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godisshook · 6 months

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Brotherly Love

Gavin was more than the average frat bro, it was obvious to see. Since he had joined the fraternity, he had been held in high regard by his brothers, and seen as a rising star. He was a sight to behold, and he knew it.

The sophomore was a popular figure within the Sigma Delta Rho fraternity, an adonis with a killer smile and a personality to match. He had it all, or so he thought. A single person would change all of this, and rock his world forever.

Casey.

The slender pledge had captured Gavin's attention from the moment he stepped foot into the frat house. His toned physique and boyish charm were undeniable draws, but there was something more to Casey that Gavin couldn't quite put into words.

Ever since pledging Sigma Delta Rho and moving into the frat house at the start of the semester, Casey had been infatuated with Gavin. There was just something about him that drew Casey in like a moth to a flame. He did everything he could to get his attention, from staying to clean up after fraternity events, to personally running errands for Gavin.

Months would pass, as Casey started to become his own in the fraternity, gaining the trust of his brothers, but, most importantly to him, gaining the attention of Gavin.

The two exchanged glances during frat meetings and shared brief conversations in passing, making Case. The unspoken tension hung heavy between them, both aware of the appearances they had to maintain with the fraternity. They were keenly knowledgeable of the traditional nature of their frat and knew that anything more than fleeting glances would draw suspicion.

Despite this, the two would talk in secret, forming a relationship while trying to keep their romance hidden. It was torture for Casey, as his need for Gavin would consume him entirely. Their romance bloomed slowly but blossomed nevertheless, and Casey would soon get his wish, as the frat was set to have a massive party in the spring.

The night of the party, Gavin and Casey found themselves alone in Gavin's room. The faint smell of alcohol still lingered in the air as they sat on Gavin's bed, lost in each other's gaze. The two had caught each other's gaze all night, and this had been their moment, their escape from the noise. The tension between them was palpable, and neither one could deny the sparks flying between them anymore.

As Casey leaned closer to Gavin, his heart pounded wildly in his chest, Casey couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to feel Gavin's lips against his own, but he knew that this moment could change everything for them both.

Taking the initiative, Gavin gently cupped Casey's face with his hands and pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss. It started slow at first, with gentle brushes of their lips against each other's, but soon became far more intense as they explored each other's mouths with eager tongues.

In a drunken haze, the two intensified the moment, with the heat of the moment silencing the booming party outside. As clothes began to line the floor, Gavin's lips slowly brushed Casey's chest, creating more sparks as his hot breath caressed his sensitive skin.

Gavin continued to kiss along the contours of Casey's body, moving downwards at a slow but fiery pace, causing the heat between the two to reach a fever pitch. Gavin's muscular body heated up under Casey's touch, adding fuel to the burning fire of their passion. Before their moment could reach its expected crescendo, a knock on the door would cause things to end abruptly, forcing the two back out into the commotion.

It was a fleeting moment, but enough to leave Casey wanting more. Days came and went as he found ways to keep his mind off of Gavin. After days of monotony and stolen glances, a simple text would be Casey's saving grace, "Come to my room tomorrow at 4, don't keep me waiting." Still in class, Casey fought a smile, but as soon as he left, he darted back to the house, a smile growing from ear to ear.

Now steps away from Gavin's room, Casey could hear the familiar sound of the showers. A wicked smile came over his face as he knew exactly what to expect.

Casey took the towel lying on the bed, chuckling at the fact that it wouldn't be staying on if things went well. Despite a tinge of fear, the air was thick in the bathroom, as anticipation mingled with need. Casey looked at the form in the shower, and asked, "Gavin, is that you?" With his familiar low voice, Gavin replied, "Of course, get in."

Casey initially shivered as he entered the shower; allowing the cold water to wash over him, as Gavin quickly consumed him with his body, warming him up instantly. Within this embrace, Casey felt the unmistakable bulge of Gavin's cock pressing against his.

Gavin took a tuft of Casey's hair in his hand and began thrusting against his head; his body betraying him as he thrust into Casey's mouth. Casey choked slightly, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Gavin's thighs, pulling his cock deeper into his mouth.

In between thrusts, Gavin would turn up the temperature in the shower, causing steam to build up, and for heat to swell up inside both of them. The shower became even hotter as Casey got lower and lower, laying soft but burning kisses all over Gavin's muscled body. Casey's mouth surrounded Gavin's cock completely, and Gavin threw his head back as Casey began sucking.

Deliberate in his movements, Casey teasingly sucked Gavin off, as he slowly worked his way around Gavin's cock. Unable to handle the tension anymore, Gavin took control, taking a tuft of Casey's hair in his hand and thrusting it against his cock. Gavin's body betrayed him as he gave in to his desires, thrusting faster and faster. Casey choked slightly, but he didn't let go, his hands grasping Gavin's thighs, pulling his cock deeper into his mouth. Before he could cum, Gavin raised Casey back up, and told him, "We're going to the bed." Surprised, Casey looked up into his eyes, as he was suddenly lifted by Gavin into the air, and out of the shower.

The two dried off, and Casey changed into a fresh pair of underwear. Ensuring the door was locked, Gavin said, "You're not gonna need that underwear for long, just saying." Casey smartly replied, "You know people will hear us if we do anything out here?" As if anticipating his question, Gavin turned up the TV, with the jumble of voices drowning out Casey's protests. Closing the distance with a smirk, Gavin grabbed Casey by the hips, pulling him into a deep kiss. Their tongues intertwined as the two were free to give in to their inhibitions fully dry.

Gavin pushed Casey back onto his bed, their bodies sinking into the soft mattress. He kissed his way down Casey's chest, pausing to tease his nipples and elicit soft moans of pleasure.

Lower and lower he went, trailing kisses along Casey's taut stomach and tracing circles with his tongue around his belly button. He could feel the anticipation building within Casey as he neared his ultimate destination - that throbbing cock that was calling out to him.

Gavin reached over to his nightstand and fumbled around for a moment before finding what he was looking for; a bottle of lube left over from one of his previous conquests. Noticing this, Casey remarked sarcastically, "Of course I'm not your first." Gavin laughed, saying, "If it makes it any better, you’re my first guy.” Noticing Casey’s surprise, Gavin asked, "Wait, am I your first…anything?" Casey's nod made Gavin even more delicate, as he sought to make it count.

He uncapped the lube and poured a generous amount into his hand, warming it between his palms before reaching down to prepare Casey for what was about to come.

Gavin's hand slid between Casey's legs, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin as he prepared Gavin for what was to come. Casey moaned, his body trembling with anticipation as Gavin's fingers slid inside him, stretching and preparing him for his massive cock.

Casey gazed up at Gavin in awe. It was like watching an expert at work, with Gavin somehow knowing everywhere that turns him on. With there being no chance of interruption, the two were completely consumed by the other. They were two souls intertwined in a moment of pure bliss, and Casey never wanted it to end.

In between kisses, Casey would give in to his need, "Fuck me," he whimpered against Gavin's lips. "I want you inside me."

Gavin's heart skipped a beat as he met Casey's gaze. The request caught him off guard; he was shocked by Casey's boldness, but there was no denying the hunger burning within him. Gavin simply replied, "As you wish."

Not missing a beat, Gavin thrust inside Casey, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. He lost himself inside Casey, as his most primal urges began taking over. Gavin's mind raced, his desire for Casey threatening to consume him entirely. His cock twitched, aching for release, as Casey started jerking himself off, matching Gavin's strokes. The two continued to fuck, their bodies slick with sweat. Each thrust sent shivers down their spines, their moans mingling together in a symphony of passion and desire.

Gavin's cock twitched, aching for release. Soon, his body tensed, and he came, his cock throbbing as spray after spray of hot, white cum shot all over Casey. The two would release at the same time, and they collapsed onto one another; with Gavin's grip on Casey's hips tightening, bucking over him as he filled Casey with his seed.

Casey lifted himself off Gavin, as they both tried to catch their breaths. Their eyes met, the raw hunger still present but now tempered as the two found release. As Casey laid on him, Gavin felt a sense of ease, "I've always wanted to see you blush." Gavin said, his voice low and seductive. Casey didn't respond and simply nestled harder into Gavin's body.

"You okay?" Gavin asked, concern in his voice.

Casey nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I... I loved every second of it, but it was... intense."

