#jake hangman seresin angst

[justfandomwritings]

Who Did This To You? (Hangman)

Pairing: Hangman x Female!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 10.2k because I have no self control

Summary: In your most vulnerable hour, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin is the one to find you, and the one to ask you the ultimate question. "Who did this to you?"

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse and DV (NOT committed by Jake), nongraphic description of resulting injuries, a very one-sided bar fight, mention that a character is going to therapy, insults and confrontation by a past abuser. (This story is a who did this to you trope. While it is only dealing with the 'who did this to you' aftermath of what was done, please keep that in mind.)

Notes: This is just an excuse to write the who did this to you trope. This is self indulgence at its finest.

“Who did this to you?”

Your head shot up a little too quickly at the unexpected company, and the world began to spin all over again. With a groan, you laid your head back on the bartop, hoping the flat wood would help the world right itself faster.

You’d been lying there with your forehead pressed on the cool wood of the bar, sitting directly under an air vent, for the better part of thirty minutes. The Hard Deck’s AC was working overtime to keep the heat outside, and the rush of cold air blowing down the back of your shirt was doing wonders for your sore arms and back. 

“Hurricane, who did this to you?”

You hadn’t been expecting anyone to be there. Everyone else was down at the beach. You thought you’d have some time alone to lick your wounds and cover your bruises and emotionally recover from what had happened that morning. Penny was too busy watching Maverick. The aviators were too engrossed in a new game Maverick had invented called dogfight volleyball, and the bar was technically closed at this hour. You thought you could slip by and start your shift sight unseen. 

“Hurricane,” The voice was firm, but not demanding. Underwritten with a tone of concern that was very uncommon to that particular voice. “Hurricane,” it repeated. 

You opened your eyes and rolled your head to lay facing the voice’s direction and made eye contact with Hangman. 

You knew it was him before you turned, but for some reason you still did. 

Backlit by the sun’s rays bouncing off his perfect golden hair with an open button-up billowing in the sea breeze, he stood in sharp contrast to your current state. Like an angel stepping out of heaven and into hell. 

In some ways, this was your worst case scenario. Hangman was definitely not your favorite pilot and was very close to your least, and he was certainly not your friend. You were at best frenemies and even that was a stretch. The pair of you had been constantly bickering and making snide comments behind the other’s backs since practically the moment you made eye contact with each other. He intentionally made your life difficult behind the bar, and you rang the bell on him on multiple occasions. 

He was responsible for everyone calling you Hurricane. You’d come crashing through the doors on your first day working at the Hard Deck with a torrential downpour following you in from outside. A drowned cat would’ve looked less soaked through and pathetic than you, and the moment Penny introduced you to the squad, he’d made a snide remark about the Hurricane you brought with you. The rest was history. It became like a callsign to them; your name long forgotten by most. The only pilot who didn’t call you Hurricane now was Bob, and it ground your gears just a little bit more every time you heard it. 

On the other hand, this might’ve been the best case scenario. Hangman wasn’t someone who was going to make a big show of this. He wouldn’t rush down to the beach and ask for help. He wouldn’t fawn over you or ask you if you were okay a million times. He wouldn’t expect you to cry on his shoulder and incessantly pick at you until you broke down. 

“Who did this to you?” Hangman took a step in from where he’d frozen in the door out to the patio.

His expression was like his voice, hard and firm with undertones of the worry that anyone would be feeling in this situation. Hangman wasn’t the nicest guy you knew, but you knew from the other pilots stories of the many times he’d saved their lives that he wasn’t evil, and you didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d at least be somewhat concerned even if he didn’t care particularly for you. 

“You already know who.”

It was true. Devin had been in the bar about once a week for the last six months that you’d been dating. He’d made the rounds through the aviators, none of whom particularly liked him but all of whom had been polite enough not to say anything… except Hangman. 

The second Devin left after his first introductions, Hangman had made his distaste known. ‘Something’s off about that guy,’ he’d said before the door even closed. Phoenix had teased him about being jealous that his snarky banter was no longer the center of your world, but you’d seen it for what it was. A combination of being angry he wasn’t the center of attention and looking to defy you at every turn that was a uniquely Hangman blend. 

Hangman approached you slowly, taking one deliberate step at a time. Every step with such obvious forethought that it gave you the time and the option to back away. A detail you wouldn’t have expected from such an ego-centric man. 

You didn’t back away. Hangman was a lot of things, most of them negative, but you could say with absolute certainty that you weren’t afraid of him. For all the times you’d yelled at him, you’d never been scared of his physicality, and for all the times he'd yelled at you, his hand had never so much as twitched. 

Standing beside you, under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights that threw your skin into sharp relief, Hangman had a full view of the damage. 

“That fucker,” his voice was a harsh, raspy whisper, “I’m gonna kill him.” His hand seemed to lift of its own accord. Flat, open palmed and always within your line of sight, he reached up and stroked his fingers along your cheekbone with a feather-light touch. 

“I already dumped him.” You don’t know why you felt like explaining yourself to Hangman of all people, but maybe it was the determination in his eyes. The way he stared down at your cheek like his eyes could will the twing of pain away. 

Hangman gave a half-hearted, inattentive nod. “That’s certainly a start.” He looked like gears were turning in his head, like he hadn’t given up on his first idea. 

A flood of memories came back to you. 

‘The only active duty pilot with a confirmed air-to-air kill.’ Coyote, introducing Hangman.

‘We call him Bagman, cause he’ll kill anyone and get anyone killed. He doesn’t seem to mind.’ Omaha commenting on Hangman’s aim at the dartboard. 

‘That’s his second air-to-air kill.’ Bob, telling you what he could about the mission they’d just come back from. 

‘Hangman’s deadly in the sky. I wouldn’t wanna cross him.’ Rooster, finally being honest about what he thought of Hangman, after the blonde saved his life. 

Hangman had killed before, and in his line of work, with his level of skill, likely would again. He definitely didn’t mean what he said, certainly not literally. He wasn’t about to rush out to his truck and go hunting Devin in the streets, but it wasn’t something he of all people would say entirely jokingly either. 

You slowly sat up in your chair. The world was spinning less now. Whether that was because the nausea was finally passing or because Hangman’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you in the moment, it was unclear. “I appreciate your concern,” you hedged, “but really, I’m fine. I can handle myself.”

Hangman snorted and let his hand fall away. “Obviously you can; you already kicked his ass to the curb on your own. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kill him for good measure.” Hangman hopped up on the bar and swung his legs over. 

You probably should’ve objected to his comfort level invading your workspace. Penny was very explicit that no one was allowed behind the bar who didn’t work there and even more explicit that that applied to all naval aviators. Somehow, though, you doubted Hangman would rat you out, at least not today. 

“Are you going to tell Penny?” Hangman mozied around behind the bar, picking up a rag and tossing it over his shoulder. He was looking for something, but he didn’t seem inclined to ask. You weren’t any more inclined to offer. 

It would’ve broken whatever moment was passing between you. Caring? Camaraderie? You weren’t sure, but there was certainly some level of understanding that remained largely unspoken. 

Hangman found what he was looking for in short order anyway. He flipped open the ice cooler and pulled the rag off his shoulder, filling it with a scoop of ice and tying the ends. 

“Not now,” you were disinclined to bring it up to Penny. 

The Hard Deck was a Navy bar, and Penny had made a lot of powerful friends. Hell, you had a lot of powerful friends if you were willing to use them; one of them, or at least a powerful person who was willing to help you, was standing right in front of you. You could only imagine what would happen to Devin if you told anyone. All of it would be deserved of course, but you doubted most of it would be legal. And that really wasn’t what you needed right now, and you weren’t ready to have that conversation anyway. 

“Hold this to your cheek. You wanna get the swelling down,” In a reversal of roles, he leaned against the bar in the place that was normally yours and offered you his makeshift ice pack. 

You took it with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Hangman nodded with a thoughtful expression, watching your hand raise it to your cheek, “I’ll let you tell them in your own time, but you’re going to go to someone to help you through this until then… professionally.” 

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t leaving room for debate. It was an order as plain as any he got in the Navy. 

You nodded wordlessly against the ice pressed to your face. It was a reasonable expectation, a reasonable request. You weren’t sure if you needed it or not, but you supposed that was the point. You weren’t sure. Better to go too soon than too late. 

“Good,” Hangman sighed, seeming relieved, and pushed off the bar. His muscles flexed with the motion, bulging against the short sleeves of his open button-up shirt. They remained tense as he crossed his arms over his chest. His teeth gritted behind his closed lips. “I’ll keep him out of the bar.”

“Hangman, you really don’t have to-” 

“He hurt you.” Hangman cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked serious, deadly serious. “That’s all I need to know. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

Before you had the chance to respond, not that you were entirely sure how you would, Hangman’s eyes left yours, staring at something over your shoulder out towards the beach.

“Do you have any makeup for that cheek?”

Your head turned, and you saw the outlines of Penny and Mav, arm in arm, making their way back to the bar. “Yeah,” you replied, “But my shoulder is a different story. I need to go find…”

Hangman jerked his button up off his shoulders and balled it up, tossing it across the bar to you. “Go quick. Put this on.”

“Hangman, I-”

“Go.” Hangman urged, and you ran off before Penny could see the two of you.

—------------------------------------------------

Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket, but you didn’t have time to check it.

You thought you knew what it was. Phoenix demanding to know why one of Jake Seresin’s shirts was wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman’s weren’t as distinctive as Bradley’s, usually solid colors with a barely-there logo on the pocket. None of the guys had noticed you were wearing it, but you knew Phoenix had the moment she came back in from the beach. She’d shot you a disappointed, skeptical look and immediately begun whispering to Bob as they walked away with their drinks. 

Penny hadn’t been much better. She hadn’t identified which pilots’ shirt it was like Phoenix clearly had, but she was two steps away from asking when the evening rush began to pour in without any sign of slowing down. 

The Hard Deck was slam-packed, and none of the bartenders had a second to spare. The newest class of TopGun recruits were graduating within a week, and it seemed that everyone had turned out for the upcoming occasion.

The bar was crowded with faces new and old. All of the graduating pilots were scattered around, and most of their instructors had made their way in at some point. Some of the pilots had families, wives and girlfriends, who had flown in and accompanied them to the bar that night. There were more than a few old friends in town to visit or siblings using the graduation as an excuse to get away. 

Even most of Mav’s squadron was there. Penny’s old flame had claimed a spot by one of the dart boards, and his lieutenants were all taking turns trying to dethrone Hangman as the king of darts. Normally, they would have migrated to the pool tables by now, but the bar was too crowded for even TopGun’s finest to leverage their way into skipping the line to have a game. 

One of the soon-to-be graduates hunkered down at the bar, some asshole who was billing himself as the new and improved Hangman, kept snapping his fingers at you to try to get your attention from behind the bar. You were dangerously close to ringing the bell on him the next time he did it, and Penny’s fingers were clearly itching to do the same. Tragically, neither of you thought that was a very good idea. Tonight might’ve been the one night where it was simply too busy to ring the bell.

There were so many people you couldn’t see past the sea of bodies pressing in around you, and it was a miracle that you didn’t bolt from the claustrophobia.

Marg after marg. Old fashioned after old fashioned. Beer after beer. The line never seemed to stop, and it was taking its toll on you. Tonight was simply not your night.

“Go,” Penny’s hand touched your shoulder and made you jump, spilling some of the tequila shot you were trying to hand off. “I’ll clean that. You look like you need a break. Take five.”

Normally on a busy night, you would’ve protested, insisted you could hold down the fort and done your best to help Penny push through the rush, but not that night.

Your shoulders slumped in relief, and you ducked under the gap in the bar without much of a second thought, pushing your way through the people towards the door to the kitchen. There was a ‘broken’ stool by the door to the kitchen that was in fact not broken at all but had a sign taped to it that said it was specifically so it was open for when workers were on break. The seat provided some much needed relief for your aching feet and even more aching shoulders.

Shaking cocktails was really aggravating the bruises just beneath the button up wrapped around your shoulders, and you found yourself hurting almost twice as much as normal this shift. That might’ve been why you felt like you were moving in slow motion the whole time. That or the sheer number of people had simply made the task seem insurmountable.

You were just closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall when your phone in your pocket buzzed again.

It wasn’t really a conscious decision to check it, more habit than anything else. And really, you hadn’t expected it to be anything that bad. You hadn’t heard from him all day. 

But there it was. His name. His name a half a dozen times over the course of your shift. Each text progressively more urgent and pressing than the last.

‘I’m  still coming to pick you up from work.’

Bile rose up in your throat, and you suppressed the overwhelming urge to bolt. The room was suddenly too hot and too crowded, and there were too many faces. Faces you recognized and faces you didn’t. A wash of faces that was the perfect place for him to hide, to wait, to lurk around for the opportune moment to reveal himself.

You couldn’t do this, couldn’t deal with this. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people. Not alone. 

You did the first thing that came to mind. 

It was stupid really. You couldn’t explain why it occurred to you, why you acted on it so immediately, why you thought it was a good idea at all. It probably wasn’t; it could just as easily have backfired in your face as anything else. But your gut told you it was what you should do. Really, your gut didn’t so much tell you as wrench you in that direction with an undeniable force. 

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?” 

Hangman was an easy man to find, even despite the crowd, strutting around the dart boards like he owned the place, which he very nearly did, rubbing the other pilots noses in his shots that were somehow better blindfolded than theirs were with sight.

You interrupted him boasting loudly to Fanboy and Payback about how he didn’t even need to practice. Perfect marksmanship just came naturally to him. The rest of the pilots were all gathered at the high tops near the darts boards, mostly rolling their eyes. They were having some kind of tournament, or rather a competition to see if anyone could take Hangman down. 

Payback seemed almost too happy for the interruption, but Fanboy was a bit more perceptive, at least at the moment. Fanboy’s eyes darted away to Phoenix’s table, and you saw the jerk of his head when he caught her eye. Funneling the female aviator’s attention in the direction of what was unfolding. 

You, wearing Hangman’s shirt since he disappeared for half an hour earlier that day, asking to talk to him alone near the end of your shift. You knew exactly what it looked like. 

“Sure.” Hangman’s tone was completely casual, not giving anything away, but when his back turned on his companions, his eyes were burning. You quickly looked away from his gaze and led him from the group.

“I wasn’t checking my phone.” The words were tumbling out of your mouth the moment he was out of the others’ earshot. You didn’t even bite your tongue long enough to turn around. “He’s been texting me my entire shift. He was supposed to be my ride home tonight, and I think he might show up soon.”

When you faced Hangman, you knew the panic in your voice and in your eyes was painfully obvious. Now that you were semi-alone with him, with someone who knew, there was no hiding how much it jarred you. Your hands fumbled with your phone trying to show him the flood of texts you’d gotten, unnoticed, over the last two hours. 

Hangman didn’t look down even as you turned the phone to show him. His jaw was already clenched; his expression was agitated, visibly angry. His eyes weren’t looking at you or the phone. They were searching the faces in the crowd similar to the way yours had only moments before though far more thorough. The honed, trained eye of a military fighter pilot meticulously picked through the crowd for its target, finding nothing. 

“Could you…” You hesitated to ask. It was such a ridiculous request. Just yesterday, Hangman would’ve been your absolute last choice to be in this position with; you would’ve risked handling it alone before asking for his help. But here he was. The only one who knew. The first one you asked. “I’ll give you a round on the house for it. I just… Would you mind giving me a ride home? I don’t want to stumble on him alone.”

Hangman didn’t hesitate or pull his eyes from where they continuously scanned the crowd, as if his gaze alone was enough to keep a threat at bay. “No beers required, Hurricane.” The words seemed to be coming out of his mouth even as you offered. Like he’d already decided what he was going to do the minute you told him the problem. “Wait here a sec? I’ll handle it.”

Hangman walked the short distance over to the bar, glancing back over his shoulder at you every few steps like he was making sure you hadn’t disappeared, and flagged down Penny. Something on his face must’ve told her it was urgent because she forwent several regulars and big tippers demanding drinks to beeline towards him. He leaned over the bar and whispered something in her ear, gesturing back in your direction. 

Penny looked concerned, and she nodded along with what Hangman was saying until he turned to leave. 

“If Penny asks,” Hangman put a hand on your shoulder, a firm grip holding you to his side as he led you through the throng of people towards the exit, “a guy was bothering you, and I drove you home cause you were scared of him.”

“Not entirely a lie,” You mumbled, shifting closer into Hangman’s side.

No one tried to stop you. No hands reached out for you. No one called out your name. You made it through entirely unscathed. You could feel eyes on you, but they didn’t raise the hairs on the back of your neck. You doubted, highly, that they were Devin’s. More likely, Hangman’s squadron were watching him retreat from the bar with you under his arm without so much as a goodbye. More likely, they were plotting and planning the questions they were going to hound the two of you with the next time they saw you. More likely, Phoenix was pointing out to everyone that you were wearing Hangman’s shirt.

—------

“Does he have a key?” Hangman didn’t break the silence until he’d turned onto your block, until he’d brought his truck to a slow crawl, looking for your tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter house in a row of tiny, inconsequential cookie cutter houses. 

Yours was pretty much the only house without a Navy flag or Navy paraphernalia of some description sitting in the yard or stuck to a car in the driveway. The neighborhood was not far from the Hard Deck which was not far from the base, and the tiny houses geared towards first-time-buyers were crawling with Navy pilots and newlywed military couples who wanted to live offbase.

You were on the second sidestreet, the third house on the left. Hangman already knew the way without instruction. Penny had conned every Top Gun pilot with a car into driving you home at least a couple times. And while Hangman was usually the pilot she was least willing to ask, he was also the only one who was guaranteed to always be sober. 

His question came out very sober. His usual lilting, teasing tone had dropped off somewhere today and never fully returned. 

“He did. He… he told me he lost it, but…” You both knew better than to believe that.

Hangman pulled into your driveway and flicked the truck into park and turned it off. “Tomorrow I’ll drive you to the hardware store, and we’ll change the locks.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Do you feel safe with him having a key?” Hangman cut you off. He was looking down at you with just a touch of condescension, so classically Hangman. Like he knew the answer already, like he knew you knew the answer already, and that you were silly if you pretended not to or refused him. 

You knew where this was going, and you thought about lying, just to relieve Hangman of whatever false sense of duty or obligation he had imposed on himself by being the one to find you at the Hard Deck. But it was way too late. Hangman wasn’t stupid, but he was incredibly, irritatingly stubborn. And he’d already set his mind to helping you through this. “No.”

“Then tomorrow morning I’ll change the locks.” Hangman threw his door open and hopped out of the truck. It slammed closed behind him as he circled around to your side. You made to open your door, but Hangman beat you to it. “Alarm services are expensive,” He continued, offering you a hand, “but they make door jammers that have sound alarms on them at least, and my sister bought some cheap window versions a while back that I could help install.” 

You took Hangman’s hand and dumbly followed him up to your door as he rambled on about extra door locks and doorbell cameras. All options that you could pick up tomorrow for him to put in. 

“That’s too much effort,” You halfheartedly protested as you spun your keys around trying to find the one to your front door. 

There really weren’t that many keys. There were a couple to the Hard Deck, one to the shed where Penny kept beach supplies, and one to Devin’s place that you hadn’t returned. They were all distinct shapes and colors, but you couldn’t seem to focus long enough to find the plain silver key to your own door. Maybe because you knew there was another one, exactly like it, somewhere across town at that moment.   

“Not if it makes you feel safe.” Hangman leaned back against your door frame, his eyes skimming up and down your block as if he was still on alert in the crowded bar, still looking for signs of trouble, signs of him. 

“Would you…” Your words trailed off as you watched his darting eyes. The question came bubbling up before you could stop it, before you even really thought of it. It was less a question and more a response to his vigilance, to the thought that his vigilance might be warranted and necessary. 

“Would I…?” Hangman didn’t let it go. His eyes turned to look at you.

You chewed at your bottom lip, debating if it was worth asking, debating if it was necessary. 

He probably thought it was, if his mannerisms were any indication, if his talk about alarms was any indication, if walking you to your door and watching your back were any indication. 

“Would you come in?”

Hangman raised a doubtful eyebrow, sure you didn’t mean what those words usually meant.

“Not like that, it’s just… You’re right. He probably still has a key, and if we can’t fix it till the morning…”

Understanding seemed to wash over his face, and Hangman kicked himself up off the door jam. “If it’ll help,” he immediately conceded. “I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“It…” You hesitated, but only for a moment. “I think it would.”

The silence inside your home was almost palpable. It was late enough that going to bed wouldn’t have been awkward for either of you, but neither of you were tired. And neither of you seemed up to faking being tired just to get away. 

Hangman sat on one end of the couch, and you sat on the other. At some point, you mustered the effort to turn on the tv. The local news was a quiet, bland drone of background noise cutting through the still air around the two of you.

You felt like you should say something. Maybe ‘should’ wasn’t the right word; maybe you wanted to say something. But either way you didn’t know where to begin.

You had only ever been alone with Hangman when he was dropping you off as a favor to Penny, times that were filled with snarky jokes and constant nagging from both of you, and earlier that day in the bar. You weren’t close. You weren’t friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was only here because he was in the right (or wrong, depending how you looked at it) place at the right time.

“Thank you,” That seemed like a good place to start. “For today, thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Hangman countered quickly. His eyes stayed on the tv, though they were clearly out of focus staring at the screen. 

“I do though. You could’ve told everyone.”

“You weren’t ready for that.” He added it under his breath, countering without cutting you off.

“You could’ve left me to finish out my shift.”

“Not with him coming to the bar.”

“You could’ve left after you dropped me off.”

“He has a key.”

“You could’ve turned and walked out the door when you first saw me at the bar.”

Hangman let out a heavy sigh, not of annoyance or exasperation but a sigh weighed down with duty and concern. “No, I couldn’t.” 

Your eyes met his over the center of the couch, and a breath rushed out of your lungs under the intensity in his gaze.

—-------------------------------------

You woke up in your bed, mouth open, with more than a little drool pooling on your pillow. 

You had no memory of falling asleep there, of getting into bed, of going to your room at all. 

You remember being on the couch, talking to Hangman. You remembered the way his eyes, intense, open, and honest, compelled you to speak. The way you couldn’t bite back the story pouring from your lips. The story of Devin asking you out, of falling for him in those early weeks, of how he changed after you committed to him. The story of what he did that night, of his buddies who sat back and did nothing, of the jokes you heard the three of them cracking as you ran from the room.

You remembered Hangman crossing the space between you and putting a hand on your arm, how cautious he was touching you, how much time he left you to pull away, how gentle his touch was against your skin. You remembered throwing yourself into his lap, sobbing into his shoulder as he held you against his chest and rubbed soothingly up and down your back, whispering promises that that asshole would never hurt you again. 

You didn’t remember anything after that. You must’ve fallen asleep in his lap.

Sitting up, you found the answer to your unasked question.

A folded piece of notebook paper sitting on the pillow next to you:

‘Thought the bed would be preferable to sharing the couch with me. If I’m wrong and you wake up in the middle of the night and don’t want to be alone, you can always wake me up. If not, I’ll have coffee ready for you in the morning. - Jake.’

As you read, his words the night before echoed in your head to the beat of a nonexistent drum as you read the note once, then twice, then a third time.

‘No, I couldn’t.’

You carefully folded the paper up and tucked it in the top drawer of your bedside table. 

True to his word, Hangman was wide awake, standing in your kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee when you walked out of your room. 

“H-Hi,” you stuttered.

Last night, in the comfort of darkness, with exhaustion clouding over your mind and his arms holding you close, it had seemed the most logical thing in the world to open up to Hangman. And with the light of day glinting through the windows, with him dressed in the button up he’d wrapped around you the day before, with him lounging back against your counter as he sipped from your favorite mug, with an overconfident air that was too comfortable for any normal person’s first time in your home… It was odd to think that feeling hadn’t changed, that you still felt able to bare your soul to him, that you didn’t feel a need to run back into your room and get changed or freshen up, that you were perfectly comfortable being seen by him like this, a tired quaking  mess with puffy red eyes.

Part of you expected to walk out into your kitchen to an epiphany that you’d made a horrible mistake, that Hangman was exactly as much of a cocky asshole as you thought he was two days ago. But the epiphany never came.

“Morning,” Hangman took a sip of coffee and set the mug aside. He looked casual, at peace, like this was just another day, like he’d done this a million times. “I’m ready to go whenever you are. I found the toolbox in the bottom of your coat closet. Hope you don’t mind. We’ll probably need a few things if we’re gonna do anything more than replace the locks.”

“Y-Yeah,” You grabbed a mug off the drying rack and crossed the room to pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot beside him, your shoulder brushing passed his as you poured. “Sounds good.”

“Hey.” Hangman seemed to immediately pick up that something was plaguing your mind. He didn’t reach out for you like last night, quite the opposite. He took a step away and turned to face you, crossin his arms over his chest, “If you want to be alone, I’ll head out. I’ll go to the store, pick up the locks, and change them myself. You can have time to yourself if you need it.” 

“No,” You immediately countered his obvious misinterpretation of your mood. “I-I don’t think I want to be alone. I’m just… antsy I guess.” 

He didn’t seem to fully buy it, but he let your excuse hang. “Okay then, we’ll head out when you’re ready.”

—----------------------

All day, as Hangman worked around your house first changing the locks then installing alarms then fixing a window that wouldn’t lock and then righting a wobbly chair leg that had absolutely nothing to do with your safety, neither of you mentioned the note he left or you crying in his arms or falling asleep on his lap or his quiet ‘No, I couldn’t’.

—--------------------------

You made a vow to yourself when Hangman finally left your house late Saturday afternoon. You were never going to ring up his card at the Hard Deck again. It couldn’t really repay what he’d done for you, the feeling of safety he’d brought to you in what was probably your most vulnerable moment so far on this earth, but you knew he wouldn’t want anything more showy. Hangman loved being the center of attention, but somehow you knew he wouldn’t want attention for this. 

True to your vow, the next Saturday evening, Hangman was on his third beer and had, unwittingly on his part, not paid a dime.

The Hard Deck was far less crowded that night. The graduating Top Gun candidates had all flown away, and only those currently stationed at the base, mostly Maverick’s squad, and some locals remained. A few dozen patrons milled around a room far larger than they needed with maybe a dozen pressed up to the bar. Most of the dozen fell under your responsibilities at the moment. Penny had, unintentionally, abandoned you not long before when Maverick had wandered in and taken up his usual stool. 

Omaha and Halo, the first aviators to arrive, had claimed one of the pool tables early in the night, and the rest of the squad had started rotating through matchups. It appeared Fritz was on a hot streak, one that was no doubt about to end as his next opponent in line was Hangman. 

All seemed right with the world. The constant buzz of voices, the crooning of the Goo Goo Dolls song that Bob had selected on the jukebox, the ready flow of beer to your usual patrons. Everything was fine.

Until the door opened one last time. Not that places of business ever ‘expected’ anyone because they hardly sent out invitations to come buy beer, but you really weren’t expecting anyone else that night. All the regulars were already inside.

The door banging against the wall as it was flung open was enough to draw your surprised eyes up to the entryway. 

Face lit by the sun setting over the beach through the windows on the opposite wall, he was unmistakable as he marched into view flanked by his two buddies. They immediately began scanning the room. 

Your breath rushed out of your lungs, exhaling in a gust that you couldn’t hold back any more than the wind. 

No, no, no. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t confront you here. He couldn’t corner you alone.

There was no time to think, no time to check with Penny if it was ok to leave your station, no time to get to the door or bolt out the back. 

‘I’ll keep him out of the bar.’

It was your first instinct when you saw the text the weekend before, and it was your first instinct when you saw him that night.

“Hurricane?” Penny called after you as, without so much as a word in her direction, you ducked under the gap in the bar and made a beeline for the pool tables. 

You barely heard her, and if you did, it didn’t register. 

“Jake,” his real name leaving your lips was enough to draw most of his coworkers’ attention, all those in earshot at least. You grabbed his arm the second he was within reach, inadvertently clawing his skin with your nails as you pulled him up from where he was hunched over the pool table lining up a shot. 

Jake laughed and shrugged off your arm before he even turned around and saw who it was. “Hey,” he rubbed at the red marks in his skin, “I was just…” 

The words died on his lips when he turned and saw the panic in your eyes. It was brimming up inside you, overflowing and choking you off from every other sensation except the desperation for Jake to understand.

He knew better than anyone that there was only one thing that could make you look like that, feel like that. His head jerked up immediately in the direction of the door, as if he could sense the direction of the impending doom.

You watched the lighthearted smirk that constantly plagued his lips fall away. You watched the light in his eyes cloud over in darkness. As his gaze went up over your shoulder to the door, where one of the three men with angry expressions and dark eyes spotted your back amongst the khaki uniforms and began moving. 

Jake’s arm twisted in your grip and grabbed you by the elbow, jerking you unceremoniously behind his back. There was no time for pleasantries, no time to be nice about whatever he was about to do.

“Fanboy, stay with her.” Jake ordered over his shoulder to the nearest aviator. His gaze didn’t waiver from the three men approaching, even as he issued commands.  

Most of the aviators in Mav’s squad were scattered around the room. Mav was at the bar talking with Penny and Halo. Fanboy and Coyote had been watching Hangman school Fritz, who was being hyped up by Payback. Rooster was at a table not far from the pool game talking to a pretty girl. And Phoenix and Bob were half spectating from their perch by the jukebox discussing something that had gone wrong in a training run that afternoon. 

Fanboy caught you and held you up as Jake pushed you in his direction. “What’s going on?”

Jake didn’t answer. He side-stepped in front of you, half blocking you from view, and walked to the edge of the pool area. There was a buffer zone between himself and you. He was the first line of defense, and he was giving the second, Fanboy, room to react. 

“You fucking bitch!” If Fanboy didn’t know what was going on before, he instantly caught on. 

Fanboy’s arms tensed around yours. His back went rigged, as if a commanding officer had just called him to attention, and he curled away, pulling you back behind him and putting his body in front of you as a shield. Even with Fanboy hovering in the way, his body didn’t hide Devin’s eyes. They sought you out around Jake’s frame and over Fanboy’s shoulder; they found you huddled up behind the Navy uniforms and the fancy stars pinned to the pilots chests. No number of medals pinned to Jake’s chest could stop the chill that ran down your spine in response to the venom in Devin’s tone. You wanted to look away, but the daggers in his gaze skewered you in place, held you hostage. 

You wanted to curl up and hide, preferably behind Jake... Well, preferably in a home far away from there wrapped in heavy blankets with many deadbolts between you and Devin with Jake vigilantly standing guard at the door. 

Devin tried to walk straight past Jake, like he didn’t even see him. Jake wasn’t having any of it. 

A thick, muscular arm stuck out across the length of Devin’s shoulders as he tried to pass, holding him back.

Devin wasn’t a very big guy. He was well toned, but he was no naval aviator. He was no Jake Seresin. Jake had about an inch on Devin, but his well built frame made up for their near identical height. Devin had never been one to hit the gym hard while Jake certainly was, and it showed. It showed in the way a single arm without so much as a brace didn’t move even as Devin walked straight into it. 

If the rest of the bar weren’t looking when Devin shouted that you were a bitch, they certainly were when he glared up at Jake. “Out of the way you fucker!” 

Jake getting out of the way was about the last thing you wanted to happen, and Jake seemed disinclined to oblige either. His arm didn’t move from where it blocked Devin’s path, even as Devin glowered up at him.

The staring match lasted only a moment before Devin, impatient as always, gave up and turned back to glaring at you. He shouted, unnecessarily loudly, across the minimal distance between the two of you, “You changed the locks on me?” 

There was shuffling behind you and the sound of something clanging onto the pool table. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head away from Devin, couldn’t look away, couldn’t let him out of your sight. But there was the sound of footsteps as first Coyote, then Fritz, then Payback came into range in your peripheral vision. 

None of them knew what this was about, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where this was going. And any idiot could tell whose side they would be on in a fight between Jake and Devin. 

“She didn’t. I did.” Jake declared at a similarly loud volume, pulling Devin’s attention back on him, demanding Devin shift his focus off of you. “You got a problem with that, you take it up with me.”

Devin took a step back, finally abandoning his futile attempt to confront you in favor of squaring up to Jake. 

As Devin stepped back, the trio of pilots stepped forward. Fritz approached first, joining Fanboy in front of you. Payback followed after Fritz, lingering halfway between him and Jake, a bystander ready to step in if things got out of hand.

Coyote, however, had no questions about how any altercation would go down. His hand came down as he walked up behind Jake, slapping down reassuringly on Jake's shoulder to let him know he wasn’t alone. Coyote flanked Jake at such a close distance that it made it impossibly clear that, if this turned into a fight, it would not be three on one. 

