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hipsternerd9 · 4 hours ago

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And I Want To Make Her Mine

Summary: Javy thought it was too good to be true when he saw you, the girl he had crushed on for almost a year, standing in the Hard Deck. But there you were, looking just as beautiful as you always had. He thought maybe he’d finally get his chance with you after all this time. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one whose attention you caught.

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Language, somewhat suggestive thoughts. The Blonde One™️.

Word Count: 3.9K

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's '80s Rocktober challenge using the song Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield. Sorry it’s so late, Em! But hopefully some Javy content makes up for it.

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Javy stood at the bar, waiting for Penny to bring him the beer that he ordered. He was the first out of his friends to arrive and he figured that there was no point in waiting for them. It had been a long week, and he was ready to unwind for the weekend before doing it all again come Monday. A flash of color caught his eye and he looked over for a moment, only to do a double take and have the wind damn near knocked out of him. He stuttered out your name as shock coursed through his veins. He had to be seeing things, he thought. But then your head turned, and those eyes he remembered so well widened in surprised recognition.

“Oh my God. Javy?!”

“Holy shit,” he breathed, shaking his head to try and clear it. His heart sped up in his chest when you wrapped your arms around him in a tight, but way too brief, embrace. “Hi. What-what are you doing here?”

“I transferred to North Island, I start my new post on Monday morning,” you told him as you pulled away, smiling brightly. “Wait. Are you stationed here?”

“I am,” he said, his smile matching yours.

He couldn’t believe his luck that this was happening right now. You had been an administrative assistant at his last duty station, and he had harbored a crush on you for the year that he had been there. You were always friendly with him, matching his flirting at the same level, and the two of you had even grabbed drinks a few times, albeit with other people in attendance. He had never bucked up the courage to ask you out, but had promised himself he would finally bite the bullet as soon as he got back from his last deployment. He had the whole thing planned - dinner and dancing on the pier - only to never be able to actually follow through after orders of a permanent assignment at Top Gun. He had never expected to see you again, yet now you were here, standing right in front of him.

As Javy quickly scanned your face, he took notice of how you were still just as breathtaking. He couldn't help but let his eyes linger on you for a moment too long. You were wearing a simple pair of jeans and a tank top, the clothing hugging your curves in all the right places. He could feel his cheeks heating and quickly looked back up to meet your eyes.

"Wow, small world," he said with a chuckle. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," you replied, your smile never faltering. "It's been what, a year?"

"Too long," he said, feeling a little tongue-tied. He noticed that you didn’t have a drink in your hand just yet and opened his mouth to ask if he could maybe buy you one when a hand clapped roughly onto his shoulder, a familiar head of blonde hair saddling up beside him.

“Well well well, who do we have here?”

Javy turned to see Jake grinning mischievously, his green eyes trained on you. He felt his stomach twist nervously, knowing that look in his best friend’s eye all too well. Begrudgingly, he gave a quick introduction. "She was stationed down in Florida with me, but is transferring here. We were just catching up," he said, trying to steer the conversation back to you and him.

“Nice to meet you," Jake said, flashing you a charming smile. “It’s an absolute sin that you don’t have a drink in your hand, darlin’. You mind if I fix that for you?”

His eyes widened and panic washed over him when he realized what it was Jake was doing. Either his best friend hadn’t recognized that Javy was about to do the same thing or he simply didn’t care. Either way, he was shooting his shot, and much to his own dismay, you were laughing at the line the blonde had served you. He stared at him with a clenched jaw, missing the way you glanced at him first, a moment of silence passing before you agreed to the proposition.

Before he even really knew what was happening, Jake was placing a hand on the small of your back and turning to the bar to order you a drink. At the same time, the rest of his friends arrived, and Javy was dragged into a conversation with Phoenix and Rooster about something that had happened earlier that day. He kept trying to wrap up the conversation without being rude, and when the two fellow aviators finally retreated to the pool table, he breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to where you and Jake had been leaning against the bar completely intending on reasoning his conversation with you and hopefully nudging his best friend out of the way. But when he laid eyes on you, his heart sank.

You were laughing at something Jake said, your body leaning into his. Your smile was wide and your face happy, and it was so clear that you were enjoying yourself. You brought your hand up to rest against Jake’s bicep as you threw your head back and laughed, and it felt almost like he was being punched in the face.

Instead of interrupting like he had intended, he threw the rest of his drink back and left the bar.

___

Javy knew he would only get away with ignoring Jake for so long, and he was proven right first thing Monday morning when he was changing into his uniform after hitting the gym on base before their morning brief.

“Where’d you disappear to on Friday night?”

“Didn’t feel good all of a sudden,” he mumbled in response, and really, he wasn’t technically lying. He still felt sick imagining you with him, and he had spent all weekend moping about it.

“That why you dodged my texts, too?”

“Yup.”

Jake snorted, clearly amused by the answer, and Javy felt a flare of annoyance course through him.

“Well you missed a good night. That girl you introduced me to is something else. Did you know she was from Texas?”

Javy did know that, and he was suddenly incredibly resentful that Jake did, too. It was something that he would have in common with you, and just another reason why he was sure the blonde might be more appealing. From what he remembered, you loved talking about home.

“We were thinking of grabbing dinner this week, you sh-“

Javy slammed his locker shut with more force than intended, the sound of metal clanging echoing in the open room. Jake raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Javy paid him no mind as he finished zipping his flight suit. “Good for you, man. Hope y’all have a great time.”

He checked the blonde’s shoulder on his way out the door, ignoring the call of his name and the “what the fuck” that followed.

When he walked into the briefing room a few minutes later, he stopped short of his seat. You were standing at the front of the room flipping through papers with Admiral Simpson. You glanced up once you handed the senior officer what he needed and met his eyes. Your face lit up and you waved happily. Javy wasn’t able to stop the tug at his lips, even if it was tinged with sadness. He raised his hand to wave back - you really did have the best smile.

Then Jake entered the room behind him, and Javy had to wonder who it was you were directing it to to begin with.

_______

Javy knew that he was staring. He couldn’t help himself, not when you looked that good. You were sitting at a table in the back of the bar, shamelessly drinking a glass of sparkling wine in a bar that usually only saw beer and whiskey. You wore one of those flowy skirts that fluttered around your calves, a graphic t-shirt tied in a knot above your belly button. Your hair was down and a little wild and your skin seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights. But it was your smile that really drew him in. It was blinding, radiant, and the most beautiful thing he thought he had ever seen.

But it wasn’t aimed in his direction.

No. Instead, you were smiling at his best friend.

He wanted to look away, to stop torturing himself like this, but he couldn’t. It had been a few weeks since you had come to California, and Javy hadn’t gotten used to the sight of Jake beside you. Here, in the cafeteria at work, even walking down the hallway a few times. It was a constant reminder that he had missed his shot.

He knew he had no right to feel this way. After all, he had never made a move on you, never even hinted at his feelings. Jake had been the one to pursue you, and clearly, he had succeeded. Too bad that didn’t stop Javy’s mind from drifting to what could have been. He wondered what it would be like to be the one to make you smile like that, or the one who was allowed to wrap his arm around you and pull you close. He pictured himself leaning in to steal a kiss, to taste the Prosecco on your lips, to feel the warmth of your body against his or whisper something in your ear that made you shiver.

He was drawn to you in a way that he couldn't explain, and he found himself wanting to stay there, watching. But then you threw your head back and laughed at something he couldn’t hear, and he knew he had to snap out of it.

He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp and stood from the stool he had been perched on, not even bothering to say anything to the rest of his friends as he walked back to the bar. Maybe it was time to move on, to let go of this hopeless crush he’d been harboring and focus on finding something new. The best way to start that, he rationalized, was getting another drink.

He put his order in with Penny, smiling kindly when she slid a fresh pint glass across to him. “Thanks, Penny. Put it on my tab?”

“It’s already paid for,” she told him.

“What?”

She nodded behind him as she moved on to the next customer, and the wink she gave him seemed almost like she was in on something that Javy was entirely missing. He turned in the general direction of where she was indiciating, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His eyes met yours almost immediately. You smiled at him brightly as you waved. Despite everything he had just said, that smile aimed in his direction sent his heart racing.

Javy sighed when you started beckoning him over. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he could handle being so close to you with how his thoughts were currently racing. He was surprised when he took note of Jake no longer being beside you, and a quick glance showed him walking in the direction of the dart board where Rooster and Fanboy were standing. It was the first time the blonde hadn’t been at your side when you were in the same vicinity since you had come into town, and he felt like a terrible friend when it made his decision a little bit easier. At the very least, he could thank you for the drink.

He tried to keep his face neutral even as his heart rounded in his chest as he made his way over to your table. "Hey,” he said, forcing a smile and trying to sound casual.

“Hey, Javy,” you grinned, and you sounded genuinely happy to be speaking to him. You patted the seat beside him, telling him to sit. He did so after a moment of hesitation, and being so close to you immediately had him reeling. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Hiding?”

“I’ve barely seen you since I ran into you here! It feels like you’re dodging me,” you laughed as you took a sip of your drink, and Javy felt his face heat. He hadn’t thought he was being obvious in how he was avoiding both you and his best friend as he worked through the emotions he was feeling.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve just been….busy.”

“Ah.” You didn’t look like you were buying it, and Javy didn’t blame you. It was a weak excuse, and he had to mentally slap himself for not coming up with something better than that. But you didn’t look mad, either. If anything, to his confusion, maybe the look you gave him was even a little amused.

“Well, I hope you’re not too busy for a round of pool,” you said with a cheeky grin. “I’m itching to beat you.”

Javy couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at your tone. It was one of the things that had always drawn him to you. You were so happy and playful. Still, he glanced over at the dart board before looking back at you. He cleared his throat lightly. “Not darts?”

“No,” you answered simply.

“Teams, then?” He pushed. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it to himself.

You shook your head and he swore you leaned just the slightest bit closer to him. “No teams. Just us. Are you up for the challenge?”

He took a deep breath and thought it over for just a second. The smart thing would be declining and getting up and walking away to save his own feelings. But you were smiling so sweetly at him and from this close, he could smell your sweet perfume, and your skin looked so soft. He took a somewhat shaky breath and took a sip of the drink in his hand, before he let a smirk cross his face.

“I don’t know. You might regret asking me to play against you.”

You laughed so prettily, your hair shaking around you when you threw your head back.

“Is that a threat, Lieutenant Machado?”

It felt so reminiscent of how the two of you used to talk to each other that Javy couldn’t help but lean into it. He shook his head with a smile. “No, just a warning.”

You laughed again and stood up, grabbing your drink and motioning for him to follow you. You sent him a wink that went right through him. “Well, let’s see if you can handle me.”

The words sent a shiver down his spine. He followed you to the pool table, his eyes locked onto your hips as they swayed in front of him, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have them pressed against him. He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away and focus on the game at hand. You set your drink on the table and grabbed a cue stick, holding it out for him to take.

“You break,” you said, your eyes daring him, but for what he wasn’t really sure. Javy took the stick from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a jolt of electricity up his arm and straight to his heart.

He took a deep breath and stepped up to the table, positioning himself carefully before taking the shot. The balls scattered across the table, and Javy watched as the white ball sank a solid, followed quickly by a stripe. You clapped your hands together, a wide smile on your face.

“Looks like we have a game on our hands,” you teased, leaning over the table to take your shot. Javy couldn't help but watch the way your body moved as you lined it up, sinking a solid easily in one of the corner pockets.

As the game went on, Javy's focus began to wane. He was too distracted by you, by the way you moved, the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your body when you brushed against him. He found himself wanting to touch you, to feel you closer, to know what it was like. He was getting lost in the way you moved, and how your eyes lit up when you made a particularly good move.

For a while, he could pretend that he had a shot.

“Victory!”

Javy groaned as you yelled out your success once the final ball was sunk. You threw your arms up in triumph, a bright smile on your face as you turned to face him. He couldn’t help but smile at your excitement, even though he had just lost in a somewhat embarrassing fashion.

“That did not go the way I anticipated.”

You laughed at his disgruntlement, the sound ringing like music in his ears. “Thanks for playing with me,” you said, “I had fun.”

“Me too,” Javy replied, smiling softly. “Although I think you might have hustled me a little bit.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I’m just good at pool.”

Javy chuckled. “You’re good at a lot of things.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked at him, not saying anything in response. He worried, for a moment, that he had said too much. Silence passed between the two of you. It was like there was something unspoken hanging in the air, something that both of you could sense but neither of you could quite put into words. He swallowed hard, trying to push the feeling aside. He didn't want to ruin the moment, not after how much fun he had just had with you.

Finally, you took a deep breath, and he swore it sounded a little shaky. You grabbed your drink and took a sip, looking at him over the rim of the cup. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

But like a physical reminder that all good things have to come to an end, he caught a glimpse of Jake watching you from across the bar. There was a strange look in his best friend’s eye, something that looked almost like excitement, but Javy couldn’t quite decipher what it meant. Still, he could feel the weight of it settling in his stomach.

He cleared his throat, setting his pool cue down to lean against the wall. This time, the smile he sent you was strained. “I should let you get back to Jake.”

To his surprise, a look of confusion crosses over the delicate features on your face. You glance behind you to where the blonde is before looking back at him, your eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. “I know you two have been…spending time together,” he said, and despite how hard he tried, the words tasted sour in his mouth.

“I mean, yeah. But…wait.”

Your pretty eyes widened and you shook your head, your hair shaking as a grin started spreading across your face. Javy felt more confused than he had all night, and for some reason, embarrassment was starting to settle in, too.

“What?”

“Oh gosh. Javy. Me and Jake?”

“I…yes?”

You broke out into a surprise bout of laughter, the sound like bells ringing in his ears. Your hand found his arm and you gave it a squeeze before letting it rest against his bare skin below where his shirt sleeve ended. Your hand felt so soft. He wanted you to keep touching him. "Oh, Javy. No. I thought Jake was kidding when he said that’s why you were probably dodging us left and right.”

The pieces weren’t quite connecting as his mind fought to catch up, having gotten distracted by your touch. He floundered for what you were saying to make sense, but he came up short. “I…am so confused.”

Your laughter peeled off into quiet giggles before quieting all together, and your face softened into something that looked understanding and hopeful at the same time. You took a step closer to him. His breath caught as his heart started to pound in his chest.

“Jake and I are just friends, Javy. That’s all.”

His pulse continued to race as hope set in. He played over every interaction that he had witnessed between the two of you over the last few weeks, realizing that maybe he had been a little blinded by the jealousy he had felt. He knew how Jake flirted and how he acted with women that he was into. Aside from that first night at the Hard Deck when he had introduced you, that intimacy had been absent. Instead, now that he thought about it, it had been a comfortable familiarity, not different from how they interacted with Nat or Halo or Rooster’s girlfriend.

He was starting to feel like an idiot.

“Really?”

“We have a lot in common. We talk about home a lot. But…I’m not into him. Someone else had already caught my eye.”

He swallowed thickly, still not allowing himself to completely believe it. Your fingers still traced light circles on his arm. “Someone else?”

You giggled softly, and then you raised on your toes and leaned in. There was a moment of hesitation, as if you were both waiting for the other to make a move, before you took it upon yourself to close the distance and your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was featherlight and over before his brain could even register it had happened. You were still smiling at him when you pulled away, your eyes glinting with amusement. You nodded slowly, whispering to him, “Someone else.”

The words sent a jolt of electricity through him, his hand finding its way to the small of your back as he pressed his lips to yours again. Javy’s hands slipped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as the kiss intensified. It was like a spark had been ignited, and suddenly the kiss was deepening, becoming more passionate.

The rest of the bar seemed to fall away as you both lost yourselves in each other. Neither of you heard the excited yell of “finally” come from over at the dart board, completely caught up in the moment. Javy couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he was here with you, kissing you. Finally, indeed.

Finally, the need for air became too much and the two of you pulled apart, gasping for breath. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a warmth that made his heart skip a beat.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” you admitted, biting your lower lip between perfectly white teeth. Javy’s chest swelled with affection and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more certainty. He felt the warm pressure of your lips on his, and the sensation was intoxicating.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said once he pulled back. He had been wanting to do so for weeks, now, and it seemed it was his own fault that he hadn't, yet.

You brushed your nose against his, nodding. “I’d like that.”

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Main Masterlist

Notes: I love this man so much. Hope you enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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hipsternerd9 · 4 hours ago

Text

And I Want To Make Her Mine

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Language, somewhat suggestive thoughts. The Blonde One™️.

Word Count: 3.9K

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's '80s Rocktober challenge using the song Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield. Sorry it’s so late, Em! But hopefully some Javy content makes up for it.

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“Oh my God. Javy?!”

“I transferred to North Island, I start my new post on Monday morning,” you told him as you pulled away, smiling brightly. “Wait. Are you stationed here?”

“I am,” he said, his smile matching yours.

"Wow, small world," he said with a chuckle. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," you replied, your smile never faltering. "It's been what, a year?"

“Well well well, who do we have here?”

“Nice to meet you," Jake said, flashing you a charming smile. “It’s an absolute sin that you don’t have a drink in your hand, darlin’. You mind if I fix that for you?”

Instead of interrupting like he had intended, he threw the rest of his drink back and left the bar.

___

“Where’d you disappear to on Friday night?”

“Didn’t feel good all of a sudden,” he mumbled in response, and really, he wasn’t technically lying. He still felt sick imagining you with him, and he had spent all weekend moping about it.

“That why you dodged my texts, too?”

“Yup.”

Jake snorted, clearly amused by the answer, and Javy felt a flare of annoyance course through him.

“Well you missed a good night. That girl you introduced me to is something else. Did you know she was from Texas?”

“We were thinking of grabbing dinner this week, you sh-“

He checked the blonde’s shoulder on his way out the door, ignoring the call of his name and the “what the fuck” that followed.

Then Jake entered the room behind him, and Javy had to wonder who it was you were directing it to to begin with.

_______

But it wasn’t aimed in his direction.

No. Instead, you were smiling at his best friend.

He put his order in with Penny, smiling kindly when she slid a fresh pint glass across to him. “Thanks, Penny. Put it on my tab?”

“It’s already paid for,” she told him.

“What?”

He tried to keep his face neutral even as his heart rounded in his chest as he made his way over to your table. "Hey,” he said, forcing a smile and trying to sound casual.

“Hiding?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve just been….busy.”

“Well, I hope you’re not too busy for a round of pool,” you said with a cheeky grin. “I’m itching to beat you.”

“No,” you answered simply.

“Teams, then?” He pushed. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it to himself.

You shook your head and he swore you leaned just the slightest bit closer to him. “No teams. Just us. Are you up for the challenge?”

“I don’t know. You might regret asking me to play against you.”

You laughed so prettily, your hair shaking around you when you threw your head back.

“Is that a threat, Lieutenant Machado?”

It felt so reminiscent of how the two of you used to talk to each other that Javy couldn’t help but lean into it. He shook his head with a smile. “No, just a warning.”

You laughed again and stood up, grabbing your drink and motioning for him to follow you. You sent him a wink that went right through him. “Well, let’s see if you can handle me.”

For a while, he could pretend that he had a shot.

“Victory!”

“That did not go the way I anticipated.”

You laughed at his disgruntlement, the sound ringing like music in his ears. “Thanks for playing with me,” you said, “I had fun.”

“Me too,” Javy replied, smiling softly. “Although I think you might have hustled me a little bit.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I’m just good at pool.”

Javy chuckled. “You’re good at a lot of things.”

Finally, you took a deep breath, and he swore it sounded a little shaky. You grabbed your drink and took a sip, looking at him over the rim of the cup. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He cleared his throat, setting his pool cue down to lean against the wall. This time, the smile he sent you was strained. “I should let you get back to Jake.”

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. “I know you two have been…spending time together,” he said, and despite how hard he tried, the words tasted sour in his mouth.

“I mean, yeah. But…wait.”

“What?”

“Oh gosh. Javy. Me and Jake?”

“I…yes?”

“Jake and I are just friends, Javy. That’s all.”

He was starting to feel like an idiot.

“Really?”

“We have a lot in common. We talk about home a lot. But…I’m not into him. Someone else had already caught my eye.”

He swallowed thickly, still not allowing himself to completely believe it. Your fingers still traced light circles on his arm. “Someone else?”

Finally, the need for air became too much and the two of you pulled apart, gasping for breath. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a warmth that made his heart skip a beat.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said once he pulled back. He had been wanting to do so for weeks, now, and it seemed it was his own fault that he hadn't, yet.

You brushed your nose against his, nodding. “I’d like that.”

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Main Masterlist

Notes: I love this man so much. Hope you enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!

690 notes · View notes

hipsternerd9 · 5 hours ago

Note

accidentally staring a bit too long at their lips w/ fritz bestie please i am begging he has kissable lips 😩

EARTH ANGEL

a/n: because manny jacinto is finally showing up my dash constantly, i felt like i had to write something for the one and only fritz. this is courtesy of us just screaming about him. a nonstop convo about how beautiful he is. also cause top gun summer 3.0 is necessary when the weather hits 90 and you want to crawl out of your skin. this is unedited and beta read by you babes.

summary: what does it mean to belong to someone? to be stuck in their gravitational pull, to feel that cosmic connection that makes breathing difficult when they were away.

OR a dance, a song, and the aspect of forever all leads to one conclusion. falling in love with fritz was inevitable.

word count: 3.2k+

pairing: bill ‘fritz’ avalone x f!reader

warnings: so much fluff it’s scary, romance, the hopefulness of two hopeless romantics, fluff, flirty vibes from our man fritz, he's obsessed it's so cute, the good gooey feelings that make people do stupid things for love.

Celebratory cheers bounced off the walls as you did your best not to get knocked on your ass. People crowded the bar, beer in their hands and requests for more flying off their lips. And you did what you could to sink into the corner. Away from those that were already on the road to slurring their words given the demeanor of the setting. People were floating on cloud nine. Over the damn moon as the mission they stressed over suddenly became a success.

The condensation dripped onto your hand, slipping down your wrist when you took a sip. You should have wiped it away on your sundress, but the scene before you distracted every one of your senses. Rooster was three beers in, a shot of something amber beside him, as he sang at the top of his lungs. His fingers danced over the keys.

Surprising given that he was tipping over the piano, his eyes glazed and gleaming. A group of pilots you tried to make sense of practically fell beside him, their voices shouting above the others. The serenity of bliss drawn on their faces. You figured they were the ones who'd accomplished the job.

"Can I buy you a drink honey?" The drunken slur of a pilot tripping his way towards you nearly threw you off, but with a tip of your beer and a lazy smile you watched him accept defeat. His eyes already set to a redhead seated at the bar - her gaze locked on him with a hunger you only felt for one man.

"You shouldn't hide away," Phoenix called, sliding into the corner with you, two beer necks wrapped in each hand. Another round to kill the stress of the day—to remember they weren't just pilots.

You grinned. "Who says I'm hiding?"

A quirk of her eyebrow and a murmured mhm called you out faster than you anticipated. Hiding wasn't the prerogative. If you had another beer in your system, you'd be sitting by Rooster attempting to match his note for one of your own. But celebration wasn't to be had if the one you were waiting for hadn't waltzed through the door yet. His friends trailing behind him, wolf whistles traded for smirks from pretty women at the bar.

"He'll be here soon," she said, nodding towards the door. "Mav kept them longer than usual."

"Who says I'm waiting for someone?"

She laughed, a shrug thrown your way as she meandered through the mess of rowdy pilots. "Who says you're not?"

Any other pilot would have figured you wanted away from the noise, any of them wouldn't have seen how your eyes fell to the door whenever it swung open. But Phoenix...she could see the faint emotion that shone in your eyes. She saw how you laughed a bit harder in his presence, how he actually talked longer, how your hands brushed when you thought no one was looking. You were an open book, and Phoenix was rapidly turning the pages to see how this particular story came to an end.

"Phoenix—"

The call fell on deaf ears as she rejoined her boys. A seat procured for her by the pool table within seconds. They may give her shit left and right, but you caught the way respect bled from their hearts when she entered the scene. A comradery that left even you breathless.

They'd die for each other.

They nearly had.

You nearly wondered what that felt like: being so in tune with someone your whole body lit up when they entered a room. Yet the echo of the door swinging open��a cheer of a voice you recognized - yanked the breath from your lungs. Seconds passed like hours, and the hair on the back of your neck stood to attention, as you turned. Already searching the crowd for that someone—the other half of your cosmic connection.

If you had a favorite color before catching sight of his eyes, you couldn't remember it. The inclination of your favorite song was diminished the second his laughter fell upon your senses. You suddenly couldn't recall a day where you didn't breathe for him, where your life didn't hold meaning unless you shared a smile and said hello. He'd become the sun, and you found you didn't mind being dragged into his gravitational pull. As long as you could orbit around him without end.

"Penny!" Harvard yelled over the noise of Rooster doing encore number three of Great Balls of Fire. "Three beers please and thank you!"

You smiled into your beer, the bitter flavor flooding your taste buds as a third member of the dynamic duo appeared in their midst. His head turning, eyes flicking through the throng of people, as he searched rapidly. He smiled at Yale, nodded his head at a woman who rammed into him, and finally caught your gaze with a deep exhale.

And suddenly...you could breathe properly again.

He mumbled his farewells, snuck the beer off the counter, and slipped quietly towards you.

People believed he remained silent because Harvard and Yale were loud enough for him. You found he had plenty to say. As long as someone was willing to listen. If it were up to you, he'd never stop talking. Simply so you could hear the deep echo of his voice on a constant loop. Your favorite tune, ever since he caught your eye at basic training. The question of an empty chair beside you suddenly turning into so much more.

"You're still in your flight suit," you said, hoping the light airiness of your voice was enough to avoid thinking about how your skin turned hot the second he showed up.

When it came to Fritz...you became aware of yourself in a way that didn't exist. How you moved, how you spoke.

Before him you were in darkness. He simply figured out how to turn on the switch and allow light in.

"Yeah," he let out another breath, sipping at his beer. You tracked the drip of condensation that fell on his neck, your stomach twisting at the sight. "We got the ritual speech of why we didn't go. You know the one."

"Ah. The I'm sorry but you're still a great pilot speech."

He smiled and the ground vanished beneath you. "That exact one actually."

"I'm sure he...added a cherry on top of the bullshit."

Fritz choked, laughter spilling from his lips like a contagion you longed to catch. When he felt joy, you partook. When he laughed, you couldn't help yourself. He was an addiction. The reason why you even came to San Diego in the first place.

Whether he knew that was a different story altogether.

"I'm guessing you made it out early." His eyes fell to your white sundress, red flowers sprinkled along the near sheer fabric. "Nice dress," he mumbled into his drink, eyes a bit darker than before as they trailed upwards, stopping briefly at the way it was pulled into a tie above your breasts.

You'd done it into a mess of a bow, hoping the look didn't resemble too much of a present. His gaze barely came up to your eyes before falling again, transfixed by the sight. And you found you didn't mind if he unwrapped you with the same glee as a kid on his birthday. You wanted him to.

"Thanks," you replied softly, the quick echo of your heart deafening against the noise of the bar.

Rooster's name was being chanted like a prayer, his body shimmying and swaying as he began to start up another round of the same song. People were more than happy to sing along with him. Until the familiar hum of the jukebox prickled in the air, a slow song blaring from the speakers. You leaned up on your toes, eyes catching the sight of Hangman appearing from the back of it with a glare on his face. His middle finger directed towards a half drunk Rooster; who met him with a finger of his own.

"Serves Rooster right," you began, turning back to Fritz with a flutter of your skirt. "That would have been number four."

He snorted. "Only Rooster wouldn't get hit for that."

"Oh I'm pretty sure Hangman was five seconds away from it."

The Penguins crooned softly as people began to calm slightly, dispersing to tables and disappearing out the back towards the firepit. And you stood there silently with Fritz, your beer now tepid and disgusting. If you had the chance, you'd have asked him to head out to the firepit, but he turned back towards the bar. Probably for one more drink.

"Right." You pulled at the skirt of your dress.

You wanted to play it back, say something entirely different. Ask him to join you by the fire pit with another beer in his right hand and your palm in his left. But the words were stuck like molasses in the back of your throat, fighting against release. Phoenix was begrudgingly dancing with Bob, her lips refusing a smile that you knew lingered beneath the surface. And Fanboy sat beside Payback, crooning the lyrics as best they could.

The temptation to join them pulled at your chest, an echo of that yearning for comradery appearing again. Perhaps if you asked Fritz he'd say yes. You could follow their lead, enjoy the night before you went your separate ways once more.

You could pretend to be whole for one night.

And life would feel worth living.

"Hey Avalone—" You were stopped short by the sight of his hand stretched towards yours, his lips in a small smile that screamed hope. That pleaded for an answer to this unspoken question.

Like the rest of them...you replied silently. With the belief that words simply weren't enough in this situation.

Slipping your hand into his, you allowed him to lead you towards the empty spot near Phoenix and Bob. Dazed and slightly worried that the singular beer you drank was affecting you more than it should. Even as the actual reason had your hand clasped tight. You wanted to ask what effect he held over you, what intangible bond he created without your knowledge. It might give you an explanation as to why you felt this way: stuck in a dream filled haze, with only his light to guide you out.

And maybe one day Fritz would tell you he gripped you so tight for fear of him tripping. Maybe he'd finally explain why he told you so much, why his body buzzed the second you walked in a room. Maybe he'd tell you that he suspected he loved you after watching you fly a jet, but knew he loved you when you nearly toppled him over playing volleyball on the beach.

But for now...he expressed what he could without words. Afraid that if he opened his mouth, he'd say the wrong ones.

With a swift turn, he tugged you closer on unsteady feet. A full smile pulling at his lips when you grasped his shoulders for balance.

He wouldn't let you fall. Not here...not in the sky as your wingman, and certainly not out of the love you felt for him. People said this emotion was fleeting. A lost fictitious hope that merely existed with words on a page, but there was no denying how his heart grew warmer when you were near. How he knew he could speak to you for hours at a time, yet never run out of things to say.

You were it.

That indescribable thing no one could give a name to.

"I didn't take you for the dancing type," you joked, swallowing around your nerves that jumped across your skin.

He stepped closer, his arm slipping around your waist. The way your chest hitched didn't go unnoticed by him; although rather than mention it, he put you out of your misery and kept speaking.

"I'm not."

"Let me guess...it's the song?"

He shrugged, swaying you into a gentle step you could follow with ease. "Well...it's not not the song."

A quick glance over told you that the Daggers were eyeing the both of you with great interest. As if you and Fritz were the entertainment they'd been searching for all night. The turning point of a love story they'd been a part of for years. The page sat ready to be turned, the final line of the novel practically burning a hole through the back cover, yet you couldn't read what it said.

"So it's...only the song?"

"No." If it were any other night, you'd be sharing a plate of nachos at a booth somewhere in the back. He'd be three stories deep into a conversation, and you'd be falling a bit harder the longer you listened.

Tonight however, he seemed—nervous.

"No?" You wanted to pry open his thoughts, see what he believed this was—what you were to him.

"If it wasn't the song? If I asked you because of something else, what would you do?" His hand clutched yours a bit tighter, the familiar callous on the base of his wrist helped keep you grounded.

"Depends on what it is." You sucked in a breath. "Will I...I've been thinking—"

"Yes?"

Your eyes met his softened gaze, the echo of an emotion you couldn't place shone in the deep brown. And you wanted to beg him to explain it to you. To tell you everything he'd never said out loud, in the hopes they mimicked what you held near and dear to your heart every day.

"Ever since I've known you...um..." Getting it out felt as if you were attempting to delicately attempt a surgery - prying them free from your chest with a chisel. "Actually since the day we met...fuck...it's not easy to say."

He tugged you a bit closer as he turned. "I know." He smiled, eyes falling to your lips, the curve of their shape, how they formed around his name. "It's not just the song. It's you."

Breathing no longer existed as the beat of your heart went haywire. Could he feel the pulse of it on your wrist? The way it bent and twisted as if leaping from your chest. You wanted to respond, tell him all the things that went unspoken, but once he found his words...they refused to go unheard.

"It's always been you. I should have told you before tonight. Believe me—I wanted to. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you." He let out a soft breathy laugh and you could practically taste his words on your tongue. "And I think you knew."

"Will..." Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your bottom lip, eyes falling to his as the words you longed to hear finally left them.

"I love you." The sting of tears burned your eyes, your hand clutching his shoulder harder as he kept going. "Since the first day." He laughed nervously and an image of him, you, and a house flashed through your mind. "Well actually. The day you knocked me on my ass playing volleyball is when I knew for sure."

"Yeah?" you murmured, fighting back the stream of tears.

He seemed to catch how the light illuminated them, his hand slipping from yours to cup your cheek. "Yeah. Only my girl could be that competitive."

His girl.

The story was written the day you greeted him with a smile. The ending inscribed into your futures with permanent ink, carved into the rock of your headstones. And you could see it now—the familiar dip in the road that matched his perfectly. Falling in love with Fritz was always in the cards. A play you had no choice but to make.

He was your forever the second you shared the same oxygen.

"Fritz..."

He smiled, thumb running across the apple of your cheek. "Yeah baby?"

Chills ran down your spine as heat spilled into your stomach. The polarity of the two nearly toppled you to the ground, but he held you tight. Unwilling to let you go.

The song was slowly coming to the final chorus—the noise of the bar didn't register to your ears anymore as you hung onto his every word. Desperate for him to say those three words over and over and over. Until he lost all the breath in his lungs.

"I hope you know I love you."

His lips pulled into a smile that held your attention in its grasp. What you wouldn't give to see that every morning and night. To be the sole reason why something so beautiful appeared. He smiled and you felt the gravity beneath your feet give way, your stomach bursting to life with a flurry of butterflies.

"I should have said it before this mission. Or even a year ago. But I was scared you didn't feel the same wa—"

With a soft chuckle, he dipped down slightly, catching your lips with his softly. And every thought, every explanation you could give him, died on your tongue. He was gentle with you, as if this was a new version of the dance you'd shared throughout the years. The steps, familiar yet foreign enough to trip you up. It wasn't until you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, your hand finding its way to the hair on the base of his neck, did the hesitation fall away.

He itched to haul you to his chest and properly kiss you. But the burn of eyes prickled along his back. There was an audience, witnesses to the first step into your future, and Fritz felt himself tense slightly. If he had a choice, he'd show you how long he wanted this. How he ached for this.

He'd make up for lost time.

The song filtered to an end, a new one he couldn't place starting up. He refused to pull away.

With a sigh, you melted into his hold, a noise echoing in the back of your throat as his tongue slid along yours. The tang of his beer mixing with yours. He kissed you with the promise of more, the knowledge that tonight you'd take his hand and follow him home. You felt his hand bunch the skirt at your back, fingers digging into your waist, and you moaned softly—desperate for his skin to sear yours.

"Get a room, lovebirds!" Hangman shouted, leaning against the jukebox beer in hand. Yet he let the quarter in his hand slide through the slot, another love song clicking to life as he complained with a smile.

Fritz jolted back, his lips swollen and vibrating. He could still taste you on his tongue, still hear the echo of your moan in his head. You looked dazed, almost lovestruck. And suddenly he understood what it really meant to be hungry.

"Remind me to thank Hangman later," he mumbled against your lips, addicted to the way they curved beneath his.

"He'll take credit for this."

He shrugged. "I'm okay with that."

You locked your other arm around his neck, nose brushing his as you eyed his lips. The red stain on his cheeks had your heart skipping as many beats as it could. What you wouldn't give to have a picture of him like this. Stuck in a haze of love that you put him in.

With a stupefied grin, you felt him start to lead you through the next dance. The steps perfectly in tune with his—as it was always meant to be. "So am I."

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hipsternerd9 · 5 hours ago

Note

"buying matching jewelry, but it doesn't mean anything, right?" WITH FRITZ PLEASEEE

LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON ME

a/n: so because summer is nearing it's last month and we have limited time i wanted to go full mamma mia vibes with this one. besides the friends to lovers vibes with him and this song...perfection. it was hot all week and that spurred me to finally work on this request. so i hope you enjoy babes!

summary: being best friends with fritz meant pretending you weren't hopelessly in love. it meant conversation on the beach, and friendship rings, and the utter shock of coming to the realization that...maybe he loved you too.

word count: 2.2k+

pairing: billy 'fritz' avalone x reader

warnings: fluff, a teeny bit of angst, romance, best friends to lovers, oblivious reader + obvious fritz, talk of marriage, mamma mia vibes, he's hopelessly in love it's cute, unedited + not betad.

The ring glinted in the sunlight, gold glimmering as the ocean did when the day hit the perfect hour. When the sun was slowly creeping along the sky, making a descent towards the horizon. That wouldn't come for a few more hours, but you couldn't stop yourself from sitting on the sand, eyes trained on how waves crashed to the shore.

You couldn't hear anything over the noise - the birds squawking in the distance the loudest echo along the empty coast. Somehow you managed to catch the beach during the week. When people weren't interested because they were tired from a long work day.

It rarely happened. Maybe once in a blue moon. And you soaked in the silence of humanity—nature calling you to her with a soft smile and even softer words.

"I wondered if I'd find you here."

A familiar tug pulled at your heart as you turned, seeing a familiar figure head towards you. He still wore his flight suit, his boots sinking into the sand with each step. But that didn't deter him from plopping beside you, a cold soda in his hand. An extra handed to you.

"Mav let us go early," he said, twisting the top off and gulping enough to down half the bottle.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

He shrugged. "You're always here."

"I'm not always here."

"Sure."

"I'm not–"

The smile on his lips silenced your argument—a knowing look glimmering in his brown eyes. There was no use in fighting him. He could see your different angles coming from a mile away. Giving up now would be easiest.