Gavin smirked, his strong hands ruffling Casey's sweat-slicked hair. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

#college guys #alpha muscle #muscle jock #muscle #frat bro #forbidden love

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nocternalrandomness · 8 months

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Delta Darts from the ANG 101st FIS - 1965

#ANG #Air National Guard #Convair #F-106 #Delta Dart #Interceptor #Century Series #Cold War #Military #aviation #aircraft

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stone-cold-groove · 9 months

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Convair F-106B Delta Dart.

#vintage illustration #usaf #u.s. military #u.s. air force #military aircraft #fighter jets #interceptors #f-106 #f-106 delta dart #delta dart #f106 #convair #f 106 #convair f-106 delta dart #two seaters

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elvisfatass · 1 year

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Aim and shoot

Warning 18+ unprotected sex and firearms, y’know, Elvis doing Elvis things 💀

“You get your ass back here!” Elvis shouts at you. You sprint up the front staircase, down the hallway and back down into the kitchen. Playing tag on a rainy day in the house with him was so much fun, but he was starting to get heated, he didn’t like to lose and you know you’re getting him riled up.

You dart onto the landing and run to the back door, you hear Elvis start to descend the stairs “y/n if you don’t get back here there will be hell to pay little girl!” He says, his feet pounding down each step. You open the back door and slam it closed, and bolt into the curtains outside aunt deltas room, hiding yourself behind them.

You see his figure walk straight past you to the door and huff “where the hell’d she go?” He wonders out loud, a hint of annoyance in his voice. As he pads back through the landing, his feet landing softly on the plush green carpet, you jump out of the curtains, he jumps straight up in the air like a spooked cat. “GODDAMMIT GIRL WHAT’D I TELL YOU ABOUT SCARIN ME?” You giggle and run into the jungle room, he’s close behind you. You realize you have two options, jump the railing and fall down into the basement or go up, onto the shooting range, in the pouring rain. You go up, no sense in breaking your legs for a game. You bolt through the door and out onto the large deck, Elvis follows you still trying to win this game.

The rain hits you immediately, the cold November air mixing with it to make you shiver immediately. You were already soaking wet and you’d only been outside for three seconds. Elvis comes out, closing the door behind him. “Little girl I swear on the Bible of you don’t get your little butt over here you’re gonna get it.” He says, almost growling at you. You shiver but still manage to laugh at him while he pads toward you like a big cat about to pounce. “Not one more step, you’ve had your fun.” “But elvissss I don’t want the game to be over!” You giggle, seeing his hair wet and hanging around his face was making something in you heat up even if the wind and the rain were making your nipples so hard you could see them through your soaked shirt. You put your hands over them, shielding them from him. The second your hands went to cover your nipples he raised his eyebrows, knowing what was happening.

You ran to the railing, trying to escape him, when you got to the door, you realized he’d locked it. “Tch tch tch, sometimes little girls need to be taught a lesson,” the sultry tone in his voice making you come undone instantly. You knew what was about to happen and you weren’t gonna even attempt to stop him. He reached out and grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the railing that overlooked the backyard and Vernon’s smokehouse. “Little girls need to be shown how to shoot, to protect themselves from big scary bears,” he said in a groan. He was behind you now, his arms wrapped around you, his hands on top of yours that still covered your cold hard nipples. “Put your hands on the railing little girl.” “Yes sir,” you did what he said, you knew it wouldn’t fair well for you if you didn’t. You loved your hands to the railing and as you did his palms immediately groped your tits, feeling your nipples that were so erect now they were starting to be painful. Oh little one,” he said in a whisper, “these have to hurt.” He rolled your hard nipples with his fingers making you hiss and stammer out “they’re so cold daddy.” He rolls his hips forward into you, you’re both still fully clothed but the rain hasn’t let up any, your clothes are stuck to your body, showing every curve of yours, and you could feel the growing curve in his pants as he thrust into you again. His hands moved from your breasts to your hips, playing with the fabric of your pants, even though you’re freezing cold, there’s a warmth growing inside you, knowing what’s about to happen.

He rocks his hips into you again, as he pulls away he pulls your pants down. Revealing your ass to the sky. He fondles it for a bit before giving it a forceful slap, the rain making it sting more than usual. You let out a moan, and you hear him chuckle. “I told you little girl I’d make you pay if you didn’t stop running, now we’re gonna learn you something.” He says, smacking your ass again, you let out a wine, and he strikes you again. After a few slaps the rain landing on your ass began to sting, and it was making you whimper. “Has the little girl learned her lesson? Or does she need more?” He inquired, you turned to look at him, the tears in your eyes hidden by the rain. “More please, I need you.” He didn’t need to hear anything more, peeling his wet pants down just enough to free himself, he ran a finger into you, feeling the coldness of his hands matched with the cold metal ring, you moaned loudly, you could almost feel the grin on his face as he pumped his finger into you, he would slowly pull his finger completely out and then back in, and then all of a sudden he slammed his dick into you, making you scream out. “DEAR GOD” he slammed into you again and again, relentlessly fucking you over the railing. All of a sudden he stopped for a second, his dick still in you, he reached down into his rain filled boot, pulling out a pistol. “I told you little girls need to learn to shoot, if you hit the target I’ll let you cum on my dick.” He said in a moan, continuing his pace from before. He cocks the gun and aims at the target, at the same time you clenched around him, making him lose focus as he pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting the slide on Lisa’s swing set. “Shit she’s gonna kill me when she sees that,” he groans still fucking into you. He hands you the gun and puts his hands on your hips, fucking himself as deep into you as he can go, your eyes rolling back into your head as he slams into you. “I-l-l-“ you stammer, trying to aim while getting pounded was no easy task. You cock the gun and pull, the bullet hitting the wall of the smokehouse. “Youre gonna have to do better than that if you want to cum,” Elvis groans down to you, his hips still slamming into you, you try to recompose yourself and focus, as well as you can atleast with him slamming his hips int yours. The sound of rain masking the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You cocked the gun again, smack, focus, smack, you waited until he was about to go deep again and pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting the target square in the forehead. You heard Elvis laugh “what a good little girl, you wanna come for me baby?” You could only nod your head, the cold rain and the overstimulation of sex mixed with the smell of gunpowder had you in a daze, you handed the gun back to him and he tossed it to the side, picking up his pace.

You felt yourself on the verge of release when he leant over and whispered in your ear “gonna make you a mama, you wanna be a mama?” Making you come completely undone, your legs shook as your whole body shivered from a mix of the cold and the orgasm hitting you like a freight train. As you started to see stars Elvis became more erratic, “f-f-fuckkkkkk baby,” he moaned out, spilling himself inside you. He slowly removed himself from you, “I think we need to go for a soak in the jacuzzi,” he winked at you, you both covered yourselves as well as you could, putting back on your wet clothes wasn’t easy. Elvis was leading you back to the door, down the stairs, through the house, and back outside towards the racquetball room. You ran down the path, through the door, and up the stairs, not stopping to rid yourself of your clothes, only your shoes, you sank into the hot water.

You both let out airy moans as your cold skin was instantly warmed again, you began to strip out of your wet clothes. Once you were both fully naked in the hot water you grinned at Elvis and said “so glad I have you to teach me how to aim and shoot.” You winked. “I can shoot something too,” he said wiggling his eyebrows at you.

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This one goes out to my best girl @ccab for being my inspiration for smut 😌

#elvis presley #elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley x y/n #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfiction

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identifying-planes-in-posts · 6 months

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just found your blog. what's your favorite sky dorito

(delta wing plane in case that's not obvious)

I'm gonna say the SR-71, if for no other reason than to spite this other asker.

Additional shoutouts to the F2Y Sea Dart for the crazy idea of making a supersonic waterskiing seaplane and the MiG-21 for her Soviet pointyplane swagger.

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trickphotography2 · 11 months

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Overtime

It was just supposed to be a football game. But then Hangman took Syla up on her invitation to watch the Blue Angels perform at the Miramar air show. A month after meeting and facing the last home show of her career, the history making Naval Aviator invited Hangman to visit her in Pensacola. She didn't actually expect him to accept. Payback definitely wasn't happy.

A continuation of First and Goal. This got away from me at 5.1K words. No physical description of the reader, callsign is Syla (pronounced like Cilla) and she's a Florida State fan.

Cross-posted on Ao3.

