Everyone Wants to Save the World but No One Wants to Help Do the Dishes
Word Count: 291
Silly Dagger Squad Shenanigans.
Jake "Hangman" Seresin/Original Female Character:
Somebody Come Get Her...
Word Count: 1,549
The only thing more satisfying than catching the attention of the stunner at the bar of the Hard Deck is watching the legendary Hangman fail miserably at catching the attention of the stunner at the bar of the Hard Deck... Only why is Jake acting like he has an ace up his sleeve and why is Javy so mad about the bet?
We found Wonderland. You and I got lost in it.
The 5 part story of how Jake and Crissa became Jake and Crissa.
"'Sorry, I don't date cowboys.' Famous last words. Add it to the growing list of rules Crissa lives by that Jake is breaking."
I'm on your front porch begging for my dawns back. Give my Goddamn records and my clothes back. What do I do?
Hospital waiting rooms are filled with ghosts and memories and fear no matter who you are.
Crissa and Bradley's friendship is forged in the paralyzing liminal space of a waiting room at night.
Breathing Through the Pain
Word Count: 776
Jake Seresin is really good at a lot of things, athletics, learning, flying, reading people. But maybe most of all, Jake is really good at solving problems. Even ones deemed "impossible". What happens when his partner is constantly confronted with a problem? Jake's going to solve it. Why would that be a problem in itself?
Just Because You Know My Name, Doesn't Mean You Know My Story
Word Count: 794
Some things are best kept secret, but it's not always for the reason you think. One conversation leaves Crissa questioning everything while her husband and his friends laugh in the background.
Funny that the stereotypical cynic is an idealist who aged out of it. In my experience, the reverse is true. I was an extreme cynic as a teenager and then I noticed how profoundly limiting it was, and also that "cynics are cool and smart" was a message that was being constantly reinforced by corporate media for some reason.
summary; The daggers think you're sweet and innocent, until they the the scratches in Jake's back.
word count; 4.2k
warnings; smut!, dom!jake, sub!reader, brief role play, mentions of bdsm, overstimulation, oral (fem and male receiving), nipple play, fingering, orgasm denial, marking, hair pulling, jake has an innocence kink, usage of restrains (belt), spanking, aftercare
a/n; HELLO, once again, this is straight-up NASTY. i rewatched Hit Man last week so these are the consequences, enjoy!
masterlist
The day had wrung the Daggers out like a wet towel.
Training had been brutal — Maverick pushing them through back-to-back dogfights with barely enough time to breathe between takeoffs. Sweat still clung to their skin beneath their flight suits, adrenaline slowly tapering off. Everyone walked into the locker room with the same bone-tired shuffle, helmets dangling from loose fingers, hair plastered to foreheads, flight suits unzipped just enough to let them breathe.
The space hummed with familiar end-of-day noise: metal lockers slamming shut, gear clattering to the floor, the hiss of showers turning on in the back. The air smelled like jet fuel, sweat, and exhaustion. Rooster threw himself onto the nearest bench with the dramatic flair of a man who believed he had suffered disproportionately.
“I don’t care what anyone says,” he groaned, “that last dogfight was personal.”
Coyote snorted as he tugged off his gloves. “Mav just likes watching you panic.”
Fanboy made a wounded noise. “We all panicked.”
“Some of us in a more… dignified manner than others,” Payback added, glancing at the faintly shaking hands of his partner.
Bob was quiet, trying to discreetly catch his breath. Jake walked in last, flight suit half-open, golden hair dampened darker by sweat. Even exhausted, he carried himself like the day had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience — back straight, chin high, that small, infuriatingly smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The kind of smirk that usually meant trouble.
He didn’t even seem winded. A little sweaty, sure. But winded? Never. Hangman was built out of arrogance and pure self-satisfaction.
He dropped his helmet onto the bench with a thud and leaned against his locker, listening to the group complain. Rooster’s monologue about “unnecessary G-pulling” eventually swerved toward criticizing Jake specifically, because of course it did.
Jake ignored him. But not the way someone suppresses annoyance. More the way someone lets a mosquito buzz because they know it’ll exhaust itself eventually.
He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his suit and tugged it lower to get some air.
And that’s when Rooster said something snippy — something about “trying not to show off for once in your life” — right as Jake peeled the top half of his flight suit down.
It was almost cinematic the way the room fell silent.
Jake didn’t notice at first. He was busy stretching his neck, rolling his shoulders, muscles shifting under the fluorescent lights.
But the Daggers noticed.
Every single one of them stared at his back.
Because laid across it — in deep red, undeniable trails — were scratches. Long, chaotic, messy, feral scratches dragged down diagonally across shoulder blades and lower back, disappearing beneath the waistband of his suit.
Fresh. Red. Lust-written.
Absolutely impossible to miss.
Coyote’s mouth parted in stunned silence. Rooster froze mid-blink, pupils dilating in disbelief. Fanboy slapped a hand over his own chest like he was personally attacked by the sight.
Bob squeaked. Actually squeaked.
Jake paused his stretch, slow realization dawning as he felt the weight of several stares drilling into him. He glanced over his shoulder, confusion melting instantly into something far more self-satisfied.
A slow, lazy, positively indecent smirk curled onto his lips.
“Well,” Jake drawled, voice low and warm, “you all good? Or should I start charging?”
Rooster pointed accusingly at the marks, scandalized. “What—what the hell is that?! Did you fell into a thorn bush?”
Fanboy nearly jumped forward. “No, no, no. Hang on. Hang ON. Those—those scratches—those are from her?! There’s no way Miss Sunshine did that.”
Jake’s grin widened, wolfish. “You mean my girlfriend?”
Bob looked like he was having a moral crisis. “But she’s… she’s so sweet.”
Jake shrugged one shoulder, letting the scratches ripple. “Mmm. Not always.”
Multiple people made noises of pure agony.
Rooster rubbed a hand over his face. “She’s adorable and quiet and you’re telling me she—YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE DID THAT?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Jake said, entirely too pleased.
Payback threw a towel at him. “There is no universe in which that sweet, soft-spoken girl does anything capable of putting you in a claw machine.”
Jake pushed the towel off with one finger, unimpressed. “You know what they say about the quiet ones.”
Fanboy lost it. “WHAT THE FUCK, JAKE?!”
Jake didn’t bother answering. He simply turned back to his locker, lifting his arms just a little — showing off the deepest marks with a deliberate roll of muscle. He wasn’t even pretending to be modest.
“Look,” Rooster muttered, staring like he was trying to solve a math problem, “I’m not saying I’m afraid of her now, but I’m not not saying that.”
Bob nodded vigorously. “I will never look her in the eyes again.”
“Cowards,” Jake said, amused. He shut his locker, grabbed his shower kit, and started walking toward the back. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, boys”
Rooster scoffed. “You are the definition of kiss and tell.”
Jake paused in the doorway, half-turned, giving them the full devastating Seresin smirk.
“Maybe,” he said. “But why tell when you all can stare?”
The Daggers collectively groaned loud enough to shake the lockers.
Jake winked, smug levels off the charts.
Then he disappeared into the showers, humming to himself — still carrying the faint sting of your nails on his skin like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
—
You perch against the back of the couch, heart racing as you hear the front door click open. The slutty flight attendant costume clings to your body like a second skin—the jacket barely skims your thighs, leaving your black sheer lingerie panties exposed, the fabric so thin it outlines your pussy lips.
The top buttons are undone, your tits pushed up high in the matching bra, cleavage spilling out invitingly. Your hair cascades down your back, but the pilot hat sits jauntily on your head, and the black thigh-high stockings hug your legs, garters snapping against your skin with every shift.
Jake steps inside, his eyes locking onto you immediately. They rake up and down your body, slow and hungry, taking in the way the jacket rides up to flash your ass, the innocent bat of your lashes contrasting the whoreish outfit. A smirk curls his lips as he unbuckles his belt with a sharp clink, yanking it free while shrugging off his jacket. It hits the floor with a thud.
“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” he growls, voice thick with lust, his cock already straining against his pants as he stalks closer.
He towers over you when he stops inches away, his broad frame making you feel small and exposed. You tilt your head up, batting your eyelashes with that wide-eyed innocence he craves, even as your pussy throbs under the sheer panties.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” you purr, staying in character, your voice sweet and teasing. “We might hit some turbulence tonight—better buckle up. And looks like we're expecting moist weather ahead.” You wink, watching his smirk deepen, his hands twitching to grab you.
He reaches out, trying to snake his arms around your waist, but you swat his hands away playfully. “Sir, please remain still—it's for your protection,” you say, the words dripping seduction as you back away, hips swaying.
Your heels click on the floor as you retreat toward the stairs, leading him like a predator on the hunt. He follows, eyes dark with need, his belt dangling from one hand like a promise of restraint.
Up the stairs and into the bedroom, the air thick with anticipation. You pluck the pilot hat from your head and reach up, placing it on his with a sultry smile.
“Lieutenant,” you whisper, breath hot against his neck, your fingers lingering on his jaw. That's all it takes—his control snaps. Jake's hands clamp onto the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist, stockings sliding against his shirt, and crash your mouth to his. The kiss is brutal, tongues tangling wet and desperate, his stubble scraping your chin as he dominates every inch.
He carries you to the bed and tosses you down, your back bouncing on the mattress with a yelp. You land splayed out, jacket hiking up to bare your lingerie-clad pussy, already damp and aching.
Jake rips off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing his golden chest rippling with muscle, his abs carved hard and flexing as he breathes heavy. Your mouth waters at the sight, nipples hardening under the sheer bra, but you keep your hands at your sides, waiting for his command like the good girl you are.
He climbs over you, knees pinning the bed, and attacks the jacket buttons. They pop off one by one, scattering across the sheets as he yanks the fabric open. Your black lingerie set gleams under the bedroom light, sheer enough to show your stiff nipples poking through, the panties clinging to your soaked folds.
“Fuck, look at you,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves the bra cups down, exposing your tits, and dives in. His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he bites down just enough to make you arch.
You moan, loud and needy, fingers twisting in the sheets as his tongue swirls around the abused bud, wet and relentless. His big hand claims your other tit, squeezing the soft flesh roughly, thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple until it throbs.
“Please,” you gasp, body writhing under him, pussy clenching empty and desperate. The pleas spill from your lips like a chant, Please, Jake, more, as heat floods your core.
His free hand slides down your body, calluses dragging over your stockings, snapping a garter against your thigh. It dips between your legs, cupping your pussy over the panties. The fabric's drenched, sticking to your swollen clit, and he rubs firm circles, pressing the heel of his palm against your entrance.
“So fucking wet already,” he growls against your tit, sucking harder, the vibration humming through you. You buck into his hand, the friction making your clit pulse, slickness soaking through to coat his fingers.
He switches nipples, biting the other one sharp and fast, drawing a cry from your throat. His rubbing turns insistent, two fingers hooking under the panties' edge to shove them aside. He strokes your bare pussy lips, parting them to circle your clit directly, slick and swollen.
“You want this cock, don't you? Teasing me in this slutty uniform.” His dominance floods you, making you submit deeper, legs spreading wider in the thigh-highs. You nod frantically, breath hitching as he dips a finger inside your tight heat, pumping slow and deep.
The oral assault on your tits doesn't stop — his mouth devours, tongue lashing, teeth nipping — while his fingers fuck your pussy, curling to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. Your juices coat his hand, the wet sounds filling the room, mixing with your whimpers.
He adds a second finger, stretching you, thumb grinding your clit. Tension coils tight in your belly, release hovering, but he pulls back just enough to edge you, his eyes locking on yours with that commanding stare.
“Not yet,” he orders, voice low and dangerous, leaving you trembling on the brink, desperate for whatever rough claim comes next.
In a swift motion, Jake flips you onto your stomach, the mattress dipping under his weight. Your face presses into the sheets, ass up in the air.
He yanks your soaked panties down your thighs, the sheer fabric catching on your stockings before snapping free, exposing your bare ass cheeks, pussy dripping and glistening in the dim light. The cool air hits your slick folds, making you shiver, but his hands grip your hips hard, holding you still.
He rears back and slaps your ass cheek—hard, the crack echoing through the room. The sting blooms hot and sharp, your skin turning pink under his palm. “The whole squad saw your little art project from last night,” he growls, voice laced with possessive heat.
Another slap lands on the other cheek, even harder, jolting your body forward. You yelp loudly, the sound muffled into the pillow, pussy clenching at the rough treatment, juices trickling down your thighs.
Jake grabs his belt from where it landed on the bed, the leather cool against your skin as he roughly pulls your hands behind your back. You feel the wrists come together, and he loops the belt tight around them, buckling it secure. The restraint bites just enough to remind you who's in charge, your arms pinned, making you arch your back deeper, ass presented like an offering.
“See, this is why I always tie you up, doll,” he says, his breath hot on your neck as he leans over you. You moan, the vulnerability flooding your core with fresh heat, submitting fully to his dominance.
He leans in closer, teeth grazing your earlobe softly, nipping it with a teasing bite that sends sparks down your spine. “Because my bunny gets so cock drunk she forgets she can't mark me up, don't you, baby?”
His words drip with that commanding tone, making your clit throb. You moan again, nodding into the sheets, voice breathy.
“Yes, Jake... I'm so cock drunk. So cock drunk for you.” The admission spills out, raw and needy, your innocence shattered.
Without warning, he rams two fingers deep inside your pussy, the intrusion stretching your soaked walls, curling immediately to hit that spongy spot. You cry out, toes curling, the fullness making your hips buck back against his hand. He pumps them relentlessly, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the air, thumb circling your clit with brutal precision.