With a sigh, you turned back to the beach, condensation dripping onto your dress. "I needed some time away from the bar."

You didn't have to explain anything to him. Barely even had to utter a word before your discomfort was being teased out and noticed by him. That was the thing about Fritz. He could see your emotions before they even played across your face. Yet unlike others that came before, he somehow always managed to fix it before things got too bad.

"Did you want to come to my place for dinner?"

The grin played across your lips before you could even answer. "You mean your place filled with Yale and Harvard?"

"C'mon they're not that bad." He nudged you with his knee, taking another pull from his soda. "Besides, they're gone tonight. Something about free drinks at a sports bar."

You mulled it over—the small box in your jacket pocket practically burning a hole through the fabric. "Fine. Pizza, beers, and ice cream."

"Yes ma'am."

Clambering to his feet, he helped pull you up, the sun playing across his face and illuminating the grin he wore. If you could bottle up this memory and keep it close you'd open it every day. You'd take a peek of something so perfect—as if Aphrodite herself created him—just to hold this feeling in your chest. The way he looked at you left you confused, as if he saw you in a different light than just friendship.

But you never had the guts to ask him about it. So like a coward...you continued to let it go.

"I'll order in the car."

"Wait—" You gripped his arm, tugging him back a bit as you dug in your pocket. "I got you something yesterday. They had a jewelry stand in town and saw this..."

The box was brown, small and uninteresting. Until you pulled it open. A silver band etched with vines that matched yours lay in the center. You nearly left it behind—figuring he wouldn't want to wear something so dainty—but something screamed at you the second it appeared in your line of sight. The two were paired together.

Your size and his.

As if they'd been waiting for you to find them all along.

His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat, before he picked it out of the box carefully. "A ring?"

Heat spread rapidly along your cheeks, burning straight down to your chest. "You don't have to wear it. I just thought it was pretty and matched mine and..." With a cough you turned back to see another wave crash along the shore. Suddenly that's how you felt inside. "It's dumb I know."

"No it's not." Surprised etched into your chest, your gaze snapping back to him. Just in time to see how he slipped it on his left hand, smiling when it fit perfectly. Perhaps it was always meant to be there - resting along his skin, claiming his heart for yours. "I like it. Matches my dog tags."

You laughed. "I didn't get it cause of that."

"No, I know." His smile deepened. "But that's where it's going. So it'll match."

Warmth pooled in your stomach, curling around the base of your spine as he stared at his hand. A soft grin playing on his lips. And suddenly you were breathless—flutters filling your stomach as you realized what it looked like. What the others would say once they noticed him wearing a ring on his left hand. You didn't tell him where to place it, didn't offer up a certain hand.

He did it on his own without an ounce of hesitation in his body.

He wanted it there.

When you followed him to the car, you grasped the gold band on your right hand and subtly shifted it to your left. Matching him. If he noticed he didn't question you about it. And for that...you were grateful.

Turns out you were right.

Fritz was teased—rather ruthlessly—about wearing a silver band on his ring finger. Questions rose up around base. Who did he marry? Who had they not met yet? How on Earth could Fritz of all people be hiding a secret partner?

Until you served the group at the bar and Phoenix clocked the gold band on your hand. A knowing smile curving across her lips.

Thankfully she knew how to keep your mouth shut.

The same couldn't be said about Hangman.

"Where'd you get that shiny ring darlin'?" he shouted, reaching for your hand with a shit eating smile. "Lookie here gentlemen! It matches Fritz's."

"Fuck off Hangman." You yanked your hand back with a glare, twisting back to the bar.

It's not like you didn't know this was coming. The comments, the teasing. You knew someone would notice eventually, but that isn't what left you shocked and nervous. The fact that Fritz had yet to take it off sent your mind reeling. He wore it with pride. A smile gracing his plush lips whenever someone brought it up.

You'd even heard comments of it being looped around his tags as he flew—pressed close to his chest in the cockpit of his jet.

Was he wearing it to simply show you that this is how it would be? To prove that this was a silly gift. In the hopes that you would tell him he didn't have to constantly wear it.

That thought alone filled your stomach with dread. An ache forming in the pit of your body as you watched him from across the bar. You had half a mind to go over there—tell him to give it back so Hangman would get off his ass—but he looked at ease. As if nothing could bother him when the topic of conversation fell to you.

This shouldn't bother you that much, shouldn't leave you frazzled and on edge. And you didn't think it would get any worse.

Until the phone rang on a Thursday afternoon, echoing through the empty bar. You expected someone placing an order for lunch, perhaps a reservation for a table.

Hangman's voice filtering through the receiver is what floored you—his voice low and hoarse. Like he'd been shouting for far longer than he should have. And your stomach dropped.

"He's fine. Shaken up, but fine. Told me to call you."

"W–What do you mean? What happened?"

He sighed—shaky and breathless. "Engines gave out. Had to bail."

You didn't hear the rest, a shrill high pitched ring began pulsing in your ear. The words hit the ground hard and asked for you were all you could process before the phone was slamming back onto the base and you were running to the car.

Your breath was short, eyes dazed, but all that mattered was him. The image of him laying in the middle of a valley hurt tore you in half. So you slammed your foot on the gas, speeding through the streets without care.

An explanation would have to be given to Penny when she returned. You made a note to apologize later, but the airbase was in sight and you could see Hangman waiting by the front gate—a stern expression replacing his usual egotistical grin. That seemed to scare you more than what he said on the phone.

He waved you through, jogging to where you threw your car into park. Half out of the spot and crooked. None of that fucking mattered. None of it was real, because somewhere Fritz was hurt and the panic had started to eat you alive.

"Where is he?" you gasped, leaping out of the car. "What the fuck happened?"

His hands grasped your shoulders. "He's fine. Mav is making him sit on base until things level out. He's gotta see the doctor before heading home."

"Fuck," you breathed, tears pricking your eyes. "Can I–I see him? Will they let me on–"

He nodded, already leading you towards the familiar hangar. "Why do you think I'm here sweetheart? Mav had me wait for you to arrive."

On shaky legs, you did what he said when he said it. You flashed your I.D. to someone, said a monotone hello, and let Hangman take the front. A runway was to the left of you—jets lined up on the far side—but that's not what caught your attention.

The sight of a hunched over figure on a metal chair towards the front leveled the ground beneath you. The air suddenly rushed to your lungs as reality began to filter back.

He was okay.

"Avalone!" Hangman shouted. A head of dark hair snapped up, immediately setting his sights on you.

"Will?" you called.

A helmet dropped to the ground when he stood, rushing towards you quicker than he should have. And before Hangman could intervene, you started running. You sprinted with a speed you didn't know you had in you and met him halfway. Colliding against his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist tight enough to send an ache through your ribs. That didn't register, because the pain reminded you that he was still alive—still here to hug you.

"I was so scared," you gasped, digging your face into his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes falling shut. "I heard your jet crashed and just got here as soon as possible."

"'M okay," he mumbled. "I'm alive."

A sob broke free, tears streaming down your face, but that only made him tighten his hold. His breath warm along the back of your neck. Suddenly all the worries from the past week, all the anxiety you endured about what a stupid piece of jewelry meant didn't matter to you. How could it? When you nearly lost him today.

Living without Fritz wasn't something you wanted to know. It wasn't a future you wanted to have.

"I love you," you breathed, fingers curling into his hair.

He stilled, pulling back slightly until his face was directly in front of yours—nose nudging against yours. "Finally."

"What–"

The words of disbelief vanished when he kissed you. Because his lips were just as soft as you imagined, his touch was warm, and suddenly...the world around you vanished. He kissed you with a tenderness that had always existed in your friendship. A reverence he hoped you might notice one day. This wasn't due to injuries or fear. This was the final tie being knotted together in your relationship.

He didn't wear the ring to tease you. He didn't want to prove he shouldn't wear it.

He wanted to show you why he should.

"Marry me," he mumbled against your lips, the cold press of metal along your cheek sparked heat down your spine. "I've already got the ring."

Your eyes flew open to see his smile—bright and wide. "Marry you?" you breathed.

"Tomorrow."

"Will–"

"I'll take you to the courthouse. Call your mom. I'll do whatever you want, baby."

You clutched at his shoulders, searching his eyes for any falsity—any humor—and found none. "You're serious."

With a nod, he stole another kiss. His tongue swiped along yours far too quickly for your liking. "I almost died today and the only thing I could think about was that the ring around my neck wasn't real." He pulled back. "So I want to change that."

"By marrying me." The words didn't feel real, but somehow there they were.

"If you'll let me." His smile faltered slightly, hand stilling on the back of your neck. "Will...you let me?"

"Yes," you rushed out in one breath. Your eyes wide and hands pulling him close for another kiss. One he leaned into. "Yes. I'll marry you."

He smiled, tangling his fingers in your shirt - his palm sliding along bare skin. "Tomorrow," he mumbled against your lips.

"Tomorrow," you gasped.

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hipsternerd9 · 6 hours ago

Text

His Reason to Fanboy 🦸‍♀️ | Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia imagine

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia x MovieStar!reader (romantic) Dagger squad (platonic), Marvel actors (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, slight profanity, pop culture references, timeline events not completely in order | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: about 7k

Requested 📨 yes/no for Anonymous (tagging @eternalsams though cause I know how much you love Mickey <3)

Premise: Little was known about the private life of energetic WSO Mikey 'Fanboy' Garcia to his fellow Top Gun alum. He was a walking encyclopedia when it came to all thing's superheroes and Hollywood's biggest stars. So it's the biggest surprise of their lives when the face behind his call sign Fanboy is revealed after years of wondering who claimed his heart when he was just a teenager.

Note: gosh writing this reminded me how much i love writing famous!reader x dagger pairings. this was so fun and long awaited so big apologies to the person who requested this last summer 🥰🥹. I hope it was worth the wait and I did it justice!! 🫶🏼

----------

If there is one thing the Dagger squad knows about their energetic WSO, Mickey Garcia, it’s that he lives up to his callsign Fanboy. Everyday they bear witness to his knowledge of all things superheroes and who’s dating who in Hollywood. The man’s apartment--or dorm on base depending on where he is--gives away all his interests and pop culture loves. Anyone who becomes friends with Mickey would have no trouble finding a birthday gift. There'd be endless ideas.

Each room of his home had its own theme. Go to the bathroom and you’re hit with his love for Star Wars. Doctor Who memorabilia coats his kitchen. Then his living room looks straight out of Avengers tower. Throughout the apartment there’s knick knacks from attending a multitude of conventions, including a wall dedicated to signed pictures and movie posters.

“Damn, Garcia,” Hangman whistles, roaming the vast collection. “You sure are a collector.” The WSO laughs, waltzing to his fridge to collect a case of beers for the squad.

“My pride and joy.”

“I can see that,” Jake stops in front of a glass case filled to the brim with Funko Pops and figurines. One striking detail was the majority being characters of a certain actress hot in the Hollywood scene. “I see you also got a crush on Y/n L/n.”

The name sent a large smile on Mickey’s face, filling his chest with warmth and butterflies, though his friends were too occupied to notice. “You can say that.”

“C’mon, Mickey!” Y/n shouted at him from the sidewalk, waving a hand frantically toward the movie theater. “We’re gonna miss it!” It was a packed house, Mickey weaving through a horde of people after his mother dropped him off, promising to pick the two teenagers once the film ended. Listed in bold letters on the showings were “Spider-Man 2”, along with several others but they didn’t matter to them. They were there for the newest Spider-Man, having anticipated it all year.

Y/n stood with a cross body bag filled with candy, holding up the tickets. “You’re lucky I already got our seats.” Mickey fell into step as she led them inside, rolling his eyes playfully.

“At the very least we’d miss the previews, Y/n.” He held the door open, “not the end of the world.”

“Speak for yourself,” she teased, thanking him in the process. Together they beelined for the concessions. With a soda and popcorn bucket in their hands the teens made it to their seats right as the lights dimmed. Y/n visibly excited during the trailers for National Treasure, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Then when it came time for the movie to start, she barely touched the popcorn. Leaving Mickey to enjoy it for himself. They shared candy and gasps during intense scenes.

When the film ended the teens made their way out immersed in a debrief, “Harry is going to be a problem in the next one,” Y/n predicted with confidence, “Now that he knows Peter is Spider-Man, he’s gonna go after him to avenge his father.” The girl threw her hands up, “Which wasn’t even his fault!”

Mickey laughed, popping a few leftover skittles in his mouth, “I’m kinda sad about Octavius. He had a change of heart in the end.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a sigh. They walked in the direction of the Dairy Queen next to the theater. Craving some ice cream while they waited for Mickey’s mom. “I hope one day I can be in one.” Mickey peered at her, frowning at her tone which was a mix of longing and sadness.

“A superhero movie?”

“Any movie really,” she chuckled, pushing her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. “A superhero one would be amazing--just because I love them so much.” Since they became friends at eight years old and their shared interest in comics, Y/n and Mickey watched pretty much every superhero movie to exist. Only when they turned 10 did their parents allow them to go to the theaters on opening weekend with supervision. It was the past year they were able to go alone now that they were fifteen and in high school.

Living in California, on the outskirts of Los Angeles, Y/n had always had a desire to go into acting. Begging her family to take her to auditions. Which was difficult considering they had full time jobs. Y/n’s mother a paralegal and her father a mechanic. When Y/n turned 10 her parents agreed to take her to commercial auditions on weekends. She landed several jobs, including ones for well known brands like Coca-Cola, Cheerios, and Motarola to promote their new phone. Children's toys, and hotel marketing. Recently came guest roles on popular tv-shows, like That’s So Raven, House, and voice acting on Danny Phantom. She had her agent to thank for that.

But she was itching for that big break.

“You’ll make it, Y/n,” Mickey put his arm around her shoulder, the girl leaning in. “You’re the most ambitious, hard-driven, working person I’ve ever met. You’ve got family and friends who support you. An agent who cares about you.” If there was one thing he was right about it was her support team. Y/n’s agent Tanya had been with Y/n for two years and worked endlessly to secure her projects. The two were introduced in 2002 shortly after Y/n had a small role of a young vampire in Queen of the Damned. Her first feature debut, but it was so small she wasn’t listed on the credits.

Tanya believed in Y/n more than anyone else. She was the reason Y/n appeared on more tv-shows than commercials within the last two years. While getting movie roles proved difficult, Tanya was determined and had Y/n pumping out auditions left and right.

Mickey squeezed her shoulder gently, adding a friendly kiss to her cheek that made her heart flutter. “It’ll happen.You just have to be patient.”

If only the two had made a bet that day. Mickey never lost faith in Y/n’s potential. And when they finally entered a relationship junior year after years of mutual pining it only heightened. They both attended University of Southern California, Y/n pursuing acting while Mickey studied aeronautical engineering. While finishing high school, Y/n auditioned consistently for L.A productions, accumulating credits on Constantine (which had her loss for words getting to work with Keanu Reeves), Ugly Betty, Bring It On: All or Nothing, and her personal favorite, X-Men: The Last Stand. Then in 2006 she had credits on Transformers, Knocked-Up, and Freedom Writers which were released in 2007. Those roles would benefit her in the years to come for the connections she made with co-stars.

Her building resume those years resulted in Y/n getting that big break she dreamed off. One crisp January day in 2007, having just wrapped on a guest appearance on Suite Life of Zack & Cody, Y/n received a call from Tanya. Changing the trajectory of her career forever.

“I’ve got you an audition to play Robert Downey Jr.’s daughter in this new Iron Man production.”

Y/n literally spit out her soda, choking as she tried to say, “I’m sorry, did you say Iron Man.” Of course she heard correctly, but Y/n being the massive comic fan she had to be sure.

“Yes,” Tanya chuckled, Y/n could hear her typing away on her laptop. “I’m emailing you the scene--you’ll read for Jon Favreau, Kevin Feige and the casting director. There’s a chance Robert might be there for you two to do a chemistry read.”

Y/n rushed to her laptop, nearly running into the wall of her dorm when she cut the corner too fast. The *ding* of the email coming through sounded, Y/n sliding into her chair at a rapid speed to open the document and print it out.

“So you’ll do it?” Tanya’s voice reminded the girl she was still on the phone.

“Where do I meet you?”

Now if Y/n were being honest, she wasn’t too confident of her chances of getting the role. It was the inaugural film of this highly anticipated Marvel franchise. Not to mention an L.A set so who knows how many up and coming actors are fighting for a spot. Y/n knew her odds were slim. But she was going to give the best damn performance ever.

She planned to tell Mickey about the audition once she knew the outcome. As much as she loved and trusted him and his faith in her, Y/n didn’t want to disappoint him. Not that she ever could, Mickey adored her and supported everything she did. But since he loved superheroes as much as her, this was important to him as well.

The audition process was a long and painful process. Following the initial reading, Y/n had been called back four more times as the team narrowed down their choices. They did several scenes, particularly the ones with Robert since the character would be on screen with him the most. Each time Y/n read with Robert it was nerveracking, but she handled it well and really put her acting capabilities to the test. The man complimented her after every session to which she was grateful for. It boosted her confidence. Even if she didn’t get the role, Y/n was thankful for the experience and hoped to work with Robert in the future.

After a grueling month-long process, Y/n received the call she’d been waiting for. From Kevin Feige himself. “We want you to be our Jordyn Stark.” It took everything in Y/n to hold back her screams of joy. Releasing them the second they ended the call. She nearly woke up the entire dorm hall, thankfully no cops were called.

Mickey was over the moon when she told him the news. Jumping from his side of the booth to pull her up into a massive hug. Kissing all over her face, “Oh my God this is amazing!! You’re gonna be a superhero--I knew you could do it! Holy shit!” They looked like little kids in a candy store, bouncing up and down in a fit of excitement.

Proud of his girlfriend, Mickey dragged her to the nearest comic store. Purchasing a comic that featured her character and figurine. “Will you do me the honor,” he held up a sharpie, grinning at the look of joy on her face, “of signing this for me. I want to be the first person to have THE Jordyn Stark aka THE Iron Lady,” he winked, and finished, “aka THE Y/n L/n’s autograph.”

Tears formed in her eyes. Both from the overwhelming amount of happiness and because of Mickey’s whole show. People passing by gave confused looks, unaware the girl was about to become the face of a whole generation.

Iron Man’s release sparked a new era in Hollywood. Marvel Studios got the green light to begin plans for a whole phase of projects in the universe. Reception to Y/n’s performance of Jordyn Stark was well received. Fans and critics praised her, fellow actors committing she was the scene stealer.

Rosario Dawson, a massive comic book fan, stated in an interview when asked if she saw Iron Man, “Are you kidding? I saw it three times in theaters--I was blown away! And the girl who played Tony’s daughter, I believe Y/n is her name, oh my gosh she was amazing,” the woman talked with her hands, “Every scene she was in had me either laughing, on the edge of my seat, or simply going ‘wow, this girl is talented’. She matched Robert’s energy on screen so you’d think they are a father-daughter duo in real life.”

Samuel L. Jackson, who would go on to be Y/n’s co-star in future Marvel films and Hollywood projects, said, “Look I don’t say this lightly, but that girl is gonna go places. And to think this is her first big supporting role in a motion picture!” He smiled brightly, “what a talent.”

Y/n was full of excitement, not hesitating to sign her name on the dotted line for a multi-picture contract--but not before her agent and lawyer read over it. The success she garnered from Iron Man occurred rather quickly. In the following year Y/n found herself attending award shows for the first time. Winning Best Supporting Actress in an Action Movie, Best Scene Stealer, Best Duo with Robert Downey Jr. and Best Breakthrough Actress at the MTV Movie Awards. She also won her category for the Kids Choice and Teen Choice Awards.

Before long her agent was blowing up her phone. Iron-Man 2, 3 and The Avengers were already accounted for and Y/n wanted to lengthy her filmography to prevent being typecast. Obviously she loved Superhero/Action movies, but she desired to be a versatile actress. Countless auditions, but Y/n soon became a staple name in the early 2010s with performances in Tron: Legacy, Black Swan, Insidious, Grown Ups, Contagion, teaming up again with RDJ and Jude Law in Sherlock Holmes. Then in 2012-2014 Y/n added Men In Black 3, The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Enemy, The Hunger Games: Mockinjay and Interstellar to her list. Working with amazing directors and popular franchises pushed her into international stardom. Plus making lifetime collaborations.

Oh, and can’t forget being nominated for Best Supporting Actress at the Oscars and Golden Globes. Winning the latter and making Y/n one of Hollywood's most desired acts. Now whenever she appears in a project, the Golden Globe Winner precedes her name.

And Mickey was there every step of the way. He was living his dream of working in aviation, completing OTS and flight school to become a weapons-specialist officer in the Navy. The backseater to the pilot, but just as important. Y/n was beyond proud. Thinking of all those times Mickey randomly gave plane facts or begged her to go to the air show in high school. Anytime she traveled and saw a figurine of a plane he was missing from his collection she got it. Luckily the Navy kept him on the west coast. Making it easier to see each other during her days away from set. He loved his job. And Y/n loved him.

Maintaining a relationship while in high-demand careers was no easy task. Especially when one’s a movie star and the other goes on classified missions for the government. Add on the fact they wanted to keep their private life a secret to prevent media scrutiny. Y/n worried in the beginning Mickey would view it negatively. Not posting about him on social media or bringing him to premiers and award shows. Like he was some dirty secret. But Mickey, the wonderful man he is, never was bothered. In fact he liked the idea.

They talked consistently, sometimes everyday unless they were occupied with work. Y/n kept him updated on every audition. Sharing the excitement with him each role she landed and comforted by his voice when rejected. And while he didn’t go to the premieres, Mickey was at every opening weekend for her movies. Dragging his friends along each time. It’s no surprise he earned the callsign Fanboy for his endless passion for movies. Specifically the superhero ones. While drunk the first weekend in flight school he gave the entire lore of the current MCU projects. To anyone he would just be labeled a superfan. Unaware of the true reason behind his love for the MCU.

The mid-to-late 2010s did not disappoint. Y/n’s contract for the MCU extended as Jordyn Stark became a prominent figure in the franchise. And with her strong chemistry and bonds, Y/n collaborated with several of her Marvel co-stars in projects outside of the MCU. Jeremy Renner in Arrival, working with Denis Villenueve again starring in his Enemy and Sicario. Brie Larson in Room, Tom Hiddleston in Crimson Peak. Both of whom, with Samuel L. Jackson, starred in Kong: Skull Island with Y/n. She worked with Tessa Tompson in Annihilation--who would go on to cite inspiration from Y/n’s performance in MIB when she joined the franchise in 2019. Then after working with him in Men in Black 3, Y/n teamed up alongside Josh Brolin in Sicario, Deadpool 2, and eventually parts 1 & 2 of Denis’ adaptation of Dune.

“Oh she’s one of my favorite people to work with,” Josh said during the press tour for Endgame after the interviewer mentioned all the times the two collaborated. “I had first seen her in Freedom Writers back in 2007 and thought she was just spectacular. Then of course in Iron Man, what can I say,” he shrugged while beaming, “It’s because of her and Downey that we have the MCU in the first place. They really set it in motion and to capture that feeling of, ‘this is going to be something’ so early on is incredible.” Josh crossed his legs, grinning wide as he added, “I love working with Y/n, I’ll say yes to any project if she’s attached and I’m excited for this next thing we got going with Denis after this.”

Besides movies Y/n continued to land jobs on shows whenever she was back in L.A. Tanya, her agent with an iron fist, booked her guest appearances on The Good Place, Black Mirror, Hannible, and The Americans. Her gig on Daredevil stirred major discourse in the Marvel community. Especially after it was announced years later the MCU would be buying the rights to the Netflix Marvel productions. In 2017 she had a recurring role as part-time companion to the 12th Doctor on Doctor Who. Becoming a fan favorite, the actress was constantly asked by fans and reporters if she had plans to return for the upcoming 60th Anniversary special. Y/n enjoyed her time in England and met up with several friends. Christopher Nolen, in fact, had called her up with the offer of a role in his upcoming work, Tenet.

How could she pass that up?

2019 from the start was going to be an interesting year for the actress. At the height of her career Y/n felt the train was non-stopping. Traveling around the world. Press tours and interviews. Finding time to decompress was a task in itself. In between projects Y/n visited Mickey at his base in Northern California. Just like old times they’d go to the movies together. Only in disguise to hide from fans and the paparazzi. Sometimes they’d see her movies--usually at Mickey’s request, but Y/n always felt weird watching herself on screen. She’d think after over fifteen years in the industry she’d be used to it, but nevertheless she’d tend to think, ‘I could’ve done that better,’ with every scene.

By September of that year Y/n was gearing up for a major project with longtime friend and collaborator, Denis Villenueve. Endgame had taken over the globe, concluding 10 years of buildup between characters and storylines. Tears upon tears were shed at the premiere. Unsure of what Marvel had planned for Jordyn Stark, Y/n prepared for the next chapter in her career. On top of Endgame she’d been in Greta Gerwig’s Little Women and the rom-com, Isn’t It Romantic. She’d signed on for a three-picture deal with Deadpool, but now he was also going to join the MCU, so the future of her character was in question. Ryan, however, assured her she’d remain in the universe, already texting plans of potential dialogue and jokes.

Then there were countless interviews and promos.

“Hi, I’m Y/n L/n!” her excited tone was directed to the camera, sitting criss crossed on a pastel purple fabric that lifted into the backdrop. “And I’m here with Buzzfeed to answer some questions sent in from Twitter and play with puppies.” She rubbed her hands together, “Bring them in!”

Dream come true if she were being honest. Surrounded by tiny four-legged creatures that caused her heart to sour. Answering the questions was actually the difficult part, pulling the slips of paper from the bowl and reading aloud, ‘What has been your favorite role to play?’

“This is probably obvious,” her laugh was light and genuine, “but it has to be the one, the only, the absolute icon herself, Miss. Jordyn M. Stark.” Y/n visibly awed as a beagle pup climbed into her lap. “Anyone who knew me growing up--.” she instantly thinks of Mickey, smile widening, “knows my love for superheroes and comics in general. I was always at the movies opening weekend, sometimes even opening night, to watch the newest release. Getting to play Jordyn Stark has been an absolute dream come true. Not only has it fulfilled a longtime aspiration of wanting to play a superhero, but it’s opened the door to so many opportunities,” she points out the obvious, “she put me on the map. It’s crazy to think it’s been over a decade since I brought Jordyn to life on the big screen and until Marvel lets me know what’s next for her, it’s a bittersweet end to an amazing chapter in my life.”

‘What’s been the most challenging part of your career?’

Y/n thinks for a moment, petting the husky pup biting her shoelaces, “I think having to migrate from what my life was like before booking Jordyn--which is ironic considering that’s what every actor's goal is. To get that big break that shoots them into stardom if you say…” her hands move to emphasize her point. “Going from a freshman in college working a part-time job at a hotel and getting tiny gigs on L.A productions,” she lifts her left hand up, then her right, “to the train never reaching its stop…it was a big shift. I definitely was the type of actor calling up co-stars with questions like, ‘is it always like this?’” she ends it with a chuckle, “I think I managed it well, but I still think about it from time to time.”

‘Favorite actor/actresses to work with?’

She doesn’t hesitate, “Downey of course, that’s my ride or die. His name on my phone is literally, ‘Work Father/Iron Dad’.” She laughs with the crew, “And Josh Brolin--love that man so much. I’ll actually be seeing him soon and I’m excited to catch up.” A pup barks for attention and Y/n lifts him in her arms, “I love working with Tessa Tompson. She and I got close on set during Avengers and I gave her advice on joining the Men In Black family. If there’s one actress I’d love to work with again it would be Viola Davis.” Y/n clutches a hand to her chest, “We had to do so many scenes over because I could not stop staring at her in awe and would miss my cue or forget my line. Ah! I was so embarrassed--but she was great about it and I freakin’ love her. I really really adore Keanu Reeves--in fact,” a wink is sent to the camera, “I might actually have some exciting news to share soon regarding a certain action franchise he’s in.” Seconds after the interview was released Twitter was buzzing. Excited about the potential of Y/n joining the John Wick series.

‘Is there another superhero, or possibly villain, you’d be interested in playing on the big screen?’

“Ooo I like this question,” Y/n grins, clapping a bit only to have the puppy in her lap playfully take a bite at her fingers. “As I mentioned I love comic books, so any chance to play a character in one I’m taking. If I had to choose….” she scratches her chin before smirking, “Poison Ivy is one of my favorites from DC--if I were to play her alongside Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn I think that would be so iconic. I’d love to play a villian/anti-hero in general,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “ The closest I got to playing one was Shock in Daredevil. Every other character in a superhero setting I’ve done has been heroes. There’s so many villains in X-Men I think are intriguing--Dark Phoenix, Fatale, and Copycat. But for sure Poison Ivy is my top choice.”

‘Do you have any advice on romance?’

The question fills Y/n with heat, giggling under her breath which the camera catches. “I don’t think I’m the best to answer this question, because when it comes to romance I just wing it--,” her hands raise in defense, “which had worked to my advantage.” The topic of relationships was rare for Y/n. No surprise there since she’s been known to keep her private life private her entire career. Not to mention she’d been with Mickey for half her life. “My partner on the other hand is very romantic. He loves to plan dates, surprise me with my favorite candy, and will send memes at the most random times of the day because they remind him of me. He’s not in the industry,” she is quick to point out, giving viewers a first time look of her personal life, “but he knows a lot and is my biggest supporter. I love him dearly.”

The video went viral on twitter and, as expected, people had a lot to comment on the clip of Y/n’s love life.

@/Lokidarling: awed so many times watching @/SuperY/n talk about her partner. I hope to love someone like that one day.

@/TheDoctorsWife: So we can all agree Y/n L/n’s partner is the luckiest man on the planet.

@/MTV: currently sobbing that our wife @/SuperY/n is off the market.

@/Slick_like_AgentK: @/SuperY/n heard the rumors about her and Sebastian Stan and said ‘NOT TODAY!’

In the weeks leading to fall Y/n made plans to read Dune at Denis’ request. Had auditions lined up for Succession, Ghostbusters: Afterlife, and The School for Good & Evil. And desperately needed time with her fiance. The two recently engaged following their 30th birthday.

Technically they were legally married under California’s common law. They’d been together since 16 and while no rings were on their fingers, they had assets. Including cars, apartments, and dogs. Still they wanted a wedding and proper marriage documents. Both agreed to sign each other's prenup. A scene almost comical when they approached both their lawyers, who along with their families and Y/n’s agent knew of their relationship.

Admittedly, the engagement was a result of upcoming events. Ever since Mickey informed her of his orders to return to Top Gun for a classified mission Y/n had been stressed. Thoughts plagued her mind of the dangers Mickey could face. Not just the mission but the training itself. She’d heard of incidents of technical malfunctions in the air that led to someone’s death. The thought of Mickey hurt or worse, dead, in the line of duty was her worst nightmare. And since she was not his wife, medical professionals were required to not share any information of his status if he were admitted.

So before he shipped out, they did what the typical military couple does on a time crunch: they went to the courthouse.

Did Y/n’s publicist bribe and threaten to sue the official if TMZ got word? Only God bore witness to that interaction.

By the grace of a higher spirit Mickey came home to her. They had little to no contact while he was off shore so the second he called her up saying he was back in Fightertown Y/n was packing a bag. Speeding down the next morning.

Their time together was private, and unbeknownst to both it would be the last. In a sense that is.

Because they pulled off the impossible, Mickey and the rest of the Dagger Squad were declared an official strike squad for the Pentagon, basing the team at Fightertown. A good thing for the couple. Now instead of a four-hour drive it was cut down to just over two hours.

“How long will you be gone?” He brushed his fingers down the length of her arm, the two cuddled on the couch watching The Bachelorette.

“A few months,” was her reply, nibbling on a twizzler. Sighing, she nuzzled against his touch, not wanting to think about the long flight to Budapest ahead of her. She’d planned to use that time to read Dune before her first day on set. “Maybe less if all goes well. How long will you be offshore?” Y/n referred to his pending mission with the Dagger Squad. She felt him shrug against her.

“I’d say no more than a couple weeks. Rooster is team leader and Mav’s supervisor. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Tilting her head up to look at him, Y/n smiled, “I want to meet your friends. They sound like great people.”

“They are,” Mickey grinned, matching her gaze, “You’d love them--but I have to warn you they can be a handful. Especially Javy.” He laughed as the memory popped in his head, “It’s amazing we can get stuff done at times.”

Y/n thought for a moment, laying her head back on his shoulder, “Maybe when I get back we can talk about going public. What do you think?” her tone was nervous, butterflies in her stomach for his reaction. This was the first time in a while the idea of disclosing their relationship came up. And considering they were now legally married, keeping it secret was harder by the day.

Mickey tightened his hold around her, pressing a kiss to her temple. It made her instantly relax, “Whatever you want, mi amor.” He smiled at her sigh of relief, “You know I won’t object--so long as you’re sure about it.”

“I am,” she doesn’t hesitate, “we’ve kept it hidden for so long--which I’m amazed by with all the times we’ve gone out.” The fact her disguises worked made her laugh any time she thought about it. “Everyone at Marvel pretty much had their suspicions that I was in a serious relationship. Never said anything, which I’m grateful for. But I want to share you with the world,” leaning back up, Y/n cups his cheek, stroking his jaw followed by a sweet kiss to the lips, “because you are my world.”

If only there was a camera secretly concealed in Mickey’s apartment the day his closest friends discovered the secret he’d been harboring. It happened unexpectedly, completely taking them both off guard.

Wanting to surprise Mickey after months away filming, Y/n arrived in San Diego with their favorite take out in hand and headed straight to his apartment. As she was taking the items from her car she noticed a man with a very large camera across the street.

Pointing the lens straight at her.

“Fuck,” was the first word out of her mouth, beginning to grab things in a rush.

“Y/n! Y/n over here!”

Preparing herself, Y/n put on a brave face and turned on her heel. “Hello!” she smiled and waved, seeing the pap had moved closer but still kept his distance. “All I ask is please don’t take photos of my license plate, if you don’t mind.” Running into paparazzi while driving her own car always brought fear. Many celebrities had unfortunately dealt with fans showing up to their homes due to their license plate being leaked. Y/n tried her best to prevent that whenever she could.

Thankfully the gentleman was nice, waving a hand in return. “No problem!” He continued snapping pictures as she walked, following behind several paces. When she got inside, without her usual disguise because she was in a rush, Y/n caught the stunned expression of the doorman and receptionist. ‘Cat’s out of the bag.’

Ruffling for her key once in the elevator, Y/n shot a quick text to her agent and publicist, ‘sooooo we might have a problem…although it's not the worst if we’re being real.’ Quickly putting her phone back in her bag to not see the incoming replies--to spare herself the stress--Y/n hurried to the apartment. Not even giving Mickey a warning before she busted inside only to shock herself with the discovery of people inside.

“Oh my,” she said aloud, hearing the sound of someone dropping their phone followed by several gasps and a ‘what the fuck?’.

Mickey, however, was jumping from his seat, “Baby!” he shouted in glee, rushing to encompass her in a massive bear hug. Completely oblivious to the fact his friend's jaw dropping reactions behind him. “When did you get it? Just now? I thought you were coming on Monday!”

Wrapping her arms around him, Y/n remembers why she was there in the first place. “I wanted to surprise you,” lips meet her cheek. “I brought Sambino’s.”

Mickey moans like he just won the lottery, cupping her face, “You are a living angel. How did I get so lucky?”

Smirking, Y/n hands him the bag as they untangle and replies, “You didn’t make fun of me for being the only girl in our third grade class who liked comics.” She scrunches her nose when he ‘boops’ it, followed by a quick kiss to the lips.

By now the group taking up the entire living room had stood up, congregating in the kitchen. All wore matching expressions: flabbergasted, awe, and pure confusion. The man closest to Mickey who towered over everyone spoke first.

“Garcia,” Payback choked out a laugh, wrapping his head around the fact he just witnessed his partner kiss THE Y/n L/n. His hand waved in their direction, “When you said you and your highschool sweetheart preferred to keep a low profile…her being the actress you’re obsessed over was not at all what I had in mind.”

Jake scoffed, “speak for yourself, I thought he was bullshitting us about having a high-school sweetheart,” at Mickey’s look of offense he raised his hands in defense, “What? You hardly ever spoke of her and quite frankly--” hands wave around the place, “you have no pictures whatsoever.”

“Oh I do,” The WSO winds an arm over Y/n’s shoulder, to which she leans into. “Just they’re in photo albums and kept in a safe place. Away from prying eyes.” A playful smack hits his chest, Y/n rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Javy cuts in with a confused chuckle. “Are we just going to ignore the fact we’re in the presence of an A-list actress--who is dating our Fanboy.”

Bob gives a friendly smile, “that makes sense why he’s always talking about the MCU and seems to know the direction it’s going before we do.” The fellow WSO then adds after chucking, “it’s because you’re really a big fan of Y/n.”

Rooster belts out a laugh, “Yo that’s kinda ironic. Fanboy dating his celebrity crush he never shuts up about. I couldn’t have predicted that at all.”

“Dating is putting it lightly,” Y/n finally speaks up, face full of amusement. Placing a hand on Mickey’s chest, their attention instantly goes to the ring on her finger.

“Well shit,” Jake whistles, causing Nat to nudge him with her elbow, though she matched his stunned expression.

“Damn, Garcia!” Javy goes to dab him up. Reuben does the same while saying, “Congrats man!”

“I know we may look like we’re calm,” Natasha chuckles, catching Y/n’s attention which makes her become nervous. “But I think I can confidently say for all of us we're freaking out inside--at least I know I am.” the pilot blushes, stunned to be talking to one of her favorite actresses of all time. The previous night she literally sat down to watch How to Get Away With Murder. Particularly the season Y/n was a recurring character on.

