callsign-alpine

[callsign-alpine]

your honor, I am guilty at all charges 😎

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

[callsign-alpine]

I don't know why but the overthinking and the rambling parts were a chef's kiss 💋🤣

I Thought We Were Already Dating

pairing | congressman!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 4k words

summary | you thought you were spiraling over a situationship—meanwhile, bucky barnes had been acting like your very committed, very oblivious boyfriend the entire time. one public meltdown, a congressional office full of witnesses, and a very intense kiss later… you're officially his girl (and he never doubted it).

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, established situationship, mutual pining (but one of them doesn't know), miscommunication, public confession, soft!bucky, domestic chaos, comedy & angst, bucky barnes is your boyfriend (he just forgot to tell you), reader is unhinged (affectionate), FLUFF & SMUT, friends to lovers (but they skipped the "friends" and the "lovers" just happened), poor congressional staff, possessive!reader, love confession, bucky is so in love it hurts

a/n | based on this request. i love writing chaotic reader

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Your back hit the mattress in a blur of limbs and low groans, Bucky’s mouth never leaving yours, his hands already sliding under the hem of your shirt like he needed to feel skin, all of it, immediately.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed against your lips, voice rough from hours of holding back everything but this.

You barely managed to smile before his teeth grazed your jaw, his scruff dragging just enough to make you shiver. His body blanketed yours, warm and solid, pressing you down in the most intoxicating way.

“You saw me this morning,” you murmured, fingers curling into his hair.

“Not like this.”

The shirt came off.

Then his.

You didn’t stop him.

You never did.

Because being under Bucky Barnes like this—held like something he didn’t want to let go of—was the only time you felt whole. His touch, his mouth, his breath in your ear as he whispered how good you felt, how fucking perfect you were when you were under him like this.

It was all consuming.

He kissed his way down your chest, every inch of skin worshiped like he didn’t just want you—he needed you. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, slow, like he loved the way you sounded when you gasped just from anticipation.

You watched him from above, chest heaving, skin flushed—and in that moment, something tight twisted in your stomach that had nothing to do with arousal.

It was the ache.

The quiet question in the back of your head that always came right before you let him *n.

What are we?

You didn’t ask.

You just let your legs fall open, let his body settle between them, and swallowed the question whole.

He looked down at you once more, eyes so soft they burned.

“You want me?” he asked, voice hushed, reverent.

You nodded.

“Say it,” he whispered, leaning down, lips brushing your collarbone.

“I want you,” you breathed.

He groaned, low and wrecked, and then he was inside you.

One thrust.

Slow. Deep.

Your back arched, your mouth parting in a gasp as he bottomed out, hands gripping your hips like he was anchoring himself in you.

He didn’t move at first.

Just breathed.

Pressed his forehead to yours.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You always feel like home.”

You blinked.

Your heart stopped.

But then he started moving—hips rolling slow, dragging pleasure from your core in waves. Every stroke was measured, precise, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. Like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was holding you, claiming you without a single word about what it meant.

You let your nails scrape down his back, your thighs tightening around his waist, chasing every thrust like it could answer the questions you didn’t dare ask.

He kissed you again.

Not hungrily.

Not possessively.

Just soft.

Like a man who thought you already belonged to him.

His pace stayed slow at first—torturously so. Each thrust sank deep, dragging friction that had your nails pressing harder into his skin, a soft whimper caught at the back of your throat.

He was watching you now.

Eyes dark, focused, mouth parted like he was trying to memorize the way you looked when he was buried inside you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, and the way he said it—it was too soft. Too real. Like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You arched up to meet him, hips rising into each roll of his body, chasing that dizzying edge as the room dissolved around you. The only thing real was the heat building between your bodies, the slick slide of his skin against yours, the way he groaned every time your walls clenched around him.

You could feel your release winding tight, breath ragged, body shaking.

And then—

His hand cupped your cheek.

His lips found yours again, tender and aching as he whispered into your mouth, “That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you.”

It hit you like a wave.

You shattered underneath him, crying out as your body clamped down, orgasm tearing through you with a sharp, wet sound of skin against skin and your name on his tongue like it was sacred.

He fucked you through it, his thrusts faltering, rougher now, deeper, desperate.

“I can’t—baby, I’m gonna—fuck—” he groaned.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulled him tighter, wanted him closer.

“Inside,” you whispered, dazed.

His eyes locked on yours—wide, vulnerable, wrecked.

Then he was coming—hot and hard and raw, his whole body shaking as he buried his face in your neck and let himself fall apart in you.

His voice cracked.

“I love you,” he gasped, barely more than breath.

And you heard it.

Your body was still trembling. Your mind was still fogged.

But your heart?

It snapped to attention.

Because he said it like it was obvious.

Like he’d said it before. Like you knew.

His breathing had slowed.

His body lay heavy over yours, arms curled protectively around your waist, lips pressed to your collarbone in a lazy, half-conscious kiss. You could feel the weight of his affection in every touch—adoring, familiar, like this was just another Thursday night in the life of Bucky Barnes, the man who clearly thought you were his.

Because he said it.

He said I love you.

And not like it slipped.

Not like it was some heat-of-the-moment moan tangled in a climax.

He said it like he meant it.

Like he’d said it before.

Like he thought you already knew.

Your hand twitched on his back.

Your heartbeat, which had only just settled, started racing again—but not with pleasure. With full-blown panic.

Because—

What the actual fuck?

You stared up at the ceiling, body still bare, skin still warm from him, and yet—

Your brain screamed: WHAT ARE WE?

He shifted slightly, nuzzling closer, mumbling something incoherent as he pressed a kiss to your chest.

Meanwhile, your soul was clawing its way out of your skin.

Because if he thought this was that—you being his, this being real—then you’d missed a crucial piece of the plot somewhere back in act one.

He never asked.

There was never a “will you be my girlfriend?” conversation. No official status talk. No expectations. Just great sex, unholy chemistry, soft sleepovers, texts that made your stomach flip, and a drawer at his place you never questioned.

You suddenly wanted to sit up and scream.

But instead, you lay there frozen, blinking at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed you.

His hand rubbed slow circles on your hip.

You resisted the urge to launch yourself across the room.

What the fuck is going on.

Are we dating?

Is this real?

He sighed against your skin, content and sleepy.

You swallowed hard.

One Week Later

Your phone buzzed beside you on the kitchen counter.

It lit up with his name, the one you still hadn’t changed in your contacts—just “James 🇺🇸” with a dumb little flag emoji he’d added himself the first week you started… whatever this was.

James 🇺🇸:

On my way back—what do you want for takeout?

You stared at the screen for a second too long.

The question was simple. Casual. Routine.

And that’s what made your stomach twist.

Because it was routine.

The texts. The keys to your place. The way he dropped his jacket over your chair like he lived here. The way he smiled when he saw you, like everything else melted away.

You typed, deleted, typed again.

Finally, you sent:

You:

thai? the dumpling place. y'know the one.

Your phone buzzed two seconds later.

James 🇺🇸:

Already reading my mind, huh?

I’ll be there in 30.

Got you extra peanut sauce because I know you hoard it like a gremlin.

You huffed a small laugh, despite the weight still coiled in your chest.

Then you stared at that thread a little too long.

The little hearts you’d sent last week.

The blurry selfie he sent you from his office at midnight, captioned "Thinking about you and losing a vote at the same time 🫡”

The I love you that still echoed in your ears like a gunshot.

You set the phone down.

Walked into the bathroom.

And stared at yourself in the mirror.

You’d never called him your boyfriend.

He’d never asked.

But he acted like he was yours.

And the scary part?

You wanted him to be.

You just didn’t know if he knew that mattered.

The door creaked open with a familiar scrape—he still hadn’t fixed the hinge.

You turned from the couch, face carefully neutral.

He stepped inside in that unbuttoned suit jacket, tie half-loosened, hair tousled from a long day of pretending not to want to strangle half of Congress.

And he was smiling.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, like it was the most normal thing in the world, setting the takeout bags down on your kitchen counter without even looking.

Baby.

You froze.

Okay, he calls you that all the time.

Maybe he calls everyone that.

Does he call Sam that?

“Place was packed,” he continued, toeing off his shoes. “Some guy tried to skip the line and the little lady behind the counter threatened to beat him with a ladle. Reminded me of you.”

You stared.

He wandered to the fridge, pulled out your favorite seltzer—your specific lemon one—and cracked it open before sliding it your way.

You caught it on instinct, fingers brushing the condensation.

He hadn’t even asked.

Just knew.

Then, casually, he took off his jacket, draped it over the chair, and loosened his tie more, tossing it with a sigh. His white dress shirt stretched a little at the biceps. He was still talking—something about a subcommittee vote gone to hell—but you were barely hearing it.

Because now?

You were tracking everything.

The way he set down two sets of chopsticks like it was automatic. The way he separated the sauces—your peanut ones on your side, his spicier one near him. The way he snagged the remote and flopped down beside you like he lived here.

Like this was his couch.

Was it his couch?

Was he paying your utilities?

“I don’t know why I let them keep putting me in these budget meetings,” he muttered, cracking open a box of dumplings. “Every time I try to talk, someone from Indiana gives me a migraine.”

You nodded slowly.

Then: “Do you… have a toothbrush here?”

He blinked at you mid-chew.

“Yeah?” He swallowed. “Under the sink. Next to yours. Why?”

Your eye twitched.

“Do you… always leave a change of clothes here?”

He nodded again, popping another dumpling in his mouth. “Babe, half my henleys are in your closet. You know that.”

You did.

You just didn’t process it.

You turned toward him fully, food forgotten.

His arm was already around your shoulders, pulling you in.

You didn’t resist. You leaned in.

And then you stared blankly at the TV as he rested his chin on your head, warm and soft and so stupidly comfortable.

He sighed.

“I missed you today,” he murmured. “It was shit at the office.”

Your heart did a weird thing in your chest—flipped, twisted, frowned.

You blinked slowly.

“…Do you keep anything at anyone else’s place?” you asked, very casually. Too casually.

He snorted. “What?”

“Just wondering.”

He reached for a spring roll. “No? Why would I?”

“Just wondering,” you repeated, mechanically.

He made a soft mhmm noise and handed you a dumpling without looking, already distracted by the TV again, thumb grazing lazy circles against your arm like his body just knew where you were supposed to be.

Meanwhile, your brain was screaming.

Are we dating?

ARE WE DATING?!

And he just sat there, all warm and sleepy and Thai-food-happy beside you, like the man absolutely not at the center of an existential relationship spiral.

You chewed your dumpling, eyes narrow.

You were going to lose your mind.

A Few Days Later

The sky over Washington was a thick stretch of slate.

Fine rain fell in that soft, insistent way that made everything damp without ever fully raining. The streets were quiet, the air cool against your cheeks, and your lungs ached just enough to make you feel alive as your sneakers slapped against the wet pavement.

Beside you, Rachel kept pace effortlessly.

Of course she did.

She looked like she’d been born doing yoga on a yacht.

“I still don’t get how you convinced me to jog in this weather,” she said, breath easy, ponytail bouncing behind her. “You’re getting fit for a reason or just embracing the sad girl cardio?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, ignoring the sting in your ribs. “Trying to keep up with a guy who’s genetically engineered and built like a statue.”

She smirked. “Oh, right. The Bucky Barnes. Still a thing?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your feet hit a puddle, splashing your ankles.

Rachel didn’t wait.

“I mean… it’s cute. Really. Him bringing you coffee, showing up to all your little gallery events, texting you like a golden retriever with a crush.”

You squinted through the mist. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”

She gave a mock innocent look. “No ‘but.’ I just think if he hasn’t made it official by now, he’s probably just riding the comfort wave. You know?”

Your stomach dropped—quiet, slow—like something sliding off a ledge in the dark.

“He’s… not like that,” you muttered.

Rachel made a noncommittal sound, the kind that sounded like “maybe” but meant “absolutely.”

“Sure,” she said lightly. “But a guy like that? Everyone wants him. Powerful, polished, and hot—but still gives off that ‘I could destroy you emotionally if I wanted’ vibe. It’s catnip.”

You bit your tongue.

She went on, like she didn’t just lob a grenade at your chest.

“I’m just saying. If I were dating him, I’d make damn sure everyone knew it. Otherwise…” She shrugged, smiling sweetly. “Kind of feels like letting a limited edition slip through your fingers.”

You slowed slightly, blinking rain from your lashes.

Rachel picked up her pace, unaware—or pretending to be.

Or maybe that was the point.

The worst part?

You didn’t even know what to say.

Because in your head, you were screaming: I don’t know if I’m dating him either.

You didn’t answer her.

You just picked up speed.

One second, you were jogging beside her—lungs aching, mind heavy—and the next, your legs were moving, not with purpose but with sheer emotional combustion.

“Wait—what the hell?” Rachel’s voice snapped from behind you, sharp with confusion. “Where are you going?”

You shouted over your shoulder, breath shallow, “Forgot—I left the oven on!”

It was a terrible excuse.

You hadn’t even used the oven that morning.

And Rachel, in all her smug, sculpted glory, definitely knew it.

But you didn’t care.

You turned down a side street without looking back, rain misting against your skin, hair sticking to your neck as you ran harder, faster, legs burning. You were vaguely aware of your own ridiculousness. You were sprinting through Capitol Hill in soaked leggings and adrenaline—not because of a fire, but because your chest was burning.

Because the words still a thing were still ringing in your ears.

Because her little smile made you want to scream.

And because deep down, you didn’t know how to answer her.

You didn’t know.

Your lungs ached, your sneakers skidded slightly on wet pavement as you turned a corner, and still—you kept going.

Toward the tall glass building you knew by heart now. The security desk that always smiled when you came in. The floor where the man who may or may not be your boyfriend spent hours arguing policy and quietly doodling in his tiny notebook between meetings.

You didn’t know what you were going to say when you got there.

You didn’t know what you wanted him to say.

But you knew this:

You couldn’t keep playing house in your head while the floor beneath it kept shifting.

You needed an answer.

Even if it hurt.

Even if Rachel ended up being right.

You just prayed she got splashed by a Metro bus on the way home.

The doors of the administrative wing slammed open with a bang.

