Just Another Dramatic Hoe

     The Island Club hasn’t changed one bit since you were employed here and running drinks around to Rafe and his friends before you knew he even had a crush on you. As you watch the waitresses make their rounds to the same customers, serving the same food to the same tables, you chuckle to yourself at the thought of ever having to deal with that again. 

Scott sits across from you, fidgeting in his seat slightly as he holds himself back from pulling a cigarette from his pocket. You skim over him, taking in his appearance. 

His hair is freshly cut and the rosiness is back in his cheeks after having disappeared for so long. He’s eating three meals a day again, and to you, it seems his only unhealthy habit is smoking. In time, you’re sure he will move past that. 

“How’re the kids?” he asks, looking up at you. 

“They’re good,” you reply, “They’re busy bees lately. Connor is starting on a soccer team, so Rafe’s been helping him practice.”

“That’s awesome,” Scott grins, and the sight makes you smile, “Kid always has had one hell of a kick. What about Josie girl?”

You chuckle, “She’s all about dance, recently. She wants me to sign her up for a class, and I’ve been trying to get this teacher to call me back about getting her in.”

“Wow. Good for her. She’s so driven, Y/N. They both are.”

“Yeah, they’re something,” you laugh. 

He gives you a smile, but it fades fast before he asks, “And, Rafe?” 

“He’s doing really well. He’s less stressed at work, and he’s spending a lot of time with the kids.”

Scott nods, “Is he still… y’know? Pissed at me?”

You sigh and look down at your lap, unwilling to respond right away. Rafe’s feelings toward Scott have been complicated ever since he showed up to the house and scared the shit out of you and the kids, even though you’ve worked through it and have encouraged Rafe to do the same. Your loyalty to your brother runs deeper than Rafe’s does — because, as he puts it, he will always choose the safety and security of his family. Especially his children. 

“He’s not pissed, Scott,” you say carefully. 

“Right, he’s just done with me,” he laughs dryly, “Look, it’s fine, Y/N. I get it.”

You nod, and when your waiter drops your plates in front of you, you’re relieved when Scott eats his meal and has several glasses of water. 

He tells you about the new job he just started and how he’s finally, officially, cut ties with Mae after she’s yanked him around for over a year. How he’s attending regular AA meetings and actually participating in them. He’s even made a few friends in the group, and they go out to eat together after their meetings to keep themselves busy. 

By the time he pays for your lunch and walks you out to your car, you can’t help but pull him into a tight embrace. He hugs you back and gives you a wide smile, silently telling you that he really is doing better. 

“So, listen, I was kinda hoping I could see them soon,” he says, clarifying, “The kids.”

You know you should run it by Rafe first, but the look in Scott’s eye and the pride swelling in your heart at his improvement has you answering faster than you should. 

“That would be great,” you nod. 

He smiles, “Perfect. How about Wednesday afternoon? I don’t have to be at work ‘til six. Do they have sports or anything?”

You hold up a finger and check the calendar on your phone, finding nothing for yourself or either of the kids on Wednesday after they get home from school. 

“Wednesday works,” you reply, “I’ll bring them to your apartment.”

“Awesome,” he beams, then pulls you in for another hug, “Thank you so much, Y/N. I can’t wait.”

“The kids will be very excited,” you tell him, squeezing him tight. 

He laughs lightly, sounding like himself and making you relax even more. He’s finally in a better place, and you couldn’t be happier about it. 

Scott opens your car door for you and then closes it once you’re inside. He stands there and watches as you back out, then offers you a wave before you drive away. You smile the whole way home, thankful beyond belief that your brother is doing right by himself and improving his life where he needs it. 

     When you get home, Rafe is in the kitchen. You smile at the sight of him at the stove, stirring peppers around a skillet and listening to music. You can hear the kids playing in the playroom, and when Rafe notices you come in, he steps away from the food and to you. 

“Hey, baby, how was lunch?” he asks, helping you remove your jacket. 

“It was good,” you say with a smile, “Club hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Nah, I figured as much.”

He hangs up your jacket and your purse for you, then steps back over and guides his arm around your waist. You smile and set your hands on his chest, feeling his warmth. 

“How are the kids?” you ask him. 

“Josie hid Connor’s firetruck underneath the couch, and Bo got it,” he fills you in, watching your eyes pop in horror, “He was very distraught.”

“Oh, no, poor baby,” you pout, “I’ll see if I can find another one for him tomorrow.”

Rafe grins, “You’re so good to them, they don’t even know it.”

You laugh and grab ahold of his chin lightly, pulling him down to give him a kiss. He accepts it, then offers you a small apology as he momentarily breaks away to pull the skillet off the heat and to the back burner. 

When he moves back to you, assuming the same position, you swallow your nervousness of breaching the topic, and instead, slip your hands under his shirt. 

“So, listen,” you start, “Scott got a job. He’s working nights right now, and he goes after his AA meetings. He seems really, really good.”

He nods patiently, but you can tell by his eyes that he’s not receptive whatsoever to where you’re going to take this conversation. 

“That’s good,” he replies, his voice even. 

“Yeah, it is,” you say hopefully, rising up on your tiptoes, “So, anyway, he was asking if he could see the kids on Wednesday before he has to work.”

Rafe raises a brow, “And what did you tell him?”

You swallow again and press your palms into his skin, hoping your touch will lighten him up.

“Well, I… I think it’s a good idea. It would be good for him, and the kids miss him.”

Rafe’s chest deflates against your hands, and only because you know him so well can you predict what he’s going to say next. 

“Look, sweetheart, I’m thrilled that Scott is doing better. I am. I just don’t think this is the best time for that. Josie’s still adjusting to school, and Connor’s getting settled in a new classroom and he’s on a sports team. I feel like they have enough change going on right now, you know?”

You nod slowly, but look to the floor. He covers your hands with his own and takes them, bringing both of your knuckles up to his lips to kiss. You meet his eyes then, and you both take a second to analyze the other person’s expression. 

“It’s not really a change, though,” you push, keeping your voice light, “It’s just Scott.”

“Y/N, Scott scared the shit out of both of them when he showed up drunk.”

“I know, but he apologized for that,” you reply. 

Rafe drops your hands, “That doesn’t make it okay. To be honest, I’m just not comfortable with it. I need more time to work through things with him. I’m sorry, but can we please table this for now?”

You move to speak up, but bite your tongue at the very last second when one specific thought hits you. If you told Rafe you weren’t comfortable with something, he’d never fight with you on it. He would never pressure you into anything, and the thought of doing that to him makes your stomach turn. 

“Yes, of course,” you answer, “Thank you for being straight with me. We can talk about it when you’re ready.”

Rafe shifts and sets one large palm on your hip bone, where he pulls your body closer to his. 

“I’m not saying no, sweetheart. I’m just saying that I’d like to give it a little more time and make sure Scott really sticks to this change before we bring the kids back into it. That’s all.”

You nod and offer him a smile, “I understand, Rafe. I think that’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Thank you,” he says sweetly, “Now, Connor and I are making a grocery store run. Need anything?”

You step closer, “Coffee. And laundry pods for the washer. But not the blue and white ones—”

“The green and yellow ones, I know,” he teases, “I also put a stick of deodorant on the list for you, considering you went to throw it in the garbage this morning and fuckin’ banked the shot.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff, even though your heart swells at the fact that he not only noticed that, but also remembered it and put it on the list, “We need more bananas, too. You know what Josie’s like when we run out of those for her lunch.”

He laughs, “Yeah. Okay. Bananas, coffee, and laundry pods. I’ve got the rest of the list, but text me if you remember anything okay?”

“Okay,” you smile, “Thanks, handsome.”

He nods and signals for a kiss, grinning when you stand up on your tiptoes to give to him. When you pull back, he yells for Connor, knowing Josie will come running, too. 

“Oh, hey, did that lady ever call you back about Josie’s dance class?” he asks. 

“No,” you groan, “I’m hoping she will in the next few days. Otherwise, I’ll look somewhere else. I just heard that place is so good, I really wanted her to try it out.”

He shrugs, “She’ll be great anywhere. Come on, Connor! Shoes and jacket, hurry!”

He kisses you again quickly before he pulls away to get his own shoes and jacket, finishing in record time so he could steal just a few more kisses before the Sunday chores officially start. 

     Monday comes before you know it, and it brings a wave of destruction. Your meetings all get delayed, your work project is put on suspension, and Rose is driving you crazy about an upcoming event that you’re not even technically assigned to. 

Even more than that, Josie had a day. She refused to let go of you when you dropped her off at preschool, and after you managed to escape, they called you twice and Rafe once to report that she would not stop crying and demanding one of you to come get her. Being the parent at home on Mondays, Rafe picked her up, and she sat with him in his home office for the remainder of the day. 

     Tuesday morning finds you easier. You’re seated at your desk and fire up your work email after dropping both kids off at school — Josie did better today — when you realize that you never told Scott that the plans for tomorrow are off. 

You draft up a text message slowly over the next few hours, trying to sound equal parts assertive and sympathetic. At one o’clock, right before you send the text, your drafting is interrupted by a phone call. The nurse at Connor’s school tells you that he’s been running a fever and complaining of a stuffy nose and sore throat since before lunch. You sigh and agree to be right there to get him, then hit send on the text to Scott without thinking twice about it. 

     You return home with both Connor and Josie behind you. Well, Josie walks behind you while Connor lays in your arms, mumbling softly about how he feels cold despite his fever being high. Josie helps you the best she can to get Connor settled in his room, where you lay him in bed and put a light blanket over him, then get him a cup of water and take his temperature once more. It’s still high, so you give him a kiss and tell him to sleep for a bit before you come back up to check on him. 

“Is Connor okay, Mommy? Can we make him some soup?” Josie asks as the two of you slip out of his bedroom. 

You smile and pick her up, giving her a hug since you didn’t get to when you picked her up from school. 

“We should make him some soup,” you agree, “And, I’m sure you’re ready for your after-school snack, too.”

She grins mischievously, “Maybe.”

You laugh and carry her downstairs to the kitchen, where your phone sits on the counter. The screen fills with unanswered texts, so you set Josie down and grab it, scrolling through the messages. 

The first one you open is Rafe’s chain. Two from him — both exactly what you expected them to be. 

Just got a notification you checked Connor out of school? Is everything okay? 

I’ve got a meeting in half an hour but I can come home after if you need me. 

You look over at Josie, watching as she uses the handle on the bottom oven as a balance beam for ballet. Your heart squeezes, and you make a mental note to reach out to other dance studios in the area tomorrow. 

Quickly, you text Rafe back while stepping over to the pantry to get Josie a snack. 

He’s sick, but okay. Slight fever and head cold. Nothing to worry about. Good luck on your meeting, handsome. I love you. 

He returns the sentiment quickly, while also reminding you to call him if things change. Then, as you pour animal crackers into a bowl, you switch over to Scott’s text chain. 

First, you reread the text you sent to him. 

Hey, so I discussed things with Rafe, and we have decided to hold off on allowing the kids to come over. For now. We think it’s best to give you some more adjustment time, and then we can revisit the idea. I’m sorry, Scott. But, I will try to do better by sending you more pics of them. Just hang in there. Love you. 

You know it’s not perfect, but it has to do. It gets your point across, it doesn’t blame Rafe, and it’s sugar coated just enough for him. 

His reply follows your message, and the length looks drastically different. 

Y/N, I’m adjusted. I just want to see them. Didn’t you tell Rafe I’m doing better? Why is he keeping them from me?

“Mommy!” Josie calls, standing at the kitchen window, “There’s a red bird on the fence!” 

You frown at Scott’s text but lock your phone, then carry Josie’s snack over to her. You look out the window to where she’s pointing and find the cardinal that’s holding her attention so well. 

“Wow, beautiful, huh?” you ask, and she nods before you say, “Okay, come on. Let’s sit at the table and have a snack.”

She obeys and sits in her usual seat at the table, smiling widely when you follow her. You sit with her while she eats and talk to her about her day at school, listening intently even as she tells you the same story for ten entire minutes. 

You perk up when you hear the front door close. You know Rafe wouldn’t be coming into the house with his meeting coming up, and a fresh wave of worry passes through your body. 

“Y/N?”

You relax when you hear Scott’s voice, but only for a second. He knows he’s not allowed to come to the house; you had talked Rafe out of taking Scott’s key from him after his latest episode. 

Josie, like you, recognises the voice, and practically tips her chair right over as she attempts to get up. 

“Uncle Scott!” 

Her scream is loud, and she takes off from the kitchen before you can stop her. You groan internally, scrambling to already try and figure out what you’re going to say to Rafe. Despite it all, you follow Josie out of the kitchen and to the foyer, where she is currently diving into Scott’s open arms. 

“Hey, lovebug,” he grins widely, “Wasn’t sure you’d be home from school yet. I’m so happy to see you!”

She locks herself around his neck and presses kiss after kiss to his cheek, laughing when he laughs. 

“I’ve missed you,” she tells him, “Where have you been?”

He smiles sadly, then returns her kisses with his own, “I’ve been getting myself together. For you and Connor. Are you proud of me?”

“Yes,” she giggles, “Want to have an after school snack with me?”

His smile at her question tells you just how much the question means to him, and when he looks over at you for approval, you just can’t say no. Not to Scott; not to your baby brother who has struggled so much for so long, and just needs a little bit of love to keep him going. You can’t fault him for that, and no part of you is able to even consider kicking him out. Even if it’s not what you and Rafe have discussed and agreed on, you hope that when you explain, he will understand. 

You nod your head, and he turns and kisses her cheek again, like he just can’t help himself. 

“I would love to,” he agrees. 

Scott carries her into the kitchen and you follow. He sets her down and lets her run over to her chair, but he hangs back just long enough to talk to you. 

“I’m sorry, I just came over to talk about your text. I didn’t think she’d be here—”

“It’s fine,” you reply, waving him off, “Connor’s home sick from school, so I picked her up because I can’t leave him to go get her later.”

He nods, “Do you need me to bring you anything for him? Soup? Gatorade?”

“No, I have it covered,” you reply, “Go. She’s waiting so patiently for you.”

He chuckles when he sees her sitting on her knees in the chair, waving him over with an animal cracker half shoved into her mouth. Without hesitation, he rushes over and takes a seat beside her, stealing one of her animal crackers and laughing when she protests. 

You puff out your cheeks and check the time, wondering if you can squeeze in a quick call to Rafe before his meeting. When you decide you can’t, you set your phone back down. You’re here, you’re supervising, and he won’t be mad, you tell yourself. Scott can’t do anything wrong with you here, too. 

Your phone’s sharp ring draws you out of your head. When you look to see who’s calling, you gasp and practically pounce on the phone — the dance school that you’ve been trying to get Josie into. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Cameron?”

“Yes,” you reply. 

“Hi there. My name is Chelsea, I’m calling to see if you are still interested in signing your daughter, Josephine, up for dance class?”

“Yes,” you say enthusiastically, waving to Scott and then holding up your finger as you step into the living room, “Yes, I am. She’s really excited to start.”

“Oh, wonderful. We actually have an opening today in our three o’clock class. It’s only one spot, but if you could bring her by today, I can almost guarantee it would be hers.”

You freeze, “Today?”

“Yes ma’am. Spots here tend to go fast, but I saw your last name, and we wanted to offer you and your daughter the spot, first.”

“Oh,” you say, brain running a mile a minute as you try to figure out how to make this all work out, “Um, yes, thank you, we’d love the spot. I just have a few things to work out, but I will do my best to get her there by three o’clock. Does she need to bring anything?”

“We’ll just do a trial run for today, so we have everything she will need here. If you all are interested in continuing after today, we can give you a list of everything she will need for future classes.”

You barely even hear her words, too busy trying to figure out how you’re supposed to be in two places at once. You want Josie to be in this dance school desperately, but with Connor being so sick, you don’t know how to make it happen. 

“Thank you, I’ll try to work it out and have her there at three,” you say, trying to sound more chipper than you are, “Thank you so much for calling.”

“Yes ma’am. See you soon!”

You disconnect the call and let out a long sigh, having wanted that phone call to come at a better time than just now. You wander back into the kitchen and find Scott and Josie still giggling at the kitchen table, and when they both look over at you, you offer a smile. 

“Who was that?” Scott asks. 

You give Josie a smile, “It was the dance studio I’ve been trying to get Josie into. They have an opening for this afternoon.”

“No way!” she exclaims, “Mommy, we have to go!”

Scott can see it on your face before you can even say a word. He watches as you subconsciously glance back over your shoulder, desperate to check on Connor and not sure what to do. Under normal circumstances, you’d call Rafe — at least to just talk it out. But with him in a meeting and unavailable, you don’t have that option. 

“I can take her,” Scott volunteers, “I know you won’t leave Connor, so let me take her to dance. Just there and back, I promise.”

“Yes!” Josie screams, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, Mommy, yes!”

You shake your head, “Scott—”

“Y/N, let me help you out,” he says, “Come on. I can do it.”

“Mommy,” Josie repeats, “I want Uncle Scott to take me to dance.”

“Scott,” you whisper, “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“And you’re drowning,” he points out, “I swear. I can totally handle it. I’ll even video the whole thing for you. Please, come on, let me prove myself to you. To Rafe.”

At the mention of your husband, your eyes find your phone. You want to call him more than anything, but you can’t. Then, you think about the agreement amongst parents when they’re raising children together. There are so many split second decisions that a parent has to make, so they trust that their partner will make the right one. Rafe trusts that you will make the right decision for your shared children, and right now, you can only see one. 

“Okay,” you sigh. Josie’s squeals interrupt you and Scott grins, grabbing her from her chair as you add, “Just there and back. No ice cream, no playground. Just to the studio and back, alright?”

“Alright,” Scott repeats back, still smiling, “We’re gonna have so much fun, right, lovebug?”

“Right!” she squeals.

“Josie, go get your shoes, okay?” you say, watching her nod feverishly, like she just can’t wait for Scott to put her down so they can go to dance. 

“Okay!” she says quickly, rushing off. 

Scott laughs as he watches her go, and when he turns back to you, his expression falls. 

“I need you to take extensive notes,” you say sternly, watching his smile grow once more. 

“You got it,” he replies. 

You allow yourself to smile, too, and he pulls you into a hug. He squeezes his thankfulness into you, and only pulls away when Josie returns with her shoes. 

     You hurry upstairs to check on Connor after putting Josie in her car seat and into Scott’s truck. As you feel Connor’s forehead, he stirs and groans, but he still feels very warm. 

“Mama?” he whispers into the air. 

“Hey, baby,” you reply, “How do you feel?”

“Not good,” he whines, “I’m cold. And I need a tissue.”

You grab the box from his nightstand and offer him one, then help him sit up. He blows his nose and hands the tissue back to you, then lays back down. 

“Go back to sleep. I’ll bring you some more medicine in a little bit, okay?” 

He nods. His lower lip juts out in the pout he always gives you when he’s sick, so you lean down and kiss his forehead before you stand. You retuck his blanket around him, then use careful steps to escape the dark room. 

Downstairs, you hurry into the kitchen and start heating up from soup for Connor, then pour out the next dose of his medicine. You make him a nice tray of everything so he can eat in bed; complete with crackers, a water bottle, and his iPad so he can watch a show while he eats. Just as you’re putting the finishing touches on it, ready to take it upstairs and check on him again, your phone buzzes on the counter. And buzzes. And buzzes. 

Scott’s contact picture lights up your screen, and you furrow your brows as you check the time. They should just be getting to the dance studio, and you wonder if someone had questions for him that he couldn’t answer. 

“Hello?” you say innocently. 

“Y/N,” he sighs, almost in relief, but his voice also holds another emotion, too, “Listen, don’t freak out.”

You freeze, “What? Why?”

The worst possible scenarios go through your brain instantly, and you begin to listen for signs of Josie in the background. Her laugh, her whine at Scott to hurry up. 

“Just let me get it all out, first,” he demands, then groans in pain, “Fuck, okay, we got into an accident. Josie is fine. Not hurt at all. I think I broke my arm, so I’m in an ambulance. They’re taking both of us to the hospital, but she’s right here, she’s good, she’s with me.”

You suddenly can’t suck in a deep breath. All you can picture is Josie in the back of an ambulance, hurt. Josie in a car accident. Josie being scared because she doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

Tears blur your vision just at the thought of her being alone, and the inhale that you try to suck in is sharp and quick. 

“Let me speak to her,” you choke out. 

Scott sighs but complies with your request, and you listen to their muffled voices before you get clarity. 

“Mommy, Uncle Scott is hurt,” she tells you, and just the sound of her voice brings relief to your body, mind, and heart. 

“Josie, baby, are you okay?” you ask her, letting the tears run without a care in the world. 

“Yes, Mommy. They let me put the siren on.”

You laugh, then cry again, “Oh, that’s awesome. Listen, Mommy’s gonna come pick you up, okay? Can you just stay with Uncle Scott for a little bit?”

Josie immediately whines, “No, he’s hurt. I have to stay with him. I told Daddy I am staying.”

A fresh wave of anxiety runs through your body. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind yet, but apparently, it had to Josie. 

“You told Daddy?” you ask weakly, “When?”

“I called him,” she answers, “I was scared, and wanted Daddy.”

“Oh,” your eyes flutter shut, “Okay, honey. Just stay with Uncle Scott until I see you. I love you so much, Jo.”

“Love you, too, Mommy,” she says, sounding perfectly fine, perfectly normal, and all you want to do is get to her. 

She hands the phone back to Scott, and you hear him grunt again in pain before his voice comes through the speaker. 

“”Y/N, I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “It wasn’t my fault, I swear, I did everything right—”

“I’m on my way,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear any of the details right now, “Just… I love you. I’m glad you’re okay other than the arm.”

He takes a minute to answer, and you can see the exact expression on his face as he debates what’s best to do right now. 

“Thanks,” he eventually says, “I love you, too.”

“See you soon,” you mumble, then disconnect the call before either one of you can say anything else. 

The first thing you do is check your text messages. Rafe has sent nothing, said nothing. When it comes to Rafe, you know silence from him is worse than anything else. You take a deep breath and attempt to type out a text to him, but delete it before you can find the words to explain to him any part of it. 

With a long sigh, you hurry up the stairs and into Connor’s room, forgetting all about his soup and medicine. He sits up when you enter, and when he sees the expression on your face, his eyes widen. 

“What’s wrong, Mama?” he asks, coughing after he finishes his question. 

“We have to go, baby. Can you come with me, please?” 

He nods and stands from his bed, bringing his blanket along with him. You put socks on his feet and slide his shoes on, then carry him down the stairs, wrapped in his blanket. Your mind can’t stop running wild as you picture Josie in Scott’s truck, scared out of her mind. You don’t even notice the tears that fall until Connor reaches up and brushes them away with his finger. Giving him a kiss on the forehead, you strap him into his car seat and pull back to look at his face. 

“I’m so sorry, handsome,” you whisper, “I know you don’t feel well, but we have to go pick up Josie.”

“Okay, Mama,” he replies, even going so far as to offer you a small smile. 

You’re grateful for it, and you show him such. With a kiss on the cheek, you close the car door and climb into the driver’s side, all while trying not to burst into tears again. 

Your knuckles turn white as you squeeze the steering wheel, glancing up at Connor every five seconds in the rear view mirror. He’s still okay, still staring out the window, but you’re paranoid about every single car that even comes close to yours. 

The drive to the hospital finally comes to an end, and you’ve barely parked your car before you’re out of it again. Connor is once again placed on your hip, and you rush in from the parking lot. 

Once you’re inside, you hurry to the closest nurse you can find. She directs you to a desk, who directs you to another nurse, who, finally, tells you what room number to go to. Connor buries his head in your neck and starts to cough again, and the guilt piles on top of your chest. 

You finally spot the room number on the wall and rush to it, just needing to lay eyes on her. To assess her for injuries and make sure that she really is okay. When you enter, you relax instantly. Scott is laying in the bed with his arm in a sling, and Josie is seated in the middle of his chest, giggling as he pokes her stomach. They both look so happy despite their current state and what they’ve been through in the past hour. 

“Josie,” you sigh in relief, setting Connor down in the singular chair before hurrying to her and pulling her into your arms. 

“Mommy,” she cheers, “Look, Uncle Scott got a boo-boo.”

You cradle her head and rock her in your arms, then glance at Scott. He’s giving you a sad smile and a wave using his bad arm, but you shake your head at him. 

“Is it broken?” you ask him. 

“Yeah,” he replies with a shrug, “I’ll get a cool brace for it, though.”

You roll your eyes, “Scott—”

“Y/N,” he stops you, his expression suddenly serious, “The guy ran a red light. I didn’t even see him coming until— Look, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my fault.”

“I know,” you nod, and you mean it. 

He’s your brother, and you believe him. Especially because he needs you to so desperately, given that he won’t stop trying to explain himself. 

“Good. Now, I have to use the bathroom, then I want to see what’s going on with Little Cam. You don’t look so hot, dude.”

Connor shrugs, “Been better.”

Scott chuckles and stands from the hospital bed, taking two steps over to Connor. 

“You like my sling?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Connor smiles, “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m tough.”

