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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 10 months ago

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He Fell First (She Fell Harder)

A You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes (I'm Not a Game You Want to Lose) Oneshot

Past!Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: The Five times Bitsie couldn't keep her eyes (and thoughts) off Jake and the One time Jake couldn't keep his eyes off Bitsie.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: This fic encompasses the entire timeline of the events happening in You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes. As such, there are mentions of cheating, some cursing, sex, sexual themes, as well as a look into Bitsie's mental state during the rough non-consensual sex mentioned in Love Has No Limits, Part Two of the main story.

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 7202

A/N: Hi All! So remember when I mentioned I wasn't ready to let Jake and Bitsie go when I ended the main series? Here we are! I'm so happy to share this new installment in their story with you all! It's also my first time writing a 5 plus 1 style fic, so I hope you all love it.

A lot of this story will not make sense if you've not read the main part of the series linked below.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for reading over this oneshot as I was trying to figure out how to write a 5 plus 1 style fic!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

1. Before Bradley Bradshaw

You're not sure why the blond on the other side of the aisle at the Commissary is staring at you. He's beautiful. You know that for a fact because you have eyes, and you're a little weak at the knees at the sight of how he fills out his khaki uniform. He’s probably only staring because you're a mess, with your hair in a messy bun, standing in the commissary wearing a ratty, holey T-shirt and ripped-stained jeans. Moving sucks. It feels like your spine is just stretching out again after hours in the car. Honestly, you’re not sure why you decided to have all your things shipped to Lemoore instead of directly to North Island. Three trips in your car later, and you’ve got everything you need with you, but you now have an avalanche of boxes waiting in your living room to unpack.

Your entire life in boxes is another reason you’d retreated to the commissary. It’s already 6 in the evening, and you want nothing more than to eat something and flop onto the sofa for the night. You’re hoping, at the very least, to pick up a few important groceries, such as milk, bread, eggs, and cheese, to tide you over until you can run to Whole Foods or Wegmans off base. It’s as you’re debating what type of cereal you should buy that the blond first catches your attention. It’s a Wednesday, and there are a surprisingly large number of khaki-clad navy personnel walking up and down the aisles collecting items they need. You’re probably one of the few in casual clothing, but that doesn’t warrant his staring.

It takes far too much effort to turn your attention back to the two cereal boxes in your hands. You can still feel the prickle of his gaze against the back of your neck.

“Y’know, if you’re deciding between Honey Bunches of Oats and Frosted Mini Wheats, I have to tell you that you’re probably thinking too hard.”

You startle, fumbling with the boxes, and stumble back into a broad, firm chest. His laughter is warm and musical as he steadies you with big, warm hands.

“I’m sorry.” You’re flushed and hoping that you’re not as sweaty and disgusting as you feel with this Adonis of a man so close to you.

“I startled you, huh?” His grin is crooked and wicked, making you grin sheepishly.

“Yeah, you kind of did.” You turn and gesture at the cereal boxes. “So, what makes you think you know the best cereal?”

“Well, I've been eating it my whole life, you know?” His eyes seem to twinkle as he responds.

“So have I. I happen to like Honey Bunches of Oats, you know?”

“All that tells me, gorgeous, is that you haven't put something truly delicious in that pretty little mouth before today.”

You squeak a little because you're not sure you've ever been so close to a man before.

“So, I would suggest Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sweet and spicy, just like you are.”

You can feel yourself flush, even as he reaches past you, pulls the correct cereal box from the shelf, and places it in your cart.

“See you around, beautiful. I hope you enjoy your time on North Island.”

You’re a flustered mess as you checkout at the counter several moments later. You think about this flirty stranger as you unpack your house and put everything away for the rest of the week and most of the weekend. A part of you isn’t sure how to handle such casual flirting. Could that stranger have been serious? Did he actually want to see you around North Island? Or was that just something he was saying to be kind?

2. Befriending the Daggers

As silly as it seems, you feel like you can taste cinnamon sugar on your tongue when you and your team are introduced to the Dagger Squad in one of the hangars at North Island.

The reason why is simple. The blond who had been haunting your thoughts all weekend is standing at attention in the front row. His cocky smirk makes your knees weak, and you’re sure that his eyes on you make you stutter as you introduce yourself. Throughout that first briefing, you can feel his gaze track across your form as you take notes in your spiky hand. You think you see him smirk when your hand cramps, and you need to shake your fingers out. Still, it catches your attention in a fleeting moment, not keeping it for longer than a few seconds before the briefing grabs you again.

What follows is a day full of briefings, the problem with the laser targeting system setting your mind ticking into overdrive. Looking at the faces of the others on your team, you can see hints of the same curiosity and the same drive to solve this problem. Of course, it would be asking a bit much to be able to view the plane telemetry data and hardware logs and hear the comms recordings so soon after your introduction to the team. Something tells you you’ll have to wait for that.

“So, you’re joining us for drinks, right?” It’s one of the female lieutenants, Trace, you think her name is, who invites you out. “We go to this little place on the beach called The Hard Deck. Penny’s amazing!”

“You should join us, Bitsie!” His voice sounds just as good in the hangar as at the commissary, if a bit less worn and tired. The nickname is new, but coupled with the grin he’s leveling in your direction, you’re willing to accept it. You smile sweetly at the blond as he walks up behind Lieutenant Trace.

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin. How’d you like the Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

Before you can respond, though, Trace muscles her way back into the conversation. “Stop making her feel awkward, Bagman.”

You smile gently over her shoulder at Jake as Natasha walks you away, talking a mile a minute. The Hard Deck is a surprisingly homey place. It’s warm and brightly lit, smelling of lemon polish and faintly of yeasty beer. It bothers you a little bit how Natasha doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Jake’s been waiting, sweetly, this whole time. You want to thank him for his cereal recommendations. But she’s introducing you to the others, and you're actually having fun.

Before long, you find yourself in a circle of women, and you’re surprised by how nice it feels. Mara, you've known and worked with for years, but you've never been close. Callie and Natasha are like two sides of the same coin. Both of them are whip-smart and take no shit. They’re the perfect counterparts to you and Mara.

Looking back, you've never really had many female friends. Most of your colleagues are males, males who don't want anything to do with you outside of seeing you every day and inevitably getting shown up by you. So it’s nice standing at one of the bar’s high-top tables while getting to know your new colleagues and hopefully your new friends.

You’re laughing and smiling, vacantly swaying to the song's beat pouring out of the jukebox when the song cuts out. You startle, then hum as you hear the plunking of keys from the piano on the other side of the bar. When you’d walked in, talking to Natasha, you’d thought the piano was just an ornament, something defunct and unplayable. The tune leaves the wooden instrument echoing with age.

Natasha crows with glee at the sound; all the Daggers roused into a festive mood in moments. “C’mon, you two! You’re in for a real treat tonight!”

The raspy voice that starts singing melds beautifully with the old instrument, lustily belting the words of an old song into the air. It seems to be a normal occurrence. As Natasha dances and pulls you into the fray surrounding the piano, you feel relaxed enough to dance along awkwardly in her wake. The other Daggers are arrayed in a half-moon around the back of the piano, facing a man with auburn curls wearing a cheerful printed shirt. You recognize him as one of the Daggers you haven’t been introduced to yet. He’s feeling the jazzy beat of the song as his fingers dance across the yellowed ivory keys.

When he peers over the rims of his RayBans, his eyes meet yours. In that instance, the world stops because his smile takes your breath away. You’ve never felt this seen, this beautiful. His eyes sparkle, the color of the whiskey in the glass atop the glossy wood of the piano. You’ve never heard this song before, but damn, if you don’t want to learn the lyrics via osmosis just to see him smile at you for singing along. You’re not sure when the song ends, or even that it does, notes echoing in the suddenly quiet expanse of your mind. You swallow when he stands up from the bench and downs the watered-down whiskey, tracking a droplet of the amber liquid as it drips down his neck. You have to remind yourself to be cool, to avoid glancing at his mouth as he swaggers up to you.