You stumbled in, soaked from drizzle, cheeks flushed, ribs on fire, and about three seconds from a full cardiac event. Your leggings were clinging to your thighs, your hoodie had definitely seen better days, and your lungs were currently staging a mutiny.

Several staffers at their desks froze mid-keystroke.

Someone dropped a pen.

Bucky looked up from where he was speaking with a few of his aides, a file in one hand, coffee in the other—and blinked at you like you’d just teleported in from an alternate timeline.

“Hey—what—?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Silence.

Every single head in the room turned.

Bucky’s coffee cup paused halfway to his lips.

You pointed at him, panting. “Because—I think it’s time. I want to be your girlfriend. Officially. Like—not just sleepovers and emotional eye contact over takeout—I mean actual, real-life, ‘we’re together’ kind of thing.”

You sucked in another breath and barreled on before you lost your nerve.

“I know you’re busy, and, like, technically running half of Congress with your jawline, but I just—I need clarity, okay? Because I was jogging with Rachel, who’s a menace to society, and she said some stuff and I started spiraling and I just—I ran here. I ran. Here. For this.”

There was a beat of complete silence.

Bucky’s eyes were wide.

His aides?

They were riveted.

One woman actually had her hand over her mouth like this was her favorite telenovela.

You blinked at the room.

Your mouth opened. Closed. You slowly lowered your arm.

“Okay,” you said, breathless. “So clearly, that was… too much.”

You looked around at the awkward stares, then back at Bucky, your voice flattening with pure, defeated embarrassment.

“So maybe I was delusional. Maybe this isn’t what I thought. And that’s fine.”

You nodded to yourself, a slow descent into insanity.

“If I’m just some situationship moron who caught feelings and made a public scene at a congressional office,” you continued dryly, “I’m going to kill myself and take everyone in this room with me.”

You made eye contact with one aide near the door.

He flinched.

Then you sighed heavily and scanned the room, noting every wide-eyed aide pretending desperately to become one with their laptops.

Then you snapped.

“Show’s over, folks. Go home. Or back to your unpaid Excel spreadsheets or whatever.”

No one moved.

One intern coughed.

You groaned, dragging both hands over your face in slow, mortified defeat, mumbling through your fingers, “This is literally my villain origin story.”

You barely heard his footsteps as Bucky approached, but you felt him—warmth, presence, tall and steady as he stopped just a few feet in front of you.

“Hey,” he said gently, “can you look at me?”

You shook your head without moving your hands. “I’ll die.”

“No you won’t.”

“I might.”

He chuckled quietly, and something about it made your heart twist. Like this wasn’t the end of the world. Like maybe it wasn’t even close.

You slowly peeked between your fingers.

He smiled softly, eyes full of that same calm patience he used when trying to explain to you how Medicare reform worked.

He stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s 2 o’clock,” he said, glancing around the room. “They all get off at five.”

You stared up at him.

“Oh,” you said blankly. “Cool.”

A pause.

Then, softly—almost hesitantly—he added, “I thought we were already dating.”

Your arms dropped from your face as your expression completely short-circuited.

“…What.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Yeah. For, like… a while now?”

You just stared at him.

Unmoving.

Mouth parted.

One eyebrow quirked in silent disbelief.

“…What.”

He blinked again.

Now he looked confused.

“You… didn’t think we were?”

“…No?”

He gave you the most innocent, baffled look known to man.

“I brought you to Sam's birthday party. You met his nephews. You wear my boxers. What part of this didn’t scream boyfriend to you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then opened it again.

“I—You never asked me!” you accused, voice pitching.

“I didn’t think I had to!” he exclaimed.

You stared at him, absolutely scandalized. “How was I supposed to know then?”

Bucky blinked. “I—what do you mean? Everything I do is—”

“You’re from the 40s, James!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “You guys used to, like, wear suits and give flowers and do grand declarations and ask girls to go steady in a diner over milkshakes! I was waiting for that!”

His jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“I watched Grease with you last week!” you cried. “You don’t get to act brand new!”

He dragged a hand over his face, groaning. “Okay, no more old movies for you.”

You crossed your arms, still damp and out of breath, glaring at him like he’d personally invented confusion.

Then he stepped back.

Took a slow, deep breath.

Straightened his posture.

And said, “Okay. Fine.”

He cleared his throat, eyes locked with yours, serious as a heart attack. Then he said your name—your full name.

“Will you do me the incredible honor of officially being my girlfriend?”

The room went so quiet you could hear someone’s chair creak.

You stared at him.

Then slowly, a dumb smile spread across your face.

“Wow,” you said, blinking. “This is… so sudden.”

Bucky paused, squinting

You pressed a hand to your chest. “I mean… we’ve only been sleeping together, sharing hoodies, texting nonstop, and eating Thai food three times a week for a few months. You barely know me.”

His jaw clenched.

“Don’t.”

“I mean, I barely know me, James. Are you sure about this? How could I possibly say—?”

He said your name—a low, gravelly warning that made your smile bloom full force.

You grinned.

“Yes,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

And before he could react—before he could breathe—you launched yourself into his arms, hands gripping his shoulders, mouth crashing into his with every ounce of pent-up emotion and leftover adrenaline.

His arms instinctively caught you—one around your waist, the other beneath your thighs as your legs wrapped around him like you’d done this a hundred times before.

He kissed you back, hard and fast, like he’d been waiting for this moment—like maybe he needed it as badly as you did.

Somewhere behind you, someone definitely muttered, “What the fuck.”

Another staffer fumbled their phone like they were torn between reporting this to H.R. and posting this on the internet.

Bucky didn’t care.

He just kissed you deeper, right there in the middle of his office, as if the whole damn building hadn’t just watched him get emotionally hijacked by the woman he thought was already his.

Eventually, you pulled back, breath a little ragged, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, arms still looped lazily around his neck.

Bucky was wrecked—eyes dazed, mouth parted, chest rising and falling under you like he’d just run a marathon and won.

You leaned in once more, planted a sweet, casual kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “See you at home.”

You slid off his lap and smoothed your hoodie like you hadn’t just climbed him like a tree in front of half his professional staff.

Bucky blinked. “Wait—what? I was just about to go on break—”

You turned at the door, already tugging your hood up. “Yeah, no, I gotta find Rachel.”

He frowned, still catching up. “Why?”

“To tell her to her face that you’re mine now,” you said flatly. “And so hopefully, she dies of jealousy in front of my eyes.”

You opened the door and strode out like a woman on a mission.

Bucky watched you go, completely speechless, still half-hard in his slacks, shirt wrinkled from where you’d yanked on him like you were trying to break his will to serve.

His aides were frozen, stunned, borderline traumatized.

And then, slowly, that grin started to grow on his face.

A little crooked. A little stunned.

But proud.

Because that?

That was officially his girl.

And God help anyone who tried to say otherwise.

[callsign-alpine]

somehow this screams a youtuber/gamer streamer energy in a good way 🥵🔥

This look was chefs kiss. He had a hair tie and a dream

[callsign-alpine]

omg yasss 😱💕

thank you, thank you, thank you 😍🥹

Domestic | Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

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

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

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

Word Count: 12.4k

Jake Seresin x Fem!Aviator!Reader

This man is such a douchebag i love him <3

Reader's Callsign is Hellfire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hadn’t expected that—at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed at him for twenty minutes over it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t hesitate to ask about Jake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not in a million god damn years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re friends—ish?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were in his bed before four. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake—don’t tease me”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake—oh fuck! Oh fuck—Jake—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-fuck, you’re gonna kill me baby” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had both of you laughing again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing I’d want more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Long night Hangman?” 

He nodded “You too Phoenix?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” followed by “Nope.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded as you spoke, meanwhile Jake scoffed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we in a relationship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha was right, you and Jake were downright domestic.

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

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

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

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

“We should’ve had sex sooner then.”

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

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

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

Fin. 

-

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

[callsign-alpine]

definitely something I would do 😂

So, I can't believe this is the fic that takes me from a reader and reblogger to author. @buckyys-babydoll shared a picture (below the cut) in Discord and this was born and really, I got nothin'. @azriona said it needed to be posted. So I blame her too. Y'all I'm sorry. This is something.

Using the read more otherwise I'd be a hypocrite. It's 400 words of chaos.

You really didn't partake in anything, just meandering through the aisles and exhibits. There were booths set up for games and people selling items. You had perused a few of the goods booths but hadn't purchased anything yet, you wanted to see what else was available. 

It had surprised you when Bucky asked if you wanted to go to a local county fair. He wasn't normally the type to mingle among crowds. It was a nice day, the temperature hadn't reached unbearable highs quite yet for the time of year, so the walk to the festival didn't leave you worn out. 

Bucky was talking about something when you suddenly stopped short in front of him, causing him to bump into you. You were sure the visual that followed caused humor for spectators as Bucky tried to prevent the both of you from falling. 

The small chaos you caused went unnoticed for the most part, even if you had a beefy Avenger plow into you., "Bucky, I want it!" 

Bucky looked confused. "Want what?"

"That!" you exclaimed and pointed to a games booth that had a giant plush penis hanging on the side with other innocent prizes like stuffed bears and plush avocados. It even had a tiny smiling face on it. 

When Bucky realized what you were pointing at, his face changed to a mix of horror and disgust. The plushie even had balls. "What the fuck. Why?"

"It's so cute!"

No one should ever describe dick and balls as cute. It didn't matter if it was plush or real. 

"C'mon, baby," you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the booth. It was a shooting game no less. You had to remove the star with a BB gun. "Oh Bucky! You can win it! You're a marksman!"

Bucky wished he was anywhere but right here. "No. I'm not playing so you can win a dick." His voice lowered to only you could hear. "Why would you want a fake one when you get a real one regularly. Less than three hours ago."

You pouted. "Because I can't cuddle yours."

"The fuck you can't."

"I can't exactly take it out while we watch movies with the team."

"You're not cuddling that in front of the team."

"I can cuddle it when you're gone. More than one person describes you as a dick.” Bucky narrowed his eyes as he paid the vendor and picked up the gun. He'd find out who called him a dick. It didn't take long before Bucky Jr was on his way to his new home.

[callsign-alpine]

when stressed out — read bucky fanfic

hii,how are u??

can I request a scene with Bucky introducing yn to Thunderbolts ?? like that scene from Age of Ultron with Clint and his family,im just obsessed with the movie and need something pleasee

Love your acc❤️

Meeting The Thunderbolts » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Thunderbolts/Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Pregnant!Reader with the Thunderbolts

Summary: Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“I’ll be home in a couple days, doll. I love you and our little soldier.” Bucky says softly into the phone.

“We love you too, sweetheart.” You say with a smile.

Bucky smiles before hanging up the phone and put it in his pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” John asks Bucky.

“Oh- umm- this girl I’ve been seeing.” Bucky says.

Bucky has been keeping you and yours and his unborn child a secret from the Thunderbolts. The team doesn’t know you and yours and Bucky’s unborn baby girl exist. You and Bucky met and got married a few years before the Thunderbolts formed. He’s only keeping you and the baby a secret to protect you two.

The mission went smoothly, but it tired out Bucky and the team. Lucky for Bucky, the mission didn’t take as long as he thought it would and he’s going home earlier than he told you. He texted you to tell you that he’s on his way home. He also made a decision. He decided to finally introduce you to the team. Bucky is going to be nice and allow them to stay at yours and his house. He texted you beforehand to let you know that he’s bringing the team with him.

“Whose house is this?” Ava asks.

“Mine.” Bucky answers.

“Is this what that congressman money gets you?” Yelena asks.

“Pretty much.” Bucky replies.

The Thunderbolts followed Bucky inside of yours and his house. They looked around as they walked inside.

“I’ll be right back.” Bucky says.

The team stayed in the living room while Bucky went in the kitchen, knowing you’re in there making something to eat. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, placing his hands on your pregnant belly.

“You’re home.” You say softly.

“I am.” Bucky smiles.

You turned around to greet your husband with a kiss.

“There’s a few people in the living room who I want you to meet.” He says softly.

“Ok.” You replied softly.

You and Bucky walked hand in hand to the living room. The Thunderbolts surprised when they seen you. They were not expecting Bucky to have a pregnant wife.

“Doll, this is the team.” Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts. “This is my gorgeous wife Y/N.” He tells the team.

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys! Bucky has told me so much about you guys!” You say excitedly.

“Your husband told us nothing about you.” John says.

Ava elbowed John in his side when he said that. John looked at her and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Please don’t be mad at Bucky for that. He kept me and our baby girl a secret, because he wanted to protect us.” You say, putting your hands on your pregnant belly.

“We understand, Mrs. Barnes.” Alexei says.

You gave the team a smile, loving how understanding they are.

“I can show you guys to the guest bedrooms if you want.” You suggested.

“Thank you. That would be nice.” Yelena replies.

You showed the team to the guest bedrooms and Bucky, being the overprotective husband he is, tagged along.

“Thank you so much for allowing us to stay in your home.” Ava says.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled.

“You and Bucky have a lovely home.” Bob compliments.

“Thank you.” You and Bucky smiled.

As the team settled down and got cleaned up, Bucky did the same. You helped him clean up the small cuts he has on his cheek and forehead. Bucky rested his hands on the sides of your pregnant belly as you cleaned the cuts on his cheek and forehead.

“Your friends are nice.” You say.

“That’s what they want you to think, doll.” Bucky jokes.

“Be nice, James.” You giggled.

“You know I’m kidding, doll face.” He laughs softly.

You gave Bucky a kiss on his cheek and forehead when you were down cleaning the cuts.

“All better.” You smiled.

“That’s because I have the most beautiful nurse to patch me up.” Bucky says flirtatiously.

You couldn’t help but blush. You put the first aid kit away and went back to the bedroom, laying down on the bed. Bucky laid down next to you, protectively wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands on your pregnant belly.

“Goodnight, my girls. I love you.” Bucky says softly.

“Goodnight, honey. We love you too.” You almost whispered.

The next morning you managed to wake up early and get out of bed without waking up Bucky. You went to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for the team. Bob walked in the kitchen at the same time the coffee finished brewing.

“Good morning, Bob!” You smiled at him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes.” Bob smiles back.

“Call me Y/N.” You say. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” You asked politely.

“Yes please.” He answers.