The squad knew Mickey grew up in the same town as Y/n after he mentioned the high school he attended in Orange County. It had been the first time they hung out at his apartment where they saw his entire collection--and pretty much shrine--dedicated to his favorite franchises. Following Jake’s comment of Mickey’s little ‘crush’, the WSO casually said, “Yeah, you can say that. We actually went to high school together.” This was then followed by Mickey whipping out his sophomore year book to show proof. Ever since the squad was envious and sometimes tried to ask questions but were brushed off.

But to discover the two were married? Now that was unexpected.

Once everyone departed after several hours of giving detailed accounts of their lives--plus mentioning to Mickey a Pap had spotted her and the likelihood of the internet discovering their relationship--,Y/n let out a heavy breath, unable to fight the grin off her face. Giggling when Mickey gave her a look of ‘What did you think?’ “That was fun--Ah!.” A squeal escaped her as he picked her up, spinning them in a circle.

“Been wanting to do that since you walked through the door,” he brought her into a passionate kiss, setting her down but keeping their chests pressed together.

“Why didn’t you?” she teased, kissing him again while combing her fingers through his short hair. A blush rose on his cheeks.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” she spoke with honesty, “but I understand. We were both surprised. I wasn’t expecting an audience--probably should’ve sent you a heads up.” Mickey shrugged, swaying them side to side.

“Honestly I’m glad you didn’t,” a light laugh escaped him, picturing his friends' faces once again. “If there was one way I was going to break the news to the squad that I'm married to the woman I keep dragging them to the movies to see, it would be like that.”

Y/n broke into giggles, thinking to all those times Mickey sent her photos of him and his friends in the theater with captions like, ‘You already know what’s going down.’ ‘Jake and Javy are trying to bet who would pull you if they got the chance.’ ‘Wish you were here…so I could steal your sour patch kids.’

“Which, speaking of….” Mickey stepped back a bit, hands landing on her waist with eyes full of wonder and question. “How do you think we go from here? Now that the whole world is about to know about us?”

Y/n smiled brightly as she pictured the future. Moving her arms to wind around his neck, feeling her belly fill with warmth and happiness.

“I think….it’s time we plan that wedding.”

E! News reported that evening, “It looks like Bruce Wayne isn’t the only superhero who’s good at hiding information--tonight Golden Globe winning actress Y/n L/n has confirmed via Instagram her marriage to longtime partner, Naval Weapons Officer Lieutenant Mickey Garcia. Turns out the two have been in a relationship since they were teenagers--sixteen to be exact! They officially became a couple in 2005 as juniors in high school and have kept it hidden from the limelight. Wow! Talk about a well kept secret.

“The news came following reports of Y/n spotted in San Diego several times outside of Garcia’s apartment complex. Photos then surfaced on Twitter of several occurrences where fans have speculated seeing the two in public. Cozying up at movie theaters, enjoying a weekend getaway to Hilton Head, and internet sleuths have even found an instagram account they believe is run by L/n strictly for close friends and family. Former classmates of the 30-year-old actress have come out saying they remember the two together like peas in a pod. We even have a photo someone shared of the young couple attending their high school prom. Y/n revealed in the summer of 2019 she’d been in a committed relationship, but has never given details until now.

“Y/n L/n first got her big break in Hollywood at eighteen years old when she was casted as heroine Jordyn Stark opposite Robert Downey Jr. in Iron Man. After years of small supporting roles and starring in popular commercials, the now critically acclaimed actress has appeared in several blockbuster films including Black Swan, Interstellar, La La Land and most recently Greta Gerwig’s Little Women. Besides Marvel, Y/n has been part of multi-billion dollar franchises--Men In Black, The Twilight Saga and The Hunger Games just to name a few. Then in 2016 she won the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress for her portrayal as DEA Agent Molly Coleman in Denis Villenueve’s Sicario. Coming down from the high of Marvel Studios record breaking release of Avengers: Endgame, Y/n recently wrapped on the upcoming sci-fi production of Dune--her fourth collaboration with Denis and has an ensemble cast with names like Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Rebecca Fergason, and Josh Brolin.

“In her instagram post--featuring several photographs of the couple over the years starting from when they were children to the most recent of their courthouse ceremony--Y/n thanked Mickey for his continued love and support of her, remaining her quote “cheerleader and shoulder to cry on as I progressed through this wild journey of playing dress up on the big screen. You never lost faith in me. You stood by my side, first as my best friend, then as my boyfriend, and now as my life partner. I am forever grateful for you, Mickey Garcia. And while the Navy may have given you the name, It’s an honor to be your reason to fanboy.”

..........

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan , @caitsymichelle13 , @poppyalice2001 , @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2 , @americaarse , @elenavampire21 , @back-tooo-black, @wildellaa , @artemissunn , @pinkpantheris , @kmc1989

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hipsternerd9 · 3 days ago

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what happens in vegas stays in vegas. ( robert 'bob' floyd )

this isn't the way i would've done it- i would've wanted to remember this moment forever. robert 'bob' floyd and you have always harboured feelings for each other, hidden in hotel rooms, stolen glances and secret kisses shared across the base. except one night in vegas celebrating the end of a gruelling mission finds you and bob waking up the next day unsure of how you made it to his room, the remenants of tequila pounding in your head and a rock the size of san diego on your ring finger. and what scares him the most is just how is he going to explain this to your brother.

pairing: bob floyd x fem! bradshaw reader (no use of yn, rooster's little sister)

themes: fluff, angst, rooster being an angry over-protective brother. surprise marriage. drinking, slight grief more of rememberance, swearing.

your call sign: claws. (bob's nickname for you is kitten)

the first thing bob notices that he's very noticeably naked.

he furrows his brows, the chill of the morning air tickling his bare skin and then he feels the heat. you're so warm under him he thinks as you're tucked under his bare chest- his body blanketing you from the breeze that carresses his back.

it's not an usual or rare sight for you and bob to end up in tangled limbs and love. he's had a thing for you since he started his naval training and all the way till now present day: two days after they've successfully finished the most dangerous flight he's taken in his life. you weren't selected for the mission- ending up in the standby jets alongside jake seresin where you two acted as spare daggers. you didn't complete the mission but you and jake both saved rooster and maverick's life that day and will always be remembered as the real heroes for it.

instead the two of you loved in silence, in long gazes across briefing rooms and whispered murmurs across radio comms. it evolved more into booking hotel rooms out of radius from the base, spending half your live in bob's apartment and the other wishing you were anyone other than your last name; if that's what it would mean for the two of you to be together all the time.

your brother- bradley to you, naval officer 'rooster' to bob. the scary six footer who holds quiet determination and leadership, who is a damn good pilot and maybe he doesn't mean to intimidate bob at any chance but he does. bob decided its best to avoid rooster where possible as any time he steals a glance all he can see is your face, hear your voice and he blushes a crimson red- the guilt displayed all over his face.

it feels like betraying a friend- but bob would do anything to be with you in whatever little slices and forms you'd have him.

like now, as you lie fast asleep below him almost hidden from the world and bob positively melts knowing its only him who gets to see this relaxed, undone, free version of you.

there's a crease between your brows as you snore lightly, the morning light streaking across your skin as your mouth parts open slightly. he watches the gentle rise and fall of your also very naked chest and feels himself relax completely.

"robbie?" you stir, scrunching your eyes tightly before opening them, as if to stamp out the fatigue from your body. you stretch you arms and legs as far as you can extend them before bringing your limbs closer inwards, wrapping them around his body to draw him closer. he feels the shiver when his cool body presses into your warm one but you show no inclination of letting go any time soon. your movements are almost feline and he grins thinking of the moment he gave you your call sign. as cute as a cat, but god do you have the claws to strike at any time.

your face is burrowed into the crook of his neck, listening carefully to his pulse point and he knows he's lost you again to a slumber so peaceful.

until the knocks come.

or bangs rather.

three pounds of fist rattling the door, shaking it from its frame fill the air and bob stills. you however, have not shifted from your drifting trance underneath him and he curses himself for how he's going to have to untangle himself from you.

"robbie?" you murmur as you feel him begin to pull away.

"good morning," he whispers into your skin, planting a soft kiss to your brows then to your nose and down to the centre of your lips. he can feel you smile against him, "i'm going to be right back ok?"

you whine reluctantly and he hushes you with another kiss before you sigh and let him take back his limbs. though your weighted human blanket is greatly missed as he slides on some boxers most likely from last night and then a pair of shorts.

"floyd are you in there?" comes a loud rumble accompanied by some more thundering at the door and bob absolutely freezes. he hasn't even got his shorts on as his blood runs cold as his legs bolt back to the bedroom where you're currently blissfully unaware of the chaos that will soon follow.

"oh kitten, you have to get up, please please please" his voice is urgent, low but still cautious of its volume as you begin to wake up slowly.

"i don't really want to," comes your muffled response, coccooned up in the sheets.

"i know, but this is serious. you really gotta get up," and the desperation in his voice alerts your body in a delayed reaction, but its there.

"love?" you blink slowly and bob has to remind himself that now is not the time to start drooling over how gorgeous you are freshfaced in bed.

"your brother," he heaves, out of breath in anxiety and panic, "is at the door." you feel your own heart stop and you bite your lip.

"oh my god," you sit up frantically and whisper, the consequences of last night's tequila instantly rush to your head and you clutch at the growing headache in desperation.

"baby?" he stills, "what the fuck is that?" and his heart rips open in two, rising through his system and into his mouth where the words just can't get themselves out.

your own brows furrow in confusion until you feel the weight of a humungous rock wrapped around your ring finger, "holy shit," and the tears start to well in your glistening eyes. "robbie?" and he hates himself for how your voice starts to wobble in worry. "robbie does this mean we?," your voice trails off as you repeat a frequent "holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," as if saying it again and again will make this all disappear.

"hey," he breathes as the pounding on the door thunders even louder, "we'll figure this out okay, trust me on this," and he presses a comforting kiss to your forehead. you lean in to his embrace for a milisecond before he presses a finger to your lips and heads back into the entry way.

"okay bob, just," he takes a final look in the mirror and realises he still has no pants on, before wiggling his legs into his shorts and reaches for the handle, "just be cool."

"what the fuck, bob?" comes jake seresin's southern drawl instantly. bob hadn't even seen the complete view of his face before being met with fury.

"gentleman," he clears his throat and nods to each of them, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. just be cool, bob. you are cool, bob, his brain reprimands. just be what you are-

"where were you? we rang you a million times," rooster asks, as calm and collected as bob wishes he could only just scratch the surface or that kind of demeanour.

"drank too much, slept too much," he tries to shrug off with indifference and rooster quirks a brow, instantly picking up on the subtle shift in bob's behaviour.

"did you now?" he slowly repeats, like he's testing how bob's words feel and he doesn't like it.

"yup," bob's answer comes too quickly, lazily put and he has to force his facial muscles to smile softly and not wince. married your sister too, the cheeky devil on his shoulder grins and he can feel his heart thud so rapidly against his chest it'll be seconds until it escapes free.

he thinks he's off the hook. jake's already beginning to walk away but bradley is firmly planted at his door. "you seen my sister anywhere?" he asks, voice suddenly jumping down an octave. and bob's eyes widen ever so slightly, praying rooster- one of the navy's most finest and skilled hasn't noticed.

"nope," he leans against the door casually, the door itself creaks open just a little further, "you uh, you tried calling?" he places a facade of concern on his lips, curling softly as he clicks his tongue, trying to remember if he has seen you some place other than his bed.

"yeah," rooster breathes through a level intake of air. he sticks a tongue in his cheek in thought, cocking his head to the side and bob offers his prayers to god intently. "she hasn't been picking up, like you." the last two words hit the wind out of bob and he mutters out a "sorry, i'll have a look around- keep you updated" before shutting the door in roosters face hurriedly.

"fuck!" he whisper- yells, dread filling him whole and drowning him from the inside. you're awake now, standing before him wrapped in the sheets with a matching frown on your lips. he wants to hug you, hold you and protect you more than anything and just when he thinks a tiny part of the worst of it is over, the thundering starts all over again.

"bob!" rooster calls out from the other side of the door and he knows there's no way to run from this. you reach out to hold his hand and give it a squeeze.

"whatever comes, we will make it through," you swear earnestly and bob swallows with a tight nod. he paces slowly back to the door, pulling it open a few inches but rooster's got his heavy hand on it, opening it further.

"those," he points with a menacing brow, "are her shoes," and lo and behold- you sparkly silver heels you use for dancing and stealing bob's attention are thrown across bob's hotel room floor and you curse yourself for your extravangant taste.

"bob, have you had my fucking sister in there?" he growls and jake seresin instantly has to hold back his friend's arm in desperation.

"no rooster," hangman adds unhelpfully, "i think you mean he's fucking your sister in there," the grin plastered on his face is undeniable and in a fresh new wave of anger, he pushes jake off of him and goes straight for bob until your voice stops him straight in his tracks

"hi brad," you whisper, waving meekly and its the wrong move because bradley bradshaw pulls back in shock, like you've slapped him across the face and he recoils in the shame and pain.

"and look what the cat has dragged in," comes a familiar laugh you've grown to love.

"hi, jakey," you shyly whisper in reply, not taking your eyes off your brother for even a moment, trying to decipher the weight of his stare until you feel it at your finger.

the drawl of "hi, little chicken," is hushed to the back as bradley's voice booms through the air, shaking the walls with a vibration of steel.

"what the fuck is that?" and his eyes bulge as big as the diamond. it's the second time you've had that question thrown at you and the confrontation of it makes you want to cry. bob is instantly at your side, infront of you and you press your forehead to the curve in his bare back that instantly melts at your touch. you're hiding and he hates it- he decides that he's not as big and built as either rooster or hangman- he most likely couldn't take them in a fight but he'd certainly die trying.

oh he's definitely going to die.

"i," rooster breathes raggedly, chest heaving in borderline hyperventilation- you're worried he's going to have a heart attack, "am going to kill you" and he lunges for bob, bob stands there ready and bracing hoping you'll see this act as honourable but jake seresin the saviour comes between you all once again, holding off rooster to give bob enough time to choose his last words.

"okay okay enough," hangman gets out. "rooster, snap out of it, you giant baby and the two of you," he raises a brow, "put some damn clothes on and meet us in the restaurant for breakfast. you have five minutes."

his words are crystal clear and rooster leaves the room with a grunt and a final lethal stare directed straight to your husband.

your husband.

heat pools in your stomach and you feel faint as the door slams behind the two aviators leaving the thick air behind.

"robbie?" your voice wobbles and he strokes your arm gently in reassurance before wrapping you in a tight hug as if it might be the last time. "you don't regret this do you?" your voice comes tiny.

"no, sweetness," he promises as he presses his nose against yours, "this isn't the way i would've done it, i would've wanted to remember every single moment of it- but i don't regret the fact that drunk bob had more courage than sober bob," he lets out.

you lean up to him to find earnest swinning in those chocolate eyes and sigh, "i love all the versions of you you'll let me have," and he squeezes you in his embrace.

now he just has to make it past tomorrow to find out a way to redeem himself and actually propose in a way you'll remember for the rest of your lives.

....

its three on three in an interrogation chamber known as the breakfast buffet.

fanboy sits in the middle of you and bob; sleep slowing his body down as he fights the fatigue to sit up straighter, feeling the weight of bradley's stare on him. you wanted to sit next to bob but the twitch in bradley's eyes and the soft shake of jake's head told you to take the futher seat away from your lover.

bob casts you a glance of reassurance as his eyes track your fingers that fumble and twist the ring backwards and forwards in nervousness and he wants nothing more to reach out and hold them tight.

"no," bradley shakes his head, "you two are not looking at each other"

"bradley," you lower your voice in desperation. but he spares you not an ounce of attention, focusing it all razor sharp on fanboy in the middle of you three.

"you officiated the wedding?" rooster shouts, "are you fucking insane?" and natasha shoots him a deathly look, aware of the amount of people also making use of the unlimited amounts of pastry and coffee.

fanboy can feel the sweat trickle down his brows and shrugs when he can't find the words, "you know how i get with tequila!" he cries out, "i don't even know what day it is!" and he can feel rooster growl.

"bradley," you call out again and instantly he shoots you down, focusing on bob and fanboy at your sides and this is how its been your whole life. as much as you love your brother and he loves you, he's always been dismissive of your opinions and actions- you'll always be the younger little sister who doesn't touch him close.

"this is what we're going to do," he breathes out a level responsible answer and bob interrupts him bravely.

"rooster, she's got something to say, let's hear her out" he gets out, unflinching to bradley's stare.

"i'm not hearing anyone out, the two of you are going to get this marriage nullified and we are going to fucking go back home where-"

"no," you pause his rant softly, your voice gentle as it holds the weight of your decision- this is your future he's disregarding as a chore- a pit stop in his plans and you hate it. he pauses though however, the stop slicing through the air with a cutting edge.

"no?" he recoils in a shout, "i'm sorry, you think you have a say in this? you got married! drunk! in vegas!" each exclamation reeks of exasperation and jake furrows his brows.

"what would dad say about this?" and the whole table stills in shock.

you however, don't even move a muscle, just a slow blink your brother.

"rooster don't be such a dick," bob scoffs to break the ice and jake murmurs in agreement- "i don't like your tone with her," nodding to himself and at you in support and you smile.

"oh shut up," he rolls his eyes, "i am not talking to you, i'm talking to her," and before bob can start again you reach out gingerly to place a hand on his shoulder to let him know its all going to be okay.

"no brad, you're talking at me, not to me," the words that leave your anxious bitten lips are not loud or strained but heavy with the notion of this talk being a long time coming to face your brother. "i'm not nullifying anything, this is my life and my decisions. i'm going to be married to bob as long as he lets me love him," you look over and smile sadly.

"till i die," he swears firmly, "and every life after that."

rooster opens his mouth again but you hold you hand up as a truce, a silent plead for him to let you finish. "i've known bob for years, loved him for longer than we've been together and this is all i've ever wanted. yes, it's wrong to sneak behind your back but can you blame me? knowing this would be how you'd react? i've followed you my whole life bradley, i might not be smarter than you or as quick as you but i'm also a damn good pilot and two days ago? i saved your life," you breathe.

"and here you are hell bent on ruining mine," the confession is thundering as rooster lowers his eyes to his lap hearing it fall from your lips. "i don't know what dad would think, you got to love him for whatever little time you had but i didn't even get that- i didn't know him at all so forgive me if i don't really care much because i know deep down if he's anything like mom- as passionate, kind and loving then i know he'd look at bob and i and see what he saw in her. i love him, rooster" you can't stop the words from rushing out. "i love him so much that i can't imagine my life without him. he's sweet and caring and has never asked too much from me even though i'd give him the world- he's my universe and i don't think i could ever love anyone but him, it's scary. i've married him bradley and i'm going to stick by him for the rest of my life. if you can't support me on this, then you're not the brother i thought you were nor one that i can call my own," you stand tiredly, clutching the table slowly to give you some more support and then wrap the hoodie a little tighter around you for warmth.

you walk away from the table and head in the direction of the hotel rooms again- your breakfast untouched. and the table looks at rooster disappointedly, he doesn't meet any of their eyes however until bob speaks.

"she has no middle name, her favourite colour is yellow like the sun, she loves coffee and is slowly trying to get the hang of matcha. she sleeps in on her days off and loves to read books that are too quick-moving for me. she doesn't watch tv much but uses it mainly as background noise. she does yoga not to keep in shape but to give her some breathing space and meditation. she cooks lasagne because it's my favourite meal and even eats it even though i know she doesn't like how heavy it feels but she does it anyways. when she's angry, she flies more rolls than usual and a little choppier than usual. when she's had a good day she celebrates with a bath and a sweet treat. she doesn't know what to ask for sometimes and that's okay i've waited years for her and i'll hold this patience for the rest of my life. i love her rooster, i love her when she cries and tries to hide her sadness in fears shes burdening everyone, i love her when she tries not to laugh so loud to not draw attention to her and i love her even when she doesn't feel like she has much to give me," his rambles get choppier, each breath landing and conveying all the feelings he's hidden from your family. "i know she loves you rooster, you're all she has left and she cares about your opinion more than anything- so much that she lets you speak to her like she doesn't even matter and it bothers me so fucking much," he fumes.

"she loves you rooster," he stands, taking your plate with him hoping that you'll at least get something in your system to numb the sad feelings of today. "and she'll forgive you because thats just what she does, but this? i'll always remember how you've made her feel today," and with that he leaves.

jake lets out a low whistle, wincing at bob's departure and patting bradley's back before following his lead. rooster sits at the table, natasha at his side who picks at his breakfast, and lets him mellow in his regret.

"you know rooster, you're a lot like maverick than you think," she hums softly, "and you need to fix this."

"and how do i do that?"

"i think you already know the answer to that, bud."

he nods in agreement, before pushing his chair abruptly across the floor with a hard scrape and heading off in the direction of where all his friends have left before.

...

you spot maverick on your way back to the hotel room, he's walking opposite to you and you assume he's on his way to get some fuel in before he starts the day.

"hey honey," he calls out with a smile that you return though you can feel your heart cracking at the edges. "you okay?" he detects in an instant. you swallow the phlegm gathering in your throat, the thick emotion that causes you to exhale longer than usual and nod tightly.

"i got married," you lift your hand to show him the rock, a weak smile straining your features.

"congratulations, honey!" he exclaims and wraps you in a firm fatherly hug. you relax in his hold and slowly begin to break down. the tears you've been holding in since rooster sat you down like a child infront of all your joined friends, embarrassing you infront of your own damn husband stream your cheeks, wetting his shirt in little droplets. he pulls back, using the pads of his thumb to wipe away the stray tears falling in an instant.

if goose was here today, this is what he would've done, maverick thinks and boy does he long for his old friend who would've loved to see his daughter grown up- especially how proud he'd be of who you've become. and even if he was still here, pete would still be here for always.

"you're not happy with bob?" he questions, holding you.

"god, no!" you exclaim dramatically, "its not him- i mean it is him, and i couldn't be happier to be with him its just rooster doesn't approve," you bite your lip carefully. "he doesn't seem to approve of anything i do."

maverick lets a groan leave his lips before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and waist to lead you back to the buffet room. he fights your tired "i'm not really hungry, uncle pete," with a gentle, "you'll let an old man eat by himself??" within seconds.

as he spreads a thin layer of raspberry jam on some toast and then puts it into your plate despite your protests because he knows its your favourite, always has been and waits until youve taken a bite before he carefully picks his words.

"you think dad would've been disappointed in me?" you ask, licking the sweet conserve off your lips and fingers. youre a messy eater, reminding him so much of nick that it brings a smile and easy chuckle.

"i think he would've laughed at the fact that you and bob waited longer than him and carole," pete reassures you. "the thing with goose is, there never was a right moment- it was always a here and now thing and as long as you're happy kid then that's all that matters."

"rooster doesn't think so, he thinks dad wouldve hated me."

"nick would've thought bradley's head was too big for his body and that moustache is only something nick bradshaw could make work," he grimaces, "makes him look older than his dad." and you fight a laugh.

"he'll get over it," pete promises.

"he was really disrespectful to bob. i can handle him, but to insult bob? when he's been nothing but the best to me?" you shudder, and take another bite of toast.

"your brother is headstrong, i'm not making any excuses for him but he has a hard time of showing his love. what he did was unacceptable but i think more than anything he just wants to protect you."

"i know uncle pete, i just- he was mean," you stress and feel the tears come again, lightly dabbing at them with your fingers.

"give it some time, let him wallow, and besides. maybe he knows he needs to get a move on being the last single bradshaw and all," pete grins and you reach across the table to pat his hand.

"when your dad met your mother it's like his whole trajectory changed- he was still goose but he finally had a whole person he could give all this love to. your mother made him smile and laugh the loudest i've ever heard, i mean half of the world could've probably heard him. she also made him cry and sob in my car during the hard times but one thing about him and carole was that their kind of love- it's worth everything, kid," he tells the story of your parents and you soften at the reminisce. "when your dad came to me and said he'd met the love of his life, i laughed it off- i told him we're navy boys but then when i stopped laughing and saw the look in his eyes- that same fierce determination i can see in yours? nothing else mattered, it still doesn't."

"i think," you begin slowly, "that maybe they've found their way back to each other in heaven," and pete pauses, exhaling the breath he didn't even know was trapped into his chest.

"they definitely have kid," he whispers. "i don't think they ever really left each other, it just became a waiting game of who would come home first and now? they have forever waiting for them."

tears escape both your eyes and then you look over at each other with the same expressions and laugh, the emotion still thick in your voices.

"thanks, uncle pete. i needed this."

"anytime kid, it's what your dad would've done," he smiles.

you two continue to eat in silence before pete delves into more stories of carole and nick, ones you've never had the privilege of hearing yourself and you soften.

you know you and bob are capable of a marriage and love like theirs but your relationship is so unqiuely yours too that there's no way without a doubt you'd walk away from this marriage.

...

you spot bob sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he waits and watches the door eagerly. then, as he spots you safe in his line of vision, the ropes holding him tight loosen and he feels his whole body relax- the reaction his soul has tethered to yours pumping in his heart in an instant.

"hey, kitten," he greets, meeting you halfway. he instantly wraps you into a comforting hug and sways the two of you back and forth. you imagine ocean waves in your mind as you tilt side to side, peace and serenity filling your body. with this weight of secrecy of your shoulders, it feels less like drowning and more like sailing.

"you had something to eat?" he asks softly into your hair, "i brought your plate up in case," and you want to tear up at how sweet he is.

"i caught a bite with mav," you stick a tongue through your cheek in thought before reaching up with a free hand and raking it through his hair, tugging at the spots you know he loves and he leans into your touch, "i'm sorry about bradley," you wince and he shakes his head immediately in understanding.

"you have nothing to apologise for; rooster will be rooster i guess," he shrugs and a sigh leaves you.

"but it shouldn't have to be like that. he spoke about you like you were just a bad decision, something i'd grow out of like you didn't matter," you meet his gaze and drown in those honey eyes, "you're my person, bob. you're it for me."

he laughs, eyes crinkling in a gorgeous radiant smile of bliss, "i should hope so considering we're married now." and you return the smile a million times brighter, hand now coming to cup his jaw and carress his cheek gently with you fingers.

"i'd do it again if you wanted to," you whisper into the distance between you.

"what?" he pulls back ever so slowly.

"a ceremony, a whole wedding- white dress, if you wanted to. i'd do it again."

"you'd marry me?"

"i mean what's one more time, huh," you laugh and he pinches your side, playfully.

"be serious, you'd do that for me?"

"i'd do anything for you, robbie. you just have to ask."

"should i get down on one knee?"

"i mean, you don't have- oh okay, we're really doing this," as he bends one knee into the floor and then freezes. you catch up to his delayed thought process instantly, "shit, you'd probably need this back," and you slide the ring off your finger and back into his warm hands. he holds it up to you like a trophy, a soft glint blinding in his eyes.

"you wanna marry me, kitten?"

"i don't think that's exactly how the question goes but yes, yes, yes, more than anything, bobby," and he slides the ring on with such ease before you're jumping straight into his arms in a messy, exciting barrel. hes lifting you to the air with his hands at your waist and yours at his shoulders. laughter fills the hotel room and you feel his lips at your neck and then at your face hovering over you again and again.

this is what it mustve felt like last night, you muse, giggling over and over, savouring the sweetness of this moment till the last drop.

bradley bradshaw stands outside the door after having heard the whole encounter and softens, regret and guilt filling his entire heart till it weighs his soul down completely. his hand raised for a knock drops down to his side, thinking that this intimate moment shouldn't be disturbed just yet. he turns to walk away and head back to his own room with quiet resolve and an apology at the tip of his tongue.

there's two things he knows for sure: one, that he's royally fucked things up and needs to fix things before you leave vegas and two, bob floyd is probably the best thing to happen to your family ever in existence.

...

"do i look okay?" comes your hurried question as you stand outside the garden door.

bradley stares down at you fondly, nothing but adoration in his eyes as he twirls a lock of your hair behind your ear- the rogue tendril falling from your updo and he smiles.

"beautiful is not even the word for you," he breathes and you beam pure radiant sunshine at him. he bites his lip gently, trying to hold back the tears and clears his throat.

"oh no brad, you said you wouldn't cry," you panic, dropping the bouquet to the side, hands finding his shoulders shaking him gently, "pull yourself together, aviator or i'll start crying too!"

his chest heaves as it demands air, "i'm trying!" he cries, using his free hands to waft and dry the tears escaping from his eyes, "don't you dare start!" the order heavy with desperation.

"jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you two?" maverick is there, eyes flickering between the two of you like you're wild animals and he's unsure of how to approach.

"he started it!" you shout, fingers finding the waterline of your eyes and patting them dry.

"did not!" he barks back childishly and pete rolls his eyes.

"get a hold of yourself, soldiers," and the two of you straighten yourselves up. he walks over, hands you back your wedding arrangement before turning to rooster. he straightens bradley's baby blue tie- identical to his, before standing at your right side, interlocking your arms. rooster takes the side at your left, clearing his throat and failing to appear sharper.

"goose would've never let you guys live that down," maverick mutters to the two of you before the door of the manor you and bob had rented out opens.

"i wish they both could've seen this," rooster whispers to the gentle spring breeze and you pat the arm you're wrapped around comfortingly.

"me too, but i have the both of you and that's more than enough for me."

"you ready for this?" maverick asks and you nod tightly, more sure of this than anything.

"then lead the way mrs floyd," bradley grins and the three of you walk to where you find jake seresin's wolf whistle and robert bob floyd's nervous smile and heart that promises to hold yours for an eternity and then some more.

they do say what happens in vegas stays in vegas; but the story of your and bob's relationship is something that is carried out from the drunken air all the way to your friends and family and hopefully, you'll be alive long enough to tell this story to your children too.

you hope they'll have his gentle smile, kind heart and chocolate eyes that have never loved you anything short of what you deserve.

note: AAAA FIRST BOB FIC HOW DO WE FEEL !!!! i love this & had so much fun writing this. i'd love to do an actual wedding wedding scene or maybe like a flashback as to how i think their vegas wedding went separately- let me know if you'd like to see it!!! hope you enjoy and as always let me know what you think of it because i love me some lewis pullman (doesnt everyone??)

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hipsternerd9 · 3 days ago

Text

HEARING YOU

PAIRING: robert “bob” floyd x female reader

RATING: explicit

WORD COUNT: 4225

SUMMARY:

Bob Floyd has a crush on the air traffic controller with the pretty voice.

The air traffic controller has a crush on the quiet WSO.

Nat is determined to get them to meet.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

explicit content (18+ minors do not interact), female reader insert, no use of y/n, not beta read, reader is an air traffic controller at NAS north island (take the jargon with a grain of salt), very requited crush, flirty jake seresin, wingwoman natasha, light alcohol consumption, semi-public sex (bob’s truck), making out, dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk.

The sky is just barely starting to lighten from an inky black to mottled blue when you swipe into the Cab, floor-to-ceiling windows giving you a bird’s eye view of the airfield below. It’s quiet this morning, conversation dialed to a low murmur. You get a few nods of acknowledgement as the door closes behind you with a soft click and you cross the room to your console, setting your travel mug of coffee down and tapping your workstation awake.

“We’ve got Dagger Squad again this morning,” your coworker, Jason, says with a yawn, rolling his chair beside yours. “Last drill of the week.”

You hum. “Flyovers are easy. Rooster’s leading the first run.”

“Nice. At least we’ll start off strong and not with someone trying to show off before the sun is even up.”

“And by someone you mean Hangman.”

“Bingo.”

You plug your headset into the jack and lift it over your head. “Maybe if we’re lucky Maverick will knock his ego down a couple pegs.”

“A couple pegs ain’t nothin’ for that one.”

You look down at the tarmac. The Super Hornets are lined up on the apron, gleaming beneath the floodlights. There’s movement below, tiny figures in flight suits and high visibility vests going through pre-flight procedures. You’ve always thought they looked like ants from up here.

Jet engines roar to life. Ground crews start to disperse. The aviators climb into their birds and get themselves situated. You press the button on your mic.

“Dagger Squad, Tower. Runway two seven is active. Taxi via Alpha, hold short at two seven. Launch order as briefed, Rooster in the lead. Call when you’re ready,” you say, the words sharp in the quiet room.

“Tower, Dagger zero two — wilco, taxiing via Alpha,” Rooster replies.

“Not even a good morning?” A female voice asks. You chuckle.

“Good morning, Phoenix,” you say to your friend. “And good morning, Bob.”

“Oh, uh…good morning,” Bob replies. You bite your lip, fighting a smile.

Natasha’s backseater, a WSO by the name of Bob Floyd, caught your attention when he first arrived to base. He wasn’t like some of the other aviators on the newly formed squad, loud and cocky with egos to match, and he didn’t clog up your radio with unnecessary chatter. He was sure, steady, and good at his job. Nat had nothing but good things to say about him whenever his name came up in conversation.

Which, you’ll admit, it often does.

Down on the runway, Phoenix smirks, switching to intercom. “You okay back there, Bob?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks.

“Just making sure you didn’t burst into flames.”

Bob doesn’t reply, focusing instead on the systems in front of him. His cheeks are flushed, the direct result of hearing your voice over the radio — sharp, controlled, a little raspy this early in the morning.

“I could introduce you,” Nat says. “If you want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

The first time Bob heard your voice over the radio, he knew he was in trouble. You were calm and confident, a force to be reckoned with, and when your laugh crackled through the radio, his heart started racing the same way it did during take off.

Despite never having seen you before, his crush on you took root and refused to budge. Nat, always observant, noticed it right away and has been trying to play matchmaker ever since.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to meet you. He does.

But he’s also just…Bob. Quiet, observant, a little awkward. He worries that you’d meet him and be disappointed, that maybe someone like Jake or Bradley or Javy would be a better match.

“Dagger zero two, Tower,” your voice says in his ear.

Bob shakes his head to clear his thoughts and focus on the drill, a time-on-target run that means he has to be locked in to make sure the strike lands with precision.

“Wind two nine zero at six, runway is clear.”

Bradley taxis the plane down the runway and Nat follows into position. Bob taps his fingers on his knee, the adrenaline starting to kick in.

“Tower, Dagger zero two is ready.”

“Dagger zero two, you are cleared for take-off, runway two seven. Good luck.”

The jet engine roars to life as Bradley speeds down the runway before lifting off into the sky. Nat eases the jet forward.

“Tower, Dagger zero three holding short for two. Ready.”

“Dagger zero three, cleared for take off.” There’s a brief pause before you add, “Do a flip.”

Nat laughs, the sound drowned out by the afterburners as she takes off. After climbing a few thousand feet, she spins the jet in the air. Bob’s back slams into the seat and he lets out a breathless laugh.

“I give it a six out of ten,” you say. Nat groans.

“Tough crowd,” she grumbles, veering off to join Bradley.

The two jets fly together in perfect sync, level in the sky with Bradley in the lead and Nat following close behind. Bob’s focus remains on the navigation, watching the position as they approach the waypoint.

“Dagger three, time check,” Bradley calls on the comms. “Target flyover in two minutes, mark on 0700.”

“Copy,” Nat replies.

You watch from the tower, clipboard in hand. Today’s target is unmarked, just coordinates for a spot in the ocean, making it a more difficult run than a terrain drill. The clock above your console glows red, time ticking closer to the mark. Rooster’s voice sounds over your headset.

“Tower, Dagger zero two and zero three inbound for flyover.”

“Copy, Dagger zero two. Tower standing by for time,” you call back.

“Quick push, eight knots,” Bob says to Nat. She nudges the throttle forward, picking up speed. “Perfect, hold it. We’ll be right on top.”

“I’m counting on it,” Nat replies.

Bob smiles beneath his mask and begins to count down under his breath.

Five, four, three, two—

Bradley speeds over the mark, Nat following closely behind him. You scribble the time on your clipboard.

“Dagger zero two and zero three, flyover complete. Nice job,” you tell them. “A double zero. Impressive, Bob.”

Bob blinks, surprised by the compliment. “T-thanks,” he manages to stutter.

Nat follows Bradley back towards base, keeping in tight formation. Bob’s thoughts are a loop of your praise.

“Tower, Dagger zero two and zero three inbound,” Bradley says.

“Dagger zero two, pattern is clear,” you reply.

Bradley lands first, followed by Nat, the impact of touchdown jolting Bob in his seat. The aircraft director waves them forward off the landing area and Nat steers the plane into park. The deck crew gives her the okay to kill the engine and Bob’s ears ring in the silence of the turbofan going still.

The canopy lifts and Bob removes his mask, taking a deep breath of the salty air. Ground crew gathers around the jet, going through the post-flight check. Nat unbuckles her harness and eases out of the cockpit first, climbing down the ladder with practiced efficiency.

Bob moves slowly, his stiff limbs making him feel like a newborn calf. He climbs down the ladder and joins Nat on the tarmac, tugging his helmet off and holding it in his hand. Bradley approaches, followed by Jake, Reuben, and Mickey, who are suited up for the next run.

“Damn, Baby-On-Board. That was clean,” Jake says, a heavy hand landing on Bob’s shoulder. “Don’t know if Fanboy is going to beat that.”

“If he does, I’ll buy his drinks tonight,” Nat chimes in.

“How the hell am I supposed to beat a double zero?” Mickey asks.

Nat smirks. “Exactly.”

Bradley, Bob, and Natasha return to the ready room, where Maverick already has the playback ready on the monitors.

“That might have been the cleanest run I’ve seen out of this squad. Tight formation, quick adjustments,” Maverick says with a sharp nod. “Nice job, Lieutenant Floyd.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bob replies.