Connor laughs and so does Josie, and for a brief moment, you feel emotionally stable. You feel at peace, knowing that everyone is okay. 

Then, the door pushes open, and reality slaps you right in the face. You turn too late, and Rafe’s eyes have already assessed the room. He’s frozen for a moment, long enough for you to set Josie down, because you know she’ll want to run to him. 

Instead of waiting on that, however, Rafe crosses the room in a few strides, and you figure out just a beat too late what’s going to happen. 

With a clenched jaw and a balled fist, Rafe states at Scott right as he starts to explain what happened. 

“Yo, Rafe—” he starts, but Rafe’s fist connects with his jaw and knocks him flat on the ground. 

“Oh, my God,” you yell, grabbing Josie and holding her against you while you reach for Connor’s hand. 

Your only focus is getting them both out of the room. You know Scott can fight his own battles, and there’s nothing you can do to talk to Rafe when he’s like this. Looking like he knows this, Scott remains on the ground, leaving Rafe with nothing. He’s dead silent as he turns and faces you and the kids, looking away from you within the same second your eyes meet. 

“Josephine,” Rafe says in relief, crossing over to you and pulling her from you without a word or a look, “Hey, princess. My girl. I was so worried about you. Are you okay?” 

She nods, “Yes, Daddy. I just got scared.”

“I know you did, baby. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to comfort you. Do you have any injuries?”

Josie doesn’t respond right away, and you take it as an opportunity. 

“She’s okay. I checked her when I got here.”

Rafe’s eyes flicker to you for only a moment. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look at you with anything besides pure admiration and love. This time, his glance is cold, calculated, and practically unrecognizable. 

“Let me take you home,” he says to her, “I’m gonna take you home, and nobody will ever take you anywhere again.”

“Except for you?” she asks. 

“Except for me,” he replies with a nod, “Let’s take Bubby home, too, okay?”

Your heart sinks as Rafe looks down at Connor, who is gripping his blanket tightly. When Rafe offers him a hand, Connor slips out of your grasp and takes it. 

You frown, “I can take—”

“Y/N, I’m so damn pissed right now. You need to stay with your brother, since that’s clearly where you want to be.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he says it, which is what makes the tears come. He’s too busy fussing over Josie’s hair and Connor’s runny nose. Rafe grabs him a tissue, then tosses it when Connor’s done. 

You look over at Scott and find him still seated on the floor, blood running down his chin from his nose, and he’s just staring at the kids. You’re sure he thinks this could be his final time seeing them in a long time, and you feel sick over that. 

“Rafe,” you choke out, “Please, just listen—”

“No,” he snaps, “Not to you. I’m taking them home.”

Connor whimpers, but when Rafe takes his hand again, he doesn’t object as his dad starts to lead him out of the room. Nobody says a word, and before you can blink, the three of them are gone. 

“Fuck,” Scott groans from the floor, “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you shake your head, turning back to him and observing his state before stepping over and offering him a hand, “Let’s just get you cleaned up.”

     Scott gets released from the hospital a few hours later, and you drive him back to his apartment. Neither of you speak about anything other than the weather and your parents, because neither of you know what to say. You want to pretend like everything is fine. At least for now. 

You set him up on his couch with dinner, snacks, and a blanket, then let him know that you love him no matter what. In return, he offers you his room if you need a place to crash, and you almost burst into tears right then and there. 

      By the time you make it home, you know the kids will already be in bed. You debate taking the long way, but the fact that Connor is sick draws you back to the house so you can check on him. 

You pull your car into the garage and shut it off, then get out quickly before you can debate sitting inside for a while. You sigh and push open the door to the house, not knowing exactly what you’re walking into with Rafe.

The house is dark and silent. There’s no plate of dinner sitting on the counter for you like he usually leaves behind, and no light on in the living room to guide your path to bed. With a heavy heart, you head upstairs and peek your head into Connor’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep with a box of tissues and an empty medicine cup on his nightstand. 

Of course Rafe took care of everything. 

Quietly, you close his bedroom door and cross the hall over to Josie’s bedroom. When you peek in, you find her bed to be empty, but her stuffed animals are missing. Immediately, you know where she is. 

You hesitate at the door to your shared bedroom with Rafe for a brief moment, then push open the door and walk inside. Rafe’s bedside lamp is on, which allows you to see him lying on his side of the bed on his side, with Josie facing him. She’s tucked in his arms and sleeping soundly, but Rafe is wide awake and watching every single breath she draws. 

He never looks over at you. For a moment, you wonder if he even realizes you came into the room. When your lips part to speak, no sound comes out. You don’t know what to say or where to start.

“She could’ve been killed,” Rafe says evenly, like he’s stating a fact rather than getting emotional. His eyes don’t leave her for even a split second. 

“Rafe—” you start, but he sits up carefully. 

“Don’t wake her. I just got her to sleep.”

You silence yourself and stare at the two of them for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. After a moment, Rafe leans forward and brushes his lips over Josie’s forehead, then stands from the bed. He walks over to you, watching as you stand completely still in hopes that he’ll just take you into his arms and tell you that everything will be okay. Instead, he clenches his jaw and points to the door of the bedroom, silently telling you to walk through it. 

Rafe follows out of the room behind you and closes the door softly. You walk out to the couch and sit down, watching his movements extra carefully. He’s in sweatpants and a black tee shirt that you’ve always loved on him, but never told him so. 

You watch as he takes a deep breath, then places his hands on his hips. He doesn’t sit; he stands in front of you and keeps his eyes on anything but you. 

“Why was she with your brother?” 

His tone is harsh; like nothing you say in this moment could make sense to him. None of it will make any difference at all. 

“Um,” you shift, your voice shaky, “She— no, okay, the dance studio called and— wait—”

“Y/N,” Rafe stops you, exhaling loudly, “I just want you to explain why she was with your brother.”

You nod, “Okay. Sorry. So, I texted Scott and told him that we weren’t comfortable having the kids see him right now. He came over here to talk to me in person, thinking the kids weren’t home, and Josie saw him. So, naturally, she wouldn’t let him go, and he was just gonna have a snack with her and then leave. But, then, that dance studio called and said they had a spot for Josie this afternoon, and the spot was going to be given away if we couldn’t make it. I didn’t want to leave Connor, and Scott offered, and— Rafe, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, hands still proudly glued to his hips. His eyes close under the explanation, and the way his jaw is set tells you that, although it might make sense to him, he still isn’t happy or satisfied with the explanation. 

“You should have called me,” he says quietly, “I would’ve helped you work it out. I would’ve come home.”

“You were in a meeting, I didn’t want to bother you—”

“Bother me, Y/N!” he exclaims, silencing you, “Bother me. Every time. If it means I don’t get the fucking call that one of my kids has been in a car accident with someone I didn’t even want them around in the first place. How could you let her go with Scott? After we discussed it and agreed that he was off limits, you just—”

“I didn’t see any other choice,” you speak up, “I didn’t want them to give the spot away.”

“Let them give the damn spot away, then!” he cries, shaking his head, “I told you, she’d be fine dancing anywhere, but you were so dead set on this one place, and that was fine with me until you shipped her off with your brother and he almost got our daughter killed—”

“Rafe, the accident wasn’t his fault,” you say, finally having the courage to stand, “He loves her. He would never put her at risk.”

He laughs then, and it’s deep, loud, sarcastic. Your eyes hit the floor and you swallow, wanting nothing more than his touch. Despite Rafe being the one causing the ache in your chest, you know he’s the only one who can fix it. He’s the only one who can ever fix it. 

“He did put her at risk, Y/N. Many times. Every time he showed up drunk, every time he stumbled down the stairs. It’s not a fucking coincidence that this happened when she was with him.”

You draw back, shaking your head, “That’s not fair. It could’ve happened to anyone. It could’ve been me—”

“Don’t,” he says immediately, stepping closer to you, “Don’t you dare go there. It wouldn’t have. It can’t.”

“Why not, Rafe?” you question, raising a brow, angry that he wants to blame everything on Scott when you don’t feel it’s his fault, “You’d blame Scott for everything if you could. If I had decided to take Josie to dance, it would’ve been me and the kids at that intersection—-”

“No!” he shouts, silencing you once again, “Stop it. It can’t happen again, Y/N. I almost lost you once, it cannot fucking happen again.”

Your lips glue shut as you realize what this is truly about for him. He runs a hand through his hair and sucks in a deep breath, letting the silence fall between the two of you. 

You know exactly how Rafe has internalized the accident you were in the night of Midsummers with Topper and Kelce. You know, because he’s told you. How he had nightmares for ages afterward, how he still will grip the steering wheel with two hands when he drives with you in the car at night. How he thinks about it every year at Midsummers, regardless of how much time has passed. 

Now, you can’t imagine what this will do to him. His Josie, his baby girl. Getting that call was not easy on him, you’re sure, and for a moment, you understand why he’s so angry with you for putting him in that situation. 

“Rafe,” you whisper, watching the way he looks up at you with vulnerability in his eyes, “I’m so, so sorry.”

He nods, like he really just needed to hear that. You take a step closer, but before you can reach for him, he steps back. 

“I need to sleep on it all. We can regroup in the morning.”

You swallow and nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You settle for tucking them behind your back, squirming under his gaze. 

“I’ll sleep upstairs. In case Connor needs anything,” you say. 

“Alright,” he nods, looking at you like he’s considering something. 

“Alright,” you repeat. 

He sighs, like he’s annoyed with himself, then steps forward and cups your cheeks. He stares at you for a moment before placing a kiss on your forehead forcefully, then drops you from his grip completely. 

You step forward out of habit, wanting his touch back. Instead of reaching for him, you just stare, knowing that he can tell what you want but refuses to give it to you. 

“I love you, Rafe,” you whisper to him. 

Even as angry as he is, he doesn’t miss a beat, “I love you, too.”

He nods, then turns around and leaves you like that. In the middle of the living room with his kiss still lingering on your forehead, and his words sitting in front of you, etching themselves into your heart so you never forget them. 

     When you wake in the morning, your first thought is of Connor. You don’t allow yourself to think of anything else, because it weighed on you all night, until you just couldn’t take it anymore. You cried in the guest room bed. Buried your face in a pillow and sobbed as you relived the day, your choices, and what became of them. You cry for Josie, for Rafe, for Scott. You cry because all you’d wanted to do was make the right choice for all of them, and you wound up only making the wrong ones. 

So, when you wake up with swollen under eyes and a red nose, the only thing you allow yourself to think about is Connor. 

He’s asleep when you enter his room, and when you feel his forehead, he feels the same as he had last night. You make a mental note to bring up more medicine for him, then take his temperature. 

Slipping back out of his room, you head downstairs. Your stomach twists as you hear Rafe talking to Josie in the kitchen, and the thought of facing him without knowing exactly how he feels today makes you anxious. 

As you walk in, you find Josie sitting on the counter and Rafe at the stove, where he flips a pancake in the pan. Josie giggles at something he said, and Rafe laughs back. His eyes catch on you, and for a brief moment, he smiles. Then, he drops it and looks down. 

“Hi, Mommy!” Josie cheers, “Daddy’s staying home today! He said I could, too.”

“He did, huh?” you smile at her, walking around the island to embrace her. 

“Thought I could, considering we’re not consulting each other on decisions anymore,” Rafe mutters. 

For Josie’s sake, you ignore him, but you stare at him while you do it. In no way can you tell Rafe how to feel or act, but you’re shocked at how openly petty he’s being. 

“Rafe—”

He cuts you off when he spins around with a plate in his hand, then gives Josie a wide smile. 

“Alright, princess, your breakfast is ready. Go sit at the table for me.”

He carries Josie’s plate over as you help her down from the counter, then watch her take off to her seat. Once she’s settled, Rafe comes back into the kitchen, but he doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“How’d you sleep?” you try, stepping closer. 

“I didn’t,” he replies as he pours more pancake batter into the pan, “She did. All night.”

You swallow, “Good. So, listen, I was hoping—”

“I’m taking her to my parents’ today. We’ll swim and visit with Topper and Ellie. I figure Connor needs quiet, anyway.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod weakly, “Do you think we could talk later, though?”

“I don’t know.”

You frown and look at the floor, then glance over at the coffee pot. What’s usually filled halfway for you is now empty, and you know the pancakes he’s making on the stove are for himself. It makes your heart ache, to think that he’s so angry with you that he no longer wants to take care of you. 

“Rafe, I just… I want to fix it,” you practically beg, “Please.”

He drops the spatula on the counter before he turns to you, keeping his voice low on account of Josie. 

“This isn’t just something you can fix, Y/N. You hurt me. You prioritize your brother over our kids and you always have. Every time he stumbles in drunk, you always tell him it’s okay. It’s not. This time, you let him take our daughter and they got into an accident. She could’ve gotten really hurt. I’m not okay with that, and I never will be. Until you can get your priorities straight, I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

You step back from him and swallow the lump in your throat. Instead of just rolling over, you want to explain your thought process — have an actual conversation instead of bickering over the stove.

“He’s sick, Rafe. He’s an alcoholic. Guilting him every time he comes to us like that isn’t going to help him,” you reply, trying to stay strong despite the tears stinging your eyes, “And, how dare you accuse me of not prioritizing our family.  This is my top priority— my only priority. I made a judgment call, and I was wrong, I admit it. If I could go back and change it, I would.”

He shrugs, looking back down at the pancake, “But, you can’t.”

His left hand rests on the counter where he leans, supporting his body. You want to reach out and grab it, pull him into you and keep him close as you tell him that you’re sorry over and over again. You give in before you can help yourself, and when you cover his hand with your own, he doesn’t pull away immediately.

“Rafe, please,” you beg, but you’re not sure for what exactly. His eyes. His love. His forgiveness. 

“Don’t,” he says, pulling hand from under yours, “You really hurt me this time.”

Before you can say anything else, he plates his pancakes, then turns to face Josie. 

She grins when she sees him holding up his own plate, and he puts on his parent mask as he nears her. 

“Can we eat together, baby?” he asks enthusiastically, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was absolutely, positively, fine. 

     After Josie and Rafe leave, you bring Connor downstairs. You cuddle with him when he asks for it, you make him soup, give him more medicine, and watch Paw Patrol until he falls asleep on your lap. 

You, however, don’t nap. You stare at your phone screen, at a drafted text to Rafe as your thumb hovers over the send button. 

I hope you know that I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Josie. I never would. The three of you are my priority. We can talk more when you’re ready, but I just want you to know that I’m thinking about what you said and I want to work this out with you more than anything. Please come home. 

You debate taking off the plea for him to come home, but you decide to leave it and press send. When you see that it went through, you put your phone down and take a deep breath, then leave your eyes glued to the screen so you can see the second he responds. 

When your phone does light up again, you pounce on it. You frown when you see Maddie’s name at the top of the new text, asking you why Rafe canceled the dinner plans that you two had with Maddie and Kelce tonight — which you’d completely forgotten about. 

You reply quickly and tell her that Connor is sick, and debate asking her if she can talk on the phone so you can get advice. However, you decide against it and fire off your excuse just as Rafe’s response comes in. 

We will pick up dinner and be there soon. How’s Connor? 

You smile, because something about this feels like progress. Silently, you look down to the sleeping boy, running your hand through his hair because you just can’t help yourself. 

He’s good. Sleeping off the fever, I hope. Thank you for getting dinner!

He won’t respond to that and you know it, but you don’t care. At least he gave you one response. 

     Connor wakes just before Josie and Rafe get home, and with a perfect temperature, he says he wants to stay downstairs for dinner. You nod and give him a hug, and when you hear the garage door open, you wave him up and into the kitchen. 

“Mommy!” Josie shouts when she enters the house, “Look, Daddy got me a princess sticker!”

She holds it up to you proudly as you hug her tight, “Oh, I love it, Jo.”

She beams and moves over to show it to Connor as Rafe walks in. He holds a pizza in his left hand and Josie’s bag in his right. You don’t miss the name on the pizza box — your favorite place, meaning he had to drive fifteen extra minutes each way to get it instead of getting the easy, shitty pizza down the street. 

“You got Lighthouse,” you say, biting your lip to hide a smile as you acknowledge his drive to the pizza place.

“Yeah, I—” he stops himself and closes his eyes, then shakes his head before repeating, “Yeah.”

You take a daring step forward, “Thank you.”

He nods once, and when you see him swallow down his impulse to reach for you, to hug you and kiss you and ask about your day, he looks over to the kids. 

“Hey, Connor. How are you feeling, buddy?”

Rafe steps past you to get to him, and the pizza you’d just been swooning over suddenly doesn’t seem as appetizing. Regardless, you get plates out and divide up slices while Rafe works behind you to get everyone drinks. He pours juice out for the kids and tells them to sit at the table, then gets a beer for himself. He doesn’t ask you what you want because he already knows, and he sets the glass of white wine at your place setting.

Dinner is quiet, but you pretend it’s only because Josie is tired from swimming all day and Connor isn’t feeling well. Everything feels off because you and Rafe didn’t work today — you told Rose that Connor was sick — and Josie didn’t go to school. It feels like it should be a weekend, but it’s not. 

You want to ask Rafe if he plans on going back to work tomorrow. If he wants to sleep next to you tonight, because you want to sleep next to him. You want to ask him everything, anything, just to get him to look at you. 

After dinner, Rafe volunteers himself to do bath and bedtime, which leaves you downstairs to clean up the small mess from the meal. As you clean, you spot a tub of ice cream in the freezer and pull it out, smiling to yourself at your little idea. 

     When Rafe comes back downstairs, he doesn’t look for you. Instead, he makes his way into your shared bedroom, already peeling off his shirt in preparation for a shower when he freezes. You’re sitting on his side of the bed with two small bowls of ice cream and that pout on your lips that you know he loves. He visibly softens at the sight, and when you hold up the bowl, his jaw ticks. 

“You’re something else,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, as he crosses the room shirtless. 

You give him a small smile as he plants himself beside you and accepts the bowl. His knee touches yours, and you feel giddy inside when he doesn’t pull himself away. 

“I’m trying, Rafe,” you whisper as he takes a bite, staring down at the bowl instead of you, “I’m trying to figure out what to do. Because I miss you. And I know I made a mistake. But I don’t want to cut my brother off in the process of working this out. He’s doing better, and I’m afraid that would trigger him into a relapse, or something.”

“I get that,” he murmurs. 

“So, let’s talk about it. All three of us. Let’s set clear boundaries and we can even make a timeline—”

“Y/N,” Rafe practically laughs, “I already did that with you. I told you that I wasn’t ready. I set my boundary, and you crossed it.”

You swallow, “I know, but I think it will help if Scott is clued in, too. That way, wires don’t get crossed, and we can all—”

“We can all what?” he scoffs, standing up, “Live happily ever after? Scott can worm his way back into our kids’ lives? I cave on a lot of shit for you, Y/N, but this is not something you can ask me to do.”

“Rafe, I’m not asking you to change how you feel,” you reply, your voice small and pleading, as if silently begging him to sit back down with you, “Please, I’m not. I’m just trying to make everyone happy.”

He shakes his head and lets his eyes close, rolling them behind his lids, “That’s the problem with you. You’re always so focused on how everyone else feels. You’re so afraid to tell Scott ‘no’ because you’re afraid you’ll be responsible for a relapse if you do. You know what, Y/N? You’re allowed to be selfish. You’re allowed to stand up for yourself and our children. Scott is a grown ass man, and his choices are his own. You baby the fuck out of him, and it needs to stop.”

You digest Rafe’s words, letting them hang in the air between the two of you. On one hand, you want to fight back. You want to tell him that Scott is your family, and you’re just trying to help. On the other hand, you see how trying to help turned into Josie being in an accident. Then, you hear Rafe’s words in your head once more. 

I cave on a lot of shit for you. 

He does, and you know it. With a deep breath, you nod your head, willing to sacrifice for him the way he always does for you — without a second thought. 

“Okay,” you whisper, watching his eyes dart to you, “Alright. I’ll take space. I’ll work on it. Whatever is best for you and the kids, I will do that.”

Rafe stares at you like that’s the last thing he expected you to say. His hands meet his hips and he assesses you from head to toe before swallowing. 

“Maybe you should sleep on that decision,” he says carefully. 

You shake your head, ignoring the stinging in your eyes. He watches you carefully as you stand up and step over to him, then place a gentle hand on his chest. You can feel his heart racing, and you want to smile at the thought of still being able to do that to him after all this time. 

“I don’t need to. You’re right, I let people walk all over me because I don’t want to disappoint anyone. But, our marriage is my priority, and our children are my priority, and I need to do better. I’m sorry, Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes close when your lips ghost over his cheek. His fists ball at his sides as he fights the urge to pull you in, to forget it all and just let his body take over. You move down and kiss along his jawline, then back up to his mouth. You let your lips hover for a moment, giving him time to object, before you lean closer. 

“Y/N,” he whispers at the very last second, “You can’t just tell me what I want to hear because we’re in a fight. You need to figure this shit out for yourself.”

“Rafe,” you sigh, but he shakes his head. 

“I need some time, too. This really rattled me, and I need to figure out how I want to proceed.”

You furrow your brows, “How you want to proceed? Like, with us?”

You fear the answer more than anything, but you need to hear it. 

“With everything,” he replies, “I just… I need sleep. So do you.”

You nod but don’t say a word, standing there and thinking about the melting ice cream that sits on your bed. 

Rafe takes a deep breath and watches as you avoid his eyes, then sighs and steps forward. You think he might reach out to touch you, grab you, kiss you, anything. Instead, he picks up his pillow from his side of the bed and steps back, offering you half a smile. 

“I’ll be on the couch,” he mumbles, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you reply. 

He picks up the two ice cream bowls and carries them to the door, turning back and staring at the scene in front of him for a moment. You, still standing on his side of the bed, where you know you’ll sleep tonight. 

“Love you,” he whispers. 

“Love you, too.”

He nods and then closes the door behind him. Only then do you fall into his side of the bed and inhale his scent on the sheets, allowing your tears to fall right where you lay. You don’t grab a pillow, you don’t cover yourself with a blanket. You just cry until your body grows so tired that it forces you to sleep, with swollen eyes and a regretful heart. 

     You jolt awake to the sound of the doorknob to your bedroom rattling up and down a few times, which immediately has you sitting up in bed. Your first thought is that it’s Connor trying to get in because he’s sick, and your heart sinks at the thought of him having gotten worse. 

Which is why, when Rafe comes rushing into the room, your eyes grow wide. He’s shirtless and his hair is a mess, but more than that, he looks completely terrified. Your heart races as he starts over to you at a fast pace, lips parted like he’s trying to speak, but can’t. 

“Rafe, what is it?” you ask softly. 

His breaths are shallow and jagged, and when he tries to inhale, it seems like he can’t. You scoot closer to the edge of the bed, and when he rounds the mattress and gets to you, he sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers in relief, beginning to check you from top to bottom with his eyes and hands, “Fuck, thank God.”

His palms grip your forearms and he flips them over to check for any sort of marking or injury, then moves down your body to your legs. He runs his hands over every square inch of your skin, and you let him. 

“Of course I’m okay,” you reply, grabbing one of his hands in yours, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He lets out a long breath, then shakes his head, but his hands never leave you. He grips you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go for even a moment. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he rushes, “Just a bad dream, I guess. Felt real.”

You tense, “Are you having nightmares again?”

He shrugs, but when you cup his cheek with your free hand, he nods. 

“Yeah,” he admits shyly, “I, um, I know we’re in a weird place right now, but—”

“Come to bed,” you demand, tugging him in. 

He nods, as if that’s exactly what he wanted you to say. You scoot over just enough for him to crawl onto the mattress, then bury yourself in him the moment he’s laying flat. His arms wrap around you and your head presses against his heart; this time racing for a different reason. 

Just as you settle and the room falls silent, you debate what to say. If you should ask any questions or just let him be. Rafe speaks, silencing your mind. 

“Y/N,” he whispers into the darkness, “I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me,” you encourage, squeezing him slightly. 

He takes a long moment to start, but when he does, you can tell by the shakiness in his voice that he’s emotional.

“I think part of the reason I got so upset with you was because I was very aware of the fact that it could’ve been the three of you at that intersection. Even though you let Scott take her against my wishes, you still made the right choice, somehow. Because, I swear, if I had gotten a call that all of you were at the hospital, I think I would’ve had a heart attack right then and there in my office.”

“Rafe,” you whine, cuddling closer. 

He shakes his head, “Let me finish, okay, baby?”

“Okay,” you whisper. 

“I’m terrified that something will happen one day. That I won’t be there to protect you, or stop it, or fix it, and this whole thing really brought that fear out of me. I know that I seem overprotective with the kids, especially with Scott, but I just can’t stand the thought of something happening to them. To you. You’re my entire world, Y/N. I just need you to understand that.”

“I do understand that,” you answer, heart hammering in your chest, “But, we also can’t live our lives in fear of what could happen. All we can do is take precautions and make informed decisions together. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Rafe. I would never, ever do that on purpose. I love you too much to even consider it.”

He swallows roughly, “I know, sweetheart.”