You poured Bob a cup of coffee and gave it to him. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched you make breakfast. Yelena and Ava were next to walk in the kitchen.

“Good morning!” You smiled.

“Good morning!” Yelena and Ava smiled back.

They got a cup of coffee and joined Bob at the table. Then Alexei and John came to the kitchen. The team was asking you questions to get to know you while you served them breakfast. Then you finally got to sit down.

“You mentioned yesterday that you and Bucky are having a girl?” Ava asks.

“Yes we are.” You answered happily.

“Have you two come up with names?” Yelena asks.

“We’re naming her Jamie.” Bucky answers as he walks in the dining room.

You looked up at your husband and gave him a smile. Bucky gives you a morning kiss and sat down next to you.

“Your wife is an amazing cook!” Alexei tells Bucky.

“That’s one of the many reasons why I married her.” Bucky says, smiling at you.

You smiled back and gave him a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“You guys are really nice. I really enjoyed meeting you guys.” You say sweetly to the team with a smile.

“You too, Mrs. Barnes.” Yelena says and smiles.

The Thunderbolts left after breakfast. You cleaned up the dining room table and took the dishes to the kitchen, putting them in the sink. Bucky walks up behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light and loving squeeze.

“Don’t worry about the dishes. You go relax in the living room and I’ll wash the dishes.” Bucky says softly.

“You’re such an incredible husband. I love you so much, baby.” You almost whispered.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky says softly, kissing you softly.

-Bucky’s Doll

[callsign-alpine]

kinda need to bathe in holy water

I've been having sinful thoughts all day about bob

Do you know that audio on TikTok that’s like I made love to my wife 4 times and this morning she made pancakes and whatnot? Could you do a story where it’s the daggers and this is how they find out about bobs wife?

don’t stop.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader.

￫ summary: jake attempts to catch bob out, but bob has something to reveal.

￫ word count: 1K.

￫ warnings: mentions of sex, smut and food.

￫ authors notes: i hope i based this off the right sound, my dear anon! 🥹 i’m sorry this took so long too 🥺 my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

Bob stood beside Natasha in comfortable silence as they dressed in the appropriate gear, ready for a test flight.

They instinctively turned to face one another when the other needed help attaching a certain piece to their suit or tightening their straps. They had grown un-deniably close over the past two years, and they knew each other’s movements step by step.

Natasha’s eyebrows raised, and she let out a small groan. “Here they come.”

Bob’s breath hitched as he heard the booming voices coming through the door.

Javy sauntered in, with Jake on his heels, both snickering about something like schoolboys.

“Oh, Jake, you wouldn’t believe it.” They both swung open their lockers in sync. At a glance, you wouldn’t think that they flew separately. They were so similar as they mirrored the movements of getting their gear on.

“I made love to her four times last night. This morning, I got pancakes. She woke up at six to make them for me before I left. God, I fuckin’ love my wife.”Javy boasted with prideful laughter.

Jake only spurred him on, with a proud slap on his back and matched Javy’s amusement.

However, at Javy’s confession, Natasha snorted quietly to herself.

Jake’s head cocked to the right of him and his eyebrows raised with a questioning glance her way. He leaned back against the lockers containing their gear and attached some to himself.

“What’s so funny, Nat? You tellin’ me you could beat Javy’s record?” Jake questioned her with a smug grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

By this time, Mickey, Rueben, and Bradley had all filtered into the room as well. They didn’t want to interrupt the ego-boosting feud that was currently unfolding in front of them. They geared up in silence but still listened with eager ears, their eyes flicking back and forth between Jake and Natasha.

She took a sharp breath between her teeth and broke Jake’s questioning gaze. She purposefully didn’t look back at the guys but calmly stated, “Well, I made love to my wife six times, and yeah, I also got breakfast.”

The silence from them both was telling. She continued fixing her gear and calmly played off her triumphant feat. It was as though it was the most normal thing in the world for her (which wasn’t far off).

She heard Bradley’s hushed whistle of “Oof,” and she smiled proudly to herself as she looked down to see where she was fiddling with a buckle on her suit.

Bob, on the other hand, had watched the entire exchange before him, with bated breath. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and the corner of his lips twitched into a grin as he saw Jake and Javy’s bewildered faces.

If only they knew how good you were for him last night. If only they knew how pretty you looked on your knees and spread out on the soft linen, all for himself. If only they knew how pretty you sounded, as you whimpered and whined his name all—

“Bob!” Jake’s biting tone snapped his attention straight towards the blonde-haired man. “You’re lookin’ smug for a guy, who, as far as we know, hasn’t been laid in… two years?” He questioned with faux interest.

Natasha immediately belted out an amused, “Ha!”

She knew Bob better than anyone here. She had met you, Bob’s long-time wife. Natasha and her wife had been to dinner with Bob and you. She had been to BBQs in your backyard and tried your delicious home-cooked macaroni and cheese. You were even invited to her bachelorette party when she got married.

Natasha also knew that no one else knew.

Bob was private about his life away from the naval base. He had his reasons, but more than anything, he appreciated the peace he shared with his one love. You.

Jake’s jeering and deeply imposing question made his eye twitch a little from behind his glasses. He pushed his frames up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, before looping his hands into the gear on his chest. He puffed out his chest slightly and stood confidently across from Jake.

“Well? You got a wife?” Jake asked the question carelessly and casually, making Bob squirm. He severely despised people thinking about his wife like that, as if you weren’t the moon to his sun.

A beat, and Bob responded. “Yeah.”

Javy’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Mickey and Ruben had turned around to watch the whole thing by then. They nudged one another in the ribs and whispered, “I told you so!”

Bradley didn’t flinch. He knew. He saw Bob and you on the beach one evening. Bob gave him a curt nod, and when he arrived at the Navy base the next morning, Bradley swore he wouldn’t tell anyone. He understood, more than anyone, why people kept their private lives away from here.

Jake snorted, although he blinked furiously as Bob’s statement took him aback. “Okay then, Baby, how many times did you make love to them last night?”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest in an attempt to shield himself from perhaps being scolded by Bob Floyd.

“Once.”

“Once?! Oh, Bob.” Jake mocked with faux sympathy. “And did they make you anything this morning?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Bob’s gaze narrowed fiercely towards Jake. “My wife was asking me not to stop.”

There was a deafening silence, and then a chorus of bellowing laughter and jeers echoed throughout the room.

Even Javy let out a loud chuckle, gripping Jake’s shoulders and playfully shaking him. “He got you there!”

Bob cocked his head at Jake, with an assured smile now etched fully onto his lips. He asked if Natasha was ready, and then they both headed out onto the tarmac, leaving Jake behind, practically frozen in shock.

Once the rest of the guys had had enough playful jabs towards him, they all made their way out to join the others. But Jake felt a firm hand on his shoulder as the tall brunette towered over him.

“Don’t assume stuff like that, Hangman. Wait until you find out that he has a kid.”

taglist: @floydsmuse @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown @birdy-bat-writes @thedroneranger @kmc1989

tagging those who may be interested: @becks-things @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @lewmagoo @peachystenbrough @thecowboyfiles @auroralightsthesky @beautifulandvoid

[callsign-alpine]

this is so good, now I just need a Hangman and Inferno moment when everything's official 🤞🙏

Domestic | Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

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

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

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

Word Count: 12.4k

Jake Seresin x Fem!Aviator!Reader

This man is such a douchebag i love him <3

Reader's Callsign is Hellfire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hadn’t expected that—at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed at him for twenty minutes over it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t hesitate to ask about Jake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not in a million god damn years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re friends—ish?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were in his bed before four. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake—don’t tease me”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake—oh fuck! Oh fuck—Jake—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-fuck, you’re gonna kill me baby” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That had both of you laughing again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing I’d want more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Long night Hangman?” 

He nodded “You too Phoenix?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” followed by “Nope.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded as you spoke, meanwhile Jake scoffed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we in a relationship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha was right, you and Jake were downright domestic.

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

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

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

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

“We should’ve had sex sooner then.”

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

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

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

Fin. 

-

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

[callsign-alpine]

dagger squad 😍

the bodyguard | part 12

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Famous!reader AU

After joining Maverick's security team once he left the navy, Rooster had become the best bodyguard around. He never thought too hard about it, he'd go in, protect whoever he was assigned, and leave. The threat against his client never really went anywhere if he was on the job, and he always put it first. All until your assignment came along. Suddenly his biggest threat might not be the stalker watching your every move, but rather trying not to fall for the world's biggest pop star.

warnings: stalker, threats, toxic parent, anything else let me know

length: 2.7k

masterlist

The night before the party, the chaos had dimmed to a hum.  

The city lights shimmered through the hotel windows, casting gold and amber streaks across the suite you’d been staying in. You stood barefoot near the minibar in an oversized hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. You twisted the cap off a bottle of water, then took a small sip, watching Rooster over the rim. 

He sat on the arm of the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. Even relaxed, he looked like he was one second from springing into motion. Of course, you couldn’t blame him. The release party was only a night away now. It weighed heavily on both of you, even if neither of you would admit it. 

“Everything’s ready,” you said softly. “The stage, the lighting, the security... you.” 

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured. “Still doesn’t mean I like any of this.” 

“I know.” Your voice wavered slightly, like you weren’t quite sure how to hold it steady. 

He stood slowly, stretching, hands going to the back of his neck. “I should head out. Let you rest.” 

You nodded. “Yeah.” 

But neither of you moved. 

Rooster reached for his jacket on the chair. “Security’s got your floor locked down, princess. Maverick and I made sure. You’re safe.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, water bottle forgotten on the counter. “Bradley?” 

He looked up. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of you saying his name or the way you looked at him. Or you. He knew he'd never get tired of you.

You hesitated. “Do you... ever think about the cabin?” 

His hand paused on the jacket. “I do.” 

“Not the place. Just...” you searched his face. “The quiet. You and me. How it felt.” 

He didn’t answer at first. It made you nervous. Since coming back into your celebrity life, you had no idea what the two of you were. It didn't help that planning for the party had overshadowed everything.

He looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his expression.  “Every day,” he finally said. 

Something in you softened, relieved. “I miss it,” you admitted. 

His jaw tightened. “Me too.” 

You stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to keep his eyes. “You don’t have to go,” you whispered. 

Rooster stared at you, unmoving. Of course, he didn't want to go, didn't want to leave you for a second. But seeing you resume your pop star role so easily had scared him a little, sure the cabin was amazing, but it was isolated. In the real world, you were a star, he was nothing.

“I mean,” you continued, your voice quieter now, more fragile, “If you don’t want to.” 

His jacket slid from his hand forgotten, along with Maverick’s warning and any insecurity he might have. He closed the distance between you in two slow strides. You didn’t step back. 

He looked at your mouth, then into your eyes, and said lowly, “You sure, princess?” 

You nodded, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and need. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

Rooster’s hand lifted to your cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye like you might vanish. He leaned in, and when he kissed you, it wasn’t tentative. It was deep and certain, like something he’d been holding back for far too long. 

You melted into him instantly, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss built – slow at first, then urgent, like you were trying to fold weeks of restraint into a single moment. 

You whispered his name against his lips. 

He guided you gently backward, lips never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

Neither of you hesitated. 

Later, the city still glowed outside. The world still spun. 

But in that quiet suite, for a little while longer, it was just the two of you, breathing in the same air, hearts tangled in the hush between danger and something dangerously close to love. 

-- 

Rooster was pacing the hotel hallway outside your suite, radio in one hand, coffee in the other, his nerves on a short fuse despite everything being ahead of schedule. Tonight was the night. The press had already begun arriving at the venue, security teams were checking in every fifteen minutes, and your glam squad had set up a miniature salon in the suite. 

He should have felt calm. 

But the knot in his chest was back, right where it had been for weeks – ever since you’d told him you were going through with the release party anyway. Despite the huge threat you faced, despite Rooster’s insanely bad gut feeling about the whole thing. He knew you'd be the death of him one day, but he couldn't find the will to care.

He looked up when the elevator dinged. 

Out stepped Maverick with his signature smirk and faint air of trouble that always seemed to follow him. Except this time, he wasn’t alone. 

Rooster’s eyebrows shot up. 

Behind Maverick, walking in staggered formation that looked more like they were still on a flight deck than in a luxury hotel, were six familiar faces.  

Phoenix. Hangman. Fanboy. Coyote. Bob. And Payback. 

All of them dressed up, sharp and discreet, but unmistakably them. 

“No way,” Rooster said, lowering the coffee. 

Maverick shrugged, far too casually. “Thought you could use some backup for tonight.” 

“We’ve got security,” Rooster muttered, but he was already smiling. 

“Not like this you don’t,” Hangman drawled, stepping forward. “You’re looking a little tense, Rooster. Miss us?” 

“You know he did,” Coyote added with a grin. 

Phoenix gave him a nod. “You look good, Bradshaw. Solid. Serious. Weirdly upright.” 

“Don’t start,” Rooster warned, rubbing a hand down his face. “She doesn’t know you’re here, so please, none of you start fangirling-” 

Fanboy blinked. “You think we’re gonna fangirl over your popstar girlfriend?” 

“She’s not-” he stopped himself. “Just behave. This isn’t like old times. You’re here as professionals.” 

“Right,” Bob said quietly. “Totally professional. Got it.” 

“Relax,” Payback chimed in. “We’ll behave. Maybe. Probably.” 

Rooster sighed, “And if Hangman starts flirting, I swear I’ll have Mav throw you out himself.” 

Hangman placed a hand over his heart. “I would never. I’m here to serve.” 

Maverick clapped a hand on Rooster’s shoulder, grinning. “C’mon, let’s go say hi. Try not to panic.” 

Rooster sighed and turned toward the suite door, opening it. The suite was filled with warm lighting, the gentle hum of conversation, and the clink of makeup brushes against compacts. You sat at the vanity in a silk robe, your hair half curled, legs tucked beneath you, laughing softly with your stylist. 

You turned when the door opened and froze. First came Rooster, then Maverick, and then- 

A wave of strangers. 

Your expression faltered for a second before recovering into polite curiosity.

Maverick stepped forward. “Thought I’d bring a few friends along to keep an eye on things tonight.” 

Rooster gave you a sheepish look, “Surprise.” 

