Midnight Musings & Menace

Bucky Barnes

Chaos: You and Bucky are involved in a friends with benefits situation. But when feelings start to creep in, you’re not quite sure if this situation is the best for you anymore. 🍒 ✨

Dangerously Close: You & Bucky are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way you two are getting together is with some extreme meddling. 🍒 🪐 [Completed]

That Old Feeling: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before. 🍒 🪐 (AU)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

What We Never Were: You need a fake boyfriend for your sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, your childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth. You think he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for you to see him. 🧸ྀི 🍒 🪐 [Completed]

Warmth: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time. 🍒 🪐

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Flight Risk: For you, Bob Floyd is just the kind of guy you want. Smart. Sweet. Soft-spoken. The kind that won't break your heart. For Bob, you're the kind of woman that takes his breath away. Calm. Cool. Stunning. The kind you'd want to sweep off her feet. So this should be easy, right? Right? 🍒 🪐 [Completed]

Owen Taylor

Something Like Salvation: You visit home reluctantly, only to find Owen Taylor has returned. But some things are different now. No longer are you the obedient girl nor is Owen Taylor the pious golden boy. In quiet corners and long drives, you chase something warm and reckless. It may not be redemption... but for Owen, you felt something like salvation. 🍒 🪐 [Completed]

The following days were filled with mundane conversation. He felt like he just had to hear a quip back from you to brighten his day. Some replies made him chuckle out loud, warranting him a weird look from the squad at times.

JAKE: How does Captain feel about peanut butter? Asking for science.

YOU: Captain loves peanut butter. But also cardboard. So take that with what you will.

JAKE: I’m contemplating on bringing a jar for further investigation.

YOU: Not going to let you bribe my dog and use science as cover up. 

A day later, he finally caved because well… he just really wanted to see you again. And friends hang out right? Right.

JAKE: Captain deserves a playdate. Ocean run? I know a spot.

It took you agonizingly—at least for Jake it was–an hour to respond. 

YOU: Only if I can come too.

He read it five times. And again, like an idiot, spent the day smiling like a hanger was stuck to his mouth.

Now he’s parked outside your place, window down, elbow resting on the frame like he’s the picture of chill. Captain barks once from inside the house and Jake sits up straighter. The door opens and there you are. Loose t-shirt, bike shorts, sunglasses perched on your head, and Captain pulling excitedly at the leash in your hand. 

You squint at him as you step out, that signature guarded smile tugging at your mouth.  “Let me guess. You missed Captain.”

Jake smirks. “Obviously. I’ve been dreaming about this fluffy traitor.”

Captain lunges forward like he’s been waiting for this reunion all week. Jake opens the passenger door and the dog jumps in without hesitation.

You raise a brow. “You sure it’s okay if he sheds all over your truck?”

“Not like it’s his first time, he practically lives in it now,” Jake says easily, then gestures to the seat. “You coming or...?”

You pause. Then sigh, walking around to the other side. “Just so we’re clear—you’re only here for the dog.”

“Exactly,” he says, eyes tracking you the whole way. The voice inside his head screaming ‘Liar.’

The bluff is quiet, the kind of place you have to know to find. Jake pulls up near the edge of a small cliff, the ocean stretching out endlessly beneath you both, waves crashing into jagged rocks. Captain barrels out the moment you unclip the leash, barking joyfully as he launches himself across the sand.

Jake sets up a couple of foldable chairs from the back of his truck. He hands you a drink, keeps things light. You both watch Captain run, laugh when he faceplants in a patch of wet sand. The air is salty and warm. The kind of perfect California day that makes everything seem easier.

Jake tilts his head toward you. “So what do you do, Y/N Y/L/N?”

You sip your drink. “Guess.”

He looks you over, lips twitching. “Corporate shark. Or like… a spy.”

You snort. “Wow.”

“I’m wrong?”

You laugh. “Very. I write children’s books.”

Jake blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Yup.”

“Like picture books?”

You nod. “Mostly. About mermaids. And dragons. Sometimes both.”

Jake grins so wide it makes you blink. “Okay, that’s—no offense—adorable.”

“I’ll allow it,” you say, cheeks pink.

Jake turns to face you more. “That’s actually really cool. Do the characters have names?”

“Mira the Mermaid Queen. And Basil. He’s a dragon with social anxiety.”

Jake clutches his chest. “I’m in love.”

“You’re in love with Basil?”

“Obviously.”

You chuckle. Despite how cocky Jake seemed, you didn’t think gushing over a cartoon dragon would be something he’d be so open with. 

You look at him, “So… what about you? Why an aviator?”

Jake hesitates. “My dad was Air Force. Never around much. But when he flew over town in formation once, I looked up and thought… I wanna be the guy who makes people look up.”

He looks down, thumb brushing the condensation on his bottle. “I think I spent a long time chasing his shadow. Maybe still am.”

You’re quiet for a beat, your eyes softening in a way that tugs at something inside him.

You say gently, “I get that.”

Jake glances at you. “You close with your parents?”

You blink, just once, and something in your face shifts. Not much, but enough for Jake to notice.

“Yeah.” you say simply. “Yeah. I am.”

You smile then, quick and practiced. Not sad, but... measured. Like the door shut behind the words before he could step through them.

Jake doesn’t press. But damn if he doesn’t want to pull you into his arms. He looks at you a little longer than he means to. It leads to a comfortable silence between the two of you as you both watch Captain trotting by the beach. 

At one point, you brush his arm once when you reach for the water bottle beside him. Another time when you point at something on his phone. Each touch is casual, unconscious.

Jake is screaming internally to simply grab your hand, intertwine it with his. But still, on the surface, he smiles and keeps his hand to himself.

After an hour or two, you pack up and Captain is too tired to protest the leash. The three of you walk slowly back to Jake’s truck, with Captain quickly passing out in the back seat. 

You smile genuinely, “Thanks for this. Captain really had a good time.”

“I did too.” He replies sincerely

“Would have never pegged you as a dog person.” you admit

“Have one back at home, but in my current lifestyle, it would be cruel to get a dog.” 

“I get that. Maybe when you’ve set down roots somewhere.” you suggest nonchalantly

He looks at you softly, a passing look of hope flashes on his face before he can even stop, “Yeah, maybe.” 

The drive back to your place is again quiet. But no nervousness. Only calm and peace from a good day spent. You ask him at some point if you can play some music and he simply nods. Music fills his truck and Jake relishes in the moment, hearing you humming along.

Once you finally arrive at your house,  you turn to him casually. “You hungry?”

Jake raises a brow. “Are you inviting me to dinner, Y/L/N?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make it weird. I need to wash Captain off anyway. Come in or don’t.”

His mouth twitches. “Lead the way.”

Watching you care for Captain is a whole new flavor of dangerous. 

You kneel in the bathroom, sleeves rolled up, wet dog shampoo and towels everywhere. You murmur to him like he’s a toddler—soothing, gentle, completely in control. You kiss him on his snout softly while washing his paws.

Jake leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, heart pounding harder than it had all morning.

Jesus. She’s gonna kill me. I’m not walking out of this house sane.

“Are you gonna just stand there or help me hold him still?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After drying Captain off, he simply heads to the bedroom where his bed is and ignores you and Jake altogether. 

“Rude. Not even a thank you.” Jake comment jokingly

“You get used to being taken for granted.” You chuckle

He smiles and pauses to look at you. The moment is filled with sudden tension that had been underlying the entire time. His eyes fleet to your lips, unconsciously. You were almost sure he wasn’t even aware.

You clear your throat while handing him off a towel, “You can freshen up in the guest bathroom. I need to freshen up too.” 

Jake nods and swallows. He knows friends shouldn’t have tension. It should be easy. Flowing. Natural. Platonic. But god, there was nothing platonic about how he really just wants to kiss you. And watching you walk back to your bedroom shouldn’t make him ache the way he does.

Soon after, you both find yourself in the kitchen. Jake doesn’t really know what to expect. Apparently, it was a simple and quick pasta dish. You pan-cook some fillet chicken and toss the cooked pasta in pre-made pesto sauce. Jake sits at your kitchen island, watching you move. The smell quickly making his stomach grumble.

You serve him a bowl without asking, tossing some grated parmesan cheese on top like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.

Jake takes a bite. Nearly groans.

“You okay over there?” you ask.

He blinks. “Where did you get this sauce?”

You look confused, “I made it.”

“So you just randomly make pesto sauce from scratch?”

You chuckle, “I don’t randomly make it. It’s so I can have quick dinners. Like this.”

Jake is still stunned at how delicious your food is, “I just decided I’m going to marry your cooking.”

You snort. “So dramatic. You’ve obviously been starving”

He watches you laugh. He sees the curve of your smile, the shine in your eyes, the way you sway slightly while drying your hands on a towel. And for a split second, he imagines this being his kitchen too.He imagines a shared coffee maker. You in his shirt. Captain snoring in a bed that isn’t just his.

Jake has to grip the edge of the counter. A bitter thought popped into his head. How the hell am I supposed to be friends with her?

Later that night when Jake takes a seat at the Hard Deck, the Dagger Squad wastes no time.

“You doing friends now, Hangman?” Bradley asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Jake rolls his eyes as he takes a sip from his beer.. The squad had been hanging in the Hard Deck after training and Jake had, in a moment of weakness, mentioned the beach hang when they asked where he’d been.

“Like actual friends? No flirting? No trying to get in her pants?” Reuben chimed in.

“Sounds fake,” Mickey added. “Was there a head injury we missed?”

“She’s different,” Jake said simply.

“Oooh,” Bradley drawled. “He’s in love.”

“I will throw you off this bar stool,” Jake warned.

“Didn’t peg you for a slow burn kinda guy.” Bob says.

Jake scowls. “It’s what she wants.”

Natasha leans forward, curious now. “And you’re cool with that?”

Jake doesn’t answer right away. He takes a long sip of his drink.

“I’m playing the long game,” he says finally.

Javy chuckled. “Man, the last time Hangman acted like this, he was trying to convince his flight instructor he had emotional depth.”

“Shut up,” Jake muttered.

 Natasha raises a brow. “So you’re not gonna crack?”

Jake laughs humorlessly. “I’m in Top Gun. I thrive under pressure and if it’s what she wants, I’ll play the part.”

He leans back in his chair, trying to appear relaxed.

“She asked me to be her friend. So I am.”

But later, as he stared at his phone and resisted the urge to text her again, Jake thought about what Bradley had said.

He’s in love.

Jake wasn’t sure what this was. But like he said:

She asked him to be her friend. So he is.

But God, it’s killing him.

Part II – Treading Lines

Tin’s birthday falls on a Friday night, which means the whole crew is gathered at her place. Chesca’s there in a silk top and gold hoops, already two cocktails in and loudly proclaiming herself the birthday hype woman. The Dagger Squad is crammed into every corner of the house, red cups in hand, laughing too loud and bumping into furniture. It’s humid and chaotic and exactly the kind of night you normally dread.

But not tonight. Because Jake’s here. And somehow, being near him makes everything feel... lighter. When that happened, you weren’t sure.

Captain’s not invited, unfortunately. Tin had declared this a human-only celebration but you left him happily snoring on your couch, already spoiled with peanut butter chews and too many kisses. You wore a soft red dress that Chesca picked out, one that makes your curves feel hugged instead of hidden.

Jake noticed. You felt it.

You try not to look too often, but he’s there. Laughing with Bradley in the kitchen. Glancing over every few minutes. You keep telling yourself this is fine. You’re friends now. And he’s good at it—texting you every morning, bringing Captain treats, leaning in just enough when you laugh but never pushing.

He’s a good guy, you think. Maybe the best you’ve met in a long time. And being friends with someone like Jake Seresin? That’s not a bad place to be. Right?

“Angel face,” Tin says loudly, appearing beside you with a cupcake and a pleading smile. “Please. For me.”

You blink. “What?”

“Sing something,” she says. “You promised.”

“I promised no such thing.”

Chesca appears from behind, already pulling you toward the little makeshift stage area—just a rug near the fireplace with a mic set up from one of Natasha’s gear bags. “You sang at her last birthday. I have video evidence. Don’t make me post it.”

“I don’t sing in front of military-grade people. That’s not fair,” you protest.

Then Jake is there, close behind, his voice smooth. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give us a little something. I’ve heard a lot about your voice. Haven’t heard it myself yet.”

You turn to him slowly. “You want me to sing?”

He nods, gaze warm. “Yeah. I want to know what else you’re hiding.”

You roll your eyes but the warmth spreads down your spine anyway. Ugh, why does his voice sound so convincing. He was able to coax you into making out outside the Hard Deck… And inside it. Okay. Stop. 

You shake away the dangerous train of thought immediately and focus back to reluctantly accepting your fate, “Fine. Tin picks.”

Tin grins like the devil and immediately cues up a song. You hear the soft guitar intro before the lyrics even flash across the screen.

Love Will Keep Us Alive.

You exhale. “Seriously?”

“It’s my birthday,” Tin sing-songs. “And it’s a classic.”

The room quiets. Someone dims the lights. You step up, heart pounding, and bring the mic to your lips.

The first line is soft. Tentative. But as the melody winds through you, your voice finds the center of the note. Smooth. Rich. Pure emotion. You don’t even look at anyone—you just let it out.

Jake is mesmerized. Not just because you sound like honey and heartbreak and something that lives under the skin. But because you mean it. You feel it. And he wants to know everything about you.

When the song ends, the applause is thunderous. Jake just stares.

Later, when he hands you a drink, he says quietly, “You’re full of surprises, Y/L/N.”

You give him a small smile. “Can’t give away everything, right”

God, I want to, Jake thinks.

You both drift toward the patio together after that. The crowd is easy, the music louder now. Jake lets his hand touch your lower back when someone brushes past you, guides you with light fingers around your waist when you slip through the hallway. You don’t pull away. You even glance at him with a little smile, like it’s normal.

Jake is happy. He lets himself be. Then it happens. A switch.

You go to grab another drink, and that’s when you bump into him—broad-shouldered, black fitted shirt, tattoos crawling down one arm, long dark hair tied back in a loose bun. His smile is crooked, his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Y/N?”

