Dempy

Hangman slut 21 yrs

[myladybelle]

whatever drives you wild, honey

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader summary: your enemies-with-benefits deal with jake is simple: fight, fuck, pretend it never happened. until one bad day in the air makes you call it quits, and hangman starts acting different. now you’re stuck figuring out who he actually is, and realising you never hated hangman at all. you just didn’t know him yet. tags: enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits (?) to lovers warning(s): reader drinks alcohol, reader only hooks up with hangman while tipsy, swearing word count: 10.1k note: i feel like this was inevitable ever since i posted my rooster fic in october. this wip has been bothering me for a month and i finally locked in after finally watching glen powell’s snl episode. i hope you enjoy!! 🍯💛

masterlist

You woke up perfectly warm.

That was the first sign that something was wrong. For a few long seconds, you stayed still, eyes closed, brain suspiciously quiet.

Comfort wasn’t part of your morning routine. This was different; no jet engines, no early calls, just the steady rhythm of someone breathing behind you.

You turned your head a fraction, glancing over your shoulder.

Jake Seresin’s arm was slung over your waist, heavy and warm. His chest rose and fell against your back, legs tangled with yours. 

Fuck. You really needed to stop drinking tequila.

Your mind caught up in stages. Last night at the Hard Deck, you had told Phoenix you were definitely not going home with anyone. Then, you had told yourself you were definitely not doing this again. And lastly, you had told Hangman, well, whatever it was that led him between your sheets. 

Again.

He never stayed the night. That was one of the two rules you had, the other being that you never ever acknowledged what you were doing. It kept your confusing cycle of getting drunk, fighting, and hate-fucking private from the inevitable judgment of your squadron. 

Yet here he was, evidently not gone. 

You lay there, very still, while irritation travelled up your spine. Of course, Hangman had to stay the one morning you needed him gone. His breathing was obnoxiously relaxed.

You shifted, and his grip tightened around you.

“Morning, honey,” Hangman mumbled against your shoulder, voice rough with sleep. His Texan accent was thicker in the morning, heavy like molasses.

Your eyes shut on instinct. Hangman’s morning voice was unfairly sexy, even as he used the condescending nickname he’d given you when you met. 

“Get out,” you snapped, no patience for civility. “We don’t do sleepovers. You were supposed to be gone by now.”

“Funny,” he hummed, kissing the bare skin of your shoulder far too casually. “You didn’t sound this mad when you were begging for me last night.”

Classic Hangman. You should have known he’d be petty first thing in the morning.

You pushed his arm off and sat up, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. “You need to go. Phoenix will be here any minute.”

“Phoenix already knows I sleep naked,” he said easily. “She’ll survive.”

“Hangman,” you warned. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He said it with that lazy drawl that meant he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

You climbed out of bed, grabbed the clothes on the floor, and tossed his service khakis at his chest. “Up! Clothes, now.”

Hangman caught them one-handed without sitting up. “Sweetheart, if you didn’t want me here, you wouldn’t have picked a fight with me last night.”

“You’re easy,” you scoffed. “That’s not my problem. And I was drunk.”

“You weren’t that drunk. You knew exactly who you were dragging home.”

“I made a bad decision after three drinks. You were sober. You knew not to overstay your welcome.”

Hangman laughed under his breath. “Don’t act like I’ve lost my mind. You can’t keep your hands off me.”

You bristled. “Don’t worry, this is the last time you need to worry about my hands being on you.”

“I’m not worried,” he murmured, eyes dragging down your body leisurely. “I know I won’t have to wait much longer.”

“I mean it, Hangman.”

He looked at you like you’d just said you were moving to Mars. “Sure you do. You’ll mean it next time, too.”

Annoyance flickered hot under your ribs. The worst part was that Hangman wasn’t entirely wrong, and that always made him intolerable. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of giving in.

“Screw you,” you shot back. “It’s never happening again.”

Hangman pushed up on his elbows, watching you with sharp, alert eyes. The shift of muscle in his biceps hit your stomach before you could ignore it. 

“Course it is,” Hangman said. “You always say the same thing. It’s cute; you pretending you don’t give me fuck-me eyes as soon as everyone’s gone.”

He moved slowly, like he was humouring you, and stepped out of the sheets. He was, regrettably, a glorious sight: all lean planes and long lines, muscles pulling tight under golden skin as he stretched. Every flex was a reminder of exactly how he’d used that strength to his advantage last night.

His mouth curved, his grin dangerous and knowing. “You always get real serious when you’re lyin’ to yourself,” Hangman added, smug as all hell. 

“Oh, please,” you snapped. “If I’m lying, you’re delusional. You strut around base like you’re God’s gift to naval aviation when most of the time you run on sheer dumb luck.”

Hangman’s jaw tightened. “Right. And you’re, what? The poster girl for righteous indignation? You start a fight with me every time you see me.”

“You think everything’s about you,” you said. “Typical.”

He closed the space between you in three steps, one hand cupping the back of your head.

“You really think this is the last time, honey?” Hangman murmured.

You should’ve pushed him away. You meant to push him away. Instead, you pulled him closer the second he pressed his lips to yours.

Hangman kissed you as if he were making a counterargument.

It was deliciously familiar: his lips expertly weakening your knees, his thumb sliding over your jaw. You hated the way your body answered before your mind did. Your hands were already on his shoulders, your mouth already opening against his.

He angled his head, chased your mouth, swallowed the tiny sound you made.

You broke away, breath unsteady. “You need to go,” you said, glancing at your alarm clock. “Phoenix is almost here.”

That earned you a slow, smug curl of his mouth. “Sure, Bee,” Hangman drawled. It was almost impressive how he made every nickname of yours sound patronising—even your callsign. “Whatever you say.”

He started dressing piece by piece, pulling on a tank top and then his trousers. He wasn’t touching you, but your body reacted like he was kissing his way down your neck. 

It didn’t matter how good the sex was. Or how Hangman looked right now. He was a bad habit, and you sure as hell weren’t going to let this happen again. Eventually, one of you was going to crash and burn, and it wouldn’t be you.

“See you at briefing,” you managed once he was dressed.

Hangman smirked, taking one last chance to sweep his gaze across your kiss-bitten lips. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

When he was gone, you exhaled hard.

New rules: no more tequila, no more Hangman, no more mistakes.

You walked into morning briefing with Phoenix thirty minutes later, pretending you hadn’t just made out with your sworn rival.

Hangman was already in his seat, leaning back like he owned the place. He caught your eye and smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes and sat beside Rooster, because getting caught punching Hangman by your superior officer was frowned upon.

“Alright, today we’re running three-versus-one drills,” Maverick declared once everyone arrived. “Let’s see how many of you can work together to take me down.”

Cue the disgruntled groans. Fanboy mimed slamming his head against the table.

“You’ll be running mixed teams,” Maverick continued, ignoring your dramatics. “Team leaders have been selected for the day. First up,” he checked the clipboard, “Is Bee.”

The room looked at you in unison, nodding in collective respect. You were the only person in the room who could cut through everyone’s nonsense and get them pointed in the same direction without sounding like a drill sergeant or a babysitter. 

With you in charge, they flew cleaner, faster, and better.

That moment of silent affirmation was immediately shattered by a much louder complaint from Hangman.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said, chortling. “Honey Bee?”

You rolled your eyes. “You should really work on your jealousy. It’s not very professional.”

“I’m not jealous,” Hangman fired back immediately. “I just think the team leaders shouldn’t be slow, overcautious, and afraid of a little risk.”

Phoenix kicked the back of his chair without glancing up from her pre-flight notes. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not in charge, Bagman.”

Maverick ignored all of you. “Bee, your team is Hangman, Phoenix, and Bob.”

The groans that rose from your side of the room were perfectly synchronised.

You slumped a fraction in your seat. Across from you, the light visibly faded from Bob’s eyes. Phoenix didn’t bother masking her irritation; she just kicked Hangman’s chair again, harder this time.

Beside you, Rooster whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”

“Prayers aren’t enough,” Bob said, shaking his head in resignation. 

Hangman smirked and tapped his pen on his desk. “Can’t wait.”

You resisted the urge to throw your binder at his head.

In the air, Phoenix tightened the formation around you without question, sliding neatly into place. Her and Bob’s trust in you was bone-deep. 

Hangman, on the other hand, never enjoyed taking orders from you.

“Team Leader, requesting permission to actually use my aircraft instead of admiring the scenery,” he drawled.

You smiled. “Permission denied. Stay on my wing.”

“You really get off on saying that, don’t you?”

“Only because it annoys you.”

Hangman huffed. “One day you’re gonna admit you like flying with me.”

“One day you’ll stop talking,” you replied sweetly. “And then I will actually like flying with you.”

Maverick’s voice sounded through the comms. “Team One, I hope you’re paying attention,” he said. 

Your breath sank low in your chest. It was easy to slide into the clean, dependable part of your brain that always focused when you were in the air.

“All right,” you said calmly. “Phoenix, left side containment. Bob, keep your eyes on the radar. Tell me the second you see Maverick. Hangman—”

“Let me guess,” he interrupted. “I’m the watchdog?”

You scoffed. “If I wanted a watchdog, I’d get one that barked on command, not whenever he feels like it. You’re right-flank aggression. Don’t you dare take that as permission to—”

Hangman launched himself forward like a missile. “Right flank engaged,” he announced.

“Hangman!” Phoenix barked. “You asshole!”

You gritted your teeth so hard your jaw clicked. “Hangman, return to formation. Now.”

He made a low, playful hum. “Oh, Honey Bee. Your whole thing is patience. Let me be the excitement.”

“Your thing is getting everyone else killed,” you shot back. “Return to formation. That’s an order, Hangman.”

Maverick dove at you out of the sun. You rolled left, Phoenix sliding under you, the two of you syncing with the kind of ease that only months of practice could build.

“Sloppy,” Maverick observed. “Bee, you’ve got Phoenix covered, but you’re flying without a wingman.”

“Only because someone’s allergic to teamwork,” Phoenix quipped.

You steadied your breathing. “Hangman, tighten up. You’re leaving too big of a gap.”

Bob chimed in, gentle as always, “He’s coming around again—two o’clock, descending.”

You saw it cleanly: Maverick’s angle, his speed, that little off-kilter move he did to tempt you into lunging. But you’d practised this scenario before, and you were ready to face him.

“Phoenix, pinch him left,” you ordered.

“On it.”

“Bob, let’s get a lock on him.”

“Copy.”

You dipped low—just enough to look exposed and make Maverick think you’d gotten overeager. It worked. You tracked the tiny twitch in his angle, the micro-shift he always made when he thought he saw an opening.

Hangman chimed, “Careful, Bee. You’re pushing too close.”

Of course, he’d say that. King Reckless himself warning you about boundaries? You didn’t dignify it with a reply.

You just pressed the advantage, rolling smoothly back toward Maverick’s tail. 

“Come on, Bob,” you said, eyes locked on Maverick’s plane. “Give me tone.”

Phoenix shifted into position, and you knew Bob would be able to get you a tone with that clear line to Maverick. You nudged the nose of your jet another degree. Almost there. Almost—

You exhaled, ready for that sweet hit, when everything went to hell.

Hangman shot through Bob’s line without any consideration for all the work you’d put in, engines screaming loud enough to rattle your teeth.

“I got him!” he shouted.

You watched in a moment of awful, slow-motion clarity as Hangman blocked Bob’s perfect shot. Without a wingman to help you and without Bob getting a lock on Maverick, you were doomed.

“Hangman, don’t—”

The high-pitched squeal of Maverick getting a lock on you rang throughout your plane—a final, devastating blow. Maverick had slipped beneath Hangman with a single elegant roll, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment of idiocy. 

You were a sitting duck after playing bait.

“That’s a fail,” Maverick said happily, like he hadn’t crushed your soul. “Team One, you’re dead. Sorry, Bee. It would’ve worked if your entire team had followed your lead. Team Two, suit up.”

You sat in stunned silence for a beat, breathing hard as fury made your pulse spike. 

You had him. You had sacrificed yourself to give Phoenix and Bob the perfect shot, and you lost just because of Hangman’s typical self-interest.

This was why you couldn’t stand Hangman.

The flight back to the hangar was suffocating in its silence. Your jaw locked so tightly your molars ached. You weren’t sure which made you angrier: what Hangman just did in the air, or the knowledge that you’d let him put his mouth on yours that morning.

By the time you landed, your heart was pounding, your breath clipped and shallow. You tore your helmet off so fast that the chin strap scraped your jaw. You didn’t even wait for the ladder to settle before swinging a leg out, boots hitting the metal rungs with sharp, angry clanks.

You saw Hangman descending his own ladder with that maddeningly casual confidence. He didn’t seem to think he’d just blown your chance to finally best Maverick, but that wasn’t anything new.

Bob offered you a sympathetic wince before putting distance between himself and whatever volcanic event you were about to become. You just moved, boots hitting the ground with determined strides as you marched toward Hangman.

The second he spotted you, that infuriating smirk began to form. You didn’t give him the chance to finish it.

“You asshole—” you screeched, shoving Hangman so hard he toppled backwards.

“Woah, woah, woah!”

“Bee, chill!”

Rooster and Payback each caught an arm as they passed, steering you away. They were already headed out for their turn in the exercise, and the last thing they wanted was you getting written up—even if Hangman had it coming.

Bob reluctantly helped Hangman up.

“I can’t believe you—” you began, chest still heaving from anger.

“I almost had him,” Hangman interrupted, maddeningly calm.

“You sabotaged us! You flew directly into Bob’s shot!” You jabbed a finger at him, heat prickling across your face. “You just had to make it about you.”

He smirked. “It’s always about me.”

“Not when I’m in charge,” you corrected. “And not during a team exercise.”

“I was helping.”

“Yeah, helping Maverick kill me!” you snapped, your voice cracking upward into a pitch that made Rooster flinch beside you. “You undermined the chain of command,” you said. “You ignored formation. You showboated. You risked everything—”

“Look, you had a nice little plan going,” Hangman allowed. His gaze flicked to Rooster’s hand still around your arm before he dragged his attention back to you. “But if you hadn’t been crawling like you were driving your grandma to Sunday brunch earlier—”

“Do you seriously think you can blame me for this?” You stepped forward, and Rooster’s fingers tightened instinctively to keep you from closing the distance. “I played the bait, I had Maverick hooked!”

“And I had a better shot.”

You barked out a laugh so sharp it made Hangman’s shoulders tense. “Apparently, you’re delusional as well as a selfish bastard.”

“You’re welcome for trying to get us a win.”

“Us? Us?!” You yanked your arm free from Rooster, giving Hangman’s shoulders another shove. 

It made your skin crawl that you’d had him this close only hours ago. 

You laughed incredulously. “You threw the entire drill because you can’t stand someone else getting a hit first! It doesn’t matter who gets a lock on Maverick, but it does matter that you fucked it up for everyone else!”

Phoenix saved you. “Okay, let’s go hit the showers,” she said, ushering you off the tarmac. 

You let her guide you a few steps, your pulse still hammering in your throat. You turned to see Hangman raise his chin, already bracing for another round.

“You know what your problem is?” you said. “You’re terrified that if you’re not the one who gets the win, no one will bother noticing you at all. All that bravado,” you flicked a hand dismissively at Hangman, “is just you trying to outrun the idea that you’re only as good as your last solo victory. And God forbid anyone else shine for half a second.”

Hangman’s posture twitched just enough for you to notice.

“So do us all a favour,” you finished. “If you don’t want to be part of this team, put in for a transfer. At least then we won’t have to worry about you getting us killed on a real mission.”

Phoenix’s hand landed between your shoulder blades. “Bee,” she warned quietly.

Hangman exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so sharp. “Funny,” he said, his voice matching your cutting tone. “For someone who’s so damn sure she knows how to lead, you crumble the second anyone challenges you. That’s the real reason you’ll never be team leader outside of a simulation.”

His words punched harder than you expected. Not because they were true, but because he’d designed them to hurt you.

Phoenix tugged you away firmly this time, steering you off the tarmac before you could keep the argument going.

“You’re a saint for not killing him,” she muttered under her breath.

You hummed noncommittally, trying to ignore the sick twist in your stomach. 

Last night you’d had your hands in his hair, tugging him closer. Today, you’d used them to push him hard enough to lose balance. You hated being stuck in this cycle.

By the time the squad hit the Hard Deck that night, the teasing had already started.

“Here we go,” Harvard said, elbowing Yale. “Bee and Hangman. Round… whatever this is. Are we counting by years or fights?”

Coyote grinned. “I’m losing track. We should make it a drinking game. Every time they say something hurtful, take a shot. No, wait—every time there’s a physical altercation, take two shots.”

You exhaled and leaned against the rail. Everyone assumed you and Hangman would fall into the usual routine: fight, make some sarcastic quip, get aggressive, and argue until everyone went home. 

Little did they know what you used to do after all that noise.

The squadron kept teasing you, even though you’d already decided you were done with anything that involved Jake Seresin.

“Sober Bee,” Bob said, passing you the Coke you’d ordered. “I approve.”

“Thanks,” you said, accepting the glass. “I’m done getting tipsy and letting Hangman bait me into an argument.”

Bob grinned and raised his own Coke. “I admire your commitment.”

Fanboy overheard and groaned loud enough for half the bar to look over. “Sober Bee? Guess we’re starved for entertainment tonight.”

“Truly the end times,” Fritz said dramatically. 

Phoenix didn’t look up as she lined up a shot on the pool table. “Calm down, boys. It’s not like she gets drunk every week,” she defended you. 

Rooster smirked. “She’s only sober because she almost bagged Maverick today and wants to remember the glory in crystal clarity,” he said, pulling you into a side-hug so tight you almost spilt your drink.

“Your team almost had a kill shot,” Halo said, pointing at you like you were a celebrity. “If Maverick had been one second slower—”

You held up a hand. “Alright, children, let’s not rewrite the story. We didn’t bag Maverick. He Houdini’d out of our trap like he always does.”

“Yeah, but you rattled him,” Payback said, grinning proudly. “He seemed proud.”

The table erupted in agreement.

Halo gave you a look. “Face it, Bee. You’ve been flying better than all of us ever since the squadron became permanent. You’re the only one who can stay calm up against Maverick.”

“Unsettlingly calm,” Bob confirmed, nodding sagely. 

You chuckled. “Calm is good, Bob. Calm means no one ends the night with a black eye.”

“Hangman ends every night with a black eye,” Phoenix said. “Emotionally speaking.”

That earned her a round of delighted laughter.

Rooster tilted his head, conspiratorial. “Speaking of Hangman, he’s watching you.”

Coyote grinned. “He’s malfunctioning. Doesn’t know what to do when Bee isn’t screaming at him.”

You rolled your eyes at their dramatics. “I’m choosing peace from now on,” you declared. “If that means I don’t have to talk to his arrogant ass tonight, then I call that a win.”

Your squadron’s laughter, their drunken banter, and Hangman’s sidelong glances were background noise for the rest of the night. 

That is, until Bob ducked away toward the bathroom. Because who else would slide into the vacant space but the devil himself?

Hangman leaned one elbow on the rail, posture loose in that unbothered manner he’d perfected. 

“You’re behaving tonight,” he said, voice low and amused. “Should I be worried? It’s getting late. If you’re planning to start something, now’s your window.”

You held up your glass. “Sorry to disappoint. No hostile takeover scheduled.”

Hangman blinked at your Coke. “You’re sober?”

“Tragically.”

“Really?” He looked you over, slow and assessing. It infuriated you that it still made your spine tingle. “I mean, it’s not like you’re drunk all the time. But I thought after today…” You raised an eyebrow. “I just mean you aren’t usually glued to Bob all night long.”

“It’s called having a conversation,” you said. “You should try it sometime.”

His mouth curved. “I don’t do ‘conversation.’ I’m more of a hands-on communicator.”

And there it was—subtext thick enough to choke on. Heat shot low in your abdomen, annoying and immediate. You straightened your spine like that would shove the feeling back down where it belonged. 

You were frustrated at the effect Hangman’s words had on your body, and infuriated that he had noticed it. 

“Well,” you said sharply, “good thing I’m off duty. No ‘hands-on’ anything. No more… whatever this was.”

Hangman’s brows lifted in amusement. “Sure,” he said lightly. “We’re doing the whole ‘pretend to fight because people are around’ routine.”

“Hangman, I’m not pretending.” You heard the sharpness in your own voice. “We argue because we never agree on how to do our jobs. Not because other people are around.”

Hangman’s smirk faltered. “Come on, honey,” he murmured. “You’re still mad about this morning? You wanted to win your way, and I wanted to win the right way.”

“‘The right way’?” You gave a short, bitter laugh. “You tanked a team drill because you needed to be the hero.” 

“That’s not what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened.”

Hangman leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost your cheek. “You think you’re the only tactician in that cockpit?”

“No,” you said, “but I was the team leader, and ignoring me made you a liability. When you’re a bad teammate, you’re a bad pilot.”

You knew that would hit its mark. 

Hangman’s shoulders tensed; his jaw flexed hard. His eyes darted to your Coke again, like he wished you were tipsy so he could recognise this behaviour as foreplay. But you weren’t drinking, and you weren’t starting a fight just to tear his clothes off later.

“So that’s it?” he asked, brows pulled together in mild confusion. “You’re done?”

“I told you this morning it was the last time,” you reminded him. “I meant it.”

“Thought it was just post-sleepover dramatics,” Hangman admitted.

Something flickered behind his green eyes; the memory of your warm hands on his shoulders and in his hair last night. You refused to acknowledge any of it.

He huffed out a laugh, but it came out thin. “So this is it?”

“Yes.”

“And this isn’t a cooling-off period?”

“Nope.”

Hangman stood there, letting the silence stretch. His eyes kept drifting to your mouth in quick, guilty flicks he clearly didn’t mean to give away. You accidentally mirrored the movement before catching yourself. 

Nope. Not happening.

Hangman’s voice dropped low enough that you felt it in your ribs. “So we burn the whole thing down and walk away?”

“What’s there to burn?” you asked. “We don’t even like each other.”

His laugh was sharp and humourless. “Never said we did.”

“Exactly. I’m tired of waking up feeling like an idiot.”

Hangman nodded once, too sharply. “Right.”

Then he pivoted on his heel, swagger switched back on, and headed toward the bar to flirt with the nearest warm body. 

Bob returned a moment later, cheerful and oblivious. “Hey, I think I’m done for the night. Did you want a ride home?”

You nodded, chugging the rest of your Coke. “Yeah, I’m definitely done.”

The change didn’t happen overnight. It was more of a slow radio static you kept trying to tune out until it got too loud to ignore.

A couple of days later, during morning drills, Hangman missed an opening so obvious it was practically outlined in neon. 

He was flying at Rooster’s five, perfectly positioned to take the clean shot Maverick had left open as bait, but he surprised everyone. Instead of swan-diving into the shot with that infuriating confidence, Hangman waited.

He just stayed there, keeping an eye on Maverick long enough for Payback to slip in and tag the target.

“Uh—thanks?” Payback said, confused.

Hangman just nodded. No bragging, no gloating, not even a sarcastic salute in your direction acknowledging his teamwork. Nothing. 

You felt a prickle on the back of your neck, but it was too early to understand what was wrong.

It wasn’t just the lack of gloating. Hangman was almost silent over the comms. And, fine, maybe you looked at him a half-second longer than necessary, purely because you were waiting for the punchline. He didn’t deliver one, and that alone was unsettling.

By the time you landed, you thought you’d imagined it.

But the next few days didn’t snap him back to normal. If anything, the errors got stranger. Hangman was a beat too slow here, hesitated awkwardly there. Twice, he overshot an angle he could’ve flown in his sleep. Another time, he clipped a pass so wide that Phoenix muttered about checking him for head injuries.

You noticed the other things no one else would’ve clocked, like the way his fidgeting changed. Most of the time, Hangman was all effortless swagger, fingers tapping on the table. Now his tells were silent: tight little flexes of his gloved hand, averted eyes.

Day five made it impossible to brush off.

You were halfway through a dogfighting sequence when Hangman chose the defensive angle over a ballsy opportunity he’d never ignore. His flying style was starting to resemble yours, one he often made fun of you for adopting.

You felt the disruption before you really understood it. Your instincts were reacting as they always did when Hangman was about to barrel through a gap, and you’d already adjusted your angle to make room for him. 

But Hangman didn’t take the risk, so you lost the positional advantage you’d built. Maverick slipped out of your trap and tagged Phoenix before she could blink.

On the tarmac, Phoenix stared at the sky in shock. “What the hell was that?”

Hangman pulled off his own helmet. “Didn’t want to compromise the team’s spacing.”

You and Phoenix exchanged a look that said Who is this man, and what has he done with Hangman?

But Hangman wasn’t being entirely unlike himself. He still muttered at Phoenix under his breath. He still rolled his eyes when Rooster was being overdramatic. He even smirked at you once, but it came out wrong, like his mouth had forgotten the shape of it.

You knew what Hangman’s real smirk looked like. You’d seen it on nights you pushed him far enough to end up in your bed, and you’d felt the shape of it against your neck. 

This one wasn’t it.

The next time the squadron hit the Hard Deck, you didn’t talk to him. You hadn’t interacted much since you decided to stop hooking up. There wasn’t a need for it; you weren’t friends, and you’d never tried to get to know each other.

By week two, the whole squad was convinced he had a virus of some kind.

You were running a tight-knit combat simulation when Hangman raised his hand during planning. “Maybe we keep Rooster on high cover,” he suggested. “Safer for the team that way.”

The entire room turned to look at him.

Fanboy began muttering, “He’s sick. He has to be.”

Rooster just stared at Hangman like he was possessed.

You were waiting for Hangman to throw a jab at you, bait you into arguing, or make some snide crack about your flight speed. But he never looked at you long enough for you to register anything on his face, so you had no idea what he was thinking.

After the simulation, the team regrouped on the tarmac. 

“Does anyone else think Hangman’s been replaced by an alien?” Fritz asked quietly.

Harvard sighed. “I miss when he was insufferable.”

You just sipped water and watched Hangman, who stood out of earshot, double-checking a checklist you know he’d memorised back in flight school. 

The picture of responsibility; the antithesis of Hangman.

He wasn’t doing anything, but that was the problem. Hangman’s worst qualities made him a pain in your ass, but his best qualities kept the team sharp. He was the idiot who risked someone else getting hit so he could make a clean shot.

You’d never realised how much of your own flying relied on reacting to Hangman—dodging his chaos, anticipating his arrogance. 

Without Hangman flying the way he always did, the team was failing. The little mistakes and miscommunications were starting to add up.

In week three, after a messy practice that would’ve gotten you all grounded if Cyclone had been watching, Rooster finally snapped.

“Okay,” he exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward Hangman, “what is going on with you?”

Hangman barely shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Phoenix muttered.

Bob elbowed her, reminding her to keep things light. “We’re just a little confused,” he said. “You’re not flying like yourself.”

You stood there, helmet under your arm, watching Hangman stare at the ground. His shoulders were strong as ever, but the set of them was too careful.

Your chest tightened. It wasn’t your problem, and you didn’t owe Hangman anything, but it was throwing everyone off. Even as you tried to shut it out, you couldn’t avoid the fact that the once well-oiled machine of your squadron was misfiring.

When Hangman finally looked up, his eyes flicked to you once before skittering away.

Phoenix pulled you aside and said what everyone had been tiptoeing around. “You need to talk to him.”

You frowned. “Why me?”

“Because you’re good at this,” she insisted. “You’re the one who fixes people when they’re screwing up. You did it for me at Top Gun, and you did it for Rooster last year before the Uranium mission.”

“Hangman and I don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter if you two fight every time you breathe in the same direction,” Phoenix cut in. “Someone has to get him back on track, and you’re the only person on the team he actually respects as a pilot.”

You knew she was right. Hangman was a crucial member of the team, and the team was falling apart. Unfortunately, you happened to be their glue.

Perfect. A heart-to-heart with the man you’d been avoiding for the last three weeks. What could go wrong?

You barely lasted ten minutes before approaching him. As you walked beside him after debrief, matching his pace, Hangman kept his eyes on the ground. 

Every step toward him was a battle with your frustration. Despite everything, you couldn’t let Hangman spiral. You had to be the Bee the team relied on, not the one who remembered all your reckless spats.

“Hangman,” you finally said, because someone had to say something.

Nothing. Hangman just blinked and kept walking.

You knew that slow and deliberate expression, the one he used when he was thinking too fast and trying not to show it. Only you had the dictionary of Hangman’s moves, the little provocations and glances nobody else ever endured.

Fine. You could be rude, too.

“You’re flying weird,” you declared bluntly.

Hangman exhaled. Not annoyed, more like he’d been waiting for you to bring it up so he didn’t have to. “I’m flying safe,” he corrected you.

“That’s the problem.”

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk that never fully formed. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I don’t appreciate you switching up the entire rhythm of the team without warning,” you said. “Nobody knows how to fly around you right now. Do you think that’s helping?”

Hangman didn’t answer. He just kept walking, boots scuffing against concrete, hands tight at his sides instead of swinging with that usual swagger. 

After ten paces of silence, Hangman spoke. “I don’t like the idea that my role on the team is to get people killed.”

You stopped walking. 

Hangman got a few steps ahead before he realised you weren’t beside him anymore. When he turned, his face was pinched.

You hated how much it mattered to you; how unwilling you were to let him falter, even if he’d never done the same for you.

“That’s not your job,” you said quietly.

Hangman tilted his head. “You’d know, right? Since you’ve always had such strong opinions about how I fly.”

“You make it very easy to have opinions,” you snapped.

He stepped closer, a little too casually. “Are you watching me that closely?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Didn’t say you liked what you saw.”

You glared. “For once in your life, can you not make this about your ego?”

“Is that what you think this is?” Hangman asked. His voice was calm and practised.

Your chest tightened.

“Tell me,” you said carefully, “What’s going on?”

He huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I’m the one who takes the shots no one else can; the one who pulls the moves that’d get most people into trouble; the one who—” Hangman cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I don’t like that the only reason I’m useful to the Navy is that I’m willing to risk your lives.”

Something twisted behind your ribs. You’d said versions of that to Hangman’s face several times since you first met. You’d judged him for it, rolled your eyes at it, built half your rivalry on the assumption that he was a self-centred showboat with no concern for others.

It hadn’t occurred to you that he’d actually thought about the cost.

Suddenly, it felt like you’d been picking a fight with someone who’d already been bleeding.

Hangman scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “So I’m trying something different.”

“And it’s making the team fly worse,” you added, softer than you intended.

“Can’t win, can I?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You closed the distance. Hangman’s shoulders were tense, his posture tight.

“Hangman,” you said, and you hated the way your voice gentled automatically. “Being reckless isn’t the same thing as being careless.”

He blinked at you. It was the same look he used to give you at the Hard Deck, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to argue with you or pin you against the wall. 

“You fly instinctively,” you continued. “Aggressively. Sharply. Sometimes stupidly, yes, but you take the crazy shot so the rest of us don’t have to. That doesn’t make you a liability. It makes you important.”

His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

The air between you tightened in that annoying, hot way that made you acutely aware of the two weeks of silence and the history that came before it.

“Look,” you said, shoving the feeling aside, “you don’t have to calculate risks and think of what’s best for the team. That’s my job.”

Hangman’s head tilted. “Then what’s mine?”

You hesitated. “You’re the wildcard. You take the stupid shot, so the rest of us get the safer one. You’re still a pain in my ass,” you added, because you were well past lying to him. “None of this should give you a big head.”

Hangman chuckled. “Too late.” 