Hangman stepped forward, charm already dialed up. “We’ve heard a lot about you.” 

You tilted your head. “All good things, I hope.” 

“Mostly,” Phoenix said with a smirk. “Depends on the storyteller.” 

Maverick introduced them in order – Phoenix, strong and calm; Coyote, effortlessly charming; Fanboy, already fiddling with an earpiece; Bob, quiet but watchful; Payback, flashing a confident grin; and Hangman, who was already making himself comfortable by the mini bar. 

“They’re all ex-military,” Maverick explained. “Bodyguards now, part of my team. Some of the best. Just thought a little extra muscle couldn’t hurt.” 

You nodded, standing to shake their hands one by one. “Thank you for being here.” 

“It’s our honor,” Bob said, his voice soft but steady. 

“Genuinely,” Phoenix added. “You’ve been through hell. We’ve got your back tonight.” 

Payback gave you a wink. “We’ve heard a lot. All good. You’ve got a huge fan in my wife, by the way.” 

You laughed, relaxing just a little more. “Then I’ll try not to get any of you fired.” 

“You’d have to try pretty hard,” Coyote said, “We’re not scared of crowds. Or stalkers. Or... press.” 

Fanboy leaned over to whisper. “Definitely more scared of your stylist than any of those.” 

You gave him a raised brow and an amused smile, then looked over at Rooster. He was watching you – not with worry this time, but with something steadier. Something warmer. 

Hangman leaned into Fanboy and muttered, “Yep. He’s screwed.” 

Fanboy nodded. “So screwed.” 

Rooster turned back just in time to catch their expressions. “I heard that.” 

You laughed, the sound light and real, and for the first time all day, you looked and felt like yourself again. “Okay,” you said, hands on your hips. “Let’s get through tonight. A song, one speech, a terrifying crowd of people – and then we drink.” 

Hangman raised an eyebrow. “You are our kind of girl.”  

Rooster stepped closer to your side, instinctively brushing a hand against the small of your back. It was meant to be subtle. 

It wasnt. 

Phoenix clocked it with a smirk and so did Maverick, but no one said a word. 

Because beneath the glitter and the fame, behind all the planning and security detail, there was something grounded here, something simple. 

You cared about each other, and tonight, that would have to be enough. 

-- 

The flash of cameras was blinding, but you didn’t flinch. 

You stepped from the black SUV into the glow of spotlights and press bulbs, one glittering heel after the other, posture perfect. The midnight-blue gown hugged your frame, your hair swept into soft waves, lips painted a deep wine red. To the world, you were a popstar. 

But you weren’t alone. 

Rooster was at your side the moment your heel touched the carpet. Dressed in a sharp suit and tie, expression stone cold. If he noticed the roar of photographers calling your name or the swarm of fans behind the barricades, he didn’t show it. His eyes swept the crowd, the rooftops, the shadows between the lights. You'd never felt safer than when he was next to you.

He wasn’t here to be seen. He was here to watch, here to do the job he’d been asked to do in the first place. 

Except now there was a lot more on the line. 

Your hand found his arm as you walked toward the venue’s entrance. To anyone else, it looked like a polished red-carpet escort. But you felt the way his muscles flexed under your fingers. The tension. The storm just under his skin. 

“You good?” you murmured under your breath. 

“Talk to me once you’re back in the car. Safe.”  

-- 

Inside, the venue pulsed with low lights and high ceilings, chandeliers casting golden halos over designer gowns and polished tuxedos. Music drifted through the air, jazzy and elegant, as camera flashes flickered near the red carpet entrance you’d left only moments ago. 

Rooster stood near a side wall, one earbud in, eyes sweeping the room constantly. His posture was perfect, suit sharp, expression unreadable, but his heart hadn’t quite recovered from watching your grand entrance into the party. 

You had appeared at the top of the staircase, as planned, like something out of a dream. Dress hugging every curve, hair in soft waves, eyes catching on his like magnets. You hadn’t even looked at anyone else – just him. A barely-there smile, the kind that said you knew exactly what you were doing to him. 

Now you were doing press a few feet away, bright lights on your face as you gave interviws to everyone from music outlets to late-night show hosts. You answered gracefully, even laughed once, but Rooster saw the way you shifted your weight from heel to heel, the way your fingers rubbed against the seams of your dress. 

You were nervous. 

He hated that he couldn’t go to you. 

“You’re brooding,” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the comms. 

“I’m not brooding.” 

“He’s definitely brooding,” Fanboy’s voice chimed in. 

“He’s trying to laser-cut that reporter in half with his eyes,” Payback added. 

Rooster didn’t respond. He just refocused his attention on the rest of the room. Over by the bar, Hangman and Coyote were chatting up some Hollywood types – pure cover, but they were doing it with ease. Phoenix was positioned near the exit doors, already blending in with the event staff.  Bob was upstairs, overseeing the security feed with venue control. The entire team had snapped into formation like they’d never left the tarmac. 

It should have made him feel better. 

Instead, it only made him more aware of the single person in the room who wasn’t wearing a wire, comm or bulletproof vest. 

You. 

You finished the press line and turned toward him, eyes scanning until they found his. You didn’t smile this time. Just gave the tiniest tilt of your head – you okay? 

He nodded once – I've got you – and turned away before anyone noticed. 

Behind him a low voice said, “She’s doing well.” 

Rooster looked over his shoulder. Maverick was standing near a column, drink untouched in his hand. 

“She’s holding it together,” Rooster replied. 

“You too.” 

“Barely.” 

Maverick’s mouth twitched. “I was right to send them.” 

Rooster gave a short nod. “Yeah. You were.” 

In a way, it was comforting. The whole squad hadn't worked together since their Top Gun days, never as bodyguards. It felt like coming home.

They stood in silence for a moment, both watching you as you were swept toward the centre of the room by a PR rep. 

Maverick’s voice was casual when he said, “Saw the way Hangman was looking at her earlier.” 

Rooster glanced sideways. “I warned him,” 

“I know. Just saying. You looked like you were ready to bodycheck him into the minibar.” 

“I’m staying focused,” 

“Of course you are,” Maverick said, not quite smiling. 

In reality, Rooster was anything but focused. Not when you looked as beautiful as you did, not when someone was out to get you, when you were in danger. He had way too many thoughts swirling in his head.

All he could do was nod.

-- 

Later, as the party was in full swing and the crowd loosed with champagne, you finally slipped away from your handlers and drifted toward the far edge of the room. You found a quiet pocket of space near the windows, looking out over the city skyline. 

Rooster saw you the moment you disappeared from centre view, and was moving before anyone could stop him. 

“Everything okay, princess?” he asked when he reached your side. 

You didn’t jump, you didn’t even pretend to be surprised. “I just needed a breath,” you said softly. 

Rooster scanned the room behind you out of instinct. “Want me to clear this area?” 

“No,” you said, smiling faintly. “You being here helps.” 

He hesitated before stepping just a little closer. Your perfume was subtle – something warm and soft, like the cabin. Like the memories he still hadn’t shaken. 

“I wish I could talk to you,” you murmured. “For real. Without all of this around us.” 

“I know.” 

Your eyes met. You didn’t touch him, not here, but you didn’t need to. Everything in your expression said I see you. I know you’re still protecting me, even now. 

Then you tilted your head slightly and whispered, “You’re the only thing that feels real tonight.” 

Rooster’s jaw flexed, his hands itched to hold you, but instead, he just nodded. “You’ve got twenty minutes until your speech,” he told you. “And a tray of shrimp that looked slightly radioactive.” 

You laughed softly. “Thanks for the recon, lieutenant.” 

Rooster fought a smile, “Just doing my job, princess.” 

You stood like that for a moment longer. Close, but not close enough. 

From across the room, Hangman watched you, then leaned toward Coyote. “He’s doomed.” 

Coyote grinned. “In the best way.” 

Behind them, Maverick stood watching, arms still crossed. His gaze didn’t leave Rooster once, and when Iceman approached to say something, Maverick leaned in and murmured. “Keep your eye on him.” 

Iceman raised an eyebrow. “Rooster?” 

Maverick nodded, quiet approval beneath the warning. “He’s in deeper than he realises.” 

Iceman didn’t argue, he just looked across the room to you – and then back to Rooster. 

“Yeah.” he said quietly. “So is she.” 

---

A/N: The dagger squad have come to help! Prepare for some dramatic next couple chapters lol.. enjoy!

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[callsign-alpine]

we must protecc bob at all cost ☺️🥹

B-A-B-Y (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: On a Monday morning, Rooster and Hangman bring Bob and Phoenix to a local diner, and Bob’s instantly smitten with the waitress singing along to the jukebox. Next thing he knows, “Diner Mondays” become a squad tradition… and so does watching Bob fall harder every week while the rest of the Daggers try to get him to finally ask her out. WORD COUNT: 2.7k WARNINGS: Fluff. Tooth rotting fluff. Reader wears glasses. NOTES: Yes. Like Baby Driver. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was an early Monday morning, and Bob was awake and ready earlier than he would’ve anticipated. He always woke up early for work, and on the weekend, out of habit. But that day, he had to wake up even earlier. Rooster and Hangman insisted on going to this diner with Phoenix and him. Bob wasn’t gonna turn down the idea of a real proper breakfast before their shifts, though he knew Phoenix was gonna be grumbling the whole time. 

He pulled up in his baby blue truck to Dot’s and Joe’s, a stout metal and red building not too far from base. The sun was just rising, and it painted the sky that sleepy light blue. Spotting Rooster’s Ford Bronco and Hangman’s Jeep, he pulled up next to them right as they were getting out. 

“Mornin’ Bob,” Rooster said. They were all dressed in their khaki uniforms, knowing they would change into flight suits once they arrived at training anyway.

Bob nodded with a small smile. “Mornin’ guys.”

Hangman stretched, “Where’s your pilot?”

He shrugged. “Phoenix isn’t a morning person.”

As if on cue, her black version of Rooster’s Ford Bronco pulled up and parked next to Bob’s truck. They watched as she got out of the car, grumbling and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Hangman teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Hangman. It’s too early for your bullshit.” She groaned, making the rest of them laugh. Only she would cuss like a sailor at five in the morning. “Why on earth would you guys want to do this?”

Rooster started walking towards the doors of the place, and the rest followed. “They’ve got quite literally the best pancakes I’ve ever had. It’ll be worth it.”

They all walked in, and Bob looked around the interior. It was like they had hopped into a time machine. The classic 60s look was clean and colorful, even if the outside of the building seemed a little worn down. Red leather seats and silver table tops. Warm fluorescents wrapped around a countertop bar. Old movie posters and pin-up art hung up on every wall while a jukebox played oldies by the kitchen door.

Rooster and Hangman led them to a nearby booth, and they scooched in. 

“It’s nice,” Bob said, nodding with a small smile.

Hangman chuckled, “Figured you of all people would like it. You look like you would’ve gotten your lunch money taken in Back to the Future.”

That made Rooster let out a laugh heartily enough to capture the attention of the staff, and Bob rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help the smile. Okay, fine. That one was good. More original than his usual quips.

At the sound of Rooster’s laugh, the kitchen door swung open by the jukebox. A soft voice rang out. It was quiet enough for almost nobody in the diner to notice… But Bob sure did. A beautiful voice sang along to a song he didn’t recognize playing on the juke.

“B-A-B-Y. Baby. B-A-B-Y. Baby.” 

His head turned over to see a waitress in a pink uniform and a little paper hat. In most cases, he’d just see the waitress and be excited to dig into some food. But for some reason, at the sight of her, his heart flipped in his chest. She was beautiful. In knee-high socks and glasses that were similar to his, though they weren’t nearly as big and awful-looking as his own. She swayed her head to the song without a care in the world as she held a notepad and pencil. 

He didn’t even notice the rest of the squadron trying not to laugh at Bob’s obvious gawking. 

“See something you like, Floyd?” Phoenix asked with a smirk.

Bob’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?” He asked quickly, making the rest of them laugh harder.

When the waitress spotted the table, she smiled and walked over. 

“You two again.” She said, stopping by and looking at Hangman and Rooster, “And you’ve brought friends.” She smiled at him, and Phoenix and Bob could’ve sworn his heart stopped. 

“Yeah, well, we had to share how good this place was,” Hangman said casually.

Bob looked at the nametag pinned on her top. Y/n. God, he was practically melting, and he was trying to resist the wiggly Charlie Brown smile that wanted to appear.

She tapped her pencil. “What were your call signs again? I remember thinking they were cool, but I can’t for the life of me remember what they were.”

Rooster nodded and pointed to himself first. “Rooster. Hangman. Then those guys over there are Phoenix and Bob.”

She tilted her head with a smile as her eyes landed on Bob properly. “It’s Bob? What’s your real name then?”

With his heart beating out of his chest, he stammered, “B-bob. It’s just Bob.” He wished he could give another answer. He wished that his call sign wasn’t as simple as it was or that he had some sort of cool name like ‘Dagger’ or ‘Striker’... But he couldn’t even pretend like Bob didn’t fit him perfectly.

She laughed. “I like it. I like it a lot.” 

She liked his name.

Hangman cut in, “We’ve made it stand for Baby on Board. He’s a backseater.”

“Oh, so like a WSO?” 

She knew what that was? This conversation was just getting better and better, even with Hangman’s attempts to embarrass him.

Bob nodded, barely able to speak.

“That’s pretty awesome. My dad was Navy, so I like seeing ya’ll pop up here since we’re so close to North Island.” She explained, “Well, Rooster, Hangman, Phoenix, and Baby, what can I get started for ya?”

That wasn’t his call sign, and if it was, it would’ve been more embarrassing than just Bob. But having the beautiful waitress call him Baby? He could leap out of his skin. The massive blush that spread over his face was uncontrollable. 

“Just four hot coffees to get us started, will ya, Y/n?” Hangman said

She didn’t even write it down. “Simple enough. I’ll be back.”

Bob watched her walk away, completely mesmerized. Especially as she jumped back into the song.

“Just one look- in your eye. And my temperature goes sky hi-” And the kitchen door swung closed. 

There was a silence as the three pilots watched Bob, surprised as he sat there with a dreamy look on his face. 

