princessmisery666-library

[princessmisery666-library]

Team Effort

Summary: Tension flares when Bodhi brings you, his unmarked partner, to a rebel meeting.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, Xaden being angry, arguments.

W/C: 1.4k

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x female reader (you, she/her - no descriptions of ethnicity or body type)

Characters: Bodhi Durran,Xaden Riorson, reader. Mentioned: Violet Sorrengail, Garrick Tavis, Sgaeyl, Cuir.

Notes: Set during Fourth Wing.

A/N: I have read Fourth Wing once and am currently on chapter 15 of Iron Flame.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thank you for putting up with my new hyperfixations. Any mistakes are my own.

Graphics: Title card made by me on Canva. Divider by @empyreanevents

Master Lists: Main // Other Fandoms

You know it’s a bad idea before Bodhi leads you to the group meeting under the trees in the Flight Field. A map is spread out on a large boulder, serving as a temporary table. You feel the shift in the air before anyone speaks. It’s tense, quiet, and brittle. You're just thankful there’s no dragon in attendance. Sgaeyl would likely burn you where you stand.

Bodhi’s hand tightens around yours, subtle but sure, like he’s asking you not to run and reminding himself you're still there, still committed to this, to him, even with Xaden’s calm anger staring daggers at the two of you.

“You brought her here?” Xaden’s voice is low, which is as dangerous as if he were swinging a blade.

“She’s not a threat,” Bodhi answers, and you’re grateful for the way he steps in front of you, even though it shouldn’t be necessary.

“I didn’t say she was.” Xaden’s gaze flickers past Bodhi’s, landing on you like a silent accusation. Xaden is a lot of things, but he’s not unreasonable, and that's the only reason you don’t have a knife at your throat. “But she’s not marked. She shouldn’t be this close to war plans.”

You want to point out that Violet isn’t marked either, but you're not going to be the one to call Xaden Riorson a hypocrite, and bringing her into this won’t earn you any points with your boyfriend’s cousin.

Instead, you opt for the safe route. “I’m not the one leaking intel, if that’s what you're implying. I don’t know anything.”

Xaden’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t respond to you, he never does, not directly. You’ve gotten used to it. To him, your relationship with Bodhi is an unnecessary risk, a crack in their armor. A crack that widened when Bodhi, fresh from a battle he wouldn’t talk about, spoke in his sleep, and you jumped to the mostly correct conclusions.

“She doesn’t belong in the rebellion. Not without a dragon.” Xaden says, as if that’s all the argument he needs.

“She’s earned her place here,” Bodhi defends, more forcefully this time, stepping forward. “More than some of the second years we’ve got running recon.”

“She doesn’t have a dragon,” Xaden forcefully reiterates. “She doesn’t have a signet or the protection that comes with those things, and if you care about her, which you clearly do, you’d stop dragging her closer to the fire.”

“I’m not dragging her anywhere.” Bodhi’s voice is like steel. “She walked here, over the Parapet. Same as the rest of us.”

“Bodhi,” you quietly warn, recognizing Xaden’s words for what they are, a mirror he wishes he could have held up to Violet. She had little in the way of choices, but you do.

The two men square off, and you watch with icy dread creeping up your spine. You’ve seen this brewing for weeks, Xaden’s disdain when he watches you not very discreetly slip away together, or when Bodhi wraps his arms around your waist at the lunch table, whispering about futures neither of you is brave enough to believe in yet.

Xaden’s glare hardens when he notices the way you lean into Bodhi’s side. It’s a silent testament, a confirmation you won’t back down. Still, you don’t want to come between the cousins either; they’re family, more like brothers nowadays, and you have no right to put a wedge between them. You know what Xaden has sacrificed, the burden he bears for the marked ones.

“I trust her,” Bodhi says, quieter but not weaker. He isn’t backing down. “If that’s a problem, if you don’t trust my judgment, then say it, but don’t act like this is about strategy.”

Xaden’s eyes narrow. “You’re right. It’s not about strategy. It’s about losing one of our best riders because he’s too busy watching someone else’s back to watch his own.”

Silence stretches as if Xaden’s shadows are blocking out sound.

Bodhi’s fingers twitch, and you don’t know if he’s resisting the urge to throw something at Xaden or agrees with his cousin and is letting you go. He stills when you take a step to stand beside him, you won’t hide behind him, you will fight by his side.

“I know what I am,” you say, daring to look Xaden in the eyes. The resemblance is there, obvious to anyone that they are related, yet they are so different. “I’m unmarked, vulnerable. A liability, maybe, but I never asked Bodhi to protect me. I’ve trained. I’ve fought, just like all of you. I don’t need a dragon to believe in something worth bleeding for.”

Xaden’s gaze finally lands fully on you. It’s not approval, not quite disdain either. He exhales hard through his nose and shakes his head.

“Keep her out of classified strategy briefings,” he says to Bodhi. “And if she dies, it's on your conscience. Not mine.”

He turns and walks away, calling over his shoulder. “Meeting's over.”

The others follow, with a few squeezing your shoulder in solidarity. Bodhi waits until they’ve dispersed and tugs you to turn and look at him. His jaw is still tight, but his hand holds yours tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, running his free hand through his curls. “He’s just...”

“Right,” you sigh.

Bodhi flinches like you slapped him, and guilt crushes your chest. For a moment, the word hangs there, too honest, too heavy. You don’t regret standing your ground, but maybe Xaden has a point that this, you, might be the thing that gets Bodhi hurt or worse.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if you regret this, him. His thumbs brush against your cheeks, and you trace your fingers gently over a fading bruise under his eye from a sparring session with Garrick.

When Bodhi finally speaks, his teeth are clenched, “I hate that he made you feel like you don’t belong. Because you do. And not just because I,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. There’s a debate going on in his head, that faraway look that tells you Cuir is talking to him. Maybe the dragon is agreeing with Xaden. Whatever it is, when Bodhi continues, he's hesitant, “Not just because I love you.”

Chest tightening, you sigh. “I know I don’t make this easy,” you murmur. “I’m not a marked one, not bonded, not the safe choice.”

“I don’t want safe,” he says, fierce and low. “I want you. Every version of you, the reckless one who almost punched Garrick last week for blacking my eye, the girl who never makes her bed, the one who stands up to Xaden. The one who stands next to me when everyone else walks away.”

There’s so much noise still echoing in your head, Xaden’s words, the warning woven beneath them. But Bodhi’s hands are on your face now, warm and grounding, thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he’s trying to smooth out the ache.

“I get why he’s scared,” you admit, voice shaking slightly. “He’s lost people. We all have. The truth is, I’m scared too. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to wake up and realize I’m not worth the risk.”

Bodhi’s expression softens, eyes dark and aching. “That’s never going to happen,” he whispers. “You are the risk I want to take, that makes this all worth it. I know it’s not perfect. Hell, it’s probably crazy. But it’s ours. And I’ll fight every damn day to keep it.”

You lean into his touch, forehead pressed to his, and it’s quiet for a moment, quiet in a way that war never is. It’s not peace, but it's as close as you’ll likely ever get.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise.

“Good,” he breathes, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your mouth. It’s not desperate, it’s steady. Soft. He’s making promises without saying them aloud.

Kissing him back, your fingers gently grip the hair at the base of his neck. The storm may still be coming, but for now, you’re here. Together. Choosing each other.

When you finally break apart, Bodhi gives you a lopsided, boyish smile. “I know you didn’t ask me to protect you,“ he says, “but I’m gonna do it anyway. You’re not alone in this. Not while I’m still breathing.”

You press your forehead to his again and let out a shaky laugh. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you stay breathing.”

He grins. “Team effort.”

If you got this far, I would appreciate some feedback.🤩

[princessmisery666-library]

A Quiet Moment

Summary: A quiet moment with Liam.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, angst.

W/C: 436

Characters: Liam Mairi, Deigh, You.

A/N: I finished Fourth Wing and immediately needed more Liam. I don’t know why I get attached to anyone BUT the main character. Guess I’m a Bodhi girl now!!

Notes: No beta as I didn’t want to bug people more than I already have lately.

Master Lists: Main

The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of coral and rose. It’s one of those rare evenings where you don’t have anywhere to be there’s no sparring, no drills, no strategy sessions and Xaden is with Violet, giving Liam a night off.

You’re both stretched out behind a big bolder on a patch of grass in the Flight Field. It’s become your spot, the kind of hidden spot you only find after weeks of exploring. Deigh is curled a few feet away, his massive red body sprawled across the earth like a lazy cat, golden eyes half-lidded in contentment. You take pride in that. Dragon's and riders are connected, if Deigh looks peaceful, Liam must feel it too and you hope your part of the reason why.

Your head is pillowed on Liam’s chest, rising and falling with each breath he takes. One of his hands lazily trails patterns across your back, fingertips warm through the thin cotton of your shirt.

“You’re really warm,” you murmur. Given his signet, its surprising.

He chuckles, low and soft. “Comes with the dragon, I guess.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like a personal heater I didn’t know I needed.”

Liam shifts slightly so he can look down at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So that’s what I am to you? A glorified blanket?”

“A very attractive, selfless, brave blanket,” you tease, poking at his ribs.

He laughs, really laughs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. You close your eyes for a moment just to soak it in. Liam doesn’t laugh like that often. Not since…

You reach up and brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You okay?”

His smile softens, and he nods. “Yeah. I think I am. You make it easier.”

A rumble echoes nearby, and you both glance over at Deigh, who huffs a puff of steam and blinks slowly at the two of you, you can see the communication between him and Liam before he tells you.

“He likes you,” Liam explains, voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

You grin. “Is that dragon speak for ‘she’s allowed to stay’?”

“More like, ‘don’t screw this up, Mairi.’”

You laugh again and snuggle closer, and Liam’s arms tighten around you. The sun finally slips behind the trees, casting you both in dusky twilight. Deigh lets out a satisfied sigh, like the moment is good enough even for him.

It’s just a dragon, a boy and you. It’s a perfect moment. Maybe if Liam’s farsight could see over more than distance, you’d know it was the last.

End.

Master Lists: Main

[princessmisery666-library]

Love You A Little Bit

Summary: Jake Seresin doesn’t say ‘I love you’ easily, but he lives it.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff.

W/C: 808

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: inspired by Love You A Little Bit by Tanner Adell.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - and as always she saved me from myself. Any mistakes belong to me.

Graphics: divider made by @writercole // title card made by me.

Master Lists: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin // Main

Jake Seresin has a way of making you crazy.

Not the painful kind of crazy, not the stormy uncertainty of guessing where you stand or doubting if his heart is in it. No, Jake drives you the other kind of crazy, the dizzy, giddy, off-balance kind. The kind where one wink from across the tarmac can short-circuit your brain. The kind where he steals your oversized hoodie, wears it around base like a trophy, and somehow makes you smile even as you threaten to punch him because when you ask for it back, he just smirks and claims he lost it.

It’s silly. It’s maddening. It’s warm and loud and bright. It feels like being seventeen again, like falling in love for the first time with someone who makes every day feel fresh and brand new.

“You left this in my truck,” Jake says, sliding up beside you at the Hard Deck, holding up the hoodie like he’s presenting a lost puppy.

“Sure you didn’t steal it again?”

He grins but sounds serious. “I’d never.”

With a scoff, you take it from him and toss it over your shoulder. “You lie with a straight face way too easily.”

“That’s Navy training, sweetheart,” he says. “Also, don’t act like you didn’t leave it on purpose. Felt like you were hugging me all day, and my truck smells like you now.”

Your cheeks warm, but you give him your best deadpan look. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Making your way over to the group, Jake falls in step beside you, smugly proclaiming, “Oh, I’m very lucky,” but the way his fingers brush your hand as you walk is anything but smug.

The truth is, Jake Seresin doesn’t say ‘I love you’ easily, but he lives it. He loves hard and shows it in his own ridiculous, obnoxiously endearing, unexpected way. He leaves notes in your locker with dumb pickup lines - “Are you a no-fly zone? Because I’d risk it anyway.” He buys you coffee after your early flights. On warm Friday nights, parked up at your spot overlooking the water, he taps the beat of whatever country song is playing on the steering wheel, then turns and sings like every lyric is written about you and he means every word.

And yeah, he drives you a little bit insane.

Just like earlier that day, he flew too close during a training exercise just to make you laugh. You were ready to chew him out when he landed, but then he pulled off his helmet, hair all tousled, sporting that damn cocky smile.

“Admit it,” he’d said, voice low and teasing. “That was hot.”

While you didn't deny it, you most definitely did not admit to it.

Setting the hoodie over the back of a chair, Jake bumps his shoulder gently against yours. “Wanna dance?”

You give him a side-eye glance. “Trying to distract me from the fact you challenged me to a game of pool?”

“I’ll let you win for a weekif you dance with me,” He promises, extending his hand.

Brow arched, you challenge him. “Let me win. Since when do...”

Jake prevents you from finishing the retort with a firm and sudden kiss that melts into soft and passionate. His fingertips run down your arm, a soft caress that leaves goosebumps in its wake. He laces your fingers with his and pulls back. “Dance with me.”

The song on the jukebox changes as he leads you onto the middle of the floor, something slow, threaded with a guitar, that matches the sway of the waves outside.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you close while your arms loop around his neck. The two of you fit together like jigsaw pieces.

His soft lips close to your ear, his warm breath tickles when he murmurs your name.

“Hmm,” you reply, lost in the movement of your bodies pressed together.

“I think I kinda, might, sorta... love you a little bit,” he whispers.

It isn’t picture perfect. A regular Tuesday, dim lights and jukebox static, nothing special. Still, you never know when the moment will become the moment until you’re right in the middle of it.

You smile, making sure he can feel it against his cheek. “Just a little?”

“Well...” Jake leans back to look at you, deep green eyes, warm and steady, filled with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “...a little more than that.”

Heart fluttering, you take a deep breath to keep it from skipping a beat or two and whisper, “I love you,” and press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Kinda, sorta, like just a little bit more than that, too.”

Jake Seresin is a lot of things, reckless, relentless, ridiculously charming, and cocky, but when he loves, he loves with whole damn heart and he's given it to you.

Tags: @alexxavicry / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @justagirlinafandomworld

@leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / @writercole

@kmc1989

Tag List Info

Master Lists: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin // Main

[princessmisery666-library]

One Night, Again

Summary: It was a memorable one-night stand. A second chance encounter offers an opportunity for more.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, smut mentioned, implied smut, bittersweet ending.  

W/C: 1.7k

Characters: Dean Winchester, female reader (you)

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are my own.

Graphics: divider by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main

Challenge: @alphabetquest Prompt: "Do I know you?" / "Yes, we had sex."

Garth had called in the cavalry, and as well-loved as he is, everyone came running to help the Fitzgeralds. You figured the Winchesters would show, and you weren’t surprised when the eldest barely looked your way. He nodded when Garth introduced you, muttered a half-hearted “hey,” then wandered off to chat with a hunter you didn’t recognize. What does surprise you is seeing his beloved Impala parked outside the bar across from your motel later that night.

Inside, Dean leans against the bar, nursing a beer and watching the entrance, a hunter waiting for his prey. He tells himself he’s just killing time, but his gaze keeps flicking to the door, and when you walk in, he can’t help but stare. You look like the hunting life has been as kind to you as it has to him. You're still wearing boots scuffed from use, still walking like someone who has something to prove but no one left to prove it to.

His lips twitch. It’s impossible not to react. Memories flood his mind, sweaty sheets, fast hands, laughter in the dark, and suddenly, he’s not sure if the heat in his chest is from the bourbon he had earlier or the flash of you in his mind. He turns back to his drink before he gives himself away.

