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callsignmagnolia · 2 days ago

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Safe Harbor

Synopsis: Naval Aviators need love too. Everyone can learn that, except one.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader, platonic! Daggers x Reader, no physical descriptions, no use of Y/N, readers call sign is Harbor

Warnings: Jake being a bit of a jerk? none really, just fluff

Word Count: 3.7k

The Hard Deck during Navy Week is overstimulating to say the least. Countless sailors pour in at every entrance, the music is played a few decimals higher, and the rowdiness exponentially increases with each round. In seven days time, Penny makes up for any unpaid bar tabs for the entire year and sets aside enough for a vacation and tuition for Amelia. For the regulars, it’s a time of great joy, for the first few days- tension easies from shoulders, old friends are welcomed, and laughter flows out, mixing with the Pacific breeze. However, by the times day four rolls around, people begin to grow weary, craving the calm ease of their regular place again.

In the corner booth, the Daggers are sorting out who has more energy. Their little group shows a wide variety of exhaustion with the swarming socialites around them. Rooster hasn’t played piano yet tonight, a demarkation that he was pulling inwards for rest. Phoenix is eyeing the pool table, waiting for a break but not willing to go jockey for a position. Hangman and Coyote on the other hand are as lively as ever, challenging some poor LTJG to a game of darts that she is bound to loose.

“Maybe we should warn her about how ruthless those two are,” Payback breathes out, taking his seat on the stool at the end of the booth as he hands you whatever fruity miracle Penny was able to concoct in this chaos.

“She’ll figure it out or embarrasses them herself. I don’t have the wherewithal to care right now,” Phoenix mutters more to the ceiling than to the rest of the table. “Are you going to put all of these data points into your spreadsheet, Harbor?” She glances your way with a side eye and a smirk.

“Nah. Everything may be data but I see no need to boost their ego anymore than it already is by spending pages on them two alone.” You throw a smile her way, settling your back against the aged, painted wood of the booth.

Being sent to North Island had radically changed your life. It started as a short six-month study the Navy had ordered to understand the emotional components and needs of their elite pilots. You flew with them on training runs, you stood next to them as they were reprimanded, you held their hand during medical exams if they asked- you had become part of them in a way that broke your heart as your original term came to an end. Earning a permanent contract with the Daggers was a second chance at building an enduring life with purpose, helping people with a mission keep themselves from disappearing into the weight of it all, rather than just bouncing around from grant to contract, trying to care for people as well as you could before you were called elsewhere.

A warm sensation runs from your shoulder down your spine as a familiar cheek bone rests against your clavicle. A soft mop of well kept brown hair tickles your neck as glasses are pulled off and set on the table in between beer glasses and a basket of fries. Your hand naturally reaches to push a loose stand behind his ear, pressing a lingering touch to his cheek as he sighs against you, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“So tired,” Bob almost whimpers into your shirt as his breathing shifts to a slower rhythm and his heart beats settles as the noise is tuned out.

“I know, honey. It’s okay, we’ll get Rooster to go pull Bagman off his high horse here soon and we can get you back to the barracks for bed.” you promise him.

“How come Bob always gets your attention first on Hard Deck nights and the rest of us have to stand in line?” Fanboy huffs trying to shove Phoenix from the prime seat of the booth to no avail.

“Because he isn’t afraid to have everyone else see him cuddled up against Harbor like some of us who are still working though our fragile masculinity,” Payback almost deadpans to his buddy who looks like he is trying to overcome his fear as he gazes at Bob’s position longingly. You meet his eyes with a soft smile before assuring him that there were head scratches waiting for him when you all got back to post.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hangman grimaces across the room to the scene of his team mates, who are supposedly the world’s best fighter pilots, all melting into the side of a woman who doesn’t even sleep with any of them. Harbor was not Hangman’s favorite, that was no secret. The whole squad knew it and heard the sarcasm that dripped from his words whenever he spoke to her, letting her callsign roll off his tongue with a hint of disdain.

