engaging defensive maneuvers.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader.

A decision has been made, and suddenly, you’re quite not sure how you feel about it.

The only thing you know is that for some reason, the only person you want with you is Jake Seresin.

Fluff and Angst. Pilot!Reader (CALLSIGN: Duchess). TGM Spoilers.

Word Count: 1.3k

WARNINGS:Slight Angst. Fear of Death. Saying Goodbye. Complicated Relationships and Feelings. Brief Mention of Reader Having Hair. Not Beta-Read.

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“Dutch.Duchess.” His voice carries after you down the hall, but barely registers. Head lowered and mind far away, nothing else exists, until he calls again - more forcefully this time - and it’s your name.

Not your callsign. Not your surname. Your first-name, filled with a cold note of panic that finally registers just as his fingers close around your wrist.

You turn, and he’s right there behind you.

Jake.OrHangman.

Whatever he is to you nowadays, which is still confusing nearly three days after what transpired in the common room. A choice - possibly a mistake. Whatever it really is, it’s just another thing that you don’t have time to think about right now;

Because the Navy has made their choice, and Pete Mitchell has made his.

They picked you. Dagger Four.

Yourself and Fanboy ship out tomorrow with Phoenix, Bob, Rooster, and Maverick. There’s no guarantee that anyone will make it home. But that’s part of the risk. Yet, looking up at his concerned face right now, fear ticks like a countdown in your gut.

And you hate being afraid - being vulnerable, so you do what you always do. Shake him off, forcing your lips to twist into a sneer as indignation twists your face.

Engaging defensive maneuvers.

“What do you want, Hangman? Come to be pissy about not getting picked?”

He steps back - as if you’ve slapped him. “What?! No. That’s not why I’m here.”

And you want to apologize - really, you do - but the sudden and all consuming realisation of your own fragile mortality holds its own bite. It throws you for a loop. Because, you’d wanted to go - right? Wanted to prove that you were the best of the best.

But here and now, you’re suddenly not so sure, and that fucking terrifies you more than the mission itself.

All that you know is you can’t think about him. Can’t think about the matted feelings inside your chest. There’s so many things to worry about and he shouldn’t be one of them.

“Let me…” Your lips twist as you try to tug your arm from his grip. “I have to go, Seresin.”

As if he somehow knows what’s going on, how close you are to breaking, Jake’s mouth jerks into a scowl of frustration. “Go where,Duchess?”

“I…”

I’m not sure where.

Rooster has already left. Rushed out of the briefing as if the devil lit a fire on his heels - and you already know where he’s high-tailed it to. It might be the last night of his life, and he wants to spend it with the pretty bartender who’s had him in a tail-spin ever since meeting.

Who do you want to spend yours with?

Phoenix has gone to bed. Bob is off checking in on Banshee - she’s not out of the med ward yet. Fanboy is up on the roof, watching the sun go down with Payback, his closest friend in the world. And you’re here, having half-run down the corridor to escape with your thoughts.

Maybe only slightly hoping that Hangman would follow.

His hands rise to grip your shoulders. It’s softer this time. Not as firm as before, just like the rare shade of sincerity shining in his blue eyes. “Hey. Are you okay?”

For a moment, you don’t move. But then, your head shakes, a small shudder rippling down your spine. Your lip quivers. His hand slides up to cup your cheek, and the pad of his thumb sweeps gently across the hollow below your eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, uncertain.

“Where do you want to go, sweetheart?” It’s said more softly than anything you’ve ever heard him utter before.

Something in you breaks in response, and your voice cracks slightly when you roughly answer - decision set on instinct. “The beach. I want to go to the beach.”

To your surprise, his other hand lands on your lower back. Light fingertips glance against your skin, and the touch upon your lower back nudges you forward. His lips brush your forehead as the hand still cupping your face falls to smooth back your hair.

“Let me find you a ride,” he says tenderly. “I’ll get someone to take you out.”

Anxiety catches tightly in the pit of your throat. “No… I-I think I want you to come with me. Will you come with me?”

God. You sound like you’re begging. Actually pleading with Hangman of all people.

He could so easily change in a heartbeat. Could switch back to the asshole that you’ve known for so long. It’s not out of the realm of possibility. And the ticking fear of exactly that still persists;

Lingering and nagging each time that you look at him.

Except now, Jake just smiles - wide and gleaming. The creases in the corner of his eyes crinkle, pleased, as he pulls you in closer. His chin comes to rest upon the crown of your head. “Of course. We’ll take my car. You’ve never been out in the Hung-mobile before.”

“I’m sorry- the what?!” Despite everything, the ridiculousness of that makes you laugh.

“Come on,” Hangman chuckles, slinging and arm around your shoulders. “I’ll show you.”

The waves are quiet.

Back up upon the shore, the exterior lights of the Hard Deck cast distant illumination onto the sands. A sliver falls across his face. It highlights the sharp angle of his jaw, and the glint of his blue eyes.

Hangman sits silently at your side. His broad shoulder brushes, and you find yourself watching him from the corner of your vision. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into the reassurance of his body; nor shy away from the warmth it brings.

In a slow movement, his arm slides around you again - allowing plenty of time for you to twist or pull away. Yet, you don’t. Can’t. So he pulls you closer still. The tip of his nose nuzzles against your cheek, and you turn - breath mingling in the night air.

His eyelashes brush your cheek as he tentatively blinks, watching you carefully from underneath.

It’s unusually quiet, jokes now abated. There’s no barbs or sarcastic exchanges. It’s not the time right now, and neither of you are willing to waste another moment fighting or pretending. Not until you’re both sure that there will be more to waste in that carefree way.

So, when Jake kisses you, you let him, and return it fervently. He pulls you onto his lap until you’re straddling him, arching against his touch as your knees shift against the sand. His hands are everywhere, but yet there’s no eager reach for the waistband of your trousers or tug at the hem of your shirt.

No.

Instead, he just snakes a hand up the back of your head, gripping your hair by the roots and tugging it back. A gasp tears from your throat - half surprise, and half arousal. Then, your lips part and your eyes meet his.

Voice cracked, Jake says your name again. Each syllable holds such fervent pain that suddenly - you know. Can feel all the years of want in every word.

Even before he finishes the rest of the sentence, somehow, you already know that things will never go back to the way they were before. That there was no chance of that since the moment you dared him to fuck you in the common room.

“Promise me, Duchess” he murmurs, bringing you back to reality. Brilliant azure eyes rove over your face - drinking it in, as if trying to imprint it all to his memory. “Promise me that you’ll come back.”

“I promise, Jake.”

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A/N: So, the next part was meant to be smut, but I decided to throw in another short drabble while we wait. It’s still coming! I just had a really rough day, and needed some angst/fluff.

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