You spot him the second you walk in. He doesn’t realize it, but everyone notices Dean Winchester. It’s the way he carries himself, the perceptive gaze, carved jawline, and that infuriating bowlegged swagger that say he’s dangerous, a heartbreaker, and more.

You slide onto the stool beside him, order a bourbon neat, then turn to face him fully. “Well, well,” you say, voice low and teasing. “Small world.”

It’s not. Dean planned this the second you walked into Garth’s kitchen, looking road weary, gorgeous, and just as unforgettable as the last time he saw you. Still, no reason to let you know how much you rattled him. He glances sideways, brow creased. “Do I know you?”

You arch an eyebrow, and take a small sip. “Yes,” you say, evenly. “We had sex.”

Startled by your bluntness, he chokes on his beer, swiftly setting it down with a heavy thud. “I... what? When?”

He knows when. He remembers everything.

“Six months ago, Arizona. That crappy motel with the broken AC,” you state flatly. “You smelled like motor oil and pie, and you talked about your car like she was your girlfriend.”

“Wait.” He snaps his fingers, mock revelation on his face. “The hunter. You were working a Djinn case. You had that silver dagger with the antler hilt.”

“See,” you nod, smirking. “Details matter.”

“Damn, I remember now.” He gives a short laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You left before I woke up.”

Was that a hint of disappointment? Did you unnerve the elusive Dean Winchester? It would be a proud achievement if you have. With a nonchalant shrug, you tease, “Isn't that the way it's done?”

“Usually,” he admits, meeting your eyes. “But I wasn’t done with you.”

The last part sounds like a mix of regret and a promise of things he wants to do.

"I looked for you the next morning."

His voice is deeper, eyes a little darker, and you can't help but stare at his mouth. When he tilts the bottle to finish off the beer, the tip of his tongue makes an appearance as plush lips hug the rim. Slowly setting the empty container on the bar top, he subtly licks his lips. It's nothing but a reflex. Still, it sparks an instant replay in your mind of all the things he did with that mouth. Involuntarily, your thighs press together.

Dean takes notice. It seems he had as much of a lasting effect on you as you did on him. His confidence sharpens, and he signals the bartender. “Two of these,” he requests, pointing toward your glass.

The bourbon burns a slow trail down your throat, but the warmth in your chest isn’t from the liquor. Dean’s eyeing you, really looking at you. The cocky but bashful grin is still there, but beneath it something else simmers. Interest. Curiosity. Maybe even a hint of longing.

“So, you really looked for me?” you ask, setting down your glass.

Dean shrugs, playing it casual as ever, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes. “Yeah. Didn’t even know your name, just that you had wicked aim, a sarcastic mouth, and took my shirt.”

You smile. “It was a nice shirt.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “It was my favorite shirt.” The truth. But he doesn’t mention the obscene amount of time he's spent picturing you in it since you vanished.

“Then maybe,” you murmur, leaning in, “you shouldn’t have left it on the floor.”

This time his laugh is deep and rough. He tips his head toward you, enough for you to catch the scent of leather. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might start thinking you missed me.”

You hold his gaze. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might stick around this time.”

He grins. “You always come in this hot, or am I just a lucky son of a bitch?”

Slowly, you smile, “Only with the people who can handle it.”

His eyes narrow, and the teasing edge gives way to something deeper. “Oh, I handled you just fine.”

Your breath hitches. Memories flow fast with crisp detail, sheets tangled around bodies, the press of his mouth against yours, promises and praise rasped between gritted teeth. It was good. Reckless. Brief. And if you’re honest, the only one-night stand you ever truly regretted walking away from.

“Then what’re we doing?” you ask, softly. “Sitting here, talking like strangers.”

Dean’s brow raises to his hairline, and it's kind of funny how the offer surprises him.

To clarify your intent, you add, “I have a room across the street, it’s quieter and has better bourbon.”

“Just like that?”

“Unless you’d rather keep talking about the past?”

He finishes his drink in one gulp, then stands up. “Let’s go make some new memories.”

The motel sheets are tangled around your legs, body aching in the best way, an unneeded reminder of the unforgettably satisfying night you had. Dean’s arm is heavy over your waist, his warmth seeps into your skin, his breaths steady as you stare at the ceiling, knowing that it will soon end, even though you don't want it to.

You're wrapped in his embrace, his leg thrown over yours, like his body made the decision to stay glued to you all night. It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that signals something is about to end. He isn’t ready for it.

Sunlight creeps in through the parted curtains. Not ready to let him know you’re awake, you keep your breaths even, your body still. You need a moment to feel - the slight dampness where skin meets skin, soft breaths fanning your neck, the comfort of his touch - to commit it all to memory. When you finally shift your head, a heavy sigh escapes his parted lips. Face half buried in the pillow, hair a mess, like he lost a fight with a tornado, lips ruddy and swollen, he’s the kind of man who looks better ruined. It’s annoying and unfair.

“Thinking about sneaking out again?” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep and satisfaction.

“Not yet.” You admit. “Do you know you’re a snorer?”

He cracks one eye open. “Only when I sleep well.”

You roll your eyes. “Smooth.”

He grins, pulls you in tighter, and traces lazy circles on your hip. It’s still early, the golden hour, the kind of morning that makes it feel like time has stopped. But reality waits beyond the door.

“I don’t want to be the one to say it,” you start, and don’t bother to hide the regret you feel. “But I think we both know this is the part where things get...”

Dean hums. “Yeah…” He wants to say more, figure out a way to make it less predictable, but you both know a hunter’s life isn't about the long term.

“You got somewhere you need to be?” he asks, already knowing the answer. There's always someone out there who needs saving.

You nod. “A case up north. Suspected vampire nest.”

He rolls onto his back, sighing heavily. “Figures.” Maybe if he distances himself, letting you go will be easier. You follow his movement, though, turning onto your side, and shuffle closer to close the distance he made.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” you ask, tracing your finger along his chest, light and slow.

“Garth’s got me looking into some demonic omens in Nebraska.”

“So, you know, a typical Tuesday for us both.”

“Exactly.” He hesitates, “Unless...”

You give him a look. Don’t. Don’t offer what we can’t have.

A hitch in your breath as your eyes widen with a hint of fear keeps him from finishing the thought. Instead, he lifts his arm, inviting you closer again, and you happily accept, pressing yourself into him.

“Hey,” he says, fingers gently brushing your back. “At least this time, I have a name to go with the memory.”

You chuckle. “True. And I didn’t steal your shirt.”

“There’s still time.”

You lean over his body, peeking over the edge of the bed to see it crumpled on the floor, just like last time. “Tempting.”

“Let me keep the shirt, and you can take my number instead,” he suggests, adding a bit apprehensively, “and maybe the next town I’ll be passing through.”

“Dean...”

“I know,” he mutters. It was a long-shot, but it would have made the situation suck a little less.

You lean in and kiss him, slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that says ‘this hurts’ and ‘I hope I see you again’.

Breathlessly, you part and smile wryly. “Next time we cross paths, you owe me breakfast.”

He smirks, but his tone still holds dejection. “It’s a date.”

“Rooms paid up until midday.” Giving him a too bright smile, you slip from the bed and gather up your clothes, taking your time getting dressed, wanting to be with him just a few minutes longer, even if it won't change anything.

Shuffling to sit up in the bed, he grunts an affirmative response while watching you. He doesn’t care if you catch him staring. He wants to remember everything, even this part. When you pick up his shirt, he can't help but smile. The coy smile you give him in return speeds his pulse.

“I’ll give it back next time.”

“I look forward to it.”

Coming around to where he's resting against the headboard, you lean in and softly kiss him. He deepens it, and for a second, you let him before pushing away to keep it from going too far.

Just before closing the door, you turn and confess, “I'm not saying goodbye.”

“Then don’t.”

With a smile and a heavy exhale, you nod. “See you around, Winchester.”

The door clicks shut, leaving him staring at the cheap veneer. Knowing it's better this way, he still allows himself a brief moment of hope for a knock that will never come. When the sound of an engine roars to life, he shakes away the lingering thoughts and exhales, “See you around.”

Tags: @alexxavicry / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 /

@jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library /

@lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 /

@waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @Pank0w /

@kmc1989 / @figurantedefilme / @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373 /

@b3autyfuld1sast3r

Tag list information

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main

[princessmisery666-library]

Tell Me Now

Summary: Sometimes, love is about knowing when to let go.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, break up.

W/C: 1,229.

Characters: Jake Seresin, Female reader.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x female reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity. No use of Y/N)

Notes: Set before Top Gun Maverick.

A/N: Took inspiration from Tell Me Now by MiC LOWRY. There's about 7k more words to fix this but the muses hate me and I can't decide on anything so for now this will remain a one shot.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // All mistakes remain my own.

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin // Top Gun Maverick // Main

The street lights blur as Jake stares through the rain-splattered windshield. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, an unconscious rhythm that once matched the beat of your voice, singing along to songs that never mattered except for the joy they brought when you were together. Tonight, the silence is a suffocating weight.

You had called him. Finally. After weeks of distance, hollow promises of ‘everything is okay’, days of unanswered texts, and vague excuses, you had finally said the words he both craved and dreaded.

“We need to talk.”

A lump of emotion rises in his throat, thick and hard to swallow. He checks the time: eleven minutes past nine. You’re late, or maybe Ellen let you leave early, and you’re already gone. Maybe you’ve made your choice, and not showing up to talk is your way of letting him know it’s official.

Jake contemplates if that would be easier for both of you. Because he isn’t entirely sure he can handle hearing you say it out loud.

The lights inside the coffee shop switch off, and Jake holds his breath. The door swings open, and there you are, wrapped in the navy-blue coat he bought you last winter, smiling and chatting with your boss, Ellen. You catch sight of his car and pause, and he wonders if you were hoping he wouldn’t show up.

You turn your back to him while Ellen locks the door and then wave goodbye as she jogs off into the rain and toward her car.

Jake opens the door and steps out, heart pounding as he meets you on the sidewalk. “Hey.” His voice is tight, a knot of hope and dread fighting for control.

Hesitating before walking toward him, your expression is unreadable, but you softly mimic, “Hey,” hugging yourself against the cold or perhaps shielding your heart from this moment.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The distance is more than physical. It’s a canyon of unspoken words, fears, regrets, and love that may no longer fit.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. You’ve never been the couple who struggled for words. You are the ones who take midnight drives and whisper secrets over ice cream, the couple who can tell what the other is thinking with just a glance. But now, there is only awkward silence and uncertainty.

Finally, he exclaims. “Please, just tell me now. If you don’t feel the same anymore, if...if you’re done, just say it.”

Your slight pause and deep inhale speak volumes before the words pass your lips. “It’s not that simple, Jay.”

It feels like a pair of wheel chocks have been dropped on his chest because you didn’t deny it. “It is to me. Either you love me, or you don’t.”

A sharp exhale accompanies the shake of your head. “It’s not about love. That has never been our problem.”

His brow furrows, confusion mixing with panic. “Then what is it?” You look away, eyes glistening with more than just the rain as you bite your lip. He knows you’re gathering the courage to say things he’s been afraid of for too long.

“You’re leaving.”

The ache in his chest intensifies with the rapid pace of his pulse. Desperate to rectify the situation, he imploringly reminds you. “We talked about this.”

“I know. You’ve wanted this forever.” Your voice wavers with the tremble of your lips. “Flying for the Navy, serving, pushing yourself to the limit—I get it. And I love that about you. But I also know what this means for us. You’re about to dedicate years of your life to training, deployments, and God knows what else. You’ll be gone more than you’ll be here.” The pain in your eyes is enough to make him flinch.

Stepping closer, he urgently implores. “But I’ll come back to you.”

Your smile is bittersweet, full of sadness. “That’s just it, Jake. I don’t know where I’ll be. I want out of this town as much as you do.”

Your reasons differ from his but are still valid. He gives a mirthless smile because he knows. You’ve told him your plans: to travel the world for a few years and work as many different jobs as you can until you find the one thing you love.

“I don’t want to be the person someone comes back to,” you continue sadly, “I want to be someone’s here and now. Not their waiting game.”

He wants to argue, to tell you that you can make it work because it always has worked, but bile rises in his throat instead, and he chokes it back. Deep down, he knows you’re right. The moment he received his acceptance letter, he threw himself into preparations, physical training, paperwork, packing, and goodbyes without ever really considering how much this would cost or how much it would change everything for each of you.

Resignation lies heavy in your sigh. “I just don’t think I’m built for that kind of life. Loving someone I’ll always have to say goodbye to.”

Hands clenching into fists, he swallows thickly around the lump of tangled words. He has always pictured you waiting for him, the reason he fought and trained harder, but that probably wasn’t fair. Perhaps love isn’t supposed to be something that asks for such sacrifice.

Your words sink in like a stone thrown into a still pond, and he slowly nods. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

A million memories crash over him: quiet afternoons, shared dreams, a future that was always just out of reach. There are no words left to say as you stare at each other, only the weight of goodbye pulling you under.

“Jake.”

His name is barely a breath, but it’s enough to tell him what you need. Stepping closer at the same time, he waits for you to make the next move as your eyes search his like you’re memorizing every detail. Then, before either of you can think better of it, your hands lift to his face, pulling him down into a kiss.

It’s slow, aching, nothing like the last time your lips met. There’s no fire, no desperation, just the quiet, painful understanding that this is the end.

Jake melts into it, letting himself feel everything he’s about to lose. The future he had imagined, the proposal that would never happen, the reunions he once dreamed of—he says goodbye to all of them in that kiss.

The salty taste of tears lingers on his lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels right again. But reality crashes in, and he pulls away, breathless.

“I love you, Jake.”

His eyes sting, and the words scrape roughly against his vocal cords, made raw by the shunned emotions. “Goodbye, Angel.”

And just like that, it’s over.

Slowly, he backs away, his gaze locked until he can no longer bear it, and he spins to rush to his car. Once inside, he grips the wheel like a lifeline, keeping him grounded. As he pulls away, he glances in the rearview mirror—one last time.

The image of you with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself grows smaller, eventually fading as the distance grows. With his full attention now on the road ahead, Jake realizes, with depressing clarity, that sometimes it isn’t about falling out of love; it’s about knowing when to let go.

Master Lists: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin // Top Gun Maverick // Main

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Tags: @alexxavicry / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess /

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[princessmisery666-library]

Prank War - Part 2

Summary: Someone will be crowned King or Queen of Pranks 2025.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, harmless pranks, implied smut.

W/C: 3,415

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Reader.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Challenge: @alphabetquest Prompt: Prank war. 

Notes: Sam Wilson is Captain America. 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: made by me on Canva. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Marvel // Main

Catch up now - Part 1

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

Please support content creators. Reblog. Comment. Like.

The next morning, you wake up to find Bucky’s side of the bed empty. Not unusual, he’s an early riser, but today is no ordinary day. There’s an air of anticipation that immediately sets you on edge. You throw on some sweats and cautiously open the door, peering into the hallway. It looks clear, but you know better than to trust appearances.

You take a hesitant step as if testing the water temperature, and your eyes dart back and forth for any signs of foul play.

Bucky knows you’re not a morning person, so would he target you so early? You don’t think so. Sam would. But if you know Sam, and you do, he’s probably planning a double whammy to get you and Bucky simultaneously.

Ten or so steps from the door, feeling confident that neither man will be brave enough to poke to bear before 9 a.m., you let your guard down.

Big mistake. 

A faint twang hits your ears before you feel a wire tug against your shins. 

“Oh shit,” you mutter, realizing your mistake a second too late. 

A mechanism overhead hisses, and in an instant, a gallon of syrup dumps onto your head. The thick, sticky liquid clings to your hair, clothes, and skin. You sputter, wiping syrup from your eyes, when you hear another hiss. 