“Why don’t you just swallow your pride and go ask her for something, man. You might not want to fall asleep on her shoulder like Bob but she’ll sit with you in medical and advocate for you when your head is spinning from a concussion,” Coyote clasps a hand on his shoulder as he hands him another beer. “I gotta tell you- it’s a sweet thing to have someone standing up for you and managing all the paperwork when you can’t even think straight. She even submitted my medical claims to my VA file for when I retire.” Hangman pauses for a moment, throwing a cocky look to the side as he sends a dart straight to the bullseye behind his back.

“The day I can’t do that, you can take me to Harbor because I will no longer be a man and will have reverted to my infantile state of needing cuddles.” His eye roll is caught from across the bar as the rest of the Daggers holed up in the booth are making their quiet escape towards the door. Rooster moves you to walk on his opposite side, protecting you from the loathing emitting from the other side of the bar.

“Find your own way home, Hangman. Coyote, move it or loose it,” he hollers as he pushes the double door open for you to walk under his arm, Coyote shrugging and jogging to catch up with the rest. For a moment, Seresin considers that it would be nice to have someone to tell gruff Navy doctors to be gentler. He shakes the thought out of his mind, painting a flashy smile on his face as he walks towards the bar, but the loneliness settles on his chest.

The first six months with the daggers had been strictly business- mostly. They might be phenomenal pilots but you were phenomenal at identifying their needs and articulating that in a way the Navy would be confident investing resources into meeting. You were calculated. Everything was data that could be leveraged. You flew with them and saw what control didn’t sitting in Comanche miles away. You wrote down the twinges, the jumps, the bruises, and handed the detailed list to them all before medical appointments to make sure they were taken care of and everything was documented. You reminded them all how closely mental and physical condition tied into their ability to fly well and to come home.

While they struggled to trust an outsider, one day stood as the fulcrum between weariness and full embrace. The anniversary of Goose’s death was a silent day of remembrance for the Daggers. Everyone was kinder, flew softer, and stood closer after they made it back safely. No one spoke about it but it was obvious- everything was weightier. Their wingman was mourning his father and fellow aviator. They were faced to deal with the realities of their job- that even training wasn’t safe. You didn’t know what today was as you sat on the tarmac, watching what was supposed to be the last few maneuvers before your contract ended.

Every movement was textbook. Without flaw. Like the sorrow was making them all fly better to honor the day. You were captivated by the soliloquy being painted before your very eyes. Suddenly, Roosters jet lurched and seemingly began to drop out of the sky. Your feet were under you in a second as you watched- you had no radio to understand truly what was happening- the scene unfolding like the climax of a blockbuster film. From start to finish, the whole ordeal was a total of 23 minutes but it felt like hours gripping your necklace as you watch him skillfully land a smoking plane.

The runway became a blur of crew as they covered the aircraft in foam, Rooster climbing out as fast as the blood in his eyes would allow. As he stumbled to the ground, you ran to meet him, pressing your hand to the gash on his forehead. Your eyes meet the blown wide brown of his own, whispering quiet nothings as you waited for the medics to arrive. You stayed until they pulled you away from him. You followed him to medical. You sat in a chair in the corner of the room during debriefing. You watch the hollow look settle on him as Phoenix tried to push a plate his way. You had gone before him and set out a towel and fresh civies for him in the locker room.

They all noticed. They noticed your lack of questions. They noticed the way you didn’t leave ever, even when your work day was done, even to wash off the blood you had accidentally smeared across your neck and shirt. They noticed how you didn’t eat, but sat beside him with a tote bag with snacks for whenever he was ready. They noticed how you read him, how you saw that this was deeper than a training incident to him. You didn’t even know the gravity of the day, yet you were kind and present.

Rooster had wandered into the briefing room instead of to his bronco to head home after his shower, sat shrouded in darkness, with the glow of his original training run emitting from the projector. You pushed the door open gently, with controlled movements as to not startle him. His face gave him away- he was fighting back tears- as you sat in the chair next to him, pulling your legs up to your chest. Heartbeats and shallow breathes are the only sounds filling the quiet room. Your fingers carefully reach for his own, gingerly lacing your hands into his rough, calloused ones that were aching from the pressure he put on the throttle earlier. He grasped onto your hand like a lifeline, your head coming to rest between his shoulder and jaw. The tears he was holding back fell like rain, splashing onto his lap. You didn’t move until Rooster did, nor did you speak until he did.