You blink. “James?”

You laugh, startled. “What are you—”

“Visiting,” he says, grinning. “Work thing. Couldn’t not crash Tin’s birthday when I heard. And well, you look... good. Great actually”

You feel your cheeks flush. “It’s been a while.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation. You dated in New York. It was brief, but it was good. You liked him, maybe more than you wanted to admit. But with your move looming, it had been a soft ending. No mess. Just bad timing.

Now, standing here in this humid house with his smile exactly the same, something tugs at your chest.

Jake watches from across the patio, beer in hand, leaning against the doorway. Bradley and Natasha are beside him, chatting about something he’s not hearing at all. He sees James lean in a little too close.

Bradley follows Jake’s gaze. “Who’s the guy?”

“James,” Chesca says behind them, sipping a neon drink. “Y/N’s New York almost-boyfriend. Very mutual, very hot, very sad goodbye.”

Jake clenches his jaw. “And now he’s back?”

Chesca smirks. “Visiting. But you know what, man’s got the same vibe as you, Seresin. Cocky, smug, stupid hot.”

Natasha laughs. “He’s like if you got filtered through a Manhattan whiskey bar. Less hair product, more tattoos.”

Bradley sips his beer. “Think Y/N’s got a thing for J-names?”

Mickey adds, “Better watch out Javy”

Javy throws Mickey a look. He knows better than to get on Jake’s already sensitive nerve. And the way Jake doesn’t laugh at his joke says it all.

But there was one person laughing. You. Because  James just made you laugh. And Jake’s blood runs hot. He sees James touch your arm. His hand lingers. And Jake doesn’t even think. He moves before his brain can reason.

As the squad watches Jake approach you and James, Mickey mutters, “Uh oh. There goes Hangman. Game face on.”

Jake wraps an arm loosely around your waist. You are taken aback by the touch and look at Jake surprised.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “Everything good here?”

James blinks. “Yeah, just catching up. Didn’t mean to monopolize.”

Jake smiles, all teeth. “No worries. She’s great at multitasking.”

You glance between them, sensing the weight in the air. Surprised there even was any.

James feels your discomfort and raises a brow at Jake, then smirks at you. “We’ll catch up more later, yeah?”

You nod silently, putting on a small smile to assure him. Jake’s fingers tighten slightly as he watches James walk off. The second he’s gone, you turn to Jake.

As soon as James is out of earshot, you step back from Jake’s arm, an annoyed expression on your face. “What the hell was that?”

Jake simply shrugs. “Didn’t like the way he touched you.”

You fold your arms. “You don’t get to act like that. You agreed to be friends.”

His eyes narrow, responding before thinking. “You’re the one who asked for friends.”

You pause, “I can’t be territorial. And don’t say you’re not because you were.”

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Not denying it sweetheart. I agreed to be friends but it’s too much to ask that I watch some guy paw at you in front of me.”

You scoff. “He wasn’t pawing at me.”

“Right,” Jake says. “He’s got a  smirk that says he wants to fuck you. Real subtle.”

You blink. “So what? I dated him before, I should be able to talk to him if I wanted to.”

Jake leans in slightly. “Explain to me why you can date him, but not me. Were you guys friends before dating too?”

You freeze.

Jake tilts his head. “Yeah I’m pissed. Because I’m right here. Doing exactly what you asked. Being what you said you wanted. And then he walks in with his tattoos and his stupid fuck-me grin and you light up like he invented air.”

You shake your head slowly. “This isn’t fair.”

Jake backs up a step. “You’re right. It’s not.”

He turns and walks off, leaving your pulse skittering and your mouth open. 2 weeks in and he already despises this friends thing. The uncertainty of it pisses him off when he doesn’t want you just as a friend. He wants you in his life totally. Completely. No holds barred. 

Part III – Breaking Point

You haven’t seen or spoken to Jake since the party.

It’s been three days. You’re not exactly avoiding him but you’re also not reaching out. Part pride, part guilt, part not knowing what to say. You keep playing the moment back. The sharpness in his voice, the look in his eyes. How he walked away without waiting for you to say anything else.

You told yourself you were doing the right thing—setting boundaries, keeping things clean. But now all you feel is... off. Like a thread inside you has been tugged too tight and everything is unraveling from the inside out.

You’ve rewritten a dozen texts and deleted every one. You keep glancing at your phone, chewing on your thumbnail, telling yourself that if he wanted to talk, he would. Right?

Captain huffs dramatically from the floor, looking up at you with those big golden eyes like he’s judging you.

“What?” you whisper.

He tilts his head.

“I’m not doing it. He can text me first.”

Captain groans and gets up, walking to the door and looking back expectantly.

You sigh. Rub your hands over your face. You shouldn’t miss Jake. You shouldn’t care that you haven’t heard from him. But you do.

And Captain’s expression says it all: Stop being stubborn. You like him. Just do something about it.

You grab your phone. Type before you even stop yourself.

You still up?

Jake’s been staring at your contact for the past hour. The whiskey is untouched on his nightstand. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, one sock on, trying to convince himself to sleep instead of doing something stupid.

He’s about to give in. About to type something like, So are we gonna ignore each other forever or what?—when your text pops up.

You still up?

His heart lurches. He types back too fast. Way too fast.

Always.

Then:

YOU: You wanna come by?

JAKE: On my way.

God, I’m pathetic, Jake thinks, already pulling on his hoodie and grabbing his keys. Can’t even make her wait five minutes. Fuck’s sake.

But he’s smiling anyway. Relief flooding through him.

You’ve just finished setting a small plate down on the back porch when he knocks on the side gate. Captain perks up, tail wagging. Jake steps into the backyard, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes already scanning for you.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

Captain trots over and presses into Jake’s legs like he belongs there. Jake crouches down, rubbing behind his ears, before his eyes flick back up to you.

“I, uh... have cheesecake,” you offer.

Jake lifts a brow. “Homemade?”

You nod. “Double chocolate. From scratch.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Peace offering?”

You shrug. “Maybe... I’ve heard it can resolve conflicts.”

You both sit in silence for a while, a few feet apart beside each other on the cushioned outdoor lounge. The string lights above hum gently. Captain curls up nearby, already dozing.

Jake takes a bite. “Okay. Yeah. If this is a bribe, it’s working.”

You smile faintly. But tension sits thick in the space between you.

Eventually, Jake breaks it. “I was gonna text you tonight.”

You glance at him.

“Didn’t,” he continues. “Because Tin and Natasha basically threatened me. Said if I pushed, you’d pull away.”

You nod slowly. “They told me not to wait. Said you’d probably spiral and start writing country songs.”

Jake huffs a laugh. “I might’ve.”

You fall quiet again. Then you speak.

“I’ve been thinking,” you begin, eyes fixed on your fingers. “That… you don’t actually know me.”

Jake shifts slightly. “You’ve said that before.”

You nod. “I think you have this idea of who I am. Like… an interesting girl with a dog that’s a bit challenging. But it’s not just some front you’re supposed to break down. There’s messy parts of me. Time when I shut down. I second-guess a lot. And… I pull away when I want something because it’s easier than being let down.”

He listens, brows furrowed.

“I look at you, Jake, and I think—maybe you’re better off with someone simple. Someone who doesn’t spin out in her head every five minutes. Someone easy to be with.”

Jake leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You really think I want easy?”

You shrug. “Don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No. You don’t get to decide that for me.”

You look up, quiet.

Jake’s jaw tightens. “You think I’m some frat-boy cliché with a pilot license? That I want a girl who just agrees with everything I say and smiles on cue? I may not fully understand what this is but I know I want you, Y/N. You—exactly like this. Overthinking, fire-mouthed, smarter than anyone in the damn room. Do you know how long it’s been since someone made me work for it?”

You stare at him. He’s leaning closer. The distance between you becoming smaller than both of you realize.

“You drive me crazy,” he says, voice low. “And I still want to be around you. That’s gotta mean something.”

You whisper, “It does.”

Jake swallows. His eyes flick to your lips. “Then stop running.”

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe both of you. One second, you’re breathing each other’s air, and the next—

Jake kisses you. Hard.

His hand slides to your waist, pulling you into him. Your hands tangle in his hoodie, tugging him closer. You gasp when he bites your bottom lip and he takes the opportunity, deepening the kiss. It’s desperate. Messy. So much unsaid poured into the heat between you.

One hand slides up your neck to cup your jaw, keeping your face close to his as he slides his tongue between your lips. Your sundress rides up as you shift onto your knees, then you’re straddling him on the cushioned lounge, your legs on either side of his hips. Jake’s hand on your waist slides under the hem, gripping your thigh like he’s been thinking about it for weeks.

“God,” he groans against your mouth. “These dresses—Jesus.”

You roll your hips forward instinctively and he curses again, kissing down your jaw, your neck, sucking gently just below your ear. You’re dizzy. Your hands slide under his shirt, palms against warm skin. He groans when your nails scratch lightly down his back.

His hands continue to roam—your hips, your back, up to your ribs. His thumbs press into your waist, holding you still as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring it.

“I’ve wanted this,” he mutters. “So fucking bad.”

You nod, breathless, kissing him again, deeper. But then, you slowly come to a stop. Your forehead drops against his. 

Your breathing is shallow. “Jake...”

He doesn’t move, just holds you steady.

“Don’t say sorry,” he murmurs.

“I’m not. I just... I can’t. Not yet.”

Jake nods slowly. One hand cups your cheek, thumb slowly caressing your cheek.

“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “When you’re ready, you tell me. Until then, I’m not going anywhere.”

You allow yourself to stay in the moment in his arms, accepting his touch. A small step for others maybe, considering how many times you’ve kissed. But you know, deep within you, that at some unknown point in time, Jake Seresin has crawled under your skin and has settled there.

Part IV–  The Shift

Three days pass before Jake asks to see you again.

You keep telling yourself it’s normal. He’s a working aviator, his schedule is unpredictable. His life doesn’t revolve around you—but part of you worries he’s giving you space. You told him you weren’t ready. You kissed him like you were starving and then hit the brakes. That has to mess with a guy’s head.

Still, he texts. Every morning like clockwork. His consistency had somehow become endearing.

JAKE: You dream about me again or is that just wishful thinking? YOU: Did you mean to text this to yourself? JAKE: I only dream of you dreaming about me. YOU: Well, dream on then.

JAKE: I think I miss you. YOU: Keep texting like this and I might start thinking you have feelings for me. JAKE: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just fond of you.

That makes you laugh out loud. 

Two days after that: JAKE: You think about me at inconvenient times? YOU: Just when I’m trying to be an irrational person. JAKE: Love being a mental distraction.

JAKE: I can confirm now that indeed I do miss you. YOU: Maybe it’s indigestion.

Finally, Jake is no longer able to keep himself away from you:

JAKE: You free and Cap free on Friday? You: I’ll have to check with my secretary. JAKE: Pen me in. I’m bringing takeout and inappropriate thought. 7 okay? You: I’ll only open the door for pizza.

It makes Jake smile. 

The day before Jake comes over, Tin and Chesca are at your place. It’s loud. Open wine, snacks, Captain curled on the rug between all of you like a gossip circle mascot.

“So,” Tin says, pointing a cracker at you. “What’s going on with you and Top Gun?”

You groan. “We’re friends.”

Chesca narrows her eyes. “Friends who what—kiss like their lives depend on it?” before adding slyly, “Or maybe friends who straddle?”

You blink. “Who told—”

Chesca smiles smugly, having caught you as Tin gasps. “So there’s a straddle? When did that happen?”

You groan and cover your face as you realize it was a bait. “It wasn’t like that.”

Chesca smirks. “Except it seems like it absolutely was.”

You go red. “That... was recent.”

Chesca throws a pillow at you. “You’ve been holding out!”

Tin leans forward, voice softer. “Is it serious?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. It feels... intense. And confusing. And very, very good.”

Chesca raises a brow. “Y/N. You bagged Jake Seresin. You also had James. Do you understand the rest of us mere mortals are struggling?”

You cover your face. “It’s... complicated.”

Tin softens. “Do you like him?”

“Of course I do,” you admit. “It’s just... I don’t know what we are. He makes me feel things I forgot I could feel. But he’s Jake. Golden-boy, Navy pilot, full-blown 'meet me in the hangar' energy.”

Chesca snorts. “You also had James. Let’s not pretend you don’t attract the human embodiment of thirst.”

You smile. “It’s not that I don’t think I’m hot. I just think... guys like Jake—they see me as exciting. Different. But maybe not... sustainable.”

Chesca stops you, “You’re hot. You write about dragons. You make cheesecake from scratch. He’s lucky if he gets to keep you.”

You exhale. “I just don’t want to get this wrong.”

Tin touches your hand. “Then don’t sabotage it before it starts.”

Jake, on the other hand, is noticeably in a good mood.

He’s whistling during drills. Not snapping at maintenance crews. Smiling into his coffee like it’s a love letter.

Bradley notices it first. “Seresin, you’re humming. That’s a red flag.”

Natasha corners him in the hangar. “You get laid or something?”

Jake just smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Javy raises an eyebrow. “Heard someone’s playing house on Friday.”

Bradley grins. “If you start bringing Tupperware meals and whistling in briefings, we’re staging an intervention.”

Jake rolls his eyes, but can’t stop smiling. No one, not even Rooster, can ruin his mood. Because he's good. He's real good.

Friday evening Jake shows up in a hoodie and jeans, pizza in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. Captain loses his mind. Like it’s been 5 years since they last saw each other. 

“Dude,” Jake laughs, crouching down. “It's been like just a less than week.”

You’re already smiling when you open the door. “You brought food. You may enter.”

You settle in quickly. Sharing the pizza first, deciding the movie after. You curl up on the couch, Jake on one end, you on the other, a blanket tossed over both your legs.

He opens the wine and pours you both a glass.

“So,” you ask, voice casual, “ever had a serious girlfriend?”

Jake shrugs. “A few. Nothing recent. One in college. One before I deployed a couple years ago.”

“What happened?”

He looks at you, not dodging. “Different lives. Different timelines. One cheated. One just drifted. None of them got this far.”