WHOOSH.

An avalanche of feathers rains down from the ceiling, probably from Clint’s arrow supplies. They cling to the syrup like velcro. By the time it’s over, you’re a walking, dripping, feathery monstrosity.

“Bucky!” You yell, knowing full well he’s lurking somewhere nearby.

His laughter echoes down the hall, but he isn’t brave enough to face you. Instead, he calls out, “Good morning, sweetheart.” 

Oh, it’s so on!

Later, when you’ve cleaned off as many feathers as possible, you find Sam in the common room. He’s sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone.

He gives you a once-over, smirking as stray feathers cling to your pajama bottoms. “Rough morning?” he asks, barely holding back a grin. 

“Better than yours is about to be,” you mutter, but he doesn’t catch it.

“You walked into a trap,” he laughs. 

“It was a trap,” you admit, sipping your coffee. “But it wasn’t set for me. I know Bucky. Feathers? Come on, it wasn't meant for me. I just happened to be up earlier than usual.” 

Sam snorts. “You think you know us that well, huh?”

“I do.” 

“You’ve got a long way to go if you’re gonna out-prank us. But hey, I'm rooting for you. Bucky deserves whatever you’ve got planned.”

“He does,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you press a hidden button on your phone.

Seconds later, the bottom of Sam’s coffee cup falls away, soaking his lap in lukewarm coffee. He jumps up, sputtering, and stares at the destroyed cup. “What the…”

“Rough morning?” you jest, walking away.

“You don’t mess with a man’s coffee!” Sam calls after you.

Bucky is meticulous about his combat gear, so it’s no surprise to find him cleaning and organizing his knives in the tack room. He doesn’t notice you lurking by the door with a custom Nerf gun loaded with foam darts coated in adhesive. 

Taking aim, you steady your breath and unleash a hail of darts. “Target acquired,” you announce triumphantly, laughing as the darts stick to his metal arm, forehead, and chest. 

He freezes, taking the assault in stride, and once you're out of ammo, he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “That’s the best you’ve got?” 

“Not quite,” you smirk. 

He tries to peel a dart off his arm, but it doesn’t move. He tugs harder, and the dart snaps back into place as if spring loaded.  

“You didn’t?” he sneers. 

You blow him a kiss and saunter toward the door. “You’re not the only one good with sticky stuff.”

Bucky chuckles. “Alright, doll, you’ve officially joined the war.”

The next few hours are filled with petty pranks. 

Bucky retaliates with a series of small, sneaky pranks. He replaces your toothpaste with mayonnaise (gross), swaps the sugar in your coffee for salt (disgusting), and somehow manages to rig your favorite chair to let out a loud whoopee cushion sound when you sit down to start an online meeting. 

But you bide your time, waiting to hit him where it hurts—the gym. 

Bucky likes to work out to music, and nothing drives him crazier than not having the perfect song to listen to while he lifts weights, runs, or is sparring. You log into his Spotify account—he made the rookie mistake of leaving it open on his phone—and queue an endless loop of Baby Shark.

You sit on the couch, pretending to read a book, and can barely contain your smile as he storms across the room. 

“Baby Shark? Really?” he growls, holding up his phone.

“Better than Barbie Girl.” You shrug. “Don’t mess with me, Barnes.”

His eyes narrow. “This means war, doll.”

Sam takes a different approach by targeting you both, but he seems to be taking a gentler approach with you. The saran wrap sealing the bathroom doorway you walk into face first is child’s play compared to what he does to Bucky. You don’t trust him, though, staying vigilant as you take a few hours to relax while Bucky is busy training new SHIELD recruits.

Sam can’t stop fidgeting as you eye him surreptitiously over the edge of your book. He rushes out of the room only to return a moment later, chuckling as he rubs his hands together. Finally, Clint, who never seems like he’s paying attention but sees everything, has had enough. “Come on, Wilson, give it up. What have you done?” 

“Wait here.”

If Clint is involved, you know it isn’t a trick, so you wait while Sam literally bolts from the room, returning with his laptop and setting it on the breakfast bar. On the screen, there is a 4-way split image showing the training room a few floors below.

Bucky glares at the group of young soldiers who are warming up. He’s in full tactical gear, his metal arm glistening under the overhead lights. His stance is all business, his eyes sharp as he evaluates their form and technique.

“Alright,” Bucky commands, “pair up and get ready for hand-to-hand drills. You’ve got two minutes to show me what you’ve got.” 

The recruits scramble to follow his orders, and you see a flicker of pride cross his face. He’s in his element, doing something good. He’s confident and focused.

But then it happens. 

Quack. 

It’s subtle, just a faint sound as Bucky shifts his weight. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy correcting a man’s stance. 

Quack, quack. 

The second quack is louder. This time, one of the recruits falters mid-move. They glance around, confused, but no one dares say anything.

“Keep going,” Bucky snaps. He has to have heard it.

By the third quack, the recruits are visibly struggling to keep straight faces. One of them bites their lip so hard you’re worried they might draw blood. 

Sam’s shoulders shake with silent laughter so as to not miss a sound. Clint is practically wheezing, his face turning red.

You’re no better. Tears stream down your face as the recruits try to soldier through the chaos.

Bucky finally takes notice. He steps forward to demonstrate a move, and the exaggerated QUACK that follows stops him in his tracks. 

His brow furrows as he looks down at his boots. He takes another step.

Quack. 

Another step.

Quack, quack.

The trainees lose it. Their laughter echoes through the room as they finally give in, some doubling over while others clutch their sides.

Bucky’s head snaps up. His glare silences most of them instantly. “Class dismissed,” he commands, squatting down to inspect his boots. 

Every shift of his weight causes a new quack, and the recruits are too invested or too scared to move.  

Sam is rolling around on the floor, trying to catch his breath for laughing, clutching his stomach as you watch Bucky storm out of the training room, his boots still quacking with each furious step.

“Wilson!” he roars.

The recruits are in shambles behind him, clearly grateful for the unexpected comedic relief. 

“That is a work of art,” Clint says, wiping tears from his eyes. 

The lift announces its arrival with a charmful ding, and the sound of quacking boots grows louder as Bucky approaches, his face murderous. 

He hops on his left foot to remove the right boot and the quacking increases. “Fix them! Now!” he snarls, tossing the sabotaged boots onto the floor in front of Sam. 

Sam finally finds his breath and rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, fine.”

Bucky marches behind Sam to make sure he does as he’s supposed to, and you wait a beat before following.

They are halfway down the corridor, and a second after Clint comes to stand beside you, a motion-activated sensor lights up red, raining glitter down from the rigged sprinkler above their heads.

Both men slowly pivot to look at you. Indignation tinged with a modicum of begrudging respect is reflected in each of their astonished faces.

Clint sputters around the lip of his coffee mug. “Bold move,” he says, looking proud. He winks at you, smiling broadly.

“Sam’s winning,” he announces loudly, throwing over his shoulder as he leaves the room, “and I’m banning glitter from common areas.”

Candlelight flickers between you and Bucky, painting warm golden shadows over his handsome features. The cozy corner of his favorite Italian restaurant feels worlds away from the chaos of the compound. It’s date night. A sacred truce has been called between you so that you can enjoy the night.

“You know,” you say, twirling spaghetti around your fork. “It’s weird how quiet Sam’s been today.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, sipping his wine. “Too quiet. He’s planning something.”

“He has to be. There’s no way he’s letting us have a peaceful day without a catch,” you agree, glancing over your shoulder just in case. 

He reaches across the table, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Let him. I’m not letting him ruin this.”

You exhale and smile, letting yourself sink into the moment. Whatever Sam is plotting, he knows better than to interrupt in public.  

“Relax, sweetheart,” Bucky says, soft blue eyes reassuring you. “I’ve got your back.”

You let yourself relax, focusing on the tender way he looks at you, the kind of gaze that makes you feel like the only person in the world.

A half-hour past closing, the restaurant owner politely kicks you out. You and Bucky had been too wrapped up in each other to notice them sweeping around your table. 

Back at the Compound, the elevator ride becomes an R-rated show. Bucky’s kiss is deep and slow, his hands tracing teasing lines across your body. You push his jacket off his shoulders, and he softly chuckles as he reaches around you to pull the emergency stop lever. The elevator jerks to a halt between floors.

Releasing your mouth, he gives you a second to catch your breath before moving to kiss and nibble your neck. “As much as I’d love to keep going,” he mumbles against your skin. “We need to be on high alert for Bird Boy.” 

You groan dramatically, sagging against him.

He pulls back to look at your pout and thumbs your bottom lip to make it pop against the other. “This is your fault. I suggested we stay in the car. The backseat is plenty big enough.”

“Not for the things I wanna do to you,” you wink.

He growls and slams his palm flat against the emergency handle to get it to start again. Quickly, Bucky bends at the waist and throws you over his shoulder. You squeal as the doors open, and Bucky, on high alert, pokes his head out to check for Mr. Wilson.

“Looks clear,” he says.

“Doesn’t mean it is,” you warn, talking into the middle of his back.

“I’m taking the risk,” he announces before taking off at a sprint. He runs as if he isn’t carrying you, and you barely bounce as he moves. He stops outside your shared bedroom, cautiously testing the handle for booby-traps. 

“It’s fine,” he says, twisting the handle. “Maybe Captain Chicken Wing is having a night off.”

It’s not likely. Bucky pushes the door open. “Oh shit.”

Squirming to look around  Bucky’s bicep, you gasp at the carnage in the room, but as he sets you on your feet, you find it’s worse than you thought. Balloons of every color fill the area, floor to ceiling. There’s barely enough space for you both to step inside, but through the small gaps between balloons, you see the yellow Post-It notes covering every available surface—the walls, furniture, and even the ceiling fan that spins lazily.

“Sam,” Bucky groans, already exhausted.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I knew it.”

Bucky’s phone rings, and he fishes it out of his pocket, flashing the screen to show you Sam’s requesting a video call.

“Good evening, lovebirds,” he announces as soon as the call connects. “I will now claim my rightful title as the King of Pranks. Welcome to the show. A golden ticket is hidden inside one of these balloons. “A get out of clean up duty pass”. The first one to find it gets to sit back and relax while the other cleans up this mess.” He looks off to the left of the screen as if pondering something important. “Or is it written on a Post-It? Damn it, I can’t remember.” He grins. “Oh, and be careful, some balloons are filled with glitter. Happy hunting!” He ends the call. 

“I hate him.” Bucky sighs.

You look at the sea of balloons and then at Bucky. “We could just not play.”

Bucky shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket. “You really think Sam doesn’t have a bigger, more elaborate plan if we choose not to play along?”

“Fine,” you huff as he sets his jacket outside to save it from glitter damage. “Let’s do this.”

Bucky grabs a purple balloon and uses his vibranium hand to pop it. A poof of glitter explodes over his chest and legs. “Off to a great start.”

Using the pen knife concealed in your boot, you pop a bright pink balloon, and matching colored glitter rains over your hands and legs. 

“You look good in glitter,” Bucky teases, smirking. 

“So do you, Sergeant Quack,” you jest, earning a playful glare.

The two of you dive into balloon popping. Each one releases an explosion of colorful glitter, coating the room and you both in sparkling mayhem.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you accuse, catching Bucky’s amused smirk.

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs, popping two balloons together.

“I need a break,” you announce. “My ears hurt, and I swear I’ve swallowed a gallon of glitter.” 

Bucky chuckles but nods, “I’ll grab us some bottles of water.” 

“Not so fast,” Clint steps into the doorway, blocking Bucky’s path. You have no idea where he came from. “No glitter in common areas.”

“Can you at least get us a drink?”

Clint nods and disappears as silently as he appeared. 

Approximately forty explosions later, the bed is finally visible in the middle of the room. Bucky pops a black balloon and freezes. “I found it,” he says, waving a piece of golden paper.

You groan, sinking onto the bed, which is also covered in glitter and Post-It notes. “Great.”

Instead of gloating or walking away, he tosses the paper aside and sits beside you. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, suspicious. 

He brushes a stray glittery strand of hair from your face. “I’m not leaving you to clean this up alone.” 

“But you won.”

“I won twice,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “You’re worth more than some stupid prank.”

Your heart melts, and despite the mess around you and that he looks like he’s wearing glitter lipstick, you can’t help but smile.

“Alright, fine,” you say, nudging him in the ribs. “But you’re on vacuum duty.”

“Deal.”

The two of you get to work, laughing and teasing each other as you kill balloons and peel off Post-Its. It takes hours. By the end, you’re both exhausted and shimmering. But you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“This stuff is going to follow us for years,” you say, shaking your hands to scatter more glitter on the floor.

Bucky holds your hands still. “Hold that thought.”

You stare at him suspiciously. “What’re you planning, Barnes?”

“I think I have an idea for some payback.”

“Me too,” you say, tapping your overflowing pocket.

Bucky’s grin is scarily mischievous as he taps his own pockets. He takes your hand and leads you into the hallway—glitter trails behind you like breadcrumbs. 

“Bucky,” you whisper, clutching his arm as he glances around a corner. “If Clint catches us, he’ll kill us.”

“He’s lurking somewhere,” Bucky murmurs, putting your backs to the wall. “Guy’s like damn a ninja.”

He peeks around the next bend, scanning for signs of Clint.

“Looks clear,” he says. 

“Which usually means he’s there,” you fear, but follow Bucky’s light steps. You've almost made it through the common area unblocked when...

“Stop right there,” Clint’s voice rings out, making you both freeze mid-step like kids caught sneaking out after curfew.

You whip around to find Clint leaning casually against the doorway, sipping from a tumbler of amber liquid. His sharp eyes immediately lock onto the trail of glitter leading directly to you and Bucky.

“What did I say about glitter?”

Bucky steps in front of you, raising his hands innocently. “We’re just going to bed.” 

“Your room’s that way,” he points in the opposite direction you are going in. “So, are you going to bed via Sam’s room with pockets full of glitter?” 

“What? Us? Never!” You say, barely holding back a giggle.

Bucky nods, playing it cool. “We’re completely innocent. Look at these faces.” he gestures to the both of you, but Clint’s unimpressed expression doesn’t budge. 

Before Clint can say more, you step forward, biting back laughter. “Alright. Fine. We were just thinking about it. But we can call it off if you want.”

Clint narrows his eyes, takes a sip of his drink, then jerks his thumb toward the trail. “Whatever you do, you’re cleaning it up, and no more glitter in common areas. I mean it.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky says with mock seriousness.

As soon as Clint’s back is turned, Bucky grabs your hand and runs towards Sam’s room, stifling laughter. 

You both creep closer to Sam’s room, giggles bubbling up as you pass another corner. Bucky holds a finger to his lips, suppressing a laugh. “Shh, he’s gonna hear us.” 

“You shush,” you whisper back, trying harder not to laugh. 

Finally, you reach Sam’s door, and as always, it's ajar. Sam is sprawled on his bed, blissfully unaware of the revenge coming his way. Light from the hallway cuts a line across his naked back.

Bucky looks at you, and when he winks, you both rush into the room. You go left, and Bucky goes right, dumping handfuls of glitter over Sam as he jolts awake. 

“What the hell?” Sam yells, flailing as the glitter rains down like mist. He sits up, coughs, and blinks. “You two are the worst.” 

“You started it,” you say, laughing hysterically. 

“I still see the glitter trail,” Clint’s voice bellows a second before he appears in the doorway. “But we have a clear winner.” He steps into the room and hands a small golden trophy to Sam. “For the sheer chaos and brilliance of your pranks, I pronounce you, Sam Wilson, King of Pranks. 2025 is yours.”

Bucky laughs, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder and showering more glitter. “Enjoy it, Chicken Little. You earned it.”