It tugged at something annoyingly low in your stomach, the same part that was overly aware that Hangman knew exactly how far he could push without hurting you. 

You exhaled. “Whatever this is,” you gestured vaguely at Hangman, “you need to knock it off. The team needs you to be you. No matter how much that seems to clash with me being me.”

Hangman didn’t answer at first. He just watched you, expression unreadable. But for the first time in weeks, he didn’t look away.

Finally, he nodded. “Alright,” he said.

You turned before he could see the way your conversation had rearranged every label you had on him.

Great, now you respected Hangman. The thought made you shiver in discomfort.

You walked toward the locker rooms, muttering “Idiot,” under your breath.

Behind you, you heard him reply, “Control freak.”

At least some things never changed.

You were pleasantly surprised that your conversation with Hangman actually made a difference. A few days later, he was flying like himself again: sharp, ballsy, and irritatingly confident—but less prone to throwing others under the bus to get his perfect shot. 

The team’s rhythm snapped back into place with the same neat click as a helmet visor locking.

There was one difference, though: you and Hangman weren’t fighting.

Sure, you still made comments under your breath, berating and cursing him. He still smirked when you screwed up the simulation timing by half a second. You still gave each other looks that said I could push your buttons if I wanted to, and you know I could.

But you never did.

Every time one of those almost-fights hovered between you, there was a strange little beat you didn’t know how to fill. Usually, you would’ve thrown a jab, or Hangman would’ve rolled his eyes. Now you both just looked away.

You pretended you weren’t thinking about it.

Maverick wanted you early to help set up for a multi-ship coordination drill, which meant deciphering his handwriting and loading flight paths before the others arrived.

When you rounded the corner of the hangar, you paused. Hangman was in the hangar beside his jet, too busy working to even notice you.

The side panel of his jet was open, one of his hands braced against the metal frame as the other tightened something inside the wiring. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, a smear of grease on his forearm, mouth set in concentration. 

Watching him like that made you feel like you’d stumbled onto something private. 

“Wow,” you said. “You’re doing manual labour? What’s next, hell freezing over?”

Hangman just glanced back, gave you an unimpressed once-over, and returned to the wiring. “Morning to you, too, Honey Bee.” 

You stepped closer before you realised it, drawn in by his quiet focus. “What are you doing?” 

He ignored your question, “Hand me the wrench.”

You blinked. “You’re trusting me with tools?”

“Trusting you to pass them to me,” he corrected. “Not use them.”

You found the wrench on the cart and gave it to him. Your fingers brushed, but neither of you acknowledged it. Hangman tightened something with clean, practised movements.

“Just some quick adjustments and tightening,” he said. “Saves the mechanics a few minutes.”

You stared. “Do you do this often?”

“Whenever I can spare a minute.” Hangman shrugged. “If something feels off in the air, I want to know I didn’t ignore it on the ground.”

You hadn’t expected that from him.

“That…” You hesitated. “…sounds like something I’d say.”

Hangman paused for half a second. Then he cleared his throat and kept tightening the bolt. You didn’t see the faint grin he tried to smother as he angled his face toward the jet.

He snapped the panel shut, wiped his hands on a rag, and turned to you. “You’re here early. Maverick rope you into cone duty?”

“He needs someone who can read the runes he calls handwriting,” you said. “Apparently it’s me.”

Hangman snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You nodded, then added, “I’m convinced it’s going to get the Navy in legal trouble one day.”

He cracked a genuine smile at that. You felt something in your chest unclench in relief. Hangman wasn’t quite back to normal with you, but at least he looked more like himself.

“So, you’re an unofficial mechanic now?” you asked.

“Only for the boring stuff.” He shook out his hand, though it looked suspiciously like he was shaking off nerves. “And before you say it, I’m not doing it to impress anyone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I know. If you were trying to impress someone, you’d be doing it shirtless.”

Hangman made a face. “It’s six in the morning.”

“Never stopped you before.”

You both chuckled. Yours fading a little quicker, Hangman’s dragged half a beat longer. The lack of unity made that extra moment stretch awkwardly.

You were both acutely aware of how new laughing without menace was for you both. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever had a conversation with Hangman that didn’t end with someone storming off or tossing insults like grenades. 

“So,” he said, tilting his head, studying you with that too-familiar focus. “Why’d Maverick need you early?”

“He likes to make me suffer,” you said. “It’s character building.”

Hangman scoffed. “You don’t need more character. You’re already annoying enough.”

His words didn’t land with their usual edge. Instead, he looked strangely friendly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to tease you gently yet.

“Says the man who colour-codes his clothes,” you shot back.

“I do not—”

You raised one eyebrow.

“…fine,” he muttered. “Once.”

“You mean you only got caught once.”

“By you,” he said.

You laughed, surprised because it wasn’t the you’re-an-idiot you usually aimed at him. You couldn’t remember the last time someone made you laugh like that, and you definitely hadn’t expected it to be Hangman.

He looked away, but not quickly enough to hide the fact that he was laughing too, like he couldn’t help himself.

You started heading towards Maverick’s office together. 

“Honestly, I’m happy to be early,” you admitted. “Gets me out of 5am pickleball practice.”

Hangman groaned. “Don’t say pickleball to me. Coyote’s trying to recruit me like it’s a cult.”

“It is a cult,” you agreed vehemently. “If one more person asks me to ‘just try a game,’ I’m joining the Air Force.”

He smirked. “So we’re hiding out in the hangar until the cult loses interest?”

“That’s the plan.”

Hangman watched you with mild amusement, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “Weird,” he said.

“What is?”

“Talking to you without you threatening to throw me off the carrier.”

You fought a smile. “I still might.”

“Good,” he said. “I was worried you might’ve gone soft.”

“You just admitted that you worry about me,” you pointed out, smug. “At this rate, I should be exhausted from how often I’m running through your mind.” 

Hangman huffed a laugh at your comeback, shaking his head. 

“Seriously, Hangman,” you went on. “Rent-free. Have some shame.”

“That sounds exactly like something my little sister would’ve said to piss me off growing up.”

You blinked. “Weird. Didn’t think I’d have anything in common with anyone in the Seresin gene pool.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “My sisters don’t let me get away with anything, and they definitely don’t take my shit.”

“You have sisters?”

“Both younger and a lot smarter than me.”

“That tracks.”

Hangman nudged your shoulder with his. “What about you?”

You smiled faintly. “I’m close with my family. I just don’t see them much.”

“Mine complain about the beach constantly when they visit,” he said. “Guess that’s what happens when you grow up far from it.”

“Right,” you said, smirking. “Texas farm boy. I get it, though. I used to get seasick just looking at boats—being on them was hell.”

Hangman chuckled, agreeing. “First deployment, I used to skip meals so I wouldn’t throw up.”

“Seriously?” you asked, a laugh already bubbling.

“Seriously,” he said. “I learned the hard way when my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt an Admiral.”

You burst into unrestrained laughter, and Hangman joined in naturally. For once, neither of you rushed to fill the silence that followed. It wasn’t even awkward, just surprisingly pleasant. 

“I should go find Maverick,” you finally said, glancing at your watch.

“Right,” Hangman said. “Wouldn’t want to be late.”

You walked side by side to the other end of the hangar. 

You’d known Hangman for years, just not this version. You knew the pilot, the competitor, the guy who made a hobby out of getting under your skin. You knew the version you saw in the air and the one you fell into at night when you both should’ve known better.

You’d spent so long assuming Hangman was all sharp corners and ego. But you enjoyed it when you weren’t fighting. For years, you’d both been too busy competing to ever actually talk. Now that you had, every assumption felt a little off.

You didn’t make it three steps into the Hard Deck before your squadron shouted your name. It was loud enough that Penny shot all of you a warning look over the bar, which Fanboy ignored by whistling loudly.

“Beeeeee!” Coyote sang. “Our favourite early bird.”

Hangman, sitting beside him, smirked. “Maverick had her running errands before sunrise. You know him, never met a chore he wouldn’t outsource.”

The table dissolved in giggles. You dropped into the empty chair across from Hangman, who looked pleased that he’d made you laugh. 

“You think Maverick forces me out of bed just to annoy me?” you said lightly. “That was only half the reason tonight.”

Phoenix leaned forward. “If he had you in early for anything other than his horrible handwriting, it must’ve been important.”

You shrugged. “Well… he wanted to tell me before he told anyone else.” You tried to make it sound casual, even though your stomach had been doing Olympic-level gymnastics ever since.

“Tell you what?” Rooster asked, brow raised.

“Cyclone made me team leader for the upcoming mission,” you said, and the second the words left your mouth, the table went still.

And then all of them absolutely erupted.

Phoenix slapped both palms on the table so hard the salt and pepper shakers toppled over. Coyote launched halfway out of his seat. Rooster choked on nothing. Even Bob pushed his chair back in pure shock.

“Bee, holy shit!”

“Finally!”

You laughed as Phoenix grabbed your shoulders and shook you like a maraca. Bob beamed at you with shiny eyes, and you caught Hangman’s expression softening into genuine satisfaction.

“Mav said Cyclone was watching our last drill and thought it was time someone other than Mav took the lead,” you said. “And, more importantly, he already told Penny that drinks are on him tonight.”

Phoenix raised her beer. “To Bee! Our fearless leader!”

You felt your face warm despite trying to play it cool. You all toasted, clinking bottles and glasses happily. Somewhere in the noise, Hangman’s “to Bee” came in just half a second late.

Your eyes flicked to him on instinct, catching the faint smile he smoothed away before anyone noticed it. Something low in your stomach tightened.

Everyone was in a fantastic mood for the rest of the night.

You meant to enjoy the party, but you kept noticing things you’d never really paused to see before; things that had been happening right under your nose while you were too busy hating Hangman.

Coyote dragged you into a darts game, and you immediately sent your first throw wide enough to make him wince. He laughed, nudging your shoulder, and you were lining up your second shot when Phoenix’s voice cut across the bar.

“No way, Hangman, that’s a scratch,” she said, sharp, competitive, and fond.

“That’s called natural talent,” Hangman argued, grinning widely.

“You clipped the eight-ball.”

“I nudged the eight-ball.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes and reset the shot while Hangman leaned against the table, amused and unbothered. 

Your eyes tracked the loose curve of his posture before you caught yourself and looked away.

Hangman ceded the table with a little salute after Phoenix sank her next two shots in a row. She smirked, victorious. He smirked back, gracious enough to let her have it.

A little later, Rooster roped you into picking a song for the jukebox. As you scrolled through the options, he hovered like he wasn’t trying to influence you. You elbowed him, he shoved your shoulder, and you landed on a song you both liked.

When you turned around, you saw Hangman and Bob at the end of the bar. They were joking back and forth, Hangman pretending to be offended while Bob said something bone-dry enough that Hangman let out a loud cackle.

Your eyes tracked the shape of his grin like you were memorising it.

It was easy and comfortable in a way you hadn’t realised they’d become over the last ten months since the squadron became permanent.

“I’ll get the next round,” Hangman said like it was non-negotiable, patting Bob’s shoulder and grabbing nearby empty bottles with one hand.

Hangman was still arrogant, still insufferable, still absolutely capable of grinding your nerves into dust. But the more you looked, the more you noticed all the things you’d never given him credit for. 

As you let your eyes linger on his hands picking up the next round, you missed the way Hangman’s gaze kept flicking back to you. It was as if he was checking if you were still there, because he didn’t want to miss anything you did.

You forced yourself to look away before you started thinking about those hands in ways you absolutely shouldn’t.

When Fanboy’s attempt at doing a cartwheel forced you to rescue an airborne beer bottle an hour later, you went to the bar to get another round.

Penny smiled. “Congratulations, Bee.”

“Thank you,” you said, grinning.

Before you could ask for the drinks, someone slid into the empty space beside you. A tall, objectively attractive man you didn’t recognise, with an easygoing smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to interrupt. But your group’s been celebrating you for the last twenty minutes, so I had to come over and say congrats.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Thank you.”

He laughed. “You Navy pilots? Or just very enthusiastic bar patrons?”

You talked for a few minutes, just light, friendly small talk. The guy flirted softly, and you didn’t shut him down. You recommended your favourite coffee shop, and you politely laughed when he asked if you’d be there this week.

Across the bar, Phoenix slapped Rooster’s arm.

Yale murmured, “Uh oh.”

They turned to Hangman, waiting for the inevitable snark. The classic, she’s not worth your time, man, or she’s a walking red flag. 

Hangman surprised them all by saying nothing. His jaw was locked to hide the fact that seeing you flirt with some guy was affecting him.

If you’d been looking his way, you would’ve seen how carefully he inhaled and exhaled, like he was reminding his body to behave.

The guy at the bar leaned in a little—not close enough to overstep, but close enough to show he was interested—and that was enough for Hangman.

He didn’t storm over or square his shoulders. Hangman walked like a man doing something he had decided on long before his brain caught up.

“Hey, honey,” he said smoothly, sliding into your space.

The nickname, one you’d only heard him use condescendingly, was sugared and affectionate. It was claiming you in a way that made your blood warm.

Your heartbeat tripped at the sudden proximity. Partly because you knew what Hangman was doing and weren’t sure how you felt about it, but also because this was familiar territory.

Only this time, he wasn’t getting close to you to pick a fight.

Hangman gave the stranger a polite nod. “Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to make sure you had help carrying all the drinks back.”

The guy blinked. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Oh, we’re not—” you started.

“Yeah, we are,” Hangman insisted.

Your heartbeat jumped hard enough that you felt it in your throat. Hangman wasn’t wearing the smug, heat-soaked look he usually used when he wanted to get under your skin. His eyes held yours like he was quietly pleading with you to hear him out.

The man picked up his drink and backed off with an easy smile. “Nice meeting you.”

You didn’t answer. Your focus was on Hangman. 

“What was that?” you asked.

Hangman took a slow breath, gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s step outside.”

“I’m not—”

“Please, Bee.” His tone wasn’t commanding but startlingly sincere. 

You followed him out to the back deck, where the ocean air cut through the heat of the bar. You crossed your arms, more for balance than defence, and took half a step back.

“You don’t get to swoop in like that,” you said, pulse still unsettled. “I wasn’t interested, but you don’t—”

“I know.” Hangman rubbed a hand over his jaw, shoulders tight. “I know you weren’t.”

“Then why—?”

“Because I didn’t like watching it.”

There it was. A truth Hangman would typically have buried under three layers of arrogance.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “You don’t get to be jealous.”

“I know.” His voice dropped into something quiet and aching. “But I was.”

Hangman stepped closer, not boxing you in, but closing the distance slowly. Close enough that you felt the warmth of his body through the cold wind.

“You and I…” He shook his head. “We spent so long fighting that it felt like the only way we knew how to talk. And it worked for a while. Until it didn’t.”

You didn’t move—your body refused.

“And once we actually talked, it changed things for me.” His voice softened. “I know I can be arrogant, and stubborn, and a pain in your ass. I know you have every reason to think I’m not worth the trouble.”

Hangman’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“But I also know that the more I get to know you, the more I’m sure I want you. And not the way I used to have you, when we’d argued so much that sex was the only way to relieve the tension.” He steadied himself. “I want you for real.”

You inhaled so sharply it was almost a gasp.

“I know I’ve messed up, and I know you’re not looking for a guy to fix. I’m not asking you for anything right now. I just…” Hangman hesitated, then confessed, “I think I could deserve you, if you gave me the chance to prove it.”

The wind rustled the string lights overhead. Inside, the jukebox changed songs again, its sound muffled through the glass.

You stepped toward him.

Hangman’s breath caught when you did. He didn’t reach out to you, even though you were more than close enough now. He just stood, waiting, eyes tracking every inch you moved.

“Jake,” you said quietly. 

His name on your lips did something to him. His chest rose sharply, his lips parted just barely, and his whole posture went attentive in a way that was entirely open to you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you told him honestly. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“Me neither.”

“But I want to try,” you said.

The breath he let out was shaky and reverent, like you’d knocked the wind out of him.

You didn’t rush it. You stepped close enough that your chest brushed Jake’s, and he dipped his head just slightly, waiting for permission. Lifting your hands, you curled them into the front of his shirt, and that was all he needed.

Jake kissed you like he’d been holding himself together for weeks.

At first, it was restrained, almost careful, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he went too fast. His mouth was warm, steady, patient in a way he’d never kissed you before. He wasn’t trying to win, or provoke, or dominate.

And then you kissed him back.

Jake’s restraint broke like a wave. His hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse, not pulling you closer but holding you like you were something precious.

This kiss wasn’t like the drunken, angry ones in the dark corners of parking lots or your hallway or his truck. Those had been frantic, messy, born of adrenaline and frustration and the fastest route to forgetting why you hated each other.

You kissed him back with equal parts want and disbelief.

You slid a hand up the solid line of his chest and into his hair, and Jake groaned quietly against your mouth, pulling you flush to him. He angled his head, deepening the kiss with a low sound in his throat that almost made your knees buckle. 

Heat shot down your spine so fast you felt dizzy, the world narrowing to nothing but the press of Jake’s mouth and the way his fingers flexed at your waist.

He knew you too well—how you liked pressure, where you liked tension, the exact moment to ease off just enough to make you chase him.

When his tongue brushed yours in a slow, deliberate sweep, your stomach tightened hard enough that you had to brace your hand on his shoulder to keep steady. Jake responded instantly, tilting you back a fraction, kissing you deeper, slower, hotter. 

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing hard but steady, you kept your forehead pressed to his because pulling back felt wrong.

Jake whispered, voice rough, “Honey?”

You whispered back, breath still uneven, “Yeah?”

“That was…” He exhaled, chest rising against yours. “Wow.”

You huffed a breath of a laugh against his lips. “Shut up.”

Your pulse still wouldn’t settle. You weren’t sure it ever would around him again.

Inside the Hard Deck, the squadron had gone dead silent at the sight of you two through the back window. 

Payback slowly lowered his beer, eyes huge. “What the hell—”

Phoenix slapped a hand flat on the table so hard the darts jumped. “Absolutely not! No, just no!”

Rooster pointed at the window like a man who had just witnessed a crime. “Am I have a stroke?! Someone check my pulse. I think I smell burnt toast—”

Fanboy gasped, clutching the bartop. “I feel light-headed…”

Bob, who had been quietly sipping his Coke through a paper straw, shrugged. “I mean… they’ve been hooking up for, like, six months, right?”

Every single head snapped toward him in eerie, synchronised horror.

“What?!” the table exploded.

Bob blinked at all of them, unbothered. “I thought it was obvious. Why do you think they always fight until we’ve all left the Hard Deck?”

Outside, Jake huffed a quiet laugh, his forehead still against yours. You slid your hands down, looping them loosely behind his shoulders.

“Jake?” you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth despite your best efforts. “You gonna drag me home and finish what we started?”

You meant it half as a joke, half as a challenge. 

“No,” he said, voice steady in a way that made something low in your stomach tighten. “I’m gonna take you out.”

That pulled you up short. “Like a date?”

“Yeah,” he said, thumb brushing your cheekbone in a barely-there pass. “A real one. Dinner. Walking you to your door. The whole thing.” His smile deepened. “We already know we’re good together in bed. Now I get to show you I’m worth more than that.”

You blinked. “You… want to take me on a date.”

“I want to take you on a hundred,” Jake murmured. “But I figured I should start with one.”

Your chest tightened. “You’re being serious,” you said quietly.

“I’m being very serious,” Jake said, meeting your eyes without flinching. “You gave me a chance. I’m not gonna waste it.”

Something warm and helpless pulled in your chest. You pressed your forehead to Jake’s again, smiling widely.

“I guess I could get used to that,” you whispered.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

When Did You Get So Hot?

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; You’ve known Jake Seresin forever, so you can’t explain when he suddenly became this— grown-man confidence, and unfairly hot. Suddenly you’re pressed against your bedroom wall, breathless and wrapped up in every dream he’s ever had about you.

word count; 14.7k

warnings; fluff!!, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, jake in glasses, he's a little bit of a nerd, got my sex facts from google so don't judge

a/n; sorry for the delayyy, i went to see bad bunny last night 😛 happy reading, hope you love it!! (this a one-part fic, i won't be making a part two:) )

masterlist

If anyone had told you that over a decade could pass without you crossing paths with Jake Seresin, you would’ve laughed.

His house was practically a second home throughout your adolescence, not because of him but because of Jannette, his older sister and the person you considered your closest friend. The two of you had been inseparable— matching bracelets, matching moods, matching teenage delusions that you were far more grown than you really were.

If you weren’t at your place, you were at hers, sprawled on her bedroom floor with homework you both pretended to do, whispering secrets about boys you’d never talk to and futures you couldn’t begin to imagine.

And through all of it, Jake was simply part of the backdrop. He drifted in and out of rooms with polite hellos and shy glances, always carrying something: snacks from their mom, a stack of textbooks, whatever excuse he needed to linger for a moment longer. Jannette’s little brother had a gentleness to him, an earnestness that made adults soften and made kids his age roll their eyes.

Contrary to the legend he would later become, Jake Seresin wasn’t always the confident, sharp-jawed, sun-kissed Navy pilot the world seemed to swoon over now. Back then he was lanky, awkward, chronically flustered, and one bad growth spurt away from falling apart like an unbalanced Jenga tower. Even the football team, his hopeful attempt at being “one of the guys,” mostly kept him on the bench.

Most people overlooked him. You never did, though not for the reasons he might have hoped. To you, he was just sweet, awkward Jake— the kid who turned pink from his collarbone to his ears whenever you asked about his day. You had a long-term boyfriend through high school, and Jake occupied a completely different space in your world, one reserved for siblings of friends and harmless crushes you pretended not to notice.

He adored you, quietly and hopelessly, and everyone knew it. You simply smiled and treated him with kindness, the same way you did with anyone who never seemed entirely comfortable in their own skin.

After graduation, life separated you quickly and cleanly. You left for Boston, stepping into a future your teenage self had been desperate for, and Jake finished his senior year without you around to make him stutter in the kitchen. You came home that first winter break, full of stories and certainty, but time began to move faster after that.

Boston turned into London. London morphed into New York. New York shifted back to Boston. Job opportunities, promotions, and restless ambition kept you bouncing between cities, and the years blended into one another before you realized how long it had been since you’d walked the familiar streets of your hometown.

Jake’s life unfolded just as quickly. He went to college and, somewhere between lectures and late nights, grew into himself. The awkward boy sharpened at the edges, found confidence where there had once been nerves, built a body that seemed to belong to someone older, steadier.

The glasses disappeared, the posture straightened, and his laugh became something louder, brighter, unashamed. He joined the Navy, and the constant rotations of training, deployments, and new bases carried him from one end of the country to the other. Holidays became optional. Home turned into a place you visited, not lived.

And so the two of you spent nearly a decade living parallel lives—connected by memories, separated by miles, bonded only through occasional updates from Jannette that always began with, “You’ll never guess what my brother’s doing now…” The world kept spinning, years kept piling up, and Austin slowly shifted from the center of your life to a place you thought of fondly but distantly, like an old photograph kept in a drawer.

When your company offered you a transfer and a promotion, the timing felt right to finally come home. You were older now, grounded in ways you hadn’t been before, ready for warmth and familiarity instead of airports and temporary apartments.

Returning to Austin felt both strange and comfortingly inevitable—the streets familiar beneath the changes, the air softer than you remembered, your family thrilled to have you close again. You slipped back into the rhythm of the city with a mix of nostalgia and quiet relief, as though part of you had been waiting for this without realizing it.

It was your first true holiday season home in years, the first time you had enough time to settle, breathe, and let the past feel close again. You hadn’t thought much about Jannette’s little brother. There was no reason to. Life had moved on, and so had you. This was simply home—nothing more complicated than that.

—

Austin had a way of greeting you with warmth even in December. The air was cool enough for a jacket but still held that familiar softness you used to complain about, the kind that curled the ends of your hair and made everything smell faintly of cedar and car exhaust.

As you made your way toward the restaurant Jannette had chosen — an old converted bungalow tucked between a record store and a tattoo shop — you felt something loosen quietly inside you, something you hadn’t realized had been pulled tight for years.

The windows glowed gold from the outside, condensation blurring the silhouettes of couples and families seated close together. You paused at the entrance, smoothing your coat, more out of habit than nerves. A year wasn’t that long, yet somehow it felt like it had been ages since you last saw Jannette in person.

That memory lived in another country, under warmer light and older buildings — Spain, of all places. Your company had sent you to Madrid for a contract negotiation, and Jannette had hopped on a flight after realizing you’d be staying for the holidays. She claimed she was “morally obligated” to prevent you from spending Christmas alone, but really she’d always been hopelessly impulsive in the best ways.

That trip had been pure serendipity — tiled streets and late dinners, Jannette marveling at every cathedral and museum, the two of you laughing until your cheeks hurt, drinking wine that cost suspiciously little. It felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.

Now, as you stepped inside, warmth wrapped around you in a rush, carrying the scents of roasted vegetables, warm bread, and something citrusy. Your eyes adjusted slowly, skimming over the dining room, and then there she was—sitting at a corner table, waving so energetically you swore the people beside her flinched.

You didn’t bother hiding your smile. She stood as you walked over, and the moment you reached her, the two of you collided in a hug that felt like home.

“Look at you,” she said, pulling back just enough to take you in. “God, you look disgustingly put-together. I hate you.”

You laughed, squeezing her hands. “You look amazing too. Like — you look like someone who drinks green smoothies and has a skincare routine.”

“I do neither,” she said proudly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sat back down. “That’s just natural beauty.”

You sank into the chair across from her, exhaling in a way you didn’t even realize you needed to. The restaurant was warm, dimly lit, full of low chatter and clinking glasses. It felt intimate, cozy—like a soft landing after months of running.

Jannette flagged down a waiter with the confidence of someone who had eaten here enough to have opinions. “We’ll start with the garlic bread. And the Brussels sprouts. And two glasses of the red blend, please.”

The waiter nodded and walked off.

You raised a brow. “No menu?”

“I know what’s good,” she said with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Austin is my kingdom.”

You snorted. “You moved away for two years.”

“And came crawling back because Dallas is hell on earth.” She said it with the same blunt certainty she used at sixteen when declaring which boys were cute or which teachers were out to get you.

The two of you eased into conversation the way some people slip into warm baths—slow at first, then fully immersed. She told you about her job, about how she’d taken a promotion and then immediately regretted it, about her coworkers who were “performing adulthood like a bad improv routine,” and about the apartment she was leasing that was “small in a charming way, not in a tragic way.”

You told her about the move, your new position, the adjustment of returning to Austin after so many cities. She listened with her chin in her hand, nodding thoughtfully in spots where she used to interrupt, proof that time had smoothed some edges even if most of her remained exactly the same.

When the wine arrived, she lifted her glass. “To you coming home,” she said, eyes warm. “Finally.”

You clinked your glass to hers. “To home. Whatever that means now.”

She smiled at that, but there was a quiet softness in her expression you didn’t miss. “It means you’re here,” she said simply. “And that’s enough.”

Dinner came quickly after that—warm dishes, shared bites, familiar flavors. The conversation flowed naturally, skipping across years as easily as if they’d been days. She told you stories about mutual friends who had gotten married or divorced or both. She updated you on her parents, her neighbors, the dog she was thinking of adopting but wasn’t emotionally stable enough to handle.

Eventually, she leaned back in her chair, swirling the last of her wine. “You know,” she said, “it’s weird having you back. In a good way. I just— I got used to you being in a different time zone. Like you lived in some parallel universe where we texted at odd hours.”

You nodded, understanding more than she knew. “I got used to that too.”

“Well, selfishly,” she said, propping her chin on her hand again, “I’m thrilled to have you back in my gravitational pull. I missed this. I missed you.”

You smiled, a warm, full feeling settling in your chest. “I missed you too.”

Dinner had blurred into laughter and stories and Jannette’s familiar shrieking giggle, and now the two of you wandered down the streets with cups of peppermint hot chocolate in hand, the city glowing in that golden, slightly chaotic way it always did during the holidays.

You hadn’t walked these streets with her in years, not like this. She pointed at new shops that had popped up since your last visit, complained dramatically about the traffic that had somehow gotten even worse, rolled her eyes at the influencer-infested boutiques. The two of you fell into step as if no time had passed at all.

“So,” she said, bumping your shoulder with hers, “what are you doing for Christmas? And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because that’s a crime.”

You huffed a laugh, watching your breath plume in the cool air. “Not nothing. Just… solo stuff, I guess.”

She stopped mid-stride, planting herself in front of you like an interrogating mother bird. “Explain.”

You took a sip of your drink, eyes drifting toward the twinkling lights strung between palm trees. “I didn’t tell my parents ahead of time that I was moving back. It all happened really fast, and they’d already booked Cabo months ago. Flights, hotel, everything.” You shrugged. “They tried to cancel when I told them—my mom nearly went to war with their airline miles program—but I told them not to. They were excited. They deserve the vacation.”

Jannette gave you a look that managed to be both deeply fond and profoundly unimpressed. “So you’re telling me your first Christmas home in, what… five years? Six?”

“Seven,” you admitted quietly.

“Seven,” she repeated, staring at you like you had just confessed to a felony. “You’re planning to spend your first Christmas home in seven years alone in your house?”

You opened your mouth to object — gently, diplomatically — but you didn’t get the chance.

“Nope,” she declared, turning on her heel and walking again, her ponytail swishing with purpose. “Absolutely not. Unacceptable. Illegal. I won’t allow it.”

You hurried to catch up. “Jannette, seriously, I’ll be fine. I wasn’t trying to guilt-trip my parents into canceling their trip. I don’t want to crash your family holiday. Really.”

She scoffed, a sharp, dramatic sound. “Girl, you practically grew up in our house. You think my mom won’t cry tears of joy when she sees you? You think my dad won’t start grilling the second you walk in? Please.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You’re spending Christmas with us. End of discussion.”

“Jannette—”

“Nope.” She looped her arm through yours, anchoring you to her as you crossed the street. “I’m not letting you sit at home watching Hallmark movies alone, eating takeout and pretending you don’t care. You’re coming over. You’ll sleep in the yellow guest room — Mom redecorated it, it’s hideous — and you and I will drink eggnog and complain about the same things we’ve complained about since we were seventeen. It’ll be perfect.”

You laughed, helpless against her steamroller certainty. “So it’s already decided?”

“Oh, it was decided the second you said ‘Cabo,’” she said smugly. “This is your home. We’re your people. And you’re not spending the holidays alone when we’re ten minutes away.”

Warmth spread through your chest — unexpected, a little overwhelming. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this, missed her, missed the way the Seresins just claimed you without hesitation.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Christmas at your house. Deal.”

She beamed, looping both arms around yours and squeezing tight as you walked. “Good. And hey— maybe my little brother will be home too.”

You snorted. “Jake?”

“The very one.” She shot you a sly little grin. “He hasn’t been home in ages either. You two keep missing each other like ships passing in the night.”

“Well,” you said lightly, brushing off the odd flutter that stirred in your stomach, “if he’s around, I’ll say hi.”

She nudged you. “You better.”

You smiled into your cup, letting the lights blur softly around you as you walked — warm, full, and for the first time in a long time, home.

—

Jake Seresin stepped off the plane with the easy swagger of a man who owned every inch of ground he walked on, but beneath the crisp uniform and the mirrored sunglasses and the stupidly perfect hair, something in him eased in a way it hadn’t in years. The moment the humid Texas air hit his face — warm, familiar, a little heavy with cedar — his shoulders dropped half an inch, the tightness in his chest loosening like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

Home. Damn, he’d missed it.