You sip your wine. “This far?”

Jake’s voice is quieter. “With me thinking about porch lights and dogs and what your handwriting looks like on birthday cards.”

You look down.

He watches you carefully. “What about you?”

You hesitate. “I haven’t had anything serious since... since my parents died.”

Suddenly, the moment on the beach flashes in Jake’s memory. The shift in your face when he asked if you were close to your parents. He feels a twinge of regret at the casual tone he used when he asked about it. 

You look at him with uncertainty. Then he realizes this is you opening up. Letting him in. Sharing this piece of crucial information makes you vulnerable. 

Despite the initial urge to hug you, instead Jake’s expression softens instantly. “Y/N...”

“I was an only child. No other family. I was really close to my parents and it was just so sudden. It kind of... shut something down in me. Like I couldn’t risk losing anything else, so I just stopped trying to keep things.”

Jake’s chest tightens. He thinks how losing everything must have destroyed you. Because it would have destroyed him. The admiration he had for your strength increases by ten-fold. He stays silent. Let you have your moment before reaching over and squeezing your hand.

You wave a hand. “It’s okay. It’s been a few years. The sadness just kind of lingers now. I just... I think it changed something in me. Made me wary of holding on too tight. Because when it breaks, it really breaks.”

Jake nods slowly, resisting to pull you into his arms. He understands you don’t want pity nor comfort. You only wanted him to understand.

“You seem like someone who holds on tight,” he says instead.

You smile softly. “Yeah. I guess I just didn’t trust anyone to hold tight to me”

You eventually move on from the conversation and you’re thankful Jake doesn’t press further. Jake has learned to understand your cues. It touches you that he respects this particular boundary.

The movie you chose is one of your favorites—The Descent.

Jake pretends not to be bored. “This thing better have a demon or a decapitation soon.”

You grin. “Just wait. It’s a slow descent into existential terror.”

He snorts. “Hot.”

You love horror. But that doesn’t stop you from squealing and grabbing his arm the moment the first jump scare hits.

Jake snorts. “I thought you liked scary movies.”

“I do!” you say, peeking between your fingers.

“Uh huh,” he laughs. “Is this your excuse to touch me?”

You glare. “Do I need an excuse?”

Jake’s grin fades slowly. His hand shifts to your thigh. “No,” he says, voice low. “You don’t.”

The movie plays on, but you don’t notice much. Jake’s thumb is brushing slow circles into your skin, and your breathing’s gone shallow. Your fingers curl around his bicep, your arm pressing into his. He doesn’t mind at all. In fact, he relishes in the feeling. 

You, on the other hand, are having a crisis. You can feel his warmth, the quiet confidence in the way he sits next to you. The steady rhythm of his breathing. You admit that you want to kiss him again. Want to crawl into his lap and stay there until the world ends. But you also know that’s dangerous.

Still, when he glances at you during a particularly creepy scene and smirks, your resolve weakens.

“Y/N,” he says, voice soft.

You look over. Jake leans in.

The kiss is slower this time, more deliberate. No porch adrenaline. No desperate fumbling. His lips move over yours with care, but heat simmers under every press. Jake kisses you like he’s savoring it. Like he knows you’re letting him in a little more this time.

You shift closer. He turns until he’s fully facing you.One of your legs drapes over his lap without thinking. His hand slides up your thigh, under your oversized sleep shirt, fingertips skating higher. He presses forward, until he’s fully draped over you between your legs. Your head hits the throw pillow resting by the armrest. His hands slide up your back, warm and firm. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips, pressing his hips against your thoughtlessly. “You in these shorts. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I think I do,” you murmur, breath catching as you grind back slightly.

Jake groans. His head drops to your shoulder for a beat before he kisses down your neck.

You let your fingers thread through his hair, mouth opening on a shaky breath as he bites softly at your collarbone. You feel his hand slowly slide beneath your shirt, across your bare stomach, until his fingers gently caress your left breast. Light touches that make your nipples pucker up to his touch.

It makes you moan out loud. Jake brings his attention back to your lips. Kisses you lightly, reflecting the way his hand is touching you.

The movie’s still playing. But neither of you are watching.

You pull back just slightly, meeting his eyes.

Jake searches your face. “Still okay?”

You nod. “Still okay.”

He smiles, taking his hand from inside your shirt and sliding to cradle your jaw. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”

Your lips find his again—this time, hungrier.

And still, somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you can’t be friends with Jake anymore either. Because how could you? When it inexplicably feels like he’s becoming akin to home.

“All this for me?” He murmurs, voice thick with hunger. 

“Yes. Touch me,” you whisper. “Please.”

He keeps his chest pressed to yours, body hot and solid as his hand slides between your legs. There’s something dizzying about the intimacy of it. His eyes locked to yours, your breaths mingling, your mouths brushing but not kissing.

Your shorts and panties are tugged down just enough. Just far enough. His fingers are between your thighs in a heartbeat, sliding through your slick heat.

You gasp, forehead still resting against his. His other hand cups the back of your neck, holding you still, holding you open for him.

“So soft…” He whispers.

He doesn’t rush. He strokes you with maddening patience, his fingers gliding up to circle your clit, then dipping down again. Over and over, until you’re gasping into his mouth, hips rocking forward into his hand.

“Look at me,” he says, low and serious.

You do and the moment you meet his gaze, he slips two fingers inside you.

You gasp, back arching off the door, but his body keeps you caged. Close. His fingers thrust slowly, curling up as his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles that make your entire body light up.

“Fuck,” you breathe

He just watches you slack-jawed as if in awe.

Your hands grip his shoulders. Your lips are parted. You’re practically panting now, moaning softly into the space between you as his fingers work you open. He watches your face the entire time, like he wants to remember  every twitch, every stuttered breath.

 “I can’t wait to be inside you.” he groans.

You feel like you’re going to break. He doesn’t stop. He just keeps going. Slow, deep strokes that leave you trembling, his thumb keeping a steady rhythm on your clit. The pressure builds unbearably.

“Come for me please.” he breathes. 

“Bob—please—” you gasp. 

His mouth captures yours just as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out into the kiss, body tensing, shaking against him. He holds you upright with one strong arm as his fingers keep working you through it, coaxing every last shudder, every last wave.

You sag into him, breathless and shaking. He presses his lips to your temple.

“Bring me to your bed.”

Your whole body is still buzzing, but you nod. You’d bring him anywhere he asks.

In the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the mattress, breath hitching slightly as Bob kneels before you, his eyes never leaving yours. His hands are warm and steady as they slide up your bare thighs, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, voice soft and trembling.

“I need to,” he murmurs, his gaze reverent. “Let me take care of you.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another just a little higher. You shiver under his mouth. He’s in no rush. His lips travel upward, brushing tenderly along your skin, each kiss a promise. When he reaches the edge of your shorts, he hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them down, dragging your underwear with them. Every inch of newly exposed skin gets a kiss, a soft inhale of breath like he’s savoring the scent of you.

Then he parts your thighs gently, laying you back against the mattress. You gasp softly as his mouth descends on you—hot, gentle, and utterly unrelenting. His tongue starts slow, light flicks that tease and retreat, building your anticipation with every pass. He moves with care, with focus, as though this is the only thing in the world that matters. His fingers splay across your hips, holding you steady, but even his grip is worshipful.

"Been wanting to taste you," he breathes, the heat of his words making you clench.

He flattens his tongue and licks you from base to tip, then circles your clit, slow and rhythmic. It’s maddening. Perfect. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. Your hips buck, and he groans into you, holding you tighter. The more you fall apart, the deeper he dives, alternating between gentle suckles and sharp flicks that have your thighs trembling.

Your hands are in his hair, anchoring yourself to the one thing that’s grounding you. You pant his name, breathless, overwhelmed.

When the orgasm hits, it’s like fire igniting in your spine. You cry out, your entire body tensing and then shattering under his mouth. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going. Continues with soft licks & gentle pressure, guiding you through the aftershocks until you’re gasping for air, your legs limp and boneless.

He kisses the inside of your thigh, then the swell of your hip. He trails his mouth up your body, slow and reverent. Over your stomach. Along your ribs. Then, his lips brush the underside of your breast.

You gasp again, and his hands cup you gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples before he leans in. He sucks one into his mouth, tongue circling the sensitive peak, then does the same to the other. It sends another jolt through you, and you arch into him, fingers gripping his arms.

“Bob,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He finally kisses you again. Deep, messy, and hungry. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you wetter. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, needing more. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

You let your hands trail over the ridges of his chest, exploring the warm, solid muscle beneath your palms. He watches you, breath uneven, before leaning back on his knees. With slow, deliberate movements, he undoes the button of his jeans, his eyes never leaving yours.

You sit up on your elbows, lips parting slightly as he stands to his feet beside the bed. He pushes his jeans down, boxers going with them, revealing himself to you fully. He’s already hard, thick and flushed, and the sight of him makes your breath catch.

Bob notices. His mouth curves into a shy smile, but there’s certainty in his eyes.

“Come here,” you whisper.

He climbs back onto the bed, and as he leans over you, you let your hand drift down. You palm him with slow, deliberate strokes. He groans, low and guttural, his hips twitching under your touch.

“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours.

You smile and kiss him again before sliding your hand further, wrapping your fingers around him, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. He’s hot and hard in your palm, and the way he gasps against your mouth makes your thighs press together.

You reach into the drawer beside your bed without looking, fingers finding the condom. You hand it to him, and he takes it gently, kissing you once more before rolling it on.

Then he lies back against the pillows, eyes full of fire.

You straddle him slowly, deliberately, your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips. His hands run along your thighs, then to your waist, grounding you as you line yourself up.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he says, voice wrecked. “You. Just like this.”

You guide him to your entrance, rubbing his head against your folds, slick and warm, teasing both of you. He curses under his breath.

“Then stop dreaming,” you whisper, and lower yourself onto him—inch by inch.

His breath shudders out of him in a long groan. “Jesus Christ...”

You both freeze for a moment, overwhelmed. He fills you completely, stretching you perfectly. You close your eyes, letting yourself adjust, the fullness sending little shocks through your body.

 “You feel like heaven.” he gasps.

You start to move, hips circling slowly. He grips your waist but doesn’t force you. He simply lets you take what you need, and set the rhythm. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the way his heart races under your palms.

His eyes never leave you.

“Talk to me,” you whisper.

His jaw flexes. “You’re everything I’ve wanted and more.” he says, voice rough. 

You grind down harder, lifting and sinking again, your pace steady and deep. He thrusts up into you suddenly, and you gasp, pleasure sparking bright.

“You feel so good. So fucking good.”

Your moans rise with every roll of your hips. Your body is building again, that ache coiling tight. You lean down and kiss him, tongues tangling, both of you gasping into each other’s mouths.

“So beautiful,” he says, voice wrecked. 

The words slam into you like lightning. You ride him harder, chasing that edge. His hands slide up your back, holding you closer as you break apart above him, your body clenching, unraveling. You cry out his name as you fall.

He follows, burying his face in your neck with a shattered groan, hips jerking up once, twice, before he stills beneath you, wrapped around you tight.

You stay there, tangled together, skin against skin, breaths mingling.

There’s no more hesitation.

No more holding back.

Just you. Him. And everything ahead of you.

You wake to sunlight streaming through the blinds, warm and golden across your skin. The bed is soft and familiar. And behind you, there’s a steady, slow breath warming the back of your neck. Bob’s arm is draped around your waist, heavy and grounding. His face is tucked into the pillow beside yours, hair rumpled, lips parted in sleep. You don’t move. Not yet. You just… breathe it in. Cherishing the comfort. The closeness. The reality.

You smile to yourself. Eventually, Bob shifts. He blinks awake and groans softly.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” you murmur.

His voice is gravelly. “Best one I’ve had in years.”

You roll toward him, and he pulls you in automatically, your foreheads almost touching.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

Bob nods. “More than okay.” He reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You?”

You nod, your grin lazy. “Yeah.”

There’s a long, quiet kiss. Sleepy. Sweet. Like this is the nth kiss you’ve shared in countless mornings. His hand runs over your bare back, palm spreading between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to make sure you were not some dream he hadn’t woken up from yet.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “Didn’t realize you had such a dirty mouth, Lieutenant.”

Bob flushes immediately. “I—I didn’t either.”

You laugh softly and kiss his cheek. “It was hot.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was saying too much.”

“You weren’t. You should do it again.” You tease lightly

He blushes deeper but you only grin wider.

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says, clearly trying to regain some composure.

You’re startled by the declaration. “You cook?”

“I survive.” He grins, kisses you again, and climbs out of bed in just his boxers. 

You watch him stretch and walk barefoot into your kitchen like he’s been living there the last couple of months. You sit up a few minutes later, grabbing a loose shirt to quickly put on and padding out after him.

Bob’s already got a pan going. Eggs crack against the edge of the bowl. He hums under his breath while flipping slices of bread in the toaster.

You lean against the counter, admiring the way the morning light clings to his shoulders, the way his body moves with quiet focus.

“You look good like this,” you say.

He turns, eyebrow raised. “Like what?”

“Like mine.”

His face softens instantly. “I am.”

The certainty of your words hang between you. A warmth spreading between you.

Breakfast is simple. Eggs, toast, and fruit. You eat barefoot, sitting on the counter while he stands between your knees. You reach forward to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth. He catches your wrist, kisses your palm. But this time, it’s you who lean in.

The kiss starts soft. Just a brush. But then your mouth parts, and your hand slides up his chest, fingertips teasing lightly over his skin.

“You know,” you whisper against his lips, “I’ve been thinking about having you right here since I saw you in those boxers.”

Bob freezes. His cheeks flush. You think how you’ll never get tired of making him blush.

You grin. “That’s a yes face.”

“I—uh—”

You don’t let him finish. You slide off the counter, tug him by the waistband of his boxers until his back bumps against the fridge. His breath catches.

“You’re so easy to fluster,” you tease, kissing under his jaw.

He laughs, embarrassed and turned on all at once. “I’m trying to keep up.”

You brush your nose along his ear. “Don’t. Just let me have you.”

Your hand slips lower, fingers grazing him through the fabric. He gasps.