It wouldn’t even be three on two for that matter. Devin’s buddies, who had crossed the bar with him had hung back a few feet, giving Devin the space he wanted to scream at you or confront you or whatever else he had been planning before Jake intercepted. The duo found themselves with two bar tables between them and Devin. One of which was, ever so unfortunately for them, occupied by none other than Bradley Bradshaw and his drinking companion. 

Devin’s friends would be forgiven for not realizing that they were offering up the chance to divide the group in half. Bradley, per usual, wasn’t in his Navy uniform, and a guy in a faded Hawaiian shirt didn’t exactly look intimidating. At least not while he was sitting down chatting up a pretty girl.

Seeing the escalation Coyote invited, and flashing his eyes to where you cowered behind his squadmates, Rooster got to his feet with a slow, lithe push off the table in front of him and turned his back on Devin. Not even bothering to give the belligerent asshole, currently one on two against Hangman and Coyote, the time of day, he turned his entire attention to the backup Devin brought with him. 

Never in your life had you been scared of any of the naval aviators, but there was something especially intimidating about the incredibly casual way Bradley put himself alone in a fight against two men. His relaxed stance, completely unbothered by the numbers game he was playing. His head, cocking to one side to crack his neck, and then the other. 

“You the latest pilot she’s spreading her legs for?” Devin snarled up at Jake, completely oblivious to what was going on behind him and unconcerned by Coyote’s presence. 

Jake was entirely unphased. His voice was calm and steady even as Devin’s got more and more red with each passing moment. “No, but I am a friend. And if you have a problem with her you’re gonna have to go through me…” Jake added as an afterthought, “And him,” jerking his head to Coyote.

“You think she’ll fuck you if you play hero?” Devin spat out the word fuck as if the thought of you and sex in the same sentence disgusted him. “You don’t gotta try that hard to get her to spread.”

Jake shrugged and casually dismissed the comment. “That’s really not my business or yours.” 

“She is my business; that’s my girl.” 

Devin jabbed a finger over Jake’s shoulder in your direction without looking away from Jake, and you instinctively shrunk further back behind Fanboy. Until you felt the material between your fingers, you didn’t even realize that your hand had reached up to fist the back of Fanboy’s uniform. 

You didn’t know, logically, why you were afraid. Whatever Jake was doing, he was doing a marvelous job of keeping Devin’s eyes off of you. You were absolutely certain that Devin would have to knock Jake out to get to you, not that he could even manage that. You were also absolutely certain that even if he did, he’d still have to make it through Rooster, Fanboy, Fritz, Payback, and Coyote, not to mention the dozen Navy guys from other squads currently spectating who would jump in to assist, or Penny or Mav. There was just something about his finger pointing at you, accusing you, that made that feeling of helplessness bubble up inside you again, that made you feel pinned, trapped under his hand.

“I’ll do whatever I want with her.”

It was like Jake knew or could sense your growing bubble of fear. He leaned ever so slightly to one side, like he was simply shifting his weight from foot to foot, before standing back up straight in between Devin’s finger and you.  

“Not anymore.” Jake declared firmly. “You’re already about a mile closer to her than I want you to be.”

That declaration made Devin’s lips twist up into something akin to a smirk. “I’ve been a lot closer to her than this.”

Jake’s shoulders tensed, and for the first time it seemed like Devin got to him. “I know exactly how close you got.” His voice darkened, and you could practically picture the look in his eyes, practically knew it by heart from the night you told him what Devin had done. “Where I’m from, we don’t treat women like that.”

Devin laughed humorously, heading tilting back to let the single tone ring out in the air. “Well we aren’t where you’re from. That’s my girl, and I’ll do what I want with her.”

You shivered involuntarily, like someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of your shirt. It sent a chill through you to think of Devin alone with you, doing what he wanted with you. You remembered what he did the last time he had that power over you. You couldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” It took a moment to register that Jake was the one snarling, not Devin, not even you. The word came out in a hiss between his teeth. “You’ll do what she wants. And right now she doesn’t want you here.” 

For whatever reason, Devin was getting to Jake. The unshakeable, unflappable Jake Seresin was rising to a rolling boil under the surface of his skin, and there was nothing he could do to hide it. From the tone of his voice to the tension in his shoulders, to the way his fingers twitched in and out of a fist, Devin and what he was saying was under Jake’s skin.

Devin saw it; you could tell. You couldn’t see his eyes around the bodies between the two of you, but you saw his posture change, his stance open up and his chest puff out. He leaned in and sneered, “She needed to be put in her place. She looks better roughed up anyway.”

You felt their eyes on you. The squad. The whole bar. None of them were actually looking at you. None of their heads turned, but you knew every one of them was staring at an image of you in their minds. Maybe they all figured it out before. Maybe they knew when Devin walked in or when Jake escorted you home. Or maybe they didn’t know anything at all, but either way Devin just gave them confirmation.

Payback was no longer content to play the bystander. His shoes clicked on the floor, echoing in the silence that existed throughout the bar as Jake and Devin sparred. He flanked Jake’s other side, shoulder to shoulder with him as Coyote had been since the confrontation began. 

Coyote didn’t move an inch except for the hand at his side that clenched into a fist. 

Jake took a step closer. But for the inch of height difference, he stood nose to nose with Devin as he said, “Where I’m from, a man lays his hands on a woman, and you take him out back and put one between his eyes.”

Devin pushed up, must’ve stood on his tiptoes to do it, to close the gap with Jake, to put himself on the same level as the pilot. “She’s mine, you fucker.” Flecks of spit, visible even at your distance, splattered against Jake’s cheek. “Get the fuck out of the way.” 

Devin’s hands came up and shoved Jake in both shoulders, hard.

Jake’s shoulders didn’t give an inch. His feet didn’t budge. His posture didn’t change. 

Jake’s voice dropped low, so low you barely heard it. If a single soul in the bar had been focused on anything other than the confrontation at hand, if the jukebox hadn’t run to the end of its queue of songs and left the bar in silence, if any more distance had been between the two of you, you wouldn’t have heard the rough, guttural retort from somewhere deep inside Jake’s chest, “You’re really, really gonna have to make me.”

Without warning, Devin swung.

He was standing too close to Jake, almost chest to chest with the taller aviator. There was no good angle from which to strike, and his arm took a wide arc away from his body to get the necessary momentum and distance to hit at Jake with any force.

It was like it moved in slow motion, Jake’s head turned, his eyes following the direction of the swing as it approached his face.

You gasped and clung tighter to Fanboy, who blindly reached back to clutch your arm, pulling you in closer to him.

The fear, entirely for Jake, was also entirely unnecessary.

Jake’s head leaned to one side and effortlessly avoided the blow. Devin stumbled a couple steps to the side as his momentum carried him past Jake.

It gave Jake the space he needed to counter, not with a wide, slow hook around to the side of Devin’s face, but with a swift, firm uppercut to his jaw.

The connection sent a crack echoing through the bar, and Devin’s entire body went slack before he even hit the floor.

Coyote caught his arm before he could collapse, not that it did Devin any good to be under Coyote’s care instead of Jake’s. Coyote’s grip was so tight on Devin’s upper arm that you were sure it would bruise not just the skin but the muscles underneath.

Jake bent down over the other man and bent a finger up under his jaw. Devin’s head tipped up into Jake’s face without any protest and fell back to bob loosely to one side the moment Jake wasn’t supporting him any more.

“He’ll be out cold for a while.” Jake declared, glancing up to give Coyote a nod.

Coyote dropped his grip on Devin and let him crumple unceremoniously to the floor.

“Now,” Jake left Coyote to deal with Devin, stepping over the unconscious body on the floor as one might step over a puddle in the street. He ambled over to Rooster, whose presence had been more than enough to hold off Devin’s two buddies for the brief ten seconds of fighting, if it could even be categorized as a fight.

“Are you two,” Jake wagged a finger between Devin’s two friends as he came shoulder to shoulder with Rooster, “the ones she told me helped him out last week? Cause I gotta bone to pick with them too?”

“No, we didn’t!” The shorter of the two declared loudly. “Look, we don’t want any trouble.”

Jake’s head turned to glance back over his shoulder, and for the first time since Devin confronted you, you made eye contact with Jake.

His eyes were hard, cold, unfeeling. He wasn’t angry anymore. He wasn’t upset or worried or fearful or any of the other emotions you felt warring inside of you. The mask was back on, the unflappable exterior that only you had seen beneath before tonight. He wasn’t waiting for them; he was waiting for you. A good soldier, waiting for his orders.

Imperceptibly to everyone but Jake who was watching you like a hawk, you shook your head. This had gone on long enough already tonight. You just wanted it to be over.

“Well then,” Jake turned back to the two friends in tow. “Why don’t you take your buddy and get out of here?” Jake stepped close, towering over the shorter one as he added, “Tell him if he comes back round here to bother her again; I will spend the rest of my life making sure he’s too afraid to even look at another woman.”

Beside Jake, Rooster began casually cracking the knuckles of his fist one by one, presumably for emphasis.

There was a dull thud that drew the quad of men’s attention back towards Devin.

Payback was squatting over the unconscious man. He’d seemingly been rooting through the other man’s pockets. The sound of his wallet dropping back onto Devin’s back was the noise that drew the men’s eyes and everyone else’s watching as a result.

Payback was waving a credit card in the air in Jake’s general direction.

“Good idea,” Jake wandered over and snatched up the card. “Call it payback for disturbing the bar tonight.” Jake’s teasing smirk was back as he used Payback’s callsign. He abandoned the group to amble back towards Penny at the bar, and his absence seemed to break the tension.

The patrons, scattered around, all began slowly turning back to their tables. The conversation was quieter, hushed whispers that were no doubt mostly about the fight they’d just watched ensue, but their eyes seemed to have drank in their fill of the scene.

Under the watchful eye of Rooster, with Coyote and Payback standing by, Devin’s two friends draped their friend unceremoniously across their shoulders. Despite the struggle they were clearly having, not a soul offered to help as they stumbled under his weight out of the bar.

“I hope they have to drag him to the car.”

You jumped and turned your head to find that at some point in the chaos Phoenix and Bob had come up on the other side of the pool table as a last line of defense.

“Please, I hope they faceplant in the gravel.”

You let out a humorous laugh at Phoenix’s comment as your body finally slumped under the weight of the evening, resting back against the pool table with a huff of air.

“Are you…”

“Fritz, if you ask me if I’m okay, I will walk out of this bar right now.” You held up a finger to silence him.

You were not okay. You would be okay, one day; you knew that much. But that day was not today.

In the distance, like you were hearing an echo from the other end of a long tunnel, you registered the bell ringing for a free round. Your vision was tunneling too, but you could make out Jake was leaning across the bar, ringing the bell himself as he slammed Devin’s card on the bar in front of Penny.

Maverick, always present in front of Penny’s bar, slapped him on the back and whispered something in his ear, but Jake seemed, for once, thoroughly uninterested in his commanding officer.

His eyes, you thought, appeared to be focused on you. He left the bar before he even got his own free drink and headed straight back towards the pool tables.

Coyote and Rooster tried to talk to him, but he brushed him off. By the time he reached Fanboy, still awkwardly hovering in front of you, his destination was clear, and Fanboy slid right out of his way.

“Come on,” Jake held out a hand to you. “Penny won’t mind if you don’t finish out your shift.”

It wasn’t a tunnel you were looking through now so much as a camera, the lens zooming in and zooming out, narrowing and expanding your field of vision around Jake.

Jake, the only thing in the world right now that felt safe, that felt ok.

You numbly, clumsily, flung your hand out to grasp his, and as his fingers laced through yours you thought you might have a different answer to Fritz’s question, not that you’d ever voice it.

—————————————

“Thank you.”

It was about an hour after you and Jake had left the bar.

He’d walked you out the back door of the Hard Deck and down the beach for the better part of half an hour before the two of you wordlessly agreed to find a comfortable spot to sit down in the sand.

The silence had been more comfortable than you ever thought silence with Jake could be. Every time he’d driven you home from the Hard Deck, he’d felt the need to fill every available moment with some kind of noise, compulsively turning up the volume on the radio or making snarky, sarcastic commentary about anything that passed by the window. Silence was not Jake Seresin’s forte.

Yet the silence between the two of you had felt like a comforting blanket, wrapping you in understanding. He already knew what happened between you and Devin; the hard part of that explanation was over. He already knew why Devin was there that night, what must have prompted him to show up, what he was hinting at in front of the whole bar. He knew nothing else about you, but he knew this, knew every detail of the most painful moment of your life, and he accepted it without question, gave you what you needed without question, helped you without question.

“You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing for once in my life, Hurricane.” Jake murmured. “It’s a nice change of pace.”

You wished you could deny that, say that Jake was a great guy, say that he always did the right thing or that he was a good man. But the truth was he often wasn’t. He was flawed, deeply so, rude when it was uncalled for, inappropriate when the moment was serious, lewd when he should have been respectful, confrontational when he should have been kind. He was as flawed as any other human being, maybe more so.

But when you needed him he was there. When no one else was there, he was there. And that, to you, forgave any multitude of sins.

“What did Mav say to you when you left?”

“What?” Jake did a quick double take, looking down at you beside him. “Oh,” He chuckled to himself. “He said, ‘Good man, no push-ups tomorrow when I shoot you down.’”

“Well,” you smiled, “I owe you a lot more than a few push ups.”

“You owe me nothing.”

You squeezed his hand, his fingers which had been laced in yours since he led you out of the Hard Deck, “How about a second chance? If I remember correctly we didn’t get off to the best start.”

Jake smirked, “Not a chance am I starting over. You’re still my Hurricane.”

[sarahsmi13s]

Rocks Are Allowed to Crack, Stars Are Allowed to Dim

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x fem!pilot!reader

characters: jake seresin, y/n nivans, the daggers, pete mitchell, penny benjamin, diego and benny harding (oc father and son)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings, please please let me know if i missed any

word count: ~8.0k

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs and on my wheel for at least a year (please forgive the awkward moments). so i figured i'd take a sliver of the wheel and make him a little lighter! i've also been in a funk lately, so i thought getting something out there might help!

quick summary: everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder

Ah, yes, dogfight football. Maverick’s way of creating a team. You play offense and defense at the same time. Tackling each other into the sand, sometimes into the water. It may be chaotic, but it’s fun and a great team building exercise.

Which is why you hated that you were running a little behind.

You sighed as you got out of your car and walked over to where Penny was sitting at the table. 

You placed your aviators on your head, “I’m not late am I?” Penny chuckled and shook her head, “Just in time. Want a beer before you go?” You shook your head, “Nah, I’m okay right now. Care to watch my stuff?” 

The brunette gestured to the items in front of her, chuckling, “I’m watchin’ everyone else's. I don’t see why not.” You chuckled and sat your wallet, phone, and keys down, as well as your sunglasses. You slipped off your shorts, folding them and laying them down.

“Nivans!” 

You turned at the call of your last name, brows raised in curiosity. 

 It was Maverick. 

“Hurry up and get down here!”

You turned to Penny, “This is gonna be fun.” You both laughed before you jogged across the sand to meet everyone by the water. 

“Sorry I’m late, Mav.” 

Maverick shook his head, “You’re not late, Rockstar. Can’t be late for fun.” 

“Not gonna take your t-shirt off?” Phoenix asked when you stood beside her. You shook your head, “Nah, I’m good.” 

Hangman sighed, “That’s a shame.” 

You chuckled at him and bent down to throw a handful of sand at him. 

“Watch it, Rockstar,” Hangman said, his voice light as he glared at you playfully.

“Or what, Hangman?” You challenged, eyes narrowed but a smile pulled at your lips.

Now, you and Hangman joked like this all the time. You considered each other best friends, which confused everyone else on base. 

Jake Seresin was an asshole. He was cocky and arrogant. You, Y/N Nivans, were not an asshole. Quite the opposite, actually. 

You were humble while still knowing your worth, but also showing anybody up if they proposed a challenge, and not being sour when you lost. 

Jake went out looking for competition, you let it come to you. 

You were also probably the sweetest thing to walk the planet. Most certainly the sweetest to walk the airstrip. 

You were nice to everyone, always giving someone the benefit of the doubt until they truly proved they were an asshole. 

You also took care of your team, they were your family. You always had the door open if someone needed to talk. Your arms were wide open when they showed up in the middle of the night because they had a nightmare and couldn’t shake it. You were their rock.

So, when you walked into the Hard Deck that first day of the Uranium Mission and hugged Hangman, everyone was confused — except Coyote who knew you from a year prior. But they didn’t verbally question you, choosing instead to ponder in private.

Hangman sighed, “Come on, Rocky. You're giving your enemy the advantage.” He tugged at your shirt and pulled you into his arms. 

You laughed and pushed him away by his chest, “You’re gonna have to catch me first.” Hangman cocked his head to the side, “Oooh, that’s how it is?” You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips, “That’s how it is.” 

You panted as you used your shirt to wipe the sweat from your face. 

When you let go of your shirt you raised your arms, calling for the ball. They threw it to you and you took off for your endzone. 

You felt the sand shift and you knew Hangman was behind you. You had to get rid of the ball, so you called out to your teammate, “Phoenix!” She ran ahead of you and you threw her the ball.

As soon as the ball was out of your hand, Hangman tackled you to the ground. 

You laughed as you laid on your stomach, arms out in front of you. 

“What was that about ‘catching you’?” Jake grunted from above you.

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking. “Haha, very funny Hangman. Now get off, you’re heavy.” 

“First, ouch. Second, nah, you’re comfy.” You laughed and shook your head, attempting to push off the ground and basically buck him off. 

But, Hangman wouldn’t let you, laughing as he moved and made you fall back down.

In this new position, Hangman was putting pressure on a certain part of your back and panic shot through you. 

“Seriously, dude, get up,” you tried to say with a laugh, not wanting to sound rude or like you were mad at him. He just smiled and rested his chin on his hands. 

You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing, but the waves hitting you pushed you over the edge. 

“Jake, get the fuck off me.” You didn’t mean to sound harsh but you were panicking.

Jake was surprised by your tone, along with the use of his first name. He immediately got up and held out a hand for you to take but you just got up and ran to the table. 

“Rockstar, where you going?” Maverick asked. You called out while still running, “I need a break for a minute.” 

You got to the table, “Is it unlocked?” Penny nodded, “Yeah, why?” “Bathroom break.” Penny just nodded again and watched you take your sunglasses with you as you jogged inside.

Rooster ran over and hit Jake’s arm, “What did you do, Hangman?” Jake shook his head, “I’m not sure.” He put his hands on his hips and watched you disappear into the bar. 

He felt bad, he wanted to chase after you and apologize but he didn’t know what he did. 

“Well, you seemed to piss her off,” Phoenix said, shoving the ball into his chest. 

Maverick looked at Penny but she just shrugged, meaning you didn’t say much.

You ran into the bathroom, throwing yourself into a stall.  

You leaned over the toilet and waited to throw up. Tears had started running down your face the minute you stepped in the bar. You coughed and sobbed lightly as you tried to control your breathing. 

After a few minutes of that, the nausea subsided and you slowly stood to go to the sink. 

You turned the cold water on and splashed your face. 

“Shit…” 

You closed your eyes as the tight feeling in your chest loosened. You let out a shaky breath and looked in the mirror, cringing at the puffiness around your eyes. You grabbed your sunglasses and slipped them on before leaving the bathroom.

When you stepped outside you saw Maverick and Penny talking, and when you sat down they stopped talking and looked at you concerned. 

“You alright? Gave Hangman quite the scare for a second,” Mav asked, squaring his shoulders to you. You nodded, resting your forearms on the table. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You rubbed your forehead, “Hey Pen-” 

Before you could finish your sentence, a beer was sat in front of you, causing you to giggle, “Read my mind.”

As he continued to play, Jake still couldn’t get over the fact that you called him ‘Jake’ during a day out. 

It wasn’t that you never did, but it was rare that you called anyone by their first name. 

But it wasn’t just that, it was the way you said that really made him worry. He had never heard your voice sound like that before.

He looked at you from his spot on the beach, noticing you didn’t come back to join in the fun. 

Hangman walked up to Phoenix, worried that he had really upset you and wanted help from the girl you were closest to. “You don’t really think I pissed her off, do you?” 

She sighed, “I don’t know, Hangman. Even if you did, I doubt she could stay mad at you for long. She can't be mad at anyone for very long.”

Jake nodded and watched you stand up from your spot at the table.

You finished your beer and stood up, “I’m gonna head out.” 

Maverick frowned, “You sure you’re okay, Y/N?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just really need to shower. I’ve got sand in places sand shouldn’t be,” you said with a light laugh. 

“Okay, drive safe. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Yes, sir.” You collected your stuff and headed to your car.

Jake noticed you leaving and tilted his head, “Hey…” He patted Coyote on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” 

He jogged up to the table to ask Maverick if he knew anything.

“Is she okay?” Hangman asked as soon as he came to a stop. Maverick shrugged, not looking up at the pilot, “She seemed okay. Said she needed to shower.” 

Jake let out a breath, “So she isn’t mad at me?” 

“I didn’t say that. But as far as I can tell, she’s just tired.” 

Jake licked the sweat off his upper lip, putting his hands on his hips as he looked down. 

“Hangman, honey, just go talk to her. If she’s upset with you, she’ll be honest about it,” Penny encouraged, giving Jake a small smile. He nodded and jogged to go find you before you left. 

You were standing by your car, the door opened as you moved to get in when he approached. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jake called as he walked over to you. You smiled, “Hey, Hangman.” 

Jake swallowed, “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was just messing around. I did-” 

You held your hand up, cutting him off, “Jake, I’m not mad at you. I know you were just playing. But your tackle jump started my bladder and I wasn’t kidding when I said you were heavy.” You giggled a bit to show him you were teasing.

Hangman visibly relaxed at the sound, “Okay, good. I know I like to get under everyone’s skin. Sometimes I don’t know when to knock it off. I–” 

You held up your hand, cutting him off. “Jake, I can handle your teasing. Yeah, you can get a little mean. But I know it’s all a big show. Come here,” you opened your arms and made grabby hands at Jake. 

He just shook his head and chuckled, pulling you in by your outstretched hands and letting them find their place around his built torso. 

He rubbed his hand on your back, nearly missing the slight tensing right beneath your shoulder blades before they relaxed. His brow furrowed but he didn’t mention it, thinking that maybe it was you tightening your arms around him. 

He kissed the top of your head before you pulled away. 

“Geez, Jake, you’re sweaty.” 

“You’re not too dry yourself, Rockstar.” You laughed and playfully shoved him away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” You smiled and slid into your car, “I’ll kick your ass tomorrow Hangman.” 

He scoffed leaning on the roof of your car and the open door. “Since when did you get so cocky?” 

You smirked and placed your glasses on your head, forgetting that your eyes could still be red and puffy from earlier. “It’s not cocky if it’s the truth.” 

Jake shook his head and looked back to the shore. “Uh-huh. We’ll see.” He leaned back and patted the top of your car. “Drive safe.” You nodded, and he closed your door. 

He watched you start it up before driving away.

Jake shook his head and made his way back to the group.

Speaking of the group, they had all noticed the change in Jake when you showed up at the Hard Deck a few months ago. 

While he was still his cocky self, having no shame in bragging and trash talking, he seemed to tone it down when you were around.

They also noticed how he always made sure to find you in the crowd, keeping an eye on you. Coyote joked that you had Hangman wrapped around your finger, that he would be at your side with a simple look. 

Jake was painfully aware of the effect you had on him. 

When he met you a year ago, he was starstruck by your dazzling smile. 

So, naturally, in true Hangman fashion, he flirted with you. 

With a toothpick between his perfect white teeth and his bright green eyes shining under the yellow lights of the bar, he walked up to you. 

“I sure hope no one left you alone.” 

When you turned, eyeing him up and down to take in the uniform, beer bottle popping as it left your mouth, his breath was ripped from his lungs. 

“Well, you’re here now. I’m not alone.” 

Seeing your smile up close caused Hangman to blush, and leaving him thankful that his tan could somewhat hide it. 

“Well, ain’t I special.” 

You nodded, giggling while looking down at the bar, “That you are. But, before this can go any further, I’m gonna be honest, I’m more dedicated to my work than anything else at the moment. And I have to be up by 5, so I’d hate to lead you on.” 

Jake shook his head, but you continued, gesturing around the bar, “I’m sure there are plenty of girls here that would love to get attention from you and give you attention.” 

Jake smiled –not smirked, smiled– while leaning on the bar, “Well, the only one I want attention from is you. Plus, I can’t stay out too late either. Gotta be at work early too, so I guess we’re both clocking in early.” 

None of the feelings that day had been one sided. You also had been starstruck by Hangman. 

He was broad shoulder, tall, tan, and had a voice that could make a girl swoon in a second. But you knew he was a pilot, his uniform gave it away, and you knew how they acted. Except, you liked Jake’s company and decided to talk all night with him. 

Ironically, what you both did for work never came up.

So, imagine the look on Jake’s face when he saw you the next day in your flight suit. 

“You didn’t tell me you were a pilot.” 

You smirked, “You didn’t ask.” 

He shook his head, biting his lower lip to hide his smile but failed. 

You nodded to him, “What do they call you?” 

“Hangman. What about you?” You smiled, “Rockstar.” 

You were able to peg why he earned his callsign very early on but he couldn’t seem to figure yours out. 

Until he had a close call and couldn’t shake it.

The last day of training had just ended, tomorrow you might not come home, and to say you were nervous was a major understatement. 

As you changed to get ready to go out with the squad, you couldn’t stop shaking. You knew you needed a drink… okay a couple drinks.

While you changed, Hangman was walking around, looking for you. 

When he walked past the locker room, he caught a glimpse of you reaching to pick something up.

He turned to walk in, but stopped when he saw that you only had your pants on. But, before he could stop himself, his eyes trailed up your back; starting from above your waistline on your pants and going up. 

Then he stopped, his eyes widening when he saw the large scar that looked fairly new – maybe a year or so old. It spanned from the middle of your left shoulder blade to nearly below your ribcage and was positioned diagonally across your back. 

Jake quickly looked away, realizing that you must have not wanted anyone to see it if you hadn’t told him. 

His brow furrowed as questions ran through his mind. Was that why you freaked out during dogfight football, the other day? Why you always tense up when you get an unexpected touch there? 

Shit… He thought, feeling like a horrible friend for never noticing and never asking. 

Jake took a deep breath and walked away, choosing to approach the locker room differently and pretend he never saw you. 

He put on a smile and walked back towards the locker room, “Hey, Rockstar! You almost ready?” He stopped just short of the door, leaning his back against the wall. 

Your head jerked up as you pulled your t-shirt down. “Uh, yeah, Hangman. I’ll be ready in a second.” 

You finished getting ready and walked out, jumping slightly when he pushed off the wall. 

“Geez Hang, don’t do that!” You punched his arm. 

“Gosh, I forgot how hard you punch.” He chuckled and rubbed the spot on his arm as you both walked to the parking lot.

You all sat in the Hard Deck, drinking and playing pool.

“Dude, she’s kicking your ass!” Payback laughed as he clapped Hangman on the shoulder. 

You were, in fact, kicking Jake’s ass in pool. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as the blond narrowed his eyes at Payback. 

“Yeah, you feelin’ okay? You’ve been off your game tonight Bagman,” Rooster commented, smirking as he drank his alcohol. 

Instead of clapping back at the jab, Jake just rolled his eyes and lined up his shot. 

That made you frown, Hangman always had a comeback. Always had sarcastic quips to embarrass the other person. But he was silent. 

You made eye contact when he stood, silently asking if he was okay. He just nodded and moved to sink another pool ball. 

You didn’t want to drop it, but you did for the sake of having fun before facing the chance of death tomorrow.

Sometime later, after a few rounds of pool and drinks, you all stood around and just talked.

“Hey, did you guys hear about that one pilot that saved her WSO’s life when they got shot down?” Bob asked, looking around the group. 

You clenched your jaw slightly, but not enough for anyone to notice. 

“Bob, that happens all the time. It’s kinda what we do,” Phoenix said, squeezing his shoulder. 

Rooster stood up and sat his beer down. “No, not the way this pilot did. Bob, I know who you’re talking about. I read the mission file, the only thing that was classified was the pilot and WSO’s names.” 

You swirled the beer in your glass, not looking up from the amber liquid. “Did the pilot survive?” 

When you finished asking, you looked up, trying to ignore the watchful eyes of Hangman as you met Rooster’s eyes. 

The latter nodded, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, she did. But she had a pretty serious injury. I’m not sure if she was ever clear to fly again.” 

You nodded and looked back down at your glass. 

“And the WSO?” Jake asked, eyeing you as you downed the rest of your drink before looking at Rooster and Bob. 

“He survived. But I don’t know if he still flies,” Bob answered. 

“Well, that’s good that they both survived,” you said, your smile returning to your face. 

Rooster shook his head a bit, “Yeah, but that pilot pulled a risky move. Saving some like that…” 

Your smile dropped a bit, “People have their reasons.” You raised your glass, “I’m gonna go get another drink.”

Hangman watched you leave as the conversation changed into something more light hearted. 

Jake took a step to go after you but Coyote caught his arm. “Hey, come on. Play me in a round of pool. Let’s see if you still got your game.” Jake looked from his friend back to you and saw you laughing with Penny and Maverick at the bar. That allowed him to relax a little bit. 

“Oh, I still got my game. Let’s see if you found yours,” he smirked. “There he is!” Coyote laughed and clapped Jake on the back.

As Jake played pool with Coyote, you talked with Penny and Maverick. 

“Are you serious?” 

You nodded, laughing at Penny’s reaction to you telling her how you and Jake met. 

“Pen, why are you surprised? Hangman flirts with every girl,” Maverick said, using his hand to point the direction of the mentioned pilot. You and Penny both nodded your agreement. 

“Sounds familiar,” Penny says, a playful grin on her face making Maverick roll his eyes.

You had become so invested in your conversation with Penny and Mav, that you missed Rooster coming up behind you.

He placed his hand on your back, right on your scar, making you tense and jump in surprise.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya’ Rocky,” he took his hand off and leaned on the bar. 

“You doin’ okay? You seemed a bit…” He glanced back at the group, thinking of the right word. “...tense a minute ago.” 

You bit the inside of your lip, had you really been that obvious? 

Still, you nodded and gave him your best smile. 

But to him, he could see that it didn’t reach your eyes. He may not have been your best friend, but he had seen plenty of your genuine smiles and this one did not make your eyes shine like the others. 

Bradley decided not to press, “Okay…” He turned to Penny, “Penny, could we get another round?” The bartender nodded, “Of course, but you’re reaching your cut off.” 

Penny had set a cut off for drinks for the pilots not wanting them to go into this mission hungover. You chuckled and glanced back at the group, all of them messing around and having fun. “Yes ma’am.” 

You turned to Rooster and then back down to your empty glass. Penny hadn’t refilled it yet, having started a conversation with you as soon as you came over. 

You glanced at your watch, seeing that you had been there for a couple hours. 

Penny sat a tray down, placing the full glasses on top. “There you are, Rooster. Who’s tab?”

Rooster opened his mouth to tell her to put it on his, but you beat him to it, “Put it on mine Pen.” 

“You got the last round, Rockstar,” Rooster argued. You shrugged, “I don’t mind. Plus, I’m closing my tab for tonight.” 

“What? You’re heading out already?” You nodded, sliding Penny your card, “I’m hitting my limit, Roos.” 

Bradley searched your eyes for a moment, looking for any indication that something was wrong.

You were usually the one that made sure everyone was okay to go home and if they needed rides; so leaving early rung bells in Rooster’s head. 

Penny gave you your card and receipt, “Thank you.” “Thanks Pen,” you gave her a smile before turning back to Rooster. 

“Tell ‘em I’m heading out. I know if I do it I won’t be able to leave.” You gave him a one armed hug and turned to Maverick, “See you in the morning, Captain.” 

“See you in the morning, Rockstar.” 

Penny gently squeezed your hand, giving you a small smile as you slid off the bar stool and walked out. 

Rooster, Maverick, and Penny watched you leave the building before turning to each other, concern written all over their faces. 

“Is she okay? She’s been acting a little off ever since dogfight football the other day,” Penny asked the two pilots. 

They both shrugged, Bradley looking up at her. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” 

“I’ve noticed, but I thought it was just because Harvard and Yale had to eject the other day,” Mav admitted. “We were all a little shaken up by that…” 

It was silent for a minute. 

“You know… if one person knows anything, it’d probably be Seresin,” Penny said, pointing over to the pilot, who was very invested in the game he was winning, and basically suggesting that they talk to him. 

Bradley sighed, knowing that Penny was right and if anyone knew you the best, it would be him. He grabbed the tray, thanking Penny and walking over to the group.

They all cheered when he sat the tray down, taking a glass for themselves. 

Jake noticed that there was an extra and he frowned in confusion before he realized it was for you. 

