You ruined the cover, genius. Now they know.”

Jake shrugged unapologetically. “Worth it.”

Rooster, back at the table and dramatically fanning himself with a napkin, piped up, “I don’t know what hurts worse—the whiplash or the fact that you two have been lying to us for MONTHS.”

Bob finally found his voice. “Wait… months?!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can we not do this here—”

But it was too late.

The squad had descended, circling you both like wolves high on gossip and baby back ribs. Phoenix sat down next to Rooster, eyes gleaming. “Okay, spill. When did it start? Who confessed first? Was it during that awful storm in El Centro? Wait—was it after the Gauntlet debrief? I KNEW it!”

Jinx cackled. “Bet it was the Gauntlet. Nothing says romance like emotionally traumatizing a squad together.”

Jake looked entirely too pleased with himself. “It was classified.”

Ruin raised an eyebrow. “Was?”

You groaned. “Apparently it’s not anymore.”

Maverick chose that exact moment to stroll back over, beer in hand, looking like he’d just finished listening to Penny relay the entire scene. He stopped, glanced at the crowd, then looked between you and Jake—arms still around each other, your cheeks flushed, your eyes narrowed at the squad like you were weighing the pros and cons of a group court-martial.

“Congratulations,” Maverick said dryly. “You’ve managed to turn a barbecue into a briefing.”

Jake stood straighter. “Sir.”

You straightened, too. “Sir.”

Maverick gave a long-suffering sigh, then sipped his beer. “Next time, just tell us before one of you claims the other like a caveman.”

Jinx burst into another fit of laughter. “TO THE CAVEMAN!”

And because pilots have no chill, someone actually raised a toast.

Jake grinned, unapologetic. “You’re welcome.”

You shook your head. “You’re insane.”

And he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, and whispered just for you: “For you? Every damn time.”

Four months had passed since the great barbeque incident—the day Jake Seresin, golden boy and world-class flirt, had snapped like a dry matchstick and blown your secret sky-high in front of half the Dagger Squadron and most of command. You’d gone to bed that night with his arms wrapped tightly around you, his mouth muttering sleepy apologies against your shoulder, and still woken up at dawn ready to kick his ass in the name of professionalism.

From then on, the two of you drew a line. You returned to work with your head held high, uniform crisp, voice clipped and clear in the briefing rooms. There were no lingering touches, no slip-ups, no soft eyes across command tables. If anyone thought you were bending the rules, they were wrong. Because you were Commander Rogue—the superior officer. Jake was your subordinate, no matter how many times he'd kissed you breathless or whispered that he’d follow you into hell. On base, you were steel. At home, you were his.

Today, the debriefing room was full. The walls hummed with low chatter and boots tapping against the tile floor. The Dagger Squadron sat shoulder to shoulder, still sharp despite the lazy summer heat outside. Maverick leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and eyes alert. Hondo grinned beside him, and Warlock gave you a polite nod as you passed. Even Cyclone was present, his usual scowl fixed firmly in place like the sky might fall if he dared to look pleased. You stepped up to the head of the room, flanked by Jinx and Ruin, both standing at attention with the calm swagger of people who had seen these pilots at their very worst—and brought them out better.

The chatter died down the moment you stepped forward. You let the silence stretch, just long enough to demand respect.

Then you began. “One year ago, the Dagger Squadron was reassembled here in North Island. You were selected not just for your skill, but for your grit, your trust, and your ability to adapt under pressure. We trained you hard. We tested you harder.”

A small chuckle rippled through the room at that, likely remembering the Gauntlet—your very own personal brand of torture.

You continued, voice steady. “Some of you flew better. Some of you fought harder. Some of you cried behind hangars when you thought no one was watching.”

Fanboy visibly flinched. Yale wiped at his eye like something definitely flew into it. Payback patted his back in brotherly solidarity while Phoenix smirked beside them, sharp and unbothered as always.

“After the mission’s success, we were tasked with observing the squad’s progression over the next four months,” you said, glancing at Jinx and Ruin, who both nodded. “And as of today, that evaluation period has ended.”

Your tone dipped slightly—so subtle, but just enough to suggest finality. Across the room, shoulders began to tense. Rooster tilted his head. Bob leaned forward. The Dagger Squad had seen enough exits to know what this sounded like.

“We know what you’re thinking,” Jinx cut in, voice smooth and teasing, eyes dancing with mischief. “You think this is goodbye.”

Ruin folded his arms. “You think we’re packing up and heading back to Top Brass HQ.”

You waited. The room went still.

Then you smiled.

“Well... you’re wrong.”

A beat of silence—then chaos.

Cheers erupted instantly. Phoenix laughed loud and bright, slapping her hand on the table. Rooster threw both arms in the air like he’d just been handed a winning lotto ticket. Payback whooped. Coyote grinned like he’d just been gifted free beer for life.

Fanboy made a sound that could only be described as a sob. “You’re—you’re staying?!” he choked out, grabbing Yale’s arm for emotional support. Yale, who was also now wiping tears, nodded wordlessly.

You smiled, chin lifted with pride. “As of today, the three of us have been assigned permanent duty here in North Island. The Dagger Squadron is no longer a temporary experiment. You are officially designated as an elite, high-readiness strike force under our command.”

Jinx added, “You’re stuck with us, losers.”

Ruin grinned. “Hope you didn’t make retirement plans.”

While the squad practically lost their minds, your eyes wandered—just briefly—across the room. And there he was.

Jake Seresin didn’t cheer. He didn’t clap or shout. He just smiled—soft, slow, and warm enough to melt through titanium. He looked at you like you were his home and his future all at once. It wasn’t cocky or wild. It wasn’t the grin of a man who’d just won something.

It was the smile of someone who’d known all along that this was where you were meant to be.

- Jake -

Now, Jake stood in front of the mirror, hands braced on the counter, heart pounding like he was about to walk into a goddamn carrier launch. His dress whites were pressed to perfection, gold buttons gleaming, but he couldn’t stop adjusting the collar, couldn’t stop the way his fingers trembled when he reached for his watch.

Tonight wasn’t just another Navy event. Tonight, everything changed.

He swallowed hard and let his gaze drift upward—to the reflection of the man staring back at him. Not the boy who used to walk through college halls like he owned the place. Not the golden child who thought charm could solve anything. No—this was the man who broke hearts and then learned to stitch them back with calloused hands and the quiet ache of humility. And he owed every inch of that growth to her.

You.

He remembered the girl you used to be—sharp-eyed and smarter than any of them, walking with a stack of textbooks and no patience for bullshit. He’d seen you as a challenge back then, something to conquer, to use. And use you he did. You’d carried his files, cleaned up his messes, wrote papers he claimed credit for with a wink and a promise he never kept. You were the soft answer to his arrogance. And he, in all his careless glory, treated you like a footnote.

But you weren’t one. God, no.

You outranked him now. Humbled him. Unmade him.

Jake exhaled, slow and steady, thinking about that night on your birthday—the night you should’ve been out celebrating, but instead found yourself sitting alone under a bleeding sunset. You’d been a vision, wrapped in solitude and silence, and still somehow he was the one who got to speak. Got to beg. Got to fall apart.

And you—damn you—you let him. You let him come undone, then held him while he stitched himself back up. You didn’t forgive him right away. You didn’t fall back into his arms like a storybook. No, you made him work. You made him earn it. And that was the moment Jake Seresin knew he would never be that boy again. Because you didn’t need a golden boy. You needed a man. And he was going to be that man, or die trying.

Now, tonight, he wasn’t just going to be Jake. He was going to be yours.

He had the ring. He had the words. And he had the kind of love that didn’t come easy—but burned deep. You weren’t just the girl he wanted to marry. You were the girl who changed him. You were the girl who looked at the mess he was and saw potential, not ruin.

Jake Seresin would never stop proving he was worthy of you.

And tonight?

Tonight someone was going to become Mrs. Seresin.

The Hard Deck was humming with life that evening—laughter spilling out from open doors, glasses clinking, music threading through the salty ocean air like a second heartbeat. Jake stood near the back of the bar, leaning against a post, eyes locked on you as you threw your head back laughing at something Phoenix said. Penny, Halo, and Amelia were gathered close, drinks in hand, forming a loose circle of warmth and light around you. And there you were, right in the middle of it—eyes bright, lips pink from laughter, that soft glow on your skin that came from golden hour and good company.

Jake knew he had to do it now or he’d never do it at all.

He didn’t bother to cut through the crowd with swagger like he used to. No cocky strut, no loud greeting. Just a quiet step forward, weaving around dart players and off-duty aviators until he was by your side. You didn’t notice him at first—your hand was around a chilled glass, the other gesturing as you recounted something that made Amelia gasp and Penny roll her eyes fondly. But then Jake’s hand gently grazed your back, fingers brushing lightly at the small curve where your shirt met your skin.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You turned, giving him a slight side-eye and a teasing scoff. “Jake. We just got here.”

“I know,” he said, shifting on his feet. “But I was thinking… maybe we could take a walk. Just us.”

The groan you let out was exaggerated, and he grinned despite himself. You tipped your head back like he was asking you to run a marathon barefoot. “Jake, I just got a drink. Can’t it wait a bit?”

Before he could say anything else, Phoenix nudged your shoulder. “Go,” she said simply, sipping her beer with a knowing smirk.

“Seriously,” Penny added, giving Jake a glance that was equal parts amused and suspicious. “Let the man be dramatic. He looks like he’s gonna explode.”

Halo snorted. “You two are so married already.”

Even Amelia, perched on a barstool and pretending not to be interested, piped up with a shrug. “It’s romantic. Go.”

You narrowed your eyes at them, suspicious, but Jake saw the way your lips twitched. Still fighting a smile. Always trying to act like you weren’t soft for him—when you were the softest thing he’d ever touched.

“Fine,” you muttered, setting your glass down. “But I swear, if you brought me out here just to complain about who ate the last of your cereal again—”

Jake grinned, already lacing his fingers through yours. “I promise, it’s not about the cereal.”

He didn’t miss the glint in your eye as you allowed him to lead you out of the Hard Deck, past the blur of dart boards and pool tables, through the open doors and onto the soft crunch of sand. The cool breeze kissed his skin, and the low rustle of waves became a steady backdrop as you walked side by side, your bare feet sinking into the warm grains beside his boots.

But Jake could feel it—the weight of every eye behind them. The squad pretending not to watch. The sidelong glances. The elbow nudges. Rooster probably whispering something to Bob, who was terrible at hiding his reactions. And Maverick? Oh, he definitely knew something was up.

Jake swallowed, his pulse ticking high and hot beneath his collar. Every step made the ring in his pocket feel heavier, like gravity itself was conspiring to keep him grounded in the moment. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could feel the ears. The eyes. The weight of what he was about to do.

And all he could think was: God, let her say yes.

The ocean whispered beside them, waves folding into the shore with lazy rhythm, and for a while, neither of them spoke. You walked slightly ahead, bare feet sinking into the damp sand while your hand remained laced in his, fingers warm and certain in a way that still made Jake’s heart ache a little. The sky was a quiet spill of lavender and silver, the last remnants of daylight fading like old photographs. Somewhere in the distance, someone lit a firepit, the faint scent of smoke curling on the breeze.

Jake cleared his throat, squeezing your hand gently. “Y’know,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “I still remember the first time I saw you wear that smug little smirk you give when you know you’ve outsmarted everyone.”

You glanced over your shoulder, one brow arched, amused. “Which time? I do that a lot.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “You do. And I used to think it was annoying.”

You tilted your head, still walking, now kicking a seashell gently out of your path. “Used to?”

Jake chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Now I think it’s terrifying. In a hot way.”

You snorted, eyes rolling, but the corner of your mouth twitched, betraying the smile you tried to hide. Then, slowing down until you were walking shoulder to shoulder again, you let your gaze wander to the horizon. The ocean stretched endlessly, horizon bleeding into sky, and the stars had begun to peek out one by one.

Jake looked at you—really looked. At the wind-tousled strands of hair sticking to your cheek, the slight wrinkle of your nose when the breeze turned sharp, the way your posture relaxed only when it was just the two of you. Out here, you weren’t Commander Rogue. You were just you. His girl. The one who wrecked him, rebuilt him, and then let him love you anyway.

“I don’t say it enough,” he murmured, eyes still on you. “But I’m proud of you.”

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone, then gave him a side glance. “For what?”

“For everything,” he answered, shrugging one shoulder. “For not just surviving, but thriving. For being the kind of leader I never had the guts to be. For being smarter than me. For loving me even when I didn’t deserve it. For forgiving me… when I damn well didn’t earn it.”

Your steps faltered, just slightly, but you didn’t pull your hand away. Instead, you slowed even more, the two of you coming to a gentle stop where the surf could nearly lick your feet. The breeze carried salt and the faintest hint of laughter from the Hard Deck, but all Jake could hear was the quiet thud of his heart.

You looked at him then, brows drawn together with something softer than surprise. “I didn’t forgive you right away.”

“I know,” Jake nodded, eyes locked on yours. “And I’m glad you didn’t.”

There was a long pause, the kind that felt full and necessary. Then you looked away, lips quirking slightly, eyes fixed on the stars. “You’ve changed, Jake.”

“So have you,” he murmured. “But not in the way people think.”

You turned back, curious. “What do you mean?”

Jake stepped closer, lifting a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re still that girl who used to show up ten minutes early with your whole life in your backpack and too many dreams in your eyes. But now? You know your worth. You don’t shrink anymore.” He smiled, something tender and unguarded. “You used to orbit around people who didn’t deserve you. Now you walk straight through ‘em.”

You didn’t say anything right away, but your eyes softened, and your grip on his hand tightened just slightly.

Then Jake added, voice lower now, “I still can’t believe I’m the one who gets to walk beside you.”

You laughed, breath catching in your throat, and nudged his side with your elbow. “You’re being sappy.”

“Can’t help it,” he said with a shrug. “Sand, sunset, and you in that dress? It’s over for me.”

He grinned when you rolled your eyes again, but this time you leaned in and rested your head lightly on his shoulder. Jake exhaled, shoulders easing, and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close as the waves rolled in and the moon rose behind the clouds.

He didn’t ask yet.

Not tonight.

But the weight of the ring in his pocket felt a little warmer now.

They stood like that for a while, molded into the quiet hush of the shoreline, your head on Jake’s shoulder and his arm snug around your waist like it had always belonged there. The kind of silence that didn’t demand words — the kind born from knowing someone’s weight, their shape, the rhythm of their breath. Occasionally, the wind would toss your hair gently against his jaw, and every time, he would press a soft kiss to your temple like a reflex he never wanted to break.

Eventually, your feet began moving again, slow and aimless as the two of you wandered along the sand, letting the tide chase your toes. The Hard Deck was nothing but music and gold light behind you now, swallowed by distance and salt air. Jake didn’t mind. He was more interested in the way your hand swung with his, the subtle skip in your step whenever the cold water kissed your skin, the little giggle you bit back when he splashed you once with his foot.

Then, as you passed a spot where driftwood lay bleached and worn, you slipped off your sandals and let yourself climb onto one of the larger pieces like it was a balance beam. Jake’s hand stayed at your hip, steadying you — even though you didn’t need him to. He just wanted to. Meanwhile, you smirked down at him, playful and sharp, and said, “Still think I’m just a detour?”

Jake’s breath hitched, but his smirk answered for him first. “Nah,” he murmured, reaching up to tug your hand until you stepped off the log and into his arms. “I think I took a lifetime-long wrong turn, and you were the destination the whole damn time.”

You groaned, resting your forehead against his shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “That was so cheesy, Seresin.”

He chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “Yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.”

Still holding you close, Jake let his chin rest atop your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your skin sun-drenched and ocean-kissed. It hit him then, all at once — how much he wanted to keep this. Not just the beach, not just the moment. You. All of you. The good, the hard, the brilliant and bossy and brutally honest commander who had turned his whole damn world upside down.

“I ever tell you how I used to dream about this?” he asked suddenly, voice low against the top of your hair.

You leaned back slightly to look at him, curious. “Dream about what?”

“This,” he said, motioning vaguely to the waves, the stars, the distance from everything but each other. “Us. Not just the fantasy stuff — not just the kissing and the staying in bed all day and you stealing all the covers — but this. Walking with you. Talking with you. Laughing with you like nothing ever got broken.”

Your smile dimmed, but not with sadness. There was something softer there now — something raw and real. “Jake…”

“I know I screwed it up,” he cut in gently. “I know it took too long to get here. But I still dreamed about it. I still thought about you. Every time I passed a girl with a sharp tongue, I thought, ‘She’s not her.’ Every time someone rolled their eyes at me, I thought, ‘She would’ve decked me by now.’ I kept comparing everyone to you, and they all fell short.”

You inhaled deeply, blinking up at him, but before you could speak, Jake reached up and brushed a thumb along your jaw. “I know we’re still figuring it out. I know we’ve still got baggage and scars and maybe even a few leftover landmines. But I’m in this. All the way.”

You searched his face for a moment, heart fluttering in a way that was both familiar and terrifying. Then, with a sigh, you leaned into him once more, your hands slipping beneath his jacket to curl into the back of his shirt. The sound of your heartbeat against his was steady now — not racing, not panicked. Just sure.

Jake smiled into your hair, eyes closed.

And under the stars, beside the sea, with the taste of your breath still warm on his skin, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t going to wait much longer.

Jake pulled back slightly, just enough to really look at you. The way your eyes caught the starlight, the way your fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of his collar — like you didn’t even realize you were clinging to him, like your hands had learned him so well they reached for him on instinct alone. His throat tightened. Not with nerves, not really. With the weight of it. Of you. Of everything you’d been through and still chosen to stay for.

Then, wordlessly, Jake took a step back.

You blinked, confused for a moment as he let your hands slip from his grip. But then he exhaled, slow and certain, and he reached into his back pocket — and your heart skipped. Stumbled. Froze.

Meanwhile, Jake was already lowering himself to one knee in the sand.

You froze in place, arms limp at your sides, lips parted and eyes wide. The ocean behind him caught the moonlight, waves crashing soft like applause, like the earth itself was holding its breath.

Jake cleared his throat, but his voice didn’t shake when he began.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. At first, it was just a daydream. A maybe. Something I didn’t even think I deserved. Hell, something I definitely didn’t think I’d ever earn. But then, you gave me a second chance. You let me prove that I could be more than the kid who didn’t know how to love someone right.” He smiled up at you, that cocky, sunlit grin softened by something deeper — devotion. “You turned the golden boy into the fool. And I’ve never been more grateful to be foolish.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, eyes already stinging. Jake kept going.

“You humbled me. You outranked me — literally and metaphorically — and thank God for that. Because I needed to be humbled. I needed to be taught that love isn’t a reward for good behavior. It’s something you earn by showing up. By trying. By apologizing and meaning it. By choosing someone even when it’s hard.” His voice thickened, but he didn’t stop. “You made me want to be better. Not for a medal. Not for a promotion. But for you.”

Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. “You are the strongest, smartest, most terrifyingly brilliant woman I’ve ever met. You know me in a way no one else ever has. You see me — even when I didn’t want to be seen. Even when I didn’t like what was underneath. And you stayed. You stayed, Rogue.”

He opened the small box then, and the ring glinted like a promise — a simple band, nothing overdone, but so clearly chosen with care. It looked like you. Honest. Steady. Sharp in its elegance.

Jake’s eyes locked on yours, and his voice barely made it past the catch in his throat. “So now I’m asking. Not just as the man who loves you — but as the man who wants to spend the rest of his life making up for every moment I wasn’t there. Commander. Rogue. The love of my life.”

He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling with the force of it. “Will you marry me?”

For a second, nothing moved. Not the wind. Not the waves. Not even you. It was as if time had gone still, the world narrowing down to the two of you beneath the stars. Jake could feel his heartbeat in his throat, behind his eyes, hammering inside his chest like it wanted to escape. His knee pressed into the sand, his hand holding the box steady, but everything else inside him trembled — because this was the leap. This was the real dogfight. Not in the sky, but here on the ground, where love didn’t just take courage, it took surrender.

Then, you exhaled — a breath caught somewhere between disbelief and joy — and your hands rose slowly, trembling as they covered your mouth. Your eyes were wide, wet, disbelieving in that way that shattered him because how could someone like you ever be surprised that someone would want you forever?

“Jake,” you whispered, barely audible over the hush of the surf. “You… idiot. You absolute dumb, reckless—” You were already crying, and Jake felt his own vision blur again. “Of course. Of course it’s yes.”

And just like that, time slammed back into motion.

Jake let out a breath that collapsed into a laugh, choked and giddy, like someone who had just survived something dangerous and divine. He surged up from the sand before you could even finish wiping your cheeks and pulled you into him, arms tight around your waist, mouth pressed to yours like a vow. It was desperate and tender and all-consuming, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he still didn’t believe this was real — that he’d asked and you’d said yes and the world hadn’t stopped spinning from the sheer weight of it.

Meanwhile, your hands were in his hair, in his collar, gripping him like you were trying to hold him to the ground, like you were both afraid he might disappear. He kissed you again, and again, and again, only pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathless.

“You said yes,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “You actually said yes.”

You nodded, smiling through your tears. “I did. I said yes, Seresin. Try not to crash the moment.”

Then, he laughed, bright and loose, the sound ringing out into the night air like a victory bell. He held you close, one arm wrapped around your back, the other still holding the ring between you as if the universe needed to know you were spoken for.

He slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands and kissed you like a man who had just found the rest of his life.

As the kiss finally broke — sweet and slow, your noses brushing gently as you pulled away — the sound of cheering erupted behind you like a wave crashing against the shore. Jake blinked in surprise before turning his head toward the Hard Deck. The windows were lit up like a festival, filled with blurry silhouettes of your people practically bouncing against the glass. Maverick was grinning from the bar like he’d known all along, Penny beside him wiping at her eye. Amelia was practically climbing the table to see better, Phoenix and Halo were whooping like the sky had just given them permission, and Fanboy had both hands over his heart, dramatically swaying like he might pass out from joy.

Then came the flood — the doors of the Hard Deck swung open, the Dagger Squad pouring out, voices rising in a wild crescendo. “Let’s goooo!” Bob shouted, cheeks flushed and smile bright, while Payback let out an actual bark. Rooster clapped his hands like he was starting a standing ovation, already whistling through his fingers.

Jake laughed, dizzy with all of it, his hand not once letting go of yours. He held it up like a trophy, flashing the ring like a kid showing off a prize from a claw machine. You rolled your eyes, but your smile was all love, all firelight and softness as you leaned in close enough for only him to hear.

“And now,” you said coolly, brushing your thumb over his ring finger, “we’ve got to choose a godfather and godmother really carefully.”

Jake blinked, confused. “What?”

You bit your lip to hide the smirk. “Because I’m pregnant.”

For exactly two seconds, Jake stared at you, face slack like his brain had quite literally shut down. Then his jaw dropped. “Wait—wait, what?”

You didn’t say anything, just lifted one eyebrow and gave the faintest nod.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” he asked, voice climbing with each word until it nearly cracked. His free hand shot up to his head like he was checking if this was a hallucination. “I’m gonna be a dad?!”

You snorted, and before you could say another word, Jake actually let out a full-blown shout and jumped up, fist in the air like he’d just won the Super Bowl. “I’M GONNA BE A DAD!”

The crowd from the Hard Deck went absolutely feral. Bob actually screamed. Yale dropped his drink. Rooster almost fell to his knees in the sand. Maverick just buried his face in his hands with a laugh, while Jinx and Ruin looked like they’d just been hit by a tidal wave of unfiltered joy.

Jake turned back to you, grabbing your waist and lifting you slightly off the ground as he spun in one giddy circle, laughing the whole way. “You’re serious?” he gasped. “You’re not just saying that to win the proposal?”

“I’m serious, you absolute idiot,” you said, both laughing and crying now. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

Jake didn’t kiss you this time. He just stared — wide-eyed, jaw slack, the sun hitting his face as he tried to process all of it. And you could see it. The exact second it hit him. That his future wasn’t just a woman anymore. It was a family.

And it was real.

The car ride home was quiet, sure — but not peaceful. It throbbed. Each second was soaked in everything unspoken: the glitter of a brand-new ring on your hand, the ghost of the cheers in your ears, and Jake fucking Seresin stealing glances like he didn’t know whether to cry or pull over and fuck you in the backseat till you saw stars. Like he was one breath away from breaking, but holding it in just to savor the ache.

You parked. The engine died. But neither of you moved.

The porchlight spilled gold over the front of the house, casting long, lazy shadows like it knew what was about to happen. Jake turned to you, slow and reverent, his eyes devouring you like you were his favorite goddamn prayer. His fingers brushed along your jaw with this impossible tenderness, and he whispered, hoarse, “You sure you’re real?”

You tilted your head into his touch, lips parted. “Was just about to ask you the same thing.”

The door barely clicked shut behind you before the air snapped.

He didn’t lunge. He didn’t pounce. Jake was slow — agonizingly slow. He closed the distance like a man approaching holy ground. Because that’s what you were now, weren’t you? His woman. His wife-to-be. The mother of his child.

And fuck, if that didn’t wreck him.

“I need to be careful,” he breathed, his thumb brushing over the stretch of your lower belly, barely a curve yet — but his whole soul already bowed before it. “You’re mine. All of you. Both of you.” His voice cracked on the last word. And that’s when it all snapped loose.

He kissed you, open-mouthed and starved, like a man lost at sea who just found land. His hands slid up your sides, under your shirt, thumbs teasing the underside of your tits till you gasped into his mouth. He growled, low in his chest, “You better tell me now if you want soft, baby, because I am barely hangin’ on.”

You smirked against his lips. “You’re gonna be a dad. You really think I want soft?”

That broke him. He stripped you bare with unhurried hands and filthy eyes, every inch of you kissed, licked, marked. He dropped to his knees like it was instinct, spreading your legs with gentle hands, and just looked.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re already so wet, aren’t you? Fuckin’ soaked, all for me.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then sucked a bruise right there, claiming skin like it was sacred. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

When he did? Oh, God.

His tongue was sinful. He licked you with slow precision, devouring every drip, every whimper, like he was starving for you. And when he slipped two fingers inside you, crooking them just right?