He adjusted the strap of his duffel, the movement fluid and controlled, the same practiced confidence he carried into every briefing and every cockpit. Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin wasn’t the awkward, wiry kid who used to trip over his own cleats and push his glasses up his nose every five minutes. That version of him felt like someone else entirely, a ghost of a boy who cleared out of his own skin the second he discovered weights, contact lenses, a decent barber, and the revelation that confidence could be carved out of sweat and grit and sheer force of will.

The Navy had done the rest.

Years of deployments, missions classified enough his mother would never sleep again if she knew the details, endless hours in the sky where his world narrowed to g-forces, oxygen flow, and instinct. Hangman was born out of that crucible — sharp, relentless, impossibly sure of himself. The best stick on any base he landed on. The cockiest son of a bitch in any room. And entirely, meticulously unstoppable.

But here — here he was just Jake.

He stepped into the terminal, tugging his sunglasses off as he scanned the crowd. No cameras, no salutes, no clipped orders. Just families holding handmade signs, people hugging as though the world stopped spinning outside these walls, kids bouncing on their toes with excitement. He watched them with a quick, private smile tugging at his mouth.

He’d never admit it — not to the Daggers, not to anyone in uniform, not even if waterboarding came back in style — but being home for Christmas made something warm settle in his chest. Something he’d missed more than he let himself think about.

It had been what — three years since he’d been home? Four? Time blurred when you were always on the move. Holidays came and went, replaced with night flights, briefings, nights at the Hard Deck, and holidays spent at whatever base he landed on. He sent gifts, called whenever deployment allowed, promised he’d be home “next time.”

There was never a next time.

Until now.

Thirty whole days of leave. He’d pretended to groan when command handed him the paperwork —What, sending me home? You sure you can spare me?— but deep down, he’d felt something unclench. The last mission had been rough, even by his standards, and his mother’s voice had wobbled a little the last time he called.

“Just come home when you can, baby.”

Well, he was here. Finally. On Texas soil, breathing Texas air, thirty minutes from the kitchen he grew up in and the woman who would squeeze him half to death as soon as she saw him.

He dragged a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar, satisfied smirk curve his lips. Christmas at home wasn’t the worst way to spend a month off. He could help out around the house, eat his weight in pecan pie, charm whichever women in the neighborhood his mother insisted on setting him up with, maybe hit up a few old friends.

A little rest. A little quiet.

He slung his duffel over one shoulder and headed for the exit, boots striking the floor with purposeful strides.

He had no idea —none at all— that someone else had just come home too.

Someone he hadn’t seen since he was seventeen.

Someone who used to smile at him like he wasn’t the awkward Seresin kid with bony elbows and fogged-up glasses.

Someone he’d had a crush on so big, it had swallowed him whole.

But for now, Jake just stepped into the Texas sun with a slow, satisfied breath, completely unaware that this holiday was going to blindside him in ways he’d never expect.

—

Jake stood on the familiar front porch, his duffel slung over his shoulder, the wood beneath his boots creaking in that same old way it had when Jannette was sixteen sneaking in past curfew. The house looked exactly the same — warm light in the windows, wreath on the door, a faded “Merry Christmas Y’all” mat that his mother refused to replace even though it had survived a decade of Texas weather.

He hadn’t told them he was coming today. He’d kept his voice smooth and casual on the phone, Don’t worry, Ma, I’ll be home before Christmas, promise. but he’d left out the part where he’d actually managed to get an earlier flight. Surprises weren’t his thing, usually, but for this? For them? He wanted it.

He knocked twice.

There was shuffling on the other side of the door, the faint murmur of the TV, and then... the door flew open so fast he thought the hinges might snap.

“Jacob Thomas Seresin,” Christina breathed, one hand flying to her mouth, eyes going wide and glassy all at once. “Oh my God. Oh, my God.”

He barely had time to drop his duffel before she launched herself at him, arms wrapping tight around his neck, face buried in his chest as she started crying: loud, messy, unforgiving tears. The Seresin kind.

Jake laughed, the sound thick in his throat as he hugged her back just as tight, lifting her an inch off the ground the way he always did. “Hey, Mama.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming today,” she scolded into his shoulder, voice wobbling through the words. “I thought it’d be another week. I was— Jake, I was worried sick.”

“You saw me six months ago,” he said softly, hand smoothing over her back. “I’m alive. I swear.”

“I know,” she sniffed, pulling back just far enough to cup his face between both hands. “But I needed to see you. To make sure you’re eating. To make sure you’re sleeping. God knows the Navy lets you boys run around like you’re indestructible.”

He smirked, because of course she said that. “I’m fine, Ma.”

“You look too skinny.”

He laughed again. “I weigh more than your fridge.”

“You’re deflecting,” she said, swatting his arm, though her eyes were still wet, still drinking him in like she hadn’t seen her son in years. “Come inside. Oh, your father is going to lose his mind.”

She tugged him inside, fussing over his jacket, his face, his hair, everything. The smell of cedar, cinnamon, and something in the oven wrapped around him like a blanket.

“Carl!” she shouted, voice ringing through the house. “Carl, get in here!”

Jake set his duffel down by the stairs, wiping his boots on the rug as footsteps thumped down the hallway.

His father appeared, bewildered, holding a hammer and half a string of Christmas lights. “Honey, what on earth are you holler—”

He froze.

Jake hadn’t seen his father speechless many times in his life. He was a tall man, solid, steady, always a little gruff–– the kind of man who shook your hand so firmly you felt it in your teeth. But right now his expression cracked wide open, surprise folding into something warm and overflowing.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Jake’s chest tightened in a way that felt thick and oddly young. “Hey, Dad.”

Carl crossed the room in three steps and pulled him into a hug that was all arms and strength and quiet emotion. No tears, but his voice wavered just enough to betray him as he said, “Welcome home, son.”

Jake swallowed hard. “Good to be home.”

Christina clapped her hands together, buzzing around them like a hummingbird. “You should’ve told us! I would’ve made something special for dinner. I would’ve cleaned the guest room better. I would’ve—”

“Ma,” Jake said gently, “everything’s perfect.”

“Well, just wait until your sister gets here,” she huffed affectionately. “She’s coming this afternoon to help me with the decorations before the girls’ night she’s got planned.” She waved a hand. “She’ll scream when she sees you. Mark my words.”

Jake smiled, leaning against the doorway as he took in the house— the lights, the garlands, the slightly crooked stockings on the mantle he knew she’d fuss over later. “Good. I wanna surprise her too.”

Christina softened, stepping closer to run a hand down his cheek like he was still her boy instead of a grown man with medals and scars and a call sign stitched under his heart. “You’re really staying the month?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. Whole month.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting emotion again. “That’s the best Christmas gift I could’ve asked for.”

He didn’t say it out loud—not yet—but deep in his bones, he felt the same.

Home. Finally home.

Jake set his duffel on the mattress—bigger than the twin he’d once outgrown but still tucked against the same wall, under the same window—and let out a slow breath as he took in the room.

His room.

Frozen in time.

Sure, the bedding was new and the TV was bigger than the one he used to play video games on, but everything else? It was like stepping into a perfectly preserved museum dedicated to the nerdiest years of his life.

His science fair trophies lined the shelves, each one a crooked little relic from a decade he pretended he didn’t remember in vivid detail. Blue ribbons for physics projects. A couple second-place ones he used to obsess over. His collection of model planes—some with fading decals, others still immaculate—were displayed in tight formation on the top shelf, a tiny squadron waiting for takeoff.

He approached them instinctively, fingers ghosting over the sleek edges of a vintage F-14 he’d built when he was fourteen. The paint was chipped in one corner where he’d dropped it the night before presenting it to his freshman science class. He smiled despite himself.

God, he’d been such a dweeb.

His eyes drifted to the framed photos on his dresser—and that’s when the smile faltered.

Because there he was.

All awkward limbs and sharp elbows, swamp-green glasses slipping down a nose dusted with freckles. Hair trimmed into that unfortunate bowl-cut his mother loved and he endured. Oversized Seresin football jersey hanging off his gangly frame. Braces. Braces.

Jake groaned under his breath.

Christina had no business keeping photographic evidence of that era.

He picked up one of the pictures—him at fourteen, wearing goggles perched crookedly on his forehead, grinning like he was about to burst as he held up a blue ribbon. He remembered that day. Remembered how proud he’d been. Remembered how a certain girl—you—had ruffled his hair and told him he was “pretty much a genius.”

He placed the frame back down carefully.

That kid didn’t look anything like the man standing in this room now—and Jake liked that. He liked the man he’d become. The broad shoulders, the sharp jaw, the body honed by thousands of hours in the sky. He liked the way people stared when he walked into a room now, the way women’s eyes lingered, the way everyone seemed to expect something from him. Strength. Confidence. Charm.

He liked being desirable. Liked owning space instead of shrinking in it.

But as he glanced back at the models, at the stacked physics textbooks on the shelf, at the laminated certificates pinned to a corkboard his mother refused to replace, something quiet and familiar tugged at him.

Because that boy—the lanky, eager, overly curious one—was still there. Buried under the uniform and the swagger and the persona of Hangman, but not gone. Not really.

Jake still loved planes with an almost embarrassing ferocity. Still read scientific journals when missions kept him up at night. Still tore through thick engineering books no one would believe he understood. And when he had the rare free weekend, he still sat at his kitchen table in his apartment in California and built tiny aircraft from scratch, paintbrush in hand, tongue between his teeth, exactly the way he used to.

But that part? That part was locked up, hidden. No one in the Navy saw it, none of his squadron knew.

People saw what he let them see, and Hangman was easier than nerdy Jacob Seresin had ever been.

He let out a breath, sinking into the desk chair he’d once spent hours in, going over equations and dissecting flight mechanics before he even had a driver’s license. The seat creaked under his weight, older but still familiar.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Maybe it was this room. Maybe it was being home. Maybe it was exhaustion he’d been ignoring for months. But for the first time in a long time, he felt that kid tugging at him from under the surface, reminding him where he came from.

Reminding him who he used to be.

Jannette’s voice hit the house like a gust of warm wind—loud, chaotic, impossible to miss.

“Mom? Dad? Y’all better not have started without me—”

Her footsteps thundered up the stairs before Jake could sit up straighter. The door flew open without a single knock.

“JACOB?!”

Her scream was so shrill he was sure the glass on his trophy shelf rattled. She launched herself across the room, arms flung wide, and Jake barely had a second to brace before she crashed into him.

He laughed as he caught her, lifting her clean off the floor the way he once never could. She was tiny compared to him now— she’d always been petite, but he’d spent his entire adolescence looking up at her. Not anymore.

“Easy there, Netty,” he said into her hair as she squeezed the breath out of him.

“I can’t believe you’re here! You didn’t tell me, you idiot!” she scolded, smacking his arm before hugging him again. “Why didn’t you text? Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you—”

“Wanted to surprise you,” he interrupted, smiling.

“Well, you did,” she said, finally stepping back to take him in. “Jesus, look at you. What do they feed you at that base? Concrete? You’re enormous.” She poked his bicep. “I feel like a hobbit next to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Good to see you too, sis.”

They settled on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed, his stretched out, the afternoon light warm through the window as she grilled him with all the enthusiasm of someone who had been saving questions for months.

“So tell me everything. And don’t skip over the important parts. Not the flying—I don’t care about the flying.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I want to know about the hot pilots you work with.”

Jake groaned. “Jannette…”

“What? I’m young, I’m single, and the Navy is a buffet I’ve never gotten to sample,” she said with a shrug. “Indulge me.”

He rubbed his face. “Rooster would eat that attention up.”

“Rooster?” she repeated, eyebrows lifting. “Is he the mustache one?”

Jake stared at her. “How do you even know that?”

“I stalked your squadron on Instagram, obviously. Anyway, continue.”

And he did, because saying no to her had been impossible since he was ten and she was eleven and a half and had decided she knew better than everyone. She laughed at all the wrong moments, teased him relentlessly, and somehow made him feel normal in a way most people never did.

She had just begun recounting, with dramatic flair, how Christina had remodeled the kitchen last spring when she paused mid-sentence.

“You okay?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Jake blinked a few times. His vision had gone soft around the edges, dry in that familiar, irritating way.

“Contacts are just a little tired,” he admitted.

Jannette’s expression snapped from curious to exasperated so fast he almost laughed. “Then take them off.”

“Can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Don’t wanna wear my glasses.”

She stared at him. Blinked once. Then snorted so hard she nearly toppled off the bed.

“Oh my God. You are unbelievable.”

“What?”

“What?” she mimicked, reaching over to smack his shoulder. “Ah yes, the new and improved Jake Seresin doesn’t wear glasses. Not even if he’s half-blind. Not even if his retinas are about to fall out. Because God forbid someone realizes Lt. Cmdr. Hangman wears prescription lenses.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” she said, leaning back on her hands with a knowing grin. “You think I don’t know you? I’ve known you since you were a fetus. You’re still that nerd who read physics books at the dinner table, except now you’ve got muscles and cheekbones and a smirk you think fools people.”

Jake scoffed, but he didn’t deny it. Jannette gave him a gentler look then, softening around the edges in that sisterly way she had.

“Wear them,” she said simply. “At least here. I promise the Christmas tree won’t judge you.”

He huffed out a laugh despite himself. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll do it,” she corrected.

Jake didn’t answer. He just leaned back beside her, letting the memories of childhood and the warmth of home settle around him.

They stayed upstairs talking until Christina’s voice floated up the staircase, calling them down for dinner. Jannette sprang off the bed immediately and Jake followed, trailing behind her with a small smile tugging at his mouth.

The dining room smelled like home: roasted herbs, butter, something warm and hearty simmering on the stove. Jake helped set the table out of habit, moving plates and silverware with practiced ease, the same way he used to before deployments became his normal and home became something he visited rather than lived in.

Once they sat, they dug in, the quiet clinking of utensils mingling with easy conversation. It felt good to be here again, surrounded by people who loved him without needing anything in return.

Which was exactly when Jannette chose to drop a bomb.

“So,” she said casually, stabbing her fork into a dinner roll, “Guess who’s coming for Christmas.”

Jake froze mid-chew when she said your name.

Just half a second. A tiny pause, barely noticeable— unless you were looking directly at him, which of course both women were. He blinked once, swallowed, and forced his expression into something calm, almost bored.

Christina let out a delighted little gasp. “Oh, I didn’t know she was back in town!”

Jannette grinned, pleased with herself. “She took a promotion, but the transfer was super last-minute. She told me her parents had already booked Christmas in Cabo, so she’d be alone for the holidays. I told her she’s coming here instead.”

Christina nodded immediately, glowing with excitement. “Of course she’s welcome here anytime.”

And then —like a spotlight flicking on— her gaze landed on Jake.

Jake didn’t look up. He cut his dinner with unnecessary precision, jaw tight and posture just a little too controlled. He could probably land an F/A-18 on a pitching carrier deck blindfolded with more ease than he could handle the sudden sound of your name drifting through the dining room.

Jannette noticed immediately. Of course she did.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and eyeing him with a grin so wicked he should’ve seen it coming. She opened her mouth —Jake felt the tease forming like a storm front— but Christina shot her a warning look sharper than a commander’s reprimand.

“Not at the dinner table,” she said, light but firm.

Jannette huffed, kicked Jake under the table anyway, and returned to her plate with a smirk that promised she’d bring it up later.

Jake ignored her. Or he pretended to.

Because his mind was drifting on its own. Not far —not enough that he missed conversation around him— just far enough to stir something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He hadn’t heard your name spoken aloud in years. Not like this. Not at this table.

He saw you occasionally—flashes of you on Jannette’s Instagram stories, snapshots of brunches, birthday dinners, blurry vacation selfies. You always looked bright. Beautiful. Effortlessly yourself in a way that made something in him ache in a place he didn’t visit often.

Maybe it was nostalgia. Or maybe it was the memory of who he used to be when he first knew you; awkward, scrawny, bowl-cut and glasses and tripping over his own feet. The kind of kid who hid behind science books and plane models like they were shields.

You, meanwhile, had always seemed… untouchable. Not intentionally, not in a cruel way— you were just warm, kind, comfortable in your own skin, and Jake… wasn’t.

Not then.

But now?

Now he was different. A man forged under afterburners, molded by years of training and survival and expectation. Confident, sharp, admired.

And yet, somehow, the thought of seeing you again made him feel a little too much like that old version of himself. He cleared his throat softly, tried to focus on the conversation, on the familiar comfort of being home.

But your name lingered in the back of his mind, warm and dangerous. And even if he’d never admit it out loud…

He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for this.

—

The next day, you’d set out early with a mission: find Christmas presents for the Seresins—plural. You loved them too much to settle for gift cards or generic candles, and that meant hopping from store to store until the bags dug into your forearms and your fingers ached from hauling them.

By midday, downtown Austin buzzed with holiday shoppers, lights strung between lampposts, wreaths hanging from every window. You blended right into the chaos, weaving through clusters of people while balancing far too many bags. If someone had filmed you from afar, you would’ve looked like a festive pack mule.

Eventually, you pushed your way into a store filled wall-to-wall with cowboy boots—every shade, every stitch pattern, every heel. The smell of leather hit you instantly, warm and earthy, comforting in a way that reminded you of Texas summers.

You were making your way toward a display near the back when you turned too quickly and collided with someone. Hard.

Your bags swung, you stumbled, and a deep voice let out a low, surprised “whoa—”

You looked up. And kept looking up.

The man was tall—ridiculously tall—with shoulders built like they could hold up the roof. He wore a burnt-orange long-sleeve with the buttons undone over a plain white tank, the kind of casual layering that shouldn’t have been legal on someone built like that. His hands went out instinctively to steady you, large and warm as they briefly brushed your elbow.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but the words died the moment your eyes really focused on his face.

Sharp jaw. Sun-kissed skin. A hint of stubble. Eyes greener than you remembered eyes being capable of being.

There was something familiar there—too familiar. It hit you like a slow, dawning realization, one that crawled from the back of your mind to the front with stubborn insistence.

No.

It couldn’t be.

“Jake?!”

Your voice came out higher than intended. The man’s lips curved —slowly, softly— into a smile. Not a smirk, not cocky or teasing or arrogant. Just warm, gentle. Something that felt like home stretched its limbs after a long sleep.

He dipped his chin once.

“Hey.”

Three letters, one syllable, and it sent a shock straight through your chest.

Because yes.

Yes, it was him.

Except… not the Jake you knew. Not the skinny boy with a bowl cut and glasses that constantly slid down the bridge of his nose. Not the teenager who used to turn red when someone complimented his school projects or his science fair ribbons.

This Jake was—

God.

He was hot.

Taller by a mile. Broader in a way that suggested years of training and discipline. The haircut actually suited his face, and facial hair did criminal things to his jawline. His shirt clung to muscles he definitely did not have at thirteen. His voice had dropped an octave. Maybe two.

You had to remind yourself to blink.

“It’s been a while,” he said, calm— too calm, given the way his heart was hammering inside his chest so loudly he was convinced you might hear it.

Fourteen years. Fourteen entire years. The number felt unreal.

You swallowed, shifting the bags on your arms, your pulse skittering somewhere between shock and disbelief.

“That’s… wow. That’s really you?”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound warm enough to melt the frost from the windows.

“Last time I checked.”

You stared another second—maybe two—because your brain needed proof that this wasn’t some cosmic prank.

Jake Seresin.

The awkward little genius who once helped you build a papier-mâché volcano. The boy who grew into this.

Jake’s gaze dipped to the bags weighing down your arms—three on the left, four on the right, one hooked awkwardly by the crook of your elbow. You hadn’t realized how ridiculous you looked until his brows lifted, amused, and before you could protest, his hands were already reaching.

“Here,” he murmured, taking half the load with effortless strength.

You blinked, startled but grateful, the pressure on your fingers easing instantly. “Thank you. I went a little overboard.”

“A little?” he teased gently, shifting the bags like they weighed nothing. “You’re one pair of mittens away from needing a pack mule.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine, the kind that came easily around him—just like it used to. “It’s Christmas. I have no self-control in December.”

“Still the same,” he said, smiling to himself.

You tried not to think too deeply about the warmth in his voice, or the way it tugged at something you thought you’d outgrown years ago.

“So,” you said, adjusting the strap of your purse, “how long have you been in town? Last I heard, you were somewhere on the West Coast.”

Jake’s mouth twitched, something proud and something tired flickering behind his eyes. “Got in yesterday. Straight from San Diego.” Then he looked at you more closely, softer. “What about you? When did you get back?”

“A week ago,” you said. “Still adjusting. It’s weird being home after so long.”

He nodded, slow and understanding. “Jannette told us you were spending Christmas with them.”

You let out a quiet laugh, tipping your head. “She announced it, did she?”

“Oh yeah. Right in the middle of dinner.”

“God,” you groaned playfully, “I’m so sorry I’m crashing your family Christmas.”

“Crashing?” His grin deepened, warm enough to melt the leather-scented air around you. “You’re practically an honorary Seresin. My mama’s be over the moon.”

Your cheeks warmed, an involuntary reaction you hoped he didn’t notice. “She’s always been too sweet to me.”

“That doesn’t stop,” he said. “Trust me.”

You wandered through the aisles together, steps falling into an easy rhythm, like muscle memory. Talking felt natural, unforced, effortless in a way you hadn’t expected after fourteen years.

After a moment, Jake shifted the bags in his hands and asked, “Want me to take these to your car?”

“Oh—I didn’t bring one,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s nice out. I walked.”

He blinked at you like you’d confessed to hitchhiking on the highway. “You walked?”

“It’s not far,” you laughed.

Jake tilted his head, unimpressed. “Where are you parked?”

“At home.”

That earned a full grin, wide and incredulous. “You walked from your place? With all this?”

“I like walking,” you defended, nudging his arm lightly. “And it’s Christmas in Texas, not the Arctic.”

Still, he didn’t budge. “I’ve got my dad’s truck. Let me drive you.”

“It’s really okay, Jake—”

“Darlin’, I’m offering because I’m not letting you haul ten pounds of gifts across the city like Santa on foot.”

Your breath caught at the “darlin’,” spoken casually, naturally, like it wasn’t setting off tiny fireworks in your chest.

He raised a brow, patient but firm.

“Fine,” you relented quietly, smiling. “You can drive me.”

“Thank you,” he said, victorious but gentle.

“But,” you added quickly, pointing a finger at him, “I’m still looking for something for Jannette.”

Jake’s shoulders relaxed, and he followed you deeper into the store with an amused huff. “Boots?”

“Boots.”

He took this mission seriously—far more seriously than you’d expected. He sifted through styles with the concentration of someone choosing a gift for a president. You watched as he narrowed it down, comparing stitching, heel height, leather softness.

“This pair,” he finally said, holding up a beautiful tan set with turquoise embroidery. “These look like her. And she won’t shut up about turquoise lately.”

Your eyes widened. “These are perfect.”

Jake’s smile met yours. “Told you.”

After paying for the boots and gathering the growing mountain of bags, you let Jake take the lead. His hand hovered behind your back — not touching, just guiding — as he steered you out of the store and into the winter-bright parking lot. He walked with an easy confidence, long strides purposeful and relaxed, the picture of a man who knew exactly who he’d grown into.

“There she is,” he said, nodding toward a familiar old truck. His dad’s. The same one you’d ridden in a handful of times growing up.

Jake opened the back door first, loading every bag with an efficiency that made you laugh. Then he rounded to the passenger side, pulled the door open, and offered his hand to help you in— gentle, warm, steady.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

His lips tugged into a half-smile. “Mama’d have my head if she heard I let you climb in alone.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach did an uneven little flip anyway.

He shut the door softly, and for the brief moment you were alone inside the truck, you let yourself breathe and silently asked yourself what the actual hell had happened to Jake Seresin.

It wasn’t just that he’d grown into himself. It wasn’t only the height, or the shoulders, or the jawline that could probably cut through drywall. It wasn’t the sun-warmed skin or the messy-styled blond hair or the way he carried himself with that quiet, lethal confidence.

It was that he looked like a man now—built, gorgeous, magnetic in a way that made your brain short-circuit. A Greek god in a burnt-orange shirt and worn denim. And somehow, impossibly, he was still Jake.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, the truck dipping slightly with his weight, and turned on the engine. The cab filled with the low rumble of heat and the faint scent of leather.

“Alright,” he said, turning to you with that warm, polite grin, “where to?”

You gave the cross streets, but he blinked, brow furrowing. “Those new roads by the river? Didn’t even know they built houses over there.”

“Yeah, I figured,” you said, amused. “Here, just gimme your phone.”

He handed it over, and you typed the address into the GPS, the little map lighting up between you.

Jake pulled out of the parking lot, navigating the roads with steady hands on the wheel. Conversation began easily, naturally— like some part of you had already remembered how to talk to him.

“So,” you said, eyeing him cautiously, “the navy. You have to tell me everything.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Everything’d take years. But… it’s good. Busy. A lot of deployments. A lot of moving. Not much sleep.”

“You look like you’re doing well,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyes flicked to yours — quick, unreadable — but there was something grateful there. “I’m alright,” he admitted. “It’s exhausting sometimes. But it’s what I always wanted.”

Your chest warmed. You’d known that. Even when he was twelve, building those model planes with ridiculous precision, even when he insisted on watching documentaries no one else understood, even when he talked about physics the way other kids talked about superheroes—Jake had always had that spark.

“And you?” he said, glancing at you with genuine interest. “Last time I heard anything, you were in London.”

You laughed. “God, London feels like forever ago. I worked there after college for a bit. Then New York. Then back to Boston. Then work offered a promotion and a transfer, so… here I am. Full circle, I guess.”

He made a face—soft, teasing. “A Texan in London, huh? Bet you froze your ass off.”

“I did,” you admitted, laughing. “Absolutely. No shame in it.”

“You poor thing,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Those London winters aren’t for the weak.”

“I’ve been away for so long,” you teased, “I’m not sure I even am Texan anymore.”

Jake snapped his head toward you, eyes wide in playful offense. “Excuse me?”

“Might’ve lost my Texan card,” you continued dramatically. “Maybe I’m a Northerner now.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Don’t you dare say that. Once a Texan, always a Texan. Doesn’t matter if you lived on the moon.”

You smiled, warmth curling in your ribs at the earnestness beneath the joke.

Outside, the city moved slowly past the windows—holiday lights strung across storefronts, people bustling with bags and bright scarves, the soft haze of early evening settling over Austin.

Inside the truck, it felt strangely intimate. Like a thread that had frayed with time had knit itself quietly back together. Like fourteen years hadn’t really been so long after all.

Ten minutes after Jake pulled up in front of your house, slowing to a stop as the wrap-around porch came into view. He turned off the engine, unbuckled, and before you could even reach for your door handle, he was already outside, rounding the truck.

“Jake—” you started when he opened your door for you again.

“Don’t fight me on this,” he said lightly, offering his hand.

You rolled your eyes but let him help you down. It wasn’t like you minded.

Then he went straight to the backseat, ignoring every protest you threw at him as he gathered all the bags—every single one—looped over both arms.

“Jake! At least let me grab one—”

“Nope,” he said, adjusting the mountain of gifts with unfair ease. “You’ll throw off my balance.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Been told that once or twice.”

You shook your head, leading him up the walkway and onto the porch, digging out your keys with a sigh. You unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on the hallway light.

“Sorry for the mess,” you said quickly. “I’m still unpacking.”

There were a few half-opened boxes near the living room wall, packing paper scattered nearby, and two flat, unopened bookshelves leaning against each other like toppled dominos. A couple of framed photos rested face-down on the couch, waiting to be hung. The space smelled faintly of new paint and pine from the tree you’d decorated last night.

Jake stepped inside and looked around with quiet curiosity, setting the bags down gently near the wall.

“Looks good to me,” he said. “Homey.”

“Homey?” you snorted, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “It looks like a storage closet exploded.”

He just shrugged. “Every new place looks like this at first.”

You walked ahead, kicking a box closed with your foot. “I’ve just been busy at the office. Haven’t had a chance to put the furniture together. Or figure out how to make the bookshelves stand up without killing me.”

Jake glanced at the unassembled pieces, then back at you. “You want help?”

“No, you don’t need to—”

“Darlin’,” he cut in, raising a brow, “I haven’t done a single useful thing today except drive a truck and pick out boots. Let me earn my dinner.”

You huffed out a laugh. “You want to build furniture to feel useful?”

“Exactly.”

You gave in—because it was Jake, and because the idea of sending him home after he’d carried your entire holiday haul felt wrong. “Fine. But don’t blame me if it’s missing pieces. I’m convinced they do that on purpose.”

He clapped once, rubbing his hands together. “Let me at it.”

You left him in the living room while you ran upstairs to change. You wanted to be comfortable—and also maybe to not look like a zipped-up jacket and jeans disaster next to a man who looked like that.

You slipped into soft black leggings and a loose cotton shirt, tied your hair out of your face, and headed back down.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Jake had shed his burnt-orange shirt, leaving him in a white tank top that fit like a second skin. His biceps flexed as he tightened something with a screwdriver, the muscles shifting under warm, tan skin. His shoulders were broader than you imagined, wider than seemed fair. His back was a map of lean strength and hours of work.

And then there was his face — head bent, tongue poking out slightly in concentration, brows furrowed, lashes low over his squinting eyes. You wondered if he still wore his glasses; If they were folded neatly in some case, If he still looked impossibly sweet in them.

He must’ve heard your footsteps because he glanced up— smiling the moment he saw you.

“These are a piece of cake,” he said, patting the partially assembled skeleton of a bookshelf. “I’ve built worse things.”

“You look very proud of yourself,” you teased, kneeling beside him and grabbing the bag of screws.

“I am,” he admitted, no shame whatsoever. “Plus, when’s the last time you had me do manual labor for you?”

“Never.”

“Exactly. I’m making history.”

You nudged him with your elbow and passed him the next set of screws. The two of you fell into a quiet, comfortable rhythm—him working, you handing him tools, both of you tucked into the soft glow of the living room light. It felt strangely domestic, strangely easy.

When you finished the first bookshelf, you sat back, admiring your work. Jake cracked his knuckles, pleased.

“Want to start the second?” he asked.

“You hungry?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I could eat.”

“I’ll order something,” you said, grabbing your phone. “Any cravings?”

“Surprise me.”

You placed the order, and twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. Jake immediately started to rise, pulling out his wallet, but you planted your hand on his shoulder—his big, warm, unfairly muscular shoulder—and pushed him gently back down.

“Absolutely not,” you said. “You built my furniture. The food’s on me.”

“I was raised to pay for dinner.”

“Well, I was raised to repay favors.”

He looked up at you, amused, defeated, soft around the edges. “Alright,” he said. “You win.”

Your fingers lingered on his shoulder for half a second too long before you pulled away. And Jake noticed. He didn’t comment— but he noticed. The faint curve of his lips proved it.

You return from the kitchen balancing the two plates carefully in your hands, the warmth of the food rising in soft curls. He’s still crouched by the second bookshelf, tightening the last screw with that quiet concentration he has.

When you tell him it’s ready, he wipes his hands on the side of his jeans and joins you on the floor again, settling opposite you the way he did earlier—one knee bent, the other stretched out, like he’s already decided the floor is the most natural place to be with you.

You hand him his plate and immediately start apologizing again, waving vaguely at the dining table cluttered with half-unpacked boxes and the kitchen island buried under kitchenware you haven’t sorted yet. “I swear it looked worse earlier,” you joke weakly, but you’re still embarrassed.

He glances around, then looks at you with an easy shrug. “I don’t mind,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice softens something in your chest. He nods toward the plate. “Thank you for the food.”