He looked up, eyes searching for you in the crowd, panicking a little when he couldn’t see you, “Where’s Rockstar?” 

Rooster sighed, “She closed her tab and left. Said she reached her limit.” 

Fanboy frowned a little bit, “Why didn’t she just tell us herself?” 

Rooster shrugged, “Said if she did it would take longer for her to leave.” 

“Does she seem different to you guys?” Coyote asked, finally voicing his concern that had buit up over the last few days. 

The group shared a look before making small noises of agreement. 

“I mean, she’s still the same Y/N. Still lighting up a room and being there for us like she always has been… I just… I don’t know.” 

Rooster looked at Jake, “Hangman, you’re like her best friend, do you know anything?” 

Jake shrugged and shook his head, “All I know is she’s nervous for tomorrow and the accident the other day shook her up a bit, but she hasn’t said anything else.” 

He took a large gulp from his beer, hoping to swallow the confession of seeing your scar that he wanted to bring to light.  You trusted Jake and he wasn’t about to ruin that by telling the squad what he saw when he wasn’t even supposed to know it was there.

Meanwhile, you walked the beach, taking in the fresh and salty air. You just needed the quiet time before you went home.

You sighed and pulled out your phone, seeing a text from Hangman and laughing slightly at the message.

Hangboy: Hey, I get that I kicked your ass those last few rounds of pool, but you could have told me you were leaving. I would have walked you out. Text me when you get home. 

Also, there was an extra beer. I assume it was meant for you, but you left so I drank it. Don’t worry though, I can handle it.

You shook your head and opened your phone, but not to text Jake.

You went to your contacts and pressed the caller ID, putting the phone to your ear as it rang. 

“Hey, Rockstar, what's up? It’s been awhile.” 

You smiled, sighing, “Sure has been, Tundra. How are you? How’s the little one?” “I’m good. Ben is great, he wants to know when you’ll be by again to visit.” 

You giggled at the fact the 6 year old wanted to see you. “Soon… hopefully.” “Y/N, I know that voice. Is it happening again?” You shook your head, despite the fact that Tundra couldn’t see you. 

“No, no. Well, sorta, but this is different Diego.” You heard him shift, presumably crossing his arms. “What do you mean?” 

You sighed, remembering that you couldn’t share all that much about the mission, even if he was former Navy. 

“I don’t know how much I can tell you. But I got called back to TopGun, and I could be flying out on a mission tomorrow. A dangerous one.” 

“Y/N, do they know?” 

You shook your head again, this time to fight tears. “No, but I’m scared that mid air, I’m gonna freeze. I don’t wanna freeze, Diego. I haven’t frozen since our incident. But I don’t know what’s been wrong these past couple of weeks. I can’t seem to shake off this dread… this-this fear. I do-don’t-” 

He cut you off, “Have you talked to anyone recently?” 

You were silent and he took that as a no. “Y/N, you have to talk about it if you ever want to move past it.”  “I did though. I had mandated therapy for my entire time in recovery.” “And have you been since you recovered?”

You threw a hand up, frustrated, “I thought I was past it! I hadn’t had an attack in a year, not until we were playing football. I-I thought it was just a one time thing, and then something happened during training and I just-” 

You were cut off by a small, tired voice. 

“Is that Aunt Y/N?” 

“It is. Do you want to talk to her? I think she needs to talk to you.” “Yes, please!” You smiled as you heard the phone go to speaker and then be passed to the little boy. 

“Hey, Aunt Y/N!” 

You smiled, tears finally falling, “Benarino, hey buddy.” “I miss you. When are you coming to visit?” You wiped at your eyes with a shaking hand. “Soon, buddy. Really soon,” you sniffled. 

“Aunt Y/N, why are you crying?” 

You laughed, coughing a little at the end, “I just really miss you Benny. I can’t wait to see you.” 

You looked back at the Hard Deck, seeing your fellow pilots laugh and sing. 

“I’m gonna bring a friend too. If that’s okay with your mom and dad?” “That’s alright with me, Rockstar. I’m sure Lila won’t mind.” 

“Who is it?” 

You brought playfulness into your voice, “You remember the pilot I told you about? The one that thought he could fly better than your Aunt Rocky?” 

The little boy giggled, “Yeah!” “Well, I think it’s about time you brought home the boy that stole your heart.” 

“Diego,” you hissed. “We are just friends.” “Mhmm, sure.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “You should probably get Ben to bed before Lila wakes up.” 

You heard Diego grunt as he picked up his son, “Goodnight Benny Boy.” “G’night Aunt Y/N.” 

“Call me when you make it back.” You nodded, hand sliding into your back pocket, “Yeah, of course. Night Tundra.” “Night Rockstar.” 

The call ended and you slid your phone into your unoccupied back pocket.

You took in a deep breath, trying to relax again. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. 

On an inhale, the scent of smoke filled your nostrils and it made you hold your breath.

Quickly looking around, you spotted a bonfire a couple yards away. Realizing it was harmless, you let out the breath and tried to relax your shoulders.

But, despite knowing it was completely harmless, your body went into a state of panic. Your chest tightened, limbs went numb, pain spread through your back, and tears filled your eyes. 

You held a hand to your chest, the air stopping just before it made it to your lungs, and stumbled to your car as fast as you could, hoping you weren’t seen by your friends inside the bar.

Jake looked at his phone as he left the bar. You hadn’t texted him, and by now you definitely should have been back to your on base bungalow. 

Hangman wasn’t going to panic, he knew you well enough that you would have texted or called him if something bad happened. Of course he felt anxious, who wouldn’t, but he was going to remain calm. 

The reason you hadn’t texted him when you got home was because the moment you fumbled yourself into your place, you booked it for the bathroom. 

Your knees smacked into the tile and you threw up whatever alcohol you had consumed before the strangled sob ripped itself from your throat. You crumbled to the tile as your chest refused to let air in. 

Your skin felt hot and sticky, sweat coating it as you laid on your bathroom floor. It wasn’t helping you, your damp, hot skin sending you back to one of the worst days of your life.

So, in a frenzy, you ripped off your shirt and kicked off your shoes and socks before yanking your pants off, not even loosening your belt. 

You crawled over the tub wall, too dizzy to properly stand, before fumbling with the knob to turn the water on. 

Once you got it turned on, you jostled the faucet switch, a desperate sob escaping as it kept falling down before it finally stuck, turning the shower on and drenching you in water.

And that was how Jake found you.

Jake decided to stop by your place and check on you, that being his only option to get his anxiety to go away. 

When he pulled up to your place and saw your car there, he let out a breath of relief. 

He parked his truck behind your car and ran to your door, his chest lighter than before.

But his chest became heavy again when he made it to your door only to find it unlocked. You rarely left your door unlocked, if ever.

He cautiously pushed it open, looking around to see if anything was out of place. 

Your keys were on the floor, your phone and wallet not too far from them. 

Jake walked further in, making sure to close and lock the door behind him. 

He held his breath as he looked for you. But his search was cut short when he heard the shower running. 

He exhaled and had to take a minute to calm the drumming in his chest. 

He cautiously walked to the bathroom, making sure to knock before walking in. He kept his head down so he didn’t see anything he wasn’t supposed to… again. 

“Hey I was-” 

The door stopped, hitting something on the floor. 

Hangman squinted his eyes in confusion. It was your shoe. He kicked it out of the way and pushed the door open enough for him to just step in and close it. 

He stopped with his hand on the door, realizing that the room didn’t feel like a sauna. There was no fog covering the mirrors and steam wasn’t filling the small space. You always showered hot, and right now the bathroom was freezing. 

Jake finally looked up and saw you curled in the shower, the water cascading from the faucet and hitting your back. It was obvious you had been there for a while because you were shivering. 

Jake sat on the edge of the tub cautiously, not wanting to startle you.

His heart broke at the sound of your quiet crying and the puffy redness of your eyes was a sight Jake never wanted to see again.

The eyes that usually held the brightness of the stars and a kindness that was unmatched, were now red, distant, and constantly filled with tears that fell over and mixed with the water drenching you. 

He hated it.

Jake held his hand under the water and recoiled at how cold it was. 

“Shit,” he cursed as he quickly turned it off. 

When you didn’t react, he knew you truly weren’t in this reality. 

“Y/N,” he spoke gently and touched your arm. He sharply inhaled when he discovered how cold you were. “Y/N, darlin’, we need to dry you off and get you in some warm clothes. You’ll get sick.” 

Jake wasn’t sure if you heard him because you just stared ahead, biting on your nail. He sighed and pulled your hand away from your mouth. 

He moved to pull his hand back but you grabbed it, your freezing cold hand latching onto his warm one. “Please don’t… Jake, please don’t leave.” 

Your voice was quiet and broken, raw with fear. And he was sure that sent a shiver up his back.

Jake quickly shifted to kneel beside the tub, his thumb rubbing back and forth on your hand. “I’d never leave you hangin’.” 

He looked you over, “Can I pick you up?” You nodded, letting his hand slip from your grip and feel it wrap under your legs.

He awkwardly shifted to lean over and pick you up, grunting a little as stood up. He was too pressed about his clothes getting wet, he’s sure he’s got pants somewhere around here.

Jake managed to open the bathroom door and walked to your bedroom. 

He sat you on the bed and quickly grabbed the towel on the back of your desk chair. 

Wrapping it around you, Jake kissed the top of your head. “You’re okay. You’re safe,” he spoke gently against your hair.

He pulled back and watched you bite your lip to keep your tears hidden.

You avoided his eyes, looking at your shaking hands. 

“I’m gonna get you some clothes, okay?” You slowly nodded, lip trembling before you bit down on it again.

Your eyes didn’t follow him as he walked around your room, but your ears were very aware of Jake’s noises; everything from his footsteps to his mumbling. 

In under five minutes, neatly folded clothes were placed beside you and Jake kneeled in front of you, his large hands resting on your biceps gently. 

“Do you want me to stay while you change?” 

It took you a second to register what he had asked, but he was patient and rubbed reassuring circles on your arms with his thumbs. 

You inhaled, the familiar scent of his cologne calming you down a bit. 

You were tempted to say yes, you didn’t want to be alone but you also didn’t want Jake to see you any more vulnerable than he already has. 

You shook your head, unconsciously pulling the towel tighter around you. 

Jake noticed it and nodded, “Okay, I’ll go tidy up your bathroom and throw some blankets in the dryer to fluff them up and get ‘em warm.” He gave you a small smile and stood, leaving the room and the door open just a crack.

You managed to peel off the wet bra and underwear, drying off before changing. 

That simple task was exhausting. It felt like your bones had turned to rocks and your muscles no longer existed. But eventually, you did it.

You haphazardly dried your hair, basically just dry enough to where it wasn’t dripping, and walked into the small living room. 

You sat on the couch, deciding to occupy your hands with your oversized shirt while you waited for Jake. 

Minutes later he was on the couch beside you, wrapping you in the fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket. 

“Thank you…” Your voice had a rawness to it that made Jake shiver, something was really wrong and he didn’t know how to help.

He nodded and rubbed your upper back, “Of course.”

He sat there for a moment, just listening to your sniffles and weeping exhales, before finally turning to face you. 

“What’s going on? ‘Cause this-” He gestured to you and your current state. “-is way more than just nerves for tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be-” 

“If you say ‘fine’, I swear,” he sighed to control his volume. “Y/N, you are not fine.” 

“Jake…”

The blond pilot took a deep breath, looking at the sliver of couch cushion between you. “I saw it…” 

If you weren’t going to be honest, then he needed to be. Maybe what he saw is connected to what was shaking you to your core all of a sudden.

He finally looked up at you and watched your breathing halt as fear filled your eyes. 

Jake continued, making sure to keep his tone even, “I didn’t mean to. I was just looking for you in the locker room today and I-” He stopped talking when you choked out a small cry. 

He immediately pulled you into his lap, one hand going to the back of your head and the other arm wrapped around your lower back. “I got you… I got you.”

Jake closed his eyes and rocked you a little as his mind went back to the day these roles were reversed.

Jake had sat in the locker room, flight suit half off and tied around his waist. His knee bouncing as his eyes went in and out of focus. 

“Hangman!” You called as you ran down the hall. But he couldn’t hear you with the blood still rushing in his ears. 

“Hangman! Hang- There you are!” You jogged to him and saw that his emerald eyes were blank, not the playful or confident eyes you normally saw. “Hey, Hang- Jake what’s wrong?” You knelt in front of him, putting a hand on his bouncing knee to stop it.

Jake looked at you, the concern swimming in your eyes breaking whatever resolve he had left. 

The tears he tried so hard to hold in finally spilled down his cheeks. 

You instantly cupped his face in your hands, wiping them away, “What’s got you so shaken up? I’ve never seen you like this.” 

He shook his head, pushing your hands away as he sat up and leaned against the locker. “You’re not supposed to.” 

You sighed and leaned back on your heels, “What happened up there?” 

Jake wiped the still flowing tears, shaking his head, “I don’t know. I guess- Fuck I don’t know, Rockstar.” 

You stood, “Talk to me, Jake. Please, I’m your friend and I want to help.” 

Your tone was desperate and worried. This was a new version of Jake that you would have never seen if you hadn’t followed him off the tarmac.

Hangman finally got the guts to grab your hand and squeeze it. He took a deep breath as he tried to collect himself. 

“I almost lost you up there. You’re one of my closest friends, we’ve only known each other for a few months and I feel like we’ve known each other forever. I never let myself be that close to anyone, but you made it so easy.” 

His voice was raw and shaky. He was scared, but you couldn’t blame him. What just happened to you both was really intense and it was scary. But you were both okay.

You squeezed his hand back, giving him a soft but encouraging smile. 

“Can we just- Shit this is gonna sound so weird…” 

You knew where he was going, so you straddled his legs and wrapped him in a hug. “I got you Jake, I got you.”

That was when Jake realized the backstory to your call sign. You were everyone’s rock. You kept everyone sane, even at the expense of yourself.

Which is why you were currently shaking and sobbing in his arms. You never sought out comfort for your problems, a bad habit you picked up in high school. You always put everyone first, and you had it in your head that you couldn’t be vulnerable. 

You pulled away from him, not meeting his eyes, “I’m sorry…” 

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” 

“Because I-” 

“Because you’re being vulnerable in front of someone?” You nodded, unconsciously playing with your fingers. “Look at me, please.” You did, biting your lip to hold your tears in. 

“You are allowed to be vulnerable. You are allowed to cry. You are allowed to be scared. You shouldn’t have to hide your feelings from your friends. I’m sorry if we ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to us.” 

You nodded, staying silent, focusing on how Jake had moved his hand from the back of your head to your cheek to rub his thumb back and forth on your cheekbone. 

Your silence broke his heart a little bit, making him think you didn’t trust him. But he knew he had to be patient with you. 

He goes to move his hand away but you hold it there. “I thought I was over it…” 

“Over what, Sweetheart?” 

“The accident…” 

Jake pushed some hair behind your ear, “What accident?” 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. He wiped them away as he spoke softly, “Take your time…” You nodded, swallowing as you tried to catch your bearings. 

“A year before I was stationed with you, I was flying a mission. It was dangerous, but still fairly routine. On my way out, I got hit. It completely destroyed my weapons system. Before I could get back up, I was hit again. This time it took out my engine.” You took another deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. 

“We were dropping altitude fast and my WSO and I had to eject. We landed on a beach, we unbuckled so fast,” you chuckled, remembering the relief you and Diego felt before the shit hit the fan.

Jake smiled a little bit at the sound, but dropped it when you started talking again.

“However the jet had also crashed onto the beach too. The fuel had leaked and caused an explosion. I covered my WSO, and a piece of scrap metal lodged itself into my back.” 

Jake’s eyes widened, more dots connecting in his mind, “You’re the pilot the squad was talking about at the bar…” 

You nodded, wiping your eyes, “Jake, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s just… when I was in recovery, if I wanted to fly again, I had to go through therapy. And I haven’t had an attack in a year…” You got choked up again, hot tears rolling down your face, “Hang, I’m so sorry.” 

He shook his head, using both of his hands to wipe your face, “Hey, don’t be sorry. Do I wish you would have told me sooner? Hell yeah, but I understand why you didn’t.” You just nodded and relaxed into his hands.

“What happens when you have an attack?” 

You took a sharp inhale through your nose before sighing it out, “It depends. I sometimes get flashbacks of the beach, everytime I close my eyes I just see fire and it’s fucking terrifying. Other times, when it gets really bad, I can feel pain in my back, but that’s rare.” 

You bit your lip a little as you looked away, and Jake knew, “That happened tonight didn’t it?” You nodded, coughing a little bit, “Yeah, uh, yeah it did.” 

“Was it because we talked about-” 

“No," you said quickly. "W-well, I mean kinda… yeah. But there was a bonfire happening on the beach, and just the two things… my brain went into panic mode. Before you ask, I don’t really know what triggers it. But during dogfight football-” 

Jake’s eyes widened and he dropped his hands, “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” 

“Exactly, Jake, you had no idea. It’s not your fault. It was just the pressure on my scar made me panic, and I was back on that damned beach. But I’m not mad or upset with you because you had no idea. So don’t beat yourself up, please.” 

Jake nodded, bringing you into a hug again, being mindful of the scar. “Jake, you can touch it. I know I’m safe.” He said nothing and brought a hand to run over the covered scar before tightening his hug. 

“Can you tell me about him? Your WSO?” 

You nodded, “Diego Harding, call sign Tundra. He has a wife and a son.”

“That’s why you-” 

“Yeah, that’s why I covered him. He had a family to go back to.” 

“What about you?” 

You sighed again, using Jake’s shoulders to sit up, “Most of my family served. My dad was killed in action when I was young. My mom died when I was a teenager, leaving Piers to raise me for a little bit. Then Piers goes and sacrifices himself… so I didn’t have anyone to come home too.” 

You shrugged and got off his lap, but snuggled into his side.

He rubbed lazy circles on your bicep. “Well now you do.” You looked up at him confused, “What?” 

“You’ve got me to come home to, and I’ve got you.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Don’t get sappy on me, Seresin.” He just chuckled.

It was silent for a moment. 

“Promise me that you’ll do your best to fly back to me,” he asked in a hushed whisper as if he were telling you a secret.

“Only if you do,” you whispered back.

He held out his pinky, “I promise.” You nodded, interlocking your pinky with his, “I promise too.” 

“Can’t break that now, you know,” he chuckled, squeezing your pinky a little. You giggled a little before yawning, “I know, cowboy.”

my little cassettes <33: @els-marvelvsp @kmc1989 @criminallyhamilfan13 @lynnevanss @lovinglyeternal @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @bradleybeachbabe @sebsxphia @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby @teacupsandtopgun @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @djs8891 @nobody7102 @bobby-r2d2-floyd @mongoosesthings

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[awaywith-thefaeries]

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER | j.seresin

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x wife!reader

summary: the dagger squad gets deployed on another mission and Jake is assigned as the mission leader. When he and Rooster’s planes go down in enemy territory, Jake’s only thought is getting back to his wife and daughters.

warnings: angst (with a happy ending), doubt, incorrect navy facts (I’m not that knowledgeable about the workings of the navy). Written mostly on my phone in the queues at Disney, so sorry if there are any spelling or punctuation errors.

a/n: based on this request. @cat998877 I hope you like it!

word count: 1.65k

main masterlist | series masterlist

The first thing on Jake's mind is his family.

The faces of his Y/n, Olive, and Charlotte. His girls. As everything appears to go to shit, as trees rustle and move around him, and Rooster shouts and curses to his left, Jake's resolve hardens even more than ever.

The mission had been going so well. The dagger squad had successfully taken out the target they had been deployed to remove, and the flyback had just about started. The removal of the target had alerted the enemy (as they had expected) but none of the officers who had prepared the pilots for this mission could have foreseen just how quickly the enemy pilots would retaliate. They had calculated the times down to the second needed for the flyback to the ship, but the second the enemy pilots had engaged Hangman and Rooster's planes in a dogfight, the timing had gone out the window.

"Get back to the ship Daggers 3 and 4!" Jake yells to his team as he hears Phoenix and Payback talking over the radio about coming in as backup, "Dagger 2 and I will take out these guys and get back right behind you!"

"Hangman..." Phoenix sounds unsure, as she watches Payback and Fanboy obey their friend's (and leader's) orders and begin the route back to the ship.

"NOW, Dagger 3! Go, go go!" Jake yells as he and Rooster fly as if they are one mind, evading and attacking simultaneously to get the three enemy jets off their backs.

Phoenix has a bad feeling as she obeys, knowing she can't ignore a direct order from her mission leader. Images of Hangman's family plague her mind as she leaves her friends to fend for themselves. She thinks of you, and how wrecked you'll be if Jake doesn't come back.

"Dagger 1, watch your right side!" Rooster yells, spotting the third enemy plane trying to get into position to shoot Hangman down.

"I see him! I see him!" Jake’s voice is strained as he maneuvers his plane out of harm's way.

"One down, two to go," Rooster yells as he pulls up so that his plane inverts completely, letting the enemy pilot’s plane fly directly underneath his fast enough to drop behind it and shoot.

"One left!" Jake yells as the second plane goes up in an explosion. He's still cautious, but he's starting to believe that this setback will be just that, a setback.

That's when everything goes to shit.

"Dagger 1, watch your back!" Rooster yells, the panic evident in his voice, as he sees the final enemy pilot's plane release a missile that was headed straight for Hangman's wing.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Jake yells as the missile makes contact with the left wing of his jet.

Rooster can do nothing but watch as his friends plane goes down, shock coursing through him, causing him to miss that the final pilot had released another missile. He hears it coming towards him a second too late, and there’s nothing he can do but brace as it makes contact with his wing.

Jake manages to right his plane just enough to where ejection is a safe option and he pulls his lever, shooting out of his plane as he hears another explosion go off behind him.

"Fuck!" Rooster’s voice comes crackling through Jake’s helmet as he ejects too, the two pilots keeping each other’s gaze as they float to the ground.

As soon as Jake’s feet touch the ground, he’s off running, releasing his parachute and leaving it there in the grass.

Swinging his head from left to right, he searches through the tree coverage for any sign of life, trying to find his wingman so that they can find a way out of here together. They have to find a way back.

Just as he’s starting to wonder if Rooster’s plane going down was some sick hallucination, Jake feels a hand on his shoulder. He whirls around, already on high alert, but calms slightly when he spots that it’s just Rooster, panting slightly.

"You ok, man?" Jake pants out, breathing heavily.

"Yeah, yeah I’m fine. You?" Rooster looks almost pitying, knowing just what Jake stands to lose if they don’t make it out of this.

"Yeah," Jake says, but Rooster can see it in his friends eyes, he’s on the verge of panic.

"Hey, man, we’re gonna get you back to them."

Jake smiles briefly, nodding his thanks to Bradley as he pulls in a few ragged breaths.

"Ok," the two men straighten together and look around them, taking in their surroundings, "what’s our game plan?"

✯✯✯✯

"Mama! Mama!" You breath deeply and paste a smile on your face, as you hear your daughter’s little voice yell from across the playground.

"Yes, Sugar?" You ask Olive as she skids to a stop next to the bench you’re sitting on.

"Are Dada and his team almost done with their mission yet?"

Your heart drops slightly at the reminder that your husband and his squad (who have quickly become your friends) are putting themselves in danger for their mission, but you don’t let it show on your face.

"I don’t know Liv, but you remember what Daddy told you and your sister right before he left, right?"

Your Olive nods eagerly, grinning up at you as she answers.

"Yeah, Daddy said that no matter what, he loves us and he will always come back to us. He said if anything goes wrong he will get home, come hell or high water! He promised."

She looks so proud of herself for remembering everything Jake told her a week ago, when he had bid them goodbye at the docks, you reach down and scoop her into your lap, careful not to jostle Charlotte, who is sleeping on the other side of the bench, head resting on the bag you had brought to the park with you.

"That’s right, Sugar," you coo, as your daughter tucks her head under your chin, curling into your lap.

"He promised, right Mama?"

Olive’s voice sounds so small, and your heart breaks a little at how unsure she sounds.

"Yeah, Liv, he did and you know that Daddy never breaks his promises, right?"

You feel Olive’s hair brush across your neck as she nods, and one of her hands comes up to play with the little heart shaped locket Jake had gotten you as a present, right before the twins had been born. Cuddling your little girl closer, you think back to the morning when he had given it too you, and the promise your husband had made.

You had been lying in bed, beyond tired because the twins kicking had kept you up all night, when Jake had come into the room after showering off his morning run.

"Hey darlin," he had whispered, slipping into the bed behind you, coming up to your back and reaching a hand around to rest on your baby bump, "how are my girls doing this morning?"

You had sighed, as your husband pressed soft kisses to the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

When you hadn’t responded, Jake had gently turned your face to his, his green eyes lighting with worry as he took in your tear stained face.

"Oh baby…" he had cooed, brushing away your tears with the pad of his thumb, "what’s the matter?"

"I just…." You had taken a deep, shaky breath as Jake pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, where the tears had been moments before, "I’m terrified that….that something will happen to…" you hadn’t been able to even voice the possibility of losing Jake. But, he had known, like he always did.

"Listen to me, darlin," he had said, leaning down to brush what was possibly the sweetest kiss of your life on your lips, "I know that my job is not the safest one there is and I can’t promise you that nothing will ever happen, because it’s out of my control."

Your eyes had refilled with tears, and Jake had leaned down, kissing you again while he wrapped his arm protectively and lovingly over your bump.

"But I can promise you that no matter what, wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I will always fight to get back to you and our babies."

Jake had then let go of you for a moment, which caused you to whine slightly and Jake to smile as he had turned to pull a small box from his nightstands top drawer. He had turned back to you and held the small maroon box in between you.

"I wanted to give this to you when the girls were born, but I think now is better."

You had taken the box in your hands before glancing up at him, laughter in your eyes for the first time since the thoughts had started to plague your mind.

"Uh, Jakey, I don’t know if you remember, but you already did this part," you had teased, flashing your left ring finger at your husband, who had let out one of the laughs you loved so dearly, and pressed a kiss to the pair of rings sitting there.

"Darlin I’m not proposing again, this is something else. It’s just as important though…" he had trailed off and lifted his hand to the box easing the top up.

You had gasped at the beauty of the little heart shaped gold locket that lay nestled in the box. It was engraved with tiny little lilies, the first flowers Jake had ever gotten you when you started dating.

"Jakey…"

"Turn it over, baby," he had cut you off, and you did, seeing the small phrase on the back.

‘Come hell or high water’ was engraved within a ring of lilies, right in the center of the back side of the locket.

"It’s a promise," Jake had whispered, brushing a piece of hair back from your face to press a kiss to your temple. "No matter what, I will fight to get home to you, come hell or high water."

"Mama?"

Charlotte’s sleepy voice breaks you out of the memory as she stirs on the bench next to you.

"Yeah, baby?" You say, bringing a hand up to stroke through Olive’s hair as she keeps her hand on the locket, cheek to your throat.

"Can we go home now?"

"Of course baby." You start to gather your things, gently easing Olive off of your lap, your heart warming as the twins grabbed each other’s hands.

The three of you make your way home, the girls holding onto each other the whole way there.

"Why don’t you guys go play for a little bit," you say as you unlock the door to your little house that you and Jake have slowly been making into a home, “I’ll bring you two some apple slices.”

"Ok, mama!" The two little girls say, before taking off down the hall to their bedroom, as you made your way into the kitchen.

Before grabbing the apples, you lean against the kitchen island and look down at your locket, opening the clasp and taking in the two pictures on the sides.

The first picture was one of you and Jake on your wedding day. It had been taken by the photographer right towards the end of the night. You were being dipped by Jake, who was smiling down at you with his heart in his eyes. Your head had been tipped back, mouth open mid-laugh. It was quite possibly your favorite picture from the day.

The second picture was a shot of Jake on the day your daughters had been born. Their birth had been relatively easy (considering that you had carried the twins to full term) and the picture in the locket captured the moment when Jake had first held Charlotte and Olive in his arms.

You sigh, stroking your hand over the pictures, not needing to remove them to see the 'Seresin Family' engraving in the windows. You raise the locket to your lips and brush a light kiss over the pictures, before closing the clasp and turning to grab a couple apples and a knife to make your daughters a snack.

Just as you're placing the apple slices into a bowl, your phone starts ringing from where you had left it in the bag by the door. Wiping your hands, you grab your phone and answer the call.

"Hello?"

There's silence for a moment and then a shuddering breath comes over the line.

"Hi, Darlin," Jake's voice sounds shaky, which immediately gets your heart going fast, fear creeping into your bones.

"Jake," you say, as he lets out another shaking breath. is he crying?

"Baby, what's wrong? what's happened?"

"I...." Jake has to stop for a minute, and you stay quiet, letting him have a moment. "The mission is complete, we're returning to base right now."

Your heart soars and you can't keep the smile off of your face, and out of your voice.

"That's great, Jakey!"

There is silence again, and your smile drops a little.

"Jake, what happened?"

"I don't....I don't think I can talk about it all yet, but mine and Bradley's planes went down in enemy territory. We....it took us two days to find a way back into communication range with the ship."

"Oh, Jake...." You whisper, hand over your mouth, "I'm so sorry baby. What can I do to help you?"

"Just be waiting when I get home."

✯✯✯✯

The next morning, you wake up at 5:30 am. After flipping over a few times, you give in to the fact that you aren’t going to be able to sleep. You sit up, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed, hand coming up to scrub over your eyes.

Getting out of bed, you walk into your closet and find a pastel green sweat suit to wear to protect against the slight chill in the air. You pull your hair up into a claw clip and head out into the kitchen and living room area. You tidy up a bit, and pour some cereal into a bowl for yourself as you sit at the island, scrolling through your phone idly.

By the time it’s a reasonable hour to wake the girls up, you’ve cleaned nearly the entire house and made a list of things you need to restock in the kitchen.

“Good Morning,” you sing softly, flipping on the fairy lights above your daughters beds as you go over to their closet to pull matching sweat suits to yours out, laying a pink one on the end of Charlotte’s bed and a purple one on Olive’s.

Olive is the first one to wake up, turning over under her mountain of blankets to blink blearily up at you.

“Good morning, Mama,” she says, a little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

You smile at her and ask her to please get dressed before making your way over to Charlotte’s bed, nestled in the corner of the room. The top of her dark blonde head is the only part of her visible under her soft white duvet with little pink flowers on it. You sit down, putting your hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake. She doesn’t say anything as her head turns over her shoulder, eyes blinking open slowly.

“Hey, baby,” you say, “it’s time to wake up!”

“Otay,” she says, her voice still scratchy from sleep and she allows you to pull the covers back far enough for her to scoot out of them.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, Olive is right there, fully dressed in the sweatpants and little matching hoodie. She holds out her arms for a hug and Charlotte steps straight into them, curling her own arms around her sisters waist.

“Good morning, Lottie.”

“Morning, Liv.”

You smile as you head to the door, calling over your shoulder.

“Your breakfast is on the table, girls, so please come out when Charlotte is dressed.”

“Otay!” You hear Olive shout back, making you smile.

A little while later, after the girls have finished their breakfast and the three of you had flopped onto the couch for some snuggles (a daily occurrence for you whenever Jake was deployed), Olive looks like she’s just about to nod off and Charlotte doesn’t look much more awake. Your daughters heads both snap up, however, as the doorbell ringing sounds through the house.

“Mama, is that…?” Olive is already up and bouncing on her toes as she looks at you expectantly. You smile, watching your daughter’s faces light up, as you nod.

“Let’s go welcome Daddy home, yeah?” You ask, already up and moving to the door, the twins hot on your heels.

Your heart is pounding as your hand comes up to the lock, turning it and pulling the door open. And just like that, your weeks of worry and stress melt off of you in an instant. Because he’s here, your Jake is right in front of you, looking tired, but whole. Looking alive.

“Hey, Darlin.” His tired smile seeps into your soul and you take a step forward, and then another and before you can even blink, Jake has dropped his duffle onto the front stoop and has you wrapped in a tight embrace. His face goes immediately to the crook of your neck, pressing into the sensitive skin there as he pulls you as close to his body as possible. You reciprocate the hug, and smile as you see and feel your girls attach themselves to a leg each.

“Hi Jakey,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, trailing your hands up and down his back.

You stand there for a long moment, before Jake finally manages to detach himself from you to bend and scoop his daughters into his arms. Olive and Charlotte both immediately curl their arms around his neck and start sprinkling kisses on his cheeks.

Later, when your little family has fallen asleep snuggled close together on the couch, the tv still playing a movie quietly, you look over at your husband, where he’s lying with Charlotte curled up on his chest and Olive plastered to his side. You softly stroke over the worry lines on his forehead. You know that he won’t be ready to open up for a while about what happened to him and Rooster, but you silently vow to just be there for him, for whatever he needs, in the next couple weeks.