You screamed.

“Shh,” he smirked, lips shiny, voice gravel. “You’ll wake the neighborhood, sweetheart. Let ‘em know you’re mine, huh?”

You came with his name on your lips and his tongue still buried in you, but that wasn’t enough for him. Not even close.

He pulled back, unzipped his jeans, and let his cock slap against his stomach — flushed, hard, throbbing.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” he growled. “Every inch. You’re fuckin’ made for me. Look at you. Fucking perfect, pregnant with my kid, and still so greedy for my cock.”

And then he pressed in.

So slow. Too slow. The stretch burned, and it was glorious. You clawed at his back, panting, writhing, begging — and he just watched you fall apart under him like he was memorizing it.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, holding himself still inside you. “You feel that? How tight you are? This pussy’s mine. You’re mine. All of you.”

You whimpered, bucking your hips, but he pinned you down with one big hand on your hip.

“Uh-uh. I’m gonna fuck you slow, sweetheart. I wanna feel you. Every squeeze, every breath. Wanna fuckin’ watch you fall apart.”

And he did.

Every thrust was deliberate, deep, filthy. He rocked into you with precision, dragging moans from your chest and curses from your lips. His hand stayed on your belly, protective, reverent, even while he was ruining you.

“You’re gonna carry my kid, wear my ring, and still beg for this cock every damn night, huh?” he rasped, sweat dripping from his jaw. “You like it. You love being full of me. Stuffed and leaking.”

You moaned — helpless, wrecked, blissed-out.

He kissed your temple, slow and sweet, even as he fucked you harder. “I’ll be careful,” he swore. “But I ain’t pullin’ out. Not ever again. This pussy’s got a job now — stayin’ warm and full of my fuckin’ cum.”

When he finally came — deep inside you, groaning your name, shaking with it — he didn’t stop moving. Just rocked you through it, slow, deep thrusts while you clenched around him like you never wanted to let him go.

And when it was over? When you were trembling in his arms, filled to the brim with him and still gasping?

Jake kissed your ring, your lips, and your belly.

And then he whispered, “Next round, I want you on top. Wanna watch those tits bounce while you ride me.”

You climbed on top of him, naked and lazy and smug, his hands immediately going to your thighs like they belonged there. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted, hair sticking to his forehead. Wrecked. Gorgeous. Already getting hard again under you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, awe in every syllable. “Gonna ride me with my fuckin’ baby inside you?”

You grinned, leaning down until your lips brushed his. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Oh, it’s exactly what I wanted.”

He grabbed his cock, guiding it up between your folds — slow, teasing strokes that made you both gasp. You were still soaked, still sensitive, and when you finally sank down onto him? He shook.

“Jesus fuck,” he hissed. “Still so tight. You tryna kill me?”

You rocked your hips, slow and deep, letting him feel every inch. “Maybe.”

Jake’s hands went to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise but holding back, letting you set the pace. His eyes dropped to your stomach — just the faintest curve — and his breath caught.

“You’re carryin’ my kid,” he said like a prayer. “And now you’re sittin’ on my cock like it’s yours.”

“It is mine,” you whispered, grinding down until he cursed. “You gave it to me.”

He moaned, long and low, hips bucking up just once before he caught himself. “Fuck, baby. Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to come already.”

You rode him slow — hips rolling in a rhythm that was more tease than thrust, more ache than relief. He let you set the pace, but he couldn’t stop watching. The way your tits bounced. The way your belly shifted when you moved. The way his cock disappeared into you like you were made for it.

“You feel that?” you whispered, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “How deep you are? Right where you belong?”

Jake growled, grabbing your ass with both hands, kneading it as he groaned. “You’re filthy. Fuckin’ filthy. And I love it.”

You sped up, riding him harder now — still slow, still controlled, but punishing in the way your walls clenched and your moans broke. Jake’s head tilted back, sweat beading at his brow, his whole body straining under you.

“Let me see,” he begged. “Touch yourself. C’mon, baby, lemme watch you fall apart.”

You obeyed, fingers slipping between your legs to rub tight circles over your clit. You clenched down on him, moaning loud, breath hitching, vision blurring. He watched every damn second of it — eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing left in the world.

“You look so fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned. “Ridin’ me like that, carryin’ my baby. Fuck. I could come just from lookin’ at you.”

You tightened around him and that was it — Jake lost it.

He slammed up into you, losing control for just a second, and you welcomed it — met every thrust with one of your own. He grunted, voice rough and raw, “Take it. Fuckin’ take all of it, baby. You want more, don’t you? Want me fillin’ you up over and over till you’re drippin’ with it?”

You came with a strangled moan, clenching hard around him, and that was what finally broke him.

Jake groaned your name like a curse and a prayer, hips stuttering, spilling into you again, deep and messy and so much. He held you down on him, grinding through the aftershocks, panting, swearing, kissing your belly like it was holy.

And then he whispered, dazed, “What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”

You smiled down at him, blissed out and aching and full in every sense of the word.

“You knocked me up,” you said sweetly.

Jake laughed — breathless, ragged — and ran a hand down your spine.

“Then I guess I better keep doin’ it.”

You barely made it to the bathroom. Your legs were shaking, cum dripping down your thighs, and Jake — still flushed and breathless from round two — followed behind like he was stalking prey. The water was already running when he pressed you against the cool tile, his hands rough on your hips, mouth hot on your neck. The steam rose around you like smoke, wrapping both of you in something feral and thick.

"Look at you," he rasped, licking a stripe up the column of your throat. "Still fuckin’ leaking from me. You're mine, baby. Walkin’ around full of me, full of my kid, and now you’re lookin’ at me like you want more."

You whimpered — didn’t even deny it.

He spun you gently, pressing your front to the wall, and dropped to his knees behind you. Spread your legs. Didn’t even wait.

His tongue buried itself in your cunt like he was starving. He groaned against you, wet and obscene, licking up his own cum as it spilled out of you.

“Fuckin’ messy,” he growled, voice vibrating against your soaked folds. “Can’t even keep it all inside you, can you?”

He licked every drop clean. Then sucked your clit, slow and relentless, until your knees buckled and you were begging — stuttering his name like a sin.

“Please, Jake—”

He stood behind you, dragging his cock through your folds, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance without pushing in.

“You want more of my cum in you, baby? You want me to fuck you with our baby inside you, stuff you full again?”

You moaned — needy and feral — grinding your ass back against him. “Yes. God, yes.”

Jake didn’t ask again. He slid into you from behind, one hand braced on your hip, the other splayed across your belly. His cock filled you slow — too slow — stretching you open again, making you feel every damn inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, hips pressing flush to yours. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ perfect. Just takes me.”

He started moving — deep, hard thrusts that smacked your hips into the tile, but never strayed from that possessive grip on your belly. Like he was claiming you and the life growing inside you in one goddamn motion.

“You like this, huh?” he panted. “Gettin’ bred in the shower? My cum dripping out of you while I fuck you right back open?”

You couldn’t speak. You just moaned, fingers clawing at the slick wall, body arching into every thrust like it was instinct. He bent down, pressing his chest to your back, voice dark and thick in your ear.

“This pussy belongs to me now. Every time I fuck you, you get tighter. Hungrier. Like your body knows what it’s made for.”

You whimpered, lost in it, and Jake grinned.

“Gonna keep you pregnant, baby,” he growled. “Keep fuckin’ filling you up till this belly’s round and swollen with my kid. Gonna make sure everyone knows who fucked you like this.”

He slammed into you harder. The slap of skin echoed in the shower, filthy and fast, water cascading over both your bodies like it couldn’t wash away any of the sin.

“I want you so full you feel me for days,” he groaned. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt again. You ready for that?”

You nodded frantically, clenching around him. “Please, Jake. Fuck, please—need it—need you.”

That broke him. He slammed into you once, twice, and then spilled inside you with a shout — hot, thick pulses of cum painting your insides while he held you there, cock twitching deep, his whole body shaking with it.

And even after he came, he didn’t pull out. He stayed inside you. Held your hips, kissed your spine. Murmured filth and praise and a little bit of love against your neck while your bodies pulsed and throbbed and trembled together under the water.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he whispered. “Gonna end up with a whole squad of little Seresins runnin’ around if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

You looked over your shoulder, dazed and fucked-out. “Might not be a bad thing.”

Jake grinned. “Then I guess we better practice.”

Jake watched you step out of the shower, water still clinging to your skin, and something in him snapped. You caught the look — dark and feral, low on patience but high on obsession — just as your back hit the cold counter.

“Get your hands on the sink,” he growled, voice rough as gravel, still dripping wet, cock already hard again. “Now.”

You did it without thinking. Bent forward, palms flat, steam curling in the mirror in front of you. You could see yourself. Eyes glassy. Lips swollen. That barely-there swell of your belly.

And then Jake was behind you.

He kicked your legs apart, wrapped a firm hand around your throat from behind, and leaned down till his lips brushed your ear. “Look at you,” he rasped. “Fucked three times already and still so needy. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

You whimpered, pushing your hips back against him. You could feel his cock pressing against your ass, hot and heavy and so ready.

“Oh, you want it,” he said, cocky and breathless. “You want me to bend you over this sink and fill you again while our baby’s still soaking in the last load I gave you.”

And then — fuck — he slid into you.

No teasing this time. No softness. Just one brutal, delicious thrust that knocked the air from your lungs and had your knuckles going white against the counter.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he growled. “I want you to watch me fuck you. Watch how good you look when you’re getting bred like this.”

You lifted your head, lips parted, face flushed. In the mirror, you saw it all — the way your body trembled with every thrust, the way his hand stayed right on your belly, protective and possessive, even while he was ruining you.

“God damn,” Jake grunted, pounding into you so deep you saw stars. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ perfect. Warm and tight and already so full. But it still wants more, huh?”

You moaned — high and broken — and he gave it to you.

He fucked you hard, relentless and punishing, hips slapping into your ass with obscene sound. One hand on your belly, the other slipping between your legs, rubbing tight circles over your clit that had your knees buckling.

“Feel that?” he panted. “That’s me. Stuffin’ you full over and over till you’re dripping. You’re gonna see it — dripping out of you down your thighs, all over this sink, ‘cause your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all in.”

You came with a cry, body spasming around him, and Jake lost it.

He slammed into you, once, twice, and then came with a snarl — hot and so much — his cock twitching inside you as he filled you again. But he didn’t pull out. He stayed inside you, grinding slow, watching his cum spill out and slide down your thighs in the mirror.

Jake kissed your shoulder, rough and breathless. “Fuckin’ look at that,” he whispered. “You’re dripping, baby. Dripping with me. I could spend the rest of my life right here — fucking you full, watching it leak out, and doing it all over again.”

You met his eyes in the mirror, ruined and flushed and glowing. “Then do it,” you whispered.

Jake grinned. “Oh, I plan to.”

You were still bent over the sink, arms trembling, breath stuttering out of your lungs as your thighs twitched from the last orgasm. His cum was dripping down your legs, thick and hot, pooling at the backs of your knees.

And Jake? He stepped back, panting, eyes locked on the mess between your legs like a man possessed. His fingers brushed your inner thigh, catching a trail of it — and when he brought it to his mouth, licking it off with a groan?

Something unholy took over. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re leaking. Look at this shit — I just filled you up and you’re wasting it. Can’t let that happen.”

And then he dropped to his knees. No hesitation. No teasing. Just hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open, face diving in like he was starving — like the only thing that mattered was tasting everything he left inside you.

His tongue licked a slow stripe from your knee up to your center, catching every bit of cum as it dripped out. He moaned against your pussy, deep, filthy, obscene.

“Jesus fuck, baby,” he groaned, lapping at your folds. “You taste like me. So fuckin’ good — sweet and messy and mine.”

He started eating you out from behind, tongue pushing into your soaked cunt, licking up the mix of both of you like it was dessert. Every moan vibrated against you. Every filthy word was soaked in praise.

“Gonna fuckin’ clean you up with my mouth,” he panted. “Get every drop back where it belongs. Can’t let this pussy waste a thing, not when it’s mine.”

You were shaking. Boneless. Gasping his name like it was the only word you knew.

He used his fingers now — spreading your folds so he could see the mess, groaning like it drove him insane. And it did.

“This right here?” he whispered, licking a drop off your clit. “This is what I want every day. You, bent over, leaking with my cum, and me down here takin’ care of it like a good fuckin’ man.”

You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue working in slow, punishing circles. Your hands fumbled for the edge of the sink, trying to hold on as he licked you clean and brought you to the edge again — your third, fourth, who-the-fuck-knows at this point.

And when you came, again, shuddering and sobbing and completely undone, Jake groaned into your cunt like it fed him.

He didn’t stop until your legs were shaking, your pussy was clean, and your breath was just little broken gasps.

Then he stood, slow, smug, lips glistening. He kissed your shoulder, your neck, and finally your lips — letting you taste just how wrecked you were.

And he whispered, warm and dark, against your mouth: “Next time, sweetheart… you’re gonna sit on my face. And you better be leaking.”

Later, you lay tangled in his arms, the room quiet save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the steady beat of Jake’s heart beneath your ear. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, and you could feel his smile in the kiss he pressed to your temple.

“Mrs. Seresin,” he murmured, voice thick with love and sleep.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Not yet.”

“Soon,” he whispered, pulling you closer. “And forever after that.”

And in that moment — wrapped in his arms, the future glowing just ahead — you believed it.

The first month after your engagement passed in a haze of quiet wonder. You and Jake moved through the days like you were still in a dream, passing the ring between your fingers when the world felt too loud, whispering “fiancé” like it was a secret only you two were allowed to hold. The pregnancy symptoms hadn’t kicked in just yet—just the whisper of fatigue, the occasional bout of nausea, the way your heart raced when he touched your stomach like it already held galaxies. Jake read every article he could get his hands on, even highlighted some (in three colors), and kept a growing folder on his phone called baby research. You laughed, but part of you melted too.

By the second month, the nausea hit with a vengeance. You found yourself curled on the bathroom floor more times than you could count, your head resting on Jake’s thigh while he rubbed your back and whispered comfort like prayers. He tried to cook for you—God help him—and after two failed attempts at scrambled eggs and a melted plastic spatula, you both agreed he was banned from the kitchen unless supervised. Meanwhile, he started keeping saltines in his pockets like some over-prepared dad scout and offered them to you with the most serious face imaginable, which made you want to cry and laugh at the same time. Hormones. Yay.

The third month brought cravings. Horrible, chaotic, unpredictable cravings. You once burst into tears because you wanted fried pickles and caramel ice cream at the same time. Jake, bless his golden soul, did not question the science of your hunger. He just got in the truck at 11 p.m. in his boxers and a hoodie, drove thirty minutes, and came back victorious. “Anything for my girls,” he declared, smug. You, still mid-bite, glared. “Jake,” you said with narrowed eyes. “It’s a boy.” He raised a brow. “Nope. I googled your symptoms—nausea this early? That’s a girl. Plus, your feet are colder.” You blinked. “I’m literally growing a person. Every symptom makes sense.” He smirked. “Exactly. Girl.”

By the fourth month, you were officially showing. Just a bump. A little one. Enough for Jake to start whispering to your stomach when he thought you were asleep, saying things like, “Hey, you don’t know me yet, but I’m your dad. I’m sorry for being dumb sometimes, but I promise, I’ll learn.” You didn’t always cry. But sometimes? You really did. Especially after HR cornered you gently with a memo in hand, officially placing you on maternity leave. You cried in the car with the door open, muttering that you were still capable and just needed another month. Jake held you through it, one arm around your shoulders, the other cradling your belly. “You’re not leaving the sky,” he whispered. “You’re just giving someone else a reason to fly.”

The fifth month was when the bickering intensified. Jake, now fully convinced he was correct, began baby-name debates with “girl options only.” You countered by buying a onesie that read Future Maverick with little aviator wings stitched on the chest. Jake recoiled dramatically. “That’s your call sign,” he pointed out. “The baby’s gonna need something more badass. Like Viper 2.0.” You tossed a pillow at him. “You think we’re having a damn F-14, not a human child.”

Meanwhile, the baby kicked for the first time. And both of you forgot the argument instantly.

Jake dropped to his knees, hands trembling, eyes wide. “Did—did he just kick?” You looked down at him, smug. “He?” Jake’s face faltered. “I mean—they. They kicked.” You just smiled, threading your fingers through his hair. “Gotcha.”

Then came the sixth month, where the weird dreams began. You swore you were fighting aliens with a diaper bag and a lightsaber. Jake swore he saw your belly grow three times in one night. The both of you were sleep-deprived, emotionally unstable, and yet somehow, more in love than ever. He started painting the nursery without telling you—badly—and you ended up helping, barefoot on newspaper, both of you speckled with pale green. “It’s gender-neutral,” Jake declared proudly. You raised an eyebrow. “So is white, but go off, Picasso.”

But even with the teasing and the chaos, something in Jake had changed. He was softer now. Quieter, sometimes. Like the world had finally tilted into focus. Every day he’d pull you close, rest his forehead against yours, and murmur something low, like, “Thank you for giving me this.”

And you would answer, always with a smile: “It’s ours.”

By the seventh month, there was no hiding it anymore. Your walk had slowed, your back ached more often than not, and the little kicks had turned into full-blown somersaults that made Jake leap up mid-conversation and yell, “She’s practicing her turns!” To which you’d calmly respond, “He is literally kicking my bladder, not flying a sortie.” It was an ongoing war, this baby-gender debate, and both of you were committed to your sides like two stubborn admirals refusing to yield.

Meanwhile, the Dagger Squad had become fully invested. Phoenix took it upon herself to host a “neutral” baby shower, complete with cake pops, tactical onesies, and a betting board on the baby’s gender. Fanboy made spreadsheets. Yale cried twice while writing a toast. Rooster tried to be the godfather in advance by bringing you smoothies and casually flexing in front of Jake, who responded by following you everywhere like a loyal guard dog.

“You’re not the one carrying the baby,” you told Jake one evening when he insisted on buckling your shoes for you.

“I know,” he replied, kissing your knee, “but I’m the one who loves both of you. So you better get used to me hovering.”

By the eighth month, Penny had dubbed you the Hard Deck Queen. You barely made it three feet inside without being swarmed—Amelia made a habit of talking to your bump like it could respond, Bob offered calming teas, and even Cyclone started opening doors with a muttered “Commander Rogue coming through.” You were glowing, sure, but also perpetually annoyed, emotional, and sweaty. Jake, the fool, found this adorable.

And then the incident happened.

One night, Maverick threw a low-key dinner for the squad, and someone (Harvard) let slip that you had been voted “Most Likely to Scare the Baby Into Good Grades.” You’d blinked. Then narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?” But before a proper roast could commence, Jake had stood and clinked his glass like a proud husband at a wedding.

“I just wanna say,” he began dramatically, “that my wife—sorry, fiancée—is the strongest, smartest, most terrifyingly hot woman I’ve ever known. And also…” He paused. Then looked directly at you. “She’s wrong. We’re having a girl. And I will be a girl dad if it kills me.”

Chaos ensued.

Rooster yelled “Team Boy!” from across the table. Coyote called it “too early to declare.” Yale and Fanboy cried again. You just sat there, hand on your belly, staring at Jake like you couldn’t believe he made breathing this annoying.

In the ninth month, you took leave from nearly everything. Not because you wanted to—but because you had to. Your feet were swollen, your hips were sore, and the baby had taken up residence in your lungs like it was subletting space. You cried when you saw your uniform hanging in the closet, and again when you realized you couldn’t zip it anymore. Jake caught you both times, arms wrapping around you gently, forehead resting on your shoulder.

“I miss flying,” you whispered once.

He kissed your temple. “You’ll fly again. Right now, you’re building the best wingman we’ll ever have.”

Your days were slower now, softer. The nursery was finished—aviation-themed, of course—with hand-drawn clouds Jake had painstakingly painted himself. Maverick and Penny dropped by often with food, gifts, and very unsolicited parenting advice. Hondo gave Jake a stern lecture about burping techniques. You nearly peed yourself laughing.

But at night, it was just the two of you again. Jake would talk to the baby through your belly, reading flight manuals in a bedtime voice, making little jokes that made you snort and then wince. “She likes my voice,” he’d whisper. You rolled your eyes. “He’s trying to sleep.”

It was supposed to be a chill afternoon. Just a couple of hours at the Hard Deck, some mocktails, light banter, and Rooster trying to convince Jake that the baby was going to come out with his jawline. But then, without warning, your glass slipped from your fingers, clinking gently against the floor as your hand went to your belly. You blinked once. Twice. Then you stood, very slowly, and calmly said the words that sent a shockwave through the bar.

“Oh, my water just broke.”

For a second, there was silence. Dead silence. Like the music itself paused to listen. Then—

“OKAY. EVERYONE. STAY CALM!” Jake barked, standing so fast his chair skidded backward and hit Yale in the shin. “SHE’S HAVING THE BABY. I REPEAT—THE BABY IS COMING—STAY CALM—”

No one was calm. Least of all Jake.

He spun in three full circles, pointing to people like he was issuing deployment orders. “Phoenix! Towels—I don’t know, just in case? Rooster! Clear the path. Bob, I need—uh—what do I need?”

“You need your fiancée,” you said dryly, hands on your hips, looking far too composed for someone whose child was on the way. “Preferably not abandoned in the middle of a bar.”

Jake had bolted halfway to the car by then, keys in hand, but your voice—laced with unimpressed Command energy—yanked him back like a leash. He reversed course so fast it was almost cartoonish, scrambling back to your side with wild eyes and flailing arms.

“Right, right, yep, no—baby first—yes, okay,” he muttered. “We’ve trained for this. Flight manual said breathe. And support. And snacks. Wait, did we bring the hospital bag?”

“It’s in the car,” you said, wincing slightly as another contraction hit. “Seresin, if you leave me one more time, I will hobble my way to labor and then make you watch the full delivery standing.”

Jake paled. “Never. Never again. I’m glued to you. Like a barnacle. I am your barnacle.”

Meanwhile, Penny had already called ahead to the hospital, Maverick was handing you your go-bag like a seasoned Navy vet ready for deployment, and Amelia was snapping blurry photos, whispering, “This is going in the baby album.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Jake had one hand on the wheel and the other on your knee the entire time, muttering affirmations under his breath like some half-prayer, half-pep talk. “You’re doing great. You’re amazing. We’re gonna meet them. I swear I didn’t mean to say it was a girl this whole time. Boy or girl, I love them. I love you. Did I say that already? Okay, I’ll say it again.”

You groaned through a contraction, gripping the door handle tightly. “Jake, please. Focus.”

“I am focused. Hyper-focused. This is me being a calm and rational father,” he said, taking a corner a bit too fast. “Also, I might throw up.”

But eventually, finally, the hospital doors opened before you like a miracle. Nurses were already waiting, a wheelchair ready, and Jake was practically vibrating out of his skin with nerves. He followed your stretcher like a man possessed, clinging to your hand the second you allowed it, whispering again and again, “You’ve got this. We’ve got this. I love you.”

The contractions were getting closer, sharper, and everything smelled like disinfectant and adrenaline.

Still no baby yet. But soon. So very soon.

The delivery room was a battlefield. Monitors beeped in rhythm with your rising pulse, nurses moved like clockwork around you, and the doctor’s calm instructions barely registered over the white-hot pain pulsing through your body. You were soaked in sweat, your legs were in stirrups, and the pressure building inside you felt like the sky was trying to fall out of you in one violent, miraculous moment.

Jake was beside you. Barely.

“YOU DID THIS TO ME!” you screamed, clutching his hand in a death grip that had him hunched over in pain. “I SWEAR TO GOD, JAKE SERESIN, IF YOU EVER LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Jake yelped, tears already streaking down his cheeks as he tried to both breathe and not pass out. “You’re doing amazing, baby, I swear! I’m never touching you again unless you tell me to. I swear it. You’re—oh my God—is that the head?!”

“STOP LOOKING!” you shrieked. “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING?! STAY BY MY FACE!”

“I’M TRYING TO BE SUPPORTIVE!” he cried, wiping his nose with his shoulder as he braced your hand to his chest. “I’ve never been so scared in my life—God, you’re so strong, I love you, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done!”

“DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE,” you shouted, nearly ripping his arm from the socket as another contraction slammed through you. The doctor calmly told you to push, and the nurse offered words of encouragement, but all you could focus on was Jake’s wide, tear-filled eyes and the fact that you’d probably break every bone in his hand before this was over.

Meanwhile, Jake was trying not to fall apart. He had flown combat missions, been shot at, survived some of the worst conditions known to man—but none of that compared to watching you fight through the pain like this. He’d never seen anything so terrifying. Or so holy.

“You’re almost there,” the doctor said with a calm that made you want to slap him. “One more push. Come on, Mama. You’ve got this.”

“I hate you,” you told Jake, bearing down with all the strength left in your body.

Jake sobbed. “I love you, too!”

And then—just like that—time split wide open.

There was a cry. Small. Loud. Angry. The sound of life punching its way into the world.

Your body went slack with exhaustion, your chest heaving as you stared at the ceiling in disbelief. The pain ebbed, not gone but dulled, and your hand—still gripping Jake’s—relaxed ever so slightly.

Jake gasped. “Oh, my God.”

The nurse was cleaning the baby, the doctor already congratulating you, but all Jake could do was cry harder as he turned to you with trembling lips and whispered, “You did it. You—baby, you did it. Look—look, it’s our kid.”

Then the nurse placed the tiny, wrinkled, squirming bundle into your arms. Your eyes widened. Your breath caught. And for a moment, nothing existed but this small miracle against your chest, this impossibly warm, impossibly loud creature with your nose and Jake’s pout.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, barely able to believe the words.

Jake froze. “Wait—he?!”

You looked up with a smug, exhausted grin. “Told you it was a boy.”

Jake Seresin’s knees nearly gave out.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, utterly undone, leaning over to kiss your forehead and then the baby’s. “I’m a dad. I’m really a dad. You're a mom. And he’s—he’s so small—do they always come out this small?! Oh my God, you made him. You made this whole person, babe.”

“You helped,” you muttered with a tired smirk.