For a moment, the apartment goes quiet except for the occasional distant hum from the street and the soft clink of silverware. You sit a few feet apart, legs folded, plates balanced on your laps, the kind of silence that isn’t awkward—just warm, a breath between two people who aren’t quite sure how close they’re allowed to sit yet.

Eventually, you ask him if he’s staying in town for long. He swallows, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans back on his palms.

“Got about thirty days,” he says. “On leave.”

You nod, letting that sink in. Thirty days feels like a lot and not enough at the same time.

He tells you a bit about being stationed in California—how he likes the squadron, how the flying keeps him grounded in ways nothing else does, how the ocean smell still hits him weird sometimes. You ask if he misses Texas, and his answer comes with a slow exhale.

“Yeah… sometimes. Mostly my folks. And Jannette.” His voice shifts a little on her name, not sad— just honest.

You look down at your plate before meeting his eyes again. There’s a softness threading under your ribs, one you’ve been trying not to acknowledge since he walked through your door. “I’m… happy you’re back,” you say quietly.

For a second he doesn’t move, like the words catch him off guard. Then his mouth curves, small and real, warm enough that you feel it in your stomach.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes lingering on you a beat too long. “I’m happy you’re back home too.”

—

Jake had just finished climbing down from the stepladder, dusting his palms across his jeans, when the doorbell rang. His mom was elbow-deep in some Christmas recipe that Jannette was very obviously sneaking bites from, so Christina called out, “Jake, honey, can you get that?”

He pushed a hand through his hair and headed toward the foyer, still warm from the heater and smelling faintly of cinnamon and whatever Christina was baking. When he opened the door, the cold morning rushed in—and so did you, in a way.

You stood there bundled in a coat almost too big, scarf wrapped twice around your neck, gloves tugged up to your wrists. And in your hands? A precarious tower of perfectly wrapped gifts that rose so high he could barely see your eyes peeking over the top. Your breath clouded in the air, cheeks pink from the cold, and Jake had to bite back a laugh because you looked so damn cute he almost forgot to say hello.

“Well,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe, “are you doin’ some kind of arm workout, or do you just have a personal vendetta against traveling light?”

You tried to roll your eyes, but it wasn’t very effective with most of your face hidden behind a stack of metallic paper and crisp ribbons. “Ha, ha. Very funny,” you muttered, shifting the gifts before they toppled. “Are you going to help me, or should I just file for workers’ comp now?”

Jake grinned as he reached forward and scooped the whole leaning tower of presents out of your hands like they weighed nothing. “You’re welcome,” he said, stepping aside so you could slip into the warmth of the house.

“Thank you,” you replied, brushing a gloved hand over your coat as if it would make you look less flustered.

But you didn’t get a second more to compose yourself because Jannette’s shriek echoed from the kitchen— bright, high-pitched, delighted. In an instant she appeared, barreling toward you at full speed. She collided with you in a hug so tight Jake winced on your behalf.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” she squealed into your scarf before dragging you toward the kitchen like you weighed nothing at all.

Jake followed with your gifts in his arms, just to the edge of the doorway. Christina turned around, saw you, and let out a squeal that matched her daughter’s in pitch and enthusiasm. She wiped her hands on a dish towel before rushing forward to hug you herself.

From where he stood at the threshold, Jake watched the three of you—voices overlapping, hands busy, warmth practically radiating off the kitchen tiles. Something in his chest tugged, something he refused to name.

Before he could take a step inside, Carl called from the living room, “Jake! Need your help with this bracket!”

Jake lingered one more heartbeat, eyes tracing the way you laughed as Christina fussed over your coat and Jannette immediately tried to steal something from the stove again. Then he cleared his throat, adjusted the pile of gifts under his arm, and headed back to the living room.

The kitchen felt warmer than any heater could manage. It was the kind of warmth born from clattering pots, soft laughter, the perfume of cinnamon and roasted something drifting from the oven. Christina handed you a cutting board, Jannette passed you a knife she’d already stolen a tomato with, and you slipped into the rhythm of helping them prep for tomorrow night’s dinner.

Your parents were already in Mexico for the holidays, and being here—being folded into the Seresins’ chaos—felt strangely natural. You wanted to help, needed to feel useful when their kindness had opened their home to you without a blink.

Jake moved between the living room and the kitchen every so often, delivering decorations for Christina to approve or returning with tools Carl needed. And every time he stepped through that doorway, whether it was with a hammer in his hand or a strand of garland slung over his shoulder, he let his gaze drift toward you. Quick, almost shy glances—like he didn’t want anyone to notice, but he couldn’t help himself.

Of course, Christina noticed. And Jannette did, too. The moment Jake turned away to answer his dad, the two women exchanged a look so subtle it barely registered, but you caught the tail end of it. A shared, knowing smile.

They remembered. They remembered everything.

Growing up, Jake’s crush on you had been embarrassingly transparent, all long limbs and red cheeks and too-fast talking. He hadn’t been good at hiding it then— and if the soft warmth on his face each time he glanced your way meant anything, he wasn’t good at hiding it now either.

You weren’t much better.

You tried to be discreet, you really did, but your eyes had a mind of their own. They tracked the line of his shoulders under that fitted shirt, the flex of muscle in his arms when he lifted a box of ornaments, the curve of his profile when he leaned in to listen to something his mom said. He had grown into himself, into his height and his strength, into that steady confidence that radiated off him like heat.

And you were looking. A lot.

Every time your gaze dipped — just for a second— down the plane of his chest or the sharp cut of his jaw, a quiet thrill shot down your spine. Like touching a live wire. Like being reminded you were still very much alive.

You told yourself it wasn’t because he was hot now, not only that.

But God, he was.

And it had been… a while for you. Dating, intimacy, even something as simple as being touched. The absence of all of it had left a kind of hollow ache you didn’t like to acknowledge. A low, restless hum under your skin.

And now here you were. Getting all worked up because Jake Seresin, Jannette’s little brother, for God’s sake, smiled at you from across the room like you were something warm to come home to.

The realization startled you more than it should have. The suddenness of it, the sharp tug low in your stomach, the heat prickling at the back of your neck.

You cleared your throat and focused on chopping vegetables, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes on you again.

Pretending the flutter in your chest wasn’t answering him back.

—

You stayed the entire afternoon without even meaning to. One minute you were helping Christina peel potatoes, the next you were wiping down the counters while Jannette stole cookies straight off the cooling tray, and somehow the sun slipped low without any of you noticing.

Eventually the kitchen duties were handed off to timers, ovens, and Christina’s uncanny intuition, freeing you to wander into the living room where Carl and Jake had finished arranging decorations. The tree glowed softly in the corner—warm white lights, gold garland, and the familiar collection of mismatched Seresin ornaments.

You sank into the couch with a relieved sigh, pulling out your phone to check a few work emails. You only managed three lines of a message before Jannette plopped down beside you dramatically and smacked your phone right out of your hands.

“It’s Christmas,” she declared.

“It is not Christmas yet,” you retorted, leaning down to reach for your phone. “It’s the twenty-third—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

Your whole body paused, suspended mid-reach, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. Because Jake Seresin was walking down the stairs.

Freshly showered. Hair damp, curling faintly at the ends; face warm from the heat of it, broad shoulders framed by a soft, worn T-shirt.

But none of that was what made your brain short-circuit— It was the glasses.

Simple, thin-framed, perfectly fitted glasses perched on his nose, making him look sharper and softer at the same time. They framed his face in a way that was almost unfair. Handsome didn’t cover it. He looked intelligent, grounded, older, hotter— God, hotter. As if he needed any help.

Your heart stumbled over its own rhythm.

Beside you, Jannette followed the line of your gaze, took one look at her brother, then at your stunned expression—and smirked like a cat who’d just cornered a canary. Her elbow found your ribs with cruel precision.

“Shut up,” you whispered, swatting her lightly.

“I wasn’t talking,” she sang quietly. “You were staring.”

You forced your eyes off Jake —honestly, ripped them away— and pretended Jannette’s rambling about cookie icing required your full intellectual capacity. Still, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake settle against the far wall, scrolling through something on his phone, glasses sliding down his nose just enough that he pushed them back up with the knuckle of his thumb.

You almost groaned. Silently. Internally.

It was dangerously close to indecent.

Time passed in a blur of warmth and soft chatter until you noticed the hour glowing on the clock. You stood, brushing your hands down your sides.

“I should head out,” you announced gently. “It’s getting late.”

Christina, perched beside Carl on the loveseat, looked scandalized. “You shouldn’t be driving at night, sweetheart.”

You waved a hand lightly. “It’s fine, really. I’ve done it a thousand times.”

Christina shook her head, already set in her ways. “No. You’re tired. The roads are dark. It’s not safe.”

Before you could argue, Jannette, eyes gleaming with mischief, said, “Jake can drive her.”

Jake’s head snapped up. He blinked once, confusion melting quickly into something bright and alert. His gaze drifted to you, locking on, and your breath caught again because glasses.

Christina lit up instantly. “That’s perfect! Yes. Jake, take her home. And darling, leave your car here. He’ll pick you up tomorrow too.”

Your cheeks flushed warm. “Mrs. Seresin, really, that’s not—”

“I don’t mind,” Jake said, voice sliding in low and steady, cutting off your protest.

Jannette muttered under her breath, “Of course you don’t,” earning herself a sharp look from him.

You swallowed, nodded softly, thanked them all, and gathered your things. Jake grabbed the truck keys from the shelf by the door and held the door open for you.

The chill of the night met you both at once— crisp air, quiet street, the scent of pine lingering on your coat. Your breath puffed out in little clouds, mixing with his.

Your cheeks were still warm from the attention, from the glasses, from the way Jake kept glancing at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

Jake opened the truck door for you just like before— effortlessly, almost instinctively, as if it were second nature. He offered his hand to help you climb in, the warmth of his fingers brushing yours for a moment that felt much longer than it actually was. Then he closed the door gently and circled the hood, breath visible in the cold night air.

Once he slid behind the wheel, he turned the key, letting the engine hum to life. The headlights washed over the quiet street as he eased out of the driveway. The inside of the truck was warm, dimly lit, and filled with the soft rasp of the heater and the low rumble of the engine. Jake kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh, and every now and then he reached up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the lightest tap of his knuckle.

You watched him do it once. Then again. Then again— each time something fluttering low in your stomach.

After a stretch of comfortable silence, you said softly, “I didn’t know you still wore glasses.”

He huffed a small laugh, eyes flicking toward you before returning to the road. “Yeah, I’m still pretty blind,” he joked. “Contacts help, but by the end of the day they get annoying.”

You smiled, leaning back against the seat. “I can’t believe Christina didn’t want me driving at night. I’m offended, honestly.”

Jake laughed, real and warm, the sound filling the cab in a way that made your chest feel too full. He shook his head, voice lighter than before. “Yeah, you’re clearly the bigger hazard.”

You grinned, pretending to be scandalized. “Wow. Thank you, Lieutenant Safety.”

He glanced at you again, longer this time, and there was something soft in his eyes, something easy and fond that made you swallow around the sudden warmth in your throat. He returned his attention to the road, but the faint smile stayed on his face.

The world outside the truck was dark and still— houses wrapped in Christmas lights, lawns sparkling with frost, the sky a deep velvet blue. Inside, though, it felt warmer and smaller, the space between you charged with something neither of you wanted to name yet.

You shifted slightly in your seat. The fabric of your leggings clung to your skin, warm from the heater, and you crossed your legs, then uncrossed them, fingers idly brushing your thigh. You told yourself it was the cold. The long day. The exhaustion.

But then Jake pushed his glasses up again, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the cut of his cheekbone— and your thighs pressed together without you thinking.

You tried to play it off, adjusting in your seat, pretending to get comfortable. But the truth pulsed hot and low: you were attracted to him, wildly, stupidly, overwhelmingly attracted. The kind of attraction that made your breath catch and your skin warm. The kind that made your mind wander to places it absolutely should not go— not while sitting beside Jake Seresin. Not while wearing a seatbelt.

He didn’t seem to notice, thankfully. Or maybe he did and was too polite to say anything. Or maybe he noticed, but the curl of a smile ghosting the corner of his mouth suggested something else entirely—something that made your heart thump hard against your ribs.

You stared out the window, trying to breathe normally.

Jake reached up, pushed his glasses up one more time, and you were gone again.

After a while, he pulled up smoothly to the curb and cut the engine. For a moment neither of you moved, the quiet settling between you like a warm blanket, thick and charged and impossible to ignore. Then he unbuckled, stepped out into the cool night, and rounded the truck with long, confident strides. He opened your door with that same gentle care he’d shown all day, offering a hand to help you down.

You met his eyes as you slid out of the seat. “Thank you for the ride,” you said softly, breath visible in the cold. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Jake shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, shoulders lifting in the faintest shrug. “I wanted to,” he said, simple and earnest.

A small wave of silence washed over you—warm, a little nervous, strangely comfortable. You stood there on your front walk, the porch light casting a golden glow over the two of you. Jake looked taller in that light, broader, impossibly handsome with the frames perched on his nose and the cold brushing color onto his cheeks.

Neither of you knew what to say, neither of you wanted to walk away.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, finally breaking the spell.

“Goodnight,” he echoed, voice quieter than before.

You turned, walking toward your porch steps. You made it halfway to the door, heart pounding, breath uneven, before stopping dead.

Fuck it.

You spun around.

Jake was still standing exactly where you left him, hands in his pockets, breath curling in the cold air. His eyes widened when he saw you coming back, mouth parting like he was about to speak—

—but he didn’t get the chance.

You reached him in one determined step, hands sliding up his chest as you surged forward and crushed your mouth to his. The kiss landed hot, full, desperate. Jake froze for just half a second, but then he melted into you, hands flying from his pockets to your waist, pulling you firmly against him like he’d been waiting years for this exact moment.

The world tilted.

You kissed him deeper, your fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. When you finally pulled back for air, barely an inch away, he chased you— capturing your mouth again before you could even inhale, like he couldn’t bear the distance.

You walked backwards without looking, letting instinct guide you, and he followed without hesitation, steps perfectly in sync with yours. He kissed you like you were something he’d dreamed of and never expected to touch. Like he was starving and you were the first real taste of something good in years.

His chest pressed to yours, his breath warm, his glasses slightly askew.

You hit your door with a soft thud.

Jake kissed down your jaw to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. “Where are your keys, sweetheart?” he murmured against the curve of your throat, voice rough, low, absolutely devastating.

Sweetheart.

Your knees almost buckled.

You fumbled in your purse —shaky, breathless— until your fingers closed around the keys. Jake stayed pressed to you, hands exploring your waist, your hips, the small of your back, claiming every piece of you he could reach. You managed to get the key into the lock on the second try and push the door open.

The moment you stepped inside, Jake followed, shutting the door behind him with one hand while the other found your waist again. His lips returned to your neck, nipping lightly, and you let out a breathless giggle. Your fingers slid into his hair, brushing the edge of his glasses, and he pulled back just enough to smirk against your skin.

“Couldn’t keep your hands off my glasses, huh?” he teased, voice warm and wicked.

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, backing you farther into the house until the door clicked shut behind him and the world outside disappeared.

Jake guided you deeper into the house until your back met the wall, the gentle thud echoing in the quiet room. He didn’t kiss you right away. Instead, he paused— breathing hard, chest rising and falling against your — just looking at you like he was trying to memorize every line of your face.

His eyes swept over you, slow and reverent.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, warm and trembling with honesty he probably hadn’t planned to share. “You have no idea how many times I dreamed about this.”

Heat shot straight through you.

Your lips curved, eyes lifting to his through your lashes as you leaned in, brushing your mouth near the shell of his ear. “Tell me what you dreamed about,” you whispered, breath warm against his skin.

Jake pulled back just enough to see you clearly, and something shifted behind his eyes. A spark— dark, certain, hungry. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and sinful.

“No hesitation at all, huh?” he drawled softly.

Before you could respond, his hands slid down your sides, warm and sure, settling at the back of your thighs. In one smooth, practiced motion he lifted you— effortless, like you weighed nothing. You gasped, hands flying to the back of his neck, fingers curling in the soft hair there.

Your legs wrapped around his waist by instinct, your body fitting to his like you’d done this a thousand times instead of not at all.

His mouth found your neck again, lips hot and open as he kissed a path up toward your jaw. You tilted your head without thinking, granting him more access, a soft moan slipping out before you could stop it.

Jake groaned quietly at the sound, tightening his grip on you.

And then he started walking.

Up the stairs.

Carrying you like he’d been waiting fourteen years for the chance.

Each step jostled you just enough that your breath hitched, your arms clinging tighter around his shoulders. His body was strong and steady beneath you— solid muscle, warm skin, that faint scent of soap and aftershave still clinging to him after his shower.

He kept kissing you between steps, his lips brushing your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he physically couldn’t stop touching you.

By the time he reached your bedroom door, your pulse was pounding, your fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, your legs locked tight around him.

Jake nudged the door open with his shoulder, eyes lifting to meet yours— full of every dream he’d never said out loud.

He laid you softly on the bed, his body hovering over yours as your back hit the mattress. The room felt charged, the air thick with anticipation as his warmth pressed close. He planted one hand beside your head, the other trailing down your side, fingers igniting sparks along your skin. His lips captured yours in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with confident ease, tasting you thoroughly. You moaned into him, your hands roaming his broad back, slipping under his shirt to feel the hard ridges of his abs clenching under your touch.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head in a rush. Your eyes devoured him: toned chest, defined arms, every inch screaming raw power. He mirrored you, stripping your top away and unhooking your bra with a flick of his fingers, exposing your breasts to the cool air. They ached for him already, nipples hardening. As he reached for his glasses, you grabbed his wrist.

“Leave them on,” you whispered, voice husky with need. He smirked, that green gaze sharpening behind the lenses, adjusting them before crashing back into another kiss, his mouth devouring yours.

His lips trailed down, hot and insistent, nipping at your jaw before settling on your neck. He sucked hard, tongue lapping at the skin, drawing a gasp from you as a bruise bloomed under his mouth.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured against your throat, his voice low and rough. You arched into him, fingers threading through his hair. He moved lower, open-mouthed kisses peppering your collarbone, then your breasts. His hand cupped one, thumb circling the nipple while his mouth latched onto the other, sucking firmly.

The pull shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench with empty need. He switched sides, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, leaving faint red marks that would darken into hickeys by morning. Your moans filled the room, body writhing as pleasure built.

“Jake... please,” you breathed, hips shifting restlessly. He released your breast with a wet pop, kissing down your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel. His hands hooked into your leggings, peeling them down slowly, caressing the newly bared skin of your thighs.

Cool air hit your soaked panties, the fabric clinging transparently to your folds. He settled between your legs, broad shoulders parting them wide, his breath ghosting over your inner thighs. You rocked up instinctively, seeking friction against the ache in your pussy.

He dragged his fingers along the waistband of your panties, eyes locked on yours through his glasses, that smirk promising everything.

“So wet for me already,” he said, voice gravelly. He tugged them off, exposing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but the way he stared—like he wanted to consume you—only made you throb harder. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, sucking marks into the soft flesh, each pull making you whimper. The hickeys would linger, a secret reminder of this night.

“Please, Jake,” you begged, voice breaking. He looked up, green eyes piercing behind the frames, and without a word, his mouth found your pussy. His tongue flattened against your slit, licking a long, slow stripe from entrance to clit.

The sensation was electric, your hips bucking as he lapped at your juices. He hummed in approval, the vibration sending shivers through you. Then he focused on your clit, sucking it between his lips with precise pressure, tongue flicking the swollen nub.

You cried out, hands fisting the sheets. His mouth worked you relentlessly, tongue circling your clit before sucking harder, drawing obscene wet sounds from your pussy. He made out with it, lips and tongue worshipping every fold, dipping inside briefly to taste your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

“Look at me, darling,” he commanded, voice muffled against you. You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense stare as he sucked your clit again, the suction pulling a scream from your throat. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, your thighs trembling around his head.

He pulled back just enough to speak, one finger sliding along your slit, gathering your wetness before rubbing firm circles on your clit.

“Did you know not all women orgasm from penetration? Stimulation like this—or toys—can be key. But bet I can make you cum from my tongue alone.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, confident and teasing. Then he dove back in, mouth sealing over your pussy, tongue thrusting inside while his fingertips tugged at your clit. You screamed, the dual assault overwhelming, your body arching off the bed.

His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open as he ate you out with expert focus. Tongue lashing your clit, sucking it rhythmically, he built the pressure higher. Your moans turned to gasps, breaths ragged, every nerve alight. He added a finger, sliding it deep into your clenching pussy, curling to hit that spot inside while his mouth never stopped its assault on your clit.

The combination was devastating— wet slurps mixing with your cries, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat. You felt the edge approaching, body tensing, but he didn't let up, determined to push you over with just his mouth and that skilled touch.

“Jake... I'm so close,” you panted, eyes locked on his as he glanced up again, that smug glint in his green eyes urging you on. His tongue flattened once more, licking broad strokes before pinpoint sucking on your clit, finger pumping steadily. The pleasure crested, threatening to shatter you, but he held you there, drawing it out with every precise movement.

Your body convulses as the orgasm rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing hard. Your pussy clenches and gushes, soaking Jake's mouth with your hot cum. He doesn't flinch— instead, he presses his tongue flat against your swollen folds, lapping up every drop like it's the sweetest nectar.

His lips suck greedily at your entrance, tongue delving deep to scoop out more of your juices, slurping loudly as you tremble beneath him. The wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your ragged breaths, your thighs quivering around his head.

You think he's done, that he'll pull back and give you a second to recover, but Jake's eyes lock onto yours through his fogged glasses, dark with hunger. His tongue keeps working, flicking over your sensitive clit, sending jolts straight to your core.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he moans against your skin, the vibration making you whimper. Before you can beg for mercy, he slides one thick finger into your dripping hole, stretching your walls with its girth. It's long, rough from whatever he's been doing all day, and he thrusts it slow and deep, curling it just right to hit that spot inside.

Your juices coat his finger easily, making obscene squelching noises as he pumps in and out. You gasp, hips bucking involuntarily, but he pins you down with his free hand on your thigh.

“A lot happens in your body during orgasm, especially in the brain,” he says casually, like he's reciting from a textbook while finger-fucking you senseless. “It has been shown that when you reach orgasm, the area behind your left eye, known as the lateral orbitofrontal cortex, shuts down. Kind of why you look so fucked out right now.” His words hit you as hard as his finger, your mind reeling from the mix of science and filth.

“Oh god,” you moan, your voice breaking as he slips a second finger inside, stretching you wider. Your pussy flutters around the intrusion, stuffed full already, but he doesn't stop. He starts scissoring them, twisting and thrusting, while his thumb sneaks up to your clit, rubbing firm circles that make your vision blur. The pressure builds fast, your nerves on fire from the dual assault. “Ho-how do you know all of this?” you stammer, words tumbling out between gasps, your body arching off the bed.

He smirks, never breaking rhythm, his fingers plunging deeper, knuckles grazing your entrance.

“I just read a lot.” His voice is low, teasing, as his hand works you relentlessly. You feel every ridge of his fingers dragging along your inner walls, hitting your G-spot with precision. “Did you know a female orgasm can burn between 60 to 100 calories? That’s on top of the calories burnt during sex.”

“Did you major in women's anatomy or something?” you manage to choke out, your breaths coming in short pants as pleasure coils tighter in your belly.

He shakes his head, eyes gleaming with dominance. “I learn a lot online.” Before you can respond, his mouth replaces his thumb on your clit, sucking hard, tongue swirling around the throbbing nub.

His fingers thrust faster, curling against your G-spot with every stroke, the wet slaps echoing louder. You cry out, the second orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. Your pussy spasms around his fingers, cum coming out in hot spurts as he drives them deeper, fucking you through it without mercy.

He pulls his mouth away just enough to speak, lips shiny with your arousal. “I want to make you squirt.” The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, but you shake your head weakly, still riding the aftershocks.

“I've never... I don't know if I can,” you whimper, your voice hoarse, body already oversensitive.

Jake's grin turns wicked. “It's different for everybody, but some people may achieve squirting from stimulation to the clitoris, vulva, or other parts of the vagina or body.”

As he talks, his fingers pick up speed, slamming into your G-spot harder, the pressure building to something intense and unfamiliar. “A person may find it easier to squirt when masturbating. Right now, I'm hitting your G-spot. You may feel a tingling sensation or the need to urinate.”

You nod frantically, biting your lip to stifle a scream, the pleasure bordering on too much. That tingling spreads, a full bladder ache mixing with the ecstasy, making your muscles clench.

“Dual stimulation is important, see?” he says, voice rough with his own arousal. His head dives back down, mouth latching onto your clit, sucking and flicking while his fingers piston inside you, relentless on that spongy spot. The overstimulation hits like lightning— deliciously painful, your nerves screaming as the third orgasm barrels toward you.

Your hips jerk, trying to escape the intensity, but Jake locks your thighs in place with his strong arms, refusing to let you pull away. He speeds up instead, fingers curling and thrusting, mouth devouring your clit.

The pressure explodes. You scream his name, body seizing as you squirt hard, a gush of fluid spraying over his face. It soaks his glasses, dripping down his chin, wetting his chest and the bed, but he doesn't stop.

He drinks you in, tongue lapping at the flood, moaning deep in his throat as his hips grind against the bed, cock straining in his pants. Your legs shake uncontrollably, pussy pulsing around his fingers, every muscle going limp as your brain shorts out in bliss.

Jake keeps licking, slower now, savoring every last drop until you're empty and twitching. He finally pulls back, chin glistening, glasses ruined and streaked with your squirt, but his eyes burn with satisfaction. He watches you, sprawled and fucked-out on the bed, chest heaving, pussy still fluttering.

“Told you I could make you squirt,” he says, voice husky, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His fingers trail up your thigh, teasing the edge of your folds again, hinting at more to come.

Your mouth opened, ready to answer, but Jake’s phone rang with a notification from the corner of the bed he had discarded it earlier —

Guessing you’re gonna spend the night there, just know mom will go get your ass if you’re not here to open the gifts tomorrow — naked or not!

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[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Danger Zone (Part 17) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 5.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Military Inaccuracies; Medical Inaccuracies; Crying; Fluff; Talk of Marriage; Angst; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: Jake gets his orders.

Series Master List

Master List

It was deathly quiet in Cyclone’s office and the only sound that Jake registered was his heart beating out of his chest. Slowly closing the folder, Jake turned back to Cyclone, who remained sitting with an impassive expression behind his desk. 

“I’m sorry, Hangman,” Cyclone replied quietly, his tone genuine. “There was nothing that I could do.”

Cyclone had been in Hangman’s position before. Twice, actually. And he didn’t relish in handing any man or woman orders that would take them away from their family. Especially during such an important time. But that came with the industry that they signed up for.

“I was expecting it, sir.”

And that roughly translated to: of course, they wouldn’t let me finally be happy

“Still, I am sorry. I’ve been in your position before and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.”

“Do you know how long I’ll be away?” Jake asked quietly, holding onto a tiny thread of hope. 

“Anywhere from two to eight months. Most likely, somewhere in the middle.” 

You were about six and a half months pregnant now. If he made it back in two months, he could be there for the birth of your child. But Jake knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t be home by then. And what if the baby came early? He’d be cutting it extremely close if he was lucky. 

Worst-case scenario, he would return home to you when the baby was almost six months old. Six months. He would miss your baby growing and learning all about the world around them. He’d come home and the baby would already almost be halfway to a full year old. He’d miss so many milestones, so many little triumphs. 

“Am I excused, sir?”

“Yes, of course. Take the days before you deploy and spend them with your family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Slowly walking out to his truck with the most defeated feeling of his life, Jake slipped into the driver’s seat of his truck. He just sat there for a minute, processing the news, and trying to get his emotions under control. 

But once the tears started falling, there was nothing that he could do to stop them. 

Resting his head on his fist, Hangman let a batch of tears of complete and utter frustration slip down his cheeks. He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel of his truck before the fight left his body and he slumped against the steering wheel, letting more tears slip down his cheeks. 

How the hell was he going to break the news to you?

~~~~~

The lights were on in your apartment when Jake pulled into the parking lot. He took the key out of the ignition and slowly slid out of his truck. Staring up at the window that showed into your living room, he took a moment to gather himself before heading inside. 

From the outside, you could be seen smiling to yourself, making dinner for the two of you. Your growing and prominent bump was covered by one of Jake’s tee shirts and you wore his ring on your finger proudly. The joy on your features only multiplied when you heard the door unlock and Jake step inside. 

As you hurried to wipe your hands on a towel, Jake set his bag down, and tried to push his emotions aside when he heard your footsteps. And when you came hurrying around the corner, his smile was pained as you ran up to him.

“We got the house!” you yelled, causing Jake’s mind to shift for a moment. “They took our second offer!”

“Really?” Jake breathed out as you nodded, practically bursting with excitement. 

“We bought a house!”

Jake held out his arms and quickly pulled you close to his chest, his mind still on the news that he had to break to you.

The kiss that you initiated was light-hearted and celebratory, full of playful little pecks. But the kiss that Jake returned was one of deep-seated emotion, like he was afraid that you were going to disappear right in front of him. He held you firmly, his arms enveloping your figure and cradling your bump with every touch of protective energy that he possessed in his body. 

You pulled back, your brows furrowed, as you cupped his cheeks with your hands. Staring into his eyes, you rubbed your thumbs along his cheeks. 

“Jake, what’s wrong?”

From the outside, Jake could be seen leading you over to the couch and sitting you down. He forced himself to gather his courage as you looked at him with concern. Letting out a breath, he turned back to you and finally broke the news. 

As he slowly explained the situation, your expression started to change. There was a flash of fear that built and built until a defeated, frustrated look drew your gaze down to your lap. Jake leaned over, whispering soft words until you picked your head up. Forcing a smile to assure Jake that you were alright, you couldn’t help the tears that started slipping down your cheeks. 

Jake wiped them away with his thumb, starting to cry again himself. The two of you shared another kiss before Jake pulled you into his lap. Curling against his chest, you dug your fingers into his shirt, trying to hold in the sobs that were crawling out of your throat. Jake rested his head on top of your own, whispering all kinds of words of reassurance that neither of you truly believed in. 

He had been in this industry since he was eighteen. You grew up around the Navy. 

And you knew what this would mean for your family. 

The two of you sat there, locking in embrace, as the sun started to slip below the horizon. Jake rested his arm around your bump, hoping that your baby would still be there when he returned. He’d never forgive himself if he missed the birth of your child. Especially if anything went wrong. 

He would never forgive himself. 

The sun had completely set when you finally uncurled yourself from Jake’s chest. Sitting up, you brushed your hand through his hair a few times, causing him to close his eyes for a moment. Jake slowly opened his green eyes, the eyes that you quite honestly pictured your baby inheriting, when you removed your hand from his head.

“We have a few days,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion as you tried to find the good in the situation. There wasn’t much to be found, and you were really trying your best to not start crying all over again. “What did you want to do with them?” 

“Spend every minute with the two of you.”

“Anything more specific?” you teased him, trying to smile though Jake couldn’t seem to return it. “You want to take a trip or go shopping for some more baby stuff or . . .?”

You trailed off, trying to think of something else when Jake gently grabbed your hand. You looked down as he slowly turned your wrist over and ran his thumb over your engagement ring. Sharing a look with Jake, you felt another batch of tears start to form. 

“I know you mentioned wanting to wait until after the baby was born because it would just be too chaotic to think about now . . . but—”

“—Yes,” you agreed quickly. “I’ll marry you, Jake.” 

He offered you a genuinely touched smile, a different batch of tears coming to his eyes. You wiped them away while you shed some of your own before pulling him in for a soft, loving kiss. And Jake could only pull you closer, savoring one of his last opportunities to do so. Breaking away a few moments later, you flashed him a painful smile.

“I guess I should find a dress.” 