You want to say more, to spill your guts and tell him every thought you’ve had for the past twenty four hours. Instead, you cuddle deeper into him and inhale his scent, then kiss his cheek. 

“You should sleep, handsome,” you whisper against his skin, “I’m right here, and I’m okay. We’ll work it out in the morning.”

He nods, then presses a kiss into your hair, “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too,” you reply, “That means you’re stuck with me.”

He chuckles lightly, “Good.”

You smile against him, then kiss his cheek once more before you resign to laying your head on his chest. Both of you are asleep in seconds, surrounded in the warmth and love of the other. 

     When you wake up in the morning, your hands are both tangled in Rafe’s. You feel his smooth palms in yours and you smile before you even open your eyes to find him. When you do, he’s laying across from you, already wide awake. When his eyes meet yours, his lips tip up in a smile. 

"What are you staring at?” you ask teasingly, shifting closer. 

“My wife,” he replies in that morning voice that always seems to get you, “My beautiful, infuriating wife.”

You laugh, even though it shouldn’t be funny. He smiles a real smile then, and you bask in it. Having not seen it in what feels like forever, you want to keep it there for the rest of your life. 

“Rafe,” you whisper. “I—”

“I know,” he stops you, tugging you closer, “I know you’re sorry. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully. 

“Mhm,” he hums, “Can you just promise that you’ll call me the next time you don’t know what to do? No matter what?”

You nod, “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he says, then takes a breath before saying, “Now, about your brother.”

“I still want him in my life, Rafe. But, I’ll meet up with him and really discuss boundaries and everything. I’ll take the house key from him. I will do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, but I won’t cut him out.”

He nods, “I’m not asking you to cut him out, baby. Not at all. You just need to be more firm with him. You know Scott, you give him an inch, he takes a mile.”

“I know,” you reply, dropping your shoulders at the evident quality your brother possesses, “I’ll work on being more assertive with my boundaries when it comes to him.”

“Good. You deserve to be appreciated and respected. You’re not a doormat for your brother and his issues.”

You know Rafe’s right, but you’re not ready to admit that that might just be what Scott has been doing to you. That he knows you’ll go easy on him, so he comes to you first. You haven’t wanted to see it, so you don’t. 

“So, we’re okay?” you ask, biting your lip. 

He stares at you for a moment, and you notice how his look of admiration has returned. You smile as he begins to nod, then squeeze his hand. 

“We’re okay,” he replies, “Sorry if I scared you last night.”

“You did. Do you think our fight brought it on?” 

He shrugs, “The fight. Josie being in the accident. I’m sure it will go away in the next few nights, as I calm down.”

You nod in understanding, then place a few gentle pecks onto his bare chest. 

“If there’s anything I can do, tell me,” you murmur, “You’re never alone.”

“Thank you, baby.”

As much as you want to stay and bask in his body heat, you know you should get up to check on Connor and take him more medicine. Rafe can feel you tense as you prepare to move, and his grip tightens. 

“Rafe—”

“He’s fine,” Rafe bluffs, “Don’t get up.”

“I have to.”

He laughs gruffly, then releases you. Reluctantly, you climb from the bed in your tank top and short shorts, eliciting a groan from Rafe where he lays. Without being able to contain himself, it seems, he reaches over and swats your backside as you escape from the bed, earning a jaw drop from you. 

“Sorry,” he grins mischievously. 

“Sure you are,” you mutter, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I really am, sweetheart. I remind myself every day.”

You know he’s being his silly self, but the words bring butterflies to your stomach. You grin and turn back to look at him as you walk toward your bedroom door, taking a mental picture of him laying in bed with his shirt off and his hair messy. He’s practically begging you to come back to him, and for a moment, you strongly consider it. 

“Don’t move,” you command, “I’ll be back in ten.”

He chuckles, “Yes ma’am.”

You hurry from the room and up the stairs, already missing Rafe’s heat and the comfort of your bed with him in it. You’re already making plans for when you return to your bedroom, because although fighting with Rafe is one of the worst things in your entire world, making up is your absolute favorite.

—————————

It all started with his shoulder. Because of course it would. Of course, amongst all the other shitty cards life dealt Bucky, chronic pain had to be in the deck. Unexpectedly, shoulder pain was apparently the rain that preceded a rainbow.

It felt like hell decided to take home there. An overall soreness, a dragging weight that felt like a boulder sat in his skin, along with an pricking sensation that was comparable to a hundred needles driving into his non-existent arm; which was a feeling he still couldn’t wrap his head around.

His spine felt twisted, convoluted by the 65 pounds of metal it upheld. He felt as if all the damn muscles in his back and neck were on the verge of giving out. This oh so common feeling resulted in a bad day. Bucky cursed the goddamn universe for giving him this daily predicament when painkillers were ineffective on him.

Also, the pain wasn’t ideal to endure in the midst of the chaos he’d gotten himself into. Between the flagsmashers and doing anything, any work he could to get a lead; Zemo being an conniving instigator, always trying to prod at Bucky’s head or give some kind of twisted sentiment to purposely offend someone; amongst many other undesirable circumstances from the past few weeks that he’d been repressing, Bucky’s threshold for irritation had been passed. He was just glad to finally take a seat and possibly bring his pain to a minimum.

You trotted into the open room, your attention falling upon the large figure slouched into the couch cushions. Your attention was on him most of the time anyways but your curiosity peaked at this particular moment.

Bucky wilted into the sofa, head flung backwards, eyes tightened shut and lips pursed into a thin line. His position looked like a poor attempt at alleviating discomfort. You could practically feel this stiffness of his body from where you where standing, as if he was the epitome of rigidity.

Bucky was utterly still besides the frequent expansion and collapse of his chest and the flaring of his nostrils each time air passed through. You watched his brows crease as he attempted to shift a bit, he shook his arm and rolled it in the air before letting it plop down on his stomach.

After your observation, you plodded past him, making a detour from your original route into the kitchen instead. You rustled through the cabinets to find what you needed, or more so what you thought would possibly cheer your friend up a bit.

You half way debated on wether you should actually bother Bucky or not. He’d been rather snappy the whole day. Words few and far in between, yet each one was laced with annoyance, leaving a sour punch to whom ever they were directed towards. There was a lack of his usual playfulness in his grouchy attitude.

However, you had a gut feeling about the cause of his increased moodiness, and felt that you could be of help. With that reasoning, you poured two glasses of Zemo’s whisky, then carried them towards the couch.

The sudden feeling of cool condensation touching his palm alerted the man to your presence. Bucky’s forehead crinkled. His nystagmic eyes followed your movements inquisitively, as settled to his right.

“What’s this?” He mumbled, staring down at the cup as if it were an oddity.

“A drink.” You stated the obvious and he gave you a peculiar look. “It’s not fuckin poisoned.”

“Oh good, I was so fuckin worried about that, you gave me a real scare.” Bucky sneered. “Not like any poison could hurt me anyways.”

You grinned at that and watched him take a mouthful. “You good?” You quieted your voice and provided a more caring, worried tone.

“I’m fine?” He shrugged, saying it as a question rather than a statement.

You rolled your eyes immediately, then took a sip of your own drink. “That’s a load of bullshit. You’ve been bitchy all day.”

Bucky screwed up his face, squinting his eyes at you as if you’d just offended him deeply. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes you have.” You mocked teasingly. “You’ve been in a shit mood, what’s wrong?”

He paused to glare at you, then spoke without breaking his interrogative stare. “Is that why you brought me a drink?”

“Maybe.”

“So if I agree, will you feel bad for me and keep ‘em comin? Or better yet, bring me snack, I’m kinda hungry.” He propositioned with a mini smirk. You playfully punched his leg at the request. “Ow!”

“I’m not your fuckin servant.” You gritted with faux anger but failed to restrain the smile that grew. “Seriously what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He broke his eye contact with you and shook his head.

“You’re a shitty liar, ya know. And you keep makin that one face.” You pointed out blandly.

“What face?”

“I don’t know, the one you make when somethin’s bothering you.”

He grunted, then rolled his eyes and swallowed the last of his liquor. “You’re dellusional.”

“And you’re a liar.” You shot back.

“Will you let me sit in peace?”

“If you tell me what’s wrong.” You counter offered.

Bucky sighed and licked his lips. “My shoulder and back hurt. Now will you quit fucking gripping at me?” He reluctantly revealed with a semi-nonchalant tone despite the highly contrasting body language.

Your lips set into a slight frown, him confirming what you thought the issue was. “Arm?”

“The one and only.” Bucky grumbled.

“Phantom pain too or just muscle?”

“Both.” His voice was now hushed, embarrassed more with every moment of this conversation.

“Set up a bit.” You commanded with the wave of your hand, you then stood up yourself and began to walk.

“What are you doing?” His features knitted together forming a scowl.

“Chill out.”

Your response only made him more skeptical of your seemingly spontaneous behavior. “No, what are you doing?”

“My god, Bucky relax. You’re gettin all defensive for nothing, ya big idiot.” You laughed as you strolled to the back of the sofa, right behind where he was seated.

You trailed across his back to find where metal ended through the fabric of his shirt. You then placed your hands onto the taut muscles of his shoulder and lower neck. There was no give to them, you’d merely rested your fingers there for a few seconds but could already feel the knots.

“You’re touching me, I have every right to-oh, oh fuck.” Bucky haulted his complaints with a blissful noise when you pressed your thumbs into the most strained area and began to move them in circular, forceful motions while your other fingers worked more lightly in surrounding.

“See? Not so bad. Figured it’d make you feel better.” You hummed.

You forced your digits deep into the knots, grinding at them to loosen up his body. You payed attention to multiple spots, all along the rugged path of where his arm began as well as his spine and middle back, even his other shoulder. You massaged each gently and took your time.

Throughout, he’d relaxed into your touch. The man released a few soft moans but when you reached a particularly tight spot around his ribs, he moaned rather deeply, sounding guttural.

“Woah Barnes, I think you’re likin this a little too much.” You laughed, still working into him.

“Fuck you.” He bit, almost breathlessly.

“Kinda sounds like you are fucking me.” You teased boldly, with a flirtatious undertone.

“Maybe I’m daydreaming it.” Bucky deadpanned.

“Oh good, how hot is dream-me naked, scale of 1-10?” You played along, trying to remain as blank as he did but amusement still poked through.

“Negative 20.” He bit his lower lip and exhaled through his nose, attempting to hold back the tiny laugh that almost escaped him.

“So hateful, I’m hurt.”

“Mm.” He grunted, the pushed his body further into finger tips, causing the entirety of your palms and forearms to linger on him.

It was an action he’d done sparsely throughout the massage. You’d readjust yourself and a few moments later, his back would press right into you once again, as if your fingers weren’t enough and the inch of air between your bodies was unacceptable.

At first it wasn’t on purpose, it was rather instinctual. The pure ecstasy your touch brought was subconscious but it grew into a forefront, hungry, craving for more. He was intoxicated on the way your gentle, warm hands took care of him. Touching him with a kindness and special affection that he hadn’t felt on his body since Steve, and even then very sparingly.

Bucky didn’t realize how dazed he’d become on the feeling until you pulled away. Until you ruffled his hair, in one final moment of contact and then said goodnight. Your sudden stop and disappearance left him inexplicably disappointed. His shoulder felt much nicer, much more relaxed, yet there was something in him that felt unattended to.

The following morning, that odd feeling still resided in him but grew in intensity when he saw you. Something about it made his heart pang, almost as if he missed you, like he craved you.

You’d called him out for staring, for standing in the middle of the floor still as a statue, watching creepily. Bucky just shook his head defeatedly and claimed to be tired. Once brought back to his senses, he also didn’t understand how his tiny crush had grown in intensity over night. How it went from liking you normally, to what he could only assume was yearning for your company.

Oddly, he suddenly wanted to be by your side at all times but was admittedly rather terrible at hiding it. He tentatively followed you around and always stood next to you on the day’s mission work. Sam even questioned Bucky privately about why he was trailing behind you like a lost puppy, which earned a him death stare.

Something in his head was pestering him to get closer, to find an excuse to spend time with you and it wasn’t letting him rest. So Bucky found himself in the doorway of your guest room, his hands frantically wriggling, sweat starting to form on the right one. You laid, sprawled out on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. You hadn’t realized he was there, so it wasn’t too late for him to back out, but fuck he couldn’t resist.

“Are you busy?” He asked, causing you to look up from your phone.

“Nah, what’s up?”

“My shoulder hurts.” Bucky stated awkwardly, but at least it was true, his shoulder did always hurt.

You smirked, knowing what he wanted. “My hands are magic, huh?”

“You’re mildly okay.” He scoffed.

“No, no. I’ve gotta be a real good masseuse to have mr James Barnes begging for more.”

Bucky shrugged. “Well, I’d rather ask you than Sam. Or psycho.”

“So I’m your favorite, is what I’m hearing?” You questioned playfully.

“Hell no, I hate you all equally.”

“Really? You like me and Zemo equally?”

“Good point….I like him better.”

You dramatically gasped and feigned offense. “I hope your shoulder hurts like a bitch.”

“It does.” Bucky stated, his tone not even sarcastic this time.

You laughed as you sat up and patted the bed. “Come here.”

Bucky felt the nervousness wash out of his body and internally cheered at your notion. He sat on the bed side and you positioned yourself on your knees behind him. You silently began to work your magic on his body, relieving tension every second and placing him in a quiet paradise.

He liked that about you, about spending time with you…the fact that you didn’t have to talk. Chatting wasn’t necessary to enjoy his company and he appreciated it, because if Bucky was honest with himself, conversing wasn’t a strength he possessed. Anything beyond mission talk or teasing, and his brain would shut down, taking it seemingly 1-3 business days to reboot.

You never pressured him into opening up more nor were you like everyone else, who made off handed comments about how he should be more social. You just understood and accepted, which graciously provided Bucky with a sense of comfort.

After a while, your hands slipped away and returned back to towards your own body. Bucky turned to look at you and you flashed him a tiny smile to indicate you were done.

He nodded in understanding and shifted a bit as if he was going to leave, however you spoke up. “Thinkin bout watchin a movie, you can stay and watch it with me if you want.”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” His agreement was quiet and monotonous.

When you adjusted yourself on the bed and leaned against the headboard, your bicep brushed against his. You settled close enough to his body that your arm remained lightly touching him and your thigh was about to ghost him. Any time you moved slightly, you’d somehow unintentionally touch him.

You seemed rather unbothered by the lack of personal space, your eyes were glued to the screen. Bucky’s were glued to you, a pounding startled his chest from the faint contact. So minimal but to him it felt so intimate.

Soaking in that tiny bit of shared space made a light bulb turn on in his brain. He

realized then what he was wanting so badly…to feel you.

He felt ashamed, he bit down his lip and a crimson color creeped over his face, but you didn’t notice due to your attention being elsewhere. His own head was screaming at him though, berating him for being a creep who wanted to touch his coworker.

It was like a craving though, something that wouldn’t die. Sure, he couldn’t ask without it being the awkwardest thing in the world and result in an upfront rejection. He certainly couldn’t just hold you without permission. But he could give himself a little taste right? It wouldn’t be so wrong to ‘unknowingly’ let his thigh skim yours if he shifted a bit to ‘get comfortable’.

So Bucky did just that, and you didn’t mind, you didn’t bat an eye, you stayed like that for the rest of the movie. He let himself have that tiny win, that itty bitty taste of the most delectable dessert. It’d suffice and fufill his need.

Except it didn’t.

The desire for you ate away at him over the next few days, it clawed up through his chest and was desperate to break free. Your normal presence wasn’t enough for some reason. It wasn’t enough to just talk with you, or sit next to you for a meal, or stay by your side on the mission.

He wanted to feel you. Bucky couldn’t look at you without thinking about it, without imagining your hand in his or your arms around his waist. This escalated to when his mind was too overwhelmed with demons, it started to comfort itself with illusions of you. Fantasies of you being there to tell him it’s okay, as you bring your warmth up against his body, tenderly putting him at ease with your compassion.

In those passing days, he started to accidentally bump into you in the hall way, or reach for something at the same time so your fingers would brush. As the mission continued, Bucky started to give you pats on the back when you did well, or elbow you when teasing. If he was walking beside you, he occasionally would swing his hand a bit so it’d ‘mistakenly’ graze yours.

Each time was like a short high, his mind turned to mush and his heart skipped a beat. He’d never show that these little ‘accidents’ had an effect on him. He’d sometimes have to grimace to hold back his impending smiles, to keep himself collected and not seem like a complete fool.

He started asking you to go on walks with him when he was bored, and eventually would even come to your guest room before bed to hang out.

That’s when he realized despite wanting to touch you so badly, he was okay with just looking, just observing and admiring you. He thought you were so beautiful and took in every part, all the littlest things, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed, the curve of your lashes and the way your eyes popped when light hit your iris. He liked your hair, and the way you slightly parted your lips when you were in thought. He appreciated the outline of your figure and the skin that showed when your shirt rid up.

He liked listening to you talk, your voice was melodic to him and your words always captivated his entire attention, nothing else could be more interesting than what you had to say. Anything that came from your mind was golden in his opinion. He thought you were the damn funniest person and loved how often you joked with him, you were sure to always bring a smile to his face. Bucky was gone for you.

Your friendship blossomed further, your bond was stronger than before. Thanks to you and Sam’s joint effort in re-exposing Bucky to socialization, he’d learned to come out of his shell over those weeks. He stopped being so reclusive, even if he stayed on the quiet side, he attempted to be around others because in small amounts, it actually made him feel good. He started sharing more of himself with you and Sam, even Sarah, allowing you all to get closer and pushing his fears aside. He started to laugh more often, it didn’t feel so foreign in his mouth anymore.

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he didn’t have to move past his invisible attempts at tactility because with time, you were the one who made the leap to further intimacy, and hell, he was glad. Glad to finally know what it was like to feel your warm embrace and even more so to know that you wanted it, you wanted him.

The first time you actually hugged him was after leaving Sarah’s house and parting ways at the airport. You dropped your luggage, then wrapped your arms tightly around him and snuggled your body up against his. It had caught Bucky off guard, he initially froze at the unexpected gesture before he slowly returned it. He thought his whole heart, his entire being, was going to melt into a puddle. You stayed in his arms for a bit longer than necessary, like you were savoring it as much as he was.

“For being so moody all the time, you give really good hugs”, is what you mumbled against his collarbone.

After that, hugs became a common greeting and goodbye between you two. They then transformed into more, you’d lay your head on his shoulder if you were seated next to him or mess with his hair, you’d even playfully wrestle with him.

The more open you were, the more relaxed Bucky became with fulfilling that craving he had. He started to put his arm around you, you took that as a notion to start cuddling with him at any given chance. You’d always nuzzle your head into his chest or call dibs on the position of big spoon. You became incredibly tactile, always touching each other, in any platonic form.

Then there was the first time you held hands.

Oh god, did that do Bucky in. It was at a PR dinner, celebrating Sam’s title of Captain America and giving him a grand introduction to the world. Pictures, interviews, all the good stuff. Beyond supporting your friend though, the two of you along with Joaquin were asked to come for good press as well. Cap’s crew needed to make their formal debut.

It was nice, the lavish food and elegant venue, the even gowns and tuxedos. It was an interesting change of pace for friends who typically hung out at home with some beers. It would’ve have been a perfectly nice time if wasn’t for three grueling reporters, who poisoned things with their nasty venom.

Comments and questions about the winter soldier went flying, the first were mild but they grew into much more vindictive words. It eventually was shut down, they got bored of hearing answers of how utterly normal Bucky was. He gave them no reaction, his demeanor was chillingly cool and unbothered.

On the inside he was writhing, a goddamn anxious mess, and with every question his head became more brutal of a place to be in. He was good at masking though, great, a talent even. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene, to give them a reaction, to be humiliated further by display how easily triggered he was.

You knew. He had no idea how but you did; you always did, you could read him like a book with merely a single glance. He swore you had some secret power or something, because logically you shouldn’t have been able to see how hurt and anxious he was; but you did.

You didn’t say a single word. You subtly reached under the table and took his hand. Your grasp was firm yet tender, your thumb soothed over his skin in circular ministrations. It was a private comfort, you reassured him without anyone else’s knowledge of it.

It brought him a sense of calm he couldn’t understand. There was no logic for how a simple hand on his could put him at such ease, more than that even. It was as if everything else just stopped, as if nothing mattered except the way your soft palm and delicate fingers transferred their affection and support to him, sending a bush of warmth to his heart and an explosion of dopamine in his brain.

He knew you had to feel something to in that moment. Anything. That was the only time he questioned if your touch was more than platonic, if he meant something more to you.

Bucky decided against that however. It was a silly little hope derived from the spindle of thread his own crush left behind. You wanting him just wasn’t viable, but a man could dream and also could take as much as he could get.

Bucky got as close to you as possible without pushing that boundary into romance that he knew you very much would not want.

He immersed in all little things, all the soft touches, heartfelt laughs, and allowed himself to pretend you loved him. Just for a moment each time, just to get that rush of serotonin that filled his brain and butterflies that filled his belly. It was nice to imagine even if it wasn’t true.

As the months started to pass by, you learned his soul, and he learned yours. Bucky hadn’t felt so open and free with a person in decades.

You were there on his good days. When he felt like going out in public, when he cracked lots of dry jokes and sparred with you. The days when he’d talk your ear off, ranting like crazy about how he hates rap music and how coke tasted better in the 40s.

But you were also there for the bad. The times when the missions were triggering, the times his nightmares got too bloody and his memories too violent. You were there for the panic attacks, the days he didn’t even feel like showering, the moments he got too angry and aggressive.

You’d seen it all and never judged, still stayed by his side. With tears running down his face, as his body quivered, you had cupped his jaw warmly and brushed your thumb over his teardrops. You cradled the back of his head and brought it into your chest, holding him tightly when he broke down more after your gentle gesture.

Being with you, even just talking to you over the phone, was equivalent to coming home after a long day of work. Bucky loved you with his whole being.

He never let himself be delusional though, he had to remember that you were just friends. He simply pushed down the detrimental thoughts that came along with that knowledge, he had too much negativity in that head of his already.

As long as you were in his life, it didn’t matter if you were his girl. You’d always be there either way and that’s all he needed.

Except Bucky didn’t take one thing into consideration.

He never thought about you getting a boyfriend, he never considered the idea of another man taking his spot in your life, taking you away from him. Until you told him you were going on a date that is.

Some random man you met in a coffee shop and he gave you his number. You’d apparently been texting for a week when he asked you out. Bucky was appalled at the idea of you being interested in a guy you’d met once. Appalled and green with envy, that is. However he’d told you over the phone, “that’s great”, and pretended as if he supported it.

But it ate at him. Nagged him to death, the idea of you sitting at dinner with someone else, finding him handsome and charming, the absolute nightmare it would be if you liked him. That random getting to learn about about you, to hear you talk about yourself, to admire your beauty, and god forbid, touch you in anyway.

The more Bucky imagined the possibilities, the more chill he lost. By the end of the week, he’d drove himself berserk, and Sam was the one to suffer a two hour phone call filled with Bucky’s confessions (which he was already well aware of) and dramatic ranting. All of which, he responded to with “Man, quit flipping your shit and just tell her you like her.”

Which was great advice. In theory, that is, because Bucky had decided that it was a set up for a soul-crushing rejection that he wouldn’t be able to withstand. So he said he’d do nothing. He’d just suck it up, let you have your date, and try to be happy for you.

He lied. Bucky changed his mind on a whim that Saturday night and found himself knocking at your door, which soon was opened hesitantly.

“Uh, hey?” You said, staring at him quizzically.

Bucky pushed past you and let himself in your apartment, while you stared in bewilderment.

Your eyes narrowed as they followed his form, you then shut the door behind him, still a bit surprised at his sudden appearance. “Why are you here?”

Bucky looked you up and down, real slow with his eyes taking their time on each part of you as if he was hypnotized by you. “You look nice.” He mumbled, still dazzled by how pretty you looked.

“Thanks, answer my question.” You insisted hastily and it brought him back to his right mind.

“Wanted to hang out with you.” Bucky blankly answered and shrugged before sitting on your couch.

“Okay, for one, I’ve told you a thousand times that you can’t just show up here and put me on the spot. And two, you know I have a date tonight.”

“And?”

Your eyebrows crumpled in half annoyance and half disbelief at his audacity. “And I gotta be at the restaurant in like 20 minutes. Get your ass out so I can lock up.” You demanded, gesturing at him then the door.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna stay right here.”

Getting impatient with his antics, your voice rose to a higher pitch. “Whatever, stay then. Don’t eat my whole fucking fridge again and if you leave before I get back, lock the door.” You told them proceeded to start gathering your belongings.

“You shouldn’t go, Y/N.”

“What?”

“Cancel your date.” Bucky suggested in a way that sound more like an order.

“Why?”

He stared at you for a moment, racking his brain for a reason. “Because…it’s not safe.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You sighed exasperatedly.

“It’s dangerous. That guy could be a creep, kidnap you or something.” Bucky suggested with loads of faux concern, evidence in his lack of eye contact.