Jake laughed through his tears, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed, one hand cradling your shoulder and the other brushing over your son’s impossibly soft head. “He’s ours,” he whispered like it was a secret he was still trying to believe. “We made a whole-ass person.”

You didn’t speak—just leaned your head against his and closed your eyes, letting the weight of it all settle. Your son snuffled gently against your chest, a little fighter already, full of voice and storm and love.

And Jake? He was already gone for him. For both of you.

The room had quieted into something sacred. The dim overhead light hummed faintly, casting a soft golden glow over pale blue walls and the low beeping of machines that monitored steady, rhythmic signs of life. The chaos of labor had given way to something still and warm. You were fast asleep now, your face slack with exhaustion, cheeks flushed, one hand curled against your chest like even in sleep you were still tethered to the memory of holding him.

Meanwhile, Jake sat shirtless in the reclining chair tucked in the corner of the hospital room, the baby swaddled snug against his bare chest, skin-to-skin as the nurse had instructed. His dog tags hung just above the bundle, catching the light every time he breathed a little too hard. The soft rise and fall of his chest matched the slow, steady rhythm of the baby’s tiny breaths. Jake had one large palm curved protectively over his son’s back, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles. His other hand rested behind the baby’s head, cradling it with the sort of gentleness no one had ever thought Lieutenant Jake Seresin capable of.

His eyes, though—those were something else entirely.

“Hey, little guy,” Jake whispered, voice just above a hush. “We haven’t officially met yet. I mean, not outside the womb where you’ve been doing karate on your poor mom’s organs for the past few months.”

The baby didn’t stir. He was tucked against Jake’s chest like he belonged there, utterly content, as if he knew this heartbeat by instinct alone.

Jake chuckled under his breath, voice still watery with disbelief. “You’re… you’re really here.” He glanced over at your sleeping form, gaze softening like it always did when he looked at you. Then, he tilted his head back down. “She did everything, you know that? She brought you here. Fought like hell. Cursed me out like a sailor and nearly broke my fingers, but—God, I’ve never loved anyone more than I do her. You’ve got one hell of a mom, kid.”

He looked down again, lips twitching into a grin. “And you? You look just like me. That’s probably gonna be a problem later.” He traced his pinky along the baby’s soft cheek. “You’ve got my chin. My mouth. Even my ears, damn it. She’s gonna be so mad when she realizes she carried you for nine months just to give birth to my clone.”

The baby let out a small hiccup of air, nose scrunching as if offended. Jake grinned wider. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. You’ve got her fire, though. I can already tell.”

Outside the window, the world had gone still, the deep blue of night wrapping around the city like a blanket. In that corner of the room, though, time didn’t exist. There was just Jake—once the golden boy, the hotshot, the reckless one—and now… just a man. A father. Holding the future in his arms like it was the most fragile, sacred thing in the world.

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve done to me already,” he whispered, bending to press a kiss to the top of his son’s downy head. “But I promise you this—I’m not gonna miss a single moment. Not one. I’m gonna be here. Every day. Every late night bottle, every scraped knee, every stupid little joke. You’re stuck with me, little man.”

He leaned back slowly, eyes growing heavy now but still glued to the tiny miracle against his chest.

“I love you,” Jake whispered one last time. “And I love your Mommy. More than anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Then, just as the night deepened outside, Jake closed his eyes, rocking slowly in the chair, the baby warm and steady in his arms.

Morning sunlight filtered gently through the half-drawn curtains, casting soft, golden stripes across the hospital bed where you sat propped up against a mountain of pillows. Your hair was messy, your eyes still heavy with sleep, but none of that mattered—not when your son was latched to your chest, tiny fingers curling against your skin like he’d known you forever. You watched him in awe, blinking slowly as the waves of love, exhaustion, and straight-up disbelief washed over you in equal measure.

Meanwhile, Jake stirred in the corner, shirt half-on, hair a wild mess of blonde tufts standing at every angle. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, blinked blearily—and then his gaze landed on you.

He froze. A beat passed. Then another. And then, Jake Seresin—naval aviator, call sign Hangman, heartbreaker of yesteryears—grinned like an absolute menace.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, voice still thick with sleep. “Like father, like son.”

You blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, that familiar cocky tilt playing at his mouth as he motioned to your chest—where your newborn son was feeding contentedly, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. “Look at him. Locked in. Zoned out. Completely infatuated. Yeah. That’s my boy.”

You stared. He didn’t even blink.

Then you groaned, adjusting your arm around the baby as you shot him a glare sharp enough to slice steel. “You are unbelievable.”

Jake grinned wider. “I mean, c’mon. You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to marrying me.”

“You were crying in a chair twelve hours ago,” you reminded him.

“And now I’m witnessing greatness in action.” He stepped closer, crouching beside the bed as he placed a gentle kiss to your temple, his hand brushing softly over the baby’s head. “Also, I will never recover from how ridiculously beautiful you look right now.”

You narrowed your eyes, though your cheeks warmed. “I haven’t showered, I’m leaking milk, and I just gave birth.”

Jake gave a dreamy sigh. “Still the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. And our son clearly agrees.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re a menace.”

He leaned in closer, his voice softening now, gaze flickering between your face and the tiny bundle nestled against you. “I’m a menace in love.”

You laughed under your breath, your free hand finding his and squeezing it gently. “You better be. Because this little one is already a full-time job.”

Jake chuckled, brushing another kiss along your jaw before whispering, “Good thing I already got the job of a lifetime.”

“We have to name him eventually,” Jake murmured, his voice low and lazy, like the words were slipping through the late afternoon light.

You tilted your head to glance up at him. “We do,” you agreed. “And no, we’re not naming him after a jet.”

Jake feigned offense. “What? F-18 has a nice ring to it. Or Raptor. Ooh—Falcon.”

You snorted, laughing softly as you shifted the baby’s weight in your arms. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to throw something at you.”

“I’d dodge anyway,” he smirked, before softening again. “Alright. No jets. What are you thinking?”

You glanced back down at your son, his mouth puckered slightly in sleep, little brows already starting to resemble Jake’s. “I’ve always liked the name Theodore,” you said quietly, the name rolling off your tongue like a secret you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “It sounds strong. Timeless. Like someone who matters.”

Jake blinked. Then looked down at the baby like he was seeing him for the first time all over again. “Theodore,” he repeated, testing it out. “Theo.”

“Theo,” you echoed, voice hushed with affection.

Jake stared for a moment longer, then smiled—soft and deep, the kind that only ever reached his eyes when he was looking at you or, now, at the tiny human who somehow made both of you feel brand new. “He does look like a Theodore.”

“I know, right?” You let your head rest back against him again. “Theodore Seresin. Has a nice ring to it.”

Jake grinned like he’d just won a dogfight. “It’s perfect.”

He reached down and gently touched the baby’s cheek, his thumb barely brushing the soft skin. “Hi, Theo,” he whispered. “Welcome to the world, little man.”

Who would've thought? That the quiet girl once overlooked and the golden boy once too proud would end up here—no longer adversaries, no longer almosts. Just two people, side by side, bruised and rebuilt, holding the life they made between them. In a world made of roaring engines, heavy medals, and call signs stitched onto uniforms, it was never the victories in the sky that defined them. It was this—late afternoons wrapped in quiet laughter, soft kisses pressed to sleepy foreheads, whispered arguments over baby names and midnight feeds. It was love, loud and unruly, tender and patient.

And somehow, in the mess of all the years, the heartbreak, the second chances—they became a little family.

The fool, the golden boy, and the miracle they named Theodore.

[sorchathered]

All I want for Christmas is you🎄

A/N- Hey y’all! This is my submission for @bellaireland1981 Hallmark Holiday writing challenge! A little corny, perfectly christmassy, and just in time for the holidays! I hope you all love it!

Pairing- Jake Seresin x reader (callsign Fawn)

Warnings- Language, Angst, Jake Seresin in love

Summary- the squad gets roped into a holiday charity auction, where dates with single male aviators are the prize. Will you bite the bullet and tell Jake how you feel before Christmas break? Or will you have to watch him go on a date with someone else?

The air was filled with excitement this week. Christmas block leave started in a few days and Maverick could tell that everyone on his team was going to be completely useless. No one could blame them though; it had been a hell of a year and going home for a few days was a guaranteed way to boost their spirits and get them back in the game for the new year. The knock on his office door was unexpected though, and when Admiral Simpson marched into his office he knew the time for celebration was probably on hold. Matching orders in hand he groaned as he made his way down to the ready room; the guys were going to hate every minute of this. It would be hilarious.

"I guess Cyclone's wife is part of some fancy supper club and they decided to auction off dates with single aviators as a big prize. I mean it all goes to charity so l guess it's not all bad." Natasha says with a shrug as she digs into her lunch, Bradley looks less than enthused about the whole ordeal and Jake doesn't seem to have a care in the world. "It's more like we got volun-told to do it, the only consolation is a four day weekend, if you ask me we could have at least gotten a gift card or something." Bradley grumbles, and you can't help but agree it does seem pretty meager considering they are basically being sold to a bunch of middle aged women to ogle them. You can't help but be a little annoyed at how chill Jake seems about it though; it's not like the two of you were serious or anything, but the little green monster was clawing at you at the thought of someone else holding his attention. You'd unpack that later, now wasn't the time.

If Jake seems unphased to you then it must be a Christmas miracle, he can’t stop wondering what you’re thinking about this whole ordeal; would you bid on him? Would he have to go on some stupid date with a 50+ year old divorcee and make small talk? He didn’t mind being ogled for charity, it was for a good cause and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t know he looked as good as he does. He should tell you how he feels, just bite the bullet and ask you to be his girlfriend. The thought of you laughing over the ridiculousness of him settling down has kept him from making the declaration, he may seem cocky and cool headed but on the inside? Well he’s a big ball of nerves when it comes to you. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever been into before, and the thought of getting turned down was down right soul crushing. So he’d settled for casual hook ups, late night booty calls and shitty diner food late at night when you wanted company. He wanted more; real dates where he held your hand and got dressed up to eat fancy shit he couldn’t pronounce, waking up and eating breakfast together, goodnight kisses before you passed out in each other's arms. He was getting soft, or at least that’s what Javy said when he got that dopey look on his face when you entered the room. He’d tell you after Christmas block leave, surely by then he’d have his shit together enough to make his case.

You had to admit that while the San Diego women’s supper club was a stuffy bunch, they certainly knew how to throw a swanky affair. The ballroom of the Lafayette Hotel was decked to the brim with an old Hollywood Christmas vibe. Garlands covered in holly and poinsettias covered the doorways, Christmas lights and candles as far as the eye could see, as a jazz band played holiday classics while the crowd of upper class ladies mingled with their crystalline glasses of spirits. It very much felt like stepping back in time; almost as if Sinatra himself was preparing to take the stage. You were definitely glad Phoenix had the forethought to drag you and Halo out to dress shop earlier in the week, your cocktail dress you usually donned for weddings wouldn't have cut it for something like this. The event said black tie and they weren’t kidding, even the guys in the squad had shown up in tuxes, and you had to keep your composure because Jake Seresin in a suit was a feast for the eyes. He mingled a little with the group as he made his way over to you, beer in hand because you can dress him up but he’s still a good ol’ southern boy at heart. His gaze over your frame heated your skin, and he knew damn well he had you flustered, flicking his toothpick around in his mouth as he grinned at you.

“You look good Fawn, damn good.” You felt good too, it was a beautiful night and he was by your side, now if only you could get yourself together enough to tell him how you felt. “I have something I need to talk to you about Jake, before we all go on block leave and don’t see each other until the new year.” He cocks an eyebrow at you and leans in so he can give you his full attention, this is it, just jump off the edge headfirst and tell him you want a real relationship. “I want us-“ You hear someone clear their throat behind you, it’s Admiral Simpson and his wife- beckoning all the eligible bachelors to meet up on stage so the auction can begin. With a groan Jake drops his head to your ear, squeezing your hand as an apology as he asks you to hold that thought. Ugh! You should’ve just said something sooner, now you’ll be left with your anxiety to keep you company while you watch a bunch of women place their bids. The girls make their way back to their seats, Halo suggests that Phoenix should place her bets on Coyote; Lord knows neither of them have been subtle about their hookups these days.

“I doubt any of us has the money to throw around that these rich old bags do.” “Oh my God Phe!” You crack a smile at her crassness, she and Javy seem so solid; nothing like the uncertainty you feel in your gut right now.

“Oh shit, isn’t that Admiral Roger’s ex wife? The one Jake got trash duty for hooking up with?” Halo whispers as an elegant looking woman walks past them with a sneer. “Fuck. Yeah that’s her. She got reported by Mav for stalking Jake too, went completely bat shit after their hookup and wanted to be his sugar mama or some shit. She’s bad news. You don’t think she’ll bid on him do you?” Phoenix said, frown etching her pretty features as she looked at you for an answer. You didn’t have one, you hadn’t even thought about her in months. She’d really fucked with Jake mentally, it was part of the reason you’d kept relationship talk off the table because you were afraid you’d run him off after that train wreck. If she was here it was almost guaranteed that it was to stir the pot, you had to do something, anything to keep him out of her cross hairs. “Phe, I gotta go talk to Mav- but we have to protect Jake. See what everyone’s got in extra cash- we may need it.”

The auction was definitely a success, these ladies knew what they wanted and went for it. Harvard had gone for 5,000 and as the rest of the guys were filing out you imagined the prices would just keep rising. The feeling in your stomach felt more like a boulder as you watched the former Mrs. Rogers and her gaggle of snotty girlfriends ogle over each of your friends. This was supposed to be a fun joke for charity but the more you thought about this woman using it to manipulate the man you loved the more sick you felt. Mav had assured you that he’d handle it as best he could; Iceman seemed confident that combined everyone could place a bet to win Jake and that there was no need to worry but it did little to calm your nerves. Finally Jake takes his turn on the stage, flashing his trademark grin and playing it up for the crowd. He caught your eye and gave you a wink, and as much as you wanted to return it you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. What if someone else won him? What if she won him? I mean yeah it’s just a line dancing date for charity but still. This woman is a nightmare in heels and you’d rather not watch him suffer through an evening with her.

“I’ll start the bidding at 100 dollars!” Mrs. Simpson calls out over the microphone, and a chorus of bids ring out through the ballroom. A bidding war breaks out between Mrs. Rogers and an ancient looking woman seated in the front, bringing the price to nearly 10,000 dollars. Jake looks off kilter as he watches his stalker fight over the bid prices, and you realize that none of you have the cash to help keep him from getting away unscathed. “Oh god, he’s really gonna have to deal with her isn’t he?” You groan, Phoenix rubbing your arm absentmindedly as the price skyrockets to 30,000. It appears though that Mrs. Rogers has finally met her match, at 35,000 she gives up and relinquishes her place to the little old lady. Finally you can breathe a sigh of relief; cheers ring out among your table as the older woman stands up and takes a bow, digging in her purse for her black card. When her name is announced you can’t help but laugh; it turns out she’s Icceman’s beloved mother in law, she loves charity work and has a ridiculous amount of money and nowhere to spend it. She pinches Jake’s cheek as he makes his way over to her, with a robust laugh she shoos him off to the table your squad resides, and he is back to grinning like he won the lottery himself.

“What did she say to you? Ice’s mom?” You say later in the evening, Mrs. Rogers' husband apparently got a very interesting text from her someone about her whereabouts and left shortly after the auction ended with her tail between her legs. “She said I have a damn good squad looking out for me, but it’s more about what Mav said that I want to talk about. How about we take a walk, sugar?” He downs the rest of his whiskey and takes your hand in his, leading you out to the lobby where it’s quieter.

Before you can say a thing he’s got you all wrapped up in his strong arms, leaning in with a gleam in his eye as he kisses you by the obscenely large Christmas tree. You melt into it, the noise of the party drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, your head going a little fuzzy as he deepens it to the point of indecency. When he finally pulls away you chase his lips and he chuckles, stroking your jaw and soaking up the moment. “Mav told me you saved me from an evening of hell with my stalker, that true pretty girl?” You’ve been caught and you know it. “I just didn’t think it was right; you deserve better than that. A-and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want anyone else to have your time…especially not her.” You frown in frustration and he can’t help but find that little crease between your eyebrows so damn endearing.

“What did you want to tell me earlier? I can take a guess and hope like hell I’m right but I need to hear you say it.” He looks at you with so much love, it’s overwhelming and heats you all the way to your toes.

“I want us. I know we’ve been keeping things casual, but I fell in love with you Jake, and I want more with you. If that’s what you want too.” You’ve got his heart in your hand and you don’t even know it, he leans in to kiss you again as he whispers against your lips. “All I want for Christmas is you darlin’, couldn’t ask for a better gift. I’m yours, loving you is the easiest thing I can do and I’ll do it forever if you let me.” It was the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received.

Tagging- @bellaireland1981 @roosterforme @attapullman @honeytwrites @heavenssins @djs8891 @kmc1989 @mynameismckenziemae @kissmecaitie @sunsetsimpsblog @sio-ina-bottle @pinguhub @lenafromthenordiccoven @shanimallina87 @trickphotography2 @teacupsandtopgun

[perfectprettypisces]

after reading so many stories where their actual names are used like Jake Seresin, Natasha Trace, Javy Machado, etc., it’s so crazy to me that not once did they say any of the pilot’s real names in the actual movie except for Bradley who has both Cyclone and Maverick say his first name (his last name is said a lot more) and Maverick (for obvious reasons)

not even like a Lieutenant Trace or a Lieutenant Seresin, they were always just simply referred to as “Lieutenant”

the only time we really see their names are on the beginning screen where Cyclone is showing Mav the 12 pilots and their last names on the tags of their uniforms in the bar scene

everyone is simply referred to as their callsign and even in cast interviews, they introduce themselves using their call signs and never the actual names

come to think of it? i genuinely feel like they weren’t in the movie THAT much because i saw a post that calculated Glen’s screen time and it was like less than five minutes total?

all this to say, fan fiction is SO powerful because this was such a minuscule detail of the movie that we could’ve forgotten about but everyone kind of just took it and ran with and now I can’t see it any other way

[fandoms--fluff]

Baby Bradshaw

Flufftober, October 19th

Sister reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: You’re Bradley’s little sister whose 14 and he doesn’t exactly know about the mischief you (cause) get into until he gets called back to Top Gun as one of the candidates. Maverick hasn't seen you since you were six because of the whole pulling Bradley's papers thing. (You've been living with Ice). So, a lot has defiantly changed. Your callsign is Marvel.

A/N: I know the time lining doesn’t exactly add up, but I came up with this idea at 2am. Deal with it I think it’s cute (and hectic). Please, I know it's shitty but just bear with me for it.

Warnings: Swearing, Underage drinking (only a little), (underage) flying combat - it’s just a fanfic and I can create the rules so.....deal with it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Can I leave now?” You complained.

“For the last time, NO” Warlock answered while going through a stack of papers. 

You walk over to the front of his desk, where he’s standing. “Oh, come on, you’re the one who always says that I should be in the farthest room from where you are. Just between you and me, I’m pretty sure that this is because there’s something going on downstairs that you don’t want me to know about.”

“MARVEL!” He yells, fed up with you.

“WARLOCK!” You imitate him and his stance. 

“You know what? Yeah, your right I don’t think I can actually handle any more of well......you today. You can leave” He exasperated while doing a hand gesture when he said ‘you’.

Immediately you grab your phone from the tiny square table in there and sped out the door, deciding to go check out what’s happening downstairs since your brother was saying something about having to go there again today. He’s been complaining about someone - his callsign is bagman you're pretty sure - to you for the past week but won’t tell you why, so you’re deciding to investigate what's going on because, well you’ve got nothing better to do. Well, you should probably get all the science homework you have done but that's a later problem with bullying one of the navy research persons into "helping" you.

You've also asked Ice multiple times but he's found ways to distract you so you'd forget about it until the next day. (Yes, he has written a whole handbook of how to deal with your shit - you don't know of course)

While you're walking down the hall you've come into eyesight of Cyclone who was about to go into a room.

'Shit' you thought to yourself.

"What are you doing down here Marvel?" Cyclone, paused right before turning the doorknob.

"Well, my plan worked with annoying Warlock into letting me leave his office and now I'm going to figure out what you guys are failing at hiding from me just down the hall" you said pointing to a wide door into one of the hanger/classroom things as if it's a normal occurrence.

Which it kinda is...

"That's funny cause I don't remember allowing you to go anywhere near there" He crossed his arms.

"Well unlike everyone else I don't give a crap what you want or think I should do or just orders in general" You smirked and resumed your walking.

“Marvel! Stop!” He yelled.

Right as he yelled you started to sprint as fast as you could (which is FAST).

“MARVEL! GET BACK HERE. NO! DON’T YOU DARE GO IN THERE!” He started to chase after you.

The dagger squad and Maverick turned their heads to the noise coming from the hallway until the door burst open. You ran over to the other side of the room, quickly before Cyclone could get to you. 

By the time Cyclone ran in you already ducked underneath an old wooden desk nobody has probably used in years considering the amount of dust it held.

Everyone looked from where you hid, over to Cyclone who’s clearly pissed. 

“Marvel!” Cyclone called out, ignoring everyone’s confused faces.

You kept quiet, not making even a small amount of sound. Your legs are tucked up against your chest, tightly while you lean your chin on your left knee.

“Okay if no one else is going to say it, I am. Who the hell is Marvel? Is the little girl who ran in Marvel?” Hangman spoke out loud, earning an elbow to the ribs from Phoenix. 

Cyclone looked over to everyone and sighed before yelling out, “Y/N BRADSHAW!” 

At that you rolled your eyes and crawled out from under the desk, walking over. 

“You know I really hate it when you call me by my full name” You glared at him, paying no mind to everyone who’s watching with shocked faces. Bradley's face though was filled with more so disappointment. 

“You know what I give up, I don’t have the energy to fight with you today” Cyclone said, walking towards the doors. 

“Well, that’s disappointing, I’ve got nothing better to do and it’s entertainment for me” He walked out giving you the bird. 

“Wow! How real nice of you!” you said sarcastically before turning over to everyone.

You walked a bit closer to Hangman, giving him a death glare.

“Oh yeah, call me ‘little girl’ again, I’ll kick your shins until they’re raw and bleeding” You threatened him. 

His reaction is a mixture of shock and against his wishes, fright. Before you could laugh at him, Rooster started walking towards you with an eyebrow raised. 

“Okay, in my defense what do you expect me to do? Stay in my room and happily do fucking homework all day?!” You stated to him. 

You looked over at Maverick who was walking towards you and enveloped you into a tight hug.

"I missed you kiddo."

[darlingyougotthis]

Talk To Me

Chapter One: The New Pilot

Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic

Female OC names Nova “Ava” Brooke. Everyone calls her Nova.

The heat clung to her skin like sweat.

It was a dry kind of sticky—the kind that left salt drying in the corners of her eyes and the sun casting golden light across her exposed collarbones. The runways at Naval Air Station North Island shimmered under the weight of the late afternoon haze, the world around her humming with jet engines, radio chatter, and the unmistakable buzz of adrenaline.

Nova had just stepped out of her cockpit, flight helmet tucked under one arm, her blonde braid damp at the ends from the helmet’s suffocating heat. Her cheeks were pink with exertion, blue eyes lit with the afterglow of another flawless run. She hadn’t even unzipped her flight suit yet, but sweat clung to the curve of her neck and the base of her spine.

Someone whistled low behind her.

She didn’t even have to look.

Jake Seresin spotted her before she spotted him.

He moved towards with ease, pulling off his own helmet, green flight suit unzipped halfway. His white undershirt clung to the planes of his chest, neck damp from sweat and salt. His hair was a windswept mess and his smirk was lazy—until he saw her.

Jake’s voice had that cocky lilt to it—the one that made her stomach flip and her chest warm. “You always look this good after a flight, or are you just trying to distract me, baby?” he called, voice rich and unmistakable. Jake wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You were flawless up there.”

She smiled into his shoulder. “You’re just saying that because I made you look slow.”

“Slow?” Jake leaned back to look at her. “You cheated.”

“I maneuvered.”

“You exploited a blind spot.”

“I capitalized on your overconfidence.”

Jake groaned and kissed her again—this time, just behind her ear. “I swear to God, Ava…”

Her real name, whispered just for her. Nova laughed and leaned into him. Jake just smirked, tugging her tighter against him as they walked back toward the hangar. “Tell me again how lucky I am?”

She elbowed him gently in the ribs. “You’re lucky.”

“Damn right I am.”

He kissed her again—quick, like he couldn’t help himself—and she leaned into it, barely caring that they were still in full view of the other aviators. They were used to it. She and Jake were Top Gun’s golden couple. The kind of pairing that made others believe in soulmates, or at least the military’s version of one. Steady, magnetic, untouchable.

Nova was used to the stares by now.

Used to the whispers.

Used to eyes following her the second she entered a room.

The new pilot arrived with no ceremony. He was already waiting by the time Nova and Jake reached the locker room entrance, leaned against the concrete wall like he owned it. Unzipped flight suit. Black undershirt. Aviators he didn’t need at this hour.

“Lieutenant Armstrong,” Cyclone had introduced earlier in the day. “Ryder. Transfer from Fallon. Scored top five in his class. You’ll be flying with him tomorrow, Nova.”

She’d nodded, polite. Neutral. She hadn’t registered anything out of the ordinary. Not until now.

Now, Ryder’s eyes flicked up and down her figure with a slowness that made her want to zip her suit back up.

Jake’s hand curled tighter on her waist.

“Nova,” Ryder said, with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Everyone here talks about you.”

“Do they?” she asked evenly.

“They do,” he said. “You’ve got… quite the reputation.”

Nova gave him the thinnest smile she could without seeming rude. “Oh…thank you. Well. Welcome to North Island.”

Jake said nothing, just watched. Ryder didn’t acknowledge him.

Nova’s brow twitched. “This is Lieutenant Seresin.”

That got a reaction. Ryder’s smile widened, just a hair. “Of course. Callsign ‘Hangman.’ Heard a lot about you too.”

Jake’s stare was flat. “All good things, I hope.”