“Beg for my cock, bunny,” he commands, voice rough as gravel, free hand fisting the sheets beside your head. “Tell me how bad you need it.”
“Please, Jake... fuck me. I need your cock so bad,” you beg, words tumbling out in a whine, wrists straining against the belt. He adds a third finger, slamming them in deep, scissoring to stretch you wider. The pressure builds fast, your pussy fluttering around the invasion, and you shatter—cumming hard, walls clamping down as waves crash through you. “Thank you... oh god, thank you, thank you” you strain out, voice breaking, body shaking on the brink.
Jake pulls your hair, twisting the strands into a makeshift ponytail and yanking your head back, arching you flush against his chest. Your bound hands press into his abs, feeling the hard ridges flex. You throw your head onto his shoulder, gasping, as his other hand snakes around to rub your clit furiously—circles tight and fast over the oversensitive nub.
The overstimulation rips another orgasm from you, your scream echoing, pussy gushing around his fingers still buried inside.
He releases you with a low chuckle, but before you can catch your breath, he says, “On your knees.” He slides off the bed, shoving his pants and boxers down in one go. His rock-hard cock springs free, thick and veined, pre-cum beading at the tip, the musk of his arousal hitting you like a drug.
You scramble to obey, kneeling on the floor at his feet, hands still tied behind your back, the pilot hat knocked askew on his head adding to the twisted costume play. Your lips part eagerly as he grips your hair and shoves his cock into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat.
You suck him greedily, tongue swirling around the salty head, hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper. The stretch burns your jaw, but you love it—the dominance, the way he fucks your face with shallow thrusts, balls slapping your chin. He tightens his hold on your hair, pushing harder, groaning low.
“If only they could see you now, bunny... they wouldn't believe my baby likes it rough, but you do, don't you?” You nod frantically, cock stuffed in your mouth, humming around him to send vibrations up his shaft, saliva dripping down your chin onto your exposed tits.
“Fuck, need to be inside you, baby. Need to fill you up,” he rasps, yanking you off his cock with a wet pop. He throws you back onto the bed, face down, ass up again, the belt keeping your wrists locked. He climbs behind you, lining up and slamming his cock inside your pussy in one brutal thrust, bottoming out against your cervix.
You moan loudly, biting the sheets to muffle the sound, your walls gripping him like a vice, still pulsing from your orgasms.
His pace is rough and merciless, hips snapping forward, the slap of skin on skin drowning out your whimpers. He sneaks one hand around, grabbing your sensitive tit and squeezing hard, fingers digging into the flesh, rolling your nipple until it aches. “Shit, you're so fucking tight. Tell me how it feels, bunny.”
You try to form words, but it's just moans, incoherent and desperate. He presses harder, hand shifting to your oversensitive clit, rubbing it in harsh circles. The dual assault makes you scream, “So good... so fucking good, Jake!”
“Yeah? Want me to fill you up? Burst my load in this tight pussy?” His voice breaks on a grunt, thrusts erratic.
You nod wildly, begging, “Yes, please... cum inside me, Jake. Fill me up.” He does—roaring as he slams deep one last time, cock pulsing, hot cum painting your walls white, flooding you until it leaks out around him. The sensation tips you over, your own orgasm ripping through, pussy milking every drop from him.
He barely finishes before flipping you over, wrists now yanked above your head, belt stretched taut. His eyes dark with hunger, he dives between your thighs, mouth latching onto your cum-soaked pussy. He groans at the taste — his salty release mixed with your sweet juices — lapping it up with broad, flat strokes of his tongue.
You try to push his head away, thighs trembling from overstimulation, the flicks on your clit too much after so many highs. But he stays put, strong hands pinning your hips, devouring you like a starving man, sucking your folds clean.
When he finally pulls away, you're a wrecked mess—body limp, pussy throbbing, cum smeared on your thighs, the lingerie torn and stockings laddered. He hovers over you, that smirk returning as he eyes your bound form.
“You look so beautiful, baby,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your swollen lips gently.
He’d been ruthless and precise — possessive in a way that left you both wrecked and utterly satisfied — so when the switch flipped and he went tender, the contrast felt like coming up for air.
Jake untied your wrists, the belt slack in his fingers as he rubbed the newly marked skin until the red began to bloom in that bruised, beautiful way.
He pressed kisses to your wrists after, soft little sanctifying pecks that made you melt further into the mattress. Your eyes were glassy and half-lidded, still somewhere warm and far away; he hummed into the hollow of your cheek like it steadied him as much as it steadied you.
“Was I too hard, doll?” he asked, voice low and careful, searching your face.
You shook your head once, silently—but your mouth didn’t form words yet. You were still adrift in that floaty place he loved seeing you in, the gentle subspace that always followed when you gave him everything. He didn’t need a voice. He knew. He always knew.
He kissed the line of your jaw, the corner of your mouth, and when he tried to get up you grabbed his arm, small and plaintive, a soft whine that made him laugh into your hair.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, and he meant it.
When he came back he carried a warm cloth and moved with the absolute gentleness of someone handling something precious. He dabbed at the marks, cleaning you like he was erasing the last traces of battle, and then he spread lotion along the red lines, hands working slow and careful across your wrists and the soft slope of your chest.
His touch was worship—not frantic now, patient and exact, massaging the balm until your skin gleamed and the sting eased into a satisfied ache.
“Want to take a bath, sweet girl?” he murmured, watching you with that soft, hungry love only he got to see.
At first you shook your head, the idea of moving feeling like too much of an effort, but he coaxed you, as he always did—gentle encouragement threaded with the kind of tenderness that made surrender feel safe. He helped you up and drew the bath, warm steam fogging the mirror, rose-scented soap and a stack of fluffy towels waiting.
He washed you with a care that bordered on reverence, fingers tracing languid, loving paths along your shoulders and down your spine, kissing your temple and the crown of your head between lathers and rinses. Each time he told you how good you were, scolding you softly with praise —“good girl,” “my sweet darling”— and you let the words pull you back toward yourself, one careful breath at a time.
When the water finally cooled, he wrapped you in a thick towel and dried you slow, pressing the warmth back into your skin. He dressed you in one of his oversized shirts that smelled like him and slid you back onto a bed made with fresh sheets.
You curled into his chest, a small, contented creature tucked against a rhythm that had always been your anchor. He stroked circles into your scalp and the tiny scrape marks on your wrist as if committing them to memory.
After a long, quiet moment you lifted your head, chin resting on the plane of his chest, voice thin but clear. “Did the guys really give you a hard time about the scratches?”
He laughed then—big, honest, the kind that vibrated through his ribs and made you feel held. “Is that really your first thought after what we just did?” Your cheeks heated and you buried your face again in his chest, muffling a giggle that sounded part embarrassed, part delighted.
“I wanna know!” you said, muffled, and he laughed again, delighted.
He slid a hand up your spine, slow and soothing, fingers slipping under the collar of his own shirt draped over your shoulders. He tugged you a little higher on his chest, guiding your cheek to the warm space over his heart so he could look at you properly.
“Well,” he said, teasing and indulgent, “Rooster asked if I fell into a thorn bush. Fanboy said, ‘There’s no way Miss Sunshine did that.’”
You groaned and buried your face even deeper into him, dragging the blanket up with you as if it could shield you from the mortifying mental images. “God,” you whined, voice still soft from the edges of subspace, still carrying that gentle, floaty tone he adored. “That’s embarrassing.”
Jake’s hand slid into your hair, nails lightly grazing your scalp in slow, lazy scratches meant to settle you deeper into his chest. His voice dropped, tender and teasing all at once.
“Embarrassing for them,” he corrected. “Not for you, angel. Never for you.”
He tilted his head, brushing a kiss to your temple — the fifth or sixth since he’d gotten you in the bath, he’d lost count — but now that you were fully back with him, he couldn’t seem to stop. You blinked up at him with those soft, still-sweet eyes, and Jake felt the same tug in his chest he always did after seeing you like this: trusting, blissed-out, nestled in his arms like you belonged nowhere else.
“I hate them,” you muttered.
“No, you don’t,” he said, smiling as he nudged your chin up with two gentle fingers. “You just don’t like them knowing you’re not as innocent as they think.” He teased, warm as a sunkissed Texas morning. “Even though I told ’em they shouldn’t be so surprised.”
Your brows furrowed. “Why?”
His thumb traced your bottom lip, a slow, lazy stroke that made your breath catch just a little.
“‘Cause, sweetheart…” He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know what they say about the quiet ones.”
Heat erupted across your face — warm, flustered, entirely too obvious — and Jake laughed softly, kissing the corner of your mouth just to feel it curve.
“We might wanna avoid the Hard Deck for a bit. Those idiots won’t let me hear the end of it.”
You huffed out something halfway between a laugh and a mortified whine. “I can’t believe you didn’t defend my honor.”
He hummed against your temple, the smugness back in his tone but softened by the warmth of you under his palm.
“Oh, I did defend you. Just… not in the way you mean.”
You lifted your head again, brows drawn.
“How?”
His grin turned wicked — but his touch stayed gentle, tender, grounding you right where you belonged.
“Let’s just say,” he drawled, “I told them the truth. That my sweet girl’s got claws… and she only ever digs ’em into me.”
Your face buried itself in his chest again with a dramatic groan, and Jake chuckled, arms coming around you fully, protectively, lovingly — holding you close like he’d never let you go.
“Jake!”
“Mmhm.” He kissed the top of your head. “My favorite part of the whole day.”
Summary : After too many drinks at the Hard Deck, your emotions are running high and witnessing everyone reject Jake when all he wanted to do was play pool, was your last straw.
Pairing : Jake "Hangman" Seresin × Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️:)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading. Also I have never been drunk in my life so sorry for any lack of realism there💞
Word count : 6.1k
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
“This is so much fun,” you declared, mostly to yourself, as you took a sip of your fifth drink, swaying slightly on your tool.
Reuben and Mickey had insisted to go to the Hard Deck on Friday night after a grueling week of training, and they dragged everyone with them. They even had managed to get you to come even though you were fervent on spending a calm evening at home. Their insistent pestering and pleading, along with Mickey promising to buy you your first two drinks, eventually sealed the deal for you. Who were you to refuse free drinks ?
Quite quickly after arriving at the bar, all of you had settled in your self proclaimed corner, the one with the biggest pool table which was also not too far from the throwing darts game.
It was later into the evening now, you had let yourself seduced by shots with Natasha and you hadn’t exactly stopped drinking after that. Sipping your mojito happily, you took a moment to take a look at the members of your squad, who were spread out in two groups. Natasha, Bradley and Bob seemed to be having a vigorous debate over by the dart board, while Javy, Reuben, Mickey and Jake were engrossed into a party of pool, which Jake was leading, of course.
Bradley had invited you to their game a little while ago but you had gently refused, opting to just sit for a moment, content to watch your friends have fun while enjoying the warm feeling the alcohol was giving you. It wasn’t very often you drank, not really liking the way you became so emotional and loosed tongue. But so far, you seemed to be doing fine, the liquor in your system making you feel giddy for once and not so mushy like it usually did.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, how the hell are you still winning when there’s three of us against you ?” Mickey complained, which caught your attention.
“This is actually starting to feel unfair,” Reuben agreed, putting his cue stick on the pool table, while Javy was letting out an exasperated grumble.
“I don’t know boys, I’m just that good. There’s nothing you can do about it except maybe just make peace with it,” Jake retorted, a smirk brighter than the sun itself stretching his lips. “Let’s go again, I promise to go easy on you this time.” He winked charmingly at his three friends who were staring at him with infiltrated irritation.
“No way, I’m out.” Javy capitulated, throwing his arms in the air before walking towards the bar.
“Okay,” Jake smiled, letting the last syllable linger, “damn, didn’t know you were such a sore loser Coyote.” He called out after his friend, “come on, Payback, Fanboy, you two against me.”
“Sorry man, honestly it’s not even fun anymore,” Reuben declared.
Jake just waved him off, turning to Mickey expectantly.
“No way.” The man simply said before walking with Payback towards the rest of the group next to the dart board.
Jake was left with an air of incredulity deforming his features.
“What the hell, guys ? So what, you’re just gonna leave me hanging ?”
“Now you know what that feels like,” Bradley called out to him with a smirk, evidently proud of his quick wit.
“Shut the fuck up, chicken.” He then, looked at the rest of the squad while walking over to them, “are you serious ? No one wants to play with me ?”
You had been watching the whole exchange quietly from your barstool, and you didn’t like the way Jake’s tone changed, almost imperceptibly to the normal human ear, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you. Nothing he would ever do would go unnoticed by you, which you considered to be your greatest misfortune.
“Are you really surprised ? Nobody likes playing with you, Hangman.” Natasha retorted harshly.
In any other circumstances you would have agreed with her, threw in a snappy remark of your own, not wasting an opportunity to put him in his place. But in your state, her tone sounded overly cruel in your ears. And the way Jake reacted was not helping the oncoming wave of empathy and emotion you could feel rising in your throat.
He simply looked at them with an unreadable expression for a second and just as he was about to say something, Javy returned to the dart board, carrying a tray full of drinks.
“Alright who’s up for darts ? Jake, don’t even think about it dude, leave us a chance to win.”
Jake cleared his throat, “Yeah, okay. I mean, I thought pilots like you would like some competition but if you like an easy win, have at it,” he conceded with a resigned grimace.
“We’re not in the air, Bagman, let us have fun. Not everything has to be hardcore competition,” Bradley almost snarled at him, while taking off some drinks from Javy’s tray.