You aggressively laughed and accompanied it with an incredulous head shake. “I’m a goddamn avenger and I’ve kicked your ass multiple times, I think I can hold my own. You do realize how absolutely absurd you sound, right?”

“What if he’s secretly some kinda super villain? Then what are you gonna do?” Bucky countered, eyes widened theatrically.

“Yep, Jacob the accountant is totally super villain material.” You sassed.

“I don’t trust him. Even his job is criminal cause it’s so boring. That’s why I’m not letting you go.” Bucky’s tone shifted to one more serious and angry, as did his facial expression.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.” You spat then rolled your eyes and picked your purse up. “And I don’t know why you care about who I date so much but I’m gonna be late, goodbye Bucky.”

“Hold on a minute.”

“No!”

You slid past him through the door way and trotted towards the elevator. He failed so miserably in his attempt but he couldn’t just let you go. He’d rather lose you knowing he tried than to just give you away to another man. It was now or never.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself and ran after you.

Bucky grabbed you by the arm and pulled you in, the his lips crashed quickly onto yours. His tongue dipped on to yours and they weaved together. He melted into you, It was rushed, passionate and also a bit messy, but most of all, full of pent up affection. It poured out of Bucky and onto you during every second his mouth was on yours.

There was a moment of silence afterwards, just the two of you becoming lost in each other’s soft, adoring gaze. Neither one knew what to say. You were too stunned to speak, Bucky was too afraid of the repercussions of his own impulsivity. He knew he had to explain himself though, so he put on his best brave face.

“Y/N, I can’t let you see another guy because I- god…I-I’m in love with you, okay?” He broke out anxiously, every little fear being evident in his eyes.

You looked at him through your lashes with a loose smile. “It’s about time.”

“What?”

(Bucky Barnes x reader fic; this story follows the general timeline of the MCU - with some obvious differences. I'm horrible at writing summaries, but essentially this encompasses all the versions of Bucky we all know from the movies and show: the all-American military man, The Winter Soldier, the semi-stable 100-year-old man, the White Wolf, and beyond. Reader becomes a variation of the super-soldier)

A/N: this fic is posted in full (incomplete right now) on ao3! link is here! I haven’t worked on it in a while but I am determined to finish it eventually. it was the first fic I ever posted online and what got me back into fanfiction and eventually lead me back to tumblr lol so be gentle! this is a fix-it fic (of sorts - I didn’t change everything)

warnings/notices: smut, fluff, falling in love, some chapters deal with Bucky’s PTSD/mental illness after being the Winter Soldier. all violence depicted is canon-typical for the most part, chapters will have warnings but if you can handle the MCU, you should be okay here!

there is use of y/n - it was all the rage when I started writing this LOL I might phase it out in future chapters but it’s sticking for the time being (if that’s not your jam, all my other fics/oneshots do NOT use y/n so check those out if you like!)

chapter titles are song lyrics - the updated spotify playlist is here.

*chapters w/ smut are marked w/ a “*”!!

chapters (chronologically by movie):

the first avenger:

1 - the first time ever I saw your face

2 - take this heart of gold and melt it down*

3 - I got soul but I’m not a soldier

4 - if I should go before you

5 - tell me where your heart is

6 - is there somebody who can watch you

7 - when you hear my voice, when you say my name*

8 - these days are numbered

the avengers:

9 - this world is not my home

the winter soldier:

10 - back in my body

11 - how many times can I break till I shatter

12 - what am I here for

age of ultron:

13 - when the night is over

14 - nothing left for you

civil war:

15 - way down we go

16 - judgement day

17 - you can never break the chain

18 - nobody teaches you to hurt like this

19 - sad, beautiful, tragic

20 - whatever helps you sleep at night

infinity war:

21 - I could use somebody

22 - when it feels like this

23 - make this go on forever

24 - if we had five more minutes

25 - do you want to die together?

endgame:

26 - but I’m forever missing him (and you caused it)

27 - are you really gonna love me when I’m gone?

28 - okay, fine, maybe I’m just a little nostalgic

29 - every night I’m dancing with your ghost

30 - taking care of soulfight

31 - soldier, poet, king

32 - home is wherever I’m with you

33 - you’re the one who breaks my heart right

the falcon and the winter soldier:

34 - I think I’ve seen this film before and I didn’t like the ending

35 - give me a minute to hold my girl

36 - it’s not easy to be me

37 - I try to be happy but it’s hard sometimes

38 - it wasn’t easy to be happy for you

39 - try not to abuse your power

40 - let’s fall in love for the night

41 - need the sun to break

42 - not ready to make nice

43 - too much is never enough

44 - the man who can’t be moved

45 - nothing fucks with my baby

46 - I was far too scared to hit him…

47 - …but I would hit him in a heartbeat now

48 - that funny feeling

Hangman glanced back over his shoulder with his usual amused expression and shrugged, “Addie maybe, but she’s probably it.”

“Who the fuck is Addie?”  

Coyote making his way to the plane next to Phoenix, answered for Hangman who’d already started jogging towards Hondo for pushup duty, “That’s Hangman’s prop plane. Keeps it in the hangar at the civilian airport.”

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

“So this is the famous Addie.” Rooster slapped the side of the plane appreciatively. He could see why Hangman liked her so much. She was a beauty, a few years past her prime but meticulously maintained.

“That it is.” Hangman absently agreed as he made his last checks to the logs.

“Did you buy her new?” Rooster asked, gently running a hand over the propeller blade as he made one last pass around the outside of the plane.

Hangman shook his head, closing the books before finally turning his attention to Rooster. “Nah, I saved it from some cheap asshole who didn’t know what he had. Pieced it back together with some help from a mechanic friend. Took about five years to get it airworthy again, but it was worth every minute.”

“She can make it all the way to Texas?”

Hangman rolled his eyes at Rooster. “It can go as long as I can, Rooster.” Hangman loaded his tone with all sorts of innuendo.

Rooster made a gagging noise, and Hangman chuckled, opening the pilot’s side door of the plane. “Get in, Rooster. Ma’s gonna be pissed if I’m late.”

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

Maverick and Penny had both invited Rooster to come with them. They’d been emphatic that he wouldn’t be a bother, that he was more than welcome, that he was part of the family. But Rooster just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Ever since their first mission back at Top Gun, Rooster had been working on things with Maverick. He’d caught Maverick up on all the things he’d missed out on in his life: the relationships, the accolades, the friends and the enemies. In return, Maverick had a heart-to-heart with him about why he’d pulled his papers from the academy, finally opening up about his mother’s last wish. Both of them had made strides towards regaining the familial relationship they’d had when he was growing up.

But this was just a step too far too soon.

Penny’s parents were hosting her and Amelia for Christmas this year, and they’d invited Maverick and Rooster to come along. Maverick because of his surprisingly steady relationship with their daughter, and Rooster as his nephew of sorts.

The last time he’d sat down with Maverick for the holidays, Maverick told him he was pulling his papers. It was just too much for Rooster, this year at least. He meant it when he told Maverick he wanted to work on it, but relationships like theirs weren’t repaired overnight. He needed time to ease into this, and Christmas, the holidays, felt like the last hurdle, not the first.

Despite Maverick and Penny’s protest, Rooster was planning to stay on base, order some Chinese food, and watch the greatest Christmas movie of all time – of course, Die Hard.

It was Hangman who’d been the one to really interrupt his plan.

“Hey, dickhead,” Hangman ripped the covers off of Rooster’s bed. “Get up and pack. You’re coming with me.”

“W-What?” Rooster raised a hand to block the sunlight streaming in the window. He was still asleep when Hangman loudly barged into his room. It was supposed to be a day off, so he wasn’t exactly alert.

 “You heard me. Up. Pack. You’ll only be gone a week and a half. It shouldn’t take you long. Now get a move on.”

Rooster propped himself up on his elbows, still a bit tired and very confused as he watched Hangman. The other pilot was ambling around his room like he owned the place, throwing open his closet and callously tearing through it till he found Rooster’s duffle bag on the top shelf, which he promptly flung across the room onto the end of Rooster’s bed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hangman?”

Hangman turned on Rooster with a look of utter exasperation. “I’m not letting you stick around in this godforsaken dorm alone while the rest of us go home. I’ll never hear the end of your sob stories if people find out, and my Ma would never forgive me if she found out I let someone spend Christmas alone so...”

Hangman ripped the first shirt out of Rooster’s closet that his hand touched and tossed it to him. It was one of his many god-awful Hawaiian t-shirts. “Get dressed. We leave in an hour.”

Hangman marched out of Rooster’s room as quickly as he entered.

In his mind, Rooster told himself it was as surface level as Hangman said, that his mother would be mad at him if he left someone alone in the dorms or that he couldn’t stand to hear people fawn over Rooster’s loneliness when they got back, but in reality he knew better.

No one else in the squad had thought to ask where he was going for the holidays. No one else had thought to invite him around.

It brought a smile to Rooster’s face.

His association with Hangman didn’t have the best of starts, but since the mission, the anger and rivalry had really been more of an amusing façade than anything. They both knew it. Rooster had seen a glimpse of a different Hangman when he wasn’t picked for the mission and when he’d flown in to save the day. He’d never say it to anyone, and Hangman would kill him if he tried, but he was pretty sure he could count them as friends now.

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

“Ma!” Hangman called, tossing his bag beside the door as he kicked off his shoes. “I’m home!”

Rooster followed Hangman’s example and pulled off his shoes, cautiously setting them down beside the door. His duffle still hung from his shoulder. He wasn’t just being careful because this wasn’t his house. Rooster was also being careful because it might very well have been the nicest house he’d ever seen. Logically, he knew kicking off his shoes as Hangman had would not damage the gorgeous stone floors, but he still set them aside with an immense amount of care.

Everything about this house was beautiful, massive, and pristine. The foyer was a natural stone floor leading up to the base of a gorgeous, central staircase with intricately twisting railings that led up and around a second-floor mezzanine. The stone floor gave way to wood on either side of the foyer where, on the left, a set of glass doors showed through on a formal sitting room and, on the right, a more traditional, though still incredibly extravagant living room.

“Jake!” Someone shouted from upstairs. “Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” Hangman called back. He wandered into the house, waving for Rooster to follow him. “We have company.” He added offhandedly.

There was a scurrying sound upstairs, doors slamming, loud footsteps.

“I’d stand back,” Hangman murmured to Rooster as another set of footsteps, then another, joined the parade that seemed to be forming upstairs.

Rooster didn’t really know what Hangman was getting at, but he did as he was told, wandering several steps back and away from Hangman just as three blonde heads came stampeding out onto the floor at the top of the stairs.

“JAKE!”

Rooster wasn’t sure which of the heads – or maybe it was all three – shouted at Hangman, but a hoard of limbs and hair came tumbling down the stairs directly for him. Hangman seemed to expect this, and he stuck his arms out, only falling back a step or two to brace himself as all three people flung themselves at him at once.

“I missed y’all too,” Hangman laughed, a genuine fully bellied, head thrown back laugh, as random arms stuck out and flung themselves around him to hug him.

Rooster was only just making out the people in the mass of bodies wrapped up in Hangman’s arms. It looked like three tall, blonde women in a mismatch of blue jeans and plaid that spelled out Texas as clearly as any sign could.

“When did you get back?” One of the women extracted herself from Hangman and grinned up at him as she asked.

“Just now. Rooster and I just flew into the airfield.”

The woman who asked the question turned on him first, but the other two quickly pulled back at the mention of a newcomer.

“Don’t bite,” Hangman quickly warned them before he circled around to stand beside Rooster in front of the women. Clapping his hands on each of Rooster’s shoulders by way of introduction, “Y’all, this is Rooster. Rooster, these are my sisters: Kaitlin, Andrea, and Veronica. Or just Kate, Andy, and Ronnie.” He pointed at each woman in turn.

From the moment they turned on him, Rooster knew they were Hangman’s sisters. He actually didn’t know Jake had sisters, but there was no mistaking these women for anything else. He could’ve run into them in a supermarket last week before he knew they existed, and he still would’ve known exactly who they were.

The oldest of the trio, the one Hangman had pointed out as Kaitlin, could’ve been Hangman’s twin. They had to be the same age or very nearly so, and they certainly looked enough alike. She was the female Jake Seresin in every way. Tall and toned, with the same nose and mouth, and a sharpness to her eyes that wreaked of witty retorts and teasing jabs.

Veronica, the one who asked the question, was clearly younger than Jake, but also certainly older than Andrea. She was just as blonde as Hangman or Kaitlin, but her hair had a lot more curl to it than any of her siblings. It was really the only thing that distinguished her from Andrea. They looked as alike as Jake and Kaitlin. Both on the shorter side compared to their siblings, with rounder cheeks and kinder smiles.

“Ladies,” Rooster gave a polite nod and stuck out his hand to the nearest sister, Andrea, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Please tell me Rooster is your callsign and not your name,” Kaitlin grinned as Rooster made the rounds shaking hands with each of them.

Rooster chuckled as his hand came to her last, “It’s Bradley, if you prefer.”

“We do.” Kaitlin accepted and shook his hand.

“Yeah,” Veronica leaned over and poked a finger into Hangman’s stomach. “We’re not exactly fans of call signs round here.”

It was interesting to Rooster that Hangman’s sisters, his family in general, knew his callsign, and Rooster wondered if they knew how he’d earned it, if they objected to his behavior, to his being called out, or just to the idea that it had happened at all.

Hangman rolled his eyes and dropped the hand he’d left on Rooster’s shoulder. “Well Rooster’s a bit more palatable of a name than Hangman.” Walking back to the door and picking up his bag, Hangman asked, “Where’s Ma?”

“At the store. She thought she had time before you got home,” Kaitlin answered, reaching out a hand to take his bag. “Give your friend the tour. We’ll take your stuff up.”

“Yeah, we’ll totally take your bags upstairs,” Andrea leaned over at the waist, leaving space to see straight down the half-buttoned plaid shirt she was wearing. She reached for the strap of Rooster’s bag and slipped a finger gently between it and his shoulder, tugging it slowly, almost seductively.

“Hey,” Hangman immediately clocked what she was doing and snapped his fingers. He stared her down over the top of a finger pointed at Andrea. “No,” he commanded.

Rooster could feel his face turning red, but Hangman wasn’t watching him in the slightest, and neither was Andrea anymore. She was already laughing at Hangman’s dad-like tone and running off upstairs with Rooster’s duffle over her shoulder.

“I mean it Andy!” Hangman shouted after her, grabbing the edge of the bannister and leaning around to watch her as she ran across the mezzanine. “He’s weak willed, and I won’t have you corrupting him!”

Kaitlin snorted and hoisted Hangman’s bag up onto her shoulder. “Welcome home, Bradley,” She supplied with an amused look as she took to the stairs after Andrea.

Veronica lingered for a second as Kaitlin disappeared upstairs. “Does anyone else know your home yet?” Her expression was curious and disarming, but her tone was pointed.

Hangman huffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, Ronnie, I haven’t told her yet. She’s still at work. Can you call Ma and tell her I’m home and that Rooster’s here too?”

“’Course.” Veronica pulled out her phone and walked towards the sitting room in the entryway. “But I’m not telling her, that’s on you.”

It took a second, in the aftermath of the chaos, for Rooster’s mind to catch up with everything. “I’m sorry, Hangman; I…”

Hangman waved him off dismissively. He clearly already knew where this was going. “Andy always flirts with any friend I bring in. She’s just doin’ it to mess with me.”

Rooster nodded, happy to agree to that explanation. He didn’t have a sister himself, but he wouldn’t want Hangman hooking up with her if he did have one, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. He wasn’t about to get himself thrown out of Hangman’s house in the middle of god-only-knows-where, Texas.

“She’s telling your mom I’m here now?” Rooster thumbed back in the direction Veronica had gone, trying to redirect the conversation, “Does your mom not know I’m here?”

“I literally invited you at,” Hangman checked his watch, “5 A.M. today. It was way too early to call them.”

“Hangman,” Rooster sighed and pointed upstairs in the direction his bag had disappeared, “I can just get my stuff and go find a hotel. I’m not gonna put your family out.”

“Rooster, look around.” Hangman gave him an utterly exasperated look and gestured vaguely to the room they were standing in. “Does it look like one extra guest is gonna to put my Ma out?”

Rooster looked around. The easiest answer was no; it didn’t. Rooster couldn’t tell how many rooms there were in the house, but he knew it was a lot. From the outside, it was obviously three-stories tall, and he was pretty sure the little bungalow he grew up in could fit entirely in the entry and the living room.

“This is really your house then.” He slowly turned on the spot to get the full effect. It screamed Hangman.

Hangman nodded and waved Rooster around the side of the stairs, “It’s called oil money, Rooster. Welcome to Texas.”

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

“Oh honey, you didn’t tell me you were bringin’ another pilot with you.” Hangman’s mother was the definition of a southern bell. Thick southern accent, curvy figure wrapped in a flowery sun dress, perfectly styled hair, striking blue eyes and a smile as bright as a lightbulb turning on. She was beautiful woman, and Rooster instantly knew where Hangman and his sisters got their model-esque looks from.

She came in, just as much of a whirlwind as her daughters, and immediately threw her arms around her son’s neck, loudly declaring how sad she was that she hadn’t been there when he arrived. Hangman hugged her tightly to him without response for several long moments before she interrupted the silence with a flurry of questions for him all of which he answered.

Hangman pretended to be annoyed with her fussing over his clothes and whether he’d been eating enough, but Rooster could see from where he was standing off to the side that the annoyance didn’t touch his eyes.

It was nice, Rooster thought, that he’d finally found something that made the unshakeable Hangman lose some of his bravado. The way Hangman’s smirk melted into a real, genuine smile when he saw his sisters and his mother, none of the squad would believe Rooster if he told them. Not that he would. That was how he’d repay Hangman for this week. By keeping all of it to himself and allowing him to maintain his mask as the egotistical, carefree asshole.

Really, it was sweet, the way his mother fawned over him and the way Hangman was secretly amused by it. It reminded Rooster of his own mom. The way she’d check him over the moment he came through the door after a sleepover at a friend’s house. The way she rushed through her morning routine to help get him ready for school on time. The way she wouldn’t let him leave the car without a kiss on the cheek and an ‘I-love-you’.

He could feel an emotion, not a good one, bubbling up in his chest watching someone else get the love he so desperately craved. But it was squashed the moment Mrs. Seresin turned on him.

“Now honey,” Mrs. Seresin took hold of both of Rooster’s arms and smiled up at him, practically beaming, “I hope my boy’s been a good host and offered you somethin’ to drink.”

“He’s got a water on the counter, Ma.” Hangman leaned against the kitchen counter with an amused grin playing at the edge of his lips. This was, clearly, the usual for his mom.

“Now why on earth has he got water,” Mrs. Seresin pouted, appraising him with the same eyes she’d given Hangman, “Look at this boy, Jake.” She poked Rooster in the arm. “We gotta get some meat on his bones.”

“Ma’am, I…”

“None of that Ma’am and Mrs. now, Honey. Any friend of Jake’s is welcome round here, and anyone welcome round here can call me Ma,” Mrs. Seresin gave Rooster a tight, two-armed hug around the waist that he instinctively returned, “or Debbie, if Ma’s too much for you. Jake used to get onto me for ‘adopting’ his friends.”

“Don’t worry Ma. I finally brought you a stray. I spared him from a Christmas in the dorms eating takeout and watching bad tv till the rest of us got back.” Hangman said it conspiratorially, like it was the most atrocious existence his mother could imagine and not like it had been Rooster’s reality for five of his last six Christmases.

Mrs. Seresin froze, only halfway pulled out of the hug she’d given Rooster. “Now that,” she said, more to herself than either of the pilots occupying the room, “will absolutely not do.”

“Young man,” she took both of Rooster’s hands and firmly gripped them in hers, “you are always welcome round here. If you’re ever out of a place to go on any holiday, you come knock on my door.”

Hangman silently observed the interaction, eyes darting between his mother and Rooster as he pursed his lips to hide a smirk. From his earlier comments, it was obvious Hangman knew exactly how his mother would react, but there was no way he could know how it would make Rooster feel.

Rooster didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the earnest older woman staring up at him. She meant every word of it; that much was obvious from her wide, doe eyes that bored into his with such desperate need to be helpful, a feature she had very much not passed on to her son. There was something deeply caring in this woman, the way she held his hands and pleaded for him to return. It wasn’t his mom, but it felt, for a moment like a ghost of her. Like this woman had been sent, not by Hangman, but by her. “Yes ma’am.” The words caught in his throat.

“Ma,” Hangman interrupted as the woman’s mouth began to open, no doubt to scold Rooster for saying ma’am. “Can you give us a minute? I’m gonna give Rooster the rundown on everyone before people start turning up.”

“Turning up?” Rooster looked up at Hangman, finally pulling back from his mother.

“Barbecue this afternoon, it’s a homecoming tradition. It’s nothing fancy, but it is lots of people.”

Hangman never gave Rooster the rundown on anyone. He grabbed his fellow pilot’s arm and tugged him upstairs to show him where he’d be sleeping. The bigger of the guest rooms was on the third floor between Hangman’s room and the master. Hangman grabbed Rooster’s bag from a smaller room on the second floor and hauled it upstairs ‘away from Andy’, as Hangman put it.

“My Ma can be a bit… maternal.” Hangman tossed Rooster’s bag on the bed and sidestepped out of the doorway so Rooster can come in. “It’s a bit much sometimes. If you need some distance, just let me know.”

“She’s great.” Rooster dismissed, probably too quickly. Hangman was probably right; he probably should think about how much parental energy he could handle. But the natural instinct to defy everything Hangman said was always lurking in the back of his mind.

Hangman nodded, not really believing Rooster anyway. “Well, I’ll give you a few minutes. We should be back downstairs in about half an hour to help out before people start turning up. There’ll be picnic tables and such to set up in the yard, and last time Ma left Ronnie in charge of that Andy broke a finger.”

“Hey,” Rooster stopped Hangman as he turned to leave. “Thanks… for this. It’s…” Rooster didn’t really have the words. “It’s surprisingly nice of you.”

Hangman, not really knowing what else to say, nodded and made a swift, albeit awkward exit from the room.

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

“Twenty bucks?” Payback pulled the bill out of his wallet and laid it down on the edge of the table.

“Really Payback,” Coyote called over to him. “It’s not worth it. He’s not bluffing this time.”

It was true. Hangman was not bluffing about his darts skills when he said he was the best shot in the squad. Coyote knew that. Hangman knew that. But Payback didn’t believe that. Payback was pretty good at darts, and over the course of the night before Hangman arrived, he’d bested everyone else in the squad. It was, he figured, only a matter of time before he reigned supreme.

“He’s right.” Hangman agreed with Coyote, “I can’t take your money. It’d be like stealing.”

“Or you’re just scared of losing,” Phoenix egged Hangman on. She’d lost to Payback handily in the last round, so she was pretty aware of how good a thrower Payback was.

“I never said that,” Hangman smirked, “I just don’t think we should be betting money that he’s so clearly going to lose. You’ll be calling me a con artist when it’s over.”

Payback crossed one arm over his chest and stroked his chin with the other hand, “Well if we’re not betting money… How about we bet a ride in Addie? I bet I could show her a good time.”

The smirk staled on Hangman’s face, and his jaw clenched. “Addie’s off the table.”

The whole room laughed, and suddenly Hangman’s objections to robbing Payback blind dropped away.

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

“God, is this the whole neighborhood?” Rooster asked, looking out over the mass of people mingling in the Seresin’s backyard.

Kate Seresin, Rooster’s current partner at the picnic table, gave a hum of acknowledgment, “It is for now. By the end of the night it’ll be more.”

“Jesus,” Rooster whistled. They had to be just shy of fifty already.

Kate didn’t seem phased, “I mean Jake is kind of the golden boy, hometown hero around here. Small town boy forsakes his life of riches to join the Navy and becomes the greatest fighter pilot of his generation.”

“Debatable.” Rooster immediately shot back at her last comment.

Kate smirked, grabbing a grape off of the fruit platter at the center of their picnic table. “I don’t know about that. Top of his class, two medals for valor, two confirmed kills.” She raised a knowing eyebrow at Rooster as she popped the grape in her mouth, “How many kills do you have again?”

“Did Jake tell you to say that?” Rooster asked her.

“No,” Kate shot back with a teasing glint in her eye. “I happen to love my brother and pay attention to what he’s doing.” The pair went silent for a second before Kate said, “He told me one of those kills saved your ass.”

“It did.” Rooster would grudge Hangman a lot of things, but he would never grudge him that.

Kate picked up another grape and threw it at Rooster. It hit him squarely in the center of the forehead before it bounced off and rolled away across the table. “Well then, take that frown off your face and let him have his moment. (Y/n) hasn’t even got here yet.”

“Who’s (Y/n)?”

As if the Devil had been spoken of, behind Kate, a beautiful, young woman in blue jeans and a tank top burst out of the house and frantically scanned the yard outside looking for something.

“Kate!” She shouted when her eyes zeroed in on the two at the picnic table. “Where is he?” The woman asked, rushing over to them. “They said he was here already.”