“I never want to see glitter again,” Clint says, shaking his head. 

On cue, Bucky pulls his hand out of his pocket and throws one last handful high above Sam’s head. 

You grab Bucky’s hand, still laughing as you retreat from Sam’s wrath. His complaints echo down the hallway, but you and Bucky can’t stop smiling.

Covered in glitter, still riding the high of your antics, you realize this absurd, sparkly madness is one of the best times you’ve had in a long time.

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@dempy / @kmc1989 / @figurantedefilme / @kmc1989

Tag Info

[princessmisery666-library]

My first fic of 2025.

Prank War

Summary: Sam and Bucky take the prank war too far. 

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, injury, blood mentioned, stitches. 

W/C: 1,458

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Reader, and a surprise guest that I don’t want to spoil. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Challenge: @alphabetquest Prompt: Prank war. 

Notes: Sam Wilson is Captain America. 

A/N: @deanwinchesterswitch challenged me to write a fic with “Stop yelling! It's not like I wanted to get hurt.”

Betas: none because I’m too impatient and don’t want to overthink it.

Graphics: made by me on Canva. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Marvel // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

Please support content creators. Reblog. Comment. Like.

Down time is supposed to be just that. Downtime. But no, Sam and Bucky can’t sit still and when there are no meetings to go to, no reports to write and no fights to be had they decide to fight each other. Not physically fighting (though you wouldn’t rule that out if they were bored enough), but the prank war is getting wildly out of hand. 

It started small, Sam swapping Bucky’s metal arm oil for syrup and Bucky ‘borrowing’ Redwing for a joyride around the training room. You don’t take sides, but you do try to mediate and make sure things don’t escalate. Unfortunately the quiet days seem to fuel their creativity.

Today’s battleground? The kitchen. 

You watch from the doorway, arms crossed, as Sam, with the help of Redwing, rigs a carefully balanced bag of flour over the pantry door. His grin is downright wicked, his giddy excitement practically contagious. He catches your eye and smirks. “This is going to be epic. He’s gonna open that door, and poof, instant Snow White.” 

“Sam, this is a terrible idea,” you warn, but of course he ignores you, dramatically tiptoeing away like some cartoon villian to hide around the corner. 

Resigned to the chaos that’s about to ensue, you take a seat at the breakfast bar. You know you’ll have to step in when things inevitably spiral. 

Moments later, Bucky strolls in, grumbling under his breath about who knows what. His hair is still damp from training, his black tee clings to him in all the right places. “Morning doll,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on your temple as he walks by. 

Okay, maybe Bucky getting covered in flour won’t be a bad thing, you can help him wash it off in the shower. 

Suppressing a laugh, you watch as he heads straight for the pantry, likely looking for his favorite protein bars. The second he opens the door, the bag of flour explodes with a dramatic whoosh, coating him from head to toe in the fine white powder.

“Wilson!” Bucky roars. You swear the entire building hears him.

Sam comes out of hiding, clutching his stomach as he laughs uncontrollably. “Man, you should see yourself. You look like a ghost.”

Bucky glares, wiping his eyes. “You’re dead, bird boy.”

Before Sam can react, and faster than you thought possible Bucky grabs a carton of eggs from the shelf and hurls one. It lands with a satisfying splat against Sam’s chest. 

And just like that, chaos erupts. 

Flour, eggs, cereal, coffee beans, anything in reach, flies through the air with ridiculous precision. 

You duck behind the counter. “Guys! You’re wrecking the kitchen!”

Its no use, neither of them are listening. The prank war is in full swing. Until it isn’t. 

Mid-lunge to grab a container of milk, Bucky slips on the now slick floor. He lands with a heavy thud, his head smacking against the edge of the counter on the way down.

“Bucky.” You yell, rushing over. 

Sam freezes, the last remaining egg in his hand still raised ready to fire.

Bucky groans, dragging himself to sit upright against a cabinet smeared with a disgusting combination of raw egg and coffee beans. His super soldier durability means he isn’t seriously hurt, but a small cut at his hairline is bleeding.

“I told you this was going too far!” you shout, gabbing a clean towel. “You two don’t know when to leave it alone. Now the kitchen is trashed and you're bleeding.”

“Stop yelling,” Bucky grumbles, wincing as you press the towel to his head. “It’s not like I wanted to get hurt.”

“Yeah, well, maybe don’t turn the kitchen into a warzone next time,” you mutter. “Hold this.”

Bucky complies while Sam hovers nearby guilt written all over his face. “That’s gonna need stitches,” Sam says, “I’ll grab the kit.”

Sam rushes out of the room to grab the first aid kit. Once he’s gone you help Bucky up and get him to sit on a chair at the table. 

“What is it with you two? You’re like toddlers.” 

Bucky flashes a grin, the kind that still manages to steal your breath no matter how many times you see it. His smiles come more freely nowadays but it’s still a sight to behold. “Keeps things interesting.”

You roll your eyes. This hundred and six year old man is just a kid at heart and Sam helps keep him young. Still, you can’t let him off that easily. “Well, your idea of ‘interesting’ just earned you a date with some stitches.”

“Great,” he deadpans, but his smile returns as he grabs your hips and tugs you closer, pulling you to stand between his legs. He looks up at you, all puppy dog eyes and contentment. “As long as I’m with you I’m happy.”

You dip to kiss him and when it deepens, Bucky pulls you down to sit on his lap. His hands start to roam and you know you should stop but what’s a second more? Surely Sam doesn’t move that fast. 

Except apparently he does and is as quiet as a mouse because you don’t hear him return until he clears his throat. You pull away, averting your eyes from Bucky’s smug smile because he knows how worked up a simple kiss can get you. 

Bucky shoots a glare at Sam. “Great timing, Cap.”

You slap his arm as you stand up and Sam hands the kit over. He stands silently while you clean around the wound, his usual snark absent. “Alright, hold still,” you say, putting on gloves and getting to work cleaning the wound. “You okay, Sam?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” 

Bucky waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Just wait until you see what I have planned for your bed tonight.”

Sam looks smug. “Bring it on, old man.” 

You groan as you start stitching. “This is never gonna end is it?” 

“Nope.” they say in unison. At least that’s one thing they can agree on. 

“I swear if this prank war gets out of hand again, I’m getting involved and trust me, you two don’t want that.”

“Sounds like your lady is challenging us, Buck,” Sam says. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “It sounds like she is. What exactly would you do?”

“Yeah, no offence,” Sam adds, grinning widely. “But I don’t see you out-pranking us. You’re more a peace keeper type.”

You finish Bucky’s stitches and take off the gloves with a snap. “Sam, remember that time Redwing ignored your voice commands during training? And Bucky that week when your arm played Never Gonna Give You Up every time you moved?” 

Bucky freezes, his smirk fading. “Wait. That was you? Doll.”

“Oh don’t ‘doll’ me. You deserved it for using my expensive shampoo and not telling me it ran out until I was in the shower!” 

Sam bursts out laughing. “Oh, man! I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping with a prank mastermind this whole time!” 

Bucky points at you accusingly. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” you reply, sweetly, leaning down to kiss him quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t destroy you in a prank war if you push me.”

“Okay, fine,” Sam says.

You can practically see the cogs turning behind the mischief in his eyes as you cross the kitchen to wash your hands in the sink. 

“If you’re so confident, why don’t you join the prank war?” Sam suggests. 

Bucky, recovered from his shock, stands up and throws you a challenging smile. Which would be a lot more convincing if he weren’t covered in food sludge. “Yeah. Let's see what you got, sweetheart. I’ll go easy on you.”

You dry your hands and cross your arms, a sly smile spreading. “Alright, challenge accepted. But don’t come crying to me when I win.”

“Wait, how do we judge who wins?” Sam asks. 

There’s a short commotion overhead and then Clint drops down from a vent in the ceiling. “I’ll be the judge.” 

“Fine by me,” you agree, smiling Clint. 

Bucky gives Sam a half shrug in agreement and Sam nods to accept.

You walk back to Bucky and give him a quick kiss, before ruffling his hair, earning a half hearted glare, and shoot Sam a knowing look as you strut toward the door. “Better watch your back, boys.”

The moment you’re gone, Clint starts laughing. “You two are so screwed.”

Bucky chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, but she’s hot when she’s competitive.”

Sam groans. “Great. Now I’ve got two lunatics to deal with.”

The prank war isn’t over. It’s just getting started.

Tags: @alexxavicry / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 /

@imjess-themess / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library /

@nancymcl / @stoneyggirl2 / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @xoxabs88xox /

@dempy / @kmc1989 / @figurantedefilme / @kmc1989

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[princessmisery666-library]

Christmas With Dean

@justagirlinafandomworld is running a wonderful flash fic challenge and the muses are having fun. So here's a master list of all the little ficlets that make a mini series.

Warnings: fluff, flirting.

W/C: 1,174 total.

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader (you)

A/N: I realize Dean may be a little OOC but I need some fluff!! 

Part 1 Snowflakes - catching snowflakes with Dean - 100 words

Part 2 Cold Hands - Dean has a solution for your cold hands. 103 words

Part 3 Mistletoe - Dancing in the kitchen with Dean. 99 words

Part 4 Christmas To Me - The best Christmas gift is being with Dean. 100 words

Part 5 Christmas & Cassettes - Dean won’t admit he likes Christmas music. - 145 words

Part 6 - The Storm Inside - The snow has cleared, it’s time to go your separate ways. 627 words

Tags under cut

Tags: @alexxavicry / @deandreamer / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore /

@foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore

/ @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl/

@shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole/

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior/ @Pank0w / @kmc1989/ @figurantedefilme/ @deans-spinster-witch /

@spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373 / @b3autyfuld1sast3r

[princessmisery666-library]

The Storm Inside

Summary: The snow has cleared, it’s time to go your separate ways. 

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst. 

W/C: 627 - thank you for letting Dean break the rules. Yes I’m blaming him! 

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fic Challenge 5 Prompt: Santa Claus Is Coming To Town by Bruce Springsteen

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader

A/N: Thank you @justagirlinafandomworld for running this challenge. It’s awoken the muses and I’ve had fun writing for the first time in a long time. 

Can be read as a stand alone but catch up here - Christmas With Dean

The snow finally stopped falling two days ago. The deejay interrupts the festive music to announce, “Good news! The blizzard is over, and the roads are clear - you can make it home for Christmas.”

Dean’s gaze holds yours from across the room, a quiet weight in his chest that he refuses to show.

The deejay continues, “And now, here’s Bruce Springsteen.”

You sigh, not bothering to hide the disappointment. “Well, guess you can get back to Sam for the holidays now.”

“I can,” he replies as he crosses the room to stand beside you. “But I don’t know if you’ve heard...” He grins, his voice lowering in that teasing, familiar way. “Santa Claus is coming to town.” He’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. But it isn’t close enough. Before you can blink, he pulls you into him. “How’s he supposed to know where to deliver your presents if you’re already on the road?”

“Haven’t you heard?” you tease. “I’m dating Dean Winchester. That definitely puts me on the naughty list.”

“Dating?” He arches an eyebrow, his lips curving into a half-smirk, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He steps back just enough to look in your eyes. “Is that what we're calling this?”

You laugh softly, but the sound is laced with a touch of nervousness. “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, isn't it?” you say, your voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful.

Dean’s eyes search yours, and for a moment, the playful grin fades, replaced by a vulnerability you don’t often see from him. “Yeah,” he mutters, running a hand down his face, his usual confidence slipping slightly. “Maybe it is.”

The room feels smaller, the music from the radio is distant and you're both silent, unsure of how to move forward. Dean looks away briefly, his gaze drifting out the window at the calm and still world beyond. But it’s clear his mind is anywhere but out there.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, your words a bit softer. “What happens now? The roads are clear. You can go back to Sam, finish your Christmas plans, all that.” You don’t say it with any real expectation, just the simple, painful truth.

Dean brings his focus back to you, his expression serious, searching for something in yours, like he’s trying to decide if there’s more to say. After a beat, he reaches up and cups your face gently, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “You really think I’d leave?”

The words hit you harder than you expect. “Dean…” You search his face, but there’s something in his eyes now—a quiet certainty that you hadn't noticed before. “You can’t be serious. You have to go back. It’s your brother. He’s your family. It’s Christmas.”

His gaze softens. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want to. Family doesn’t end with blood and Christmas is about being where you need to be.”

You swallow a lump of raw emotion. “And where do you need to be, Dean?”

“I want to be here.” He steps even closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. “Right here. With you. Even if I’m not sure what that means yet, I’m not gonna leave without figuring it out.”

The air between you crackles, charged with something unspoken. Your heart races, uncertainty and hope mixing into something both terrifying and thrilling.

“Dean,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

He gives you that trademark half-smile, a mixture of warmth and defiance. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for us.”

And for the first time in a long while, you believe him.

The snow has stopped falling, but the storm inside you both is just beginning.

Master List

[princessmisery666-library]

Christmas & Cassettes

Summary: Dean won’t admit he likes Christmas music.

Warnings: fluff, flirting.

W/C: 145 (sorry🤭).

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fic Challenge 5 Prompt: Run Rudolph Run by Mark Ambor

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader

A/N: I realize Dean may be a little OOC but I need some fluff!! 

Can be read as a stand alone but catch up here - Snowflakes / Cold Hands / Mistletoes / Christmas To Me /

Dean picks up the plate of bacon, singing along to the radio, “Run, run, Rudolph, Santa’s got to make it to town,” before turning to find you watching him with an amused expression.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease. “I didn’t even have to twist your arm.”

“It’s the only station this junky thing picks up!” he grumbles, a playful edge in his voice.

“It also has a cassette deck,” you point out, gesturing toward the window. “You have a whole stack of cassettes.”

He shrugs, fighting a grin. “Didn’t feel like trekking out in the snow.”

“Oh, I’m definitely telling Sam!”

He chuckles, walking toward you. “Name your price.”

“Oh, you can’t afford me,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, mischief glinting in his eyes. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

Master List

[princessmisery666-library]

Christmas To Me

Summary: The best Christmas gift is being with Dean.

Warnings: fluff

W/C: 100

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fic Challenge 5 Prompt: Christmas To Me by Pentatonix

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader

A/N: I realize Dean may be a little OOC but I need some fluff!! 

Can be read as a stand alone but catch up here - Snowflakes / Cold Hands / Mistletoes

Dean stirs awake when he feels the loss of your warmth. He finds you in the living room, watching the snow fall. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m waiting to hear the reindeer,” you whisper.

“You’ve been naughty,” he teases, “you’re on the list.”

You laugh, and he turns your head to deliver a sweet kiss. 

“It’s almost Christmas and I don’t have a gift for you,” you sigh. “I should’ve planned ahead.”

“I’m here with you, that’s my gift,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours. “That’s Christmas to me.” 

Master List

[princessmisery666-library]

Mistletoe

Summary: Dancing in the kitchen with Dean.

Warnings: fluff

W/C: 99

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fic Challenge 5 Prompt: Merry Christmas by Ed Sheeran and Elton John

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader

A/N: A follow on from Snowflakes and Cold Hands but can be read as stand alone.

The only station available at the cabin is Christmas songs. Dean hopes they remain slow so as not to ruin the moment.

The kitchen is too small to be dancing in but he doesn’t care because he gets to hold you closer, your head resting over his heart.

The tempo changes, the deejay announces the next song is by Ed Sheeran and Elton John.

“Dean,” you murmur. 

“Hhm.”

You pull back to look up at him. “Just so you know, you don’t need mistletoe to kiss me.”

“Ditto.” He smirks slowly moving in to press his lips to yours.

Part 4 - Christmas To Me

Master List

[princessmisery666-library]

Cold Hands

Summary: Dean has a solution for your cold hands.