“Jesus, Floyd. I’ve never seen you so whipped. And you usually are by most people.” Hangman smirked, leaning back.

Once again, he was sadly snapped back to reality by Hangman. A common occurrence. “N-no. No, I’m not. She was nice.” He cleared his throat, pretending to look over the menu, “Really nice.” 

Rooster made a little ‘Aw’-ing noise. “Buddy, it’s okay! I get it. She’s super cute.” He said, trying to be supportive, but Bob quickly shushed him, horrified at the prospect she might overhear.

“And she matches your dorkiness,” Hangman added

Bob shook his head, but he had that feeling, too. Their interaction had been so limited, yet he had a feeling they’d get along perfectly. He was already completely and totally captivated by her. 

They left the diner an hour later to make it to work on time, but Bob couldn’t shake the thoughts of her that graciously occupied his brain. The whole day, even as he was driving or flying or doing push-ups, he’d hear her calling him ‘baby’. Or he’d think about how, when he put in his order for strawberry french toast, she winked at him and said that was her favorite. It was both horrifying and the best distraction he could ever ask for.

Wanting to make it a tradition, Rooster dragged the three of them back to the diner the following Monday. It was a nice thought. Start the week out with a great breakfast and end it with a Friday night at The Hard Deck. 

Bob got out of his truck and looked over at Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix, who were already there. 

“You’re here before me, Phoenix?” He asked, confused.

Phoenix chuckled even through tired eyes, “Couldn’t miss the Bob yearning show this morning.”

He practically choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Yeah, we’re surprised you weren’t the first one here to say hi to your little girlfriend.” Rooster teased.

He let out a little exasperated breath. “Can we go in now?”

Hangman walked towards the door, “Whatever you want, Baby.” He teased back, emphasizing the name the waitress had called him last time.

For the next few weeks, they had the same routine. They would sit down in their booth, and like clockwork, Y/n would strut out quietly singing along to whatever song was on the jukebox. It was like she had a Rolodex of 50s/'60s hits. The Supremes. Marvin Gaye. Aretha Franklin. Tom Jones. Even the songs he didn’t recognize sounded like his new favorite song coming from her.

Hangman, Rooster, and Phoenix would all watch him stumble and smile up at her. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. And they would all tease him or even subtly try to hype Bob up to her. The three noticed how she seemed to pay special interest to Bob, even though he remained oblivious. They noticed how she always complimented him or would point out his glasses. There were little things- like her making his paper plate of ketchup a winky face or a heart, while the rest got stars or smiley faces. The fact that she always addressed him as Baby was more than enough to convince them. It wasn’t Bob or Baby on Board. It was just Baby. 

But Bob was oblivious. He was completely convinced that she was just being friendly because she was being paid to be. He figured that a girl like that would already have a partner, and he didn’t want to be a creep. It wasn’t like him to hit on a girl while she was working. His mama taught him that it wasn’t appropriate. 

So even as the rest of them egged him on to ask her out, he didn’t. He stayed comfortable with the small talk and stammering banter he’d make with her on those Monday mornings. It got to a point where even the rest of the squadron knew about this. Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote wanted to come with and see for themselves, but for the first time- Bob vehemently rejected them from coming. It would be obvious if suddenly there was a crowd watching him try not to turn red in the face while talking. And she deserved better than that. 

One Monday, Y/n came back out singing that Carla Thomas song again. And when she reached the table, Bob couldn’t help himself.

“What’s that song playing? You’re always singing it.” He asked

Her eyes widened, “Oh goodness, I hope it’s not too cringy that I sing while working.” She said with a nervous smile.

All of them shook their heads, looking up at her. Rooster and Hangman went back to their menus with smirks while Phoenix looked down at her phone, as if they were all letting him have his moment. His favorite part of the week. 

“No. No. I- I like your voice. I’m just wondering what the song is.” He said with his typical bashful look.

Her nervous smile upturned to a genuine one. “Oh, well, it’s Baby by Carla Thomas, but the title is spelled out like B-A-B-Y… Hey, that’s like your call sign, isn’t it?” She asked excitedly.

Bob nodded. “Kinda. Kinda yeah.”

“Guess, I’ll be listening to this song even more then, Baby.” She said, which made Hangman and Rooster look at each other with raised brows that said ‘it’s so obvious’, “I’ll be right out with your guys’ coffee.”

As she walked away, he heard “Whenever the sun don’t shine.”

The kitchen door swung shut.

“Jesus Christ, Bob, this is torture.” Rooster groaned, leaning his head back.

He looked at him, confused with furrowed brows.

“Look, Bob, I was a whole proponent of the whole don’t ask her out at work thing, but this is getting ridiculous,” Phoenix said, grabbing her menu.

“I don’t know what you guys mean. She’s just being nice.” Bob said, looking around at his friend’s exasperated faces. 

Hangman dragged his hands down his face, “And calling you ‘baby’.” 

Bob shook his head. “She thinks that’s my call sign.”

“So… she’s going to ‘listen to the song with your call sign more now’ because…?” Rooster added. 

He couldn’t deny that. It was probably the most forward thing she had done besides smile and point out they were matching every Monday because of their glasses. 

Bob shook his head. “I shouldn’t.” 

Phoenix exchanged a look with Hangman… That couldn’t be good. Those two could barely stand each other, so if they were joining forces, something was up. Bob saw their stares. 

“What-what are you guys doing?” Bob asked.

Phoenix turned to him, “If you don’t ask her out, I’m gonna have Hangman kill us in every dogfight this week. 200 push-ups each.” 

He immediately groaned and put his head in his hands. The idea of that was pure torture. Not only did that mean he’d barely get to fly because he’d be tagged out every time they did, but 200 push-ups daily for a week. Look, Bob was strong… but his shoulders and biceps shivered at the thought. 

“You’re evil. You’re literally evil.” He said, looking over at Phoenix.

Rooster tapped the table. “You’ll thank us later.”

After they all paid, Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix all walked out, leaving Bob still lingering behind inside. He felt awkward. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there anymore because it was outside of this routine. When Y/n came back out, his heart beat so hard he thought it might stop. It had gone from zero to sixty at just the sight of her. 

When she spotted him, her eyes brightened and she walked straight towards him. He swallowed anxiously.

“Hey, Baby! What are you still doing here? Need something?” She asked smiling

Oh god. Oh dear god.

“No, no, I was just uh, I was just-” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his friends not so subtly watching him from outside the window. He scratched the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He nodded.

OH GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING? THANKS? A little confused, but still smiling, she nodded. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

He took a deep breath before spitting out, “I was just wondering if you’d like to… go out sometime. I- I know this isn’t appropriate when you’re working and all, but-”

“I’d love to.” Her face was the brightest he had seen it. It didn’t seem like forced hospitality. She seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “God, Bob, I was waiting for you to ask.”

He blinked and shook his head in disbelief, “You were?”

“I was worried you never would.” She said, “I’m free this weekend if you are.”

It felt like he was melting into the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I am. I’ll uh- here.”

He reached over to a table and grabbed a napkin, quickly scribbling his number on it. Handing it to her, he added, “And if you change your mind, I won’t be mad.”

She took it and folded it neatly before putting it in her pocket. “I would never.”

They stood there for a moment just looking at each other. She smiled, and Bob let out a nervous laugh. This felt like a dream, and he was still waiting to wake up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She didn’t seem creeped out. And she had been waiting for him to ask her, despite being at work. 

“I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you.” He said, nodding.

“See ya soon, Baby.” She waved before going back into the kitchen.

Walking out, Bob’s legs felt like jelly. It was like he was on the aircraft carrier for the first time, and he couldn’t get his bearings. He fully wore the bashful smile now, unable to resist it. 

“So?” Phoenix asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk.

“She said yes.” He said breathlessly. 

[callsign-alpine]

"oh fuck" was not said but can be heard

ifuckeduplastnight.gif

[callsign-alpine]

I think my brain short-circuited 🥵

Imagine telling bestie!Bucky you’ve always had to fake it in bed with men… You know he’d fuck you till you see stars

STOP. you are a genius honestly. the bestfriend energy turning into fucking?? i’m so damn bad for this…. And bucky would be also so confident about himself in bed like UGH i just know HE knows how good he is… squeezing my thighs at the thought.

You’re walking side by side, milkshakes in hand, the way you always do after a long week. your hands occasionally brushing. It’s easy — it always is with him. Talking about everything and nothing — something stupid. First dates. Red flags. Sex that was just… meh.

And then, casually, like it’s no big deal, you say it.

“I’ve faked it, like, every time.”

He slows mid-step. “Wait. Every time?”

You shrug like it’s nothing. “I mean, yeah. Guys always think they’re doing a good job if you moan a little and say their name once or twice.”

Bucky blinks at you, stunned. “That’s…” He shakes his head, lips twitching. “That’s criminal. I think I need a moment.”

You laugh. “Relax, Barnes. It’s not like they were terrible. It just wasn’t… memorable. Or about me, really.”

He’s still looking at you — only now, there’s something behind his eyes. Heat. Focus.

“You’re tellin’ me not one guy’s made you come?”

“Not from sex, no.”

He stops walking. You take another sip of your milkshake, trying not to smile.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say lightly.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he mutters, jaw tight, voice low.

“Oh, you’re looking.”

He licks his lips, eyes dragging down your face, your throat, the shape of your mouth around the straw. “You shouldn’t tell me shit like that, doll.”

You raise a brow. “Why not?”

“Because now I can’t stop thinking about what I’d do different.”

There’s a beat of silence — thick, electric. You swallow, hard.

“…You think you could do it right?” you ask, teasing, testing.

He steps closer, leans in. You feel the heat of him, the weight of that look — the one that makes your knees go soft.

“I know I could.”

———

You’d said it was a bad idea.

That crossing that line would ruin everything.

But now you’re ruined in a completely different way — your body spread beneath him, flushed and trembling, every nerve frayed raw from the way he touches you like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s waited years.

He kisses you like he owns your mouth. Fucks you like he wants to prove every man before him was a waste of time.

“Look at me,” he growls against your throat. “I wanna see it.”

Your eyes flutter open just as your body clenches around him again. You moan his name, your voice cracked, your legs shaking.

He watches, entranced — every twitch, every gasp, the way you fall apart under him, for him.

“God, Bucky—” you gasp, and he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“You feel that?” he pants, dragging his cock deep again, slow and deliberate.

You nod helplessly, mouth open on a cry as he fucks into you again — rougher now, steady, each thrust angled perfectly to grind against that devastating spot inside you. His name tumbles out of you over and over, no space left in your brain for anything else.

“Bucky—oh, fuck—don’t stop—”

“I’m not stoppin’, baby,” he growls, gripping your hips tighter. “Not ‘til you give it to me again.”

He lifts your legs over his shoulders without warning, folding you in half, and the new angle knocks the air from your lungs. You sob, reaching for him, your hands trembling as they claw at his back.

“That’s it,” he hisses, watching you unravel. “You gonna come for me again? Let me feel it?”

Your whole body’s on fire, skin flushed and slick with sweat, muscles clenching around him so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t come first — but he holds on, jaw clenched, arms straining as he pounds into you like he means it.

You break with a cry — raw and shaking beneath him, thighs quivering, your release crashing through you like lightning. And Bucky loses it.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—god, you’re perfect,” he gasps, driving into you harder, chasing his high as your body pulses around him. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He buries himself to the hilt one last time and groans, deep and wrecked, as he spills inside you, his entire body going tense, then trembling against yours. His mouth is on your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach, pressing kisses between desperate breaths.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

You nod, dazed. “I… I saw stars.”

[callsign-alpine]

I know I'm not the only one who was singing while reading this 🤣

i can be beard

i can be stache

i can be clean shaven too

i can be goatee

i can be naughty

i can be anything you like

[callsign-alpine]

breakfast — reading bucky fics to motivate me for the day

Change your mind

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Bucky’s charm; Bucky being flirty; Bucky showing off; Reader checking out baseball players lol; Reader not being interested in baseball (at first)

Author’s Note: I've been craving some flirty college Bucky after all the angst I've been writing. So that’s what I came up with. It is also meant as a little celebration fic because I've got over 1500 followers and that’s so amazing! Thank you so much!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Divider by @thecutestgrotto ♡

Masterlist

You haven’t been to a single game since the semester started - since any semester started, to be real. And honestly, you have been content with that. Satisfyingly so.

Your time is better spent attending to assignments, slogging through your part-time job at the library, or doing literally anything else besides sitting in the stands and watching a bunch of guys chase a ball around a field, or whatever the hell this sport even is about.

Baseball isn’t your thing, it never has been and it never will be.

You’ve been complaining about it the whole way here. Dramatically so, but you didn’t care. Your best friend can handle you and your antics.

“You know, I can think of at least a dozen things I should be doing right now instead of this,” you grumble, trailing behind her as she weaves through the crowd in search of seats.

Natasha sighs sharply and throws you a glare over her shoulder. “God, would you quit whining? This is good for you.”

“I fail to see how,” you shoot back, adjusting the strap of your bag as you begrudgingly follow her.

But Natasha just smirks. That dangerous little smirk that means she’s about to say something you won’t have a comeback for. “You know,” she muses, eyes darting playfully in your direction. “I didn’t think I’d have to twist your arm to come watch a bunch of hot guys running around out there.”

A brow of yours lifts. “Alright, hold on-” you jab a finger in her direction “-I never said I was against that part.”

She scoffs, clearly pleased with herself, and you grin, nudging her with your elbow as the two of you settle into your seats.

“Besides,” you continue, voice dripping with amusement. “I don’t think you should be making comments like that when we both know you’re here for one guy in particular.”

Natasha only shrugs, all nonchalant, but the corner of her mouth tugs lightly upward. “So what if I am?”

You snicker. “I mean, nothing. I just think it’s cute how whipped you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lip is still twitching. Natasha and Steve have only been dating for a few weeks, but you see the way she looks at him. And as much as you complain about being dragged here, you suppose watching your best friend fall stupidly in love is kind of entertaining.

Even if you have to suffer through a baseball game to witness it.

You lean back against the hard metal bleachers, arms crossed as your gaze falls across the field.