Ryder grinned. “Naturally.”

The air went still for a second too long.

Nova cleared her throat. “We’ll see you in the air, Lieutenant.”

She and Jake turned together, walking away, his hand never leaving her back.

“You don’t like him,” she murmured.

Jake didn’t answer right away. Then: “His smile’s too fast. Something’s off.”

Nova didn’t disagree.

The Hard Deck was buzzing by sundown.

A salty breeze rolled in off the water, lifting strands of Nova’s hair as she leaned against the bar, fingers curled around a cold bottle of beer. The jukebox hummed something lazy and southern, the kind of song that made the heat feel heavier. Laughter echoed off the worn wooden walls, boots thudded across the floorboards, pool balls cracked in the distance.

Jake stood behind her, tall and warm, one arm lazily wrapped around her waist. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder, his mouth dangerously close to her neck.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low enough for only her, “you keep standing there looking like that, and I’m going to do something irresponsible.”

Nova took a slow sip of her drink, not turning around. “Define irresponsible.”

“Taking you home early,” Jake said, brushing his nose against her cheek, “and forgetting about sleep entirely.”

She bit her lip. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

His mouth grazed her skin—just behind her ear. Featherlight. “Promise.”

Nova turned slightly, eyes catching the golden glint in his. She reached up and tugged at the collar of his shirt playfully, then kissed him softly, slowly. Jake groaned low against her lips and deepened it for just a second before pulling back, breathing hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him again. Ryder Armstrong. Alone at the far end of the bar. His drink sat untouched on the table. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t looking at anyone else. Just her.

Jess, one of the junior lieutenants, leaned into Ryder’s space, clearly trying to start a conversation. Ryder barely blinked. He didn’t acknowledge her. Didn’t even flinch. His eyes were glued to Nova.

Nova straightened slightly. Jake caught it.

“What’s up?” he asked, instantly alert.

“We’ve got an audience,” she said softly, nodding subtly in Ryder’s direction.

Jake followed her gaze, and his jaw ticked—just once.

Then, without missing a beat, he looked back at her.

“Then let’s give him a show,” he said.

He pulled her into another kiss—deeper, slower, with just enough heat to make her toes curl. One of his hands trailed up her back, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to rest on the warm skin of her waist. She melted into him, fingers in his hair, breath caught.

When they pulled apart, her face was flushed, and Jake’s grin was downright dangerous.

Nova buried her head in his chest, laughing into his shirt. “You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

She did.

The pool balls cracked like thunder under the low hum of music and laughter. Jake was mid-turn, cue stick in hand, his gaze flicking between the felt and Rooster’s smirking face.

“Call your shot, Hangman,” Rooster drawled.

Jake just grinned. “Why? You gonna get lucky and actually make yours?”

Nova leaned her hip against the edge of the table, sipping her beer. She could tell by the way Jake lined up his shot he wasn’t paying full attention—he didn’t need to. He was a little too relaxed tonight, a little too focused on touching her thigh or brushing her wrist every time she passed.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said quietly, tilting her head toward him.

Jake straightened, cue resting against his boot. “You want me to come?”

She smiled, soft. “No, you stay. I’ll be two minutes.”

His eyes searched hers. Just a beat longer than necessary. Then he leaned in, warm palm cradling her jaw, and kissed her—featherlight, just enough to feel it.

“Don’t go running off on me, Nova,” he said, low.

“I never do,” she whispered.

He let her go with a reluctant nod.

The deck behind the Hard Deck was quieter than the main bar, lit only by a few string lights overhead and the soft pink haze of the ocean sky just beyond. Nova stepped into the breeze, letting the salty air cool her skin. The music behind her faded into a dull thump, and she let herself exhale.

She was halfway through another sip when the door behind her creaked open.

Ryder Armstrong stepped up beside her, not too close, but not far enough.

He was casual, relaxed. Beer bottle loose in his hand, flight suit replaced with jeans and a dark t-shirt that made his eyes look greener than they had any right to be.

“You looked like you needed air,” he said, glancing at her from the side.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” he replied easily. “Just thought you might want company.”

Nova turned to face him now, resting one elbow on the railing. “I’ve got company.”

Ryder’s eyes flicked through the window toward the bar. Jake was still at the counter, back turned, arm slung over the high stool as he laughed with Fanboy.

“Yeah,” Ryder said. “Seresin.”

Something in the way he said it made her stomach tighten.

“You know,” he continued, “I’ve seen a lot of pilots try to pull off that whole golden couple thing. Doesn’t usually stick.”

Nova blinked slowly. “You came out here to tell me that?”

Ryder shrugged. “Just saying. You could do a hell of a lot better.”

There it was.

Not in his words—but in the way he said them. Measured. Confident. Like he believed it. Like he thought she would believe it, too.

Nova’s gaze hardened. “And you thought it might be you?”

His smile didn’t fade. “Didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds. The kind of silence that made the skin crawl under your clothes.

Finally, Nova leaned in just a fraction—not close, but deliberate.

“I don’t know what you think this is, Ryder. Maybe you’re just used to people folding when you flash that little smile. But I’m not interested. Not now. Not ever.”

Still, his eyes didn’t move. Still, he smiled like she was playing into something he’d expected all along.

“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” he said quietly.

She took a step back. “Then take the hint.”

She turned, walked toward the door, and didn’t look back.

But as she reached for the handle, he said one more thing.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Nova. I see things other people miss.”

She froze for just a second. Then she pushed the door open and stepped inside, heart pounding a little faster than before.

She stepped back into the bar, the warmth of the crowd hitting her like a wall. Her heartbeat still hadn’t slowed.

Jake had moved from the pool table and was now standing near their booth, scanning the crowd. When his eyes landed on her, his shoulders relaxed instantly.

Nova crossed to him in a few quick steps, sliding into his arms like gravity demanded it.

Jake pulled her in without a word, one hand cradling the back of her head as he kissed her forehead gently.

“You okay?” he murmured, looking down at her.

She nodded, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m always okay with you.”

Jake smiled and tilted her chin up to kiss her. This time it wasn’t quick. It lingered. When they broke apart, his fingers still rested on her jaw and from across the room, just for a second, Nova thought she saw Ryder again—half-shadowed, watching. But when she blinked, he was gone.

[shadowsndaisies]

dogfighting 101: 06 - dead and buried

wc: 1.6k

synopsis: if it wouldn't result in a court martial or a dishonorable discharge, you probably would punch that stupid mustache off his face.

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

Your last run had been with Payback and Fanboy, you failed.

After, you sat and listened as Bradley almost got both himself and your dad killed. Jake’s running commentary doing nothing for your nerves. When all three came back from their run, you were stood in your black tank top and your flight suit rolled down and tied around your waist. Your sunglasses were perched on your nose, blocking the glare you had hyper-fixated on the idiots walking your way.

“’Thena! Darlin’!” Hangman’s drawl always seemed to emphasize your callsign, often dropping the first A, and elongating the E. Usually the way he says your name could get you to smile, but this time your gaze doesn’t even flicker to him, a stark contrast to just last round, when the two of you had been giddy off of catching Maverick with tone.

“Keep walking, Seresin,” you say seriously, and for the first time Rooster can ever admit to, Hangman simply does as he’s told. He doesn’t argue with you, or tease you. He doesn’t even glare or smirk cockily back at those left to face off with your ire, in fact, if anything, it looks like the smile all but melts from his face. Instead, he just keeps walking, not even bothering to look back, and Rooster’s brows furrow, because not for the first time today he’s left wondering what had the two of you been through to develop the relationship you had?

“What the hell were you thinking?” you all but hiss, pulling your shades off, so Bradley can see the full force of your glare.

He doesn’t know why he says it, he knows it’s not the right thing, or the right time, but he scoffs, and he sees your jaw shift at the sound, “So, now you want to talk to me?” he asks, and Maverick who had kept a distance, walking further behind him and Jake, was now catching up and was forced to stop as he watched the two of you face off, Bradley didn’t miss his sharp inhale at the tone you both were giving off.

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me Bradley!” you shout back.

“Bullshit?” he finally shouts back, and Bradley has to admit, part of it, of yelling at you, it feels really good. “It’s been twelve years since we’ve spoken! Nine since I’ve heard anything from you!”

“And whose fault is that?” that shuts him up, because now he knows you’re done pulling punches. “Whose fault was that Bradley Bradshaw?”

“I never meant for it to go like this,” is all Bradley can offer you, his voice suddenly weak as he pushes his own sunglasses up to look you in the eyes.

“Yes, you did,” you argue back, shaking your head at him.

“No, (Y/n)-” he tries to reach for you, as if it would help in making you understand.

“Yes, you did, Bradley!” you smack his hand away and instead point at him accusingly. “You did, because you were the one who said what you said, you were the one who took the insecurities I trusted with you and twisted them, the one who said all the hateful things you could think of, and then to top it off, you were the one who gave me an ultimatum!” you’re screaming at him, and he’s glad the tarmac’s basically empty now, because he’s sure that if Warlock or Cyclone heard about this, you’d both be booted from the program and probably given a formal reprimand.

Bradley also doesn’t know how to respond.

So instead he gapes at you. How does he explain how hurt he was to you? How does tell you he knows how wrong he was to say what he said and demand what he did? How does he apologize after hiding behind emails for the last twelve years.

He stumbles over that, hiding, because that’s what he’d been doing, isn’t it? And he was stupid enough to trick himself into thinking you would see it any differently.

“You made a decision, over a decade ago. You threw away a friendship that mattered. You threw away lifelines, and people who cared about you, and you did it without even asking for the whole picture,” you tell him, venom dripping from every word. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Rooster. I have no intention of trying to resurrect what you killed and I was left to bury twelve years ago, but we’re both here, and so is Dad. So get your shit together, because the stakes are too high to be living in the past,” his shoulders drop and you hold firm as you finally make the point you’d intended to bring up.

You stare at him hard for a second before brushing past him and heading straight for your dad. He sees it in the hand movements, the stance, you’re laying into him. Probably equally pissed about the the corkscrew cobra maneuver, that he and Mav had just pulled. There is however noticeably less tension in you as you yell at your dad.

Bradley finds himself stuck for a moment, with the realization of how much anger and hurt was in your voice as you spoke with him. He had been too hopeful, he realizes, to think that emailing you would fix what he had broken. Too stupid to consider the real weight of what he had said, and how much more it meant coming from him than anyone else.

He finally forces himself to look away and walk back toward the hangar. He is extremely annoyed to see Hangman standing there. A witness to the mess that had just occurred. Though he doubted Hangman could hear much if at all. The other pilot rarely needed a reason to give someone a hard time (except you it seemed).

Bradley geared up for another argument, or at least a dig, but Hangman didn’t even acknowledge him as he approached. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, brows squinted, focused. Bradley slinks past him, bewildered at the flip, but gets stopped before he can fully exit the hangar.

“Getting killed on day one would be pretty counter-intuitive to wanting to go on this mission, and it might even make her hate you more, which I honestly didn’t think was possible.”

Hangman’s voice echoes a bit, but he doesn’t turn to look at Rooster, not even when the older pilot turns to look at him. Instead, Hangman stays focused on you, and you alone, and Bradley is left wondering what the fuck? once again, because that has to be the least contentious thing Jake’s ever said to him, and Bradley know that it’s solely for your benefit.

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes @geeksareunique @je6291 @kee-0-kee @fanreader75 @whoismurphyslaw @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @thespillingvoid

[whohasthecards]

Hangman meets this Nick-Goose guy at the bar (not a joke)

Jake rested his chin on his cue stick as he stared curiously at the pair at the bar.

The famous Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson and some skinny blonde guy were hanging around. He never knew that the Admiral could smile. Sure, the guy was fair and respected all around the base, but he was stoic. He shrugged and went back to his game. 

By the time he sunk the 8-ball in, he looked up and the Admiral was gone. He handed the cue stick  to the next guy about to play and went up to the bar, knocking on the counter.

“Ma’am, a cold beer, please,” He said flashing Penny a smile, she rolled his eyes and handed him his drink.

“Stop calling me, ma’am, I’m not your commanding officer, Lieutenant,” Penny grouched before smiling.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Jake said flashing a wink and Penny rolled her eyes in response.

“Damn, Pen, not checking IDs, you’re getting sloppy or soft,” The mystery man said and Jake turned to get a better look at him.

He blinked before realizing that Roo-Roo Bradshaw was somewhere in the Pacific Ocean and a good 30 years younger than the man.

“Shut up, Nick, he’s a grown aviator,” Penny sniped back, hitting the man with a towel as he batted it away.

“Damn straight,” Jake said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Ahhh, so you are getting soft, you’ve always been soft around aviators,” Nick said, giving Jake a wink.

Penny blushed and gave Nick another hit with a towel before another customer called her away.

“Piss her off enough and you’ll get thrown overboard, even if I gotta do it alone,” Hangman said, flashing Nick a sharp grin.

Nick gave a low whistle, “Damn, son, no wonder she’s soft on ya, you probably remind her of me and the boys back in the day.”

Jake frowned at that.

“Nevermind that, I’m Nick or Goose, choose what you want,” Nick, Goose, said, reaching out his hand to shake.

“Jake,” He replied, shaking his hand, looking the guy up and down, seeing the grey on his temples. “You used to be an aviator?”

“Old men, can’t be on active duty?”

“The Navy would be too busy worrying about paying for your back pain.”

Goose honked out a laugh that made his callsign make sense.

“I was a backseater, RIO, then after I left I became a civilian flight instructor,” Goose said. “Single-seater?”

“Yep,” Jake said, finally deciding to sit down beside the older man. “Lucky guess?”

It was Jake’s turn to be scrutinized as he was looked up and down, “Nah, I just know the type, do you prefer Jake or Hangman?”

Jake’s lip twitched down before he settled on a blank mask. He used to have no shame regarding his callsign, so who gives a shit if he misspelled a couple words here and there. Until.

“All you do is leave good men hanging! Goddamn executioner of your own squad!”

“Hangman! Smoke in the ai-”

“Lieutenant Jacob “Hangman” Seresin, you did everything you could, dismissed.”

He took a deep breath that was more shaky than he’ll ever admit, “Jake’s good,” he said, flashing a smirk as he took another sip of his drink.

The older man’s eyes softened and he gave Jake a small smile.

“How about you?” Jake asked, realizing it was polite to reciprocate the question.

“Eh, either is fine, they’re both the same to me,” Nick said, shrugging. 

“Doesn’t Goose remind you of the thrill of being in a jet?” Jake asked, swirling his beer bottle around. 

“Nah, reminds me more of hanging around the boys,” Nick replied. “Still see them, but it ain’t the same as it used to be. Plus, I think I’ve had enough excitement for this life,” Nick said chuckling, leaning back and both men wincing as they heard his spine crack.

“You’re showing your age, old man,” Jake muttered, looking at him worriedly, wondering if he was about to keel over. “You hangin’ in there, gramps?”

Nick chuckled, “Not that old, brat, I have a son your age. He’s 27.”

“How old do you think I am?” 

“Hmmm, 21?”

Jake squawked in offense, “You’re actin’ like this my second time drinkin’ or somethin’!”

Nick raised a brow at him, “Is it not?”

Jake glared at him and all Goose saw was the same pout on his son’s face when he withheld the cookies from him.

“ ‘M 23,” Jake muttered.

“See? Not that far off, no need to get your feathers all ruffled, birdy,” Nick said, honking out a laugh.

Jake grumbled, but Goose could see the smile behind the sip of the beer bottle.

—

“Mav, did the Navy bio-engineer you and Ice’s DNA to create a son we don’t know about?” 

Mav paused, looking at his phone to check if this was Goose he was talking to. “Not that I know off,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“Kid, tall, blond hair, green eyes, naval aviator, technical flying style with some of your style, has your social skills too,” Goose added the last part thoughtfully. 

“Is that a compliment to the kid or an insult?”

“....Anyways, you made sure you don’t have some kid we don’t know about, right? Because if you gave me a nephew and didn’t make me his godfather I will ground you, no jets for a month.”

“Let me check with Ice.”

—

“Hello my sweet-precious-baby-mini-me,” Goose crowed to the phone as his son groaned on the other line.

“Dad, I am taller and bigger than you.”

“You still get your good looks from me, honey, how’s the deployment going?”

“The other pilots are shitheads, the amount of ego here is astounding.”

“Naval aviators,” Goose said, shrugging before realizing his son can’t see that. “There’s never a shortage of ego, say these pilots are younger than you?”

“Some of them are, some of them are older,” Bradley said slowly, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Good, you’ll have enough practice then.”

“Practice!? Practice for what!? Dad?”

“All good things come to those who wait, Brad-Brad.”

—

Hey gramps, I’m being’ deployed to Top Gun, Hard Deck?

Sure, Jakey

—

Gramps flew with pops? Goose and Maverick ejected. Goose got an honorable discharge. Holy shit.

Bradshaw was Nick’s son?

Is that why he was angry?

—

Hangman was face to face with Bradshaw, anger coursing through his veins. Doesn’t he understand? If they couldn’t fly like Maverick, they would all end up dead. Dead. 

Is he angry because of hop 31? Pissed on behalf of his Dad? But, Nick wasn’t angry at Pete, right?

You can find out.

“Come on, take a walk with me, son.”

No. Nick doesn’t deserve that.

“You have a family Bradshaw,” Jake said slowly, watching as Bradshaw’s hackles raised up even higher.

“Yeah, kid is simultaneously too hesitant and reckless at the same time, and I thought my wingman is the reason I’m gray…”

“You’re almost 60 gramps, that’s the reason why you’re gray.”

“Don’t let them lose you because you can’t think straight. Feelings ain’t matter here, not if you want to live,” Jake gritted out, shoulder checking the other man as he left the room.

—

They’re alive.

He saved them.

Thank fucking god because in all the hours he spent on stand-by in his jet, he still didn’t know what the fuck to say to Nick if he came back, but his brother and son didn’t.

A selfish part of him wondered if Nick would still care if they both died.

Probably not. Thank god he wasn’t a complete fuck up.

—

The celebration died down and he was walking back from his long-ass debrief. Getting reamed for launching without orders.

He felt his phone ping with a text.

Come over for dinner when you’re onshore.

Jake gave a small smile at that as he sent back a reply.

—

“Hangman! Hangman! Lieutenant Seresin! Jake!” 

It was the inverted version of Mav calling out for Rooster during that first day in the tarmac. Except Jake was already turning around once Mav said Lieutenant.

“Jesus, Mav, calm down, I hear ya, I ain’t goin’ anywhere yet, pops,” Jake said, raising his hands up as he flicked his toothpick to the side of his mouth. “Don’t stretch your legs too far tryin’ to keep up with me,'' Jake said, smirking.

Mav rolled his eyes upwards as he put his hands on his hips, as if asking god for patience. Heh. 

“I wasn’t able to talk to you one-on-one after the mission, kid, how are you?” Mav said, eyes softening as he looked at Jake up and down.

Jake felt self-conscious, as he straightened up instinctively, which was dumb because surely Mav wouldn’t notice that he was eating less. That he felt more tired each day. That he doesn’t know what kind of man he is.

“I’m fine, Mav, just thinking,” is all Jake could say.

“Don’t think too hard, kid, you might hurt yourself,” Mav said, giving Jake a smile, but there’s a glint in his eye that told him he meant it.

Mav’s an ace.

“Do you think about it, often?” Jake blurted out.

Mav furrowed his brow, “Think about what?”

Killing people.

No, not now.

“Nothing, nothing, sorry, pops, long day, just thinkin’ about how much the big bosses lectures on and on and on,” Hangman said, cringing at the babbling he just did.

Mav frowned, looking unconvinced, but gave a grin when command’s lectures were brought up, “I just learned to tune it out and forget. After you hear the first one, it all sounds the same, anyways.”

Jake barked a laugh at that, “You’re a menace, Mav.”

Mav grinned at Jake’s laugh, shoulders relaxing as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

“Anyways, I’m here to ask if you’re free tonight? My family and I are having dinner together and I want you to join in,” Mav said. “Some of the other Daggers will be there.”

He felt a pang of regret when he realized he’d have to decline, and it must have shown on his face, when Mav gave an understanding smile.

“Have plans, already, huh?”

“Yeah, a,” grandpa, family, mentor, father-figure-, “friend invited me for dinner, I haven’t seen him in a while, and yeah. I wanna hang out with ya pops and the squad, cross my heart, it’s just that I already got plans, and-”

Mav cut him off with a chuckle, “I get it, kid, don’t work yourself up, there will always be next time. Just promise me I won’t have to bail you out of jail tonight and you have fun.”

Jail with Nick? What a joke.

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” Jake said, giving Mav a salute, smirking as Mav shooed him away.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, brat, don’t cause trouble, you hear me!?”

“As if you can talk.”

—

Jake took a deep breath as he turned off the ignition of his truck, grabbing the beers he brought. He ain’t gonna come to a dinner empty handed, and Nick was more of a beer guy, rather than a wine guy.

He went up to the door and knocked.

“Hangman?”

“Mav?” Jake said, blinking his eyes in shock.

“Jakey! You made it, kiddo,” Nick greeted warmly, gently pushing Mav away to envelop Jake in a tight hug. Jake closed his eyes and leaned in, burying his eyes on the older man’s shoulder, trying to reciprocate the hug despite his hands being full.

“Here, let me take that from you, buddy, and you two can catch up for a little bit,” Mav said when Jake pulled away from the hug, taking the beer from his hands.

“It’s okay, pops–”

“How come Mav gets pops, but you call me gramps?” Nick said, pouting as he slung an arm around Jake’s shoulder.

“Because,” Jake said dumbly, still a bit shock at seeing Mav.

“Ahh forgot to tell ya I invited my former wingman, Mav and of course you’ve heard of my son, Brad-Brad,” Nick said leading Jake to the kitchen. “Some other guys will be coming, later, some of them are part of Mav’s squad.”

“We’re well-acquainted Goose, heck, the kid even told me he couldn’t come to hangout with us because he had plans with a friend,” Mav said grinning at the two of them.

“Awwww, so you do see me as a friend, huh, Jakey?” Goose cooed, ruffling Jake’s hair as Jake pushed him away.

“I didn’t know you were invitin’ me to the thing I was already invited to!” Jake protested, blushing.

“Hey Dad, where’s the— holy shit, Hangman, you came?” Bradshaw Jr. said, walking into the kitchen. “Mav said you said no, did something happen?” Rooster asked, furrowing his brow.

Jake finally had a side by side view of the two Bradshaw’s. Definitely related. Should have figured that out years ago. 

“Ohhh good that you’re here Brad, here’s the baby brother I promised you years ago,” Nick said, steering Jake by the shoulders to push him towards Bradley. “You’ll love him, play nice, okay?”

“That is a pain in my ass, grown-ass man,” Bradley said, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t understand what was happening. “How the hell did you two even meet?”

“Oh, I found him in a bar acting like a mixture of Mav and Ice and I just gotta keep him,” Nick said casually.

“Baby brother-?”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted, kid,” Mav said, taking a sip of his beer. “Wait til Ice sees you.”

“Ice?”

“Iceman,” Nick said. “Tom-Tom, Tommy, Tomcat, you will probably be calling him gramps.”

“I am not calling the COMPACFLT, gramps,” Jake said, jaw-dropping.

“No, you will be calling my brother, gramps, Jakey, plus they already expect it, they have heard many stories about you.”

“You talk about me to the Iceman!?” Jake said, his pitch rising an octave.

“And me, and everyone else, I was wondering why I haven’t heard about this aviator kid Goose here was talking about, started thinking he adopted an air force kid or something,” Mav said grinning. “He only really called you Jakey.”

“Or Jake-Jake, Jay, Baby J –” Bradley started, smirking at a flushing Jake.

“THAT’s enough,” Jake said, pushing at Bradley to cut him off, but Bradley just laughed.

“Boys enough. Bradley, stop teasing your brother. Jakey, no pushing,” Goose said wagging a finger at them.

“Yeah, yeah, dad,” Bradley said, rolling his eyes.

“Also, we need to make a custody contract, Goose, I want partial custody of these two,” Mav said looking way too serious as he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.

“We need to wait for the other boys to show up first, I have a feeling Cyclone or Iceman would be calling dibs,” Goose said grinning.

“What?” Jake said, confused.

“It means, you’re stuck with us now, Jake-Jake,” Bradley said, ruffling the blond’s hair.

—

“You named your kid, Bradley Bradshaw?”

“I wanted a little Brad-Brad.”

[jasperhaleluver]

Pete maverick Mitchell x lieutenant! reader

Author's note: Hey guys! I know this is such a random story. I'm gonna be honest, originally this was gonna be my fluff fanfic but I realized a shorter one would fit better. But I still liked this one so much that I decided to make it a whole different story. I hope you enjoy it! It's a bit of a longer one.

No warnings! Just cussing, kissing and super cute maverick x reader at the end. and y/n is used! No word count, I did proofread it but I would not be surprised about any types. My apologies in advance!Not 100% accurate to the movie (Phoenix is a back seater, young maverick but in the sense of the second movie)

Summary:

You’ve always admired Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell from afar, you know him because your brother was his back seater, but you never expected to get close to Maverick. When he's assigned as the new flight instructor at Top Gun, you find yourself working side by side learning more every day with the legendary pilot. Getting closer through shared flights and training exercises you fall for him more and more each day, does he feel the same?

You are one of the 12 pilots that were called back for a mission. The pilots had a little get together at the hard deck yesterday, now you're meeting your instructor.

You and Phoenix are the only female graduates returning for the big mission. Yeah sure being called back for it really raised your ego. But the mission is to destroy an unauthorized uranium enrichment facility, not that you think you can't do it. But this mission is described as the scariest mission any aviator could be put on.

So whether you go on this mission or not is up to you and you've fully decided that you are going on this mission, with Phoenix as your back seater of course.

You guys walk into the meeting area and sit at your desk next to Fanboy and Payback. "Hi y/n" Bob smiles at you "Hi bob. How is-" You're cut off by Cyclone "Everybody please take a seat." He clears his throat.

You sit by Phoenix and look up to see Warlock and Cyclone. "The pilots sitting in front of me were called back to Top gun because you guys are the elite. The best of the best." Warlock says.