Jake let out a bitter chuckle, “yeah, alright. Have fun then.” He said before walking back to the pool table, where he had left his drink.
Despite the bravado he forced himself to put on at all times, it was clear as day he was hurt, and you felt your heart tighten. It wasn’t often you saw him showing any other emotion that wasn’t infuriating cockiness, thinking about it, never had you seen him like that.
Jake loved pool, everyone knew that. Sure, you could say that every respectable fighter pilot liked pool, it was always fun to play. But Jake ? Genuinely loved it, his face would light up when he was playing, especially when he was winning. Which was pretty much all the time. Every time you all went to the Hard Deck together, he would practically rush for the pool table in the left corner, hurrying everyone else, already putting on chalk on his cue. He knew all these strategies, which you had always laughed at, why need strategies ? It was literally a ball sinking game. Jake was also capable of doing these — this you’d admit — insane tricks with the balls, giving them effects as he sunk them, even making the cue ball jump over a striped one so that it could sunk one of his full ones and he was always ecstatic to show off to anyone who would deigned to watch him.
And with no warning, you felt tears rising to your eyes as you stared at Jake sipping his drink all alone. Why would they reject him like that ? He just wanted to play. Your heart lurched at the sight, your squad having fun together, and Jake, reassembling the balls to prepare to break them, so that he could play, by himself.
Without any second thought, drink still in your hand, you got up from your stool, swaying lightly and cursing as your feet hit the ground. If you needed any confirmation that you had too much to drink, this was it.
For a minute you felt dizzy — your blurry vision not helping — you waited a moment to avoid completely falling flat on your face and made your way to your friends by the dart board. Sniffling and keeping your head up high to avoid having tears run down your cheeks.
Bob was the first one to spot you coming, and immediately he seemed alarmed by your expression. A quick touch of your cheek confirmed that you hadn’t done a good job of containing the evidences of your chagrin.
“Hey, Y/N, what’s happening ? Are you alright ?” Bob asked gently, getting up from his stool so he could get to you.
His worried tone made everyone perk up, and all the pilots started to gather around you.
“You okay ? Did someone bother you ?” Bradley asked.
They were all accustomed to how emotional you could get while drunk, but Bradley especially would never put aside the possibility of some weird guy harassing you.
“You guys are—“ you were cut out by a pathetic little sob, “so mean !” You said an accusing finger pointed in their direction.
“Y/N, you’ve had too much to drink, okay ?” He said gently, while going to take the drink from your hand, which you quickly retracted, pulling it against your chest.
“No, you guys are so mean,” you sniffled, “why won’t you play with him ?”
Everyone shared confused glances, in the corner of your eye you saw Javy murmured to Reuben something that sounded like “the fuck is she talking about”.
Natasha got closer to you, features morphing into something gentle, she knew better than anyone how to handle you in that state.
“Y/N, who are you talking about ?”
The fact that none of them even had the smallest idea of who you were referring to was your last straw. They had just dismissed him entirely, someone they flew with every single day. Threw him away with some hurtful remarks, left him all alone and they had the nerve to ask who you were talking about ?
“What do you mean who am I talking about ?” You whined, the emotion felt like it would burst out of your chest from feeling too much of it, “Jake ! I’m talking about Jake ! He wants to play pool but none of you wants to play with him !”
Mickey bursted out laughing then, which got him a stern look from Bradley.
“Don’t worry about him, sweetheart.” Natasha told you, “he’s a grown man, he’s fine. Why does that bother you anyway ?”
“He’s not fine !” You insisted, smalls sobs along with the alcohol making you hiccup, “he’s sad ! Go play with him, right now.”
“We love you, Lightning, we really do,” Reuben started, “but no way in hell.”
“You’re really not helping,” Bob reproached him with a sigh.
Mindlessly wiping the tears running freely on your cheeks with your free hand, you tried to refrain the next sob that was threatening to break out.
“Fine, I’ll go play with him then.” You declared in a very determined tone, already turning around and making your way over to Jake, swaying lightly on your feet.
“Hey Y/N come back—“ Natasha was about to go after you but Bob quickly stopped her.
“It’s okay, she’ll be with Jake, he’ll take great care of her,” he mischievously smiled at her, which only got him a puzzled look.
“What, you seriously don’t know ?” He asked her, visibly incredulous.
The chatter of your friends got more and more distant as you got closer to the pool table where Jake was sinking balls easily with an evident lack of enthusiasm. There was a laziness to his movements, like he was disinterested. The contempt and rejection from the squad seemed to had drain all the excitement of the game for him.
He looked like a kicked golden retriever puppy and your heart couldn’t have possibly handled more.
“Hangman !” You called out, quickly wiping the tears that had ran down during your walk there, “I’m playing with you.”
Jake suddenly stood up straight from sinking a ball upon hearing your voice, and immediately he seemed startle by your expression, similarly to how the rest of the squad had been only minutes ago.
“Hey, Lightning, you good ?” He asked, getting closer to you, his sharp eyes taking you in and inspecting you for any physical hurt.
You waved him off, while trying to ignore how his concern made your whole chest feel warm, when you’d sober up you’d probably blame it on the alcohol.
“Put the balls back in the middle, I’m playing with you.” You declared, words slurring slightly.
Jake only looked at you for a second, his raised brows betraying his surprise.
“You,” he started, pointing a finger towards you, “want to play with me ?” His index now pointed at him.
Taking another sip of your drink, you nodded into your glass.
“Yes, that’s what I said. I’m playing with you.”
“How much have you had to drink ?”
“Jake that is literally not the point, I want to play pool, so let’s play pool !” You insisted in a whine, putting your glass down on a table — not before taking another sip — and going to collect the balls he had already sunken from the pockets.
He stared at you, taking you in. Your urgency felt uncharacteristic, especially if it was related to doing anything with him. Jake never really saw you drunk, it wasn’t often you allowed yourself to reach such a state and when you did, you usually sticked close to Natasha or Bradley. Your behavior was completely new to him and it was taking him aback a bit.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the squad eyeing you both, while whispering things amongst each other. A few seconds passed, the gears were turning in his head, he looked at your drink on the table, your tears streaked cheeks, the way the squad was so very obviously gossiping about the two of you… And then it clicked.
Jake took one long look at you carefully placing all the balls in the middle with the rack.
“You know you don’t have to play with me if you don’t really want to, right ?” He began cautiously, a gentle tone in his voice. “I was fine playing on my own.”
But the words ‘on my own’ seemed to trigger another wave of tears, they ran freely down your cheeks as you sobbed, “no you were not, you were sad.”
Jake’s whole face seemed to melt instantly.
“Aww, sweetheart…” he cooed, taking a step towards you.
But before he could get anything else out, you continued.
“And they are so—“ you began through sniffles, “so mean for treating you like that all because you wanted to play pool. So I am playing with you, I want to play with you.” You finished while weeping the tears from your eyes.
Jake stared at you for a moment, feeling like his heart would burst out of his chest just from looking at you. You were standing in front of him, determined and adorably empathetic — glassy eyes from the alcohol and the tears boring into his. Your cheeks were flushed from all the drinks you’d had, and you were leaning against the pool table, probably in an attempt to stabilize your dizzying vision.
He felt something dangerous happen to him, standing in front of you, having you be so nice to him for perhaps the first time ever since he had met you, he felt dangerous thoughts cross his mind — the ones he only ever allowed himself late at night, in the quiet of his apartment — and travel to the tip of his tongue. But he caught himself before they could become anything more than that, thoughts. Jake forced himself to swallow the words, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was overcome with an emotion he couldn’t possibly had voiced you, but his face showed nothing of it when he looked at you.
Pink lips stretching into a fond smile, jade green eyes soft and staring at you with… was it fondness ? The alcohol might had been blurring your judgement.
“I really appreciate it, darlin’, that’s very nice of you. I’d love for us to play together.” He said in a soft, soothing tone, hoping to calm your meltdown and the state of distress you were in at the sheer idea of him playing pool alone.
You nodded, satisfied by his answer, and Jake helped you put all the balls back in the middle with the rack before taking it off. He handed you a cue stick.
“Break ‘em.”
“No, you do it.”
You knew he loved to break.
Seeing a spark of something you couldn’t decipher flash in his eyes, he let out an almost bashful smile as he looked at you, and you gestured for him to take the shot, not sure you could handle his intense eyes on you any longer.
Jake got in position, upper body getting close to the table and your drunken brain immediately diverted your eyes to the curve of his ass, making a warmth spread out in your chest that you couldn’t blame on the liquor.
“Eyes on the game, darlin’.”
Your heat skipped a beat.
“I was watching the game,” you slurred, hoping your cheeks weren’t any more flushed than they already were because of your many drinks.
He let out a chuckle as he lined up his shot and every ball went bouncing off in every direction. He managed to sink a striped one.
“Alright, you take the full ones.” He told you.
Simply nodding, you watched him take another shot, sinking a ball. And then another successful one. It’s been quite some time since you’d seen him play this close, he was really good. On his third shot, he missed, finally letting you take your turn.
Circling the table and holding on to it, you tried to find the best angle to sink one of your balls, “You know I’m very good,” you stated like it was obvious, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve played.”
Jake caught himself before he could make any remark about how in your state he wasn’t expecting you to be world champion anyway.
“I wouldn’t know,” he settled for instead, “we’ve never played together.”
You abruptly stopped your rounding of the table to look at him, both of you standing perfectly on opposite sides. Your brows frowned in a confused expression and Jake wanted nothing more than to kiss away the crinkle on your forehead.
“Have we really never ?”
“Never,” he confirmed, “you don’t exactly carry me in your heart, remember ? You always say you don’t want to play with an arrogant jerk like me.”
His words seemed to fall on you with the weight of a thousand suns, your heart aching at his depiction of your own words.
“Do I really say that ?”
But Jake didn’t seem to notice the way his — yours — words had affected you, he only laughed as he continued to reminisce.
“Yeah, I tried so many times. Don’t tell me you don’t remember all the nights I literally begged you to do just one game with me ? You normally never even want to be in my vicinity when we come here.”
You shook your head, feeling the emotional overload pile up in your chest, rising in your throat to form a lump that was impossible to swallow.
“Oh…” was the only pathetic sound you managed to get out.
“Anyway, I’m glad to finally see what you are made of, Lightning.” He finished with a small chuckle.
But it had been too much too fast. The crushing realization of your harsh words, the way you had treated him no better than your friends you just yelled at a few minutes earlier, made you sick at yourself.
Still holding your cue stick in one hand, you broke out into sobs. Your head fell into your free hand, shoulders shaking with the force of your inconsolable chagrin.
If you had been able to see Jake’s face you probably would have laughed at the way his eyebrows raised comically fast.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he said in a hurried panic, putting his cue stick down on the pool table to cross the distance that was separating you, “Y/N what’s wrong ?”
He raised his hands in an instinctual move to put them on your shoulders to try and comfort you, but unsure of what his touch could do to you right now, he awkwardly put them back down. Instead he lowered himself slightly, trying to catch your eyes where you had your head bowed down into your hand.
“Y/N ?” Jake called out softly.
“I’m an awful person—“ you said in a huge sniffle, tears cascading down your cheeks with no way of stopping them. You still refused to look at him. “I’m so sorry Jake, so sorry, I’m so mean—“
He managed to get over his temporarily shock, attention now entirely focused on your wellbeing and seeing you smile again. He gently took the cue stick out of your hand to put it on the table, and before you could bring your newly free hand to your face, he took it softly, fingers wrapping around your wrist.
“Y/N ? Could you look at me for a second, sweetheart ?”
You shook your head, sobbing harder now.
“I’m sorry, Jake. So so sorry—“
“Everything is alright, I promise. You did nothing wrong,” Jake soothed, rubbing what he hoped were calming circles onto your wrist. “Could you look at me, please, Y/N ?”
Rubbing your eyes in a clumsy attempt to wipe the tears staining your cheeks, you finally lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. Jake’s heart nearly broke witnessing your lip quiver, signaling that another wave of tears was incoming. Your features were contorted into a chagrin he never witnessed before, an expression he never thought he’d see on your pretty face. And he got the most irrepressible desire to take you into his arms, rock you softly and shush you soothingly until your wet lashes dried.
His brain sent out the signals before he could stop it, his arms lifted open in an instinctual move to bring you into him, but stopped himself at the last second, arms still frozen open.
But your eyes caught the movement, and it was enough for you to launch yourself into him, sending him stumbling backward a bit from the force you had thrown yourself with. You buried your nose in his collarbone, your arms around his waist holding on as tight as your drunken state allowed you to.
It took Jake a second to get over the shock before his arms wrapped around you, one hand holding your head while he put his chin on top of it, gently caressing your hair.
“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. Let it out. Everything is okay, I promise, everything is fine.”
Like he had imagined it only seconds before, he swayed you gently from left to right. Soothing voice hitting your ears and calming down your distress. You sniffled as you completely melted into his embrace.
“How you feeling, sweetheart ?”
“Better,” you mumbled against his collarbone.
Jake let out a fond chuckle, “i’m glad.”
He continued to rock you gently for a few minutes before he slowly began to pull back so he could look at you, his arms still wrapped around you. Your tears had dried, leaving small stains on your cheeks as you looked up at him.
“I’m really sorry I’m so mean to you all the time, Jake. I don’t know why I act like that.” You confessed in a small voice.
He gently put a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes soft as they gazed down at you.
He hummed softly, “I’ve got a little idea.”