“Bradley,” Kate laughed, “This chaotic piece of work is (Y/n). (Y/n), this is Jake’s wingman, Bradley.”

“Hi,” In her rush, (Y/n) only gave him a half smile before turning back to Kate, “And Jake is?”

“Over here gorgeous!”

(Y/n) whirled on the spot.

Hangman stood in the doorway the woman had just come from, carrying a couple of full glasses in each hand, but the moment he saw her turn to him, Hangman relieved himself of the glasses on the nearest flat surface.

(Y/n), like his sisters and mother before her, bolted across the deck and flung herself, full force, into Hangman’s outstretched arms.

Hangman caught her with one arm around her waist and lifted her feet off the ground. His other hand immediately went to the back of her head and held it tight against him as he buried his nose in her hair. His eyes had fallen shut the moment she was in his embrace, and he seemed to be entirely unconscious of the way he was swinging her back and forth against him.

He’d seen Hangman greet and hug a lot of family and friends today, but to Rooster, it was immediately and painfully obvious that this one was different.

“That,” Kate took a swig of her beer then used the neck of her bottle to point after them, “is (Y/n).” Her eyes lingered on the pair in the doorway with a sad smile.

Rooster nodded along, not taking his eyes off the pair, “I can see that… and she is?”

Kate turned back around to stare Rooster down. “What?” It was the first time since he’d stepped through the door that someone, Hangman included, had raised their voice. The look on Kate’s face was somewhere north of shocked and just south of offended. “You don’t know who (Y/n) is?”

Rooster shook his head.

Kate seemed like she didn’t believe him, “Surely, you know Addie.”

Rooster snorted, “The plane? Yeah, how do you think we got here.”

“No, no, no, no,” Kate was shaking her head before he even finished the sentence, “The plane is named after Addie. That,” she pointed the beer bottle back at the couple once again, “is Addie.”

Rooster followed the bottle back to (Y/n).

(Y/n) was back on solid ground, but she hadn’t escaped Hangman’s arms. Both were around her waist, pulling her into him where her palms steadied her against his chest. Hangman was looking down like he was in absolute awe of her existence, as if the sun had only risen that day so that he could look at this woman. She was grinning back up at him just as brightly, happily chatting away about something Rooster couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, Hangman didn’t seem to be giving it much of his attention; he seemed a little too dazzled by the woman herself to concentrate on what she was saying at the moment.

“Are they…” Rooster trailed off, not sure what he was about to ask.

Kate shrugged, “Madly in love? Yes. Dating? No.”

“Why not?”

“Ask him.” Kate suggested, “Better yet, make him get off his ass and do something about it.” Kate shoved off the picnic table and wandered away in the direction of her sisters.

Hangman stayed in the doorway with (Y/n), completely oblivious to the world around him for another five minutes. At some point he recovered from his daze, and the two were going back and forth, laughing and smiling, as they engrossed themselves in a discussion only they could hear.

It was a side of Hangman Rooster had never seen. It was a side of Hangman Rooster wasn’t sure existed. The closest he’d come to seeing something like this from the fighter pilot was after they’d completed the uranium mission and Hangman had saved his life. On the deck of the aircraft carrier, he’d seen a rare glimpse of Hangman’s humanity, a peak at some humble, good-natured guy that lurked underneath. Hangman had quickly stowed that and any other sentiment away, but his mask had been a little thinner ever since. This, what was happening in front of him, was ripping his mask off completely.

Hangman reached a hand up from (Y/n)’s waist to brush a flyaway hair back into place when he caught Rooster’s eye in his peripheral vision. Hangman smiled at him and leaned down to whisper to (Y/n).

The woman whipped around in his arms and spotted Rooster watching them. He thought for a second she might be angry at him for staring at their private moment, but before he could divert his gaze away she broke out yet another smile. Grabbing hold of Hangman, she towed the pilot over to Rooster’s table.

“So you’re the famous Rooster. I’ve heard so much about you!” (Y/n) swung a leg over to straddle the bench opposite Rooster and join him.

Hangman used the bench as a step and sat on the edge of the wood tabletop next to (Y/n), his hand still resting on her shoulder. “(Y/n), this is Rooster. Rooster, this is…”

“Addie,” Rooster corrected Hangman before he even spoke. “Kate was just telling me they call you Addie.”

(Y/n) laughed, “Not quite. Maybe back in the day, but only Jake calls me that anymore. We were kind of hell raisers back in the day, and my dad used to say we were adrenaline junkie. Adrenaline. Addie.” She traced the origins of the childhood nickname for Rooster while her fingers, seemingly subconsciously, traced lines on the back of Hangman’s hand. “You’re welcome to call me that though, or whatever else sticks. I don’t know what horrible nicknames Jake gives me while I’m not around.”

“Nothing too bad, just the usual,” Hangman promised with a grin, “Ursula, Satan, Demon.”

Like a little kid, (Y/n) stuck her tongue out at Hangman. “Meanie.”

“You’ve called me worse,” He brushed it off.

“He’s called you a lot worse, I bet,” (Y/n) turned her attention back to Rooster. “I’d love to get all the details from you. Jake’s never brought any of his pilot friends home.”

“That’s because I don’t have any, Addie.” Hangman said it while making eye contact with Rooster. It wasn’t wholly true, but they both knew it was more true than not.

(Y/n) however seemed completely unwilling to believe that. “If that’s true than who the hell are the random people you always call to talk to me about on the phone.” (Y/n) turned her full attention to Rooster, addressing him like she was letting him in on a secret, “Really if I have to hear one more time how great this Bob guy is or how badass Phoenix’s flying is on the course I’m going to think he’s replaced me.”

She very much was letting him in on a secret. Whether she knew that or was just egging Hangman on, Rooster wasn’t sure. But the flash of warning in Hangman’s eyes told Rooster that Hangman at the very least was aware of the importance of what (Y/n) was disclosing and was not going to let it go any farther than this table.

“They can’t replace you. I doubt Bob owns a single pair of cowboy boots.” Hangman redirected in a tone that was far more teasing than the look he was sending to Rooster.

“We could definitely get him a pair.” (Y/n) looked up at Hangman with a grin, “Come on. It’d be really funny, you walking back onto base with bags and bags of cowboy boots for everyone.”

“It would, and you would,” Hangman agreed, “which is precisely why you’re never setting foot on base.”

(Y/n) gave a pout at that. It was, quite clearly, something they’d discussed before, if not in great detail than at least in a similar joking manner.

Rooster, ever one to get under Hangman’s skin, couldn’t help leaning in and telling her, “Don’t worry, Doll. I can get you on base.” Her face practically split in two from the smile.

“So, that’s Addie.”

A couple hours into the party (Y/n) finally left Hangman’s side and ran off to mingle with a group including his sister Ronnie.

Rooster hadn’t made much of an effort to mingle himself. Between the two of them, (Y/n) and Hangman faithfully introduced him to everyone in the long que of people who came up to welcome Hangman home. (Y/n) made a point to tell each and every one of them that Rooster was a highly decorated TopGun pilot too and a good friend of Hangman’s, and everyone had returned the information with a thanks for his service or enthusiastic welcome.

(Y/n) only pried herself away from Hangman when his sister started loudly calling out questions to her across the yard, and she was forced to leave to answer them.

“That’s Addie,” Hangman never took his eyes off her back.

“When you said…” Rooster trailed off for a second, not entirely sure it was something he should bring up but also unable to stop himself, “When you said you only cared about one thing.”

“I meant her, not the plane.” Hangman didn’t hesitate to confirm Rooster’s suspicions. Casually taking a sip of his beer, he added, “She’s my best friend.”

Rooster cocked an eyebrow, “She’s a bit more than your best friend.”

“She’s not,” Hangman corrected. He risked looking away from (Y/n) to eye Rooster, but only for a second before his gaze returned.

“Why not?”

Kate’s words were echoing in the back of Rooster’s mind. ‘Make him get off his ass.’ Hangman wasn’t lacking in confidence when it came to women, nor had he ever needed a kick in the butt to pursue one before. He thought so highly of himself it was a wonder that he didn’t think every woman was walking around constantly thinking about fucking him. There was no way he could doubt what (Y/n)’s answer would be. Hell, Rooster did not at all agree with Hangman’s assessment of himself but even he could see she would say yes. There was nothing short of adoration in her eyes.

“You know why.”

Rooster really didn’t.

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

“And then he made Hangman run laps till he threw up on the tarmac.”

“Oh my god,” (Y/n) wiped her eyes where tears were beginning to bud at the corners. “He really said that? To his Captain?”

“In my defense,” Hangman piped up, “it was Maverick.”

Rooster smirked and gave Hangman a nod of acknowledgment. There was no denying that. “It was Maverick.”

Everyone else had left the party hours ago. It was well past sunset and rapidly approaching midnight. At some point the trio of Rooster, Hangman, and (Y/n) had moved their tiny remainder of the party inside to the plush couches in the Seresin’s living room, but the change of scenery had done nothing to dampen the flow of conversation.

Maybe it was the beers – more likely it was the girl tucked into his side – but Hangman seemed incredibly tolerable all evening, and as the night progressed Rooster found himself and Hangman poking fun at each other and swapping war stories like old friends or brothers.

Hangman made a point to include (Y/n) in every story, explaining things about the Navy or going off on tangents about the style of different pilots for her benefit. Rooster found himself including her too, countering Hangman with his own first impressions of their fellow pilots, briefly explaining his connection to Maverick for her, letting her in on his friends’ hairbrained schemes – most of which did not include Hangman for the obvious reason that they were not friends until recently.

(Y/n) laughed and teased her way through it all, freely divulging her own takes on their stories, which Hangman listened to with an almost reverential nature. As he should, Rooster quickly realized that (Y/n) had a great sense of humor.

She was not at all what Rooster would’ve expected if asked to draw Hangman’s perfect woman. Her sweet outward demeanor that Rooster had noticed from the start did nothing to mask the sly, mischievous personality underneath. She exuded the same familiar, caring energy that Rooster had been engulfed in since the moment he entered the Seresin house, but it never stopped her from poking fun at his moustache or Hangman’s hair.

Where she was concerned, she was an open, honest book, ready and willing to show every page to Rooster for the sole reason of her implicit trust in Hangman’s stamp of approval. Because it became apparent to Rooster that bringing him here, introducing him to his family and (Y/n), had been Hangman’s way of giving him a stamp of approval.

(Y/n) played it a little closer to the vest, slightly more hesitant to reveal any of the dirty details, about Hangman’s childhood. Rooster could see the hesitation in her eye every time it came up, and she’d frequently joke or tease her way out of more meaningful stories with offhand remarks about something superficial like how awful Hangman’s teeth had looked back then. Though, every now and then, Hangman would look down at her curled up against him with pleading eyes and nod, and she would excitedly launch into a tale of some adventure or other they’d gone on as kids.

It baffled Rooster, the longer they talked, to think that the pair weren’t dating. Hell, it baffled him to think that they weren’t already married. Their worlds seemed to revolve around each other so readily, so easily. He had scant memories his childhood while his father was still alive, but most of those memories were of his father’s deep and undying love for his mother and him. It was a look of such unconditional love that he hadn’t seen it in years. He’d thought it was a fluke, that it didn’t exist, but it was painted plain as day across Hangman’s face every time (Y/n) was near.

When she was in arms reach, Hangman had to have a hand on her. When she was out of reach, his eyes followed her till she was out of sight, and when she was out of sight it was apparent that he was anxiously waiting for her to come back. And it seemed from everything Rooster had witnessed that the feeling was very much returned.

Rooster could almost laugh to himself as he started chalking up half of Hangman’s asshole behavior on base to (Y/n) withdrawals.

“I should really get home,” (Y/n) sighed when she looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and saw it was two in the morning.

There was no gradual transition. The expression on Hangman’s face shifted in an instant. “It’s late. Stay here. Rooster’s head is pretty big, but it only takes up one room. I promise.”

(Y/n) shook her head and extracted herself from under Hangman’s arm. “I really do need to go. I have work in the morning. Not all of us get weeks off like you lazy bones.” (Y/n) poked Hangman in the arm with a teasing smile.

Hangman pushed to his feet beside her, “Then let me drive. You’ve had more than a few beers.”

“So have you.” She countered.

“Addie, I haven’t had one in a couple hours. Come on.” Hangman slid a hand in the front pocket of her blue jeans and pulled out her keys, dangling them off his finger. “Let’s go.”

(Y/n) seemed ready to protest more, but as she was about to a yawn overtook her. “Oh fine.”

She turned and gave Rooster one last smile, “It was so nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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

“So explain it to me, again.” Rooster really didn’t mean to pry, but he just had to ask. It didn’t make any sense.

Hangman had left to drive (Y/n) home, and upon hearing the car start in the drive, Kate had wandered back downstairs to check on them. Her brother off driving (Y/n) home looked like it was the least surprising news she’d ever heard in her life, like it wasn’t news at all but a fact.

When Rooster had suggested they drive after him to give him a ride back, Kate had waved him off and said, ‘He’ll sleep on (Y/n)’s couch and jog home in the morning,’ like it was an everyday event. It raised so many questions that Rooster just didn’t have the answers to.

“They’ve been best friends since they were like eight. Jake found her crying behind the elementary school because someone made fun of her shoes. They were these old, ratty hand-me-downs from some cousin of hers. So, Jake thought it would make her feel better if she had new shoes. He snuck a pair of my ballet flats into the bottom of his bag and went and found her after school the next day to give them to her.”

It was a cute story. Rooster could almost picture it. Not from the Hangman he knew, but maybe this Hangman who was much less of an ass.

“And he’s been in love with her ever since.”

“Not quite,” Kate shrugged, giving the cup of chamomile she was cradling a casual stir, “I don’t think it was love until high school. Maybe a childhood crush on a best friend, but nothing more than that.”

“Okay, so what changed?”

“That’s when our dad died. Dad wasn’t a very good guy, rich asshole with a mean right hook for anyone that stepped out of line, which was mostly Jake. I don’t think Jake and I ever mourned. I know Mom didn’t, and Ronnie and Andy were too young to remember him anyway.”

Rooster knew Hangman’s dad had passed away too. He’d known that bit of information for a long time in fact; it was one of the only personal things he’d known about Hangman before he got here. Hangman joked about it in the bar from time to time. It had always irked him, as someone who’d also lost their dad, to hear him be so callous. He’d even commented on it one time, told Hangman to show some respect. Hangman snarked at him over it, but he had shut up about it for a while after that. Coyote wasn’t as kind about it and told him to fuck out of other people’s family business.

“He died a couple years after Andy was born. Jake was a freshman in high school. Mom leaned on him, probably a little too much. He became like a dad, especially to Andy.” Kate took a swig of her tea to calm herself, “He was a better father figure than our dad ever was, so that’s probably for the best.”

“I didn’t know that,” Rooster mused.

“We don’t talk about him much. I don’t think Ronnie and Andy know how mean he really was.” Kate was shifting in her seat and clearly uncomfortable, so Rooster didn’t object when she pivoted the conversation back on course, “Anyway, I think that’s around the time Jake fell in love with (Y/n). She was there to support him when everyone else was just taking things from him. He was losing sight of himself through everyone’s expectations of him, and she brought him back. The whole family, even Mom, wanted him to follow Dad’s footsteps, take over the family business. It was the safe option, the easy option, and the best option for everyone except Jake. But (Y/n) wouldn’t have it. She knew him better than all of us, talked him into joining the Navy, told him the business would be there when he retired. She’s not just his best friend or the girl he’s in love with. She’s the reason Jake is Jake at all.”

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

True to Kate’s word, Hangman came jogging back the next morning as the sun began to rise. Rooster was up, but none of his family had risen from bed yet to see him come in.

“Morning Rooster, wake up to crow at the sun?” Hangman jogged straight through the kitchen to the fridge and began rummaging around inside.

“Wouldn’t be that out of place around here,” Rooster was already sipping on a cup of coffee sitting at a barstool overlooking the kitchen.

Hangman chuckled and returned to the counter with a bottle of water, “Probably not.”

“How was (Y/n)?”

Hangman raised an eyebrow, cautious at the change in conversation and clearly picking up that it wasn’t totally casual on Rooster’s end. “Fine, bit hungover, but I left her with meds and water.”

“I’m just surprised to see you so early is all,” Rooster shrugged. “Thought you would’ve stayed later? She seems like the high school crush, one that got away, was the love of your life type.”

“Is.”

“What?”

Hangman took a sip of his water before replying nonchalantly, “She is the love of my life. Not was.”

For someone who wasn’t dating her, Hangman admitted his love for (Y/n) so freely, so openly. Not just platonically but as a genuine romantic love, he acknowledged every bit of it. It really struck Rooster.

“I don’t think you get to call them the current love of your life if you moved on.” Rooster pointed with a mock-accusatory finger at Hangman.

“Good thing I never did then.”

That was certainly news, news that would defy every logical assumption Rooster had ever made about Hangman. He was a flirt who thought he was god’s gift to women, and a lot of women seemed to agree with him on that – not that Rooster would ever acknowledge that out loud. There wasn’t a night at the Hard Deck there wasn’t a woman or two on his arm, and yet, thinking back, Rooster never remembered seeing the same girl twice. He honestly wasn’t sure he remembered ever seeing Hangman leave the bar with anyone, for that matter.

“If she’s the love of your life, than why isn’t she in Fightertown with you?” Rooster leaned into what he was saying, “She’s nice, funny, sexy, smart; she’s a way better person than you. She makes you bearable to be around… Did she turn you down?”  

“I never asked her to come with me. She’d say yes if I did.”

“That…” Rooster hesitated for a second, “That really doesn’t sound like a problem. That sounds like a solution. If she loves you and you love her, what’s wrong with that?” Rooster threw back the rest of his coffee like a shot.

Hangman sighed and walked around to slump into one of the barstools next to Rooster. He looked like he was ready to unload something heavy that had been sitting on his chest. “You said it yourself. She is so much better than me, and she deserves so much better than what I can give her. She shouldn’t have to uproot her life and start over every couple years. She shouldn’t have to live by the Navy’s rules and expectations. She…”

For a moment, it was like the words caught in Hangman’s throat, like for once the noose was tightening around his neck. “Half the reason I fly the way I do is because of the missions they send us on. You saw the way Cyclone changed the plan on the mountain mission when Maverick left. That mission was supposed to, was designed to be, a suicide run, and I’ve gone on two like it since then. I already know one day someone’s gonna be knockin’ on a door with a folded-up flag under their arm with my name on it… My Ma’s door is bad enough. If it was Addie’s door they were knocking on…” Hangman closed his eyes and took a breath. “I won’t let that happen to her.”

This was what Hangman meant. Rooster knew that feeling. No matter how much he’d reassured his mom and Mav over the years, he vividly remembered the day he found out his dad had died. He remembered, more than anything, the scream of his mother standing in the doorway, the way she immediately fell to the floor, the way her body shook for hours on end even after she had no tears left to give.

“Jake,” Hearing his name made Hangman open his eyes and look up at Rooster. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. In fact, I respect it. If there was any way I could’ve saved my mom from the pain of my dad dying I would’ve done it, and I know my dad would’ve too. So if you can look me in the eye and tell me that she loves you any less because you never lived together or got down on one knee. If you can tell me that you dying isn’t gonna hurt her cause a priest never made you say ‘I do’, than I say more power to you.”

Hangman turned his head away without a word, staring out the big bay windows into the backyard where the sun was just beginning to light the sky.

Rooster carried on anyway. “But when you see that that woman wouldn’t have told you to join the Navy if she couldn’t handle being in it with you, that she already looks at you like you’re god’s gift to this world, that she isn’t gonna find better because she isn’t looking for better, because she already thinks she’s found the best, then maybe you’ll finally realize you’re making a mistake.”

Rooster tried to find the words. This was a lot deeper than he ever thought he’d get with Hangman of all people. He hadn’t even talked to Phoenix about this shit. The only person he talked to about his parents really was Maverick, but here he was, in Texas, in Hangman’s house, opening up about the worst times of his life.

“My mom was a mess, for years. Losing my dad, nothing could have possibly hurt her more. But she recovered, eventually, in her own way. She never moved on from my dad, but recovering doesn’t always mean moving on. She lived a happy life. And she was never alone. Maverick, Hollywood, Wolfe, Iceman. They were all there for her, for us, when we needed them. You’re an ass sometimes, Hangman, but there isn’t a soul on that squad that wouldn’t fight for your life. And there isn’t a soul on that squad who would abandon your family if they failed. Self included.”

Rooster pushed out of the seat and wandered back down the hall.

He was just ambling into the foyer when, out of nowhere, someone flung themselves at his side. A pair of arms wrapped so tightly around him they must’ve been trying to squeeze the life out of him. That pair was joined only seconds later by another set of arms on the other side.

He’d thought Hangman’s sisters were all still in bed, but Kate and Ronnie must’ve woken up sometime after he came downstairs. Judging by their faces they’d heard every word.

He made eye contact with Kate who whispered a quiet, meaningful, “Thank you.” Her eyes spoke volumes about how much she knew her brother needed to hear that, and Rooster wrapped an arm around each of the Seresins with a small smile.

“Always happy to call Jake out on his shit.”

“What about it?” You question, trying to be as casual as possible, while you pull open one of Penny’s drawers, searching for a bottle opener.

“Is something going on,” she leans against the counter of the kitchen, forcing you to look directly at her. Truth to be told, you and Jake had hid it pretty well. Perhaps not to Penny, Mav, or any other third party who saw you both together, but to the clueless bunch of Naval Aviators who, despite being the few to spend the most time with you both, had not made much of it.

The physical tells were something they hadn’t made much of to begin with, a sure result of having seen Jake flirt his way through too many women and situations over the years. However, the near fight at The Hard Deck where they had seen him at his most protective ever, pure, white hot rage radiating off him - only for you to dispel it so easily, coupled with the subtle, but sure shifts in Jake’s demeanour, had started to arouse suspicion.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” she continues.

In all the years since she had known Jake, Phoenix had never seen him this way - more at ease, more open, happier. It wasn’t to say that his personality with the rest of them had changed drastically, Jake Seresin, was still very much Hangman, boisterous, confident, cocky (particularly in the air), always ready for a challenge, to show and tell that he was better than you, and to say whatever the hell he wanted, but he was also different, somehow happier, with the undercurrent of an unobvious calm and peace to him that they could just feel. It was unnerving to say the least, because it wasn’t something they had seen before, were used to, or had ever known Jake to be.

Bob had noticed it first, the Monday after the week Jake had cancelled fried chicken Friday, after days of sharp but silent observation. It had resulted in Bob telling Phoenix, who then told Rooster, who had went on to relay the message collectively to Coyote, Payback and Fanboy. A group decision was made one afternoon by way of a show of open hands or fists, resulting in Phoenix being the chosen messenger to broad the subject with you.

The difference in Jake had managed to be both outwardly noticeable, and yet not, all at the same time. On the surface, Jake was still Jake, swagger in his step when he walked around TOPGUIN, extolling his own virtues, taking little joking digs at all of them when he could, particularly when they were in the air - “C’mon Rooster, thought the chicken finally learnt to fly.” / “Trace, what does the baby on board in your backseat see?” / “Try to keep up Trace.” / “Aaand, the Relic is off the ground, that ladies and gentleman is called a Pete Mitchell” / “Payback? You mean the thing you can’t dish?” - but come dinner, when they had trooped back home and to you, Jake was somehow different.

The comments were still there - “Sorry boys and girls, I know it must be tough trying to match up to me.” / “Like how Trace and her baby on board fumbled today.” / “Thought Bradshaw was trying to hatch some eggs with the amount of time he was nesting.” / “Garcia and Fitch are always just taking it.” - but at the same time, Jake’s smile was wider, genuinely hitting his eyes and making his greens sparkle; his laugh louder, natural with nothing held back; his body language more open, any tension that he held during the day seemingly having melted away.

More importantly, as they had all come to notice, Jake never left you behind - whether it was purposefully falling behind everyone to bring up the rear just so he could fall in step with you; watching you out of the peripherals of his eyes the moment you left his side at The Hard Deck, right up to the moment you returned just to make sure that you weren’t waylaid by unwanted attention; or even the simplest act of making sure your order never got lost among the barrage of orders of the group; or that you were never cut out, lost or disengaged in the conversation when it dragged on to more Navy-orientated topics which you weren’t as familiar with.

Sure, Pheonix and Bob had caught sight of you and Jake running around the compound one Saturday afternoon, with him sprinting ahead in the last stretch in absolute glee, you yelling at him while trying to catch up, leaving you, quite literally, behind and in his dust - but even then, they had seen with his own eyes, Jake Seresin standing at the finish point, eyes fixed solely on you, waiting for you to meet him, as you yelled and protested your way to the end.

You pull the bottle opener out from the drawer, popping open the caps of the bottles in her hands, and then in yours, before dropping it back, and pushing the drawer shut with a hip. You beckon to Phoenix to exit back out into Penny’s backyard with you to rejoin the group and she follows, her question still hanging in between you both.

You step back out into Penny’s backyard, the cool evening air hitting your skin, your eyes meeting briefly with Jake’s as he looks up in the middle of his conversation with Rooster.