Warnings: fluff

W/C: 103 - sorry. 

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fic Challenge 5 Prompt: Little Drummer Boy by Pentatonix

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader.

A/N: A follow on from Snowflakes but can be read as stand alone.

Dean has committed a cardinal sin and his ears are paying the price. You convinced him to surrender control of the radio, a Christmas miracle.

You immediately found a Christmas station. He’s suffered through covers of classics, new pop songs, and now Little Drummer Boy plays. 

Dean steals glances at you until you lean forward to put your hands over the vent.

“Cold?” he asks. He untucks his shirt, takes your hand, tugging you across the seat to lay your hands on his stomach. 

“Geezus!” he flinches. “You're so cold.” 

Resting your head on his shoulder, you sigh happily. “But you’re soooooo warm.”

Part 3 - Mistletoe

Master List

[princessmisery666-library]

Snowflakes

Warnings: fluff

W/C: 100 exactly according to google docs. 

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fic Challenge 5 Prompt: Snow Day by Caitlyn Smith

Characters: Dean Winchester, reader.

Flurries of snow gently fall from the sky. You spread your arms out, turn in a slow circle, tongue sticking out.

From the warmth of Baby, Dean watches as they land, making you smile.

You catch one in your hand and pout as it disappears. The snowflake didn’t stand a chance, Dean melts when you touch him too.

“Come play, Winchester,” you say, smile growing wider as the snow gets heavier. “Or do we have to go?” 

He shakes his head, “we’ve got five.” 

He won’t say it but there’s nothing he would rather do than catch snowflakes with you. 

Part 2 - Cold Hands

Master List

@justagirlinafandomworld

[princessmisery666-library]

Didn't Know Then What I Know Now - Part 3 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: With the help of the Dagger Squad, Jake sends you on a personal scavenger hunt. He’s sure you’ll love the idea, and then you’ll have to forgive him. Right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, 

W/C: 4.8k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. Small Parts/Mentioned: The rest of Dagger Squad, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, and Penny Benjamin. 

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote.

Challenge/Bingo: Prompt/Square Filled:

Notes: Reader has a call sign. 

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thanks for saving the smut section 😄 // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

The first available flight will get you home only a few hours earlier than you would have before, but you no longer care that your credit card will be taking a massive hit for this weekend. This added expense is worth every penny. The thought of sitting next to Jake the entire flight home is too much to bear.

Seething anger rolls through you in waves the whole journey home, and you can’t bear to face the Daggers, knowing they know more than they should.

You go directly to see Captain Mitchell, suitcase and bags in tow, and request a change in assignment. 

“Take a couple of days,” Maverick suggests, “think about it.”

“All due respect, Captain, there’s nothing to think about,” you counter. “We are all aware Lieutenant Seresin isn’t the easiest person to work with, and I feel I’ve served my time.”

“That may be so,” he nods, “but you are a good team, whether you like it or not.”

You can’t argue that because it’s a fact you are aware of.

“Put the request in writing,” Mav tells you, “I’ll see what I can do.”

You thank him and lug your bags back out the door, kicking the wheel to get it to go in the right direction. You don’t look up until you crash into someone. Phoenix, accompanied by Coyote.

Perfect. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, carrying on your way. 

“Wait, Cosmo,” Natasha says, catching up to you. “Why are you back so soon? Your flight doesn’t get in until later. What happened?”

“Exactly what I thought would happen,” you say, “and I really don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Oh, Cosmo,” Phoenix sighs, knowing exactly what your fears had been.

“Don’t,” you say, holding a hand up to silence her. “I don’t want your pity.”

Coyote senses the hostility in your tone and changes the subject. “What were you doing with Mav?”

“Requesting a reassignment,” you say. There’s no point in hiding it. They’ll find out eventually. 

“But,” Phoenix starts, doing the mental math. “The only other person to fly with would be Harvard.”

You shrug, “So be it. I gotta go unpack and shower.”

“Wait,” Phoenix says, rushing to stand in your path. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to talk,” you snap, “least of all to you.” 

The hurt on her face breaks your heart a little, but you’re hurting too. You want to take it back, but the more she looks offended, the more you remember this is partly her fault, and Coyote’s, for that matter. They both stuck their noses in your business when it wasn’t needed or wanted. 

“All this,” you wave your arms as wide as you can with your bag, “is down to you two. Jake and I were fine the way we were, but you two had to meddle.” 

Coyote pleads, “Cos, we were just…” but you cut him off, holding your hand up. 

“Save it,” you growl. Coyote shuts his mouth with an audible pop, and you turn an accusatory finger at Phoenix. “You knew,” you accuse, “you knew how I felt, all my reservations, all the ways I thought it would go wrong, and you still set me up!” 

“I didn’t think anything bad would happen,” Phoenix defends, “Javy told me how much Jake likes you, and I knew how much you like Jake and how conflicted you were about it all. But I thought if you could just have some time together… so I nudged you in the right direction. I thought I was helping you out, being a good friend.”

You scoff, aggravated, and hurt. “Well, maybe you’re not a good friend.”

“Hey,” Coyote chastises, “don’t put this on her. We all played a part.”

“Yeah, you did,” you sigh, tears filling your eyes and tingling the end of your nose. “Because, like I always suspected, you're more Jake’s friends than mine.”

You don’t give them time to respond by walking away.

Jake hopes you’ve checked into another room or a different hotel. He repeatedly called, but you rejected every one of them.

He leaves one voicemail but doubts you’ll listen to it. “Cosmo, please. Don’t shut me out. I know what it looked like, but I promise I can explain.” 

On the way to the airport, he prays you're still on the same flight. A few hours of being unable to escape would be enough time to explain himself. He starts to lose hope when he checks out and finds that half of the room service bill has been paid. He finally admits defeat when he doesn’t see you in the seating area near the gate.

Still, when the flight is delayed, he roams the airport, searching for you. His search proves futile, but he continues to check the boarding queue as he shuffles forward with the other passengers. 

He bounces his leg the entire flight like it will magically make the plane go faster. The only good thing about the empty seat—your seat—between him and the other passenger is that it probably keeps him from being punched for the annoyance.

He’s exhausted by the time they land, and the cab ride from the airport to his house is deafeningly silent. Finally, as the car pulls away from the curb, he gives in and messages Phoenix. 

<Hangman: I know I’m probably outside your good graces, but at least tell me she’s home and okay.

>Phoenix: She’s home. And you’re not on my shit list. I’m on hers. 

He begins typing a reply to question that bit of information, but a message from Coyote interrupts him. 

>Coyote: If you define ‘okay’ as requesting to be reassigned, then yeah, she’s great!👍🏻

The sarcasm seems unnecessary, but he ignores it. There’s a bigger battle to be fought.

>Coyote: What happened man? One minute you were gonna tell her you liked her and the next she’s getting reassigned. 

<Hangman: Just a bit of miscommunication and if I could get her to talk to me I could explain it.  

He needs to do something. Calling isn’t working, and he knows if he shows up at your door, you’ll likely slam it in his face. Besides, this is bigger than an apology. 

<Hangman: I’m gonna need your help.

>Coyote: name it. 

The following morning, you wake early and wash off the residual anger in a hot shower. By the time you're ready to face the day, the outrage has subsided, and you’re left feeling foolish, humiliated, and a little betrayed. Despite your reservations about Jake, you trust him. He’d never done anything to make you believe you shouldn’t - until now.

You shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve been witness to and on the receiving end of many of his sexual encounter stories. He’s not someone to keep intimate secrets.

“Urgh, stop!” you berate your reflection in your bedroom mirror. You need to stop thinking about it. Going over it repeatedly in your mind isn’t helping. 

Some retail therapy and blasting your favorite music on the drive to the mall will help. You dress in jeans and a nice shirt, put on your jewelry and then spritz yourself with perfume. 

It brings tears to your eyes. Jake bought you a bottle, and now you won’t be able to smell it without thinking about him. “Fuck!”

You hear the squeak of the door opening, and shortly after, Phoenix sings, “Honey, I’m home.”

It’s an olive branch to let you know she’s disregarding yesterday’s outburst. She understands you didn’t mean it, and don’t blame her for anything. You know you were becoming insufferable when it came to your assigned pilot, and Natasha was always on the receiving end of it. 

“Glad you’re back,” You smile, jogging down the stairs. 

“Woo, where’s the fire?” she asks, kissing your cheek when you reach the bottom step.

“At the mall,” you say, “I need to find a new perfume I like.” 

“So you forgot,” brow raised high, she reminds you. “Tuesdays are jogging and bagels?”

It’s usually more bagels than jogging but you don’t mention it because you had forgotten. Stupid Hangman, messing with your head. “Shit, sorry. I did forget, but a run might help clear my head. Give me five minutes to change?”

She waves off your apology. “Nah, it’s fine. Let’s skip it. I drank way too much last night. The last thing I wanna be doing is running around in the heat.”

You laugh, remembering that yesterday was the last Monday of the month, which meant, “Karaoke night?”

“Karaoke night,” Phoenix confirms with a firm nod and regretful sigh.

Of course, the Daggers can’t make it a normal sing-a-long. Someone, you don’t remember who, bought a decibel meter. Whoever gets the least applause after a song has to do a shot and a song of the squad’s choosing. Of course, Rooster is always the sober one. Maybe it was him who bought the meter.

“If you wanna join me, I’ll treat you to a breakfast burrito on the way,” You offer.

Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Yessss!”

Natasha insists on driving, and as you get into the car, she tells you that she left her wallet in her dorm, and ‘just in case’ Apple Pay doesn’t work, she needs to pick it up before going shopping. You offer to spot her, and she can pay you back later, but she refuses. 

The radio is playing quietly, and it’s a pleasant ride with not a lot of traffic, but when Nat leans in and turns off the radio, you know the pleasantness is over. 

“Ready to talk about it?” she asks. 

No. 

But now is as good a time as any, and it’s rare these days to get her alone without Javy nearby eavesdropping.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t already know,” you sigh. 

“I know Jake’s side of it,” she admits, “but I wanna hear your side.” 

“I made a fool of myself. I thought Jake would be different with me, but I was wrong. Plain and simple.”

“It’s not plain and simple, Cos. You asked to be reassigned. That’s not nothing, so tell me what happened, specifics.”

You explain everything. The weekend arrangement, the promise to not let it affect work or to tell anyone. Crashing the wedding, the gifts, the pillow talk. 

“I can’t explain how he made me feel,” you exhale sadly, allowing yourself a moment to reign in your emotions. “From the moment he touched me, it was like the world didn’t exist. The things he did to me, wow.” Your eyes widen to emphasize the WOW because you really don’t think she gets it. “He made my body react in ways I never knew it could.”

“Well, that’s not surprising,” Nat offers, “you don’t get an ego the size of Hangman’s by being mediocre in bed.” Quickly adding, “Don’t ever tell him I said that.”

You mimic locking your lips and throwing the key out the window. “But confirmed. There is nothing mediocre about him.” You laugh, but the jesting tone is short-lived. “I caught him staring at me a couple of times, and the way he was looking at me… It was… I don’t know, but I swear my heart skipped a beat.”

Phoenix huffs a knowing chuckle. “The small moments that are really the big moments.” 

“Exactly! He asked me to stay a few more nights, and I thought it might have been to… Urgh,” you growl, sick of trying to analyze Jake’s thoughts and feelings. “It doesn’t even matter. I was an idiot to believe it would be anything but a fun memory to recall when my serotonin was low. He couldn’t even respect my privacy. He had to go shoot his mouth off to Coyote.”

“He didn’t,” Phoenix explains. The defense of Jake is so surprising you stare open-mouthed at her as she gives your ID badges to the gate staff. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s probably something in all you said that we can hate him for, but if all this is a reaction to him talking to Coyote, you’ve got it wrong.” 

“What?”

“He wasn’t bragging about sleeping with you,” Natasha explains, “He was asking for advice.”

“Advice about what?” 

She shakes her head, “That’s for Jake to tell you. I get why you jumped to the conclusion that you did. I’d have done the same ‘cause, let’s face it, it’s Hangman we’re talking about. But, and I hate to say this, in Jake’s defense, you overreacted, and if you had let him explain, you wouldn’t be feeling foolish.” 

“So what? You’re saying I owe Jake an apology?”

“I’m saying you should at least speak to him.”

You momentarily impersonate a fish, opening and closing your mouth while trying to understand everything she’s said. 

“But later,” Nat continues, “I need breakfast.”

Natasha drags you along the corridor, tugging on your hand while your eyes dart around, peeking into windows of closed doors, hoping Jake isn’t back on base yet because you aren’t ready to face him. You haven’t quite digested Natasha’s revelation. You need more time. 

You bounce on the balls of your feet for the whole twenty seconds she’s gone, jumping at the slightest sound, expecting Jake to stalk around the corner like some serial killer.  

Natasha emerges from her room, waving her wallet. She takes your hand again, which stops you from rushing away like the scared victim of a horror movie. “Do you trust me?”

You eye her suspiciously, and your stomach drops when she winces, preempting your less-than-happy reaction. “Jake was the last person to ask me that, Nat, and look where that got me.”

“I know,” she says, “but you know I wouldn’t do anything that I thought could potentially hurt you.”

“Natasha Trace, I swear to the all-mighty God Icarus, if Jake is about to walk around that corner, I’ll make you feel like you flew too close to the sun.” 

She holds her hands up, palms out, full surrender. “I swear he’s not here, and you don’t have to talk to him.”

“Can we just go shopping?” You whine but refrain from actually stomping your foot. “Forget Jake, forget men exist for a few hours, and definitely forget setting me up again ‘cause it worked out so well the last time.”

Phoenix shakes her head, “Sorry. No. The whole Coyote text thing at the hotel is a complete misunderstanding, and if I didn’t know that, I wouldn’t be doing this.” 

“Fine,” you practically growl. Forcing an overly enthusiastic smile, you say, “Curtains up on this shit show!”

“The show must go on,” She laughs but pulls you along as she makes her way to the mess hall.

Javy is in position, and Jake has a perfect view of the mess hall doors. Now, he just has to wait. He doesn’t doubt Natasha’s powers of persuasion, but he does doubt your willingness to allow her to set you up again. You’ll have figured it out. You won’t be fooled twice.

The phone is jostled, and then Javy’s face fills the screen. “My arm hurts,” he complains.

“Suck it up,” Jake says.

“How long before she arrives?”

“Are you questioning your girlfriend's ability to get someone to do what she wants? I’m telling Nat you doubted her skills.”

“Don’t you dare,” Javy points into the phone. “If anyone can convince Cosmo to give you a chance, it’s Phoenix.”

“So suck it up and turn me around.”

He does so barely in the nick of time. When the phone stops jiggling and focuses, the door opens, and Phoenix literally drags you through the entrance. You spot Javy first, and when you see him holding his phone out and Jake on the line, you begin shaking your head as Phoenix draws you closer. 

“He’s not here,” you sneer at Nat. “Nice deception.”

“Wasn’t lying,” she sings, kissing Javy’s cheek.

You sigh heavily, and Jake can tell from your expression you’re already over this whole thing. You aren’t going to stick around long, and he knows he’s running out of time.

“This is the first place we met,” Jake begins. “I remember it was a Thursday. You were talking to Harvard. I clocked you the second I walked in. I interrupted, and you rolled your eyes before I even said a word. ‘Hangman, I presume.’ That was the first thing you said to me. You didn’t even give me a chance to reply, ‘I’m Cosmo, your new WSO, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go somewhere else so you can’t hit on me.’ I was shocked and intrigued,” he chuckles fondly at the memory. “That was when I knew I’d do everything possible to ensure we were friends.  And yes, I was hoping for more than friends. But I didn’t know then what I know now…” 

There’s no opportunity for you to react before Coyote ends the call, as instructed.