After they’ve been dismissed, Nat drags Bob down to mess for breakfast. She sits across the table from him, picking at her eggs while he sips from his styrofoam cup of coffee.

“You coming out with us tonight?” She asks. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Maybe,” he replies. She lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Come on, you’ve blown us off like, three times now. That’s bad for morale.”

“You know I don’t like crowds.”

“When half the crowd is your squad, that’s hardly an excuse.”

He sighs. “Fine, I’ll be there.”

Nat gives him a wide smile.

He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in her eye.

Nat: Hard Deck tonight?

Nat: You can’t say no

Nat: I know you’re off tomorrow.

You laugh at the series of texts from Nat. You’re back in your apartment early in the afternoon, enjoying the extra downtime — a benefit of working an 0500 flight drill with the Daggers.

Yeah, I’ll come, you reply.

Later, you arrive at the Hard Deck a little earlier than Nat’s suggested time. The small bar is busy but not yet packed and you easily find a spot to squeeze into, flagging down Penny. The older woman smiles at you.

“Hey, stranger,” she says. “Long time no see.”

“Did you miss me?” You ask. She chuckles.

“‘Course I did.” She grabs a glass from beneath the bar. “The usual?”

“Please.”

You take a moment to scan the room, recognizing a few faces from around the base. By the pool tables, you spot a group of men playing a game. A tall man with neatly combed blonde hair and Navy issue glasses leans over the table, lining up a shot and sinking two solid colored balls into separate pockets.

He’s cute in that unassuming kind of way. The sleeves of his shirt highlight the lean muscle of his arms and the fabric stretches nicely over broad shoulders that dip into a narrow waist. Penny sets a drink by your elbow and you hand her some cash with a quick thank you, your attention drawn back to the man.

“Well if it ain’t the princess herself, visiting us from her tower,” a voice drawls from beside you. Jake grins at you when you look over at him, his eyes flicking down your body. “Lookin’ good, by the way.”

“Hangman,” you sigh.

Jake was the first of Nat’s squad members that you met after befriending her. He’s loudmouthed, cocky, and he flies just the same. You’ve had to correct him from the tower on more than one occasion.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” He asks, mock hurt. “Because I’m sure happy to see you, darlin’.”

You roll your eyes. “Not after the shit you pulled during your drill.”

“I was just showin’ off for you.”

“Five seconds ahead of mark isn’t anything to be proud of.”

“You wound me,” he says. The door opens and you spot Nat, waving her over.

“Save me,” you whisper loudly when she’s close enough to hear you.

“Bagman, quit bothering my favorite controller,” Nat says, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “She’s too good for you, anyway.”

“Something we can agree on,” Jake says, winking at you. “Fine. You know where to find me.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Jake disappears through the crowd, heading straight for the pool tables. He greets the men with friendly familiarity, patting each of them on the back.

“He’s relentless,” Nat says. “It would be admirable if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

Penny comes by, greeting Nat and taking her order. Your friend requests a second drink for you on her tab, despite your objections. When her beer and your fresh glass are delivered, Nat grabs your arm and drags you over to the pool tables.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away, princess,” Jake says. “You want to play?”

“I don’t know how,” you tell him. Beside you, Nat hides her laugh in her drink.

“That’s okay, I’m a real good teacher.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll give it a shot,” you relent. While Jake sets up the table, you say hello to Reuben, or Payback as you know him over the radio, the other member of Nat’s squad that you’ve met in person. You introduce yourself to the rest of the unfamiliar faces, putting names to voices and call signs.

The tall blonde man from earlier is sitting down now and you catch him staring at you before he ducks his head and focuses intently on picking the label of his beer bottle with his thumb nail. You’re about to approach him when Jake shoves a pool cue in your hands and says, “Ladies first.”

Jake is rambling on about how to play pool as you line up a shot, striking the racked balls with impressive precision, three solid balls sinking into pockets. Jake frowns across the table. You come around to his side and lean over for another shot, sinking another ball.

“Forget princess,” he grumbles. “You’re a shark.”

Some times later, the game finishes in your favor and you hand your cue to Nat to take the next game. You pat Jake on the back.

“Better luck next time, Bagman,” you tell him.

The blonde man is still sitting in the same spot. He looks up at you when you approach him, pretty blue eyes going wide.

“Hi,” you tell him. “We haven’t met yet.”

It’s you, he thinks. The air traffic controller. If he thought your voice was pretty over a staticky radio, nothing could have prepared him for hearing it in person. He’s surprised you noticed him over here — you looked like you were having a good time with Jake, destroying him in a game of pool.

He suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to respond but he’s been staring at you.

“No, uh, don’t think we have,” he says.

You take a seat on the stool beside him, keeping yourself angled towards him.

“You must be Bob,” you say, reaching a hand out and introducing yourself.

He huffs a laugh. “What gave me away?”

“You’re quiet.” You don’t say it like it’s a bad thing. Just a truth, an observation. He ducks his head and you add, “I like quiet.”

For the rest of the night, you sit beside Bob, drawn into conversation with the man. It’s a little awkward at first but once Bob starts to get comfortable, the shy WSO really starts to open up and you can’t help but be drawn to the sweet, funny guy he reveals to you.

“Well. I’ll be damned,” Jake says, watching the two of you across the room. You’re leaned in close, laughing at something Bob said, your hand on his bicep. The man looks like he’s about to combust. “Bob’s got an audience tonight.”

“I’ve been trying to make this happen for months,” Nat tells him. “Don’t you dare do anything to screw it up.”

“Roger,” he replies with a mock salute, returning his attention to the dart board.

Penny shouts for last call and Bob looks up, surprised to see how empty the bar has gotten. He checks his watch.

“I don’t remember the last time I was out this late,” he says. You smile at him.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” you tease. “But I guess it’s time to head out.”

Disappointment settles in his chest. “Right, yeah. We should…go.”

Bob walks with you out of the bar, hands shoved in his pockets so that he doesn’t give in to the intense urge to pull you into him. The air is a little colder now that the sun has set and he notices the way you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“How’re you getting home?” He asks.

“I was going to walk. My apartment isn’t too far once you get off base,” you tell him.

“I can give you a ride.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Please,” he interrupts. “It’s late and cold. My mama would be disappointed in me if I didn’t.”

You give him a soft smile. “I definitely don’t want you disappointing your mama.”

He leads you through the parking lot to his pick up truck and unlocks the doors, opening yours for you. He waits until you’ve settled into the passenger seat before shutting the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

The short ride to your apartment is quiet, the silence broken only by your occasional directions. It’s not awkward but something settles between you that makes his heart pound frantically against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears.

Bob pulls into a spot near your building, putting the truck in park. It’s late enough that your complex is quiet, the parking lot dark and empty. You unbuckle your seatbelt but you don’t reach for the door, turning to face him instead, one leg tucked beneath you.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he replies. He clears his throat. His eyes drop to your mouth, gaze drawn to your lips like a magnet.

“Are you going to kiss me, Bob?” You whisper.

“Do you want me to?” He asks, just as quiet.

You nod your head. He swallows nervously, unbuckling his seatbelt before leaning toward you and lifting a hand to cup your cheek. You tilt your head into his touch, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. His thumb drags across your bottom lip and when your mouth opens with a small sigh, he pulls you in for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes your blood run hot in your veins, slow and sure and deep. You shift a little closer, the center console pressing uncomfortably into your stomach but you don’t care, not enough to stop, not enough to pull away from the intoxicating warmth of his mouth. His tongue tangles with yours and there’s an unexpected confidence in the way he tilts your head to his liking, chasing the best angle.

He pulls back suddenly and before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s reaching beneath the center console flipping it up, removing the annoying barrier. You grin at him.

“That’s convenient.” He laughs, the sound a deep rumble in the quiet of the cab.

“C’mere,” he says, a little breathless, the words stringing together. You shuffle a bit closer and he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you across the seat until you’re in his lap, legs open over his thighs and the steering wheel at your back. He runs his palms up your thighs and traces the curve of your waist. “You are—god—you’re a dream, you know that?”

He says it so earnestly, like it’s an undeniable truth, and something in you cracks. You kiss him again, harder this time, a little desperate. Your hands are in his hair, messing up the neatly combed strands. He groans when you tighten your grip, his hands squeezing your hips.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, lips leaving messy kisses across your jaw, down to your neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Really?” You ask. He nods against you, sucking the sensitive skin over your pulse between his teeth.

“First time I heard you,” he says, “on the radio. Prettiest voice I’d ever heard, right in my ear.”

You rock your hips, moaning when you feel the hard length of him beneath you. He slips a hand beneath the hem of your t-shirt, reaching up to tug the cup of your bra down to expose the tight bud of your nipple. He pinches it lightly, making you gasp.

“Knew you’d make some pretty noises, too.”

He lifts your shirt, just enough that he can get his mouth on you. He sucks your nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around it before releasing it with an obscene pop and moving to your other breast to give it the same attention. You squirm in his lap, your core aching for friction.

Bob lifts his head, looking up at you. His hair is a mess and his blue eyes are dark behind his slightly foggy glasses, splotches of pink coloring his cheeks.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks. “Please?”

He asks so eagerly, so sweetly, that all you can do is nod your head and let him guide you down to your back on the seat beside him. His hands reach for your jeans, his fingers deftly popping the button and dragging the zipper down.

He tugs the denim over your hips and down your thighs, freeing one of your legs completely but leaving the fabric gathered in a heap around your other ankle. You sit up a little to give him some space, your back pressed to the door. He settles between your thighs, staring down at you with a hungry look in his eye.

He rests his heavy palm on your mound, dipping his thumb down to drag it over the wet spot that’s formed on the gusset of your underwear. He grazes your clit and you gasp, flexing your hips to chase the sensation. His other hand presses your hips down into the seat.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, voice low and steady. “You want to take care of you?”

“Mhm,” you hum, your head thumping against the car door when he draws slow circles over your clit.

He slides his hand beneath the elastic of your underwear, finally touching you. It’s lewd and messy, the way he swipes his calloused fingers over your slick heat. You can hear how wet you are, even above the blood rushing in your ears and the sound of your breathing.

He pulls your underwear down to your knees and ducks beneath them, his face close enough to your cunt that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, making you shiver in anticipation. He kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, before licking through your folds with a satisfied groan.

Bob takes off his glasses, tossing them on the dash with little regard for whether they remain in one piece. He doesn’t care, he’ll get new ones if he has to.

He tastes you again, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair and he outright moans against your pussy, tongue moving faster.

You’re so on edge that you know this won’t last long, not with the way he eats you like a man who just stumbled across an oasis in a desert. You can feel the combination of spit and slick dripping to the seat below you as you grind yourself against his mouth.

“Look at me,” he says, pausing for only long enough to get the words out. You lift your head and he holds your gaze as his attention returns to your clit.

His vision is blurry without his glasses but he can still see the way your eyes roll back when he flicks his tongue just right or how your mouth drops open and the sweetest sound he’s ever heard spills from your lips when he sucks your clit between his lips and hums.

“Bob—fuck—oh my god,” you cry, trying to keep your voice low, trying to remain cognizant of the fact that you never even made it out of this man’s truck before he was between your thighs.

He slides two fingers inside of you and you moan, long and loud and desperate, that knot of release growing impossibly tighter. He drags his fingers along your front wall, hitting a spot that makes the knot unravel, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, every nerve lighting up with the euphoria of it.

Bob reaches down to press a hand to his cock, rutting into his palm. It only takes a few flexes of his hips for him to come in his pants like a teenager, sticky heat filling his boxers as he moans, his forehead pressed to your thigh.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. “That was—“

“Good?” He asks hopefully. Your answering giggle is a little wild, a little incredulous.

“Great. Amazing. Spectacular,” you assure him. He smiles against your skin.

When he’s caught his breath, he sits up and helps you get your underwear back in place. You shimmy back into your jeans, sweat damp skin making the effort more harrowing than it has any right to be. Bob reaches for his glasses and puts them on, blinking at the adjustment to his vision. Once you’re dressed, you turn towards him again.

“I can—“

“I already, uh—“

“Oh.” You bite your lip. “Maybe next time?”

“Yeah?” He asks. You nod.

“Definitely.”

You lean forward and he meets you halfway, capturing your lips with his, matching wide smiles making it less of a kiss and more of a shared breath. You pull back, reaching up to smooth his hair into place.

“Where’s your phone?” You ask. He reaches into his back pocket for it, handing it to you.

You dial your number and save it into his contacts. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Yes m’am,” he answers.

You give him one last lingering kiss before opening the passenger door and hopping out of his truck, shutting the door behind you. He doesn’t start the truck until he sees you disappear through one of the apartment doors.

As he’s driving home, his phone pings with a new message. He checks it when he’s back on base.

Nat: You’re welcome, btw.

Thank you for reading! 💕

LINKS

main blog | masterlists | AO3

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hipsternerd9 · 3 days ago

Text

baby on board

bob floyd x reader

synopsis: just when you were about to announce your unplanned pregnancy, your boyfriend gets called away on a dangerous mission—and although he comes back safe, things still don’t unfold as planned

warnings: pregnancy, a little crying, mentions of death, fear, unedited lol are we surprised?, mentions of sex and bob’s dick, mentions of parental abandonment, mentions of plan b, mentions of divorce

notes: i changed the plot for this like three times but i finally like it enough to post!! enjoy :)

stupid fucking bob floyd and his stupid dick.

and stupid you for not being able to keep your hands off of him.

you’d just moved in together, and in your defense, he just looked so good in that tight white shirt, arm and back muscles flexing as he hauled your boxes into his apartment.

when he dropped the last box, you pounced on him immediately, and in your haste and horniness, you may have forgone a condom.

you were planning on getting a pill the next morning but… you may have been distracted once again… and again… and then one more time before bed that night.

but all those times, he’d worn a condom!

so before long, your unprotected sexcapade was lost in your memory. well, it was until you missed your period a few weeks later. it was until those two little pink lines appeared on the test.

your first thought, of course, was to think of every way this could possibly turn out (or more precisely, go horribly wrong).

1. bob is happy, you keep the baby and the three of you live happily ever after.

2. bob is not happy, he leaves, but you keep the baby and live happily ever after.

3. bob is not happy but pretends and so you have the baby and live in a strained relationship bound to end in a divorce 10 years down the road

and the most recent and terrifying one:

4. bob dies on this mission without ever knowing he was about to become a father.

shortly after bob had called with the news of the high risk, short notice, and just all around terrifying mission, you decided #4 was just not an option, and so you started planning.

first, you wrapped all three tests in a cute little pink bow, which took about twenty minutes with your shaking hands. then, you scoured the internet for the perfect little onesie, paying a ridiculous fee for overnight shipping. and then, finally, you hid the evidence.

you cleared your browser history, hid the tests in your underwear drawer, and waited patiently for bob to come home. he left for the mission the day after tomorrow, meaning that in just about 24 hours, his world would flip sideways.

well, that was the plan, at least. but when your bobby came home, hands shaking and cheeks pink from stress sweat, your heart sank.

“i’m so scared,” he’d whispered, hugging you tightly. “this is the most dangerous mission phoenix and i have ever flown and i have barely 48 hours to prepare.”

you tightened your arms around his neck, elaborate plans going out the window. that night, all he wanted was to hold you, watch silly movies, and fall into a slightly-less restless sleep.

but long after bob’s breathing had evened out, you laid awake; #4 was back on the list.

the next night was similar, only worse, considering you and your hormones had had all day to worry about it.

you made a nice dinner—nothing too nice, though, because that felt like a goodbye—and turned in early for extra rest. however, any peace of mind was still out of reach for you.

bob would leave at 5:00 AM the next morning and if all went well, he should waltz back in at 5:00 PM and you would tell him that you were having a baby. #4 would just have to crawl back into the dark crevice of your brain it was born in.

in the morning, you woke up, giving bob a hug and a kiss goodbye, tuning out the screaming of the pregnancy tests and onesie in your underwear drawer. he was way too nervous, you just couldn’t tell him now.

“good luck,” you whisper instead. “i love you.”

you don’t even bother trying to fall back asleep.

you keep your phone on, the ringer at the highest possible tone, and you don’t set it down for a second. you try to distract yourself with cleaning and setting up the surprise, but it only takes a few hours and the clock won’t tick any faster. eventually, you knew you had to get out, less you develop zoochosis from pacing in your confinements for one more second.

you decide to take a nice walk around the forest preserve, one you and bob had been to a million times before. it was a beautiful day and the sun shown down on the path you walked, and finally, you had a moment to breathe. you still felt the weight of your phone in your pocket, waiting for a call from maverick telling you that your worst nightmares had come true. and you did get a call from maverick—only of a very different nature.

“it was a close call, but the mission went well, they even came back early,” he’d said, and you could hear the relief in the way he breathed. “bob’s phone overheated in the locker though and won’t turn on, so he asked me to call and tell you he’s on his way home.”

your relief turned to panic once more.

home. he was on his way home, where a onesie reading “daddy’s co-pilot” and three positive pregnancy tests were laying on your dresser, without you there to explain it all. luckily, you weren’t too far from the car when maverick called, so you rushed back and probably broke a few traffic laws on your way to the house.

but when you pulled into the driveway, you saw you were still too late. bob’s truck was sitting in your driveway.

you slowed your walk into the house now, creeping inside and up the stairs, into the bedroom—and there he was.

bob sat at the foot of the bed, onesie in one hand and tests in the other. he didn’t notice you at first, so you had the chance to watch his expression: shock, with tears dripping down rosy cheeks.

“you’re home,” you finally manage to spit out.

he looks up, eyes softening at the sight of you. “how long have you known?”

he doesn’t sound hurt, which is good, just… absolutely dumbstruck. you sat down next to him.

“the day you found out about the mission. i was gonna tell you the next day, had this whole thing planned for after work, but… you were just so nervous, bobby, and i didn’t want to scare you even more with this huge thing, and i didn’t even know if you’d want it—”

“want it?” he interrupts, voice rising not in anger, but in incredulousness. “want it? baby, this is all i’ve ever wanted.”

you looked down, suddenly very interested in playing with the frayed ends of your (his) hoodie strings. “i didn’t know if you’d want it with me.”

he goes silent and you immediately expect the worst, that pit in your stomach returning. but in just a few seconds, you find yourself gathered in his arms and tucked against his chest.

“of course i want it with you,” he whispers. “i want everything with you. i especially want a little version of you waddling around our house.”

“a little version of me?” you laugh, voice watery. “you’re already guessing it’s a girl?”

he shrugs. “we’ll have a girl eventually.”

you almost sob, the relief overwhelming. suddenly, the twisting in your gut was replaced with an unfamiliar but welcomed warmth. in just nine months, there’d be a full formed baby snuggled in there, just waiting to come out. honestly, it made your skin crawl a little at first, but the thought was growing on you.

“you think i could hide you from jake until you give birth?” bob asks abruptly.

you look up, the confusion cutting through your emotional brain fog. “what?”

“the ‘baby on board’ jokes are just gonna get so much worse.”

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hipsternerd9 · 3 days ago

Text

⤷ . ᵒ . 🍻 .༄ BELOW DECK ! ࿔* ━━ ⋅⋆ series masterlist

main masterlist | more bob flyod | join the taglist | inbox | dividers by @cafekitsune

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . robert floyd x bartender!reader

. ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . you came to san diego for one reason : obligation. a reunion you didn’t ask for. a father who left. a mother who forgave him. a brother who changed sides. you planned to stay a week, say the right things, smile when prompted, and get the hell out.

but then you kissed bob floyd in the back room of a bar.

and everything spiraled.

now you’re sleeping in your god brother’s guest room, lying to your family, dodging emotional ambushes, and ignoring the flight you never boarded. because running doesn’t feel as easy as it used to—not when bob texts you goodnight. not when he meets you at the base gate like you’re someone worth showing up for.

you said you were leaving. you swore you would. but some goodbyes are harder than others.

. ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! parental abandonment and estrangement ( emotional neglect, long-term absence ), family dysfunction and betrayal, emotional manipulation ( from parental figures ), verbal/emotional abuse, gaslighting, complicated mother-daughter dynamic, emotional isolation, references to childhood trauma, discussions of identity, self-worth, and grief, alcohol ( non-abusive context; social/setting use ), strong emotional content ( panic, crying, self-doubt ), profanity, smut ( in later chapters )

. ᵒ . ➛ WORD COUNT . ~ 9.6k

CHAPTER ONE unscheduled landing ( wc 1655 ) CHAPTER TWO the redemption tour ( wc 3034 ) CHAPTER THREE quirk and stealth ( wc 3015 )

CHAPTER FOUR flight risk ( wc 1876 ) CHAPTER FIVE tbd ( wc ) ( coming soon ) CHAPTER SIX tbd ( wc ) ( coming soon )

🔖 . @princesssunderworld @qtmoonies @spooky-librarian-ghost @Soupie_MeowMeow @gardeniarose13 @flyinglama @kmc1989 @letstryagaintomorrow @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @sweetdayme4427

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hipsternerd9 · 3 days ago

Note

I read your Bradley and Mav’ daughter fic and it was really intriguing as I never thought of him as a parent.Personally,I would like to read one with Jake going to meet him as a future son in law,I feel like the taste of karma would be very bitter. But on the other hand,I think that Jake would have attributes that Mav had to learn the hard way,like being cocky doesn’t mean less caring or being more willing to change for a partner. I think Mav would give him grace at the end,having lived and loved and lost. He could see in Hangman a version of him he could have been with Penny years ago if he had been braver.

Sorry for the rambling,you really got me thinking with your writing. I would love to see what you do with this.

Byeeee!😘

Sorry, this took me so long to write! I hope you like it.

One Chance

Pairing: Hangman x Mav's Daughter!Reader

Warning: This doesn't follow the plot exactly. Pretend that Mav and Jake didn't meet until months after the bar incident.

Summary: Reader brings Jake home to meet her dad for the first time, and Maverick's less than pleased.

*Not Proofread*

No description of reader's weight/body type or race.

Jake stands at the front door with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a slightly crushed bouquet of sunflowers in the other. His blonde hair is carefully combed and gelled, not a hair out of place. He tried to look as put together as possible.

He's already sweating under his pressed shirt, but he's not about to wipe his hands on his jeans. Not now. Not when he's about to come face to face with Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell. Again.

He just hopes it all goes well, that Maverick can forgive him for the bar and look past his less-than-favorable reputation. He hopes that Maverick will accept him as his future son-in-law.

He raises his hand and knocks, firm and steady.

The door opens a second later, and there he is. Maverick. Dressed casually, but somehow still looking like he's ready to interrogate a room full of recruits. His eyes flick down to the flowers, then to the bottle, then settle on Jake's face.

"You're early," he says, voice low and unreadable.

When his daughter had told him Jake is the man she's bringing over, the man who'd soon be his son-in-law, Maverick had been less than pleased. For starters, his daughter and Jake had been keeping the entire relationship in the dark. They didn't tell anyone about it until after Jake proposed, which felt like a very quick move for Maverick. After all, the two had only really known each other for a few months. On top of that, he's heard the rumors. Seen the cocky demeanor. He'd even met him once when Jake and his friends threw him out of Penny's bar.

He wasn't over the moon about his daughter's choice in men. But it was her life, her choice. He'd have to tolerate Jake.

"Hello, Sir." Jake nods once, straightening his posture like he's back on the tarmac. "Figured I shouldn't keep you waiting."

Maverick doesn't smile. Doesn't frown either. Just stares at him for a beat longer than is comfortable before stepping aside.

"Come in."

Jake steps through the doorway. The house smells like roasted garlic and something warm in the oven. He catches the sound of her laugh from the kitchen and finally exhales.

She comes around the corner, eyes lighting up when she sees the flowers.

"You remembered," she says, taking them gently from his hand. She leans in and kisses his cheek.

"Of course I did," he says, giving her a soft smile. "Your favorite."

Her attention shifts to the whiskey bottle still in his grip. Before she can say anything, Jake turns and holds it out toward Maverick.

"And this is for you, sir."

Maverick takes it and gives it a brief glance. "Bribery's a bold strategy."

Jake's lips twitch. "Not bribery. Just trying to start on the right foot."

Maverick grunts and heads toward the kitchen, the bottle still in his hand.

"I'm gonna check the food," she says, brushing her hand across Jake's arm as she walks by. Her voice drops just for him. "Please be nice."

Jake nods, murmuring back, "I'm trying. He scares the hell out of me."

"I heard that," Maverick calls without turning around.

Jake closes his eyes for half a second. Great start.

The dining table is already set when Jake walks in. He notices the little details immediately: cloth napkins folded with precision, mismatched but clearly loved dishware, and a candle burning low in the center. There are only three chairs. Maverick is already sitting in one of them.

Jake waits until she sits before taking his seat beside her. He pulls her chair in gently before sliding into his own. Maverick watches every movement.

They start eating in near silence. The only sounds are the scrape of forks and the occasional clink of glassware.

"So," Maverick says eventually, cutting into his chicken with deliberate care. "We've met before."

Jake swallows, nods once. "Yeah. The bar. Couple months ago."

"You and your friends were throwing people out."

Jake gives a stiff chuckle. "That wasn't exactly the plan going in, sir. Things got a little out of hand."

Maverick hums, unimpressed. "You were loud. Cocky."

Jake presses his lips together. Doesn't argue.

She jumps in, smiling a little too brightly. "Jake's toned it down since then. Haven't you?"

Jake glances at her, then back at Maverick. "I've been trying."

The conversation shifts to safer ground, at least for a while. Maverick asks questions, pointed, controlled, the kind that feel more like vetting than small talk.

"How long have you been flying Super Hornets?"

"Four years now."

"Ever think about switching to commercial?"

"Not yet. Still got a few things I want to prove."

"And after that?"

Jake hesitates. "If she asked me to, I'd get out tomorrow."

She looks up at that. Maverick doesn't.

"And what would you do?"

"Anything. Doesn't matter. As long as I come home to her."

Maverick finally meets his eyes. Jake doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink.

The silence stretches again.

Jake leans slightly toward her. "You look beautiful tonight, by the way."

She smiles, cheeks warming. Jake catches the small softening in Maverick's posture, just for a second.

After dinner, Jake helps her clear the plates. He doesn't ask, just grabs the dishes and follows her into the kitchen. Maverick watches him go.

From the other room, Jake's voice floats back.

"You want me to dry or rinse?"

"Dry," she says, teasing. "And don't break anything or my dad'll have a reason to throw you out."

Back at the table, Maverick sits alone, sipping his water and watching the candle burn lower. He's still not sure about the guy.

But he's starting to notice things.

After dinner, she settles onto the living room couch with a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap and the game already playing on the TV. Jake drops down next to her, close but not crowding. Maverick walks in last, a beer in hand, and takes the recliner across from them. He doesn't say much.

They all watch in near silence, except for the occasional comment from Jake.

"That guy's about to throw a pick. I can feel it."

She snorts. "You said that five plays ago."

"I was early. Doesn't mean I was wrong."

When the quarterback does throw a pick, Jake raises a hand, smug. She laughs and nudges his shoulder. Maverick gives the tiniest shake of his head but doesn't argue. His eyes linger briefly on the way Jake smiles when she's laughing. It's soft. Easy. Not like the cocky smirk he expected.

Jake's arm finds its way along the back of the couch. She leans into him naturally, like it's just instinct now. He rests his hand lightly on her shoulder. Doesn't make a show of it. Doesn't look over to see if Maverick's watching.

But Maverick is.

Ten minutes later, she stands and stretches. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom. Don't let them score while I'm gone."

Jake gives a mock salute. "No promises."

She disappears down the hallway, leaving the two men alone. The game plays on in the background, volume low. Jake stares ahead for a few seconds, jaw tight, then exhales.

"Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot," he says quietly. "And I apologize for that."

Maverick doesn't answer right away. His gaze stays fixed on the TV.

Jake keeps going.

"I know you don't like me. And honestly, you've got every right not to. I don't have the best rep around the base. And I wasn't exactly polite when we first met."

Still no reaction.

"But I want you to know that I understand why you're not thrilled about me being with your daughter."

Maverick's head turns slightly. Just enough to let Jake know he's listening.

Jake keeps his eyes on the screen.

"I know I don't deserve her. She's out of my league. She's kind, resilient, smart-she's one of the most genuine people I've ever met. She makes people better, just by being around them. And I know she's like that because you raised her to be that way."

Maverick's expression shifts, but it's subtle. Almost nothing.

Jake's voice stays steady.

"I'm working hard to become the kind of man she deserves. The type of man you would want for her. I'm not there yet. I still mess up. But I'm trying. And I'll keep trying until someday I don't have to anymore. It'll just be who I am."

He finally looks at Maverick.

"I love your daughter more than anything in this world. She's the only person who's ever really believed in me. Seen me for who I am. And I would do anything- everything- for her. I won't let you down, sir."

The words settle between them. Jake doesn't say anything else. Just leans back and waits.

Maverick stays quiet for a moment, like he's weighing something. Then he nods, slow and deliberate. "I've met a lot of pilots like you," he says. "Fast. Loud. Thought they owned the sky."

Jake lifts an eyebrow but doesn't interrupt.

"Not many of them would say what you just said."

Jake sits a little straighter. "Thank you, sir."

Maverick takes a sip of his beer, then glances over at him again.

"But if you ever hurt her, I'll hurt you."

Jake's mouth quirks. "Yeah. I figured that part was coming."

Maverick doesn't smile, but the air between them feels different now. Lighter, maybe.

Footsteps pad back in from the hallway.

"What'd I miss?" she asks, dropping down beside Jake again.

"Just a touchdown," he says, wrapping his arm around her again. "You were gone too long."

She curls into his side without hesitation. Maverick watches them for a second longer, then shifts his gaze back to the screen.

He still doesn't love the idea of her with a pilot.

But he's starting to think… maybe she chose the right one anyway.

The room is quieter now. The game's still going, but none of them are watching. She's curled into Jake's side, fingers tangled loosely with his, and Jake keeps stealing little glances at her like he's head over heels.

Maverick watches from his recliner, beer resting on his knee, jaw clenched just enough to feel it.

He doesn't speak, but his thoughts won't shut off.

He's seen this before. The cocky pilot, the too-charming grin, the smooth hands and smoother words. Jake Seresin walks like the world owes him a runway. And for years, guys like him burned hot and fast, leaving wreckage in their wake.

Maverick used to be one of them.

That's what scares him.

He's not sure if he sees Jake as a threat to his daughter… or as a mirror to the man he used to be. The younger version. The one who could've fought harder for Penny the first time around. The one who loved deeply but didn't know how to stay still long enough to deserve it.

But Jake? Jake stayed.

He's stayed through the tense dinner. Through the awkward silences. Through this night, when everything about Maverick has practically screamed, You're not good enough.

Jake stayed anyway.

And Maverick can't ignore the way his daughter looks at him like she's safe. Like she's home.

He sees the way Jake watches her when she's not looking. The way his hand moves instinctively to help her when she goes to stand. The way he listens. Really listens when she talks.

He remembers Penny once saying, It's not about finding someone perfect. It's about finding someone who tries.

And damn it, Jake is trying.

When the final quarter winds down, she's half-asleep on Jake's shoulder. He adjusts the blanket over her without thinking, brushing her hair gently out of her face.

Jake glances up, sees Maverick watching him.

He doesn't say anything, just gives him a quiet, respectful nod.

Maverick nods back. A little slower. A little heavier.

That's all.

It's not approval. Not yet.

But it's something close.

Maybe grace. Maybe respect.

Maybe… the start of letting go.

The next day, she finally asks him the question that's been weighing on her mind. "You really hate him?" she asks, soft and tired but serious.

He pauses. Looks at her. And everything he wants to say gets tangled in the back of his throat.

"I don't hate him," he says finally. Then, after a beat, "He surprised me."

She watches him closely, the corners of her mouth pulling up just a little. "That a good thing?" she asks.

Maverick doesn't answer right away. He just looks at her, his daughter, grown and grounded and still the best thing that ever happened to him, and thinks about how easy it would be to hold on too tight.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I think it is."

She doesn't smile big or anything. Just settles back into the couch, eyes closing again.

But Maverick sees the shift in her. The way her shoulders relax. The way she sinks deeper into the cushions, like something heavy's finally been lifted.

Maybe this could be the start of something beautiful for his daughter.

He's willing to give the man a chance. Let him prove he's not going to make the same mistakes Maverick once did.

He just hopes Jake won't screw it up.

----

Hangman Taglist: @idohknow @rockrose-blossoms

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hipsternerd9 · 3 days ago

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·˚ ༘ ┊͙ ˊˎ - BABY CHICK ( part four )

main masterlist || series masterlist || inbox || join the taglist || dividers by @cafekitsune

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . robert floyd x bartender!reader

. ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . in the early morning haze of departure gate b, you ( the reader ) nearly disappear. bag in hand, boarding pass clenched like a white flag. but one unexpected text from bob floyd—sweet, polite, and entirely unaware—unravels everything. you don’t get on the plane.

. ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! parental abandonment / estranged parent , emotional neglect , emotional hurt / familial tension , mentions of therapy and identity crisis , alcohol use ( implied ) , mild profanity , post topgun : maverick events

. ᵒ . ➛ WORD COUNT . ~ 1.8k

you hadn’t slept.

the clock had ticked past every hour—2:00, 3:00, 4:00—and still, your body refused to rest. you'd spent the whole night in the airport and you hadn't got a lick of sleep. beside you on the ground. the same bag you’d carried off the plane days ago. a strange sort of symmetry.

by 5:50 am, you were at the terminal, boarding pass clutched like a lifeline in your fist, headphones in but no music playing. just white noise. just silence. just…nothing.

you kept your head down, heart quiet, like if you didn’t think too hard, it wouldn’t hurt.

and then your phone buzzed.

hi. this is bob. ( from last night. ) hope you got home safe. also—i think i left my jacket at the bar. if you find it, no rush. just let me know.

you stared at the screen, stunned.

home.

he meant san diego. he meant here. as if you belonged here. as if this was your place now. as if you had something—a life, a presence—worth returning to.

you hadn’t told him anything about your plan to leave. he didn’t know. of course he didn’t. but something about the message—a little clumsy, overly polite, sincere in that unshakably Bob way—made your chest ache.

it wasn’t dramatic. there was no music swell, no voice in your head screaming wait! you just...stood. at the gate. phone and boarding pass in hand. and realized you just couldn’t do it.

not yet.

you throw away the boarding pass. you didn’t throw away the ticket. you just turned around and walked out of the terminal.

you text one person as you make your way to the airport entrance. bradley.

to bradley 🙄

can you pick me up?

he didn’t answer right away. but twenty minutes later, his beat-up bronco pulled to the curb in front of departures, the morning sun still low in the sky, casting a pale haze over the tarmac.

he didn’t park. just idled with the window down and eyes on the windshield, aviators hiding whatever thoughts were flickering behind them.

you opened the door without a word, tossed your bag in the back, and climbed in.

no hello. no questions.

just the sound of the blinker ticking as he pulled back into traffic.

for a while, there was nothing. only the whir of the road beneath the tires and the quiet creak of his elbow against the open window as he drove. you leaned your forehead against the glass, letting the coolness bleed into your skin.

'you hungry?' he asked eventually, voice low.

you shook your head.

'coffee?'

'no.'

another few miles passed.

'so…' he tried again, gentler this time, 'you didn’t get on the plane.'

'nope.'

he waited. you didn’t offer more. eventually, he asked, careful, like he was tiptoeing across glass, 'why not?'

you turned your head, met his eyes just long enough to say, flatly, 'didn’t have enough points. flights were a mess.'

he blinked. 'right.'

bullshit. you could see it in the way his jaw ticked. in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel. but he didn’t call you on it. just nodded once and focused on the road again.

you rode the rest of the way in silence.

the base faded into the rearview. the city gave way to little houses with scrubby yards and chain-link fences. eventually, he pulled up to a one-story place with chipped paint on the mailbox and a porch swing that looked older than both of you combined.

he didn’t speak as he shifted into park.

you did.

'can i stay with you?' you asked. 'just for a little while.'

his eyes flicked toward you. just once. and then back to the windshield. 'yeah,' he said. 'of course.'

inside, the house was clean, if a little cluttered—books, records, a guitar in the corner. not what you expected, and yet completely bradley. familiar in a way that settled just beneath your ribs.

you didn’t bother exploring. just dropped your bag near the door, turned on your heel, and said, 'don’t tell them i’m still here.'

he paused halfway to the kitchen. 'them?'

'penny. pete.' you didn’t say mom and you sure as hell didn't say dad. you wouldn’t. not when it felt like your throat would close around the words.

bradley stood still. you watched his back tense. 'why?'

'because as far as they know, i’m on a plane home. and in a few days, i will be. no point in tellin them otherwise.'

he turned to face you. brow furrowed, mouth set in a line. but he didn’t argue.

'okay.'

just that. no lecture. no guilt. no playing therapist or peacekeeper. just . . . okay.

you didn’t thank him and he doesn't ask for it.

but when you walked past him, brushing his arm on the way to the guest room, you felt the way he watched you go—silent, steady, and full of something that wasn’t pity.

it was worry.

and you couldn’t decide which was worse.

bradley’s guest room felt exactly the way a guest room should—clean, quiet, and temporary. there were no pictures on the walls, no clutter on the nightstand, just neutral-colored sheets that smelled faintly like fabric softener and empty drawers that whispered how easily you could disappear.

you unpacked half your bag. just enough to get by. just enough to pretend this wasn’t running again, even though you knew it was exactly that.

eventually, your stomach reminded you that you hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. with a reluctant sigh, you headed to the kitchen.

bradley was already there, leaning against the counter, fork halfway to his mouth. some frozen dinner, reheated in a plastic tray that looked about as appealing as cardboard.