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The humidity hit Jake in the face as he exited the Pensacola airport. His eyes darted up and then to the line of cars. “I’m under the Delta sign.”

“Okay, I’m pulling out of the cellphone lot,” Syla said. He heard her humming and felt his lip twitch. Over the month they’d been talking, he’d heard it many, many times, usually when she was focused on something. Once, when they’d done a video call while she was in Oregon, he’d asked her if she hummed while flying and was promptly flipped off. “I...think I see you.” The call disconnected as a blue convertible Mini Cooper stopped in front of him. Payback scowled, elbowing him out of the way as Syla got out and circled the car.

“Reuben!” she squealed. Jake rolled his eyes, grabbing the other man’s bag as he hugged Syla, lifting her off her feet. Payback hadn’t been thrilled to find out he wasn’t the only one who had requested leave to head down to Florida for the Blue Angels homecoming show. Hell, Syla had been surprised when Jake had quickly accepted her half-joking invitation.

Jake had gone to the show in Miramar. It was his first time seeing them since their flyover at his Academy graduation, which he’d only half paid attention to back then. The Blue Angels were good PR for the Navy but had never caught his attention - pilots stuck repeating the same maneuvers every time? Sounded almost as bad as being assigned to desk duty. He'd take dog fighting every time if given the choice between it and the flying equivalent of synchronized swimming. But, after going through flight school and some experience with formation flying, he had a new respect for the Angels.

The way Syla filled out her tight blue flight suit definitely didn’t hurt matters. Jake had managed to get close enough to watch the team march in a line to their jets and climb in, trading out their caps for helmets before taxiing and taking off in formation. For an hour, he watched them execute loops, inversions, pitches, and breaks. After the show, he’d joined the queue for her autograph and grinned at her surprised look. As she signed the team picture, he asked her about not wearing a g-suit that helped keep blood from pooling in the lower extremities and forced it toward the brain. From his estimation, they were pulling at least 7Gs at points.

“Can’t,” Syla had shrugged. “We have our right arm on our thigh for stability and to help with the 40-pound spring tensioned on the stick. Air bladders would inflate at the worst time and ruin the maneuver. ‘Sides, since we fly it constantly, we know when to tense to avoid G-LOC.” Sliding her aviators down her nose, the Blue Angel smirked and slid the picture across the table to him. “Good to see you again, Hangman.”

Her phone number was under her loopy signature.

“Hey,” Jake said when she turned her attention to him, eyebrow raised over her sunglasses. Crossing her arms over her chest, forcing her breasts higher into the tank top she wore, Syla cocked her hip.

“I have so many questions. First - what the hell is with the pornstache?” Grinning, Jake ran a hand over his mustache.

“Don’t like it?”

“You look like the other guy in your squad… um…” she snapped her fingers, glancing at Payback.

“Rooster.”

“Rooster! That’s right. He can pull off a mustache.”

“I make a mustache look good,” he chuckled, dropping the bags into the open trunk. Shaking her head, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Jury’s out. Also, people are gonna think you’re a Gator or Canes fan in that orange.”

“Hook ‘em, baby.” Over her head, Jake caught Payback’s eye roll.

“Alright,” Syla said, stepping out of his loose embrace and slamming the trunk closed. “Get in so we can go grab dinner. I’m starving.”

“Please tell me we’re getting some seafood,” Payback moaned, beelining for the front seat. Jake rolled his eyes, following Syla around the car and pulling open the door for her before ducking into the back seat. His knees pressed into her seat, and he shifted to try and get more comfortable.

The two aviators chatted while Syla pulled out of the airport and drove through Pensacola. It had been years since Jake had been back. Like many Naval aviators, his career had begun at a local flight school while stationed at NAS Whiting Field, just across the bridge and a couple of miles down I-10 in Milton. While he’d enjoyed his time at Annapolis during the Academy, it had been fun to cut loose and spend weekends on the white sand beaches, flirting with tourists and drinking at dive bars. But after he’d moved on to Intermediate Flight Training, he’d never looked back. North Florida had little appeal for him. If he had to be stationed in the state, he would go for the Keys.

“You good back there, Hangman?” Syla asked, pulling him from his musing. She’d twisted in her seat, strands of hair that had escaped her regulation bun framing her face.

“All good, just looking at how much it’s changed.” She smiled, turning back around when the light turned green.

After grabbing dinner by the beach at a local spot called The Oar House, the trio made their way to Syla’s place. It was a cute little white house with a red - “garnet,” she’d corrected - door. As another condition of his coming, Payback claimed the one guest bedroom while Jake was relegated to the couch.

It helped to know that Payback only had the bed for one night and would join him in sleeping in the living room when Syla’s parents arrived the next day.

So, while Payback went to bed early to call his kid, Jake and Syla hung out. At first, there had been some initial awkwardness, trying to navigate a friendship conducted mainly over the phone. It didn’t take long until Jake found himself itching to tuck her hair, free from the tight bun and damp from her shower, behind her ear.

“Okay, I have to know,” she said, setting her glass on the coffee table before facing him. Propping her elbow against the back of the couch, she buried a hand in her hair and smirked. “What’s with the mustache? You weren’t deployed, so it’s not a deployment ‘stache. Or is this like a normal thing for you?”

“Definitely not a normal thing for me,” he chuckled, setting his beer on the coffee table and turning to mirror her. At her cocked eyebrow, he shrugged. “Payback.”

“Are we talking Reuben or revenge for something?”

“A bit of both. He’s real protective of you and wasn’t happy to hear that we’ve been talking. Or that I was coming here.”

“Oh god, are you telling me you look like that because of me?” She let her head fall back at his shrug while taking a deep breath. The move pulled her sleep shirt tight against her chest, and he could see her pebbled nipples through the material. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“It’s fine.” And it was. It was worth it if this was the penalty for violating the bro code - as the rest of the Daggers had ruled when they found out about his contact with Syla.

“Your pretty face shouldn’t be sacrificed for his petty male ego.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Jake teased. Syla lowered her head and gave him an unimpressed look. With a huff, she ran her thumb over his mustache.

“When you don’t have a fuzzy caterpillar on your face.” Amusement sparkled in his green eyes when Syla raised hers from his mouth to meet his. Her fingers rasped on his stubble as they glided across his jaw. Jake watched, biting back a groan when she played with the hair on the nape of his neck. Gentle pressure guided him closer as her tongue darted to wet her lips. A smirk curved his mouth as his gaze narrowed to hers.

A throat cleared, and Syla jumped, her hand falling to her lap. Payback stood beside the television, arms crossed over his chest. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Syla replied, even as pink dusted her cheeks. Payback’s eyes darted to Jake, who shrugged. “Oh no - this is not… If you have a problem with me talking to Jake, you’ll talk to me about it, Reuben.”

“Okay. I don’t like it. You don’t know Hangman.”

“Cool. Good to know. That’s part of why we’re talking - to get to know one another.” He groaned her name, running a hand down his face.

“He’s got a reputation in Miramar.” Jake flushed with embarrassment. Sure, he enjoyed a one-night stand, but he hadn’t had one in a while. Definitely not since he’d started talking to the pilot beside him.

“So you’re telling me he knows what he’s doing and can probably find the clit. That’s great to know.” Both men sputtered, and Syla laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, Payback, I’m not the 22-year-old girl you met. And as much as I appreciate you looking out for me, I’m a pretty good judge of character. So if I want to talk to Jake, kiss him, and maybe have sex, that’s our decision.” Patting Jake’s shoulder, she stood and gave Payback a sweet smile. “And with that, gentlemen, I’m going to go to bed since I have work in the morning. You know, where I’m a history-making Naval aviator whose judgment is tested and proven every day that I’m in the air flying inches away from other aviators, where one small deviation could mean death for either of us. Night boys.”

The two men watched Syla walk to the hallway, pausing to pat Payback’s chest and closing her bedroom door.

Jake fell a little bit in love.

“Morning,” Jake said, his voice rough with sleep. Syla smiled and waved, continuing towards the kitchen where the coffee pot gurgled. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he joined her, taking the mug she slid across the counter and leaning against the stove, scratching his bare chest.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Not the worst place I’ve bunked.”

“It’s a step above the carrier.” He smiled over the rim of his mug. He’d never dated a woman in the military and never would have even thought about pursuing another aviator. Sure, he enjoyed flirting with Phoenix to get a rise out of her, but their careers overlapped too much for him to ever think about pursuing anything. Plus, Rooster would kill him if he ever worked up the nerve to admit his feelings about his “best friend.”