“You’ve only seen Hangman before,” you finally say, you both still out of earshot from the group, before you take a few steps towards the table, “now you get to see Jake.”

She opens her mouth to push her question again, determined to draw out a clear answer or confession from you, only for Jake’s voice to cut in above the chatter, making Rooster turn his neck to glance at the both of you as you return.

“Trace, you got that dog with a bone look on your face,” he starts, “do I have to take you out for harassing my girl?” Jake’s voice is loud enough that it carries across the table, pausing the chatter among the group for a second.

You feel your face heat as you hand a beer bottle off to Bob who receives it with a “thanks”, as he exchanges a look with Fanboy who is seated across the rectangle shaped table, before you settle back into the chair flanked by Jake, and Coyote who is waggling an eyebrow at Payback.

You see a smug, triumphant grin on Phoenix’s face, her question finally answered, as she hands one of the bottles to Rooster before sliding back into her seat beside him.

“Finally,” Penny breaks the moment of silence, throwing up her hands at the confirmation of what she knew, but had been waiting for, for the longest time, Amelia grinning wildly beside her.

“Hear, hear.” Mav raises his beer, to which Bob also does, and the group follows, cheers erupting from Penny’s backyard.

The attention makes you groan, and you hide your face in your hands, turning your body into Jake’s. You had talked about it after the other night at The Hard Deck, and had decided that it was time for the rest to know, directly from you both. You can hear the rumble of his own laughter in his chest, Jake clearly unfazed and not the slightest bit embarrassed at the attention, as he snakes an arm around your shoulders, securing you against him. It only makes the cheers louder, with Coyote sending a loud wolf whistle your way.

-

“Uncle Jake!” The roar of a little voice greets you both as you step through the doors and into the lobby of the hotel. You see a small blonde head sprinting at top speed towards you both, barrelling itself into Jake’s arms which had opened just in time to catch him.

“All this excitement just for me?” Jake exclaims back as he swings his nephew, Kyle, around in the air, before squeezing him tightly against his chest, only for the little boy to squirm in delight.

You see Emma, Jake’s older sister approach, her husband, Nate, and toddler Layla, approach.

“Full attire, really, Jake?” She scoffs taking in Jake’s uniform, but clearly teasing, as she takes reaches out to hug you hello, before coming to a stand in front of her brother.

“Not all of us are on vacation,” Jake shoots back as he sets Kyle down on his feet, before the siblings embrace each other, “some of us still have to work.”

“You only wear it for the looks you get,” Emma retorts with a snort, but being well aware that he had just come from work, as Jake and her Nate thump each other on the back in a hug, before Nate reaches out to hug you hello as well.

“Well you gotta agree, I look good.” Jake smirks, not missing a beat, while bending to pick Layla off the ground, hoisting her in an arm and tickling her belly, the toddler shrieking with glee. “Can’t deprive the world of all this now, can we?” He coos the question at Layla who only giggles, patting her uncle’s cheek with her hand.

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” she looks at you as you ruffle Kyle’s hair in a hello, the boy beaming up at you, before slipping his hand into yours, tugging you around in a circle in his excitement.

“None of us do,” the familiar voice of grandma Doris interjects as she and Grace Seresin née Walton, walk into view.

“She’s too sweet to be putting up with your brother,” Grace chimes in, with a glance to her son, who just shrugs, a lazy, self-assured smirk plastered to his face.

Emma tugs Kyle out of your hands, for grandma Doris and Grace to greet you with hugs of their own, before they move onto Jake, who embraces them each with an arm, Layla still nestled happily in his other, her head resting between the crook of his neck, thumb now in her mouth.

“Thank you,” Emma grabs your hands in an exaggerated fashion, clutching them dramatically as she throws a look to Jake, “for putting up with my brother’s clown ass.”

The words coming out from Emma, a grown woman, with perfectly coiffed hair, and designer clothes and shoes that cut a stylish figure, makes you burst out in laughter.

“Just doing my bit of charity for the world.” You manage to say, before grandma Doris links an arm with yours, pulling you towards the door of the lobby, a signal for the rest to follow.

“I’ll cut him out of my will and put you in,” she tells you in a loud stage whisper. You don’t turn back, but if you did, you would have seen Jake grinning broadly, a fond look in his eyes, his niece still cuddled up against him, as he takes in the sight of you and his grandmother walking arm in arm.

-

“You know,” you turn to face Emma at the sound of her voice, clearly directed at you, “he cares about you.”

You both are seated at the end of a table, in the corner of the hotel lobby’, watching as the other members of your party are crowded around the massive cake display case to a side, Layla in her Grace’s arms, and Kyle in Jake’s, Nate and grandma Doris flanking them, as the children attempt to decide which sweet treat to pick.

“I know,” you say, small smile on your lips, as you focus on Jake, before looking back at her.

You and Jake had been mindful of yourselves around the Seresins, not because it would have been an issue, but because you had insisted on not wanting to overshadow their time together with Jake. He had tried to convince you that there wouldn’t have been any overshadowing involved, but you had, with a little help of your hands and mouth, had managed to capture his undivided attention, and be extremely persuasive, to which Jake relented. You weren’t sure if Emma knew, or suspected at the very least. You had always known her to be astute.

“He would probably kill me if I told you this,” she begins, as she leans back in her seat, folding her hands in her lap, “but slightly over three years ago, when you had told him about Dan, that guy you were seeing, he was noticeably…” she pauses, searching for the right words to use, “worked up.”

“I didn’t know,” you start, as you find your gaze wandering back to Jake who is now squatting beside Kyle, both blondes peering into the bottom layer of the display case. “He never said.”

“We were both home during that period,” she recalls, “and staying with grandma, and I found him in the gym abusing a punching bag. His knuckles were raw, eyes like a man crazed.”

She pauses, as you look back to her before continuing.

“I had Kyle with me, he was still just a toddler at that point, and it took him crying for Jake to stop. He told me, quite angrily I might add, that Dan wasn’t good enough for you”, she says as she unfolds her hands from her lap to reach out to squeeze your forearm, “and you deserved so much more.”

She meets your gaze, squeezing your forearm gently again, before adding after a moment of consideration, “I think he meant himself.”

Her words make your jaw slacken, your lips part slightly, as you remember Jake’s words in the car from the other day when he had only said “less so” since you had started seeing Dan.

“My brother can be a dick to a lot of people,” she starts again, a rueful shake of her head, “but not to you, never to you. He’ll never hurt you.” Emma says as she offers you a final smile, as you hear the voices of the group returning to the table.

“We got chocolate and a red velvet,” Jake says, as he slides back into the chair beside you, Kyle clamouring from his lap into yours. He finds you looking at him curiously, a strange expression on his face and he tilts his head to a side, asking silently if you are ok, before darting his gaze to Emma who immediately turns her attention to Nate.

You nod, with a slight tilt of your ahead, signalling that you are fine before you turn your attention back to Kyle who is describing to you, in vivid detail the chocolate cake that he chose.

-

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” Jake asks you for the tenth time since you had both left the house, “you’re already in the car.”

“I don’t,” you shake your head as you watch him glance out the side mirror, checking for cars, before he makes the turn. “You should spend some time alone with them before they go back.”

It had been a Seresin filled week, with you spending almost all of your time with grandma Doris, Grace, Emma, Nate, Kyle and Layla during the days, with Jake joining the group only in the evening once he had managed to get out of work. He had however, managed to spend an entire full day with the group yesterday, a Saturday, which largely comprise of him and Nate, chasing Kyle and Layla around the beach, while you, Emma, Doris and Grace watched on, chatting idly.

Emma and her family had left earlier in the morning, but his mother and grandmother who had booked themselves into a later flight, scheduled only for the late afternoon, had asked Jake to meet them for breakfast.

Jake opens his mouth to say something as he glances at you, and you shake your head again, pre-empting his response, your tone firm.

“No Jake, they deserve your undivided attention.” You knew you were always welcome with the Seresins, but you had wanted to give grandmother Doris, Grace and Jake the time they deserved together. You hadn’t made mention of it to Jake, but had gathered from their previous trip to see you in New York (sans Jake), that they missed Jake more than they cared to let on. It wasn’t easy having a grandson and son far from you; what more one that was a Naval Aviator who could be deployed for 6 months, to an undisclosed location at the drop of a hat. You had missed Jake yourself, worried about him during his stints of deployment over the years, even if were both already separated by state, so it was easy for you to empathise.

The seriousness to your voice makes him shut his mouth, choosing instead to reach across the center console and place a hand on your thigh, fingers squeezing lightly in understanding.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You ask, and Jake shakes his head no.

He had sent his truck off to the workshop, only to have it grounded for a couple of days. You had tried to strong arm him into taking your car, seeing that he was due back to TOPGUN for an afternoon of flights, despite having been able to wrangle a few hours off to spend with his mother and grandmother before they left, but Jake Seresin, if anything, was a stubborn man, who had refused, not wanting to leave you inconvenienced. You had both reached a comprise, being that he would drop himself off to meet the Seresins, and grandma Doris would get her car to drop Jake back at TOPGUN before she left. It wasn’t the smartest solution, but it was the most he would budge on it.

He pulls up kerbside, in front of the hotel his grandmother and mother were staying in and shifts the car into park. You both exit, and Jake waits for you beside the door of the driver’s side, holding the door open, while you step in and up into the seat and buckle yourself in.

“See you later?” He asks, a rhetoric question, but you nod anyway and he kisses you swiftly on the corner of your lips before shutting the door on you and jogging over to the kerb. You duck your head to peer out of the window on the passenger’s side and he winks at you. You press a kiss to your fingers, blowing it at him, and it earns you a wide smile, the sides of his eyes crinkling. You let yourself take it in, Jake smiling, with his hair combed back, uniform hugging him in the right places, before you lift a hand in a wave and drive off, thinking to yourself, god was he handsome.

-

“You’re eating too little.” Grandma Doris asks, eyeing the bowl of yogurt, and granola in front of her grandson.

“Don’t want to be throwing up mid flight.” He explains before popping the spoon into his mouth. “I’ll have more for dinner.”

She hums in acknowledgement, settling back into her chair, while taking a sip from her tea cup, eyes studying her grandson.

“So,” she starts casually, almost too casually for her, and it makes Jake drop his spoon as he leans back to take her in, “were you planning on keeping your poor grandmother in the dark forever?”

Jake knows what she is referring to, but opts for raising brow, waiting for her to elaborate.

“That you both finally became more than just friends.” Grandma Doris stretches out the word finally, and Jake raises his glass to his lips, but his smile is barely covered.

“What gave it away?” He asks, after taking a gulp of water and setting his glass down.

“You did be blind not to know,” Grace scoffs, taking a sip of coffee. You both had hid it well, but a mother always knew her son.

The relationship you and Jake had, was something that had always been special - he was more himself around you, more the Jake that Grace had knew, loved and known from the first day she had held him in her arms, and you, well, you somehow managed to tolerate him, during the good and the bad, accepting him for both his good and bad; but this time, this was different.

Grace had always seen a glimpse of something more in her son’s eyes when he looked to you, only when he knew that you weren’t watching, but this time - she had seen it in his eyes, when he had looked directly at you, and had seen you meet his gaze with the exact same look, of equal intensity in your eyes. She had seen the quiet, content, smile that flickered briefly across both your features, and she just knew.

Her suspicions had been confirmed the night before when Grace’s own mother had nudged her and motioned out the window of the hotel lobby, both of them watching, just in time to catch you run a finger over the the sunburn blooming along the bridge of Jake’s nose, laughing about something they couldn’t hear, to which Jake only reached out to pull you towards him, your face colliding with his chest, body shaking with laughter as he planted his lips on the top of your hair, while saying something that caused your shoulders to shake even more.

“Weeks,” he says vaguely, not bothering to count the detailed specifics, not because Jake didn’t care, but because he didn’t need to with you - not when he was sure you were his forever. He had expressed outrightly that you were his girl - because even when you hadn’t been, you had somehow, always been his in one way or another - and Jake hadn’t asked you explicitly, the question of “will you be my girlfriend?”, but it hadn’t mattered to either of you; the question seemingly unimportant and trivial, when you both already just knew.

Grandma Doris observes grandson from her perch across the table, the light in his eyes that she had always saw when he looked at you had finally come to the front, and it was dazzling. She places down her teacup, fingers of her right hand working to slide the ring she had the fourth finger of her right hand off. It was the simplest of the rings which adorned her fingers, a plain band, holding a single jewel, with the words “timeless” scratched onto the inside of the band, the engraving now dulled from years of wear, but still visible. She places it on the table in front of Jake, who looks down at it, and up again at his grandmother in surprise. He had never seen her take it off since he could remember.

“Give it to her,” she says simply, the implication behind her words clear - marry her. To anyone else, it might have been strange, but grandma Doris understood, it was Jake and you - she had watched quietly, as you both danced around each other for years. “There isn’t any reason to wait when you’ve already known something your whole life.” She say simply.

Jake picks up the ring, flipping it in his fingers, running the pad of his thumb over the engraving on the inner band, before reaching into the shirt of his uniform, tugging out the chain with his dog tags, before undoing it and stringing the ring on.

-

“Well, this is me,” Jake bends down and kisses Grace’s cheek while engulfing her in a hug.

“Come back home soon,” Grace orders and Jake raises a hand to his head to giver her a mini salute.

“Yes M’am.”

“Everyone misses you,” his grandmother says as Jake bends in turn to hug her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Your grandfather and father miss you.” His mother says, and Jake meets her gaze in understanding with a small tip of his chin.

Jake stands back, with a last wave, watching as his mother and grandmother enter the car, before the driver shuts the door.

-

Tash: Your man is an idiot.

You swipe open the message from Phoenix to come face to face with a picture of Jake and Rooster’s side view, each man decked out in their flight suit, sunglasses on their face, middle fingers flipped up at each other. It makes you roll your eyes as you shoot back a text.

Is Bradley an idiot as well?

She replies almost instantly.

Tash: The biggest.

You grin, shooting back a reply.

Lies. By the way, do you know what time you’ll be done? My idiot needs a pick up.

Tash: Come now, I’ll get Mav to abuse his “power” and sign you in.

-

“I’m not betting those 200 push ups today,” Fanboy’s voice crackles over the comms as the three planes, him and Payback, Mav and Jake push through the air. It was the last scheduled flight of the day, not entirely necessary because there weren’t any trainees scheduled into the slot, but it hadn’t stopped the four men from jumping into the plans to run the same training simulation of the day. Mav’s time old favourite, dogfighting - two against one.

It earns a laugh from Mav, and Jake snorts.

“C’mon boys, wussing out?” Jake drawls over his comms as he levels his jet with Fanboy and Payback, grinning out the window towards the two. It earns him double middle fingers from the duo.

“I’m not letting you hang us out to dry, Hangman.” Payback says disgruntled. It was undeniable that Jake had proven himself to be a team player from the uranium mission, but it didn’t change the fact that Hangman, being Hangman, still enjoyed blazing his own trail, particularly during simulations such as this where a run was just a run, and nothing was at stake. He would have them eating his dust whenever he could.

“How about a beer instead boys?” Mav asks, grinning lazily out of the window of his jet.

“I could live with that,” Payback jumps and latches onto the lower stakes, before clarifying the safety of his own wallet, “just among us four.”

“Game on,” Jake hooks his mask to his face.

-

True to her word, and you are not entirely sure how, Phoenix gets you signed into TOPGUN, meeting you at the guard house, and jumping into your car, directing you onward. She ends up leading you towards the control room, which she informs you, is filled with themselves and the trainee group today due to the afternoon long simulation flights they had been running. She scans her pass against the electronic lock and holds open the door for you while gesturing you in. You slip into the control room ducking your way past a few trainees, to come to a stand beside Hondo, who is flanked on his other side by Rooster and Bob.

“What did I miss?” Pheonix asks, and Hondo points towards the screen.

“They just bet Mav a round of beers if they beat him.”

“Do we all benefit?” Phoenix asks, hopefully.

“Payback made it very clear that it’s just between them.” Hondo grins, and it earns a dismissive snort from Phoenix

You can’t see the Naval Aviators up in the air, apart from the diagrams of little jets beeping on the radar alongside a counter, and a whole host of numbers you don’t understand; but you can hear them over the speakers in the control room, the sounds of breathing, and chatter.

“Where is he?” Payback asks.

“I can’t see him,” Fanboy.

“Probably hiding beneath us,” you hear Jake, “old man never changes his tactics.” He says, a jab at Mav, and the tone of his voice, makes you shake your head slightly; even you knew, to someone who didn’t know any better or who wasn’t used to him, Jake could very well rub people he didn’t know well the wrong way with his words.

You hear a set of three yells and curses, as Mav’s diagram reappears on radar, a set of numbers alongside the screen rapidly jumping as Mav angles his jet to shoot up between the other two.

“And yet, this old man’s tactics work every time.”

It earns a fist pump from Hondo, and you lean over towards the older man.

“Does he truly do that every time?”

“Works like a charm,” Hondo says, leaning back over to you simultaneously, headset still nestled in his ear, with a nod of his head.

“And they don’t learn?” You ask in slight disbelief at the fact that some of the best Naval Aviators in the country would fall for the same trick more than once.

“Kids,” Hondo laughs with a shrug and a waggle of his brows, and it makes you laugh out loud as you think back to a scene where you had been sitting with the lot, after dinner, watching them argue over which superhero, as portrayed in the movies, would come out on top, because you couldn’t agree more.

-

Jake hears it, clear as day, as he rights his jet, holding back on the acceleration into the planned tactic he was going to go into, even though it was just a soft crackle over the background his comms. He thought he had been dreaming that he had heard your voice, until the point he heard your laugh - he would recognise that laugh anywhere - your laugh.

“Babe?” He says into his comms, and it has Payback and Fanboy looking at each other within the confines of their plane, Mav looking out of the window from above, down towards Jake’s jet, the men all holding in the air, surprised at the sudden call from Jake. All heads in the control room swivel towards you.

Hondo slips the headset off his ear and passes it to you, nodding for you to take it, and you do, slipping it onto your own ear, taking a step forward, closer to the screen even though you can’t see him.

“Jake?” You say, your eyes focused on the mini green outline of his jet on the screen, his call sign flickering beside it.

“Yeah babe?” Jake says again, louder, more sure this time, his face breaking into a wide grin beneath his mask. In that moment, Jake feels like he is at the top of the world, despite having just been spun around in the air by the force of Mav’s jet - he is seated in a jet high above the ground, doing something he had willingly devoted his life to, with your voice in his ear at real-time, knowing that you were watching him.

“Give him hell.” You say, and you hear a roaring laugh of response through the headset in your ear, loud, open, unadulterated, genuine, every note of it being entirely Jake. It is familiar to you, but the heads moving back and forth in the room, eyes coated in surprise, tells you that it isn’t for everyone.

“For you darlin? Anything.”

It earns a whoop from Coyote who is standing to the right of the control room. Jake, who is up in the air grips his center stick, wide grin still on his face. He can feel the ring, dangling from the chain beside his dog tags, a cool circle pressed against his chest. He takes a deep breath.

“Alright boys, hope you’re ready, because Hangman’s coming.”

-

“Tone!” It is a span of mere minutes, where you hear a mix of shouts, grunts and yells coming from the four men in the air, before you hear a loud prolonged beeping sound, and Jake’s voice crackle over the comms, shouting out the single word with a whoop. It earns wide eyes from around the room, and approving nod from Hondo who is behind you, a “yes” from Coyote and a clap from Bob.

“Fucking Hangman,” is what you hear Rooster murmur from behind, clearly impressed.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Tash mumbles as she walks up to you, before clapping her hand on your shoulder. She knew Jake was good, heck - everyone knew, despite having only been selected as Dagger Spare for the uranium mission, he was the only one among them (not counting Mav) who had a count of two confirmed air combat kills, but to get tone on Mav, something none of them had yet to be able to achieve - now that, was impressive.

“Can we get her in the room everytime he flies?” You hear Cyclone mumble to Warlock from his position in the centre of the room, arms still crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the green on screen.

It makes you smile.

-

You make your way down along with the rest of the group, the only civilian amongst the group of Naval Aviators, hanging to a side with Coyote, Bob, Rooster and Phoenix as the jets grind to a slow stop and into a park. You can hear the chatter of the trainees, standing around as you watch while the top of Jake’s jet pops open, before he hoists himself out of the seat, stepping onto the wing to hop down onto the ground.

Jake yanks his helmet off his head, and you see him, grinning widely, from ear to ear, his hair sticking up, a sheen of sweat across his forehead, in his element, euphoria unmatched. It’s infectious and you feel your face break out into a matching grin, as Jake begins striding directly to you, helmet in his hand. He moves like a man with a mission, focused entirely on you, and the smattering of trainees move to a side as he approaches, it being clear that he has no intention to stop for anyone in his way.

You see him unzip the top of his flight suit, and reach beneath the white shirt he has on underneath, fingers pulling his dog tags out before he tugs them over his head.

“Jake?” He is three steps away from you, and the group behind you has involuntarily taken a step back, not sure of where this is going, allowing you both your space, and then, it happens.

Jake drops his helmet to the ground, the object rolling an inch away before it settles on his side. You are forced to look down as Jake drops a knee to the ground. He leans his elbow on his other knee, which is bended, propped up by a boot that is pressed flat to the ground, and raises his hand towards you, fingers holding out a ring, still hanging from the chain of his dog tags, with a single jewel as the centrepiece towards you. You recognised the ring at once, having seen it as a permanent fixture on grandma Doris’ finger.

“Jake what are yo-” You start to say, but he cuts you off, answering your question at the same time.

“Marry me.” He says, a statement, not quite an ask as his eyes search yours, a smile, genuine, excited, earnest on his face. “Marry me, because I don’t want to have to spend another day not being able to call you mine.”

It’s a big ask, after only weeks, you both jumping the step where he had even asked you (officially) to be his girlfriend, but this was Jake, the man you knew better than anyone else; the man who you understood, and who understood you, without having to even use words; the man who you would do anything for, and who would do anything for you; the man you had spent the past few weeks finally getting it right with; the man you would say yes to in a heartbeat.

You search his face, his eyes now fixed on you, watching as you take it in, take him in. Jake has never been so goddamn sure of anything in his life. He had been sure the moment his grandmother had slipped the ring onto the table; sure from the moment he had kissed you at Annie’s wedding; sure from the moment he had asked you to come out to San Diego for 6 months; perhaps even sure from way before; but hearing your voice over comms, just your voice, pulling together his focus, grounding him, both literally and figuratively propelling him to greater heights, made him realise that he had already taken too goddamn long to do this, and that he would be a fool to wait even a second longer.

“I’m already yours.” You breathe out, pushing out the breath of air you hadn’t even been aware you were holding. It is enough for him, and Jake reaches forward to tug your hand towards him before he slips the ring on. It fits your finger like a glove, his dog tags still dangling from the other end of the chain still attached to the ring, like a part of him to you. He stands, holding your hand in his, pulling you close so that your body is flush against his. Jake smells of jet fuel, sweat and soap. He reaches up with his other hand, to cup your jaw in his palm, a thumb running over your cheekbone.

“Jake?” You say, softly, as he leans in an inch.

“Yeah.” It makes him stop, face slightly apart from yours, but so close that you can feel the tip of his nose brushing against yours, and the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“I love you.” You say out loud for the first time, and you see the wide smile break across his face as he presses his lips to yours. You love him, you’ve loved him, just as he love and has loved you.

“I know baby.” Is what Jake says first against yours lips, in true Jake Seresin fashion and you can still feel his smile, as he finally says “I love you too.”

You hear the thunderous sound of cheers in the background, the loudest coming from the group of Naval Aviators you had come to know and love. A plane flies past, roaring overhead in the sky, and you kiss Jake back, one of your hands still gripping his, the other on the back of his head, feeling the damp roots of sweat in his hair, pulling him into you. You feel like your heart is soaring, your flyboy in your arms.

>> EPILOGUE

Your lip twists up in amusement as you send out your text, knowing that it would get him fired up. Your phone dings not even a minute later, and you swipe the message open to reveal a close- up picture, taken from top down of nothing but a set of chiseled muscle. The shade of skin tells you that it’s Jake’s, but his next message confirms it for you.

J: He isn’t the only one.

It makes you chortle as you sink down onto a workout bench. You feel your phone ping again, and you unlock it to a text from Pheonix.

Tash: You won’t happen to know why Hangman is lifting his shirt to take a picture of his abs in the middle of the rec room would you?

It makes your nose wrinkle up in amusement, a peel of laughter dropping from your lips.

The past week and a half since you had both returned from New York had been strange, with both you and Jake existing in a kind of limbo. Training had kicked up a notch for him again, with Cyclone and Warlock demanding an increased level of intensity of the programme. They weren’t the ones being trained this time around, but from the faces of the group that filtered into your house each night for dinner, it didn’t matter. It was obvious from their faces that they were all beat from the earlier mornings, ramped up physical exercises, and increased flight time. As much as they loved being airborne, it was an intensely physically demanding activity. Between his increased workload, and you having taken on tutoring Amelia on weeknights for her upcoming exams, you both hardly had a moment alone to yourselves, much less together.