"Damn straight." Hangman says earning a chuckle from the team. " We no longer have the technological advantage, for this mission, success now more than ever comes down to the man or woman in the box." Hangman looks at you and Pheonix and you put your middle finger up on the side of your head. Bates clears his throat.

"Today you will be introduced to your new instructor, he is a Top Gun graduate with real world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master. His exploits are legendary, and he is considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced. What he has to teach you they very well mean the difference between life and death." Admiral Bates says. You all turn around to look at the instructor. Holy shit it's Maverick. You've always felt a little something for him.

"I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Callsign, Maverick." They step away as Maverick takes their spot. "Good morning" he says looking over the squad. But when he looks at you, you guys make direct eye contact and he gives you a smile.

He talks about what trainings will look like and you guys are dismissed. You and Phoenix are walking down the hall and she looks around to make sure nobody is around. "So what the hell was that about? She asks "what?"

"You were basically drooling over him y/n oh my gosh." She laughs "Didn't he work with your brother? Is he not too old for you?" Thinking about it, he's not too old for you. He's just 2 years older.

"Yeah, they did work together, but he's younger than Nick so Mav is closer to my age than he is." You say

"Wow nicknames already? Just marry the guy y/n." She teases. "There's no way he would ever go for me. The second Penny knows he's back at North Island she'll come running back." You sigh

"Who's gonna come running back?" You hear from down the hall "Holy shit. Uh- um no one." Your eyes widen as Phoenix gives you a smirk.

"Alright well training starts at 1. I'll see you later." He walks away. "There's no way he didn't hear me say that about Penny." You say turning around towards Phoenix and she laughs at you.

You and Phoenix are in the air with Fanboy and Payback, and Hangman.

"Good afternoon aviators, welcome to basic fighting maneuvers, as briefed today's exercise consists of dogfighting, guns only no missiles. You do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet. Working as a team you must shoot me down or else.. "Or else what, sir?" Payback asks "Or else I shoot back, If I shoot any of you down, you both lose."

"This guy needs an ego check." Hangman says "So what do you say we put some skin in to the game?" Payback says. "What do you have in mind?"

"Whoever gets shot down first has to do 200 pushups." Payback suggests "Guys, that's a lot of pushups." Mav replies

"Well they don't call it an exercise for nothing, sir." Fanboy adds. "You got yourselves a deal gentlemen, ladies you good with that?" He asks you guys. You chuckle "Alright yeah, let's turn and burn." You say.

"Fanboy do you see him?" Payback asks "Nothing on my radar, must be somewhere behind us." You guys are right next to each other, very little space between your planes. Suddenly Maverick comes in between.

"Shit!" You yell. He flies up further and circles back. "Tally Tally Tally!" Phoenix says "Mavericks coming in break left y/n!" You hear from Fanboy. "Y/n where are you!" Payback asks. "I'm coming I'm coming." You say heading towards him. "Payback break right." You tell him to and he does, getting out of Mavericks clear shot. "Y/n just saved your asses guys, but it's gonna cost her." Maverick says heading for you.

"Fuck! Y/n what's your plan?" Phoenix says tapping the glass indicating that maverick is right there. "Trust me he's not getting us." You say. He's right behind you and your plan was to go up and circle behind, but instead you go further down. "Y/n you're too low!! You're hitting the hard deck" Payback yells "Altitude, Altitude, Altitude." The alarm sound blares "Oh shit!" You immediately pull back up, giving Maverick a clear shot.

"That's a kill." He says. Fuck, you let your team down. And now you owe pushups.

"Down 120, Down 121..." Your arms burn as you do your pushups, goddammit you still have 80 to go. Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy are watching from the window. "That should be us down there." Fanboy says. "Yeah but it's not, and now you know a little something about y/n, she'll do anything for her team." Phoenix smiles looking down at you.

"Yeah she's one stubborn girl. But she won't ever let you guys down or leave a wingman behind I know that's for sure." Maverick says from behind them. "Hey so what's up with you guys? Are you a thing, sir?" Fanboy asks but Phoenix elbows him. "Sorry?" Mav says, Fanboy clears his throat "Nothing sir, my apologies." He says walking away.

You've just finished the day and as you shut your locker you find Maverick behind you. "Holy shit." You get scared by his sudden appearance, you clear your throat. "Excuse me, sir" you say trying to walk around. He grabs your arm

"Hey wait" he turns you to look at him. You make eye contact and you can feel your cheeks burning red. "I wanted to let you know that your team appreciates what you do for them, that from today and just in general. I appreciate you." He says and he gives you a smile. You can feel butterflies in your stomach but you can do nothing more than just smile. "Oh, thank you." You chuckle, you realize his hand has been on your shoulder this whole time. His hand moves up to your face to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I'll see you tomorrow, y/n." He says and then walk away. You make your way down the hallway to leave. What the fuck just happened?

The next few days of training is more dogfighting. Same rules, you die, you owe pushups. Throughout the day nobody has been able to get a kill on Maverick, you're hoping to today. You're in the air with Hangman, Bob and Phoenix. Out of nowhere Maverick comes in between you.

"Greetings aviators, fights on." He says

"Break right y/n" Hangman yells and you do except he goes the other way. Maverick follows you instead of Hangman. "Fuck, where's he going?" Bob asks. "That's why we call him hangman, he always hangs you out to dry." You groan trying to get Maverick off your tail.

"Leaving your wingman. That's a strategy I haven't seen in a while." Maverick says looking in Hangman's direction. "He just called you a man y/n, you gonna take that?" Hangman chuckles "So long as he doesn't call you a man." You say taking a sharp turn to try and get away.

"Talk to me Bob where's Maverick?" You ask "Jeez! His nose is already coming back." He says looking back at him "Get him off me Hangman!" You yell

"For all you folks at home, this is how you bury a fossil." Hangman says trying to shoot Maverick down.

"Alright Hangman, time to teach you a lesson." Mav says circling back. "You're out y/n" he says. "Son of a bitch!" You yell smacking the dashboard. You hear Phoenix and Bob sigh but they tell you it's not your fault. Very soon Hangman is dead too. You know after hearing "that's a kill."

"Down 78, Down 79..."

"Y/n shouldn't be down here again" Bob says while doing pushups. "Well I wonder why she is." Hangman grunts

"Maybe cause I don't leave my team, bagman." You say, from the corner of your eye you can see Maverick chuckling from your comment. "That's funny, Maverick said the same thing yesterday." Phoenix says. You don't respond, but you're just thinking about it. Maverick talking about you?

Next day's training is the last day for this situational dogfight. But today it's just you and Hangman in the air. "Y/n I have a question, what's up with you and Maverick?"he asks, bringing flush to your cheeks again just at the thought of it. "Nothing hangman." You say clearing your throat. Maverick comes up and initiates the fight. You grunt and immediately get at it and follow Maverick.

"What is with these two?" Hangman says just watching you guys. You're just going further and further down, you're past the hard deck and just circling with Maverick. "Let's get it over with y/n, your strategy is about to run us into the ground what's your move?" He asks

"You can bail out anytime." You say looking him straight in the eyes. "Pull up, pull up! Pull up, pull up!" You hear from the alarm system. Maverick grunts and pulls up. You do so too. "C'mon you got it, now don't think just do." He encourages you.

"C'mon y/n you got it, just drop down and take the shot!" You hear Hangman say. You're going to, but it's too low. "Too late had your chance." Mav says and turns straight up. He circles back and shoots you. "That's a kill, y/n." He says. "Goddammit!" You yell. "Go see Hondo about your pushups" he says and flies away.

As you're doing your pushups, Hondo stopped counting a while ago but you haven't stopped. "Alright that's enough." He says but you still don't stop. He walks away and you stop once your arms can't take it anymore.

"Kid, with how training's going so far for you, it does not seem like you're going on this mission." Hangman says walking up to you. You scoff and get up, you begin walking away when he grabs you by the shoulder.

"Get out of your head, y/n. I don't know if it's simply that our instructor is Maverick, if that's what's bothering you but whatever it is, it cannot get in your way." He says, you listened to him without turning around, you wanted to turn around and slap the shit out of just cause you felt like it. Instead you walk away.

You head towards your locker and grab your stuff. You walk out to your car and throw your bags in the trunk, it's laundry day. You shut your trunk and get into the driver's seat. Shit you forgot your ID key card that lets you into the building. You groan and go to the front door and look through the glass. You see Cyclone walk by and you knock rapidly hoping he will hear you. Luckily he does and he lets you in.

"Lieutenant L/n, shouldn't you have your own card to be let in?" He asks raising his eyebrow at you. You sigh, "Yes sir, I set it at my locker and I forgot to grab it." You say looking down.

He notices that something is off and he runs your shoulder. "I'm gonna let you off with a warning but it better be the first and last time this happens. I can't emphasize enough how important it is that you never lose your ID card okay?Have a good night lieutenant." He says and you speed walk to your locker.

You turn the corner and Maverick is walking towards you. Before he has the chance to say anything you just walk past him.

You hear him scoff and when you get to your locker and you're unlocking it he comes by you. "Y/n what the fuck is your problem?" He asks

"What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you shoot me down over and over again?" You say shutting your locker. You grab your ID and start walking back from where you came in but he follows you. You make it to your car again and he's still right behind you.

"Don't think that just because I like you I'm gonna go easy on you." He says "fuck" he mutters. You immediately stop and turn around "You what?" You say.

"Wait no I didn't mean it." He starts, your heart drops. "Oh. Okay then." You say getting into your car but he stops you. "No wait y/n, I did mean it. I'm sorry for being a dick." He apologizes. "I don't know what to say." You say looking down.

"Well I think it would be okay if you start with telling me if you like me too or not." He chuckles awkwardly.

You laugh and look up at his stupid smile, his stupid eyes and his stupid gorgeous face. "Oh my gosh Maverick" you say as you pull him in to you to kiss him. He pulls away and he looks at you. "I'm guessing that's a yes?" He chuckles. "Yes Mav." You chuckle and he leans in to kiss you again, he deepens the kiss by pushing you against your car door.

He pulls away again. "Y/n, you've just gotta believe in yourself. You're one of the greatest pilots I know, you're just getting into your head about this mission but trust me you will get it." He says. You just nod your head and he lets you into your car and you leave.

Over the next week, you guys train more dogfighting.and overall defense. Today's exercise is going through the actual course of the mission. Maverick has already showed you guys the course and now you're ready to go through with it. "So for today's lesson we're gonna go easy on you guys. Max ceiling, 300 feet. Time to target, 3 minutes." Mav explains. "Fuck." You mutter under your breath.

"Good luck" he smiles at the crew.

You're in the air with Phoenix, and Coyote.

"Time is 1 minute thirty, we are 2 seconds behind. Increase to 490 knots." Phoenix tells you. "We've gotta move Coyote!" You groan. He speeds up too much and almost hits you. "Oh shit!" He yells and he pulls up and the alarm on his radar starts beeping.

"Why are they dead?" Maverick asks. "We broke the 300 foot ceiling, then a sam took us out." You explain. "No, why are they dead?" He asks again "I slowed down and I didn't communicate." Coyote says. "Why didn't you communicate with your team?" Mav asks

"I was too focused on- Coyote starts but is interrupted. "No, a reason that their family will accept at the funeral." Maverick says.

Maverick looks at you and asks "Why didn't you anticipate the turn?" but before he lets you answer he says again "Don't tell me y/n, tell it to her family" and nods towards Phoenix.

Hangman, Fanboy and Payback die too due to Hangman's obliviousness. Hangman backs it up with "either a man flies like Maverick or a man does not make it back." Mavericks lectures are just him emphasizing how you must focus on all things at once, how focusing too much on one thing and too little on another can get you killed.

The days over and you're done putting stuff away at your locker. Making sure to not forget anything this time you walk out to your car. Before leaving the building, Maverick comes up to you. "Hey y/n, I just wanted to say good job today." He says

"You don't mean it, I killed my team and I don't even have a good enough excuse to fucking say at the funeral. I'll see you tomorrow." You say getting into your car.

The next day, Maverick is called into a meeting with Cyclone and Warlock. He finds out that he will no longer be instructing since the operation has been set for a week earlier. Cyclone believes that the only thing Maverick has taught us that the mission cannot be flown.

Everybody is called to the meeting room. "I will be intructing the training for this mission now. We have less than a week, the time set has been moved earlier. As of today there are new mission parameters." Cyclone explains. "The time to target is now 4 minutes."

"Doesn't that expose us to their fighting air crafts?" Coyote asks "it does, so it will be a dogfight. But it seems like that's the only thing Maverick "taught" you." He replies. "Goddamn, we'll be sitting ducks." Fanboy sighs.

Suddenly the screen turns on and shows the flight course, indicating someone is airborne in an f-18 single. "Who the hell is that?" Asks Cyclone.

"Maverick entering point alpha. Confirm green range." Comes from the radio. "Uh maverick, green range confirmed. I don't see an event scheduled for you, sir." Also comes from the radio. "Well I'm going anyway." Maverick replies

The whole group sits up straight intrigued to see the screen. Maverick sets the time to target as 2 minutes 15 seconds. "2:15? That's impossible " says Coyote. Maverick begins the course. Surely, he makes it and lands the bombs perfectly, he even finished with 15 seconds to spare. Leaving everyone stunned. "Damn" is all Hangman says.

It is now the day of the mission. For Maverick to have a last chance to fly for Top Gun, he will be flying the mission since he showed it can be flown.

Everybody is in the room, Cyclone is talking about how the 5 people who do not fly the mission will stand by for any alternative roles.

"It has been an honor flying with you, each and every one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission, my choice is a reflection of that." Maverick says.

"Choose your two foxtrot teams." Cyclone says. You feel so nervous because you don't know if you're going or not. "Payback and Fanboy, Phoenix and Bob." He sighs. Fuck, you're not going. Bob will be Pheonix's backseater and Fanboy will be Paybacks's.

Everybody looks at you confused as to why you're not paired with Phoenix. "And your wingman?." Cyclone asks. Tension filling the room, everybody is expecting it to be Hangman if not Rooster.

"Y/n." Maverick says.

"The rest of you will stand by on the carrier for any reserve role that's required. Dismissed." Admiral Bates says.

Phoenix and Bob come up to you and Bob pats you on the back.

"Holy shit y/n, it's gonna be different flying without you. But we're gonna do it." Phoenix says wrapping her arm around you.

Preparing for the mission, Cyclone speaks to you guys once again about the time to target and detailed specifics about the mission. "This is what you've all been training for. Come home safely."

You guys are on the tarmac, you go up to Maverick and shove him. "Hey! what the fuck was that for?" He asks while turning around.

"Why the hell did you pick me?" You say "because I believe in you, y/n. I know that you can do it, I couldn't do it without you being my wingman. don't go into this thinking that you can't do it." He says putting his hand on your shoulder.

You feel so nervous and you start breathing fast. "It will be okay I promise." He says pulling you into a hug. "We'll talk when we get back okay." He says giving you a smile.

Your breathing going back to normal you take a deep breath and head for your plane as he heads for his.

You give Phoenix and Bob a salute as they get in their planes. You take a deep breath and put your helmet on. Hondo comes up to your plane. "You got this y/n. It's been an honor, I believe in you." He says wiping his tears. You look at him still scared as hell. " Don't give me that look." He laughs "it's the only one i've got." You say patting his shoulder.

"good luck and come home please." He says as you shut your ceiling in.

" Dagger one, up and ready." Mav says through the radio. "Dagger spare, up and ready. You hear from Hangman. "Dagger three, up and ready." From Phoenix. You take a deep breath. "Dagger two, up and ready." You say

"Support assets airborne, strike package ready, standing by for launch decision." You hear from back in the room everybody is in. "Send them." Cyclone says. "Dagger one away." Maverick goes. "Dagger two away." You follow Maverick. "Dagger three away" Pheonix follows. "Dagger four away" and finally Payback follows too.

"Daggers descending below radar." Maverick says as you guys fly into the fog. "Enemy territory up ahead" Mav says. He takes a deep breath, looking back at the rest of the dagger squad. "Dagger attack." He says and they release the missiles. "Tomahawks airborne" you hear. "No turning back now." Says Admiral Bates. You see the tomahawks fly above you guys.

"Daggers, ascend to attack formation" Maverick says and you guys do so. "Daggers set, proceeding to target, time set to 2 minutes and thirty seconds in three, two, one, mark." Maverick says and starts his timer. "Two mark." You say pressing yours. "Three mark, Four mark." You hear from Phoenix and Payback.

"Going in." Mav says. As you guys go in, you stay low and you're good under radar. You look up and see sams set.

"2 minutes to target!" Bob says

"Copy, were 14 seconds behind y/n we've got to move!" Payback says to you. Your palms are sweaty and breathing is heavy.

"Thirty seconds to tomahawk impact on enemy airstrip." You hear from the radio.

"Dagger, Comanche. We're picking up two bandits." You hear. "Where the hell did they come from?" Cyclone says. Shit. "They're headed the other way, they don't know we're here. But the second those tomahawks hit, they will turn around." Mav says "copy", and you guys reply.

"We have to get there before they do. Daggers, increase speed." Maverick says. Phoenix does, but you don't. "Sir, daggers two and four are behind schedule. Time to target, one minute twenty seconds." You hear from the radio again. Fuck. "Tomahawk impact in three, two, one." You hear. "Impact!".

"They know we're coming now." Cyclone says.

"Bandits are switching direction to defend enemy target." "Y/n, where are you?" Maverick asks. But you don't reply. "C'mon y/n! Bandits are inbound we gotta make time up now! Let's turn and burn." Payback says. "If we don't increase speed now, they'll be waiting for us when we get there y/n." Payback says

You take a deep breath still rapidly breathing. "Y/n, you can do it. Don't think, just do." Mav whispers to you.

You suddenly increase speed. "Jesus y/n, not that fast!" Payback says but you keep going. "Alright let's go." you say continuing with Payback following you. "Damn y/n take it easy!" Fanboy yells.

"Sir, dagger two is engaging." "Alright now hit your target and come home." Cyclone says. "Thirty seconds to target, Bob check your laser." Mav says "Code verified, laser is a go!" Bob says. They pop up, and drop in "Bombs away." Maverick says and successfully hits the target.

"Direct hit!" He yells. "There's miracle number one." Warlock says through the radio. "Dagger two, status?" He asks "We're almost there Mav!" You yell. You pop up and drop in. "Fanboy where's my laser?" You ask. "Y/n there's something wrong with this laser, shit!" Fanboy yells fumbling with the laser. "Dead eye! Dead eye! Dead eye!" He yells. "Fuck! There's no time, I'm dropping in blind." You say

"Nearly there, don't!" Fanboy yells but you do so anyway.

"Bombs away! Bombs away!" You yell and immediately pull up. You've successfully hit the target as you see it explode while you're still pulling up. "Bullseye! Bullseye! Bullseye!" You hear from the radio followed by cheering. "There's miracle number two." Warlock says "Now they're in coffin corner." Cyclone says.

"We're not out of this yet!" Maverick grunts, struggling. Your eyes want to shut, but you're fighting with all you can to stay conscious.

Maverick and Phoenix make it over the mountain, setting off the sams. "Smoke in the air! Phoenix break right!" You hear Maverick yell. You're still fighting for your life trying not to pass out. "Here comes another one!" You hear Bob yell.

"Y/n status!" Maverick yells. You make it over the mountain. You see the sams heading towards you. "Oh my god! Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!" You yell.

"Break right y/n! Break right!" You hear fanboy yell at you. "There's more coming!" He says "deploying flares!" You reply. You press the red button and your flares are launched, defending.

"Negative contact!" You grunt. "Y/n! Watch out! 9 o'clock!!" Fanboy yells at you smacking his window in the direction of where they are coming. They were gonna hit Phoenix, but she moved out of the way and they were headed towards you.

"2 more on your left y/n!" Bob yells. Shit. Missiles are coming at you from both sides and you don't know where to go. "Defending!" You yell but you're out of flares. "Shit I'm out of flares!" You tell trying to break left but their on your tail.

"Dagger one defending!" Maverick grunts getting in the way of you and the missiles headed towards you. "Maverick no!" You yell as he gets hit, not taking out all of the missiles in time and falling down towards a mountain about to burn in.

"Shit!" You yell, tears swelling in your eyes. "Dagger one is hit! I repeat, Dagger one is hit! Maverick is down!" Phoenix yells into the radio. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Dagger one status? Does anyone see him?" You yell.

"I didn't see a parachute, y/n." Payback says. "We're gonna circle back. We have to!" You yell still looking in the direction where he fell. "Comanche, bandits inbound, single group, recommend dagger head south. One minute to intercept." You hear coming from the radio. "Get them back to the carrier, now." You hear cyclone say. Fuck, the tears leave your eyes. You're going after Maverick.

"All daggers head for ECP, you have bandits headed to you."

"What about maverick!" You yell. "Tell her there's nothing she can do about Maverick. Not in a goddamn F-18!" Cyclone says

"Dagger spare, request permission to launch and fly air cover!" You hear Hangman yell. "Negative, spare."

"Fuck!" You smack your hand against the dashboard. "Send search and rescue." Warlock says. But cyclone says no, not with bandits in the air. "Sir! Maverick is still out there." Hondo says but Cyclone says we are not losing anyone else today. "Get them home now." He says

"Dagger, you are not to engage." The tears keep coming from your eyes. "Dagger two, return to carrier. Dagger two acknowledge, you are not to engage."

"Y/n, the bandits are closing in. We can't go back." Phoenix says, her voice breaking. "He's gone y/n." Fanboy says

You break sharply and go in Mavericks direction. "Y/n no!" Phoenix yells. You're flying over the mountain where he got hit. You set off more sams from that corner. "Where are you Mav, where are you." You whisper to yourself looking over the area. Unaware and without flares you get hit. "Fuck!" You yell.

"Dagger two is hit, I repeat Dagger two is hit." You hear coming from the radio and you're about to crash. At the last second you're able to eject and crash-land into some trees. You land safely on the ground and you fold up your parachute.

"You alright!!" You hear somebody yell and you look up and see Maverick sprinting at you. You gasp as he aggressively throws himself at you, hugging you and you both fall to the floor. You push him off of you and get up.

"What the hell!?" You yell at him. "What are you doing here y/n! You think I took that missile for you to be down here with me? You should be back on the carrier by now!!" He says to you. "I saved your life!" You say looking up at his tall figure, poking your finger into his chest.

"I saved your life! That's the whole fucking point. What the hell were you even thinking??" He says pushing your hand off of his chest. "You told me not to think!!" You scream back at him smacking his hand. You guys look at each other for a few seconds, catching your breath.

"Fuck. Well it's good to see you." He says. You look at him for a bit. You throw yourself at him bringing him into a hug. "It's good to see you too." You say as he's holding on to you tightly.

"C'mon I have a plan." he says putting his arm around your waist, guiding you. You guys walk about half a mile past some trees. You guys find a rock to hide behind, you look over at the enemy's base. Alarms blaring and you see people scrambling all over the place, trying to figure out why their runway was taken out.

Maverick is looking through his binoculars. "Hey look." He says handing them to you. "You're joking." You say as you see the F-14 that he's talking about. "It's either that or we're dead y/n." He says taking them back. "We don't even know if that piece of shit can fly, Mav." You say. "Well let's go find out." He says jumping over the rock. "Fuck. Mav! okay." you say wiping your face.

You follow him and once you catch up you hold onto his arm. "Wait up." You say. "Sorry" he says slowing down. "Mav, there's people." You whisper, tugging on his arm. "Okay okay." He says slowing down a lot. "Wait no, okay uhh here let's run." He says starting to run and you do so too.

You guys make it to the F-14. Mav makes his way over to the dash system. "Okay, okay once I give you the signal, you're gonna flip the switch until the needle reaches 120. Once the engine turns on, you're gonna pull up all of the pins and unplug everything. Understand?" He says looking at you. "Yeah, yeah I got it." You say. He presses the button to turn it on and it starts. "Yes!" He exlaims.

He turns around to get in and he puts on his helmet. But he stops and turns back around. "Hey-" he says, he grabs your face and kisses you. You pull away and look at him "we're gonna make it y/n." He says and you kiss him again.

He gets in and gives you the signal. You flip the switch when you see the needle reach 120. You run around the plane, unplugging everything and you stow his ladder and jump on.

You get into your seat and get settled. "Holy shit, this thing's old." You chuckle looking over all of the buttons. You guys start driving out and onto the runway. "Both runways are cratered Mav, how are we gonna get this museum piece up?" You ask.

Mav looks around and pulls a lever. "Why are the wings coming out Mav?" You say with your face pressed against the glass as you look down.

"Just hold on." He replies and accelerates rapidly. "Holy shit! Mav this is not a runway!!" You yell. You guys barely make it up in the air, your wheels hitting the cratered tarmac piece on the way up, breaking off.

You turn your radio on, connecting to the carrier. You and Maverick make it to sea. You see two planes coming up behind you guys. "Mav, there's somebody coming." You say tapping the glass.

"Shit, okay put your mask on. Smile and wave, if they knew who we were we'd already be dead." He says and you put on your mask. You look to your left and the enemy plane is right there, you guys wave. The pilot signals something to Mav.

"What does that mean?" You whisper. "Uh, I have no idea. Never seen it." He replies and he signals something to the guy. "Mav, his backseater is reaching into the weapons envelope. Can we outrun these guys?" You ask, getting scared.

"Y/n, look at the yellow flaps under your seat. That is the ejection handle you're gonna pull it when I tell you to." He says.

"Mav, can we outrun them?" You ask again. "No y/n. Not in a F-14." He sighs. "It's not the plane Mav, it's the pilot. You'd go after them if I wasn't here." You reply. "But you are here." He says.

"Fuck. Okay, hold on y/n" he says and he rapidly accelerates, trying to flee. The other guys immediately act on it and they start shooting. "flares y/n!" Mav yells. You press the button, releasing the flares and stopping the missiles.

"That was close!" You yell. Another shot headed towards you and you press the button again. "Mav were out of flares!! Break right!" He does so and the missles barely miss you guys.