But there was something comforting about talking with Syla. Over the last month, he’d enjoyed not having to explain things in his daily life. No explanation was needed when he rescheduled calls because he was doing late maneuvers. Honestly, she was the one doing the rescheduling more often than not. She was also the one who fell asleep when they were on the phone. He’d never admit it, but Jake usually stayed on the line for a few more minutes, listening to her soft breathing and half-heartedly hoping she’d wake before hanging up.

“What’s your day look like?” he asked. Syla frowned and stepped past him to look at the calendar hanging on the refrigerator.

“We’re briefing the show this morning and then going to a middle school. Not sure if we’re doing the interview there or if the camera crew is just getting footage. Then final dress rehearsal over the Gulf.” There was something sad in her eyes when she turned to meet his gaze.

“What?”

“I just…” To his surprise, tears gathered in her eyes as she looked up at the ceiling and swallowed. “Sorry, just kinda hitting me that this is it.” Setting his mug down, he opened his arms. Syla rested her head on his shoulder, palms flat on his chest. Jake's hand ran up the back of her flight suit, tugging her closer as he brushed his lips against her temple. When she lifted her head, he kissed her cheek. But when he tried to do it again, she turned to meet him.

Their first kiss was a sweet one. Syla’s hands drifted up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck and tug him down as she surged onto her toes. He steadied her with hands on her hips, gripping the blue fabric tightly as she licked into his mouth. A groan escaped him as she smiled. The mustache prickled against her skin.

“It’s too early for this.”

“Morning, Reuben,” Syla sighed, dropping back onto her heels and resting her forehead against Jake’s chin. Slowly, she pulled away and looked at her friend. “Sleep well?”

“Other than a nightmare, yeah.” Chuckling, she stepped out of Jake’s arms and grabbed her travel coffee mug.

“Duke is gonna pick me up so you can have my car for the day. I’ll be home around 5:30 or 6:00. My parent should be here around that time, too, so we’ll go out for dinner. I have to have an early night for the show tomorrow, but we can take two cars so you can have fun downtown.” The flight leader was happy to help her with a ride, seeing as he lived down the street.

“An early night sounds good to me,” Jake nodded.

“Great. Duke’s pulling up, so I’m headed out.” With a quick peck to both men’s cheeks, she left.

“You’re an ass,” Payback grumbled while opening the cabinets for a mug. Ignoring him, Jake returned to the couch and grabbed his cell phone, quickly pulling up their text thread.

Can confirm I know where the clit is

A few minutes later came her reply.

Seeing is believing

Syla woke early and pulled on her running gear. It was hard to sneak out of the house with the two aviators crashing in the living room, but she managed it. After slipping her earbuds in, she started her pre-show tradition of a five-mile run while mentally practicing the flight maneuvers. Hands clenched in front of her, she imagined Duke’s voice and positioned the stick and throttle. Deployed the smoke that allowed the crowd to follow them as they climbed. She would have the privilege of a sneak attack on the beach, buzzing the crowd who watched her wingmen fly ahead.

Even after three seasons, every show made her nervous. And performing in front of the hometown crowd, while amazing, brought its own level of pressure. North Florida was the home to a huge military population. These people saw them the most - they practiced over the Naval Aviation Museum twice weekly and signed autographs. Hell, there was a sign as you got into town that said ‘Home of the Blue Angels.’ Pensacola had the Blue Angels, Corry Station, and Whiting Field, where many aviation careers started. The Air Force had three bases just an hour up the road - Hurlburt Field, Duke Field, and Eglin. Eglin had its own place in military aviation history, as it was where the pilots of the Doolittle Raid - the US’s retaliation on Japan following Pearl Harbor, where modified bombers had launched from the USS Hornet with no fighters as backup - had trained. The Air Force had their own fighter and test wings stationed there, and the Army was training special forces.

Further out were the two bases in Panama City - the Naval Support Activity Panama City and Tyndall Air Force Base, which housed their own fighter wing. That wasn’t even considering all of the veterans in the area. Syla had briefly dated someone who worked for the Veteran’s Administration, who had told her that the Gulf Coast was one of the fastest-growing areas for vets.

So yeah, hometown shows made her nervous. And her dumb ass had invited a certain Lieutenant, who made her even more nervous. Who she outranked. As a Lieutenant Commander, she was responsible for ensuring they didn’t break any fraternization rules. And even though Jake wouldn’t be under her command - the Daggers were stationed at Miramar under TOPGUN but were not instructors - they might still get some looks.

Which was presuming that Jake even wanted something other than a fling. Panting, Syla stopped running and bent, wiping away the sweat on her brow. Even this early, the humidity was killer. “Fucking focus,” she ordered herself.

There was nothing like an airshow. From the moment Syla stepped onto the tarmac, the energy was electric. For her last home show, they’d picked the theme of Celebrating Women in Aviation, focusing on the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPS) that began in WWII when the US needed pilots. Women could join the military to ferry, test, and deliver planes for repair.

From the civilian aerobatic pilots to the Air Force’s Viper and F-35 demo teams and the explosive Tora Tora Tora reenactment, there was something for everyone. She joined her parents, Reuben, and Jake after the Angels’ morning briefing. While her parents and Reuben stayed in the tent, she and Jake did a quick walk around, pausing so she could sign autographs and take pictures. She was glad her sunglasses were on when a little girl traced over her embroidered wings and said she wanted to be a pilot, too. Jake’s fingers brushed hers as they walked, and she fought a smile.

And then it was show time. Syla forced herself to focus on the moment. Doing anything else would endanger the team and her aircraft. So, she focused on saluting her flight crew and doing her checks. She wasn’t part of the diamond take-off formation but would be doing a high G vertical climb into an inversion. And then she thought about Duke’s final order - “Have fun.”

So she did. She allowed herself to smile as she fought against gravity, admired the beautiful ocean she flew over, and laughed at the startled crowd as she executed the sneak pass.

And yes, she did hum while doing it.

Sunday was harder. Syla woke up early for her run and was surprised to find Jake awake in the kitchen, shirtless and wearing running shorts and sneakers. He joined her, her extra reflective belt wrapped around his bicep. It was still dark, their way lit by streetlights and the occasional passing car. Jake glanced over as she ran through the show, hands at her stomach moving the imaginary stick and throttle.

Everything for her last show needed to be perfect.

“You’ve got this,” he said when they turned back into her cul de sac. Feeling like a teenager sneaking around, she tugged him around the side of the house and pressed him against the siding. His hands wrapped around her hips, holding her tightly as her hands slid up his sweat-slicked skin to wrap around the back of his neck. It was still dark out, the sun not due to rise for another hour. If her neighbors looked out the glass door in their living room or someone drove past, they would easily be spotted. But that didn’t stop her from pressing against him, feeling his heat through her sports bra and running shorts.

Jake pressed teasing kisses to her forehead, nose, and cheek before Syla gripped his hair and kissed him hard. His hand slid to her ass, squeezing and tugging her closer. She could feel his cock through his jogging shorts and dug her nails into his skin to keep from touching him. Nothing in the world would make her jeopardize her career with a public indecency charge.

When his attention shifted to her neck, licking the salt from her skin, Syla forced herself to push against his shoulders and step back. His grip tightened, not letting her go too far. “Everything okay?” he asked. In the semi-darkness, she could barely make out his confused expression.

“I need to know,” she said, biting her kiss-swollen lower lip. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month, but am I pissing off one of my best friends for a fling?”

“A fling?”

“I outrank you, Jake. If there’s blowback, it’s gonna come back on me. Not only because of rank but because I’m a woman. I will always have Blue Angels in my bio, so I will always be held to the highest standard. So I have to know - is this just having fun? Or is this something we want to pursue? Because I’m fine either - ”

Jake’s lips silenced her, his tongue insistently licking into her mouth as he turned them to pin her against the siding with his hips. With his hands braced by her head, he pulled away, smirking when she chased his kiss. One knuckle traced from her temple and swept across her jaw before tilting her head up as he tutted her name. “You think I’d risk pissing off my entire squad for a fling? If I wanted that, I would have just waited for you to get to Miramar instead of coming out here, annoying Payback, and meeting your parents. This is my first vacation in years, and I wanted to spend time alone with you. If you want this to be a fling - ”

“I don’t.”