It was not to say that there hadn’t been a shift between you both, because that much was undeniable. You and Jake remained you and Jake, but with an added layer of nuance to your relationship. It was something that you both felt - when his hand brushed against yours in the kitchen while the group was gathering up the dishes for dinner, when your knee bumped into his under the table at dinner and stayed leaning against his leg, the look in his eyes when he bade you goodnight midway through your session with Amelia, dragging himself off to bed in preparation for an early morning - but hadn’t had the chance to figure out.

-

“Sandwiches from Joe’s Deli.” You raise your hand, brown paper bag dangling from your fingers as you saunter up to the picnic benches facing the beach outside of The Hard Deck.

“Which ones?” Penny asks you, as she gathers hair hair into a ponytail behind her.

“Cuban and roast chicken, figured we could take a half of each.” You slide into onto the bench, pushing your shades up onto your head before you pull the contents of the bag out.

“So what’s the beach about, any idea?” You ask as you unwrap your half of sandwich before biting in.

“Dogfight football,” she explains in between bites of her own. “Something Pete had them do the last time around to bond them. You run offense and defense at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll see.”

You nod slowly, trying to grasp the idea as you brush crumbs off the front of the oversized shirt you had swapped your sweaty gym top for.

“Or, it’s basically a fancy term for bunch of half naked aviators running around getting sweaty and sandy while tossing around a ball.” She throws a wink in your direction.

“Does seeing Mav sweaty and sandy do it for you?” You tease.

“Honey,” she say looks at you point blank, unfazed, with a sly grin on her face “seeing that man in anything does it for me.”

-

The rumble of engines pulling up into the parking lot of The Hard Deck signals the group’s arrival. You have your back facing the parking lot, but the wide smile that breaks across Penny’s face lets you know that they have walked into view, Pete at the helm. You prop your chin up on your palm as the Captain walks up beside Penny, greeting her with a kiss to the lips to a round of whistles from the trainees who are filtering past the bench onto the sand.

“Hey Mav.” You offer a smile as they pull apart, turning their attention to you.

“Joining us for football?” He tilts his head towards the sand. “We’re severely underrepresented on the female front.” He pauses as he sees Jake walk into view, “and Hangman said you’ve got a mean arm.”

“I have brothers,” you explain, “they were really into football growing up. Got forced to pick it up.”

“You have to join,” Phoenix's voice cuts in as she pushes past Jake on their way towards the bench, to come up from behind, sliding into the seat beside you. “I’m sick of being around all these testosterone monkeys.” Her comment makes you eyeball the predominantly male crowd, picking out just another two female trainees.

“Don’t see you being sick of Rooster.” You don’t turn, but you can feel Jake’s presence behind you before he even speaks.

“Fuck off.” Phoenix glares daggers towards Jake.

“You’re the number one testosterone monkey she’s sick off.” Rooster chimes in, coming to join the group surrounding the table. He lowers his shades to look at you. “I don’t know how you live with him.”

“He’s insufferable.” Phoenix agrees. “Doesn’t it get tiring sharing a space with all that?” She gestures towards Jake a mock grimace on her face. “All that male bravado.”

“You’ll get used to it once he forces you to spend enough years tolerating him.” You deadpan, managing to keep the smile that threatens to curl around your lips off your face.

“Ya’ll are just haters.” Jake scoffs, tossing the football in his hands into the crowd on the beach, trusting that someone would catch it, before letting his elbow hang loosely from one your shoulders.

“You’re playing.” Phoenix grabs your arm as she stands and you sigh in defeat.

“There is no way I’m getting out of this am I?”

“None.” The chorus of voices from Phoenix, Rooster, Penny, Mav and Jake ring out in unison and you push yourself to a stand. It makes Jake move his arm off from your shoulder, fingers brushing against your lower back as it drops. “Fine, I’ll join.”

It earns a whoop from Phoenix who slaps Rooster’s hand in a high-five, the two running off towards the sand.

“You’re on my team.” Phoenix calls back to you, just as Maverick squeezes Penny’s shoulder, before following, a chuckle on his lips.

“I’m guessing you aren’t on their team?” You ask as you reach for the bottom of your shirt, tugging it over your head to reveal a sports bra and a pair of sports shorts, not keen on getting your clean shirt wet and sandy. You bend to stuff your shirt and sunglasses into your bag before hoisting it onto the table, your wordless request to Penny to keep on eye on your bag met with a nod from her.

“Any team with me is the winning team sweetheart.” Jake says, letting his gaze drop, trailing along your body, before coming back up lazily to meet your eyes. He is unbothered by Penny’s presence and the curious, yet knowing look she is giving you both. You feel a rush of heat burn it’s way along your core, watching his gaze as it travels over you.

“We’ll see about that,” you reach to put your hair up, throwing him a smirk before walking towards the group, his gaze burning into you as you walk away.

-

“Oh Lieutenant.”

The grating sound of the blonde female trainee, Becca’s voice makes you roll your eyes as you throw a glance towards her. You grit your teeth, causing your jaw to clench down as you see her throw her head back in a laugh, one of her hands coming to rest on Jake’s bare bicep.

You don’t hear what he says in quick response, but Jake doesn’t engage, choosing instead to turn his head towards Coyote, both men steeped in conversation.

“She’s noisy.” You grumble as you flop down on the sand in between Bob and Fanboy.

“She’s…. chatty.” Bob responds, as the three of look over to Becca whose fingers are still resting on Jake’s bicep.

“She’s been trying to get his attention since day one,” Fanboy says, tilting his chin towards both her and Jake.

“Not that he seems to care.” Bob adds, before shooting a subtly timed glance at you.

You make a non-committal grunt as a response, shoulders going upward in a shrug as you tear your gaze away from the blonde pair, focusing it instead on the aviators running around in front of you.

-

“Tash.” You shout, arms outstretched as you duck past two of the trainees on the opposing team. Phoenix looks to you, faking left before tossing the ball right towards you. You catch it in midair, before pivoting on your heels, feet sprinting past Payback towards the touchdown line marked out by a line in the sand. The line is meters within your reach when you feel a body collide with your legs, hands pulling you around your waist down to the sand. The ball rolls out of your hands on impact and you swear, sitting up to dust sand off from your hands to find yourself face to face with twinkling green eyes.

“You’ve always been mouthy on the field.” He says, between short breaths of air, only to have you mumble another curse under your breath.

“Yeah, well at least I’m focused on the game Lieutenant.” You grumble, biting out the last part of your sentence in imitation of what you had heard earlier as you push your hands and feet against the sand, staggering upright.

There is a hint of initial confusion on Jake’s face at the start of your sentence, but it instantly shifts to understanding at the last word.

“Are you,” he says while pushing himself into a more graceful stand so that he towers over you, “jealous?”

You squint upwards only to find his features etched into a smug, wide grin that is barely visible due to the sunlight fanning out from behind him.

“No.” You attempt at nonchalance is thwarted by the hard edge to your voice.

“Darlin,” he starts to say, but you choose to glare at him, mouth opening to cut him off.

“No.” You enunciate the single word clearly, loudly, as you flip yourself around, bending swiftly to pick up the ball before launching it at Jake. “Your ball Seresin.”

You had thrown it hard, but Jake catches it with ease, absorbing the impact in his hands and with his body as he watches you stalk away, the smug grin now a small smile furling out at the corners of his lips.

-

You are running across the sand, your eyes trained on the ball like a hawk, your frustration translating into hyper-focus.

“Pass it,” you yell to one of the trainees on your team. He throws it in your direction while on the run and you stretch out to catch the ball which shoots a bit past your reach, only for a flash of blonde hair and pale skin to lunge past you. Becca catches the ball on the fly and you find swear loudly, your legs picking up speed. You follow as she zips past Fanboy, propelling yourself in a small spin so that you are facing her, before you lunge forward with a jump off the sand. Your hands grab her hips, fingers pushing into her flesh for grip as your shoulder collides into her chest. You push forward and let the weight of your body and momentum slam her into the sand.

The ball rolls out of her hands, and you let yourself roll off her, the force from the sudden burst of energy behind your tackle causing your chest to heave up and down in exertion.

“My god,” you hear Becca’s whine as she clambers into an upright position to glare at you, “did you have to be so brutal?”

“It’s football, get over it.” You say as push yourself up into a seated position, fully intending to right yourself into a stand when you feel her fingers digging into your forearm.

“The force was uncalled for,” she says again, and you look to find her eyes narrowed at you. “Who the heck are you anyway? You aren’t one of us.” Her last question leaves you smarting, as you tear your hand forcefully out of her grip, your legs moving you away from her.

“Hey,” she rushes herself to a stand, following after you, “you just some rando who decided to join our game?”

You exhale loudly, your eyes rolling upwards to the sky in a mixture of both anger and exasperation.

“I-” You brace yourself, turning around to come nose to nose with Becca.

“Williams.” Tash voice breaks in, her tone icy. “Watch your tone.”

“M’am, I-” Becca pales, slipping into a tone of address that showcases her slightly lower rank, and place on the totem pole that is TOPGUN.

“She’s my friend and here at my invitation.” You watch as Tash comes to stand beside you, her feet squaring as she stares Becca down. “I think that makes her as much of one of us as you are, don’t you?”

Your brain fogs with admiration for Tash in the moment, her steely but calm demeanour reminding you just why she is where she is.

“Yes M’am.” Becca stammers, as Tash shoots her a dismissive look, indicating that the conversation had ended.

“You okay?” Tash turns to you, friendly concern on her features. “They get a bit too big for their britches just because they get called here.” She explains, and you offer a tired smile.

“Fine Tash.” You nod, “thanks for that.”

“Just stepping in to save her,” she winks at you, “pretty sure you would have been the more lethal poison.”

“Hey, what happened?” You feel Jake’s fingers touch your elbow lightly, right as he jogs up to both of you, brows knitted slightly, genuine concern on his face. He had been standing on the sidelines, but his eye had been on you the whole time. He had watched the interaction, not thinking much of it, apart from that it was a tackle. But them moment he had seen your body language shift and you tense up, he had started to weave his way towards you. And, the moment he had seen Phoenix cut in, he was jogging across the sand towards you.

“Williams,” Tash explains with a shrug, not delving into detail.

“I’m going to sit out for a while, sub me.” You tell Tash and she nods, jogging back towards the group on the sand.

-

“Something is on your mind.” Jake says pointedly as he follows you back to the picnic bench you had vacated earlier. You see Penny two benches away, phone pressed to her ear in conversation and you and Jake each raise a hand in greeting which she acknowledges with a nod.

“Go back to football Lieutenant.” You say as you pull your phone from your bag, clicking through your notifications.

Jake plans himself down on the bench, his gaze fixed on you as you flick through the notification banners on your phone. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this, uncharacteristically closed off, and uncommunicative.

“What?” You ask, feeling his gaze on you, but refusing to look up at him.

“Talk to me.” He says, the surprising amount of patience in his voice being the thing that finally makes you look at him and straight into greens which implore you to tell him what is on your mind. Perhaps it was the unspoken words, unsorted feelings, and unresolved tension that had been building since the day of Annie’s wedding, but you feel it - a crackle of electricity between you both as he stared straight into your eyes.

“I’m going to get some water.” You mumble, dumping your phone onto the table with a clatter, your eyes shying away from the intensity of the look he has directed at you.

-

Your phone rings, as soon as you step into The Hard Deck. Jake glances down at the unknown number flashing across your screen. He picks it up, swiping across the screen to answer without much thought.

“Hello?” He says, only to hear a voice he recognises calling out your name in confusion.

“Dan.” Jake’s lips press into a firm line, distaste on his voice.

“Jake.” Dan says, tone equally cool. “Look just get her to call me back alright? I’m returning her calls from last night.”

The sentence makes Jake’s mind whirl, an uncomfortable feeling balling in his chest. His stomach feels like it has dropped a million feet below ground. He doesn’t respond to Dan, choosing instead to end the call. He keeps your phone clutched in his hand, knuckles whitening from the force with which he is gripping the device.

He sees you exit The Hard Deck, glass of water in your hand.

“You called Dan?” He spits out, voice loud as he whips his head around to focus on you.

You eye your phone on the table. The heat of his gaze feels like it could burn through you.

“No one asked you to answer my phone.” You shoot back, your own eyes flashing with rage. Normally, Jake answering or even using your phone unsanctioned wouldn’t have bothered you in the slightest, but your irritation from your earlier interaction with Becca rises up, bubbling into an anger.

“You called Dan.” He says again, maintaining his volume, repeating his accusation.

You had called Dan the night before that much was true. However, you had called him solely at the behest of another one of your colleagues, to sort of work related matters which were best and more quickly dealt with over the phone.

“And?” You walk up to the picnic table, placing your glass down with more force than necessary, causing water to slosh out from the side. You tilt your head down slightly to stare straight at Jake, arms folded tightly across your chest, refusing to explain in the moment in the face of his aggression and your original irritation.

“And?” He throws his hands in the air, rising to full height, forcing you to tilt your head upwards instead. “Why the fuck are you still calling Dan?”

You want to wince at his words, his anger, but you steel yourself, your fingers gripping the side of your own arm instead. Jake fights like anyone would expect Jake to fight, he is aggressive, brusque, words harsh and cutting. He would never lay a hand on a woman, much less you, but the lack of physicality manifests itself in waves of anger and extreme hostility that roll off him.

“Why the fuck is that any of your business?” You counter back, seething.

“Why the fuck, is that any of my fucking business?” You see his jaw clench and the vein in his neck strain. You both fall silent, staring at each other for what seems like an uncomfortable eternity, before he throws his hands in the air. “Maybe it’s none of my fucking business.” He finally says, voice thin, dropping back to a normal decibel. You see the intensity in his features falter slightly, doubt flooding his eyes, but his jaw remains clenched tightly.

Jake turns, and you stand, frozen, watch him walk back onto the sand, grabbing up his shirt and shades before heading back towards the parking lots.

“Jake.” You call, your body shifting to face his vanishing back. He doesn’t respond. “Jake.” You try again, louder this time, but he continues walking away. He disappears around the corner, and you hear the faint sounds of a car door slamming and the engine of his truck starting up. He hasn’t said anything more, hasn’t done anything, hasn’t laid a hand on you, but there a pain blistering through your chest.

“Hey,” you feel a gentle hand come to rest on your arm, pulling you back into the now, “are you okay?” Penny asks.

“I don’t know,” you find yourself admitting, as you continue to stare at the corner Jake had disappeared around despite him being long gone by now.

-

You end at at Penny’s that night, tutoring Amelia from Penny’s dining table instead of your own. Penny had invited you over, insisting that you take a shower while she made you dinner, with no obligation on you to help Amelia out with her school work that night. You had accepted the invitation, showered, changed into a set of Penny’s clothes, sat through dinner, letting the conversation between the mother and daughter duo distract you. You had smiled and laughed your way through dinner, but Penny had noticed how your smile didn’t hit your eyes the way it usually did.

“You know, you both could take a day off.” Penny says, as she wipes her hands against a dishcloth as she eyes you and Amelia, both hunched over in the corner of the dining room table, Amelia’s school work spread across the dark mahogany of her table.

“I can handle it myself today.” Amelia offers to you, her eyes glancing up as the tip of her pen pauses over paper.

“Nah, I’m good.” You offer both a small smile before you turn back to the words in front of you. The words on the page blur, as your eyes un-focus, your memory clouding instead with the image of Jake walking away, burning through your mind, playing on repeat. Jake had never, in your years of friendship walked away from you once before - not once. You had both fought, shouted it out at each other before, but he had never walked away from you. Jake had always stuck around, walked you home, you both bristling in anger and silence, even after you both fought tooth and nail, tearing at each others throats. You had never had to call out to him twice, much less watch him walk away.

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” Penny asks you as she walks over to the table, placing a hand on the backs of each yours and Amelia’s chairs.

“Please?” You ask, and she nods, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Not being here, meant being back home with Jake, or worse, without him.

“Of course, I’ll grab some clean sheets for the guest room.” Penny walks towards the back of the house as the doorbell rings. “Can you get that, I think it’s Pete.” She calls out to you.

“Sure.” You push your chair back to a stand and make your way to the front door, pulling it open to reveal two different sets of green eyes staring back at you.

“Found him in the gym at the base abusing a punching bag.” Pete says before either you or Jake can speak.

Pete offers you a smile, clapping you gently on the shoulder before making his way past you and into the house. It leaves you to look at Jake, hair damp from a shower which you assumed Pete must have forced him to take as a literal and figurative cooldown before dragging him over, dressed in a white tee and grey sweatpants. His knuckles are red, the skin on them looking raw and battered.

Jake takes you in, your hand still on the door handle, dressed not too dissimilarly from him in a pair of Penny’s old sweatpants and a dark plain tee. He had regretted walking away from you the moment he did, regretted it even more each time you had called his name, but his legs had kept moving forward, rage masking fear clawing through him. The thought of you calling Dan had sent his thoughts straight into a tailspin. You both hadn’t had the time to tackle the issue properly post Annie’s wedding, but Jake had thought, assumed that it was clear that you both meant more to each other even without words. Hearing Dan’s voice on the phone, hearing that you had called him, and you not providing an explanation immediately, had made him think the worst.

“Can we go,” he speaks first, both your gazes locked firmly onto each other, each assessing the other silently, “home?” he asks, almost afraid to. Jake’s jaw is still tense. His earlier feelings of rage and fear are still stewing in him, circling his belly, running through his veins, but Jake knows that in spite of everything, he doesn’t want to go back alone to a house that doesn’t have you.

-

You both end up driving back separately, you pulling up onto the driveway before him. Neither of you speaks as you walk up to the house, as you unlock the front door and Jake shuts it behind you as you tug your shoes off. He follows suit, tugging his own shoes off before following you as you enter the kitchen.

“I called Dan last night for work.” You finally speak up as you enter the house, dumping your bag down on the table in the dining room. You turn to lean against the table, arms folded defensively across your body to face Jake who stands a short distance away. You watch as he drags his hand across his forehand only to rake it through his hair, before you continue with your explanation, one that you should have given hours ago. “It was at the request of someone who is handling something I was working on, and it was faster to pick up the phone and give him a call.”

You eye Jake as he continues to stare straight at you.

“I didn’t want to send him a text and draw out the conversation,” you shrug, your shoulder lifting slightly, “didn’t want to have to open my work laptop either.”

Jake takes a step towards you, the knot of rage and fear swirling through his veins undoing itself almost instantly.

“I thought…” he starts, and you loosen the fold of your arms across your chest slightly, unknowingly as he nears.

“No.” You cut him off, without needing him to finish his sentence. You knew his question, knew what he thought. “I’ve told you before Jake,” you reference your conversation from the other night, enunciating each word clearly so that your intention is clear, “no.”

He comes to a stop in front of you and you unfold your arms, palms coming to grip the sides of the dining table. He is close enough that you can see the first signs of sunburn which has started to bloom across his face, cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the faint pink mixing in with his tan, standing out against the greens of his eyes. You can hear the sound of his breathing, clear against the silence of the night. He moves, just an inch closer to you, and you hold his gaze.

“No.” He murmurs, and his face moves an inch down, and closer to yours.

“No.” You respond, a sudden, slight rasp to your voice as your eyes flicker to his mouth, remembering the feeling of his lips against yours.

He slots his hands onto the dining table, in the small space between your own palms which are against the wood, and your body, looking at you once more, searching, giving you a chance to move away, but you don’t, the pace of your heartbeat quickening. The tension between you both is thick, heavy, palpable.

“Jake?” You ask, your voice low, soft.

“Yeah.” He says, not a question, and you can feel him stepping in between your legs.

“Just fucking kiss me already.”

It’s all he need, and Jake obliges, his lips come crashing down against yours, both your teeth clinking together. Jake slides his hands around your hips, lifting you onto the edge of the table, and your hands go straight onto the back of his head, gripping his hair, pulling him urgently towards you. It’s messy, desperate, urgent, unlike the first kiss you had shared at Annie’s wedding, weeks, or even years of tension build up between you both exploding at once. You were friends, just best friends, and this shouldn’t have felt so right, but it did.

You feel Jake’s tongue swipe against your bottom lip, asking, and you grant him access. His hands move under your shirt and up your body. You feel his fingers run up your sides, gripping your ribs, and you take it as an invitation to move your hands down and under his shirt, palms placed flat against his abdomen, feeling the lines and ridges of his body. His hand moves up, finger’s finding their way along the curve of your bare breasts.

“You aren’t wearing a bra.” He manages to groan through the kiss.

“Penny didn’t have one for me.” You gasp as he tears away from your, his lips coming to graze your neck instead. His fingers work their way to across the pebbled skin of your nipples, rolling each bud and it makes you grip his waist to press your clothed hips into his. You grab the bottom of his shirt, pushing it upwards. He reads your cue, and pulls away momentarily to yank his tee across his head, tossing it behind him.

“All you had to do was ask.” He tells you. Jake’s eyes are dark with arousal, but the smug, mischievous uptick of his lips let’s you know that despite this, despite the fact that your hips are pressed against his, despite the fact that he had your breast in his hands, lips against your neck moments ago, despite the fact that you can feel the hardening bulge in his sweatpants - he is still Jake, the Jake that you know, your Jake even in this moment.

“Shut up,” you growl, putting your hands on the bottom of your own shirt, pulling it over your head and dropping it onto the table behind you. Jake takes in the sight, the look on his face sending a shot of fire straight down to your core. His hands are on the waistband of your sweatpants almost immediately, tugging them down. “Eager?”

“Very.” He responds, the register of his voice deeper, coated with lust as his lips crash into yours once more.

“She didn’t have underwear for me either.” You mutter against the kiss as you lift your hips, letting him slide the garment off you. It makes him groan again, loudly this time against your mouth. Jake grips each of your thighs with his hands and pulls away, allowing his eyes to travel across your body, to drink you in.

“Like what you see?” You ask in imitation of him from the other morning, clad in nothing but his towel. You had expected yourself to be shy, for there to be an undercurrent of awkwardness between you both, but it was clear that you both wanted, needed each other as much as the other and seeing Jake in front of you, knowing that it was Jake in front of you made you forget any notion of that. He was Jake, and you were you, and you could be you.

“Baby,” he says, unfazed at your imitation, the term from his lips making you weak, as he grips the flesh of your thighs harder, “you have no idea.” Jake punctuates his sentence by trailing his hand up your inner thigh to draw a finger across your already dripping slit. The contact makes you moan as you throw your head backwards, arching your back.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t give you a chance to think, pulling you to the edge of the table, leaving a track of your arousal on the wood as he pulls you forward, before spreading your knees wider apart.

“Jake,” you breathe and he throws you a smirk before bringing his mouth to your cunt, tongue licking a long flat strip against your slit, before swirling around your clit. His eyes are locked onto yourself, and you find yourself staring at him with his mouth fixed on your cunt. It makes you moan, loud, needy, desperate, and your hands grip into his hair. “Fuck.”

Jake eats you out like a man starved, his lips suckling, tongue moving against you, and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, and hook your legs around his shoulders. Jake notices your hips that have begun to circle his tongue and he raises a hand to slide his fingers, one first, and then two, into you, his tongue not stopping it’s work against you. You feel your head begin to cloud, belly start to clench as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the pads of his fingertips massaging in a come hither gesture against your walls. You gather yourself enough through your haze to look down at him, his lips, chin, nose covered in a mixture of your slick and his own saliva.

“Cum for me.” He rasps against you, and as if on command, your body obeys, unfurling itself around his fingers which don’t stop moving, fucking you through the waves of your orgasm. You find yourself reaching for him blindly, as your body comes down from it’s high, your orgasm ebbing away, to pull his face back up towards yours. You kiss him, eager, sloppily, tasting the scent of yourself against his lips.

“Jake,” you say, his name slowly becoming a habit, almost a litany. He is about to respond, but you don’t let him, your hands going straight to his sweatpants, palming his cock through the soft cotton. Your first orgasm should have left you satiated, but instead it leaves you even more desperate, more needing, wanting more, wanting Jake. “Fuck me, please.”

Your ask, Jake decides, is all he has ever needed.

“I’m not fucking you for the first time on the table.” He hoists you up, his arms holding you by the waist, lips crashing against yours to become tangled with yours once again. You find yourself winding your hands around his neck and legs around his body, your cunt, still dripping, pressed up against his abs as he moves you both to his bedroom.

He drops you onto the bed in a seated position. Jake’s hands hands having barely pulled down his sweatpants and boxers before he feels your hands on his cock. He can’t help the hiss that escape him as he observes you take him in visually, your hand moving up and down the sheath of his cock, your thumb swirling around the tip, spreading the pearl of pre-cum around it’s angry red head.

“Do we need a-” He barely manages to gasp, losing focus for a second, as your hands pump against his cock.

“I’m clean and on birth control.” He trusts you.

“I’m clean,” he confirms and you trust him equally.

“Then fuck me.” You drop the please and run your thumb across the head of his cock and he moans, claiming your lips with his once again, pushing your back onto the bed. You spread your legs open, knees bent at an angle and in the sky, and Jake lines his cock up with your entrance before pushing in.