~~~~~

Sitting with your head in your hands at Bradley and Emma’s kitchen table, you tried to not let your stress show. Everyone was giving you looks like they were waiting for you to finally break and you just frankly did not have the time. 

You were marrying Jake that afternoon and you didn’t have a wedding dress to get married in. 

The day before the two of you had run around like crazy people, making sure that all of the necessary documents were being prepared for the closing of your house. Then you spent time at his lawyer’s office, signing off on wills and other documents to protect yourselves and the baby while Jake was away. And you did a fair amount of crying along the way and so here you were, still without a dress. 

“I just don’t know where I’m going to find a white dress that fits me in time,” you told Penny, picking your head up from your hands. 

“We’ll figure something out,” she assured you, squeezing your shoulder. “Maybe we can find a dress down at one of the department stores in town.” 

“And what if we don’t find something?”

“We’ll find something,” Emma said from your other side. “You’ll have a white dress for this wedding.”

“What about this one?” Bradley called, causing the three of you to turn to him. 

Your brother held up the vacuum sealed bag that contained your mother’s wedding dress from her own wedding in 1983. It used to sit in your apartment closet, up until you moved in with Jake and were pretty much forced to hand it over to Bradley since you didn’t have any space in the apartment. 

After your mom’s death, you knew that you would incorporate her dress into your own in some way. Perhaps with a bit of fabric. Or you would borrow the veil. Something small that would have her with you on your special day, but also not holding you back with eighties fashion. 

You never really pictured actually getting married in your mom’s wedding dress.

For one thing, there was the little detail that your mom was over five months pregnant when she married your dad. 

Apparently, shotgun weddings and unplanned pregnancies ran in the family. 

Walking over to your brother, you inspected your mother’s wedding dress a little closer. It was fitted at the bust, but even with the slight cinch at the hips, the fabric was loose. It had to be. Bradley’s fat ass had to be accommodated. The skirt was a bit full, but nothing crazy. The bodice was covered in delicate lace and it had the distinct puffy sleeves from the eighties. 

“Mom’s dress,” you said quietly, turning to your brother. “You think I should wear Mom’s dress?” 

“It’s the only suggestion I have,” Bradley replied softly. And when he saw a flash of doubt in your eyes, he asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“I just don’t want to ruin it,” you replied, running your fingers along it. 

“You’re not going to ruin it,” Bradley assured you, causing you to turn back to him. “She always said that she would have married Dad in a potato sack. She didn’t care about the dress. She just wanted to get married, that was all.” 

“She never cared about any of that,” you agreed, sniffling a bit. Wiping your tears away, you croaked out, “I just wish she was here.” 

Bradley pulled you in for a tight brotherly hug that you quickly returned. Emma carefully took the dress from Bradley’s hand, letting him properly hug you. You held onto your brother and sobbed, your promise to yourself about not breaking down falling to little pieces at your feet. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how Jake got called up for deployment when you were nearing your third trimester. It wasn’t fair how the two of you had to cobble together some random ceremony at the last minute. It wasn’t fair how you couldn’t have your parents at your wedding. It wasn’t fair how you could have your baby without Jake by your side for months.

And it all just came rushing out as your big brother protectively hugged you in the middle of his kitchen. 

“It’s going to be alright,” he told you, sharing a worried look with Emma. “You’ll see.” 

“I’ve lost enough. I just wanted to win this one time, Brad,” you sobbed, causing your brother to start to tear up too. “I just wanted him here for a few more months. That’s all I needed.” 

“I know, I know,” he told you, rubbing your back. “It’s going to be alright.” 

The two of you stood there for a few moments, maybe even minutes as you cried and Bradley tried his best to comfort you.

“And Mom and Dad aren’t here to walk me down the aisle,” you continued on, sniffling repeatedly. 

“I cried about that too, on my wedding day,” Bradley told you quietly, voice thick with emotion. “But they’re both here. And they both wouldn’t want you to cry like this on your wedding day.”

“I know,” you whispered, wiping your tears away. 

Giving your brother another hug, you stepped back and turned to see Penny, Emma, and Sarah, who had come in while you were crying to Bradley, standing there, waiting for you. 

“So, do you want to wear your mom’s dress?” Emma asked softly, holding it up for you. 

“Yeah,” you agreed with a small smile, wiping some more tears away. “I’ll wear my mom’s wedding dress.”

Penny walked over and gave you a tight hug before leading you over to the guest bedroom with Sarah and Emma trailing after the two of you. 

“We’ll get you fitted into the dress and while Sarah’s sewing it up, you hop in the shower and get all of the tears and snot off of your face and then we’ll really start getting you ready, alright?”

~~~~~

“. . . and that was how I met your mom,” Jake recorded his own voice, sitting in your shared apartment. 

With you at Bradley and Emma’s house to get ready, Jake was taking the opportunity to put together a little gift for you. He ordered a set of headphones for your bump and now he was recording little messages to your baby. 

Saving that message, Jake was about to start another one when there was a knock on the door. He got up from his seat and walked over, letting Javy in. Just like him, Javy was dressed in his dress whites and he offered Jake a smile of condolence as he walked into the apartment. 

“How’re you doing?”

“I’ve been recording messages. For the baby,” Jake replied softly, shutting the door. “For her to play when I’m deployed.” 

“How many do you have now?” 

“Six,” Jake stated, showing Javy his phone. “I’m hoping to record a few more before I leave.” 

“I’m sorry, Jake,” Javy stated quietly, trying to not let defeat enter his tone. Jake’s expression already had too much of it for Javy’s taste. “You should get to be there. And there’s still a chance, but this isn’t fair and you have the right to be pissed about it.” 

“I’m not even angry anymore. I’m just . . . depressed,” Jake returned quietly. “And I’m worried about her. I’m terrified that this is going to push her into early labor or hurt the baby or something like that.” 

“We’ve already passed around a sign up sheet,” Javy told Jake, who looked at his best friend with a measure of confusion. “Every day, at least one of us is going to stop by and spend time with her. Check on her. Help her with anything that she needs help with. Make sure that she and the baby are alright. She’s not going to be left here alone.” 

Jake nodded slowly, tears threatening to fall. He bit his lip, trying to hold it in, but when Javy pulled him into a tight hug, Jake let a few fall. 

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” Javy repeated sorrowfully. 

Straightening up after a few solemn moments, the two aviators collected themselves before Javy put on a brave face for his best friend. Looking around the apartment, Javy turned back to Jake. 

“So, you got the rings?”

“Yeah, we bought them yesterday,” Jake replied, walking over to your bedroom. 

He pulled out a fabric bag and handed it over to Javy, who opened it and dropped the rings into his hand. To match your engagement ring, the two of you bought silver wedding bands. They were simple, traditional wedding bands, but when Jake got back, the two of you were already discussing getting something engraved on the inside of them. 

But right now, the most important fact was that the two of you got married today. All the other details could come later. 

“Anything else that you’re supposed to bring?” Javy asked, handing the bag back to Jake. “You got all of the paperwork?” 

“Right here,” Jake replied, picking up a folder from the kitchen counter. “I’m just waiting for the text to start heading down there.” 

“Go record your messages to your kid then. I’m going to call Nat,” Javy told Jake before heading out of the apartment. 

Pulling out his phone, Javy pressed Phoenix’s contact and held the phone to his ear as he walked over to the stairwell. After a few rings, Phoenix picked up the call. 

“Hey, you at Jake’s?” she answered quietly. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“How is he?” 

“He’s fucking broken, Nat,” Javy sighed, rubbing his face. “I’ve never seen him look this defeated before.” After a pause, Javy asked, “How’s she doing? Did you make it to Rooster and Emma’s place?”

“They’re doing some quick alterations to her dress. And Emma is doing her hair and makeup right now. So, we’ll probably be heading out within an hour.” Phoenix took a moment before adding, “She’s trying to pretend like she’s okay but Rooster said that she had a bit of a breakdown earlier.” 

“But she’s okay now?”

“Physically, yeah, she’s fine. Emotionally, I’m worried. But Penny’s keeping a close eye on her.” 

“I just feel so bad for them.” 

“I know, me too,” Phoenix replied softly. “Where’s Jake now?” 

“Don’t tell her because I’m pretty sure that he wants to make it a surprise, but he’s recording messages to their baby for her to play while he’s gone.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Phoenix sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that he has to leave tomorrow. They can’t even fully enjoy their wedding night.” 

“I know,” Javy sighed, glancing down the hall at your and Jake’s apartment. “I’m going to go check on him again. Text me when you guys are heading down to Town Hall.” 

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

~~~~~

You sat in Emma and Bradley’s bathroom as Emma applied some eyeshadow to your eyelids. She had already braided your hair into a simple updo with some help from Phoenix before working on your makeup.

“Alright, no more crying, okay?” Emma stated as she pulled out your eyeliner and mascara. “Once this is on your face, no more tears.” 

“I’ll try my best,” you returned quietly. 

Closing your eyes as Emma applied your eyeliner, you could hear the sound of footsteps down the hall. When Emma told you that you could open your eyes, you turned your head to see Maverick standing at the entrance to the bathroom. He was already in his dress whites and offered you a supportive smile.

“Hey, Mav,” you called to him before Emma turned your head to apply your mascara. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Like I’m tired of everyone asking me that question,” you replied, causing a small smile to crack at Maverick’s lips. 

“Did you find something to wear?” 

“I’m wearing Mom’s dress,” you replied, turning back to him after Emma removed the mascara brush. “Sarah and Penny are fixing it up quickly right now in the guest room.” 

“You’re wearing your mom’s dress?” 

“With a few alterations. I had the sleeves cut off,” you explained, causing Maverick to nod slowly. “But it actually fits pretty well. Turns out that my baby at almost seven months is about the same size as Bradley when he was five months.”  

“He was a big baby,” Maverick replied, missing Emma’s wince. 

“You think that she ever pictured me walking down the aisle in it?” you asked Maverick as Emma finished up with your eye makeup. 

“She was probably hoping that you’d get married first and pregnant second.” 

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” you returned with a shrug of your shoulders, causing you and Maverick to share a quiet laugh. 

“Well, Phoenix bought you a bouquet. And are you wearing a veil?”

“No, it was just another thing to worry about.” 

“Then that should be everything. Do you need anything else before I start rounding everyone up?” Maverick inquired, straightening up. 

“Yeah, actually.” 

“What is it?” 

“Can you help walk me down the aisle?” you asked him, causing Maverick to freeze. 

“Of course, I will,” Maverick promised you.

Emma stepped aside and you slowly stood up to accept Maverick’s tight hug. You returned it, trying not to cry, but Maverick let a few tears slip from his eyes for the both of you. He slowly pulled away, holding you at arm’s length. 

It was hard to believe that the little girl who he remembered learning how to walk, who asked him to help put her tiara on properly, was now pregnant and getting married. Goose’s little girl was all grown up. Carole’s little girl was all grown up. 

And Maverick knew that he was going to cry about it. 

“You’re going to make such a beautiful bride.” 

“Thanks, Mav,” you returned, pulling him in for another tight hug. 

“Alright,” Maverick sniffled, slowly releasing you. He quickly dried some tears before stepping out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go and make sure that everyone’s where they’re supposed to be and leave you to finish getting ready.” 

“Bye, Mav.” 

You waited for him to go before turning back to Emma, who put the final touches on your makeup. Dabbing your lip color a bit more, she smiled and stepped back. 

“There, you’re all set. Let’s get you dressed.” 

~~~~~

Bradley drove you down to Town Hall in the Bronco because it just felt like the proper send off. Accepting his hand, the two of you started walking up to the building. Turning to your brother with a nervous smile as you linked your arms together, you poked him in the side. 

“Can I ask you something, Brad?” 

“Of course, I’ll act as your getaway driver,” he joked, helping you up the stairs. 

“Actually, will you help walk me down the aisle?” you asked him, causing him to pause for a moment. “I asked Maverick to walk me too, but I have two arms.” 

“You’re sure that you want me to walk you down?” Bradley questioned, turning back to the stairs. “I mean, I know I wasn’t the most supportive of you and Jake in the past. And I just offered to be your getaway driver.” 

“I know, but I want you to walk me down. You’re my big brother, Brad.” 

“Are you trying to get me to cry?” Rooster jokingly asked, refusing to look over at you, because he knew that he would actually start crying if he did. “But, of course, I’ll help walk you down the aisle. I promised you when we were kids, didn’t I?” 

“You did.” 

Maverick met the two of you up at the top of the stairs. You looped your other arm through his own and shared smiles with your family before the three of you walked inside Town Hall. They led you through the building and to the ceremony room. Standing in front of the big doors, you took a moment to gather yourself.

“You ready?” Maverick asked you softly, causing you to smile and nod.

“I’m ready.” 

The doors opened and you turned forward to see Jake waiting there for you, dressed in his immaculate dress whites, looking like a dream. There was a small crowd of friends and family, but the two of you were only focused on each other. 

You offered Jake a small smile, letting a few tears drip down that you’d held in for the sake of your makeup. Jake rubbed his chin, trying desperately not to cry himself, but there you were, dressed in a white dress, looking like a goddess with your prominent baby bump where your shared child was growing. 

And he started silently sobbing himself. 

Reaching the end of the aisle, you accepted kisses on your cheeks from both Bradley and Mav before Jake gently took your hand into his own. The two of you stepped up onto the very small stage and faced each other as the officiant began the short service.

You reached up and wiped Jake’s tears away with your hands and as you tried not to cry too many of your own. The two of you repeated your vows clearly and without hesitation as you slipped your wedding bands onto each other’s fingers. Holding hands in front of your closest friends and family, you smiled widely as the officiant got to the end. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may—”

Jake’s lips pressed against your own before the officiant even finished his sentence. You smiled into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as your friends and family cheered for the two of you. 

“I love you,” you told Jake as he broke away and rested his forehead against your own. 

“I love you too,” he returned softly, stealing another kiss. “My wife.”

~~~~~

“I have a wedding present for you,” you told Jake that night as the two of you laid in bed. 

You rolled to the end of your bed and slowly got up, walking over to your dresser. Jake sat up from his own spot, watching you curiously. 

“You had time to get me something?”

“I picked it up yesterday.” 

Pulling out a simple plain white envelope, you walked over to Jake’s side and sat down beside him. Jake took the envelope from your hand and paused when he saw the logo from your obstetrician’s office. 

“What is this?” he asked you quietly, an edge of concern in his voice. 

“I wanted to wait to find out the baby’s gender until they were born,” you started off with, causing Jake to nod slowly. “But I also want us to be the first two people to find out. And just in case—” 

Your voice broke and you cut yourself off as emotion clogged your throat. Jake quickly swooped in and pulled you in for a hug and a soft kiss. You rested your head against his shoulder, staring down at the envelope as you gathered yourself. 

“It’s your choice, Jake. We can find out now or we can find out when the baby’s born.”

Jake looked down at the simple little white envelope in his hands. You didn’t move to rush him, but you sat up more when Jake pulled the paper out of the envelope. Turning to you, he held out the piece of paper and motioned for you to take the other side. 

“On three,” he stated, causing you to nod. 

The two of you counted down together before you opened it together. Staring at the simple message written there, you let out an incredulous laugh and Jake pressed a series of kisses to your cheek and neck as he pulled you into his lap.

“I knew it,” he breathed out, resting his hand on top of your bump.  

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you asked him, causing him to shake his head. You let out a bright laugh, some joy returning to you. “We’re having a girl, Jake.” 

“I’ve been telling you,” he insisted, causing you to jokingly nudge him. The two of you shared a soft series of kisses before Jake pulled back. “We’re having a little girl.” 

“She’s going to be a handful.” 

“That was going to be true regardless,” Jake reminded you, causing you to laugh again and sink into his arms once more. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

“And I love our daughter so much.” 