“Good. Cause I don’t either.” They stood there, smiling at one another for a long moment until they heard a dog bark. Shoving him away, Syla turned and waved at her neighbor as he stepped out of the house across the street, dressed for his own morning run. Taking Jake’s hand, she tugged him back towards the front door, enjoying how he pressed himself against her back as she unlocked it. “Just wait until we’re alone, and I’ll show you just how well I can find your clit,” he growled in her ear as she gripped the doorknob.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Did you tell Reuben that you were staying for a week? Or does he think you’re flying out tonight, too?”

“Now, where would the fun be in telling him?” Jake asked. Syla laughed, turning in his embrace to pat his cheek.

“It’s your funeral, Hangman.” His grin was blinding as he leaned down to kiss her.

“What a hell of a reason to go.”

Emotion nearly choked her as Syla drove down Blue Angel Parkway toward the base. She’d left her parents to drive the other aviators in, wanting some time alone that morning. The squad had invited her guests to watch the last briefing of the season so they wouldn’t be too far behind. Reuben or Jake would be able to get her parents on base. While the air show gates didn’t open until 8:00AM, a few cars were already waiting at the Visitor Control building’s parking lot. After flashing her ID to the gate guard, she made her way to the hanger to quickly inspect her plane. Their flight mechanics were among the best in the world, and Syla trusted them with her life, but you could never be too careful. Once assured that everything was fine, she made her way to the briefing room, pausing to talk to some of the other early birds and to grab a shitty cup of coffee from the break room. Rather than take her seat, she took the opportunity to read the plaques that decorated the walls, running her finger over her name engraved on the list of pilots.

“Big day, Syla. You ready for it?” Duke asked, coming into the briefing room and standing beside her. She glanced up at him and rolled her lips together, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.

“As I’ll ever be,” she replied hoarsely.

“One more flight, and then you’re back in the greens,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close.

“I look so much better in blue,” she smirked, glancing down at her flight suit. After three years, going back to a green suit that didn’t have her name and plane number embroidered on her chest, that had a different squadron patch, would be strange. This wasn’t the first time she’d left a squad, but it definitely was the hardest. Their team, from the flight and ground crew to the Marine pilots that flew Fat Albert, the C-130J that carried the crew show to show, spent so much time together. From January to November, they saw each other every day - on Thursdays, they flew out to the show location and returned to Pensacola on Mondays; Tuesdays and Wednesdays were practice days. For three years, Syla had celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, new babies, and graduations with these folks. She’d babysat for their kids and hung out at their houses. They had gotten her drunk to celebrate her promotion before dragging her to the beach and tossing her into the Gulf in her whites - she made sure that they also got drenched - and teased her relentlessly whenever she dated someone.

The other squad members slowly filed in, and Syla was subjected to brotherly teasing. When her guests arrived, she introduced Jake and Reuben by their callsigns. The looks her squad sent her when Hangman shook their hands were priceless - they’d seen his name pop up on her phone more than a few times. The corner of Jake’s eye twitched at every shake, making her wonder if they were squeezing his hand harder than necessary. Payback looked happy at the cooler welcome the other pilot got.

“Alright,” the flight leader said once everyone had taken their seat around the table, him at the head. Crew and her guests sat along the wall. “We’ll leave the sentimental stuff for the boat party later, but as you all know, this is Syla’s last flight with us. And while we’re excited to welcome Lieutenant Commander Reyes in a few months, she will have big shoes to fill. So we’ll be perfect today, not only for Syla but for our hometown crowd. I want the debrief to be short this afternoon so we can go celebrate another successful season and get some downtime. Now, conditions today allow for the high show…” Syla opened her folder and retrieved the aerial map of Pensacola as he read out the wind and view data. The tip of her pen traced the maneuvers they would go through, as he called them.

She could feel eyes on her as they pushed away from the table and did a chair flight, Duke’s comforting cadence helping her block out everything else. Her own eyes remained closed as they talked through the flight, visualizing and practicing the throttles and stick positions, where they would have pull on the stick, tensing to fight the Gs, her calls on the radio, turning to check the alignment of their synchronized ascent into the loop, deploying smoke - every second of the 45-minute show.

And when she opened her eyes, they caught on a pair of green ones that stared at her from across the room. The corner of Jake’s mouth twitched as he gave a curt nod. Beside him, her parents beamed. Payback sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and grinned.

Syla couldn’t help the tears that fell as she taxied back into position. Even over her engine, she could hear the crowd cheering as they announced her name and thanked her for her years of flying with the Blues. As the canopy rose, she swiped at her face and took a deep breath.

It was over.

After three years, she was now returning to the fleet. She would be assigned a new Super Hornet, grey instead of bright blue, with her name and callsign painted below the canopy. The next few months would be spent reviewing tactical and weapons updates, and she’d have a few weeks to refresh her air combat skills before taking on her first TOPGUN class. She was pretty sure that she'd spend some time with the meatball, the machine that helped baby aviators learn the dimensions of the ship's flight line; she felt rusty even with over 600 carrier landings under her belt.

Thankfully, she was sure there was an active-duty pilot who would be more than happy to help her study.

“You good?” Syla looked up at her crew chief and nodded at the woman. Quickly, she handed over the helmet, realizing it would be one of the last times she wore it. Soon, she would be back in her garnet one with gold arrows - her nod to her alma mater. After smoothing down her hair, she put her cover back on and prepared to exit the cockpit.

Three years. Over 900 days on the road. Hundreds of hours in the air.

It was over.

A Week Later

Fanboy glanced at his phone, frowning at the text from Hangman. The Miami game was on a commercial break, so he quickly opened it and saw it was a video.

He recognized the place immediately - Florida State’s football stadium. Doak Campbell. Fucking Hangman was at the Miami-FSU game. Hangman panned the camera around the stadium, and Fanboy realized he was standing on the field. In the endzone. The announcer’s voice was a bit muffled but became clearer as Hangman refocused the camera on Syla.

“Callsign Syla made history as the first female aviator on the Blue Angels, carrying on the proud FSU tradition of excellence. Let’s give a loud welcome home to Syla!”

The crowd roared, chants of “USA” echoing as Syla held up her hands and waved before doing the tomahawk chop. In the background, he saw that she was being broadcast on the jumbotron. As it cut away, she held her hands up again. She brought her thumbs together to form the University of Miami ‘U’ symbol before dropping all but her middle fingers. The student section started a chant of ‘Fuck U’ as she laughed.

“Fuck Miami!” Syla grinned.

“Fuck Miami!” Hangman echoed, swinging the camera around to show himself flipping off the camera, that god-awful mustache still on his face. For once, he wasn’t wearing Texas gear but had swapped it out for a Seminoles cap and t-shirt.

Oh, Fanboy thought. He was definitely gonna have to deal with way more bro code violations once he got back. Especially after he forgot to turn off the recording before kissing Syla.

Fanboy debated forwarding it to the group chat but decided against it. Having a bit of blackmail was never a bad thing.

The group chat started popping off in the 4th quarter.

What the fuck is this? Payback fired off, sharing a picture of Hangman with his arm around Syla and their back to the field. Her hand rested on his stomach.

Damn, Rooster replied. Phoenix added a gif of Stephen Colbert eating popcorn.

Looks like fun, Bob added.

Fuck the Noles, Fanboy typed out.

Is no one bothered by this??? Payback demanded. The chat went silent until Hangman’s name popped up.

Syla here. Two things - 1) Fuck Miami, and 2) I’m begging you to let the man shave the fucking mustache. Facial hair is not my thing.

---------------------------------------------------

Note: I didn't expect to write a follow up to First and Goal, but I also didn't expect the engagement with it. Thank you to everyone who read it. A major thank you to @mayhemmanaged for helping talk me through this fic and reading a rough draft of it. And @dreamlandcreations for saying she wanted a part 2.

The North Florida panhandle has a huge military population. I recently moved away from the Gulf Coast, after my dad was stationed at Eglin AFB. That is where I first got to see a jet engine up close and see how beautiful the afterburner could be. It's where I went to my first stateside air show. I completed an internship at the VA in Pensacola, and was able to see the Blue Angels fly every week. Like Jake, I didn't really appreciate the panhandle until I left. There's nothing like shifting from pine trees to an ocean view as you cross the I-10 bridge, going from Whiting Field to Pensacola.