“Oh god.. fuck.” You cry out as your body adjusts to him, around him.

“Not god baby, Jake.” He says, his hands coming to land palms down on the mattress on either side of your head. Jake observes your face, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Move.” You implore him, your legs capturing him around the waist, pulling him closer into you, hands hooking themselves under his arms and on his shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” he says, as he begins to thrust in and out of you, each stroke hitting you deeper, harder, than the last. He can feel your nipples, hard and moving against his bare chest as the impact from each thrust of his cock into your causing your body to move in and up down motion together with him. The sounds of your arousal is obscene, wet and slick against him.

He drops his head onto the crook of his neck, his body continuing it’s pace as he fucks into you, his public bone hitting your clit each time he thrusts in. Jake feels your teeth bite down on his shoulder and it shoots straight down to his cock, causing him to shudder.

“I’m close.” You hear his voice in your hear, destabilised, unlike his usual smooth drawl. “Are you..” He begins to ask, not wanting to finish only to leave you hanging.

“Faster.” You demand, your hand moving in between the both of you to rub against your clit. He catches your hand, replacing it with is own as he picks up the pace, slamming into you harder, faster, his fingers rubbing at your clit with a matched pace.

Jake feels your orgasm before you do, from the way your walls clench around him, the same way they had clenched around his fingers earlier, and he thrusts into you, long, pace jerky and off balance, a tell tale sign of his own incoming orgasm. He sees your head roll back, hears the cry that comes from your mouth, feels your finger nails digging into his back, and Jake let’s himself go, hitting his orgasm as loudly as you had met your own.

Jake lets himself sag down on top of you, himself still buried deep in you. It takes you both more than a few moments to reorientate yourself.

“That was,” you start, your words coming out in short, wispy pants, and Jake rolls you both over so that you are on his chest. He takes the sight of you in, hair messy, strands sticking to the side of your face and neck with a sheen of sweat, eyes still slightly glazed in your post orgasm high, lips swollen, He brings a hand up to run through the side of your hair, his fingertips scratching at the top of your scalp gently, before finishing your sentence.

“Amazing.”

-

The clean up is quick, efficient, with you both darting into the shower together. There are touches, kisses, jokes, smiles, but it’s fast, with you both more keen to get out and back into bed. Jake pulls on a clean pair of sweatpants, and you steal one of his tees before you both climb back into his bed.

Neither of you have talked about what happened, but you both know don’t have to, not when you both feel the same, feel like this. You hadn’t spoken about it in the days after Annie’s wedding and the tension build up had caused undeniable friction, but now - this was different, there were no words, no discussion, but even without you were both now clear on each other. He opens his arms, and you tuck yourself into his side, against one of his biceps, both of you laying back against the pillow.

“So Lieutenant,” you shift to prop your head up on the back of your palms which you now have flat on his bare chest, your words light and teasing, but clearly bringing up the earlier events of the day. The transition back to you and Jake being well, you and Jake was easy, seamless, as if nothing had changed despite the fact that he had been balls deep in you, fucking your brains out just minutes ago.

“Jake.” He corrects as he stares down at you, his chin backing into his neck slightly from his position against the pillows of his bed.

“You don’t like Lieutenant?” You ask innocently. “Heard someone else calling you Lieutenant this afternoon.” You mock, as Jake watches you from his position against the pillow.

Jake eyes your for a good second before he flips you over easily in one fluid motion so that you are on your back, his body pressing into yours, chest flattening your breasts which are hidden by his shirt, either arm caging you in onto his bed, Jake’s head just above your own.

“I only ever want to be Jake to you.” There is no witty come back, no sexualised innuendo. His tone of voice is genuine, his features serious, and the simplicity of it, so different from his usual demeanour knocks the wind from your system.

He might not have minded the term Lieutenant with other women, but Jake didn’t care about other women - they were not you. He had known you long before he had become Naval Aviator: Jake “Hangman” Seresin, and he intended to continue to know you long after the day, if ever, he stopped being Naval Aviator: Jake “Hangman” Seresin. Being Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin had become an important part of him, but before that he had just been Jake, the Jake that had met you while running around the block, the Jake you had done high school and college with, the Jake that you dropped a text to when you had something funny to share, the Jake that you called when there is something to celebrate, the Jake that you reached out to when something bad had happened, the Jake that was as much a part of your life as you were in his, your Jake, something he would never stop being.

Your eyes search his, and all you see is Jake. You respond in the best way you know how, by reaching up, tugging him down and letting your lips connect with his.

>> PART 5

A flank of giggling humans surround you. Little girls tug at your arms, cooing at the golden layers of bracelets on your wrists. Women crowd around in hushed tones to whisper conspiratorially in your ear.

You only smile in response. The soft words that leave you are warm and affectionate. Druig can't tear his eyes away from the gentle twist of your lips.

By Arishem, you look beautiful. Every inch the goddess that they whisper you are. It would be agony, if you weren't already his.

The hem of your dress whispers as you sweep across the room. He adjusts himself on the plush bed of pillows to make room for you - lips curved into a smirk. It's just the two of you. Usually, the night would be filled with Sprite's fantastical bursts of illusions. However, tonight, all of the other Eternals are elsewhere. Yourself and Druig are joining one of the many performances in the temple for the evening.

Alone, except for the humans.

Bands of bracelets jingle as you sink down next to him. A patchwork blanket is passed from nearby. Druig takes it with a silent nod of thanks - draping it across the two of you as you shift close against him. The sweet smell of Egyptian kyphi fills his senses, and only serves to further addle his mind.

Strands of soft hair brush his shoulder as you turn towards him. Your face is angled down, bottom lip caught playfully between your teeth, and watching him from underneath lowered lashes. As your hand reaches up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, a vision bursts across his eyes.

Panting breaths. His chest firm against yours. Your body arched as his lips whisper hungrily down your throat. The clash of teeth and tongue while the rising fabric of your dress bunches underneath his fingertips.

And then - wetness, right between the apex of your thighs. The bliss, pure and carnal, as his cock plunges deep into your cunt over and over again. How he would fill you. The sounds that you'd make.

He recoils. Instead of being offended, it just makes you laugh. You can already see the blush spreading across his cheeks. How he tries to compose himself - sky blue eyes fluttering closed as he inhales deeply, trying to push those images aside. Not that you'll let him. Your hand lands on his knee, and they come back, accompanied by even more.

It gets him hard already. The way that you're able to intrude into his thoughts.

Druig can control humans, can reach in to work their minds like puppets, but he can't do what you do. He can't read thoughts. Nor imbed them. He isn't able to see all nightmares, fears, hopes and dreams, and make them appear real within the depths of the mind.

Sprite inspires, Druig controls, but you implant. You make even Eternals feel - in a way that he cannot.

And you use it to torture him in the worst way.

"Stop," he growls roughly, as your fingers trace teasingly up his inner thigh. "By Arishem, you need to stop."

Your lips brush teasingly over his ear. "Or what?"

Something in your tone is the final step in twisting free that burning, hungry thing within him. It rises thick in the back of his throat. Fills his veins until he nearly aches with want, goaded all the time by the aroma of kyphi perfume. As he looks at you, seeing that returned desire reflected in your eyes, Druig can already see just how much you want it too.

His eyes glow with molten gold.

Around you, all of the humans fall still. Their eyes haze over - growing unseeing as dozens of heads lift to face the sky beyond the temple's pillars. Druig moves, rolling on top to push you down against the nest of cushions below. Your breath is warm against his lips. Already, his hands are travelling up underneath the skirt of your dress. The stiff swell upon his front grinds into the warmth of your hidden core.

"Part of me wants them to watch this," he whispers against the pit of your throat, casting a look at the now mindless humans. "They should see their goddess like this - being such a damn whore. Would it make them think less of you?"

He guides the undergarments down your legs. All other thoughts have abandoned his mind. There's only lust left - and a deep, aching need to make that vision you showed him a reality. Your hands fumble with his belt, and his lips part in a rough gasp as your fingers close around his aching cock.

A pained groan leaves him as your thumb moves over the tip. Precum smears under your touch. It sends a bolt of sharp electricity straight through him, and his length twitches excitedly in your grip. Humming, Druig shifts down to line himself up against the wet heat of your entrance. Your eyes meet his, and the bridge of your noses touch.

It softens something in him.

"I just want them to know that you're mine," he whispers, before pushing himself inside - and filling you until you cry out.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!

A/N: I felt like more Druig 😂 and I have done a good few pieces for him before, including a miniseries! If interested, check out my masterlist below!

MASTERLIST || TAGLIST

“I think she’s…” Cyclone said slowly. He realized he wasn’t really sure what you were doing. Phoenix stood by your side, helping you adjust the hem of your dress or the way you held your flowers. Rooster and Bob stood a few paces behind, allowing you and Phoenix to make adjustments. 

“I’m almost ready,” you said in a raised voice. Through your reflection in the mirror, you had noticed Maverick. 

You looked down at the engagement ring on your left hand, thinking about the day that Hangman proposed. It was the first and only time you had ever seen him act nervous. He seemed so out of sorts during the days leading up to proposing that you were beginning to suspect an imminent breakup. 

“You know Hangman, don’t you y/n?” Bob asked one day. You were stateside, visiting Bob and Phoenix who also happened to be back and had some free time. You hadn’t seen them in a few months and were surprised to discover that Bob, Phoenix, Rooster and Hangman were all going to be in Washington D.C. during the same week. In hindsight, you should have suspected something. But you were too happy to see your friends and boyfriend to harbor any feelings of suspicion. 

“Unfortunately,” you admitted but grinned nonetheless. You were sitting along a round table, waiting for dinner in a nearly empty restaurant. Actually, you were waiting for your boyfriend to arrive with Rooster who he was supposed to be picking up from the airport for this dinner. But the large windows gave you a beautiful view of the city as the sun began to descend. 

Just as you began wondering if you should sit on the outside deck, Phoenix spoke.

“You’re sure he’s a good match for you?” Phoenix asked, giving Bob a glance. You looked between the two of them, suspicion beginning to form in your mind. 

“I mean, is two years long enough to date a person?” Bob continued.

“What?” You began but Rooster and Hangman chose that moment to make their entrance. Rooster, after spending several months away from you, didn’t hesitate to crush you in a tight hug. 

The rest of the dinner went by quickly. Despite the whole restaurant being empty, the five of you talked and laughed enough to fill the space with noise. You were pleasantly surprised by how well Hangman was getting along with everyone. You knew he considered them to be his friends and that they considered Hangman to be their friend, too. But even friendships came with good natured bickering. 

Tonight though, there were no fights. 

“I love the city during sunset,” Hangman said abruptly, “want to go look outside with me?” Hangman turned to you, his fingers nervously dancing on the arms of his chair. He had just put a very sudden end to the previous discussion by asking you to join him on the patio. 

“Sure,” you answered, brows furrowed. You gave Phoenix and Bob a look before Hangman took your hand and pulled you outside. 

“You’re on your best behavior tonight,” you said, your voice full of accusation. The evening breeze brushed against your face and you took in the sounds of the city.  

“So you’ll indulge me in a game of two truths and a lie?” Hangman said, leaning against the deck railing. You nodded and waited for him to speak but he returned the gesture, inviting you to take the lead. This was normal behavior for your relationship. The game often came up and the two of you had grown pretty adept at reading one another. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me; this evening has been so lovely; and you look stunning in the sunlight.” You were pleased when Hangman’s face scrunched up in confusion. 

“First one…?” Hangman guessed. You shook your head. 

“Second one,” you answered, “tonight has been kind of weird. What’s going on?” 

“Wait wait, it’s my turn,” Hangman said. He took a deep breath and looked at you for a long moment before speaking. You began monitoring his face, waiting for the lie. 

“Despite my better judgment, you are the love of my life; I am going to make you my wife; and the sky is purple.” Hangman finished. Your heart began thumping so loudly in your ears you almost didn’t hear the last statement. 

Hangman used your silence as a moment to fish a magnificent ring out of his pocket. He kelt and took your hand in his. 

“y/n Ice Queen y/l/n,” Hangman said in the softest voice you’d ever heard, “will you marry me?” 

“Wait, no,” you said too quickly. Hangman’s face split into twenty different emotions. You continued, “I mean, wait. It’s my turn.” With a steadying breath, you smiled at Hangman, trying to reassure him. 

“You are the biggest thorn in my side; I am going to be your wife; and the sky is lavender.” 

“Well, the sunset does make the sky seem a little-”

“Shut up, you moron,” you said with an exasperated cry. Hangman slid the ring on your finger and picked you up in a hug. There was cheering inside the restaurant. You looked back through the window to find the place suddenly full of people you knew. Friends and family were scattered around the empty tables and everyone was cheering for you. 

“What’s taking so long? Don’t tell me the bride ran away,” a voice said outside the dressing room. You pushed the memory of your proposal away and looked toward the dressing room door. 

Maverick and Cyclone turned to see Hangman marching toward them. 

“Don’t let him-” You began, but to your surprise, Rooster, Bob, Maverick and your dad all made a beeline towards the speaker. You watched in awe as the swarm of men in their navy whites quickly made their way out to intercept Hangman before he could see you. 

The first person to reach Hangman was Cyclone. Placing a firm hand on Hangman’s shoulder, Cyclone stopped Hangman in his tracks. 

“I tried to stop him,” Coyote said, arriving slightly out of breath. 

“Son,” Cyclone said with a serious voice, “don’t. She’s almost ready.” 

“Son?” Hangman echoed, looking at Cyclone with mild concern. Maybe fear? 

“Don’t push your luck,” Cyclone muttered, releasing Hangman. Maverick watched Cyclone evaluate Hangman’s uniform. It was impeccable. 

“I’m already the luckiest man alive,” Hangman answered. Despite his words, all signs of ego seemed to be gone. Maverick was surprised to find pure glee on the young pilot’s face. But despite the evident happiness, there was also mild impatiences. Hangman craned his neck, trying to see past the wall of men between himself and you.

“Jesus, you’re like a child,” Rooster said with a gentle smile. “She’s almost-”

“I’m ready!” Your voice called out from your room. Maverick was sure he saw Hangman’s face brighten with joy. 

“Good!” Hangman called down the hall, “I was starting to think you’d leave me at the altar, Ice Queen!”

“Don’t worry, Seresin,” you shouted back, remaining in your dressing room, “I already scared all the better men away. You’re stuck with me!”

“Ain’t no better man than me, baby. I’m the best thing to ever happen to you and you know it!” Hangman grinned. But when he looked back at Cyclone, Maverick almost doubled over in laughter from the cold gaze that your father gave your soon-to-be husband. Maverick and Rooster had to look away to hide their smiles. 

Bob and Coyote escorted Hangman away. The wedding was about to begin. 

And to your dismay, the day went by too quickly. You tried to take in each small moment, but there was too much joy and laughter for you to try and slow down. Of course, standing at the altar with Phoenix, Rooster, Bob, and your dad as your wedding party would be a feeling you’d never forget. Seeing Coyote, Fanboy, and a couple of your fiance’s brothers across the altar was not something you’d soon forget, either. 

And your fiance. 

Clutching Hangman’s hands in yours as Warlock officiated the wedding was the best feeling in the world. His green eyes crinkled with his wide smile and you loved the way he wore his navy whites. You nearly let a tear slip down your cheek as you began your vows, but Hangman swept a thumb along your face and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. 

Everything was perfect. 

Until the reception began. The sheer amount of chaos and noise and celebration surprised you. The navy knew how to party. Even Maverick and Penny made their way to the dance floor and showed Rooster a thing or two about how to throw down. 

Of course, Hangman dragged you out to dance several times, too. He spun, dipped, and twiled you at just the right moments but you liked being pressed against his body most of all. The two of you couldn’t take your hands off one another. Even as you sat at the reception table, you were tucked under Hangman’s arm with your back against his chest, your head leaning against his neck, and your hand on his thigh. 

“Tired?” Hangman whispered, his breath tickling your ear. 

“I just don’t want it to end,” You said through a yawn. Hangman jostled you and you could feel his laughter vibrate through his chest. 

“We’ve got the rest of our lives, Ice Queen,” Hangman promised, “tonight is just the beginning.”

“God save me,” you chided. But, to your dismay, Hangman pulled you up and led you towards the exit. Several people stopped to talk to you, and you found yourself blinking away fatigue. 

“Are we leaving,” you asked during a moment alone. “We’re supposed to do the send off in a couple of hours.” 

“You’re not going to make it that long,” Hangman said, smiling at another guest. He then pressed his lips closer to your ear and you suddenly found yourself a little more awake.

“I’m not done with you, tonight.” Hangman’s voice took on a low timbre that made your heart beat faster. Hangman laughed into your hair. “That’s what I thought.”

“Where are you two going?” A voice asked. You turned to find Cyclone watching you leave with his arms crossed. 

“We’re- I was just-” you fished for an excuse, sounding like a child. 

“I’m taking her home, sir.” Hangman said with perfect manners. You turned to look up at your husband, surprised by how well he composed himself. Cyclone also looked a little shocked. 

“Go,” your father finally said with a wave of his hand, “I’ll cover for you.” Hangman nodded and began to lead you away but you pulled yourself out of Hangman’s grip. Clutching your dress in your fists, you made a mad dash towards your dad. 

“You’re the best,” you said, crushing your dad in a hug. He didn’t hesitate to return the embrace with the same ferocity before pushing you away. 

“Go,” your dad said, trying to pretend his voice didn’t just crack. You nodded, pretending the new tears in your eyes didn’t exist. With one sure step after another, you made your way back to Hangman and took his hand. Silently, you two made your way to Hangman’s car. But before you could open the door for yourself, Hangman blocked your path. 

He leaned against the car, placing his back on the passenger door. 

“I just want to look at you for a sec,” he grinned, then added “the moonlight really brings out your tears.”

“Shut up,” you swatted at your husband but he pulled you into a hug. 

“Interrogation game, my rules.” Hangman pulled you back to look at him. 

“Right now?” You asked. Hangman nodded, seeming serious for a moment. 

“Are you happy?” Hangman asked, no sign of laughter on his face. 

“Of course,” you breathed. 

“Do you ever wish you ended up with someone… easier?” He continued.

“Never,” you promised, answering instantaneously. “Jake Seresin, despite my better judgment, I love you.” 

Your husband nodded, his lips pressed together. He blinked a few times and you automatically moved to wipe away a gleaming teardrop. He took a deep breath before laughing, becoming overcome with joy. 

He placed both of his hands on the sides of your face and pulled you in for a searing kiss. 

“Do you know you’re probably one of the best looking brides in the whole world?” He asked, a little breathless now. You scoffed and lightly punched his arm. 

“Ain’t no better bride than me. I’m the best thing to ever happen to you and you know-” Hangman cut you off by rolling his eyes and pulling you in for another kiss. 

A/N: So I Loved writing this story. Hangman has me in a choke hold and to celebrate the fact that this fic bumped my followers to over 1K, I am writing a smaller series with a Pilot!Reader. Here is a sneak peak. Please let me know if you're interested.

And I hope you enjoyed this series! <3

“Keep your eyes on Kingo,” Doctor Strange’s voice crackled in your ear. You scowled and pulled your baseball cap lower on over your face. After taking a sip from the warm mug, you sprinkle some herbs into your drink. You are not a warrior. Yes, you know how to fight (with and without magic), but you are better at serving as Doctor Strange’s eyes and ears. You need to make sure your physical and mental shields were raised and strong. The tricks that Doctor Strange had taught you were alright, but you created a light powder mixture that amplified the strength of your mental shields. Now you carried a little pouch of yellow powder with you constantly because of how well it helped you keep your defenses up. It tasted awful, but after drinking it every day for almost five years, the taste no longer bothered you.

“If you can see me, you can see Kingo,” you hissed, “and if you can see Kingo, why do you need me here?” Over the small earpiece, you heard the Doctor sigh.

“I am too recognizable to be there in person,” Doctor Strange explained. You knew this, of course. You could go places that the former avenger couldn’t. It was part of the reason your sorcerer's ring was attracted to you. While Doctor Strange had the Cloak of Levitation and the Eye of Agamotto, you had the fabled Merlin ring. A little ring of silver with a dragon skull on it, it was your favorite part of being Doctor Strange’s apprentice. You still didn’t know the depth of its power. It primarily served to channel your power into one place. But after spending the past two days in Italy, following Kingo and Sersi around like a breathing shadow, you were beginning to feel stifled.

“Do you have eyes on Sersi?” You glanced around as Kingo signed a poster for a fan. You took another long sip of your drink as you discreetly looked for Sersi. She left the Domo this morning to sightsee around at a museum, so you hadn’t seen her in a few hours. Where was she? What were the Eternals doing in Italy?

Something about their behavior during the months after the appearance of the celestial living within the earth seemed suspicious. While you considered Doctor Strange to be a paranoid man, you did believe him when he told you that the Eternals were hunting something. But for what?

“She left the museum about an hour ago. You should see her soon but-”

Without warning, Doctor Strange’s voice cut off. You immediately sat up straighter and began calling for Strange over the ear piece. No response. This wasn’t a technical malfunction. The Doctor made these earpieces himself with magic and the best Stark Technology. What was going on?

Everyone in the cafe suddenly stopped talking. Their eyes glowed an iridescent yellow and their heads slowly turned toward you. A strong pressure began to wash over your mind. In waves, something oppressive tried to force its way into your thoughts. Silently, you thanked yourself for remembering to drink your dose of yellow powder for the day. Still, even with that defense, the magic trying to overcome your mind was insanely strong.

“Okay, time to go,” you whispered to yourself as you tried to discreetly rise out of your seat. You were gritting your teeth, hoping that your head would stop throbbing. Distracted by the oncoming headache, you almost didn’t notice a strong hand gripping your shoulder. With a firm push, you were forced back into your chair.

“Nice try, beautiful,” an accented voice purred, “but we have a bone to pick with you.” You looked over and found Druig taking a seat opposite you. His eyes were glowing like the silent people around you. The pressure in your mind escalated just a tad but you forced yourself to focus on the eternal in front of you.

“Please,” you began as kindly as your temper would allow, “get out of my head.” There was a part of you that wanted to jump to your feet. You couldn’t tell where the strange spike of energy came from but you wanted to do something. Fight, perhaps. Or maybe sing? Or jump for the moon? Whatever this feeling was, you wanted to channel all of it towards Druig.

“Well, see, here’s the interesting thing,” Druig’s eyes never left yours, “I can’t seem to get inside.” With an appraising glance, Druig looked you over. Your fists were clenched and your knuckles were white, but other than that, you kept your composure. To be honest, Druig had expected someone a little more meek. Despite just meeting you,

“Druig,” Kingo called as he made his way over to you, “Stop playing with her.” After pulling up a chair and taking a seat, Kingo tossed a small golden device on the table.

“Our friend Phastos - you know him? - he made that,” Kingo explained, pointing to the box. “It’s blocking all communication between you and your master.”

“He’s not my master,” you replied, reaching for your drink. Before you could stop him, Druig pulled the cup out of your reach. His enchanted eyes still didn’t leave your face. He let out a small, quick smirk which felt too much like a challenge for comfort.

“What’s your name, little witch,” Druig asked.

“Call me y/n,” you answered, as you placed your hand over Druig’s, which was holding your cup. With your Merlin ring, you begin to heat up Druig’s skin. If he wants to challenge you, then he better be prepared for the consequences. You locked eyes with Druig, watching for the pain to register in his face. The pressure in your mind began to increase.

With a small laugh, Druig pulled his hand away from yours, giving in to the burning pain you inflicted. After examining the minor burn, his eyes stopped glowing and the horrible feeling in your mind left.

“Hello, y/n” Druig said, holding his hand against his chest. You took a last sip of your drink. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Druig lightly brushed his fingertips along the burn on his hand. He could still feel the sweltering heat but he could also feel the lingering touch your hand left on his. And your eyes. Your gaze pierced him to his seat. It made him want to stand and fight or run or laugh or dance. There was something about you that gave Druig a rush of feelings. He was surprised you didn’t back down from him. He enjoyed they way you didn’t shy away from his gaze like so many did. Even now, as the two of you refused to look away from each other, Druig noticed a small smile creep over your face. He suddenly realized that he was having trouble stopping himself from grinning.

“Dude, she’s perfect,” Kingo said to Druig. The two exchanged a look before Druig gave a small nod. You noticed that it was the kind of exchange that family members gave one another and you wondered what it would be like to have a connection like that. Doctor Strange probably didn’t even know you were in trouble right now. Why else wasn’t he here?

“Let’s go,” Druig stood then, looking down at you.

“Why would I do that?” You leaned back in your chair, continuing the game of chicken the two of you had started. You put your drink on the table and crossed your arms over your chest. Again, you and Druig lock eyes. Neither of you spoke, but Kingo could only take so much.

“Just tell her- look,” Kingo said, turning to you, “we need a spy. We really need a spy.”

“Let’s make a deal, little witch.” Druig smirked.

Part 2

A/N: thank you so much for reading through this! Anyway, this will be an eight part series. Please let me know what you think 👉👈