“There’s another condom in my drawer,” you murmur.

You watch him dash to the bedroom and return in a flash with the condom in hand. He doesn’t even pause before he’s already leaning in for another kiss, this one deeper, more desperate. Like he needs the taste of you to survive.

You stop him gently with a hand on his chest, dropping to your knees with deliberate slowness. His breath catches. You look up at him as you roll the condom on with practiced care, and the expression on his face. His eyes blown wide, jaw slack, hands clenched at his sides, looking at you with worship.

When you rise again, he grabs your hips with purpose, steady and hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You turn slowly, deliberately, guiding his hands to your waist as you lean over the counter, the cool marble kissing your bare stomach. You arch your back just enough, give him the perfect view, and glance over your shoulder with a wicked little smile.

“You ready?” you ask, voice low and inviting.

He swallows hard. “God, yes.”

He lines himself up, his hands trembling slightly as he holds your hips. Then he pushes in slowly, carefully, every inch a stretch that makes your eyes flutter shut. You bite your lip, bracing your forearms on the counter, gasping as he sinks deeper.

The stretch burns, delicious and overwhelming, and he groans behind you, thick and hoarse.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You feel so deep.”

His grip tightens, knuckles whitening. “You’re so tight”

He stills when he’s fully inside, just for a moment, letting you both feel it. The pressure. The connection. The way your body pulses around him.

You rock your hips slightly. “Move, Bob.”

And he does.

His thrusts start slow, deliberate, each one pulling nearly all the way out before he slides back in with more force, more hunger. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the quiet, punctuated by both your ragged breaths.

His hands are everywhere. On your hips, your back, sliding up to cup your breasts as he leans forward, his chest brushing your spine. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, then another to your neck, lips warm and reverent.

“You’re unreal,” he pants. “I can feel you squeezing me… every time I move.”

You reach between your legs, circling your clit as he thrusts deeper. Your knees tremble from the sensation, the rhythm, the heat building between you.

“Harder,” you whisper.

He groans like it’s tearing out of him. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it.”

His hands grip your hips, anchoring you as he slams into you with deeper strokes now, harder and faster, making the counter creak beneath your hands. Your fingers stutter over your clit as the tension coils impossibly tight inside you.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Bob—yes—don’t stop—”

“God Y/N, you’re perfect,” he growls. 

Your legs nearly give out. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you upright as his rhythm intensifies. The way he’s moving inside you, the wet sound of it, the desperate noises he’s making in your ear. It’s all too much.

Your orgasm slams into you hard, and you cry out, clenching around him, your body locking down as waves crash through your core.

He curses, voice raw. “Fuck—I’m right there—”

He thrusts deep one final time and goes still, buried inside you, groaning against your shoulder as he spills into the condom. 

You both stay like that, trembling, chests heaving. He doesn’t pull away. Just rests against your back, his hands sliding up to cradle your waist, your ribs, like he needs to feel your heartbeat.

Eventually, he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your spine, then another between your shoulder blades. You turn in his arms, and he lifts you onto the counter gently, kissing you slow and sweet.

“I’m really gonna get used to your dirty talking,” you tease, breathless.

He laughs, still dazed. “You’re the one who started it.”

“And you loved every second.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. “Yeah. I really did.”

The drive to base is quiet in that soft, comfortable way. The windows are down, morning breeze tousling your hair, Bob’s hand resting palm-up between the seats until your fingers find his. He glances at you once, then again, like he’s still trying to figure out if last night really happened.

“You okay?” you ask, squeezing his hand.

He nods quickly. “Yeah. Just… wondering how obvious we’re about to be.”

You smirk. “Oh, sweetheart. Everyone’s already suspicious.”

He groans imagining at what awaits him when he gets to the base. You simply laugh at how adorable he is.

“You’re cute when you panic,” you add, leaning over to kiss his cheek at a stoplight.

Bob walks in first. He makes it to his locker before anyone says anything.

“Morning, Floyd,” Phoenix greets casually from across the hangar.

Hangman doesn’t even look up from his checklist. “Sleep in?”

“Sleep over, maybe,” Fanboy murmurs under his breath, earning a snort from Payback.

Bob flushes red. “I—I wasn’t—”

Then the hangar doors creak open. You stroll in. Calm. Composed. Hair up in a neat ponytail, lips slightly glossed, face annoyingly fresh. Like nothing ever happened. And you probably would get away with it, if only Bob’s stare didn’t say everything. Honestly, how did the man become a stealth pilot?

Rooster whistles. “Well, would you look at that.”

Fanboy claps once. “And the mystery is solved.”

Phoenix just holds out her hand toward Payback. “Pay up.”

“Wait—” Bob stammers. “You had a bet?”

“I said you’d fold by Friday,” she shrugs.

“And I said she’d be the one to make the move,” Rooster adds. “Clearly.”

Hangman spins a pen in his fingers. “Kinda surprised you made it past Tuesday, honestly.”

You hop onto a crate beside Bob and sip your coffee like none of this is new. A relaxed look on your face even as you watched his friends slap money on Phoenix’s hand.

“We weren’t exactly being subtle,” you say, smiling up at him.

Bob simply groans into his hands for the nth time that day.

Later that morning, you find yourself cornered in the locker room by two familiar voices. Kari and Iris stand near the benches, arms crossed, expressions far too smug.

“Well, well, well,” Kari drawls. “Look who finally stopped pining and started winning.”

Iris raises an eyebrow. “So. Does he blush when you talk dirty?”

You laugh, leaning against your locker. “Like a tomato. It’s honestly kind of adorable.”

Kari sits beside you and bumps your shoulder. “You look happy.”

You nod. “I am.”

“Not just the good sex glow,” Iris adds, “but, like… the peaceful kind.”

You smile down at your coffee cup. “Yeah. It feels… easy. Real.”

There’s a moment of silence where Kari and Iris share a look, then both squeeze your arms.

“We’re really happy for you,” Iris says.

“And also, we totally called it,” Kari adds. “So you owe us dinner.”

The afternoon winds down with the quiet buzz of paperwork, team drills, and quick debriefs. You’re halfway down the hallway when Bob’s voice stops you.

“Hey.”

You turn. He’s waiting by the lockers, looking steady, his smile small but sure.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I was just thinking…” He steps closer. “I don’t want to hide it. Us. I want people to know about us.”

Your smile softens. “Good. Because I’m not interested in pretending either.”

He leans in and kisses you. It’s slow and certain, a hand to your hip like he belongs there.

“You really mean that?” he asks, forehead resting against yours.

“Yeah.”

You kiss him again, pulling him closer.

“Guess we’re the hangar’s favorite gossip now,” you murmur.

He grins. “Worth it.”

And when you both walk back into the hangar side by side, the rest of the team doesn’t even try to hide their grins.

Later that night, you find yourself back at your apartment, curled on the couch with Bob’s hoodie around your shoulders and his head resting in your lap.

He’s half-asleep, fingers tracing gentle circles against your thigh.

“This feels nice,” he murmurs.

You hum in agreement. “Took us long enough.”

He looks up at you. “Would you do anything different?”

You shake your head. “No. I think we got here exactly how we were supposed to.”

His smile is sleepy, content. “Yeah. Me too.”

You lean down and kiss his temple. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

Together.

You scowl. “I said that in confidence.”

Why do you even bother telling her anything?

“You have no confidence. That’s why I’m here.”

You groan and flop down next to the phone. “Why am I nervous? It’s just Bucky.”

Yelena raises a brow. “You mean the man who’s been in love with you since junior year?”

“He wasn’t in love with me.”

“Oh my God,” she says, deadpan. “You’re delusional.”

“He was dating Claire.”

“Exactly. And still looked at you like you were the main event.”

You ignore her comment and throw a pillow at your phone screen. “I should cancel.”

“You’re not canceling. You’re going. You’re going to put on the soft green dress because it brings out your eyes, you’re going to wear perfume that makes men stupid, and you’re going to eat pasta with a man who wants to worship the ground you walk on.”

You pause. “That was… oddly supportive.”

“I’ve been working on my delivery.”

You laugh despite yourself.

“I don’t want to make it weird,” you murmur.

Yelena softens. “Then don’t. Just enjoy it. Let him be charming. Let yourself flirt. You can overthink tomorrow.”

You nod slowly.

And by 6:50, you’re standing at your front door wearing the short green dress and the perfume that does, in fact, make men stupid.

You’re ready.

Slash that. You are so not ready.

Bucky knocks at 7:02.

You open the door and your brain short-circuits. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and rolled sleeves. He has a clean shave, wearing soft cologne and on his face is a grin that’s way too smug for this hour.

You should be immune to it. Unfortunately, you’re not.

“Hey,” he says, eyes dragging over you slowly, appreciatively. “Damn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You look really…” He trails off. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m barely holding it together.”

You snort, grabbing your purse and stepping outside before he starts waxing poetic about your jeans.

He walks you to the passenger door and opens it like a gentleman. You raise a brow.

“Trying to impress me?”

“No. Just trying to make sure you don’t run.”

You settle into the seat. “Still too early to say that won’t happen.”

He takes you to a restaurant tucked between a wine bar and a bookstore. It smells like garlic and truffle oil, has low lighting, real linen napkins, and a menu full of things you can’t pronounce but definitely want to eat.

“Fancy,” you say, sliding into your seat.

“You deserve fancy,” Bucky says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

Your stomach flips. You try to play it off by ordering something you’ve never tried and calling him a show-off when he asks for a bottle of red like he knows what he’s doing.

The first half hour is actually… easy. You fall into banter like it’s muscle memory.

He teases you about the time you accidentally burned microwave popcorn in the dorm kitchen and blamed it on Claire. You remind him how he once spilled Gatorade in your laundry basket and acted like it was no big deal until your bras turned neon blue.

“You were such a menace,” you say, laughing.

“You loved it,” he fires back.

You sip your wine to hide your grin. “I tolerated it.”

He leans forward. “You flirted with me all the time.”

“I did not.”

“You called me ‘asswipe’ for an entire semester. That’s a pet name depending on how you view it”

You choke on your drink.

He grins. “I think you liked me more than you admit.”

You shake your head. “I think you’re rewriting history.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But if I’m right…”

You arch a brow. “You’re not.”

He leans back, sipping his wine, eyes twinkling. “Still not denying you flirted.”

You scowl. “It’s not flirting if I wanted to throw you out a window.”

He murmurs, “You sure you didn’t want to ride me out that window?”

You nearly spit your wine again.

He looks far too pleased with himself.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave.”

“Can’t. You’re too distracting.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. And somewhere between the bread basket and dessert, you forget why you ever wanted to keep this casual in the first place.

Part II –  You're Not Who I Remember

Bucky has no business being this nervous.

He’s gone on plenty of dates in the last few years. A few were good. Most were forgettable. None of them made his hands shake when he reached for the steering wheel. But tonight? Tonight is different.

You aren’t just some date. You’re you. The same girl who used to glare at him over a shared dorm kitchen table. The same one who always won your arguments because you were meaner and quicker and entirely too fun to lose to. The same girl he used to flirt with just to get a reaction—even when you pretended it didn’t land.

Back then, you never seemed to notice. And maybe that was safer.

But tonight, the way you look at him when you open the door. There’s a sharp once-over followed by a look you tried to hide and it makes his whole chest feel too tight.

He couldn’t even believe you said yes to this night in the first place.

The restaurant is a gamble. Intimate but not over-the-top. Warm lighting. Real candles. Good wine. It’s an ambiance that implies I’m serious but not I’m proposing.

When you slide into the seat across from him, he nearly forgets how to speak.

And then you smirk at the wine list and call him a show-off, and suddenly, it’s like being twenty again. Except this time, he isn’t letting you slip through his fingers.

You talk more than he expects. Not just the surface stuff. You tell him about your job, your ridiculous boss Alexei, how Yelena convinced you to go to therapy and then started showing up with emotional homework like it was a group project.

You laugh. You roll your eyes. You tell stories with your hands and sometimes reached for your wine glass so fast you nearly knock it over.

He wants to kiss you right there at the table.

Not because you look hot—which, fuck, you did—but because being around you was fun. Familiar. Real. Something he’s longed for a while.

You’re still you, but sharper now. Softer in ways he couldn’t have permission to see back then.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“You listening or fantasizing?”

He swallows at being caught, but remains honest. “Both?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers.

The food is incredible. He doesn’t remember half of what he ordered because you keep brushing your knee against his under the table. And to be honest, he initially didn’t think it was intentional. Not at first. But then you shift again, and it stays. It’s a light press. Not demanding but just enough to make him catch his breath. He risks a glance at you.

You don’t look at him. You just keep talking, cool as ever.

He swears under his breath and adjusts in his seat.

“Problem?” you ask, sipping from your glass.

“Nope,” he says, hoarse.

He sees a flicker of a smirk. Liar.

When the check comes, you reach for your purse, but he already has his card out.

“You paid for lunch when we got coffee last month,” he lies.

You raise an eyebrow. “That never happened.”

He shrugs. “Well, now it did.”

You stare at him for a long second, then lean back and say, “You’re trying to get laid.”

He smiles slowly. “Is it working?”

Your expression doesn’t change, but your legs cross under the table, brushing against his again.

He takes that as a maybe.

By the time you walk out together, the night air cools everything but the space between you.

You don’t take his arm. You don’t even touch him. But when he unlocks the car and opens the passenger side, you pause.

“This was fun,” you say.

His pulse skips. “Yeah?”

You look at him then, slower. More direct. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he couldn’t wait to get you home.

Not to get in your pants. Not yet. He just wants to walk you to the door again. Just be near you. Just see what you’d do this time.

And if you kiss him again… Well. He wouldn’t be pulling away first.

Part III – Do You Want to Come Up?

The ride home is mostly quiet. It’s not awkward though. More like the kind of quiet that stretches between two people who’ve said all the right things and are now trying not to think about what comes next.

Bucky drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. You can’t stop looking at it. The same hand that touched your waist last night. The same one that brushed your thigh under the table tonight.

You’re not thinking about his fingers. Really, you’re not.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, glancing over.