“She knows that, Jake,” you replied softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “She knows.” 

~~~~~

Jake barely slept that night. 

The two of you discussed it the night before and agreed that it would be less stressful on you and the baby for him to leave on his own in the early morning. You said your goodbyes the night before and Jake managed to coax you to sleep after another round of tears and kisses.

Getting up before his alarm, Jake took a quick shower and got dressed in his uniform. His bag was already packed and all he had to do was say goodbye to you and your daughter. 

But that was going to be a difficult process. 

Kneeling on the floor in front of you, Jake rested his hand on your bump and pressed a kiss to your skin before moving his hand around some more. He let a few tears drop as he tried to feel your daughter moving around to no avail. 

“I’ll be back, Baby Girl, alright? I just have to go take care of some things, that’s all.” Jake took a moment and a deep breath before adding, “You’re going to be a good girl for your mom, right? Let her sleep at night and don’t dance on her bladder, okay?” 

Removing his hands from your bump and moving to stand, Jake looked up at your peaceful expression one last time before turning back to your bump. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart. And I’ll be back. Don’t you ever think that I’m abandoning you, okay? I’ll be back.” 

Jake stood up and leaned over to press a soft kiss to your face. Not wanting to risk waking you up, he withdrew and let out a quiet sigh.

“I love you, Honey. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

A few moments after Jake reluctantly left for base, you snuggled into your pillow, still deeply asleep. As you continued to snooze, there was a small press on your skin, like a little fist was waving goodbye, before it slowly sank back down. 

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[bellarkeselection]

3 - Prince Jacob Alexander

Next part ➡️

The Heir in Uniform

Please leave comments or reblog and tell me what you think should happen next 😊

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The roar of the F/A-18 Super Hornet was a symphony Jake Seresin knew by heart, a thrill that vibrated through his bones. But the sound that now filled his ears was a distant, almost apologetic hum: the gentle descent of a private jet onto a discreet tarmac. No adoring ground crew, no playful jabs from Rooster or Phoenix. Just the hushed efficiency of royal staff, a black Bentley waiting, and the suffocating weight of a truth he’d spent years outrunning.

His civilian clothes, a well-worn leather jacket over a faded band t-shirt, felt like a costume, alien to the crisp, starched uniform he’d been yanked out of. The message had been brief, urgent, and delivered by a royal aide masquerading as a Navy contact: “His Majesty is unwell. Return to London immediately.” Three words had followed, unspoken but understood: You are needed.

As the Bentley swept through the gates of Buckingham Palace, the familiar grandeur felt less like home and more like a gilded cage. Every stone, every manicured hedge, screamed ‘duty,’ ‘protocol,’ ‘destiny.’ Jake took a deep, steadying breath, the scent of damp London earth and old stone filling his lungs, a stark contrast to the ozone and jet fuel he craved. The pilot in him wanted to bolt; the prince, Jacob Alexander, knew he couldn’t.

Inside, the silence was thicker than velvet. Footmen moved with spectral quietness. A stern-faced Privy Counsellor, Lord Alistair Finch, met him in a hushed antechamber.

“Your Royal Highness,” Alistair inclined his head, a gesture Jake hadn’t seen in years. “It is good to have you back, if only under such unfortunate circumstances.”

Jake clenched his jaw. “Cut the ‘Your Royal Highness,’ Alistair. What’s going on? The message was vague.”

Alistair’s expression remained unyielding. “The King’s condition has worsened significantly. His physicians are… concerned. He sustained a severe pulmonary embolism this morning. The prognosis is, regrettably, not good.”

The air left Jake’s lungs in a rush. Father. His father, a man of formidable presence, a rock. Unthinkable. “How bad, Alistair? Give it to me straight.”

“He is unconscious, Prince Jacob. On life support. The doctors are doing everything they can, but… he may not recover.” Alistair paused, his gaze fixed on Jake. “Should the worst come to pass, the succession falls to you.”

The words, though expected, hit him like a physical blow. King. Him. King. The sky, the freedom, Y/N… all vanishing into a fog of gold and crimson. He felt the shift within him, the easy swagger of Jake Seresin retracting, replaced by the rigid posture and measured breath of Prince Jacob Alexander.

“My mother? Leslie?” he asked, his voice now lower, controlled.

“The Queen is with His Majesty. Princess Leslie is in her chambers. She has been… distraught.”

Jake nodded curtly. “I’ll see them.”

He found Queen Eleanor in a private sitting room, a space elegant but devoid of her usual vibrant warmth. She sat by a window overlooking the gardens, her back straight, her face pale. She didn’t look up as he entered, but her voice, when it came, held a fragile strength. “Jacob.”

“Mother.” He walked towards her, the urge to embrace her warring with the ingrained formality that permeated the palace’s very air. He settled for a hand on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze. She leaned into it, just for a moment.

“He is fading, my son.” Her voice was a whisper. “The doctors have given us little hope.”

“I’m so sorry, Mother.” The words felt hollow, inadequate.

She finally looked at him, her eyes, usually so bright, clouded with grief. “You’ve grown. Taller, perhaps. More… resilient. The Navy suits you, Jacob. It gave you the life I wanted for you. A taste of yourself, unburdened.”

“It was everything,” he admitted, the longing for that life a sharp ache.

Her gaze hardened. “But the crown, Jacob, it comes first. Always. You know this. We prepared you for this, even in your absence.”

“I know the duty,” he said, his voice flat. “I just… I wish it wasn’t like this.”

“Wishing accomplishes nothing, my dear,” she replied, her hand reaching for his, squeezing it with surprising force. “You are a prince. Soon, you will be king. You will find the strength. You always do.”

He chafed under the weight of her expectation, even as he recognized the love beneath it. She saw Jacob, the disciplined heir, not Jake, the reckless pilot. And in this moment, that was all she could see.

Later, he found Leslie pacing her private study, a whirlwind of frustrated energy. She spun around at his entry, her eyes widening. She was dressed in a poofy peach gown with her hair loosely falling everywhere. “Jake! You’re actually here!” She launched herself at him, a rare, uninhibited hug that threatened to knock him off balance. This was Leslie, the one person who still called him Jake, the only one who saw through the royal veneer.

“Hey. Easy there, Princess.” He held her tightly for a moment, letting himself breathe in her familiar scent of lavender and rebellion. “How are you holding up?”

She pulled back, her face streaked with tears. But a flicker of her usual mischief already in her eyes. “Awful. Utterly awful. Father… and Mother’s being terrifyingly stoic. I swear she’s a robot sometimes. But I’m glad you’re here. It’s been… lonely.”

“I’m here now,” he said, trying to infuse warmth into a voice that was beginning to feel stiff.

“You’re so formal,” she observed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Did they already get to you? Turn you back into Prince Jacob, all stiff upper lip and no fun?”

He managed a weak smile. “Someone has to be sensible.”

“Rubbish. I bet Y/N would tell you to lighten up.” Leslie’s eyes sparkled, gesturing to the large room around them. “Still dragging that poor girl around the world, are you? Three years, Jake. Three years of you pretending you’re just some regular guy. Does she know about all this?”

Jake’s heart did a complicated flip. “Leslie, not now. This isn’t the time.”

“Oh, it’s exactly the time,” she countered, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Because pretty soon, you’re not going to be able to hide it anymore, are you? My brother, Prince Jacob Alexander, the future King of England with a secret American girlfriend. The tabloids are going to have a field day.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the panic rising. “The tabloids aren’t going to know anything, because no one is going to tell them. And no, she doesn’t know.”

“You still haven’t told her?” Leslie looked genuinely shocked. “Jake, you’re… you’re going to be King! How can you possibly keep something like this from the person you’ve been with for three years?”

“It’s complicated, Leslie,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s all complicated.”

His sister, however wasn’t finished. “Imagine her face! ‘Oh, by the way, darling, I’m not just a hotshot pilot. I’m also the rightful heir to the British throne. Fancy a spot of tea at the palace?’” She mimed a dramatic reveal, then dissolved into a fit of giggles despite the grim circumstances.

“Leslie!” He hissed, half-amused and half-furious. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me,” she declared, still giggling. “Don’t worry, Jake. I’ll keep your little secret. For now. But you should really tell her. Before the world does. Because, I think the world might already be catching on.”

Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”

Just then his royal aide, a young man named Davies, appeared at the door holding a tablet. “Your Royal Highness, pardon the interruption. But there are… developments.”

Davies held up the tablet and on the screen displayed a grainy, zoomed-in photo of a man in a leather jacket, boarding a private jet. Though blurred the distinctive silhouette, the hint of a swagger was unmistakable. Beneath it, a headline blared: Mystery Man Spotted on Royal Jet: Is Missing Prince Jacob Back in London?

Jake felt a cold twinge around his heart. “Already?”

“The photo was taken at Northolt, Your Royal Highness,” Davies explained. “It seems a freelance photographer was alerted to unusual activity. Coupled with His Majesty’s sudden illness, the press are connecting the dots. There are rumours swirling.”

“Rumours?” Jake growled, his pilot’s bravado momentarily resurfacing. “They’ll be calling for my head next.”

“More like calling for your official announcement, Your Royal Highness,” Davies corrected gently. “The public is naturally concerned regarding the succession. They’ve been speculating for years about your whereabouts.”

Leslie peered over Jake’s shoulder at the tablet. “See? I told you. They’re like bloodhounds. You can’t hide forever, big brother.”

The words echoed in his mind. Can’t hide forever. He looked at the photo, the image a ghost of his carefree self, already fading. The freedom he craved was a rapidly closing horizon.

Later that night, alone in the cavernous royal bedchamber that had once been his nursery. Jacob stood by the window, staring out at the floodlit palace grounds. The paparazzi were a distant, buzzing threat but the real enemy was closer: the man in the mirror.

He saw the rigid jawline, the haunted eyes, the subtle tremor in his hand. He wasn't Jake Seresin, the pilot who commanded the skies. He was Prince Jacob Alexander, soon to be King, a man suffocating under centuries of expectation. His father was dying. His life as he knew it was over. And Y/N… sweet, grounded, real Y/N, who knew nothing of crowns and palaces was about to discover the most painful truth of all.

The sky, once his sanctuary, now felt impossibly far away. The cage was closing, and Jacob, the prince, knew he had no choice but to step inside. The only question was, could he ever truly escape even for a moment to be Jake again? That thought was a heavier weight than any crown.

[jupitersmusings]

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[overlord-fire-bubble]

THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.

[tiny-kt]

this for real fucking works

[bellarkeselection]

1 - Anchored in Love

Next part ➡️

The Heir in Uniform

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Please leave comments or reblog and tell me what you think should happen next 😊

The early light filtered through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bedroom. I was curled up underneath the covers, cocooned in the comforting scent of him, wearing only Jake’s Texas Longhorn shirt and some underwear. Jake was pressed up against the back of me. His arm a familiar weight draped over my stomach, and a soft snore rumbled gently in my ear. It was the sound of utter peace, a melody I’d grown to cherish. Yet that wasn’t what woke me up from my peaceful sleep—my phone pinging with some notifications is what got me.

I gently slipped out from under his arm, careful not to wake him, the cool air shocking my skin as I moved. Jake murmured, a deep, sleepy sound, but remained fast asleep. I reached for my phone on the nightstand. A few notifications blinked to life – nothing urgent, just the daily chatter. Scrolling through them, I was about to set it back down and curl back into my boyfriend to fall back to sleep. The idea of burrowing back into his warmth, feeling his arm pull me closer, was incredibly tempting.

But then something caught my eye. Something was tucked behind the lamp base—a small velvet pouch, half-hidden in the shadow cast by the heavy ceramic. It shouldn’t have been there. Jake was fastidious about keeping his nightstand clear, only ever a glass of water, maybe a book, and his watch resting on its surface.

My curiosity, a quiet but potent force within me, got the better of me. That little voice in my head, the one that usually told me to mind my own business, was overridden by a sense of intrigue. Leaning over, I carefully pulled the small pouch onto the bed mattress with me. Pulling open the drawstring, I peered inside and my breath hitched. Nestled within the dark lining wasn't a watch, or spare change, or even a pair of glasses. It was a ring.

Heavy. Gold. The metal gleamed softly, reflecting the first rays of sunlight. As I drew it out, holding it between my thumb and forefinger, I saw the intricate details. The crest etched into the surface was unmistakably royal—an English lion and crown, depicted with an almost startling precision, the work still vibrant after what looked like decades, perhaps centuries.

“What is this?” I whispered, the words barely audible even to myself.

“Y/n—what are you—” Jake stirred awake, a sleepy groan escaping his lips as he reached instinctively for where I should have been. He rubbed away the sleepy look from his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking slowly against the soft light, before his gaze finally landed on what I was holding in my hands.

I turned my body slightly so I was facing him more directly, still holding the ring between my thumb and index finger of my right hand, turning it slowly to catch the light. “Jake, where did you get a ring like this?”

He sat up, pushing himself against the headboard, running a hand through his already tousled dark hair. He cleared his throat, a low, gravelly sound. “It’s… just a family heirloom. My mom gave it to me years ago.” He spoke with a carefully measured tone, his gaze darting from my face to the ring and back again.

I squinted my eyes at the ring, then back at him. An heirloom? I’d heard about his family being old money, but this was different. The colors used on the crown engraving – the deep crimson, the sapphire blue, the brilliant gold – they sparked a recognition in my mind. Like they were something similar to the British royal family colors or something. I’d never seen a family heirloom this detailed, this… regal. “It looks… official. Like something out of a museum.”

Jake forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was his default charming smirk, but it felt thin. “Yeah, well. My family’s old. Lots of dusty traditions.” He gently, almost too gently, took the ring from me. He slipped it back into the velvet pouch with practiced ease.

Eventually, I scooted closer to him, the soft mattress dipping under my weight. I leaned in, connecting our lips together in a slow, tender kiss. “I had something else in mind first, Seresin,” I murmured against his mouth, a quiet suggestion that was more sensual invitation.

He made no argument against my suggestion. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease and he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against mine with a renewed passion. His hand found my waist, gently pushing me onto my back until I was lying beneath him. My hands threaded into his impossibly soft, tousled hair, pulling him closer as he rained soft kisses down my neck, my jaw. One hand ran tracing a path over my body, the other deftly removed my underwear, tossing it carelessly to the floor as we lost ourselves in one another. We ditched the remaining of our clothes, letting our desire control what we did next, the world outside our bedroom fading into an unimportant blur.

Except, unknown to me, Jake had opened one eye. His gaze, brief and troubled, flickered to the pouch lying on the nightstand beside my phone. There was a nervous pit building in his stomach, a knot of dread tightening with every touch, every kiss, even as he made love to me that morning. That ring, tucked away but ever-present, held more weight than he was letting on. It was connected to a life he wished to forget—even if no one else in his family, except for his mother, thought he should have a life away from the weight of a crown.

The memory hits Jake like a cool wave, sharp and clear despite the passage of years. He’s twelve, small for his age, feeling utterly insignificant in the vastness of the royal study. The air is thick with the scent of old leather and polished wood. Sunlight, just like this morning’s, streams through tall, arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The walls are lined with portraits of ancestors he barely knows, stern faces in gilded frames, their eyes seeming to follow him. He looks at them now and sees generations of expectation of duty.

His mother, Queen Eleanor, kneels before him, her regal posture softened by the intimacy of the moment. Her elegant silk dress shimmers, and her hand, delicate but strong, holds the same heavy gold ring in her palm.

“This belonged to your grandfather,” Queen Eleanor says softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the room. She always used his full name when she was truly serious. “And his father before him. It’s not just a ring—it’s a promise, Jacob.”

Young Jake frowns and kicks at the ornate rug with the toe of his polished shoe. “A promise to be someone I don’t want to be?” Even then, he felt the suffocating pressure of his birthright, the invisible chains of expectation. All he wanted was to fly, to be free, not to be confined to these gilded cages.

She brushes his hair back from his forehead, her touch light and comforting. “A promise to be true, my son. True to yourself. Whether you wear a crown or a uniform… or neither.”

She presses the ring into his small, somewhat clumsy hand. He clenches the ring in his fist, the royal crest digging slightly into his palm. “Take it, and when the world tries to tell you who you are—remember who you choose to be.”

Jake clenches the ring in his small fist, the weight of it suddenly feeling like a burden, a secret, a hope. His eyes remain fixed on the distant, shimmering ocean, a yearning already taking root deep within him.

Back in the present, the late afternoon sun casts long shadows through the windows of Jake’s comfortable, modern house. The air is filled with the comforting aroma of garlic and sautéing vegetables. I hummed softly in the kitchen as I stirred a pot of pasta sauce. Jake had gone into the bedroom to use the bathroom while I finished up our dinner for the evening.

Jake walks over to the nightstand, his fingers fumbling slightly as they find the familiar velvet pouch. The ring, cool and solid, rests in his palm, its intricate crest a stark reminder of a world he’d run from. The life he has with Y/n is everything he always wanted: freedom, choice, and a love that felt entirely his own, unburdened by ancient titles or public scrutiny.

Jake mutters to himself, the words a rough whisper into the quiet room, a desperate plea to an unseen force. “I chose you. I just hope that’s enough.” He hopes it’s enough to keep the two worlds separate, enough to protect the life he’s built here, brick by precious brick.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[yourlocalcringydaydreamer]

If I like but don’t reblog your fic, it’s cuz that’s how I save it for myself to read later. I promise I’ll reblog it when I have time to read it. (And if I still don’t reblog, it’s cuz it got lost in my likes, and trust me, I’m just as sad about it as you are)

[rootedinrevisions]

Pinned

Summary: A routine sparring match with Jake Seresin should’ve been simple. Trade a few moves, wipe that smug grin off his face, and call it a win. But when he pushes harder, the fight turns charged, every pin carrying a little more heat than it should. One smart remark too many has you snapping back…and Jake kissing you to shut you up. What follows is less a sparring match and more a mess blur of hands and bodies on the mat.

Warnings: Physical sparring/grappling within combat training context. Mild roughhousing. Strong language/swearing. Enemies to lovers tension. Sexual undertones (making out, suggestive physicality, no explicit content though.)

Word Count: 1,927

Prompt + Pairing: “You can be a bit rougher if you want.” + Jake “Hangman” Seresin

The mats were already slick with sweat, the sound of scuffing boots and grunts echoing through the training room. You scanned the room for a partner. Most of the Daggers were already squared off, which left your options slim.

Of course fate or maybe just plain bad luck, left you with Jake Seresin as your only choice. He strolled over like he owned the place, flight shirt clinging to him, dog tags glinting against his black tee. That trademark grin spread across his face the second your eyes met.

“Well, well…looks like today’s my lucky day.”

You groaned out loud, earning a chuckle from Payback somewhere behind you. “Seriously? Don’t they have rules about pairing me with actual pilots instead of inflated egos?”

Jake clutched his chest in mock offense. “Sweetheart, you wound me. You should be honored. Training with the best of the best? Not everyone gets the privilege.”

“You mean loudest of the loudest?” you shot back, rolling your shoulders. “Pretty sure the only thing you’re best at is talking.”

His grin widened, teeth flashing. “And pinning cocky rookies who think they can take me down.”

You stepped onto the mat, deliberately ignoring the way his gaze swept over you like he was already measuring the fight. 

“Guess we’ll find out,” you said, squaring up.

He mirrored your stance, hands loose but ready, that cocky tilt never leaving his mouth. 

“Don’t worry,” he drawled. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“You better not,” you said, low and steady. “I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your fan club.”

That got another laugh out of the room, and Jake’s grin flickered into something sharper, competitive. 

“Careful,” he warned, circling. “Talk like that, and you’re gonna regret it.”

“Try me.”

Jake circled you like a shark that smelled blood, shoulders loose, smirk sharp. He made a show of cracking his neck, rolling his wrists, and glancing toward the other pilots like they should be paying attention.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, voice dripping smugness. “Don’t want you blaming me when you’re flat on your back.”

“You talk a lot for a guy who hasn’t touched me yet,” you shot back.

That got a few chuckles from the sidelines. Jake winked as if you’d played right into his hand, then lunged.

He moved fast, faster than you expected, but he made it theatrical, sweeping wide instead of efficient, throwing in a little flourish like he was trying to impress an audience that wasn’t there. You ducked under, twisting away, his fingers just brushing your shoulder.

“Almost had you,” he drawled.

“Almost doesn’t count.” You reset, eyes locked on him.

He came at you again, same cocky swagger, telegraphing his move just enough for you to catch it. This time, you stepped into his momentum, dropped low, and hooked your arm around his torso. With a sharp pivot and the right leverage, you flipped him clean over your hip.

Jake hit the mat with a solid thud.

The room went quiet for half a beat before laughter and cheers broke out around you. You tightened your grip, pinning his arm to the mat, knee pressed firm against his chest.

“Flat on your back,” you said, panting but grinning down at him. “Guess you called it.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face before he laughed. He laid there under you for a second, grin splitting wider by the moment.

“Well, damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“You mean you underestimated me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice rougher now, but there was no edge of frustration. His gaze sharpened as he studied you from under the weight of your pin, like you’d gone from sparring partner to puzzle he suddenly wanted to solve.

You pushed off him, satisfaction humming through your veins as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin that was more wolfish than amused.

“Alright,” Jake said, climbing to his feet and rolling his shoulders. “You got me once. Don’t expect that to happen again.”

“Guess we’ll see.”

This time, the look in his eyes wasn’t just cocky. It was hunger.

Jake reset with a new sharpness in his eyes. The smirk was still there, but it wasn’t just for show anymore. He came at you with less flash, more focus, his grip finding your wrist before you could slip away.

This time, he didn’t give you space to breathe. He crowded in close, using his weight to push you back, forcing you to fight for ground. Every move was heavier, more deliberate, the kind of strength that reminded you he wasn’t just an arrogant mouth. He was a damn good Navy man, and it translated here, too.

You twisted, trying to shake him off, but he caught you at the waist, spun you, and sent you skidding across the mat. The impact rattled your bones, but you scrambled up quick, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you down.

“Better,” you huffed, brushing damp hair from your face.

“Didn’t want you thinking I was holding back,” Jake shot back, chest heaving. “You wanted the real deal? You got it.”

You clashed again, bodies tangling in a messy grapple that sent heat racing up your spine. His forearm braced against your shoulder, your hands locked on his bicep as you shoved back. Neither of you gave an inch, muscles straining, sweat slicking skin.

Your breath came fast, heart hammering. You shoved harder, teeth gritted, determined not to let him win twice.

Jake’s grin widened, sharp and breathless, his face just inches from yours. “You can be a bit rougher if you want.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve, sinking under your skin. Your grip faltered for a fraction of a second, not from weakness but from the shift in your chest, the realization that this wasn’t just training anymore.

Something flickered between you, hot and dangerous, bleeding into the air with every shove, every twist. The grapple turned less about scoring points and more about testing limits. Who would push harder? Who would give in first?

You dug in, shoving him back with a growl of effort, and his answering laugh was low, pleased, almost intimate. His hand slid lower on your side, fingers biting into your waist just enough to hold you steady, not enough to hurt.

The tension thrummed between you, electric and undeniable. Each breath tangled, each slip of skin against skin sparked, until it was impossible to tell where the fight ended and something else began.

You spotted your opening when his grip loosened, just a fraction. Heart pounding, you hooked your leg, aiming to sweep him the way you had before. For a second, you thought you had him. His balance shifted, his weight tilting.

But Jake was ready this time.

He twisted with your momentum, catching you mid sweep. In one dizzying motion, he flipped you back, and the mat slammed against your shoulders as he followed through, his weight pinning you clean.

You gasped, the air rushing from your lungs, more from surprise than impact. Before you could scramble, his forearm pressed against the mat just above your shoulder, caging you in. His other hand clamped your wrist to the floor.

And suddenly, Jake “Hangman” Seresin was above you, close enough that you could count the flecks of gold in his sage green eyes.

His chest rose and fell against yours, the heat of his body seeping into you. The world narrowed to the scrape of his dog tags against his shirt, the damp strands of his hair dripping sweat, the rush of his breath against your cheek. Your legs tangled beneath him, leaving nowhere to go.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” you rasped, trying for sharp, but the words broke, softer than you wanted.

His grin sharpened instantly, then softened into something sly, almost wicked. “Oh, I am.”

The answer should’ve annoyed you. It should’ve made you roll your eyes, should’ve fired your competitive streak back up. Instead, it sent heat coiling in your stomach, thick and undeniable.

You shoved against his chest, but his grip didn’t loosen. He just…stayed. Watching you.

The usual cockiness in his grin had shifted into something steadier, heavier. Like he’d just realized how close you really were.

Your pulse stuttered. His eyes flicked to your mouth, barely a twitch, but you caught it. The air between you thickened, the scrape of his breath now something you felt more than heard.

The pin wasn’t just a pin anymore.

He should’ve moved. He should’ve pushed up, offered you a hand, thrown another smug line. Instead, he lingered, his weight settling into you like he belonged there, like the fight had been leading here all along.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to move at all.

You squirmed under him, glare sharp despite how fast your pulse was hammering. “Get off me, you arrogant prick.”

Jake’s grin broke wide, teeth flashing, laugh spilling out of him low and pleased. 

“There she is,” he drawled, like your frustration was a prize. 

Then, before you could snap again, he dipped down and kissed you. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t neat. It was sudden and hot, his mouth crashing against yours with all the cocky certainty he carried in the air.

You froze for half a beat, shock stealing your breath, then you shoved at his chest hard, meaning to push him away. Instead, your mouth opened under his, your shove turning into leverage. You twisted, using the shift to roll him beneath you.

The mats thudded under his back this time, and now you were the one straddling him, knees braced on either side of his hips, palms pressed to his chest. Your lips caught his again, fiercer, answering the challenge.

Jake laughed into the kiss, breathless and bright, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your waist. 

“Didn’t think you’d fight back like this,” he muttered against your mouth.

“Shut up,” you hissed, kissing him harder just to prove the point.

It dissolved fast after that. The sparring turned to a different kind of struggle, his hands tugging, your teeth catching his lip, both of you chasing control and neither willing to give it. You broke away just long enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, then his grin hooked sharp and you dove back in, mouths colliding again.

Your nails scraped down his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. He groaned, a low sound that made heat curl in your stomach, and in one fluid move he rolled, reversing the pin again. You hit the mat with a grunt, his weight back on you, but your legs locked around his hips to hold him close.

You lost track of how long the two of you stayed tangled on the mat, lips pressed hard, laughter breaking between gasps. It wasn’t until Jake finally drew back, breath ragged, that you realized the training room was a lot quieter than before.

Your head turned, still pinned under him, and your stomach dropped.

Phoenix was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed, a smug tilt to her mouth. Bob stood beside her, awkwardly looking anywhere but at you, clutching his gear like it might shield him.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, shoving at Jake’s chest. He only laughed, rolling off you just enough to let you sit up.

Phoenix pushed off the wall, cool as ever. “Hope you two plan on sanitizing the mats before you leave.”

[emeraldserenade]

The Ranch Lie ~ Jake "Hangman" Seresin

synopsis: You needed a fake date for your brother's wedding, simply to annoy your step sister. Who would be better than Jake Seresin, the man you were already halfway in love with?

tw: fem!reader, reader's from Nashville, you're a pilot and your callsign is Fairytale, your sister in law calls you babes (platonically), your dad got remarried while you were in high school, your older brother is named Matteo, your step sister is Cass, your childhood best friend is Owen, Jake's a sweetheart to you since he's in love with you, Jake is also an asshole at one point because he's insecure about his own feelings, one bed troupe, fake dating, sexual tension, reader has a sex dream about Jake, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request I'm actually so proud, this is 9369 words

I had this thought and went: "It sounds like a rom com, I'm going to name it like one" so I landed on The Ranch Lie.

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The rules: 1) No telling anyone, not even the team 2) All intimacy will be saved for in front of family or to keep appearances 3) All kisses will be short and sweet 4) No hookups while in Nashville 5) No falling in love

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Your brother, Matteo, was getting married and you knew you would have to see some people you'd rather not. You hadn't been home since joining the Navy, not because you didn't want to. But because you knew your step sister was still stringing the man you loved in high school along. But Owen loved Cass in high school and willingly got strung along and there was nothing you could do. Cass took pride in stringing him along, took pride in having the man you once wanted at her beck and call.

It's why you were standing outside Jake "Hangman" Seresin's apartment early one Saturday morning. You just hoped that his conquest of the night had left already, or that he had gone to hers so she wouldn't be there. You had knocked about a minute ago and debated knocking again but Jake opened the door, water droplets painted his bare chest and he wore a pair of soft looking grey sweatpants. "Well, what do I owe the pleasure, Fairytale?"

You sighed harshly before shoving one of your hands, the one that held the cup holder of coffee cups, towards him. "A peace offering for what I'm about to ask you," you told him, stepping inside his apartment when he let you in. You looked around as Jake moved to his couch, you had seen the inside of his apartment when he was still moving in. You had offered to set up his kitchen while the others worked on other rooms, having gotten his apartment set up in only a matter of hours. "It looks nice in here," you mused, cautiously settling onto the opposite end of his couch.

Jake huffed a laugh at your words. "What were you expecting?"

You thought for a moment before shrugging a little. "Lot's of mirrors," you settled on and smiled as he laughed.

"What are you here to ask?" Jake finally got to the point and you looked away from him.

You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that the worst that could happen is that Jake said no and told the whole squad. Then they would make fun of you for a little before it went away after someone else did something more stupid. "My brother is getting married, and as I've told the squad, we have a step mom and step sister. Cass is kinda an ass to me and she's still stringing my high school crush, and best friend, along and if I show up without a date she'll feel too proud of herself. And like, you're kind of a showboating asshole but she's so much worse. And I know you're from Texas and she just got back from college there. And I know she really only liked Owen because I used to like him and because he's a bull rider and she's a buckle bunny. So if you show up pretending to be my date while being your southern self while also ignoring her completely, it'll drive her mad and she'll hopefully stop stringing Owen along. So he can finally actually get into a loving relationship," you were ever so slightly panting after your rant, but kept your eyes on the wall you were looking at the whole time.

Jake was stunned, he caught every word and understood you wanted him to pretend to be your date. "Well, damn," he mused, setting the coffee cup he had been holding down on the coffee table. 

You finally looked at him and slowly nodded. "I know it's a lot, but you're also the only one I know who could help me pull it off," you told him, trying to make yourself smaller.

Jake smirked at you and you prepared yourself for him to reject your proposal. "How long until the wedding?"

You raised your eyebrows in shock before scrambling for an answer. "About a month, I wanted time to try and find someone else if you said no," you told him before adding on more. "Well, the wedding is in a month but I leave in three weeks. My brother and my soon to be sister in law are doing this whole week of things beforehand. Not that you would have to be there, but you could be if you wanted to be," you clarified.

Jake nodded at you before his smirk turned sharper. "Guess we have three weeks to get to know each other better," Jake told you and you looked at him baffled.

"You're helping me?" 

"Well, yeah. You clearly don't like Cass and why not help? It seems fun," Jake shrugged and you nodded slowly. "Should I bring my hat?"

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It was a bad idea, you decided, a bad idea to agree to let Jake drive you two across the country to your childhood home in Nashville, Tennessee. Because now you were sitting in the passenger seat of Jake's truck with Jake driving with his cowboy hat on. You tried to tell him it was unnecessary but he insisted on it, even though you knew it would make something flutter in your stomach. You two were leaving for the wedding celebration week the Friday night before you had to be there and told your brother it would take about a day and 4 hours to get there. Matteo told you two that you could be late and didn't have to leave the night before, but Jake insisted. 

Matteo and Lillian, your soon to be sister in law, were the only other two who knew what you and Jake were planning. It's why Matteo told everyone that you were bringing someone but didn't say anything more than a name. Cass, as predicted, sent you a message about how she and Owen were going together. You showed it to Jake who huffed, you had given in all the information about what happened over the past three weeks. "What's going on in your head, darlin'?" Jake questioned, you pursed your lips at the petname, he had been full force in this fake dating thing.

You looked over at him and felt the flutter in your stomach at the sight of him in his hat. "How if this doesn't work, Cass is going to be an insufferable bitch," you lied.

Jake nodded before speaking again. "We got this, it's just a week," Jake stated like it would be no big deal.

"Yeah, just a week," you parroted before falling silent and looking out the window again. 

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You had fallen asleep a little before Jake reached the hotel you two were staying in before finishing the journey the following morning. Jake paused before running inside to check you two in, you looked so peaceful while relaxed and lightly breathing in his truck. With a light brush of your hair away from your face, Jake jumped out, locked the truck, and ran inside to check in.

He got back and you were still sleeping so he unlocked the car and opened your door. He gently reached to unbuckle you and lifted you out of the seat. He kicked the door closed after hitting the lock button again and carried you to the room you two were sharing. 

Jake gently laid you on one of the beds and tucked you in before running back to get your bags. He walked back into you barely waking up a bit, Jake smiled at you as you scrunched your eyebrows. "Welcome back to living," Jake joked.

"Did you carry me in?" You questioned, looking around at your surroundings and noticing your shoes neatly tucked under the desk next to the dresser and TV.

"Yeah, you looked so peaceful, didn't want to wake you," Jake shrugged and offered you your bag.

"Thanks," you smiled at him before moving to dig around in it.

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The next day passed pretty much the same, both of you calling out the horses, cows, and donkeys you passed on the highways. Your nerves started ramping up when Jake turned on to more familiar roads, he parked outside your family home and turned to you. "You ready?" Jake asked softly.

You nodded before shaking your head a bit. "We have to make sure we are convincing," you reiterated and he nodded a bit.

"I know, we've got this," Jake reassured you and you had a horribly wonderful idea.

You pursed your lips as you recalled the darker shade of lipstick and gloss you chose for the day. "We talked about kissing and you should let me kiss you so you're walking in there with my lipstick on you. Because that," you pointed to a truck a little further away, "is Owen's truck so that means he, his family, and Cass are here," you told him.

"If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you didn't have to come up with a whole excuse," Jake joked and you tried to be serious but ended up laughing with him. 

"Just shut up and kiss me," you told him, pulling him in by the front of his black shirt, your dominant hand quickly nudging his hat up a bit so you didn't run into it. Your lips met and it might have been the first time you kissed him, but it was like rewatching an old movie and realizing you remembered the exact plot. 

You pulled away and saw the way your lipstick prettily painted his lips in a sheer glow. You used your thumb to wipe some away before leaning back. "Why'd you wipe it away?" Jake raised one of his eyebrows and you pursed your lips a bit. 

You watched as he fixed his hat before speaking. "I only wiped a little away, just enough to make it seem like we tried to wipe it away but failed," you told him before looking back at the house. "We should probably go around back and greet everyone," you mused and Jake jumped out of the car before rounding it and helping you out, his hands on your waist even as your feet hit the ground. "Your truck is still too tall for this," you complained again, like you had every time you had to get in and out of his truck.

Jake chuckled and shook his head lightly before lowering his head to whisper in his ear. "Maybe it's just a reason for me to touch you," Jake mused and you knew he felt and heard your breath hitch. You brushed it off with a breathy laugh as you gently pulled out of his hold.

You two rounded your house and Jake opened the gate for you to walk in first. You heard your dad shout your name before everyone looked over. "Is that the man your brother was talking about?" Your dad asked as you two got closer, everyone paused to keep listening. You had never once mentioned a man when you did your monthly phone call with everyone, you knew they were all wondering.

"Yeah, this is Jake Seresin, Hangman. He's part of my squadron," you told your dad, and by extension everyone else.

"It's nice to meet you sir," Jake played up the southern charm, but you had the sneaking suspicion that this was the real Jake Seresin coming out to play. Especially with the ease he was playing the part. He ended up back at your side and his hand easily slid to lace with yours.

"Oh, you've got yourself a nice southern boy," your mom mused and you laughed lightly. You nodded at her, ignoring the look from Cass as you and Jake stepped just a tad closer to each other.

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You and Jake had ended up separated and he found himself talking to Owen's family and Cass. Owen was off talking to your father and Cass was blatantly hitting on Jake. Sherry Fisher, Owen's mother, had her lips pursed at Cass' flirting but Jake kept turning her down. Your laugh pulled Jake's attention away from Cass, his face softening as he looked at you. You were laughing with Matteo and Lillian as you three talked about something. "I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me," Jake said as he got up to walk over to you.