It’s a decent night, warm with just enough of a breeze to keep the air from feeling stifling. And even though you’d rather be anywhere else right now, you can’t deny that seeing Natasha like this - light in her eyes, a weird softness in her expression - makes the whole ordeal slightly less painful.

Steve is out on the field, stretching with his team, and Natasha is watching him with this reserved kind of smile. The kind that sneaks up on a person when they don’t realize they’re doing it. You smirk to yourself. Yeah, she’s got it bad. But honestly, you are happy for her. They look good together, and she certainly deserves someone who looks at her the way Steve does.

Natasha must catch you watching her because she suddenly turns, an all-too-knowing glint in her eye. You don’t like that look.

“And who knows,” she says, spreading her legs out in front of her, voice hinting at humor, “maybe your future husband’s down there right now.”

You snort, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “Oh, yeah, sure. He’s just waiting for me to sweep him off his feet in the middle of a stretch.”

She smirks. “Could happen.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, no thanks. I'm all for watching a bunch of hot guys get all sweaty and run around in tight pants, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” You gesture vaguely toward the field. “That’s just spectating. Everything else is a hard pass.”

Natasha quirks a brow, tilting her head at you. “Oh, come on, Y/n. It’s not that bad.”

You shoot her a look. “Nat, the last guy I went out with, Peter Quill, you remember?-” You don’t wait for her nod “-he told me, verbatim, that he doesn’t believe in seasoning his food. And the guy before that showed up to our date in cargo shorts and a fedora and spent two hours explaining why The Wolf of Wall Street is the peak of cinema.”

She winces. “Oof.”

“Yeah. So forgive me if I’m not that eager to throw myself back into the trenches.” You pause. “Also, I’m super busy.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head as she turns back toward the field. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be sure to put in a good word with one of Steve’s teammates.”

You scoff. “Wow, generous and delusional. I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”

She nudges you with her shoulder, smirking. “The luckiest.”

Huffing, you sink deeper into your seat. Well, at least there is one upside to all of this. If nothing else, you can at least appreciate the view.

Your eyes wander over the team as they move across the field, warming up, adjusting their gloves, casually tossing a ball back and forth.

And yeah, you can admit it - objectively speaking, they look good. Athletic builds, toned arms, legs that fill out those pants just right. It’s a nice view, even if you’re not about to go throwing yourself into the dating pool again, so soon.

Your gaze drifts back to Steve, mostly because he’s the only one you actually know - if only a little. But before you can really focus on him, someone steps into your line of sight, half-blocking the blonde from view.

The number 17 fills out your vision.

Your head tilts instinctively, curiosity sparking before you know it. The guy in front of Steve is tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy stance that suggests he’s completely at home out there on the field.

His uniform fits him in a way that makes you annoyingly aware of just how well built he is - jersey stretched firm across his upper back, the sleeves tight around his biceps, pants snug in all the right places. His chestnut hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck underneath the baseball cap he is wearing, and he stands so casually confident that it makes it impossible to not look at him.

Have you maybe seen him around campus before? You should have, right? Someone like him doesn’t just blend into the background. Maybe in the halls, in one of those massive lecture rooms, passing by in the library, maybe when you're on shift. But you are sure, that if you saw that guy, you would have remembered him.

“See something you like?”

Natasha’s smug voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you catch the smirk she is throwing your way.

Scoffing, you tighten your arms around yourself and glance back at the field. Number 17 is still standing there, talking with Steve, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve just spent the past minute analyzing every inch of his backside.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deny, keeping your tone even.

Natasha snorts, bumping her knee against yours. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

She nods her head to the field. “For dragging you here. For the eye candy. For giving you the opportunity to meet your future ex-husband.”

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”

Inevitably, your eyes move back to number 17, and you can’t help but think that if you haven’t seen him before, why it feels like you should have.

He’s turning.

Wait, he’s turning.

Your breath hitches and stays stuck in your throat uncomfortably, and suddenly he’s looking at you. Did he feel your eyes on him? Does he somehow know that you eyed him up like a complete creep? But just as the heat of panic can spark in your chest, you realize he’s not even looking at you.

He’s looking at Natasha.

Your shoulders loosen slightly. Steve also has turned his gaze toward the stands, his affective smile directed at your friend as well. He probably told the brunette that she’s here.

Number 17 lifts a hand in a casual wave, movement smooth, and even that simple gesture kind of looks way hotter than you want to feel right now.

Natasha only gives a small, lazy nod in return.

You expect the brunette to turn back around after that, to go back to whatever pre-game thing they were doing. But he doesn’t.

His attention shifts. To you.

Your stomach makes a flip before your brain can decide how to handle it.

His eyes are sharp, the exact color lost to the distance, but it seems to be something blueish. His expression is unreadable, his head tilting slightly as if assessing you. The stadium lights cast a glow over his features, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, and the way his mouth seems to settle into something just shy of a smirk.

Immediately, you whip your head around to Natasha, eyes wide.

“Do you know that guy?” you ask, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Natasha doesn’t even bother looking at you. She’s still watching Steve, her lips curving higher as if knowing what she’s doing.

“He’s Steve’s best friend.”

You blink. “Steve’s best friend?”

Your gaze falls back to the field against your better judgment but Number 17 has already turned back to Steve, talking to the blonde who now is sporting a smirk just like Natasha’s.

“You never mentioned him before,” you comment, though it comes out a little too measured.

Natasha of course picks up on it immediately.

“Should I have?” she counters, dragging the words out just a little.

You narrow your eyes at her but she only continues smirking.

And again, your gaze falls back to Number 17. God, why can’t you stop checking him out. The white baseball pants of his do absolutely nothing to hide the strength in his legs. His hair at his nape is slightly messy from running around and you wonder if it would feel soft if you put your hands on it.

You shake that thought right off again.

It’s not like it matters.

Still, you shift in your seat, arms tightening. “I just think it’s interesting that you never brought him up before when he’s his best friend.”

Natasha exhales a laugh through her nose, finally glancing over at you, her eyes glinting with something mischievous. “I mean, I could have.”

“And you didn’t because…?”

“Because,” she says sultry, shrugging one shoulder. “I figured you’d meet him eventually.”

There is something pointed in the way she says it, something deliberate, and you don’t like that it sends a small tingle of anticipation through you.

“So, what’s his deal, then?” you keep going, not even knowing why.

Natasha hums, stretching her limbs languidly. Her voice is sly. “His deal?”

“You know,” you press, trying not to sound too interested, although, fucking hell, you are. “Like, what’s his major? Have you seen him around before?”

She turns to you again, and oh, that look on her face is entirely too smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You huff. “Nat.”

Her smirk only deepens. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before you can answer, she looks past you, over your shoulder, down the steps.

Her expression doesn’t change but her smirk gets a little too satisfied, a little too wicked.

You quickly follow her gaze and, oh shit.

A heavy beat thuds against your ribs before your heart remembers how to move properly as your eyes follow the unmistakable figure making his way up the stairs.

Number 17.

And he is coming right toward you.

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter, trying to act like this isn’t throwing you off balance. His steps are easy and unhurried as if giving you the time to check him out some more. And even though you should know better, you do.

His uniform is wrinkled from warm-ups, the fabric clinging in ways that are frankly unfair, and his dark hair curls enough to look annoyingly good.

He reaches your row. And despite the fact that Natasha should logically be the person he came up for, he isn’t looking at her when he speaks.

His eyes land directly on you.

“Steve sent me up,” he says, voice low and smooth, a pleased drawl rolling through his words. “Said he forgot his water bottle or somethin’.”

You blink and try to shake off what his voice does to your body. Crossing one leg over the other, you feign indifference.

“Yeah,” Natasha says, sounding way too delighted. “She’s got it.” She slaps your arm lightly with her hand.

You turn to her confused. “Huh?”

“I asked you to put it in your bag since mine’s smaller.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know it’s Steve’s,” you mutter, then glare at her for a second before reaching down to retrieve the damn thing.

Natasha looks triumphant.

When you pull the bottle free and hold it out to the guy standing in front of you, he takes it with his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels very intentional.

“Thanks, doll.”

His tone is silk spun into sound and hell, it glides over your skin, making it prickle underneath your sweater.

He has the bottle now but doesn’t step away yet. His eyes linger on you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before,” he remarks, studying you with open interest. His lips tug a little as if he is holding back a full grin. As if he is pleased.

You meet his gaze and swallow, keeping your expression open but neutral even as something sparks under your skin. “Yeah, it’s my first game.”

His lips press together like he’s trying not to fully smirk. “No kiddin’.” There is something about the way he says it that you can’t place.

You lift a brow and tilt your head slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just figured I woulda noticed you before, is all.”

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You know flirting when you hear it. And that was flirting.

You clear your throat, but a smile is trying to makes its way over your mouth. “Do you say that to all the girls in the stands?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Nah. Just you.”

Heat winds through your stomach. Because there is an easy, matter-of-fact kind of confidence in his voice.

Biting his lip, he studies you some more. Eyes intensely on you. “So you ain’t much of a baseball fan, then,” he hums. His voice is a low timbre.

You scoff, but can’t help the amused smile lifting your lips. “Not quite my thing.”

“Maybe I can change that.”

You almost choke on your next breath, because oh. He’s good. And hell, that came fast.

Natasha cackles. You ignore her.

Your fingers play with the fabric of your jeans. “Smooth,” you assess, unable to help the wry lilt in your voice.

He grins. Lopsided. Charming. Devastatingly handsome, oh god so help me. “Yeah? That workin’ for me?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s all for show. “Debatable.”

Natasha snorts.

His smirk is deep. There is a twinkle in his blue eyes. He stares at you like that for a second.

“I’m Bucky.” His voice is softened a fraction. His tone is genuine.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

His head moves to the side a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And you are?”

You tell him your name and his gaze lingers, his smirk edging into something thoughtful.

“Huh,” he muses.

You frown slightly. “What?”

He shrugs, still watching you, maybe even looking a little bashful. “Dunno. Just- I like it. Suits you.”

That somehow feels worse than the flirting.

You feel your face heat and you hate that Natasha can probably see it.

There is a shout coming from the dugout. “Barnes, get your ass down here, now!”

That must be their trainer Fury.

But Bucky stays standing there, looking at you for a beat longer, biting his lip and scratching the back of his neck. Then he takes a step back, spinning the water bottle once in his hand. “Guess I’ll see ya next game, doll,” he charms.

You blink, eyebrows up. “That’s a bold assumption.”

He just grins, throwing you a wink. “Nah. I got a feelin’.”

And just like that, he turns, heading back down toward the field, leaving you sitting there slightly dazed.

It takes a moment for your brain to start working again.

You feel Natasha leaning in but are not ready to meet that sly expression.

“We both know you’ll be here next time.”

Infuriatingly, you know she is right.

“I hate you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The game kicks off, but you are not watching it the way you thought you would.

Because he’s on the field.

And, well damn.

You tell yourself you’re just curious. That’s all it is. You’re not actually watching him. You’re just keeping an eye on him. Casual observation. A purely academic interest in how the game works.

Except, the longer you watch, the more you have to admit that he is good.

Really good.

His movements are seamless. It’s like an unbroken flow of precision and control as if the game is merely responding to him, not the other way around. He’s so natural, seems so at ease, and yet he moves so fast and sharp.

You can see the innate understanding he has, of how the game breathes. It’s impressive.

When he’s at bat, his stance is balanced to perfection, knees bent just enough, shoulders loose but poised. The pitcher winds up, releases, and before you can even register it fully, Bucky crushes that ball.

The sound of it is sharp, a crack that echoes through the field.

You track the ball as it soars high, way over the outfield. And then he’s running. He’s a cloud of white and navy as he rounds first base, feet hitting the dirt hard.

Natasha whistles low beside you. “Not bad, huh?” She doesn’t hide her smirk.

You press your lips together, determined to be neutral. “Yeah, well. Maybe I was just expecting less.”

Your best friend lets out a half-amused, half-exaggerated breath through her nose. “You weren’t.”

You want to throw her a glare but that would mean you’d have to take your eyes off Bucky and somehow you can’t manage that.

So you only huff and lean further into your seat.

But even as he plays, you can’t shake the feeling that perhaps he somehow tries a little more than necessary.

There are subtle indications. The way he lingers just a bit longer when he looks up toward the stands, the slight, extra flourish in the way he moves. The exaggerated ease of it all.

Oh, hell.

As he rounds third base, his gaze snaps up.

Right at you.

And he winks.

Your stomach plummets. Heat boils along your spine, and you freeze for half a second, caught completely fucking off guard.

The grin he shoots you is smug and holds a knowing edge, seeing the way your eyes are already on him, seeing your reaction, and thriving on it.

Natasha grasps your arm, gasping. “Oh my God.”

She is overly dramatic on purpose and you hate it.

You tear your gaze away from him and glare at her. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I'm starting,” she laughs, delighted. “That guy’s showing off for you.”

“He is not,” you hiss, trying and failing to ignore the warmth along your neck. Spreading and spreading up to your cheeks.

“That was textbook showing off, babe.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give her the satisfaction of the reaction she wants to see.

But maybe she’s not wrong.

The game continues, and despite your best efforts, your eyes keep finding him.

The more you watch, the more obvious it becomes.

The smooth way he catches the ball in the outfield, hardly needing to look before launching it straight to second base. The way he moves just a little bit slower after a play like he knows there are eyes on him. The way his grin sharpens when he hears the cheers, the teasing comments from his teammates.

And apparently, Steve notices, too.

Because after a particularly showy throw - one that was definitely more dramatic than necessary - Steve jogs past him and smacks him on the back of the head.

You faintly hear Bucky’s startled grunt from the bleachers.

Natasha snickers beside you.

Steve is muttering something to him, but the brunette only grins, backing away with his arms outstretched and shoulders pulled up in an unbothered shrug. And his eyes immediately find you. You look away hastily.

Your best friend leans in, voice low and teasing. “Change your mind about dating yet?”

Sinking lower in your seat, you move your hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous.”

But even as you say it, you glance back at Bucky.

And he’s still looking at you.

This time, you don’t look away.

Another smack lands across the back of his head and he is forced to drag his eyes away from you to grumble at the guy who is grinning from ear to ear, enjoying whatever the hell this is between Bucky and you.