“Hi,” His voice is like woodsmoke, dark and gorgeous as it drips into your ears. “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, but you can call me Rooster. I’m one of the Daggers, but if I’d met you before now, I’m not sure I would forget.”

“Bradley…. Bradshaw?” You’re not sure when Natasha, Callie, and Mara moved away, but when you look, you’re all alone in the corner of the bar with just Bradley Bradshaw for company.

“It’s a family name.” He drags one of his big hands through glistening curls, his bicep bunching alluringly in the frankly silly shirt he’s wearing. “My dad wanted the alliteration. My mom loved him too much to say no. So here I am.”

“It sounds like you love them a lot.”

His smile falters at your earnest words, a frown dipping his lips down for a few seconds before the smirk rises back into place. “Yeah, I did.”

Your mind churns, because you feel like you’ve pressed unwittingly onto a still un-healed old wound. You feel like you should apologize, like you have to apologize, but he doesn’t let you. The play of emotions on his face is lightning-fast. Before you can think, he’s already leading you to the next conversation topic: you.

“But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.”

You flush and let your life story, a highly edited version, drip off your tongue. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel seen and inexplicably gorgeous, faced with a six-foot-tall man whose eyes seem to see right through you. He makes you feel giddy.

“What’re you doing tucked away in this corner with Bradshaw, Bitsie?” Jake’s voice makes you smile in a completely different way than when Bradley was making you giggle earlier.

“We were just chatting, Jake.”

“Yeah, Bagman.” It surprises you to see the nearly cruel look on Bradley’s kind-looking face. “We were just chatting. Piss off.”

Jake lifts his hands as he backs away, though you don’t miss how he mouths, “Later, pretty girl” to you over Bradley’s shoulder. You don’t miss the frown creasing on his handsome face, either.

“Does he call you Bitsie often?” Bradley sounds surprisingly concerned as he curls one of his big hands around your waist.

“He just started today.”

Bradley’s face makes you bite your lips. “I’m pretty sure he’s just teasing me, Bradley. It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not.” You can hear the rumble of his voice in your chest as he leans closer. “Sweetheart, he’s making fun of you. He doesn’t take you or your job seriously. He took your cute, little introductory speech and turned it into a mockery!”

“He isn’t making fun of me, Bradley.”

“Yeah, he is, sweetheart.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. “Bagman makes fun of everyone and everything. He doesn’t know how to give a compliment seriously if he tries.”

“He’s just going to hurt you, gorgeous.”

“No, he’s not.” You scoff.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You turn as bidden, expecting to see Jake looking at you with that same sweet look on his face. Instead, what you see is Jake smirking down at a gorgeous willowy blonde with big boobs and sweet, dainty features.

You, in your frumpy little business casual pants set, look terrible in comparison. When his eyes rise to meet yours, the smile falls a little, but it grows into something smarmy and ingenuine as his eyes meet the man standing behind your shoulder.

“See, sweetheart? The man flirts just to flirt. That’s all he means when he calls you Bitsie. He’ll flirt and then go home with someone else. You’re not his type. But luckily, you’re mine.”

His words make you smile, and you devote the brunt of your attention to Bradley Bradshaw again. You can feel the itch of eyes on you all night long. But when you sneak furtive glances over your shoulders at where Jake is standing with that blonde bimbo draped all over him, his attention always seems to be on her. But you can still feel the itch of his gaze in between your shoulders.

3. Dating Bradley Bradshaw

After that first night, you keep a close eye on the Daggers, especially how they interact with each other. Jake Seresin always seems to be on the outskirts of the group. Only Coyote goes out of his way to include Jake. Even when he is a central part of the conversation, Hangman seems to prefer biting commands and witty repartee, which doesn’t endear him to his squadron. You hear them all, though, noting the jokes that are so sly and cerebral that they pass the others by. You notice his concern, the tightly wound worry in every muscle as he tries his best to ensure everyone comes back home safe and sound, even in the midst of training.

Something about his attitude still bothers you, though. Or maybe it’s how he always insists on calling you Bitsie instead of your name. He can’t seem to bring himself to give you any respect, either, and it’s starting to piss you off. If you didn’t know differently, you’d assume Jake Seresin didn’t believe you belonged here, working on this team and completing vital work for the Pentagon and the US Navy. So, you dread walking into the pilot’s ready room on base for coffee. You’ve been dragging all day, and you have it on good authority that the pilot’s ready room has the best coffee on base.

Well, your thermos from home is empty, and you could use the pick-me-up, so you head over there, hoping you can avoid Jake Seresin. All you want is a decent cup of coffee before you’re back to staring at flight diagnostics until your eyes bleed.

The ready room is quiet, barring the ever-present roaring hum of jet engines in flight, and to your satisfaction, there is a pot of coffee waiting for you. You sniff at its contents, a little disappointed because there’s only enough for half a mug once you’ve assured yourself of its relative freshness. You make your mug happily, doctoring it to your satisfaction and taking the time to look around. Bradley and Nat have told you about the days they've spent here between hops while training for the Uranium Mission. The walls are covered in pictures, and you take the time to examine them as you sip your coffee.

When the radio flickers on with an echoey buzz as it connects to the comms of the jets in flight, you startle and whirl around.

“If you’re looking for the Chicken, he’s up in the air.” You have to fight to keep your dismay from showing on your face. You must be at least a little unsuccessful since there is an imperceptible smirk growing on Hangman’s face as he looks at you from one of the sofas. “At least you’ve found the coffee.”

“It’s the best coffee on base, after all.”

You refill your mug and try your best to ignore Hangman. But when you go to take another sip, you’re met with only the dregs at the bottom of your mug. There’s silence between you as you scramble into the cupboards, looking for the fresh coffee. When you measure the beans into the grinder and fire the grinder up, you deliberately avoid looking for the aviator lying supine on the sofa. You find a modicum of your composure as you measure the grinds into a new filter and fill the carafe of the coffee maker with fresh water. You hit the buttons decisively and hum appreciatively as the scent of fresh bitter coffee wafts from the pot. From the radio set, you can hear Phoenix and Bob on the comms, mostly Bob, as he clues his pilot onto unseen perils in the sky. On occasion, you can hear Phoenix’s measured tone and Bradley’s rough rasp, too.

“So, Bitsie, how do you take your coffee?”

You startle, sending crystals of sugar skittering across the countertop as Hangman’s voice gets even closer to you than it was before. You’re always impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew, so you always add the creamer and sugar to the bottom of your mug before pouring in the coffee. Hangman chuckles when he sees the sugar dripping lazily out of the torn open packet in a glittering stream.

“Sugar, huh?” He pushes you away and begins to wipe the sticky substance away but stops once he sees the bottom of your mug. “Fuck, Bitsie, do you pour any coffee into your mug at all?”

“Oh, trust me,” you snap, on the defensive at the sound of his voice so close to you, “I desperately need the caffeine to put up with you, after all.”

Something about the joking look on his face fades away at your tone, though the smile doesn’t.

“I drink my coffee black, you know?” He chuckles, leaning against the counter as he holds your mug hostage on the other side of him. “I like my coffee hot and full-bodied, a little bitter, but oh, so smooth on my tongue.”

He takes two measured steps into your space. With how close he is, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne and the bitter tang of jet fuel. “Coincidentally, I like my women like that too.”

“And how do they like you?” One of his eyebrows rises at your statement. “Your women, Bagman. How do they like you?”

“Oh, honey.” He grins as he fills the mug up and turns around. “I promise they don’t have any complaints.”

He sips insolently out of your mug, tongue lapping at the traces of coffee left on the spoon he used to stir the steaming beverage before handing the mug filled with hot liquid back to you. Your mind stutters as Jake Seresin stares you down like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “Your coffee isn’t half bad either, Bitsie.” You can feel the warmth of his touch where his fingers brush against yours. “A little sweet, but it figures when the drinker is as sweet as you are.”