Come hell or high water.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! If you have any requests for this family or any other story ideas you’d like to see, I’m always open to them (just send them to my asks).

[honeypiehotchner]

We Used To Be In Love (Hangman x Fem!Reader) -- part one

Yes, you read that right. Part one. This is another mini-series. Help me. I’m a sucker for the “didn’t know he was a father” trope, soooooo I decided to write it. This is a request from the lovely @ive-got-more-wit​ that I ran wild with <3

Summary: You and Jake were high school sweethearts, on track to get married and have a family. When Jake left for basic training for the Navy, he decided you had to be left behind. What neither of you knew was that he left two behind, not just one.

Warnings: arguing, angst, abortion is alluded to (reminder that i am/my blog is vehemently pro-choice :)), and one mention of God (bc if his family is from Texas, you can guarantee they’re Christian)

WC: 4.5k

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t always like this.

He wasn’t always a cocky, arrogant, playboy flirt with zero shame in leaving before the sun rose. He wasn’t always a 10-foot wall of confidence no matter who he was talking to.

Before he was Hangman, he was just Jake. Or J, depending on whether or not he had irritated you that day.

He was your high school sweetheart. He was your best friend since sixth grade. He was the boy everyone swore you’d marry. He was the boy who told you he was going to marry you.

Until he wasn’t anymore.

Jake had been in ROTC at your high school. Every generation of his family has been in the Navy, so it was no surprise when he joined the NROTC your freshman year. They didn’t normally let freshmen in, but given his family’s history, they made an exception. As always.

You loved it. You got to see him in uniform every Wednesday. You ate it up. As did everyone else, but you loved that, too. What girl didn’t love to see a boy in uniform? You saw the way their eyes would light up, the way their cheeks would flush when he’d saunter past. You loved that they gushed to you about him, about how lucky you were, because he’s all yours.

You went to the Navy Ball with him every year. And he came to prom with you. You were prom king and queen both years. You were in love, and everyone knew it. Jake made sure everyone knew. He talked about you all the time. His friends in NROTC were practically your brothers.

Everything seemed so simple. So easy. Perfectly laid out. You had your life practically decided. Or so you thought.

On one annoyingly-sunny June afternoon, Jake left.

He left and told you that you couldn’t come with him in any capacity, but that the two of you could still be friends. You didn’t know what to do with that. Because you were never just friends with Jake. It was always something more, even before either of you knew what that meant.

So, you told him no. You couldn’t be just friends. You didn’t know how.

He said you were being ridiculous. “What do you mean, you don’t know how? It’s what we’ve been doing this entire time!”

“Oh, so we’ve been friends this entire time, huh? Just friends?”

“Yes?”

“Unbelievable, Jake. Unbelievable.”

That was the last word you ever said to him. Unbelievable.

And, interestingly enough, it’s the exact word you say when you see him in person for the first time in thirteen years.

+++

You and your daughter, Belle, make the quick drive over to Penny’s bar, The Hard Deck, surprisingly on time for the party.

Penny and Maverick finally got over themselves and tied the knot, privately, with only Amelia, Rooster, you, and your daughter present. That was a few days ago, and today is their official “reception” of sorts to celebrate with everyone before they take off on their honeymoon, leaving Amelia with you -- which your daughter doesn’t know about just yet.

Belle is just excited because it’s an entire day to hang out with Amelia, as if the two of them aren’t attached at the hip already. Granted, it has been a little while, because for the past three weeks, you’ve been in Texas visiting family. You always try to spend a few weeks out of the summer with them since you moved out to California.

Penny told you all about everything you missed, including a whole gaggle of attractive aviators. You told her not to worry, you’re not on the market. She laughed, per usual.

It’s not that you’re not on the market, it’s more that no one on the market wants you. You’re only thirty-one years old, and you have a thirteen year old daughter. After some quick math, suddenly guys are not that interested in you anymore.

It used to bother you, but after you got used to it, you stopped looking. With your daughter getting older and entering high school, you need to focus more on that and her, anyway.

Penny has been an incredible help. She’s older than you, but Amelia and your daughter are the same age, so dual hang out sessions have been your saving grace.

Technically, you knew Maverick before you knew Penny, but that’s only because your dad flew with him a handful of times. You’re much closer with Penny, so when you heard about their little connection, you nearly lost it. The world is so small, you said. Now, though, you couldn’t be happier for them.

There are more cars than you expected outside The Hard Deck, but you suppose you should’ve expected that. Penny is popular in this town, always has been.

When you moved here, it was because your dad was stationed here for a while. He said it would be good for you and Belle to get some fresh air somewhere else. He knew you didn’t like the idea of moving, so he got you to think of it as a vacation.

Well, after the “vacation” was over, Belle didn’t want to leave. She became best friends with Amelia almost as quickly as you became friends with Penny. Penny needed help at the bar, so she gave you a job, and she also didn’t want you to leave.

Everything was so simple again. So, you stayed, and it’s where you’ve been for a few years now.

Once you park, Belle hops out and says, “See you later, mom!” as she takes off toward the beach where Amelia no doubt is already.

“Put sunscreen on!” you call after her, knowing Penny has some on the deck out there. Belle puts a thumbs up in the air. “Thank you!” you shout.

You grab the small gift bag from the passenger seat and head into The Hard Deck, which is, as you suspected, already packed.

It’s a bit of a task to find Penny, but the gifts are all on a table to the right of the door, so you drop the bag off first. Penny grins when she sees you, wrapping you in a bear hug.

“There she is,” you hear Maverick say. You open your arms and bring him into the hug, too.

“Where’s Belle?” Penny asks.

“Where’s Amelia?” you counter with a laugh.

Penny nods, “Right, how could I forget?” She glances out the window and of course, they’re on the sand, doing cartwheels. “Those two never get tired of one another.”

“Reminds me of someone,” you tease, poking her arm. “How’s it been? What have I missed?”

“Oh, nothing,” Penny waves her hand. “Some of Mav’s buddies got here, so he’s been-- Yes, I know, go see them,” she laughs as Maverick goes back to the group of aviators. “See what I mean?”

“Mhm, I see,” you chuckle, seeing Mav get yanked into a few hugs.

You look around at all of their faces, wondering who exactly is here and if you’ll recognize them. To your complete and utter horror, you do. You recognize one of them.

Jake Seresin.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, immediately averting your eyes.

“What?” Penny asks, eyebrows furrowed like she didn’t quite hear you.

You grab her arm and tug her further away from them, back up toward the front where the gift table is. You debate stepping outside entirely, but this isn’t that serious. You think.

Well, it’s kind of serious. Your high school sweetheart, father of your child, man you swore you’d marry who you haven’t seen in a decade and a half is now standing in the fucking bar, hugging Maverick like an old friend.

Fuck.

“You didn’t tell me Jake was coming.”

“Who?” Penny questions, lowering her voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Dirty-blond hair, smiles like an asshole,” you describe him, hating how much effort it takes you to pull your eyes away from him.

“Oh, Hangman,” she replies.

You give her a strange look. “Who?”

“Wait.” Penny pauses, mortified, because she’s heard all about Jake from your past. She knows the truth. She knows Jake. “No.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “The world cannot be this small. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What are we talking about?” Maverick asks, walking into the conversation at the worst time. He has a bad habit of doing that to you and Penny, but you know when he saw you pull her away, he thought something bad was happening -- or had already happened.

“Nothing,” you and Penny say at the same time, earning two raised eyebrows from Maverick. Suspicious motherfucker.

“Nothing,” you repeat firmly. “Hangman is an old friend of mine. Just didn’t know Penny knew him. Or that you did. You know.”

“Okay…” Maverick eyes you both weirdly. “So…would you like me to introduce you to them or…?”

“Sure,” you smile. “Why not.”

“Alright,” Mav grins, completely oblivious to the look Penny is giving you.

Penny walks with you and Maverick over to the group of aviators crowding around the pool table. None of them are playing, the pool sticks are leaned against the wall.

“Aviators,” Maverick says loudly, gaining their attention quicker than you expect. “More introductions are in order. This is Y/N. Y/N, these are aviators Coyote, Phoenix, Rooster -- who you know -- Bob, Payback, Fanboy, and Hangman -- who you also know, apparently.”

You could kill Maverick with your bare hands just for that last comment. “Thanks,” you mutter, flashing a smile at the pilots. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Rooster comes over and wraps you in a big hug, as usual. He’s practically become your brother this past week. “How’re you doing?” he asks after letting go of you.

“Pretty good,” you breathe. “Just getting ready to have a house full of teenagers.”

“It’ll be a riot,” Rooster chuckles. “Where’d she run off to?”

“Where do you think?” Penny pipes in, gesturing down to the beach. Amelia and Belle are tossing a frisbee back and forth, kind of. They keep taking long pauses to talk and laugh, and neither of them are that great at frisbee either, but in their defense, it is windy by the shore.

“The little rascal ran right by me,” Rooster says. “Ah, I’ll leave her be. I’ll get her later.”

“Better get her before she finds you first,” you laugh.

Belle’s favorite thing is to sneak up behind Rooster and jump on his back. Thank god he’s as strong as he is, because she nearly knocks you over when she does it to you. Now she has Rooster to jump on, though, which has saved your spine.

“Hm, good idea,” Rooster grins, making his way to the door, getting ready to chase the two girls down the beach.

The other aviators have gone back to talking amongst themselves and Maverick, but Hangman is staring off into space.

Well, to be more specific, he’s staring out the window. At the beach. At Belle.

Nausea settles into your bones, dreading what will eventually come next. It’s only a matter of time before he connects the dots. He’s not an idiot. Her age is probably his first clue, but her name damn well is the biggest. If he remembers, which you aren’t sure if he does, but that could be your anger talking.

One aviator sidles up next to you, nudging your arm. “So. How do you and Hangman know each other?” You think this is Coyote.

“Just old friends, that’s all,” you shrug. “I knew him as Jake, anyway. Not Hangman.”

“Ooh, first name basis, not call sign,” Coyote whistles. “Ayo, Hangman!”

Jake turns his head, his eyebrows furrowed, and a bewildered look in his eyes. It looks like fifty different emotions are conflicting on his face. “What?”

“You gonna tell us about your old friend?”

“Yeah,” Fanboy chimes. “Old flame?”

Phoenix punches Fanboy’s shoulder. “Quit it.”

“We’re just curious!” Payback jumps in.

“Are you from Texas?” Bob asks. He’s much quieter than the rest, and genuinely curious. The others are clearly trying to get a rise out of Hangman, but he looks too confused.

“I am,” you nod. “Born and raised in Austin.”

“Ho-ly shit,” Payback laughs. “Even better. Childhood friend!”

You can’t help but smile. They’re a rowdy bunch, and it’s infectious. “Mhm.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rooster racing after Belle and Amelia. You excuse yourself to take a video purely for your own entertainment, and to send to your family back in Texas.

You step out onto the back deck, filming a quick video while laughing as the girls outrun Rooster. You’re not sure if he runs slower just for them, or if they’re genuinely that quick.

You hear the deck creak as someone stands on it behind you. You know it’s Jake. Your body will forever know him in a way that you’ll never know anyone else. It’s like a sixth sense.

You end the video and put your phone away, but you don’t turn around. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest and wait.

But you’re impatient. You always have been.

“Well,” you say, still facing the beach. “Are you going to stand there all silent or are you going to say something?”

Jake clears his throat, obviously nervous. “Hi,” he says.

You laugh. “Seriously?” You turn around this time, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Hi? Is that it?”

He immediately gets defensive. He always did. “What do you want me to say?”

“Maybe you could start with I’m sorry,” you deadpan, turning back around. Maybe talking to him is a bad idea. Maybe you should tell him to leave you alone. But you can’t do that.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you can’t tell if it’s genuine or if he’s just saying it to please you.

“Thanks,” you reply with just as much emotion.

He steps forward, putting his feet even with yours. He’s staring again, definitely at Belle.

“Stop staring,” you scold him.

“Is she mine?” he blurts, under his breath, raspy, like he doesn’t even want to ask.

You don’t answer. You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Y/N,” he says, turning his body toward you. “Is she mine?”

Nothing.

“Answer me,” he hisses, reaching for your arm.

You step away from him before he can touch you, like the mere thought burns your skin. “Keep your voice down. If you want to talk, we can, but not here. I don’t want her to see me arguing with you.”

“Who says we’re arguing?”

“That’s all we’re going to do,” you reply, just as cold. “That’s all you’re capable of doing, Hangman.”

He takes a step back like you’ve slapped him across the face. You might as well have. You’d love to, but you won’t. You’re a better person than that, but fuck.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Come on.”

You head back into the bar, not looking behind you to see if he’s following. You hear the aviators muttering, so he must be. You shove the front door open, not holding it for him. His palm smacks against it as he exits the bar.

The gravel crunches under your feet as you stomp toward your car.

“Is she mine?” he says again, demanding an answer. “Fuck, how old is she? Y/N!”

“She’s thirteen!” you yell, turning around to look him in the face as you say this. As you make your confession. “And yes, she’s yours, if you’re so damn determined to keep a fucking score.”

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m doing,” he says. “Thirteen? Were you fucking pregnant--”

“When you left me? When you told me we could be just friends after telling me you’d marry me? Yes, Jake, I was fucking pregnant with your child. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Your throat hurts from screaming. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded. “For the record, because I know you’ll ask, I didn’t know. I didn’t know until I was three months. You were long gone by then.”

You can see him trying to calculate the timing in his head. “So you-- Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now that makes you laugh. Loudly. Like you’ve gone hysterical. “Seriously?” you nearly start crying. “Tell you? After you told me you wanted nothing to do with me?”

“I never said that--”

“You didn’t have to,” you reply, wiping a stray tear. Maybe they’re hysterical tears, or sad ones, or angry ones, you don’t know. “No, I didn’t tell you. I didn’t even think I’d keep her until I heard her heartbeat. But seriously, Jake, I hated you, and you think I should’ve told you about her? Oh yeah, it’s Y/N, your just friend, and also now the mother of your child! Congrats, you’re a dad!”

“That’s exactly what you should’ve done!”

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” you scoff. “I was eighteen.”

“So was I!”

“Exactly!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air. “You were joining the Navy! I wasn’t going to ask you to throw that away, no matter how much I hated you.”

“I wouldn’t have thrown it away--”

“Exactly,” you say. “You still just wouldn’t have been around. My mom is still friends with yours, you know. I’ve heard all about your deployments, where you’ve fought, what awards you’ve won.” His face softens. He must not have known that. “You would’ve just been distracted by having a daughter at home, and trying to repair our relationship which you clearly didn’t want to fix. Not telling you was the best course of action.”

“Was it really?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound angry now. He sounds heartbroken. “Were you ever going to tell me about her?”

“Eventually,” you say, but he just gives you a look of disbelief. “I mean that, Jake, I was going to. Eventually.”

“How long is eventually?”

“When she turned eighteen, probably.”

Just like that, the anger is back. “Seriously?” he swears. “Five more years? Then what?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to risk telling you about her before then and starting a whole debate on custody and child support and--”

“Do you really think I’d do all of that?”

“I don’t know who you are anymore!” you sobbed, and it’s then that you see the anger completely dissipate from his face. “Fuck, Jake, I just. Don’t lecture me on this. Be mad at me, or whatever it is you’re feeling, but I’m done arguing about it. You have no idea what it’s been like, so don’t-- Don’t. Just don’t. Okay?” You sniffle, wiping your cheeks without looking at him.

“Okay,” he says quietly, surprising you. “Okay, honey, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that either,” you shake your head, too many angry tears falling now to catch them. “Don’t act sorry. And I’m not your honey anymore. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Y/N--”

“Can you just go?” you ask, but it sounds more like a plea. “I need a few moments alone. Please.”

“Okay,” he says, immediately backing off. He leaves you alone without another word, heading back into the bar.

You walk around your car so it’s blocking anyone from seeing you, and you collapse, sobs wracking your body in ways you haven’t felt in a decade.

+++

Jake doesn’t know what to do, and when he doesn’t know what to do, he calls his mom.

He walks further up the beach so he’s alone and out of earshot, but still close enough to keep an eye on his daughter. In case she falls, or if they go in the water--

Fuck. His daughter.

His mom doesn’t pick up on the first try, and instead of leaving a voicemail, he just calls again.

Finally, she answers. “Jake!” Her sweet voice echoes in his ear, and he nearly starts crying. “It’s so good to hear from you, baby. You’re on speaker, hun, I’m in the middle of mixing biscuits.”

He chuckles. She’s always in the kitchen. “That’s okay, momma. I miss your cooking.”

“Then you should come home,” she says, teasing. She’s always telling him to come home, and he should. He will. Soon.

“I know, momma. I will.”

“You better,” she says, and he hears a pan clang on the counter. “Alright, out with it, J. What’s the matter?”

“I can’t call my momma to tell her I love her?”

“Not with that tone of voice you can’t. Don’t forget I carried you. I know something’s wrong.”

He sighs, looking down the beach at Belle and Amelia. “I just met my daughter.”

Jake expects a loud reaction from his mom. Or a laugh. A comment about a good prank. But he doesn’t get any of that.

“I see,” his mom says. “She told you.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, J. And I knew you’d be angry with me for keeping it from you, so go ahead.”

Jake sputters, looking for a response, but he can’t find one. And he can’t bring himself to be angry with his momma.

“I’m not sure how much she’s told you,” his mom continues. “But you should know your father and I were part of the decision.”

Jake spins around, even though he’s on the phone. “What?”

“Have I ever told you about how I told your father I was pregnant with you?”

It’s not unlike his mom to go into a story in the middle of a conversation, so Jake entertains it, even though sometimes it annoys him. “No.”

“Well,” she laughs. “I was on my way to the doctor for my 32-week checkup. You were born at 34 weeks.”

“Jesus, mom.”

“Your father was deployed,” she continues. “I wanted him to focus on the task at hand. He had lives to save. I was perfectly happy and cared for at home with mine and his family. There was no need to let him know unless something went wrong. He worried about me alone enough. He didn’t need to worry for two.”

“But he deserved to know.”

“Yes, he did. I won’t argue with you there. And he did know. He came home just two days before you arrived. God was looking out for him. And it seemed you were waiting for him.”

“But that’s different,” Jake still argues. “You were married.”

“And Y/N was eighteen. You both were. She had a big decision to make.”

“She said she almost didn’t have her,” Jake says quietly.

“Yes, I know,” his mom replies solemnly. “We talked that through, too. We were all worried. She was so young, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. But in the end, it was up to her, and she fell in love with Belle the first time she heard her.”

“She told me.”

He can tell his mom is smiling sadly. “I think what you two need is a good old fashioned talking session.”

That’s his mom’s favorite thing. To sit down and talk things out, even if it takes all night.

“We tried,” he sighs. “We just argued.”

“Well I don’t doubt it. You haven’t seen each other in over a decade and your lives have changed since you were teenagers.”

Jake is silent, so his mom continues. “I don’t know what to tell you, J. You can be mad at her if you insist, but she didn’t make this decision alone. Her parents and your father and I had a part in it. Be mad at all of us, not just her. And remember you decided to break up with her before you went off to basic.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So give her some grace,” his mom replies, a little firm. “And give yourself some time, too. You just found out you’re a father.”

“Yeah,” Jake laughs. “To a teenager.”

“Well, that’s what happens…” his mom trails away, but he can fill in the blank. That’s what happens when you have sex at such a young age.

“Thanks, momma,” he replies. “Thanks for talking with me.”

“You know I’m always here to listen,” she says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, momma,” he sighs. “Take care.”

+++

You finally compose yourself enough to get ready to head back inside to the party. You check your reflection in the window, rubbing your eyes vigorously. Maybe you can say you forgot your allergy medicine. No, you can’t, Penny won’t believe you, and Maverick will laugh his ass off at such a lousy excuse--

“Holy shit, you scared me!” you jump back, your heart racing.

“Sorry,” Jake murmurs, taking a step back, even though there’s a car between you two. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wanted to apologize.”

You blink, not sure you’ve heard him correctly. “Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says.

“Me too,” you reply. “I really wasn’t expecting you to be here--”

“Me either.”

“And it caught me off guard, and I went right to arguing with you--”

“It’s okay,” he stops you, stepping forward to lean over the top of your car. “If anything, I deserved it.” He pauses, resting his weight on his elbows. “I talked to my mom.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Okay.”

“She told me-- Well, I guess you know what she told me, because you lived through it, but it made me realize I was angry about something that I don’t know the full details of. And, so, I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t like yelling at you -- or anyone, but especially not with you -- and I’m sorry I did. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay,” you say, stunned to near silence. You weren’t expecting these words to come out of his mouth, but you’re glad they are. “Thank you. I-I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” he says, exhaling. “I’d love to talk and catch up and--”

“One thing at a time, please,” you say. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, okay. I can do tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let’s get back in there, then. They’re probably wondering where we went.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “We should-- before they get any wild ideas.”

+++

The rest of the party goes fine without any other surprises, though Jake’s long glances at you across the room get a little annoying.

Amelia and Belle stay on the beach until you tell them to come inside, which is when it gets dark. They don’t protest, but they do drag their feet.

“Alright kiddo, have you packed a bag?” you ask Amelia.

She gives you a weird look. “For what?”

“Well…” you start to grin. “Since Penny and Mav are going on their honeymoon for a while, we thought you could just stay with me and Belle.”

“A sleepover?” Amelia asks.

“For two weeks?” Belle adds.

“Yes!” They both cheer when you nod.

“I can take you to get some of your stuff,” you offer, looking at Penny. She can tell you’re desperate for an escape.

“Please, mom?” Amelia turns to Penny.

“Go ahead,” Penny laughs. “Have fun.”

“Thanks mom!” Amelia hugs Penny tightly. “Can we go now?”

“Sure,” you nod, letting the two teenagers drag you to the car. “Bye everyone!” you call out, waving.

You catch Jake’s eyes as you’re leaving, but you tear your eyes away first. You have two teenagers to look after now. You don’t have time to think about the past.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟗.𝟖𝐤

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝.

There is supposed to be a sweetness that grows in the absence of great love. They’ve coined a phrase for it, one that never fails to keep your eyes from rolling, one you won’t even waste your breath uttering. People sing about it--all that space someone leaves behind and the way that your heart is supposed to contort and expand with excess affection--and people write poems about it, too.  

But it’s been a year and it still hurts; there is no overflow of fondness. 

The agony hasn’t dulled yet--and you have found comfort in calling it agony and not pain. It’s something you’ve put great thought into: this is not pain, it is bigger than that. It’s rubbing alcohol on a gash that needs sutures. It’s popping blisters with the heat of the sun. It’s smiling finally and splitting your lip down the middle. It’s jamming grimy fingers into bullet holes. It’s chewing rusty nails. It’s falling one hundred feet from a cliff and into the water on your belly. It’s cracking the hardest part of your skull on the pavement. 

Now that it’s been a year, now that you have adjusted to accepting your life in terms of throbbing and aching, you are certain that you would much rather have never loved Jake if it meant losing him. 

That’s how your mother tried to comfort you when you told her about the breakup. It was fresh--though it still feels fresh even right now and you assume it will always feel fresh--and you couldn’t talk about it without salt wetting your tongue and your lips growing swollen around the words you chewed out. 

“Jake’s gone.” It was all you could manage to say to her. 

She was sitting across from you at the little bistro table outside Risotto’s, sipping espresso through a straw so as not to disturb her lipstick. She was glowing that afternoon--wearing a linen sundress with her hair pulled back and her sunglasses big and her disposition sunny. 

When you said it, when she finally paused in her chattering about her latest cruise with your step-father, she raised her eyebrows--stunned. She was the last person you were telling--for more reasons than you have fingers--but she was the first person you were telling face-to-face. Meeting her for an early lunch at Risotto’s was the first time you’d left the house in a long while. 

“Where did he go?” She asked, tilting her head. 

You didn’t feel good. You hadn’t felt good for even one microsecond of one day since the other side of your bed suddenly became so frigid. You knew, also, that you didn’t look good. Unwashed hair, unbrushed teeth, mismatched socks, bleary eyes, a permanent flush in your cheeks. But your mother hadn’t asked you what was wrong; she was never good at doing that. Jake was, though. If he had been there, he would’ve asked. He would’ve known the moment he saw you that you were thoroughly heartbroken.   

“Back to her,” you said, your voice thin and wavering. Your cheeks were hot and the saliva on your tongue was sitting thick in your mouth. “His wife.”

Your mother watched your lip tremble. You were already pulled into yourself, shoulders drooping and chest hollow. Your hair was dipping over your plate and into your food when you finally let your face fall into your hands to weep. It made your mother ill watching your hair sweep through the pasta sauce.  

Someone walking by had given your mother a strange look as you openly sobbed into your palms, those shrill and shrieking things, and she’d grown hot with embarrassment. So, she paid for her cup of espresso and your uneaten pasta and ushered you into the privacy of the bathroom. 

It was hot in there, just as hot as it was outside beneath the San Diego sun. It felt like you couldn’t step out of the heat wherever you went--it just followed you, bit into your skin, blistered you.

You leaned against the bathroom counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest. And your mother stood just before you, feeling out of her element and entirely uncomfortable with the amount of snot dripping down your nose.  

“What happened?” 

What had happened was Jake woke up three Tuesday's ago, looked at your sleeping form, and then decided that he needed to go back to his wife--whom he’d left for you a little bit over two years prior. For all intents and purposes, Felicity was still his wife; there’d been about a dozen delays in the finalization of their divorce, all seemingly minute and at the fault of precisely no one except the courts. 

No rhyme or reason. No explanation. He just waited for you to wake up, held your cheek, and told you he was leaving and that he wasn’t coming back. Then he left. Movers came for his things a few days later. He changed his number. He deactivated every social media he had an account for. He vanished, simply put. Just like that. Somewhere between asleep and awake, he was gone. For good. 

“Nothing. We were fine,” you told your mom, holding your face in your hands again. Your breath was hot in your palms, aiding the blush in your cheeks and the heat rash climbing up your throat. “We were better than fine. We were fucking great. We were perfect. And then he just left.”

“Well, there had to have been something wrong,” your mother insisted, gathering one-ply toilet paper by the handful and unceremoniously pressing it against your hands. “He wouldn’t leave for no reason.” 

“But he did,” you insisted, shaking your head, gripping the toilet paper roughly. “I’ve thought about it good and-and hard. We had dinner that night. I made mashed potatoes, steak, and green beans. We drank half a bottle of red wine. We did the dishes together. We went to a late movie. We came home and took a shower together. We had sex. We went to bed. Jesus Christ, we were laughing all night! Even just before I fell asleep, he told me he loved me and I told him that I loved him. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. Nothing was wrong.”

Your mother listened intently, picking at her long nails. With her eyes narrowed in thought, she tutted. 

“Did you overcook his steak?”

“No,” you told her, flopping your hands at your sides and letting your face angle towards the polished tiles below your untied tennis shoes. “He likes it medium rare and I cook it medium rare.” 

“Was the movie bad?” 

“No,” you answered again. “It was a Martin Scorcese film.” 

She hummed. She kept thinking, kept pursing her lips and squinting at you as you dabbed under your nose. 

“Maybe he got water in his ear in the shower.” 

You sighed. 

“This isn’t making it better,” you told her, sniffling. 

You leaned against the counter, your shoulders slumped and your face drenched in salt. 

“I’m not trying to make it better,” your mother sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m trying to figure out why he left you.” 

It stung to hear her say it. Stung so badly that you flinched inadvertently, just a reaction your body had to the words. It was like the doctors checking your knees for reflexes; you had no control over it.  

“There’s nothing to figure out,” you assured her flatly, fruitlessly wiping at your cheeks and staring down at the scuff on the toe of your shoes. “He’s gone. It’s over. That’s that.” 

“Maybe he’ll come back,” your mother said. 

You shook your head. 

“No,” you whispered, sniffling again. “Movers came and packed him up.” 

“He hasn’t called?” 

“Changed his number,” you told her. Your voice was growing thinner and quieter.

“Well. Maybe he’ll change his mind after a while. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

A beat of silence followed that. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t really sure what to do other than cry and cry and cry. 

“I don’t think he will,” you said finally. 

She sighed, then. She wasn’t sure what to say either. She had never been good at this sort of thing--things that required her to give you that undivided attention you were always so insistent upon.

You weren’t sure why you even bothered telling her. You knew that she would’ve sat through your entire early lunch without commenting on your appearance if you’d let her. She would’ve pretended like everything was fine, would’ve asked about work, would’ve kept talking about the country club.  

“Wouldn’t you rather have loved and lost than never loved at all?”

Your throat grew hot.  

“Please don’t quote Victorian-era poets to me while I’m upset,” you whispered to her. “And that’s not even the way it goes.” 

You two were always like this. She never knew what to say to you and when she tried, you were convinced that her attempt was half-hearted and in poor taste because it usually was. Even when you were a baby, she never knew much about what you wanted or needed. It was no different now that you were a grown woman. Simply put: she was bad at caring and you were good at rejecting.

She at least spared you from bringing up the fact that Jake had put his wife in your very position a couple years back--for you. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” your mother admitted, holding her hands on her hips. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut tight. 

“Me neither,” you told her. 

It was quiet for another moment. 

She glanced at her watch. 

“You can go,” you told her. 

She played tennis every Saturday afternoon--you knew that’s where she wanted to be. 

She swallowed. 

“I don’t have to,” she said. 

What she really meant was: thank you.  

“I know,” you told her. Another beat. “Go.”

And so she’d left and then you were alone. 

You’re still alone right now. 

Or you were until twenty-seven minutes ago when the doorbell rang. 

You’d only gotten around to making dinner fifteen minutes before the intrusion so the air was still thick with the scent of Top Ramen. You were sitting on the couch, poking around your bowl of overcooked noodles, watching another episode of The Price Is Right in your dark living room when the chime rang out in the foyer.

If this had happened a little over a year ago, if Jake was still living with you but maybe gone for the evening, you would’ve been frightened. Some unannounced guest at your front door after ten at night while you’re home alone? 

But you’d simply set your bowl on the coffee table and meandered through the dark, your slippers shuffling on the unswept tile. You didn’t even check the peephole--you didn’t care to. You just opened the door.

Then he was there. Just like that, just like he had been for years before and not been for a year, he was there. Standing under the dinky porch light in the silky night air, wearing a pair of old Levi’s and a starchy white shirt.

 And when you saw him, him with his eyebrows pinched the way he used to whenever he was thinking hard about something, him with his lips in that serious flat line you used to run your finger along, him with his Adam’s apple bobbing so profusely, him with his hands at his sides and clenching around precisely nothing--a strange peace flooded you. You’d been trying so very hard to press forward, to forget about him, to wash off the life you shared. Even if you knew it was entirely in vain, you did because that’s what you were supposed to do. But seeing him there on your porch, shrouded in shadows and awash with a strange emotion you cannot read--and you’ve been out of commission in the reading Jake’s emotions department for a while, anyway--you thought okay, this is it. I have been so overwhelmed with grief that my brain is atrophying and I am imagining things. This is my yellow wallpaper. 

For the first time in a year, you felt good. This was your surrender. You were letting go, giving in, allowing yourself to be swallowed. It was like slipping into a warm bath; all the muscles in your body unfurling, all the breath in your lungs escaping, all the pain in your body dissipating. 

But then he spoke. 

“What’s that face?” 

“What?” You choked. 

You didn’t even mean to speak to him. It was just an immediate response.

“That face,” Jake said softly, nodding towards your cheek. “I’ve never seen you make it before.”

“That’s just my face now,” you told him. 

It got quiet after that. There were no crickets chirping, no cicadas calling, no cars rumbling down the quiet street, no music playing through a cracked window. The night was just entirely silent.  

The next few minutes were a blur. You wandered away from the door, still entirely convinced that this was your undoing and that you were taking up company with the ghost of your lost love. He’d taken it as an invitation and followed behind you. When you sunk back down into the sofa, taking your lukewarm bowl of noodles on your lap, he just watched you from the foyer. 

He didn’t really know what he was doing there. He didn’t know why he came back other than to fill the gaping hole in his chest that he’d punctured there. It was selfish, he knew. He kept in touch with a few of your mutual friends and every once in a while, when he could afford it, he’d ask how you were. And the answers were never good. But seeing it, seeing you sit in that pitch-black living room, seeing you sit there with your bowl of shitty ramen, seeing your gaunt cheeks aglow in the artificial blue-light from the television, he understood just how bad things were. Really, he thought he had it bad with the nightmares and the guilt. But this was something different entirely.  

When he said your name, you just glanced over at him. Your eyes were very dull. 

Then he sat on the loveseat, facing you. And you just resumed watching The Price Is Right.

But now the episode is over and your bowl is empty. 