The Daggers however watched carefully from the small window in the door way, entranced by the vulnerability and safety of the moment. Hangman stood at the back of group, gritting his jaw, as jealousy crawled up his throat.

“It’s like she’s a harbor for him. Right there, he is safe from the storms,” Bob whispers without much thought to the profoundness of what he is saying.

The next morning, her helmet that she always wears is painted with Harbor- her own callsign. Two weeks later, her permanent contract is signed. No one talks about how she got the name, but they all know. Just as no one talks about the paint matching her helmet that dots Payback’s backpack, but they all know.

Habits form slowly but surely. You still keep sections of your notebook reserved for each of the Daggers- things they need, pictures of great moments, their preferences, their allergies. You manage their appointments and documentation. You make them cakes for their birthdays and accompany them to less than desirable meetings.

They all lean on you in different ways. Rooster asks you to help him find all the Naval documentation on his dad. You compile it into a book as if Nick Bradshaw was the most important figure in history. You hold his hand as he looks through old pictures and let his tears fall into your hair tangled under his jaw. On his parent’s birthdays, you make him their favorite dessert- key lime pie- and he swears his own mother handed you the recipe as a final “I love you” to her little boy.

Phoenix wants a will. She wants to lay out what she wants to happen to her if she can’t make her own medical decisions. She wants to make sure her nieces are taken care of if Auntie Nat cant be there to protect them. You are the one that takes her to the Jag Officer and helps her walk through it all. On dress blue days, you straighten her ribbons on her uniform and brush her hair before pulling it up into a regulation bun so she can focus on other things clouding her mind.

Fanboy is the one that just comes out and asks it one day as you sit in the ready room. Barely above a whisper, “Harbor, would you let me sit between your legs and you’d scratch my head like my mom used to?” You smile and grab his hand to settle him on the floor in front of the couch. He almost whimpers as your fingernails lightly scratch along his skull. He anchors himself by planting his hands on your feet. He dazed, but at peace, when he hears Mav call his name across the radio.

Payback wants companionship. You do laundry with him- not for him. You make lunch with him- not for him. A wingman keeps him stable, keeps him moving, and you will do anything he needs, no matter how seemingly common place or boring. Sometimes, when he has run out of chores, he comes and does yours alongside you. Hence the beautiful backyard entertaining space you have- two people happy to laugh together can get a lot done.

It starts with Coyote’s trip to medical. But what he leaves out when he tells Hangman about it is that you held his hand, letting him cringe as they stuck him over and over again. Jake Seresin has no business in knowing that he does not like needles. You go with him to every appointment, including his terrifying hearing appointment, and kiss his forehead for being brave. He takes you to lunch after every one, always off post, so he can talk about whatever is on his heart.

Bob is the first one to fall asleep on you. He is gentle and free with his affection, but the Navy offers little expression of that so he takes full advantage of your soft arms and welcoming spirit. He falls asleep on your shoulder, tucks his head in your lap when they are forced to fly Space A somewhere, and crumbles to his knees when you run your hands through his damp hair when he steps out of his jet.

Everyone leaned on you- except Hangman. He keeps his distance. He makes sure his hand never brushes yours even when handing you a file, as if any contact will burn him to the ground. Never sits close enough to accidentally lean his head against yours. You don’t push. Cockiness and vulnerability rarely go hand in hand. His snarky comments about weak people needing hugs and company roll off your back like a duck in water. Others on the squad aren’t as easily unbothered, and one particular comment led to Payback’s class ring leaving a blooming bruise under Hangman’s eye.

To no ones surprise, you were the first to get him ice.

A hesitant knock jars your attention from the book in your blanket covered lap. For a second, you don’t bother to move. Three am is the hour of odd noises and no reason to unwrap yourself from the coziest chair in the chilly house. A second knock has you rising with the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. In hindsight, wearing one of Natasha’s old pt t-shirt and shorts was not the wisest idea during the winter in your drafty cottage but its not like she or Bob or Rooster or whoever is at your door will care- they all will share a blanket in a heartbeat.

The doorknob turns and your breath catches in your throat as your eyes land on Jake.

Not Hangman. Not Lt Seresin. Just Jake.