You waited for him to explain further but when he didn’t say anything else, you frowned.
“What are you waiting for ? Tell me.” You whined.
He just smiled knowingly.
“I think that’s something you need to figure out on your own.”
Your bottom lip stuck out as you pouted and Jake playfully tsked you.
“Hey none of that,” he warned jokingly, “what can I do to bring a smile back on your pretty face ?”
Gazing at the table on your right, your voice found a new determined tone.
“I want to play pool.”
“Is that really what you want ?”
“Yes, with you.”
The smile that broke out on Jake’s face almost made you look away from how dazzling it was.
“Alright, let’s play, sweetheart.”
He handed you back your cue stick, signaling for you to take your shot since it was your turn. Aligning yourself with the cue all, tongue between your teeth in deep concentration you took the shot and—
“Oh, well I’m worse than I thought.” You stated with a hint of disappointment as you completely missed the cue ball.
Jake was unable to hide a laugh, “to be fair I don’t think everything you drank is helping you. Want some help ?”
“From the pool king himself ? Yes please.”
Jake was happy to notice some of your wit coming back, he came up behind you, not close enough to touch but close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your neck as he bent down slightly at your level.
“Just get really close to the table, yeah ?” He put a warm hand between your shoulder blades as you went down, “aim for number 5 over there,” he pointed at the ball.
You got low like he told you, chest almost touching the table, hips and ass pushing back as Jake respectfully stepped aside so he wouldn’t collide with you. Focusing really hard on where you wanted it to go, you finally took your shot and the ball went straight into the left corner pocket.
Excitement immediately made you stand up and turn around to see Jake harboring a bright, wide smile.
“Look at that, a true natural.” He praised, flashing his palm for a high five you eagerly participated in.
“What can I say ? I have the world champion player by my side,” you chimed.
You both continued to play pool, Jake very subtly letting you win. And when you had sunk all your balls and hazardously shot the 8-ball in the left middle socket, you squealed as Jake clapped for you.
“You beat me fair and square, sweetheart.”
That was clearly debatable, but you were in no state to question it, your victory seeming totally legitimate in your eyes. You walked around the table to go get your drink.
But right as you were about to take a sip, Jake — who had somehow crossed the distance in three steps — took the glass out of your hand.
“Hey ! That’s my drink !”
“How about you stick to water for now, mmh baby ?”
All the fight left your body as soon as the petname hit your ears, his Texan drawl making it sound so sweet. His voice having rendered you completely pliant, you just nodded.
“Let’s go ask Penny for a glass.” He prompted and you quickly took a hold of his arm as he guided you to the bar.
You were still holding on to Jake and Penny wasn’t able to hide her surprise when she saw the two of you.
“That’s certainly a sight,” she said with a smirk, eyeing the way you were clinging to Jake. “You okay, sweetie ?” She asked you.
“I’m great,” you assured, a tired but bright smile stretching your lips.
Jake chuckled fondly, “could we have a glass of water Penny, please ?”
The older woman nodded and quickly got out a glass that she filled with ice and water before she handed it to you. You thanked her and began downing the drink.
“Well, you definitely needed it.” Jake joked, ruffling your hair affectionately, “when you finish that glass, I’ll drive you home, yeah ?”
You nodded as Penny looked at Jake with squinting eyes.
“How much have you had to drink, sailor ?”
“Don’t worry, I just had one beer a few hours ago.”
“Alright, drive safe.”
Jake saluted Penny as you finished your glass, settling it down in the bar.
“Good night Penny !” You waved at her, the older woman eagerly returned your gesture.
“Alright, let’s say bye to the squad now.”
Making your way over to the squad, still firmly wrapped around Jake’s arm, it was almost comical to see your friends’ look of disbelief when they started to notice you walk over.
“Alright gang,” Jake caught their attention, “I’m driving Lightning home.”
All of them were stunned silent at seeing you two so close, and you so pliant and calm with him. Bob was the only one harboring a small, tender smile.
“Drive safe, we’ll see you guys on Monday.”
“I’m sorry, is no one gonna mention any of this ?” Reuben undignified himself while gesturing wildly to the two of you.
“What is that supposed to mean ?” You inquired, not liking the way he seemed to be referring so hostilely to Jake and you.
“Leave them alone,” Bradley’s voice caught everyone’s attention. “You get her home safe, Hangman.” He looked at Jake straight in the eyes, tone firm and authoritative before he softened and turned to you. “Text us when you’re home, alright ?”
While everyone was expecting Jake to come back with a smug and arrogant remark — like he usually did — his simple, diligent nod raised everyone’s brows. You let go of Jake momentarily to go hug Bradley, he wrapped his arms around you and left a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t do anything you’d regret tomorrow,” he whispered in your ear.
“Me ? You know I could never Bradshaw.” You replied jokingly.
Jake patiently waited for you as you hugged every member of the squad. When you came back to him, you immediately took hold of his arm again while he bid everyone goodnight and led you to the door after your goodbyes.
The fresh air of the summer night was a welcome sensation on your flushed cheeks. “Tonight was so much fun,” you declared.
Jake chuckled, quietly wondering how could it had been fun for you when you spent half of it crying your heart out for him.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart.”
“Did you have fun ?” You asked, looking up at him expectantly.
Stopping next to his truck, he looked down at you, feeling the words swell up in his chest — in which his heart was hammering. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm the swirl of emotion billing in his throat.
“Yeah, I did. Thanks to you.” He said in a voice that carried so much fondness it felt like a warm embrace.
A bashful smile made its way onto your face, as Jake refrained the urge to leave the softest kiss on your forehead, instead he just opened the passenger door for you and helped you in.
The drive was rather short, but Jake was struggling to focus on the road as he could sense your intense stare on him. Your eyes never wavered from his face and despite himself he could feel heat slowly coming onto his neck and cheeks.
Parking out in front of the small house you were renting near base, he came to your side to open your door and helped you out. In front of your door, you both stopped.
“Thank you for tonight, darlin’.”
Your hazy eyes bore into his with an intensity that shook him to his core.
“Jake ?”
“Yeah, baby ?”
“I think I figured out why I’m so mean to you all the time.”
He froze, his heart skipping a beat, not sure if it was from excitement of finally hearing the words he longed to hear from you or fear of having you say them while the alcohol was clouding your judgement.
“You did ?” His voice was strained, feeling his palms sweat and wiping them down on his pants.
“Yes. The reason I’m so mean to you all the time is not because I hate you, I think—“
“Y/N, Don’t say anything, please,” he stopped you, putting his hands on your shoulders.
Giving him a confused look, you felt your heart drop, “why…?” You asked, voice small, “you don’t wanna hear what I have to say…?”
Jake let out a sigh, “It’s not that, sweetheart,” he assured, voice gentle, “I just don’t want you to say things you could regret tomorrow.”
“Do you know what I was going to say ?”
He gave you a small smile, one hand sliding from your shoulder to cup your flushed cheek, thumb rubbing gently. The cool temperature of his hand was a welcome sensation as you nuzzled against it.
“I do.”
“But I want to say it, I want you to know.” You whined, putting your hand on top of his that was cupping your cheek.
“Believe me, I already know, darlin’. Have for quite some time now. But when you say it to me, I want it to be because you are ready to say it, not because the alcohol is forcing you to.”
But Jake could still see the disappointment in your eyes and your pouting lip was making a reappearance, completely melting him from the inside.
“How about you tell me tomorrow ? When you’re sober.”
“I won’t have the courage to do it tomorrow ! That’s the whole point of doing it now…”
“Then I’ll wait, it’s okay.”
Feeling the tears starting to come back with the frustration of not being able to express what you had been feeling this whole time, you complained, “I don’t want to wait anymore, Jake. I lo—“
“Baby, please don’t,” Jake put a panicked hand over your mouth.
You frowned and he could see your eyes getting hazy with tears.
“If I take off my hand, will you listen to me for a second ?”
As you nodded, Jake moved his hand from your mouth to your cheek, so both of his hands were holding your face. He hated knowing he was the cause of the small tears that were slipping from your confused and hurt eyes.
“Y/N, I promise that I feel the exact same way you do, I have for years, okay ? And there is nothing on this earth I desire more than to finally hear you admit it, but when you do, I want it to come from you, not the alcohol.” Drowning in his jade green eyes, his words made your heart almost beat out of your chest. “I want you sober when you finally tell me, cause then there won’t be anything else holding me back from kissing you like I’ve been dreaming of, alright ?”
His words stunned you quiet as his thumbs gently wiped the tears on your cheeks. It’s like your breath had been taken away. Nothing had been said, and yet you both knew. The silent truth was lingering in the air, silencing every other noise. In this moment it was only you and him, standing in front of each other, finally on the same wavelength.
Your lips stretched out on their own. Unknowingly to you both, your hearts were beating in synch to the rhythm of your unspoken, and yet certain, feelings.
“You have to promise me something, Jake.” You finally said when you found your words.
“Anything.”
“You need to come find me tomorrow, so I can tell you. Tomorrow morning, first light, I want you right here in front of the door, so I can tell you. If you don’t come to me I’ll never have the courage to go find you myself.”
Jake let out a shaky, relived exhale before a smile broke out onto his face.
“I will, sweetheart. Promise.”
“What time will you be here ?” You eagerly asked, already impatient for the first rays of sunshine to cast a golden glow over his features as you would pour out your entire heart to him.
Jake chuckled, before he bent down slightly, leaving a tender kiss on your cheek that you leaned into the best you could.
“I’ll be here at first light, just like you said. If you think I’m not impatient as well, you’re mistaken, darlin’. Now go to bed, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow, we have a lot to talk about.”
You nodded, embracing him as tight as you could.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake.” you said in a barely contained excited giggle.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”
You opened your door, flashing him one last smile before closing it and disappearing inside of your home.
Jake didn’t know exactly how much time he spent in front of your door after you closed it. His chest felt tight, heart filled with the quiet love he had carried all these years, a love he’d finally be able to express out loud.
He looked up at the moon which was casting an eerie glow over the street, and prayed for the night to fly by fast. He usually loved the stars, but looking up at them he found himself thinking that he’d be fine never seeing another star again if he meant he finally got to be with you. He smiled, feeling giddy like the first time he’d realised he was in love with you. He had waited patiently for years for this moment to come, and somehow it felt impossible to sit tight for another few hours.
Jake couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Author’s note : alright I definitely didn’t planned for this little fic to get that long, but I hoped you liked it, thank you for reading !!
Next fic I’m working on is Pleasure Is No Shame - Part 3, I can’t wait to bring it to you !!💞
Summary : You get stung by a stingray on a squad outing at the beach, to everyone’s surprise — including yours — Jake is the first one at your side.
Pairing : Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️ :)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading !💞
Word count : 5.1k
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
“I hate the beach,” you muttered as you were helping Natasha unload Bradley’s bronco.
The sun was blazing high in the sky on the beach in front of the Hard Deck, reflecting on the water and almost blinding you if it weren’t for your aviators, snugly perched on your nose. Reuben and Mickey had sprinted towards the ocean as soon as they were out of their car — as excited as children on Christmas morning — laughing as they launched themselves into the waves.
“Yeah that’s right, don’t worry about helping us, dickheads !” Bradley sarcastically yelled after them. “Javy, don’t even think about joining them before this car is empty.” He warned, index finger pointing at Javy who was looking with envy at his two friends — who were already in the cool water.
“You’re no fun Bradley,” Coyote mumbled.
“I’ll drink to that,” Jake agreed with his friend, making a mock cheers motion towards him with a beer he — somehow —already had open.
You rolled your eyes at his words, Hangman’s childish behavior was only fueling the irritation and oncoming exasperation you were already feeling bubbling up inside you, from merely standing on the burning sand.
“I don’t even know why I keep coming to these things,” you continued complaining to Natasha, needing to lament yourself at the prospect of the hellish afternoon you were about to willingly — only God knows why — put yourself through.
Natasha only chuckled and before she was able to retort anything, Jake’s voice resonated in your ears first.
“I have my theory Lightning, wanna hear it ?”
“No.”
“I think that the temptation of seeing my hot, sweaty and shirtless body absolutely destroy Bradshaw at volleyball is just too much for you to resist.” He laid out his explanation, cocky smirk firmly in place, shirt already nowhere to be seen as he took a sip of his beer.
Natasha’s eyes slightly widened at Jake’s bold choice of words. Her eyes flicked from him to you, awaiting your answer and not missing the way your nostrils slightly flared in irritation… or was it fluster ?
You scoffed, hoping it came across as indignation, rather than a pathetic attempt to hide how rather truthful his observation had been.
“Just shut the fuck up Hangman,” you hissed, “go splash around and leave us alone, will you ?”
He stayed silent for a beat, pride radiating from his features as a victorious grin stretched his lips. No doubt that your reaction gave him the answer he was looking for, he’d been bulls eye, as always.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he winked at you before making his way towards Reuben and Mickey who had started a swimming race.
Bradley, who was still busy unloading his Bronco — waist deep into the trunk, suddenly got out upon hearing Jake’s words.
“Hey no— come back here Hangman !” He yelled after the blond. He turned to you then, lifting his arms in incomprehension, “what the fuck Lightning ?”
You didn’t even dignify him with a response, too busy watching Jake’s back as he walked towards the ocean. Your eyes raked over his form. From the short hair at the top of his nape, giving way to his neck, meeting the muscles of his shoulders — expanding into his whole back. His waist, which narrowed a bit from the rest of his body — his hips, on which his bathing suit was sitting lowly, the curve of his ass—
The sound of Bradley clearing his throat next to you made you jump out of your trance. When you — regretfully — tore your eyes away from Jake to glare at Bradley, he was looking at you in a deadpan expression, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m not bothering, am I ?”