'want half?' he asked, glancing your way. the microwave beeped softly behind him, the sound slicing through the silence.

'no thanks,' you replied, opening the fridge without really seeing its contents. you stared blankly at the rows of takeout containers, ketchup packets, and a lone carton of expired milk. you closed it again without taking anything.

bradley watched you, chewing slowly.

'not hungry?'

you shrugged. 'not really.'

another pause. long and awkward.

you leaned against the opposite counter, arms folded defensively across your chest, eyes fixed on the faded linoleum.

finally, bradley broke the silence. his voice was cautious, gentle in the way people spoke when trying not to spook a frightened animal.

'you really staying just because of a bad flight?'

your stomach twisted. you didn’t look at him. 'don’t worry about it.'

'i’m just trying to understand,' he said, even softer this time.

'there’s nothing to understand,' you said firmly, almost snapping. 'i’ll be gone soon. and then you’ll have the house back to yourself.'

bradley stared at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly, weighing your words against the quiet tremor in your voice. you knew he didn’t believe you, could feel it in the way his jaw clenched and released—but he didn’t push.

'alright,' he finally said, scraping his fork against the plastic tray again, sounding resigned. 'you know where the snacks are if you change your mind.'

you nodded once, barely a movement at all, then slipped back down the hallway to your temporary bedroom.

in the darkness, you lay flat on your back, eyes wide open, your mind a tangled knot of frustration and regret and longing. everything felt too still, too quiet, too fragile.

your phone screen lit up suddenly, the blue-white glow piercing the dark like a signal flare.

you rolled onto your side, pulse quickening when you saw the name flash across the screen.

bob.

you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly, and unlocked the screen. your heart kicked, a sudden, hopeful ache.

and despite everything—despite the lies you’d told bradley, despite the anger still smoldering in your chest, despite the very temporary nature of this hiding place—your lips twitched upward in the smallest, quietest smile.

maybe, you thought, there was something here worth pretending for.

you opened his message.

from bob

hi. this is bob. ( from last night. ) hope you got home safe. also—i think i left my jacket at the bar. if you find it, no rush. just let me know.

you’d read the text that morning—sitting at the gate, seconds from boarding—and hadn’t answered. you couldn’t. not when you were trying to run. not when you weren’t sure what the hell last night even meant.

but now . . . lying in the dark, in someone else’s bed, in a house that didn’t belong to you, you opened the message again.

you stared at it a while longer.

you weren’t home. not really. not anywhere, actually. but Bob didn’t know that—and for some reason, the thought made your heart squeeze.

you finally typed :

to bob ( from last night. )

i’m holding your jacket hostage. pay up.

a few white lies never hurt anyone. you technically hadn't returned to the bar since last night, but you specifically remember him throwing the jacket on the chair behind the bar when he'd come over to help pick up all the coins you had dropped.

three dots appeared. then disappeared. then reappeared.

from bob ( from last night. )

😳 how much are we talking?

you smiled. you couldn’t help it.

to bob ( from last night. )

depends. what’s it worth to you?

from bob ( from last night. )

it’s a really good jacket. fits great. smells like ginger ale and heartbreak.

you snorted, trying not to laugh too loud. bradley’s house was quiet.

to bob ( from last night. )

oh no don’t tell me i kissed a tragic poet

from bob ( from last night. )

don’t worry i only write poems when i’m emotionally compromised or sleep-deprived

to bob ( from last night. )

which one are you right now

from bob ( from last night. )

i’ll let you guess.

you rolled onto your back, clutching your phone to your chest like it might float away if you didn’t hold it tight.

to bob ( from last night. )

it’s a nice jacket. but it looks better on my floor.

the three little dots appeared. then disappeared. then came back.

from bob ( from last night. )

okay. wow. i was not emotionally prepared for that

to bob ( from last night. )

you kissed me first

from bob ( from last night. )

that is not how i remember it

to bob ( from last night. )

semantics. you kissed back. so whose fault is it really?

from bob ( from last night. )

i’m beginning to suspect you’re dangerous.

to bob ( from last night. )

takes one to know one, baby chick.

there was a pause—longer this time.

you stared at the ceiling. your smile faded just a little. your heart still buzzed, but there was something heavier beneath it now. something sad.

the next message blinked in at just the right moment.

from bob ( from last night. )

when can i see you again?

your chest ached.

you didn’t know how to answer. because you didn’t know what tomorrow looked like. because the only plan you’d made this morning was to leave.

but now? now you were here. in a borrowed bed. in borrowed silence. staring at a screen like it held all the answers.

you read his message again.

and again.

you didn’t reply.

instead, you locked your phone. tucked it under your pillow.

🔖 . @Princesssunderworld @qtmoonies @spooky-librarian-ghost @Soupie_MeowMeow @gardeniarose13 @flyinglama @kmc1989 @letstryagaintomorrow @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @sweetdayme4427 @cannonindeez @nubecita040 @beebeechaos @gaypoetsblog @moonriseoverkyoto @alldaysdreamers @b4tm4nn @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @fortjackson @timeofmadness @october-baby25 @writergirl28 @silas-aeiou @alldaysdreamers @blackirisesinthesunlight @nightmenotyou @notgothenough @timeofmadness @yoonshiiuii @hiireadstuff @purplerainx1 @bobsbri

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hipsternerd9 · 11 days ago

Text

Lunchbox Confidential

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; The Daggers suspects Jake has a girlfriend when he starts taking homemade food to base every day.

word count; 3.7k

warnings; another secret girlfriend trope because i wasn't lying when i said i had a hundred concepts planned for this. FLUFF FEST

a/n; i just thought this was a funny concept!!! also i have to admit i thought about it after watching one of those tiktok videos of girls packing their boyfriends lunch hahaah

masterlist

It started with the lunchbox.

At first, no one said anything — it was Jake Seresin, after all, and he had a habit of doing things just for the attention. But when he showed up on base three days in a row with the same sage green Stanley lunchbox tucked casually under his arm — with a matching thermos, no less — it didn’t go unnoticed.

Especially not during lunch.

They always ate together. Spread out across one of the long tables in the hangar break room or under the shade of the awning if the weather allowed. Paper bags, energy drinks, and fast food wrappers littered the table like confetti most days. But not Jake’s spot. Not anymore.

His lunch was neat. Glass containers with perfectly portioned meals, color-coded and stacked. Shiny utensils instead of plastic. Napkins — actual cloth napkins. And he wiped his hands with them. His coffee came from the thermos now — not the break room sludge or the vending machine down the hall — and it smelled faintly of cinnamon and something warm and sweet none of them could place.

The rest of the Daggers tried to ignore it at first. They really did.

But when Jake pulled out a kale salad with pomegranate seeds and some suspiciously perfect grilled chicken on a Tuesday — after years of watching him inhale gas station taquitos and drink Red Bull like water — something snapped.

They began watching.

Not staring, per se — just... observing. Like scientists. Anthropologists. Phoenix was the first to spot the change in behavior: Jake no longer bought food on base. No quick donuts. No protein bars with expiration dates rubbed off. He came prepared. Bob noted the tiny container of homemade salad dressing and the lemon wedge tucked beside it. Fanboy spotted fresh herbs — fresh herbs — scattered over roasted vegetables one day. And Rooster, ever the skeptic, saw the glass container of couscous and nearly fell out of his chair.

Couscous.

That Thursday, they were all eating lunch together as usual. Burgers and fries, burrito bowls, leftover pizza — the usual chaos. Except for Jake, who opened his lunchbox to reveal grilled salmon, jasmine rice, and something that looked an awful lot like sautéed spinach with garlic.

Not a word was said at first. But the silence was loud.

Jake, as always, ate like it was nothing. Cool and composed. Not a hint of embarrassment. If anything, he looked proud of his meal. Maybe even smug.

The others exchanged glances over greasy paper bags and foil wrappers. Something was happening. Something had changed.

Jake wasn’t just eating better. He was glowing.

His hair looked shinier. His skin? Suspiciously clear. He wasn’t snapping at anyone. He wasn’t even being a smug jackass as often as he usually was. He still smirked — but it was softer. More amused than arrogant. And then there was the humming. Jake had been humming under his breath lately. Actual tunes.

The realization came slowly, then all at once:

Someone was making him lunch.

Not just anyone. Someone who cared.

The neat handwriting on the masking tape labels. The balanced meals. The lemon wedge. The cinnamon coffee. The fresh herbs. All from scratch.

That wasn’t meal prep. That was love.

And that’s when it hit them — they were dealing with a full-blown mystery girlfriend situation.

No one had seen her. No one had heard about her. But she existed. And she cooked. And she packed his lunch in a Stanley box like a 1950s housewife crossed with a nutritionist.

The Dagger Squad didn’t say anything that day. But they all knew one thing:

They were going to get to the bottom of it.

Even if it killed them.

The confrontation came on a Friday, and it was far from subtle.

They were all seated around the usual table outside the hangar — Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Bob, Coyote, and Jake. The air smelled like jet fuel, sunblock, and desperation. Lunch had just begun, and once again, Jake pulled out his Stanley lunchbox with the same casual nonchalance of a man not being stalked by his coworkers.

Except he was.

Fanboy was the first to break.

“That’s it,” he said, slapping a napkin down like he was laying a court summons. “Who is she?”

Jake didn’t even glance up as he unscrewed his thermos. “Excuse me?”

Phoenix leaned in, pointing at his perfectly packed tupperware like it had personally offended her. “You used to eat vending machine peanuts for lunch, Seresin. Dry ones. With Coke Zero. Now you’re out here with your anti-inflammatory salmon and chia seed pudding.”

Coyote nodded solemnly. “You brought fruit yesterday, man. In a ceramic bowl. Who the hell owns ceramic bowls?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “People who don’t eat like raccoons?”

Rooster squinted at the fork in Jake’s hand. “Is that... bamboo?”

“Reusable,” Jake said, chewing slowly. “It’s called being environmentally conscious.”

Bob looked genuinely impressed. “The presentation is really nice. There’s, like, a color theme every day.”

Jake shot him a warning glance. “Et tu, Floyd?”

Fanboy ignored him. “So? Who’s the domestic goddess making your lunches?”

Jake leaned back, slow and smug. “Y’all are acting like I can’t boil rice.”

Phoenix crossed her arms. “Jake, last year you set off the smoke alarm reheating soup.”

“One time,” he said. “One time.”

Rooster leaned forward, face dead serious. “Is your mom visiting or something? Be honest. She’s staying with you, right? That’s why you’ve been showing up with fucking lemon vinaigrette.”

Jake snorted. “My mother hasn’t flown in since Christmas, and if she were making my lunch, you’d all be dead from butter overload.”

Coyote grinned. “So it’s not your mom.”

Jake finally looked up, leveling them all with a cool glance. “Why are you people so obsessed with what I eat?”

“Because it’s suspicious!” Phoenix threw her hands up. “You have a thermos now. And that coffee smells like snickerdoodles. Your mood’s suspiciously stable. Your skin looks... hydrated.”

Rooster nodded. “I said that last week, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Bob added. “And his hair’s been extra fluffy.”

Jake rubbed his temple. “Jesus Christ.”

Fanboy leaned forward like he was about to interrogate a suspect. “You’ve got a girl, don’t you?”

Jake’s jaw ticked. “Not that it’s any of your business—”

“He has a girl!” Rooster exploded, pointing dramatically. “He’s so in love, it’s disgusting!”

Phoenix gasped, shoving Jake’s shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re domestic now. Who is she? Does she do your laundry? Does she iron your flight suits? Is she a ghost?”

“She’s not a ghost,” Jake muttered.

“Wait,” Coyote said, eyes narrowing. “Have we met her?”

Jake took another bite of his grilled chicken like he had all the time in the world. “No.”

“Why not?!” the table chorused in complete offense.

Jake shrugged. “Because she’s smarter than all of you, and I wanted her to like me before she met the clowns I work with.”

Rooster clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “He’s ashamed of us.”

Jake sighed dramatically. “You’re like toddlers. Nosy, loud toddlers.”

“I bet she bakes,” Phoenix said. “She definitely bakes.”

“She pickles,” Bob whispered in awe.

“You’re in love,” Coyote said, grinning. “Look at him. Look at that dumb smirk.”

Jake wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and raised his brow. “If you’re done analyzing my lunch like a bunch of food critics on meth, I’d like to eat in peace.”

But none of them were done. Not even close.

Because Jake Seresin — call sign Hangman, cockiest bastard alive — had a girlfriend.

And she packed him snack-size containers.

This was war.

When Jake walked through the front door, the scent of garlic and lemon greeted him first. Then came the faint hum of jazz from the kitchen speaker, and the soft shuffle of slippered feet across tile.

He closed the door behind him, shrugging off his flight jacket, and tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl by the entryway — the one you made yourself at that pottery class you dragged him to two months ago. The bowl was hideous, all warped and crooked and smudged with a thumbprint in the glaze.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Incoming,” he called, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“In here!” you answered gently, just barely loud enough to carry. It was a voice that never quite matched the chaos of the world he came from. Soft, warm, comforting — like fleece and firelight and freshly baked bread. Everything he didn’t know he needed until he had you.

Jake stepped into the kitchen, eyes landing on your small figure standing at the stove, stirring a pan of sautéed vegetables like it was the most important job in the universe. You wore an oversized sweatshirt that hung halfway to your knees and fuzzy socks with little peaches on them. Your hair was clipped up messily, a pencil tucked through it. Your cheeks were pink from the heat, your eyes bright as you turned to smile at him.

His day melted off his shoulders the second you looked at him like that.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said, walking up behind you and pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. “Dinner smells amazing. What is it?”

“Grilled salmon,” you said, reaching for the oven mitts. “Roasted sweet potato, asparagus, and quinoa with lemon zest. And I tried that raspberry vinaigrette you mentioned.”

Jake made a low sound in his throat, like a man witnessing divinity. “God, I love you.”

You giggled quietly. “You say that every time I feed you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s always true.”

He leaned over and snagged a slice of sweet potato from the baking tray. You batted his hand lightly with the spatula.

“No snacking,” you said, then softer, “You’ll ruin your appetite.”

Jake grinned, clearly unbothered. He slid onto one of the counter stools, still in his flight suit. “You would not believe the interrogation I was subjected to today.”

You turned off the burner and looked over, blinking. “Interrogation?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled out his thermos, waved it for emphasis. “This. Your lunches. Apparently I’ve been exhibiting ‘suspiciously stable mood patterns,’” he added with exaggerated air quotes. “Rooster almost staged an intervention. Fanboy asked if my mother was visiting.”

Your eyes widened in concern. “Oh no, did I—did I cause a scene?”

Jake smirked, all teeth. “Babe, the scene was already there. You’re just the reason it’s gourmet now.”

You ducked your head, cheeks coloring. “They were really talking about my food?”

“Nonstop,” he said, voice softer now. “Bob noticed the color coordination. And I may have accidentally confirmed that yes, I’m off the market and eating like a real adult because of a certain little nutritionist I’m in love with.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, shy but glowing.

“Oh.”

Jake’s smile softened. He reached over the counter to brush a crumb from your chin. “Yeah. Oh.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, nerves making your fingers twitch slightly. “Well... maybe they should just come over. For dinner. You know. If you want.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, you wanna meet them?”

You bit your lip, then nodded. “I mean... they’re important to you. And you’re important to me. I don’t want to be a secret.”

Jake stood, rounded the counter, and cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin up gently. “You are not a secret. You’re my best-kept treasure. But if you want to meet the zoo I work with, I’ll happily unleash them on our home.”

You giggled nervously. “They’re not that bad, are they?”

Jake gave you a look. “One of them thought I was being poisoned because my skin started clearing up.”

You laughed out loud then, the sound like windchimes in spring. “Okay, maybe we’ll ease them in with dessert.”

“I’ll text them,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “Tomorrow night?”

You nodded, then hesitated. “Should I make the gluten-free pasta for Phoenix? I think you said she’s cutting back on wheat.”

Jake blinked. “You’re terrifying.”

“I’m thoughtful,” you corrected, nose wrinkling.

He kissed that exact wrinkle and pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re perfect.”

And as he watched you pull out your little recipe notebook with color-coded tabs, already muttering about prep time and ingredients, Jake realized something:

His squad wasn’t ready for you.

But he was.

Jake had told them to arrive at 7:00 PM sharp.

Which, to be fair, was a bold assumption considering this group couldn’t even synchronize takeoff times most days — and yet, somehow, the entire Dagger Squad showed up early.

At 6:46 PM.

Jake opened the front door still wearing his "casual hosting" T-shirt — grey, a little snug on the arms — and a face full of horror as he looked past the group to his watch.

“You guys can’t read numbers?”

Phoenix blew past him like she owned the place, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a box of pastries in the other. “Relax, Hostess Seresin. We brought offerings.”

Javy followed right behind her, grinning. “We were hungry.”

“Some of us were excited to meet the mystery woman,” Bob added gently, clutching his own six-pack of sparkling water like it was a housewarming gift.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t have just waited in the driveway like normal people?”

“Normal people don’t talk about you bringing Tupperware and homemade lemon water for two weeks straight,” Rooster said, stepping inside and looking around the open-plan living room and kitchen. “This is like… a holy pilgrimage.”

“Make yourselves at home,” Jake muttered dryly, closing the door as Payback and Fanboy filtered in, already bickering about who called shotgun on the ride over.

“Wow,” Phoenix said, setting her wine on the counter and surveying the kitchen. “This place is nice. Did you clean just for us?”

“No, he lives like this now,” Fanboy replied, eyeing the perfectly folded throw on the couch. “Ever since he started bringing soup in a thermos. It’s freaky.”

Jake opened his mouth to snap back, but was immediately distracted by the sound of a cabinet opening and the soft pad of your footsteps.

“Jake, can you—oh.” You stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, your eyes landing on the cluster of aviators now standing in the middle of your living room like excited kids on a school field trip.

You were wearing a soft blue sweater, an apron still tied around your waist, your hands lightly dusted in flour. Your hair was clipped back, your expression shy but warm, and for a second, nobody said anything.

Then:

“Oh my God, you’re real,” Rooster said, like he couldn’t help himself.

“You made the lemon lavender loaf?!” Bob added, awe in his voice.

You blinked, cheeks warming. “Um… yes?”

“Hi,” Jake said quickly, stepping forward to loop an arm around your waist. “Everyone—this is my girlfriend.”

The room erupted in a chorus of greetings.

You gave a tiny, polite wave and a nervous smile. “Hi. Welcome. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Javy said, practically vibrating with joy.

You stepped aside, motioning toward the dining room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable. There are drinks on the sideboard, and appetizers if you’re hungry now.”

“Oh my God, there are appetizers,” Rooster whispered reverently.

The dining table was a vision: long and wooden with soft linen runners, candles, and mismatched vintage plates. On the sideboard sat homemade lemonade, cucumber water, fresh juice, and two pitchers of iced tea — one sweet, one unsweetened. Next to that, a tray of cheese-stuffed mini bell peppers, tiny crostinis with whipped feta and honey, and skewered watermelon cubes with mint and balsamic glaze.

You stood back, hands twisted in your apron, as the Daggers descended.

“This is witchcraft,” Phoenix murmured around a crostini.

“What’s in this?” Fanboy asked, mouth full.

“Ricotta, lemon zest, and love,” Jake said flatly, earning a soft elbow from you.

Bob carefully poured himself some cucumber water, looking like he was about to cry from joy.

“Okay,” Payback said after his second skewer, “so let’s talk about how you’re real. Jake Seresin told us nothing except that you packed his lunch and made ‘homemade marinara from scratch.’”

You flushed. “Well, I’m a nutritionist, so… food is kind of my thing.”

“Oh my God, he wasn’t lying,” Rooster said dramatically.

Jake smirked. “Told you.”

Dinner proper was a feast.

You brought everything out in waves, starting with fresh-baked dinner rolls still warm from the oven, followed by a creamy butternut squash soup served in delicate ceramic bowls you’d thrifted with Jake one weekend.

“This is…?” Natasha asked, spoon midair.

“Roasted butternut squash, a little coconut milk, ginger, and nutmeg.”

“I’m ascending,” Fanboy said seriously.

Jake leaned toward Bob, who had already finished half his bowl. “You should see brunch.”

Next came the main course: a honey-glazed salmon, lemon herb roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted rainbow carrots, a spinach salad with strawberries and candied pecans, and a quinoa pilaf with grilled veggies.

“Oh my God, this is what Jake eats every day?” Fanboy asked, already scooping seconds. “We thought he joined a cult.”

“I made a peanut butter and jelly today,” Payback said. “A peanut butter and jelly.”

“Meanwhile, I’ve been eating gas station sushi,” Rooster mumbled.

Jake just leaned back in his chair, arm resting on the back of yours, smug as hell. “Yeah, well. You know. She likes me.”

Natasha snorted. “You’re just lucky she doesn’t realize she can do better.”

You gave a soft laugh, tucking your face into Jake’s shoulder. “I think I’m right where I want to be.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your temple.

Around the table, groans of fake gagging.

Then came dessert.

Which, of course, you also made from scratch.

Mini lava cakes. Fresh whipped cream. Vanilla bean custard. A tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries. And, because Jake had casually mentioned it in passing last week, a tiny banana cream pie — just for him.

There was silence as everyone took the first bite of lava cake.

Then, from Bob: “Do you… do you give cooking lessons?”

Jake snorted. “Bob, don’t fall in love with my girlfriend.”

“Too late.”

Eventually, the night wound down. Everyone was stuffed, glowing, and a little in awe. Jake sat back with his arm around you, and the rest of the Daggers sprawled like satisfied house cats in every available seat.

Phoenix raised her glass of lemonade. “To the chef. And to the woman who somehow managed to civilize Hangman.”

You smiled bashfully as everyone echoed the toast.

As they filtered out with hugs and leftovers and more compliments than you knew what to do with, Fanboy paused at the door and turned back to Jake.

“Hey man,” he said, nodding at you. “You’re punching so far above your weight.”

Jake just grinned, watching you finish wiping down the table, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

The house was finally quiet.

The last of the dishes were drying in the rack, the dining room table wiped clean, and the candles had long since flickered out. Outside, the crickets hummed a steady rhythm beneath the open kitchen window, and inside, the only light came from the under-cabinet glow washing everything in soft, honeyed warmth.

You leaned against the counter, still in your apron, still a little flustered from all the compliments. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your voice was hoarse from answering so many questions, but Jake? Jake looked at you like he could stay in this moment forever.

“Did you have fun?” you asked, brushing your fingers along the edge of the countertop, not quite meeting his gaze.

Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped in front of you, gently untied your apron and set it aside on the counter. Then he leaned in, cupping your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye where the day’s effort still lingered.

“You are… incredible,” he said quietly.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to melt. “They were just hungry.”

“They were obsessed with you,” he corrected. “And for the record, so am I.”

You laughed, just a little. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m lucky,” he said, kissing your cheek. “That’s what I am.”

You hummed, looping your arms around his waist as he tugged you closer. The tips of your noses brushed. Your smile curled slow and sleepy as his lips found yours — slow, soft, a kiss made of everything unspoken. Thank you. I love you. Please don’t ever leave.

Jake pulled away just far enough to whisper, “You know I’d marry you for those lava cakes alone, right?”

You smacked his chest. “Go to bed, Hangman.”

He grinned. “I’m serious. That pie sealed it.”

You leaned up to kiss him one more time, quick and warm. “Brush your teeth first.”

“Bossy,” he said, but he was already walking away, barefoot and happy.

The next morning, at Naval Base North Island, the squad was gathered around the usual lunch table — same routine, same noisy chatter — when Jake strolled up like he didn’t have a care in the world, coffee thermos in one hand, and a pastel-colored bakery box in the other.

“Morning, sunshine,” Rooster called. “You recover from that feast?”

Jake smirked and plopped the box on the table. “Barely. But she sent me with these.”

Natasha blinked. “Wait… what’s that?”

Jake popped the lid. Inside: delicate rows of homemade pastries. Mini scones with lemon glaze. Tiny berry tarts. Swirls of buttery palmiers and flaky raspberry pinwheels. Each one placed with the care of someone who loved to feed the people her person loved.

“She made these?” Bob asked, already leaning in like he was in a dream.

“Packed them herself,” Jake said, lifting out a tiny wax-paper note that read, “For the squad. Don’t let Jake eat them all. Love, Me.”

“Oh my God, she likes us,” Fanboy gasped.

“She likes me more,” Jake said smugly, popping a tart into his mouth.

Natasha was already holding a scone delicately between her fingers. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“You didn’t tell us she bakes,” Payback said through a mouthful.

Jake wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his seat like he’d just conquered the world.

“I told you guys. She’s perfect.”

1K notes · View notes

hipsternerd9 · 11 days ago

Text

Always wanted it to be him

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: You always wanted it to be him, The only problem: he lied.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: angst, a whole lot of it, lying, cursing, navy inaccuracies, toxic relationship, gaslighting, anything else i missed

A/N: This is the first piece of work i’ve done in a long while so please bear with me if it is bad! Also this doesn't have a happy ending, or well I think it does but it depends on how you view it haha. I don’t have much else to say besides enjoy and I hope to have more out soon! Requests are open!

NOT MY GIF

You always wanted it to be him. Maybe not from the moment you laid eyes on him, but from the moment you knew him. Really knew him.

Jake was just another loudmouth guy—his ego filled every room he walked into. His presence was impossible to ignore, and that was just who he was. You were warned from the start:

“He goes for the vulnerable ones.”“He's going to break your heart. I wouldn't bother.”“It’s against policy anyway. Just steer clear. That’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”

And maybe, just maybe, you listened—for a while. You followed their advice, kept your distance, stayed tucked away. It was easier that way. But fate had other plans. You ended up on the same rotations.

Behind closed doors, Jake was a different person. There was a softness to him you never expected. Maybe that should’ve been your sign to get out—how much he shifted depending on the people around him. But in your mind, you were different. He was different with you. Because he didn’t need the walls, not with you. You made him feel safe. Or maybe that was just the performance. A well-rehearsed act to get your guard down.

Either way, you ignored every warning. You held out for a few months, proud of yourself. But when it was just the two of you, you didn’t have to try. You didn’t have to fight for space in the room—he gave it to you. He held doors open, gently touched your back when guiding you through crowds, let you doodle on his hand during late-night watches like some middle school crush. His hand didn’t move from yours until far past the point of what “just friends” could justify.

The only problem: he lied.

Not about big things—never anything major—but the little things. Like canceling plans last minute and blaming it on work. You knew it wasn’t true because you’d volunteered to be recalled instead of him. The Navy had a habit of stomping all over people’s off time, but you took the hit so no one else would have to come in that weekend. They wanted Jake to help, but you insisted you could handle it alone.

You stared down at his text, nodding to yourself, cataloging the feeling. It was small. Insignificant. And yet, it stung. He didn’t owe you anything—but after everything—the late-night conversations, the shared stories, the quiet trust—you thought he would at least tell you the truth.

“No worries, next time.”That’s all you wrote. And that was that.

Days went by. No text. No call. No run-ins. Not unusual for him. It always felt like he could forget you existed and just say it was because he "didn’t feel like being around anyone."

One day, you cornered him in the hangar.

“Hey,” you said quietly, like you were testing the water. Every conversation felt like reintroducing yourself. But you did it, because he had you. And it felt like maybe only you.

The others talked about him behind his back, like they either didn’t know the two of you were friends—or didn’t care.

“He’s a shit friend. And an even shittier person.”“He wouldn’t care if someone lived or died. In his mind, it’s just him in the air.”

You brought it up to him once—not to start anything, but because it felt like the right thing to do. You’d want to know, if it were you. He brushed it off.

“They’re just mad because I’m better than them,” Jake said with a shrug, smirking. “Besides, they’re just fucking with me. They don’t mean it.”

But you saw it—the flash of pain in his eyes before he remembered you could read him too well.

You were observant. Quiet. Overly aware of everything around you—and yet sometimes so blissfully unaware. A dangerous mix. You noticed how he avoided eye contact when talking about his childhood. But not the way his eyes lingered on you when you spoke about something you loved. You could feel his anger building around the new ensign, and you knew when to step in before things escalated.

But you didn’t see how he looked for you in every room—even when you weren’t speaking.

“Hey,” he said at last, finally looking at you after days of silence.

“You’ve been MIA,” you said, unsure whether to start something—or let it go. A decision you’d make in the moment.

“Yeah. Just haven’t been on my game lately. Needed some time to myself.”

You nodded. “What was so important the other night that they recalled you?”

So, you were going to start something.

If there was one thing you hated in this world, it was liars. And that made it all the more confusing, how long you’d stuck around Jake—a guy who lied just because he could. Never about big things. Just enough that you always knew. But you still couldn’t walk away.

He looked confused for a second, trying to remember what lie he’d told. Then it clicked.

“Oh yeah, just a standby for someone who had an emergency. I was the closest to base.”

He couldn’t meet your eyes.

“That's crazy. Kind of unfair,” you said casually, playing along. Not your proudest moment. But it lulled him into a sense of security.

“I hope it wasn’t too bad,” you added, tilting your head slightly. You saw the guilt flash through his eyes—a split second. If you blinked, you would’ve missed it. The only time you’d ever seen him look guilty. And the last.

“No, not bad at all,” he said, breathing easier, thinking he was in the clear.

“If I’d known you were there too, I could’ve kept you company. Seeing as I was actually recalled.”

His eyes snapped up from the ground, wide. Your expression was stone cold.

“I—what?” he stammered. “You… you were here?”

You nodded, sighing.

“They called me in to handle something urgent. Tried to get you too, but I figured… if it was important enough to lie about, I could handle it on my own.”

You paused. “You don’t owe me anything, Jake. But I thought the least you could do was tell me the truth.”

You turned and started to walk away, making what felt like a dramatic exit—because maybe it needed to be.

You were going to replay every warning you'd ever received about Jake Hangman Seresin. You shouldn’t have gotten involved. But you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. You wanted him to have a real friend—someone who would go to the ends of the earth for him.

But he didn’t deserve that if he couldn’t extend the simple courtesy of honesty.

And the worst part?

He let you walk away.

And you took that as a sign. A good one.

Because now you could leave before it got too deep.

And that was for the best.

He eased his way back in like he always did—cocky grin, easy words, casual charm. You weren’t even mad at first. That was the problem. With Jake Seresin, it was always easy—until it wasn’t.

He talked like nothing had ever happened between you. No silence. No lies. No flinches. You let your guard down. Again.

It went back to late night talks, hanging out at work. Easy laughs shared between the two of you, lingering looks that were too good to be true. He was yours again. Nothing could go wrong this time.

Weeks went by. Everything felt right in the little world you'd built for yourself—a world shaped by your own expectations, where you only saw what you wanted to see. He held you like he meant it. Said things like he meant them.

Then he lied. Again.

This time, you noticed he was missing from your feed. Instagram, Snapchat—gone. Like he'd never sent that follow request. Like that friend notification never flashed across your screen. Just silence. Vanished.

It had been a long weekend, so the chance to ask him about it had to wait. The question festered in your mind. You already had a feeling. It always went this way.

Jake had gone home for the holiday. You stayed near base. Not because you had to, but because it wasn’t worth going home for a holiday no one really cared about. You spent the time alone, recharging. No one bothered you, and you didn’t bother anyone.

When the work week started again, the idea of being erased from his online world crept into your thoughts. You tried convincing yourself it didn’t matter, but that only made you angrier.

You thought what you had was good. Even if it didn’t go further, at least you were friends. Maybe too close to be just friends—but friends all the same.

You caught sight of him—blond head turning the corner in the hangar. It was always the hangar where these confrontations happened.

You didn’t hesitate. “Why did you delete me off socials?”

He shrugged. “Just a reset.”

But you weren’t stupid. You knew him better than most.

You clocked it immediately. It was a girl. Of course, it was.

You couldn’t explain how you knew—maybe the way he avoided eye contact, or how rehearsed his answer sounded. But you knew.

You weren’t mad. Not really. You knew he lied sometimes, but he always prided himself on being loyal. On telling the truth.

You'd heard the stories in those quiet early-morning conversations—his past, his family, his failed relationships. You thought he'd learned from them. That he’d be different. That he wouldn’t hurt someone the way he’d been hurt. You were wrong.

If he had just told you he was going home to see someone… or even that your texts were making her uncomfortable… you would’ve backed off. Gladly. You didn’t need that drama. But he never said anything. And worse—he disappeared.

“That’s all?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t double down. Spoiler alert: he did.

“Well, enjoy your reset,” you said, deciding then and there to cut him out.

You had told him before—the one thing you couldn’t tolerate anymore was lies. This place was supposed to be a reset. A new duty station. A new state. A new version of you. You were supposed to leave old wounds behind.

Letting him back in after the first lie? That was a step backward. But you told yourself it was just once. He wouldn’t do it again—not after all those hours spent explaining how much it hurt.

But he did. Proving he didn’t care. Proving the warnings had been right.

So you didn’t argue. You just stopped answering. Let it die.

Silence said what words couldn’t.

Weeks passed. Then he came back.

Office. Post-sim. All sweaty arrogance and sweet-talking regret.

“You’re not talking to me,” was all he said.

You were behind a computer, trying to finish paperwork and get out.

Rolling your eyes behind the screen, you sighed. “I talk to you.”

“No, you talk about work to me. You don’t talk to me.”

Of course he came back. He always did—after things with the boys fell through, after he realized they weren’t really his friends. After they got bored of him.

Then he’d come back. Because he knew he could.

You’d recognized the pattern early on. You noticed more than he thought. But you didn’t let on.

“What more could you want?” you asked flatly, typing on the clunky, outdated keyboard.

“I want us back.”

Your heart thudded.

Those were the words you wanted to hear. Even after everything—even after swearing him off—you still hoped.

“So are you going to tell me why you deleted me off everything?”

You peeked over the screen. Watched his expression shift.

He denied it. Again. Said you were “reading into shit too much.” Then stormed out.

So much for wanting you back.

So you ghosted. Again. Stayed away.

Because, God, you were tired.

Tired of loving someone who treated honesty like an option.

Although you were tired, you never left a way for him not to contact you. There was always an open door that he never walked through when you wanted him to the most.

But Jake Seresin was persistent when he wanted something.

He came back. Again.

This time—quiet. Honest. Or close enough.

“Just talk to me,” he pleaded.

The boys had shut their doors on him again.

“Just tell me the truth.” You didn’t have to specify. He knew.

Finally, he said it: “It was a girl. I didn’t want her seeing your texts come through.”

He said he lied because he didn’t want to hurt you.

“You realize lying hurts more than anything else, right?” you said. “I had a feeling the whole time. If you had just told me, I would’ve backed off. I don’t care who you’re with.”

“It’s not like we’re in a relationship or anything.”

Saying it stung. But it needed to be said. For him. For you.

You let it slide. He finally told the truth.

And a part of you still hoped. That maybe—just maybe— He could grow up. Be better. For you.

Things started going better. The two of you were back, like nothing had ever happened.

It felt surreal—too good to be true.

Late at night, when it was just you and your thoughts, you’d wonder: How long will this last?

Because things were great. Your friendship stronger than ever.

Then deployment orders came down. You were both chosen—no surprise there. You didn’t mind. A distraction was welcome.

On the carrier, your schedules matched. Missions together. Briefings side-by-side. Time passed quickly when you were with him.

And then came a rare port call—Puerto Rico. Right at the high point of it all. What could go wrong?

You shared an Airbnb. Maybe not the smartest move, but it felt right.

Nights were spent drinking and laughing, having deep talks like the ones that built the foundation between you. Nothing was different.

So why did it feel different?

One night, a little drunk, he rested his head in your lap on the couch. Your stomach fluttered. You didn’t stop it—you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and golden.

He didn’t move. Gripped your thigh tighter, made no effort to get up.

It was these quiet, behind-closed-doors moments when you saw the real Jake. The version no one else got to see.

To you, he was sweet. Hurt. Quiet. Just a boy who wanted to love and be loved. To everyone else, he was cocky, loud, brash. You treasured the fact that you saw the version he kept hidden.

The next night, the two of you wandered the colorful streets—cobblestone roads, bright walls, humid summer air.

You found a park on a hill with a view that stole your breath.

“Dance with me,” he said, smiling.

You blinked. Surprised. “There’s no music,” you laughed, glancing at the families walking nearby.

“There doesn’t need to be when it’s just us.”

He reached for your hand, pulled you in. One hand at your hip, the other holding yours in the air like a ballroom waltz.

You giggled and gave in, swaying gently with him. You’d never danced with someone like that. Especially someone who was “just a friend.” Something you had to keep reminding yourself.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect— People clearing out, the sun setting over the hill, waves crashing softly in the distance, streetlights flickering to life.

It was the most romantic thing you’d ever done.

You grew closer over those first two nights. Every moment was magical. Exploring a new place with someone who made it feel like home.

Then came the last night.

You had plans with a different group. He was going out with the boys. You already knew what that meant.

Still, you smiled and said goodbye. Silently wishing you’d spent more time with him.

Everything changed after that.

He came back… different.

Weeks passed on the ship with silence between you. Avoiding each other. Not a word unless absolutely necessary.

You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. Did I say something? Go too far? Ruin it somehow?The overthinking gnawed at you, day and night.

You kept waiting for him to come to you. He never did.

And that’s what hurt the most.

One day, you were alone in the briefing room, the last two filling out paperwork.

The silence was unbearable. So you broke it.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Jake looked up, confused. “What? No.” He went right back to his work.

“Then what happened?” you pressed. You were done losing sleep. Done starving yourself of answers. It was beginning to affect your focus, and that couldn’t happen out here.

“Nothing happened,” he muttered, eyes still on the form in front of him.

“Then why aren’t we talking?”