You guys are nearing a valley, you can make it through if you get low enough. Maverick says the terrain will trip out the guys system. Once you make it through the small valley, Mav takes a sharp turn, causing the other guy to crash into the mountain. "Yes Mav! Splash one!' you yell excitedly.

"Fuck!! Maverick there's another one!" You smack his shoulder to get his attention. "Y/n we can't take anymore of this." Mav says as you guys start to get shot at. "Eject y/n! Eject!" He yells at you.

You pull at the yellow striped handles but you're not budging. "I said eject y/n!" He yells again. "It's not working!!" You yell still yanking at the handles. The other plane shoots at you guys again. "We're not gonna make it!" You yell.

Suddenly, the missile is intercepted by another flare coming from your right. The enemy plane is shot down.

"Ladies and gentlemen please welcome, your lord and savior, hangman." You hear as the plane gets near you. "Holy shit!" You laugh feeling a wave of relief take over your body. You settle back into your seat. He comes up right next to you guys. Maverick chuckles. "You look good Hangman." He says "I am good Mav, I'm very good." He smirks. "C'mon guys, lets go home." You say.

"Arriving at the carrier, barricade net needed. I repeat barricade net needed." Hangman says into his radio. You guys fly over the carrier, seeing the crew setting up the net. You circle back around and crash into the net.

You raise the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh, taking off your helmet. "Maverick!!

Y/n!!" Hondo yells running towards you guys. Everybody surrounds you guys cheering you guys on.

You jump off and stand on the tarmac, your heart still racing from the adrenaline. Phoenix, Rooster, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, Bob and Hangman all run up to you. Engulfing you in a group hug.

"I never thought I'd be this happy to see you y/n." Payback says. "Yeah. Never do that shit again." Fanboy says pulling you into a hug. You pull away smiling and you look at Pheonix. "I knew you'd never leave anyone behind." She says bringing you into a tight hug and you hug her back tightly. You look back at Bob. "I don't know what to say. Holy shit y/n you almost died!" He yells at you hugging you. "It's good to see you too Bob." You chuckle.

Hangman clears his throat, you all look at him and see that he's looking at Mav coming up to you. "Go! Go!" Fanboy and Phoenix whisper pushing you away. Maverick comes up to you and hugs you tightly.

You fall into his touch, embracing him as if it's the last hug you'll ever get from him. "Y/n, you saved me. I couldn't have done it without you." He says. "And I couldn't have done it without you." You say looking up at him. "Not too bad for a wingman hey?" He chuckles. "As long as I'm only your wingman." You say looking up at him, smiling.

"Of course, we make the best team y/n." He says, his facial expression softening. He grabs your face and brings you closer. Pulling you into a kiss, you kiss him back. It was a passionate kiss, filled with the thrill from the mission and a promise of what was yet to come.

"Be mine, y/n." He whispers looking into your eyes. "Always." You say, leaning back into another kiss.

This one was a long one! I hope you guys enjoyed it. Please send in requests! By the way, slider x trans! male reader coming soon as requested by anon! :)

[tgmsunmontue]

Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 9/15

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got an air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT

PART NINE

                The mission is a success. It’s also a shit show. But no one dies, so there are more tallies in the success column than the shit-show one. He’s never flown so fast in his fucking life and he’s pretty sure he’s going to crash from the adrenaline drop any minute now, but he needs to go and make sure Bradshaw is legit alive and well and breathing. He told Jake he would keep an eye on him, bring him back safe, and he’s done the best he can.

                “Thanks for saving us. Saving me.”

                “Yeah well, I’ve got a best friend who would have been quite upset if I came back and you didn’t…” They stand there then, side by side, catching their breath. “You need to tell him. When we get back. You need to tell him.”

                “I know. I know I do… You know I was already planning on telling him.”

                Javy hums at that, because they’ve been gone what feels like an eternity but which is in fact only five days. Another thirty-six hours and they’ll be back on the mainland, debriefing and then who the fuck knows what’s going to be happening next. Definitely not him. Bradshaw looks fucking awful, like a man sentenced to death and Jake’s callsign hits him again, the idea that he’s a noose around Bradshaw’s neck, leading him around his entire life without even knowing it. He finds himself feeling a little bit sad for him, because he seriously doesn’t know how Jake will react when he gets his memories back.

                Bradshaw staggers then and he catches him automatically, arm looping under Bradshaw’s and around his back. Javy shifts, looks Bradshaw in the eye and takes in the dilated pupils and his inability to meet his gaze.

                “Come on, sick bay for you. Need to get you checked out…”

                “You too Maverick,” Cyclone orders, and Javy hadn’t realized that he was standing there, either of them; both watching and no doubt listening to Javy and Bradshaw talk. Maverick doesn’t say anything though, simply steps into the space on Bradshaw’s other side and then they’re walking toward the sickbay, guiding Bradshaw’s stumbling steps and he swallows, suddenly nervous that Bradshaw isn’t as okay as he had first seemed.

                “Bradshaw… talk to me. How are you feeling?”

                “Like I’m going to throw up.”

                Fuck. He doesn’t know if he can deal with both Jake and Bradshaw walking around with concussion, although Jake’s symptoms weren’t typical at all, and he had some physical injuries too. The Corpsman beckons them all inside and there’s another one in there. Bradshaw slumps onto a bed, clearly using up all his energy to walk here, even with assistance from both him and Maverick. They all get checked out, and the next time he glances over at Bradshaw he’s passed out, and he hopes it’s just sleep.

                “He okay?” Javy asks, jerking his chin in Bradshaw’s direction.

                “Concussion. Sprained ankle. Some bruised ribs. He’ll be fine.”

                Javy wonders what they’d say if he wasn’t going to be fine, it’s not like he’s on the need-to-know list. Still. He guesses he’ll stick to Bradshaw’s side and get him back to Jake as soon as possible. Bradshaw’s got a promise to keep and Javy’s going to ensure he sticks to it.

                “What did you mean?” Maverick asks and Javy startles a little, looks to where Maverick is sitting on the side of his bed, his eyes on Bradshaw lying asleep and Javy looks between them. “Lieutenant. What did you mean. Is Bradley… are he and Hangman…”

                “Uh…” Javy starts, wonders why it’s always him that gets put on the spot. What awful things did he do in his past life to have karma be coming for him this badly.

                “It’s not really my place to say. Sir.”

                “Well I can’t exactly ask Bradley now…”

                “Would he tell you anyway?” Javy asks, and as soon as the words out of his mouth he flinches, realizes how mean they sounds, even to his own ears. “Sorry sir, that was –”

                “No. No. You’re fine lieutenant. That was… that was a fair assessment. I would like to think he might. Now. We promised to talk.”

                “Then you’ll need to talk to him sir. Once he’s awake.”

                “Right. Once he’s awake. How is Hangman anyway?”

                “Uh. He’s… recovering.”

                “Heard he lost a chunk of memories.”

                “Yeah. He did.”

                “Anything I can help with?”

                “Uh. No sir. Thank you though.”

                Fuck. Jake used to idolize Maverick, and a whole bunch of other aviators. Then the hero worship stopped and that makes sense now if he thinks back to when Jake and Bradshaw first got together. Jake no doubt heard some home truths and that likely changed his view. He wonders if Jake knew exactly who it was they were throwing out of the Hard Deck those few weeks ago, whether he’d have still been angry on Bradshaw’s behalf. Fucked if he knows. He may never know.

…            …            …

                Bradshaw wakes up and he’s got all his memories; Javy thanks whatever deities are keeping an eye on him. Because that would have been a fucking awful situation, but one so hilariously comical he’d almost broken into hysterical giggles at the mere thought of it all. Not the blind leading the blind, but two stubborn men forgetting their relationship to one another. Fuck. Actually. Maybe that would have been easier, if they could have started over with a clean slate. Except no, he doesn’t want that to happen. Whatever Bradshaw’s problem and issues were or are he seems to have maybe made progress on them in the intervening years.

                Of course, Jake no longer poking and prodding all of Bradshaw’s sensitive spots is likely helping matters right now. Bradley’s temper completely defused by Jake’s accident, and because Jake doesn’t know better; doesn’t carry that anger with him at the moment. Javy has to admit to himself he’s a little worried about Jake remembering and how that’s going to go down, and wonders if Bradshaw telling him the truth is going to help or hurt.

(Next up in Chapter 10, Jake's POV and maybe the last chapter...)

TEN

[peacefxlmyko]

Family business

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x mom!Reader, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw x wife!Reader, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x platonic!Reader

Ask: "I had an idea for Top Gun, the reader was “Goose”'s wife and Bradley's mother, she is in the Navy and trains the squadron for the mission with Maverick. When Maverick and his son's plane are about to be shot down instead of Jake saving them, she is the one who saves them. Cute ending if possible" by @motherofdragons1998

Tags: Fluff, Angst, obviously Top Gun Maverick spoilers, hints to Hangster 👀, Reader is a widow, Use of Y/N, Reader's callsign is Shadow

Notes: I am SO nervous to post this omfg. This is the first thing I ever wrote based off an ask and I hope I did everything right with it lmao. This is also the longest piece I have ever written. I am not 100% happy with it, but I did my best and I hope ya'll like it! Apologies for any Grammar or in general writing mistakes, English isn't my first language. I am also open for more requests/asks!

Words: 2500+

Story under the cut! ✂️

Getting the call to return to Top Gun after years definitely wasn't something you expected. And finding out that you had to train the best pilots in the world for a suicide mission didn't make your anxiety any better.

After you arrived at the Academy, you were met with Beau “Cyclone” Simpson and Solomon “Warlock” Bates and they introduced you to the Mission.

“Captain Y/N “Shadow” Bradshaw." Cyclone began. “I'm Admiral Beau Simpson and this is Admiral Solomon Bates.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” You replied.

“I hope it's no problem we will be introducing you to the Mission without the other instructor.”

“Other.. instructor, sir?”, your eyes narrowed a little in confusion.

"Yes, you will be teaching the class with another instructor.” Your curiosity was sparked, but you didn't get to ask anything else as they started explaining the Mission.

“The target is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region.” Warlock started to explain.

After the explanation it as your turn to explain your view on the mission. Then, they revealed who the pilots tasked with the mission were. “We've recalled 12 TOPGUN graduates from their squadrons. We want you to narrow-”

As soon as you turned to the monitor your heart skipped a beat and your breath caught in your throat. Bradley.

“Is there a problem, Captain?”

“I just.. didn't expect to see my son there, sir.” You muttered, still a bit in disbelief.

“Bradley Bradshaw, aka Rooster. I understand his father was also a pilot? What was his callsign again?”

Ouch. “It was Goose, sir.”

“Tragic what happened.”

Daggers. With every word daggers were being stabbed in your heart. Not one day went by without you missing Nick. Your husband. The father of your son. The love of your life.

After the briefing, you headed to a nearby bar to try and gather your thoughts. As you walked into the bar, you suddenly saw a familiar figure sitting there. No, two. Two familiar faces.

“Pete?”

The man turned around with a stunned look on his face.

“Y/N?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You walked closer to him, a smile forming on my face.

“I could ask you the same.”

“He pissed off another admiral.” Penny commented and you cracked a smile. “It's nice to see you again, Penny” You smiled and sat down next to Pete.

“Don't tell me you're going to-”

“Teach a mission here?” You completed his sentence.

“So you are the other instructor! They wouldn't even tell me!” Mav chuckled at your complaint and shook his head a little.

You heard some noises at the other side of the bar and glanced over at the pool tables. There were pilots gathered and you recognised them as the graduates that had been recalled for the mission.

A few more people joined the bar. It didn't even take you two seconds to recognise your son. Hawaii shirt, sunglasses on his nose, that damn mustache like Nick had. Bradley was the spitting image of his father. You also heard someone call out “Bradshaw! Is that you?”

You didn't want to admit it, but sometimes it hurt a little. The way Nick would have been so proud of him hurt. And knowing that you were the reason his papers were held back because you didn't want him to have the same fate as Goose.

As soon as Pete recognised Bradley he quickly turned away, as if to hide from him. “Mav, you don't have to hi-”

“I cost him years of his career.”

“I know, but that was because I wanted it that way. You did it for me, because of Goose. Don't you think it's time he finds out it was me?”

“No, god no. It'll be fine, just.. let it be.”

You sighed and turned back to your drink, taking a few sips.

“How about ringing me up before the evening rush?” Maverick suddenly said to Penny and stood up. You glanced over at Bradley, watching him with his fellow aviators. Hasn't even noticed his own mother yet. You chuckled a little to yourself.

“It's been declined.”

You snapped out of your thoughts when Penny said that to Pete and laid his credit card on the table in front of him. You curiously watched and tried to hide your amused grin.

“You're kidding.”

Soon enough, Pete was getting carried out by three pilots and you watched, not even hiding your amusement.

Then, you heard a few tones coming from the piano and your heart dropped.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain. Too much love drives a man insane.”

Rooster was playing and singing “Great balls of fire”. The same song Nick loved performing, a little out of key but it was still always the most perfect thing to you. You stared at him in disbelief, his back turned to you. Other pilots were standing next to him, singing along. The whole Bar was watching him. Your little boy.

After he was finished you watched him perform a little funny dance as the bar kept chanting “Rooster! Rooster!”. God, when did he grow up so much?

You stood up and slowly made your way towards him.

“I assumed you would at least let your Mother know when you're on a new Mission?”

You could see the way his heart dropped and he looked like a toddler being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Mom?” He slowly turned around to you, you had an amused grin on your face.

“This is how I find out you're back at TOPGUN?” You grinned. You could hear his friends letting out laughs and a few comments in the background. “I- uh—”

“Oh, shut up and give your mother a hug.”

________________________________________

The next day, all the pilots sat together in a hanger, ready to be taught about the mission. Admiral Bates was standing in front of them all, ready to explain.

“Your instructors are TOPGUN graduates with real world experience in every mission aspect you'll be expected to master and they are considered some of the finest pilots this program has ever produced. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick and Captain Y/N Bradshaw, callsign Shadow.”

Maverick and you walked in together, walking up to the lectern where Warlock stood at first. The pilots turned to look at you both and you could see their faces drop as some of them realized they kicked out their instructor last night.

You shot Bradley a quick small smile, meanwhile he gave Maverick a look that could kill.

You both started to talk to the class, Mav doing the most talking. After some briefing, you all got your Jets ready and then took off into the sky for some training and to show what they are able to do.

The next few days were spent preparing and training, trying to get them ready.

But once during some briefing in a classroom, a fight broke out. Hangman had made a comment about Goose and it set Rooster off, almost going for his throat but you all managed to keep them apart. Maverick dismissed them all for the day.

Bradley went back to the base to calm down, Maverick went to meet Iceman and you.. Well, you drove to the Hard Deck and sat down at the Beach there. The whole time you were lost in thoughts. Was he ready for this? Was I ready for this? Was anybody ready for this mission?

“Oh Nick..” You started to tear up. “I don't want to send Bradley out there. He's not ready. No one is! I-I can't risk losing him too! I.. I just can't lose my son too… He's my little boy.. Our little boy.. When did he grow up so much…? I need you here.. god.. I wish you were here..”

Even though he wasn't here anymore, you knew Goose was still watching over you and listening whenever he could.

________________________________________

It felt like the time until the mission flew by. It almost felt like a blur, as if it wasn't real. And burying one of your life-long friends made it even worse. Iceman could finally rest, but it was still incredibly painful. Seeing Maverick grief him made it even worse.

But in a blink of an eye, you were all on a ship in the middle of the Ocean, about to choose which Daggers would fly. You were going to stay back as Backup and Mav was going to fly with them.

You knew he was going to choose him as his wingman, but you secretly begged it wasn't true. You wished it would be Hangman, but it was going to be your son.

“Choose your two Foxtrot teams.” Cyclone said.

“Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob.” You both had decided these teams together, but the Wingman was Mav's own choice.

“And your Wingman?”

After a moment of anticipation, he finally said…

“Rooster.”

There it was. Your son was flying the suicide mission. And all you could do was listen through the comms and pray.

Everyone went on Deck and walked to their Jets. As you stood by your Jet, you looked over at Rooster and noticed him talking to Hangman. You had noticed throughout the whole preparation there seemed to be some tension and.. closeness between them. There was at least something.

You turned back to your Jet, climbing inside in case they needed Backup during the mission.

As the mission began and the teams flew away, your heart was pounding. With every minute you felt your anxiety increasing, scared for the safety of your son and also your friend.

You listened closely through the comms, listening to everything…..

“Bull's-eye! Bull's-eye! Bull's-eye!"

Yes! God, yes! They did it!

But now it was time to get back alive…

The rest of the mission was a pure air fight, raw dogfighting. They just needed to make it out alive. Please.

But to your worst fear the enemy planes were focused on Rooster.

“Dagger Two defending. Shit, I'm out of flares!”

“Rooster, evade, evade!” You heard his uncle shout.

“I can't shake ‘em! They're on me! They're on me!”

You didn't know what was happening., you weren't there. You didn't see it. All You could do was listen. Listen and wait. It felt awful not being able to do anything.

There was a moment of silence, only the heavy breathing from the pilots.

“Mav! No!”

“Dagger One is hit! I repeat, Dagger One is hit! Maverick is down!”

Your breath caught in your throat. Mav was hit.

“Dagger One, Status. Status! Anyone see him? Did anyone see him?! Dagger One, come in!” You heard the panic in Rooster's voice.

“I didn't see a parachute.”

Shit.

“We have to circle back!”

You felt your heart pumping, this was all so much. You knew this was a difficult mission, hell, a suicide mission but you still hoped this wouldn't happen!

“All Daggers flow to ECP. You have bandits headed for you.”

“What about Maverick?!” There was a strain in Bradley's voice.

“Dagger Square request permission to launch and fly air cover.” You suddenly spoke up. You had to help. You needed to help.

“Negative, spare.”

Shit!

“Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, do not engage.”

“Dagger Two, return to carrier. Acknowledge.”

Bradley, please. Come home safe.

You also wanted to save Maverick, but not with Bandits in the air.

The silence was killing you.

“Rooster, those bandits are closing. We can't go back.” You heard Phoenix say. “Rooster, he's gone.”

It hurt, but Bob was probably right. He was gone. He was with Goose. “Maverick's gone.”

Maverick had sacrificed himself for Rooster. Your best friend had sacrificed himself for your son….

Your heart began to pound as you realized Bradley was flying back. He wanted to save Mav. You wanted to scream at him to get his ass back to the ship, but you couldn't. He wouldn't even listen.

The not knowing was killing you. Not being able to do anything. Being stuck on the ship while your son was out there fighting for his life.

After minutes that felt like hours you heard the words you only wished to hear in your darkest nightmares.

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Rooster was hit.

You could barely hold it together anymore. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, but you had to hold it in.

“Dagger Two, come in. Dagger Two, do you copy? Dagger Two, come in.”

You were horrified. You might have just lost your only child and your best friend. Now you were alone.

One Minute turned into two. Two into five. Five into ten. Nothing. No reply, no sign of life.

You had no idea what the hell was going on in the tower, they weren't talking to you. Not one word. Was there a trace of the two? Were they still alive? You didn't know and it was one of the worst things you've ever felt.

After what felt like an eternity, you were finally given permission to launch and fly to their rescue after they had detected Rooster's ESAT.

Soon you saw them, they were involved in an air fight and obviously losing. You managed to bring your jet behind the enemy's plane without bringing any attention to yourself. That was the way you got your callsign. You were a Shadow, you could easily follow any planes without being noticed.

Just as they were about to shoot down Maverick and Rooster, you fired a shot and hit the bandit. The bandit was down and they were save. They were finally save and back with you.

You flew right through the smoke towards the F-14, you had never been happier to see a jet.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking.”

There was a grin on your face, you had never been so glad.

“Hey, mom, you look good.”

“I am good, Bradley. I'm very good.”

“I'll see you back on Deck.” You flew back and were the first to land. You got out of the Jet and watched everybody put up a net to catch the F-14.

Once they were back on deck you didn't hesitate one second to run towards them. “Bradley!” You shouted.

Everybody came running towards them, cheering and congratulating them.

Maverick got out and first went to Hondo, while Bradley came running towards you.

“Oh, my boy, I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone.” You sobbed and took him into your arms.

“You're not getting rid of me easily, Mom.” He laughed and hugged you tightly, not letting you go for a while. “You're a hero, Bradley. I'm so so proud of you. Your- your dad would be so proud, god-” You teared up.

“I know Mom, I know.”

You parted from him so he could celebrate with the others. The other Daggers immediately came to him.

Once again you could swear there were looks between Jake and Rooster, but you didn't mention anything.

“Captain Mitchell! Captain Mitchell!” You then saw Bradley approach Pete. Without hesitating, Maverick pulled him into a hug. A hug that meant the World.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“It's what my dad would've done.”

________________________________________

Days after the mission the whole Dagger Squad was sitting in the Hard Deck together, having drinks and cracking jokes. Bradley, of course, sat down at the piano and sang once again. The whole Bar chimed in and sang “Great balls of fire” with him.

“Oh! You're fine, so kindGot to tell this world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine!”

You could have sworn he took a glance towards Jake during that line.

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 8

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, flashbacks, abuse, blood, violence, getting kicked out, forbidden relationship, swearing, pining

Word Count: 10k (i'm so sorry)

Summary: An insight to the past has you remembering just how hurt you were. You're still refusing to talk to your dad, and he isn't quite sure how to get you to open up. Even after a meeting with Cyclone, you're reminded you still have an entire team ready to back you up. Rooster is ready to apologize and welcome you back, but are you? (Also, can dogfight football really fix everything?)

A/N: Wow, I really didn't mean for it to get this long but here we are. But also I did procrastinate my homework to do this, and I don't regret it. I hope you all enjoy! Comments and reblogs literally make me cry tears of joy, happy reading!

Masterlist

10 years ago

Driving your beat up Toyota Corolla down the streets to your mom’s extravagant home was nothing new to you. The anticipatory anxiety wasn’t new either. You had memorized your mom’s work schedule to know when she would or wouldn’t be home when you got back from school, but lately it’s been a little erratic. Almost as much as she was. So was the real estate market you supposed.

You sigh in relief when you don’t see her car in the driveway. In these moments you thanked her husband for owning three cars and parking them all in the garage. You, of course, get to park on the street, which added a couple extra dents to your car that weren’t there before, but you weren’t one to complain. Disappointed maybe, that your pride and joy you spent your summers working at the local smoothie joint to afford, was a little more rough around the edges than when you purchased it.

You check the mailbox at the curb before going in. Of course it was empty. It became a habit ever since you applied to USNA to check the mailbox daily, hopefully to intercept the good or bad news before anyone else could see it. 

The house is quiet as you enter, all three of your step-siblings must be with their mom. And Bret, your step-dad, doesn’t get home until after 5:00 most days, leaving you to your own devices. Even if you wanted to do something fun with the house to yourself, you never dare. The second your mom comes home she would notice if a single crumb was left in the sink. You have been on the receiving end of her anger at the state of the house too many times to count, even if it was Bret’s kids who made it. But of course, she wasn’t going to get mad at them. It always ended up being your fault somehow.

Still, you grab a snack and try carefully not to drop any of the pretzels as you go to your room. It was homework all the time in your last semester of High School. You were still waiting to hear from the Naval Academy, but you wanted your good grades to follow through to the very end of the year. Hours of taking notes kept your hand cramped, but it would all be worth it in the end. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.  You had spent the last four years working ridiculously hard to maintain your grades, all in the hopes of getting the opportunity your dad and Bradley weren’t afforded. Of course, you’ll never know if Bradley would have been accepted anyway. Which is why you were all too happy to keep this little secret to yourself.

Only a couple short hours later you hear the front door unlock and slam shut. It rattles you out of the Physics textbook you were intently studying, as you straighten up. Whatever she was mad about, it wasn’t good. It was the sound of her heels clacking up the stairs that set you on edge. As they get louder and closer to your room, you turn to face her right as she throws the door wide open. Privacy not a concept she was familiar with. You don’t even notice the bundle of mail in her hand as her eyes glare absolute daggers at you.

“Hi mom, how was work?”, you attempt to start the conversation civilly. It paints you more as a mouse, the way it comes out in a squeak. Her manicured claws squeeze harder around the letters as she throws all but one onto the floor.

“What is this?”, she seethes, holding out the large envelope addressed to you. Your blood runs cold as your shaky hands take it from her and the USNA insignia in the top left corner is revealed.

“I-”, you swallow, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”, she blinks.

“I’m sure it’s some sort of recruiting thing they send to all seniors”, you try to reason. She clicks her tongue, folding her arms.

“Then open it and let’s find out.” There is no room for argument as she raises her brows for you to continue, her eyes still alight with pure rage. Your heart beats faster as your shaky fingers slowly tear open the envelope. They don’t stop as you withdraw the paper. Tears start to form in your eyes as you read the first line of the letter. The excitement you had for any of this is quickly overrun by fear as your mom interrupts you.

“Read it outloud.” Swallowing, you clear your throat without giving her a look and start to read.

“Dear Miss Mitchell, congratulations. We are pleased to offer you an appointment to the United States Naval Academy…”, your voice wavers off toward the end. The moment you had so looked forward to was being tainted as you spoke. You begin to chew on your lip as your eyes slowly make their way back to your mom. Her jaw is set as she stares you down. “Mom-”

“I don’t even know where to start with you”, she seethes. “After years and years of wasting my own life to give you one, this is how you repay me? By throwing it all away, and for what? The chance to be like your father? Or- or Carole’s kid who can’t even be bothered to talk to you anymore?” The use of Carole’s name has you snapping your head back from where it hung in fear.

“Don’t talk about them.” She scoffs at your tiny show of courage.

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me! You’re not going.” She says with an edge of finality.

“What?”

“You aren’t going. That is final. No daughter of mine will be sucked into this trap.” Staring back down at your lap, you hope to find one last bit of courage sewn within the denim of your jeans.

“Mom, I’m- I’m going”, you manage to stutter out.