When you sip from the mug with your face on fire, it tastes even better than when you make it for yourself. You slip out of the room when a crackle of feedback attracts Jake’s attention. It doesn’t occur to you until you’re sitting in your chair and staring at the after-action reports of the Uranium Mission that you’re placing your mouth exactly where his was in an indirect kiss.

For the rest of the afternoon, you find your mind tracking to green eyes and a sweet smile bared genuinely in your direction. Your brain feels like a stuck record, trapped futilely in the crosshairs of his gaze from when he’d been teasing you about your coffee preferences.

Worse than the bonfire lighting up in your stomach, there’s the guilt swarming in your belly after what happened. What happened with Jake in the ready room could classify as cheating, right? You’re not exactly sure because you’re not the most experienced. You also don’t want to tell Bradley because what if you have been unfaithful to him? You can’t confide in Natasha either, because she’s Bradley’s best friend.

Suddenly, your coffee goes from tasting like god’s ichor to tasting like ash on your tongue. Fucking Jake Seresin. Why did he have to go out of his way to make your life miserable?

4. A North Island Night Out

The more time you spent around Bradley Bradshaw, the more it felt like you could fall in love. Bradley’s sweet and kind, and he never once makes you feel bad about your career choice. Sometimes, in those long afternoons stuffed inside a hangar with ceiling fans barely pushing at stagnant air, you wish you could say the same about Jake Seresin. The worst part is how he has reasons to be as cocky and arrogant as he is. He flies his jet like a man possessed, or maybe like a man with nothing to lose. Some of you can’t help but wonder what you would have faced if you'd been going out with Jake instead of Bradley. You're not sure you would have been enough to change his ways.

Bradley, on the other hand? He's like your knight in shining armor. He never minds your rambling or how you babble when you get sucked into a conversation. In fact, you'd argue that Bradley Bradshaw is the first person who has ever taken you seriously. He makes you feel superhuman, like there is never any problem you can't solve. His smile still has butterflies taking flight in thick, cloying swarms in your stomach. He makes you laugh, and god when he kisses you? You feel radiant, like one word will have you taking off faster than an F-18.

A part of you can’t believe him, even now. He hadn't laughed when you'd told him how inexperienced you were, in truth, what you wanted him to give you for your first time.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He'd groaned into your ear, “Just let me make you feel good, on your terms, as fast or slow as you want me to be.”

You know what he's offering. As fast or slow as you want me to be is his way of telling you to take your time. But you're sure you will explode if you have to make out with Bradley Bradshaw again while rubbing a wet patch into the thigh of his jeans, while his fingers massage over your nipples and his tongue tangles languidly with yours.

You’ve had sex with him before, the sweet, gentle missionary kind. In fact, you’d argue that it was the perfect way to lose your virginity. But you can’t help but wonder if there isn’t more to sex with a man you love than a few slow moments in bed. You’re not even sure you orgasmed that night, or at least, it never felt like how you’ve made yourself climax. But ever since then, he’s kept you at arm's length. Sex was supposed to be the last step before all of the walls came down between the two of you. Maybe you can finally get Bradley to give you what you want, then? If only this date weren’t starting at The Hard Deck, though if you think back, most of yours do. It’s not like the Hard Deck isn’t a nice bar - it is. But The Hard Deck isn’t the most romantic of venues.

When you drive up to the Hard Deck in your little car at promptly six in the evening, you’re dressed to the nines, wearing a cute little sundress with a flared skirt and fitted bodice. It pushes your tits up and is nearly completely backless. You’re not wearing much under the dress, just a little lace-edged thong and strappy heels elevating you a few inches. Stepping through the door, it seems like the entire bar falls silent. For several long moments, all you can hear is the tapping of your heels against the floor. People seem to float out of your way as you greet Penny, grabbing your drink from her, a soda in a glass bottle dripping condensation, and walk towards the pool tables in the back of the bar.

Heads turn as you walk past, and you can feel a smug smile curl your lips. On any other night, the arrangement of the Daggers around the pool table would have been normal. You’d be joining them by now, taking your place next to Bradley to hang besottedly on his every word. You’d be the only one not in uniform.

Tonight, there isn’t a uniform in sight. Tonight, you’re dressed to impress. But you’re not dressed to impress the other Daggers, only Bradley. You hope your sexy little dress will be enough to have the romantic moment you’ve been longing for, finally. All your boyfriend needs to do is turn around and see you.

Nat and Bob confer in hushed tones as Bradley racks up against the pool table with the cue in his hand. He’s wearing those jeans that you adore, the pair that fits like a glove and with fabric so worn that it’s soft against your hands. Hangman and Coyote are on the other side of the pool table, identical frowns on their faces as they strategize over the configuration of the balls on the worn felt emblazoned with jets.

But it’s Hangman who sees you first with a clattering of his cue as it impacts the floor. His eyes bug out, mouth parting as his eyes rake over you from head to toe. His reaction causes silence to ripple outwards with him at its epicenter. Dagger after Dagger pauses to stare at you. It’s a gratifying feeling. Nat and Callie wink at you, and Nat carefully prods a pink-cheeked Bob into resuming their conversation. The only person arrayed around the pool tables who doesn’t seem to know you’re there is the man you dressed up for. Jake is nearly mute as you clack forward, sipping on your drink greedily because something about his gaze has you feeling hot and flushed. The only time he backs off is when Bradley seems to realize you’re right there.

“Fuck, baby.” Your boyfriend groans in your ears. His voice makes your skin flare hot, and a desperate ache starts between your legs. “Look at you all pretty and gorgeous for me. Let me finish this last round, and then I’m all yours.”

One round turns to two, and then three, and before long, you’re left all alone in a corner of the bar while the Daggers, including Bradley, party like you don’t exist. All of that effort to make it a romantic night, and you’re sitting here like you don’t exist. If you have to watch another badge bunny drape herself all over your boyfriend, you are going to scream or do something drastic. Maybe making out with Jake will get his attention.

“It’s a shame, you know?” You nearly topple off of your stool at the words emanating from next to you. “You look so pretty, Bitsie, and Bradshaw can’t even open his eyes to see his girl waiting for him.”

Hangman sounds so sure of you, so sure that you’re better than Bradley Bradshaw deserves.

“He just wanted to grab another drink.”

“That was three hours ago, Bits.” When Jake chuckles, you can feel your hackles raise. “Didn’t you have dinner reservations or something like that?”

Before you can respond, because yeah, you did, Bradley’s standing there.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Bagman?” Bradley is slurring his words, listing from side to side as he stares the other man down.

“She’s mine, Bagman. Don’t you forget it!”

“If she’s yours, why are you ignoring her and walking around with badge bunnies draped all over ya?”

You can tell by how red Bradley’s face gets that he is one more word from launching himself at Jake. You’re unsure what prompts you to step in, but you do, sliding your hand up to the sweaty curls at the base of your boyfriend’s neck and whispering into his ear. You breathe your need, your want for him, into his ears. You have to ignore the scent of alcohol and sweat wafting sour from his skin, but you succeed in grabbing his attention.

But a part of you wishes your seductive ploy hadn’t.

You got your wish; your need to have sex with your boyfriend granted. But it’s not anything like you expected it to be. Bradley left bruises on your skin and bruises on your heart. He’d been rough with his touch and his words. But more than that, you can’t help but wonder if this would have happened with Jake. If he’d make you feel better than Bradley ever could. Isn’t sex supposed to feel good?

Faced with Bradley’s fumbling, you’d been anything but wet between your legs. You’d only started to get there when you thought, selfishly, of Jake. There was no foreplay, no making sure you’re alright. No kissing, no touching. There were no hallmarks of any of the care and gentleness Bradley usually treats you with. The whole experience has you feeling worse than you did in the car as he called you a slut for talking to a colleague and friend. Slut. It’s a word he’d used often with you in bed that night, too. A word that makes you feel guilty, dirty, and disgusting all at once.

What does it say about you that you had to think of a colleague and friend to get wet instead of your boyfriend?

Whether you realize it or not, that’s the first crack in the shaky, perhaps already crumbling, foundations of your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw.