You nod, keeping your voice level. “Yeah. Surprisingly not terrible.”

He chuckles. “Wow. Be still my heart.”

“I mean, you didn’t spill anything or talk about your protein intake, so honestly, exceeded expectations.”

He hums. “You did try to look hot for me. That’s gotta mean something.”

You fight a smile. “You implying I don’t look hot everyday?”

“You could wear a sack and I’d still think you were hot.”

You roll your eyes, amused. “Shut up.”

He grins but doesn’t push it.

When he pulls up in front of your place, he puts the car in park and doesn’t move to open the door right away. You hesitate.

“I’ll walk you,” he says.

“Bucky—”

“It’s not a move. Just manners.”

You arch a brow.

“Okay,” he amends, “it’s like, 70% manners.”

You sigh in defeat and let him follow you to your door.

The elevator ride from your building lobby to your apartment floor is quiet. He stays a step away beside you but it’s close enough that you can feel the weight of his gaze on you.

When you stop at your door, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t leave.

You turn the key halfway before glancing at him. “You good?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

But he still doesn’t leave. You look at him again and he’s just watching you. And for a second, you don’t feel silly or nervous or over-caffeinated with anxiety. You just feel seen.

You clear your throat. “So… thanks for dinner.”

He steps closer. “Any time.”

You should say goodnight. But instead, you find yourself asking, “Do you wanna come up?”

It slips out before you can stop it. It’s soft, uncertain but dangerous.

He stills. “Are you sure?”

You’re not. But also you also are.

You nod. “Just for a little.”

He follows.

Inside, you drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes. The air is still, thick with everything left unsaid. Bucky hovers in the entryway for half a second, like he’s waiting for permission. Then he moves.

He closes the space between you in two long strides, his boots thudding softly against the hardwood. His hands grip your waist steadily. Before you can blink, you’re spun with startling ease until your back meets the door with a soft thud. Then his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s desperate.

He kisses you once, slow and plush. Then again, firmer. His hand rises, fingers threading through your hair, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb strokes your jaw. The move isn’t just possessive—it’s anchoring. He tilts your head just where he wants it, keeping you there, locked in place as his lips brush yours again and again.

You try to chase the kiss, but he pulls back just enough to smirk. His tattooed hand glides down the curve of your waist with maddening slowness, the intricate ink of his sleeve dark against your skin. He squeezes your hip before traveling higher, over the swell of your breast. He cups you through your dress, thumb brushing deliberately across your nipple. You gasp.

“Been dreaming of this for so long. Feeling you like this.” He whispers.

His mouth finds your neck, hot and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your pulse as his fingers tease and knead your breast, coaxing it into a tight ache. Then his mouth trails lower. He nudges the neckline of your dress down with his nose, breath ghosting over newly exposed skin, lips trailing the upper curve before closing around your nipple through the fabric.

You moan, arching into him.

He groans in response, sucking lightly through the cloth, tongue circling, the heat of it radiating straight to your core. He switches sides, lavishing equal attention until you’re squirming in his hold.

His free hand finds your thigh, hiking your leg up to wrap around his waist. You feel the hard press of him, straining through his jeans, and your hips grind involuntarily. His teeth scrape again, this time at your collarbone, and you feel the way his breath hitches.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmurs, voice thick, lips brushing against the tender skin just above your breast.

You shake your head, breathless. "Don’t stop. Please."

A growl rumbles in his chest. His hand trails lower, fingers curling around the hem of your dress and pushing it up with purpose. He sinks to his knees, his eyes locked on yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

You gasp as he slowly drags them down your legs, knuckles brushing your thighs, gaze dark and reverent. He lets them fall to your ankles, and you step out, bare and trembling.

He rises again, mouth crashing into yours, hand gripping your thigh to hike it back up around his waist. He presses you tighter to the door, one hand keeping you open for him, the other sliding between your legs.

You gasp as his fingers find you slick and wanting.

He doesn’t hesitate. Two thick fingers plunge inside you, deep and precise. Your cry catches in his mouth as he captures your lips in another kiss. This one rougher, wetter, urgent.

He kisses you through it, mouth pressed firmly against yours, swallowing every moan and whimper. "That’s it, baby," he groans into your mouth, his breath ragged. "So tight around me. You feel so fucking good."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on as the rhythm of his hand builds. His thumb strokes your clit in tight, knowing circles, and your hips stutter forward against his palm.

"You gonna come for me like this?" he whispers against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth, dragging his tongue along the seam as you nod frantically. "Yeah? You gonna fall apart while I fuck you with my fingers, right here against the door?"

You cry out again, the tension winding tighter, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His tattooed arm braces you securely, muscles flexing under the ink as he thrusts harder.

“Bucky—”

He cuts you off with another kiss. “Give it to me, baby. Let me feel it. Let go."

Your orgasm slams into you, fast and ferocious. You moan into his mouth, hips jerking, your whole body trembling as he works you through it, praising you between kisses.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he growls against your lips. “So beautiful when you come.”

He kisses your cheek, then your temple, holding you like something precious.

When your legs finally stop shaking, he helps you steady yourself, thumb brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

You laugh breathlessly, heart pounding. “Okay,” you murmur, “that was not just a little.”

He grins, his mouth swollen, eyes bright with pride. “Guess I need to work on my self-control.”

You pull him in for another kiss but this one slower, but no less intense. Lips glide, teeth scrape. Tongues tangle. It’s messy, greedy, and hungry.

He groans into your mouth, fingers flexing on your waist like he’s still holding back.

When he finally steps away, it’s like tearing something vital. But he cups your face, eyes soft, and presses a kiss to your cheek. It’s more gentle, reverent.

Then he leaves.

And you stand against the door, barefoot, still trembling.

You close it behind him.

And whisper, again:

“Fuck.”

“Y/N! Captain!” Ches shrieks.

Captain immediately recognizes her voice and bolts ahead, tail wagging furiously. You roll your eyes, muttering “traitor” before jogging after him.

As you come up, Tin looks up from the beach chair she’s lounging in, raising her sunglasses and smiling. “Hi, angel face.”

You raise an eyebrow and gesture toward the gleaming human butterballs in the sand.

“They’re all so...” you start.

“Shiny,” Chesca supplies, eyes wide with fake reverence.

“SO shiny. Like lobsters dipped in butter.”

The older woman beside a giggling Tin bursts out laughing.

“Angel face, this is Penny. Penny, this is—”

“Y/N. I’ve heard about you,” Penny says with a wink.

You blink, thrown. “Uh—you have?”

“Yup.” She grins at Tin meaningfully.

You feel your face flush. Oh God. Please tell me Jake did not talk about that kiss.

No. Get a grip. This was probably just a typical Saturday night for him. Also Tin is probably the one who told her about you. At least that’s what you hope.

You sit beside Chesca, keeping your eyes on Captain as he gallops toward the shoreline, only pausing every few feet to glance back and make sure you were still in view. Your loyal, sweet, overprotective boy.

“I swear he’s half babysitter,” Chesca mutters, watching Captain scan the beach for threats like he was trained to.

You smile. “He just knows my taste in men is questionable.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Jake, walking off the sand, shirt slung over his shoulder, abs on full display, eyes trained directly on—Captain.

Jake had every intention of ignoring you. Really. He was going to let you come to him this time. But then the dog showed up and he was weak. Apparently everything connected to you has his defenses down. Captain is a tank with a lion’s mane and soft golden fur that begs to be pet. Jake didn’t stand a chance.

The second the dog barrels toward him, all floofy hair waving and tail swinging like a fan, Jake crouches instinctively. “Oh, look at this big guy,” he crooned, arms open.

Captain hit him like a furry missile and immediately pressed his full weight into Jake’s chest with a deep, satisfied huff. 

Jake grins, heart skipping. “You didn’t tell me you had the best dog on the damn planet.”

You blink at the familiarity your dog was showing. “Uh Captain, you’re twice the traitor today I see.”

Jake scratches behind your dog’s ears, completely smitten. “You named him Captain for the obvious reason?”

You shrug. “He’s the only man I trust to lead me.”

Jake throws his head back in a loud, unfiltered laugh. Fuck, she’s funny. He already somehow knew but he loves having it confirmed. You didn’t even say it to impress him, which made it worse.

Finally he looks up, eyes meeting yours. “Y/N.” Soft. Like your name held weight.

He doesn’t even know why he said your name like that. Like saying it too loudly might scare you off.

You give him a tight nod. “Jake.”

And that was it.

You don’t look at him long. You don’t smile. You don’t ask how he was. He has to work to keep his expression neutral as you turn your head away. Meanwhile, Captain huffs and rolls, exposing his belly like he’d known Jake for years. Jake is only too happy to oblige, rubbing him like it was his life’s purpose.

“He doesn’t just do that for anyone,” Chesca is the one to talk, watching the whole thing unfold, perplexed at your dog’s immediate submissiveness

Jake smirks. “Guess he knows good people.”

You snort. “He’s also been known to eat his own vomit, so maybe don’t read into it too much.”

That makes him laugh again, but quieter this time. He looks down at Captain and murmurs something low, forehead pressing against the thick fur behind the dog’s ear. Captain offers an obvious happy response, tongue lolling out. Jake rubs a hand along his side and felt something squeeze in his chest.

Great. Falling in love with the girl’s dog now. Real smooth, Hangman.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the Dagger Squad to swarm. Bradley jogs over first, grabbing a water bottle, but stops when he sees Captain sprawled beside Jake.

“Who’s the fluffy golden god?” he asks, eyes wide. “Y/N, if you ever need someone to dog-sit, I’m your guy. I have snacks. I have cable. I don’t have Jake’s clingy energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes but Captain immediately forgets Jake and licks Bradley’s hand.

Natasha chuckles. “I’m not sure he’s willing to be baby-sat by anyone so easily. He’s clearly smarter than most of you.”

Mickey, Reuben and Bob joins next, both dropping to their knees and giving Captain full body rubs like he was a celebrity.

“I’d die for this dog,” Bob whispers reverently.

“I’d commit arson,” Mickey adds.

Jake doesn’t move, but his arm slid possessively around Captain’s back. “Guys, he obviously likes me best.”

You sipped your iced tea. “Please. He loves everyone. He has no standards.”

Captain simply wags his tail from all the attention and nestles closer into Jake’s lap. And this makes Jake look smug. Like he’d just won.

You scowl. “Excuse me Captain?”

“Angel face, he’s gone deaf.” Tin adds teasingly

“Don’t take it personally,” Reuben says with a grin. “He’s just picking the person who looks most like a golden retriever.”

That got a round of laughter, and even you crack a reluctant smile. Still, you refuse to lose this game. You want to nip this in the bud. So you stand and whistle once, making Captain's ears perk.

“Captain. Here.”

Captain looks at you, then looks at Jake. As if that was even something to consider. To your shock, he stays right where he was. Then the traitorous bastard actually lays down and sighs contentedly, head resting on Jake’s thigh.

Jake looks like he’d just been gifted a medal. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like I’m his person now.”

You stare at the two of them incredulously. “I bottle-fed that dog when he was a puppy. I wiped his ass. I taught him not to chase cyclists.”

Jake just grins, brushing his fingers over Captain’s fur like he was petting royalty.

“You sure you didn’t train him to find the manliest guy on the beach and imprint?”

You grab your drink in a pretend frustration and flop back into your seat, muttering under your breath. “Captain, you better start learning to pick up your own poop because we’re done”

Jake hears it and his grin only grows wider.

And fuck, if this wasn’t the most painfully domestic thing he’s ever wanted to keep.

Part II – Wanting Without Asking

By the time the sun dips low enough to turn the ocean copper, Penny starts waving everyone toward the boardwalk.

“Come on, I’ve got ribs marinating behind the bar and beers with your names on ’em!” she calls out, voice echoing over the tide.

The squad cheers, sun-kissed and half-covered in sand, while your group starts gathering your things.

You’re already trying to slip away unnoticed, brushing the grit from your legs, but Tin spots you instantly. Sometimes it truly sucks to have someone know you as much as you know yourself.

“Don’t even think about it,” she calls. “You and Captain are coming too. Natasha already called dibs on holding him during dinner.”

Captain waves his tail like it could make him fly if he wasn’t 60lbs. This dog has truly become a stranger.

The walk back to The Hard Deck’s back patio is filled with sunset chatter. Bradley recounts the score, Bob explains how sunscreen works with scientific precision, while Mickey carries the Bluetooth speaker like a sacred relic.

You stay close to Chesca and Tin, grateful for the buffer. Captain pads alongside you, finally choosing his fear of losing you from his sight over being petted by Jake. His nose to the wind while his leash slack in your hand.

Jake walks behind, pretending to joke with Javy, but really just watching you. Every little move. Every flick of your hair, every laugh. It was killing him. God, he wants to know what you were thinking. Wants to say your name just to see how it feels when you turn.

Then Captain, reliable wingman that he was, seemingly remembers Jakes and tries to pull towards him..

You tug the leash, firmly commanding. “No, you’re staying with me.”

Jake’s grin is immediate. “He’s got good taste.”

“Yeah, probably thinks he can eat you being slathered in coconut oil.” You roll your eyes

Captain digs his feet in the sand, preventing you from pulling him.

You sigh in frustration and threaten. “I’m going to leave you.”

You then drop his leash and pretend to walk away. And usually, this works. Usually. But then, the little traitor decides to waddle to Jake’s side. And Jake looks all too pleased with being chosen.

Jake crouches, petting him with both hands. “You wanna walk with me, Cap?”

You stare. “He’s not walking with you. He doesn’t go with strangers.”

Captain only looks at Jake and you know your dog’s happy face when you see it.

Jake takes his leash in his hand and Captain simply walks side by side with him as if they’ve been doing it every day of his life. The look you gave Jake could’ve curdled paint. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. She’s so hot when she’s pissed.

“You’re only getting dry dog food from now on,” you mutter to Captain as they pass you by heading to the Hard Deck.

Jake hears it and only smiles.

It was a closed night for the Hard Deck. The patio behind the bar glows with warm string lights hanging along the weather-worn shed. The benches are covered in mismatched cloths and paper plates, while the scent of BBQ wafts like perfume through the air.