He looks small standing before you, with his hands in his pockets, his eyes rimmed red, and shoulders hunched as if he will be scolded for being here. His pupils trail up to meet yours, his lip quivering. Your heart breaks into pieces watching a scene you never thought you’d see.

There is no pride, no cockiness, not a hint of a smirk. Not even one comment about the blanket around your shoulders or the fact that you are awake at this house.

“I-I’m, I-know,” his voice cracks. He rubs his hand over his face and cards through his hair as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Taking a deep breath to pull his voice together as best he can manage, he continues, “I know I am an asshole. I know I shouldn’t be here but-“ his voice breaks as he looks down at his boots, “I-I just needed to be held, and you do it for them.” His eyes meet yours again as a tear runs down his cheek, “I thought maybe you’d do it for me?”

You are stunned to see him. Here. Like this. Asking for such forbidden things, well, things he has classified in his own mind as forbidden. In the beginning, you believed he was scared of seeming weak and that was what kept him from ever asking for any help. But as time moved on and he grew colder and colder towards you despite the squad becoming more welcoming and loving, your perception shifted. He must have just loathed you in particular.You had tried to be as kind and open as possible, tried to give him space but tell him he was valued just the same even if he didn’t want any fan fare around it. If anyone else had been in your job, he would have reached out, but it was you that was stopping him.

You hesitated too long. The smallest ounce of hope that was resting on his chest had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust at his feet. New tears are forming as he takes a step back and alarm bells are going off in your brain that you are missing a moment with him.

“I-I’m sorry. I sh-shouldn’t have come here. Good-“ before he could finish his sentence, your hand wraps gently around his wrist. The sensation of soft skin against his own cuts his words off as he focuses on the warmth spread across his arm.

“Jake,” you whisper, eyes softening as he meets your gaze, “I am glad you’re here.” With a gentle tug, he follows you into the darkness of your living room, illuminated only by the small lamp and candle by your reading chair. His eye wander across the walls and to his surprise, he sees a photo of just him framed next to pictures of everyone else in the squad. He had never given you an honest smile, yet he was on your wall.

His world collapses as he feels your arms reach up and wrap around his neck, fingers toying with the base of his hair. He instantly melts into your arms, the blanket that covered you dropping to the ground and his tears soaking through your shirt. He is crashing into you like a wave, like a rogue jet. It’s all sorrow and pain pouring out as he sobs into you. Your feet move to balance his body weight on your frame.

Time passes in a blink. Neither of you is sure of how long you stand there before you speak, “Come on, honey. Let’s go be a bit more comfortable.” He is pulled gently down the hallway until he is ushered in to a bedroom.

“No no no, thats not what I came here for, I swear,” he is trying to convince you through a tear clouded voice. Standing before you was the most honest he has been with someone, the most vulnerable, in a very long time and he’d be damned if he messed it up now.

“Relax, Jake. It’s okay,” you coo as you gently remove his jacket and push him lightly to sit on the bed. You unlaces his boots, his eyes staying trained on your movements. The blankets are pulled back, the empty side of the bed patted to urge him to join you. He is hesitant, eyes flickering, an internal debate raging. “You asked to be held. It’s the first thing you have asked from me in over a year. Please. Just let me hold you, Jake.” you whisper.

He folds. Of course he does. His physical body was entranced by the feeling of a hug that wasn’t from a battle buddy or laced with expectation. His body crashes into your arms, head tucked on your chest and legs gently intertwining with yours as you pull the covers up around his shoulder. Your fingers dance along his spine and run through his hair, his breathing slowing against your heartbeat.

“Is this the part where I have to tell you why I am crying?” his voice muffles against your shirt.

“Not if you don’t want to, sweet boy” comes the reply, punctuated by a kiss to the forehead and his heart rate evens out. Outside of these walls, he is Hangman- the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air to air kill, cocky ladies man with a killer smile. But here? In your arms? He is just Jake. He is loved.

He wants to never have to hear it from the squad about this but now that he knows how good this feels, he can never live without it again. As he drifts off to sleep, lulled by your steady breathing, he can’t believe he didn’t take advantage of his safe harbor earlier.

Thank you for reading! I am so glad you are here! Please reblog and comment- I live for these! Let me know how I can improve!

You are doing an amazing job, sweetheart!

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