“You’re actin’ real thirsty right now, Barnes,” the voice of the other player sounds out, loud enough for you to make out some words. “Hey, I mean, I get it. She’s cute. But can you focus, man?”

Flustered, you shove your hands between your thighs and curl a little bit inward.

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky warns, rolling his shoulders and throwing a hard look at his teammate before jogging back to his position.

You don’t miss the way he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair after lifting the cap for a moment as if he is trying to gather himself.

Your heart is beating in a weird rhythm. Your hands are a little sweaty and you hate that Natasha notices.

“Well, well,” she teases, watching Bucky get into position. “Looks like you’re a motivator.”

“Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it’s this much fun,” she grins, eyes swimming in mischief. “And clearly not when my best friend’s about to have my boyfriend's buddy ask for her number.”

It’s your time to smirk. “Boyfriend?” you chirp. “I'm sure Steve would like to know you calling him that behind his ba-”

“There’s no turning this around, babe. I’m the one with the power here,” she chides, but she is suppressing a smile. “No go ahead and continue to watch your future boyfriend.” She turns your shoulder forward to the field.

“He’s not-”

“Watch.”

You do.

And the longer the game goes on, you try to keep telling yourself that you’re going to stop watching him. But no matter how much you try to focus on anything else - the scoreboard, the crowd, even the actual game - your eyes don’t listen.

They keep wandering back to him. To the way he moves, his effortless command of the field.

It’s the way he seems to own every second he’s out there like he is meant to be on the field. And he seems to love it. His body moves with an instinctive kind of grace, muscles shifting under the snug fit of his uniform, every motion thought through but natural.

When he takes his spot at shortstop, you admire the confidence of his stance. He’s completely at home. He stands relaxed but his eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the field.

And when the ball comes his way, his gloved hand snatches it mid-air before his arm whips it across the diamond in a clean throw.

It’s irritatingly impressive.

You try to convince yourself that he plays like this all the time - that this isn’t for you at all - but there is something nagging at the back of your mind. Something in the way he carries himself, the extra little flair in the way he moves.

He really seems to be putting on a small show and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the only one in the audience that actually matters to him. You don’t know how to feel about that.

Natasha catches you watching again. “Mhm,” she hums, knowingly. Not at all subtle about it.

You throw her a burning look. “Shut up, Nat.”

She smirks and tilts her head. “You want to be the one he’s showing off for.”

You release a sharp breath, looking at the darkened sky faintly lit by the stadium lights. “If I did, I’d be enjoying it, wouldn’t I? I just think he’s- trying a little hard. Like he’s-”

You don’t get to finish that sentence because the crowd erupts again. The score is tied. This is the final inning.

Your throat constricts as Bucky walks up to plate, adjusting his cap like he’s been waiting for this moment. He taps the bat against the plate once, twice, and tilts his head at the pitcher. You watch the way Bucky’s muscles coil, the readiness, the concentration.

The pitcher winds up. The stadium is silent.

The ball is pitched.

Bucky swings.

Crack.

The sound echoes across the field as Bucky swings and connects perfectly, the entire stadium staring with bated breath. The ball rockets up into the night sky, impossibly high, soaring straight over the center field fence.

It’s gone. A home run.

The crowd erupts, students leaping to their feet, fists pumping, voices carrying through the air. Natasha is already up, grabbing your wrist and yanking you up beside her.

“That’s your man,” Natasha yells over the noise, pointing at the field. “That’s your home run, babe!”

“Oh my god, Nat, he’s not-” you start, but you are cut off by the thunder of feet around you, students leaping onto the bleachers, fists raised, chanting his name.

Just like the others, you are watching Bucky jog around the bases at a confident pace, brushing a hand through his sweaty hair again.

You’re honestly a little overwhelmed with this whole thing. Trying to catch up to the way Bucky moves as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for him, like sending a ball out of the park is just something he does on a casual Tuesday.

And then, just as he crosses home plate, the team swarming him, he turns his head up.

Right to you.

The whole world seems to slow for just a second. Your breath is lost in your throat when your eyes lock. There is a heat in his gaze, but it shifts from exhilaration to something softer. He beams up at you for that special moment, blue eyes shining under the stadium lights, his grin wide.

Your pulse hammers in a way you really don’t want to acknowledge.

You are clapping, like all the others.

And there is something changing in his expression. The corner of his mouth curls in a way as if he can’t believe what he is seeing. His confidence falters for a brief second, replaced by something almost sheepish. His hand scrubs over his face, attention caught by his teammates, but there definitely is a hint of pink dusting his cheeks at your small cheers.

The other players pull him into a rough embrace and for a moment you don’t see him at all, the rest jumps around him in celebration.

“Alright, come on, let’s get down there,” Natasha says, grabbing your wrist again.

“Wait, what?” you sputter as she pulls you toward the railing, making her way down the steps, dragging you with her.

“You are not going to be the only one still sitting while your boyfriend-”

“Stop that-”

“-just won the damn game,” she finishes, waving you off as you scowl at her.

Before you know it, you’re at the very front of the stands, your hands coming together as the roar of the crowd vibrates through your bones.

You see Bucky looking over the chaos, his arms slung around his teammates, his chest rising and falling from exertion, when suddenly, his gaze catches you again.

That bright, wide grin now definitely softens. In a shit, you really were watching kind of way. His blue eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read every single thought rushing through your head right now.

Natasha is practically jumping beside you, cheering happily, so you don’t want to be a bummer and start clapping again. Looking at him.

His smile tries to widen, but Bucky bites his lip. And then, he actually looks bashful.

He dips his head just slightly, running another hand down his face, and this time it’s him looking away first.

But not before you catch that tiny flicker of something almost shy. For all his confidence, for all the easy charm he’s been throwing at you, all the flirtatious lines, something about your reaction to him is what makes him falter that little bit.

And oh how it does something to you. You don’t even fight the little smile on your lips as Natasha bumps her shoulder into yours.

“Shut up,” you murmur, but it sounds too light.

Natasha smirks. “I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest to hide the way your hands are still itching to continue clapping.

The roar of the crowd slowly begins to settle, the energy of the game remaining charged in the air. The bleachers empty languidly, students pouring onto the field or shuffling toward the exits, their excitement buzzing in hurried conversations and triumphant chants.

The players begin filtering off the field, disappearing into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. Some of them are still exchanging shoves and laughs, adrenaline still pumping through their veins.

Bucky walks alongside Steve, his uniform tightly handing off his frame.

But before he disappears with the rest of them he glances behind one last time. And, of course, it’s at you again. You shiver.

His glance is just a flicker of blue under the harsh stadium lights but it’s just a beat longer than you would expect. As if he is making sure you’re still here. As if he is worried you won’t be when he comes back out.

Then he’s gone.

“You see that?” Natasha assesses, leaning her weight into one hip, arms crossed.

“See what?” you ask, obviously annoyed.

She’s unbothered. “That boy just looked at you like a man checking to see if his car’s still parked outside.”

You groan. “God, shut up.”

“That never worked on me. You should know better.”

With an impish grin, she tugs at your wrist and guides you away from the bleachers.

“Come on, we’re waiting for them,” she says, already pulling you toward the tunnel exit.

“What? Nat-”

“Well, I’m waiting for Steve,” she says, “and you, my dear, have been eyefucking his best friend all night, so don’t even try to act like you don’t want to see him again.”

“Okay, come on,” you defend. “I have not-”

“-been staring at him, sure,” she interrupts, her smirk widening. “But only every time he wasn’t looking. Which, by the way, wasn’t often.”

You groan again but follow her anyway, because, at this point, you’re not even sure if you’re protesting for show or out of actual resistance.

Minutes go by as more people slowly tickle away, leaving only a few clusters of them lingering around, chatting under the lights.

The air is still warm, but the breeze carries enough of a chill to make you shift on your feet, arms folding over your chest as you wait.

And then, Steve and Bucky emerge from the locker room, side by side.

Steve’s blond hair is still damp from the shower, his team jacket slung over one shoulder. The moment he spots Natasha, his whole face softens. His stride quickens as he reaches her and he pulls her in for a kiss that is far sweeter than you expected from someone fresh out of a game.

Your best friend, for all her teasing confidence tonight, melts against him, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket.

You feel happiness for her but you look away, feeling like you’re intruding on something intimate.

And before you can prepare yourself, Bucky is standing right in front of you.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says, voice lower, less playful than before.

His hair is damp too, looking darker like that. He doesn’t wear his cap anymore, short brown tendrils resting on his forehead. His uniform is gone, replaced by a dark hoodie and jeans. And yet, he still looks every bit like the man who just stole the game with a home run. He looks handsome. You can even admit that.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll leave with Nat,” you answer, voice a little quieter than you would have liked it to be.

Bucky smiles. He shifts his weight, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Well, had to make sure you actually enjoyed yourself,” he says, tipping his head to the side, smirk slowly appearing. “Didn’t want you to suffer through it since you’ve already been dragged out here.”

You huff out a small laugh, looking at the ground before up at him again. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Not terrible?” he echoes, feigning offense. “Sweetheart, I won the damn game. You were cheerin’ for me.”

It’s as if he needed to say it out loud. As if he’s been telling that to himself the whole time.

You bite your lip. Those nicknames will send you tumbling to the floor if you’re not careful. “Yes, well. You put on a good show.”

He grins something slow and smug. “And here I was thinkin’ you weren’t much of a baseball fan.”

You shift, laughing softly. “Still not, really.”

He hums, studying you so deeply. In a gentle way. But he takes his sweet time and it’s making you nervous. “I’ll change your mind.”

Your stomach does something weird - something that has everything to do with the way his voice dips slightly, the way it rumbles out so smoothly.

You narrow your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “I’d like to see you try.”

Bucky chuckles softly, rocking on the balls of his feet. He can’t stop watching you, moving his eyes around your features, your whole frame, as if wondering where you have been the whole time. He looks like he is trying to read every little thing written across your face.

Your chest feels a little too tight, and your pulse picks up the longer you look at him, the longer he looks at you.

The air is cooler now that the game is over, the heat from the crowd dissipating into the open night, and although you feel plenty heated up by his gaze and presence, you instinctively rub your arms, shifting on your feet.

“You cold?” Bucky’s voice is lower, and there is a soft gentleness to his tone, that sounds so sincere, you feel your knees grow weak.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve got an extra jersey in my bag,” he offers as if he didn’t even hear you, already moving. “Or you can take this one-” He seems about to shrug off his hoodie instead.

You quickly hold up a hand to stop him. “No, really. I’m okay.”

Bucky pauses, squinting at you, mouth quirking as he eyes you a second longer. Then, as if he’s figured something out, his lips form a real smirk again.

“Alright,” he concedes easily, his weight tipping slightly to one side, then back again. “Guess I’ll just give it to you next time, then.”

You freeze just slightly, blinking up at him.

Next time.

You don’t quite know what to do with that.

You clear your throat, forcing words out. “Yeah. Next time.”

Bucky beams.

It’s a full-on, dazzling grin, cheeks high and rosy, eyes bright in a way that makes something overturn in your stomach.

He looks way too pleased with himself now. And you are way too aware of how warm your face feels.

You try to push yourself past the sudden rush of flustered energy. “Well, I guess I will see you around campus, then.”

Bucky hums, considering, still not taking his eyes off you. “Maybe,” his head turns to the side, making a pause. “Or I could just make sure.”

“Make sure?”

He pulls his hands from his hoodie pocket, adjusting his footing and running a hand through his hair, messing with the damp strands a little. He might just seem the slightest bit nervous.

Flipping his palm up expectantly, he looks at you with a glint of hope in his eyes. “Your phone.”

Your stomach does that turning-over thing again as you realize what he’s going on about. “Oh.”

You are fumbling to grab your phone out of your bag, fingers perhaps wavering a little and you are glad that Natasha is preoccupied at the moment to see this. Unlocking it, you hand it over to him.

Bucky takes it gently, fingers brushing yours. Again, it feels intentional.

The glow of the screen illuminates his face as he punches in his number, and presses to call himself so he’ll have your number as well before handing your phone back to you.

You glance down.

A new contact. Bucky Barnes.

Bucky watches you with a soft smile.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve calls, still standing with Natasha. You don’t see the triumphant smile those lovebirds share, busy trying not to show your disappointment of the night coming to an end. “We heading out?”

Bucky sighs, but he doesn’t break eye contact with you just yet.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he murmurs.

“Guess so.”

His feet shuffle against the floor. He seems not quite ready to end this conversation, taking a slow step backward, not turning away from you.

“See you next game, doll,” he says, words landing softer, quieter in a way. He speaks as if it matters.

You fidget with the sleeve of your sweater and let out an almost shy laugh. “Sure.”

Bucky smirks, holding up his phone and waving with it when walking further backward to Steve. “I’ll remind you.”

You watch him walk off with his best friend, watch him throw another grin over his shoulder at you, still feeling the heat that won’t stop tingling along your skin.

Your own best friend throws her arm around your shoulders.

This time, she keeps her mouth shut. She knows she doesn’t have to say anything anymore. There is no denying it any longer and you are well aware.

Because yeah, you might not be into baseball.

But you might be into Number 17.

“Flirting is a promise of something more.”

- Milan Kundera

[callsign-alpine]

❤️‍🔥🥵

Okay okay okay so here's my idea...

Reader who has always wanted to be pregnant but now that she is doesn't like how she looks because she thinks that pregnancy just makes her look fat instead of beautiful like all of her friends...

And then there's Bucky who has the BIGGEST FUCKING PREGNANCY KINK

And he's like DOLL! YOU'VE NEVER BEEN MORE SEXY!

And so he decided to show her just how gorgeous he thinks she is and maybe they discover their mutual lactation kink at the same time?

Throwing that last kink in there because I know we both love it 🫣🤣

-💜💎

18+ minors dni

YES Idk why this type of angst/fluff just does it for me.

You frowned as you stared at your growing belly in the mirror, your hands rubbing your baby bump. You wanted this. You wanted your little one, you wanted to have Bucky's babies (given how loud you scream, the whole compound probably knew) but something was...off.

You hated what you saw in the reflection. New stretch marks. You were bigger. Your feet were swollen. Your face felt puffy. You're friends all looked amazing throughout their pregnancy, glowing with perfect baby bumps, carrying on as if nothing had changed.