5. After Bradley Bradshaw

You have work to do; you know you do. But it’s been under a day since you told Jake Seresin how your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw imploded easier than if it had been bombed. Realizing Nat had known, known what he did and condoned the betrayal, his cheating, is another stab to the back that you weren’t expecting. You can't believe how Bradley could harbor less remorse and guilt over having sex with Britney than you did over some harmless, practically meaningless flirting.

What happened to ‘sisters before misters’ and all sentiments to that effect? You’re thankful, truly thankful, that Jake didn’t know and that Mickey and Mara were unaware as well. Being so far away from North Island has given you a sense of clarity you never thought you were missing.

You’d be lying if you said Jake Seresin doesn’t have something to do with your newfound clarity, too.

One night, a bushel-load of tears and an unburdening of your heart, and he’s already raised himself in your esteems. It’s in how he’d listened to you, which has your thoughts spinning. Back when your relationship with Bradley was still rock solid, you'd thought Bradley was the only man who could make you feel like the most important person in the world. But you didn't realize how often Bradley’s eyes would glaze over when you got excited. You’re not sure you’ve ever been able actually to talk to your ex.

Jake let you cry, cry like you’d lost your reason for living. He’d held you while your suppressed grief had unleashed. He’d heard you spill your heart out to him and release all of your pain into the squalling storm winds. Then there was the rage in his face, in his voice, the rage he’d held tightly coiled in the corded muscles of his arm, in the jut of his proud jaw, when he found out Bradley had broken you, dominated your spirit, for a bet.

You’re not sure why he’s been so nice. He has nothing to gain by being kind to you. He didn’t when he wanted to get you off deck in the middle of the storm last night. Though uncharitably, you’re sure he’d likely wanted you off deck so he could get off deck himself. He didn’t have to make you a cup of coffee or raid his own special stash of granola bars, either. But more than anything, you’d love to know why he let you cry snot and tears all over his uniform when it was well past lights out. You keep thinking back to how it felt to be in his arms, how good it felt.

Unbidden, you pull out the paper Jake had handed you while you were eating lunch in the commissary with Mara and Mickey. It’s nothing special, just a note written in ballpoint pen on run-of-the-mill lined notebook paper. The paper is silky smooth against the pads of your fingers, the edges ragged like he’d ripped the page out of a notebook he had lying around. You can feel the indentations the pen had left on the other side of the page. You can see how the letters slur across the page as he’d written, the ink smudging imperceptibly as he wrote hastily. They’re just lyrics transcribed on the page, and they shouldn’t be thought-provoking.

It’s from a song you’ve heard a thousand times before, played ad nauseam on the radio with a catchy tune getting stuck in your head. More than the song lyrics, it’s the thought behind those lyrics. Honestly, you’re not sure how he got them for you. He called his sister in the middle of the night when he likely had to get special permission to do so just so he could get some stupid lyrics for you.

You can still see the twinkle in his eyes as he blushed crimson. He’d seemed proud, proud he was the reason for your laughter, proud that he’d pulled the wool from your eyes and showed you how ill Bradley had actually treated you. That look on his face made you feel like levitating.

You can’t deny it anymore. Bradley Bradshaw may have made butterflies swarm in your stomach, but Jake Seresin made you feel like lightning arcing through the air. He makes you feel wild and free.

+1. The Day Easton is Born

A part of you feels like you should be angry that it took only four years before you stopped being the sole item of your husband’s attention. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way that Jake did, especially because the cute little thing that’s caught his attention has caught yours, too.

He’s about four hours old with squishy cheeks, a red face, and a voice that would make his daddy proud. You’re sure that his voice is just like his dad’s, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard Jake’s voice ever hit the octaves this adorable sweetheart hits. It hurts a little bit that you’ve been ordered not to move, too, because everything in you is itching to pick your baby up and hold him in your arms. But Jake’s on baby duty at the moment. If it’s a poopy diaper, you’re more than ready to let him take that burden on.

You tilt the bed up until you’re reclining and tip your head gently to the side until you see the heart rate monitor reassuringly blinking your vital signs at you. When you turn your head to the other side, Jake's standing over the small changing table in your room, leaning down and looking into it. His face looks gentler than you've ever seen it, soft, like a man stripped bare to his basest parts. He has no walls up, no fears, just wonder as he stares down at the little bed. Well, maybe he’s looking a little less awestruck and a little more disgusted because your newborn son does, indeed, have a soiled diaper.

He’s not wearing a shirt. This fact doesn't surprise you because Jake wanders around your house half-naked all the time. At the same time, you’re both in a hospital, and it’s at least 10 degrees colder than it should be. You’re wrapped up in a soft pajama set and wearing a thick cardigan, but you’re still cold. When Jake hefts the small wriggling body of your son into his arms and settles him against his chest, now clean, your heart swells. The baby coos, a little snuffling exhale of breath that squeaks a little as he settles into Jake’s arms. Jake doesn’t seem to realize that you’re awake, either.

“Awww, hey, Buddy.” His voice is a tender rumble, big hands cradling precious cargo with the same surety he flies his jet. “Let’s not wake up Mama, huh? She’s so tired.”

“You took us by surprise, our sweet boy. We weren’t expecting you to show up in the middle of a Longhorns game, for sure. I will say that your arrival was a little more exciting than a game-winning touchdown. I wonder if your Uncle Javy will let Daddy watch the game on his DVR when you’re home? In any case, I do not look forward to replacing my Longhorns rug. You had to pick that rug to make your appearance on, didn’t you? Say, East, what’s the likelihood that your Mama would let me keep it if I wash it off?”

You have to stifle your snickers because the baby chirps and half burps in response. You can vaguely see the dark blue of the baby’s eyes as he blinks in Jake’s firm hold. East’s lips purse and part, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in need again. But you’re so in love, and hearing Jake talk to your son might be your newest favorite thing.

“Yeah, I had that feeling. You’ll learn sooner or later that your Mama’s words are law. She’s going to be the disciplinarian between the two of us, for sure. You’re already wrapped around my fingers. I’m not sure I could tell you no for anything.”

He sighs, sounding choked up as he trails a finger down the baby’s soft cheek. “I’ve got so much I want to teach you. How to smile and utilize those perfect Seresin dimples. How to talk your way out of any problem you face. How to make your Mama smile (and maybe cry) every Mother’s Day as we show her how amazing she is.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of the baby’s head and rocks slightly back and forth on his heels, an action that doesn’t soothe your son even a little. East is squalling already, and you have a feeling he will ratchet up a bit higher in volume if he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Hey, Cowboy.” Your voice is soft as you get Jake’s attention.

“Morning, Bitsie-baby.” His smile is wide as he stares down at you.

“There’s no way it’s morning, Jake.” He shrugs and rocks back and forth a little more as the baby objects a little louder with each sway. “And gimme my son.”

Jake smirked as he transferred the baby, eyes softening as you situated East against your chest, snickering as the baby latched hungrily onto your breast for his midnight snack.

“So he’s your son when you want him, but he’s mine when he’s got a nasty diaper?”

“Sounds about right, Seresin.”

“Well, he’s a Seresin, alright.” Jake snickers when you swat at his abs. “Made right for your tits, and aren’t they a pretty sight.”

“Not in front of the baby, Jacob.”

“Well, I dunno when I’m going to see them again one on one!”

“Try me when East’s two years old. Because I’m going to need that long to recover from having your big-headed child.” Your voice is as dry as the Sahara Desert as you laugh at your husband.

“Fair enough.” He tucks a wild strand of hair behind your ear and settles on the edge of the hospital bed. You snuggle into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’ll take beautiful over the complete mess I probably am.”

“You look gorgeous, Bitsie!”

You snort. “Jake, I haven’t showered in 48 hours, I was in labor for most of it, and I just had a baby. So what about me looks beautiful to you at this moment?”

“Everything.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’ve given me the best things in my life. You gave me your heart and a second chance with you. You gave me a family in you and our little Easton. You’ve changed my life.”