So, you look over at him and his face is angled at the television, too. His eyes are so very glassy that you could watch the television in the reflection. His posture is rigid, which is not how he used to sit on the loveseat. He used to throw his entire body on top of it with a heave, used to sprawl out with his limbs askew. He used to take naps there like that. He used to pull you on top of him, used to keep your head cradled against his chest as it rose and fell with a grace you knew you would never come close to possessing. 

This is all very strange. Jake knows this is very strange. You just left the door open behind you and ate your cheap dinner and watched TV while he sat there. But what is even stranger is that he didn’t want to immediately retreat. He didn’t feel that discomfort in his bones he feared he would. He even ended up watching the episode with you. 

“Are these reruns?” He asks after a moment as a toothpaste commercial plays over the screen. This is the TV he left here--the unreasonably big one that cost a fortune to get mounted. 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“When does the new season start?” He asks. 

“September, I think.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. You’re still looking at him, wondering how long it is going to be until he evaporates. 

And he’s looking around the room now, squinting through the dark, letting his eyes fall over all the familiar terrain. The coffee table is amess with mail and car keys and matchbooks; you used to get onto him about crowding it with paperwork and glasses. The mantle that used to house all those trinkets you picked up everywhere is void of anything at all save a sad pillar candle almost burned to the wick. The throw pillows are strewn about, not at all in the precise order you liked them to be, and none of the throw blankets are folded and sitting in the basket beside the couch. It’s April now, but there are no pastel decorations littering the room. It’s just dark.  

“How long will you be here?” 

His eyes land on you again. You’ve curled into yourself, knees drawn to your chest, and you’re letting your cheek press against the flat of your knees as you look at him. There is something far-away about the way you’re looking at him, something that just isn’t quite there. 

“What do you mean?” 

“How long are you staying?” 

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. 

“I don’t know how to answer that.” 

You shrug. 

“Okay,” you say. “Just lock the door on your way out.”

Somehow, even though he knows the opposite, he feels like the strange one here. He was expecting this to go differently. He thought you would cry and he would cry. He thought that maybe you wouldn’t let him in. He thought maybe you would’ve moved by now. Really, he expected things to go any other way than they are right now. 

You’re just blinking at him, fiddling with a loose stitch on the couch. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. 

You shake your head immediately. 

“Of course not,” you answer. 

His heart is sitting in his throat, pulsing.

A beat passes. There’s a dog food commercial playing now.  

“Don’t you want to ask what I’m doing here? Or why?”

“No,” you answer again. 

He nods. 

“Why not?” 

You breathe softly, shrugging. This is the most strange conversation to be having with someone who is just not here.

“Why would I?” You return finally. 

He rakes his hands through his hair again, softening into the sofa. He’s missed this sofa very much--he used to take long, open-mouthed naps here with your weight atop him. 

“I don’t know,” he answers and he’s telling the truth. “I guess I would want to know if I were you.” 

“You’re not me,” you answer even though you do think, in a convoluted way, he must be you since you’re the one imagining him here.

“Yeah,” he sighs, nodding. 

“What should we do?” You ask. 

He blinks. 

“About?” 

“Not about,” you answer, sighing. “What should we do now? Go to bed?” 

“Are you tired?” Jake asks. 

“I’m always tired,” you say. 

That hurts. It’s a quick pain that radiates across his chest.

“You want to go to bed with me?” He asks. 

You just nod. Of course you do. It’s all you’ve wanted for the past year. Just to lie beside him again, just to fall asleep with his foot nudging yours. That’s it. It’s simple. 

You’ve missed him the most there--which is a given. Entirely a given. 

He doesn’t know if he should. Things are still strange with Felicity. He doesn’t know where they stand, especially after tonight. Honestly, he doesn’t know where they’ve been standing for the past year besides the edge of a cliff and a stuffy therapist’s office. 

“Okay,” he says softly. He nods. “We can go to bed.” 

You don’t turn any lights on in the house as you navigate through it. You are good at navigating in the dark; it’s how you’ve been living for the past year. Jake stumbles a few times, feeling around for a doorknob or railing. You don’t reach for his hand and he doesn’t reach for the curve of your waist. 

Even when you get into the bedroom, you don’t turn the light on. You don’t wash your face or brush your teeth. You just slip out of your socks, leave them in the heap that sits at the end of your bed, and climb under the unmade sheets.

Jake stands in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He can make out your silhouette beneath the linens, so much smaller than he remembers you being. Maybe you are--especially if you’ve been eating ramen at ten at night for the past year. He can’t make out much else besides the hunky shadows of furniture and he doesn’t try. He slips out of his jeans and his t-shirt, which feels strangely and achingly normal to be doing in this room at your bedside, and then pulls the covers down. 

The two of you lie side by side without touching each other. 

You can’t believe the peace that has found you so suddenly. This is a peace you have scoured for for twelve grueling months--yoga, acupuncture, retreats, massages, therapy, antidepressants, girl’s nights, blind dates--and never even came close to finding. But here it is now, laying in bed beside you, blinking up at the ceiling. He’s not even touching you, but he doesn’t have to: just knowing that you could reach over and press the flat of your foot against the curve of his calf is enough to untie a knot that’s been sitting in your throat. 

Jake, for some reason, feels the same. He’s been having trouble sleeping for a year--an entire year. Felicity doesn’t snore. In fact, Felicity is entirely soundless when she sleeps. And he hates that. Often, he’s thought about the way you mumble throughout the night and the lonesome snores you sometimes let out. Felicity likes to be held, but you liked to hold him. He’s missed it--missed your arms around his waist, your hips against his. And now that he’s in bed with you, now that all this strangeness is becoming normal in the dark room around the two of you, he can feel himself growing tired. Sleep is starting to tug on his eyelids. 

“Are you sleepy?” You ask softly. 

You used to ask him this a lot. Usually it was accompanied with your fingers in his hair, tugging softly as he laid in your lap as you tried to finish another chapter of a book you’d been reading for too long. Sometimes it was when he was teetering between asleep and awake, when you knew just by looking at his slack face and parted lips that he was sleepy. It used to make the two of you laugh, a sound only the wrinkles in the sheets could hear. 

“Yes,” Jake answers. 

You swallow. There are suddenly tears in your eyes. 

“Okay,” you just say. 

“Are you?” He asks. 

“You already asked me that,” you say softly. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s okay,” you answer.

This is starting to feel real. It is beginning to dawn on you that this is not a figment of your imagination, you have not been subdued by anguish. This is real, he is here, you watched an episode of The Price Is Right together, and now you’re in bed together. It’s almost too much for you--it’s making your chest tight, making your knuckles white. You thought that being around him again would make grief explode out of your chest like something akin to Alien. But here you are--intact somehow.   

You want to ask him how long he’ll be there. You want to ask if he’ll be there when you wake up tomorrow morning. You want to ask him what he saw in your sleeping face that made him leave. But you don’t. You’re afraid of breathing too hard, afraid of moving wrong. 

“Are you still awake?” He asks. 

You nod and he feels it. 

“What’s happening?” He asks. 

This wasn’t his intention when he came here tonight. Fuck, he doesn’t even really know what his intention was, but he knows that it isn’t this. 

“I don’t know,” you answer. 

He can tell that you’re choked up. 

“Ask me why I’m here,” he demands in a hushed tone. 

You sniffle, shaking your head. 

“I don’t want to,” you say. “Please don’t make me.” 

He bites his lip hard. His throat is thickening with tears, too, just hearing how utterly broken your tone is. Just to know that he is the one that fractured it, just to know that he is the one that’s hurt you--it makes his chest tight. 

“Ask me anything. Please.” He’s begging. 

“You’re being selfish,” you whisper. There are tears rolling off your cheeks now. You take a deep breath. “It’s not fair that you’re making me ask. You know that I can’t say no to you. You know that.” 

He does know that. It’s how the two of you started anyway. 

Jake and Felicity were on the rocks, like they always were, when he met you at the beach three years ago. It was late and the two of you were the only cars parked in that sandy parking lot, each of you staring out over the dark water. 

Jake knew better than to approach a young woman alone at night--so he did his best to not send creeper-vibes in your general direction, barely even glancing at you. But then he made the mistake of crumpling a piece of straw wrapper between his fingers and tossing it out his window. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when you suddenly laid on your horn after witnessing the entire ordeal. 

He looked at you, bewildered, and you were wildly gesturing for him to roll his window down. So he did, his throat entirely dry, and you ripped into him. 

“Did you just fucking litter? Right in front of me?” 

He didn’t know what to say. He just stared at you, eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry?” He managed to stutter out. 

“If you’ll litter right there in front of me, then what will you do when I’m not here?” You raved at him, throwing your arms up. “That’s the scummiest shit I’ve seen all day and I work at City Hall!” 

He was admiring you without even meaning to. Your eyes were alight with fire, your face glowing in the white light of the moon. The breeze was pressing into your hair, pushing it over your bitten lips. You were beautiful--even when you were yelling at him. 

“City Hall?” He asked. “You the mayor or something?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. 

“Do I look like the mayor?” You asked, furrowing your brows at him. 

He made a show of looking over your bare shoulders and the necklace sitting on your throat and the red in your cheeks. And suddenly, your heart was racing. This perfect stranger who just littered in front of you, the one you ripped into, was suddenly undeniably handsome and absolutely checking you out. 

“No,” he answered finally. “Aren’t mayors usually bald men?” 

You wanted to smile. 

“That’s a bit regressive, don’t you think?” 

He grinned. It made your heart stutter. 

“What’s your name?” 

You bit your lip. 

“I don’t give my name out to strangers that litter.” 

So Jake had gotten out of his car, raised his brows at you, retrieved the tiny piece of trash you were so upset about, and walked it all the way over to the garbage can. Then he’d gotten back in his car with a grin. 

“Now I’m just a stranger,” he said. “Do you tell just strangers your name?” 

 There was a grin tugging at your lips. 

“If they tell me theirs first,” you insisted. 

“Jake,” he said without hesitation. “Seresin. C’mon, your turn, City Hall.”

You nodded. Jake Seresin. 

You told him your name and he smiled. It made your toes curl. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding. 

“Okay,” you said back, shoulders straight. 

The two of you ended up fucking hard and fast against the hood of his truck after the first hour. The breeze was warm and salty, your body was soft and supple, and the waves were crashing in the distance. His windows were rolled down so the two of you could hear Fruits of My Labor by Lucinda Williams playing softly from his radio. For some reason, it was the best sex he ever had.  

There was a strange pull between the two of you, one that neither of you were willing to reject. He told you that he was married just after that and it strangely did not deter you. You had never been the kind of girl that went after married men, but Jake made you dizzy. You were powerless to interrupt whatever was happening between the two of you. 

He left Felicity for you just a month later. 

And now he’s lying beside you and he can feel every shuddering breath that you breathe and he feels like his body is going to turn itself inside out.     

“Why’d you leave?” You whisper. 

He’s guilty. He feels like he’s asked you to do something impossible. 

“I keep not doing the right thing,” he says. He practiced this on the way over, practiced everything he’s wanted to tell you for the past year. But none of it is coming to him now that he’s beside you. “Like I left Felicity for you and then I left you for her and I just thought that if I righted things with Felicity, then I would feel better about myself. Because I don’t. Feel good about myself, that is.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper dryly. It isn’t with malice. It’s just an expression, one that you’ve used frequently enough that he doesn’t flinch. “You don’t feel good?”

He’s quiet now. 

“I feel guilty.” 

You sniffle again. You’re not angry. 

“I bet you do,” you say. “I would feel guilty if I made someone feel the way I have for the past year.” 

He’s quiet. 

“I left because I felt like I had to do the right thing,” he says, quieter now.

He’s telling the truth. He hardly thought twice before he left Felicity and fell right into your life together. You were living together right away and things were good. They were seamless and easy. He kept waiting for something to happen, something that would make him feel guilty about leaving Felicity and moving on with you so quickly, but it never came. His friends loved you. You cooked his steak just right. His mom adored you. You were thinking about getting a dog together. You never argued. He couldn’t get enough of you ever. And you returned that love tenfold.

So that Tuesday morning, after a perfect night for a fucking Monday, he woke up and looked at you. You were sleeping with your face buried deeply in the pillows, your eyes fluttered shut, your face awash with peace. And he cupped your cheek, pressed hair behind your ears. 

And then he thought I want to marry you. It was the first time he thought it; his last marriage, which wasn’t even officially over yet, had scarred him to the point of swearing off legal unions entirely. You’d been all for it, insisting that whatever he would give you was enough. And the thing about it was that you were telling the truth and he knew it. Seamless. 

Then he got scared--the kind of fear that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention--and he thought of you looking at him the same way Felicity had when he handed her his ring. That pain--it was hideous to witness, hideous to inflict. He couldn’t do that to you.

Guilt found him for the first time, too. Guilt that he loved you more in this one precise moment than he loved Felicity in the years they were together. Maybe loving someone as much as he loved you wasn’t natural--maybe that wasn’t the way the world was meant to work. 

So he decided. He was going to leave. 

Then he’d left. To preserve you and your feelings. To preserve whatever goodness you two had that was surely fleeting anyhow, even if it hadn’t shown it yet. Felicity, for some reason, had welcomed him back even if they both understood that there was precisely nothing left between them. No amount of therapy could bring back what they had--and even if it could, it would be remarkably dim in contrast to what he had with you.    

“And was it?” You ask. “The right thing?”

He pauses. He truly doesn’t know. The ache in his chest says no, absolutely not. But the ring sitting heavy on his fourth finger says yes, it absolutely was. Even if Felicity is so rigid still.

“I don’t know,” Jake answers. “I’ve been wondering about that the past year.” 

What you wouldn’t give to have been wondering anything other than your loneliness for the past year. 

“Why are you here?” 

You’re afraid of the answer. Your fingers are numb with grief. 

“I missed you,” he answers instinctively. 

That’s when your first sob punctures the quiet bedroom. Every fiber in his being is screaming for him to reach out and hold you, for him to collect you in his arms and hold you tight against him, to comfort you. But he doesn’t move. 

“Jake,” you cry, holding your face in your hands. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

His teeth sink into his lower lip. 

“Me neither,” he answers. 

“I didn’t even think you were real,” you tell him, mercilessly sobbing into your palms. “I thought I’d finally lost my fucking mind. I thought you were a ghost. I genuinely thought I’d gone insane with grief, Jake. Do you know how fucked that is?” 

He reaches out, a strange lack of hesitance sitting in his belly. Then he lets his hand rest on your belly. It’s a gesture that’s marked your relationship together. He used to call you Fido because you loved for him to rub your belly; he learned that it was because of the lack of physical touch you’d received from your frivolous mother as a child and he was always, always happy to appease you. 

Your breathing steadies, just for a moment. His hand is warm and heavy with familiarity. God, you’ve missed this hand so much that you could stay here and not move for the rest of your life and be content. You could die just like this and it would be okay. It would be good, even. 

“I’m real,” Jake says because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

“I wish you weren’t,” you admit. “It would be a lot easier for me when you go.”

There’s that pain in his chest again. It’s worse than the airframe on his F-18 getting bent as he pulls 9G’s. It’s worse than punching out into the cornflower sky. It’s worse than anything, he thinks, to hear you say this to him. 

But he can’t get himself to say that he’ll stay because he doesn’t know if he can. 

“Don’t say that,” he just says softly. 

“I mean it, though,” you weep. “I wish you weren’t real.” 

His eyes flutter shut. This hurts. But it’s a pain that almost feels good--it’s a punishment. He’s punished himself, sure, and his friends have said some things here and there. But it feels good for you to be punishing him now. This is what he deserves. He deserves for you to tear into his flesh. He deserves to bleed for what he’s done to you--ripping you apart until you’re an empty-eyed bag of bones. 

He strokes the imprint of your ribs beneath his fingers and lets you continue. 

“I wish we never met and-and I wish I just was alone this whole time and I wish we weren’t ever happy together! I wish you just fucking littered and I just fucking let you!” 

He takes it. A glutton for punishment. 

You don’t move his hand away. You’re angry, but you’re not even exactly angry at him. You’re just angry that it is humanly possible to house all this grief. You’re angry that you have the capacity to love someone this much and be hurt by someone this much. It seems unnatural. 

“I don’t,” Jake finally whispers. “You made me feel so happy. So content.” 

“But it wasn’t enough.” 

“I never said it wasn’t enough,” he whispers. 

“You never said anything about any of this,” you tell him. 

You’re still crying. 

He’s still thumbing your bones through your skin, refamiliarizing himself with the terrain. Touching your skin feels like being wrapped in the very first blanket he was wrapped in as a newborn, very warm and soft. It makes him want to be naked and wrapped around you. 

“You’re tired,” Jake says softly. “I’m tired, too.” 

“Yes,” you agree. You sniffle hard. 

“What if we just sleep and then we talk tomorrow? In the morning? As early or late as you want.” 

You’ve never been able to say no to him. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t move his hand. 

“Jake,” you say because you can’t help it. You almost can’t believe how easy his name rolls off your tongue. You’ve tried so hard not to utter it but here it is, smooth as the inside of a seashell in your mouth. “Please don’t leave before I wake up.” 

He shakes his head. 

“I’m not going to leave before you wake up,” he promises. 

He means it. He owes it to you. He owes it to the pain sitting heavily on his chest. 

And even though he doesn’t deserve it and the both of you know that, you turn in the bed. He’s confused at first, alarmed at the sudden movement. But then you’re doing it, clicking yourself into place. You are holding him. Your lips are pressed to his bicep and your leg is threaded through his and he can feel your tears and your breathing and oh my God he has missed this so much that he’s choked up. 

This is what you do. You love Jake the way he needs to be loved without him uttering a word to you about it. You just know him, you just understand him, you just fucking love him. Felicity has never been able to understand what he’s thinking, has never been able to give him what he wants without him asking for it. He doesn’t blame her--he doesn’t know what she wants either. But he knows that you want him to press his back against your front, so he does. It’s the least he can do for you. 

You’re overwhelmed at the sheer closeness of this encounter. You were so worried he was going to fade into the sheets as soon as you touched him, but he didn't. He’s totally solid beneath your touch. He’s just right there, pressed up against you. He still uses the same aftershave and you’re worried you’re going to get drunk on it--you’ve been limiting yourself to whiffs of his pillow every now and then, always calculating the time wisely. But now it’s just permeating the sheets, sitting heavily in your nostrils.

 And his skin--it’s so warm and soft. It just feels right to hold him. It’s not unfamiliar at all.  

“Goodnight,” he whispers to you. 

“Stay,” you just whisper back. 

You’re desperate. 

So he nods, lets his face press into that pillow that still smells like his aftershave. 

“I am,” he whispers. 

“Don’t hurt me,” you beg quietly. 

You press a tentative kiss on the bare skin of his back. His eyes water.

“I’m trying not to,” he tells you quietly.   

The two of you get your first full night of rest in twelve months in the bed that you used to share. It’s blissful, really. So blissful that when you wake up and he’s not in bed, you think about checking yourself into some sort of institution. Because it had felt so fucking real--so real that you genuinely slept. Like really, thoroughly, actually slept. 

You walk down the stairs in tears already, feeling like you’re back at square one even though you never really got past it in the first place. The house is quiet and you aren’t even sure what day it is and there’s dishes to do and sobs to heave--

But when you walk into the kitchen, he’s still here. He’s sitting at the kitchen table that the two of you thrifted your first year together with a steaming mug in his hand and another one sitting across from him--the coffee is the exact shade you like it to be. 

When he sees you, you in your pajamas with your messy hair and the tear tracks on your cheeks, he wilts. He thought he was doing the right thing letting you sleep in--because he knows you and he knows you haven’t been sleeping very well at all--and getting coffee started. It doesn’t even dawn on him that you probably thought he’d left again until he sees the way your pupils dilate when they land on him. 

“Oh,” you whisper, halting suddenly at the threshold of the kitchen. You sniffle, frowning, swiping your tears away hastily. “I thought you…” 

He shakes his head, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself and settling into the kitchen chair across from him. 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. 

It’s quiet for a moment. At the very least, there are birds singing in the gray morning light, hopping from one branch of a eucalyptus tree to the next. The room is washed white and you can see every speck of dust and grime you’ve let build up in the kitchen. The house is just messy--you’ve let it get that way. Without Jake living here, you’ve given up trying to keep the coffee table clear and the shoes on the rack by the front door. It doesn’t matter--well, it didn’t matter. 

“I missed this coffee,” he tells you, bringing the mug to his lips again. “Felicity likes Folgers.” 

You smile softly. You were the one that turned Jake onto good coffee. He fashions himself as some sort of coffee snob now, one that usually gets his coffee imported. But not with Felicity, you suppose. 

You wipe your eyes again. You would’ve liked to have this conversation after a shower--Hell, even just after brushing your teeth. But you’re too afraid to let him out of your sight again. So you settle in against the wood, closing your eyes as it groans beneath your weight. 

“How is she?” You ask. It just seems like the right thing to say. 

Jake winces. He knows he shouldn’t be talking about his wife right now. He knows that. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to be talking about, but certainly it shouldn’t be Felicity. 

But maybe this is a good place to start. Maybe this is the first time he can be honest with someone about the way things are between them--he usually keeps his responses vague with others. People don’t really want to know, especially his friends that were friends with you--the ones that preferred you. 

Oh, we’re fine. We’re working on our marriage. Therapy is helping. 

With you, though--he can just say it. 

“She hates me,” he says, laughing dryly. He’s fiddling with the little chip on the rim of the mug, watching as your fingers slide into the handle of your mug. It’s your favorite--he knows that. “Like, she actually really hates me.” 

He won’t look at you, but you’re looking at him. You’re watching that humorless smile tug at his lips, watching him blink away the tired in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

If you were Felicity, you would hate him, too. You would hate you, too. 

“Therapy isn’t helping,” he tells you. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud. “Haven’t slept in the same bed for a few months now.”

You nod. If you close your eyes, you can still feel his heaviness in your arms last night. 

“So?” You prompt. 

There’s a lull as Jake bites his bottom lip pensively. He was really expecting more of a fight here. He was expecting you to be up in arms about him coming back. It’s almost worse that you’re so calm, so welcoming. 

He doesn’t know this, but you’re not above begging. If it meant he would stay, you would get on your knees and grovel. But you just wait for him to answer. 

“I told her we should refile for divorce,” he tells you, which is true. 

Your spine prickles. 

“Good for you,” you tell him. “You deserve to be…held.” 

He didn’t even have to say it. You know that Felicity doesn’t hold him--he told you that the first time around whenever you held him for the first time in bed. You know that it’s true even now because of the way he went totally slack in your arms.

“I don’t know what I deserve,” Jake admits. 

Me, you want to say. Me. 

“It’s time for you to tell me,” you whisper. 

You take a sip of your coffee and shut your eyes as it warms your chest. 

He knows what you mean. He can’t bring himself to look at you yet. 

“I woke up and I wanted to marry you,” he tells you. 

He hasn’t told a soul this--not even his therapist. He hasn’t uttered it out loud even once. 

You furrow your brows but say nothing. Your throat is dry. 

“I just…” Jake sighs, blinking at his coffee. “When I met you, things were fine with me and Felicity. We didn’t argue. We were talking about moving houses. But then there was you and everything I thought I knew about love, about my relationship with Felicity, it was just…gone. Shaken up.” 

You just nod again. 

His heart is racing. 

“If I was…if I was a good man, I wouldn’t have had sex with you that first night. Or any of the nights after. If I was a good man, I would’ve stayed with my wife. But I’m not a good man, so I cheated on her and then I left her,” Jake says. He takes another deep breath and sips on his coffee again. “But I just couldn’t help it. I just loved you so immediately.” 

“Mmm,” you hum, wiping under your eyes again. 

You move to hold your face in his hands as he continues, your face contorting with grief again. 

“And then I thought that I could be good for you and I was good for you. We were good. It was all so easy. I felt like I didn’t really deserve it--especially since I just didn’t feel guilty about Felicity. But we agreed to not get married, right? You and me?” 

You nod, not moving your face from your hands. 

Jake wants to hold you. He knows you’re crying. But he’s going to lose his nerve if he doesn’t continue right now. 

“But then I just woke up and we had such a good night--I mean, who has that good of a night on a Monday? I looked at you and I just thought about how badly I wanted to marry you suddenly,” Jake says. His voice is beginning to quiver. “And then I thought about Felicity’s face when I told her I was leaving. I thought about how broken she was. And I-I was so scared that if we got married, I was gonna do the same to you.” 

You sigh into your palms. 

For an entire year, you’d been racking your brain. You’d been trying to pinpoint the moment he fell out of love with you. You’ve been retracing all your steps carefully, trying to figure out where you went wrong. But you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was love him the best he’s ever been loved--and he still left you. 

“I’m not a good man,” he says. 

“Don’t say that,” you snap, looking up at him. 

He looks at you finally. Your eyes are rimmed with red and there are fat tears on your bottom lashes. 

The two of you just look at each other. You both still want each other so bad that it’s making your bottom lips tremble. You want to make this house his house again, too. You want to hold him every night as he falls asleep. He wants to kiss your throat in the shower and push your hair behind your ears and never litter again.

The both of you feel suddenly how intense things feel right now. 

So, Jake changes directions.  

“How’s your mom?” He asks. 

He’s afraid to talk about anything else. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t ask about that then he will confess his love right here, right now and ruin everything. 

“Still a cunt,” you whisper. 

He smiles softly. 

“How was she? When I left?” 

He was worried about you. Of course he was. He knew it was a grand sort of irony, him being the one inflicting all that anguish, but being distraught over the state of your wellbeing. But he knew that you wouldn’t reach out to any of your mutual friends--it would hurt too bad. So that would leave you with your mom, who was never useful when it counted the most. 

“Terrible,” you answer him. You’re still crying, but now you’re laughing dryly, too. “Left me alone in the bathroom at Risotto’s to play tennis at the club.” 

“You’re kidding,” Jake says, gritting his teeth. 

You shrug. 

“No,” you answer with a sigh. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m not.” 

“She’s a real piece of work,” he mutters. “Was she wearing those ridiculous sunglasses?” 

You laugh softly, nodding. 

“Knew it,” Jake mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I haven’t missed her.”

It’s quiet again. 

“How’s your mom?” You ask. 

You’ve missed her, but you haven’t had it in you to answer any of her calls. 

“Fine. Pissed at me,” he answers, nodding. “Misses you.” 

“Yeah.” You wipe your eyes for the thousandth time that morning. “I miss her, too.”

You finish your coffee. Then you chew on your bottom lip, staring at a stain in the middle of the table that you were never able to buff out. 

“Does she know you’re here?” 

“My mom?” Jake asks. 

You shake your head. 

“Felicity,” you answer. You don’t say her name maliciously. You’ve always felt very bad about the way things happened--but now you feel that you’ve had your penance; your year without Jake. You feel like the two of you are even now. 

“Yes,” he answers. 

Felicity was calm when Jake said he wanted to stop working on things. She agreed. She admitted to having feelings for a coworker, though she hadn’t done anything but kiss him. They had a glass of scotch together. He kissed the top of her head. She asked if he was going to your house. He said yes. And when he left, things were okay. It felt like the first time they’d been honest with each other since he came back. 

“And it’s over?” 

He nods. 

“It’s over,” he confirms. He twists the ring on his finger and then settles it softly on top of the stain you’re staring at. “I mean it.” 

You nod. 

“I believe you,” you answer. You pause and comb your fingers through your hair. “Does that make me stupid?” 

Jake smiles sadly, softly. 

“You’re not stupid,” he answers. “You’ve never been stupid.” 

You laugh dryly again.

“You don’t have to marry me,” you tell him. You shrug, shaking your head as you look down at the table. “I never expected you to. I don’t care about getting married. I never did.” 

Maybe that is what hurts the most--is that all of this could have been avoidable with a single conversation. If he had just gotten on your level. If he had just been honest.

“I want to marry you,” he says. “That’s the issue.” 

“Well, if you ask, I’ll just say no,” you tell him. 

He smiles gently. 

“No you won’t,” he whispers. 

You nod. 

“I know,” you say. You bite your lip. “I was just saying that.” 

“That’s a lot to give up,” he says. “Marriage.”’ 

“It’s a piece of paper,” you tell him. 

He shakes his head. 

“It’s a lot more than a piece of paper,” he tells you. “It’s a wedding and it’s taxes and it’s a legal bind. Even metaphorically, it’s more than just paper.” 

“It’s frivolous,” you insist. 

You mean it, too--you don’t care about getting married. 

“But maybe you won’t always feel that way,” he whispers. “Maybe you’ll wake up one day and you’ll want to get married and I will too and I’ll fuck it up again.”

You sigh. 

“Yeah, and maybe the moon is going to disappear and maybe the sun is going to explode and maybe all the bees are gonna die,” you tell him. He purses his lips. “It’s all relative.” 

He shakes his head again, exhaling. 

“What kind of people are we if we both wanna get married but are too scared to do it?” 

You grip your mug. 

“People that make do,” you say. You sniffle. “People that do what works for them.” 

He sighs. 

“Will it always work for you? Not being married?” 

“Will it always work for you, Jake?” 

He pauses. He doesn’t know. 

“Maybe,” he answers. 

“Before we start talking about all of this again,” you breathe, “I still have to forgive you.”

There’s a lump in his throat. 

“I know,” he promises. “I know that.” 

“And I am going to take my time doing that,” you insist. 

He nods profusely. 

“You should,” he says. 

A beat passes.    

“Jake,” you whisper. 

The two of you finally meet each other’s gazes. Jake nods, earnestly letting his eyes rake over the sunken hollows of your cheeks and the darkness staining your undereyes. Your lips are chapped and your nose is bright red. 

“Yeah, darlin’?” He returns. 

Your skin gooses at the way it falls off his tongue: darlin’. 

“Will you stay while I shower?” 

He does stay. He sits on the toilet, his hands folded in his lap, and watches the steam fog up the mirror. You feel like you’re washing away an entire year’s worth of filth.

“My towel?” You ask when you turn the faucet off, reaching through the curtain. 

He hands it to you swiftly, then settles back down on the toilet. 

“You changed the shower curtain,” he says softly, just to say something. It’s one of the only things he’s noticed that’s been replaced. “I like it.” 

It’s a mirage of moody painted florals, dark reds and oranges and pinks. 

“The other one was too boyish,” you say as you dry yourself off. 

Jake laughs quietly. 

“Well, I’d say this is the opposite of boyish,” he tells you. 

You pull it back, wrapped in the towel, your wet hair sitting limply on your back. He looks at you and you look at him, both of your stomach's in knots. When you bite down on your lip, he watches water droplets roll off your calves and onto the tile. 

“What are you looking at?” You ask him. 

Beneath his gaze, you feel more three-dimensional than you have in a year. You feel, suddenly, like you can straighten your shoulders and square your jaw. You don’t want to slouch through life when he’s looking at you. 

“Your legs,” he says honestly, letting his eyes drag back up to yours. “You.” 

You swallow hard. 

You feel like you have to say it now. 

“You broke my heart,” you tell him. 

Now he swallows hard, blinking, but nodding. 

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know that I did.” 

“And it was because you were scared,” you continue. “Really, you could’ve just talked to me. We could’ve worked it out.” 

He nods again. 

“This has been the worst year of my life, Jake,” you tell him. “And that’s putting it lightly.” 

He nods. His eyes are starting to water. 

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he admits quietly. “And I’m sorry that I did. If I could take it back, darlin’, you know that I would. I would.” 

“I believe you,” you whisper. 

He exhales shakily. He wasn’t expecting to hear you say that. 

“I wanna be with you,” he tells you before he loses his nerve. 

You swallow hard and plant your feet on the ground firmly. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you say, gesturing between the two of you with your heart racing. “Then you have to be solid. Because if we…if we…and then you leave again, I don’t think I’ll survive. Really, Jake. I don’t.”

“I’m solid,” he says. 

It feels like the first time he’s told the truth in a long time. 

“You won’t leave?” You confirm. Your voice is quivering. 

He nods. 

He’s just wearing his t-shirt and his boxers from last night, his hair mussed and his eyes swollen from sleep. He’s glassy-eyed as he gazes at you, his lips flat. You want to run your finger along those lips, want to be close to him. You feel like your bones are beginning to vibrate. 

“I won’t leave,” he answers. “I want this. I want you.”

Your breath visibly stutters whenever he says it: I want you. It’s what you’ve been waiting to hear for twelve long months. It’s what you’ve cruelly dreamed of. It’s what you have ached for. 

“I forgive you,” you say. So much for taking your time. 

Jake watches your cheeks grow pink, watches your hair drip down your shoulders. You’re washed in the low yellow light of the bathroom, your chin trembling. 

“Come here,” he whispers to you, his voice thin. “I have to hold you.” 