You heard Natasha snicker as she was now the one waist deep with Bob into the Bronco’s trunk, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks at being so blatantly caught ogling at your so called ‘arch nemesis’.
You cleared your throat, making your voice sound as normal as possible, “No, you’re not.” You smiled tightly at him, resuming the unloading of the car. “How many stuff did you bring anyway, Bradley ? Feels like you have enough things to camp here for a week.”
He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.
“I’m sorry, Lightning, I like to anticipate. You never know when you might need something.” He explained, “besides, someone’s gotta think about it. And we can’t count on you for that.” He muttered out his next words, “you’re way too busy staring at Hangman’s ass…”
“I’m sorry what was that, Bradshaw ?”
He smiled sweetly at you, “Nothing, Lightning, it was nothing.”
“Alright let’s just finish unpacking this damn car.” Natasha called out to both of you, “I wanna go in the water already.”
You four finally finished getting everything out and setting up a small space with parasols, the cooler and all of your towels. When you had finished setting the last towel down, Natasha was already halfway out of her t-shirt and shorts and already in her bathing suit, Bradley was doing the exact same thing as he ceremonially took off his t-shirt.
“You guys coming ?” Natasha asked Bob and you, as you were both sitting comfortably on your towels under one of the parasols.
“Not for now, maybe I’ll come in later.” Bob replied with a sweet smile, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
“And I’m not going in at all, now or later.” You answered, aiming to smile as sweetly as your friend.
“Oh come on, you do this every time,” Natasha complained, “just come in ! Just for a quick swim, please !” She begged, joining her hands in a pleading motion as Bradley snickered next to her.
“Ain’t no way you are getting her near the water, Nat,” he said putting on his aviators.
“He’s right, I’m sorry Phee but you know it, there’s too many weird ass creatures in there for me to ever step foot near it.”
Natasha let out a defeated sigh, “it’s alright, I’ll just have to have tons of fun without you then.”
“Yeah you do that,” you chuckled, “please try to drown Hangman on my behalf.”
She saluted you before she started jogging towards where the rest of the group was with Bradley.
“Hey don’t forget to put on sunscreen !” Bob yelled after them as he was holding a tub of said sunscreen in his hand.
“Yes mom !” Bradley yelled back, even though they made absolutely no move to come back to get some.
You enjoyed the peace that came with their departure for the waves, only hearing the distant sounds of their voices and laughs as you could only make out the outline of their bodies as they were already so far out in the water.
“Since you don’t like going in the water, have you got any other plans for today ?” Bob asked you sweetly, as he was getting out a book from his backpack.
“Actually Bobby, yes I do,” you smiled back at him as you were getting out your own book from your bag.
Bob — as the sweet, curious and engaging man he was — looked at the cover of your book with interest. The cover was pretty simple, it was actually a pretty drawn picture of a beach, and it didn’t let anything on about what was happening inside the pages.
“Ohh what is it about ?”
You smirked, opening the book where your bookmark was, eyes skimming over the page before deciding to hand it to him.
“Just read this page, it pretty much sums up what the story is about, tell me what you think.”
You carefully eyed him as he was reading through the words. Gradually, you could see his eyes widen and his cheeks taking on an adorable pink hue. When he had read through the page entirely, he gave it back to you.
“Well,” he began, chuckling but obviously flustered, “that’s certainly something.”
“I know,” you grinned at him, delighted to see him so sheepish, “what is your book about Bobby ? Are there any naked men in yours ?”
He laughed as the pink on his cheeks deepened in a slightly darker shade of red, “There are not, it’s just a regular thriller.”
“Okay, enjoy your murder mystery.”
“And enjoy your orgy.” He winked at you, settling himself properly to read.
You laughed, surprised to hear the word coming out of his mouth, as you settled down yourself comfortably for a good read.
Two hours passed during which Bob and you cozily read your respective books next to one another. By now, the other squad members were out of the water, tired out by their endless races and splashing around. They had gone back to the sand and Reuben and Mickey had ran back to where you and Bob were laid out to grab the volleyball net. Even exhausted from swimming, a single “I could still beat you all right now” from Jake was enough for everyone to regain their energy instantly.
It was Mickey, Bradley and Phoenix against Jake, Reuben and Javy.
They were not too far from where you and Bob were settled, close enough that you could clearly see the game. And close enough so that you could ogle away at the — unfortunate, truly you hated having to admit it to yourself — object of your desires.
You looked up just a tiny bit from your book, just enough to gawk at Jake without making it obvious from his perspective.
He was still wet from his hours of swimming, drops of water cascading down his naked torso, disappearing beneath his swimming trunks. The way his muscles moved as he hit the ball, his thighs flexing as he ran up to the net to spike. And God that ass—
“You found someone more interesting than the naked men in your book ?” Bob mischievously asked, still laying next to you.
Must someone always interrupt you whenever you laid eyes on the best part of Jake’s body ?
Nonetheless, you were enjoying seeing this more playful side of Bob, even if it was at your expense.
“Well Bobby, sometimes I like myself a little reality instead of fiction,” you shot back, feeling comfortable enough to keep your eyes on Jake, even after Bob’s remark.
He just laughed, shaking his head fondly, “and you dare say that you hate him,” he sighed out with a smile.
“I do hate him, just not his God given attributes.” You countered, “I know when to admit Mother Nature did a good job.”
“Yeah, you tell yourself that.”
You just playfully smacked his arm before sliding your bookmark into your book, carefully setting it down on your towel.
“I’m going to dip my feet on the shore, it’s hot as hell here.” You announced as you were getting up.
“Mmmh,” Bob hummed, “is it really the sun or Jake’s half naked body getting you hot and bothered ?”
You looked back at him in slight, delighted shock at seeing him so openly teasing and playful. Your only response was to jokingly flip him off before walking towards the water. You were totally unable to do anything more than dipping your feet in the small waves that crashed on the sand. Everything that had to do with the ocean — while it was fascinating — freaked you out.
You walked past your squad mates, who were deeply immersed into their volleyball match, and didn’t see you walk up to shore.
Instant relief washed over you as soon as the wave hit your feet. While it was true that the heat of the blazing sun was getting unbearable, Bob was partially right. Your body temperature had significantly risen as you had taken the time to ogle at Jake — and the book you were reading before laying your eyes on him definitely did not help. So you welcomed the cooling sensation that came as the wave hit your feet, walking for a bit and taking the time to enjoy this moment. You hated the beach. But today hadn’t been so bad, you were able to get ahead in your book and gawk away at Jake in a way you weren’t able to do on base. So yeah, pretty good day so far.
And right as you were about to indulge yourself in some more Jake watching—
“OW FUCK !!”
Your scream of agony echoed on the beach as scorching, white-hot pain speared into your left foot. The pain was mind numbing and nearly made you fall over. A moment of clarity shined through the burning sensation and you looked down to where your foot had began to throb, and the sight made you jump back. You saw the stingray’s barb move in the water before the flat fish left and began to swim back towards the ocean. Blood had begun mixing with water where the barb had punctured the side of your foot.
Panic was seeping its way into your veins, mingling with the pain. Breath heavy with fright and excruciating suffering, you felt yourself start to fall backwards, unable to keep upright any longer. You prepared for the added hurt of the fall—
But instead of the blazing and hard sand, you felt two strong arms around your back.
You turned to see Jake’s face close to yours, green emerald eyes injected with worry and fear.
“Y/N what the fuck happened ?! Are you alright ??”
His voice was strained and breathy, like he had sprinted all the way over here. His eyes roamed over your body quickly, assessing if you were hurt, and finally his gaze found your left foot, that had already begun to swell and bruise, and which continued leaking blood.
Jake winced, cursing lowly under his breath as he gently set your head down on his lap. He took a beat to examine your foot from where he was.
By now the squad had gathered around you two.
“Bradley, call 911, Y/N was stung by a stingray.” Jake instructed, voice calm but firm.
You only heard Bradley running back to the towels to get his phone, you could also hear the others’ quiet and worried whispers, having shut your eyes to avoid looking at any of them. Even with the agonizing pain throbbing — not only in your foot now — but in your entire body, this felt humiliating.
“Shh, it’s okay sweetheart, I know it hurts,” Jake’s soothing voice came into your ears.
It’s only then that you realized that tears were freely running down your cheeks, your breathing was ragged, heavy with pain and you were letting out small, strained whimpers that were a testimony of the hell you were going through.
“Oh fuck,” you cursed in a mix of pain and embarrassment, still refusing to look at any of your squad mates, while furiously wiping away the tears on your cheeks.
Jake shushed you soothingly, one of his hand coming up to tenderly brush your hair back from your sweaty forehead.
“It’s okay Y/N, you’re okay I promise. I know it hurts right now but 911 will be here soon.” His voice was so gentle, and for a minute it pulled your mind away from the throbbing pain in your left foot.
You finally opened your eyes and turned back to him, squinting a bit to look up at him, and Jake immediately moved a few centimeters so his head was now shielding yours from the blinding light of the sun. His eyes were staring straight into yours, worry still swimming in them, along with a tenderness you were not used to see.
“Are you okay ?” He asked, voice impossibly soft and gentle.
It made your heart skip a beat, and the realization that he was still lovingly brushing your hair back did not help. To avoid blurting out anything stupid — though if you did, you’d at least be able to blame it on the pain later — you did what you were so used to do.
“Of course I’m not okay, what does it fucking look like Seresin ?!” You hissed at him.
But despite your unjustified anger towards him, Jake just smiled down at you. Not his usual cocky smirk, or his smug grin — a genuine one.
“The fuck are you smiling for ?”
His smile only widened, “you’re still angry at me, it must not be as bad as I thought it was.”
You scoffed, outraged, but just as you were about to retort something with the same amount of venom that was probably spreading in your body right now—
Another wave of pain flared up. Intense and excruciating, you cried out and instinctively, one of your hand shot out to grip Jake’s forearm, squeezing it as hard as you could to try and focus on anything else except the agonizing pain flaring up in your entire body.
And even though your nails were anchored in his arm, probably drawing a tiny bit of blood, Jake did not waver. He stayed with you, his other hand still lightly brushing your hair.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said again, voice reassuring. “That’s it, just hold onto me.”
He then turned towards the rest of the squad — who was still anxiously waiting behind him.
“Where is Bradley ? Does he have an ETA on 911 ?” He asked, not a trace of panic in his tone. Even when he wasn’t talking to you, his calm and lulling voice was soothing your system.
You could feel your blood pump in your ears and for a moment the intense pain calmed down, leaving just a permanent ache in your foot. You released your death hold on Jake’s forearm but kept your hand on his skin, the warmth of it grounding you.
“I don’t know, he’s still on the phone,” Natasha said, voice shaking a bit and trying to get a look at you from behind Jake.
“Should we do something while waiting for them ?” Mickey asked, panic in his voice at seeing you in such a state, “elevate her foot or something ?”
“Absolutely not.” Jake’s response was instant, “the venom is already spreading in her body and moving her could accelerate the process, it would do more harm than good. We just have to wait for 911 to come.”
You could feel your friends beginning to approach, in a desire to do anything that might help you while awaiting for the ambulance to arrive. But while the pain should have relieved you of your inhibitions, in this instant there was nothing worse for the tough fighter pilot that you were than your squad mates seeing you down and writhing in pain because of a stupid flat fish.
You squeezed Jake’s arm once to get his attention. He turned to you, eyes softening once again.
“Yeah, sweetheart ? You need anything ?”
The next words were hard to get out, not only because of the pain but because of how humiliating they were to pronounce out loud. Especially to someone like Jake — your rival, your arch nemesis, the one person you claimed to hate more than anything on this earth.
But right now — with your head on his lap, his hand caressing the top of your hair and him calling you sweetheart like you were the love of his life, you couldn’t find it in you to keep fighting him.
“Jake, I don’t want them to see me like that…” you whispered, voice strained by the pain that was still clinging to you.
Quick understanding flashed through his eyes, he didn’t say anything, didn’t question you, he just turned back to the squad — firm and authoritative.
“Could you please go load back the cars ? So that when the ambulance arrive we are all ready to go.”
Mickey, Reuben, Javy and Natasha all nodded diligently, happy to be of service given the situation. They all ran back to the towels and parasols, where Bradley and Bob already had started to pack up.
You squeezed Jake’s forearm again.
“Thank you— Oh fuck !”
Another wave hit you then, fuck, when was this going to stop ??
This one was especially bad, it felt like your entire body was burning alive. You cried out, reaching for Jake, trying to anchor yourself to him. Your eyes welled up with tears that were flowing endlessly down your cheeks, breath quick and heavy with panic.
“Jake, Jake Jake Jake—“ your voice was rushed, filled with fright and pain.
“I’m here, baby, right here. Try to take deep breaths for me okay ? Breathe in…” He made a show of taking an exaggerated inhale.
You just followed his instructions, breathing in deeply.
“That’s good, that’s perfect. Now breathe out…”
You copied his theatrical exhale, still holding on tightly to him. He gave you a proud smile, the one hand that wasn’t still busy brushing your hair, came up to cup your cheek — thumb tenderly caressing your skin.
“That’s good, you’re doing so good.”
You placed your right hand — the one that wasn’t holding on for dear life to his forearm — on top of his hand that was cupping your cheek, still breathing deeply with him.