“If I didn’t find you gorgeous because of all of our relationship, then I’d definitely argue it is the memory of the lingerie you were wearing under your dress at last year's Navy Gala.”

“I think that lingerie was pretty life-changing for both of us, Cowboy.” You cradle Easton close and gesture for one of the many burp cloths arrayed on the table on Jake’s other side. “I’m about 90% sure that was the night we made East.” You pat the baby’s bottom gently, grimacing when he lets loose a surprisingly loud belch before cooing angelically. “Well, you certainly burp like your dad, don’t you?”

“Hey!” Jake tugs the baby out of your arms, swaying side to side as the baby’s eyes droop closed. He snuggles East close before laying him into the crib. You watch approvingly as he pulls the crib closer, the same worries about your newborn son in his mind as yours. “I’ll have you know, kiddo, that your mama loves my burps.”

“Don’t lie to our son. He’s not even a day old, Seresin, and you’re already lying to him!”

“Am I lying if I’m telling him the truth? His mama does love me.” You wrap your arms around his waist as he settles back into the hospital bed next to you.

“Yeah, she does.” You kiss his torso, nuzzling in close as he holds you close.

“I love you so much, Jake. I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I’m not likely to stop now. Having this,” you gesture to the hospital room at large, “is better than my best dreams. Though, I would prefer it if you could convince your mom and sister to let us have some time with East alone before they descend on us.”

“You got it, beautiful.” He runs his hands gently up and down your back. God, you're not sure you can give him up, not anymore. Right now, you're pretty sure that if Jake gets out of the hospital bed, you'll freeze solid.

“You were always my dream, Bitsie baby. Forever and always.” You barely hear the words, sleep pulling you under riptide-fast. But a part of you knows Jake doesn't mind. It's always been a not-so-secret fantasy of his, having his family at arm's reach.

Honestly, you could get used to it too. Your Jake Seresin pillow is the best of the best, after all.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@greenbaby12 @eli2447 @the-romanian-is-bae @luckyladycreator2 @lunamoonbby @angeliccks @daisydaisygoose @inky-sun @fighterpilothoe @pulisvertz @wildxwidow @angelbabyange @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @dempy @shanimallina87 @abaker74 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

#star writes #you play stupid games you win stupid prizes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #past rooster x reader #past bradley bradshaw x reader #past bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster is a dick #he's not the greatest in this #top gun imagine #top gun angst

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Love Has No Limits

Part 2 of You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader, Past! Bradley 'Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: It's been two months since you broke up with Bradley Bradshaw, two months since you've been on an aircraft carrier. Things with Jake are great; they're better than ever. But you're still terrified to hand him your heart. What will you do when a tense situation on board nearly has you lose him too?

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, Cursing, Sex, Sexual Themes, Minor mention of non-consensual rough sex, Panic Attack

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 6418

A/N: Without further ado, here is the second installment of the You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes Universe. Remember when I said it was going to be short? I lied. We're looking at around 5 or 6 installments right now! All the thanks I have go to @desert-fern who was kind enough to beta read this chapter for me and teach me how to angst!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

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Aircraft carriers are both bigger and smaller than civilians think. They’re longer than three football fields and can hold four squadrons of planes, their flight and operations crews, their pilots, and all other personnel necessary for carrier function. That’s the big part. The small part is how maze-like the hallways are inside. Some are so narrow that two people can barely walk side by side with an inch of space between them. There are so many decks and ways to reach the same destination.

You still remember your first time on a carrier. It had turned you around so badly that you needed to draw maps to get around. The disorientation had taken three months to get over, and you’d only been on the ship at that time for four months while running an analysis on the ship’s radar software.

Your current time onboard has been completely different. For one, you’d gotten your sea legs much sooner and had easily found your way around the carrier. The second was your team on the carrier. Mara was still a godsend. You loved working closely with her. When the two of you put your heads together, it felt like nothing could stand in your way.

And then there were the pilots testing your work. Mickey was as badass as you'd always been told he was. Immensely smart and a genuine sweetheart to boot. The one person who you couldn't place was Jake Seresin. He was the same as always up in the air - cocky, arrogant, and confident.

It was when he was out of the air and off duty that he was completely different. Jake had been incredibly sweet to you over the past six weeks the four of you had been on the carrier. You would have never expected it of Hangman. You knew he could be nice but sweet? It still amazes you how easy it is to get along with him. A small part of your psyche is still mortified by how you cried in his arms, but the larger part of you really liked how it felt. He felt safe. He felt like you were home.

It's past midnight as you toss and turn in your bunk. Your mind is running around in circles; all you can think of is Jake, Jake, Jake. In actuality, it has only been two months since you broke up with Bradley Bradshaw. While his betrayal still stings, like salt in a wound, in truth, the wound has been healing slowly. Initially, that wound was all you could feel, all your love turning to ash instantly. You’d felt like the aftermath of a forest fire with the gnarled ashy husks of trees stretching into the sky as embers still burned on the ground below. Then you’d finally let yourself cry that night. You’d felt all the embers flicker out under that warm spring rain and felt something new take root.

It’s the something new that’s been consuming you recently. Your heart stutters in its steady cadence when Jake looks at you nowadays. You get lost gazing into his green eyes, your normally quick brain grinding to a halt when faced with the power of his gaze. You’d thought falling in love with Bradley Bradshaw and its aftermath were the most intense emotions you’d ever felt. You’re starting to think you were wrong. You’re not shy. 90% of the time, you’d argue that you’re the opposite. But occasionally, Jake will sit down next to you, say something witty, flash that megawatt grin, and take your breath away. Every time that happens, you feel like a recalcitrant computer, needing to force-reboot your brain before it gets stuck on his dimples, eyes, or the toothpick in his mouth.

The worst part is how you used to pride yourself on your professionalism. With Jake Seresin, that professionalism had been stripped away as you poured out your heart and soul, showing him your weakness. And you’re constantly feeling wrong-footed. It’s an undercurrent to each interaction you’ve had with him, and you’re unsure if you want more with him. Can you take things slow? Your bruised heart might be screaming, “NO!”, at the top of its lungs, but your head is chanting, “YES!”, back just as adamantly.

It’s as quiet as it can be on an aircraft carrier. The creaking of your bunk, the steadfast rocking of the boat, and the snuffling sounds of people asleep around you are all you can hear. And then you hear the wheezing groan of the bunk above you as Mara climbs down. Her voice is sleep mussed as she leans over and slips on her shoes.

“Y’can’t sleep, can you? I’m gonna go switch out with one of the boys. Your tossing and turning are keeping me awake.”

“‘M sorry for keeping you awake, Mar. I haven’t been sleeping well. I hope the boys don’t get too angry at you for disturbing them.”

“Mickey might. But Jake? I don’t think he’ll object if I tell him it’s for you.”

And as the metal door clangs shut softly behind her, you’re left alone with your thoughts again. Obviously, you're not great at hiding how your thoughts turn to static in his presence. But despite what Mara has been telling you for months and Mickey for the past couple of weeks, you still can’t believe that Jake Seresin could ever harbor a soft spot for you. You’re rapidly eclipsing a singular soft spot for him, yourself. You can feel your resolve waver and become a pool of goop nearly daily. You’re not sure it’s safe to expose your heart again. Not really. But god, do you want to try.

You’re startled out of your reverie as the door opens. In the half-light spilling in from the hallway, you see a silhouette you’ve become intimately acquainted with over the past months.

“Hey, Bitsie. Mar told me you were having trouble sleeping. Mind if I join you?”

“J-Jake. Yeah, of course. I don’t mind.”

There’s a rustle of fabric, and you’re expecting to hear the creak of the bunk above you as he climbs up and settles in. But that’s not what you get. Instead, you get pushed to one side of the bunk and there is suddenly an interloper in your sheets. You can feel his naked skin pressing into yours as he drags the blankets over your shoulders and his hands sliding soothingly up and down your back as you lie stiff against him.

“C’mon, Bitsie. Relax. I’ve got you.”