You leaned back in your chair. The file in front of you forgotten.

“Because I don’t want to talk,” he said flatly.

There it was. The push. He was doing it again.

“No. You don’t get to do that.” Your voice rose slightly, anger creeping in.

“Do what?”

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened when something clearly did. What the fuck did I do, Seresin?”

His head snapped up. You never used his last name. It was always Jake. Or Hangman. Or something playful. Never this.

“I don’t know why you’re getting angry, but now’s not the time.”

You hit a nerve. Good.

“Why? Because it’s not on your schedule?” You were on the edge of your seat now, barely holding your frustration back. “We can only talk when it’s convenient for you?”

You needed him to get angry. Because maybe, just maybe, anger would shake the truth loose.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened when something clearly did. What the fuck did I do, Seresin?”

Jake’s jaw clenched. He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a screech that echoed in the quiet room. “You wanna know what you did?” he snapped.

You rose too, your body already tense. “Yes! I do. Because I’ve been racking my brain for weeks, and I got nothing.”

“Oh, nothing?” he barked out a bitter laugh. “Then what about what you said to Bradley, huh?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, don’t play dumb,” Jake pointed a finger at you, eyes narrowed. “You told him I was a fucking joke. That I bounce around from girl to girl like it’s a game. That I only ever care about myself.”

You stared at him, stunned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You said it,” he said, voice rising, face flushed now. “You said it. You think I don’t hear the shit people say? You think I’m stupid?”

“I never said that,” you snapped, stepping toward him now. “Not once. Not even close.”

“Don’t lie to me again!” he shouted. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” Projecting.

“Jake, I didn’t say that! I do nothing but defend you behind your back time and time again” you shouted back, your voice cracking. “But I know exactly who did!”

That gave him pause.

“The boys,” you said through clenched teeth. “The guys you keep running back to when things go quiet between us? Yeah. Them. They talk shit about you constantly, Jake. Behind your back. To me. To everyone.”

He shook his head, like you were spewing poison. “No—”

“They call you a try-hard. A pretty face. A reckless asshole. They hate flying with you because you don’t listen. They say you care more about being the hero than about being part of a team.”

“Shut up,” he growled, pointing at you again. “Shut your mouth.”

“I didn’t say those things, they did,” you said, loud now, loud enough that anyone passing by could probably hear through the thin door. “But you didn’t question them, did you? You didn’t think for a second they were lying, because God forbid Jake Seresin admit the people he keeps crawling back to don’t actually give a damn about him.”

Jake’s breathing was heavy, nostrils flared. His chest rose and fell like a storm was brewing inside him, and you’d just pulled the lightning rod.

“You expect me to believe that?” he spat. “That you—you—of all people, were the only one defending me?”

“I have defended you,” you said, voice quieter now but still sharp, still firm. “Every single time. Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when you didn’t deserve it.”

“Fuck this,” he hissed. He grabbed the paperwork from the table and shoved it roughly into his folder.

“Yeah, walk away again,” you muttered, bitter. “That’s all you’re good at.”

He turned back one last time, and for a second you saw it—his eyes glassy, jaw trembling, that wounded look he never let anyone else see.

Then he was gone. Stormed out of the briefing room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.

You were left standing in the silence, breathing hard. Every nerve in your body still electric.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t hurt. It just… felt empty.

The door slammed so hard it shook something loose inside you.

You stood there for a long time—long after his footsteps faded, long after the walls stopped reverberating—trying to piece together what had just happened. Your body was still tense, still locked in that defensive stance like he might come back and throw another accusation at you.

But he didn’t.

You dropped back into your chair, the legs screeching on the tile. You winced. Everything felt too loud now.

Your hands were shaking.

All you ever wanted was the truth. Not a perfect version of him. Not some fantasy where he always did the right thing or said the right words. Just honesty. You would’ve taken the ugly, raw truth over being left in the dark. But instead, he had taken someone else’s words—the boys’ words—and believed them over yours. Without question.

It hurt. More than it should have. More than you wanted to admit.

You stared blankly at the paperwork in front of you, the mission reports swimming on the page. The letters blurred until you couldn’t read them anymore, and that’s when you realized your eyes were stinging.

You were crying.

Not the gut-wrenching kind. Not the loud sobs people hear from down the hall. This was quieter. Slower. The kind of crying that came from being so damn tired of hoping someone would choose you. Believe you. Fight for you for once.

You pressed your palms against your eyes, willing it all away, but the lump in your throat stayed.

You had protected him. Defended him behind closed doors even when people mocked him to his face. You saw something in him—something real, something good. Something worth fighting for.

But he didn’t see that in you. Not today.

Maybe not ever.

Later that night, your room on the carrier was too quiet. You’d showered, tried to eat, tried to write in the notebook you kept for decompressing—none of it worked. You kept hearing the way he said “You told them I was a joke.” Over and over, as if he was trying to make it true.

You hadn’t said those words. But someone had.

And now the weight of that lie sat between you like a concrete wall.

You picked up your phone once, hovered over his name in your contacts, thumb trembling above the call button. Then you put it down. What were you even going to say?

That he hurt you?

That he still mattered to you?

That you weren’t sure how many more hits like this you could take?

You couldn’t send that. Not now. Not after everything.

So you turned the phone over. Crawled under your scratchy blanket. Stared at the ceiling until your eyes burned again.

And for the first time since meeting Jake Seresin, you didn’t wish he would come back.

You just wished you hadn’t let him in so deep to begin with.

You got your orders two weeks before you had to leave.

It didn’t feel real at first. Another duty station, another state, another blank slate to try and outrun the things you carried. Virginia this time. A place you'd never lived, but you welcomed the change. Maybe there, things wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe there, you could finally let go.

You thought about telling him. You stared at his name in your phone for far too long. Drafted a text and deleted it. Twice.

He didn’t deserve a goodbye—not after the way he left things.

But something in you still wanted to offer it anyway. A goodbye, not for him, but for you. Some kind of closure. Some proof that it mattered.

In the end, you said nothing.

You packed your things quietly. Turned in your badge, your keys, your access cards. Said goodbye to a handful of coworkers who would probably forget your name within the year.

But not to him.

He didn't come looking. And you didn’t reach out.

You left like a ghost—silent, weightless, untraceable.

Weeks passed.

Virginia was quieter, slower. The nights weren’t quite as loud with memory, but the silence still echoed sometimes. Some mornings you reached for your phone, forgetting there was no one to check it for. You didn’t talk about him anymore. You didn’t say his name.

But you thought about him—still.

Then one night, close to midnight, your phone buzzed.

Jake Seresin

One message. Then another. Then another.

You stared at the screen. You already knew. The spelling errors, the time of night—it was textbook.

“are you still in virginia?” “im here. for the weekend.” “can i see you? please?”

You sat on the edge of your bed, thumb hovering over the screen, heart pounding harder than you wanted it to.

Part of you felt like that girl again—on the couch in Puerto Rico, his head in your lap, the whole world spinning a little too fast, but still feeling safe somehow.

But that girl had learned better.

Your fingers moved before your heart could argue.

“No. Don’t text me again.”

You hit send. Set the phone down like it was heavier than it had any right to be.

You sat in the dark afterward, every part of you aching.

Because you meant what you said. But not all of it.

The door was shut now. Firmly. Finally.

But it wasn’t locked. It was never locked.

Because deep down, a part of you still hoped—maybe months from now, years even—that he’d knock the right way. Say the right words. Be the person you always believed he could be.

You didn’t want him back. Not really.

But you didn’t know how to stop wishing he’d try.

He tried again.

A new number this time.

You didn’t pick up the first time. Or the second. But on the third call, something in you broke.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was that small, stupid part of you that still wanted to hear his voice, even if it hurt.

You answered.

“Hello?”

Silence, for just a beat too long.

Then: “…I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

Your stomach twisted. That voice still had a hold on you—still knew how to crawl under your skin and settle there like it never left.

You couldn’t let it.

“What do you want, Jake?” you snapped, already pacing, tension in your shoulders wound tight.

“I just—I need to talk to you.”

“No,” you said, the anger boiling up from where you buried it. “No, you don’t get to need anything from me anymore.”

“Please—”

“No! You don’t get to lie to me, treat me like shit, disappear, and then just decide now is the time you want to talk.” You were yelling now, and you didn’t care if the neighbors heard. “You don’t get to show up in my life drunk at midnight and act like that’s okay.”

He was quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know I was wrong. I lied. I lied about a lot.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I lied about where I was that weekend. About who I was with. I lied when I said it was just a ‘reset’—it wasn’t. It was her. And I didn’t want her seeing your name pop up. I didn’t want to explain to you, because…” he paused, breath shaking, “because I didn’t want her to know that the one person I cared about more than anyone was you. And I was a coward. I knew it would hurt you and I did it anyways.”

You swallowed hard, fists clenched at your sides.

“I also lied when I said nothing happened in Puerto Rico. That it didn’t mean anything. I’ve been lying to myself about that since the moment I walked away.”

You blinked, stunned by the weight of it.

“I never should’ve pushed you away,” he said. “I thought I was protecting something, but I was just running. And I’ve been running ever since.”

“Why now?” you asked bitterly, voice breaking against your will. “Why now, Jake? After everything?”

“Because I miss you,” he said quietly. “Because not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. And I know I don’t deserve anything. But I’m telling the truth now. All of it. I’d do anything to go back. My feelings for you are too deep to just let go now.”

The silence stretched long between you, trembling with everything said and unsaid.

You were crying, and you hated it. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to move on. You were supposed to forget him.

But hearing him like this—raw, desperate, honest—it made it so much harder to hate him the way you wanted to.

Still…you couldn’t make it easy.

“I don’t trust you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But I’ll earn it back. If you let me.”

You closed your eyes, heart aching with how much you wanted to believe him—and how much you still didn’t know if you could.

“I don’t know, Jake,” you said, voice soft and splintered. “I really don’t know.”

“I’ll wait,” he promised. “As long as it takes.”

You ended the call. Didn’t say goodbye.

But you didn’t block the number this time.

And maybe that meant something.

You didn’t respond again.

Not after that call.

Not when he texted a week later, just a “hope you’re okay.” Not when he left a voicemail that started with your name and ended with silence.

You never blocked him. You never deleted his number.

You didn’t need to. Silence was louder than anything you could’ve said.

But at night—when it was just you and your thoughts, like it always seemed to be—you replayed it all.

Every lie. Every carefully crafted excuse. Every time he made you feel like you were crazy for asking for the truth. Every moment he made you second-guess yourself.

You remembered what it felt like to sit in your room and cry until you couldn’t breathe, wondering why you weren’t enough to be treated with honesty. You remembered walking into work, pretending everything was fine when your world felt like it was crashing in slow motion.

You remembered Puerto Rico. The dance. His hands on your waist. The sound of your laughter. The look in his eyes that said everything he never said out loud until it was too late.

And how all of that—all of it—was still a lie. Because even in that magic, he knew he was going to leave. Knew he wasn’t choosing you.

You carried that hurt with you. It shaped you. Hardened you in some ways, softened you in others.

You never reached out again. You didn’t need closure from him. You learned how to build it yourself, brick by painful brick.

But still… In some part of you, hidden beneath all the grief and growth, there lived a quiet wish. That one day, he might show up again—not to stay, not to start over—but just to say, “I should’ve chosen you.”

You don’t want him back.

Not really. Not anymore.

But some stories don’t end with doors slammed shut. Some end with a door still slightly ajar, light slipping through the crack, and the echo of a love that almost was.

And that’s where it ends.

Not with a grand goodbye. Not with a new beginning.

Just you, moving forward. Quiet strength. And a number in your phone you’ll never call.

161 notes · View notes

hipsternerd9 · 13 days ago

Text

Through the Dark, Back to You

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; A former profiler. A fighter pilot. A past that refuses to stay buried. When old ghosts resurface in San Diego, the truth becomes the most dangerous thing of all.

word count; 10.5k

warnings; violence, mentions of kidnapping (nothing graphic), mentions of past torture (nothing graphic), protective!jake, found family, angst, inaccurate references (most likely, google can only do so much), usage of y/n like once

a/n; welcome to a top gun maverick x criminal minds story that nobody asked for! i thought this concept was interesting and criminal minds is one of my favorite shows so i thought why the hell not. idk if i need to say this but this isn't propaganda, i just like the show lol

masterlist

When Jake met you, you were still in the FBI — sharp, focused, and far too busy to notice the way the world tilted slightly when you walked by. He’d only been stationed in Virginia for a couple of weeks, still getting used to the slower rhythm of land life, wandering around town alone when it happened.

You came bursting out of a coffee shop, balancing a cup of black coffee in one hand and what looked like a thousand overstuffed folders in the other. You were mid-apology to the person behind you when he caught the door and held it open for you. You looked up just long enough to murmur a breathless, “Thanks,” then disappeared toward the parking lot, car keys already in your teeth.

Jake didn’t even have time to respond.

Back then, he thought you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen — not in the obvious way, but in the way that made something stir in his chest before he could name it. Your glasses framed your face in a way that made your eyes look even sharper, and your hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that swayed with every purposeful step. And those trousers? God help him. They clung to you like a second skin, and even though he hadn’t meant to stare, you didn’t give him much choice when you practically jogged down the street like a woman with a world to fix.

Jake was embarrassed to admit he came back to that same coffee shop every single day that week, hoping to see you again — always ordering the same thing, always pretending it was a coincidence. He didn’t.

Just when he was about to give up and chalk you up as one of life’s fleeting moments, there you were. Standing in line on a Thursday morning, hair down this time and wearing another pair of slacks that sent his brain short-circuiting all over again. You were scrolling through your phone, not paying him any mind — not until he stepped into your line of sight with that easy, practiced grin and said, “Hey, I think fate’s trying to give me a second chance.”

You raised a brow at him. “To do what?”

He shrugged. “To ask for your number before you outrun me again.”

And for the first time that week, you smiled.

He tried to impress you with everything he had — the full Seresin charm, that devilish grin, and of course, his shiny, high-flying Navy career. Fighter jets, call signs, a few well-placed smirks. He figured he had you hooked by the time the drinks hit the table. But you? You were the one who blew his damn socks off. Cool as anything, you mentioned — almost shyly — that you were an FBI agent. Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Twenty-six years old and finishing your third doctorate. He almost choked on his beer. You said it like it was no big deal, as if anyone could waltz into Quantico at twenty-two years old and profile serial killers for a living. And you blushed when he stared at you like you hung the damn moon.

You talked for hours. About books you loved. About cases you couldn’t talk about, but still carried weight in your voice. About what it felt like to walk into a room and know things no one else could. And Jake, in return, told you about flying — the terrifying beauty of it, the stillness above the clouds, the kind of silence that lets you hear your own heartbeat. He’d never opened up like that with anyone before, but somehow with you, it wasn’t difficult. It felt natural. Easy.

You asked smart questions. He made you laugh. And when the sun dipped low behind the trees and drinks turned to dinner, he walked you to your car and told you he really hoped you’d let him see you again.

You did.

And after that, everything shifted. The dates kept coming — restaurants, long drives, lazy evenings in your apartment with Chinese takeout and documentaries playing in the background while you rattled off facts that he pretended not to be wildly impressed by. You never made him feel like less — not for not being academic, not for only having one degree, not for the way he sometimes couldn’t find the words for how he felt. You just… saw him. All of him. And he fell fast.

He liked how you pushed your glasses up when you were concentrating. How you kept stacks of books everywhere — bedside, kitchen counter, even the bathroom. He liked that you blushed when he complimented you, even though you could walk into the BAU and face monsters without flinching.

Jake never meant to fall in love. Especially not while he was stationed in a place that wasn’t meant to be permanent. But then again, he never expected someone like you — someone whose heart was as terrifyingly big as your brain.

It got serious fast. Not because either of you pushed it, but because the connection was undeniable. Solid. You were the calm to his storm, the reason he didn’t feel like he had to constantly prove himself. And he became your safe place, the one person who didn’t look at you like you were a machine made to solve puzzles — he saw the person behind the profile. The soft girl who lit up when he made her pancakes, who fell asleep with a book on her chest, who told him she trusted him before she even realized she had.

And when the bad days came — the cases that left you quieter than usual, the nights when your hands trembled after the phone rang — he didn’t ask for details. He just held you, steady and silent, until you came back to him.

Because Jake Seresin, the man who’d flown through combat zones and trained for worst-case scenarios, had never been more sure of anything than he was of you.

Things were good. So good.

The kind of good Jake hadn’t believed in before you — quiet mornings with your legs tangled in his, the warmth of your laughter echoing through the kitchen, your voice humming from the shower while he shaved. He used to think permanence was a trap, a thing you tolerated. But with you, it was a gift. Something sacred. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that happy. Maybe he never had been.

You still worked cases, still left on sudden flights, still called him from hotel rooms at 2 a.m. with sleepy murmurs and updates about how close your team was to catching another monster. He hated the danger, hated the way you shouldered the worst of humanity and still came home with softness in your eyes. But he never said a word. You were brilliant. Brave. Made of steel and light. And he wasn’t going to be the reason you dimmed.

Until the day the phone rang, and everything changed.

It was a Tuesday. He remembered because he had just come back from base and had stopped by the market to pick up your favorite tea — the one with the ridiculous packaging and citrusy notes you claimed helped you sleep after a hard case. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he answered without checking. The voice on the other end froze the blood in his veins.

“Jake. It’s JJ. Something’s happened.”

His chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Things went sideways on a case. Local police compromised the perimeter. The unsub — he took her.”

The world tilted.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. He barely remembered the rest of the call, only the sound of JJ’s voice — controlled, but heavy with guilt and urgency. The rest was a blur. The market aisles faded, the colors dimmed, his legs moved on instinct. He didn’t remember getting in the car. Didn’t remember driving. Just the rage, the helplessness burning under his skin. The awful weight of knowing the woman he loved — his person — had been taken, and there was nothing he could do.

Hours passed in slow motion. The team worked the case. He wasn’t allowed to be part of it. He wasn’t FBI, wasn’t trained for this kind of war. He was trained to fight, to act — not to wait by a phone, useless.

And then, finally — movement. They found the unsub. A cabin in the woods, middle of nowhere. The team breached, and Jake was already in the car before anyone gave him permission.

He got there right as they were pulling you out.

You stumbled down the front steps of the cabin, leaning heavily on Hotch, your face pale, blood smeared down your arm. Your shirt was torn. There were bruises blooming across your neck, cuts along your hands and collarbone, and your eyes — God, your eyes. Distant. Frightened. Not you.

Jake didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. He froze there in the clearing, heart clawing at his ribs as you blinked at the sunlight like you didn’t even know what day it was. You were barely standing.

When you finally looked up and saw him, your knees buckled.

He caught you before you hit the ground, dropping with you into the dirt as your arms trembled around his neck. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. He could feel it — the pain, the fear, the way you clung to him like he was the only real thing left in the world.

And in that moment, Jake Seresin — the man who never broke under pressure, never flinched in a cockpit — cracked straight down the middle.

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. But something inside him fractured, and it never quite healed the same.

The weeks that followed were slow and brutal.

You didn’t go back to work. Not right away. Not at all, eventually.

The Bureau offered you time, space, therapy, support — but even stepping into the field office again made your skin crawl. The air felt heavier. The walls too close. And the faces — all so kind, all so understanding — reminded you of how it felt to be on the other side of the case. To be the victim. The file.

Jake never once rushed you. Not when you couldn’t sleep, not when the night terrors made you bolt upright gasping for air. He would just sit with you, arms wrapped around your trembling shoulders, whispering soft reassurances into your hair while your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

You stopped wearing your badge. Stopped carrying your gun. Jake didn’t say anything when you quietly tucked it into the drawer one night and never looked at it again. He just kissed your temple and pulled you closer.

The decision to leave the FBI wasn’t sudden — it was slow, like mourning something you once loved. A part of you that had always felt unshakable suddenly… didn’t fit anymore. The BAU was home once. Now it felt like a cage.

Jake never tried to talk you out of it.

He listened — really listened — when you told him you couldn’t keep doing it. That something in you had changed. That you couldn’t stomach another crime scene, another case that mirrored your own trauma. That you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life surviving your own job.

“I’m done,” you whispered one night, curled into his chest on the couch, the television flickering softly in the background. “I can’t go back, Jake. Not even if I wanted to.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then don’t.”

You blinked up at him. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he said, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You gave enough. You don’t owe that job your soul.”

And he meant it.

Within a month, he’d put in a transfer request. Florida. A clean slate. Somewhere warm, somewhere far from Quantico, somewhere you could finally breathe again. He didn't even ask if you wanted to come — he knew you wouldn't want him to leave without you. Just like you knew he'd never go if you stayed.

You found a small apartment near the beach. Quiet. Sunlight through the windows in the morning. Jake would make coffee while you read the paper with your feet in his lap. It wasn’t flashy, but it was yours. And for the first time in a long time, peace didn’t feel like a distant memory — it felt possible.

Eventually, you started doing research again — privately contracted, flexible hours, all on your terms. It wasn’t field work, but it let you keep your mind sharp. It gave you purpose without reopening old wounds. You let your team — Spencer, Derek, Penelope, the rest of them — stay close. They still called, still checked in. And you still loved them. But the life you’d built with Jake… this was something new. Something whole.

You’d survived the worst. And somehow, when the dust finally settled, he was still right there — steady, gentle, and endlessly proud of you.

Three years.

It had been three years since the worst day of your lives, and tonight — watching you laugh across a bar table in San Diego, lit by string lights and nursing a cherry soda with lime — it felt like the storm had finally passed.

The Hard Deck was buzzing. Music low, the crash of the waves just outside the open doors, and the unmistakable sound of pilots trying to out-charm one another over pool and beer. You were tucked neatly between Natasha and Bob, both hanging on to a story you were telling with shy amusement. Something about the physics of a sonic boom. Or maybe how memory consolidation works during REM sleep. Jake couldn’t quite hear — he was too distracted watching the way your nose scrunched when you got excited.

He leaned against the bar beside Coyote and grinned into his beer.

“You’re staring again,” Javy muttered, nudging him with an elbow.

Jake didn’t even try to deny it. “Can you blame me?”

Across the bar, Fanboy burst into laughter. “Wait, wait — Doc,” he said, catching his breath and pointing at you, “are you seriously telling me you taught yourself Latin for fun?”

You blushed instantly, ducking your head. “I didn’t teach myself. I… dabbled.”

“Dabbled,” Phoenix repeated, shooting Jake a deadpan look. “Okay, Casanova, so when exactly did you trap a shy little genius in your pilot net, and how much bribery was involved?”

Jake chuckled, sliding his beer down on the counter. “Hey, I didn’t trap her. She saw the dimples, and that was it.”

“Must’ve been the dimples,” Bob said seriously, adjusting his glasses. “Or the blinding humility.”

They all laughed, and you rolled your eyes affectionately before giving Jake a smile — one of those soft, private ones that still made his chest ache a little. No one at the table knew the weight behind that look. No one knew what it meant to be here, whole and laughing, after everything you’d been through.

To them, you were you — Jake’s brilliant, bookish partner with the shy smile and the scarily fast brain. They knew you worked in research now. They knew you freelanced for universities, occasionally gave talks at conferences. They knew you could solve a crossword in two minutes flat and had a secret obsession with crime podcasts.

But they didn’t know the other things.

They didn’t know about the badge in the drawer. The gun you hadn’t touched in years. The BAU, the cases, the nightmares. They didn’t know what Jake had seen when he carried you out of that forest cabin — or how hard you’d fought to reclaim the light in your voice again.

And you liked it that way. You liked that, to them, you were just you.

Not a profile. Not a headline. Not a survivor.

Just you.

And Jake? He liked it too. He liked seeing you safe, happy, leaning into a life that didn’t ask you to bleed for it.

Still, every now and then — like tonight — he would catch you watching the room a second longer than necessary. Clocking exits. Reading posture. Tracking movement the way only someone trained to do so would. And he’d know the past wasn’t gone. Just quieter now. Sleeping beneath the surface.

Later that night, the world was quieter.

The bar’s laughter and music had been traded for the soft hum of your apartment’s old ceiling fan, the rhythmic whisper of waves in the distance, and the occasional creak of wood beneath Jake’s bare feet as he padded into the kitchen.

You were curled up on the couch, knees tucked beneath you, one of your oversized sweatshirts slipping off your shoulder. A half-read book rested on your stomach, your glasses tilted slightly as you blinked sleepily toward him. Jake returned with two mugs — tea for you, decaf for him — and handed yours over with that lopsided smile you’d never been able to resist.

“You’re officially two yawns away from drooling on that chapter,” he said, settling in beside you and slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“I was just resting my eyes,” you mumbled.

He snorted. “Sure you were, Doc.”

You leaned into him, the scent of clean cotton and faint sandalwood grounding you instantly. His thumb traced slow circles on your arm. For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then Jake said it, casually but carefully, “Hey. Don’t forget your session next week.”

You nodded against him, voice quiet. “I won’t.”

“You’ve been doing good,” he added softly. “Even with everything.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, grounding yourself in the fabric — in him.

“I still have those dreams,” you admitted.

Jake nodded. “I know.”

“But they don’t control me anymore.”

He kissed your temple. “Because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

You smiled faintly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand found yours and threaded your fingers together.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight, you were home.

The morning was still.

The kind of still that only settled in when Jake was on base — when the apartment sighed in his absence and sunlight stretched through the windows without interruption. You had a mug of tea cooling on the counter and your laptop open in front of you, filled with half-written notes for a research proposal you were supposed to finish by the end of the week.

You were wearing one of Jake’s old Navy shirts, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from your shower, glasses sliding down your nose. You felt normal. Safe. Steady.

And then your phone rang.

Not your work line. Not a research contact.

Jennifer Jareau.

Your blood ran cold.

You didn’t answer at first. Just stared at the name until the call went to voicemail.

It rang again, five seconds later.

You picked up on the third ring. “JJ?”

“Hey,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to call like this. I know it’s been a long time.”

You swallowed, already bracing. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, weighted and heavy.

“We’ve got a case. San Diego. And the unsub’s MO… it’s almost identical to him.”

Your hand tightened around the edge of the counter. “JJ—”

“I know. I know you’re not active anymore. I wouldn’t ask unless we were sure. But we pulled old files, reviewed your case. This guy’s escalation pattern, the signatures—” she exhaled. “It’s too close. We don’t know if it’s him or a copycat, but—”

“No.” You said it before you could think. Before fear could disguise itself as bravery. “I can’t, JJ.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I can’t,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I haven’t stepped back into that world in three years. I’m not that person anymore. I’m not… I can’t go back.”

There was silence on the other end. And then, quietly, “I understand. I really do. Just… if you change your mind, we’ll be here.”

You ended the call without saying goodbye.

For a long while, you just stood there. Staring at the mug. At your notes. At the sunlight.

Then you closed your laptop, set the tea aside, and waited for Jake.

He came home just after five.

You were on the couch, legs curled under you, blanket tugged tight around your shoulders even though it wasn’t cold. The second he walked in, you looked up, and something in your face made him pause.

He crossed the room in three long strides, crouched in front of you, hands gentle on your knees. “Hey. What happened?”

You handed him your phone. The screen still showed JJ’s missed call.

“She wants me to consult on a case,” you said, voice quiet. “It’s here. In San Diego.”

Jake didn’t ask who the case was about. He knew. He saw it in your eyes — that far-off flicker of something old and sharp you tried so hard to bury.

“She said the unsub’s MO is almost identical.”

Jake’s jaw tensed. “You told her no, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Relief sagged his shoulders, but not completely. “Good. You don’t owe them that, baby. You survived once. That should’ve been enough.”

“I know.” You reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his. “It just… shook me.”

Jake lifted your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re not going back there. Not unless you decide to. No guilt. No pressure.”

You nodded again, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

The Hard Deck was buzzing in the late afternoon haze — pool balls cracking, old rock humming through the speakers, and the smell of sea air drifting in from the open doors. The Daggers were in their usual spot near the windows, spread out around a table littered with fries, drinks, and the kind of stories that kept getting taller with every telling.

You sat beside Jake, half-listening to Fanboy retell another story about how he "heroically" saved Payback from a malfunctioning landing gear. Jake, as always, muttered corrections under his breath just for you, and you bit back a smile as you leaned into his shoulder.

The front door opened with a soft chime.

Jake glanced toward the entrance — and stilled.

He knew them instantly.

Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan. Not in suits, but unmistakably federal. There was a certain tension in their posture, a focus in the way they scanned the bar. The last time Jake had seen either of them, it had been in a hospital hallway. He hadn’t forgotten.

He felt your body react a split second later — a stillness in your limbs, like prey hearing a branch crack in the woods. Your hand tensed where it rested on your thigh. Your breath hitched just slightly. Jake reached under the table, brushing his fingers against yours. You didn’t look at him, but your fingers curled around his.

“They’re not here for me,” you whispered, barely audible.

“You sure?”

“No.”

The two agents didn’t head toward you. They didn’t even seem to notice you — not yet. They moved like they were used to this, splitting up without a word, blending in with the crowd.

Jake watched carefully as Derek veered toward the pool tables and Emily headed for the regulars near the bar, both of them asking quiet questions with easy smiles and notepads tucked discreetly in their back pockets.

“Uh…” Coyote squinted after them. “Are those feds?”

“Definitely,” Jake murmured.

“Why are feds here?” Phoenix asked, brows lifted.

Fanboy leaned back in his chair. “Maybe someone finally reported how much you cheat at darts.”

Jake didn’t laugh. He was still watching them. Derek made his way over, casual as ever, flashing his badge just briefly to the group.

“Sorry to bother you all — Derek Morgan, FBI. We’re working a case in the area. Just trying to get a sense of the neighborhood.”

“Did we do something?” Bob asked, half-joking, half-worried.

Derek chuckled. “Nah, nothing like that. Just asking around. We’ve had a string of abductions not far from here — young women, mid-twenties, approached late at night. Pattern’s tight enough we think it might be the same guy.”

“Jesus,” Payback muttered.

Derek’s eyes scanned the group. “You all stationed nearby?”

“North Island,” Coyote said. “We’re pilots.”

“Got it. Any of you regulars here?”

“Three times a week, minimum,” Fanboy said proudly.

“Good. Just keep an eye out. Someone acting out of place, someone who gives you a bad feeling — it might be something.” Derek gave a faint, reassuring smile. “If you remember anything, let the bartender know. She's got our contact info.”

Phoenix leaned forward. “Wait — what department did you say you were from?”

“BAU,” Derek said. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Is that like… psych stuff?”

“Kind of,” Emily added as she joined them. “We analyze crime scenes and build profiles based on behavior. Try to predict who we’re looking for before they hurt anyone else.”

Fanboy blinked. “So you’re… like crime psychics.”

Jake sighed. “No, Mickey. They’re profilers.”

You didn’t speak.

Emily’s eyes swept over the table then — calm, unreadable — and landed briefly on you.

She didn’t react. Just gave the smallest nod. Barely perceptible.

Jake felt you tense again.

The agents thanked the group and moved on to the next table, just as quickly as they’d arrived.

Silence settled for a beat.

Phoenix looked around. “Okay, but real talk — Doc, you okay?”

You managed a tiny smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just didn’t expect to see the FBI during happy hour.”

Jake was still watching the agents. Still holding your hand.

Still wondering exactly how long it would be before they came back — and what they’d ask when they did.

The apartment was quiet.

It was late — later than you meant to be awake — but sleep hadn’t come easy since the agents showed up at the Hard Deck. You’d curled up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring in the background while the muted glow from the screen flickered across the living room.

You weren’t really watching.

Not until the news anchor said the words.

“The body of a young woman was discovered early this morning in a wooded area east of San Diego. Authorities have not confirmed whether this case is linked to a string of similar attacks, but sources suggest the victim shares key physical characteristics with those in previous cases…”

You sat up straight, blood draining from your face.

The screen changed to a stock image of a taped-off forest scene. Dim, impersonal. Detached.

But it wasn’t impersonal to you.

Your hair color. Mid-twenties. Slender. Last seen leaving a bar alone.

She could’ve been you.

She was you — in every way that mattered.

Your hands started to shake. You pressed them into your thighs to stop it. A slow, sick heat crept up your spine, curling behind your ribs. Not fear. Not exactly. Something heavier. Older.

Guilt.

She didn’t get out.

You did.

You stood up, moved through the apartment like a ghost. Jake’s jacket was slung over the back of the kitchen chair, his boots still by the door. He wasn’t home yet — still on base, running late from whatever flight debrief got dragged out past midnight.

Your phone was already in your hand.

You didn’t even remember picking it up.

You pulled up JJ’s contact. Your finger hovered above call.

The key turned in the door.

You froze.

Jake stepped in, looking exhausted but warm. His eyes landed on you immediately — the glow from the TV casting you in soft, pale light.

“Hey, baby,” he said gently, tugging off his boots. “Why’re you up? It’s late.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him.

He noticed the tension in your shoulders instantly. “What happened?”

You turned the TV down, not off. The news replayed silently behind you. Same words. Same picture of a girl who could’ve been you.

“They found another body,” you said softly. “In the woods.”

Jake’s expression shifted. Eyes sharp. Back straight.

“She looked like me,” you added.

He crossed the room, slow but firm, his hands cupping your elbows as he looked you over. “You okay?”

You nodded. But it wasn’t true. “I need to help.”

Jake stilled. “No.”

“Jake—”

“No.” He let go of your arms, stepping back, jaw clenched. “You don’t need to. You said no. You said you were done.”

“I didn’t know how close it was,” you snapped, louder than you meant. “She could’ve been me.”

“And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

You stared at him. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You didn’t sit here. You built a new life. You survived.”

“And what if the next girl doesn’t?”

That stopped him.

You stepped closer, voice trembling now. “I can help them, Jake. I know how this guy thinks. I lived it. If they’re asking for me, it’s because they’re running out of time.”

Jake ran a hand down his face. “You think I don’t know that?”

His voice cracked.

“You think I don’t wake up every damn day and remember what it was like when I thought I’d lost you? You want to walk back into that world? What if you don’t come out this time?”

You were quiet for a moment.

Then: “I already didn’t come out the same.”

Jake flinched.

You swallowed hard. “But this is who I am, Jake. It always was. And if I don’t do something — if I stay silent while more girls die — I don’t know if I can live with that.”

He looked at you like he wanted to argue. Like he needed to.

But he didn’t.

He just stepped back and turned away.

The space between you stretched with silence.

The bedroom was quiet.

No music. No podcast humming from the bathroom. Just the steady sounds of two people moving through a silence too big to fill with small talk. The tension hadn’t boiled over into anger — not really — but it lingered like steam on the mirror. Heavy. Unresolved.

You brushed your teeth. Jake stripped off his clothes until he was only in his underwear. Neither of you spoke.

He pulled back the sheets while you tied your hair up, eyes flicking toward you once, then away. You both slid into bed like you always did — his side, your side, the familiarity of it muscle memory by now — but the usual warmth was slower to settle.

You lay on your back. Eyes on the ceiling. The cool fabric of the pillowcase beneath your cheek.

Then Jake shifted beside you, just enough to reach for you. His arm curled around your waist, tugging you gently toward him until your cheek rested against his naked chest and your hand settled over his heart.

It was the sound of it — steady, alive — that finally let your body ease.

He sighed, long and quiet. His voice was rough around the edges when he finally spoke.

“I just got you back.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

Jake’s fingers moved in slow circles on your lower back. “I watched them carry you out of that cabin, and I didn’t think I’d ever see you breathe again. You were half-conscious and bleeding, and I remember thinking, God, please — I’ll give anything if she just comes back to me.”

You closed your eyes, curling into him tighter.

“I know you’re strong. I know you’re more capable than anyone I’ve ever met,” he continued, voice low. “And I know your old team wouldn’t be asking unless they really thought you could make a difference.”

He paused.

“But I also know how much it broke you. How long it took to feel safe again. How many nights I held you while you couldn’t even speak.”

Your throat ached.

He tilted his head just slightly, pressing his lips to the top of yours.

“I’m not trying to hold you back,” he said quietly. “I’m just… terrified. That the second you walk into that case, you’ll forget how far you’ve come. That you’ll carry it all again. Alone.”

“I won’t,” you whispered.

Jake nodded. “I believe you. I do.”

His hand found yours under the blanket and squeezed it gently.

“If you do this, I’ll support you,” he said. “Completely. But I need you to promise me one thing.”

You looked up at him, eyes soft in the dark.

“Keep me in the loop,” he said. “Not just on the case. On you. Don’t shut me out. Don’t pretend to be okay if you’re not. I can’t lose you again. Not in any way.”

“I promise.”

The words came out hoarse, but real.

You rested your head back on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady beneath your ear. And when his arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time, you knew he meant every word.

The police station smelled like old coffee and fluorescent lights.

It was early, the morning fog still clinging to the coastline as you pushed through the front doors, the weight of a world you hadn’t touched in three years settling instantly onto your shoulders.

You didn’t wear your old badge. No holster. No Kevlar vest or Bureau ID clipped to your waistband. Just slacks, a blouse, your favorite trench coat, and a plain manila folder clutched tightly in your hand — full of notes you’d stayed up rereading until two a.m.

The moment you walked in, you spotted them.

The BAU.

Hotch stood near the whiteboard, arms crossed, jaw tight as ever — the same unreadable expression you remembered so well. JJ was flipping through a file at the table. Emily leaned against the back wall, sipping her coffee, and Spencer sat half-curled in a desk chair, mumbling something to himself about wound trajectories while tapping a pen against his knee. Rossi and Derek were mid-discussion over the case board, which was already cluttered with photographs, maps, and victim profiles.

No one noticed you at first.

And then JJ looked up.

Her face softened instantly. “You came.”