Like Syla, I'm a diehard Seminole, graduating from there a total of 4 times. I actually stole her flight leader's callsign, Duke, from a guy I went to high school and college with, who flies for the Air Force.

So long story short, this fic was inspired by aviation and Lieutenant Commander Amanda 'Stalin' Lee, the first female Blue Angel. Thanks for reading ❤️

Tagging those who reblogged and commented on First and Goal:

kmc1989; gigisimsonmars; starset21; the-slytherin-library-12; ssa-sadboi; fanficfandomlove; shanimallina87; myfaveficrecs; roosterforme; thefandomimagines; dreamlandcreations; topherwrites; roosteraloha; tgmreader; love-in-light; starlightmoon2020; clockworkballerina; bibissparkles; top-hhun; just-in-case-iloveyou; scarlettwidow19; themusingofagothicsoul; milani-marie; rooseresintg; lets-turn-and-burn; bellaireland1981; shanimallina87; sydthekid1518; gspenc; mimi-8793; novagreen04; fulla02reads; alldaysdreamers; atarmychick007; onceupona-happilyeverafter-love; rosiahills22

#hangman fic #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #Jake Seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun x female reader #First and Goal fic

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cynicalrosebud · 13 days

Text

Summary: Y/n L/n, callsign Delta – 6, captain of an all-female task force, is introduced to John Price by Kate Laswell. Laswell hopes their teams will collaborate on a high-stakes mission, but instead, the two captains—both equally exhausted by their teams' antics—form an unexpected connection over cigars and shared frustrations. As the mission progresses, they realize they're falling for each other in the quiet moments between the chaos.

CW: Injuries, blood, canon-typical violence

Pairings: Price x Reader

The hum of the helicopter blades faded as Captain Y/n L/n stepped off the transport, boots hitting the ground with a practiced, measured thud. Her gaze swept over the tarmac, eyes narrowing at the rows of military vehicles and the bustling personnel. It had been a long time since she'd worked with a new team, and her instincts were already on high alert. Next to her, Fizz, Shrike, and Dancer moved with the same trained precision—her team, her sisters-in-arms. Each one of them a force to be reckoned with.

"Captain L/n." A familiar voice broke through the noise, and Y/n looked up to see Kate Laswell approaching with her usual no-nonsense stride. "Glad you could make it."

Y/n nodded, shaking her hand firmly. "Laswell. You said it was urgent."

"It is. I’ve got someone for you to meet." Laswell’s eyes glinted with something—was that amusement? "Thought it was time you met Captain Price and his team."

Y/n’s lips quirked, recognizing the name immediately. John Price, the man with a reputation almost as large as his accomplishments. "I've heard of him."

"Good things, I hope," a deep voice cut in. Y/n turned to see the man himself stepping out from the shade of a nearby building. Tall, grizzled, and carrying himself with the weight of countless battles, Captain Price was every bit as formidable as his reputation suggested. His team stood behind him: Soap, Ghost, and Gaz—though their eyes quickly darted to the all-female task force now standing in front of them.

Y/n crossed the distance with a few steps, meeting Price in the middle. "Captain L/n," she introduced herself, extending a hand.

Price took it with a nod of respect. "Captain Price. Heard a lot about your team, L/n."

"And mine about yours," Y/n replied, her eyes flicking to his soldiers. Soap’s gaze was fixed on Fizz, a smirk tugging at his lips. Ghost stood unreadable as ever, but his eyes lingered on Shrike matching her blank gaze in the strangest staring contest ever. Gaz, standing beside Dancer, seemed caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement, measuring each other up.

Laswell clapped her hands, clearly enjoying the tension. "Good. Now that you’re all acquainted, we’ve got a mission brief inside. I’ll let you sort out how to run this operation together."

Price nodded at Laswell, but his eyes stayed on Y/n. "Ladies first."

Y/n smirked, her eyes glittering with mirth. "Then you should get a move on."

Inside the Briefing Room

The briefing was swift, professional, and loaded with tactical jargon, but Y/n and Price barely took their eyes off each other. They weren't rivals, not exactly, but there was something electric in the air—two leaders sizing each other up, assessing strengths, weaknesses, and capabilities.

After the briefing, the teams dispersed, leaving Y/n and Price alone in the room. Price lit a cigar, leaning back against the table as he watched her. "Your team’s got a reputation."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, pulling out her own cigar with a smirk, relishing how his eyebrows jumped up in pleasant suprise. "So does yours."

For a moment, they smoked in silence. The quiet was comfortable, both captains too experienced to feel the need to fill it with meaningless chatter. After a while, Y/n broke the silence, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "So, what’s your secret?"

Price raised an eyebrow. "Secret?"

"How you keep them in line. They look like they could be trouble." Her eyes flicked to where Soap had already wandered off with Fizz, and Shrike was quietly standing beside Ghost.

Price chuckled, low and rough. "Trouble doesn’t even begin to cover it. But they get the job done, ‘n that’s all I ask." He paused, taking another drag of his cigar. "What about you? Heard Fizz can be a bit… unpredictable."

Y/n gave a short laugh. "Unpredictable’s a nice way of putting it. But she’s got the skill to back it up. Shrike, Dancer, the same. We’ve all got each other’s backs."

Price nodded, his gaze softening slightly. "Sounds like we’re both leading a pack of misfits."

Y/n’s eyes glinted in amusement. "Guess so. But they’re our misfits."

For the first time since they’d met, Price genuinely smiled. It was small, barely noticeable under the brim of his hat, but Y/n caught it. "Laswell told me our teams need to work together, but I’m starting to think she had other plans."

Y/n tilted her head, curious. "Oh?"

"Maybe she thought you and I could get along better than we do with most people. Maybe she thought we’d... understand each other."

Y/n took another slow drag from her cigar, mulling that over. "You think we will?"

Price looked at her for a long moment before answering. "I think we already do."

There was a pause, heavy with meaning, as the smoke curled lazily between them. They didn’t need to say it, but both knew that this was the beginning of something more than just a mission briefing. Something that didn’t have to involve firefights and tactical decisions. Something quieter, but no less important.

Y/n exhaled slowly, tapping the ash from her cigar. "Well, Captain Price, I guess we’ll find out soon enough."

Price’s eyes gleamed in the glow of his cigar, his voice rough as he spoke. "S’pose we will."

Mission: Shadow and Mirror

The night sky loomed heavy over the compound, stars blanketed by dark clouds. Task Force 141 and TF 577 moved like shadows, their movements synchronized, despite coming from two very different directions. The objective was clear: infiltrate the facility, secure the intel, and get out.

Captain Y/n L/n kept her eyes on the path ahead, Fizz and Shrike at her flanks. Dancer moved in the shadows behind them, already syncing up with the surveillance equipment she'd placed hours ago. Price’s voice crackled quietly through her comms.

"Bravo – 6, team in position, how copy," he said. The gravel in his voice was reassuring.

"Delta – 6, I copy. Same here," Y/n responded, her own team spread out across the opposite side of the compound.

"Let’s make it happen, Captain."

A small smirk played on Y/n’s lips. “Always, Captain."

On the north side of the facility, Soap and Ghost were already moving through their assigned entry points, Soap setting up a line of explosives along the perimeter fence while Ghost silently eliminated a guard with a well-placed knife to the throat. They worked quickly, methodically - well-rehearsed movements.

On the south side, Fizz mirrored Soap’s motions, expertly placing explosives at key weak points, her movements just as fluid and confident. Shrike, the counterpart to Ghost, was already taking out guards with her preferred knives, moving as silently as a shadow.

Fizz’s voice came through Y/n’s comm. “Explosives set, Cap.”

Y/n moved forward, eyes sharp in the dark. “Good work. Shrike?”

"Perimeter clear," Shrike replied, her voice as cold and unyielding as the blade in her hand.

Y/n glanced at Dancer, who was positioned a few hundred meters away, watching the entire compound from a high vantage point, just like Gaz was doing on the other side. “Dancer, eyes up. What do you see?”

“Movement in the east wing, three guards patrolling,” Dancer’s voice came through the comms, calm and focused. “Gaz’s got a few on his side too.”

"Copy that," Gaz chimed in. “We’ll take them out on our signal.”