The sweetness in his tone has you reeling. It takes a few moments before you finally let yourself go limp, surrendering to the thrall of his sleep-warm skin. He still smells like his cologne, something warm and musky with a slight hint of floral tones. And his body feels like a furnace. He's so warm. His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you in until you can feel the heat of his breath against your face.

“There. Isn’t that more comfortable?” He sounds so smug as he settles in with his big hand resting flush against your back.

Your answering hum is weak, nearly too quiet. Your heart is pounding, and you can already feel your thoughts race.

"Y'know, Jake, I didn't think you'd do this. I thought you'd take Mara's bunk."

"Mm. I gathered by how you went as stiff as a board as I pulled you close."

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest from where you are. Each breath is hypnotically steady.

"I was going to suggest an orgasm or two to help you unwind, but I didn't think you'd appreciate that suggestion."

You smack his arm, keeping your hand there as you grin into his chest. You’re grumbling under your breath as he tugs you even closer. Your feet are trapped between his calves as he rests his hands against your hips. You can feel the heat and roughness of his grip as he trails his fingers over the sliver of skin exposed from where your t-shirt had ridden up over the past hours you had been tossing and turning.

A chill slinks down your spine at the gentle touch, sending shocks of unease through you. It reminds you of another set of fingers gripping too tight at your hip in the heat of a fun night at the Hard Deck. Bradley had been drinking quite heavily that night, and he’d pawed at you, his normally gentle hands rough and harsh as they traced your skin. Jake had pulled him away that day and helped him sober slightly. But when he’d come back, Bradley had possessively clutched at you. He’d called you a slut that night, for the first time, as he fucked you until your eyes welled with tears and your cunt stung from the constant abuse he was wringing on your system.

The constant gentle press of Jake’s hands on your skin had you nearly hyperventilating. You push them away, and you’re sure Jake can tell how uncomfortable you are as he withdraws his hands immediately. He leaves as much space as possible in the tiny bunk between you, and you’re comforted at least a little by how seriously he takes your need for personal space. It takes several long moments before your breathing slows, and that irrational panic begins to fade. You’re reminding yourself repeatedly that Jake isn’t Bradley as you carefully ease yourself into his embrace. His hands are hesitant as he curls his arm around your upper back. Your voice isn’t steady and a little wet as you finally respond to his joking remark from earlier.

"Mmm… but you'd love it, wouldn't you? Another feather in your cap? Another notch in your bedpost?"

You can't help the sardonic lilt in your voice as your mood flags. You're not sure you could handle it if sex were all he wanted from you.

"What cap, darlin'? As far as I'm concerned, I don't have one. Not anymore. I haven't even thought about another girl in months. It's only been you. But from the beginning, you made it explicitly clear that Bradshaw was the only man you'd ever want to be with. You also made it equally clear that you didn't want anything to do with me. So I stopped flirting with you and stopped making you smile. I couldn't handle seeing you with him. And then, when the mission started, I couldn't let you hurt alone."

He sounds so different from the Jake, the Hangman you're used to hearing. His voice is gentle and soft as he pulls you close again.

"That's why I guess I've been different since this mission started. I just wanted to make you smile again. I wanted to heal your heart."

"Jake." You can't hide your shock. How do you respond? Did he just confess his feelings for you? You can't resist wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling close to his skin.

"M'sorry. M'sorry if I led you on."

"I know, baby. It wasn't your intention. And I know this isn't the right time. You've had a hard few months. I'm not going to pressure you into moving too fast. But you can lean on me, baby. I've got your back. I promise."

You curl in closer to his chest until you can feel the beat of his heart. His shoulders are tense as you press a feather-soft kiss against his skin.

"Jake. Thank you. I wish I'd never picked Bradley over you. We would've been so happy together. And you would've never hurt me as he did."

Jake presses a feather-soft kiss against your forehead as your words peter out.

“I wouldn’t have, baby. I would’ve made you so happy. You wouldn’t have wanted for a single thing. I’d spend every day making sure you were incandescently happy. But it wasn’t meant to be — you picked Bradshaw. I thought you made the right choice, too. When you smiled that gorgeous grin at him that day, I knew I couldn’t love you how you deserve to be loved. And we can’t go back in time to change that. All we can control is where we go from here. I pick you, darlin’. All you need to do is pick me too. Not now, but when you’re ready.”

The emotion in his words makes something warm glow in your chest. His chest heaves against your skin as he breathes deeply. You trace your fingers across his face, feeling the prickle of his stubble against the pads as you cup his jaw. His breathing picks up as you press your index finger against his mouth. His lips are soft and moist, slightly chapped against your fingertips as you press lightly against the supple skin.

“What’re you doing, baby?” You grin at the amusement in his tone, withdrawing your finger and pressing a kiss against it before tapping it against his mouth. You’re not expecting him to kiss your fingers back. The warmth in your chest ignites like a bonfire at the gentle caress. Your throat is tight as you press a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Jake, as much as the past months hurt, I also learned a lot from the experience. I learned a lot about myself. What I do and don't like in a partner. And what I deserve as a part of a relationship. I won't ever let anything like that happen again. I promise I’ll choose wisely this time, sweetheart."

Your words are slurring with your exhaustion. The warmth of Jake's skin sends drowsiness coursing through you.

“I have all the faith in you, sweetheart. And we’re going to talk about what happened to make you nearly have a panic attack later, too. Okay?”

"Okay. G'night, Jake." You can feel his smile as your eyes flutter closed.

"G'night, Bitsie."

Waking up is hard the next morning. There's a heavy limb draped across your back, and you're pressed tight against warm skin. Your legs are intertwined, and it's the most comfortable you've been in a long time. Even in a bunk made for one, it doesn't feel crowded. You feel at home, more than the last time you’d shared a bed with a man.

Or at least, you would if you didn't hear chattering from two people who don't belong in your quarters before the call to muster even rings in the early morning. They’re not trying to moderate their volume, either. You nuzzle into Jake closer, praying his bicep will block the noise from disturbing your sleep. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel his lips against your hair. If you hide long enough, would they just disappear? Apparently not. The longer you stay curled up in Jake’s arms, the louder the chatter grows, now interspersed with calls of his name, and the bigger his smile grows against the top of your head. He presses one final kiss against your forehead before releasing you and slipping out of the bunk.

“What’s the hurry, Fanboy?” His sleep-mussed voice is going to take you out. It’s rough and rich and deep. You want nothing more than to hear that voice call you “darlin’” again and cuddle up in his arms. But he’s awake and talking to Fanboy about something you can barely hear. His hair is fluffy atop his head, and he still hasn’t put on his shirt. You can just see the shadow of him through the soft sweatpants covering his legs, and the sight has your thighs clenching as he whirls around, grabs his worn Navy tee, and shrugs it on. All the levity has drained from his face as he takes two steps and crouches in front of you. You’re sitting in the bunk now, and your new position has brought you level with his face.

“What’s going on?” Your voice is soft as you cup his jaw. His eyes close at the press of your fingers against his lower lip. Like the night before, he presses a kiss against your fingertips before pulling you in close enough to whisper in your ear.

"G'Morning, Baby. I wish we could've stayed in bed longer, but something big is happenin’. The Captain wants us suited up and on deck to run flight patrols. The situation is rapidly developing. I have to go. I just wanted to tell you that I love you. I need you to know that in case something bad goes down."

An unpleasant knot tightens in your chest as you tug him in closer by wrapping your hand around the base of his neck. You press a feather-soft kiss against his lips before hugging him tight. His arms wrap tight around your waist, and you can feel his shoulders tense as the adrenaline begins to course through his blood.

“Take care of yourself, and please take care of Mickey. Fly safe, fly true. Don’t do anything life-threatening. And above all, come home. Please.” You can’t keep the catch in your voice as you run your fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck. “I just found you. Come home to me. So I can tell you I love you for the first time.”