For a moment, you feel like you’re frozen. But then he opens his arms and your feet are moving without you, just propelling you forward and across the rug and into his embrace. Then he’s holding you against him so tightly that your back pops, holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. You’re crying and he’s relishing in the way your body just fits so perfectly there in his arms, the way your fingers feel when they tangle in his hair. He’s missed you so much that he almost feels like this is a fuzzy daydream. 

His hair is like velvet between your fingers, his arms like a blanket around you. You’re sobbing, heaving and he’s just hugging you close to him with his head buried in your chest. He’s inhaling the laundry detergent that you buy and the body wash you use and he can feel himself falling into you again. 

“I’ve been crying for you, boy,” you whimper to him, hugging him against your body. 

He’s kissing you now, his lips dampening from the towel still wrapped around you, but it doesn’t stop him. He won’t stop kissing you. He won’t leave. He will prove to you--to himself--that he is good. He will be good for you. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promises. He’s beginning to cry now, too. He doesn’t know if its because of the sudden and overwhelming feeling of being close to you or if it’s because he’s missed you so fucking much or if it’s because he hurt you so bad. “I’m gonna make it right, darlin’.” 

“I know,” you whimper. “I know you are.” 

You stay like that for a long time: wrapped up in each other.

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝…𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @roosterforme'𝐬 #𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐈𝐬𝐈𝐧𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐓𝐆𝐌 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞!! 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!!

[pinkdaisies9285]

Adonis Fooled Me

Jake Seresin x F!Reader (callsign: Kore)

Warnings: Angst, cheating, implied smut, this just pure sadness

Word Count: 2,118

Author's Note: It's finally here! The angst piece I promised and pulled out of nowhere. Not gonna lie didn't think I would write something this sad but here we are. It's loosely based on the myth of Adonis, Aphrodite, and Persephone! This was also spurred from listening to a lot of sad songs. Thank you again my lovely beta readers! Enjoy!

All you felt was pain, seeping from the invisible wounds that were created from this relationship. You felt like Icarus when he flew too close to the sun and began his fall back to the earth. You didn’t think that you would leave him like this. You thought that only Death’s cold hands would pry you from him, but you were wrong. You could still see the moment the final nail was put in the coffin.

His hands on her hips. The smile she gave him before he leaned in for a kiss. The look of dread both of them made when they saw you. The endless river of tears that marked your face while you ran out of the bar. 

It was all too sudden but simultaneously, it felt like the final puzzle piece was put into place why he was avoiding your touch for the past six months. Why he didn't want to discuss a possible future with one another. Why he kept coming home “late from work.” It all made sense why he was slowly fading away from your sight and was going to her.

Her.

The one whose smile seemed like it could light up a room. The one who became his one and only. The one whose bed became his home and safe place. The one that seemed like a more plausible future to him.

At one point, you felt like you were all these things, but now you felt like a fraud. Like a toy that was left under the bed because it was broken. Broken was an understatement—everything you did to get him back to you was strenuous. Yet, you felt hollow, like you were never good enough. Good enough for the proud, cocky pilot he was. Good enough for the great Jake Seresin. 

Everyone told you that you were imagining the downfall of this idyllic relationship. That you should know better about being in a relationship with a Navy man. He would be gone for long periods and that contact could be low. Yet, you knew in your bones that this wasn��t because of his job. His job had nothing to do with this except that the one he chose was the new coworker. The new pilot was known as Venus. She got the callsign from her looks and her ability to get through fights with ease. Dogfighting and war came to her like a second nature. Looking perfect was just a “bonus.” 

His words, not yours.

While you were a civilian who worked at the local botanic gardens. Which resulted in your nickname of Kore. Which was given by the Daggers. When you first heard it, you felt special to be given a nickname, nonetheless one that is the name of a goddess. Who knew that your nickname would match your relationship. Who knew that you wouldn’t be the only goddess in his life.

Jake is everso an Adonis in the best and worst ways. From his looks to the suave one-liners he gave to women at the bar. He was a man worth the attention. That attention was what made you suffer. He made you believe that you were a match made by the fates but he left you for a better woman. A woman who could keep up with him in ways you couldn’t. A woman who revealed parts of him you didn’t even know about. 

All these thoughts continued to twist the dagger in your heart deeper and longer. Pain that felt like it wouldn’t even ebb away. It would only grow and create a festering wound there. You knew that it would take a while for this pain to go away and the wound to heal. If it ever did.

—

And that wound did heal, somewhat. The ache dulled until it was a small pinprick that made itself present time from time. You healed your pain, it was messy but you did your best to build yourself back together stronger than before. 

That was before you saw him again. You hadn’t visited the Hard Deck in a while and hoped that maybe you wouldn't cross paths with him. Yet, there he was standing near the dart board with Javy. He looked the same as before, before you left him with Venus. Venus, who wasn’t anywhere. You tried not to look for the beautiful pilot but that pinprick urged you to. Yet, everywhere you looked she wasn’t there. Which surprised you considering you thought she would be nestled up next to Jake while he threw darts. Something you used to do when you thought everything in the world was perfect.

“Kore?”

You turned around and saw Bradley looking at you confused and surprised, like he was seeing a ghost for the first time.

“Hi, Bradley. How are you?” you softly replied.

“Uhhh, great, and what about you?”

“The same I guess,” you looked away while muttering your reply. You felt eyes on your back so you turned your head and saw Jake was staring at you. He had a similar look to Bradley’s at first. Confusion and the look of seeing a ghost. Then it morphed into something like regret and woe. This made you confused because when you broke it off, Jake seemed unbothered about it. 

Now, the Jake standing before you felt like a stranger. His face used to make you feel so flustered and shy. His words lifted you to a pedestal from which no one could kick you. His body would bring you to completion every time you intertwined. And all of that went down the drain with the simple words, “Okay, let's break up.” 

Maybe that was the pinprick you still felt, the moment when his unfeeling gaze looked into yours. The moment that made your year-long relationship seem like it was nothing, completely down the drain. In your hazy dreams, you can still feel those cold eyes. Those same eyes were now looking at you with an array of emotions. 

“Is that you Kore?” Jake had staggered over and was now a few feet from you. He seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They were fidgeting before he shoved them into his pockets.

“Hello Jake,” is all you replied with, you kept your tone flat and even. You were searching everywhere for an escape. You thought you could handle seeing him again, but this was awful. Mentally deciding that you couldn’t come back to the Hard Deck ever again. Seeing a way to get out, you skirt past him and try to return to the parking lot. Jake softly stops you by grabbing your arm. His clutch is gentle but firm. 

“Can we talk?” He asked quietly. This was a surprise to you because there was nothing quiet about Jake Seresin. If anything, he was a loud personality that let the world know what was on his mind most of the time—looking down at your feet trying to decide what to say. Biting your lip, you realize that maybe you need some more closure about you and him.

“Fine, you get ten minutes outside,” you say with a small huff.

“Thank you, Kore,” Jake finally had a smile on his face after seeing you.

You quickly weave yourself through the crowd and step out to the beach. You don’t even look behind to see if he is following because you can sense that he trailed after you immediately. Stepping out onto the sand, so you are away from the noise and prying eyes, you turn and face the man who made you rebuild yourself.

“Okay, Jake your ten minutes start now.”

“Kore, baby–”

“Do not call me that,” you cut him off briskly. “ You lost that right a long time ago.”

“Sorry,” he looked down at his feet. “Kore, I want to apologize to you for what I did and how I handled the end of our relationship. If I could go back and change what I did–”

“But you can’t, Jake. You made a choice the moment you decided to fall in bed with her,” you refuted with tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard to stay strong, but that pinprick in your heart had quickly become a gaping wound again that sang of pain and woes. 

“You’re right, Kore, I made a decision but that doesn’t mean that I don’t regret it. I broke things off with Venus instantly when I realized she wasn’t you,” He laughed looking down. “No one could come close to you, Kore, you made my life feel real.”

You could see a shimmer in his eyes when he looked back up. A single tear rolled down his face. You almost wanted to laugh. Tears? You didn’t want to see tears, you wanted to finish this conversation and attempt to move on. This anger coursing through your veins was what made you move. You were done with him and his antics. “Do you think I would believe that? That I made everything better for you while you made everything horrible for me?”

“Kore please just lis–”

“No, I’m done listening Jake. You got ten minutes to talk and wasted it in the first five. Do you think by trying to convince me that we need each other to feel “alive”, I’ll come back crawling to you? No, I know now that I can't fix the flaws that tore apart our relationship.”

“What do you mean flaws, Kore?” he asked looking confused about why you deemed your relationship to have flaws. He thought that the relationship between you two was perfect. 

“You can’t be serious, Jake. The fact that I had to be at every single event dealing with your job but never mine. Or how about the fact that you struggled to even show me your own emotions during our entire relationship? There are so many more fucking things I could point out, Jake!”

By the time you finished saying this, you were huffing for air. It felt like no matter how deep of a breath you took, the oxygen wasn’t reaching your lungs. The anger you felt was starting to fizzle out but you weren’t done. You still had more to say about the somewhat tragedy of your past relationship with Jake. 

Jake stood there stunned, he had never seen you like this. Your anger was like a dagger to his heart, while the words you used twisted it deeper. Jake felt like there nothing would change your mind. The ache he feels in his bones will never go away and you wouldn’t be the relief he wanted you to be. 

“Jake, it's time to let me go. We’re not good for each other, we’ll only be each other’s downfall. I don’t want that, Jake. I wanted to be more than just a footnote in your story, but I’ll never amount to that. So this is goodbye, Jake,” you lamented. You started to make your trek back to your car, and you could hear Jake begging you to come back.

“Kore! Please, Kore, come back. I was wrong for what I did. Please, baby, come back. I know I can do better this time. Kore!!!”

You kept ignoring all these little white lies he was giving you and continued slowly staggering back to the car. When you made it back to your car, you simply opened the door and sat down in the driver’s seat. Finally, the dam opened, and the tears flooded out. The tears that were waiting for this moment. You thought you were done crying over this man but you guess you were wrong. As the tears slid down your face, you looked over to see that Jake was still standing there. He looked like a statue, frozen by Medusa to be forever stuck in that position. Standing there and yearning for your embrace. 

Maybe that was what you truly were to him, Medusa. A being cursed to never feel too connected to anyone. He made you feel like a villain that was his damnation. Yet, he tried to make you believe just now that you were his saving grace. What a hoax that was. 

You put the key in the ignition and start your car. Pulling out of the parking lot and beginning your drive back home, the streaks on your face began to dry. You felt numb. This entire interaction was bittersweet, nothing good came out of it. Jake was the man who made you rebuild yourself, and now you are back at square one. Jake Seresin was a man who could never learn to be better. He was a man that was damned to be an Adonis that fooled you. 

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Masterlist

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

[seresinsbabe]

Hi Ash!! Congrats on the 1K!!! For the celebration, could I get a blurb with Jake with the angst prompt “Am I the reason you cry every night?” and the fluff prompt "i've loved you since the moment i first laid my eyes on you." (Jake says both of these), pretty please? Thanks!!!

Thank you thank you!!!! you've been one of my biggest supporters and I am truly so thankful for you!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni! nothing bad, just angst, tears and fluff

Ash's 1K Follower Celebration

This was the last thing he wanted. In fact he had never wanted this. Seeing tears well up in your eyes until they fell in fat drops down your cheeks had his heart in a vice grip.

He knew those tears were his fault. However he'd never thought that he'd hurt you this bad.

"I'm the reason you cry every night?"

Hearing the words repeated to you made you feel even worse. It was so stupid to be this upset over him. Jake had made you feel like you were on top of the world. Like you were the only girl that mattered and then he would shatter the façade. Just when you thought he'd finally give in to what you thought he'd been feeling. Or at least the feelings he'd been leading you on to believe he had it would all come crashing down. Jake would have some pretty girl, the opposite of everything you were, on his arm. And your heart would break a little bit more.

That wasn't what Jake thought he was doing.

In his mind you were too good for him. That you would never slum it with a cocky asshole like him. Even if he was pretty he didn't feel he deserved you.

All those girls were his way of trying to get over you. It never worked - because they weren't you.

Never had he thought that he was hurting you. You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the tears and will up the courage to finally speak.

"I shouldn't I know I just-" you took a deep breath to keep yourself calm. "Jake you make me so happy. Make me feel so good like we could be something and then you go and pull the rug out from under me when you walk in with those women. Women that I could never compete with." You felt like you sounded so pathetic. Pouring your heart out to this man who thought of you as nothing more than a friend.

Jake's came out to cup your cheek, pushing ever so slightly to get you to look at him. "Beautiful, I never wanted those women. They were my attempt at getting over you." It sounded like he meant it, but your brain couldn't wrap around the idea that Jake wanted you in that way.

Confusion warped your features.

"What?"

He chuckled softly. "I've loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you."

Disbelief combined with the confusion. Jake Seresin loved you? Jake Seresin has always loved you. "Then why..."

He shrugged. "I didn't think I deserved you. You're too good for me."

You frowned. How could you be too good for him? It should be the other way around.

"But it's true and if you give me the chance I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never shed another tear." His other hand cupped your face, his eyes searching yours.

Softly your head nodded and Jake's mouth formed a saccharine smile before they melded with yours. He pulled away as soon as he felt something wet hit his cheek.

"No, no more tears." The pad of his callused thumb swept along your cheek, wiping away the liquid.

You gave him another peck and pulled away, wiping your own tears this time. "It's okay, they're happy tears."

[bradshawsbitch]

please don’t die pt 2 | jake seresin x reader

disclaimer: i have little to no medical training. sorry for all the inaccuracies! this isn't proof-read, I die alone. this is also my first time writing a longer piece for hangman! comments and pointers much appreciated!

warnings: PLEASE read warnings; angst, gn!reader, no use of y/n, medical terms, mentions of needles, mentions of flatlining, mentions of doctors/nurses, mentions of injuries, spoiler for type of ending.

description: part two to this blurb. based on this request with a twist.

tagging people who liked my pt 2 post; @zbeez-outlet @blue-aconite @theharddeck @missemrose @tallrock35 @bluearchersstuff @countryr0ads @vintagegirl1945 @lt-bradshaw @havaneselover08 @eringaitskill @luckyladycreator2 @avaleineandafryingpan @dreamlandcreations

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Beeping. The incessant beeping. Steady, rhythmic. Perhaps the sound equivalent to his heartbeats was supposed to bring him comfort, to soothe him. It doesn’t, at all. It’s alarming to Jake. It means the mission he was on did not go as he had hoped it would. It meant he had gone down trying to save you. Had you managed to come around on the other bandit in time to make it out? God, he hoped so. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to you.

Then he remembered, you were with him. You were there, on the ground with him. You’d reassured him that he would be fine. His heart twinged at that; you should never have had to do that for him. He was supposed to keep you safe, keep you from experiencing things like this. Of course, Jake knew he couldn’t actually prevent these things happening to you in this line of work - but he wanted to make sure it would never happen with him. Jake wanted you to feel safe flying with him. Wanted you to feel safe with him. That’s why when the two of you flew together there would be gentle ribbing, the occasional flirty comment, and sometimes words of encouragement from him. Jake wanted you to want to fly with him, wanted you to know that with him it was fun and easy, wanted you to know that flying with him was the safest you’d ever be. But of course, even Icarus couldn’t stay in the air without incident forever.

A small groan managed to tumble from his parted lips, his senses slowly returning one at a time. He could make his fingers twitch after he had counted to 7 steady beeps, and could soon after hear his own steady breathing, the pulse rushing through his ears to match the machine beside him, the hurried footsteps… the shouts and commands coming from somewhere far away. Jake’s eyebrows managed to furrow. If his beeps were steady, his breathing even, and there was no sensation of frantic nurses pushing needles into him, then that must mean that the frenzy wasn’t for him. He was okay. Which would increase the likelihood that the frenzy was for you.

Perhaps someone else had fallen out of the sky today. Someone, anyone. Anyone but you. You had been alright, you’d been by his side, you’d looked safe. You had told him you loved him. Another groan left him at the thought, he couldn’t believe he had waited until you were kneeling before his lifeless body, sobbing it into his cool skin before believing it. Jake had made sure that you were safe, he had tried his best to make sure you’d return home. He had tried so hard. 

As his ears picked up more rushed footsteps thundering down the hall, he forced his eyes to open, squinting at the glaring light blinding him. After only a moment, he could tell that he was alone in his room, something that only furthered his panic. He wasn’t hooked up to any needles, and he had no problem ripping off the chords hooking him up to the ECG machine. 

Jake subconsciously knew that he’d have to be fast. The medics here were trained to care for soldiers like himself, who’d fallen from the sky. He imagined they had had their fare share of hysterical men and women who stood up to fight long before their body was physically able to, their HPA axis working overtime to manage their fight or flight response. But he had to see, had to make sure that the rush and yelling wasn’t over you. He had to make sure you were sat waiting for him in the waiting room, lazily splayed over an uncomfortable chair as you would in the break room, a packet of twizzlers laid in your lap. You would offer him one with a teasing grin, and he would try to suppress the enamored smile that would threaten to break out on his own lips - instead settling for a well rehearsed smirk. Jake had to know you were okay.

His bare feet stumbled down the hall where all the doctors were rushing, the flurry of movements hiding him from attention. He was vaguely aware of a dull ache settling by his collarbone, but he chose to ignore that sensation as he approached a door that held a clear window. Jake briefly wondered why they were built like that. But as he watched nurses and doctors rush in and out, he briefly thought it was to prevent them from running straight into one another. His rational line of thought was interrupted by the pale form lying on the table in the center of the room, eyes closed, chest not expanding of its own accord. His own breath stuttered somewhere deep in his throat, and suddenly it felt as if he was pulling 8 G’s in his jet. It was getting so hard to breathe, and he had to gasp to make sure oxygen was rushing to his already beat up lungs. 

Your beeping wasn’t steady at all, not like Jakes’ had been. And suddenly Jake knew that this noise would never leave his head. Instead of the steady beeping he heard in his own room, yours was a constant, monotone tone that rang into infinity. Jake longed to hear the steady beeping again. He had been wrong. It was extremely soothing. This beep was horrifying. He would probably hear it until he took his dying breath, along with the shouts of doctors and nurses surrounding your lifeless body. There was a flurry of movements, and he could hear one nurse shouting loud to keep away from ‘the body’, yelling ‘clear’ before applying the defibrillator to your chest, shocking your body to kickstart your heart. Jake sucked in another harsh gasp as your body convulsed slightly, and he couldn’t look away. He wanted to leave, he wanted to scream, cry and sob - he wanted to look away and pretend he had never seen anything of what he had today. He wanted to go back. He wanted to be Hangman again, Hangman without a care in the world and a cocky pep in his step. 

Nothing. The beep was still a haunting monotone. Jake saw one of the doctors glance towards the big clock on the wall. No. A sensation like an animal clawing at his insides appeared as the thought of what that one look implied. Time of death. No. They had to try again. Try more. He could have tried more. Tried harder to make sure you were safe before he passed out. He had been so sure you were safe. Jake was pressed hard against the wall opposite now, his palms sweaty and grasping at nothing, trying to keep upright as his body shook from the need to get more oxygen, his ragged gasps not supplying him with enough without making him dizzy. His shoulder ached worse now, but he felt that he might deserve this type of pain. He’d endure any of it, if only you were there to hold him when it all subsided. 

“Lieutenant Seresin?” 

Jake watched with horror as they applied the defibrillator once again to your chest, could hear the doctor say they would ‘try one more’. They needed to try several more. Any number of mores to make sure you were alive. 

“Lieutenant Seresin!”

That panicked voice grated him. What did it want? Who was it talking to? He didn’t want to be Lieutenant Seresin anymore. He didn’t want to be Hangman. He hardly wanted to be Jake if there wasn’t any you. Suddenly, there was a frenzy surrounding him too. A couple of nurses held onto him as he collapsed on the floor, and there were screams filling the hall. Jake wasn’t all that sure where the noise was coming from, but as he’d later notice his raw throat, he could only guess that he had been the one to let them out. Jake feebly tried to fight the hold of the nurses, his panicked voice telling them that they needed to let him help you - he needed to go in there and help! Why weren’t they letting him help? He’d make sure you were okay. He would always make sure you were okay. Please, he begged them, let him go to you.

 From the very first time he’d offered up his cocky smirk to you, from the way you had looked slightly confused at his flirty comment, your eyes slightly glazed over - but still with a smile on your face, you soft exclamation of ‘Sorry, come again?’. A smile that looked so innocent and genuine that Jake didn’t want to continue using his regular repertoire to keep your interest. It had astounded him, but he found that he drew the most satisfying reactions from you when he was at the core just Jake.

When he bantered and flirted, you’d only have that knowing smile on your face as you ribbed him back, as if you knew that it was mostly just for show. Your real reactions you saved for when he was real. The first time you’d drawn a genuine smile from him, he cherished the memory of your heated cheeks and bashful look for weeks on end. He’d tried to replicate that moment endlessly, but nothing ever worked as well as just being Jake. Which he’d found to be rare. Most people enjoyed Hangman more. From those moments, he had made sure to fly with you as often as he could. He wouldn’t entrust you to just anyone. It wasn’t that you weren’t an excellent pilot - he just didn’t trust anyone else to have your back. 

Of course Jake knew from the very start that you were dangerous territory. The overwhelming feelings of protectiveness and awe he felt anytime you were near warned him that he was beginning to fall in love with you. He figured maybe you could feel the same for him, but at the time he didn’t know if he deserved you. Didn’t know if he deserved those bashful looks, the small smile, the look you sometimes gave him as if he had just hung the moon and all the stars in the sky.

He figured he would have more time to convince you that he could be good enough for you. Jake also reasoned that, if he were in love with you - he could no longer fly with you. And that just wasn’t something he wanted to give up. Couldn’t give up, really. But that was before. Now, he regretted almost every single moment where he could have told you how much you meant to him. How it was you who hung the sun in the sky and warmed up his entire being, how you made the world blossom with your rays and warmth. 

When Jake woke up a second time, Maverick was sat by his bedside. It wasn’t the easy awakening he had hoped for, as his heart plummeted and his breath hitched again.

“No, please,” he moaned, closing his eyes again as tears burned treacherously behind the lids. He didn’t want to open his eyes to see the pitying look of the older man, didn’t want to hear that he would have to explain to your parents at your funeral why you had died. Oh, god, he might throw up. 

“Hangman… Jake,” Maverick began softly, and Jake could only chant the word ‘no’ over and over as immense grief settled in his body. He felt a large, warm palm settle on his arm, squeezing it before the older man spoke again.

“They made it,” Jake's green eyes shot open, his sharp inhale of air making him cough slightly as he stared at Mav. “No?” this ‘no’ was airy, hanging in the air, thick with hope, longing, needing to be reassured that this wasn’t a fever dream. 

“They’re alright, Jake. You did good. They’ve been awake for the past 30 minutes, and they have not shut up about making sure you were alright. It’s driving Doctor Johansson insane,” Maverick chuckled, his eyes crinkling softly at the sides as he smiled at Jake. 

“Take me to them?” Jake was sure Maverick would help him. Maverick understood. Understood the need to see them. And sure enough, Maverick nodded, asking him if he thought he was strong enough. Gritting his teeth, Jake nodded as the older man helped him stand. Sure, Jake felt a rush of dizziness, a sharp pain in his shoulder, and a general ache in every single muscle he had, but it didn’t matter. He needed to see you. 

Maverick helped him into the room next to his, and the moment he laid eyes on your tear streaked face, he couldn’t help the tears that fell from his too as your name slipped from his lips like a thankful prayer. He didn’t need Maverick’s help to hurry the rest of the way, and he swore he saw the older man smile before he slipped out of the room. 

“Jake!” your voice, hoarse and small but filled with so much relief, hit him like a freight train as he collapsed on your bed, sitting next to you as your arms wound carefully around his neck. Sobbing into his good shoulder. You were real. You were warm, and you were breathing. His fingers snuck up to your throat, and the feeling of your pulse thrumming steadfastly beneath them made more tears leak out of his eyes. Your sobs were interrupted by your soft babbling, and Jake only picked up stray words like ‘was so scared’ ‘thought I lost you’ and ‘I tried to keep you warm’. He could hardly take it. Could hardly believe his luck that he got to embrace you like this. 

Pulling away, he gingerly cradled your face in between his hands, searching and memorizing every small detail about it. Your soft smile almost knocked the wind out of him, and he offered you the most genuine of smiles he could muster. It worked, and your beautiful breathless laughter had his heart skipping a few beats.

“I love you,” he rushed out, his voice strained and weak. But all the same, he knew he had to say it. He was rewarded with another breathtaking smile, a small noise of surprise from you, and to his ego’s great content - a stutter from the heart monitor that was beeping steadfastly up until that point. 

“Oh, that will be embarrassing,” you whispered bashfully, and Jake couldn’t help the incredulous laughter that spilled onto your face. His thumbs were stroking your tear streaked cheeks, and he licked his lips as he once again took in your beautiful features. 

“I’m sorry, sweets - I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared, I never–” he choked up “I never wanted anything like this to happen,” your frown confused him, before you reached for him, pulling him down so that he was laying beside you. He could hear your small intake of air of discomfort, and he nearly shot up out of the bed - but he was selfish. He wanted to be as close as possible to you. Feel your warmth, see your chest rise and fall of its own accord, make sure you were still with him. 

“I love you, too, Jake,” you mumbled into the skin of his cheek, where your lips ghosted over the slightly cut up skin. He smiled, and his eyes fluttered close as he let the sensation of your words fill his chest with warmth and happiness. He shifted slightly, grunting a little as he turned his head ever so slightly. Your nose caressed his softly, and your breaths mingled so naturally with his. Your lips were ghosting against his, and he almost felt another onslew of tears building in his eyes at the sensation. 

“Can I please kiss you, Jake?” you murmured, the words echoing across his lips. Jake took that as his okay, and he gently tilted his head towards you, finally feeling your warm, plush lips against his own. One of your hands had found his hair, gently holding on to the un-styled strands, as if you needed something to ground you. He would be that for you. He would be anything you needed from now on. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Jake rasped as the two of you broke away. Your fingertips gently caressed the side of his face, and a small smile played on your lips. 

“I would do it all again in a heartbeat,” you replied, but Jake sincerely hoped that you would never have to make sure that he was safe ever again.

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please, please let me know what you think! i'm so out of practice with writing hangman, and I would genuinely love honest feedback on what you thought of this part two. good? bad? too little angst? too little fluff? THANKS for reading!!

[disturbedbeautywrites]

I’m not jealous - Jake Seresin Imagine

A/N: this can be read as part of Peach rings and broken things or it can be read as a one shot ❤️

Peach rings and broken things masterlist

Whiskey, beer, and a shot of tequila. The orders were repeating in your head as you stood behind the bar at the hard deck, your coworker standing next to you helping you fill drink orders. It was a busy Friday night, and the hard deck was packed from wall to wall.

You now worked as a bartender at the Hard Deck since you moved on base with Jake and Bradley. You wanted to be able to pull your weight, and this is how you were able to do that. “So what’s up with hangman?” Your coworker was making casual conversation as you poured the shot of tequila for the aviator in front of you. “What do you mean?” Your eyebrows shot up in confusion as she just smirked and shook her head.

“He doesn’t flirt with all of us anymore and we’re just wondering what is happening between the two of you.” She elbowed you in the side and you shook your head, a bright pink blush making its way to your cheeks. “Nothing.. I mean, we haven’t really put a label on it.” You handed the drinks off to the customers as you caught the very eye of the man you were talking about, a wink being sent your way. “But you two are exclusive, aren’t you?” She was now chatting up another pilot as she kept the conversation going with you, her eye brows raised. “Cause honey, if you’re not, you have some trouble coming.”

You looked over to where she was talking about, one of Jake’s old flings leaning against the table right beside them as they talked. She was clearly trying to get him to take her home, fingers dancing over the table towards his arms. “Can you cover me for just a second? I’m gonna go take my ten?” Your question was innocent enough and pleading enough that the other girl sighed, nodding. “Peach. Be careful.” Her words had a stern warning to them as you walked out of the swinging door behind the bar. You had a drink for Jake in your hand, his favorite. You noticed the rest of the table looking at you as you walked up, Bradley and Phoenix sharing a look before they excused themselves.

“Come on, please let me go home with you.” The girls voice was going up an octave as she tried to seduce the boy underneath her who kept shaking his head, telling her no. “Sorry, sweetheart. He’s going home with me, his girlfriend.” Jake looked up at your voice, a sweet smile on your lips as you pushed past her and placed a long, sweet kiss to Jake’s lips. He pulled you against him, his hands gripping your waist as he smirked against you. “Girlfriend huh?” He was clearly amused as he pulled away, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Seresin, you have two minutes to ask me out before I let her come back and harass you more.” Your sass made him chuckle and nod, sliding a hand in your back pocket.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” His words were murmured and quiet enough for only you to hear, wanting it to be an intimate moment between the two of you. “Of course.” And you were on your tiptoes now, your lips pressed flush against his as you tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He went to deepen the kiss when you pulled away, smirking at him. “We’ll finish this when I get off…” You promised, slipping off behind the counter again as he watched you walk over and gossip to your coworker, a slight smug grin gracing his lips. Damn, he sure did love you.

[thedaredevilsgirl]

Just Not Enough For You-Part 1

Warning: friends with benefits, angst (reader is insecure about her appearance and personality, jealous, comparison, drinking) this was inspired by the song Nada Contra by Clarissa (it's a Brazilian song, I know that most here speak English, but I still recommend listening to it, it's very good).

A/N: To be honest this idea seemed better in my head and didn't come out exactly as I wanted, but I still liked the final result so I decided to post it. Part two will probably be posted early next week. Hope you like it💗

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your mind kept repeating the word as you went outside the Hard Deck with the excuse of getting some air, not that it was a lie, it was actually quite hard to breathe in the same environment as Jake and the miss perfect.

Of course you wanted him to be happy, that's why you broke the deal with Jake, to set him free so that he could find someone better to love, someone as perfect as he was, someone who certainly wasn't you.

Why were you so sad? It was all your fault, he was only with her because you let him go, so why are you so sad?

"I think this better be the last time" you say picking your clothes up quickly from the floor.

  "Wait, what?" Jake asked so confused, he thought everything was going so well, and it was true "I thought you liked this, what about our deal?"

   The damn deal, friends with benefits, how to continue with the deal when you had broken the biggest rule of it, no falling in love, just fuck, get something out of your system and enough is enough. Jake made it very clear he wasn't after a relationship, and you thought the same until that stupid smile captured your heart and you realized you were totally in love with him.

   "I like it, but we can't go through with it."

   "Why?" he asked still so confused as he watched you put on your clothes instead of his shirt and lay down to sleep next to him like you always did on the nights you had sex (and even on the ones you did nothing).

  "I...I just think that we should be sleeping with other people, I mean of course we should, meeting new people and not getting stuck in this bullshit" you say as if it doesn't hurt.

  "Are you sure this is what you want?"

  "Yes, I'm sure" big liar.

  You start to retreat from the room, ready to leave when you hear him calling your name, almost like a broken whisper.

   "We're still friends, right?" you could swear you saw pain flash through his eyes, but it should be something from your imagination.

   "Yes, friends" you smile and hope he doesn't realize it's fake, and finally walk away.

   This couldn't go on, not when you knew he didn't want anything serious, not with you, not when he can get something better, it was better to end it now and hope the pain was less.

But wasn't, was tearful.

It didn't even take a month before there was another girl in your place, the beautiful and gorgeous Jude, they were already on their third date and God she was pretty and a wonderful person which only made it even worse.

  You didn't want to compare yourself, but it was impossible to stop the negative thoughts about yourself when she was around.

  That's why you left the bar, not being able to take it anymore but still unable to avoid watching them from the window outside.

  You see Jake put his arm around her shoulders and whisper something in her ear that makes she laugh.

Why did they have to look so perfect together?

   The smile on his face slowly disappears as his gaze crosses yours on the other side of the window.

  "Shit" you say to yourself as you look away and take a long sip of your drink trying to erase the shame of being caught in the act.

  "Are you feeling okay?" Jake asks a few minutes later standing next to you.

   "Yeah, I just needed to take a breather, the bar seemed pretty crowded tonight" was a great excuse, Jake knew you hated crowds.

  The two of you stare at each other for a long minute, not knowing how to continue that conversation, drowning in those unspoken words and undisclosed feelings.

  "You look beautiful" he finally says and he sounded so sincere.

   You wondered if he noticed that that was his favorite dress, the same one he would always gently pull off your body, the one he said made you look like an angel.

  "My beautiful angel" was what he said before he kissed you for the first time that night on the beach.

"my angel" whispered between your thighs before finally making you his, Just his.

The silence hangs again, he couldn't look away, but he quickly shakes his head, drawing from it whatever thought was making him confused at that moment.

  "Well, I have to go, I promised to take Jude home so..." He leaves a soft kiss on your forehead.