Captain has somehow settled on Jake’s feet, tail thumping against his thigh like a drum roll every time someone approaches.

“Come on, Captain,” Bradley groans, crouching beside them with a rib in hand. 

He’s been trying to convince your dog to sit with him in the last few minutes. “This is smoked. Hickory. Don’t make me beg.”

Captain sniffs it... then turns away, settles his head on Jake’s feet.

“Unbelievable,” Bradley mutters.

Jake smirks. “He’s a man of high standards.”

“More like a furry little con artist,” Natasha quips.

You watch the whole exchange from your seat across the patio, one knee drawn up to your chest, drink in hand. Your gaze, unreadable as it is, never quite left them.

Jake feels it. Like static in the air. You watching him. Judging him. Wanting to look away but not doing it.

Chesca places her plate on the table and takes the spot beside you.

“Don’t say it,” you warn her

She tilts her head. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“You were.”

She shrugs with a smirk, “You’re just mad your boyfriend stole your dog.”

You don’t even acknowledge her remark. Not even wanting to know where she would even get that comment. You’ve never even told anyone about the kiss. 

Jake’s ears burns at the word boyfriend. He doesn’t dare look your way. But he likes the sound of it way too much.

Penny is a one-woman army at the grill. Burgers sizzling, beer bottles cracking open with casual expertise. When finally Captain had decided he missed you enough and went to your feet to take a nap, Jake took his chance to hover near the cooler. He offers to grab buns, plates, and utensils. All an excuse to keep his hands busy. Anything to not march across the patio to hug your dog and kiss you in front of everyone.

Instead, he settles on watching you instead. The way your smile softens around Tin. How your hand brushes Captain’s fur when he curls up beside your bench. It wasn’t fair. No one should look that good laughing in sunset light.

Later, as the music fades into the softer crackle of firewood and someone broke out a half-soggy deck of cards, Tin joins you near the drinks table. You’ve finally been able to step away when your dog passed out from all the group excitement. The lights cast a golden halo on Tin’s curls, her sandals scraping against the gravel as she leans her hip beside you.

She hands you a new glass of iced tea. “Alright. Spill.”

You don’t look at her. “What?”

She raises a brow. “You’ve been cagey all night, specifically with Seresin. Which means something happened.”

You take a slow sip, eyes fixed on the fire pit. “I’m always cagey.”

She gives you that look—the Tin look—the one that could see straight through you and doesn’t need your permission to call bullshit.

You surrender, unwillingly and quietly. “Fine. We kissed.”

Tin’s brows shot up. “You and Seresin?”

You give her a warning. Then look around to make sure no one hears, before pulling her a bit further away from other ears, and nod once. 

Her mouth drops. “WHEN?”

You tilt your head. “That first night at the bar. When we went outside.”

“I knew it! You came back in like someone had drop-kicked your soul.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s... not far off.”

Tin lean closer, her voice softer now. “Okay. But why are you treating him like he burned your house down?”

You look down into your glass, condensation dripping onto your fingers.

“Because I’m not sure how to deal with it,” you say quietly. “And I think he likes me. At least he said so. And I think that’s a problem.”

Tin frown. “You lost me.”

You look up at her, sighing. “Because he’s Jake Seresin. I know his type. He flirts like it’s air. He knows exactly how to say something to make you feel like you matter. And then what? One day I don’t?”

She doesn’t answer.

You go on. “You know I’ve been with men like him. Ones who make you believe. Who treat you like you’re their whole world until one day you’re just... not. And it breaks something in you that doesn’t grow back right.”

Tin’s face softens. Her hand reached out, resting over yours.

“I don’t want to be a chapter in a story he tells later,” you shake your head. “I don’t want to be ‘this one girl who fell head over heels in with one kiss’”

There was a pause. A breath between truths.

“You’re not just some girl,” Tin said. “And I don’t think you’ve seen how he looks at you. But the rest of us are noticing. He already looks like he wants something he doesn’t know how to ask for.”

Your shrug, trying not to look affected by her words. You look out at the fire pit instead.

At some point in the conversation, your eyes wander on Captain, who must have woke up at some point and since he couldn’t find you, decided to curl up beside Jake’s feet again. You observe Jake’s hand move absentmindedly over his fur while the others play cards around them. But his eyes aren’t on the game.

They’re on you.

Part III – Hard to Ignore

You hadn’t meant to go inside. You just needed another drink. The air is thick outside, the smell of BBQ and the warmth of the firepit clinging to your skin. People were getting loud, tipsy and loose-limbed, sprawled across chairs or swaying to a playlist that has shifted into a full-blown nostalgic mixtape.

Inside, the Hard Deck is empty. Dim. A few string lights still cast a soft gold over the bar, and the hum of the drink fridge fills the silence. You pull open the cooler behind the counter, grabbing a sparkling water and pressing it to your cheek for a second before cracking it open.

You don’t even hear the door.

“You’re not planning to run off again, are you? I have your excuse held up.”

You turn slowly and find Jake standing in the doorway like he’d just stepped out of a heatwave, hand still on the wood, eyes fixed on you.

You don’t answer while he lets the door close behind him. He takes a step forward. Another.

“‘Cause last time you walked away, I couldn’t think straight for a week.”

You snort. “That’s generous. I would say it was a very forgettable night.”

Jake cocks his head. “Oh, sweetheart. If I could forget the way you sound when I kiss you, I’d be getting more sleep.”

Your fingers tighten around the bottle. You’re unprepared for his honesty. It throws your comebacks off and you just hate that he seems to know what he’s doing.

He moves closer but you find yourself rooted to your spot. Again. 

His voice drops. “The way you looked at me that night. Right before you let me touch you like that?”

He stops in front of you, hands slipping into the pockets of his shorts. “You can’t tell me that didn’t mean something.”

“Clearly means more to you than to me,” you reply, though your voice lacked conviction.

Jake leans in, breath warm against your ear. “Liar.”

You swallow. The voice in your head screaming Walk out. Get out. Repeatedly. But your body refuses to move and instead, anticipates his next move.

“I don’t do this,” you insist weakly. “I don’t fall into guys’ laps because of one kiss.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m definitely planning to give you more than one”

Your heart thuds. Loud. Heavy. Jake takes his chance to step closer. You back up, spine hitting the bar. How in God’s name do you end up in the same situation over and over again?

Jake smiles slowly, hands bracing on either side of you.

“I think about it,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Every damn night. The way you tasted. The way you whimpered when I touched your thighs.”

“Jake—”

His voice is now beside your ear, “The way your fingers pulled at my shirt like you needed me.”

Your eyes flutters shut.

His breath creeps down your neck, “And the way your lips felt against mine. Like silk.”

You gasp when he finally presses forward. His body lines up with yours, heat radiating through denim and cotton. His thigh slips between yours, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “And I will.”

And for the life of you, you will never understand why you don’t. Giving Jake all the opportunity to do with your silence what he would.

His lips crashes into yours, hot and desperate, mouths slanting together with a hunger that had been simmering for the last week. His hand cups the back of your head, tilting it just right as he devours your mouth. It’s slow at first, teasing your bottom lip with the scrape of his teeth before deepening the kiss into something messier, wetter, needier. No trace of hesitation in this kiss unlike the last. His tongue licks into your mouth, coaxing yours into a rhythm that makes your spine arch off the bar behind you.

The groan he lets out when you bite his lip is sharp and deliberate. And that shoots straight through you.

His hands roam your thighs, waist, back. His mouth is relentless, devouring you with slow, deep kisses that leave you gasping. One hand sneaks beneath your dress, trailing up your inner thigh. Something he’s been itching to do since the first time he’s touched you.

“Fuck, you’re soft,” he murmurs.

You bite your lip to stifle a sound when his fingers brush over your underwear. He grins against your neck.

“You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Jake,” you whisper, warning and plea all at once.

His thumb presses over the damp fabric, slow circles. His forehead is against yours, eyes dazed and obviously captivated, “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t. Reasoning ceasing to function in your brain as you pull him closer, your hips arching toward his touch.

And then—the door creaks open.

“Hey, did someone leave—OH.”

Natasha’s voice was like cold water being poured on you. 

You shove Jake back, heart hammering. Jake steps away immediately, hands in the air. His mouth opens like he’s about to explain.

Natasha blink, then grins. “Cool. I’ll grab that later.”

The door shuts again. And before he even turns back to you, you’re already off the bar, fixing your dress, avoiding Jake’s eyes.

“I need air,” you mutter.

You bolt out to the back door.

You don’t go home immediately.

After Natasha left the bar and you heard Jake’s footsteps leaving for the patio, you went in the bathroom for a while, splashing cold water on your face, staring at your reflection like it held some answers. It doesn’t. All it did was reflect the heat still burning in your cheeks and show the sting of your own frustration.

You rejoin the group like nothing had happened, seating yourself between Tin and Ches, laughing at jokes, pretending your lips weren’t still tingling, pretending you hadn’t let Jake Seresin put his hands under your dress. Again.

You hate how easy it was to fall into him. To let your body make decisions your brain had vetoed hours ago.

When things start to wrap up, you quietly begin packing up Captain’s things—his leash, his little collapsible water bowl, the spare tennis ball someone had gifted him mid-BBQ like a bribe.

Jake appears at your side like he had radar.

“You’re leaving?”

You nod, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Gonna walk to the lot, head home.”

He frown. “You’ve had a couple drinks.”

“I’ve also had three bottles of water.”

Jake steps in front of you, not blocking, just... there.

“Captain’s already in my truck.”

You blink and start looking around for your dog. “Excuse me?”

“He’s already more comfortable there.” He insists

You glance toward the lot. Sure enough, through the glow of the streetlamp, you could see the golden traitor sitting in the passenger seat like he’d just clocked in for a shift. When he even went there, you don’t know.

“I’ll drive,” Jake says. “You can pick up your car in the morning.”

You hesitate, biting your lip in uncertainty. 

Jake feels it and so he assures, despite your lip biting that beckons him, “I won’t talk about it. About anything.”

You still don’t move.

He steps closer, voice lower. “I know you’re trying to draw lines here, Y/N. I get it. But this—me driving you home—isn’t going to be negotiable.”

You exhale slowly. You want to argue. Insist on your independence. But the truth is, you were exhausted. Confused. A little buzzed. And the way he said your name… God.

“Fine,” you mutter.

Jake nods. No victory smirk. No smugness. Just a quiet, respectful relief.

He opens the passenger side door for you. You climb in, keeping your eyes on Captain, who immediately rests his head on your thigh like nothing in the world had happened.

Jake gets in the driver side, starts the engine, and doesn’t say a word.

And you sit there, fingers in Captain’s fur, wondering how the hell you always end up here—with Jake’s taste still on your lips and the rules you set for yourself unraveling at the seams.

Part IV  – Say You Don’t Want Me

The truck ride is quiet at first.

You’ve convinced Captain to go into the back seat so he can be more comfortable. He’s passed out flat on his stomach like he was his own fluffy pillow. The engine hums steady beneath your feet. The radio is off. You stare out the window, lights from passing storefronts flashing across your face.

Jake hasn’t said a word since pulling out of the lot so you finally break the silence.

“Why me?”

Jake’s grip tightens subtly on the steering wheel. “What?”

You don’t look at him. “You could have anyone. Any girl in that bar. One who’s up for a good time. No questions, no complications.”

He glances over, brows drawn. “You think this is about a ‘good time’?”

You shrug. “Isn’t it?”

Jake exhales slowly through his nose. “I don’t know what this is yet. I’m not pretending to. But I know I want you. And now I’m sure it’s not for a night, Y/N.”

You finally look at him. His jaw is tight, like the truth is hard to say.

“It’s true that it’s been a while since I’ve had to work this hard for a woman.” he admits. “But I’m not going to lie and say you don’t already have me walking a line every time you’re near. You've been in my head since the moment I saw you. You smile and all I want is for it to be at me every single time.”

You blink fast. “Jake…”

He pulls into your street and parks in front of your fence.

“All I’m asking for is a chance. You tell me what I have to do to earn your trust, and I’ll do it.” He says sincerely

You stare ahead. “Maybe we’re better off as friends.”

That hits him like a punch. 

Jake turns toward you, one arm braced over the wheel. “You want to be my friend?”

“I don’t know what I want yet. But I know I can’t do this if I don’t trust you.”

His nostrils flare. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“I think you could,” you say softly. “Without meaning to.”

Silence.

You both sit there, breaths shallow, emotions high.

Jake nods eventually. “Friends,” he says. “Sure.”

But his voice is strained. It comes out lower than intended, like he's trying to choke down a growl. He doesn’t look at you right away, because if he does, he knows he’ll crack. He’ll do something stupid. His fists curl against his thighs, trying to channel the heat building in his chest.

He looks over at you, eyes burning with a mix of frustration and need. God, this is driving him fucking insane. Sitting next to you pretending it doesn’t affect him. Dropping you off like some goddamn Uber driver when all he wants to do is kiss you stupid and push you up against your front door. Feel you melt against him. Remind you exactly what you do to him. His head filled with what he’d do to you if you let him.

You only stare back and the small trace of expectancy on your face dissolves his resolve.

He swallows hard. “I’ll be your friend.”

But in his head, thoughts are already swirling. I’m going to do everything I can to make her change her mind. I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. I’ll smile and pretend this doesn’t tear me apart, but I swear to God, I’ll make her want more. I’ll make her see what we could be. Because this—whatever this is between us—it’s not done. Not even close.

You don’t answer. Just open the door. Jake gets out too, walking you and Captain to your door without being asked. He keeps his hands in his pockets the whole time.

At the top of the stairs, you fumble with your keys. Captain trots in as soon as you get the door open.

Jake stays outside.

“Is there anything you even want at this moment?” he says quietly. “Aside from being friends.”

You meet his eyes.

“I want you to stop looking at me like I’m already yours.”

His voice is low. “Can’t help it if that’s what I want.”

The silence between you is thick. You step back, inside your front door. While you still can. While you’re still able to control the situation.

“Goodnight, Jake.” 

You close the door softly. Not a slam. Not a goodbye. Careful. Like every movement might undo you.