That’s when you hear his breath hitch, and you’re being properly kissed. Everything else melts away except for Jake. It’s a painfully sweet kiss that has your heart racing even as dread slides its cold hooks into you. And it’s over far too soon as he pulls away before following Fanboy to get suited up. It’s a sober mood in your quarters as you and Mara get ready for the day and head to the flight operations center.

The entire ship is a hive of activity. You both have to flatten against the walls multiple times on the way, dodging sailors, flight personnel, and whoever else felt the need to run around in a ship bracing for an attack. You and Mara reach the Captain just as the jets take off. From the Flight Ops Center, you have a near perfect line of sight to see the planes rise like a flock of metallic birds into the sky. You can barely make out Jake and Mickey waiting on deck for their signal to launch and your heart feels tight as you fight the urge to steal a headset and tell him you love him. But you can’t, so all you do is clutch at the railing in front of you with all your strength and pray that they, that he will, come back safe.

“Captain Mills. What’s happening?” The Captain had already begun to sweat through his uniform as he beckons you and Mara closer.

You can hear the emotion in his voice as he downs the cold coffee in his mug before speaking in clipped tones, “At 10 past 0100, we received reports of patrols in our airspace. Naturally, the first thing we did was contact the COMPACFLT. But the admiral had no notice of flight operations happening in our airspace.”

The Captain pauses, seeming to try and find the necessary thread in what you assumed was a tangled web of information that would take hours to unwind. “The only reasonable assumption we can make is that it is the enemy. I’m afraid, ladies, that we are now standing by and evaluating the threat. This has the potential to evolve into a serious situation. We are requiring all non-essential personnel to remain confined to quarters. Consider this an order.”

With nothing better to do, and your heart having taken up permanent residence in your throat, you both head back to your quarters. Your heart aches as you fall into your bunk, which you had made roughly before you rushed out earlier, desperate for any news on the situation Jake was flying into. The pillows still smell like Jake, and if you screw your eyes shut tightly enough, you can still feel the tight press of his arms around you. You want nothing more than to rewind time, to go back to those few precious hours in the middle of the night when you’d had him in your arms - when you could’ve kissed him and when you could’ve told him you loved him. The what-ifs crowd your brain like a feral swarm of bees, sending your thoughts buzzing angrily. The more thoughts crowd your brain, the worse you feel.

You don’t think you can stand losing Jake. You just found him. That small seed of something between you has only just sprouted. You want to see it grow and flourish into an oak tree; tall and sturdy enough to withstand earthquakes, forest fires, lightning strikes, and flash floods. A tree strong enough to support a treehouse filled with tiny feet, hands, love, and laughter. But you’re not sure that you’ll ever be able to see that nascent sprout grow. Not when half of your heart is in a jet potentially flying into enemy crosshairs. Not when you last told him, “Come home so I can tell you I love you for the first time” instead of the “I love you” he deserved. The “I love you” that you had seen he had so desperately wanted to hear. Why had you said that? What if your words, your ardent pleas, weren’t enough? You aren’t omnipotent. You can’t change the trajectory of missiles or bullets. You have no control over anything, not even your racing thoughts as you realize that you might never see him again. Are you going to be cursed to spend the rest of your life imagining the what-ifs of an entire life that could have been?

It’s been hours since you and Mara have been confined to your quarters. Periodically you’ve heard the roar and whine of aircraft engines as they touch down and take off again. Every time you hear the engines’ roar, your traitorous heart skips a beat. You wait, staring at the door, hoping that Jake will bound through, Mickey behind him, still in his flight suit with his hair sweat streaked and sticking to his forehead. And each time, your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach as the minutes pass and you hear the engines tick up again.

"Hey, you doing okay, Bitsie?" Mara’s voice shatters through the daydream you had crafted and it hurts. All you want is Jake in your arms once more, feeling his strong body against yours, hearing his heartbeat in your ear as he holds you close.

"As okay as can be expected, Mar." Your voice is thin in the silence of your quarters. Mara’s sitting on the sole desk chair while you’re curled up in your sheets. They don’t smell like Jake anymore. It’s driving you crazy, not knowing. You’ve cried what feels like an ocean’s worth of tears and your eyes are swollen and puffy, your voice thick and hoarse from your muffled sobs.

“Do you want to talk about what happened between you and Jake last night? He kissed you this morning. You can’t tell me he’s just a friend. Not after that.”

Her voice is gentle, her eyes and hands beseeching as you try and fail to find the words. You drag your hand down your face before facing her, letting your legs dangle off the bed as you rest your elbows on your thighs.

“He’s not just a friend, Mar. He might be everything, and I was too stupid to admit it before now. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that, you know?” There is lingering bitterness in your tone, frustration at yourself for the mistakes you knew you had made in not choosing Jake in the first place.

Your breathing is ragged as you push away the hot feeling in the back of your throat. “I don’t know when it happened. Honest. I didn’t even know I had him, you know? He told me last night that he was interested in me from the moment he met me. But when I picked Bradley, he backed off because he knew that Bradley would treat me as I deserved. That Bradley would love me in a way that he couldn’t. He was wrong. And I was, too, Mar. How do I make the right choice when that choice might not even be here after today?” You are crying again. Somehow you still have tears left to cry, staring at the wall in front of you, these last tears dripping down your chin, marking your pants with the remnants of your despair.

“I - I don’t know.” Her position mirrors yours as the two of you stare at each other in silence. “But you can’t give up hope. You know they’re good pilots. They’re the best of the best, Bits. If anyone can pull through, it’ll be Jake and Micks. They have to.”

You clasp your hands tightly until all you can feel is the aching stretch of over-taxed muscles. Mara’s right. You can’t do anything but hope. Hope that the boys are alright and hope that your updates to the targeting and radar systems are enough to protect them.

It’s a runner from the Captain banging on your door who finally brings you news. The poor man is sweat-drenched, panting as he pauses to catch his breath before delivering his message. “The Captain wants you both in the Flight Ops Center. Something’s up with the radar system on Lieutenants Seresin and Garcia’s plane. We need you to help debug and resolve the situation. The improvements you’ve made while working on laser targeting are beyond us.”

“Understood.”

It’s your turn to run through the hallways and have people jump out of your way, Mara right behind you. This time when you enter the Flight Ops Center, it’s pin-drop silent. All eyes are on a singular, all too familiar display. The radar output shows an awfully familiar F-18/A. And you can see exactly why the Captain had called for you and Mara. The display is flickering erratically, jets blinking in and out of sight at random.

With your heart in your throat, you march right up to the tech on the computer system. "Give me your headset and your seat." Your tone leaves no room for argument, but he still protests, turning away from his fiddling with the system, to look at you in both frustration and disbelief.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't do that without the Captain's orders."

"I know. And right now, I don't care. I programmed that radar system. Captain Mills!" You are barking out an order right now, your voice quivering with authority. "Either you get your man out of this seat or I take it from him."

"Let her have the seat, Ensign George. And the headset. I called her here. She's one of the civilian consultants out of the Pentagon who built the damned thing."

You accept the headset and start examining the display in front of you. Pressing a button on the side of the headset you connect to Jake and Mickey's comms. "Auxiliary Patrol. This is Flight Ops Control. How read?"

"Audio clear, Flight Ops Control. How do you read me?" Your heart jumps when you hear Mickey’s voice emanate clearly through the headset.

Your relief washes over you, settling your racing thoughts and grounding you as you confirm their audio signals before responding, "Loud and clear, Auxiliary Patrol."

This time, when you hear from Jake and Mickey, it’s Jake’s voice on comms. "Auxiliary Patrol, we’re seeing multiple bogeys on the radar, but they’re ghosting in and out. Can you confirm?”

“Confirming loud and clear. We’re seeing the same thing here.” Your frustration colors your tone as the radar display glitches in front of your eyes."Do visuals confirm what the radar is saying?"

"Flight Ops, negative. Visual showing clear skies." Mickey’s voice is slightly cheeky as he responds. You sigh, knowing that you’re going to have to do something drastic to resolve this issue.

“Auxiliary Patrol. Can you turn on the external cameras? Flight Ops will act as your eyes while we reboot the radar.”