“No you’re not”, she bites back. “You know how I feel about your father, about this, and for some reason I just can’t get through to you.” She scoffs again and paces around your room, heels clicking with each step. You stand as she inspects the picture frames on your bookshelf, it wouldn’t be the first time she broke something of yours, and you want to be able to stop it if it happens again. “Do you know how much I gave up to raise you? How hard it was- is to be your mother?” What she says doesn’t hurt as much as it used to when you were younger, but it still stings every time. Like rubbing salt in an old wound that didn’t heal properly.

“I didn’t ask to be brought into this world”, you defend, your voice raising slightly. “And I’m sorry if it was so hard to be my mom, but you’re the one who brought me back after every summer. You could have left me with my dad if I was that much of a burden to you!” Before you’re able to register it, she’s moved closer and has her claws wrapped around your arms, pushing you against your desk. In her heels she’s only a couple inches taller than you, but it feels much bigger as she towers over you.

“Do NOT talk back to me you ungrateful brat!” Her fingers grow tighter as she shakes you. You blink rapidly as you wince in pain. “Your father is my biggest regret in life. I wouldn’t have wasted all those years raising his child just to know you would end up being just like him.” She steps away, gathering her thoughts as she turns her back to you. You thought it was only possible to feel fear when in your mother’s presence, even if you were ever angry it was quickly tamped down by the threat of her own rage. This feeling now is new. The one that has you clenching your fists, gathering the courage from the back of your mind to say something. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s all come down to this one boiling point. And you weren’t about to give up your dreams just to keep the peace one last time.

“Stop blaming me for all your downfalls, when you’re the one who slept with him in the first place!” You don’t see it coming. The backhand you had grown used to smacks across your face, causing you to fall back and slide to the floor. The taste of metal fills your mouth as you bring your hand to cradle where she just hit. The spot on your lip you had been chewing earlier has split from her ring, blood coating your fingers as you bring them away from your mouth. She eyes her ring, taking it off and pocketing it to clean later.

As your face starts to throb as your jaw wobbles, the woman before you crouches and puts her finger in your face while you cower on the floor. “When you leave, don’t even bother coming back. I mean it. Don’t come crying to me when you realize you can’t last a day, because once you exit this house, you are not my daughter anymore.”

You start packing that night. The rooms at the Academy aren’t available until a couple weeks before the school year starts, but you want to be ready when they are.

You go to school the next day, turn in your homework like you always do, and if people ask about your lip, you tell them the same little lie, “I was just playing basketball and it bounced wrong and hit me in the face.” They seem to believe it, even though you don’t have a hoop, or a basketball for that matter.

When you drive home the first thing you notice is all the boxes on the front porch. Your boxes. Scrambling to the front door, you attempt to unlock it with your key, but it doesn’t fit the lock. Your mom’s car sits in the driveway as you knock and knock, eventually pleading with her to let you in. The house remains silent, as if she isn’t in the kitchen nursing a glass of wine.

Realizing there’s nothing you can do, you pack your car with the few possessions you have and start driving. The tears start falling down your face as you look in your rearview mirror and see what little boxes your entire life has been packed into. You find yourself at a local park, one you’ve passed everyday on your way to school. The sun is shining as you pull out your phone and decide to make one last ditch attempt for help. Clicking Bradley’s name, you hold your phone to your ear and beg as it rings that he picks up. Just this once. The robotic voice tells you he’s unable to get to the phone as you hang your head, your split lip pouting until the beep indicates it’s your turn to talk.

“Hey Bradley. I know we haven’t talked in a while”, you sniffle, “but if there’s any chance you’re hearing this, please pick up”, you start to sob. “I really need to talk to you… I don’t know who else to- to call. Just please, please call me back.” You manage in between your cries. “I miss you, and I hope you’re ok.” You click the button to end it before you ramble on too much. Staring back up to the park, you watch the families playing with their kids. A mom chasing her daughter as she hides behind the slide, a dad throwing a baseball with his son. If someone were to look on they’d probably find it creepy, but you don’t care. You stay until it gets dark, and even after you end up staying your first night of many in your car.

-----------------------

Present Day

Cyclone’s office is unarguably the largest on base. The fact that he has his own waiting room and assistant is a testament to that fact. You’re sitting in said waiting room, across from Rooster, who is still sporting a large bruise. It’s starting to turn the slightest shade of green on the outside, but it’s still rather purple.

Your dad- or Captain Mitchell right now, is inside with Cyclone, discussing the potential for you to be punished. At least that’s what you’re assuming since you assaulted an officer. After dinner Saturday, your dad attempted to talk to you but you shut him out and stayed in your room all night. It wasn’t any better yesterday. He gave you your space, but you could hear him pacing downstairs the entire day, just waiting for you to come out. Bob checked in a couple times just to see how you were feeling, but other than that you kept to yourself.

You didn’t leave your room at all, even when your dad eventually came up to bring you food, he left it outside your door. All while letting you know he was going to be on base early tomorrow to talk to Cyclone, allowing you to drive by yourself this morning. You had barely stepped foot on base when you were intersected by Warlock telling you Admiral Simpson wanted to see you in his office. It struck you with panic causing you to start chewing on your lip, and it didn’t bode well that Rooster was also there waiting when you arrived.

Rooster clears his throat and your stern gaze shoots up to him.

“Sorry”, he quickly lets out. Taking a deep breath in, you let your head fall back to the wall and allow the awkward silence to continue. It occurred to you when you sat down how much this felt like being called to the principal’s office. Except in this case, the punishments were far worse than being put in detention.

The door to Cyclone’s office opens and the two of you stand as Maverick walks out. Clearing his throat he greets you, “Lieutenants.”

“Sir”, you let out in unison. He walks past the two of you as Cyclone’s assistant lets you know you can both enter. Straightening your khaki pants, Rooster allows you to walk in first and the two of you stand to attention in front of his desk. He sits in his seat, staring out the window, and turns to look at the two of you fully, doing a slight double take as his gaze washes over Rooster.

“I am going to tell the two of you what I told Captain Mitchell'', he starts, voice as deep and ruling as always, “The U.S. government does not sign my paychecks to be a god damn babysitter. If you cannot get along as a team, then you will not fly as one. I will send one or the other to another squadron faster than you can say ‘Yes Sir’. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir”, the two of you respond.

“Being on this squadron is a privilege, not a right. The two of you are on thin ice. If either of you have a problem, you better let me know now so I can find the next pilot who will gladly fill your spot in a second flat.” His gaze darts between the two of you as your palms grow sweaty. “Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He eyes Rooster’s face once more, and then back to you very briefly.

“Rooster, if there is anything you would like to let me know about I suggest you say it now.” Swallowing, you can see Rooster out of the corner of your eye do the same.

“No, sir. There is not.”

“You won’t mind me asking where you got the shiner from then?” He asks as he eyes you, you’re more thankful than ever your hands are behind your back at the moment.

“Tripped and hit my face on some stairs, sir.” Your breathing slows slightly as Rooster covers for you. It makes you feel the slightest bit guilty for hitting him in the first place.

“Rooster, you are dismissed.” Your heart tightens in your chest as Rooster exits, leaving just you and the fire breathing dragon. He turns his attention to a pile of papers on his desk as he fans them out.

“I have to tell you, I was initially surprised I hadn’t had to call you in here earlier, given your father’s reputation. But, taking another look at your records, I’m surprised you’re in here at all.” You remain still as stone, staring at the wall just above his head. “Top of your class at the Academy, as well as Top Gun, and yet, you’re still in my office.” Raising a brow, he brings his full attention back to you. “Why is that, Lieutenant Mitchell?” You scoff internally at him questioning you instead of Rooster.

“Things got out of hand, sir. It won’t happen again.” Sighing, he stands and faces his window, gazing upon his domain.

“I wasn’t hesitant when Admiral Kazansky suggested you be added to this detachment. Your records speak for themselves. The insistence on having Captain Mitchell in charge however, made me more skeptical. How would that look?” He turns to you once more. “Having a parent and child in the same squadron? Rooster might know your dad, but on paper you have more to gain. And your flying ability doesn’t mean anything when politics are involved. It doesn’t matter what was said.” Setting both hands on his desk, he leans forward, his piercing gaze burning a hole through your facade, “I am going to give you some advice, and it is in your best interest to listen and listen good. What happened last week cannot happen again. Tread lightly, keep your head down, and do what you came here to do. Your job.” Punctuating the last two words with his finger pounding on the desk, he finally takes his seat. “You are dismissed.” 

You hold your breath all the way to the hallway. Once out of sight from anyone, you take in a deep breath and let it out through your nose, collecting yourself before making your way to the women’s locker room. You know he’s right. You let yourself get comfortable, and once you get comfortable things start to crumble. It’s like everything you touch gets ruined and breaks right under your fingertips. This was no exception. You had to be better, do better. Emotions are where you lose control, say things you shouldn’t say, and you get justly punished for them.

You are still before the locker room door, taking in a breath before letting yourself in. Halo is lacing up her boots while Phoenix slips her flight suit on when you get to your locker. They both greet you with a small smile as you start to change uniforms.

“How was your meeting with the air boss?” Phoenix asks, already knowing all about it apparently. “Did he totally lay into Rooster?”

“If he laid into him more than you did, I’d be surprised he’s still standing”, Halo comments.

“Wait, what did you say to him?”, you ask Phoenix as she rolls her eyes.

“Something along the lines of ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’, ‘why are you being such a dicktroll’, and ‘I can’t even look at you right now’”, Halo lists off for her.

“Dicktroll?”, you laugh, “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah well, when I’m mad the words just start coming out of my mouth.” 

“He’s still your friend”, you mutter. “And I said some regrettable things, too.”

“Mantis. You’re my friend. I don’t even know if I would call him that after this. And yeah, I know you separately and out of whatever mess you’re in now, but I know when someone is being an asshole. And Rooster was being a major asshole. What you said didn’t warrant what he told everyone” She catches your shoulder as you finish zipping up your flight suit, “I’m gonna have your back no matter what, ok? And I guarantee everyone else in that room will, too.” You turn to Halo as she nods in agreement.

“I appreciate it, truly”, you thank them as you begin to tie up your own boots.

“What did Cyclone say to you, though?” Halo asks.

“Um”, you cough, “Basically I’m just happy to even still be here.”

“What does that mean?” Phoenix asks as her brows furrow.

“Doesn’t matter”, you reply, patting her back as the three of you leave the locker room.

Maverick is already at the front of the room, talking with Hondo as you walk in behind Halo and Phoenix. Bob smiles at the two of them, and you think for a second you see it get slightly wider as he spots you behind them. It almost makes you forget that everyone is trying and failing to hide the fact that they’re thinking about what Rooster said.

That fact alone has you crawling in your skin just a little bit. Bob turns to you as you open your notebook to where you were taking notes on Friday. You try your best to ignore the flits of eyes that turn your way, but you can still feel them on you.

“Hey”, he smiles.

“Hey”, you smile right back.

“How’s your hand feelin?”, he whispers.

“Oh that”, looking down at it, you stretch your fingers out and wiggle them, “Definitely feeling a lot better.” Phoenix turns at your own words, eyes widening as she looks at the discoloration on your knuckles.

“Jesus, what happened?” You’re about to tell her the same lie you told Penny, but before you’re able to open your mouth, Hangman whistles from his seat on the other side of the aisle. Everyone’s eyes follow Rooster as he makes the uncomfortable trek to the back of the room. Phoenix’s eyes quickly move from the bruise on his face back to your hand as you tuck it under your opposite one. A slow smile creeps on her face as she realizes how you stood up for yourself. “Nice shot”, she whispers to you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”, you whisper back as you pretend to look through your notes.

“Rooster”, Maverick’s voice speaks from the front, “Take a seat up here please”, he asks as he motions to the vacant seat next to you. Your brows furrow as do Rooster’s.

“Mav-”

“Now”, he responds rather sternly. Rooster follows his orders and he sits next to you as you stiffen. The rest of the room is silent as they wait for Mav to start the day.

“It has been brought to my attention that there has been some hostility amongst this team.” If it wasn’t at all obvious he was talking about you and Rooster, the ways his eyes wander to the two of you confirm the fact to everyone. “If you can’t act as a team, it is incredibly hard to fly as a team, and when you don’t fly as a team, people get hurt.” He eyes the room as everyone looks on in anticipation. “That being said, we’re going to start today with a little… exercise.” He says the last word with a hint of a smirk on his face.

“I will ask each of you a question. If you get it wrong you will have to do 10 pushups. If you get it right, however, you can choose anyone in our squad to do those 10 pushups for you.” People start to groan around the room at the prospect of not answering a question correctly.

“Rooster”, your dad starts, “When did the U.S. land on the moon?”

“Um, July 1969”, he responds, no doubt he has the right answer.

“Wrong, the correct answer is July sixteenth, 1969. Drop and give me 10.” Rooster blinks in surprise, but does as he says. Everyone shifts in their seats, realizing how nitpicky he’s being about these answers.

“Phoenix, what year was Top Gun founded?”

“It was 1969, and I believe it was in-”

“Correct”, your dad interrupts her. “Who would you like to give your push ups to?” She smiles slightly and turns to where Rooster has just sat back down after finishing his pushups.

“Rooster”

“You heard her, give me another 10, Rooster.” He does as he’s told, once more dropping to the floor.

“Payback, when was the Declaration of Independence signed?” Payback laughs slightly at the question, before noticing the very serious look on Maverick’s face.

“July 4, 1776, sir.”

“Very good, who gets your pushups?”

“Rooster”, he responds immediately. Payback looks over, sending you a small nod and smile, and you give it right back. Rooster stays down this time, as Hondo, who is all too happy to be doing this, counts his pushups from the back of the room. You watch across the room as everyone’s eyes light up. Maverick continues to go around asking possibly the easiest U.S. History questions, and everytime a member of the squad gets their answer inevitably right, they assign their punishment to Rooster. Your heart warms that every time someone gives their correct answer, they spare you a glance or a nod, subtly acknowledging they’re doing it for you.

Rooster’s starting to sweat and slow down as Maverick finally gets to you. His eyes grow a touch softer as they look at you. He clears his throat, asking his final question, “Mantis, who was the first American woman in space?” A small smile creeps on your face at what seems to everyone else to be a surface-level question.

“Sally Ride”, you answer. The memory of being 8 with dreams of being an astronaut fill your head. One summer at the Bradshaw’s, a documentary about Sally Ride was airing on t.v. and thinking it would be good for you to see a female role model, Carole left it on for you to watch. Turns out, you got a little too obsessed, to the point Carole hand-made a NASA jumpsuit for you to wear on Halloween months later. Bradley even helped you memorize the planets in the solar system that summer, telling you that’s the first thing you needed to know if you were going to be an astronaut. He was 14 at the time, and could have been doing a number of other things than hanging out with an eight year old, but he stayed with you the entire summer. It was one where your dad was deployed the last month, but he stuck by to make sure you never got lonely. You still knew the planet song he made up to help you memorize them like the back of your hand.

“Who gets your pushups?”, he asks, even as a formality now. As you stare at Rooster, who is behind on his last two sets, you’re reminded of that 14-year-old, who stayed with you when you were alone, and taught you how to go after what you wanted. The memory causes a lapse in your anger, and just this once you decide to go easy on him.

“Can I give them to you, sir?” His eyes go a bit wide as he blinks away his surprise. “You are technically a part of this team, are you not?”

“I guess, yeah- I am. Alright Hondo”, he says as he situates himself on the ground, “Count me out.”

Rooster and Maverick finish their pushups almost simultaneously, which leaves the rest of the time in the classroom to go over more flight maneuvers for the following week.

-----------------------

Bob saves you a seat at lunch like he’s been doing it forever, and you are more than happy to sit next to him.

“Do you realize that yesterday was the first day in like 3 weeks we haven’t seen each other in person?” You ask, taking a chip off of his plate.

“Wow”, he remarks, watching you so casually sharing each other's food. “I mean I did notice… It was awfully quiet at my house.” He gives you a small smile as you lightly shove his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

“What were you doing yesterday?”

“Quite literally nothing”, you reply, taking in a deep breath. Bob continues eating as you mull over your next words. “Rooster was at dinner on Saturday.”

“Are you serious?” He asks, almost choking on a chip.

“Yeah”, you nod, “He told me he was sorry, again.”

“How did that go?”, he treads lightly. You sigh, glancing across the mess-hall to see Rooster eating at a table by himself. For once he’s the one who looks lonely, and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. But then again, he did this to himself.

“I don’t know, I think he was angry at me for the wrong reasons, which made him feel worse about what he said.”

“He should feel bad about it. It doesn’t matter if they were the wrong reasons, he shouldn’t have said it at all.”, Bob mutters, causing you to look back at him. He blinks a couple times under your gaze as you don’t look away. “What?”

“Thanks for having my back”

“Of course, I’ll always have your back”, his smile gets a little more full, a little more crooked the longer you two look at each other. And you can feel the same happening to your own smile before you look over Bob’s shoulder to see Phoenix heading your way. Dropping her lunch bag on the table has you scooting the slightest bit away from Bob, just to create a little more distance between the two of you.

“Soo”, she draws out, “I know it’s been a wild few days, but are you two still coming to my house this weekend?” Shit, you forgot all about the party she invited you to. “I’m officially uninviting Rooster if that sways you in anyway.” Chuckling slightly, you look over her shoulder and watch Rooster as he picks at his own food.

“It’s fine, Phoenix. Like Mav said, if we can’t work as a team it’s hard to fly as one.” You decide.

“This is a party, Mantis. One in which I would not like to invite losers and assholes into my home, and he fits into both of those categories.”

“So does Hangman”, you reply as she rolls her eyes. “He did apologize to me, and I believe him.”

“Did you forgive him, though?”, Bob chimes in.

“That’s beside the point. Whatever is going on with me and Rooster doesn’t involve the rest of you, and I never should have brought it into work.” Phoenix looks on in contemplation as Bob gives you an earnest look in understanding. “Plus, we have direct orders to be on our best behavior.”

“I’ll think about it”, she trails off. There’s a lull in the conversation as you continue to eat until Phoenix turns to Bob. “Rachel’s friend Emily is gonna be there, too.” You stop eating, trying to glance at Bob’s reaction through the corner of your eye.

“Phoenix-”, he groans, “I’ve already told you I don’t want to be set up on any dates.”

“And why not?”, she probes. “I just wanna see you happy, you’re like my little brother now.”

“I just…”, his eyes move quickly from Phoenix to glance at you once before she moves on.

“It’s not even a date”, she reasons, “Just come to the party and meet her. That’s all I’m asking.” The conversation ends with that as you ponder Phoenix’s words. You don’t view Bob as a brother at all, but you want to see him happy. You’re happy whenever you’re with him, and you hope he’s happy, too. But you know it’s not sufficient. Bob deserves love, something you can’t give him, and something you don’t even know he wants from you. Even if it was a possibility.

-----------------------

The next day, your father takes a strange but familiar route to get the team back in its groove. He lets you know that day before you leave to meet at the Hard Deck instead of on base, and an immediate buzz fills the air. Everyone already knows what’s going down.

“Your dad’s not one for talking is he?” Fanboy asks as you trudge your way through the sand.

“No, no he is not”, you respond while placing your sunglasses over your eyes. Your dad had explicitly stated to you the day before that he got permission this time for an entire beach day. This explanation had come no further than two seconds after you had asked if Cyclone was going to make a surprise appearance this time.

The San Diego sun is as harsh as ever as the sweltering heat threatens to melt the sun screen right off your skin. Following Payback and Fanboy from the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you meet your father and the rest of the squad closer to the water. Everyone else is already shirtless and ready to start, except for Bob of course. Much to your battling emotions of relief and disappointment. You catch his eye, and make your way over to him as he talks to Omaha and Phoenix.

“Are you ready for some team bonding?” Phoenix asks you sarcastically as you roll your eyes.

“So ready. What better way to get over a fight than throwing balls and tackling each other?” You add with a cheery fakeness that has Bob chuckling. Hondo whistles, taking your attention away from the tall WSO as the day commences.

“Alright, listen up!”, your dad starts, “Today’s training is dogfight football. I’m choosing the teams this time.” Rolling your eyes at the notion, you turn to Bob.

“How much you wanna bet he puts me on a team with Rooster and Hangman?”, you whisper through the side of your mouth. Glancing down at you through his tinted prescription lenses, he chuckles slightly.

“I’m not a gambling man, but I’d bet it all on that”, you smile and shake your head, catching sight of Rooster off to the side of everyone. He’s already looking in your direction, causing you to furrow your brows and look back to your dad.

“Starting with team number one, we have Mantis, Rooster, Hangman, Fanboy, Omaha, and Yale.” He announces as you scoff only loud enough for Bob to hear.

The teams move to gather in huddles before the game starts, and as Hangman and Omaha argue over who gets to be the quarterback, you watch as Fanboy and Yale attempt to come up with a solution. You don’t even notice Rooster at first as he stands next to you. He clears his throat, startling you slightly as you look in his direction, then back to the boys fighting.

“I wanted to say thank you for not giving me your push ups yesterday.” You know an olive branch when you see one, having offered him multiple over many years. Still, you don’t look away from the display of toxic masculinity in front of you before answering.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Seriously, I appreciate it.” You don’t respond to him this time, prompting him to fill the silence between the two of you. “Mantis, I really am sorry-”

“What are you doing, Rooster?”, you ask now, turning to face him. He’s taken aback by your abruptness as he stammers for a response.

“I just thought maybe since-”

“Since Cyclone told us to play nice?” You finish for him. “Don’t get it twisted, Rooster. My actions from yesterday are purely so that I can remain on this team. I worked my ass off to get here, and I am not going to let you of all people jeopardize that.” Walking away from him, you tear the football out of Hangman’s hands while he’s distracted. “Do we have a game plan or what?”

-----------------------

Bob is desperately trying to pay attention to Maverick reiterating the rules of dogfight football, but his eyes keep wandering back to you as you stand next to Hangman. You’re wearing a loose tank top and he can see your sports bra through the sides, leaving the tiniest sliver of skin available for his eyes to roam over. You’re trying your best to act interested even though you know this game front and back. He catches your eyes wandering over the squad, and through his sunglasses he sees you widen your eyes in fake agony. He smiles as you continue to roll your eyes, and as he shakes his head in an attempt to hide his laugh, he glances over and finds Rooster staring at him. Squaring his shoulders as if he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, Bob turns his attention back to Mav.

The game gets ready to start, you and Bob being chosen to snap the footballs. “Get ready to go down, Floyd”, you joke as you bend forward, setting the football on the sand. He mirrors your actions, and as he bends forward, he forgets any response he was about to say. From where he’s bent over, he can see right down your tank top and sports bra, giving him the perfect view of your cleavage. Swallowing, and looking back to your eyes, you don’t seem to notice his miniscule distraction. He barely even hears the whistle before you’re snapping the ball to Hangman and attempting to block the rest of his team. His hands feel a little more clammy than before the game started.

In order to keep your team happy, the decision is made to keep switching positions. You think it’s a good idea at the time, but as you run slightly backwards in order to try to catch the ball, you don’t even see what you’re hitting until the wind is knocked out of you. In an attempt to catch the ball Omaha’s thrown, your arms are stretched out, but you ultimately end up with your arms full of Bob as the two of you hit the sand hard.

Hondo blows his whistle, signaling everyone to stop as Bob groans from beneath you. The vibration of his chest against yours distracts you from the ache in your temple as you sit up to stare down at his face, eyes squinting in pain.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You ask, assessing for any injuries.

“I’m fine, are you ok?”, he manages to slip out. His face looks fine, but as you quickly sit off to the side of him to assess the rest of his body, his hand moves to his face. “Oh geez”, he mutters. Glancing back up to his eyes as he sits up, a gush of blood pours out of the hand now clutching his nose. The rest of the team has gathered around you, and a couple people wince through their teeth at the amount of liquid pooling in his hand.

“Oh shit”, you let out without really meaning to. “Does anyone have a towel?” The team scrambles at the urgency in your voice, and without having to say anything else, a towel is plopped into your lap. You immediately move to replace Bob’s hand with the beach towel, holding it right beneath his nostrils which are simultaneously releasing blood.

Mav moves to bend down next to the two of you, “Here, let me see.” You take the towel away just for a second to let your dad inspect Bob’s nose as he looks up. There’s blood dripping over his lips and chin, prompting you to place the towel back.

“Is Penny working tonight?”, you ask, glancing back from the Hard Deck just beyond the sand.

“Yeah she should be in.”

“Good, I’m gonna take Bob up there and try to get this to stop bleeding.”

“Yeah, we should probably call it a day”, Mav replies as he places a hand under Bob’s elbow to help him up.

“No, I’m fine really”, Bob’s muffled and now nasally voice replies. “You guys keep playin’, I’ll go and take care of this.”

“You are not doing that by yourself”, you reply, almost amused at the fact he thinks he can get rid of you that easily. There’s no room for argument in your voice as you throw one of his arms over your shoulder to guide him up the sand to the bar. Phoenix steps in front of you before you leave.

“You got him?” She asks, her features twisted in a grimace as she examines his face.

“I’ve got him”, you reassure her as she watches you pass. Your arm is around his waist while his lies across your shoulders, and you’re trying ridiculously hard to focus on the task at hand instead of his warm body encasing yours. Bob on the other hand wants to tell you he can walk perfectly fine, but he doesn’t want to risk you letting him go. His nose is starting to throb, but all he can feel is your bare shoulders against his skin as your smaller hand grips his waist.

Once arriving at the bar, you walk through the glass door until Penny sees the two of you and rushes over.

“What happened?”, she asks as she watches you help Bob into the air conditioned building.

“There was a small crash”, you explain. “Do you have any towels or ice?” It’s still fairly early in the evening, the sun not setting quite yet, but the first patrons who have sat down in the bar look at the two of you with wide eyes.

“Of course”, she blinks as she moves behind the bar. “There’s a couch in my office, you can take him back there and I’ll get you something else to clean him up with.” You do as she says and open the door to her office, gently letting Bob sit down on the small loveseat, taking the seat next to him. He’s still holding the towel to his nose as he tries to lean back.