You lean your weight into the door, your breath catching before it even leaves your lungs. Your heart pounds too loud, too fast. Beating against your ribs like it’s trying to chase after him.

You drag yourself to the couch, slump then lean back. Your head faced up.

What am I doing? you wonder.

Because even after all the warnings you gave yourself, after the lines you drew and redrew in your mind, he still gets under your skin. You still ended up letting him in. And if you were finally being honest, you still want to.

And no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise… You’re not sure you want him to stop.

“So what’s Bob got?”

You blink, startled, turning toward him. “I’m sorry?”

Jake steps closer, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Hate to say this, darlin’, but when girls like you ignore me for Bob, can’t help but my ego gets a little bruised.”

You cock your head. “Girls like me?”

“Pretty girls.”

You raise a brow, stunned more by the casual way he said it than the compliment itself.

Jake leans one shoulder against the wall, taking the chance to look at you unabashedly. Your dress flutters slightly in the breeze, and you look like a sin he didn’t know how to repent for.

“What’s wrong with Bob?” you ask, lips twitching.

“Not a damn thing. But when I’ve been trying to catch your eye all night, I’d like to think I’d get a reaction of some sort.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t aware you were trying to.”

He stares at you, clearly taken aback. “Not every day I have to try, sweetheart.”

You study him, that unreadable smile still lingering. Girls probably melt under those pet names and that swagger. But you? You aren’t letting him win so easy.

Jake straightens up and steps closer, his voice dropping. “So I’m telling you now. I want your attention. What’s next?”

His own words feel too honest. Too real. Why the fuck did he sound nervous?

You take a slow breath, your tone steady. “I don’t bother with guys like you.”

“Darlin’, there are no guys like me.”

You break into a smile that hits him like a sucker punch. “There are always guys like you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin feels like the one getting played.

You lean back against the wall now, mirroring him, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his eyes. “Does my answer even matter?”

Jake’s voice was rougher now. “It always matters.”

Your lips part, then hesitate. You bite your bottom lip without realizing, until his eyes drop to the movement.

“You keep doing that with your lips, darlin’, and I won’t even bother asking questions anymore.”

“Huh?” you blink, only half-aware.

God, she has no idea what she’s doing to me. The thought slams into him, his restraint fraying.

He takes a step forward. His fingers grazes the hem of your dress, voice low, slow. “I really like this dress.”

You swallow. “I like it too.”

“Something we have in common.”

Trying to push back control, you hit back, “Probably one of the few.”

Jake grins, sharp and sure. “You gotta give me more credit than that.”

“So sure of yourself,” you murmur.

“I ain’t Top Gun for nothin’, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, then give in. “Honestly... I thought you were eyeing Chesca.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “She’s a pretty little thing. But…” He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Can I be honest with you?”

You barely nod. “Mhmm.”

“Since you walked in, all I’ve thought about is what you’d look like with this dress bunched around your waist, legs wrapped around me…”

You gasp, quietly. Your pulse skyrockets.

Jake’s smile darkens. “Now, that sound I really like.”

His fingers skims up your thighs. Slow. Possessive.

You find yourself rooted to where you’re standing. Every nerve burning. Your brain couldn’t catch up with your body.

His hand comes up, fingers curling around your jaw. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. “If you don’t want this,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips, “better say it now. Because I’m about to make it crystal clear I’m interested in you.”

You open your mouth to try and speak but conclude that Jake has indeed rendered you speechless.

He smirks one last time at your gaping mouth before bringing his lips to yours. Instead of a heated one, he kisses you gently, as if waiting for you to come to your senses that this was happening, the tip of his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, nibbling gently.

The softness surprises you, more so when you find yourself kissing him back. Your mouth moving against his on it’s own accord, while one of your arms automatically wraps around his neck.

What the fuck happened to abort? You gasp at the entire situation unfolding.

Jake takes the gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your open mouth, drawing yours out. You taste like cinnamon from the Fireball you’ve been drinking all night and it’s so fucking delicious. He gently bites your lower lip, something he’s been imagining since he saw you, when he feels your grip on his uniform get tighter.

He gently pulls your head back by your hair to gain better access to your mouth and it makes you whimper softly. The sound going straight to his cock. If he wasn’t so aware that you’re both standing outside the Hard Deck, he would have wrapped your legs around his waist already and slid inside you.

Your head is spinning. Jesus Christ this man could kiss. You feel his lips pulling away from your mouth, allowing you to finally breathe but making you suck in again as he attaches his lips to your jaw.

You don’t know whether to cry or kiss him again.

“I—uh—thank you,” you whisper, dazed.

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “God, you’re adorable.”

That’s when you feel it. That sudden sting in your chest.

His words are sweet. His touch is careful. His kiss had cracked something inside you wide open. And all you could think about is—

This is how it starts—he kisses you like that, and for a second you forget that this is what he does. That he's practiced. That he probably knows exactly what to say and how to touch to make someone feel like they matter. But you’re not interested in being someone’s high-score.

Jake’s thumb brushes your cheek, noticing the shift in your eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

That tiny question, spoken with so much softness, shatters you.

You step back slowly, easing out of his hold like it never happened. You give him a practiced smile. Closed-lipped. Smooth.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “That was... lovely.”

His brow furrows. “Lovely?”

He steps forward, but you retreat just enough to keep the line drawn.

Jake frowns. “Darlin’, I don’t know what just went through your head, but that kiss was anything but lovely.”

You shrug, unsure of what else to say, before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, voice light. “Goodnight, Jake.”

Then you turn around and walk back inside.

Jake stands there, mouth slightly open, like he was still waiting for the punchline.

Strike three.

Natasha, ever the instigator, looks over at Tin with raised brows. “Don’t you think it’s a great idea, babe?”

Tin catches on in half a second and agrees just a little too fast. “Absolutely. Team bonding. I love it.”

Jake stays suspiciously quiet, watching the exchange with an unreadable look. Then he rises smoothly, offering his hand to help you off the chair. You stare at it for a beat, then sigh internally and take it.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

Jake smirks to himself. Still counts.

You pull your dress down as you hop off the tall seat, already regretting your fashion choices. You definitely didn’t plan on bending over a pool table in a room full of military men.

“You break, Ches,” you say, placing the cue ball into her hand.

She lines it up with practiced ease, shooting a flawless break that sends balls scattering across the table. Jake raises an eyebrow at Bradley, who whistles low under his breath.

Chesca leans forward, lines up a clear shot, and sinks a striped ball with a crisp thud. Then another. She nearly lands a third but it bounces off the corner.

She groans, bowing her head dramatically. “We’re doomed, Bradley.”

“We’ll be fine,” he assures, but his tone says otherwise.

Jake turns toward you, cue in hand. “Ladies first.”

You only nod in acknowledgement. No banter. No flirting. Just business.

You lean forward, body aligning automatically. Your cue cracks against the cue ball, and just like that—a solid ball glides into the side pocket.

Bradley opens his mouth. “Don’t worry—”

He doesn’t even finish the sentence. Your second shot clears. Then a third. The fourth you sink without hesitation, glancing briefly at your angles. You call your next pocket without looking at Jake.

The fifth ball drops.

Then the sixth.

The room gets quieter. The tension hums louder.

Your seventh shot kisses the edge but still drops in. And then you step back, calmly tapping your cue against the floor.

“Right corner,” you announce, signaling your next shot.

With one smooth motion, you send the black 8 ball spinning straight into the corner pocket.

Silence.

Then Tin claps her hands like a proud mother hen beside a baffled Natasha. “What the actual fuck.”

“Oh yeah,” Tin proudly says. “Y/N’s won billiard championships before in college.”

Bradley lets out a low laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender.

You place the cue gently back in the rack, brushing invisible lint off your dress.

But not before walking past Jake, who’s still standing there in open-mouthed disbelief, and tapping him lightly on the chest.

“Thanks for letting me go first,” you say sweetly.

Jake’s eyes follow you all the way back to the table.

Game’s over, he thinks.

Strike 2.

But as he steps up to the table, a slow smile pulls at his lips.

“You know,” he says loud enough for you to hear, lining up a casual shot, “you could’ve warned me before embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jake makes the shot without even looking.

Then he sets his cue down and leans on it like it’s a mic stand. “So, do you hustle often or is that just for the unsuspecting Navy guys?”

You arch a brow. “Just the cocky ones.”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest. “You wound me.”

“From what I hear, you’re used to girls going easy on you.”

Jake’s smirk deepens. “And here I was thinking you were just pretty.”

Your eyes meet his for half a second. There’s heat there. Frustration. A dare.

Then you turn away, laughing softly. “Happy to always peg you down a notch”

He grins. God, he’s never wanted strike three more.

The next few days are more of the same but louder, bolder.

You and Bob end up partnered for inspections, simulator drills, and gear checks. It should feel routine, but the air between you crackles. You're both good at pretending it's all professional, but the way he watches you when he thinks no one’s looking? It gives everything away.

“Hey Floyd,” Fanboy calls out on the second day, watching Bob fumble a wrench. “You always this chatty when checking fuses?”

Bob stiffens. You just smirk.

“I bring out the best in him,” you say without missing a beat.

Payback whistles. “More like the blushing.”

Phoenix, overhead, doesn’t even look up from her notes. “He’s been blushing for three weeks. You’re just late to the party.”

Hangman strolls by, flicking Bob’s shoulder. “Down bad, Lieutenant.”

Bob mutters something under his breath. You catch his eye, amused, and mouth: You okay?

He gives you a subtle nod and a faint smile. Worth it.

By day three, things escalate.

Bob joins you for lunch in the base cafeteria. You’re seated at a quiet corner table, picking through fries when he appears with a tray and a nervous smile.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks.

You gesture at the empty chair with a smile. “It is now.”

He sits, close enough that your knees bump under the table. 

He takes a sip of his drink and glances sideways at you. “You always sit alone like this?”

You pop a fry into your mouth. “Only when I’m hoping someone will come flirt with me.”

Bob’s smile curves, soft but full of meaning. “How’s that going so far?”

You glance at him over the rim of your drink. “Promising.”

He shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours under the table. The warmth makes you very aware of how small the table actually is. When he picks up one of your fries without asking, you raise an eyebrow.

“Bold move, Lieutenant.”

He shrugs, chewing. “You said I should be more confident.”

You lean in just slightly, enough to let your shoulder graze his. “Careful. I might start liking it.”

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth, then flick back up. “Noted.”

You laugh, a quiet, breathy sound. He watches you like he wants to bottle it.

You swear he’s about to reach for your hand at one point, but instead he lets his fingers hover close to yours on the table, pinkies nearly touching. It’s nothing, and somehow everything.

“You always this charming on base?” you ask.

Bob smiles shyly. “Only around you.”

You feel your stomach flutter and bite your lip to hide the smile spreading across your face.

That night, after drills, Kari and Iris don’t even ask. They just look at you across the locker room bench with smug, satisfied expressions.

“Well?” Kari says, arching an eyebrow.

“Well what?” you ask, toweling off.

Iris grins. “Is he a good kisser?”

You freeze mid-swipe, then glance around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping.

Kari hoots. “That’s a yes.”

You throw your towel at her. “You’re both terrible.”

“But we’re right,” Iris says.

You sigh, sitting down and pulling your hair into a bun.

“He seems to be more daring now. Touching your back and everything,” Kari adds.

“I saw it,” Iris nods. “Like, full hand. No hovering.”

You groan. “You guys are exhausting.”

“But also correct,” Iris grins.

You laugh, trying to play it off. But your stomach flips anyway.

Because they're right.

And whatever this is—you’re not hiding it as well as you thought.

Bob is late to the break room and immediately regrets it.

“Finally,” Payback says, tossing a stress ball from hand to hand. “Lieutenant Slow Burn has arrived.”

“Have you even bought her flowers?” Fanboy grins.

Bob walks straight to the coffee pot and tries to become invisible. He does take note of the flowers though.

“Seriously though,” Rooster pipes in, leaning back in his chair with a toothpick between his lips, “what’s your play here, man?”

Bob glances up. “What do you mean?”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “He means... what exactly are you doing with Y/N?”

Bob hesitates. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow?” Hangman echoes. “Buddy, tectonic plates move faster.”

Payback laughs. “She clearly likes you. You like her. So why do you keep acting like you’re waiting for a permission slip from Command?”

“I don’t want to rush her,” Bob says quietly.

Fanboy shrugs. “What makes you think you’re the one pushing the pace?”

That quiets the room. Bob glances around, suddenly unsure.

Phoenix softens. “Look, we know you’re careful. That’s why we trust you. But Y/N? She’s the kind who won’t wait around forever. And this is a Navy base. People notice her. Someone else might make a move.”

Bob stiffens slightly. Something flickers in his jaw.

Hangman smirks. “And she’s hot. Don’t fumble this.”

Rooster nods. “You like her? Show her.”

Bob sets down his coffee, determination renewed. “I will.”

He asks you out the next morning.

Not to dinner. Not to the Hard Deck. A picnic.

Just off base, in a quiet clearing tucked behind tall grass and weathered fencing. There’s a checkered blanket, sandwiches in brown paper, iced tea in mason jars. A small speaker playing soft oldies. It’s low-key, thoughtful. Perfect.

You wear a short sundress. It’s casual but cute. The breeze toys with the hem, brushing softly against your thighs as you settle on the blanket barefoot, the sun warming your skin. Bob notices immediately. His gaze lingers longer than usual.

He sets everything out beside you, his movements careful but relaxed.

“I didn’t know you had this in you,” you murmur, taking a sip of tea.

He sits cross-legged, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “I had help.”

You glance at him. “Phoenix?”

“And Fanboy. They’re... terrifyingly invested.”

You laugh. “Well, they did good.”

For a while, it’s quiet. You eat. Talk about anything but you two. He listens when you rant about a delayed supply drop. You listen when he describes a ridiculous new maintenance protocol.

Then he shifts.

“Can I tell you something?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Always.”

Bob leans forward just slightly, his fingers toying with the edge of the picnic blanket. “You looked really pretty this morning.”

You blink. “That so?”