Everyone turned.

There was no dramatic rush, no gasps or tears — just a long, heavy moment where everyone looked at you like you were both the past and the answer to a question they hadn’t been able to solve on their own.

Spencer stood up first. “You look—”

“Different?” you offered, half smiling.

He shook his head. “Just… stronger.”

You crossed the room slowly, letting yourself breathe a little as you exchanged hugs — tight ones from JJ and Emily, a warm one-armed clasp from Hotch that still somehow said more than words. Rossi didn’t hug you, just rested a hand on your shoulder, his eyes full of something like pride. Derek waited last, pulling you into a long, quiet embrace.

“You sure about this?” he asked against your temple.

“No,” you said honestly.

He pulled back, smiled. “Good. Means you’re smart.”

Hotch nodded toward the board. “We’ll get right to it. You remember the original details?”

“Yeah. Five victims. All local. All grabbed within a few blocks of where they were last seen, usually alone. Strangled. Some bruising consistent with being restrained. Age range: 23 to 27. All the same hair color.”

Spencer blinked. “You already read the files?”

“Skimmed. Jake printed them out for me last night.”

JJ looked a little surprised. “Jake’s okay with you helping?”

“No,” you said softly. “But he’s supporting me anyway.”

That quieted the room a beat.

Rossi gestured toward a chair. “We’ve already established behavioral patterns — consistent escalation, no clear stressor event. But the most recent victim was dumped. Which is a first.”

You nodded. “He didn’t take pride in his disposal before. That could mean he’s getting sloppy, or he wants her found.”

“Or he’s trying to send a message,” Emily added.

“Could be,” you said. “Or… he’s copying someone.”

The air stilled.

JJ exhaled slowly. “You think it’s him.”

“I don’t know what I think,” you admitted. “But the similarities are close. Closer than coincidence.” “He took me after I went out for coffee,” you said, voice quiet but controlled. “I don’t know how he got so close without me noticing, but… I blacked out almost instantly. Probably chloroform.”

Emily folded her arms. “You were gone for two days.” JJ looked down.

Spencer hesitated. “Do you… remember anything else? From when he had you?”

Your voice was steady, but something in your chest clenched tight. “Some things.”

No one rushed you. The room went still, waiting.

You drew in a breath. “He kept me blindfolded. The entire time. I couldn’t see him, not even once. But I remember other things. His voice. His hands. The way he moved. He always walked in from the left. He hummed sometimes — “Danny Boy,” I think. He smelled like cigarettes and cheap aftershave.”

Emily leaned forward slightly. “Did he ever say why he took you?”

“Not directly.” You swallowed hard. “But he said I was the first one who made him wait. That I was smart. He sounded impressed.”

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “And then he let you go.”

You shook your head, a chill brushing over your skin. “No. He didn’t let me go. He ran. He heard you coming — I don’t know how, maybe your sirens — but he bolted. Left me tied to a beam in the corner of that cabin and vanished. I could hear Rossi shouting my name outside, and I started screaming.”

Spencer sat forward, pen still in his hand but forgotten. “He had time. More than enough to kill you.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about that every day since.”

Derek folded his arms. “He’s never done that before. Every other victim…”

“—Was found dead,” you finished for him.

JJ’s eyes met yours. “You were the only one he let live.”

“No,” you said softly. “I was the only one he chose not to kill.”

There was a long silence.

Rossi finally spoke. “You think you were the start of something different. A new phase.”

“I think… I was the unfinished chapter.”

That shifted the air in the room.

Hotch straightened near the board. “We need to consider that this is the same unsub, returned to finish what he started. Or a disciple. Someone replicating his crimes, but deviating from the original. Either way, your insight — your memory — is our best shot at stopping him.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Then let’s stop him.”

JJ stepped forward and gently rested a hand on your shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

You didn’t say it out loud — but it was good to be back.

Even if it was terrifying.

Even if it meant facing everything you'd fought so hard to forget.

The case board was dense with detail now — pinned photographs, strings of mapped movements, a timeline of abductions that had started to tighten like a noose.

You stood near the window, arms crossed, watching the late-morning sun start to burn through the marine layer. The room was heavy with tension and quiet calculation — the kind that comes when everyone’s already running worst-case scenarios in their heads.

“Maybe it wasn’t personal,” you said aloud, your voice cutting through the stillness. “He said I made him wait, but… it wasn’t months. It couldn’t have been. I wasn’t living in that part of town more than a couple of weeks when it happened. There was nothing special about me — it was random. Just bad luck.”

Spencer nodded from where he sat, one leg tucked beneath him. “That tracks. If he’d been watching you for months, we’d have found some record of it — footage, sightings, something. But there was nothing.”

Emily added quietly, “Which means it’s about access. Opportunity.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “That makes him more dangerous. Less predictable.”

Everyone was gathered tightly around the table now — two laptops open, printouts spread between coffee cups and scribbled notes, the case board slowly growing heavier with faces.

Spencer had pulled up a detailed map of the victim’s last known location: San Diego State. A red marker blinked against the cluster of student buildings.

You stared at it a long moment.

JJ glanced up from her file. “That’s where you do some of your consulting, isn’t it?”

You blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I have a research partnership with their psychology department. I’m there once, maybe twice a week.”

Hotch’s jaw ticked. “Were you there this week?”

“I was. Yesterday.”

Rossi looked up sharply. “So you were at the same location less than twenty-four hours before the abduction?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

"First victim was taken outside the bar you say you frequent, The Hard Deck." Spencer pointed out.

No one said anything for a moment. The implications hung heavy.

Emily broke the silence. “Okay, let’s take a step back. If we assume this is the same unsub as before — that he took you, chose not to kill you, and now he’s resumed — then we need to figure out what changed. What made him pick up again now. Something had to trigger it.”

You stood a little straighter. “Nothing’s changed.”

Derek gave you a look. “Come on, doc. Think. Any media? Interviews? Public lectures?”

You shook your head. “No press. I’ve been low profile. Completely.”

Spencer hesitated, then turned his laptop around slowly. “What about Jake?”

Your breath caught when you saw the image on the screen.

A local news clipping — North Island Naval Officer Promoted to Commander — with a photo of Jake in uniform, standing proud at the front of a hangar during the ceremony. You were just over his shoulder, half-turned, smiling up at him.

The caption read: Commander Jake Seresin with wife, Dr. [Your Name], after the ceremony.

The air in the room shifted again. Tighter. Sharper.

JJ’s voice was quiet. “That ran two weeks ago.”

You closed your eyes.

Emily leaned forward. “And if he saw it…”

“Then he knows where I am,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch didn’t look surprised. “He let you live, but he never forgot you. Maybe you were the exception — the one who got away. But if he’s resurfaced now, and he’s abducting from locations connected to you, it changes everything.”

“He’s not just continuing his old pattern,” Derek said, voice tight. “He’s starting a new one. And you’re the center.”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

You weren’t collateral anymore.

You were the target.

Not for revenge.

For obsession.

Rossi rubbed a hand over his mouth. “We’re not looking at a traditional spree. We’re looking at a fixation. Controlled. Personal. He let you live because he didn’t want it to end.”

“And now he’s picked up the story again,” Spencer said. “From his perspective, the last chapter was unfinished.”

JJ looked across the table. “He saw that photo. It put you back in his orbit.”

And this girl — the one from San Diego State — she wasn’t random. She was a message.

You stepped back from the table, breath shallow, head spinning.

The only thing you could think of was: Jake.

You were still staring at the photo on Spencer’s screen when Derek leaned forward, voice gentle.

“Hey,” he said, getting your attention. “I know it’s a big ask, and I know you’ve already done more than enough just by showing up—but if you’re okay with it, I think we should try a cognitive interview.”

You blinked. “Right now?”

“Soon,” he said. “Only if you’re up for it. I’ll walk you through the process slow—we won’t push. But sometimes going back into the sensory details can surface things you didn’t know you remembered.”

You hesitated, your hands curling tightly around the back of the chair. “He had me blindfolded,” you whispered. “All I had were sounds. Smells. Vibes. But… yeah. Okay. We can try.”

Derek gave a small, reassuring nod. “You set the pace.”

You nodded, then reached for your phone.

If what the team suspected was true—if this man had somehow found you again, after all these years—it wasn’t just you at risk anymore.

Jake had to know.

Jake stood at the wing of a parked F/A-18, sweat clinging to the back of his neck under his flight suit as he looked over a checklist with a tech. His mind wasn’t in it. Hadn’t been all day. Not since you'd left that morning with that look in your eyes—something resolved and haunted at the same time.

His phone buzzed against his hip.

He barely registered the name before answering. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

Your voice came fast, tight, rushed. “Jake. We got confirmation. Another girl’s missing. She was taken from the SDSU campus.”

Jake stiffened. “That’s where you—”

“I know. The team thinks this might be about me. They think he might’ve seen that article from your promotion ceremony. They think he might be here because of that.”

The breath caught in his lungs.

No.

He started walking without realizing. Past the jet, across the tarmac.

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Stay in the building. Stay with Hotch or Morgan. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Jake—”

But he was already hanging up.

Rooster looked up from his toolbox as Jake rushed across the hangar floor, moving fast—too fast. There was no post-flight sarcasm, no teasing, not even a wave.

“Where the hell’s he going?” Payback asked.

Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “That didn’t look like a lunch break.”

“He looked pale,” Fanboy muttered. “Did something happen?”

Bob tilted his head. “Maybe family emergency?”

Rooster was already setting down his wrench. “I’m gonna find Mav.”

Maverick barely glanced up as Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob stepped into the doorway.

“Mav,” Bradley said, arms crossed. “Something’s wrong with Hangman. He just ran off base like the damn world was ending.”

Maverick exhaled, slow and quiet, then turned to fully face them.

He looked at each of them for a long moment before speaking.

“He’s fine,” Mav said.

“Doesn’t look fine,” Phoenix shot back. “What’s going on?”

Maverick rubbed a hand over his jaw. He didn’t want to be the one to say it—but he also knew secrets like this had a shelf life. And if Jake was racing to the PD, they’d find out soon enough.

“She used to be FBI,” he said finally.

That stopped all three of them in their tracks.

“What?” Phoenix asked.

“She was with the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Mav continued, voice even. “Profiling serial offenders. Got recruited young. Bright. Gifted.” He paused. “And three years ago, she was kidnapped by a subject they were tracking. Held for two days. Barely made it out.”

Silence fell like a brick.

“They think he might be back,” Maverick finished quietly. “And that he’s in San Diego.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened. “That’s what this is about.”

The room was dimmer now. The blinds were half-closed to block the afternoon sun, casting soft shadows across the case board. Derek was prepping the small adjacent interview room — chairs facing each other, lights low, a bottle of water set on the table. You sat on the edge of your chair, elbows on your knees, trying to slow your breathing.

You could do this.

You had to.

But your fingers trembled slightly as you picked at the cap of the pen in your hand, mind skipping in and out of memory. That smell. That song. That freezing cold air from the cabin floorboards. It all crawled back up when you least expected it.

The door burst open down the hallway.

Heavy boots. Fast steps. A sharp voice at the front desk — not angry, just worried.

“Commander Seresin,” Hotch said without looking up. “Right on time.”

You turned just as Jake appeared at the threshold of the room, still in uniform, the top half of his flight suit tied around his waist, white undershirt damp at the collar.

His eyes landed on you instantly.

He crossed the room in three long strides.

“Hi,” you said, voice soft.

Jake cupped your face with both hands and kissed your forehead, breathing you in like he was checking to make sure you were still solid, still here. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

He glanced toward the board — the faces, the photos, the growing map of chaos. His jaw clenched. “You called me. You said it might be about you.”

“I didn’t want to wait until I was home.”

Jake shook his head, pulling a chair closer to yours and sitting so your knees touched. “You made the right call.”

Behind you, Derek stepped into the room again.

“You must be Jake,” he said.

“Yeah. Thanks for taking care of her.”

“She’s about to do a cognitive interview. You’re welcome to stay, long as it’s helpful to her.”

Jake looked to you.

You nodded.

“I want you there.”

Derek gave you a small smile. “All right. We’ll take it slow. Nothing heavy. Just a conversation.”

You and Jake followed him into the smaller room — cold walls, no windows, one camera quietly rolling behind glass. You sat across from Derek, Jake beside you, one arm draped protectively along the back of your chair.

Derek spoke gently.

“You remember the basics of how this works, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Sensory details. Emotion over fact. Let memory take the lead.”

“Exactly. So just close your eyes when you’re ready, and start from somewhere that feels safe. Doesn’t have to be the beginning.”

Jake gave your hand a light squeeze.

You took a breath.

And let yourself fall backward into the dark.

The walls felt closer with your eyes closed.

Derek’s voice was soft, grounded. “You’re doing great. Just take us back to the morning before it happened. Start anywhere that feels clear.”

You nodded slowly, fingers curling against the armrest.

“I was leaving my apartment,” you said, quietly. “It was a Friday. Cold for spring. I remember I forgot my gloves and thought about going back for them, but I didn’t. I had a coffee order in already and I was late.”

Jake stayed silent beside you, unmoving. Just a steady presence. Solid. Safe.

“I walked the same route as always. Past the little bookstore on 9th. The woman inside always had a candle burning — vanilla and sandalwood. I could smell it as I passed.”

Derek’s voice came again. “Do you remember seeing anyone? Or feeling like you were being followed?”

You hesitated. “No. It was normal. People walking dogs, cars driving by. There was a guy smoking outside the bodega. He asked for spare change, and I told him sorry, not today. That’s the last person I remember talking to.”

You paused, heartbeat starting to pick up.

“I got my coffee. Black. I took the lid off — it was too hot to drink, and I remember the smell hit me really strong. Burnt roast. Like it had been sitting too long. I almost didn’t drink it.”

You breathed out shakily, the air in your lungs starting to constrict. “I think… I think that’s when it happened.”

Derek leaned forward slightly. “What do you remember next?”

“I was walking back toward my car. It was parked behind the café, in that little lot next to the alley. It was quiet.”

Your pulse quickened. You could hear it in your ears.

Jake shifted beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded tightly, but your voice faltered. “I remember… someone said my name. But I don’t think I recognized the voice. It was like… like I had just enough time to turn.”

The silence buzzed.

“And then I couldn’t breathe.”

You opened your eyes, chest rising faster.

Derek’s voice was lower now. “Was there anything about that voice? Accent? Tone? Did he sound young?”

Your hands started to tremble. “Deep voice. Calm. Like… calm in a way that felt wrong. It didn’t match the situation.”

Jake reached for your arm. “That’s enough—”

But you shook your head. “No—wait. Wait. I remember something.”

The room froze.

Your breathing was shallow but even, eyes wide now. You were back in the memory but fighting to stay afloat.

“I heard a sound before I passed out,” you said slowly. “It was… soft. Mechanical. Like a click. No—like a button being pushed. Over and over. I didn’t remember it before because it felt unimportant, but—”

You looked at Derek. “He was clicking a pen.”

“A pen?”

You nodded quickly. “Not a nervous tic. Rhythmic. Like… tap, tap, tap. And he kept doing it. I remember it in the dark. When I was tied up. He’d pace and click it. He wanted me to hear it.”

Spencer’s voice crackled through the speaker in the room. “That’s a behavioral trigger. A dominance cue. Like a metronome — asserting control through rhythm.”

Derek looked at you seriously. “That’s huge. Most of his behavior’s been postmortem. But this—this gives us a pre-attack ritual.”

Jake leaned closer, his voice barely audible. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded again, this time more firmly. “I’m okay.”

The cognitive interview had ended fifteen minutes ago, but your body still felt wired — like adrenaline was buzzing just beneath your skin. Jake hadn't left your side. He stood just behind your chair now, one hand on your shoulder, the other flexing and unflexing at his side like he was barely holding something back.

The rest of the team was gathered around the long table, and Penelope Garcia’s voice filled the room over speakerphone.

“Okay, sunshine squad,” she chirped, the only person in the world who could sound cheery in a serial murder case. “So I pulled every known offender, vagrant, or suspicious person with priors within a five-mile radius of the café our Doc was taken from. I cross-referenced that with clicky-pen sales in the immediate area and—just kidding, I’m good, but not that good.”

A few chuckles lightened the tension — even yours.

“Garcia,” Hotch said calmly. “Stick to profiles matching age, behavioral cues, and any psychiatric holds post-incident.”

“Already on it, Captain No-Fun,” Garcia replied. “Based on the pen-clicking, the blindfolds, the lack of sexual assault but intense need for control, we’re likely looking at a male, late 30s to mid-40s, antisocial tendencies, possibly diagnosed or undiagnosed OCPD. And guess what? I got three possible matches within driving distance of San Diego State. All were either arrested or flagged for mental health-related complaints in the past five years.”

On the big screen, three DMV photos popped up.

Your stomach lurched at the sight of them.

Jake stiffened behind you, feeling the shift in your body even before you spoke.

Derek glanced over. “You recognize anyone?”

You leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning each face. The first man—no. The second—no.

But the third.

The third made your skin crawl.

Thinning brown hair. Soft jaw. Unremarkable features. But something behind his eyes flickered—like he knew something you didn’t.

You reached out slowly and tapped the screen with a trembling finger.

“That’s him,” you said quietly. “That’s the guy who asked me for change. Outside the bodega. The day I was taken.”

Silence fell like a hammer.

Spencer looked up, voice suddenly sharp. “That’s not just a match. That’s confirmation. He was at the scene minutes before the abduction.”

“His name’s Albert Kane,” Garcia said, voice now taut and serious. “Lived off the grid for a few years after a psych evaluation flagged him as a potential risk. He dropped off my radar… but if he resurfaced in San Diego…”

Hotch was already reaching for his phone. “Then he’s our unsub. And we don’t have time.”

You sat back, heart pounding. Jake’s hand slid from your shoulder to your back, warm and grounding.

“You did good, darlin’,” he murmured softly near your ear. “Really good.”

But all you could think about now was the girl. The one still missing. Somewhere in the city. Maybe already trapped in a cabin just like the one you barely escaped.

The room had transformed into a war room — coffee refills forgotten, printouts slapped onto the board, and maps laid flat on the table like battle plans.

Spencer tapped a red marker against the screen, zooming in on a cluster of pins outside the city. “Albert Kane was born in Idaho, but he’s moved constantly — Colorado, Nevada, Oregon, and now California. The only stable pattern is the terrain. He favors isolated wooded areas, usually within two hours of a major freeway.”

JJ spoke next, flipping through Kane’s file. “Three years ago, he was flagged after being forcibly removed from a wellness retreat. Paranoia, manipulation, and clear signs of obsessive control behavior. The facility didn’t press charges, just wanted him gone.”

“And now he’s escalated,” Hotch added, arms crossed. “Likely triggered when he saw her face in the paper. The woman who got away. He’s trying to recreate the original event — only this time, he’s in control from the start.”

Rossi gestured to a map of the outer San Diego County area. “We’re assuming he’s repeating the cabin setup. Garcia, do we have eyes on isolated structures he could be using?”

Penelope’s voice buzzed over speaker. “Sending three viable options now — all rented in the last six weeks under aliases I’ve connected to Kane in the past. One of them was booked with a prepaid debit card used in San Diego two days ago.”

“Got it.” Derek grabbed the printout as it came through. “Cabin off Route 94. About forty-five minutes from here. No neighbors. No cell reception.”

“That’s our target,” Hotch said. “We move now.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a faint hum over the now-quiet station. The tension that had built over the past few hours had finally snapped — the girl was alive. Bruised, scared, but alive.

You’d cried when Emily called it in.

She’d said the words gently, like she knew you’d been holding your breath all day: “We got her. She’s safe. And we’ve got him in cuffs.”

Jake had just sat down beside you in the waiting room, hand tightly holding yours. He pressed a kiss to your temple and hadn’t let go since.

Now, the hum of engine brakes echoed outside as one of the SUVs pulled up out front.

You looked up just in time to see them dragging him in.

Albert Kane — cuffed, wild-eyed, struggling like an animal. Blood on his cheek, likely from the takedown. Dirt under his nails. Disheveled. Unhinged.

You didn’t mean to stand. You just… did.

And that’s when he saw you.

For a split second, everything stopped.

Then he lunged.

“It was for you!” he screamed, spittle flying, veins straining in his neck. “All of it! They were nothing—nothing compared to you! You were supposed to see it! You were supposed to understand—”

Jake moved like a loaded gun — explosive, furious, ready to tear him apart.

“Don’t you dare talk to her!”

His voice boomed across the station, eyes burning with a rage you had never seen in him before. He lunged forward, but—

Derek caught him mid-step, slamming a hand against his chest and pushing him back, muscle against muscle.

“Jake.” Derek’s voice was steel. “Not worth it. Not here. Not now.”

Jake struggled against the restraint for a breathless second — then collapsed back a half-step, shoulders rising and falling with shallow, furious breaths.

Kane was screaming, being dragged out of the hallway. “I saved you! You were supposed to save me!”

And then he was gone.

The door slammed behind him.

The room was silent.

You were shaking.

Jake turned toward you slowly, his fury replaced by something else — horror, helplessness, grief. He reached you in two long strides and pulled you into his chest.

You crumbled.

Arms around his waist, face buried in the soft fabric of his undershirt, you broke down. Your shoulders shook with quiet sobs you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

Jake’s hand cupped the back of your head, his lips pressing to your temple.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. He’s done. It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You clung to him tightly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have to see him again,” you choked out.

Jake leaned his forehead to yours. “I’d kill him with my bare hands if I could. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you whispered. You nodded, forehead resting on his chest.

Derek watched from a short distance, his jaw tight but his eyes warm.

“We’ll take it from here,” he said gently. “Go home. You both need rest.”

Jake didn’t answer. He just gathered you against his side, nodding once as if to say thank you, and walked you out the front door into the night.

[...]

The sun was slipping below the horizon, casting long golden streaks across the water and painting the sky in soft pastels. The Hard Deck buzzed with life — laughter, clinking glasses, music humming low in the background. But in the back corner, where the picnic tables sat half in shadow, a very unusual group was taking over.

“Okay, but seriously,” Derek said, nursing a beer and looking across the table at Phoenix. “You’re telling me they call him Hangman because of his ego?”

“Because of his everything,” she said with a grin, nudging Jake across the table. “He earned that callsign the minute he opened his mouth.”

“Y’all are just jealous,” Jake said, reclining like a man who finally had something worth relaxing into. “I have style. Presence. Charisma.”

“You have tantrums,” Rooster chimed in, tipping his drink toward Spencer, who blinked slowly like he’d just watched an exotic bird speak. “This guy once argued with an entire vending machine.”

“He kicked it,” Bob added helpfully.

Emily leaned forward, “I love him.”

You sat sandwiched between JJ and Natasha, both women gently teasing you about how long you’d kept two entire identities hidden — genius profiler and Navy pilot’s wife.

“I knew you were smart,” JJ said, bumping your shoulder. “But this is some next-level secret agent business.”

“I’m telling you,” Natasha laughed, “I feel like I’ve been living in an episode of a spy drama.”

“You were,” Rossi added dryly from behind his wine glass.

Even Hotch looked amused, the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I still can’t believe you guys didn’t know,” Emily said, sipping a beer. “I mean, come on. ‘Doc’?”

“She told us she had a PhD,” Fanboy shrugged. “Didn’t think it came with a federal badge and a body count.”

Everyone laughed.

Across the table, Jake looked at you — relaxed, glowing in the amber light, your eyes crinkled from smiling. He reached under the table and found your hand, lacing your fingers with his.

You looked at him and smiled, and he mouthed a quiet, “You okay?”

You nodded. “I am now.”

It wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic. But it was true.

You were whole. And you were home.

As the sun finally slipped beneath the waterline, the Daggers and the BAU raised their glasses in a mismatched toast — to friendship, to healing, to the weird little twist of fate that brought them all together.

And for the first time in years, the past didn’t feel quite so heavy.

You’d carried it. You’d survived it.

And now, you could finally set it down.

550 notes · View notes

hipsternerd9 · 13 days ago

Text

Call Sign: Daddy

pairing; jake seresin x wife!reader

summary; Everyone thought Hangman’s biggest secret was his ego—turns out, it’s a wife, two kids, and a killer marshmallow recipe.

word count; 6.6k

warnings; nothing. fluff, fun, the daggers being chaotic and dramatic

a/n; you ask i deliver! here's girl dad!jake! this was SO much fun to write, i love these kinds of pieces. i am SO down to keep writing for this little family or just dad!jake in general (i am incapable of writing anything short i'm sorry)

masterlist

The new house still smelled like paint and sunlight.

Boxes towered in the living room like a cityscape, half-labeled and already a little rumpled from the drive. The front door stood open to let in the sea breeze, and the soft whir of ceiling fans stirred the scent of fresh wood floors and cardboard.

“Daddy! This one!” Cami’s voice rang through the hallway like a firecracker. Her curls bounced as she darted from room to room, barefoot and beaming. “This is definitely the best one.”

Jake, still in a gray t-shirt and jeans dusty from the move, peeked around the corner with a smirk. “Didn’t you say that about the last two?”

She planted her little fists on her hips. “Yeah, but this one’s got the biggest window. And look—” she ran over to it and flung her arms wide, “I can see everything!”

From the kitchen, you laughed softly, adjusting the baby sling on your chest. Lex was snuggled close, soft and warm against your body, her tiny fist curled against your collarbone. She made a sleepy noise but didn’t wake, lulled by the rhythm of your movements and the muffled excitement around her.

“She’s going to change her mind five more times,” you called over your shoulder. “Minimum.”

Jake walked in and leaned against the doorframe, watching you unpack a box labeled Kitchen - Fragile in your handwriting. “That’s generous. I was guessing eight.”

He crossed the room to you, brushing a hand along your spine in that absent, instinctive way he always had—gentle, grounding. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you said, smiling up at him. “Lex is asleep, I haven’t dropped a mug yet, and Cami hasn’t tried to climb on the counters. I’m calling it a win.”

Jake glanced down at Lex, and his whole face softened. He reached out to cradle her head briefly with one palm, then kissed your cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Flattery doesn’t get you out of assembling the crib again.”

“Worth a shot.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable crash of a box being tipped over, followed by Cami’s delighted giggle. “I’m helping!”

Jake’s eyes closed with a sigh, but he was smiling. “That’s my cue.”

He turned and jogged off in the direction of the chaos, and you watched him go, heart aching a little in that sweet, full way. Seeing him like this—barefoot, hair a little messy, completely wrapped around his daughters—it was everything you’d always wanted for him. For all of you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us, San Diego,” you whispered to Lex, who sighed in reply.

You went back to unpacking, and in the next room, Jake’s voice rose in a playful protest: “No, honey, that’s not a hammer. That’s a whisk. Where did you even get that?”

Cami shrieked with laughter, and you swore your heart couldn't grow bigger.

The sun had started to dip low in the sky, casting soft gold across the living room floor where half-built furniture lay in various states of disarray. Instruction manuals fluttered open beside tiny screws, wooden pegs, and the mysterious metal contraptions that always seemed necessary but never quite explained themselves.

Jake sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, brow furrowed and tongue caught in the corner of his mouth as he studied the baby dresser. He had gotten the frame halfway done. Maybe. Depending on how generous you were feeling.

Cami, perched on her knees next to him, had a tiny screwdriver clutched in her small hand like it was a magic wand. She wore a tutu over her leggings and one of your old t-shirts, which hung off her shoulders like a dress. Her curls were a riot around her face, and her fingers were smudged with something suspiciously marker-colored.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, Lex still tucked snug to your chest. She was asleep again, her little cheek pressed to your sternum, one leg dangling out of the wrap like she owned the place.

“Okay, Daddy,” Cami said with authority, poking the air like a tiny forewoman. “This piece goes on top of the other piece. Like a sandwich.”

Jake blinked at the board she was pointing to. “That’s the bottom panel, baby.”

“But it looks like the top.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s upside down.”

Cami frowned, then flipped the piece over with both hands. It clunked to the floor, just missing his foot.

“See?” Jake said, trying not to laugh. “Now it’s a bottom that looks like a bottom.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

From his spot on the floor, Jake glanced up and caught you watching. He grinned, wide and slow and just a little sheepish. “Hey, darlin’. How’s the supervisor?”

You adjusted Lex’s head gently and whispered, “She’s napping on the job.”

“Slacker,” he murmured with a wink, before turning back to the pieces in front of him.

Cami leaned in close beside him, pressing her head to his arm as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was made Jake laugh under his breath, then glance back at you with mock-seriousness.

“She says we should throw away the instructions and just use our feelings.”

“Oh God,” you said, laughing. “That explains so much about you.”

Jake chuckled and ruffled Cami’s curls. “You hear that? Mama’s roasting me again. Typical.”

Cami grinned like she’d won something, then leaned against her father’s shoulder, tucking her tiny feet under her.

For a moment, everything was still.

Golden light spread across the wood floors. The air smelled faintly of new furniture, baby lotion, and the faint salt of the ocean drifting in through the open window. The soft rustle of palm trees outside, the distant echo of a car door down the street, and the occasional creak of the settling house were the only sounds besides Jake humming tunelessly as he tightened a bolt.

Jake leaned back, resting his weight on one palm and looking up at you.

“I know we’re not done unpacking,” he said, voice low and a little rough with feeling, “but it already feels like home.”

You smiled, walking toward him slowly. “That’s because you brought your girls home.”

He reached up and touched your wrist, brushing a finger over the baby’s foot.

“We’re lucky you came with us,” you said.

Jake looked up at you, eyes soft. “No,” he murmured. “I’m lucky you waited for me.”

Cami blinked between the two of you, then laid her cheek against his shoulder again with a sigh. “Okay, but are we building this dresser or what?”

Jake snorted, grabbing a screwdriver. “Yes, boss.”

And with his firstborn on one side, and the rest of his world standing just steps away, Jake Seresin went back to building his life—one drawer at a time.

The California sun beat down on the tarmac, sharp and dry, but not even the heat could keep the familiar buzz of energy from crackling through the air.

Top Gun had changed. Sleeker buildings. A brand-new hangar. The same stretch of runway, but with fresh paint and a higher security presence. What hadn’t changed, though, was the group clustered just outside the ready room, voices overlapping as they swapped stories, insults, and half-serious bets on who’d forget their callsign first.

“—told you, man,” Fanboy was saying as Jake approached, sunglasses perched on his head and a wide grin on his face. “He puked in the rental van. Twice. And then tried to blame it on the dog.”

Coyote laughed, arms crossed. “Please tell me that was your neighbor and not your cousin again.”

“Nope. Cousin.” Mickey smacked a hand to his chest like he was proud. “And I had to deep-clean the whole backseat before I drove out here with Bowie.”

“Wait,” Phoenix cut in, squinting at him. “You brought your dog across the country?”

“Hell yeah, I did.” He pulled out his phone and showed a picture of a scruffy, golden mutt hanging its head out the passenger window, tongue flapping. “Look at that face. He’s the real MVP.”

Rooster whistled low. “You’re braver than me. I left my plants behind.”

“They were fake,” Bob said dryly, getting a chorus of laughs.

Jake slid into the circle with a nod, arms folded, boots scuffing a mark into the concrete. “What, no one’s moved with a houseplant, a dog, and a messy break-up? Come on, you’re telling me I’m the only one who had a peaceful move?”

That earned a few snorts.

Rooster elbowed him lightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t bring anything?”

Jake gave an easy shrug. “Couple duffel bags. My truck. That’s about it.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “No roommates? No girlfriend clinging to your bumper? No tragic love story in your rearview mirror?”

Jake let out a short laugh. “Nope.”

He didn’t look at Javy. Not directly.

The lie wasn’t heavy—not yet—but it was sharp. Quick. A reflex. The same one he’d used a hundred times over the years. It felt different now, though. Dirtier. Because this time, he wasn’t hiding a fling or dodging a label. He was leaving his family out of the picture.

Not forever. Just… not yet.

Coyote gave a low whistle beside him, too casual to be anything but a cover. “Guess some people travel light,” he said, and if the words held a second meaning, no one noticed but Jake.

“Hangman, a minimalist,” Phoenix said with a scoff. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake gave her a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “New year, new me.”

Rooster snorted. “You said that last year.”

“And look how great I turned out.”

They all groaned, but the mood held, rolling easy like a wave that hadn’t quite crested yet.

“Alright,” Maverick’s voice cut across the courtyard from the ready room doors. “Let’s see if you all remember how to fly.”

The squad moved in a pack, still joking as they filtered inside.

Jake walked a beat behind the rest, sunglasses shielding his eyes, the weight of the secret pressing a little more firmly against his ribs. It was only a matter of time before they found out.

But for now?

For now, it was just him, his girls, and the silence between.

[..]

It had been a week since Rooster arrived in San Diego and he was already sick of takeout. His fridge held nothing but mustard, half a lime, and a six-pack of beer. It was time to act like an adult — or at least pretend to.

He pushed his cart through the grocery store with a lazy rhythm, sunglasses tucked into his collar, and a list on his phone that he was half-ignoring. Eggs, coffee, something green… cereal.

He turned into the cereal aisle, already reaching for the same red box he always bought, when a familiar figure ahead caught his eye.

Blond. Tall. Broad shoulders. Back turned.

Rooster paused mid-step.

Seresin?

It looked like Jake — same relaxed posture, same stupidly perfect haircut. But the guy was wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt, not his usual base uniform or something annoyingly designer. Casual. Normal.

Rooster took a step forward, ready to call out a sarcastic, "Didn’t peg you for a Cheerios guy," when the man turned slightly to the side.

And that’s when he saw her.

A baby.

Strapped to his chest in one of those soft, wraparound slings. A tiny baby — maybe six or seven months old, by the size of her — nestled against his chest, dozing peacefully with a pacifier bobbing in her mouth. One of her socks was missing, her little toes peeking out like she’d kicked it off mid-nap.

Rooster froze.

And then—

“Daddy, look! They have the cinnamon ones!”

A second voice. High-pitched, sweet, and excited.

A little girl — maybe five — stood up in the shopping cart seat and waved dramatically at the shelf of cereal boxes like she’d discovered treasure. Her curls bounced as she wiggled, and she wore a pink t-shirt with sparkles on it and denim overalls with a sticker stuck to one leg.

Jake turned to look at her fully, the side of his face now visible, and Rooster’s heart tripped over itself.

No way.

“Alright, alright, Cin-a-mon Swirls it is,” Jake said, stretching to grab the box while carefully balancing the sleeping baby on his chest. “But only if you promise not to sneak handfuls before breakfast again.”

The little girl giggled. “I don’t sneak. I sample.”

Jake laughed under his breath — that soft, genuine laugh Rooster had never heard from him on base — and dropped the box in the cart.

Rooster ducked quickly behind the display of oatmeal, heart hammering.

What the hell did I just walk into?

Those weren’t nieces. That baby was practically grafted to Jake’s chest, and the little girl had his eyes. The same green-gold color. The same crooked grin. The same exact nose.

Rooster peeked around the endcap.

Jake had one hand resting protectively on the baby’s back and the other guiding the cart while she chattered away, telling some elaborate story about a dragon and a breakfast castle. And Jake? He was listening. Actually listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling to himself like this was the best part of his day.

What the—

Rooster stepped back, the shock settling into something sharper. Confusion. Disbelief.

Hangman has kids?

Real kids. Not nieces. Not a girlfriend’s kids. His. There was no mistaking it. That little girl might as well have been a clone.

And he’d said nothing.

Rooster stood frozen, cart forgotten, eyes still locked on the aisle corner where Jake had just turned out of sight, baby and child in tow.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there in the cereal aisle, trying to process the impossible.

Jake Seresin — Hangman — had a secret family.

And now, Rooster wasn’t sure who the hell he’d been working with all this time.

Rooster didn’t remember checking out.

He was pretty sure he paid — probably — because the cashier smiled and told him to have a good day. But everything from the cereal aisle to the parking lot felt like a blur. His brain was short-circuiting, looping through the same impossible images like a broken projector.

Jake. Baby. Little girl. Daddy.

He sat in his Bronco, staring blankly at the wheel. The cinnamon cereal he'd ended up grabbing by accident sat in the passenger seat like evidence.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “This is literally insane.”

He could not be the only one to know this. He didn’t want to be the only one. Someone had to validate this reality — and someone had to help him process what the hell was going on.

Which is how he ended up at the base gym, tossing his keys into a locker with a little too much force, pacing past the row of squat racks, and scanning the room like a man on a mission.

Phoenix.

There she was, finishing up reps on the bench press like a total machine, earbuds in, hair tied back, towel around her neck.

“Hey,” he called, voice slightly too loud.

She didn’t hear.

“Hey!”

Phoenix startled, pulling one earbud out with a scowl. “Jesus, Bradshaw. I almost dropped that on my face.”

“Yeah, okay, sorry,” he said, stepping closer. “I need to talk to you. Right now. Privately.”

She raised one eyebrow and sat up slowly. “What, did someone die?”

“No, but—close. I mean—no. It’s not a death death, it’s just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just—can we?”

Phoenix stood, towel in one hand, already skeptical. “Okay, drama queen. Come on.”

They ducked into the hallway outside the locker rooms, still sweaty and smelling faintly like antiseptic and rubber flooring. Phoenix crossed her arms.

“Alright. Spill.”

Rooster opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Shook his head.

“Rooster.”

“I saw Hangman with a baby,” he blurted, eyes wild. “And a kid. Like a five-year-old. And he was grocery shopping with them like it was normal. The baby was strapped to his chest like one of those little marsupial carriers and the kid called him Daddy.”

Phoenix stared.

He waited.

She didn’t blink.

Finally, she said, “What?”