   "Okay," is all you can say without bursting into tears.

   "I...take care and be well okay?"

  You nod and watch him leave with Jude at his side.

   It was their third date, you knew they would probably be doing more than kissing that night, the mere thought of him touching her made your stomach churn, giving her the pleasure that only a few weeks ago he was giving only to you.

  You get back inside the bar as quickly as possible.

  "Penny" you catch the attention of the woman behind the counter "Give me a glass of the strongest drink you have."

  "Are you sure dear?"

  "Yes, please."

  "Are you okay?" Phoenix asks sitting down next to you already knowing everything that had happened to you and Hangman.

  "Fine" you say before turning the entire shot over in one go once Penny has placed it on the counter "Everything is wonderfully fine, one more shot please."

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Hello" Jake speaks with his voice still hoarse from sleep.

"Bangman" he hears your inebriated voice on the other end of the line and it is enough for him to wake up automatically getting worried about you "My favorite pilot, my Jake" you give a short chuckle.

"Are you okay? Where are you?" he quickly gets out of bed ready to pick you up no matter where you are.

"My Jake...but you're not mine are you? And it's all my fault" by the tone of your voice you make it clear that you were crying.

"Honey what are you talking about? Please tell me where you are."

"It's all my fault" you repeat "Jude is beautiful, you really did well to choose her, the two of you are perfect together, it even annoys me."

"I... What's going on angel, please, I'm getting worried" Jake says.

"Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against her, the truth is I wish I was in her place, the truth is I am dying of jealousy here" you laugh again, but there was no amusement there, just pain "I know I was the one who ended our arrangement, but the truth is I couldn't go on, I couldn't because I love you, I love you so much it hurts, I ended it all because I knew you would never love me back, why would you love me? I can spend hours here talking about all your qualities and I'm just me, you can have models, beautiful and funny girls, and I know I'm good enough to be a casual fuck but never good enough to be a girlfriend, I'm easy to forget, easy to replace, it wouldn't be any different this time right, that's why I let you go" Jake only realizes he was crying now, with the excruciating pain of hearing the woman he love talking so badly about herself.

"Angel, please listen to me, this is not true, none of this is..."

"My God, what are you doing? No calling guys when you're drunk" he hears Phoenix's voice on the other end of the line before can continue speaking "Jake, I'm sorry about that" he is a little more relieved to know you had someone with you.

"Natasha, where are you guys? I'm going to go get her right now."

"Nat, give me back my phone, I need to tell Jakey that I love him even if I am insufficient to him" you speak in the background.

"We are at The Hard Deck, I can take care of her, but Jake...she needs you."

[saltsicklover]

To Love, To Die, and Everything In Between

This was a requested work, you can find the request HERE Find my Master List HERE Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader Word Count: 3k+ Rating: R Should I put an old school Wattpad excuse as to why I've been gone so long? Also, I really hope my tag list is right!

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of war and fighting, mentions of death, regular cannon violence (probably less), No use of y/n, the term Sweetheart, Tons and Tons web weaving, credit at the end. This is so fucking angsty.

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They say it's about the journey, the destination itself nothing more than an ending, all the importance found in the steps it takes to get there. But really, it's the destination itself that holds the meaning. After all, if that wasn't the case, the destination wouldn't come with a soul crushing grip, fingers digging into the folds of my lungs just to starve out the capacity for air. 

The journey's memories would not be left with inky smears of fingerprints, the clarity nothing more than the orange tinted, overexposed film and the whirring of a projector still clicking though no more film is passing through. Nothing left but the flickering light of the present, the whirring akin to blood rushing over ear drums. 

Destination means death to me. If I could figure out a way to remain forever in transition, in the disconnected and unfamiliar, I could remain in a state of perpetual freedom.

And this in and of itself is death. Squinting through the glaring light that is now I can see the curve of his lips, the way they give frame to perfect teeth and a tongue that has done nothing but speak promises that his hands have kept. And his hands are gentle. They are clean. They have guided me, unseeing, through the journey of the last year. 

It's been months through screens. Fingers hovering over buttons. The decision of to call or not to call. Messages collecting in inboxes and photos of moments I never had the hope of being a part of. It's better than our mother's had, or their mother's before them. Crackling phone lines and tear soaked stationary from wars past. Though the story has been the same, it has always been the same. And the story is this: man fights for his country, for his love, for his honor, for the women behind them and the men standing at his shoulders. They fight for dignity, out of duty, out of order and for a future they have no hope of seeing. That is not to say that they won't make it out alive, that they won't come home. No, it is to say that they are leaving a legacy, moving pieces of a chest board from which the game was erected at the turn of the first war and shall be played until the end of the last. 

Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. 

And what are we? The women who stand behind them. The women, the families, the love that stands behind them as they fight for dignity, out of duty and out of order as they search for their honor. Tear drops on stationary, kisses pressed to closed envelopes spritzed with perfume. We are crackling voices through barely connected telephone lines. We are the viewers of the photographs and the "likes" on social media, the wish you were here comments and the well wishes from worlds away. We are the same as every woman that has come before us. In love with a Soldier, an Airman, a Seaman, a Marine who's gaze is forward. 

You have a row of dominoes set up; you knock over the first one, and what will happen to the last one is that it will go over very quickly. 

From NAS Pensacola, to just east at NAS Jacksonville. Jacksonville turned to NAS Yorktown which gave way to Miramar in the way the coast gives way to the waves. The letters came in sparser than the phone calls ever did, but maybe that's what did me in. That last letter, an acknowledgement of life in the wake of something horrible having been prevented that now sinks below the horizon, down, down, down. 

It's always my own breathing, my own heartbeat. After all, I am still alone, even if he is alive and well. He stands an ocean and a world away. It's always my breathing. 

She runs, trips and pitches down the stairs, holding her letter.

She follows the letter down, down...

Blackout. A clatter. Strange sounds—xylophones, brass bands, sounds of falling, sounds of vertigo.

Sounds of breathing.

The Hard Deck on a sunny evening is all rich wood and the stark smell of the ocean, the windows pushed open to invite the fleeting warmth into the bar. I haven't made it further than the front stair case; Jake Seresin's smiles, an invite and a warning all at once though it isn't directed towards me. He doesn't even know I'm here, and I could keep it that way. I could run now, I could leave, deal with everything over the phone and through ink strokes of dying fountain pens in the same way we have been dealing with everything for months. 

I can at least be neat. Walk out and be seen as clean. 

The thing is this, Jake is home. Here at the Hard Deck, on the beach in Miramar, California surrounded by his squad, his newly minted and now permanent squad. The Daggers, the name fitting the feeling that the news pushes into the space between my ribs. An ache lives there now, unrelenting and dangerous. A reminder that the journey, our journey, has found the light at the end of the tunnel, and it's a train heading straight for us. We stood no chance, not with out feet planted firmly on the tracks. 

The shame of being seen consumes me. 

I know the look that will streak across his eyes before that smile lands full and glistening on his lips. I know that look of happiness, the one that is unburdened and surviving though it shouldn't. A smile that knows nothing of the pain looming around the corner, the dagger still stuck in my side and the way that I have been tracking blood behind me, droplets splattering crimson sick on the pavement as I limp out from hiding. He's not going to notice the way my skin is still slick with blood or the way the proverbial handle still hangs from it's new sheath between my ribs. It's red ink under his rose colored glasses. 

I think I've already lost you. I think you're already gone.

Though it wasn't a choice he made, at least, it hasn't been since he agreed to this job in the first place. The moment that ink dried on his contact, royal blue and officially binding, it hasn't been his choice. Not really. And maybe somewhere along the line I got tangled up in it all. In the kindness of his words that snuck out from his cocky grin and the way his eyes raked over the unbroken skin of my body and claimed it as land to tend. Maybe my heart has always been in my hands; why he has shielded me from the horrors of the world with his own body, even before he had a chance to see them with his own eyes. Maybe he knew my skin was supposed to stay unbroken. 

Maybe it wasn't. 

But either way, I still bleed now. And Jake still wears the rose colored glasses that come along with survival like this. A second chance at life, he declared proudly over the phone no less than a week ago, a chuckle laced in his voice in a shallow attempt to hide his utter bafflement. He wasn't supposed to make it back from this one, no matter the promises his Captain made. Jake's tone worn thin over the phone like he knew it was the end. He wasn't supposed to make it back. Our story was supposed to end there, my own body on the other side of the railroad crossing while Jake fell gallantly from the sky; a blaze of glory and red hot heat. 

But now he's home. Home, home, home. 

That's the whistle of the oncoming freight train, a warning call. 

It’s not enough nearly to survive. One needs to flourish.

I push into the bar, squaring my shoulders with my chin held high. There is no white flag here, no surrender. If one of us must fall from the sky, all burning red heat and glory, I guess it's going to be me. 

To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light.

I know the look that's coming, the look that will dash across his eyes and the smile that will bloom. Worse yet, I know the look that will succeed his smile. That look where he will square his jaw and narrow his eyes, batting down the hatches to make sure no sense of hurt will make it through. 

The hurt will make it though his eyes anyway. The cracks in his facade akin to the humanity he wishes he could keep from display. Hangman: a persona to keep emotions at an arms length though they already has a noose securely around his neck. I can see it in the pinprick tears collecting in the corners of his eyes even as he lifts his chin up; a Tarantino tilt of the head.  

He spots me, eyes going wide as his smile. "Oh my god, Sweetheart, what are you doing here?" The sight of him in all his blond hair, blue eyed glory gives me pause. God, he is beautiful. He is beautiful, with kind hands that have guided me through these last few months and now, this moment will be the last time I truly get to appreciate it. 

Those kind hands are working their way around my frame as he pulls me into his chest. He bleeds warmth, and for a moment I wonder if he can feel how much blood I've already lost, if it's wet against his palm as he grazed over my ribs. I wonder if he can feel it, and if it would still be warm. Warm with the feeling of me, and the love that I have for him. God, I love him so. 

There can be no friendship with someone I am not ready to betray. 

It's in this moment that I know, with his hands wrapped around me and my cheek pressed against the heat of his chest as his heart beats thickly in my ear, Jake Seresin is my best friend. He is my best friend and he doesn't know I'm bleeding out. 

The train is getting impossibly closer, now. It's horn blaring in my ears so loud it's giving me vertigo. I sway a bit in Jake's arms; he grips me impossibly tighter- I begin to hemorrhage. 

"Oh, Sweetheart, I am so glad you're here. If I would've known you were coming, I would've picked you up! I can't believe you didn't tell me you were coming! Jeez, I can't believe you are here, Sweetheart, really. God, you feel good," Jake's words come uninterrupted, punctuated with another squeeze of his arms. 

"Yeah... I'm," The words come out muffled against his chest, though it sounds like my own voice is a million miles away, "I'm here." 

A moment more passes gently, stuck in the confines of his embrace before he pulls back. His eyes meet mine for a moment, stark blue in the way the the flag is, embedded with stars and glory and a weight I can not even imagine- before they are flicking back up to his squad.

And it's in this moment where I realize that Jake Seresin may love me, and I may love him, but there is no blood left in me. I have nothing left to bleed, only words to bare. There is only desperation on my tongue to beg the man before me to love me more than he loves his own glory, his own noble sacrifice, and his country. 

Let me be very clear: every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered. 

I will be slaughtered too, whether it be from the knife still stuck in my side or the incoming train, I will be flayed open under the hot California sun for the world to see. 

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly. 

And yet, it will be okay, because I will be seen. Jake Seresin will see me, unclean and unkempt, void of blood and tears, the only thing left over will be the ghost of us and all the love that I still have left to give. Atoms cannot cease to be- I think my love for him is one in the same. 

I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child and fell asleep on the couch during a family party. I hope you can hear the laughter from the next room. 

"Can we step outside?" I peer up at him, my chin pressed to his sternum. Truth be told, I look past him, over the prominence of his brow bone and up to the planks of the ceiling. It's easier to take a hostage when you don't have to look them in the eye.  For a moment I wonder if I should have feared getting blood on him to begin with, but knowing he himself could not feel it even as it coated his own palms helps me guide him from the audience of his friends. His wrist held loosely in my grasp until we've made it to the sand. For a moment I almost forget to let go. 

Of course love is still there. Still, still, still. 

There is a sort of sticky sweetness in the cavern of my chest now as I stand next to him. Maybe it's been there this whole time, encasing  my heart and thickness of it's beating. Jake wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side with gentle hands. He hums with contentment, fingers brushing over my arm. 

"I can't believe you're here," Jake still looks at the sky, the horizon line drawing his eye. "What are you doing here, sweetheart?" 

My heart stutters in my chest. What am I doing here? My eyes catch the horizon too, as I pull the proverbial blade from it's place between my ribs. It too is sticky sweet with blood and smeared fingerprints. 

I write my own deliverance. 

The words are written on my tongue in bile. My hands shake. I shove them into my pockets, eyeline still stuck on the orange of the setting sun. It's warmth accompanies Jake's, sinking into my hollow corpse. Again I threaten to sway under the momentum of the moment. This is it. The ending.

"I came to say goodbye," They are not the correct words, the letters all jumbled up and ill-fitting in my mouth. "I came to wish you well." He turns his chin down to me, eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

"Goodbye?" The word rakes itself out of his throat, all gravel and uncertainty. His hold tightens on my shoulders, just a little, pulling me tighter into his side. Heat continues to roll off his frame. My hands form fists in the confines of my pockets, an attempt at clutching this moment before it  slips past. 

"Yeah, I mean..." There's a pause. Breathing room. A forcing of air in and out of my lungs. Jake doesn't seem to breathe at all. "This is it, isn't it?" 

"What could you possibly mean by that?" His gaze meets mine for the first time, steady and unyielding.  Suddenly I am aware of just how much blue surrounds me now. From my cheap cardigan, littered with holes that still manages to fight off the chill of the breeze to the royal of the ocean waves. The sky is azure too, melting into orange and pink hues that will give way to the vast deep navy of the night. But there is nothing more royal that of Jake's irises. Still weighty with stars and glory, but reflecting my own strangled feelings back at me. The destination grips my lungs just a little bit harder, the train wheels squealing against the tracks, but it's too late now. 

Everything is blue. Everything is blue. Everything is blue. Everything is blue. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, too tight, and everything my eyes see is blue then, too. "I came to say goodbye, so you could continue your life, you know,?" I shrug vaguely, hoping he will get the idea, "Like really continue your life here, settle down. This is your home base now, and your family is in there. I'm not really sure what else you'd be expecting to happen right now." 

The words pour out of me, not crossing my brain before they leave my tongue. A strangled sound of confusion leave Jake's lips as his arm slips from it's place around my shoulders. The chill gets in after that, right down to my bones. 

"I-" The words catch. I hold my breath waiting for a moment, then another, then another. Jake breathes deeply now, forcefully. Taking each beath deep into his lungs like it's painful. I continue to hold my breath. 

The spot between my ribs, now void of proverbial blade still aches, but now with more loneliness and finality than strikes of pain. A fact dawns on me in that moment, as my lungs  burn for air, watching Jake's jaw stutter with upspoken words. Maybe this wasn't supposed to be an ending. Not like this, maybe not at all. 

You are a burning house that I want to live in. 

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" With Jake's unsure words, I manage an uneasy breathe. My lungs feel aflame with new oxygen. My eyes meet the sand, my dirty sneakers looking out of place next to Jake's nice leather boots. I can't help the almost chuckle that escapes my lips, it comes out as more of a grimace. 

It occurs to me that maybe Jake has no idea about just how much I'm falling apart. Just like my mother, and her mother before her. Loving men from afar as they fight- Soldiers, Airman, Seaman, and Marines. The shock of it all ricochets through me; a generational pain that is now mine to hold. 

The splendid thing about falling apart silently... is that you can start over as many times as you like.

"If you're saying what I think you're implying here, I need you to say it out loud," Jake breaks through the fog of it all, his voice stern and commanding. It sends a shiver down my spine. I have never seen him like this, burning so fiercely with love and it makes the sticky sweetness of my insides warm. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, I need you to say it. I need you to say the words out loud for both of us to hear, because I need to hear that goodbye if you're going to walk away from me. Oh God, Sweetheart, please don't walk away now,"

"When you were on that ship," I kick some sand with the toe of my shoe, a neat little pile of it forming in front of me, "When you called, I didn't think you were coming back, and now that you're here, you're alive... God, you're alive... I just thought that I'd be holding you back. I mean, if we kept this going, there would always be something dragging you backwards, and I don't want to drag you back, Jake. But, I also can't do it like this anymore. Our relationship has been spent through phone calls and letters and I don't think we've spent more than three days consecutive together, ever," 

"I am so fucking glad that you are alive," I can't help but laugh, the pressure a little less crushing, "But we are both worth more than this," 

When I finally gather the courage to look up, Jake's eyes are already on me, running over my features so slow like he's working on memorizing them. I have so much more to say, so many words that wouldn't fit on the collage ruled paper or in the textbox of a message.  All of these words just begging to escape from behind my tongue. 

"I love you," I blurt out, eyes linked with his blues, unhindered and unbashful. "God, I fucking love you, and I can't believe I'm saying it for the first time now, not over the goddamn phone, and we are on the periphery of a fucking ending," 

"It's only an ending if you call it as such," Jake reaches for my hand. I extract them from the their denim confines and let them slip into his. "Because I am not fucking walking away. Do you think that I would?" 

What a question. What a loaded fucking question. 

"No," I answer honestly, "Not on purpose, but I know the fight is always in front of you, and that leaves me in the rearview, and I am not going to ask you to give up that, to give up all of this, for me. You have a family here, now, even if you don't want to use that word. Those folks in there, the people you almost fucking died with, those are your people forever, now. They are who you have to fight with, and fight for."

"Yes, they are my family, but that doesn't mean that you aren't anymore," Jake squeezes my hands, pulling me just a little closer. 

"Anymore?" I barely hear my own voice, but I do feel the tears welling up in my eyes. "Have I been your family before now? Before this moment, before you almost died?" 

"Of course you have," Jake chokes down a chuckle. "You are my person, my home, and I want you here, here with me,"

"But what about everything that comes next. The next time you have to go somewhere in the middle of the ocean to fight an unknown battle, with enemies who are just trying to do the same thing. Everyone is just fighting to stay alive, to get home, what then?" 

"Who do you think I was fighting so hard to get back to?" Tears fall from my eyes at his words, his hands coming up to cup my cheeks. "Who do you think I will continue to fight to get back to? Sweetheart, I will dogfight my way out of anything if that means making it back to you," Thumbs swipe at my tears as he leans in, pressing his lips over mine. A welcome home and a goodbye all in one, but not a goodbye from one another, but from the people we used to be. 

Death frees us from the torment of parting. 

And so the train passes, I remain un-flayed to the world and Jake didn't go out in a blaze of glory and red hot heat. I may have bled out, but that dagger was never mine to carry- even if we were both fighting to get back to each other. And maybe a part of us died there, on that beach, our lips pressed together as Jake breathed life back into me. It's a death, but not one of finality, because If you're lucky, you die many times before you ever really do.

----

QUOTE CREDIT

Destination means death to me. If I could figure out a way to remain forever in transition, in the disconnected and unfamiliar, I could remain in a state of perpetual freedom. - David Wojnarowicz

I can at least be neat. Walk out and be seen as clean. - A burning Hill - Mitski 

"She runs, trips and pitches down the stairs, holding her letter.

She follows the letter down, down...

Blackout. A clatter. Strange sounds—xylophones, brass bands, sounds of falling, sounds of vertigo.

Sounds of breathing."

― Sarah Ruhl, 

Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. - Hamilton 

"You have a row of dominoes set up; you knock over the first one, and what will happen to the last one is that it will go over very quickly." - President Eisenhower in April 1954 

The shame of being seen consumes me. - Cynthia Cruz from  diagnosis, The Glimmering Room

I think I've already lost you. I think you're already gone. - Matchbox 20

There can be no friendship with someone I am not ready to betray. -slavoj zizek 

Let me be very clear: every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered. - anecdote of the pig, tory adkisson

I hope death is like being carried to you bedroom when you were a child and fell asleep on the couch during a family party. I hope you can hear the laughter from the next room. - lilies abounded

It’s not enough nearly to survive. One needs to flourish. - Jack Tanner, The Source of Dreams, When Human Imagination Died

To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light - rainer maria rilke

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly. - Anne Sexton, A self portrait in letters.  

Of course love is still there. Still, still, still. - unknown, tumblr

Everything is blue. Everything is blue. Everything is blue. Everything is blue. - Halsey 

You are a burning house that I want to live in. - unknown, tumblr 

“The splendid thing about falling apart silently... is that you can start over as many times as you like.” ― Sanober Khan, 

If you're lucky, you die many times before you ever really do. - Jake Weasley Rogers. 

Death frees us from the torment of parting. lighthousekeeping, jeanette winterson 

TAG LIST @its-the-pilot @t4medicroe @inkandarsenic @kmc1989 @inky-sun @harperdoodle @possiblyexisting @eloquentdreamer @ravenwtfbro @jessicab1991 @muddwheelz123

[justfandomwritings]

He Did Everything Right (Hangman)

Pairing: Hangman x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: He did everything right this time, but somehow it still wasn't enough.

Warnings: Pure Angst, trauma, accident related trauma, implied though not described significant and traumatic injury, hurt,

Notes: Only read if you feel like having a good cry today.

Masterlists

“Styx!” Hangman wrenched at the ties holding him into his chute. All motor function and sense of hand-eye coordination was still falling through the sky, and all reason had left him. He was now blindly ripping at straps and bands and buckles without any rhyme or reason. 

He was mindless, frantic. There was one coherent thought going through his mind, and it wasn’t the years in the academy that had drilled calm, cool, and collected into him. It wasn’t the hundreds of simulations and drops he had done in training expressly in the event he ever found himself here. It wasn’t even anything in the F-18 handbook he’d memorized cover to cover.

‘Get to Styx.’

It repeated over and over again in his head. Rising in volume, rising in urgency. 

‘Get to Styx.’

‘Get to Styx.’

The only thought in his mind that wasn’t an incoherent scream. 

‘Get to Styx.’

Five minutes and a few thousand feet ago he’d been free falling through the air while disinterestedly thinking about all of the paperwork this systems malfunction meant he’d have to do. Five minutes and a few thousand feet ago, he was thinking about how long he’d have to sit in this field before a chopper from Top Gun could make it out here. Five minutes and a few thousand feet ago he thought it was odd Styx was waiting so long to pull her chute. 

‘Get to Styx.’

‘Get to Styx.’ 

‘Get to Styx.’

“Styx!” He roared, but still there was no response. 

In the distance, in the field on the other side of the rough, narrow road their plane had crashed on, Jake could see the remnants of a chute. A cloud of fabric billowing lightly in the breeze, daring any wind strong enough to come along and carry it away. There was something dark lying underneath. 

“Styx,” His voice broke at the same time as his bindings. Sheer determination and force of will finally tearing through a thick woven harness and setting him free. 

He stumbled his first few steps. He hadn’t been expecting the straps around his shoulders to give. His fingers couldn’t seem to undo the clip that was bent out of shape, couldn’t seem to free him from the trees and bushes his chute was tangled in. He had been putting his full weight against the straps the whole time, trying like a mad man to break free from their stranglehold. His mind was useless to think of anything else to do, and yet the moment it finally happened he wasn’t expecting it. 

“Styx!” Hangman scrambled to his feet. 

If there was any pain associated with the cuts on his hand from falling down or the deep bruises across his chest from pulling so hard, he didn’t feel it. 

“Styx!” He ran to the road and sent himself hurdling over the wire fence without a second thought. 

If there was any pain associated with the barbs tearing into his skin, he didn’t feel it. 

The parachute fluttered uselessly above her unresponsive body. As useless and in the way now as it had been while she was falling. He tore the fabric out of his way with ease, not bothering to watch as it was buffeted away.

It brought her face into his view, expressionless and sallow where it lay in the sun. 

It brought back a flash of her face, blurry from the distance and speed at which they fell, looking back at him panicking as she pulled a string that just wouldn’t budge.

He brushed the memory away. He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about her. 

He had to think about Lerman, that asshole twit he’d been paired up with in all the field-med training seminars the Navy made him take. He had to picture Lerman playing dead on the ground, walking Jake through triage, faking injuries for him to accurately assess. 

He couldn’t see her. He had to see Lerman. If he wanted to help her, he had to pretend it wasn’t her he was helping. He had to focus. He couldn’t let his emotions get to him, couldn’t let himself have even a moment to see the person he cared about, the woman he loved, lying on the ground like that before him. He had to pretend it was Lerman.

For once in his life, Hangman did everything right. He tied a strap tight over her wounds to stop the bleeding. He performed textbook CPR. When help arrived, he had a description of the accident, an account of her injuries, estimates of timing, of how much blood she’d lost and how long she’d not been breathing. 

He did everything right. For once, he did it all right. No fucking around, no ego, no mistakes. 

The EMTs would praise his response and quick thinking. They’d say she was lucky to have him there. They told him that he did everything right, that he’d done everything they would’ve done. 

They said it was enough, and yet somehow he knew it wasn’t nearly. 

Her eyes peeled open over a week later to him asleep at her bedside. He hadn’t left her for a single moment. Not at his friend’s insistence, his family’s phone calls, his bunkmate’s texts. Not even Coyote had managed to pull him as far as the mess hall. 

He had to be there whenever she woke up. He had to be the one to tell her.

Deep down he knew it wasn’t his fault. He’d been cleared of any wrongdoing in the tragic accident before the plane even hit the ground. It was a fluke they said, a system malfunction that was unavoidable. They said he’d handled it as well, better even, than any other pilot could. They said he’d done everything right. 

He didn’t feel like he’d done everything right. He knew, in his heart, that there was nothing else to do. That he couldn’t have done anything differently. But he felt the weight on his chest, crushing him, suffocating him. He had to be the one to tell her. 

She would live, but she would never fly again. 

She put on a brave face, for his benefit. When the nurses came in and told her she was lucky, told her how gallantly Hangman had performed, she agreed. She told him he did everything right, that she didn’t blame him, that he did what he could. And he saw in her eyes that she meant it, but he saw the sadness in them too.

He made her a promise that day. A promise she didn’t ask for, a promise she asked him not to fulfill, a promise she knew was made for his benefit as much as hers.. 

No one else would ever fly in Hangman’s backseat again.

[princessmisery666]

Broken Promises - Part 4 - All Or Nothing Mini Series

Summary: The broken promises have a devastating effect, causing painful decisions.

Warnings: angst, not everyone gets a happy ending, end of a friendship, self loathing. 

W/C: 2.8k

Rating: E (explicit - 18+)

Characters: Jake “Hangman” Seresin, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. 

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

A/N: I’m sorry. That’s all I have, an apology. That being said, I love this chapter.

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

Catch Up Here: All Or Nothing

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are my own.

Broken Promises

It feels like emotional suicide. Jake knows no good will come of him scrolling your Instagram feed. Seeing your content smile next to Bradley’s beaming love-filled grin makes his heart sick. Yet his thumb continues, the pictures get older, and he replaces Bradley at your side.

Photos of your life together assault the tenuous state of his sanity — a holiday to Mexico, crystal clear water up to your knees, fruity, bright cocktails in hand, Jake’s arm around your waist. The Christmas you went with his family to Lapland, you sitting on Santa’s lap while Jake pointed an accusing finger as if Santa had been naughty. A picture of Jake sleeping, head in your lap with the caption - “He’s cute when he’s sleeping.” Another on his graduation day, your beyond proud smile grinning back at him. It seems like a lifetime ago, a time when the world made sense. 

It’s been four days… four days of radio silence.

Jake’s sent you messages and left voicemails, but it’s like screaming into the void. Or maybe it’s because he only ever finds the words at the bottom of a hundred proof at stupid o’clock when he’s missing you and grieving. 

I’m sorry. Please can we talk about this? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, and I’m sorry for not figuring it out sooner.

Bradley has been absent from Top Gun. Phoenix reluctantly told Jake that Rooster was taking some personal time. No one asked about his busted-up face, so he assumes they’ve all been given a rundown of the events.

He steers clear of the Hard Deck, does his work, eats his meals alone, and returns to his apartment as soon as the work day ends. 

He resents the apartment. He only bought it because you convinced him to. You moved to San Diego when he knew he was to be stationed there. There were two apartments available, one across the hall from the other. — “Come on, Jake, it’ll be like our very own version of Friends.” He's never been able to resist your elated smile, and even though he didn’t particularly like the studio layout, he brought it to be close to you. 

But now, knowing you're not across the hall, his apartment feels cold and too big. 

The soft knock on the door makes him nauseous. He knows it's you. He contemplates not answering. You don’t know that he’s home. There’s no tv or radio playing, so there’s no sound to give him up.

He quietly walks to the door and rests his hand against the wood. You're on the other side; he can feel you. If he closes his eyes, he knows he’ll be able to feel the embrace you won’t give him.

He hasn’t let himself contemplate that the outcome could be positive. He expects the worst; it’s a fantasy to believe anything else.

You knock again, softer than the first. He imagines you are struggling with what's to come, should he let you in, as much as he is. He holds his breath, lungs beginning to burn by the time you knock a third time, gingerly calling out his name.

He unlatches the lock and walks further into the apartment. You take the unlocked door as an invitation to let yourself in.

He crosses the open plan space to the kitchen. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, he pops the cap off as he spins to face you. You stand so far back you may as well be on another planet.

He hates himself so much he can barely stomach the feel of his tongue as he licks away the drop of froth from his lips.

There’s no greeting or other pleasantries as you face each other. Your eyes scan the bruises that stain his face before finally dropping your gaze and shuffling your feet as if you feel guilty for the blemishes on his skin. 

“How’s your face?”

“Fine,” he says, shrugging, “Bradshaw hits like a girl.”

You shake your head, and he can see how done you are with his shit in the way you don’t even crack a hint of a smile. He strides to the other side of the breakfast bar, closer to you but still an ocean of distance. “Shall we get this over with?” he asks. 

You nod and use the motion to find the courage to look at him. “I need you to stay away from me.”

“You came over here to tell me to stay away from you?” 

“Jake, please,” your voice quivers, but you contain the emotion. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“So it is hard for you too?”

“Yes!” you snap. “This is hard for me, Jake. It’s fucking devastating. It’s crushing me to do this, and there’s no way to make it easier on either of us. I want to hug you and tell you it’s all going to be okay, but I don’t know that it is. And that physically hurts,” you cry, balled fists digging into your breast bone as if to try dislodging the pain you claim.

“I’m sorry,” he says, walking around the island between you. He’s approaching but nowhere close when you back up a step, anticipating his actions. “Are you afraid of me?” 

“No, I’m not afraid of you, Jake,” you sigh. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and I never thought for a second that you did. I just…If you touch me, it means something more to you than it does to me.”

“I’m sorry that I did hurt you,” he explains, and his stomach knots with nausea at the reminder he marred your skin.

There’s a heavy silence, weighted with anxiety and unease as you stifle your tears as best you can. Jake hates that he’s the cause of the wet tracks on your cheeks, and he’s dangerously close to shedding some tears of his own.

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

He cautiously moves closer to you as if you're a skittish animal that he’s afraid of scaring away. You don’t bolt, but he respects your need for space by stopping a few feet away. 

He holds your eyes with a firm plea. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” Your chest inflates to reply, but Jake quickly corrects himself to ensure there are no misunderstandings. “Tell me you’re not in love with me.”

You swipe at the tears on your cheeks and snatch the beer from his hand, downing half the contents, gasping for breath when you hand it back. 

The smile tugs on his lips; he can’t fight the glimmer of hope at your lack of denial. “You can’t, can you? I know you feel the same. You’ve just been ignoring it like I was. I was afraid to love you and leave you behind. You deserved better than that. You deserve better than that. You should be kissed and held and cherished every goddamn day, not every couple of months or when deployments allow it. But seeing you with Bradshaw made me see that it would have made it all the sweeter when we were together.”

His name comes out as a choked whisper, and he doesn’t know how to interrupt it. A warning to stop, an affirmation that he’s right? Regardless, he’s not done. 

“You said it, you said it to my parents, you said you thought about being Y/N Seresin, and I know that hasn’t just disappeared. You moved to San Diego for me; you came here for me. You still feel it.”

You shake your head, and he’s not sure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him. You speak to your feet when you beg, “Please just leave me alone.”

“Is that Bradshaw talking or you?”

“It’s me.” 

“I don’t believe you. You promised me,” he says, tone rife with injustice. “You promised me you and Bradshaw wouldn’t come between us.” 

“Don’t put this on Bradley!” you yell, and the fire behind your eyes burns bright. “You promised me, at your sister’s wedding, hell, way back in high school, that you’d never let me drown. Well, here I am, Jake. I’m drowning in the broken promises we both made to each other, and I don’t know which way is up anymore.”