Jake blasts out a relieved breath. You didn’t turn away and ignore him, so that was a good start. Now for part two…

Finally, you’re en route to get your breakfast burrito. You ask the loved-up couple what it is that Jake didn’t know, but they both smile smugly and, as if they had practiced, in scary synchronization, tell you - “all in good time.”

You don’t have the mental capacity for games, so you let it go after Coyote promises the breakfast burritos are on him to apologize for the text misunderstanding. Though he still hasn’t explained what exactly you misunderstood.

The all-night diner always has customers. It’s the place the locals flock to for the coffee and chilled atmosphere. But at eleven on a Tuesday, only a few people sit in the booths near the windows. Natasha enters first, Javy covering your six and you're suspicious that it could be to block your exit because Jake is waiting for you.

It’s not Jake, though. It’s Bradley - floral pattern shirt over his white tank, aviators tucked in his collar, and that boyish smile with a hint of an apology. He gives a small wave, then turns his phone, holding it up to your eye level to show you Jake again on a video call. 

Jake is smiling, but you see his chest puff with a deep inhale. You wonder if he’s nervous because your friends are listening or he fears your rejection, maybe both. With a soft exhale, he begins, “This is where we came to escape Rooster’s awful murder mystery night.” 

“Hey!” Bradley complains.

You grimace. “Sorry, Rooster.”

“No, it’s fair,” Bradley shrugs, “it was pretty bad.”

Jake chuckles but continues, “You picked Fanboy to partner up with, and I was so damn jealous. I got stuck with Harvard, but after an hour, you convinced me to ditch it all, and we snuck off here. We spent the whole night talking. We never came up for air, we just kept swapping stories and getting to know each other. I told you about my family’s ranch back home, and you said you’d love to see it.” 

“I remember,” you say, half smiling. 

His smile grows. “For months after, I kept trying to work out how to make it happen. I spent most of my time daydreaming about introducing you to my family, but I didn’t want to do it as my coworker or friend.” he pauses and sighs, “I think I had some idea then, but I still didn’t know what I know now…”

Rooster turns the phone and ends the call.

So this is it, you realize, this is your grand gesture. This is the moment in your story where you get the big speech and happy ending. But maybe you shouldn’t let your hope get the better of you. 

You roll your eyes. “I swear if what he knows now is some sexual innuendo or anything shy of I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him, you’re all in big trouble!” 

They all laugh, and you try to hide your smile, but it’s not easy. 

“You still owe me a burrito, Javy.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he winks and walks to the counter.

You sit at the usual table the Daggers have adopted as their own. You don’t want to be that annoying person who fishes for information because A, you know they won’t tell you, and B, you need to be in the moment and enjoy it, so instead, you ask for a rundown of Karaoke night.

Bradley animatedly tells you about each of the Dagger’s very unsuccessful attempts to beat his record as Javy brings the food over. Seven burritos are stacked high on the serving tray, and before you can ask who the extra ones are for, you feel a hand on your back.

Mickey is smiling down at you, holding a single red rose. “This is an apology for the Laura incident,” he says, handing you the flower and dipping to kiss your cheek. 

Reuben follows, doing exactly the same but stating, “This is an apology for the Nicole incident.”

Finally, Bob follows suit and explains, “This is an apology for the Kate incident.”

You laugh to hide the well of emotion that brings tears to your eyes. Jake is genuinely taking this seriously, and for all he knows, you might not be on the same page. He’s taking a considerable risk. 

“So you’re all involved,” you say. 

“Yep,” Fanboy says, sitting across from you. 

“And just like Jake said,” Payback smirks, “we can see how much you hate that we know what’s going on and you don’t.”

Immaturely, you sneer mockingly at him, “Ooo, you all know a secret,” you say, accompanied by a roll of your eyes. But despite the jests and your outward irritation, something a lot like affection blooms in your chest as you realize how well Jake knows you. 

Apparently, Natasha is helping with whatever is happening next because as she quickly swallows the last bite of her breakfast, she announces she has to ‘run an errand’ and leaves you in the capable hands of the guys.

You ride with Javy in his 1968 Chevy C10, realizing the next part of this scheme must be a big deal because he only brings out the deep red glossed vehicle for special occasions.  Bradley follows in the Bronco with Bob, Mickey, and Reuben, and you honestly have no idea where you're headed or why everyone is tagging along. 

The drive takes you out of the city. Desert and cacti are the only scenery for a while. The conversation is light, Javy mostly being a fanboy over Natasha, and it’s beautiful and endearing to hear how he talks about her. He’s completely besotted. 

You see the small cluster of hangers up ahead, and you know that's your destination before Javy pulls off the road and makes his way to the furthest hanger.

“Why is this a team outing?” you ask as he drives across the airfield. 

“It doesn’t need to be,” Coyote laughs. “But if all goes to plan, Bob agreed to drive Jake’s car back to town. And if it doesn’t, the others…well, they’re here to watch Jake burn-in.”

“So Jake’s here?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” Javy nods, pulling into a hanger beside an old P-51 Mustang. 

“Mav’s?” you ask. 

“You know it,” he smiles, shuts off the engine, and turns to face you. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, I’ll drive you out of here right now. Take you wherever you wanna go. But Jake is my boy, and I’ll be the first to admit he’s got a shitty track record.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “But I promise, he’s different when it comes to you and deserves a chance to show you.”

You inhale deeply, holding it in for a loaded pause. “Okay,” you exhale, “but get the guys out of here. I don’t want an audience.” 

“Done.”

Coyote hops out of the car, and slowly you follow. The guys grumble at being ushered away while you walk around the plane admiring the pristine condition, wondering how Maverick keeps it up with everything else he has going on.

Your step falters as you round the front of the plane. Jake is standing a few feet away, one hand behind his back with a bashful smile.

“I hear I owe you an apology,” you say.

“We both made some mistakes,” he shrugs.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you sigh. “I should have listened to you or at least given you the chance to explain yourself. I truly am sorry.” 

He strides toward you, a man with a purpose, and cups your cheek with one hand. He draws you to him as he dips to kiss you softly. It’s short but tender, and he pulls away, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “But I wasn’t sure you’d ever let me do that again, and I needed to…” 

You cut him off with a searing kiss, deepening it with a swipe of your tongue and a hand around the back of his neck.

Way too soon, he mumbles, “Wait, wait,” against your mouth.

Reluctantly, you release him, taking a half step back to be able to see him better.

“I have this whole thing planned out, and you're ruining it,” he admonishes playfully. 

You chuckle. “Sorry, I’ll stop kissing you.” 

“Please,” he says, nodding, then quickly correcting himself, “but only for a minute or two.” He sweetly pecks your lips and pulls a single red rose from behind his back. 

You accept, bringing it to your nose to inhale the sickly sweet aroma. “So, who’s this an apology for?”

“Not a who,” he says. “It’s an apology for me breaking the rules and going about this all wrong. When I suggested a weekend pass and promised it wouldn’t affect our work, I didn’t know what I know now.”

“Which is?” 

“I know now that a weekend with you will never be enough. I know that at the time, I was willing to take whatever I could get. I wanted you in any way I could have you, and in true Hangman style, I didn’t think, or maybe care, about the aftermath.”

“Neither of us did,” you admit. You had thought about the consequences, but the idea of being with Jake, even for the briefest time, outweighed the negatives. 

“I know now that I don’t want you for a weekend, Cosmo, and I don’t want you to be a secret I have to keep. I want to tell the world you’re mine, and I’m yours. I want you as more than a friend and colleague. I want to be with you for a lifetime or as long as you’ll put up with me.”

You smile, “a lifetime sounds like a good place to start.”

He snatches the flower from your hands, throwing it over your shoulder before grabbing your waist and tugging you into him. “Can I kiss you now?” you jest.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Butterflies do cartwheels in your stomach, his hands hold you tightly, and every brush of your tongues feels like a promise for the future.

Jake groans, and you melt into him. An approaching car engine is ambient noise until applause and wolf whistles drown it out. Jake doesn’t release you until Coyote slaps him on the back.

Natasha steps out of the car, smiling happily, and Javy greets her with a sweet kiss.

“You missed it,” you tell her as she approaches. 

“Didn’t miss a thing,” she smirks, shaking her phone and showing you she’s connected to a video call with Javy. 

You should have guessed. You yank her into a too-tight hug, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispers, kissing the side of your head. “But you might not want to thank me yet.”

She walks back to the car and around to the trunk, where she pulls out a suitcase that Javy kindly takes from her and carries over to Jake. 

“What’s going on?” you ask, suspiciously. 

“I wanted more time with you at the hotel,” Jake explains. “I wasn’t ready for it to end, and I hate that it ended the way it did so,” he draws the word out, a hint of nerves in his tone. He slaps the front of the plane before flinching immediately. It takes half a second to realize that Mav is probably watching from somewhere - or at the very least, Jake can hear your commanding officer chewing him out for the inappropriate treatment of his aircraft. “What do you say to a week on my family’s ranch?”

The fact that you're standing beside Maverick’s P-51 means he’s already got the leave approved.

“I say,” you pause, keeping your face neutral just to mess with Jake a little longer. “Take me away, Cowboy.”

Jake’s smile beams brighter than you’ve ever seen. “My family are gonna love you.” 

End.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

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The Full Seresin Service - Part 2 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: The rules are set, the deal is made, and the Full Seresin Service begins. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?  

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing, smut, miscommunication.

W/C: 5.2k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. 

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote.

Notes: Reader has a call sign. 

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thanks for saving the smut section 😄 // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

You take your bottle of wine and a glass to the room. Your credit card will not thank you, but you don't care right now. You need to drown your sordid thoughts of Jake dropping that fluffy white towel and showing you what’s beneath it.

While juggling the bottle, a glass, your phone, and book, you manage to slip the keycard in and elbow the door handle down, using your butt to open the door and shuffle into the room. 

“Oh crap,” Jake grumbles.

He grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed, but it's too late. You’ve seen it all, and it doesn’t help that he cups himself, the fabric of the shirt perfectly shapes his cock. He has to be doing it on purpose.

“Sorry,” you say, but don't bother turning around now that he’s partly covered up.

“What are you doing back here?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. “I saw you in the bar.”

“I didn’t feel like reading after all,” you say, walking further into the room and placing the bottle on the nightstand. “What are you doing back here?”

“I lost concentration too,” he says, “came back to change, was gonna work up a sweat in the gym.”

“You brought gym gear?”

“Like you didn’t.”

Urgh. You hate that he knows that you did. You never planned to do a full workout. After all, you're on vacation, but you’d have done some light cardio at least.

You backtrack, annoyed at yourself that you're predictable or that he knows you're better than you like. “And I didn’t say I lost concentration. I’m not that easily swayed.”

He snorts a chuckle, “Could’ve fooled me.” His cocky smirk spreads wide. “You can’t keep your eyes on my face.”

Of course, your eyes betray you, drifting down to his crotch and back up again. “Well, that’s because I’m not blind, and I saw everything and can still see it ‘cause you're holding it like a…a…dick.” You realize your mistake and quickly try to correct it. “I don’t mean a dick like a cock. I mean, you’re a dick!”

Jake laughs, an actual stomach laugh, and you do not take to being laughed at lightly. You grab a pillow from the bed and launch it at him. Naturally, Jake, being Jake, catches it with one hand and replaces the tee with the pillow. 

“Better?” he asks smugly. “Now you can’t see it.”

“Whatever,” you sneer.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Jake,” you scold. “You promised you wouldn’t annoy me. And you’ve already annoyed me by letting Javy and Natasha set this whole thing up, so just stop, please.” 

“Wait? Set what up?”

“Don’t play dumb ‘cause I know you’re not.”

“Pretend I am.”

“The whole fuckin’ dagger squad set it up so we’d team up and win to send us here to…” Your arms flail around, searching for the word, but it doesn’t help, and you drop them, defeated. “I don’t even know what.”

Geez. You hate how flustered he makes you. When you are face to face and not in a cockpit, you always have to be careful about what you say. You're always conscious of how he can misconstrue something or turn it into innuendo. 

“Cosmo, I swear I didn’t know anything about that.” he pleads for you to believe him. “Coyote gave me the ice cream clue, but honestly, at the time, I thought he was playing me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. “We’re here now, so can we just do what we said we’d do and stay out of each other’s way.”

“I will, I promise,” he states. “But I really need you to know I had no hand in setting this up. Us teaming up or winning, or you walking in here and seeing me naked ‘cause that’s disgusting, creep-level shit, and I swear it’s purely coincidence. Coyote texted me about you, and I needed an outlet, so I was going to work out, I swear.” 

“Fuck,” you huff, “Coyote and Phoenix strike again. She texted me, and I needed to stop thinking about it, so I came back here to drink away my…” 

“Feelings.”

“Thoughts.” You correct with an incredulous look. “I don’t have feelings for or about you, Hangman.”

“That’s bullshit,” he states. “You avoid being alone with me ‘cause you don’t trust yourself.”

Shit. He really does know you better than you thought. But you're saved by the bell, or rather the knock on the door. You walk to answer it and hear Jake moving around. You hope he’s dressing to go to the gym.

You take the ice bucket from the concierge and thank him before closing the door. So as not to get another peek at Jake, you keep your head down as you make your way back to the wine on the nightstand. You pour a glass and put the bottle in the ice. If Jake weren’t there, you’d probably swig from the bottle. You need to be done with the conversation and Jake.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says sincerely. “If you answer me one thing.” 

You gulp half a glass of wine and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What?”

“Why are you resisting this?”

“Honestly,” you sigh, turning to face him. He’s pulled on a pair of boxer briefs but nothing else. It makes it slightly easier to talk to him. “I’m not a true member of the Dagger squad. You all have this deep bond I’ll never be a part of. I had to earn my place, and sometimes, I’m still an outsider.”

“That’s not true,” Jake argues. “You’re one of us. None of us ever think otherwise.”

“Maybe,” you shrug with a half smile. “But you have a reputation, Hangman. You’re not exactly the stable relationship kind of guy. A couple of weeks with someone is the most you can manage. I know if I gave in to you, you’d get a ‘atta boy’ and proud slaps on the back, but me, I’d lose the respect of our friends.”

“You mean the friends who set this up?” he asks. 

He has a point, and he knows it too. You're silent for too long, and he slowly makes his way around the bed to stand in front of you. “You want this as much as I do. We make a good team. Scrap that. We’re the best team in the air. I wanna know if that translates to the ground, too. There’s something between us that each of us is trying to ignore and clearly failing miserably.” 

You laugh lightly because he’s right. “There’s nothing but lust between us, Jake,” you counter. “We want what we can’t have, the low-hanging forbidden fruit.”

“Ouch,” he laughs. 

“Don’t pretend you're not an easy lay,” you jest. 

The dig of his promiscuity doesn’t deter him. He steps closer, his eyes soft and his tone sincere. “Give me a chance,” he suggests. “A weekend pass. We’ll keep it between you and me. We’ll eat the forbidden fruit, and it’ll be our secret.” he winks. “No one has to know.”

He’s right. Again. No one would need to know, and they’d have no way of finding out. Sure, Hangman could be a douche and tell them, but what proof would he have?

He’s already wearing you down, so there’s no need for the extra, “I promise I’ll make it the best weekend of your life. No-holds-barred. Full Jake Seresin service,” but it’s nice to know he’s committed.

“You know I’m seeing someone. Klay, remember him?” 

“Please, that fizzled out a week ago for you,” he jeers. “You’ve seen him a total of three times in the last five weeks. Two of those were drinks at the Hard Deck, and I gave you a ride home. If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve got a text saved in your notes telling him you don’t want to see him again. You're just waiting for the right time.”