“Copy, ops. Cameras are live.” You can hear the slightest flick of the switch as Mickey enables the cameras that you and Mara had been using to help monitor the laser targeting system.

“Captain?”

The man nods, silently giving his permission for the order he knew would come next. “The floor is yours.”

“Right. Teams of five, report to one of the monitors. Keep your eyes peeled. We’ve got aviators flying blind and I’ll be damned if we’re taking home coffins after today.” Your voice leaves no room for protests as you address the room.

The men explode into activity around you and Mara. The two of you, in the meanwhile, keep silent, all your energy on the radar system, scanning the code flying across the screen with eagle-eyes. There aren’t any defects, so you decide to turn the radar back on. “Auxiliary Patrol, this is Flight Ops. We’re rebooting the radar and targeting systems now.”

“Copy, Flight Ops.”

There’s a tense silence blanketing the Flight Ops Center as you hit ‘Enter’ and watch the radar display in front of you blink back to life. It flickers and your breath catches when it stays dark for several long moments before illuminating. It’s finally, blessedly stable. There aren’t ghost bogeys on the screen anymore. Just one very clearly labeled F/A-18A and one very real SU-57.

“Are you seeing what we are, Flight Ops?”

“Copy, Auxiliary Patrol. One bogey, north, northwest bound, approaching your position at 400 knots.”

“Copy, Ops. What are your orders?” Jake’s voice is tense as he spits the words down the microphone.

That’s when Captain Mills finally weighs in again. “Do a flyby, son. Do not engage unless they do. I’ll get on the horn with the COMPACFLT and keep him apprised of the situation.” You relinquish the headset and station back to the radar tech you’d bullied them from and retreat to the peripherals of the room.

The gnawing desperate ache in your chest, the one that had been partially alleviated hearing Jake’s voice, is back again. It’s clawing at you as you clutch at a railing and plant yourself in a corner of the Ops Center. Captain Mills is talking furiously into a satellite phone, you presume to the COMPACFLT. But your eyes are on Jake and Mickey’s jet and their radar display. You can feel each swooping maneuver in the pit of your stomach as their jet approaches the SU-57.

It’s incredibly quiet in the Flight Ops Center as the two jets fly side by side for several long moments. You’re praying with everything you have that this doesn’t escalate, And then, like an answer to all of your prayers, the SU-57 breaks away, heading back in the direction it came.

“Ops, bogey one, now 400 yards away. Distance growing. Permission to return to carrier?”

“Permission granted.”

Captain Mills stalks towards where you and Mara stand. “Thanks for your assistance, ladies. We’re resuming normal operations per order of the COMPACFLT. Your mission will resume bright and early in the morning. I expect to see the both of you and Lieutenants Seresin and Garcia in the Flight Ops Center at 0800. Am I clear?”

“Yessir!” You’re quick to respond with a snappy salute. You’ve trespassed on Captain Mill’s authority one time too many already today with your show of power to the radar tech and for the sake of this operation, you’d rather not step on his toes any more than necessary

Your heart is light as you walk back to your quarters. There’s a sense of urgency dogging your steps, your lips curling unbidden into a giddy grin. By tacit agreement, Mara leaves you at the door before heading to Jake and Mickey’s quarters two doors down. He’s safe! He’s safe! He’s safe! You can’t quell the trembling of your hands as you wait. You reach for a book to read but you barely get a few words in before you’re dropping it again. It’s only been minutes since you left Flight Ops but your heart is doing acrobatics in your chest at the knowledge that Jake is returning soon. You bite your lip, maybe work will quell these jitters.

Of course, right as you pull up the radar system blueprints, the door to your quarters opens and Jake staggers in. He’s stinking of jet fuel, and coated in sweat, but you’ve never seen a better sight. He’s whole and safe and here with you. It’s all that you’ve been wishing for since he left you early this morning. You want to touch him, make sure he's not a figment of your imagination or a cruel dream from the depths of your subconscious. But no matter how you try to get your legs to move, you're frozen before him. That's when he moves, carefully cupping your jaw and drawing your eyes to his.

"I'm back, baby. Safe and sound, just as promised." Jake’s voice is quiet, like he’s afraid that speaking too loudly will shatter the bubble you two have created around yourselves. His eyes are filled with a softness unlike anything you’ve ever seen in man’s eyes before, let alone his. The sight makes your heart speed up, overjoyed to be in the calm his presence brings you.

You return his tender caress before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Jake’s hands are gentle as they bracket your waist before he finally lowers his mouth to yours. His mouth tastes like salt, and he stinks, but you can't begrudge the man you adore this kiss. He's more than deserving of it.

When you part for air, you can feel the imperceptible shudder wracking his muscles as the adrenaline drains away. "Go shower, Jake. You stink." There is a light humor in your tone as you grin up at him, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, reveling in the minute hitch in his breath as you meet his eyes once more.

His pout is sweet, and you can't resist pecking his lips once more as he turns and walks back out the door. It's only twenty short minutes later when he walks back in and collapses into your bunk. His hair is still damp, the longer hairs at the top of his head curling slightly as you pull on your own pajamas and crawl into the bunk next to him.

He mirrors your positions from the night before, tugging you in until his head rests against your breasts and you can feel his warmth across your whole body. You card your fingers through his hair, content to sit in the silence as long as he needs you to.

"Talk to me, baby." His voice is hushed and muffled against your breasts as he breathes deeply. "Tell me how you're doing."

"I feel like I should be asking you that, Jake. I was a wreck when you were up there, but I'm better now. I'm always better in your arms." You hope he knows that you mean every syllable, and you do. A selfish part of you wants to stay in his arms forever; just the two of you in your own little bubble for as long as you can.

Your throat is tight with the same tears you'd shed all day as you trace over the curve of his ear. "I love you. I should've told you before you left," you whisper, scared to say the words any louder lest they be ripped from you both.

Jake gasps before kissing you again, hard. He pours all his love and affection into the kiss and you return the ardor as best you can. The two of you kiss for several long moments before he rests his forehead against yours. You lie curled into each other for a while longer before you nuzzle at his cheek.

"Why d'you call me Bitsie, Jake? I've been wondering for a while."

He chuckles before pecking your lips and dragging you in until your lips are pressed to his collarbone. "I started calling you Bitsie because of the first demonstration of the radar you ever gave us. You were talking about manipulating bits. Gosh, it was probably only a couple of weeks since you'd come to Miramar. I was so gone for you already, baby. You're gorgeous, sweet, and smart as a whip. I wanted to show you I was listening to what you said."

"But I didn't take it that way. I was so rude to you the first time you called me that. I thought you were making fun of me." Your voice is soft as you trace a light pattern across his ribs. Your thoughts race as you catalog every interaction you remember having with Jake over your months in Miramar. Had Bradley Bradshaw really brainwashed your perception of him so terribly? Your mind races as you try and fail to find an explanation for your actions. They’ve been petty and rude and you don’t recognize the girl you are in them.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why did I assume what I did? Jake, how can you ever forgive me?” You hate how small your voice is, the regret at your actions over the past months coloring your tone.

“I can forgive you, sweetheart, because I love you. I have for a really long time,” Jake soothes, one hand cupping your jaw. “And you had a Chicken on your shoulder telling you who was right and who was wrong. Him and I? We have always been on the opposite ends of that scale. And I’ll give you one guess as to which of us is where.”

“He’s wrong, Jake. He’s wrong about you, he was wrong about me. We’ll show him. I’m not hiding this. You’re mine, now. And I want it all with you. Dates, kissing because you feel like it, dancing to the Jukebox in the Hard Deck, everything.”

“We’ll write this story with more than words, darling. I promise. And I love you.” You can feel your eyes close as you curl closer into his embrace, all the tension in your body finally draining away as you fall asleep.

In the morning, you’ll be back to working on the laser targeting systems, back to normalcy. But there’ll be something new to scope the limits of, as well. The butterflies in your stomach this time feel like flower petals kissing your skin. It’s a good portent for the days to come.

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