Your next words would probably make you want to kill yourself when the pain stops numbing your mind, but right now there was only one thing you wanted. And it resided in the very man above you, who was looking at you and touching you with an affection that would have you shedding tears if you weren’t already doing so because of the pain.
“Please, Jake, don’t stop. Keep talking to me.” You pleaded, voice shaking with tears and a few sniffles.
Something shifted in Jake’s expression then, a reflection of how his heart broke for you right at this moment. His beautiful features took on a raw display of emotion, he inhaled sharply — forcing his voice to come out as calm and unwavering as possible.
“I will, baby, don’t worry. I’m right here with you, I’m not leaving you.” He soothed you, green eyes boring into yours and desperately trying to convey everything he felt in this moment and couldn’t possibly express with words. “Not ever.”
You let out a relieved sigh, not only at his words, but at the feeling of the spike of pain calming down, leaving — once again — only the static pain in your foot. You closed your eyes, still taking deep breaths like Jake told you and trying to slow your heart beat down. If it weren’t for this stupid stingray who had your foot feeling like it would burn and fall off your body at any moment, you would consider this moment peaceful. Jake holding you, touching your skin like you were the most precious thing in this world, voice soft and gentle like you’ve never heard before….
“The pain will continue to come and go in spikes,” Jake explained, voice low, as if to not disturb the moment, “it’s the venom spreading in your body.”
You kept your eyes closed, only nodding slightly to tell him you understood.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Jake admitted after a beat of silence, in a small, almost sad laugh.
You nuzzled closer to his hand that was cupping your cheek, “are you saying you care about me, Hangman ?” You inquired, a teasing smile pulling at your lips, your voice coming out a little strained and tired from all the pain.
“I don’t know, I might just do,” You only heard the fond smile in his voice.
Only moments after, you felt his lips press with an infinite amount of tenderness on your forehead. You sucked in a breath, opening your eyes in surprise. The kiss lasted a few seconds, and when he pulled away, the look in his eyes almost took your breath away.
“What ? You surprised ?” He probed, mimicking your teasing tone.
You felt yourself flush. Fluster temporarily replacing the pain in your body, filling you with a warmth that was making you forget about your punctured foot that was still leaking blood and painting the water crimson red.
You just snuggled further into his hand, tearing your eyes away from him to escape his prying gaze, “shut up,” you mumbled.
He just laughed, keeping his affectionate administrations to your skin.
And that’s when you heard the loud wail of the ambulance siren coming closer to the beach. Just seconds after, the whole squad was running at full speed towards you two.
“They are here !” Bradley yelled, “they are here Y/N !”
“It’s almost over, sweetheart,” Jake whispered, placing one more quick kiss to your forehead before the whole squad, along with the medics, reached you.
Jake immediately took the initiative to explain the situation, “she was stung by a stingray, approximately 10 minutes ago. The barb punctured the side of her left foot, it’s been bleeding ever since the sting. Venom has already started spreading.”
“Okay, thank you sir,” one of the medic addressed Jake before turning to you, “ma’am, my name is Martin. What’s yours ?”
“Y/N.”
“Okay Y/N. Listen we’re gonna need to put you on a stretcher to get you in the ambulance. Just know that it will probably hurt.”
You just nodded, taking a deep breath.
They hoisted you up onto the stretcher, you muffled a cry behind your hand and squeezed Jake’s hand which had slipped into yours. Once you were installed in the ambulance, the medics looked at you and then at the squad.
Martin spoke up, “one of you can climb with Y/N in the back of the ambulance. The rest can follow behind by car to get to the hospital. Who do you want coming with ?” He asked.
Lying in the stretcher that was inclined so you were sitting up a bit, your eyes immediately found Jake, who gave you a hopeful smile. You so desperately wanted to say his name, have him climb in with you and hold you like he had been doing on the beach. But sitting here, the whole squad in front of you, you felt the words get stuck in your throat. Jake seemed to see it in your eyes, the hesitation, seemed to feel that for some reason, you would not be able to express wanting him by your side. And witnessing the sadness and disappointment flash in his emerald eyes after having been so bright, made your heart fall into your stomach.
A beat passed before Natasha slightly raised her hand.
“I’ll come with—“
But Bob, of all people, was the one who interrupted her.
“Nat, I actually got a call from Cyclone there’s a meeting we have to attend, all of us.”
Phoenix, along with the rest of the squad looked confused, sharing interrogating glances.
“What ? A briefing ? Right now ?” Bradley questioned, incredulous.
Bob gave him a pointed look, “yes, Bradley, right now.” He then turned to Jake, a characteristic sweet smile on his face, “Jake, you’ll stay with Y/N, right ?”
Jake seemed surprised for a moment, his eyes flicking rapidly between Bob and you.
“I— Yeah, yeah of course,” he nodded quickly, he then turned to you, hopefulness returning to his gaze, “if you’ll have me.”
“Yes,” you answered, way too quickly — which Bob, along with the medics, quietly snickered at — “yes of course, come in.”
After the squad bid you goodbye and promised to come see you at the hospital, Bob mischievously winked at you and hurried them back to the cars.
Jake climbed into the ambulance, sitting on a seat next to your stretcher, fingers intertwining with yours instantly, like instinct. And almost as soon as his skin made contact with yours, a wave of pain hit you again, hard.
Cursing, you wiggled around on the stretcher, the burning sensation was stronger than before and was taking your whole body hostage, eyes almost rolling back from how painful it all was.
“It’s almost over, sweetheart, I promise.” Jake reassured, voice strained from seeing you hurt like that.
“Y/N,” Martin caught your attention, “the venom is progressing quickly and we need to act fast. We’re gonna give you something for the pain, it might make you a little loopy and you might fall asleep. You’ve been through a lot and the pain has definitely taken a toll on you, so totally normal if you want to crash for a moment, alright ?”
You nodded, feeling Jake squeezing your hand, you heard him take a deep breath next to you and you could feel the relief radiating off him. One of the other medics went to slap his shoulder.
“You did a good job, boyfriend.”
Jake just chuckled and you caught the faintest shade of red color his cheeks. Neither of you bothered to correct him on the term ‘boyfriend’. You all but smiled through the pain, looking at Jake with something that people might call love.
“Yeah, he really did.”
Martin turned back to you with a syringe, “okay Y/N, you need to be brave for one more minute, you might feel a slight pinch.”
And while the needle punctured your skin, similar to how the stingray’s barb had — only minutes prior to this, your eyes never wavered from Jake’s.
It only took a few moments for the painkillers to start acting, you let out a sigh of relief at feeling the pain peak progressively go away. Along with the disappearing agony, you felt your eyelids grow heavy.
“Jake…” you called out softly, already halfway into Morpheus’ arms.
“Yeah, sweetheart ? I’m right here.” He squeezed your hand again.
A smile pulled at your lips.
“I think— I think I’m gonna take a quick nap.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” he chuckled affectionately.
“Will you still be here when I wake up ?”
A beat of silence passed before he leaned forward, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead that widened your smile.
“Yes I will, you rest, baby. You’ve been so strong today.” Another kiss. “I’ll see you when you wake up.”
And with that confirmation, your eyes finally closed, body finally at ease after all the events of the day. Before sleep took your mind away to a far away place, you registered Jake leaving one last kiss on your forehead, like he just couldn’t help himself. The warmth that filled you would have been able to alleviate any pain better than any of the medics’ painkillers. You fell asleep the heart light, knowing that when you would open your eyes, the first thing they would land on would be Jake’s green ones, full of something that could only be called love.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Author’s note : thank you for reading "Saltwater Monster" I hope you liked it !!! Also I hope everyone spent lovely holidays !!
Please don’t hesitate to leave feedback and constructive criticism ! I always worry about out of character writing so if you think I made Jake too soft or something, don’t hesitate to tell me !!💞
pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x f!reader
rating: 18+ (minors dni)
warnings/triggers: slight smut? grinding, fingering. soft dom behaviour. triggers for non-consensual touching/sexual harassment and a physical altercation. brief mentions of toxic parents/cults and death.
word count: 6,768
summary: jake seresin doesn’t let disrespect slide. you don’t want to rock the boat.
A/N: here’s a glen themed new release! had fun with this one and wrote it mostly on my phone, which never happens. i imagine that jake has a reputation for being a fuckboy and he’s fine with that being the thoughts about him, until his inner southern boy can’t stand by while a woman gets disrespected by assholes. i truly didn’t know where this one was going and i think i did them justice—imagine my surprise when i write these twists and turns!
❥ masterlist ❥
“You really did it, didn’t you?”
You huffed, flicking on the light in the bathroom before you started scrounging around under the sink for the first aid kit.
You grabbed it, knocking out a bottle of dry shampoo and one of the thirteen hairbrushes you owned. You stuffed it under your arm, snagged the bottle of rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs and shoved everything back into the cabinet. Swiftly, you closed the doors as more products tried to tumble out.
“You could have just let it go,” you continued as you stood and caught your reflection in the fingerprint smudged mirror above the sink. Your work shirt, a blouse with gold polished buttons that you’d matched with leggings to double as a going out shirt, was torn at the sleeve, spotted with flecks of blood that wasn’t yours.
You couldn’t repair it. Not even with your vast knowledge on stitching (read: none at all). You’d have to visit the commissary on Monday. Maybe get a pair of slacks while you were at it. Just what you needed, to buy more with a flimsy salary. You’d have to figure out how to move some bills around this month, maybe next.
You were back in the living room, medical supplies bundled in your arms, your frustration rolling off you in waves. “You think I don’t deal with dick holes like him every day?”
The snort you heard from the shadowed living room was enough to play breaker against the next wave of crashing anger. “Did you just say dick hole?”
Now in the kitchen, your back to the living room, you paused your search for a bowl. “Have a problem with it, Seresin?”
“Nah,” Jake was waving his hand in your direction, the makeshift bag you’d made out of a twisted napkin and packed with ice was still pressed to his jaw, but had mostly melted and rivulets of water traced down, absorbed into the stretched collar of his white t-shirt. “Just shocked is all.”
You found the bowl and filled it up with cold tap water, set it aside and moved to get ice packs from the freezer. “Oh? And why’s that? Because women can’t swear or say things like dick hole, or—”
You paused to think, flipped through the catalogue of words your brothers were allowed to use but that you’d been reprimanded for; ones officers used in the mess when they thought they weren’t overheard.
“—Cunt?”
You grimaced as soon as it came out, it sounded unpracticed and wobbly and when the responding sharp cackle came from the couch a few feet away, you knew he’d heard it too.
“Easy, killer,” Jake murmured, “don’t want to use up all the curses in one night. Gotta pace yourself.”
You rolled your eyes, so hard you felt the edges of a headache forming as you shook your head and stacked your supplies into a manageable tower to make a one-trip carry to where he sat in the half-light spilling across the floor.
“I can take care of myself—” you began, one arm full of the leaning tower of medical supplies tucked under your chin to stabilize it and the bowl you’d filled, sloshing in your other hand. You paused as the tower shifted and when it didn’t topple, you continued. “I don’t need anyone riding in on a white, high horse to take care of the poor little girl with the stick up her ass.”
Stick up her ass, they were the words Tempest had used after you’d rebuffed him at the Hard Deck last week. More specifically, not my fault she’s got a pious stick up her ass. Maybe she’ll let you fuck her, Seresin. Loosen her up a bit.
Jake, to his credit, hadn’t taken the bait and shook his head before returning to his game of pool with Coyote.
Tonight, tonight had been different. Even for the usual theme of Tempest’s mild harassment of you.
He’d put his hand on your waist, tugged you close, tucked his nose into the crook of your neck from behind. He smelled of cheap whiskey and even cheaper cologne, cloying and nauseating. You’d been trying to hold your breath, stay calm, pry his fingers off your body when all of a sudden, there was nothing and the pressing heat at your back was gone, leaving only a sharp tug on your shirt sleeve as it tore at the seams. The meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh.
“I can see that.” His eyes were on you, steady, and for a brief moment, he looked serious.
You eased the supplies onto the coffee table and then sat down on the edge, across from Jake, his long legs bracketing yours. You carefully disassembled the Jenga tower of disinfectant spray and rolls of tape, the box of Band-aids and gauze.
“You didn’t have to do it. I could’ve handled him. I’ve had worse you know? Now every woman on base is going to blame me for ruining your pretty face.”
You looked at him as his brow flickered up, reached out to touch his wrist gently and push the wet napkin away assessing. His jaw was reddened, the dark hints of a bruise starting to bloom under the surface of his sun kissed skin, between the dusting of stubble that was starting to grow there. You could see where the indent of Tempest’s Naval Academy grad ring had left its mark, the letters “AVA” and “DEM” still visible against the curve of his chin.
Quietly, you hoped that if Jake had to take the punch, Tempest had broken his finger for it. You knew it wasn’t very kind of you and though you tried to feel guilt over the thought, you couldn’t seem to find it.
“You think I’m pretty?” Jake grinned past the split in his bottom lip; his gaze locked on your face though you avoided the direct eye contact.
“That’s your takeaway from all of that?”
Jake’s smile faltered, just a fraction. You could see it from where you sat, even in the dim light. Still, you didn’t dare look directly into the sun, into the green blue ocean of his eyes.
“I just mean—” he started, tongue briefly sweeping his bottom lip as if he’d forgotten he’d split it and winced. He laughed then—at himself you thought. “If that’s the last thing I hear before my jaw falls off, I could do worse.”
You huffed a laugh under your breath, shaking your head.