“So we’ll figure it out,” Jake beseeches, reaching for your hands. 

“No,” you say firmly, snatching your hands out of his reach. “I'm asking you to leave me alone, stop calling, don’t text, and if you see me in the street, act like you don’t know me.”

“For how long?”

“Jake!” you yell frustratingly. He can see the agony it’s causing you, but he needs to know.

“We live in the same building. How am I supposed to stay away from you?”

Finally, you meet his eyes again, and he wonders if it’s to drive the point home or hurt him the same way he’s hurt you because it feels like a gut punch when you tell him. “I’m moving in with Bradley.”

He tips the bottle to his lips, gulping the remaining liquid to stop himself from breaking down. He did this. He pushed you into Bradley’s arms. He introduced you, gave you his blessing, and his latest actions have sent you scurrying deeper into Bradley’s safety net.

“We’ll stay away from the Hard Deck,” you explain while he’s unable to talk. “Let you have your hunting grounds.”

“So this is it?” he asks, breath catching in his throat. “We’re done? We can’t even be friends. The last twenty years have just been forgotten, gone, just like that?” he snaps his fingers.

“Yes,” you say with a tune of finality, squaring your shoulders. 

“Y/N, please,” he begs. “I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up. I know how bad I screwed up. I should have told you everything when I was close to you. I shouldn’t have been so pacified being your friend. I should have said it all when I had the chance. I shouldn’t have waited.”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell, silencing him. “You said it yourself, Jake. It’s all or nothing with me. We had it all. We were friends, and it worked. We can’t go back to that. So please, I’m asking you to stay away from me and out of Bradley’s face. If you care about me the way you say, you’ll do that for me. It’s the least you owe me.”

“If?” he questions, raising his voice as you head toward the door. “If I care about you? Are you questioning that? Is that the problem? You don’t believe me?”

You stop, half out of the door, looking at him over your shoulder. “I believe you. It just doesn’t change anything,” you admit. 

It breaks him. He drops to his knees, chin resting on his chest, heaving deep breaths to stop from roaring like a feral animal.

You let yourself into Bradley’s apartment with the key he gave you. Standing in the hallway, you feel the metal grow warm in your palm, and it’s symbolic poetry that the key represents everything Bradley makes you feel; strong, warm, safe, loved, home.

You just hope your absence and lack of communication haven’t caused a rift between you. 

You stroll to the kitchen, and Bradley’s sitting at the breakfast bar, hugging a mug of coffee that looks as if it went cold a while ago. “Hey,” he whispers, a catch of emotion in his voice. 

“Hey,” you reply, pressing your shoulder into the door frame, uncertainty causing you to hesitate in approaching him.

“You’ve been gone a while,” he notes.

“Needed to clear my head,” you explain, “I’ve been staying with Natasha.”

“She said,” he nods, shrugging lightly. “I wanted to come see you, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.” 

You can’t bear the desolation in his eyes, so you look down at the floor. He sounds a little heartbroken, and you know it’s all for you. He was most likely confused, worried, and hurt by your temporary abandonment, but he looks crushed, and you know him well enough to know it’s because he couldn’t comfort you when you needed it most.

“I wouldn't have turned you away if you had.”

“Does that mean I can come over there?” he asks with such hopeful despair it makes you want to cry.

The toe of your sneakers squeaks on the linoleum floor with the speed at which you stand straighter and rush toward him. He twists on the barstool, and you plant yourself between his legs, crushing yourself against his chest hard enough that a whoosh of air escapes him. But he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly, arms encasing your hips. 

“I missed you,” he says, and you can feel how much he means it when his fingers squeeze your frame.

“I missed you too,” you confess, breathing him in, placing a featherlight kiss against his skin. 

He hums low in his chest, and it vibrates through you, spreading warm gratification. This is where you belong. You’re sure of it, but it doesn’t lessen the pain of losing Jake. It somehow makes it worse. When you know your best friend is hurting, the conflict of being happy and content with Rooster makes you nauseous with guilt. 

You sigh heavily, and it’s as if you pressed a button inside Bradley. He tightens his grip and whispers, “I love you.” 

The pain ebbs, if only momentarily, and you know in time, he will banish it to the deep depths of your mind, and you’ll rarely think of it, maybe someday, even forget.

“I love you too, and I’m sorry for disappearing.” 

“Don’t be,” Bradley begins, leaning back to look you in the eyes. “I know this can’t be easy for you. Hell, I’d be concerned if it was. Hey, no,” he coaxes your head back up to meet his eyes with a gentle hold of your chin when you try to shy away. “Don’t do that,” he admonishes with a slight aching frown. “You never have to hide with me.”

You still feel guilty, as if Jake’s actions resulted from yours. Had you led him on somehow, making him think you were more than friends? The thoughts swirl around your mind, a tornado ripping up the foundations of your beliefs, and you worry Bradley thinks the same.

“I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, not for what Jake did and not for taking some time to figure stuff out. I’m just glad you’re home.” A flare of doubt widens his eyes. “You are home, right?”

“Yes, I’m home,” you say and peck his lips quickly. Your kiss seems to have stolen his doubts, and you take on the anxiety as your own, worrying, “if that’s what you want still?”

“Yes, oh god, yes!” he assures. You feel the tension leave his body as he kisses you breathless, excitement replacing the moment’s anxiety. Bradley breaks the kiss but reestablishes the connection, resting his forehead against yours, and you both linger in the moment. “I want you to know I’d understand if you chose to forgive him. I can’t. But I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.” He shrugs and dazzles you with a slight jesting smile. “I mean, I'd like you to make him suffer a little before you forgive him.”

“It’s not what I want,” you say and feel the tears prick your eyes. “I can’t forgive him. I went to see him, to clarify that, and asked him to stay away from us.”

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, and apprehension shimmers in his. Your tears fall, and he interrupts their path with the pad of his thumb swiping over your cheeks. “If that’s what you want, then I respect it, but please,” he implores, “please, don’t do it on my behalf. You’ve been friends forever, and I’d never want to come between you. Even if you change your mind, in a week, a month, a year, whatever, I won’t stand between you two. This isn’t ‘a him or me’ type situation.”

“I know. Kinda wish it was,” you admit, “it might have made it easier.”

“Okay,” Bradley says and looks dead serious as he stares into your eyes, “It’s him or me.” He can't hold the sedate expression for long, and his kind smile breaks the mask. “But only if you choose me.”

“Always,” you confess. 

“I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that. I was damn near terrified this conversation wouldn’t end well for me.” He smiles, so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat, and again you know you’ve made the right choice. “When I’m with you, it feels like the future, and I’m not ready to give that up.”

“You never have to.”

You seal the promise with a kiss. It’s firm but sweet and tender, and it feels as if he’s breathing in your troubles, taking them away with every sweep of his tongue. It lasts so long you feel a little lightheaded, but you don’t want to come up for air. He makes you feel like you're flying, and you’ll continue to soar as long as you have him.

End.

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

[honeypiehotchner]

We Used To Be In Love (Hangman x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I know it’s late but I want to post this already soooo hi

This series is quickly becoming another favorite of mine😭 I listened to “From Austin” by Zach Bryan basically on repeat while I wrote this one. Don’t you dare listen to it and imagine it from 18-year-old!Hangman’s POV (do it, it’s so sad)

Summary: You and Jake were high school sweethearts, on track to get married and have a family. When Jake left for basic training for the Navy, he decided you had to be left behind. What neither of you knew was that he left two behind, not just one.

Warnings: angst angst angst

WC: 3.3k

After dropping Amelia and Belle off at school, you run some errands before deciding to head into The Hard Deck to do a little bit of cleaning. Penny told you not to open the bar while she’s gone, to give yourself a vacation, too, but you need something to do.

When you pull into the parking lot, Jake is already there.

It takes everything in you not to turn around and leave.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. Maybe it’s a little harsh, but you genuinely want to know.

“I wasn’t thinking about Penny closing the bar while she’s gone with Maverick,” Jake explains. “What are you doing here?”

He says it in the same tone, which you deserve, you guess. “Cleaning. Kind of. Penny told me not to come in, but I’m bored.”

“Can I help with anything?”

There’s the old Jake you used to know. “Sure,” you decide to take him up on his offer. “You can mop.”

You expect a snide remark, but instead, he shrugs and says, “Just show me where everything is.”

You hate mopping, so you’re not about to turn him down. “Alright. Follow me.”

Jake, surprisingly, keeps his distance while you unlock the door and head inside, showing him the supply closet in the back room. He never was good about personal space, but back then, you never minded. You wanted him in your personal space.

“We have one of these fancy ones,” you say, handing him the Swiffer whatever-it’s-called. “Penny hates the old mops with a passion.”

“Can’t say that I blame her,” Jake replies.

“Oh right,” you laugh, remembering the story he once told you. He was doing chores in the ROTC wing and the bucket kept falling over, spilling the dirty water everywhere. It didn’t matter that it was his second mop of the floor, he had to start over from the beginning. Each time it spilled. Which was four times. “You were fuming that night.”

“I was livid,” he remembers, laughing with you. “Remember I showed up at your house?”

“At ten p.m.! My dad nearly shot you!”

“I just laid down on the front porch, I didn’t care.”

“I remember,” you chuckle. “He knocked on my door and told me to fix you. I don’t know what he thought was wrong, but he didn’t want to know.”

“I looked like death.”

“I remember!” you laugh harder, forgetting that detail.

“You poked me with a stick!”

“You weren’t moving!”

The two of you can’t keep yourselves from laughing, no matter how hard your stomachs and faces hurt from it. It’s refreshing. And you hate the way that reality comes wading back in, ruining the moment.

“Well,” you pause awkwardly. “At least there’s no bucket to turn over this time.”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing the mop. “At least there’s that.”

You head back out to the main area to unload the dishwasher and reload it with the leftover dirty glasses from yesterday. You make sure to check for chips and dry all of the water droplets before putting them away.

Jake begins mopping, taking some time to figure out how the hell to work the Swiffer. He jumps when he presses a button and water sprays out from the front of the mop. You snicker quietly to yourself, not looking up, but you know he heard you.

“Do you want something to drink?”

He glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s a little early for that, ain’t it?”

“I meant water. Or coke,” you laugh. “Though, I’ve started drinking earlier than this before.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely not,” you deadpan. “There’s no time for drinking with a kid running around.”

“Ah,” he nods. “Right.”

Once again, reality just…makes things worse.

“I’ll take a coke,” he finally says. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you murmur, pouring a glass for the both of you. “The uh-- The Jukebox works if you want to play something. I made Penny put some country albums in there.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, making a beeline for the box. “I never really checked it out while we were here.”

“Now I find that hard to believe.”

“Rooster was always on the piano,” he shrugs. “Or someone already had something playing here. Mostly rock. George Strait! I--”

He freezes, and you do too.

Every couple has an artist, or a song, and George Strait was yours and Jake’s. It’s what you both grew up listening to, and what you slow danced to every chance you had. What you blasted in the car on every drive, whether it be to school, prom, the Navy ball, or even just to get food. George was the soundtrack to your relationship. Even after it ended.

He turns around, frowning regretfully.

“It’s fine,” you say, even though it’s not.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I know, Jake, you’ve said that many times already.”

“Do you still listen to George?”

“Sometimes,” you admit. “But I had Penny put him in there because everyone knows him. Don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m not, I just--” He pauses, shifting the mop from one hand to the other. “I listened to our song almost every day.”

Our song. He means “Carrying Your Love With Me” which you used to find endearing, but now it just makes you mad.

“Well it was a lie, wasn’t it? So.”

He’s silent.

“Can you just finish mopping?” you ask, but it comes out as a demand. “I need to head out soon to run more errands before I get the girls from school.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, forgetting the jukebox and his glass of coke entirely.

The two of you work in silence, and once he’s done mopping, he puts the mop away, and leaves.

You lean over the bar and rest your forehead against the counter, taking deep breaths. You can’t let him rattle you like this. You can’t let your daughter see you this way, especially not while she has her best friend over. These are supposed to be two weeks of endless fun for her and Amelia.

But you’ll have to ruin the fun at some point, won’t you? Jake will want to meet Belle -- officially meet her. And he’ll want to tell her the truth. He’ll want her to know that he’s her dad. You want her to know, you think. In truth, you haven’t thought about it much.

Raising a teenager into today’s world is slightly easier in that it isn’t hard to explain non-traditional parenting. It was easy to explain why Jake wasn’t in the picture. “Some kids have a mom and a dad, some have two moms, some have two dads, some have one dad, and some, like you, have just one mom.”

Belle didn’t question it. You had worked yourself up over the conversation, and she merely shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay.” And that was that. She never brought him up again. She went around telling people, “Oh, I just have a mom.”

Of course, then some adults asked if you had a sperm donor or something, but Belle has never been that curious. (Or rude, because god, it’s no one’s business but yours.)

She has grown up accepting and being content with having one mom. You don’t know how badly the truth will throw a wrench in things.

Will she be angry with you? For keeping her father from her? Or will she shrug and accept it again? Or will she be angry with Jake? Will she want nothing to do with him? Or will she accept him with open arms and you’ll have no choice but to welcome him wholly back into your life?

Or, perhaps even more terrifying, are you ready to admit that you want him to be back in your life?

+++

You don’t see or hear from Jake for two days. Foolishly, you let yourself believe he must be back in Texas by now, maybe getting another earful from his mom. God forbid your dad finds out that Jake knows now. He’s been waiting for Jake to know so he could give him more than an earful about breaking your heart and putting you in this situation.

Rooster shows up unannounced at your house, and the only reason you know he’s there is because he comes in the house with Belle and Amelia over each shoulder like two sacks of potatoes.

“Mom!” Belle screams, but she’s giggling. “Rooster’s here!”

“I see that,” you laugh, walking out of the kitchen to greet them in the living room. “Really, Brad?”

“What?” he grins. “They jumped on me.”

“Girls,” you shake your head. “I’m glad you’re strong enough to hold them.”

“This is nothing,” Rooster says. “Look, I can even jump--”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, eyeing the very fragile things all around him. “Outside. Put them down if you’re going to be in here.”

“Fine, mom,” Rooster teases, bending down to set the girls down on their feet.

Bad mistake, though, because then Belle and Amelia take it upon themselves to tickle him relentlessly before he has any chance to stop them.

“Hey-- Hey! Not fair!” He darts outside and the girls take off after him, across the front lawn and to the backyard.

They’re already a handful, but with Rooster around, he just encourages them. You love it, though. You love seeing the joy on their faces.

Soon, they come back inside, Belle and Amelia panting like they’ve just ran a marathon. As the girls guzzle some water, Rooster leans against the counter, not even winded.

“What are you doing for dinner?” he asks.

You give him a weird look. “No plans yet…why?” You put your hands on your hips. “What do you want?”

“A few of us were getting together for dinner,” he shrugs. “Thought I’d extend the invitation.”

“Hm,” you nod slowly. “Who is ‘us’?”

“Hangman, Phoenix, me,” Rooster says, ticking off each name on his fingers before gesturing around the kitchen. “And you guys, if you want.”

“Where are we eating?” Amelia asks.

“We were thinking pizza,” Bradley says.

And just like that, you have lost the argument. Teenagers and pizza: there’s no separating them.

“Alright, go get ready, then,” you cave, unable to stop smiling when the girls cheer. “The sooner you get cleaned up, the sooner we can go.”

“Do we have time to do our makeup?” Belle asks.

“Of course,” you nod. “We don’t have time for a whole concert, though.”

The girls groan, but they know you’re right. Belle had to learn it from somewhere. She grew up watching you take forever to get ready because you played music and made a whole concert out of it. She started doing the same last year when she asked for some makeup.

Once they’re upstairs, you hear the shower turning on.

Rooster hears, too, and chuckles. “It’ll be a while, huh?”

“Probably,” you reply. “At least an hour.”

“That’s fine with me,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “So.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So?”

“What’s the story with you and Hangman?”

You shrug your shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant as you go back to cleaning up the kitchen. You left a mess in here after breakfast and only just now have gotten around to cleaning up. “We grew up in Austin together. That’s the story.”

“Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“There was too much,” he gestures toward you in big circles, “going on for that to be it.”

You laugh, maybe at his gesture, or maybe from how awkward this is. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“The rest of the story,” he presses. “Did you two date?”

“Maybe.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Brad. It’s nothing.” You spin around, shrugging again, wanting this conversation to die. “We dated. He broke up with me. That’s it. That’s the story.”

“He broke up with you?” Rooster asks, his face an expression of utter disbelief.

“Yeah?”

“Wow. He’s an idiot.”

“Thanks,” you snort. “But I knew that already.”

“Wait, so,” Rooster continues, and you see it as it happens. You see him connect the dots, and all you can do is watch in horror as it dawns on him. Realization washes over his face. His eyes widen. Then narrow. Then soften. “Wait,” he whispers.

“Yep,” you reply. You don’t even need to ask.

“Really?” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “Does he know?”

“Yeah,” you nod, taking a deep breath. “He found out at the party.”

“Oh, shit,” Rooster pushes himself off the counter. “So that’s what’s been wrong with him.”

“What?” you question, defensiveness already creeping into your bones. “What’s been wrong with him?”

“He’s just been…off,” Rooster says. “I figured he must’ve been dealing with something, but this?”

“It was his decision to leave me right before he went to basic,” you snap, not meaning to, and regretting it when you see Rooster straighten up. “Sorry. It-- He and I have talked about it already. I guess I just didn’t expect him to…show his feelings about this, I guess.”

“Damn,” Rooster laughs loudly. “He hasn’t changed much since high school, has he?”

“He’s changed a lot more than you know,” you murmur. And then, because curiosity gets the best of you, you ask, “Has he said anything to you?”

“About what?” Rooster asks. “About you? Oh, yeah. He said you two had a past.”

“Gotcha,” you nod. And that combined with the party just set Rooster’s curious nature on fire, so he had to come poking around here for answers from you.

“How awkward is dinner going to be?” Rooster grimaces. “I knew-- Okay, maybe I invited you for a reason and that reason was to see if he might cheer up or something, but with Belle too?”

“Oh, they’ll want their own table,” you wave his worry away, and yours -- hopefully. “They do every time.”

“Teenagers, man,” Rooster laughs. “Never thought I’d see the day I wasn’t cool enough for them.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Hey, since you’re here, put this up for me so I don’t have to climb on the counter.”

+++

When you walk into the pizza joint, Amelia and Belle immediately go to find their own table. Within eyesight of where you’re sitting, of course, because that’s the rule, but still separate from you.

They end up in a booth against the opposite wall of the restaurant. Out of earshot, naturally, because teenagers like their privacy. It used to bug you, but tonight you couldn’t be more grateful.

Hangman and Phoenix are already there, sitting next to one another, both in casual clothes. The green jealousy monster rears her ugly head within you, but you quickly quiet it down. This isn’t high school. And Jake isn’t yours anymore.

You sit next to Rooster, directly across from Jake. The two of you share an awkward smile.

The silence is almost just as bad until Phoenix (bless her) saves the day.

“Rooster didn’t tell us you were coming, but I’m glad you did,” she smiles. And for a moment, you want to murder Rooster. “I feel like we never really got to share embarrassing stories about Hangman.”

“I don’t have embarrassing stories,” Jake retorts.

You scoff. “Like hell you don’t.”

“She has the same southern drawl,” Phoenix says, shoving Hangman’s shoulder.

“His used to be worse than it is,” you chuckle, remembering high school Jake. Born and raised in Austin, he talked like a true Texan. He’s been gone and elsewhere for so long now that his accent has mostly dissipated, but you still hear it.

“Worse?” Phoenix says incredulously.

“Hey,” Jake interjects, feigning hurt. “I happen to love my southern drawl.”

“Where’d it go, then?” you quip, not intending to sound as combative as you do.

“Mom asks me that every time I talk to her,” Jake replies quietly, holding eye contact with you. “She says it’s a sign I need to come home.”

You hum. “I’d listen to her if I were you.”

If there’s one thing that has always been unwaveringly true about Jake Seresin, it’s that he is a momma’s boy, through and through. He listens to her every word. Your comment strikes a chord deep within him, and you’re well aware.

Before the conversation can veer toward anything else painfully awkward, the waitress comes over to take your orders.

After ordering for your table, you let the waitress know that you’re getting Amelia and Belle’s bill, too.

“Oh, also, I’m paying for the two teenagers over there,” you point to the girls. “I’m the mom.”

The waitress nods. “Gotcha. Do you know what they want?”

“They change their minds,” you smile. “And they’ll feel better if you let them order.”

“Ah, I see,” the waitress understands. “I’ll get these put in.”

“Thanks,” you say, and Rooster echoes you, eyeing the waitress a little too hard. You raise an eyebrow at him after she’s walked away. “Are your eyes stuck?”

He shifts his gaze toward you, sheepish. “What?”

“Nothin’,” you laugh. “You want me to ask her out for you?”

Rooster fake-laughs, his cheeks turning red. “Real funny.”

“You love me.”

“I hate you.”

“Same thing,” you shrug, grabbing your glass of water to take a sip. Your eyes meet Jake’s and he’s staring hard. “Are your eyes stuck too?”

Jake shakes his head slowly, but holds eye contact. “Nope.”

You decide to change subjects before this can get any worse. “So, Phoenix, what’s it like having to deal with these two all the time?”

She laughs. “It’s a pain.”

Both Rooster and Hangman make faces and look at Phoenix.

“But it’s been great,” she adds. “We’re like siblings now.”

“I know that feel,” you chuckle. “Rooster is the little brother I never knew I wanted.”

Rooster snorts. “Little brother. I’m older.”

“By one year.”

“Exactly.”

“So? Fuck off.”

“See what I deal with?” Rooster asks.

“I have to deal with you terrorizing Belle and Amelia, so arguably, I put up with worse,” you retort. “You almost broke a vase earlier.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it happens every time.”

Phoenix laughs as she listens to the two of you bickering like children. Jake, on the other hand, looks ready to kill Rooster. You’ve just said Rooster is like a brother to you, though, so you don’t know what Jake’s problem is.

Regardless, you’re not Jake’s anymore. He doesn’t get to be jealous, whether it’s justified or not. That ship sailed a long time ago.

The waitress comes by with refills and Rooster gets over himself, beginning to flirt with her, and she’s loving every second of it. You and Phoenix share a few looks as he continues his sweet talk.

Before anyone can razz him about his flirting, Belle and Amelia come up to your table looking for quarters.

“Shit, guys, I totally forgot,” you mutter. You always forget this place has an arcade. “Anyone have any quarters?” you ask the table, hoping someone will.

Rooster pulls a nickel out of his pocket and you snort. Phoenix doesn’t have any change on her, and Hangman is digging through his wallet.

“There’s a machine back there for cash,” he says, handing Belle and Amelia each a $5 bill. “That should be enough.”

You open your mouth to protest because that’s more than enough and he did not have to do that, but the girls are already running off.

Jake quietly folds his wallet and shoves it in his back pocket.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “It’s not a problem. I know how gut wrenching it is to not have anything for the arcade.”

That brings another sweet memory to mind, when Jake spent all night in the arcade trying to get you a ring. You had said it looked cute, and Jake made it his mission to win it for you.

He seems to be remembering that night, too, because he has that same look in his eyes. But neither of you say anything. You don’t need to.

[pinkdaisies9285]

gold rush

Jake Seresin x F!Reader (Callsign: Circe)

Warnings: Angst reader is in sad boi hours

Word Count: 1102

a love confession through music Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome to my new Jake series. Each Chapter is going to be inspired by a song! The first song is gold rush by Taylor Swift!! I hope I can appease the Jake girlies. Also, thank you to all my beta readers who had to read my ROUGH draft.

You watched his laughter light up the entire room from the corner. The type of laugh that made everyone turn their heads and see who it was. It made you envious of him and everyone else. Jealous of him drawing in so many admirers and jealous of everyone else being drawn into him. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from being drawn into Jake Seresin. The Navy pilot was beautiful and was the poster child of a ladies' man. Smart, funny, and easygoing, the list could go on.

You knew what you signed yourself up for when you joined Top Gun: difficult missions, high expectations, and hard senior officers. You weren’t signed up for falling in love with Jake “Hangman” Seresin. When you met Jake for the first time at the Hard Deck, you felt a rush of emotions. First was annoyance with his cocky attitude, next was the slight embarrassment when he asked about your callsign and you didn’t immediately reply, and finally was the feeling of knowing that a crush was starting to develop. 

“Hey, Circe, are you okay?” Bob’s question broke you out of your daydream. You didn’t even realize that you had gone so quiet for a while. 

“Yeah, I’m good. What’s up, Bob?”

“Oh, nothin’. Your face had a look of frustration so I was just worried,” The WSO had a concerned expression on his face. “Was it because of what happened today during the training exercises?”

The training exercises were hellish and frustrating for you. Maverick had decided to do dogfighting techniques and made you and Jake go against each other. While you were always up to practice dogfighting, you weren’t as successful against Jake. He was a distraction. Jake would toy with you over the comms the entire exercise. He said, “Come on, Circe, is that all you got?” Or “Not close enough, Cir. Try again.” 

Everything was said with a cocky tone and you could imagine the smirk on his face while he said these things. The teasing and missed shots resulted in you having to do at least 200 push-ups, and you could still feel the soreness in your arms from doing those push-ups. Either way, you were appreciative of Bob worrying about you and why you were going through what seemed like a spiral. “It's not that, Bob, but thank you again for looking out for me. I just have something on my mind but, hopefully, I’ll figure it out soon.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bob seemed like he wanted to help you with whatever was going on in your head. Besides you had helped him with setting him up with his girlfriend. The least he could do was help you with your problems.

“Nah don’t worry about it.” you smiled his way and decided to get up and get a drink from the bar. Maybe Penny could help you with your woes, whether it be with a drink or conversation. Weaving yourself through the crowd to the bar, you leaned on the edge of the counter waiting to flag down Penny. 

“What’s up, Circe? Got something on your mind?” Penny asked while getting your regular order ready. “Man troubles?”

“How did you know?” you asked while looking slightly surprised that she instantly knew what was your problem. “Was it obvious?”  

“Your face is kinda an open book when you’re here,” she replied with a slight smile. “Also you’ve been staring at Jake for a good 40 minutes with a longing look.”

You were stunned by how easily Penny could figure out, not only what the problem was, but who was at the center of the problem. Were you that easy to read? Could Jake notice it too? Either way, you decided to confide in Penny with your dilemma. “Well, you got me there, Penny. If I’m being honest–”

“You like Jake. Regardless of his reputation.” Penny finished your sentence knowing exactly how you felt because she had felt it with Maverick when they first met in the 80s. “I’ve been in your shoes, Circe, and it’s hard to want a man who seems unattainable. Do you want to pursue these feelings or get rid of them?” 

That question made you think. Do you want to try for Jake, or do you want to get over him and move on? Whatever option you picked, you felt like you would suffer some type of consequence. Being with him would probably make you harbor feelings of jealousy about being with someone everyone wants. Not being with him would make you feel stupid and confirm your fears of not being worthy of him. “I’m not sure Pen. I feel like it's a Catch-22 situation for me.”

“Well, you better decide quickly because someone else is trying to snatch up your man.” Penny pointed over to the beautiful woman who had caught Jake’s attention. 

Jake had instantaneously started to flirt with her and it hurt to watch. Yet, this happened every time at the Hard Deck. You would sit and watch Jake pick up a drop-dead gorgeous woman and leave with her. It made you feel like you shouldn’t even try. Based on the type of women Jake goes for, you didn’t compare. It was one of the main reasons why you hadn’t tried to pursue him. The other one was that Jake seemed to treat you “like one of the guys.” It didn’t matter what you did, trying to wear a little bit of makeup or stepping up your casual outfits to the Hard Deck. He didn’t see you as anything but a coworker. 

You down the drink Penny had put in front of you and gave her your card. You couldn’t stand to watch this unfold for the thousandth time. After Penny closed your tab, she gave back your card with a sad smile on her face. “You calling it a night, Cir?”

“Yeah, I think I need to figure out what I’m going to do. Thanks for the advice, Penny.” you got up and said goodbye to the older woman. Weaving your way to the door, you took a deep breath after stepping out the door. 

Fishing your keys out while meandering over to your car, you thought someone said your name. Turning back you see no one, so you hop into your car. Sighing, you put the key into the ignition, and it sputtered to life. The sound of your phone connecting to the Bluetooth was instant. It started playing the next song on your playlist from the drive to work this morning. The first notes began.

“Gleaming, twinkling…….”

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Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

[az-cain]

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

Jake Seresin ≈ 800 words

This is based entirely on my experiences with PTSD, which is from CSA not war or grief. My apologies if it’s inaccurate to your experiences, but please do not invalidate my own.

TW FOR: First person descriptions of PTSD, descriptions of dead bodies, delusion related to PTSD, self-hatred, alcoholism as a coping mechanism, denial of PTSD/mental illness

@tgm-all4one

Fire. The world’s engulfed in fire. Stench. The world smells like your burning flesh, scorching metal and glass. The oil of the F-14 burns on top of the water, the blue water turning black. The fuselage is floating, bodies glaring in the afternoon light. Your brown eyes stare at the sky, Captain Mitchell’s eyes obscured by bloody water.

Tears. I feel hot tears streak down my face as I hover in the rescue heli. They’re striking my visor. I can’t see. Stop crying. Stop crying. Men don’t cry. Stop crying. It’s part of the job. Stop crying.

Echoes. The echoes of Bradshaw’s words fill my ears. The only place you're going to lead anyone is an early grave; the only place you're going to lead anyone is an early grave; the only place—

The bed’s so cold. I should be used to waking up like this, but I’m not. The sheets are wet with my sweat, so I’ll dry my eyes and rise stiffly from the bed, stripping the sheets and walking to the laundry room.

—

It’s consuming me. Maybe Bradshaw’s killed himself. Maybe I wasn’t able to save him. Not in any way that mattered.

No. He’s alive.

But what if he isn’t?

He’s fine.

No he isn’t.

He’s dead.

Fuck, he’s dead.

Fuck, tears are running down my face. I’m sorry, Bradshaw. I wanted to save you.

I know you’re hurting too. I know you wish you’d died back then. You’d be with your family. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have saved you.

Fuck, my phone is in my hand. His number is pulled up and ringing.

Fuck, he picked up.

“Hey.”

Oh. He’s alive. Don’t say anything. Maybe he’ll think it was a butt dial. God, I wanna say something.

“Hangman?”

“Don’t call me that.” Shit. I don’t wanna be Hangman. I’m Jake, let me be Jake. Let me be Jake.

“Oh. Okay. Seresin. What’s up?”

I was convinced you’d killed yourself. I don’t know if I made the right choice saving you. It got me disciplined. No, that’s not why. Fuck. It was worth it, but do you think so? Do you want to live?

“I’m just checking in on you. Difficult day today, anniversary and all, you know?”

“Yeah.” You swallow so loudly. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out. “It’s definitely been that. And you? Was it hard for you?”

God yes. It was so hard. I haven’t stopped crying all day. My throat hurts. My eyes hurt. My heart hurts.

“Not too bad. I wasn’t the one who almost died, I was mostly just concerned for you.”

“Oh. Well yeah, but you took someone else’s life that day. I’d get it if you were a little stressed.”

Yeah. I did. My second person I’ve murdered. That pilot had a family. Neither of you did. Maybe they should have lived. You two could have died and not been missed so dearly. But I would have missed you. God, I’m so selfish. I’m sorry.

“I’m alright. Just making sure you’re alright.”

“Yeah, Seresin. I’ll make it.”

“Good. Have a good night, Bradshaw.”

“You, too.”

—

This stupid fucking bottle is empty. I didn’t drink it all. I took a glass last night. I know this is a problem. My throat hurts. All the lights are on in the house. I’m scared of the dark again. I can see everything so clearly. My eyes hurt. Fuck. I can't see anything.

I need to vomit. I can't walk. The bathroom is so far away. Oh. I have a trash can. It’s closer. I stumble towards it, falling onto my knees with a groan. Dammit. I’m so useless. Why am I still sobbing? I’m good for nothing, a sissy. They all made it out, you fucking moron. Everyone’s fine but you. Come on. Come on. Come on.

I hurl into the trash can. It tastes really bad. Like stomach acid and whiskey, because that’s pretty much all that’s in it. I think I should lay down. So I will. I’ll lay down right here and sleep.

—

The sun hurts my eyes. The kitchen window is letting too much light in. I wonder what time it is. Usually the light doesn’t come through this window until about noon. I’m trying to cover my eyes, but they still hurt as I look at the clock. 1300. It’s late. I had a date this morning.

Too bad, I guess. Good for nothing.

I should call her. Apologize. Or maybe the military therapist. Apologize. Nah. I’ll be fine. I’ll deal with it on my own.

At least there were no nightmares tonight.