He nods. “That bun you had? The lip balm?” He clears his throat. “Distracting.”

You smile. “You’re noticing things.”

He tilts his head. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you say, suddenly softer. “You’re hard to read.”

He leans in a little more, his voice low. “I notice everything about you, Y/N.”

That makes your stomach flip.

Then he reaches out, fingertips grazing the hem of your sundress where it rests on your thigh. His touch is light, almost idle, but deliberate. He glances up at you as his fingers trail the edge.

“This dress…” he murmurs, “it’s really working for me.”

Your breath catches. The brush of his fingers alone makes heat rise to your cheeks.

He leans in, lips just beside your ear. “You look irresistible.”

You pull back slightly, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He grins. “You heard me.”

“You’re getting bold.”

Bob shrugs, his eyes locked on yours. “You make it hard not to be.”

You’re still flushed when he leans back, sipping from his juice like he didn’t just make you forget how to breathe.

Later, he drives you home. The silence in the car is warm and charged. Your fingers graze his on the center console. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses back.

At your door, you pause. “Wanna come in?”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The second the door closes, his mouth is on yours. You stumble back against the couch as he follows, hands on your hips, backing you into the cushions. You fall together, laughing softly between kisses.

His mouth finds your neck. You gasp.

“God,” you breathe, “you’re really going for it today.”

He pulls back just enough to say, “I’m done hesitating.”

You tug him in by the collar.

Your thighs spread to straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. The hem of your sundress rides higher as you settle into his lap. His hands slide up instinctively—starting at your knees, gliding over your bare thighs, slow and firm.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Hotter. Mouth open, breath quick. His hands move up to your waist, then back down, then up again, greedy for contact.

You’re not sure where your hands end up—his shoulders, his neck, his chest—but you can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop wanting.

He pulls your dress higher, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His mouth is on your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

You whimper when he bites gently at your neck.

“God,” he whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You shiver. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

You roll your hips again, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut. His hands clutch your thighs tighter. You reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. His hands suddenly hold yours, stilling it.

“I need to stop,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You nod, even though every nerve in your body protests. “Okay.”

You stay there, panting together, still tangled in each other. You understand, you really do. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t leave you frustrated.

You untangle yourself off him, then rest your head on his shoulders. His fingers intertwined with yours. 

He gives you another soft kiss. “I’m gonna go or else I’m never going to leave.”

You smile softly. “Never wanted you anyway.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. He gets up slowly and walks to the door. He looks at you one last time before you close the door behind him. You lean against it for a long moment.

Happy but also confused. Unsure whether maybe this is becoming one-sided.

Bob doesn’t sleep that night. He lies awake, berating himself. Why did he stop? Was it fear? Was it self-sabotage? Was he reading into things too much?

She’d wanted him. You’d pulled him in and kissed him like you meant it.

He groans into his pillow. He knows you deserved clarity. You deserved more. But why can’t he take that next step?

The next day, you find Kari and Iris already mid-conversation when you enter the locker room.

“Morning,” you mutter, grabbing your towel.

Iris narrows her eyes. “You’re quiet.”

“Everything okay?” Kari asks.

You pause, then sigh. “Yeah. I think so.”

Iris lifts a brow. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You sit on the bench, pulling your hoodie tighter. “It’s just… maybe he’s not as into this as I thought.”

Kari blinks. “Wait, what? I would have thought you guys were already making out in every corner of the base.”

You groan. “Well… That’s the issue. We can’t seem to move past the making out.”

Iris leans forward. “Maybe because he actually respects you? And wants to do this right?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being easy but I just thought it would feel more clear to him by now.”

Kari exchanges a glance with Iris.

Later that afternoon, unknown to you, Iris and Kari find Phoenix and Rooster leaning by the lockers. They’ve decided that perhaps it’s about time for some meddling.

“You two want to help give Bob a little nudge?” Iris asks.

Rooster smirks. “Always.”

Phoenix crosses her arms. “What’s the plan?”

Kari grins. “Make him jealous. Just enough to wake him up.”

Phoenix laughs. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

It starts with whispered coordination.

Iris corners Kari by the locker room sinks. “It’s time.”

Kari doesn’t even hesitate. “Rooster?”

“Already on board.”

Phoenix joins a moment later, arms crossed and smirking. “You sure this’ll work?”

Kari grins. “Nothing lights a fire like a little competition.”

The Hard Deck is busy but not packed, music humming low and lights warm as always.

You sit at the bar with Phoenix and Iris, sipping a beer and laughing, unaware of the machinations swirling around you. You’re wearing a soft blouse tucked into fitted shorts that show off you legs. It’s casual, comfortable, and gorgeous without trying. You’re relaxed, even glowing, the kind of smile that makes people turn their heads.

Rooster waves someone over. “Y/N, this is Mason. He’s new to the team.”

Mason is good-looking in the clean-cut way. Confident but not cocky. He shakes your hand and falls into conversation easily. 

You think he’s charming. He doesn’t have the appeal that Bob has on you but he leans in just enough when you talk that it’s not hard to get into the conversation. He says something genuinely funny that makes you laugh, makes you forget a bit that there’s an aviator who’s still confused about you. Perhaps a little distraction won’t hurt, right?

Bob walks in ten minutes later, shrugging off his jacket as he scans the room. He finds laughing. Lit up with someone who isn’t him. His chest tightens.

He heads toward the pool table, trying to play it cool, but Phoenix sees him immediately. Her eyes follow his line of sight, and her lips curve like she’s been expecting this.

Hangman nudges Bob’s elbow with his drink. “That guy’s been at it for a good fifteen minutes. Pretty sure he’s making progress.”

Bob’s jaw works silently as he watches.

Mason leans closer, murmuring something in your ear. You laugh again, nudging his shoulder. When he touches your elbow in return, Bob’s hand curls into a fist around his glass.

He watches for another moment. He sees how easy you are with him, how comfortable. It gnaws at him. That should’ve been him sitting there, making you laugh like that. He knows you guys are not exclusive but why does it make his chest tighten thinking about the possibility that someone else might call you his? Maybe he can only blame his self doubt for this.

He knows it’s ridiculous and he’s never been possessive. But when finally, you rest your chin on your hand and smile at Mason like you’re genuinely enjoying yourself, Bob moves.

He walks over, casual but purposeful, and stops behind her barstool.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

You turn, startled at first. Then your expression shifts. “Bob—hey.”

Mason senses the shift instantly. He stands, offers a friendly nod and backs up slowly. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

You smile at him to wave him off.

You turn to Bob with a flicker of surprise. “You okay?”

He leans a forearm on the bar beside you, gaze steady. “Didn’t expect to see you with someone new.”

Your brow lifts slightly. “Mason? He’s Rooster’s friend. He just got transferred here.”

Bob nods slowly, but doesn’t move away. “He’s... charming.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “He is.”

There’s a beat.

Bob’s eyes flick to your lips. “I didn’t realize you were looking.”

The irritation rises within you, hot and fast.

You straighten your back. “I’m not looking.”

Bob’s gaze returns to your eyes, questioning but quiet.

“You think I’m out here trying to find someone else?” you ask, voice low but sharp. “After everything?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He knows you're right.

“I’ve made it pretty damn clear who I want,” you add, standing up. “You’re the one who keeps acting like you’re not sure.”

You grab your bag, brushing past him.

“Y/N—”

“Good night, Bob.”

You don’t respond to his texts.

You kick off your boots when you get home, toss your bag onto the change and change into a soft take and cotton shorts. Your hair out of its clip, cascading over your shoulder while you brush it. You’re simmering with irritation. Where does he even get the audacity to question you like that?

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, frustration painted across your face. What more could you do? You believe you’ve shown enough interest in him. 

Then… A knock. It’s sharp. Urgent.

You walk out of your room and look at the door. You hesitate while walking to the door. Opening it slightly, you find Bob standing there. Surprise overtakes you and you slowly open it until your fully standing in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice soft but stern. Arms crossed in front of your chest.

 Bob doesn’t say anything. He only steps forward, cups your face, and kisses you.

There’s nothing soft or hesitant about it this time. And it’s devastating.

His mouth crashes into yours with weeks of restraint burning away. One hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip as you stumble back into the apartment, gasping against his lips.

He kicks the door shut behind him. Your back hits the wall, and he pins you there with his body, pressing every line of himself against you.

Your hands tangle in his shirt, dragging it up, and his groan vibrates between you. His fingers dig into you thighs, then sweep up to your waist, bunching the hem of your tank as he kisses you deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

“You were right,” he pants against your lips. “I’ve been holding back. But I’m not anymore.”

You don’t answer with words. Just pull him down again, your kiss fiercer now, fingers trailing along his belt. You exhale softly when he sucks gently at you neck.

When you finally break for air, he leans his forehead to your, chest heaving.

“I’m sure now,” he whispers.

You stare up at him, dazed and pink-lipped.

“You better be.”

Another pause. You hand finds his. And this time, you lead him inside.

Owen came back from the corner café like he always did. A ritual he’s developed. He liked the walk, the stillness, the slow beginning. He walked in now with a paper bag, two drinks, and that familiar crooked smile that always made your chest pull tight.

“You up?” he called softly.

You padded out barefoot, hair messy, one sleeve of his sweatshirt falling off your shoulder.

“Barely,” you said, reaching for the drink. “But I’m here.”

He kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips, then handed you the bag.

“Almond croissant,” he said proudly.

You grinned. “You do listen.”

You both settled at the kitchen table, your legs draped over his lap, the mugs steaming between you.

“You writing today?” he asked.

You nodded. “You?”

He hesitated. “I think I might finally submit something this week.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

He smiled. “It’s time.”

Owen stared down at the pages of his notebook, half-distracted by the sound of your pen moving across the table. You looked beautiful like this — head bent, focused, steady. He never stopped marveling at the fact that he got to see you like this every day.

He never thought this would be his life. A year ago, he’d walked away from everything he knew. He’d had no job, no clear direction, just a suitcase and your name burning like a promise in his chest.

The first few months felt like trying to learn a new language. Everything was unfamiliar. He’d taken part-time work at a community center, helping organize youth programs. Now he was working with an outreach organization that partnered with churches and nonprofits, helping young people transition out of restrictive environments. It felt right. It felt like healing.

And he wrote. Quietly, privately at first. Then with a little more courage. A few essays. A reflection piece. Even a short story about a boy who mistook silence for faith and found his way out through a girl who taught him how to speak again. He still didn’t know exactly what the future looked like. But for the first time, he wasn’t afraid to look for it.

He looked up and found you watching him.

You reached for his hand across the table.

“What do you see yourself doing?” you asked gently. “Not just now. Maybe later. When you’re ready.”

He swallowed.

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “But I know I want to help. I want to give people what you gave me. A way out, and a reason to believe they’re allowed to want more.”

You nodded, squeezing his fingers. “Then we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you build it.”

He focused his eyes on you and felt the same rush he’d felt the day he found you again. Grateful. Unworthy. Overwhelmed.

And lucky.

“I hope I can give you back even a fraction of what you’ve given me,” he whispered.

“You already have,” you said.

You both smiled. Soft. Certain.

And then you wrote. Together.

Because it wasn’t just a story anymore.

It was a life.

Yours.

You narrow your eyes. “What do you want, Barnes?”

He pauses. Then: “Dinner.”

Your brain stutters. “What?”

He softens, the smile less cocky now. “Dinner. As in, let me take you to one.”

You blink. “Like… a date?”

“I mean, you kissed me like you might want to sit across from me for an hour and eat pasta.”

“That was…” You trail off, then try again. “That was just—”

“Tequila and nostalgia?”

You frown.

He grins. “I know what you’re gonna say. I just figured I’d ask politely instead of begging on my knees.”

You sigh and cross your arms. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” he says simply. “Because I think we missed something back then. And I’d like to see if we can get it right now.”

It’s annoyingly sincere. You hate how your stomach flips. “I don’t date coworkers.”

“You don’t date ex-roommates’ exes either,” he points out. “And yet...”

You scowl. “You’re really not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Not when I finally have a shot.”

The silence stretches. You shift your weight, glance at your car and finally back at him.

“Fine,” you say eventually. “Dinner. As colleagues. Reconnecting.”

His eyes sparkle. “Sure. Totally professional.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”

He smirks. “No promises.”

He hands you the charger and walks you to the driver’s side, like he’s worried the car might disappear if he looks away. You pause before unlocking it.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really.” He shrugs smugly

You shake your head, not able to keep the small smile from appearing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

You stare at him. His words catching you off-guard. 

His expression shifts and slows. “Can I say that?”

You swallow. “You just did.”

Suddenly, he steps in closer. It was just a few inches but you can feel the heat between you, the memory of his hands on your skin already creeping up your spine.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about last night,” he says, voice low. “The way you tasted. The way you moved.”

Your breath catches. “Bucky…”

“I know,” he says, raising his hands. “Not the time. Not the place. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I want more of it.”

You try to keep your voice steady. “We said it was just a moment.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I want another one.”

You’re quiet. Too quiet. Because your brain is busy screaming danger and your body is saying please.

And then, before you can change your mind, before you can throw logic back in his face, he leans in. You think he’s going to kiss your cheek again. Polite. Safe. But his mouth lands right beside yours again. Like it did yesterday but this time on purpose. 

The kiss is on the edge of your lips. You shift just slightly. Just enough that suddenly it’s a kiss again.

This one’s different this time. Not frenzied. Not wild. Just slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that builds heat in your chest and travels down your spine like a fuse. 

He groans into it, low and quiet, like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. You part your lips, let him in, just once. He brings his hand to hold your face, sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

It makes your gasp. Then, you step back. Because if you don’t, you’re going to let him fuck you in the backseat of your car.

He’s breathing harder than before. Eyes hooded.

You lick your lips, but regret it instantly.

“Text me,” you say, unlocking the door. “If you still want to have dinner when your brain’s back online.”

He opens your door for you, still dazed. “I already do.”

You slide in. “Try not to camp out by my bumper tomorrow.”

“No promises.” 

You close the door before you can smile too much. But you see it in the mirror as you drive off. Bucky is standing there, watching you go, looking like he’s already planning what to wear.