“Wait, you’re not supposed to tilt your head back”, you tell him. Gingerly placing your hand on the back of his head, you tilt him so he’s leaning forward slightly. With your other you’re lightly pinching his nose to help stop the bleeding while he holds the towel. Bob can’t help but think how you seem to already know every trick and quirk to stop the bleeding. How you must have had to clean up your own nose bleeds. 

Your brows have been in a constant furrow since the collision, and he takes in the way your teeth chew on your lip.

“Hey”, he tries to muffle through the towel. Your gaze shifts from his nose up to his eyes. “I’m ok, really.” You give him a doubtful look as you pinch his nose. Your elbow rests on his shoulder, hand still cradling the back of his head.

“How’s your head?” You ask in earnest.

“Haven’t had any complaints yet”, he responds as soon as you’re done asking. His comment causes you to crack a smile, clearing the furrow out of your brows as you laugh.

“You did not just say that to me”, you laugh. Bob laughs along with you as he tries to breathe through his mouth. Using his shoulder as support, you lean forward and laugh closer to him.

“Ok I’ve got-”, Penny walks in on the two of you, causing her to pause in the doorway, “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah everything’s fine”, you wave off her concern

“Good… I’ve got some wet rags and a bag of ice.”

“Thank you”, you reply, still trying to stifle your laugh with Bob. Confusion is written all over her face as you turn back to her.

“Right, well… I’ll just be at the bar if you need anything else.” Your eyes are still crinkled from laughing, and Bob smiles at the notion. Your eyes meet his again through the same tinted lenses, warping the color of his irises. The dust settles from your laughing fit and it’s just the two of you in Penny’s cramped office, perched on the edge of the ratty old sofa she must have got in a garage sale. You’re still cradling the back of his head as your fingers absentmindedly play with the short hair. He sucks in a breath, stopping your movements.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, that’s not- No I’m fine”, you manage to hear him through the towel. Looking at the bright yellow tropical flowers of the cotton now stained in crimson, you slowly remove your fingers from his nose.

“Does it feel like it’s still bleeding?” Bob attempts to sniff through his nose as he takes the towel away from his face.

“No, I think we’re ok.” You wince at the sight of slightly-dried blood that is now smeared from his nostrils down his chin and neck. It’s soaked into the yellow of his t-shirt, leaving a stain you don’t think he’ll be able to get out easily. “That bad, huh?”

“No, not too bad”, you attempt to lie to him. Obviously not doing that great of  a job as he squints his eyes at you. Looking to get away from his playful glare, you eye a box of tissues just behind him. Reaching around him, you grab a few tissues and start to twist them.

“What are you doing?”

“We gotta plug you up.”

“Excuse- plug me up?” He laughs.

“Before we get all the blood off, we just gotta make sure it’s not gonna start bleeding again.” You hand him the first piece of tissue as he delicately places it in one nostril. “Otherwise you’re just gonna have to clean yourself up again.” He glances back up at you, this time with an unreadable gaze. Like he’s trying to study you. “What?”

“Nothing.” You eye him suspiciously as you hand him the other tissue. His eyes move to your fingers stained with his blood, and he looks away again in contemplation as you grab the wet rag.

“Seriously, what is it?” He shrugs.

“Nothing.” Huffing out a breath of frustration, you reach into the pocket of your gym shorts, taking a penny out and placing it in the palm of his hand. He smiles slightly at the notion of you just having this in your pocket, moving the penny to his crimson fingertips. The hint of a smile on his face is quickly replaced with a lopsided frown. “I- I’m sorry you know how to do all of this.” Your shoulders slump as he avoids your gaze. “And I’m sorry you have to do it again.”

“Bob- it’s ok.” You tell him softly, he glances back up, eyebrows twisted.

“It’s not though.. You shouldn’t be an expert at this.” Chewing your lip once more, you stare deeply into his eyes as they gaze back in worry.

“Bobby, I’m ok. I’m ok now and that’s what matters.” Bob is trying his best to believe you, but the image of you crying on the floor of the women’s locker room comes to mind. Then the feeling of your tears soaking his flight suit. You squeeze his hand around the penny once, gaining his attention once more.

“Ok”, he responds just above a whisper. You grant him a small smile in the silence that lingers, reaching back for the wet rag to clean him up with. It’s dried more since you’ve sat down, but you’re still just as gentle with your swipes across his chin. Glancing at his face, you notice there’s a couple specks of blood on the apples of his cheeks, almost underneath his frames.

“May I?” you ask, motioning to his glasses.

“Sure”, he breathes out. Your hands slowly rise and slide the glasses off his face, folding them and placing them gently on the table next to you. The breath is just about knocked out of your lungs as his wide, sky blue eyes blink at you for the first time without a barrier. You’re stuck for a moment in time, just admiring the color and how intently they look at you. You’re broken out of your trance as a drop of water from the rag slides down your hand, dripping on your lap.

Continuing where you left off, you dab at what was previously covered by his glasses, moving down beneath his nose and around his chin and mouth. The rag you were using is now stained a light red and you switch it out with the spare one Penny brought. The bar has gotten a little louder now as the day turns to evening, but it’s still muffled through the door and hallway. It’s quiet enough you can still hear Bob breathing so close to you. Your other hand gently nudges his chin upward so as to gain access to his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Once you’ve ensured his neck is clean, you look back on his face, hoping to get the spots you missed.

“You can look down now”, you whisper. You don’t know why you started talking so quietly, maybe to preserve a moment of silence you don’t get to enjoy so much, but as he looks back at you, you understand it’s just to preserve Bob. If you don’t disrupt the bubble you’ve put yourself in, it won’t burst. And you can stay in this moment with him for as long as you decide to. He doesn’t tell you he can clean himself up, even though both of you are thinking it. And you’re glad he doesn’t say anything. Right now it’s just the two of you, in this stolen moment in time where nothing else exists beyond the four walls of the dingy office.

Your hand moves instinctively to cradle his jaw, just to get a better hold on him while you wipe around his lips. With the rag wrapped around your finger, you swipe underneath the plush of his bottom lip, then over the top. Your eyes move slightly up, to check for any more blood, but catch sight of the tissues sticking out of his nose. It catches Bob off guard as you start to chuckle.

“What?” He asks this time. You lean back slightly, both hands now in your lap, to get a full view of his face and start to laugh a little harder. “What is it?” He presses, starting to laugh as well.

“You look absolutely ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who said I had to ‘plug myself up’”, he mocks, not meaning to laugh at the end of his sentence.

“At least it’s not a tampon up your nose”, you mutter. His brows raise at your comment.

“A what?”, he stammers.

“Would you believe me if I told you that Bradley’s mom shoved a tampon up his nose to get it to stop bleeding?” He chuckles in surprise, but also at the thought of a now adult Bradley with a tampon dangling out of his nose. “That was actually the first time I saw a bloody nose, I thought he was dying”, you smile at the memory.

“What happened?”, Bob asks. Setting the now bloodied rag next to the old one, you grab the bag of ice.

“Back in his old neighborhood he had some really annoying neighbor kids. Brad took me to the park, and these three eleven year olds would not let me swing on the damn swings. Then they started saying some really mean things, and that’s when Bradley stepped in. He told them to apologize to me and share the swings and they refused. He-”, laughing at the image you continue, “he shoved one of them off the swings, picked me up, and started to help me swing.” Shaking your head at the memory, you reach up and gently rest the ice pack against Bob’s nose as he watches your face the entire time. 

“Not five minutes later, all three kids are back, this time with their older brother. Keep in mind, Bradley was only twelve, and their brother was just about to start high school and absolutely huge. Brad tried to calmly explain what happened, but before he could get a word in, this guy decks him. I ran to the house to grab Carole, screaming that this kid was going to kill him. We raced back to the park, and once this guy saw a raging Carole Bradshaw running full speed towards him he sprinted the other way”, you smile.

“Bradley’s nose was bleeding and I just started bawling, thinking that this is it. He’s dying.” Bob laughs with you as you readjust the ice on his face. “We walked him back to the house, and the first thing she did was shove a tampon up his nose, while explaining to me that he was going to be fine.” Your laughing subsides as well as your own smile as you reminisce.

“Carole Bradshaw sounds like a woman that should not be messed with.” Bob comments, bringing your gaze back upon him.

“Yeah”, you sigh. “She was a fierce protector. They both were.” Bob’s hand searches for your own, squeezing softly.

“Mantis-”, whatever Bob is about to say is cut short as someone clears their throat from the door. The two of you look up to find Rooster, only this time Bob’s hand doesn’t stray from your own. It holds your fingers more firmly at the sight of him.

“Sorry”, Rooster interrupts. “Mav wanted me to check in, see how Bob’s doing.” He glances between your connected hands, then back at where you’re icing his nose. You clear your own throat this time as your hand retreats from its place in Bob’s.

“Yeah, he’s good. Blood’s stopped.”

“That’s good”, Rooster offers, trying to and failing to make this small interaction less awkward.

“Was that all?”

“Actually, um, Mav wanted to talk to you. Privately.” He adds on after glancing back at Bob.

“Fine. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.” He taps on the door before leaving the two of you alone again. You turn back to Bob, not looking him in the eyes as you place the ice pack in his hand.

“I guess duty calls.” You start to gather up the rags, but before you’re able to stand, Bob’s large fingers caress the back of your wrist to get your attention. He’s very mindful to not grab a hold of your arm as the hairs on the back of his hand tickle you.

“Hey, thank you.”

“You’re welcome”, you manage to breathe out. “I’m sorry I ran into you.”

“I’m not.”

-----------------------

After running to the bathroom to wash your hands off, there is still a wide smile on your face as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You check for any more blood, but decide it’s all gone as you attempt to squash your smile. The rest of the squad is sitting in the bar, each of them with more clothing on then they had earlier. Your eyes roam the room for your father, but come up empty. Rooster is standing  on the back deck outside, and you begrudgingly walk towards him. The door swings open and shut, muffling the noise from within.

“Where’s Mav?”, you ask, getting straight to the point. Rooster looks over his shoulder at you, setting his drink on a nearby table.

“He took Penny for a bike ride.”

“I thought you said he wanted to talk to me”, you ask, placing your hands on your hips.

“About that”, he scratches the back of his neck, “I meant to say that I needed to talk to you.” Rolling your eyes and giving him a scoff, you turn around, hand stretched toward the doorknob. “Mantis- please. Just give me five minutes.” And for some inexplicable reason. You don’t reach any further. You turn around, fold your arms, and give him the floor. He lets out a sigh of relief as you walk closer to the edge of the deck and watch the golden sunset.

“I want you to know that I’m apologizing because I really am sorry. It’s not just to keep the peace for Cyclone. I failed you.. And I failed my mom.” You turn towards him, and just for a second you don’t see the stone cold eyes that were set upon you just days ago, you see the sandy hair and soft hazel eyes of a brother who would do anything for you.

“It won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again.” He reiterates. Absent-mindedly you start chewing on your lip, and avoiding his eyesight. A part of you wants so deeply to forgive him and go back to how it used to be, but the other part is still hurt by what he did.

“Which is why I need you to listen to me. You can’t go down the path you’re already falling towards.” Your head slowly looks up as confusion clouds your features.

“What does that mean?”

“I know Cyclone chewed you out more after I left. We’re both on pretty thin ice here, and you worked so hard to get to where you are. I don’t want to see you throw it all away for someone else.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your heart rate is steadily climbing, wondering if Rooster is about to go where you think he’s going to.

“I’ve noticed things. I’ve told you to be careful before, and now more than ever I wish you would please just listen to what I’m trying to tell you.” Swallowing, you turn back toward the coastline so he can’t read into what you’re trying to conceal in your face. “I see the way you look at him. The same way you’ve looked at boys you’ve had crushes on since you were little.”

“I am not some little girl, Rooster.” You seethe toward him, your face flushed in anger, embarrassment even at his accusations. “I grew up a long time ago, so whatever version you still have of me in your head, get rid of her. Cause she doesn’t exist anymore.” Shaking your head, you stalk toward the back door, catching a glimpse of Bob with his sunglasses on once again, the tissues since discarded, playing a game of pool with Phoenix and Fanboy. “And I don’t have a crush on him. Bob and I are just friends.”

“I never said his name.” Your blood runs cold at his words. You don’t dare turn back and give him the satisfaction of being right. “So you can keep lying to yourself all you want, but I already know the truth. All I’m trying to say is be careful, and remember why you’re here.”

You let Rooster’s words wash over you as you reach for the doorknob and let yourself back inside. How stupid could you be? Sure, you’ve perhaps come to terms that you maybe have more than friendship feelings for Bob, but you were never going to act on them. But now apparently Rooster can still see right through you. The mix of his and Cyclone’s warnings run through your mind as you get closer to the pool table and stand next to Phoenix.

You can tell she’s already a couple drinks in as her volume is a little louder than normal.

“Tell him, Mantis!”

“Tell him what?” She motions over to Bob as he watches Fanboy take his shot, shaking his head at her while he does so.

“Tell him to go on a date with Rachel’s hot friend!” Your eyes catch Bob smiling and shaking his head at her antics, obviously more amused with her drunken state than her words. His crooked smile makes you want to wrap him up in a hug so it never goes away, but you’re reminded of the warnings from Rooster and Cyclone. Repeating over and over in your head the longer you look at him.

“You should”, you tell him, as much as it pains you to say. He glances up at you, smile falling as his brows furrow the slightest bit. “Give her a chance at least.”

“Oh, ya think?” He asks, the slightest tone of disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah. It can’t hurt, can it?” And even though it is tearing you apart to say it, you do it anyway.

“I guess not.” You give him a slight smile, although it turns into more of a grimace the longer you hold it. He does the same to you, turning back to stare at the pool table with a hardened gaze, eyes not actually following where Fanboy’s ball runs to. Phoenix cheers out in glee at Bob’s acceptance, and you slip out the front door, saying your quick goodbyes. You pass Rooster at the bar, not giving him a second look as you make it to your car. Your heart aches at the thought of telling Bob to find happiness somewhere else, knowing damn well if the circumstances were different you would be first in line to offer it. Your brain reminds you however, you're making the right decision. It's the only decision. Right?

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[snapghoul]

New au to the twin au just dropped. It’s the twin multiverse up in this b. Snap might be cookin.

What if Tyler had joined the Navy too? In this alternate universe, Tyler becomes an aviator, and the rest of his crew is also Navy. The AU remains the same: Tyler still participates in rodeo events and enjoys all his previous activities, while the Daggers remain unaware that Hangman has a twin.

Tyler’s callsign could be Wrangler or Cowboy, and his helmet would undoubtedly match the red of his truck. He might fly solo or have Boone as his Weapon Systems Officer (WSO). If Tyler flies solo, maybe Boone and Lilly the WSO, Dex and Dani as the WSO. Kate would be a pilot with Javi as her back seater, and they would all be part of the same squad, perhaps the Ghost Riders or Twisters.

Kate: Tamer or Salpulpa (Tyler’s fault)

Javi: Anvil, Lion, or Radar

Boone: Boone

Lilly: Cairo

Dani: ?

Dex: just Dex or ??

I don’t know I need suggestions for the others callsings.

The Daggers would remain unaware of Tyler's identity until the Cyclone announces a mission, when they’re assigned to work jointly with his squad. Jake’s grin would grow wider as Tyler bursts onto the scene, loud and enthusiastic, leaving the Daggers stunned and puzzled.

[callsign-dexter]

Surprise!

Request: Okay okay, you got me with protective Jake !! 😱This makes me think of an idea where the reader is his childhood friend but they haven't seen each other in a while due to his job. So you decide to surprise him at the base when he doesn't expect it, to tell him as well you're moving back to San Diego and he's more than speechless and unbelievable happy. So you catch up on the lost time and he gets always into protective mode when the other guys come near you but you become friends with all the daggers and Jake's mood lightened up 100% since you're here and it's all perfect ? 🫣

Pairings: Jake Seresin x Best Friend!Reader

Warnings: fluff

Masterlist

San Diego, the sunniest and probably the warmest place on earth. You had just arrived and stepped out of your car in sunny San Diego. You loved it already and would continue to love it for the whole time you would be living there. The reason you were here was because you wanted to see your childhood friend, Jake Seresin, and you would be moving here after a wonderful job opportunity at none other than Top Gun. No, you weren’t a pilot but you were going to be the new maintenance supervisor for the F-18s. You were excited to say the least. You didn’t have a lot of stuff due to moving around. You needed a place to stay and quickly since you started tomorrow. First you needed to get to base and say hi to your bosses, which is where you were now. It was easy to get onto base considering you had your military ID. You knew that Jake was here and you were excited to see him.

As you walked into the building you passed many people in their military uniforms. You weren’t in yours considering you had just arrived. When you were halfway to Beau “Cyclone” Simpson’s office you heard a voice that you hadn’t heard in forever and a smile popped onto your face and you followed it. You walked over to the voices and saw the tall, blonde, and green-eyed man he was going on about something nobody had seemed to notice you besides a blonde haired and blue-eyed man with glasses and he smiled and waved and you waved back. As Jake took a break in his little back and forth, he was having with a darked haired woman you decided to speak up. “Don’t believe anything he says. He tends to over exaggerate on stories.” You said and you could see him tense up and started to turn around.

“How the hell-” He began and then he saw you and the tension melted away and had the biggest smile on his face “Y/N? What are you doing here?” He asked, bringing you into a hug that you missed so much.

“Well, I decided to surprise you! So, surprise! Also, I’m moving here.” You said and hugged him back and closed your eyes.

“Wow, I don’t know what to say.” He said as he pulled away.

“Bagman, not knowing what to say? That’s a first.” A man with a mustache said and everyone laughed as Jake flipped him off. “You gonna introduce us?” He asked but Jake couldn’t stop looking at you smiling and you shook your head.

“I’m Y/N “Galaxy” Y/L/N, the new F-18 Maintenance Supervisor.” You said

“I heard we were getting a new one but that was about it. Hi, I’m Natasha Trace callsign Phoenix.” Natasha said “Let me just add, thank you for finally getting Bagman here to shut up and it’s going to be so nice having another female around here.” She said and then pulled you into a hug and you laughed.

“I’m Javy Machado callsign Coyote. Jake here has told me a lot about you.” He said and you chuckled.

“All good things I hope.” You said with a chuckle and elbowed Jake you had rolled his eyes at you but the smile never left his face.

“I’m Robert Floyd callsign Bob.” Bob said and you smiled at him.

“I love the callsign. It is so simple and I love it. Plus, your glasses make you look cute.” You said and he blushed and ducked his head. There was one thing about you that Jake loved and that is that you said what you thought and took crap from anyone.

“I’m Bradley Bradshaw callsign Rooster.” Bradley walked over and took your hand and kissed it and you smiled and Jake did not like that one bit.

“Back off, Chicken.” Jake said, taking your hand out of his and pushing him away and you just shook your head.

“Mickey Gracia callsign Fanboy. Maybe that you're around Jake will lighten up and stop being well Jake.” Mickey said and you turned to look at Jake.

“Have you been a jerk to them?” You asked and he shook his head.

“It’s called tough love.” He said

“Tough love my ass. I’m Ruben Fitz callsign Payback.” He said and shook your hand.

“Galaxy? How did you get that name?” Natasha asked and you smiled.

“Jake gave it to me first then my old squad gave it to me despite not being an aviator. I loved looking at the stars and knew everything about the galaxy and space. I geeked out once and the name just stuck.” You said with a smile and so did Jake he remembered when it happened.

“I love it.” Natasha said

“Why thank you.” You said and then looked at your watch “I need to go and meet Cyclone. Jake, do you want me to show me the way to his office?” You asked and he nodded his head and put a hand on your back as you both turned and started to head off. “It was nice meeting you all. I look forward to working with you and hanging out with you.” You called over your shoulder as you got a chorus of ‘you too’ and ‘goodbye’.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Jake asked as you walked.

“I literally got the call about it yesterday.” You said and leaned into him briefly.

“I just can’t believe you’re here and staying.” He said and you smiled. Jake was like a brother to you. He was there through every breakup and every emergency trip. The thought of you two dating didn’t sit well with either of you so it was never pursued. You both were happy being friends. “Have you found a place yet?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Nope.” You said popping the p.

“Well, you’re in luck. I need a roommate.” He said

“Jake.” You started

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” He said and you sighed.

“Fine. I’ll meet you at my Jeep after I’m done here.” You said as you both arrived at the office.

“Deal.” He said as you knocked on the door and heard a faint ‘come in’ and you turned the handle and walked in giving Jake a smile.

——————————————————————

The meeting went great and as you said your goodbyes to Cyclone, Warlock, and Maverick you walked to your Jeep where Jake was standing and he smiled when he saw you. “How was it?” He asked and you smiled.

“Went really well! I'm excited to be working with y'all.” You said as your southern accent came out just a tiny bit like it always dies when you were around Jake.

“Great! Now I know my jet is in great hands under a person that I trust.” He said and gave you a little nudge. “Now let's get to my place where you'll be staying.” He said.

“I'll stay until I find myself a place.” You said as you opened the driver's side door and he shook his head.

“Not a chance.” Jake said and you chuckled.

“We'll see about that. I'll follow you.” You told him and he nodded as you got into your Jeep and him into his truck that was right beside yours. It didn't take long to get to his place and he lived close to the base and a bar called The Hard Deck which you think you'd really like. He pulled into the driveway and you pulled in right next to him. You were just about to get out when he opened the door for you.

“Now we can catch up and then meet everyone at The Hard Deck.” He said as you got out “We can unpack you later.” He added when he saw you looking at your stuff about to grab it. You huffed he always knew what you were thinking.

“Fine.” You said and followed him into the cozy little house and when you walked in you were surprised by how warm it felt.

“Beer?” He asked and you nodded.

“Please.” You said as he walked to the fridge as he set his keys down and you did the same. He grabbed two and then pointed towards the living room where you followed and sat on the couch. He opened the beer and gave it to you.

“So, what have you been up to? It’s been forever and I missed you.” Jake said as he took a drink of his beer and then looked at you as you took a drink of your beer.

“Well, let’s see I was last stationed at Naval Air Station Fallon in Fallon, Nevada and then we got deployed to South Korea for 6 months and then we came back and I got stationed at Top Gun. My mother died 2 months ago due to an incurable illness and then dad died a month after. My brother and sister never talk to me and they only showed up for the funeral and then left. My boyfriend of 5 months broke up with me because he cheated on me while I was deployed.” You told him and he looked at you with an unrecognizable look on his face, one that almost was of pity. “Don’t look at me like that.” You said and turned to look away from him as you took a drink of your beer.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Jake said not knowing what to say.

“It’s alright. I’ve always had a rough life so this is nothing new.” You said and looked at him and he shook his head.

“You don’t deserve this. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been down there in an instant.” Jake asked you set your beer on the coffee table and turned to look at him fully.

“Because we hadn’t talked in years. We saw each other at graduation and then you were heading off to basic training.” You said “I went two years after you. I was taking care of mom. I didn’t want to go but she didn’t want to hold me back and told me to go and so I did.” You said with a shrug and he sat his beer down on the coffee table next to yours and pulled you into a hug.

“I’m here for you now, Galaxy. You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon, I promise.” He said and hugged him back and sunk into his embrace you truly did miss his hugs and his smell. You closed your eyes taking in the warmth and felt him drop a kiss onto your head. After a few moments of being in each other's arms you both released each other. You two stayed up and talked about your lives and just catching up in general and then you both ending up falling asleep.

——————————————————————

The next morning you both got up early and had breakfast together and then you both were heading off the base. Neither you, Jake, or any of The Daggers saw each other throughout the day, due to you being busy getting into a routine and meeting your teammates that you really liked and everyone got along unlike your last squad. Before you knew it, it was time to leave while packing up getting ready to leave Jake and The Daggers showed up and you smiled when you heard Jake calling out your name. “Hey, Galaxy! We’re heading off to The Hard Deck. Wanna join?” He asked and you smiled.

“Of course! Let me finish up here and I’ll be there.” You said and went back to finishing up what you needed. He turned to the others.

“You guys go on. We’ll meet you there.” Jake said

“Woah! Jake waiting up for someone? That’s new.” Mickey said and Jake rolled his eyes.

“I can be nice when people deserve it. Now go on. We’ll meet you there.” He said and they left. You smiled and shook your head and in no time you were done and you both were heading off to The Hard Deck.

When you reached your destination he opened the door for you and the both of you walked in and straight to the bar. You saw a nice blonde haired woman working and she smiled at Jake. “Jake, I see you finally decided to join! Who is this you have with you?” She asked.

“Penny meet Y/N. Y/N meet Penny. She is the owner of the bar.” Jake said and you and Penny smiled at each other.

“Hi Penny! Nice to meet you! You have such a lovely place.” You said and she smiled.

“Oh don’t flatter me. What can I get you?” She asked

“Let me see if I still remember it.” Jake cut in and you tipped your head in a motion like ‘go on’ with a smirk “She’ll take a Long Island Iced Tea with lemon and put it on my tab.” He said, looking at you as you nodded.

“You got it.” Penny said

“You actually remembered.” You said

“Of course. How could I forget?” Jake said as Penny came back with your drink and what you were assuming was his original.

“Thank you, Penny.” You said and smiled and nodded and you both headed over to the group where you all greeted each other.

“Where have you been all this time?” Natasha asked and you looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” You asked her.

“Ever since you have come here, Jake has been so much happier and so much more friendly and he hasn’t been leaving anybody hanging.” Natasha said and everyone agreed.

“She makes me happy. I would do anything for her.” He said and you nodded and it was left at that. As the night went on you had been hit on more times than you could count or liked but you didn’t have to worry about it for long because Jake was always there to scare them off and you were grateful and you weren’t looking for a relationship right now. You were quick to make friends with everyone especially Bob, he was quiet and reserved and you really liked that and he didn’t try to hit on you.

As you mingled about with the squad Jake stood back watching and smiling. He was definitely glad to have you close and it was true you did make him happy. He was a little protective when the guys tried to hit on you and he was there ready to step in but you handled and they quickly backed down. Everyone quickly became protective of you especially when it came to strangers coming up to you and trying to get with you and let Jake back down on his protectiveness some but not all the way. Jake was just happy to have his true friend that he had known for years back in his life and he was not letting go this time.

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