You really need to put some distance between your personal and professional life. 

“I have two conditions,” you say. 

He nods, smile already morphing to an air of smugness. “Anything.” 

“Whatever does or does not happen, we remain professional. It doesn’t affect our work.”

“Done.” 

“No one knows anything,” you say sternly. “They can guess and speculate, but nothing is ever confirmed.”

“Done.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, but you have other ideas. Stepping into his personal space, you deliver a gentle kiss to his lips. 

His reaction is immediate. It’s a flurry of caressing, groping, and clothing being removed. A hand cradles the back of your head, and the other finds purchase on your hip. The press of his flesh against yours is electric, and you shiver as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip.

Jake moans as you open up to him, deepening the kiss. His hand slips to your ass cheek as he slowly shuffles you both toward the bed, pink lips now suckling on your neck. You laugh as you both tumble onto the mattress when he misjudges the distance. He’s quick to follow as you shuffle toward the headboard, his mouth latching onto a breast, and his tongue swirls over the taut nipple.

“F- fuck,” you whimper as you arch into him.

Sharp teeth gently graze the nub, and he mumbles, “You have beautiful tits,” as he shifts to suck the neglected nipple into the damp heat of his mouth. Jake’s hands rest on your hips as he knees closer between your legs. A hand replaces his mouth, kneading your breast as he sits up. “I’ve wanted you like this for a long time.”

“Well, now that you’ve got me, what’s your plan?” you snark, eyes mere slits as you stare up at his pretty face. The smirk you typically want to smack from his smug features is now inexplicably sexy as he pops a brow.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a little begging…”

The hard pinch to your pebbled bud contrasts with the soft brush of fingers up your thigh, and your walls clench as goosebumps race across your flesh.

“Maybe a little screaming.” Jake leans forward and presses a hand into the pillow next to your head as the other splays over your stomach, thumb lightly brushing your clit.

You tilt your hips, seeking friction, and he chuckles, shifting his hand up and away from where you need him. Refusing to give him what he wants so easily, you bite your lip to keep the plea locked away.

“Now, now, none of that. I want to hear you.” Jake nips at your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth. At the same time, he slips two fingers into your already slick heat, causing you to jerk and moan loudly. “There we go.”

Not wanting to give him the upper hand – you silently chuckle at the unintentional pun – you reach down and encircle his dick with a gentle squeeze.

The steady pump of his fingers falters as he growls, “Shit!” But he grasps your wrist to halt any movement on your part. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Jake,” you whine, dragging out his name. “That’s not fair.”

“I haven’t heard any begging yet.” The pressure of his grip increases, and he pulls his fingers from inside you, slowly licking each one clean as he stares you down.

You hate to admit how easily he got you worked up, but your body betrays you. You’re right on the precipice, and you want him to send you over the edge in the best way. Loosening your hold on his throbbing dick, you whimper, “Please…”

“What was that?” He releases your wrist, capturing your hand and entwining your fingers as he pushes them into the pillow above your head. “Do you need something?”

The smug smile is back, and you have reverted to wanting to slap it off his face, but instead, you give in and plead, “Please… please… I want you to make me come,” while plotting your revenge.

“That’s better.”

He squeezes your hand and swiftly pushes his fingers back inside you as his thumb circles your clit. 

Jake is as adept with his hands in the bedroom as he is in the cockpit of a fighter jet. Within moments, you’re screaming his name, your free hand gripping the back of his neck, your inner muscles contracting tightly around the fingers pressed against that sweet spot.

“Damn,” Jake groans, “that’s so hot. But we’re just getting started.”

Jake struts into the bathroom and presses himself to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder. He smiles at your reflection in the mirror while you set your toiletries out on the countertop. He lived up to his reputation, and after a few rounds of him making you come with his tongue, fingers, and cock you decide to shower to give you both some time to recover.

“You're getting all clean just for me to make you dirty again,” Jake smirks, kissing your shoulder and scrapping it away with his teeth.

“You can get me as dirty as you like,” you say, “but I need to shower.”

“Seems like a waste, but okay.” he shrugs and holds up the room service menu. “Do you want more wine or water?”

“Both,” you chuckle, “we’re gonna need to hydrate.”

“Copy that,” he says before smacking your ass and walking back into the room to put the order in.

You overindulge in the shower because the water pressure is impressive, and the waterfall showerhead is calming. You also need a minute, or ten, to get yourself in check. The sex is phenomenal, but Jake has surprised you. Shockingly, he’s respectful, attentive, and not as selfish as you expected. He constantly checked in to make sure you were okay, and that you liked what he was doing, and though he rarely needed it, he asked for direction. 

You recognize this is dangerous ground to be walking on, but it’s only a weekend, two nights of surrendering to your desires, and then it’s over. You can do this.  

There’s little point in dressing again. Jake is sure to have you naked and moaning again soon enough, so once you’ve showered, you opt for a t-shirt and clean underwear - you need to be somewhat presentable when room service arrives.

You're pulling the garment over your head as you leave the bathroom, but you freeze as soon as your head is free.

Jake is standing beside the prepared table, wearing nothing but a smile and a white towel slung over his arm. The dimmed lights and the candles dotted around the room create dancing shadows on the walls. The table is set for two - silver serving trays with large round lids hiding the delicious-smelling delights beneath them, and a bottle of wine is cooling in the ice bucket. A single rose in a slim vase adorns the center of the table, with a small gift-wrapped box set in front of it.

“Jake,” you gasp, unable to hide the shock.

His smile is full of charm and pride at the reaction. “I told you,” he says, walking closer, “full Seresin service.”

“I’m getting more naked butler vibes,” you jest, accepting his offered hand and letting him lead you to the table.

He laughs, pulling out your chair, “Same thing.” Quickly, he rushes around to his side, picking up the gift and handing it to you as he sits down. “I swear I picked this up before the whole setup and sex thing. It‘s meant as a thank you for letting me join you.”

Intrigue has you ripping off the fancy bow and paper with perhaps too much enthusiasm. It’s a bottle of your favorite perfume, thoughtful, expensive, and unexpected.

“You said it was your favorite back at the store,” Jake explains. 

“Thank you.”

It’s a lovely gesture, and though you don’t want to think about it, you can’t help but wonder how many women have been charmed by the Full Seresin Service. He clearly knows what you want, the romance of it all, but come Monday morning, this will all be a distant memory.

The following day is a blur of sex. Jake doesn’t hold back, and you each teach the other a thing or two. He takes a shower around four and has some kind of epiphany while seemingly enjoying the fancy shower because he exits with a wide grin and a burst of enthusiasm. 

“Do what you need to get ready for a fancy event,” he says.

“What?” you question, watching him pull on sweats. “I didn’t pack anything to wear to a fancy event, Jake.”

“Trust me,” he says, sitting on the chair and slipping his sneakers on. “Take a shower, do your make-up, leave the rest to me.”

“Where’re you going?” 

He grabs his wallet and phone, swipes the room key from the top of the dresser, and gives you a swift kiss. “Trust me,” he says again, leaning back to look at you. “I won’t be long, you’ve got an hour.”

He’s true to his word, and less than an hour later, he returns carrying three shopping bags and a proud smile. 

You’ve applied light make-up and styled your hair, “You look good.” Jake compliments. “Here,” he hands you the largest bag and one of the smaller ones. “Take them in the bathroom, but don’t come out until I tell you.”

He’s far too excited, but you don’t protest his instructions, intrigued by what the big surprise is. 

In the bathroom, you pull the garment out of the bag - a long, bronze, cowl-neck chiffon dress. It’s beautiful and undoubtedly expensive because he’s already removed the tags. There are strappy heels to match in the other bag.

You slip the dress on over your head, careful not to touch your hair, and it instantly makes you feel sexy. The fabric is soft, and the color looks good on you.

“Ready when you are,” Jake calls.

After putting the shoes on, you take a few extra moments to check your reflection, twisting left and right. It’s not the kind of dress you can wear underwear with, and you shuffle your panties off. Now, the gesture of the dress makes a little more sense. You assume there’s something in it for Jake, too.

Jake gasps as soon as you step out. “Wow.” his mouth remains in the O shape while you twirl for him. “Damn, you look… wow.” 

You look him up and down - black suit pants, formal shoes, his shirt and jacket are the same bronze color as your dress. He looks edible, but before the drool can escape your mouth, he’s in your space.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close to him. He nips your ear. “Maybe we forget the rest of the plan, and I’ll just fuck you in this dress instead.”

“I mean, that is the deal,” you laugh, scrapping your nails down the nape of his neck, “but I’m intrigued about the rest of the plan.”

“Come on,” he grins, taking your hand and leading you out of the room.

The room is filled with joy. Everyone is smiling and happy, people chatting and dancing, eating the canapes being served by the wait staff. Jake feels giddy. He has no other word for it and brushes it off as the atmosphere in the room, but he knows better. It’s you, or rather the two of you.

It feels right. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place after months of trying to figure out the complex picture.  

Jake senses you’re nervous, eyes darting around the room, sipping your drink too often. “Relax,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back.

“How can I?” you ask, “we’re gate crashing a wedding.” 

“Act like you belong,” he advises, “We look like we belong. Stop worrying.” He catches a server as they pass, grabs two fresh glasses of champagne from the tray, and hands you one. “To the bride and groom.” 

“Whoever they are,” you toast.

Jake keeps his hand on the small of your back as you each watch the celebration for a while. It’s not only to assure you he’s there but also to make sure anyone looking, and he’s seen a few men looking, knows that you're with him.

“So, Jake,” you start, wistful and light as you turn your back to the room and focus on him. “Is this your end goal? Marriage? Kids? The whole nine yards?”

“Definitely,” he nods, “someday.”

You can’t hide your expression, even though you try by taking a delicate sip of your drink. 

He cocks his brow. “Why does that shock you?”

“It doesn’t, not really. You're a family guy. I’ve seen that on family days and heard you call your sister, but” you grimace around in an apologetic tone, “you don’t exactly pick the settling-down types.”

“Ha,” he laughs. “Okay, that’s fair.” He sobers a little, mind reeling at the list of exes he knows you're aware of to have made that conclusion.

“You tend to go for the jealous, insecure, toxic type,” you explain. “And that’s not to say you’re not as toxic sometimes, but there’s a pattern.”

He scoffs in offense. “Wait a second, when have I been the toxic one?”

“Laura.” You say without hesitation. “You let her believe you and me were screwing because you wanted to break up with her.”

“No, no, no,” Jake corrects, “you got that all wrong. I did break up with her and she assumed it was because of you. That’s not my fault.”

“Did you explicitly tell her we weren’t sleeping together?”

He shrugs, laughing around the rim of his glass. “No, ‘cause I was too busy trying to sleep with you.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “And Nicole?”

“Okay, yeah, she was just a crazy person.”

“I know!” you remember. “She threw a bottle at me in the Hard Deck. If it weren't for Nat’s cat-like reflexes, I’d have a scar right now.”

“That was some kung-fu master shit she pulled. I think that’s what made Coyote fall for her.”

“Don’t change the subject, Lieutenant,” you say. “What about Kate? I had to pretend to be your pregnant wife to get her to leave you alone.”

“Point made, toxic, jealous, and insecure.” he agrees. “I guess I’m not ready to settle down yet, so I keep making bad decisions.”

“Well, what’s one more?” you wink. 

His heart skips, and he feels a little sick. You’re not a bad decision. In fact, you're probably the only good decision, women-wise, he’s made since he was a teenager. 

You're the take-back-home type of girl. The kind of woman he’d proudly introduce to his family. Though the predecessors who had the privilege didn’t work out, he feels if it were to end the same with you, you’d forever be the ex that his family continued to invite to family functions, and his mom would sigh and tell him he’d lost a good one every time she saw you.

“You are not jealous, insecure, or toxic, Cosmo,” Jake says. 

“Exactly,” you laugh. “So clearly not your type.”

He doesn’t correct you, even though you are absolutely wrong. “What about you?” Jake asks. “You want the whole nine yards?”

“I guess, with the right guy.” You finish your drink and put the empty glass on the table. “Okay, if we’re doing this,” you say, “let's do it right. Mr Seresin, may I have this dance?” 

He accepts your offered hand and leads you to the dance floor. A few people give you odd looks, trying to place who you are, but it’s easily ignored.

Jake’s raging boner after one and a half slow songs and perhaps too much winding and grinding for a public place is not so easily ignored. “Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, and he gladly takes you back to the room.

The sex after the wedding was mind-blowing. Jake doesn’t know how, but every time, it gets better. He feels the butterflies in his stomach every time you touch him, casual touches, a brush of his hand, a lazy sleep-hazed kiss. 

It’s Sunday afternoon, the last night, and Jake knows without a doubt that he’s not ready to let this go. It’s not just about the sex, which is fucking - excuse the pun - amazing, but it’s the intimacy of it all too.

You're different. In the confines of the hotel room, you're freer, shameless, and adventurous, revealing secrets that only make him want you more. The pillow talk is deep and meaningful and, at other times, fun and light. Both make him want to talk to you as much as fuck you. 

He lies on the bed, watching you pack your suitcase. The items you won’t need in the morning. “Urgh,” you groan, “I hate packing.” 

“Me too.”

“I wish I was that last-minute kinda person,” you say, folding a clean t-shirt and placing it neatly in the suitcase. You haven’t had much use for the clothes you packed. 

Jake cocks his brow at you in the mirror, “You are wasting precious fuckin’ time.”

“I know,” you say with an apologetic grimace. “The weekend pass expires at midnight. But I can’t not do this.”

He laughs lightly, shuffling off the bed, and saunters over, slipping his arms around your waist while you organize your things. “Worth the price of admission?”

“Absolutely.” You smirk at his reflection in the mirror. “Ten out of ten. Would highly recommend.”

“Repeat customer?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it while he waits for your answer. He can laugh it off as a joke if the reply is negative, but he hopes it’s positive.

“I’ll leave the money on the dresser,” you squirm out of his embrace, turning to kiss his lips quickly. “Gigolo Jake.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he admits, delivering a harder kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower.”  

The shower is running, but he’s not under the spray. Instead, he’s naked, sitting on the cold closed toilet lid, texting Coyote.

He’s breaking the rules. He knows he is, but he needs to talk it through with someone because what he’s feeling is new and confusing.

<Hangman: I need you to promise me this stays between us. Not even Phoenix can know. 

>Coyote: What’d you do now bro?

<Hangman: Promise me. 

>Coyote: Promise.

<Hangman: I slept with her. 

>Coyote: So?

<Hangman: Repeatedly.

>Coyote: I’m confused. Was it bad or something?

<Hangman: No. It was…

He struggles to find the word, and his cock twitches while his memory replays the last twenty-four hours.

<Hangman: Phenomenal. I wanna do it again and again and again.

>Coyote: 🤣🤣🤣. Sorry to tell you but that’s what happens when you like someone Jake. You go back for more.

<Hangman: Not me. 

>Coyote: Except now you feelin’ some type of way and you’re freaking out.

<Hangman: YES! What the hell man?! It was supposed to be a one-and-done!

>Coyote: Man, I'm the wrong person to ask. I never meant for Nat and me to be a thing but now I can’t imagine not being with her.

<Hangman: Not helping. 

>Coyote: Sorry bro. It is what it is now. Embrace it. 

<Hangman: Embrace it how?

>Coyote: You could start by telling her you actually like her. Do some of that Seresin Speciality romance stuff. 

<Hangman: She has a tattoo low on her hip, a fighter jet in the night sky. I swear there’s a H in the stars. I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like it’s meant to be.  

>Coyote: Wow, you sound like you’re way below the hard deck.