Price’s voice cut through the comms, steady and commanding. "On my mark. 3… 2… 1. Go."

Simultaneously, the two teams moved as one. Fizz and Soap triggered their explosives, creating small breaches in the walls. Ghost and Shrike cleared the path of guards, their knives flashing in the darkness like whispers of death. Y/n and Price moved toward the center, their footsteps falling in sync, each one aware of the other’s position without needing to speak.

Once inside, the teams broke off into their assigned sections, weaving through the narrow corridors with deadly precision. Price and Y/n had split off from their teams, moving together through the halls. They passed rooms where intel was stored, weapons caches piled high, and guards were oblivious to their presence.

"You take the left, I’ll clear the right," Price murmured, his eyes flicking to Y/n.

She nodded, drawing her silenced pistol. “Watch your back, Bravo.”

Price grunted in acknowledgment, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

Y/n moved quickly, her footsteps silent on the cold concrete floor. She cleared one room after another, neutralizing anyone who might sound the alarm. Each shot was precise, each movement calculated.

Meanwhile, Price worked through his side of the facility with the same ruthless efficiency. The two captains moved like they’d been doing this together for years, even though this was their first joint mission.

In the heart of the compound, Y/n and Price met again at a control room where the intel was being stored. They exchanged a brief glance—one that spoke of mutual respect and an unspoken understanding. There was no need for words as they moved forward together.

Inside the control room, a handful of guards stood watch. Y/n raised her weapon, and Price did the same. In a perfect, fluid motion, they took out the guards, moving in sync like they’d practiced this a thousand times.

Price holstered his weapon, glancing over at Y/n. “You’re good.”

She smirked, tapping her wrist. “You too.”

Together, they hacked into the facility’s mainframe, downloading the intel they came for. The beeping of the computer was the only sound in the room as the data transferred to their device.

"Dancer, give me a sitrep" Y/n asked over the comm.

"Clear. Extraction point’s set," Dancer’s voice replied.

Gaz's voice cut through next. “Ready to move on our side, Cap.”

"Rog," Price said. "Let’s wrap it up."

As they began their exit, the teams were moving in sync, weaving through the dark compound. Explosions were rigged and ready, waiting for the final detonation signal.

"Fizz, status?" Y/n asked as she crept down a hallway, her senses on high alert.

"Charges are set, Cap’n," Fizz replied, voice steady.

"Same ‘ere," Soap echoed.

Everything had gone off without a hitch - Too perfectly.

Just as the teams neared the rendezvous point, a loud, high-pitched whine filled the air. A drone—barely visible in the low light—buzzed overhead, its whirring barely registering before it dropped a payload directly into the facility's main corridor.

"GET DOWN!" Price barked over the comms.

Y/n didn’t have time to react before the explosion ripped through the building. The shockwave sent her flying, slamming her into a nearby wall. A loud ringing filled her ears, her vision swimming as debris scattered across the floor.

“Captain!” Fizz’s voice crackled in her ear.

Y/n groaned, struggling to push herself up. She glanced down at her side, her hand coming away slick with blood from a deep gash torn open by shrapnel. Her breath hitched, but she bit back the pain, reaching for her comms.

“Breathin’,” she lied through gritted teeth. “Keep moving.”

Price’s voice broke through, urgent. “Delta, report.”

“Just a scratch, Bravo.” Y/n pressed a hand against her side, trying to stop the bleeding, though it felt like a losing battle. “Don’t worry about me.”

"Where are you?" he demanded, his tone shifting from professionalism to something rougher, more personal.

Before Y/n could respond, a second explosion rocked the building, this one even closer. The walls buckled, smoke filling the hallway. The entire compound was crumbling around them.

Price cursed over the comms. “I’m coming to you.”

“No,” Y/n snapped, her breath shallow. “Stay with the mission. We need that intel.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

She could hear his footsteps approaching through the chaos, and despite the pain surging through her, she tried to pull herself upright. Her vision blurred as she staggered to her feet, the world spinning around her. “Price, don’t. Just get the team out.”

His shadow loomed through the smoke, and within seconds, Price was beside her, his hands gripping her arm. “Like I said, not a chance.”

Y/n pushed at him weakly, her strength draining with every second. “Leave me. You’ll never make it with me slowing you down.”

Y/n’s vision swam, but she managed a weak glare. “You idiot.”

“Nice to see you too, Captain,” Price muttered, before hoisting her onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, his movements smooth and practiced. His free hand kept his weapon trained ahead as he navigated through the smoke-filled halls.

“I’m ordering you,” she rasped, her voice weaker now. “Get out. Save the intel. Save our team.”

Price’s grip only tightened as he began hauling her toward the nearest exit, his face set in a grim, determined expression. “I don’t take orders from you, Captain.”

The ground shook beneath them, more explosions rumbling through the facility. Y/n coughed, smoke filling her lungs as she hung limply on Price, her body barely cooperating. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Price met her gaze, his eyes fierce. “Not today, lovie.”

Despite her injuries, despite the chaos around them, Y/n couldn’t help but admire the stubborn determination on his face. She was fading fast, her vision growing dim, but she forced herself to stay still, trusting Price as he carried her toward the exit.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions grew distant as they stumbled through the compound. Y/n’s head swam, her limbs heavy, and the world around her began to blur. She could feel herself slipping, the pain too much to bear.

Price’s voice cut through the fog, low and desperate. “Stay with me, Y/n.”

Every step was a battle, each one harder than the last, but Price didn’t slow down. His pace was steady, his breathing even, though she could tell he was working through his own exhaustion.

She coughed, her head lolling slightly against his back. “This mission… was doomed… from the start.”

“You’re still talking, so I’ll count that as a win,” Price grunted, adjusting his grip on her as they rounded a corner.

They burst out of the crumbling facility, the cold night air hitting them like a slap to the face. Price dragged Y/n toward the extraction point, his grip never faltering despite her growing weight.

“Fizz! Shrike!” Price shouted into the comm. “Get to the exfil point. Now.”

“We’re on our way!” Fizz’s voice crackled back, tension clear. “Dancer’s got eyes on ye!”

Y/n could barely make out the lights of the extraction helicopter ahead. Her vision blurred, her limbs almost numb now, but Price hauled her up again, more firmly onto his shoulders.

“Price,” she slurred, her head lolling against his shoulder. “I’m slowing you down…”

“You’re not slowing me down,” he growled, his grip tightening as if he could will her to stay conscious.

Behind them, the facility erupted in a fiery blaze, the charges Soap and Fizz had placed finally detonating. The force of the explosion sent another shockwave through the air, but Price didn’t falter, his only focus on getting Y/n to safety.

Just a few more feet.

The helicopter touched down, the rotor wash whipping through the air, kicking up dust and debris. Fizz and Shrike ran forward, covering their captain and Price as they closed the final distance.

As Price practically shoved Y/n into the waiting helicopter, Fizz’s voice rang in her ears. “Captain, we’re here. We’ve got ye.”

Y/n felt herself being pulled into the chopper, strong hands catching her as she finally let herself go, her body slumping into the seat.

Price was right behind her, climbing in as the helicopter lifted off. His hand stayed on her shoulder, his breath heavy as he finally let out a long, shaky exhale.

“Mission successful, Captain,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, more for her than for anyone else.

Y/n managed a weak smile, her eyelids heavy. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”

Price chuckled softly, but there was no humor in his eyes, only relief. “You’re damn right I am.”

As she drifted into unconsciousness, Y/n could feel his hand still resting on her, grounding her, keeping her tethered to the moment. She wasn’t alone, not anymore.

And for once, she allowed herself to trust in that.

The steady beep of medical monitors was the only sound in the sterile room. Y/n lay unconscious on the bed, her breathing even but shallow. The medics had worked quickly—Price had insisted on it—but now there was nothing to do but wait.

John stood at the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his expression darker than usual. His eyes never left her, watching for any sign of movement. The explosion replayed over and over in his mind—the moment she’d been thrown back, the blood seeping through her vest, the way she had nearly slipped out of his hands.

His fists clenched as he remembered how she had told him to leave her.

"Bloody stubborn," he muttered to himself, more frustration than anger in his voice.

He didn’t even hear Laswell approach until she was standing next to him, peering through the window at Y/n’s still form. "She’s tough, you know."

Price huffed, glancing briefly at Laswell before returning his gaze to Y/n. "Doesn't mean I can't be worried."