“In the cereal aisle! I thought it was him, and I was about to say hi, but then I saw the baby, and the little girl looked just like him and then she said ‘Daddy’ and I—I panicked, okay? I hid behind the oatmeal.”

“You hid behind the oatmeal?”

“I was caught off guard!”

Phoenix let out a snort-laugh. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious, Nat. They looked exactly like him. The girl had his eyes. His smile. And he was being all—dad-like. It was weirdly gentle. I didn’t know he had a tone like that.”

Phoenix was quiet for a long second, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No mention of kids. No ring. No pictures. No weird schedule conflicts. If he has a family, he’s gone to serious lengths to hide it.”

Rooster nodded like a bobblehead. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“Are you sure they weren’t his sister’s kids or something?”

“The baby was drooling all over his shirt and the other one was bossing him around like she owned him. And he was listening. Patiently. Hangman doesn't listen patiently to anyone.”

Phoenix stared into the middle distance.

“...Holy shit,” she said under her breath.

Rooster folded his arms. “So what do we do?”

Phoenix blinked at him. “We?”

“You’re involved now!”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“But you know.”

Phoenix gave him a look. “So what—you want to confront him?”

“No,” Rooster said quickly. “God, no. What if it’s, like, a secret family on purpose? What if it’s some Witness Protection-level thing? Or he’s on the run from the PTA?”

Phoenix barked a laugh. “Okay, calm down, you're not in a TV show.”

“I just—I feel like I stepped into the Twilight Zone,” Rooster muttered.

“And I can’t un-see it. Like, every time he opens his mouth now, I’m going to hear that little girl’s voice saying ‘Daddy.’”

Phoenix scrubbed a hand down her face. “Alright. We sit on it. For now. He’ll crack eventually.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She gave him a slow, sly smile. “Then we accidentally run into him again. Maybe outside work. Maybe at the grocery store.”

Rooster looked appalled. “You want to stake him out?”

Phoenix shrugged. “What? You already started the recon mission. Might as well finish it.”

Rooster groaned. “This is going to drive me crazy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Bradshaw,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It already has.”

Jake had been minding his own business. Genuinely. For once.

He’d gotten through the morning flight briefing, his simulation review, and even a cup of coffee without roasting anyone. It was a personal record. But then—suddenly, for no reason at all—Bradley and Natasha started acting weird.

“Hey, Hangman,” Rooster said casually, sliding into the locker bench beside him, half-dressed in his flight gear. “What’d you do this weekend?”

Jake squinted at him, one boot half-laced. “What?”

“Just curious,” Rooster said, far too quickly. “Normal question. People ask each other that.”

Jake stared. “I did laundry. Took the truck in for an oil change. Nothing exciting.”

“Cool, cool,” Phoenix chimed in from across the aisle, leaning against the lockers like a detective interrogating a suspect. “Did you, I don’t know, go to the store?”

“The store?” Jake echoed slowly.

“You know,” Rooster added. “For… groceries.”

Jake blinked. “Yeah. Got some eggs. Why?”

“No reason,” they said in unison.

Jake looked between them, brow furrowing. “Did I miss a memo about getting really into meal prep?”

Phoenix gave a tight smile. “We’re just... interested in nutrition lately.”

Rooster nodded solemnly. “Very into breakfast.”

Jake opened his mouth, paused, then slowly tied his boot. “You guys are so weird today.”

Phoenix pushed off the locker. “So you live around here, then?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Obviously.”

Rooster jumped in. “Yeah, yeah, but like... where?”

Jake pulled his boot tighter. “You wanna come over for dinner, Bradshaw? Is that what this is? You finally caving to my charm?”

“No! I mean—unless you’re offering.” Rooster looked at Phoenix. “He could be offering.”

Jake stood, rolling his eyes. “What is wrong with you two?”

Phoenix played it cool. “Nothing. We’re just making conversation.”

“You’re never just making conversation.”

Rooster crossed his arms. “Maybe we’re trying to be your friends.”

Jake paused mid-zip on his jacket, one eyebrow climbing like it was headed for the stratosphere.

“My friends?” he repeated. “You think this is the first week of kindergarten and we’re picking lunch buddies?”

Phoenix shrugged, entirely unfazed. “Stranger things have happened.”

Jake gave her a long look. “Are you both dying?”

“No.”

“On drugs?”

Rooster smirked. “Only caffeine and a burning need for the truth.”

Jake stared for a beat longer, then shook his head and walked out of the locker room with a muttered, “Y’all are exhausting.”

Phoenix turned to Rooster once he was gone. “Okay, new plan. We’re terrible at this.”

Rooster groaned. “I thought the grocery question was subtle.”

“It wasn’t.”

“He’s too smug. He has secrets and he knows we want to know them.”

Phoenix sighed. “And he’s enjoying the hell out of this.”

Rooster tilted his head thoughtfully. “He might be just confused. That would track.”

They both stood in silence for a moment before Phoenix said, “We need to try again. Cooler. Smarter.”

Rooster gave her a long look. “You gonna say ‘do you have kids’ in Morse code or something?”

Phoenix’s eyes lit up. “...Maybe.”

Jake pushed open the front door with his shoulder, juggling his keys, a bottle of wine, and the pink glittery water bottle Cami had insisted on bringing to preschool. The house smelled faintly of laundry and lemon cleaner, and somewhere in the background, Taylor Swift’s voice floated out from the kitchen speaker.

You were at the counter, barefoot in leggings and one of his old Academy hoodies, hair piled on top of your head like a soft crown of chaos. Lex was in her bouncer on the floor nearby, babbling softly to her toes like they were telling her secrets.

Cami was on the couch with a coloring book and a stack of markers that had no hope of staying uncapped for long.

Jake dropped his keys in the bowl and stepped into the kitchen, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “I survived another day of being interrogated by two weirdos.”

You smiled without looking up from the dishwasher you were loading.

“Phoenix and Rooster.” He opened the fridge and tucked the wine onto the bottom shelf. “They’re acting weird. Like, weirder than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘weird.’”

Jake pulled out a leftover container and leaned against the counter. “Asking where I live, what I did this weekend, if I’ve been to the grocery store. They were so subtle it was almost adorable.”

You bit back a smile. “Huh.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Maybe they already know.”

Jake froze, Tupperware in hand. “Know what?”

You turned and gently nudged the fridge closed with your hip. “About us. About me. About the girls.”

Jake blinked. “How?”

“I don’t know,” you said, scooping up a bib from the table. “Maybe they saw us out. Maybe someone mentioned something. Cami does talk to strangers like they’re long-lost cousins.”

Jake groaned. “Oh God. Did she tell the cashier I’m a Top Gun pilot again?”

“She told the woman at the post office that your call sign is Hangman because you ‘always hang upside down on the monkey bars.’”

He dropped his head to the counter with a muffled laugh. “She’s gonna get me court-martialed.”

You smiled as you stepped closer and gently carded your fingers through his hair. “You said you liked them. The squad.”

“I do,” he mumbled, voice slightly muffled. “Most days.”

“Maybe it’s time they knew the truth.”

Jake lifted his head, watching you carefully. “You think so?”

You tilted your head, soft and teasing. “What’s the worst that could happen? They start calling you Daddy-man?”

Jake winced. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

You laughed, warm and easy, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Seriously. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a great life. You have a family who loves you. And a baby with thighs so chunky they deserve their own zip code.”

Jake looked down at Lex, who had stopped babbling long enough to blow a spit bubble.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “I know.”

Cami’s voice floated in from the living room. “Mom! Daddy! Where’s the sparkly purple marker? It’s an emergency!”

Jake shouted back, “Check under the couch! Or in your hair!”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. “Well… when you’re ready, we’re ready too.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms sliding around you with a quiet, grateful squeeze.

The squad had claimed their usual table on the outdoor patio of the base commissary — sun shining, aviators on, trays full of fries and whatever passed for lunch that day. It was the kind of afternoon that made everything feel like summer break, even if they were technically on duty.

“Well, I hope you’re all happy,” Bob was saying dryly as he unwrapped a sandwich. “I checked my mailbox today and it was filled with glitter.”

Fanboy leaned back in his chair, beaming. “You’re welcome. That’s the kind of magic only Bowie and I can bring to a neighborhood.”

“You named the dog after David Bowie?” Phoenix asked, chewing on a carrot stick.

Mickey grinned. “Ziggy Stardog.”

Groans went around the table.

“Unreal,” Coyote muttered. “That’s terrible and I’m impressed.”

“I live to serve.”

Jake was halfway through a burger, content to let the chaos unfold, when Maverick appeared like a ghost with sunglasses, stepping out of nowhere and holding a coffee in one hand like it was sacred.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, voice easy, “but Penny wanted me to let you all know we’re doing a bonfire tonight. Out by the beach. Her place. Says it’s a welcome-back thing, so don’t bring beer, don’t bring drama, and for the love of God, don’t bring your motorcycles onto the sand again.”

Everyone snickered. Rooster threw his hands up defensively. “That was one time.”

“And it’ll stay that way,” Mav said with a pointed look.

Jake straightened slightly, setting down the last bite of his burger. He glanced around the table, pulse oddly steady. The decision had settled itself sometime that morning between spooning oatmeal into Lex’s mouth and Cami asking—again—when she could meet Daddy’s new friends.

“Mav,” he said, casual but clear. “Is it cool if I bring some people with me?”

The table went quiet.

Maverick blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

Jake gave a little smile and nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Everyone stared.

Fanboy was the first to break the silence. “Uh… what people?” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like people.”

Payback looked mildly alarmed. “Are we being replaced?”

Jake just shrugged, reaching for his drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

But Phoenix was watching him like a hawk.

And Rooster was actively vibrating with contained energy, a fry halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten.

“You’re being weird again,” Jake said, pointing his straw at Rooster.

“You’re bringing people,” Rooster shot back, eyebrows in the stratosphere.

Phoenix leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We talking plural as in roommates? Or plural as in… little people who call you Daddy?”

Jake’s eyes flicked to hers, the tiniest tilt of amusement in them. “I’m just saying,” he said evenly, “if I show up with the most beautiful girl at the party, don’t be surprised.”

Rooster choked on his fry.

Phoenix kicked him under the table.

Fanboy looked around, utterly lost. “What is happening?”

Bob squinted suspiciously. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jake only smirked and stood, brushing the crumbs off his shirt.

“See y’all tonight,” he said, casual as anything. “Save me a seat by the fire.”

And with that, he walked off — calm, unbothered, and just smug enough to make Rooster groan into his hands.

Phoenix leaned back, arms crossed, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s happening.”

Rooster looked haunted. “I knew that baby wasn’t a hallucination.”

Payback stared between them. “What baby?!”

The house smelled like sunscreen, baby lotion, and a little bit of anxiety.

Cami was bouncing from room to room like a ping-pong ball, wearing a sparkly denim jacket over a pink sundress and clutching her favorite plush unicorn in a tiny fist. She kept popping into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror, then running back to Jake.

“Do I look okay, Daddy?”

Jake crouched to her level, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “You look perfect, honey.”

She beamed for a second, then hesitated. “What if your friends don’t like me?”

Jake blinked. “What?”

Cami twisted the unicorn’s mane around her finger. “What if they think I talk too much? Or that I’m weird?”

Jake’s heart ached in that split-second way it always did when she got serious. He smoothed her curls gently and gave her that look — the one he reserved for bedtime promises and skinned knees.

“They’re gonna love you, bug,” he said softly. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and you make the best marshmallows on the planet.”

Her brow furrowed. “But we haven’t even made them yet—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jake whispered, grinning. “You still win.”

That got a giggle out of her, and she hugged his neck, throwing her little arms around him with enough force to knock him off balance onto the hallway rug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said into his shoulder.

Jake’s voice caught. “I love you more.”

You stepped out of the nursery then, Lex already strapped to your chest in a soft carrier, cheeks pink and drool bib firmly in place. She was wide awake and blinking like the golden light in the living room was the most interesting thing in the world.

Cami ran to grab her tiny heart-shaped sunglasses from the coffee table. Jake stood and watched you for a second longer than necessary, just taking it all in.

“How’s Lex?” he asked, crossing the room to meet you.

“She’s been cooing at the ceiling fan for fifteen minutes straight,” you said. “I think it’s her soulmate.”

He smiled and reached out to gently fix the strap across your shoulder, his thumb brushing your collarbone.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, looking up at him.

Jake hesitated. “Yeah. I mean... yeah.”

You gave him that look — soft and knowing and full of the kind of patience he still didn’t fully understand how he’d earned.

“It’s not a bad kind of nervous,” he said after a second. “Just… new. I’ve never brought my family to anything like this. Not with coworkers. Javy doesn’t count.”

“He absolutely doesn’t count,” you agreed.

Jake chuckled under his breath, then exhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “I just… this is the part where it’s not just mine anymore, you know? Where they get to know you. The girls. The best parts of me.”

You stepped in closer, pressing your hand to his chest. “We’ve always been yours, Jake.”

He looked down at you, green eyes a little glassy now. “Yeah,” he said. “But tonight... I guess it starts being real to everyone else, too.”

You smiled. “And that’s a good thing. Because it means more people get to see what I see. That you’re a good man. A good husband. A good dad. And the people who matter? They’ll never forget that.”

Jake swallowed hard and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then one to Lex’s. Then one to your mouth — soft, slow, like a thank-you.

“Alright,” he said, voice lighter. “Let’s go make an entrance.”

“Let’s go blow their minds,” you replied, already grabbing the baby bag.

Cami burst back into the room, sunglasses on upside down. “Do I look like a cool kid?”

Jake scooped her up with a dramatic gasp. “Coolest kid in the whole world.”

Cami giggled into his shoulder.

And just like that, the Seresins stepped out into the soft evening light, hand in hand, baby bouncing, hearts a little nervous, but completely full.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the horizon when the Seresin family arrived.

The beach behind the Hard Deck glowed in warm amber and rose, the bonfire crackling at the center of it all, with the Daggers scattered around in folding chairs, drinks in hand, laughter rolling easy on the breeze. A cooler full of seltzers sat half-buried in the sand, and someone had already started a playlist that leaned heavy on Fleetwood Mac and bad decisions.

Jake stepped onto the sand first, Lex balanced easily on his hip in a floral romper and a soft pink headband that did absolutely nothing to keep her hair down. She let out a content little sigh and sucked on two fingers like she’d been born for the beach life.

You followed beside him, Cami’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Her sparkly jacket caught the firelight as she walked, pink sunglasses pushed up into her curls, gripping her unicorn under one arm like backup.

To anyone watching, it was immediate.

They looked like Jake.

Same eyes. Same golden skin. Same confidence — even Cami, who clung to your side but stood tall, taking it all in.

The Daggers didn’t notice them at first.

Not until they got close enough that Bob glanced up and nearly choked on his drink.

Then Rooster turned — already half-expecting it — and froze with his cup halfway to his mouth.

Phoenix elbowed him like don’t say anything stupid but her own jaw had gone slack.

Fanboy actually gasped.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Coyote just sat there grinning like he’d known all along — because, of course, he had.

Jake stopped just in front of the fire, let the conversations fizzle into stunned silence, and gave them that damn cocky smile — the one they all knew so well — only this time, it was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that said this is everything to me.

“Evening,” he drawled. “Hope we’re not late.”

Nobody said a word.

Cami peeked around you, her voice small but clear. “Are these the pilot friends?”

Jake looked down at her and nodded. “Sure are, baby.”

You smiled gently at the group, then bent to whisper something in Cami’s ear. She stepped forward a little, still clutching the unicorn, but brave in that way only five-year-olds could be.

“I’m Camila Seresin,” she said proudly. “But you can call me Cami.”

Jake gave a slight nod, then shifted Lex on his hip. “And this little one is Alexandra. Lex, if she likes you.”

Lex burbled in response, blinking sleepily at the circle of stunned adults. Jake’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close.

“And this is my wife,” he said, voice soft but certain. “The love of my life. The reason I’m not a complete disaster.”

You gave a small, amused wave. “Hi.”

Phoenix finally blinked. “You’re married?”

“To her?” Payback added, looking between you and Jake like he was trying to process a physics equation with no numbers.

Fanboy leaned forward. “You’re married married. Like… full on?”

“With kids?” Bob choked.

Jake smirked. “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes!” they all said in unison.

Coyote just raised his beer and clinked it against Jake’s bottle. “About time, hermano.”

Phoenix gave you a look of genuine bafflement. “I mean, no offense, but you’re… like… stunning. And you married Hangman?”

“I know,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “We all make mistakes.”

Jake pressed a hand to his chest. “Wounded.”

Payback was still staring at Cami, then Lex, then Jake. “They look exactly like you.”

“They should,” Jake said. “Made ‘em myself.”

Phoenix groaned. “Okay, we’re leaving.”

Jake just laughed and tucked Lex’s head against his shoulder. “Cami, wanna roast some marshmallows?”

“Yes please!” she squeaked, already dragging you toward the snack table.

Jake looked around at the still-shocked faces of his squad — his friends now, he supposed — and gave them a rare, genuine smile.

“Welcome to my real life,” he said.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the flames of the bonfire cast soft flickers across everyone’s faces. Music drifted low from someone’s speaker, mingling with the sound of the waves and the occasional snap of firewood.

It should’ve been a normal night.

But nothing felt normal now that Jake “Hangman” Seresin was casually sitting cross-legged on the sand, marshmallow stick in his hands, helping his five-year-old daughter make the perfect s’more.

“I said not too toasted,” Cami whispered urgently. “Just golden. Like the picture.”

Jake nodded seriously. “Golden. Got it. This is high-stakes work, sweetheart.”

Phoenix nudged Rooster with her foot. “Who is this man?”

Rooster, still visibly reeling, shook his head like it might clear the image in front of him. “I thought he ate protein powder straight out of the tub and slept on a bed of ego.”

“He’s using baby talk, Bradshaw.”

Rooster narrowed his eyes. “And I think the baby just giggled at him.”

“Not the baby,” Fanboy said from behind them. “Me. I’m giggling. This is surreal.”

Across the fire, Jake caught the tail end of the conversation and gave them a smug little look, tossing a marshmallow at Mickey that he expertly dodged.

You were nestled beside Jake on a blanket, Lex sleeping soundly against your chest now that she’d exhausted herself chewing on everyone’s fingers (with permission, of course). You leaned into Jake’s shoulder with a soft smile, watching Cami flit between the snack table and her latest obsession: Bradley Bradshaw.

“Hey, Mr. Rooster?” she called, holding her unicorn in one hand and a half-eaten graham cracker in the other.

Bradley blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

“Can I touch your mustache?”

Jake nearly dropped his beer.

Phoenix howled.

Rooster sat very still. “Um. Sure?”

Cami wandered over and patted it with her little marshmallow-sticky fingers, studying it like a curious scientist.

“It’s soft,” she declared. “Like a cat. You should name it.”

Jake groaned. “Cami.”

“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Jake shot Rooster a look over her head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Rooster raised both hands. “Hey. I’m just standing here. With a face.”

You leaned over to whisper, “You’re really going to lose sleep over your daughter flirting with a mustache, aren’t you?”

“She has bad taste,” Jake said grimly.

Before anyone could tease him further, Coyote appeared at Cami’s side with a juice pouch and a twinkle in his eye. “Hey, kiddo. Want to help me find more sticks for the marshmallows?”

“Uncle Javy!” Cami cheered, grabbing the juice and launching herself at him like a tiny cannonball.

Phoenix blinked. “Uncle?”

Jake shrugged. “He’s the only one who knew. Got promoted early.”

“You told Javy?” Rooster cried, scandalized. “You told Javy and not me?”

Coyote slung Cami onto his shoulders with practiced ease. “I’m the trustworthy one.”

Jake smirked. “He didn’t try to follow me home or interrogate me about my grocery list.”

Rooster folded his arms. “That was one time.”

Phoenix grinned. “Still your worst stakeout.”

As the night deepened and the stars came out, the squad began to shift from disbelief into something sweeter: genuine admiration. Watching Jake tuck a blanket around Cami’s legs, kiss the top of her head. Seeing the way Lex instinctively settled in his arms, one tiny hand curled into his shirt. Hearing the way he said darlin’ to you like it meant something old and permanent.

This wasn’t a side of Jake Seresin anyone had expected to see.

But it fit him.

Perfectly.

1K notes · View notes

hipsternerd9 · 17 days ago

Text

The Pilot’s Private Song.

pairing; Jake Seresin x wife!reader

summary; How each member of the Dagger Squad found out Jake's been married for over a decade.

word count; 3.6k

warnings: nothing. established relationship, secret/private marriage, found family, fluff, all good stuff.

a/n; i am a SUCKER for a secret relationship trope. this concept is so cute i want to write a hundred different pieces about it. also, if you're reading my jake series, next part should be up tomorrow :))

masterlist

A year after the Uranium mission, the aviators once known as the Dagger Squad were summoned back to Miramar. Expecting another top-secret assignment, they were instead offered something unexpected: a chance to stay on at Top Gun indefinitely. Their answer was almost immediate—a resounding yes, with an enthusiastic "hell yes" from Fanboy.

But when they arrived, one thing was clear: Jake hadn't accepted the offer yet.

"Can't believe Hangman's playing hard to get with Admiral Simpson," Phoenix muttered, eyeing the empty spot where he should’ve been.

"Bet that promotion to Lieutenant Commander already went to his head," Rooster quipped.

"If you’re talking about Jake, he’s coming," Maverick said. "He just asked to report in on Monday."

He left the room without another word. The Daggers exchanged looks, then shrugged. It was Jake, after all—he probably just wanted to make an entrance, with nothing but his damn ego walking through the door first.

When Monday rolled around, he strolled in with that trademark smirk and a swagger only he could pull off. Annoying? Absolutely. Eye-roll inducing? Without question. Missed? More than anyone was willing to admit.

“Be honest—did you tear up a little when you thought I wasn’t coming back?”

Bob and Phoenix.

Bob had a thing for those absurdly healthy smoothies from a place called Erewhon. Overpriced, organic, and influencer-approved—it was his guilty pleasure. Naturally, it wasn’t long before he dragged his favorite front-seater into it.

“What the hell is a Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, and why does it cost twenty bucks?”

The line was a nightmare—packed with people who all looked like they drove Teslas, had just come from Pilates, or were on their way to pitch a startup to their fiancée’s hedge fund bros.

Phoenix couldn’t quite figure out what Bob saw in these overpriced green sludge drinks, but she was usually down to try something new, even if her wallet cried a little every time.

“I don’t really get the hype either, but my husband’s obsessed,” You said with a shrug. “If it’s your first time, I’d go with something simple—maybe the pitaya, or the post-workout one is solid too. You look like you work out.”

They startled slightly when you turned around, smiling and introducing yourself after your unsolicited smoothie rant.

“I’ll take your advice—I’m Natasha,” Phoenix said, shaking your hand. It was only then that you noticed the massive emerald-cut ring on her finger, catching the light like it knew it was expensive. Bob followed with a shy introduction, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks.

Sticking to your word, you went ahead and ordered the absurdly named Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, along with a few other things. Once you paid, you turned back to them with a grin.

“If you’re free, my husband’s just parking the car—want to sit and chat for a bit?”

“Oh, we’d love to,” Phoenix said, “but we’re running late for a few apartment showings—this line took forever. But we should exchange numbers, maybe grab lunch sometime?”

“I’d love that! We actually just moved here, so it’d be nice to make some friends.” Your smile didn’t waver; wide, bright, and straight out of a movie scene.

After saying your goodbyes, you grabbed your order and stepped out of the line, letting them move forward. With one last wave—bright, effortless—you pushed through the door and disappeared into the sunlight.

Phoenix turned back to the cashier, halfway through her order, when her gaze drifted to the large front window—and froze.

"Holy shit."

Bob instinctively looked where she was staring, and his brows shot up so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

Jake Seresin was outside, casually leaning against a matte black Jeep Wrangler like he belonged in a magazine ad. Arms crossed, aviators in place, his flight jacket unzipped just enough to hint at the crisp white tee underneath. That usual cocky smirk was on his face—or at least, they thought it was.

But it wasn’t a smirk.

It was a smile—wide, open, and so bright it looked like it had cracked straight through his usual armor. Jake Seresin was glowing. Radiant. Practically lit from within.

And then they saw why.

You stepped out into the sunlight, heading straight for him, holding that ridiculous Hailey Bieber smoothie like it was a gold medal. Jake’s face lit up even more. He threw his head back and laughed, his whole body moving with it—unrestrained, joyful, real.

Then he reached for you, pulling you into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. One hand at your waist, the other settling on the small of your back, fitting you against him like you belonged there.

Phoenix’s jaw dropped slightly. Bob just stared.

Jake lifted his sunglasses, pushing them up onto his head, and looked down at you like you hung the stars. The softest expression they had ever seen on his face—like the man didn’t know how to look away. You said something that made him laugh again, and you handed him the smoothie like it was some inside joke.

They must have been staring too long. Jake’s head turned slightly—just enough to catch them in the reflection.

His eyes found theirs through the glass. For a split second, something flickered across his face.

Surprise. Panic. Maybe even guilt. Just enough to register—before he shoved it back down and straightened up, as if nothing had happened.

He opened your door and helped you in, careful not to jostle the armful of overpriced smoothies and whatever else you’d picked up. Then he turned back toward the window, his eyes meeting theirs once more.

A subtle nod. Barely there. But it carried weight—an unspoken request.

Not for secrecy exactly, but something quieter. A plea to let it be. To pretend they hadn’t just seen past Hangman… and caught a glimpse of Jake.

Phoenix and Bob exchanged a long look, sipping their drinks in stunned silence as they tried to process what they’d just witnessed. It was easy to box Jake in as the poster boy for cockiness—the walking embodiment of swagger and ego—but deep down, they’d always suspected there was more.

More to him than the sharp one-liners and smug grins. More than the call sign.

And now, they’d seen it.

Guess this was it.

The next day, Jake showed up with his usual swagger, every step as self-assured as ever. But his eyes—sharp, watchful—carried a flicker of guardedness. It was subtle, the kind of thing only Phoenix and Bob would pick up on.

“Hey, Strawberry Glaze,” Phoenix said casually.

She could’ve let it slide—pretended like nothing had happened—but she couldn’t resist poking at him just a little. Jake shot her a look sharp enough to make most people flinch.

She just laughed.

The words had been soft, low enough that no one else could hear. And the smile she gave him—amused, knowing, a little smug—said it all:

Your secret’s safe with me.

2. Bradley.

Bradley hated shopping. He wasn’t good at it—never had been. He took forever to decide what he liked, forgot to write down what he actually needed, and always left the store with random things and none of the essentials.

This time, though, he had a mission: crockery. At the moment, he owned exactly two plates and three mismatched forks. And if he was serious about settling down here, it was probably time to get his shit together.

Normally, he’d drag Nat along—not because she was a woman and supposedly knew about this stuff, but because she was mean enough to keep him on task. She had no patience for his two-hour deep dives in the mug aisle, where he’d examine every single one before deciding he didn’t like any of them.

But Nat had bailed on him, leaving him to fend for himself. Now he was aimlessly wandering the store, eyeing every dinnerware set like it might reveal the meaning of life, tossing random items into the trolley with no real plan—just vibes and mild confusion.

Ever the gossip, Bradley’s ears perked up at the sound of a laugh he knew far too well.

Hangman.

“Darlin’, if you put one more candle in the cart, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to burn the house down.”

“But Jake, smell this one—it’s amazing. And it says limited edition, so they won’t have it next time,” you replied, dropping not one, but two candles into the cart.

Bradley watched, stunned, as Jake didn’t even argue. He just shook his head with a helpless smile and kept pushing the cart like a man who knew resistance was pointless.

“I also saw this gorgeous botanical garden plate set online—we have to get it.”

“Whatever you want, doll,” Jake said, voice low and warm as he pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hip a casual, affectionate tap.

Bradley was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor. He wasn’t stupid—and he definitely wasn’t blind. He saw the massive rock on your finger and the way Jake looked at you like you hung the stars.

Hangman, married?

The motherfucker was married.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Bradley had always assumed Jake Seresin was the type who’d never settle down—too cocky, too stubborn, too Hangman. Honestly, he’d half-expected the guy to grow old alone, flirting with waitresses and arguing with air traffic control until the bitter end. Harsh? Maybe. But Jake had never given them any reason to believe otherwise.

Yet here he was—married, domesticated, and currently letting his wife toss candles and dinner plates into the cart like she owned the place. And judging by the look on his face, she did.

The man Bradley was low-key stalking from behind a shelf of overpriced wine glasses wasn’t the Hangman he knew from the skies. This wasn’t the ruthless, lone-wolf aviator who treated teamwork like a contagious disease and would rather eat glass than back down in a briefing.

No—this Jake looked… soft. Happy. In love.

And it was messing with everything Bradley thought he knew.

He ducked behind the endcap as you turned down the next aisle, nearly knocking over a pyramid of mason jars in the process. This wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself—it was reconnaissance. For team cohesion. For morale. For… reasons.

Jake Seresin, hopeless romantic and candle mule, was not something Bradley had mentally prepared for.

He peeked around the corner again just in time to see Jake reach for a throw blanket you were eyeing. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the cart. “Matches the couch, right?” he said.

“Exactly,” you beamed, and Bradley swore the corners of Jake’s mouth lifted in something dangerously close to a fond sigh.

Who was this man?

Bradley had spent years knowing Jake as a walking testosterone complex with aviators and a call sign, someone who’d charm the hell out of a bartender and then ghost her before the first date. The idea that this man—this patient, domesticated, grocery-hauling version of Jake—existed at all was blowing his mind.

And worse? He looked good at it. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to play husband in a West Elm ad.

Bradley finally backed away from the aisle, muttering to himself, “I need to go look at forks before I lose my grip on reality.”

Still, as he wandered toward the kitchen section, a weird feeling settled in his chest—part disbelief, part amusement… and maybe a little bit of envy. Not the kind that stings, exactly, but the kind that pokes at something you didn’t realize was hollow.

Because despite all his jokes, all his gripes about shopping and settling down, maybe there was a tiny part of him that wouldn’t mind someone tossing limited-edition candles in his cart, either.

But first, he really needed more than three forks.

3. Payback and Fanboy.

It was just past 7 a.m. when Fanboy and Payback jogged down the beach trail, sneakers thudding lightly against the packed sand. The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, golden glow over the shoreline, and the waves rolled in slow and steady, their rhythm soft and soothing beneath the buzz of gulls overhead.

It was the kind of morning that made you forget how exhausting the week had been.

“If Mav makes us watch one more hour of grainy debrief footage, I’m walking into the ocean,” Fanboy grumbled between breaths, arms swinging loose at his sides.

“You say that, but last time he caught you checking your phone, he added another hour to the session,” Payback replied, grinning.

“I’m just saying—death by drowning would be less painful than another slideshow.”

They rounded a gentle bend in the trail, where the dunes opened up to a more secluded stretch of beach. The tide had pulled back, leaving wide, smooth patches of sand dotted with seashells and a few early footprints.

Payback slowed, frowning. “Wait. Who’s already out here?”

A large cream-colored blanket had been spread beneath a sun-bleached lifeguard stand. A wicker picnic basket sat off to one side, its lid open and lined with fabric. There were iced coffees, a brown paper bag, a small vase of wildflowers—wildflowers, at the beach—and two people.

One of them crouched near the cooler, pulling out what looked like a container of fruit. The other approached barefoot, holding two drinks, sleeves of a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, light catching in his sandy hair.

Fanboy’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on a second…”

The barefoot man looked up—and grinned.

Jake Seresin.

Hangman.

Golden-boy aviator, squadroom shit-talker, human ego parade.

Except… something was different.

He stepped forward, took one of the iced coffees from your hand with a quiet thank-you, then leaned in and kissed your temple with the kind of easy, familiar affection that made both Fanboy and Payback freeze mid-stride.

Jake said something with a lazy smile and you laughed, the kind of laugh that came from your belly—bright, genuine, totally unfiltered. Then you plopped down on the blanket, legs curled underneath you, pulling a croissant from the paper bag as if you’d done this a hundred times.

And maybe you had.

Because Jake didn’t hesitate. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it behind you, just in case the blanket wasn’t enough cushion. Then he sank down beside you, stretching his legs long across the sand and casually slipping one arm around your waist.

Payback immediately ducked behind a nearby dune like he’d just witnessed a war crime. “Tell me I’m not seeing this.”

Fanboy crouched next to him, equally stunned. “What the hell is happening right now?”

Jake leaned back slightly, watching you unwrap something else—probably another baked good—and tilted his head, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. You fed him a bite without even looking, and he accepted it like it was second nature. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m in shock,” Fanboy whispered. “He just tucked her hair behind her ear. That’s a boyfriend move.”

“That’s not a boyfriend move,” Payback muttered. “That’s a married guy move.”

Fanboy squinted. “Wait—zoom in. Look at her hand.”

A glint of metal caught the sunlight as you reached for your coffee. Simple but elegant. An emerald-cut diamond, gold band. The kind of ring that said permanence. The kind of ring that didn’t come off easily.

“Oh my God,” Payback breathed. “He’s married.”

Jake leaned back again, one hand lazily tracing circles along your knee while you showed him something on your phone. Whatever it was made him chuckle low in his chest, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek before setting the coffee down in the sand.

Fanboy was frozen, processing. “So Hangman—Hangman—sneaks off on weekends for romantic beach picnics… with his wife.”

“And we never knew.”

“I thought he lived off protein bars and sheer arrogance.”

“Same.”

You pulled something else from the basket—what looked like a floral plate set, one of those whimsical ones you’d find in a lifestyle magazine. Jake took it from you with care, set it between you, then reached for the wildflowers, adjusting the little vase so it wouldn’t tip over.

Fanboy stared. “He brought flowers.”

Payback shook his head. “He packed a goddamn centerpiece.”

They both crouched lower behind the dune, as if Jake might sense them. The only thing louder than the waves at that moment was the sound of their worldviews shattering.

Fanboy finally whispered, “Okay, but like… how dare he be this soft and not tell us?”

“We’re his squadmates. This is betrayal.”

“We were supposed to know before the blanket picnics started. There’s an order to these things.”

“I mean—what’s next? He gets a dog and starts doing couples yoga?”

Fanboy paused. “He would be good at couples yoga.”

Jake leaned back, hands behind his head, face turned up to the morning sun as you laid your head on his chest, sipping your drink and humming along to some song playing quietly from a speaker. You looked perfectly at ease, like this was your favorite part of the week.

Like he was.

“Okay,” Payback muttered. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“Agreed.”

“But also,” Fanboy added, eyes still wide, “we are absolutely never letting him live this down.”

“Obviously.”

They finally stood, dusting off their legs, still stunned but grinning. One last glance over their shoulders showed Jake pressing a kiss to the top of your head, like you were the only person on earth that mattered.

Hangman hadn’t just settled down.

He’d crash-landed into love, and apparently? He was thriving.

4. Javy (ten years ago)

The bar was thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer, its low-ceilinged walls pulsating with neon light and the steady beat of a bass-heavy pop song. The air was warm and sticky, full of laughter, shouting, and the occasional off-key karaoke warble daring to take the stage. Jake leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the corner where you and your friends were holding court.

You were the heart of the group—laughing without restraint, glass in hand, your voice rising clear and confident above the din. Your friends egged each other on to the microphone, but you owned the room like it was yours, moving effortlessly through the crowd, radiating that kind of joy that was impossible not to notice. Jake’s gaze softened as he watched you—like you were a secret he had stumbled upon, the kind of thing you didn’t want to shout about but couldn’t stop looking at.

Javy, never one to let an opportunity for teasing pass, nudged Jake sharply. “You been staring at her all night, man. You planning to say something or just get a reputation as the creepy aviator?”

Jake barely glanced at him. “I’m just… watching.”

Javy smirked, shifting on his feet. “Right. Watching. She’s having fun—seems like she owns this place. You gonna sing or what? Or just keep mooning over her?”

Jake’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I don’t sing.”

“Everyone sings at karaoke night. Even you.”

Before Jake could respond, you stood with your friend, grabbing the microphone like it was a lifeline. The opening notes of a popular pop song spilled through the speakers, and suddenly, the bar seemed to hush just enough to let your voice soar.

You sang with an easy confidence, playful yet sincere, the kind of performance that made people stop talking and just listen. Jake felt his breath hitch—the way you smiled at the crowd, the way you closed your eyes briefly on the high notes—it was like watching sunlight break through storm clouds.

Javy elbowed him hard. “Dude, you look like you’re about to pop the question right here, right now.”

Jake shot him a sharp look. “I just met my wife.”

The words slipped out quieter than intended, but Javy caught them all the same and grinned wider, clearly not buying it.

After your song ended, the room erupted into applause. You laughed, cheeks flushed, and caught Jake’s eyes from across the room. It was a brief glance, but electric—like a door quietly opening.

Jake made his way over, weaving through the small crowd until he was standing right beside you. “Hey,” he said, voice low and just above the music.

You smiled, a little breathless. “Hey.”

Jake nodded toward the microphone stand. “That was… impressive.”

You shrugged, flicking your hair back. “Well, I had a good duet partner.” You glanced at your friend and winked. “But it’s nice to have an audience.”

Jake laughed softly, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what’s your name?” You offered it to him, along with your hand to shake. “Jake,” he replied, taking it. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was trying to make sure you felt it. “And I’m supposed to be focused on training missions, but I can’t stop watching you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that so? What’s more distracting—the music or me?”

He smiled, just a little crooked. “Definitely you.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a spark in the dim bar light. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no crowd, no noise, just the hum of a song fading out and the start of something new.

Javy sidled up, grinning. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But remember, Jake, if you break her heart, I’m coming for you.”

Jake’s grin turned serious. “I don’t plan on breaking anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling a flutter you hadn’t expected. “Good.”

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