“For people who fly literal war planes strapped with explosives and land said planes on carriers in the open ocean, you Navy boys are such babies...” you sighed, using a single finger to put pressure on his chin, angling it so you could see if there were any other bruises you’d missed.
“Hey—” he sat up a bit as you sat back to poke around in your hodge-podge of medical supplies, “—don’t accuse Rooster like that when he’s not here to defend himself.”
You’d grabbed the clean cloth, dipped it in the bowl of water and squeezed out the excess before you spoke, eyes still focused on your own hands. “I’m just kind of—surprised.”
“And why is that?”
“You know you have a reputation, right?”
The pause, longer than any other this evening, told you he knew. He had to know that women around Miramar talked. Especially the women in the tower where you worked. There, the whispers about Jake “Hangman” Seresin were particularly difficult to avoid.
Man’s a fucking stallion—Brenna had whispered to Iza last month after rushing into the tower late, lipstick freshly applied, takeout coffee sloshing in her hand. Didn’t let me sleep a wink last night.
You fucked Hangman? You’d overheard Julie from Records rasp at Yvette in the Officer’s Mess as you passed their table, on your way through to the Comms building once. You’d caught Yvette, blond, lithe, perfect, nodding as her cheeks flushed.
“That’s a pretty general statement.” Jake didn’t look phased, like he was aware exactly what his reputation was and just wanted to hear you say it. “What did you hear about my reputation, darlin’?”
“I’d rather not—”
“Took a right hook to the jaw tonight.” Jake’s dry laugh tugged at his split lip. “Doctors think I could lose it. So yeah—we’re past the point of worrying about my feelings.”
You sighed, long-suffering, bit back the dispute that his jaw wasn’t going to just fall off.
“It’s just that—” you started, distracting yourself with dipping the cloth into the bowl of water and watching it tinge pink with his blood.
“C’mon, killer. Don’t get all shy on me, now.”
You huffed, bit your lip, considered if you really wanted to say it. After the way he’d stepped up for you tonight, you didn’t want to believe that they were right. Especially not Brenna.
“The girls in the tower say you’re a—” you fiddled with the cloth in your hand for a brief moment, “—fuckboy.”
Jake paused for a moment as if he were calculating an approach on a particularly difficult landing. “Is it true that you were rescued from a cult?”
Now it was your turn to snort.
“Nice try—deflecting,” you breathed, a bubble of laughter rising to the surface again before you pushed it down and schooled your face into something that resembled serious. “Cult isn’t the word I’d use. Probably better described as a multi-level marketing scam in the form of religion.”
“So…a cult.” Jake gave a slow nod, lips curving. “Got it.”
The water from the cloth dripped back into the bowl as you dipped and wrung it out again. “What? No follow-up questions?”
You’d been used to it all your life. When one dropped tactical cult bombs in the summary of their backstory, there tended to be some need for clarifying questions.
“Nah. You’ll tell me if you want to.”
That should’ve been it—two ships passing in the night. But something in the way Jake said it—simple, steady, like it wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever heard, like you’d just told him you liked bacon and eggs—loosened a knot in your chest.
Tonight, had started as most of your nights did, unremarkably. So, when you found yourself sitting in the parking lot of the Hard Deck, after having driven yourself over on autopilot, you’d half considered going back home.
You remembered telling yourself to go back to your small, dark apartment even as you undid your seatbelt, stepping out of the car and crunching toward the door.
Even now, with the advantage of hindsight, when you’d had the chance to think on it from a few steps back, the whole picture in focus, you still didn’t know why you hadn’t listened to the feeling in your gut that told you this wasn’t your best idea.
Your routine had always been the same: work, home, sleep. Hardly any social life to speak of, no pets to take care of—just you, alone in your apartment. It was takeout for one, Netflix and chill in the barest possible meaning, usually choosing to watch some true crime special about women like you who went missing and the only reason someone noticed was because they hadn’t reported to work. Or because there was a distinct odor of death coming from a cracked window.
No one to say your smile lit up a room or that you were friends with everyone.
It didn’t bother you on most nights; you’d almost convinced yourself that you liked being just that: alone. But tonight, it was different. Maybe it had been the call from your aunt in Boston, the one where she told you your family wanted to see you, and would you agree to meeting halfway? Maybe it was that the conversation, though brief, wouldn’t let you settle and watch your usual montage of cold cases.
Whatever it had been probably didn’t matter much at this point. The junction being the comedown from this clusterfuck of a night when Jake Seresin sat on your couch, banged up because of you.
You’d only been there for about thirty minutes, sitting against the bar on a wobbly stool, nursing the Amaretto Sour as you fiddled with the fancy twisted toothpick, observing. You were slowly realizing that maybe it didn’t feel so bad to just be around life and music.
Your fatal mistake was that you hadn’t excused yourself the moment you heard Tempest come in through the door, carried by the push of his wingmen, Jackal and Yeti. Instead, you’d finished your drink, slipped off the stool and were grabbing your jacket when you’d heard his voice at your back.
“Well—if it ain’t my favourite tower girl.” He’d sidled up to the bar, one arm on the hardtop behind you and the other on the back of the stool you’d just vacated, boxing you in. “You’re not leaving already, are you? Fun just got here.”
To his credit, by most standards, Tempest wasn’t unattractive. Tall, dark hair, features chiseled in a way that would please even the staunchest of high renaissance sculptors. He was confident, smooth-talking and able to read a room. You supposed this was why, when he asked you out in your first week at Miramar and you’d said no, he’d not taken it particularly well.
Innocently, you hadn’t realized at the time that a ‘no’, polite or otherwise, to someone like Tempest, was something he filed away—not as an answer, but as a challenge.
“Lieutenant,” you eked out the response, slid cash across the bar to more than pay for your one drink and folded the coat over your arm. You had turned toward him in the small space, tried to find a spot to slip past him. “I have an early appointment—”
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he’d rolled his eyes dramatically, “it’s just a drink. You don’t have to be such a fucking tight ass about it.”
You dabbed at Jake’s jaw with the cloth and for a moment, he was silent. Something, in the few months that you’d known him (known being the loosest form of the word in this context), you weren’t aware was even possible.
“I’d do it again, you know,” Jake’s breath felt hot on your face, and it was only then you’d realized how closely you’d leaned in, squinting at the slow to bloom bruise in the dimness of your apartment.
Your fingers stilled, the damp cloth falling away from his jaw a fraction. You felt the question knit your brow together before you could stop the question from leaving your lips, whisper quiet: “Why?”
Jake held your gaze for a beat, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to gauge what might fall best. When you thought he might answer, instead, he shifted back into the plush couch cushions and ran a hand through his short hair, eyes averted to the large window looking out onto a view of a parking lot.
“He put his hands on you. You said no. I removed his hands.” He said like it was a fact as fundamental as gravity. The sky is blue. The sun sets in the west. Hangman doesn’t let shit like that slide. Simple is as simple does.
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Sat back and stared down at the Spiderman Band-Aid box like it might be easier to explain this to than to Jake.
“But you don’t even know me.”
It came out soft. Like maybe you weren’t sure anyone ever really had.
What happened next at the bar still came back to you in pieces. Fractured. Jagged. Rearranged in an order that maybe didn’t really make sense when you looked at it again. Found footage; useless without context.
“I’m fine,” you’d told him, voice steady enough to mask the ferocious beat of your heart. Tempest had wordlessly pulled out the stool beside you anyway. Tipped his head in a way that meant sit.
“Thank you. I really should be going—”
When you didn’t sit, his easy-going smile dipped. Just a fraction. A shadow passed over his expression, something cooler now, coiled, sat beneath the charm.
“You know,” he sucked his teeth, like it was something he didn’t tell people, like he was showing you his cards as a favour. “I don’t ask out a lot of girls, so you gotta see how lucky you are.”
You’d heard what he really meant. I don’t ask out a lot of girls who say no.
So, you did what you’d been trained to do since before you knew better—soften the blow, smooth the edge. Appease the ego. You smiled, quiet, gentle. Tried to disarm.
“I really appreciate the offer,” you’d said, moving to take a seat because arguing would only make it worse. You’d stay long enough to order another drink, then slip out to the washroom. You could leave your coat if you had to, a decoy that you’d be right back.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Then his arm was around you before you could sit—too fast, too close. The world shrank. Your pulse slammed into your throat. Whiskey and aftershave clouded the air, cloying, inescapable. His voice came low against your ear, soft enough that no one else could hear—the kind of tone that carried a threat disguised as charm.
You froze.
The pressure of Tempest’s arm tightened around your waist, fingertips grazing just beneath your waistband like he had a right to you. Like he knew you’d go still. Most men like him did.
“Little big-picture thinking tip, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone smug, slick, festering. “When men like me offer to take you out, buy you a drink, fuck you—”
His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. You flinched.
“—you take it. And whatever else we decide to give you. And you thank us.”
You’d played this game before. Say thank you. Laugh. Flirt your way free. You knew the rules. Knew what happened if you got them wrong.
Before you could try to shift the tone, before you could perform your escape—
“Peters.”
A different voice. Sharp, low.
You hadn’t seen him when you walked in, hadn’t heard his unmistakable tone over the buzz of the bar. But somehow, Jake Seresin was there, leaning against the counter like he’d just come to the bar to get another beer and stumbled on the scene. Posture relaxed, eyes watchful.
Tempest stiffened.
“Little busy, Seresin,” he muttered, voice dripping with irritation he didn’t bother to hide. A predator interrupted right before a kill. “Why don’t you go fuck off somewhere with your dipshit wingmen?”
Jake pulled the toothpick from his mouth, stood to full height, and turned to face you. Trapped. Tight against Tempest’s chest. His eyes scanned the tableau once. You felt it then, a shift in the air. A boundary drawn, then crossed. The kind of shift someone who always had to watch for, felt.
“I’d love to,” Jake drawled, nodding to the bartender for a beer, casual as ever. “Just gotta say goodbye to my friend here. She said she was leaving.”
Tempest didn’t move. But you felt his grip change. Firmer now. Less for show. His hand flexed against your hip like a brand, like a claim he wanted Jake to see.
“Jesus,” he scoffed, glancing around the rest of the bar, assessing any potential audience. “Didn’t realize she came with a babysitter.”
“She didn’t,” Jake’s voice was even, calm as anything. He looked at you then, voice quieter, intentional. “You want to stay with our intellectually constipated friend here?”
You couldn’t remember if you’d spoken or if you just shook your head. Either way, it had been enough.
“Good enough for me,” Jake murmured gently, eyes never leaving yours. He’d offered his hand. “Let’s get you out of here, huh?”
You’d taken it without hesitation.
Tempest had laughed—ugly and low. “You always have to ruin it for everyone, don’t you, Seresin? If you can’t have it, no one can.”
Jake hadn’t blinked. “Consent is a funny thing though, huh. Peters? Yes, means yes, no means no. She said no. Heard it all the way over there by the jukebox. Heard her say it again, just now.”
His tone hadn’t wavered. You stepped toward him, hand still curled in his. Jake’s body shifted subtly, pulling you behind him. Not like he meant to own you but just that he meant to be your buffer. A shield raised without asking for permission.
Tempest’s smile dipped. His shoulders coiled. Like a viper about to strike. “You always were a sanctimonious little prick, weren’t you?”
Jake’s eyes found yours, his back still turned to Tempest and he smirked. “You know Tempest, gotta hand it to you, actually might be stepping up your trash talk.”
You saw it coming a half-second too late.
Tempest had swung.
Jake turned just as the punch landed—square to his jaw. The crack was sharp and clean, and your heart seized as Jake stumbled slightly with the force of it.
But he didn’t fall. Didn’t even curse. He took the blow like he’d been hit before, like he knew exactly what to do next.
Jake straightened slowly, jaw clenched tight, tongue running over the inside of his cheek. Blood beaded on his lip and when he looked up at Tempest, the humour was gone.
“Alright.”
Soft. Almost amused.
“Your call, cowboy.”
The second punch came from Jake. It was fast. Precise. Bone against bone. Tempest staggered back into the stool he’d pulled out for you, knocking it over with a crash. Jake followed. Hooked a leg. Dropped him hard with a shoulder and a crack of sound that silenced half the bar.
You didn’t realize you were shaking until your hand hit the bar top. Steadying yourself.
You watched Jake move with lethal grace—controlled, efficient. This wasn’t barroom flailing. It was training. Practice. Restraint.
He could’ve broken Tempest. He didn’t.
Two other pilots, one who might have been Fanboy and the other Coyote, stepped in before Tempest could get back to his feet. Bloodied. Cursing.
Jake stood over him, fists still curled tight, chest heaving like an engine running hot.
You were so focused on the sight of Tempest being hauled away toward the exit that you didn’t realize you’d stopped breathing.
“Hey.”
You turned.
Jake.
Closer now but not touching. His voice dropped so low it was barely above the music that had started seeping back into the room.
“You okay?”
You nodded. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t true either.
Jake looked at you for a long moment. Then down at the hand you’d braced against the bar—still trembling.
He didn’t reach for it. Just waited.
“I’ll take her home,” he said finally, not to you. To whoever needed to hear it.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody dared.
You’d made your way home, Jake driving your car and you in the passenger seat, much the same way you’d arrived at the Hard Deck. On autopilot.
You dipped the cloth again, watching blood cloud the water with muted pink spirals. Jake sat still, jaw slack, eyes closed like the quiet hurt more than the punch. His knuckles were raw, split in two places, and your hands trembled slightly as you cleaned them.
“You should’ve let me handle it,” you murmured, not looking at him.
Jake opened his eyes, voice low. “He put hands on you.”