Laswell’s lips quirked into a small smile. "I didn’t say you couldn’t be."

Price didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as Y/n shifted slightly, her fingers twitching as she stirred. He stepped forward, his entire body tense, but she quickly settled again, still unconscious.

Laswell raised an eyebrow at his reaction, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. "You’ve been standing there for hours, John."

“I’ve got time,” he muttered, jaw tightening. His gaze flicked briefly toward Laswell before turning back to Y/n.

Laswell sighed, studying him for a moment. "You know," she started, her voice lighter, "I've seen you worried before. But this—" she gestured to his stiff posture, his constant vigil by the door, "—this is something else."

Price remained silent, though his expression darkened.

Laswell smirked, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to tease him. "So, should I congratulate you now? Or wait until she wakes up and you finally admit it?"

"Admit what, Laswell?" Price's voice was low and guarded, but the edge in his tone was unmistakable.

"Oh, come on, John," Laswell chuckled softly. "Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Half your team has, too."

Price’s brow furrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably, his arms tightening across his chest. "It’s not like that."

Laswell tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. "Right. Just like it wasn’t ‘like that’ when you practically carried her out of a collapsing building. Or when you haven’t left her side since she got patched up."

Price shot her a sharp look but didn’t respond. He wasn’t exactly one for open conversations about feelings. That much was clear.

Laswell, sensing his resistance, softened her tone just a bit. "John, she’s going to be fine. You don’t need to act like the world’s falling apart."

"I don’t take risks with my people," Price finally said, his voice rough. "She’s a good captain."

Laswell raised an eyebrow. "She is. But this isn’t about just her being a captain, is it?"

Price’s lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced over at Y/n again, watching her chest rise and fall. His shoulders stiffened slightly, his emotions barely restrained.

Laswell pushed off the wall, moving to stand beside him. Her expression was softer now, more knowing. "You care about her, John. It’s obvious. Maybe not to her, but... to the rest of us? It’s clear as day."

Price let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "It’s complicated, Laswell."

"Doesn’t have to be." She said with a small shrug.

For a moment, there was only silence between them, save for the quiet hum of the medical equipment. Price’s eyes remained locked on Y/n, his heart pounding in a way he wasn’t used to.

"She’ll be alright," Laswell said softly, patting him on the shoulder. "But maybe it’s time you stop pretending it’s just about the mission."

Price didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the steady rise and fall of Y/n’s chest. The tension in his shoulders never left, but something about Laswell’s words settled in the back of his mind, lingering.

Laswell, satisfied with the silence, turned to leave but couldn’t resist one last jab. "Just make sure when she wakes up, you’ve got a better excuse than ‘I’m worried about my people.’ She deserves better than that."

She left the room, leaving Price standing alone, the weight of her words heavy in the air. His eyes never left Y/n, and despite the storm of thoughts swirling in his head, one thing remained clear.

He wasn’t leaving her side anytime soon.

The soft beeping of the heart monitor was the first thing Y/n registered as she slowly drifted back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the dimly lit medical room. The sterile smell and the gentle hum of the machinery were familiar, but it took a moment for her mind to clear the fog.

Her body felt heavy, and a dull pain radiated from her side, but she managed to turn her head slightly. As she did, she noticed the faint figures of her team members—Fizz, Shrike, and Dancer—standing near the window, speaking in hushed tones. Their expressions were a mix of relief and concern.

"Captain’s awake!" Fizz's voice broke through the quiet, her face lighting up as she moved closer to the bed.

Y/n blinked slowly, trying to focus on the figure that approached. The room seemed warmer now, filled with the familiar presence of her team. But as she scanned the room, her eyes fell upon a different figure—a man slumped in a chair by the door.

John Price was fast asleep, his head tipped back, and his posture slouched. He was still in his tactical gear, though his helmet, gloves, and vest were set aside on a nearby table. The sight of him, so vulnerable and worn out, was a stark contrast to the usually stoic and commanding officer she was accustomed to.

"Price?" Y/n murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The movement of her lips was enough to stir the sleeping man. Price’s eyes fluttered open, and he instantly straightened in his chair, blinking away the remnants of sleep. His gaze locked onto Y/n, and for a moment, his expression softened into a mix of relief and fatigue.

"Y/n," he said, his voice rough but filled with emotion. He pushed himself up from the chair, his movements quick and anxious as he approached her bedside. "You’re awake."

"Yeah," Y/n replied, her voice still weak. "Looks like I made it."

Price’s eyes didn’t leave hers, and he reached out a hand, his rough fingers brushing against hers in a gesture of reassurance. “You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she replied with a small, pained smile. “But I’m alive.”

“You’re more than just alive,” Price said softly. “You’re one tough bastard. I’d have had a hell of a time explaining to your team if something happened to you.”

Y/n chuckled softly, wincing a bit at the pain. “I see you’ve been keeping a close eye on me.”

Price’s lips twitched into a small, weary smile. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

As she continued to take in her surroundings, her team members moved closer. Fizz, Shrike, and Dancer each offered their own words of comfort and relief. Fizz handed her a small gift—a get-well-soon charm with a note that read, “Next time, don’t scare us like that!”

Dancer’s eyes were warm as she said, “The mission’s over. We’re just glad you’re okay.”

Shrike gave a nod of approval, her gaze softer than usual. “Good to see you back with us, Captain.”

Y/n tried to smile, her eyes darting back to Price. His attention was solely on her, but she could see the strain in his features, the concern that hadn’t fully eased. She reached out, her hand gently squeezing his.

“John, you should get some rest,” she said, her voice filled with concern.

Price shook his head, though his eyes were still tired. “I’m fine. You’re the one who needs to focus on getting better.”

Just then, the door to the medical room opened, and the members of Task Force 141 stepped in. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost entered, their expressions a mix of relief and concern. Soap was the first to approach, his face breaking into a wide grin.

“Thought we’d drop by,” Soap said, his voice filled with warmth. “Looks like yer none too worse fer wear.”

Y/n’s eyes lit up as she saw the familiar faces. “Soap, Gaz, Ghost—thanks for coming.”

Gaz stepped closer, his expression serious but with a hint of a smile. “We’re not letting you off easy. Had enough trouble keeping track of you.”

Ghost’s face was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes softened slightly as he nodded. “Glad you’re awake.”

The two teams mingled in the room, exchanging stories and updates. Price remained at Y/n’s side, his hand still holding hers, though he gave her a small nudge when the door creaked open again.

Laswell entered, her gaze flicking between the two teams. She smirked slightly as she saw Price’s protective stance. “Well, well, seems like everyone’s here.”

Price looked up, his expression a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. “Kate.”

Laswell chuckled softly, moving closer. “John, you’ve been standing guard for hours. It’s nice to see you care, but don’t you think it’s time to take a break?”

Price shook his head, though his eyes were still tired. “I’m fine. Just making sure she’s alright.”

Laswell’s gaze softened as she glanced between Price and Y/n. “And you’ve been making sure she’s more than just alright.”

Y/n managed a weak but warm smile. “John’s been quite the sentinel.”

Laswell raised an eyebrow, her teasing tone still light. “Well, it seems like the Captain’s getting quite a bit of attention. Maybe you’ll get some rest soon, Price.”

As the room filled with laughter and the camaraderie of both teams, Price’s gaze never wavered from Y/n. Despite the jokes and the lighthearted banter, it was clear that his concern ran deep.

Y/n glanced at her team, then back at Price. The room was filled with a sense of camaraderie and relief. Despite the mission’s outcome and the pain she was feeling, there was something comforting about having both teams gathered around her, and about Price’s steadfast presence.

As the nurse came in to check on her, the room began to fill with a more normal hustle and bustle. Price stayed close, his hand still in hers, as if anchoring himself to her.

“You know,” Y/n said softly, trying to lighten the mood, “If you wanted to keep me company, you didn’t have to wait until I was in the hospital.”

Price’s tired eyes met hers, and he managed a small, genuine smile. “Don’t think I had much of a choice, Captain.”

Y/n’s gaze softened as she looked at him, realizing that despite the chaos and danger, there was something comforting in his presence. For now, she was content to focus on recovering and the quiet reassurance that, for once, someone cared deeply enough to guard her—even in their moments of vulnerability.

#call of duty #x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #price x reader #is this too long?

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