Not for you.

You had morning sickness that seemed to last longer than necessary (baby super soldier), you felt tired all the time and you just felt huge. You sighed, grumpily wiping away the tears that started to stream down your face; you hoped Bucky wouldn't notice when you heard the door click open.

Bucky thought he loved you before but ever since you'd gotten pregnant he'd been feral. He loved the way your skin glowed, he loved your growing baby bump. He was obsessed with how round and perfect you looked, your boobs getting fuller each day. He had a love hate relationship with how much he loved you pregnant because on the one side, you never looked sexier. On the other hand, quite literally, was his cock in his hand, every single night when he just wanted to rail you but you needed your sleep.

He'd be under the hot water, biting back moans as he stroked himself, the feeling of holding your belly while his cock was buried deep in your warmth, having you wail and cry over how good it felt, having his face between your legs while you panted and moaned. He had to take care of himself in the shower because if he did it anywhere else, it'd take too long to clean the mess up. His cum shot everywhere, sometimes for minutes on end.

He saw you standing in the middle of the room, waddling around in his tshirt, your eyes puffy, you'd been crying.

"Hi mama" He hugged you from behind, peppering kisses onto your cheek, burying his face into your neck. "My pretty little mama"

You huffed, not believing him any time he told you, you looked pretty or beautiful. Tears stung your eyes again, your soft sniffles making him pull away from your neck.

"Hey, come here" He swept you up into his arms with ease, carrying you over and setting you down onto the bed. "What's wrong baby" He stroked your forehead, before kissing your tears away, cradling your body to his; his hand slipped up your shirt to stroke your tummy.

You let out a whimper, not wanting to tell him you didn't feel beautiful, you wished you didn't feel so huge. You didn't need to say anything though, Bucky already knew.

"Y/n, look at me doll" His hand cupped your face making you look at him. "You're so gorgeous bubba, even more beautiful when you're carrying my baby, I love how you look when your so full of me doll" "Prettiest mama I've ever seen" He trailed kisses down to your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin. His cock grew hard as you squirmed against him, it had been ages since you'd done anything; Bucky was scared he'd hurt you by accident. He couldn't keep his hand to himself any longer. You looked at him as he got off you, his breaths heavy, his body heated.

"Look at what you do to me baby" He stood at the edge of the bed, stripping his shirt off, tossing it aside. His eyes were locked with yours as he tugged his swears and brief's down, his cock slapping against his stomach, standing proud and tall. His hand went down to stroke himself while his eyes raked up and down your body, precum starting to bead at the tip.

"M''gonna show you just how beautiful I find you baby" He stroked himself, groaning watching your nipples harden under your shirt, your thighs squeezing together. You could feel your self clench around nothing, it had been so long and you felt desperate and needy.

"Show me" You whispered as he crawled on top of your body, tossing your top off and pulling your panties down. You didn't want to wait for him to tease you, you needed him now. "Please James"

That was all Bucky needed, you only used his name when you were desperate.

Bucky took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, his eyes growing wide when he tasted your sweet milk flow into his mouth. That never happened before. He pulled off, a droplet clinging onto his pink lips while he looked at you, the both of you frozen in place.

"Fuck, you taste good mama" His tongue dated out to lick his lips, his eyes rolling back tasting your milk in his mouth. "You gonna let daddy drink from you?"

You nodded as you bit your lip watching him bury his face into your boobs again, desperately sucking and moaning. You could feel your arousal gush out of you as he suckled from your nipple, his cock rock hard against you.

Your fingers played with his hair while he greedily nipped and sucked your nipples, your clit starting to throb, you needed him. Bucky could tell you couldn't wait anymore, pulling off you and rolling you over to your side.

"Shh, I got you baby" He pushed his cock in from behind, both of you moaning as soon as he filled you. Bucky couldn't help it, he was addicted to the way you tasted, the way you cradled his body to yours, the way it felt to feed from you.

"Will you feed me mama, let me drink from you when I want?"

He was so lost in his own world, he knew he needed more.

"Let me pull those pretty tits out and suck those perfect swollen nipples, huh baby?"

He has 101 fantasies of ripping your dresses off, and taking those perfect boobs in his mouth. You could already feel yourself squeezing his cock. You whined, your nipples leaked when his figners played with them, his hips rocking faster.

"F-fuck baby girl, makes me so hard when you leak like that, wanna just-" He licked the milk droplets off his fingers, groaning and fucking you faster "-drink from you for days, fuck wanna be your baby so bad"

Oh, that was new.

He clung onto your body, his face buried into the crook of your neck feeling his cock starting to throb and leak, he wasn't going to last long.

"Oh fuck, tell me you'll feed me mama, let daddy taste you everyday-fuck- get ready baby, gonna fill you up so much"

"Fuck daddy, drink from me baby, gonna cum" You whined, nearly sobbing into your pillow feeling his hand come down to rub you clit. "M'cumming daddy, fuckfuck- cumming!"

Bucky moaned into your neck, the feeling of your walls squeezing him was enough to throw him over the edge. He kept his cock in you, refusing to pull out even after you both came down from your highs. You squirmed but he had his arm wrapped around you, kissing you as you melted into his arms.

"Mm, no baby, keep me warm, feels good" He could feel your mixed arousal soak his cock, a filthy mess all over the sheets. He rolled you so you were looking at him again,

"Believe me when I say you're gorgeous angel, no one else makes me feel this way"

You were about to protest, gasping when he cock grew hard inside you again.

"I have all night to prove my point"

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyes @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchy-whore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @peaches1958 @kingfleury @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @samfreakingwinchester @xnorthstar3x

"You gonna let daddy drink from you?"

[callsign-alpine]

bucky and alpine 💕🥹

My art block has cleared up a bit enjoy Alpine and Bucky :3c

[callsign-alpine]

reputation have been thrown out of the window 🤣

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ husband? never heard of him.

When Jake stumbles into your office attempting to flirt with you, all you can do is humor the fact that your husband seems to have forgotten you.

▸ PAIRING: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Wife!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: Pure fluff, slight amnesia, injured Jake, sexual jokes ▸ WORD COUNT: 1.6K ▸ A/N: wrote a quick small idea because i love a good secret relationship and a flirty hangman

The crash outside piques your curiosity. You abandon the latest report you’re working on and get up to swing open your door right on time for a certain blonde aviator to spill into the infirmary. Jake barging into your office is not news; he barges in probably more than he really should, particularly when you’re with patients.

“Boundaries” becomes the most used word in your relationship. 

Only thing is, this time, he’s looking at you with big, surprised eyes. The tinges of blue around his emerald eyes are even more prominent when they’re blown up. “Who allowed you to look this good, Doc,” he says with a swagger in his step, eyes droopy now as he leans against the doorframe. 

Before you can question him, Rooster walks through the door, a pitying look at Jake. “He’s on the good stuff. Maybe too much of it.” You quirk an eyebrow. “Sedatives.”

Your eyes dart briefly to Jake who is still eyeing you with interest but now he has taken over your chair, propping his chin up on his palm with his elbow on your desk. That smug smile, albeit a little sleepier, is still plastered across his face. 

“He crashed earlier–” The smile wipes off your face quickly and Rooster instantly adds, “Nothing big, managed to get out, but he landed wrong cause he ejected too close to the ground. We had to take him to the hospital. Most of it’s around his ribs, but he’s okay.” 

Drifting over to Jake, you cup his face and tilt him to look up at you. While he’s busy giving you dark, flirty glances, you are checking him for any signs of permanent damage. He has a few scratches on his face, you notice now the new band-aid he’s sporting on his cheek. 

You’re on your knees then and you’re slowly unbuttoning his uniform. If he’s really injured here, he should probably be wearing something more breathable. You remember he packed an extra short-sleeved shirt this morning. 

“Whoa, at least take me out to dinner first,” Jake teases, which earns a roll of your eyes. 

“Told his dumb ass he should be going straight home but he insisted on making a pit stop here. Something about getting a second look. He might’ve also said something along the lines of visiting the pretty doctor.” Your eyes snap up to Rooster, who holds his hands up in defense. “His words, not mine.”

Humored, you look at him playfully, accusingly. “So you don’t think I’m pretty?”

“That’s not what I said!” Rooster immediately replies, face flushing crimson. “Anyways, before I dig a deeper hole for myself, I’m going to leave him in your very capable hands. Whenever he’s done, one of the guys can drop him off at home.”

“I’m going to wrap up soon so I've got him, don’t worry.”

“You got his address?”

You fight to keep a straight face. “Yeah, it’s on his records.”

“Awesome, thanks, Doc. See you tomorrow.” With that, Rooster makes his exit, the door slamming shut behind him.

You wait a moment and thank the heavens that Jake has the false reputation of being an incorrigible flirt. That will hopefully throw off any suspicion of your relationship. 

When you know you’re in the clear, you inspect Jake a little more closely. There are bandages wrapped around his abdomen and you wonder how severe the accident was if they had to give him sedatives. Then again, it’s entirely possible that Jake was being a little bitch and they gave it to him just to shut his mouth.

Aside from the minor injuries, he seems to be in pretty good shape. Physically at least.

Mentally – you look up at him and he’s still smiling stupidly at you – he’s perhaps not quite there yet.

“Jake, honey, I’m going to need to move you to the bed.”

“So soon?” His eyes blow up comically before the expression falls away to a confident grin. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

A disgruntled sigh slips past your lips. Even when he’s drugged up, he still manages to be insufferable. You position his arm around your shoulders and slowly help him to his feet. Jake leans his weight on you, but more so because he really likes being this close to you. The man is heavy to say the least. All six feet of him. You lead him carefully towards the infirmary bed with him nuzzling into your hair the entire time. 

He hums thoughtfully and grins against the side of your head. His hot breath tickles your neck right as you plop him on top of the comforter. He avidly refuses to lie down, instead scooching his way in until he’s sat with his back against the wall. 

Jake turns to you, grinning smugly with teeth in full view.

“Damn, darlin’, you smell so good. Do you have a boyfriend?”

You’re just sitting down on the edge of the bed when you hear it and freeze. “Come again?”

“Sweetheart, we haven’t even come once,” Jake retorts, seeming all too pleased with his joke. The ‘we’ is cute, very considerate of him to include both of you in the conversation. However, you’re too distracted by his question. 

“You’re asking me if I have a boyfriend.” You repeat, incredulous. 

Jake nods aggressively, likely jumbling his head even worse. 

A smile tilts the corner of your lips. You raise your left hand, showing him the back of it. “I’m married actually.”

“Married?” He gasps, completely aghast. He looks crestfallen and then stares at the ring in annoyance. “I mean, of course, you’d be married. You’re so smart, and so pretty. You also embarrassed Rooster? God, you’re fuckin’ perfect. Who’s the lucky person? Do I know them? Are they on base?”

“You do know him, very well in fact. He is on base.”

A growl rises from his throat. “He better watch his back, I’ll get him if he even thinks about slipping once.”

“Really? How would you do that?”

“I could fight him.”

You chuckle. “Right, you’ll fight him. That might be a little hard.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s pretty tough. He’s tall. Very strong. Very handsome too.”

Jake scowls. “Alright, so he’s Mr. Perfect because you’re also perfect. Well, if I ever catch him not being perfect, I’m going to swoop in for the kill. Neither of you will ever see me coming.”

A grin stretches across his face at your laugh. “Good to know, Seresin. I’ll make sure to warn him.”

“Hm, so you’re really married,” Jake repeats again in a deep, disappointed sigh. He takes your left hand in both of his, looking down at the spectacular rock on your hand. He lets out a low whistle before he grimaces, realizing who he’s complimenting. 

Actually, not even realizing who he’s complimenting. 

“He did good, your husband.” Jake turns your hand, letting the diamond catch the sunlight. The facets sparkle, speckling the room with blinding polka dots. “Gorgeous ring for a gorgeous girl.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks. “Thank you.” You pause before dropping another bomb on him. “I should also probably tell you that you’re also married.”

Jake jerks back, nearly getting whiplash from how quickly he turns to look at you. “I am? To who? I think I’d know if I was married.”

“A very lucky woman.” 

“Well, shit.” Jake grunts. “Well, if I married her, then I’m sure she’s as perfect as you.”

“Probably more alike than you think,” you mutter under your breath. 

Jake is smiling at you softly and you see his eyes begin to close. His eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open. It’s as if he is striving to commit your face to memory. “I think I’m kinda sleepy, Doc.”

“Well, you best get your rest then.” 

“When I wake up, if you happen to be single, you let me know right away. Or even before I wake up, that might just do the trick.”

“You got it, Hangman.”

–

“I had the strangest dream,” Jake tells you on your drive home. 

He’s in the passenger seat, his head still spinning a little from the heavy slumber. He had woken up when everyone else was long gone and found you flipping through your novel, waiting for him. He didn’t seem to remember what happened just an hour prior, so you let it play out, told him he just slept the entire time. 

“Hm, what about?”

“I was flirting with this woman,” he says, sounding even more confused than you should be. “I promise, sweetheart, I’d never hit on anyone else. I haven’t hit on anyone else, not since that time I flirted with you when you first joined.” 

You hide your smile, focusing instead on the road. “Yeah, was she pretty?”

Clearly, a part of him does think so because he hesitates before responding. “Would you be upset if I said she was? I can’t even remember her face. I just remember thinking she was so fuckin’ stunning.” 

“Should I be concerned about this fictional woman?” 

“Definitely not,” Jake scoffs, crossing his arms over your chest. “Dream woman could never compare to you. The real deal.” 

You let out a little mm-hmm as you pull out something from your pocket. His dog tag dangles from your hand, glimmering right next to the wedding band he keeps around his neck. “Rooster gave it to me before he left. Said you dropped it in your landing.”

He gratefully accepts the necklace and clasps it around his neck. “Thank you, did he ask about the–you know.” 

“You mean your wedding ring? The one you’ve been wearing since you married me a year ago? The one you keep secret from your squadmates because no one knows you’re married and you let them believe you’re still a cocky, unbearable flirt?” 

Jake laughs. “That’s the one.”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?”

You smirk, “Told him it was a purity ring.”

“Darlin’,” he groans, “I have a reputation to maintain.”

divider credit: @cursed-carmine