“I said I was fine.”
It shouldn’t have made you angry again. It didn’t. Not really. What it did though, was nudge an ache, something deep and tired in the center of you. Gripped it and shook like a snow globe, scattered the thoughts and the ghosts of the feelings you always kept concealed until they felt anger adjacent.
Jake hissed out a breath before you realized you’d pushed too hard on the cut at his lip.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, pulling away.
“It’s okay to be mad,” He started, “even if it’s at yourself. Or me.”
Something in the gentleness of his tone kicked at the falling snowflakes in the snow globe, already agitated. “I don’t need a shrink, Seresin.”
“Didn’t say you did.” He paused, let the words settle as if he’d learned his lesson. “Just... you don’t have to carry any of this alone, no one expects you to do everything by yourself.”
“Look—you think I don’t know what people say about me?” You were feverishly hot again, anger pulsing dull behind your ears. “That I’m some weird little cult girl who, who doesn’t fu—”
You cut yourself off.
Say it, your mind coached, fuck.
You threw up your hands in a huff, shaking your head.
“You got here in June.” Jake’s voice almost startled you when he spoke again and your eyes were already pulled to him before you could stop yourself. “Tower. The one by the second airfield.”
Jake didn’t look smug when he said it. Didn’t look triumphant or self-satisfied. He just looked… certain.
Like he’d seen you.
Your arms dropped to your sides, fingers twitching at the sudden shift in tone.
“I—yeah,” you said warily. “I’ve been at that tower since—”
“You transferred in from somewhere north—civilian sector. Mid-level clearance.” He finished for you, easy, like he’d marked it in a notes section in his brain.
Your brow furrowed, confused and defensive all at once. “Why do you know that?”
Jake leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the planes of his face cast in soft golden light. “Because I pay attention. And because I just wanted to figure you out. I’ve heard the way people talk about you—and it’s bullshit.”
You stared at him. Breath snagged.
“I’ve heard what they say,” he repeated, continuing, quieter now, like he was giving you the space to run if you wanted to. “But I’ve also seen how hard you work. How you never take your eyes off the radar even when there’s chaos in the comms. You run your post like your life depends on it.”
You swallowed hard.
“And I’ve seen the way you look when you think no one’s watching. Like you’re bracing for the worst. Like you’re still waiting for the next hit.”
Your stomach dropped, you felt the prickle of tears at the bridge of your nose, behind your eyes.
Jake’s voice remained steady. “Whatever it is you think people are saying—none of it matters. You’re not weird. You’re not broken. And you’re sure as hell not some punchline.”
You looked down, suddenly aware of how close he was.
“I didn’t say I believed it,” you whispered.
Jake smiled, just barely. “Didn’t have to.”
The silence between you shifted—less brittle now. Still full of things unsaid, but somehow not quite as dangerous. Not quite as sharp.
You lifted your gaze again. “You remember all that?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I remember you.”
And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like too much to be remembered. It felt like the beginning of something true.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until the words wouldn’t come out the way you meant them to.
“I’m not...” you tried, voice thin, quiet. It betrayed the sense of control you wanted so badly to have. “I’m not like the girls in the tower. I know what they say. I know what you probably—”
Your voice cracked before you could finish and your nails bit into the meat of your palm, nails scoring your skin.
Hold it together, your mind thrummed and you blinked hard.
The tears came anyway. Silent at first. Unwelcome. You swiped at your face like it had betrayed you, like maybe you could scrub it clean, compose yourself into a non-tear-streaked mess before he noticed.
The couch creaked in the silence as he angled toward you. He’d noticed.
“Hey.” His voice was steady, low, comforting like the wrap of a warm blanket in a comfortable bed. Something you never wanted to extract yourself from. “C’mere.”
You didn’t move at first, eyes focused down at your hands, at the cloth gripped in your lap. You weren’t even sure you could move. Your instinct had always been to stay quiet, stay still, to show no weakness in emotion. So, when you stood, frozen, still gripping the damp cloth like it might keep you grounded, you fought hard against the small inner voice that told you to retreat.
Your legs felt shaky in a way that had nothing to do with the exhaustion you sensed creeping in around the edges, the kind that wasn’t just from one night.
“C’mere,” he said again, his hand, knuckles shaded with bruises, turning palm up, waiting.
When you finally took a step forward, you didn’t expect your knee to catch the edge of his boot, or your ankle to roll just slightly in your worn socks as you tried to regain your balance. You stumbled forward—straight into Jake’s broad chest.
Your hands flew out to brace on the back of the couch, too late. Your forehead knocked against his with an audible, solid thunk.
“Shit—” you gasped, eyes going wide as you rubbed the sore spot on your own head. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”
Jake groaned, his hand coming up to rub the reddened spot on his forehead. “Right to the dome. Damn, darlin’. Not sure I deserved that and the haymaker; not tonight at least.”
You huffed, a sound caught between a laugh and a wet sniffle, your hand coming up to join his fingers in the search for damage. “I didn’t mean to—your foot—”
“It’s fine,” his laugh was dry, slowly catching your wrist in his, gentle and warm, careful. “Flesh wound. I’ll survive.”
You shook your head, cheeks still hot with embarrassment, the wetness clinging to your lashes the reminder that you had been crying a minute ago. “You’re bleeding internally, I can tell. Might be fatal.”
“Ah, so now you’re a medic?”
You laughed. Really laughed this time. It punched its way out of your chest so fast you couldn’t hold it back. You were still pressed against him, his chest solid beneath yours, knees pressed into the couch and framing his thighs.
Jake let your wrist go, his hands sliding down to hover, light on your hips now. Not pulling. Not unwelcome. Not asking for anything. Just there.
“I wasn’t crying,” you mumbled finally, even as you dabbed away the trail of wetness on your cheeks with the back of your hand.
“I know. Allergies, right?”
You nodded.
He grinned, easy and all at once, comforting. “Happens to the best of us.”
You were still sniffling, your forehead coming to rest on his shoulder as you both caught your breath, laughter fading and nerves settling in the easy quiet that followed.
Then, as you shifted in his lap, you felt it.
Noticed it, really. The subtle shift in his breathing, the way his fingers flexed to grip your waist to steady you a beat longer than necessary before remembering himself and relaxing his hold. The way your thighs bracketed his as you hovered there. The way his jeans weren’t exactly hiding anything.
The muscles in his chest flexed beneath your hands and his breath hitched as your ass settled deeper into him.
You weren’t a virgin, weren’t inexperienced the way that your co-workers thought just by looking at you, but even if you were, there was no mistaking what you felt. Beneath you, the hard line of his erection pressed into your softness through his jeans, through your leggings. Your center pulsed as your body knew before your brain.
Once it hit, the realization burned through the haze like a flare. Hot, fast.
Jake noticed your stillness.
He didn’t move to shift you off of him, didn’t pressure you into what would, normally for him, you thought, come next. His gaze held yours, his pupils blown wide but still, he remained clear-eyed, unbothered on the surface, calm.
“This isn’t about that,” he murmured, gently, like he was offering you a way out. “I know you probably think otherwise—but tonight, stepping up for you... I didn’t give Peters anything he didn’t already have coming. We don’t have to do anything.”
You swallowed, lips parting, willing words to come out, but they didn’t come. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his t-shirt when you didn’t know what you should do with your hands. “I don’t think—I know you didn’t—” you huffed at your inability to form the sentence before you tried again. “I’m not going anywhere, I just...”
You weren’t sure what you were trying to say. Your brain was playing ping pong with the singular cell that wasn’t sending your body into DEFCON 5 as you felt him twitch beneath you. You only knew that you were on fire, that your skin burned from the inside out, that there was suddenly not enough oxygen in the entire state of California that could keep you from hyperventilating.
In the quiet, Jake’s thumb brushed your waist, the contact featherlight. He didn’t move otherwise, didn’t ask for more.
“It’s reflex,” he broke the silence as you struggled to find the words. He cleared his throat, like maybe he’d hoped you wouldn’t notice. “You’re on my lap. You’re you.”
The last part came out quiet, so muted you weren’t sure you’d heard it.
Your heart stuttered.
“You’re not mad?”
Jake’s laugh was all breath and disbelief. “Mad that what? I got hit by a daddy’s boy for standing up for you and then you bust my skull in as a thank you?” His head fell back, eyes on the ceiling though his hands stayed on you, light still as if you just needed to say the word and he’d let go. “Not even a bit. I’ve had worse, I’ll survive. Might have a concussion though, if I give you my number, can you call every two hours to—”
Your smile curled before you could stop it, eyes still watery. You shifted a little to sit more fully on his lap, hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as he felt the pressure and sat up.
The tension crackled, the buzzing feeling of static electricity in the small space between you, a livewire waiting for contact.
“Still think I’m some weird cult girl?” you asked, half-teasing, mostly working to steady the sound of your own voice.
Jake looked up at you, serious now. “I think you’re the strongest person I’ve met in a long time.”
That hit somewhere deep. You swallowed. And maybe it was that. Or maybe it was everything else—the fight, the way he’d stood up for you, the gentleness with which he was holding you now.
You leaned in. Slow.
Jake met you halfway.
The kiss wasn’t fevered. Not at first. It was careful. Like he knew you were still figuring out where you ended and this moment began. His hands stayed on your hips, anchoring. Grounding.
When you made a soft sound in the back of your throat—needy, aching—his grip tightened just slightly. One hand slid up your back, fingers fanning against your spine.
But he still didn’t rush.
“You okay?” he murmured, mouth brushing yours.
You nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I just... don’t want to be alone right now.”
“You’re not,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear it until he said it.
I’ve got you.
Three words. Simple. Solid. Like stone underfoot when everything else felt like sinking sand.
You kissed him again—firmer this time. Less uncertain. Your fingers slipped into the collar of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. Jake let out a quiet sound against your lips, one you felt more than heard, and it shot straight through you.
But he didn’t press. He didn’t push.
Still, you couldn’t stop the way your body wanted him. Craved the friction.
You canted your hips, grinding into his erection with frenzied, rhythmless movements. Jake groaned in response, his hands sliding down to your hips, regulating the movement so it became slower, predictable. Molding chaos into something controlled.
“Gotta slow down, darlin’” he huffed out, breath hitching as he pressed you closer, swallowing hard as he guided your hips against his. Rewriting the rhythm. “This part’s not about me.”
You felt the drag of his length at your slick, aching core—the barrier of denim and your leggings the only thing between you and him. The thought alone lit something feral. A hungry little thing inside you that clawed upward, demanded more.
The moan that escaped you was broken, unguarded.
Chasing.
Jake’s lips ghosted over your cheek, your jaw, the hollow behind your ear—each one pressed with intent, as if he was spelling something out with his mouth: I see you. I want this. I’m here.
His hand slid further into your leggings, past the barrier of damp lace, until his fingers found slick, pulsing heat.
You nearly choked on a gasp, forehead dropping to his shoulder. Unbidden, your body jerked against him, hips instinctively seeking more. Jake’s breath stuttered, his mouth brushing your temple as his fingers moved in careful, reverent circles.
“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured, the awe in his voice grounding, not greedy. “You’re soaked.”
You whimpered, hips lifting, chasing his touch. You felt like your heart was going to implode, fold in on itself, a dying star that left a black hole in its wake, all at once full and empty. You needed him everywhere.
He nipped your earlobe as you whined, his teeth gentle, teasing. “This all for me?”
“Jake,” you managed to gasp, not really a yes, not a no—just need. Hazy, hot need.
He kissed you again, slower now, fingers still working with precision as the pressure inside you built. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips coming away with the breathlessness of the words, his split lip brushing yours between words and puffs of air. “Not goin’ anywhere.”
The rhythm he found was steady, circling just maddeningly right. You were close to the edge of oblivion when his fingers dipped down to press and curl inside of you with absolute, blissful perfection.
His fingers had only curled three times, each hitting a spot that showed you the vastness of the universe, when you shattered against him with a strangled cry, biting into his shoulder through his shirt as your orgasm rolled through you—intense, unraveling, a flashfire from the inside out. You clenched around his fingers, and he groaned as if he were imagining what you would feel like, tight around his cock.
Jake held you the whole way through the shuddered pleasure, eking out a smaller wave of pleasure just as you were sure the first one had drained out of you.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t ask for anything in return. Just eased you down, out of the haze, coaxing the astronaut back to earth. His hand stroked up your back, grazed the back of your neck, soft, reassuring.
When his fingers slid out of you and he adjusted your clothes carefully, your body sagged against his, boneless, flushed and dazed, the high of the pleasure still buzzing in your head. You pressed your warmed forehead to his collarbone, eyes closed, breath still shaky.
You felt him nuzzle into the hair at your temple, plant a light kiss there. “You okay?”
You nodded, then paused as you shifted and felt him. You sat up, eying the hardline under you, the unmistakable strain against the seam of his jeans, a growing, darkened wet spot evidence enough for you to know. “You didn’t…?”
Jake chuckled, low and rough. Swallowed hard before adjusting himself. “I told you. Wasn’t about that. Didn’t need to. Wasn’t the point.”
You lifted your eyes to his in the dimness, blinked at him. You could feel your slickness, feel a pulse of want still there between your legs. “Do you want me to—?”
He was shaking his head before you could finish. “No—I mean, I do—”
He must have caught the look on your face because his thumb was stroking your cheek in half-mooned patterns. When he met your eyes, his gaze was steady, though you thought you felt his hand against your hip tremble slightly.
“Tonight was about you. You needed to feel safe, wanted, cared for.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “And I wanted to be the one to give you that.”