It was almost natural the way Jake wrapped his arm around you before letting his hand rest in your back pocket. It was almost natural the way you snuck your hand up his shirt to rest on the bare skin of his back, his smile just as easy as yours. "You two are a little too good at this," Matteo lowly said, his eyes taking in the way you two cozied up with each other and the still sheer color of your lipstick clinging to Jake's lips.

"We've had three weeks to get ready for this," you shot back.

"Did you fuck?"

"Matteo!" You laughed while shaking your head.

"Not from my lack of trying," Jake joked.

"Alright, Casanova," you laughed again, trying to cover the way your stomach fluttered at the thought.

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You knew you would have to share a bed with Jake, but you weren't expecting your dad to insist that you two take the guest house instead of staying in the main house. Cass normally stayed in the guest house with Owen, the only time the two had a whole space to themselves and not sharing the same space as either set of parents. "Cass is so mad," Matteo laughed as he and Lillian walked in.

You and Jake shared a laugh before you spoke. "Oh we know, she death glared at us when Jake was bringing in the bags," you told Matteo.

"You didn't help?" Matteo asked.

"Jake wouldn't let me so I just walked next to him."

"I told her to sit on the couch and look pretty but she insisted on following me," Jake shrugged from his spot on the couch. You were too busy glaring at Jake to notice the shared look of Matteo and Lillian.

"Dad thinks the next marriage will be between you two, I had to lie and say you've only been together a few months and hadn't even said 'I love you' yet," Matteo told you and you shared a look with Jake, one of understanding that this was now part of the lie.

"This is genius, by the way, babes," Lillian stated, moving to sit on the love seat with you. "I would have never thought about faking a boyfriend. I would have simply gone alone and suffered whatever I had to face," she told you, her blonde hair swaying as she laughed. 

"Cass keeps insisting that her and Owen are casual, by the way," Matteo announced, settling into the empty chair, leaving Jake alone on the couch.

"I noticed, normally she's all over trying to convince people that her and Owen are just trying to keep their relationship lowkey," you mused before moving over to sit on the couch with Jake, your empathy making you sad for him to be all alone. Matteo moved to sit with Lillian as you sat down on the couch, your back resting on the armrest so you were facing the loveseat and your feet landed in Jake's lap.

"I think she's going for your fake man," Lillian warned and you shared an amused look with Jake.

"I figured she would." You gently wiggled your toes out of instinct but Jake's hand landed on one of your calves as he gently started to massage it.

"We have a whole plan," Jake told the pair and you nodded at his words.

"When you told me you two have been planning for three weeks, I didn't think you meant all three weeks," Matteo told you and you shrugged.

"We have rules too," you announced with pursed lips.

"Oooh, like in To All The Boys I've Loved Before?" Lillian questioned and you nodded.

"Yeah, but less high school and more two people who work together and still need to work together after this," you told her. The four of you talked for a little while longer before you all agreed to call it a night.

There were no words spoken when you and Jake got into the bedroom, you already had the talk. You two would separate the bed with a pillow and lay back to back, no touching necessary. 

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The next day was a slow start, neither of you set an alarm since you both were used to getting up so early for work. But you let Jake shower since you showered the night before. While he was showering, you used the stocked kitchen to make you two breakfast.

You could see Cass out with Owen, you could tell Owen didn't want to be there and that Cass was trying to spy. Jake walked out of the bathroom, a pair of jeans low on his hips and shirtless. Your back was turned to the windows that Cass was spying through so you knew you could talk without her trying to read your lips. "Cass is outside looking through the window," you warned Jake as he walked closer.

Jake walked up to you and spun you to face him, putting your side to the window, before dipping down to kiss you. You let yourself melt into it as Jake pulled you closer by the hips, you were sure it looked just as heated as it felt. It was over too soon but you knew it was just the rules. "Think she got the show she was searchin' for?" You dumbly nodded before blinking a few times and turning back to the stove. 

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The day's activities kept you and Jake away from each other, but Cass had told everyone she had seen you and Jake share a kiss that morning. The group was buzzing with wedding excitement and the possibility that you had found "the one". 

You actively avoided answering all questions by diverting the attention back to Lillian and Matteo's wedding. It worked every single time, allowing you to move through the motions of helping Lillian. 

Jake, on the other hand, was having more trouble with avoiding questions. Most of the men only wanted to know about you and Jake, it's how he learned that you hadn't ever brought anyone home. That you once mentioned liking Owen and that was the last time you've ever told anyone anything. 

Your dad, Alec, told Jake that he was glad Jake made you so happy that you felt comfortable enough with him to bring him home. Jake smiled at the words but avoided answering when he was going to propose. It just took a well timed comment telling the others that you two hadn't even said "I love you" yet for them all to stop.

By the end of the day, Cass was fuming that she hadn't once been asked about her and Owen. You could tell that she was mad so you decided to stir the pot just a little. "Hey, Cass?"

"Yeah?" She practically sighed as she responded, you were sitting on Jake's lap as everyone talked in the living room of the main house.

"Are you and Owen official yet?" You asked, your best attempt at a friendly smile on your face. You saw the way she quickly glanced at Owen before coming back to you.

"Uh, no. We're still just casual," she responded and you gave her your best sympathy pout as Jake pressed his face to your hair to hide his smile.

"Oh, can I ask why?" You knew you sounded convincing but you were fighting a smile as you watched everyone pay attention to the conversation. Everyone wanted to know, you looked at Lillian and Matteo and noticed they were both silently laughing with each other.

You watched as she struggled for an answer before Owen spoke up himself. "She doesn't actually like me," Owen shrugged and you widened your eyes while turning your face to look at him. He was to your side so you could see Jake in your peripheral as you looked at Owen.

"I'm so sorry, that must hurt," you told him, surprised no one has called out your passive aggressive way of stirring up some drama. 

"You get used to it," Owen shrugged and you glanced at Jake as you two shared a look of understanding. The group moved on to another topic, but the seeds had been planted. You and Jake were going to get you your childhood best friend back and make Cass pay for being so mean to you.

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You were sure you had put the pillow between you two that night, but you woke up with Jake's front pressed to your back and his arm over you. His hand was resting on your stomach and the very tips of his fingers were resting under the waistband of your shorts. Your first thought was to pull away, but you felt Jake sigh and his hand flex causing his fingers to dig into the skin of your lower stomach, so you stayed. 

You stayed in his hold for a good five minutes before Jake stirred awake, his hand flexing again before withdrawing it. He said nothing as you two moved through the same motions as the day before, right down to the shared kiss in the kitchen. You weren't sure if his small "she's watching" was a lie, but didn't complain as his lips landed on yours. 

You were spending time with Jake that day and knew you two had to absolutely play the shit out of your fake relationship. You knew Cass was going to look for any small thing that might hint at you two lying, so you knew you had to make sure there was none.

Your personal plan? Let yourself fall into the belief that it wasn't fake, that you and Jake were really together. It worked too because each touch, each glance, each kiss shared was filled with all the love you didn't dare say aloud. 

Owen was there too, you saw the way he watched you and Jake and knew he was thinking. It's why you weren't surprised when he entered the kitchen after you to talk. "Hey," Owen greeted you.

"Oh, hey," you gave him a small smile.

"It's been a minute since we've talked, huh?" He rubbed the back of his neck as you nodded.

"Yeah, it has. How have you been?" 

"Pretty good, been helpin' dad at work," he shrugged and you nodded slowly.

"And with Cass?" You saw him look around and took a glance yourself. Cass was next to Jake on the couch with both of their backs to you, even so you could tell Jake wasn't giving her the attention she wanted.

"It's like I don't exist until someone or somethin' reminds her of you," he revealed.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, bringing your cup to your lips.

"What the hell are you apologizin' for?"

"She wouldn't even be all over you like this if I never ruined our friendship by developing a crush," you responded.

"You didn't ruin shit, it was my fault for fallin' for Cass' bullshit," Owen shook his head.

"Can't blame you, she is pretty," you mused, looking back at her and Jake only to see Jake had moved seats away from Cass. You met his eyes and watched as he silently asked if you needed his help, you gave him a small shake of the head before looking back at Owen.

"Yeah, but she ain't ruin your oldest friendship pretty," Owen responded, his eyes trailing between you and Jake. "He's good for you, haven't seen you this happy since before your dad's wedding."

"Jake's a good man," you vaguely responded, forgetting you were talking to the only person who would be able to see through the lies.

"Uh huh," he slowly nodded before a slow smirk spread on his lips. "A good enough man you asked him to be your date to your brother's wedding despite obviously being in love with him and pretendin' you aren't while pretendin' you are?"

"Owen Fisher, are you callin' me a liar?" You cocked an eyebrow at him while he laughed, calling the attention of your dad and mom who watched the interaction. You were standing across the kitchen from Owen with your arms crossed and cup resting on the counter behind you while Owen leaned against the doorframe and laughed. It was a sight that wouldn't have had them looking twice if not for the fact you two had barely looked at each other the last few years you were home and that you came with another man.

"I ain't sayin' you're a liar, I'm sayin' you're not tellin' the whole truth," he said and you couldn't help but smile at him. You missed this, being friends with someone who wasn't afraid to call out your bullshit. Maybe that's why you liked Jake so much, he was the same yet different in every way.

"Jake's a good man and yeah, I like him. But we haven't said the big L yet," you smoothly lied, watching as Owen bought it. He had lost his touch at reading you in the past couple of years.

"You don't gotta, you show it in every way you interact, Moony," the childhood nickname made your smile waver for a second.

"Haven't called me that in a while, Owen," you pointed out.

"Haven't felt like I deserved to in a while," Owen countered and you looked at Jake, needing a way out of this before you got too involved again. You weren't scared of falling for Owen again, you were scared to get close only for him to choose Cass again. You made eye contact with Jake and gave a small nod this time, signaling him to walk over. You looked back at Owen as he glanced around too.

"Owen," you called his attention back to you. "I don't think you ever stopped deserving it, but I can't lie that I'm not scared that you'll choose Cass again," you told him as Jake walked in and beelined for you.

"Hey, darlin'," Jake pressed a kiss to your head and you smiled up at him.

"Hey," you responded before you two walked out of the kitchen. You gave Owen a small smile before leaving. "Jake and I are going to retire for the night," you announced as you and Jake walked out the back door to make your way to the guest house.

"How'd it go with Mr. I-lost-my-chance?" Jake questioned as you two got into the guest house.

"Asked how he was, asked about him and Cass, he told me that she only ever goes to him if someone or thing reminds her of me. He told me he's sorry for ruining our friendship even though I was the one who had the stupid crush. He almost caught onto us but I successfully redirected the conversation. He called me Moony, which was my childhood nickname, and then said he felt like he didn't deserve to call me that. And then I needed you to come get me out of there before I got my hopes up again," you briefed Jake on everything you and Owen talked about. 

"You fallin' for him again?" You heard Jake's accent slip out a little more as he asked and scrunched your eyebrows in confusion while your back was turned.

"No," you denied, it was the truth too. Jake could hear that it was the truth. "I just don't want to think I could be friends with him again only for him to choose Cass once again," you told Jake as you collected the rest of your things for your shower. Jake hummed at you and you didn't know what that meant, but didn't press him on it.

You cracked the door as you got into the bathroom, you had the previous nights just in case Jake needed to tell you anything while you were in there. You assumed Jake had left the room by the time you turned on the shower like he was the other nights, but you were wrong. Jake had stayed relaxing in the bed and when he glanced up, he saw a glimpse of your bare back in the mirror. 

Jake felt like he was creeping on you, even if it was an accident, and quickly looked away from you. He kept his eyes trained on the wall until he heard you open the glass door and close it once you got in. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of the room and went to the living room. The TV was on but Jake wasn't paying attention, his mind was on the way your back looked moving as you reached to unbuckle your pants. 

Jake ran his hand down his face as he thought about how stupid he was acting. One glance at you had him imagining you spread out on the bed for him, he felt like a teenage boy seeing a naked woman for the first time. Jake knew having a crush on you was stupid, that there was no way you liked him. Not after his reputation and the way he never made a show of stopping it, even though he had. 

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Jake's shower was longer than the others and it was at night, but you didn't question it. When and how long he showers wasn't something you felt like you should comment on, even if there was very little steam flowing through the cracked door. You were lounging in the bed when Jake exited the bathroom, the towel low on his hips while he went to look through his bag. You let yourself look over him, your eyes trailing the muscles he had. "Are you starin'?" One thing you've learned about Jake Seresin, his accent came out when he was tired, his emotions were running high, or if he was around other people with one.

"You know what you look like, Hangman, don't even try and claim otherwise," you shot back, your eyes moving from his arms to his face. He had his shit eating grin resting on his lips and he was already staring at you. "Don't make me throw a pillow at you, get dressed," you reached for a pillow just to prove a point. 

"Ok, ok, no need to get violent, darlin'," Jake smirked before moving back to the bathroom to get dressed.

You were looking back at your phone when he walked back out, missing the fact he purposefully forgot a shirt until he was crawling into bed. You glanced at him quickly before taking a double take causing Jake to laugh at the action. "Where the hell is your shirt?"

"Figured you'd be happier if I was without one," Jake shrugged with a smirk and you huffed at him.

"Then lose the pants too," you joked and Jake shrugged before reaching for his waistband. "I was joking!" You laughed, gripping his forearms and roughly pulling his hands away from his sweats. You were both laughing as you kept your hold on him, you were using him to keep yourself stable as you doubled over in laughter. 

"Are you sure you were jokin'? Cause I'll do it," Jake offered but you wheezed when you went to answer, making yourself laugh harder. 

You kept wheezing before it turned into snorts as you officially lost all grip on your sanity for a moment. "It hurts to laugh," you finally managed to get out but it caused both of you to laugh even harder. Once you managed to calm down, you collapsed with your forehead pressed against his pec. "I don't know why but that killed me," you gasped as you tried to catch your breath again. Jake let his hand rest on the back of your head as you laid there, your breathing slowly going back to normal. 

You stayed there even after your breathing was normal, enjoying the heat radiating off Jake. It soothed the headache you had been nursing since lunch, the dull throb of pain going away. "You ok?" Jake gently gave the back of your head a squeeze as if to show who he was talking to even if it was just the two of you.

"Yeah, I've just had this killer headache since lunch and your body heat is making it go away," you mumbled, adjusting how you were sitting so you were flat on your stomach instead of crouched over. Jake let you lay there for a minute before fully readjusting you both. Instead of you laying the wrong way on the bed, the side of your head was pressed to your pillow while Jake tucked your forehead against the middle of his chest.

"Sleep, I'll be here the whole time, I promise," he mumbled as he pulled the blankets over you. The lights turned off a few moments later and you realized he had grabbed the remote to them while readjusting the two of you. You were sure you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head before you drifted off, but you couldn't be sure.

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Jake had decided he wanted to make breakfast the following morning so you let him. You sat yourself on one of the bar stools at the counter and watched as he made the food. "Is the pillow barrier officially done for?" You questioned, sipping the coffee Jake had handed you a few moments prior.

"I don't care if it is," Jake told you honestly and you smiled at his back. A knock on the door let you know someone was there. "It's open!" Jake called, clearly not caring that someone was going to see him shirtless. You both looked over at whoever knocked and you were shocked to see your dad, step mom, and Cass walk in.

"Morning," your dad greeted the two of you and you glanced at what the two of you were wearing. You were in an old TOP GUN shirt that accidentally ended up in your things after a wash, it was several sizes too big and seemed like it should be Jake's. And Jake was in sweatpants, just sweatpants.

"Good morning!" Cass called, her eyes trained on Jake. 

"Mornin'," Jake glanced at them before glancing at you. You didn't care if he told you to just sit there while he cooked, you were going to at least stand by him while they were there.

"We just wanted to stop by, we haven't had time to properly talk to you two since you got here," your step mom, Whitney, announced and you pressed your back to one of the counters by Jake, allowing you to see his face while also looking at the others. 

"Talk about what?" You questioned, worried that they might have picked up on the lie. 

"How you two met," Whitney responded.

"Oh, we met through work," you told her, there was no need to lie about this part you two decided. "When we were called back to TOP GUN for a special detachment that's when we met, we were asked to stay as a permanent detachment after the mission," you explained.

"How'd you start dating?" Cass asked and you glanced at Jake, his head was turned forward but his eyes were on you. 

"Honestly? We aren't really sure," you started telling them the lie. "We just kinda realized that we both had feelings and that we were practically dating already. The only thing that changed was that we no longer hid our affection," you shrugged as Jake wrapped his arm around your midsection and gave you a small side hug despite the two of you facing opposite directions.

"You've been awfully quiet, Jake," your dad pointed out and you quickly jumped in before he had to think of an answer.

"He's not much of a talker when he cooks, he likes to focus," you lied smoothly and gave Jake a smile when he mouthed 'thank you'. Your dad and the other two finished their quick little chat with the two of you before leaving, you were sure they were trying to find out if you two were really dating. You'd like to think you two were convincing enough.

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Jake had you spread out on the bed, his lips were on yours as his hands slowly undid the button of your jeans. You had half a mind to ask about the rules, but any thoughts were pushed out of your head as his hand dipped into your jeans and panties. You heard him chuckle as he gently ran his middle finger through your folds to collect your slick before running it up to circle your clit. 

It was slow circles before he withdrew his hand all together. Jake slowly kissed down your neck, chest, and all the way down until he gently pulled your jeans off. You sucked in a harsh breath as Jake leaned in to press a feather light kiss to your clit. Your hips jumped up and Jake chuckled again right before he dove in. 

The annoying sound of your alarm pulled you from your dream, why you agreed to be up and ready this early baffled you. It made you groan as you pulled away from Jake, his warm body not helping the heat radiating through you from the dream. You watched as Jake blinked awake before smiling over at you, it was a softer smile. You gave him one back before rolling back a bit more and landing on the floor with a small grunt. "Did you just?" Jake stopped his question short as you spoke.

"Roll too far and land on the floor? Yes, shut it," you hissed, already sitting up to get off the floor. You gave him a lighthearted glare when he laughed, the same one from your dream. The dream you didn't get to process before falling on your ass off the bed. 

"Come on, darlin', give me your hands and I'll pull you back up," Jake's hands came into view and you grabbed them. You used your ab muscles to help him and your legs before you were back on the bed and pressed into Jake's side. Yeah, you were going to have to splash cool water on your face to get rid of the dream running through your mind.

"Why'd I agree to such an early morning?" You whined, burying your face into Jake's shoulder. You felt Jake's shoulder move as he laughed but he ran his hand up and down your back.

"Because you love your brother and soon to be sister in law," Jake stated. 

"I know," you dramatically announced before getting up and heading to the bathroom to get ready for your day.

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Jake was watching you as you did your makeup, Lillian had requested that everyone had extra glitter on them that day. You had dragged Jake to the store the day before to get a new eyeshadow pallet, one with just pure glitter shades. It was mesmerizing to Jake as he watched you put the glitter on your eyes. You went around the color on your lids to make it look almost like it was a sun glow surrounding the pretty purple. "Do you think there's enough glitter?" You turned to look at Jake, the light catching the glitter perfectly. If Jake hadn't already been in love, he swore he would have fallen right then.

"I think it looks perfect," Jake replied and you happily hummed before spinning back to do your lips. Jake would have never guessed that watching someone do their makeup would be as entertaining and mesmerizing as it was.

You had noticed him just watching you the whole time, but said nothing. Not when you were focused on lining your lips with the lip liner stain before adding the normal stain itself. You used the small piece of paper you had next to you to dry down the stain, it took a moment but you got it dry. "So, after I have breakfast with my mom and Lillian, we are free for the day until dinner. That means, you're stuck with me again," you told Jake as you finished adding the clear gloss to your lips.

Jake laughed at your words before speaking. "Better than Owen," he told you and you chuckled before looking over at him.

"Are you going to get dressed?" Jake was still in his pajamas and shirtless behind you. 

"I will, don't worry. No one will be getting a show here," Jake assured you.

"What? It's only for me?" You joked, shoving your feet into your shoes. You missed the look across Jake's face as you did but you heard his words.

"Hell yeah, it is, darlin'," Jake smirked at you when you looked back at him with a smile on your face. You looked at the time and gasped lightly, you were going to be late.

"Mhm," you hummed before walking over to him. "I gotta go. Be good, I love you, bye," you gave Jake a kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door.

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Jake was still sitting on the edge of the bed a few minutes after you left. He knew realistically you probably were just in a rush and not thinking what you said through, but there was a part of him that hoped you meant your words.

You, on the other hand, were sitting at breakfast thinking about what you said to Jake before leaving. It was a slip of the tongue, sure you loved him but you hadn't planned on telling him. Jake was Jake, he had his way of living and you had yours. You doubted he would be open to a real relationship, let alone one with you. 

"What's going on in your head, babes?" Lillian asked and you looked up, you realized you had been zoned out for a while.

"Uh," you looked at your soon to be sister and your mom, it was just the two of them but your mom didn't know about you and Jake. "Just thinking, this whole wedding thing has given me something to think about," you waved your hand in a noncommittal circle as you spoke.

"Are you thinking about marrying Jake?" Your mom giddily asked.

"Oh, uh," you looked at Lillian who was also looking intrigued about your answer. "I don't know, I hadn't given much thought to marriage before. You know how my job is, and, yeah, Jake works with me but we haven't even said I love you yet. Or he hasn't, I kinda just said it while rushing out the door this morning without thinking about it," you ranted and saw your mom raise her eyebrows and Lillian gasp.

"Did he not say it back?" Your mom asked.

"I, uh, didn't exactly give him time to. I was in a rush to leave so I wasn't late!" You defended when you saw her get ready to say something more.

"Do you love him?" Lillian questioned, her tone letting you know she was genuinely asking and not just to keep appearances.

"I think so, I don't know. It's just an all new feeling! For all I know, I'm just getting swept up in the wedding romance and said it because it's all been going so well," you ranted, your thoughts running a mile a minute.

"Tell us what was happening before you said you loved him," your mother said, Lillian scooting closer to grab your hand.

"Well, I was doing my makeup at that vanity that's in the bedroom and he was sitting on the bed watching me. When I asked if there was enough glitter, he said it was perfect. We were talking about how we were free until dinner after I'm done here. And then I asked if he was going to get dressed because he was still in his pajamas. He said he would and that no one would be getting a show, so I jokingly asked if it was all for me because, you know, we live in San Diego and he's gone shirtless at the beach before. He replied "hell yeah, it is, darlin',"" you put on your best impression of him and his accent making your mom and Lillian laugh. "That's when I noticed I was going to be late so I kissed his cheek and said "I gotta go. Be good, I love you, bye," before rushing out of the guest house," you finished explaining as Lillian and your mother gaped at you.

"He's in love with you," Lillian mumbled but you shook your head.

"What?" You almost denied it and said that he was still sleeping around, but you had to remember that your mom didn't know.

"That man is in love with you," your mother reiterated as if you didn't get it the first time, which you're pretty sure you didn't.

"No way, we've only been together for a few months!" You tried to reason.

"And yet you love him," Lillian told you, her hand moving to your shoulder as she spoke.

"Yeah, but that might be hysteria from all the wedding things getting to my head," you denied but they both gave you a flat look. "I'll talk to him later," you promised after a moment of silence.

"Good," Lillian stated before the conversation drifted back to whatever they were talking about before your confession.

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You were practically dragging your feet as you walked back to the guest house, your mom and Lillian refused to make breakfast longer than necessary. You weren't ready for Jake to ask about what you said, or for you to have to explain it.

Yet, Jake was just casually spread out on the couch watching TV when you walked in. "Hey, darlin', how was breakfast?" Jake called over.

"It was fine, just idle wedding talk," you told him, throwing your purse on the entry table and toeing off your shoes. You sat yourself down on the opposite end of the couch as Jake turned the TV down.

"Owen came by earlier," Jake told you and your scrunched your eyebrows.

"What did he want?" 

"You," Jake plainly stated.

"For what?" You leaned closer to Jake as you studied his face. He had a pinch to his brows and he looks over all upset.

"No idea, wouldn't tell me. Just kept sayin' that he needs to tell you somethin' before the wedding," Jake shrugged and you shook your head.

"Why wouldn't he just tell you to tell me?" 

"You're the one who knows him, not me," Jake responded and it rubbed your wrong.

"Do you have a problem with that?" You got defensive.

"No, I was just sayin'. He's your friend, not mine. Though from his tone he doesn't want to be just friends anymore," Jake responded, his tone taking a sharper edge.

"And you think I want that?"

"I don't know what you want, Moony," Jake's voice was bordering on venom. "I'm not your real boyfriend, remember?"

"What is wrong with you? What the hell happened in the last hour and a half?" You stood up and crossed your arms as you started talking.

"Owen wasn't the only one to come over while you were gone. Cass did too, apparently I'm not even your type," Jake stood too and you took a step back.

"You're taking her word over mine?" Your voice lost the edge it had, your insecurities creeping into the edges.

"You're never told me your type, what am I supposed to think? You suddenly made an exception for me just because I was the only one who could help piss off your step sister? Cause that's what it's soundin' like, darlin'."

"You don't get to call me darlin' while being an ass, Hangman," you seethed, your eyes blazing even though your voice was still soft. You made your way back to your shoes and purse before speaking again. "And for the record, Cass is wrong. You've always been my type, in fact, you may be the only man who will ever be my type again," you were about to close the door before you decided to add the last nail in the coffin. "Oh, and I meant it when I said I love you. But I understand if you decide to leave, I'll tell the others that you had a family emergency."

The door shut behind you, leaving Jake to grapple with the fact he probably just let his own insecurities ruin whatever was blossoming between you two.

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"Babes, what are you doing here?" Lillian let you into the bedroom that her and Matteo were staying in. Your brother was sitting on the bed, his phone playing some video he was watching.

"Jake and I fought," you sighed, sitting down on the vanity chair.

"Do I need to go kick his ass?" Matteo stood but you quickly shook your head.

"No, it's not even his fault."

"It's always then man's fault, but continue," Lillian cut in.

"Apparently Owen stopped by the guest house while I was at dinner and from his tone it sounded like he wanted to confess he had feelings for me. And apparently Cass stopped by it too and told Jake he wasn't my type," you told the two, your eyes trained on the open window. "I told him that Cass was wrong, that I don't like Owen like that again, and that I meant it when I said I love him."

"You told him you love him?" Matteo sat up and you looked over at him.

"Lils didn't tell you?" You looked over to the aforementioned blonde.

"I was going to let yo two figure out your feelings first," she admitted.

"You told him you loved him and he still had the audacity to believe Cass?" Matteo brought the conversation back.

"Well, to be fair, I said it in a rush and we aren't actually dating," you mumbled, wanting to be quieter just in case.

"No because Lili told me all about what went on with you two this morning, except the love confession, but there is no way he doesn't love you," Matteo stated but you just sighed.

"If he loved me, why didn't he just say so?"

"If everything you've told us is true, that he's a playboy who no one believes can settle down, then he's probably scared about what you think," Matteo gently told you, moving over to grab your hands. "Y/n, you're my baby sister. I've always done everything I can to protect you, but this isn't something I can fix. But you can, go talk to him or something. The wedding is in two days and I doubt you want him to leave."

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Jake was sitting on the edge of the bed when you walked back into the guest house bedroom. His bags were open but not packed and he was staring at something in his hands. "Jake?" You called for his attention as you walked around the bed to see what he was holding.

You saw the picture you knew existed but didn't know how he got. It was of younger you holding a white board, some of your friends and you thought it would be funny to write down a description of your dream men and pose for photos. "I'm sorry," Jake whispered and that's when you realized he was crying.

"How'd you get that?" You sat down next to Jake, leaning into his side as you did so.

"Your mom dropped it off, said somethin' about how she overheard you talkin' to your brother and sister in law about our fight," Jake admitted.

"Jake," you sighed, you needed to say something.

"No, you don't get to apologize. I was an ass, I was scared that you wouldn't want to be with someone like me."

"Someone like you?"

"I've slept around more than I probably should have, I was so mean to you in the beginning for no reason," Jake's eyes were still trained on the photo. "Then I believed your step sister over you even though you've told me all about her lyin' tendencies. But your mom gives me this, photographic proof that I'm your type, and it makes me think. I am so sorry," Jake let out a shaky exhale.

"I should have been more up front in the beginning. I made the no falling in love rule knowing damn well I was already half way there," you told Jake, your hand grabbing his free one. "I just thought that if you ever did fall in love, if you wanted to settle down, it wouldn't be with me. I'm nothing like those girls that throw themselves all over you at The Hard Deck."

"Exactly," Jake said before quickly clarifying. "I meant that in a good way, I meant that you're nothing like them because you're everything I ever wanted but never let myself to dream about."

"I know it may be a little late to ask, but Jake, will you be my date to my brother's wedding? For real this time?"

You watched as Jake's face split with his signature smile before he answered. "I'd love nothin' more, except you. I love you more," Jake replied, his movements self assured as he pulled you to him for a kiss.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You freely cried while you listened to Lillian and Matteo share their vows. You glanced out to the crowd to see Jake watching you with a soft look. "You ok?" He mouthed while you gave him a small nod, a smile on your face as you did so. 

"I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss your bride!" The officiant announced as you clapped with the others in the ceremony hall. You watched as they walked down the isle before you were supposed to follow. You met up with Jake by the stairs of the hall after exiting the doors. 

"Here," Jake gently dried your face with a tissue he produced from his pocket. You smiled as he held your chin and tilted your head up, a look of focus on his face. 

"Thank you," you mumbled, your eyes trained on his. He smiled down at you before dipping his head and kissing you softly.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," you took his hand and you both walked hand-in-hand to his truck. Jake opened the door and gently gripped your waist to make sure you didn't fall backwards while getting into the truck.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were grateful that Lillian and Matteo decided to let the bridesmaids and groomsmen sit with everyone else instead of a table in the front of the room. You and Jake were sitting at a table with your step mom, your dad, mom, Cass, and Owen. It was a little awkward, but you were thankful that you were between your mom and Jake. 

Jake was obviously trying to seem casual while sitting as far from Cass on his other side as possible. You gently tugged the side of Jake's chair closer to you to hint to him to scoot it closer. He caught on and, when no one was watching, scooted his chair right up next to yours. 

When dinner was over and after Lillian and Matteo had their first dance, you got up and took Jake away from Cass. "Was it just me or was Cass leanin' towards me more and more as time went on?" Jake questioned once you were a safe distance away.

"She was!" You laughed a little, leaning into Jake as you did so.

"You're laughin' at that?" Jake fake outraged.

"Hey, you told me you love me," you gently poked his chest as you spoke. "There's no take backs, you're stuck with me."

"Good because I've been imaginin' you in a white dress since we showed up at The Hard Deck the first night," Jake admitted, dipping his head down to kiss you once again. Both of your smiles making it a little hard but you neither of you cared, not when you finally got each other.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[seresinhangmanjake]

Ready For It

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: When you weren't ready for a baby, you and Jake broke up. But now, months later, you are ready, and Jake is pissed.

Notes/Warnings: implied smut, baby talk, cursing.

Words: 2770

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You aren’t trying to be that kind of person, the kind who throws words out into the wind to elicit shock from those with nearby ears. But alcohol has a way of twisting your brain into forgetting to keep your mouth shut when a shut mouth is best. And that’s precisely why their brows are raised and their eyes are bugged out and their beer bottles are frozen mid-air on their way to their lips. 

Nat is the first to break out of the trance. She blinks and sets her bottle back down on the high-top table, shakes her head as if to clear the fog that might’ve caused her to mishear you, and says, “You want to what?”

It’s too late to take it back, so you grasp on to the bit of alcohol-induced confidence that had you saying it in the first place. “I want to have a baby.”

You notice Javy swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Why?”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and you know the gesture is stupid. It’s too nonchalant. It makes you look like you’re trying on a quick thought to see if it fits rather than presenting yourself for as sure as you are about your decision. 

“Like I said, I want one,” you tell him. That answer, too, nearly makes you wince. I want one. That’s what children whine to their parents after seeing an advertisement for a new toy on TV. That’s what spoiled brats say. “I mean, I’ve thought about it.”

“That’s great,” Reuben says with a shaky edge to his tone. “It’s just that–”

“It’s just nothing,” you interrupt him, the alcohol loosening your lips even more. “I’m ready to have a baby.”

Voices cease, and despite the cacophony of noise throughout the room, your little table is surrounded by silence. Then a loud thump comes from behind you, and you jolt in place, choking on your sip of beer. 

Coughing to clear the liquid from your lungs, you spin on your heel to find that the source of the sound was a beer bottle slamming down onto a table, hitting it so hard that amber droplets spewed over the rim, scattering little puddles onto the oak wood surface. 

Around the glass neck are the tightly squeezing fingers of your ex-boyfriend. His knuckles are white. Nails are digging into the side of his thumb. There’s a frown; a sharpened jawline from gritted teeth; eyes that are burning holes into yours. 

You didn’t realize he’d already arrived. 

Before you can get yourself together enough to utter a syllable—no, a fraction of a syllable—Jake is turning his back to you and abandoning his drink to shove his way through the crowd. Shoulders nudge shoulders as he weaves himself around body after body until he’s swallowed completely. From over many heads, you see the front door of the Hard Deck open and close. 

When you look back at your friends, they all have their heads down, save for Bradley, who says, “It’s um…he’s…you know…”

The weight of shame bends your spine forward. You nod, take one last sip of your drink for courage, and retrace Jake’s steps.

In the humid air of summer’s night, he is pacing, back and forth and back and forth, muttering something you can’t quite make out as his boots crunch the gravel of the parking lot and his hand ruins his neatly combed locks. You wait for him to notice you, and when he finally does, he stops short. His jaw ticks. His eyebrows dip in the center. Your throat constricts, blocking from entry the deep breath that you were hoping would calm your racing heart. 

Then he says, “What the actual fuck,” and your stomach twists into a knot. “Are you for goddamn real? You want a baby?”

A sigh trembles out of you. “Jake, I–”

When you take a step forward, he takes one back, and it so thoroughly shatters your heart that you can practically feel the pieces of the organ falling away from where they are meant to be.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” is just short of a growl. 

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, it is absolutely what I’m thinking. You said you didn’t want one. But what you meant is you didn’t want one with me,” he says. “What, did you find some other guy I don’t know about?”

Your head shakes with vigor in your best attempt to dispel that thought from his head. “There’s no guy.”

“Yeah, right,” he grumbles. 

“There isn’t. I just–when we were together, I wasn’t sure.”

Jake’s arms throw up and fall back down, hands smacking against his outer thighs. It echoes like gunshot, and you flinch as if the bullet struck you. “What the hell could’ve changed in nine months!”

You swallow hard, trying to process the question in a way that will provide you with an acceptable answer, an answer he will understand, but you come up short. “I–I don’t know. Alright? It’s a…a feeling.”

He scoffs. “A feeling.”

“Yes, a feeling,” you say. “And it’s not my fault we didn’t have that feeling at the same time.”

Jake stares at you for five hefty beats of your heart before releasing a groan and pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyelids. He tries to breathe, but the inhales are too shaky and the exhales too uneven to be effective. After a minute, his hands pull away from his face to settle on his hips, and he again meets your gaze. Green orbs are glistening. You think you see the gathering of tears in his ducts, and in response, your vision turns watery, briefly blurring his figure and features.

“I wanted to marry you,” he says, much too softly for your comfort. His voice cracks when he repeats, “I wanted to fucking marry you. I wanted us to raise children. I wanted all of it. But you ran.”

Your knees quiver. “I didn’t want to run from you.”

“Oh, no?” He mockingly snorts. “Well, I wasn’t the one to leave you, was I? I never would’ve left you. Not for anything.”  