He’s not wrong. Jake’s flying below a level that isn’t safe, and he can either pull the ejection handle or do some pilot shit and finish the mission. 

>Coyote: Phoenix says she’s all for grand gestures and actions speaking louder than words.

<Hangman: 🙄way to keep a promise.

>Coyote: She can read too dude. Sorry.

<Hangman: I forgot you have your text size big enough to read from the moon. 

>Phoenix: 🤣 He does! Now quit stalling. Go tell Cosmo you like her. 

<Hangman: I might have an idea or two for a grand gesture. Thanks for the tip. 

>Coyote: Hey I’m not straining my eyes and having to wear glasses and not being able to fly. 

It probably would have been easier to start a group chat.

Jake decides not to reply. He’s wasting water. Setting his phone on the countertop, he steps into the shower.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to the weekend and go back to reality, and grand gestures should happen somewhere nice and memorable. He needs to set things in motion. 

“Cosmo,” he calls out. 

“Yeah,” you yell back. 

He doesn’t want to scream it at you, so he asks, “Come here, will ya?” while he lathers his hair with shampoo.

He sticks his head out of the shower as you enter the bathroom. You chuckle, smiling as you swipe soap suds off his brow before they trickle into his eye. It’s a sweet and delicate touch, but it sends his heart racing.

He clears his throat. “You’re not scheduled to work till Friday, right?” he asks, though it’s unnecessary because he’s always aware of your schedule.

“Yeah,” you sigh. The reminder brings a touch of reality to the room. 

He feels a wave of nerves but ignores them, hearing Coyote’s voice in his head, ‘Embrace it.’ “How about we stay a couple more nights? I’ll upgrade you to the Premium Seresin Package.”

You chuckle and look a little sheepish when you reply. “Um….yeah, okay. But the same rules apply.”

“Yeah, obviously. I wouldn’t want…”

His phone chiming interrupts, and simultaneously, you both look at the message preview. 

>Coyote: Go chase that flying jet and make her see stars…

“Really?!” you scoff. “Couldn’t even make it back to base before you go shooting your mouth off! What happened to ‘no one has to know’?”

“Cosmo, wait,” he calls as you leave, slamming the door. As quickly as he can, he rinses the shampoo from his hair. “Shit!” There is no towel hanging up, and he has no choice but to exit naked and dripping wet.

You shove your feet into your sneakers, carry-on slung over your shoulder, suitcase zipped and ready to go. “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit!”

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Jake says, grabbing your wrist to try and get you to slow down. 

“Don’t touch me.” You snatch your arm away. “I can’t believe I trusted you, Hangman. I should’ve known you’d hang me out to dry, too!” You sneer, and the disgust in your expression breaks him a little.

He ignores the jab of hurt that stabs through him, trying again. “Cosmo, I swear it’s not what you think.”

You grab your suitcase handle and march toward the door, but Jake is closer, and he steps in your path. 

He pleads, “Please let me explain.”

“Move.” 

He doesn’t, and instead of asking again, you shove into his shoulder and drag your suitcase behind you. The wheels hit his toes. “Fuck!” he yells, hopping around on one leg, clutching his injured foot before falling onto the bed. “Don’t leave, please, Cosmo.”

But it’s too late. You're out the door and gone.

Part 3 - I Didn't Know Then What I Know Now - Friday 1st November 2024

Tags + Info

@alexxavicry / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess 

/ @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren / 

@writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @dempy / @atarmychick007 / @genius2025

 @kmc1989 / @alipap3 / @emorychase

[princessmisery666-library]

Maverick's Annual Scavenger Hunt - Part 1 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: Everyone wants to win the scavenger hunt prize. Two heads are better than one, so teaming up with Jake should be fun. Right? 

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing.

W/C: 2.5k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado. Small Parts/Mentioned: The rest of Dagger Squad, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, Penny Benjamin. 

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote. Mentioned: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x Penny Benjamin.

Notes: Reader has a call sign.  

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

It was a silly game, and you felt ridiculous asking for “Sandals for Maverick.” without any concrete evidence that you were right.

But the Foot Locker sales assistant smirks, “I’ll go get them.”

You sigh happily at not having made a complete fool of yourself.

Each year, Mav invites a select group to participate in a scavenger hunt. He always makes it challenging. Three random objects are to be retrieved and brought to him to win the prize. The prizes vary each year: extra vacation time, an assignment of the winner’s choice, and one spectacular year, the use of Mav’s F50 for an entire weekend, was a reward. 

This year, due to Maverick’s legendary and not generally sanctioned exploits landing him in hot water with Admiral Simpson, it is an all-expenses paid trip to the most highly acclaimed spa in the country. Technically, it had been a trip for him and Penny, but as always, trouble found him. He was lucky to have only his vacation canceled and not be court-martialed. Penny wasn’t happy, even less so when they couldn’t get a refund.

The Dagger Squad are this year’s lucky participants, and two winners will get to stay at the luxury resort for three nights. Mav had dropped hints for the month leading up to game day, and it was up to the squad to figure out what three items were to be found and where.

Sandals were your first thought, and as you rushed to the mall, you had enough time to figure out the other two items. Now that you know your first guess is correct and the sales assistant hands you a brand new pair of Havana’s, you feel a little more confident with the rest. But there is one hiccup to address.

“I know you’re there, Hangman,” you sigh, slipping the sandals into your backpack and zipping it up.

Jake saunters around the display of Air Jordans, arms folded, leaning against the metal shelving. “What gave me away?” 

You aren't about to admit you've noticed the fawning collective trailing behind you as you made your way through the mall. It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t because of you but the handsome pilot following you. Instead, you snark, “I’m pretty sure they can smell your cologne on the moon.”

He laughs, and as always, it annoys you to no end that your snide remarks never seem to bother him. It’s the school playground all over again. The more you try to discourage him, the more he digs his heels in.

“I like that you know what cologne I wear, Cosmo,” he grins.

You love your call sign - head in the clouds, always wondering how the universe works - but how does he make it sound so dirty? 

His smile is dazzling and you know very few people who can resist it. It takes a lot of effort, but you manage it with a roll of your eyes.

Strolling out of the store, you sigh, “What’d you want, Hangman?” 

“I thought we could team up,” he suggests, chasing after you. “After all, the trip is for two, and I already figured out one of the clues, and you just acquired the second.”

“What did you find?” you ask. 

You don’t need to see the suggestive eyebrow wiggle. It's in his tone, “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

The eye roll produced by his comment gives you a headache. “Has that line ever worked for you?” 

It's a rhetorical question, but he answers anyway. “You’d be surprised.” 

You probably wouldn’t be. The company he keeps isn’t exactly looking for Mensa-level conversation. He zeroes in on the ones that, like him, are looking for a no-fuss hookup, and you assume the easiest and cheesiest pickup lines, accompanied by his Hollywood smile, work every time.

“Easy and cheesy,” you snicker to yourself. 

“Huh, what?” he asks, jogging slightly to fall in line beside you.

“Nothing.” 

“C’mon, what do you say? Teammates?” 

“I have enough of you in the air as your WSO, Seresin, not sure I wanna spend a weekend in a spa with you.”

It’s partly a lie. Jake isn’t so bad when he’s in the air. He was born to fly, and he’s at his most comfortable when he’s doing what he loves. You’d never admit it, but that's when you like him the most. He’s tolerable when he’s in the cockpit, but maybe that has more to do with the fact you can’t see his face and be blinded by his pretty eyes, tanned skin, and perfect jawline.

He jogs ahead, blocking your path, and you have no choice but to stop. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” he pledges, crossing his heart. “You won’t even know I’m there. I have a book I want to read, two new albums I need to listen to without interruption, and a podcast to catch up on. I just wanna relax and eat chips.”

“You eat chips?” you ask and can’t stop your eyes from wandering down the tightly fitted black t-shirt. 

“I do,” he chuckles, gently lifting your chin so you're looking at his face again. 

Crap! Say something horrible to him before his ego gets too big. 

Indelicately, you slap his hand away, snarking, “You read?” 

“I do.” He nods, and you think he actually looks offended. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He’s right, and that’s been a calculated decision on your part not to get to know him. You are already the outsider, arriving at Fighter Town after the Dagger Squad had become the infamous Dagger Squad. They invited you into the fray with open arms, and you never felt like a newbie, but you didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the dynamic. Being one of Jake’s conquests would put you firmly in the mission accomplished column, and you didn’t need nor want that kind of reputation. 

You contemplate his proposal, astounded that you're even considering it. If you win, you’d decided to invite Phoenix as your plus one but hadn’t yet extended the invitation. If your suspicions about Phoenix and Coyote are correct, and Phoenix were to win, you would not be the Lieutenant’s first choice.

A weekend of peace and quiet sounds like bliss, and if Jake has all those things to keep him occupied, you’d only really need to see him while traveling to and from the place. 

“Okay,” you say, finally. “We can team up, but I swear if you get in my way, I’ll…. I’ll….” You can’t think of a good enough threat, and he interrupts. 

“You won’t need to do anything to me because I won’t get in your way.” He crosses his heart again, “scouts honor,” holding up his left hand. 

“Wrong hand, dipshit.” 

He laughs, digging in his bag and pulling out a carton of ice cream. It's a plain white tub, not branded, because it’s from Antonio’s, the hidden gem in town. But there’s a sticker on the lid with fancy cursive print that reads Maverick’s Scavenger Hunt 2024, the same sticker on the bottom of the box containing the sandals.

“Sandals for his first official date with Penny on the beach,” you grin, telling Jake the clue you’d figured out. “She got glass in your foot, and he had to carry her a half mile back to the car.”

“Ice cream for his apology to the lactose-intolerant Admiral after he took her on a joyride in his F18,” he explains the clue that led him to ice cream. “I’m not sure about the last one.”

“It’s perfume,” you told him. “After the F18 incident, they were banned from seeing each other. Obviously, they still snuck around, and she sprayed her perfume on his flight suit so she’d always be with him in the air.” 

“That’s actually kind of adorable.” 

“Come on, sappy pants,” you say, deliberately knocking into his shoulder as you walk by him. “We’re gonna win this thing.”

“Sappy pants?” he grumbles but willingly follows.

Winning was the easy part. Spending three nights at a luxury hotel with Jake will be harder than sustaining G-force. Though you are loath to admit it, he’s too easy on the eyes, too much of a flirt, and his unexpected gentlemanly behavior of holding doors, carrying your luggage, and buying your breakfast at the airport is melting your resolve to stay away from him. 

The first sign that the weekend would become a catastrophe was when you checked in. Mav had requested that the booking be changed to a twin room, but the email must have gotten lost in the ether because the room is still a king, and no twins are available. You should have checked the finer details before agreeing to be partners. 

It’s fine. You’ll deal with it and won’t let it ruin the rare weekend off. 

Your first personal mistake was thinking you could survive a weekend with Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin when he wasn’t required to be in uniform. He stripped down to his boxers a minute after entering the room - “wanna wash off the commercial flight smell.” He was less than ten minutes in the bathroom and exited with his hair wrapped in a fluffy white towel and another one snug and low on his hips. 

This is going to be torture.

“Promise is a promise,” he says, walking to his bag on the table, “I’m taking my book, and you won’t see me again.”

Damn it. You wouldn’t mind having him as your view for the day.

“You can take the bed, by the way,” he says. “I’ll ask for more blankets and crash on the floor.”

You want to tell him he doesn’t need to do that, but what's the alternative? You can’t share a bed with him. It would be too close without being close enough.

You smile, grateful. “Well, in that case, dinner is on me.” 

He matches your smile, and you think there’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks, or it could just be the heat from the shower. “Are you asking me on a date?” 

Urgh. Why does he always have to ruin it? Implying that your intentions are more than a friendly gesture. “Not a date. Just dinner.”

“Shame,” he shrugs. “But yeah, okay, dinner.” 

“I’ll make a reservation in the restaurant for seven.”

Jake heads directly to the pool, finds a sun lounger, and delves into his book. Within the first ten pages, the main protagonist is killed off, and his intrigue peaks. He’s happy to wile away the afternoon, topping off his tan and finishing the novel before dinner.

Another five pages in, he spies you exiting the hotel, book in hand, towel in the other, and oversized tee skimming the top of your thighs. 

“Damn,” he mutters to himself.

You look around the pool, and while plenty of loungers are available, you make your way over when you see him. He sits up a little straighter, tensing his abs - giving you a show that he’s pretty confident you want.

“Hey,” you say, “sorry to interrupt.” 

“I’ve had worse interruptions,” he smirks, eyes slipping down to your thighs and back up again. 

You shake your head, smiling lightly. “I couldn’t get a reservation. There’s a wedding rehearsal dinner, so we can’t dine in the restaurant, but we can order room service.”

He nods, “I’m in.”

You look down at the title of his book, and your smile grows. “I’ve read that one,” you comment, “it’s a good one, enjoy.”

You don’t pause long enough for him to say more and take yourself to the other side of the pool, dropping the towel and book onto a free bed. He watches, unashamed that he’s staring, as you pull the t-shirt over your head and reveal a simple black bikini. 

“Fuck,” he says, mentally telling himself to calm down. 

You make yourself comfortable on the bed before opening your book.

He never should have asked to partner up. He’s a man with little willpower and knows he doesn’t have it in him to not hit on you. “Way to torture yourself, Seresin.” 

You feel him staring from across the pool and hope your heavily shaded sunglasses hide that you're also stealing glances at him. You regret bringing a romance novel because, of course, the main character is a cocky, blond cowboy, and your brain immediately Jake codes him.

Your phone chimes, startling you as if someone physically scolded you for staring and fantasizing about your Lieutenant.

>Phoenix: How’s it going? Kissed him yet? 

<Cosmo: What?! No. 

>Phoenix: He kissed you yet? 

<Cosmo: No, and he won’t. More importantly, I don’t want him to. 

>Phoenix: 🙄please. You’ve been crushing on him since you arrived. Go for it. No one has to know.

<Cosmo: Why do I suddenly feel like this is a set-up?

>Phoenix: You have to know none of us even tried looking for the stuff because we wanted you to win. Who do you think told Jake the ice cream answer? Coyote. Who do you think told Jake where to find you at the mall? Me.

<Cosmo: What? Why? 

>Phoenix: Baby, I love you, but you can be so blind sometimes. You like Jake. You can deny it all you want but I think you're being stubborn because you don’t want him to be able to say I told you so. 

<Cosmo: Phoenix, honey, I love you too, but setting me and Jake up so you and Coyote have a couple to double date with is not going to happen. 

>Phoenix: We’ll see. Love you. Have fun. 😜

“I need a drink,” you say, slamming your book closed. 

Jake watches you typing away on your phone, a slight crease in your brow. It’s adorable, and while he daydreams about what he could do to smooth it out, he receives a text. 

>Coyote: Proposed yet?

<Hangman: Screw you. I’m not that into her.  

>Coyote: 🙄please. You’re so blinded by how much you’re into her you can’t see how much you’re into her. 

He doesn’t have a witty retort because he’s confided, seemingly too much, in Coyote. Coyote’s encouragement won’t help matters, and he promised himself he’d behave. You have rejected his advances more than once, and he needs to accept that nothing is going to happen.

>Coyote: Seriously, dude, now is the perfect time to show her you’re more than your smart mouth and shiny abs. 

Jake needs to shut this down before Coyote twists his arm just enough to convince him.

<Hangman: Hi Phoenix 🙄. 

>Coyote: She says hi and go get your girl already.

Jake closes his book. He won’t be able to concentrate now. He sighs loudly, “I need a drink.” When he looks across the pool again, you’re pulling on your oversized tee and collecting your things.

Part 2 - The Full Seresin Service - Wednesday 30th October 2024.

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