Your mouth opens, but you close it, because you can’t argue. Not fairly, anyway. You can’t pretend you weren’t aware of what he is telling you now. You knew how deeply he loved you when you were together. But he scared you that day. He threw you a curveball over breakfast with a conversation you weren’t anticipating having for years. A baby wasn’t something you’d thought about before. But what you did know was that you weren’t prepared to be a mother, and that the smile on his face was so wide it was as if you’d already agreed, and the combination of the two had panicked you to a point of breaking both of your hearts.

“What you said came out of nowhere, and it terrified me. I didn’t know what else to do,” you say, and the wince that scrunches his features just about kills you. 

You want to tell him that it wasn’t him. That it wasn’t his fault. That he did nothing. That he was perfect, and amazing, and everything you could’ve asked for. But you’re not sure it would matter, if he would even believe you at all. 

Still, you want to try. 

“Jake, you were–”

“What about now?” he says.

You blink. “What do you mean?”

His weight shifts from his left foot to his right. “You not being ready is why you broke up with me,” he reminds you, as if you could ever forget your mistake. “So if you’re ready now, why wouldn’t we be doing this together?”

Your heart’s suffering rivals the ache that consumed it on the day you left him. Suddenly, those shards of its brokenness feel like they are being stomped on, a heel digging into the pieces and twisting back and forth, grinding them back into grains of sand. 

At the pained pinch between your brows, Jake’s face falls, his lips thinning and olive-green eyes flicking away from your sorrowful expression as if he is unable to take in the sight of your pity. He tilts his head, and his hand rubs along the edge of his jaw. It could be minutes that go by, but you allow him that time, as much time as he needs.

“Yeah.” His following huff is weak. “I guess it’s stupid, but I’ve been hoping that if you one day changed your mind, you’d come to me,” he tells you, gaze locking back onto yours. “Was there ever a possibility of you doing that?”

You shake your head.

He nods as he bites the inside of his cheek. “Why not?”

“Because we’ve been broken up for almost a year. And it wasn’t like that day was particularly amicable,” you point out as you recall the raised voices, the devastation, the tears you shed as he pleaded with you, the slamming of the front door that had you collapsing to the ground, the regret that followed, the damage that could not be undone.

His mouth pulls down into a frown. 

“Jake, it’s not that I don’t want y–” You pause, swallow, take in some of the remaining oxygen that has yet to be sucked out of the air, then blow out. “I wasn’t going to assume you still love me.”

“Well, you should’ve,” he says dryly, and that oxygen abandons you entirely. Your eyes widen and your head jerks back, and you don’t know why you didn’t anticipate that response, but you didn’t, and so once again, you’re plunged into a state of silence. 

“You still love me?” he asks, but you’re still in shock, and too much time passes for his liking. “Simple answer, Honey. Yes or no.”

Simple. He’s right. It is simple, and it’s an answer you already have. But you fail in your attempt to give it. Your vocal chords do not flutter, your tongue does not flick, and even if it did, your lips don’t seem to be able to form the shapes needed to get the words out. 

Jake’s chin dips toward his chest as he lightly shakes his head, and, unsure of what else to do, you stand there and just watch him, watch the physical embodiment of his disappointment, watch the hurt you’ve inflicted upon him all over again. A tired sigh blows out of his nose before he looks up and starts walking back in the direction of the bar’s door, and you know you should let him go, but as he passes you, your arm whips out and you grab onto his wrist. 

He doesn’t pull away. Nor does he slough you off as you expected. He freezes.

In your peripherals, you can see his chest rising and falling with thick breaths. You can feel his pulse thrumming against your fingertips, a rhythm you had memorized long ago, and you quickly release him as if the meeting of your skin and his burns you. 

When Jake turns, his eyes are forced to sear into your cheek because you can’t get yourself to look at him. You fear what you will see. Anger? Irritation? Misery? You’re not sure you can handle the reality of any of those possibilities. 

In the end, though, you’re not given the choice. His hand reaches over to cup the opposite side of your face, and your head is eased to the side until your stares are connected. To your surprise, it’s not anger; it’s not irritation; it’s not misery. It’s curiosity. It’s a questioning gaze that searches every one of your features for an answer that he eventually succeeds in finding. 

“You do,” he says. Not an inquiry; a statement of fact. One that your voice doesn’t have to confirm.

Surrendering, you twist your body toward his. As his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the hair on your arms stands on end. A few moments hang over your heads to give you the space to push him away, but when you don’t, he leans in, inching closer and closer and closer. And then his mouth is on yours. 

You’d forgotten the sound of your own whimper, and it’s like greeting a long-lost friend. Familiar. Comfortable. Full of promises. Your arms immediately loop around his neck as you rise up on your toes. Jake’s head tilts. Your mouth parts for his tongue and you greedily claim the groan he throws down your throat.

Time warps, pulling your past forward to meld with your present, and it’s as if those months without him didn’t happen. As if it were all a bad dream and you woke to find yourself in the home you shared, and rather than reject him as you had at his mention of a baby that morning, you accepted the proposal, ready to dive headfirst into a beautiful future together. 

That future peeks its head into the corner of your vision as he continues to kiss you, reinserting itself into your pathways of possibilities. And you want so desperately to wrap your fingers around it and hug it to your chest. Cuddle and protect it. You know this time you would take good care of it. But Jake starts to pull back. He separates his lips from yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world, when for you, it would be about as easy as unwelding one piece of metal from another without the fire to do so. The act stuffs you full of dread; it makes your nerves wriggle under your skin and turns the tips of your fingers and toes numb. 

You don’t know what to say, how to beg him not to leave you, but thankfully, you don’t have to. Your anxiety is instantly quelled when he says, “Come here.” Then he’s grasping your hand and leading you around to the side of the building. 

Once hidden by the darkness that the streetlights can’t reach, he pushes you up against the wall. His hands plant on either side of your head. He stares down at you. Breath brushes your face, and the tension is unbearable, tight, a band ready to snap. It’s the only tension you’ve had between you and a man that’s capable of bringing you to your knees. 

“Honey,” he says, a desperate muttering accompanied by a heavy exhale. 

You nod. 

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” 

Your fingers fist into the collar of his shirt and you pull his mouth back to yours. The clink from the metal clasp of his belt being undone echoes over the waves that crash onto the shore.

—

You’re in awe. There’s no other way to describe it. She blinks up at you with his eyes and lashes, and her lips, a replica of your own, part in a yawn, and your heart explodes with an otherworldly kind of love.

“She's…” You shake your head, choosing silence, because you’re unable to find the perfect words to describe the bundle in your arms. And she deserves nothing less than perfection. 

Jake’s lips plant on your temple. “I know, Honey,” is a mutter. “I know.” His palm grazes over the blond dusting of hair on her head. “You did amazing.”

“You think so?”

He hums in agreement.

With great difficulty, you tear your eyes away from your daughter to those of your soon-to-be husband. He’s already looking down at you, his lips curved upward, his eyes shining with a devotion that, despite the weight of your relationship’s history, has been present from the moment you met. Even when you were broken up, you would often catch him looking at you in the very same manner before he could turn his head and pretend otherwise. And you love him for that; for his unwavering hope.

“Jake,” you start. 

“Yeah, Honey.”

Your smile matches his as you reach up to cup his cheek. His hand overlaps yours and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. 

“I never wanted it to be anyone but you,” you then say. Because it’s the truth. More than the truth, it was inevitable in every sense. You knew it for certain the moment you learned of your pregnancy after that night outside the bar. You instantly acknowledged that there was a dominant piece of your mental will that was always going to ensure you would end up where you are now, in this bed, with her, with him. 

Jake’s eyes close. He leans down until your foreheads touch. His nose nudges yours. “And I only ever wanted it to be you,” he replies. 

[callsign-phoenix]

This was requested by a lovely anon, I hope you like it!

It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x wife!reader imagine.

Warnings: mentions of periods, mentions of pregnancy, fainting, mentions of injury (cuts made by glass), this is only proofread by me

Jake Seresin was never worried for himself, that was common knowledge.

By the way he flew in missions and even in training sessions, everyone knew that he was never too worried about his own life.

When he met you it got a little better, but still Jake just simply didn't care.

When he married you, your only condition was for him to take less risks while flying.

One thing Jake Seresin undoubtedly worried about, though, was you.

It started slowly, with Jake leaving notes around the house to remind you to drink enough water, him always having extra pads and tampons in the bathroom in case you were running out or with Jake always walking on the sidewalk on the side of the street.

He just occasionally took more care of you than you did yourself, drawing up a bath when you were stressed or reminding you to take a breather when things got hectic.

You wouldn't go so far to say Jake was the perfect partner, he was a guy after all, but you were so grateful that he cared for you.

For a few days now you had been feeling queasy, having dizzy spells occasionally, feeling more tired than usual and bloated as well.

You wrote it off as your period arriving and tried to ignore it all as best as you could.

Jake noticed how you were feeling and he made a mental note to help you more than usual around the house, but he didn't say anything.

If you wanted to talk about how you were feeling you would, there was no point in addressing the matter and maybe thereby making it worse for you.

He was coming home late one evening, having picked up your favorite chocolate and some strawberries when he knew something was wrong.

You didn't greet him with a shout through the house from wherever you were as you usually did and Jake instead shouted your name to be able to locate you.

Jake only received a weak “Hey” from you, which he followed into the kitchen.

You were sipping on a glass of water, trying to keep the dizziness at bay.

But setting down the glass you missed the counter, glass scattering on the floor at the same time you fainted.

You didn't see Jake rushing to help you but he caught your head before it hit the kitchen tiles, not minding the shards of glass that tore into the soles of his feet.

When you woke up again you found yourself in a hospital bed, surrounded with white.

Jake was sitting beside you with a worried expression on his face, but there was something else, almost like giddiness, that was almost ready to break to the surface.

He was immediately by your side to give you a glass of water he had kept ready for you.

You took a sip just as Jake asked how you were feeling.

“How're you feeling, baby?” He asked as he put the glass down on your nightstand and grabbed your hand while you told him you were fine.

“What happened?” You asked back, gripping the hand he gave you for a feeling of security.

Jake sent you a short smile before he answered you.

“You fainted, baby”, he replied, and you felt his thumb run over the back of your hand gently.

“The doctors say you're fine. You didn't hit your head, and the few cuts you have from the glass you fell on are bandaged and shouldn't bother you anymore in a few days”, he went on, fully leaving out the fact that his feet were bandaged much more than anywhere you had been cut.

Jake took a second for you to process before he continued, that hint of a smile you had seen when you first woke up once again emerging on his lips.

“They found out why you fainted”, Jake went on and took a short breath.

“Honey, we’re going to have a baby”, he grinned with excitement.

And while you were shocked, there was a tiny voice inside your head saying that you had already known.

You looked at Jake and saw the way he sat up straight, excited about the news you had just received.

You were excited too, but there was one other thing that came to your mind; Jake was about to find out he could worry on a whole new level.

And that brought a smile to your face.

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(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

[elizaaudreyy]

Dogfight Darling (Pt. Two)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!oc Word Count: 766

Jake Seresin prided himself on his discipline.

In the cockpit, in a bar fight, even during Hell Week training. He had composure under pressure. Ice in his veins. Hangman didn't crack - he thrived.

But apparently, the true test of his self-control had nothing to do with high-speed aerial maneuvers or near death-combat missions.

No. It came walking into the hangar at 10:07 a.m. in the form of Lacet Mitchell, wearing denim cutoffs, white sneakers, and a low-cut ribbed tank top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Jake had been bent over the wing of a jet, elbow-deep in a checklist, when he caught movement in his periphery and looked up.

Big mistake.

There she was, walking toward him, sun catching the highlights in her hair, chest bouncing slightly with each step, and Jake felt his soul attempt to exit his body through his ears.

He immediately straightened, tugging at his collar as if the heat was a mechanical failure. "Morning," he said, voice a touch too high.

Lacey smiled, slow and knowing. "Hey, Hangman."

Lord help me.

"Mav around?" she asked, coming to stand next to him - and immediately leaning over the edge of the plane's wing to peek at the cockpit. Her neckline dipped just enough, and Jake instinctively flicked his gaze away, focusing on literally anything else. The fuel gauge. A bug on the ground. The smell of jet fuel. His impending doom.

"Nope," he said, forcing casualness. "Went to the tower to check some logs. Should be back soon."

"Perfect," she said, still leaning, her voice all sugar. "Gives me a chance to look around."

Jake wasn't sure if it was the tank top or the way she was absolutely doing this on purpose, but his brain was officially melting.

He risked a glance. Cleavage. Jesus. He looked away again, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Did you need something?" he asked, carefully keeping his eyes on her face.

She cocked her head, pretending to think. "Just wanted to stop by and see how things worked behind the scenes. You know, get the pilot experience."

Jake blinked. Hard.

This woman was going to kill him.

"Right," he muttered. "Well, here's the cockpit." He motioned toward it like it was the most uninteresting piece of machinery in the world. "Pretty standard. Buttons. Screens. Throttle. You'd love it."

"I bet I would," she said, stepping closer - too close - and leaning in again, practically pressing herself against the wing to get a better look.

Jake stared hard at the back wall.

"I'm just gonna say this one time," he ground out. "I'm doing everything in my power not to look at your boobs right now."

She blinked, eyes wide with mock innocence. "Why not?"

He gaped at her. "Are you serious?"

Lacey giggled. "Relax, Hangman. I'm just having fun."

"You're going to get me murdered."

She leaned her chin on her hand, eyes sparkling. "Come on, don't tell me it's not at least a little fin watching you squirm."

"It's not." Jake scowled, lying through his teeth. "This is the most stressful morning I've had since Top Gun."

As if summoned by a cruel god, Mav's voice suddenly echoed through the hangar.

"Seresin! You got that checklist finished?"

Jake flinched. "Yes, sir! Just about-"

Maverick strolled in, eyes flicking between his daughter and his pilot with narrowed suspicion. "Lacey. Didn't expect to see you here."

Lacey smiled sweetly, completely unaffected. "Just paying a visit. Jake was showing me around."

Mav eyed Jake. "That right?"

Jake stood stiffly. "Y-Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Mav's gaze shifted to Lacey, then back again. "Everything... good?"

Jake had never stood straighter. "Yes, sir. Just running through diagnostics. Fully focused."

Lacey, meanwhile, leaned again over the edge of the plane, drawing her finger down the smooth metal like she didn't have a care in the world.

Jake's pupils nearly exploded.

Mav looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to send Jake to a POW camp.

"Well," Maverick said slowly. "Good. Let me know when it's done. Lacey, don't cause too much trouble."

"No promises," she chirped, and Jake swore he saw her wink at him as her dad walked away,

When the coast was clear, he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath underwater for three minutes.

"You're evil," he muttered.

Lacey just laughed and twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. "And you're cute when you panic."

Jake Seresin - ace pilot, king of cocky confidence, and the Navy's golden boy - was officially at her mercy,

And the worst part?

He kind of loved it.

[50calmadeuce]

Pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You lost your first husband a few years ago to the war and you weren’t looking to find love again until your best friend, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace begs you to come visit her in Fightertown, U.S.A. While there, you fall for the handsome Jake 'Hangman’ Seresin thinking he’s not going to want all the baggage you carry, but you’re mistaken.

Warnings: Some chapters have sex, so if you’re not 18+, please don’t read them (if you are and don’t see them, go check your settings!). A few chapters also have to do with being held captive and one you are hit in the face. So, if any of those are triggers, please don’t read.

This was the first story I posted here on Tumblr. I went back, reread it and decided to re-edit it. I hope you like it.

Chapter 1: The Introduction(R) Chapter 2: Outside(R) Chapter 3: Beach Day (R) Chapter 4: Walk and Talk (R) Chapter 5: First Date (R) Chapter 6: The Landing (R) Chapter 7: Your Story (R) Chapter 8: Your History (R) Chapter 9: Airport (R) Chapter 10: The Rest of the Week (R) Chapter 11: Tantrum (R) Chapter 12: The Ranch (R) Chapter 13: The Family (R) Chapter 14: The Bedroom (R) Chapter 15: Morning (R) Chapter 16: The Ride (R) Chapter 17: Lunch (R) Chapter 18: Surprise! (R) Chapter 19: Planning (R) Chapter 20: The Wedding (R) Chapter 21: Wedding Dance (R) Chapter 22: The Shower (R) Chapter 23: Your Worth (R) Chapter 24: Packing (R) Chapter 25: Back In Fighter Town (R) Chapter 26: Deployment (R) Chapter 27: Home (R) Chapter 28: Sunday and Dinner (R) Chapter 29: Court (R) Chapter 30: Two Weeks Later (R) Chapter 31: The Doctor's Office (R) Chapter 32: Thanksgiving (R) Chapter 33: Flowers (R) Chapter 34: The Cabin (R) Chapter 35: Scott (R) Chapter 36: Hostage (R) Chapter 37: Going Home (R) Chapter 38: I'm Home (R) Chapter 39: Escape (R) Chapter 40: Found (R) Epilogue

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part X

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: We're finally here! For a minute there, I didn't think this day would come XD I hope you've enjoyed reading this series as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for all the love and support, I honestly probably would not have otherwise finished it!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, angst, fluff

WR: ~4900

Masterlist | Part I

Jake leaves his mug on the counter and slowly approaches the kitchen table. He watches Bradley incredulously as the news sinks in. “Where is she going?” he finally says.

“Back to her mom’s.”

Jake’s eyebrows flit up momentarily. “That’s halfway across the country.”

Bradley nods, although he looks somewhat uncomfortable under Jake’s persistent scrutiny.

“Why?”

Bradley sighs. “I got a call from her mom a couple weeks ago.”

“I remember,” Jake says, recalling the party and your unwillingness to speak with your best friend, despite his obvious distress.

“Said she was kicked out of her program,” Bradley continues.

“What?” Jake lowers himself into the seat across from Bradley. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bradley shrugs. “I didn’t know if she was sharing. Anyway, apparently her boyfriend called her mom and delivered the news.”

Jake’s jaw muscles contract. “I could kill him, I swear.”

“She submitted a plagiarized paper, Jake.”

Jake glances up at his friend fiercely. “Bullshit,” he says immediately.

Bradley nods. “I agree.”

Jake shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. Of all people, she wouldn’t.”

“I tried talking to her about it but, as you know, she’s been avoiding me like the plague.”

“She didn’t dispute it?”

Bradley shakes his head solemnly. “She came by yesterday to tell me that the engagement is off and that she’s leaving. For good.”

Jake glances up at Bradley abruptly, as if roused from a reverie. “The engagement is off? Since when?”

“She didn’t tell you that part either?” Bradley grimaces. “What the fuck did you two even talk about?”

Jake blinks at Bradley a couple of times and then leaps out of his seat. “Let’s go,” he says urgently, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “We can’t let her leave.”

Bradley stands and takes one final gulp of beer before following Jake out of the kitchen. He takes his car keys off the hook by the front door while Jake unplugs the fan and turns off the living room lights. “Shut up,” he mutters on his way out the door when Bradley gives him a knowing smirk.

Jake skips down the porch steps and marches to his truck. “Want me to drive?” Bradley calls after him, holding up the keys to his Bronco.

Jake pulls open the door to his truck. For some reason, he feels like driving might bring him a sense of comfort. “No, I’ll drive,” he says as Bradley approaches the truck. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, looking up at his friend over the cab. “Rooster.”

Bradley glances up at him, his hand over the doorhandle. “Yeah?”

Jake sighs irritably. “I’m in love with her.”

Bradley gives him a look and pulls open the passenger door. “I know,” he replies wryly and gets into the truck.

…

“Still not picking up?” Jake asks, looking over at Bradley who solemnly shakes his head. He sets his phone down over Jake’s, having tried you from both numbers.

Jake pulls up right behind the white mustang in your driveway. Bradley winces as Jake finally yanks on the handbrake about two inches from the pristine car’s sleek bumper. Before Bradley could comment on Jake’s parking job, however, the latter shoots out of the truck and jogs up to your front door.

Bradley, somewhat hesitantly, follows suit. He stops a few feet short of the porch, though, probably deciding that Jake is threatening enough all on his own.

Mustang opens the door a crack and Jake immediately steps forward, like a dog that hasn’t quite mastered the art of impulse control. “Where is she?” he growls, sticking his face between the frame and the door that’s still latched by a chain.

“Go fuck yourself,” Mustang spits out and tries to squeeze Jake out before slamming the door.

Mistake, of course. Because Jake isn’t afraid of getting his paint chipped. He pushes his weight into the door and reaches in through the opening to grab a hold of Mustang’s collar. Then he yanks on him sharply, causing Mustang’s temple to crash into the doorframe. Jake gives Mustang another tug until his wide jaw is wedged into the open space like a door jam.

Bradley clears his throat in the background uncomfortably, but keeps his hands in his pockets for the time being.

Jake holds onto Mustang’s collar tightly while the latter pants in alarm.

“Where is she?” Jake repeats, more quietly and more dangerously than before.

“She left already,” Mustang chokes out.

“Then why are you still here?” Jake hisses.

“I’m just getting my stuff.”

“Hangman,” Bradley says in an appeasing sort of tone. “We’re wasting time.”

Jake still glares at your ex with hatred, his grip tightening around Mustang’s shirt despite his eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets. “What’s her flight number?”

Mustang shakes his head with difficulty and croaks, “Fuck if I know.”

Jake gives him a rough jolt and Bradley, again, says, “Jake, we should go.”

“What time does she take off?” Jake asks. “What airline?”

Mustang’s eyes begin to water. “Fuck that bitch,” he sputters. “She got what she deserved.”

Jake, enraged beyond words, could have probably taken the whole door off its frame in his fury, if not for Bradley coming to haul him off the porch. “We have to go!” Bradley shouts while Jake, still fuming, flares out his chest.

“Come out and fight like a man!” Jake bellows, combatting Bradley’s attempts to restrain him.

“He’s not worth it,” Bradley urges, continuing to push him down the path back to the driveway.

“What’s the matter, Mustang?” Jake jeers. “Scared I’ll put a dent in that fancy mug of yours?” He jerks away from Bradley and heads straight for the white mustang in the driveway. “What’s the point” – he yells, push-kicking the door of the car – “of all that muscle –”

“Jake! Fuck!” Bradley yelps, dragging Jake back, away from the white car, less immaculate now that it’s got a depression in its frame about the size of Jake’s heel.

Jake chuckles and a moment later, Mustang appears in the driveway, gasping in horror when he sees the state of his car. “You piece of fucking –”

“Jake, go, go, go!” Bradley shouts, shoving his friend in the direction of the truck. They hop in before Mustang can orientate himself in his distress and Jake floors the pedal in reverse the moment his engine roars to life. “Ha!” Bradley exclaims, drumming enthusiastically on the dashboard as Jake pulls out of the driveway.

Jake smirks, adrenaline coursing deliciously through his body as he accelerates toward the freeway.

…

“What is this bullshit?” Jake grumbles, smacking his steering wheel in frustration.

Bradley grimaces at the string of red lights ahead of them on the ramp. “There’s another lot farther out,” he suggests.

Jake shakes his head. “I’m not turning around.”

“Okay,” Bradley responds patiently. “I’m sure this’ll be quick,” he adds, although he doesn’t sound very convinced, himself.

Jake lets out a sharp exhale, inching forward slowly. About fifteen minutes later, they finally pull up to the parking garage. Jake peeks up at the clearance bar with a grimace. “Think we’ll make it?”

Bradley glances at the marker and then at Jake. “How big are your tires?” he deadpans.

Jake looks at Bradley with a scowl. “What makes you think they’re big?”

Bradley returns Jake’s scowl twofold. “You got a roof rack on this thing?”

“Of course I’ve got a roof rack. What kind of man doesn’t have a roof rack on his car?” Jake scoffs offendedly. A horn blares from behind them and Bradley sighs, closing his eyes. Jake ignores the sound and leans forward over his steering wheel, staring up at the bar contemptuously.

“Well, we’ll have to risk it. We can’t park here,” Bradley reasons.

Jake nods but doesn’t move. Several more horns interrupt their conversation and Jake rolls down his window to yell at the car in behind, “Have some patience, asshole!”

Bradley drags a hand over his face wearily. “We really don’t have time for another conflict,” he remarks.

Jake groans grudgingly and slowly releases the brake. They both wince as the truck rolls precariously under the clearance bar and, when it makes it through unscathed, Jake howls excitedly while Bradley lets out an audible sigh of relief.

…

Finding an available spot takes about twenty minutes and about ten years off Jake’s life. Cursing, Jake clambers out of the truck and slams his door aggressively. Bradley extracts his phone from his pocket and takes a photo of their vehicle’s location.

Jake waits for him impatiently to which Bradley replies, “You’ll thank me later.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees, but walks briskly ahead to look around in search of signs that might point the way to the terminal.

“This way,” Bradley says, pointing to the elevators at the far end of the lot.

“This place is a fucking maze,” Jake grumbles.

“What, you never been to a commercial airport before?” Bradley jokes. Jake gives him a flat look and Bradley snorts and claps Jake on the back. “Relax, man. We’ll find her.”

Jake tries not to show just how anxious he is by giving Bradley a nod and a tight smile. He blazes into the stairwell, ignoring the slowly opening elevator doors, and Bradley follows behind him, jogging up the stairs.

In the terminal, they stop to look up at the flight information board listing all the departures taking place that night.

“Two possible flights she could be on,” Bradley says.

“Two different gates,” Jake comments solemnly.

“The first one is leaving in twenty minutes. She’ll already be on the plane,” Bradley says, “if that’s her flight.”

“Maybe she’ll be on the other one,” Jake says hopefully, starting in the direction of the second gate.

Bradley hurries to catch up with him through the crowded airport.

“Where are all these people going?” Jake mutters under his breath, pushing his way past slower moving, luggage towing individuals.

Bradley eyes him with a small grin. “They have just as much a right to be here as you do, Jake.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake says, pushing his way through an excited group of travellers wearing parkas and winter hats. “That’s her gate up there!” He starts for it at a run despite the dense crowd around them.

Bradley follows, albeit less obnoxiously. Then, about ten feet from the gate, Jake stops short and Bradley crashes right into him. “Dude!” he exclaims, rubbing his chest.

“It’s her,” Jake breathes.

Bradley turns his head and it takes him several moments to locate you because you’re already going through security.

“Y/N!” Jake hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth.

You don’t hear him, though, because there’s a glass wall separating you from the checkpoint queue. Bradley, in an effort to help Jake get your attention, also starts calling your name. Meanwhile, Jake starts for the security checkpoint at a run, which sort of worries Bradley. “You need a boarding pass to get through –”

But Jake, completely ignoring Bradley’s warning, hops right over the stanchion behind the security officer’s back.

“Fuck,” Bradley mutters under his breath as the officer turns around in alarm and brings a walkie to his face. Other security personnel rush over in a panic and Bradley, approaching as casually as possible, says, with a wave of his hand, “It’s cool.” He leans nonchalantly on one of the glass panels near the checkpoint, adding, “He’s a pilot.”

Several of the officers look over at him like he’s nuts.

…

Jake makes it all the way to the glass doors before somebody apprehends him, and then he shouts your name again. You turn around just as that somebody throws him to the ground. Jake groans, not too pleased about having to taste this particular carpet.

“What are you doing?” he hears you screech, and he glances up with just his eyes because his face is still being pressed into the ground.

“Hey, how are ya?” he manages to say.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you repeat, more aggressively this time.

Jake winces as someone’s knee digs into his spine. “Baking a cake. What’s it look like I’m doing?” He grunts as he’s finally lifted to his feet.

You are staring at him wildly when he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” he says again, rotating his shoulders to alleviate the cramp in his back.

Behind you, security personnel have started to block off the entire area.

“Sir, we’re going to need you to come with us,” the officer still holding onto Jake says firmly.

“What? Where are you taking him?” you ask.

“You need to come with us too, ma’am,” another officer says.

“No,” Jake groans. “She didn’t do anything.”

“This is a misunderstanding,” you say. “He’s a Navy Lieutenant. Jake, tell them!”

 “No, don’t tell them that.” Jake cringes. He would prefer not to be reprimanded for this incident by his superior officers.

You stare at him as the two of you are led to a holding area near the checkpoint. Meanwhile, Jake can see Bradley scrambling past passersby to keep the two of you in sight as he holds his phone to his ear.

“Didn’t know you were planning on taking a vacation,” Jake says as the officer in charge of detaining him nods for his colleague to open the door. “Going somewhere nice?”

You give him a dirty look as you are walked into the holding room.

“Please wait here until law enforcement arrives.”

You look up at the man in alarm. “Law enforcement? He’s in the military!” you shout.

“Shh,” Jake shushes you. “Don’t yell at the nice officer,” he warns you. “We can wait,” he assures the security team.

The door closes and you look over at Jake furiously. “I’m going to miss my flight!” you scream at him. “Because of you!”

Jake sets his jaw. “Good.”

You glare at him incredulously. “How are you so goddamn selfish?”

“I’m selfish?” he retorts. “I spent all morning with you. We had sex” – Jake takes note that you cringe at the word – “and yet you failed to mention that you’ve moving clear across the fucking country!”

“What do you care? You hate me, remember?” you yell back.

“Oh, I remember,” he snaps. “I also remember your diatribe on the avocado, and how much you loathe everything I stand for. I remember your outrageous appraisal of my truck, and the ridiculous way you hold a pool cue. Your annoying inability to shut the fuck up about the stupidest shit and your equally annoying refusal to tell me about the things that actually matter.”

You blink at him with a scowl and fold your arms over your chest. “This is the worst love confession I’ve ever heard,” you grumble.

Jake exhales forcefully. “I haven’t confessed anything yet.”

You suck in your cheeks and look up at the ceiling impatiently. “I’ll wait.”

Jake releases another irritated sigh. “There isn’t a single thing about you that I’ve been able to successfully forget. Despite my best efforts.”

You meet his gaze half-heartedly but say nothing.

“You just showed up one day, out of nowhere, and I’ve been messed up ever since. Do you get that?” He stares at you wildly, realizing that he’s getting something off his chest that he hadn’t even really known was weighing on him. “You walk around like you don’t owe anybody a goddamn thing. You’re out here pretending like your actions – your decisions – don’t affect people. Well, they do, alright? You affect people! You affect me.”

You lower your gaze mutely, as though you’re lost for words for the first time ever. The very idea is preposterous, however, and Jake is sure that you’re just waiting for the most opportune moment to counter. He decides not to give you the opportunity.

“What do you want out of life?” he says with an edge to his tone because he’s anxious to get to his point.

You glance back up at him curiously.

“Ask me again,” he says. “Ask me the whole thing. Disregarding the fact that we are meaningless or whatever nonsense you spewed. Ask me.”

You gulp and clear your throat. “What do you want, Jake?”

He releases a sharp sigh, deliberately maintaining eye contact. “You,” he responds firmly. “You, you, you.” He takes a step toward you, his eyes searching yours urgently because he’s desperate to be honest for once. To lay it all out so you have the facts before you run. “Whatever the damn question is, okay?” He takes up your hands and holds them to his chest. “My answer is always you.”

You watch him with that same unreadable gaze, the one that Jake has spent months trying to decipher. But he knows that he’s gotten under your skin just as much as you’ve gotten under his. Because he knows you. So, he waits; allows you a moment to gauge his sincerity. As if tracking you down at a civilian airport and getting detained isn’t evidence enough. Your eyes well up suddenly and, unexpectedly, you move away from him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for affecting you.”

Jake lets his hands fall when you withdraw. “I just want you to tell me the truth,” he says. “I want you to stop acting like nothing ever gets to you.”

You glance up at him fiercely and cry, “You get to me, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I am also affected?” You draw in a sob and lean your back against the wall, hiding your face in your hand.

Jake, both distraught and relieved that you’re finally emoting, approaches you slowly. He puts an arm around your shoulders and brings you into his chest. All he wants is to express just how much you mean to him – just how far he’d go to make you happy – but all that comes out is, “I don’t want you to go,” which is partly muffled anyway because he says it with his mouth on your head.

You sniffle miserably against his shoulder and shift your weight to lean into him. “I can’t stay,” you respond.

Jake, whose entire body is both vibrating and paralyzed at the same time, says quietly. “Tell me why.”

“I got kicked out,” you whimper, as if this is the ‘why’ Jake is after.

“Not that,” he says, taking a step back so that he can look you in the eye. “Tell me why you got engaged. The morning after I – after we… Were you already engaged when you came to the party? When I kissed you?”

“No,” you say. “He proposed that night.”

Jake watches you patiently. “And you said yes?”

“Because he promised he’d confess.”

Jake stares at you. “Confess?”

“He submitted a plagiarized paper on my behalf. Right after we broke up.”

Jake grimaces. “What a fucking nutcase.”

“He was angry. But obviously he didn’t think I’d get kicked out for it.”

“Why didn’t he just come clean when shit hit the fan?”

“And get kicked out himself? He wouldn’t take that chance; his defense is coming up in less than six months.”

“So…you decided to marry him?”

“He told me he was sorry and promised he’d talk to the board as soon as he passed. I figured I’d just agree to the engagement and call it off once he came clean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? That day, when he announced the engagement. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You sigh. “What would you have done?”

“Kicked his ass,” Jake responds without a moment’s thought.

“Exactly,” you say. “You’re about one offense from getting kicked out, yourself.”

Jake has no rebuttal to this because you’re sort of right on the money in this case. His last altercation nearly cost him his wings and he’s not at all looking forward to explaining this airport fiasco to his superiors. “When did you call off the engagement?” he asks.

“This morning,” you say. “Before I came to see you.”

Jake plants his hands on his hips. “So why are you leaving?”

“Well, he’s never going to admit what he did. So, I’m out of the program for good. Why would I stay?”

Jake stares at you. “Are you for real?”

You shrug. “He’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Oh, he’ll leave you alone,” Jake says firmly. “Or I’ll break his legs.”

You give him a reproachful look. “And get arrested? Lose your job?”

“Fine, I’ll break his car.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not letting you run,” he says, taking a confident step toward you.

“It’s not up to you.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care.” He takes your face in his hands.

“Don’t be an ass,” you say, lisping slightly because your cheeks are squished between his palms.

Jake smirks. “But I’m good at it.”

“It’s my decision,” you say, trying to sound firm despite the aforementioned speech impediment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake continues. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Jake!”

Jake lets his forehead rest against yours. “You missed your flight anyway,” he mutters. “And I love you,” he adds, casually enough for it to perhaps blend into the conversation unnoticed.

But you notice it. You lift your face to meet his gaze. “You do?” you ask quietly.

“Don’t act all surprised.”

You smile mildly. “Surprised that you can admit it.”

“One of us had to.”

You gaze at him mutely.

And just as Jake is about to spiral in response to your lack of a response, the door opens and someone steps inside.

“C’mon,” Bradley urges, waving his arm impatiently. “I’m busting you out.”

“How –” you begin.

But Jake cuts you off, “Shh, don’t ask questions.” He leads you through the open door after Bradley as he surveys the immediate vicinity in all directions.

“You’re both pieces of work,” you mutter under your breath and Jake, who’s got an arm around your shoulders, squeezes you affectionately.

There is a large crowd just outside of the holding room, and a commotion near the gate. Clearly, Bradley had managed to create some sort of diversion. A subtle craning of his neck allows Jake to see exactly who it is that’s causing a scene.

“Keep you head down!” Bradley whispers hoarsely from behind, smacking Jake’s crown with annoyance.

Jake ducks slightly and looks over his shoulder at Bradley, “Was that Bob?”

“Yep,” Bradley responds. “Apparently, he owed you?”

Jake scrunches up his eyebrows as Bradley continues to jostle the two of you toward the exit. “Owed me?”

“Said he cockblocked you at your party two weeks ago?” Bradley says. “Sorry, ‘my’ party,” he adds, with quotation marks around the ‘my’.

You glance between Bradley and Jake with a smirk as the latter raises his eyebrows. “He remembers that night?”

Bradley nods, finally walking out into the sunlight. “He’s felt bad about it ever since.”

Jake glances down at you, wondering if things would have been different had Bob not shown up that fated night, blasted out of his mind. Would you have spent the night? Not gotten engaged to Mustang? Would you have told him the big secret you were keeping, thereby avoiding the whole debacle entirely? Perhaps Bob does owe him.

“Anyway, I called up the cavalry and Bob immediately volunteered,” Bradley continues, making his way to the parking garage.

Suddenly, you stop, and Bradley and Jake come to a halt and look back at you in confusion.

“Here’s the thing about a quick getaway, princess,” says Jake, approaching you to take your hand. “You have to get away quickly.”

You pull your hand out of his. “When did I agree to staying?”

“Lord, give me strength,” Jake mutters, throwing his head back to look up at the sky with a sigh.

“Maybe you can decide this at a safer distance away from where you nearly just got arrested,” Bradley suggests.

“I don’t understand the issue here,” Jake says. “I beat Mustang to a pulp until he confesses. Problem solved.”

Bradley grimaces. “I can see why she might not be on board.”

“Guys, my luggage has already been checked.”

Jake places his hands on his hips and stares you down. “What goes up must come down.”

You roll your eyes. “My mom is expecting me,” you continue.

Jake takes a phone out of his pocket and holds it out. “Simple enough to fix.”

You exhale sharply. “This has to be my decision,” you declare.

Jake shifts his jaw, his face forming a frown without his consent. He locks eyes with you and nods. “Make it, then.”

You swallow uncomfortably without breaking eye contact and Bradley retreats a few steps in the background.

“I don’t know if you know this,” you begin quietly, and Jake dares not move lest he miss a single syllable of your speech. Who knew that a day would come when he’d pretty much give anything just to keep you talking? “But I liked you probably before I even started to hate you.”

Jake gives you a cautious smile. “Probably?”

“Don’t push it,” you retort.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” he responds, fighting to keep a straight face. “Go on, tell me how much I mean to you.”

You sigh. “Can you refrain from being an ass for at least a minute?”

Jake makes a face. “Doubtful.”

“Uh, I can attest to that,” Bradley chimes in from behind.

“Rooster, we’re having a moment here,” Jake calls over his shoulder.

“Are you sure about that?” Bradley counters, in response to which Jake just shakes his head.

“Continue,” Jake says to you. “Please.”

You let out an irritable sigh, “I can’t tell you why I liked you, I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

Jake plants his hands on his hips. “Liar.”

You stare at him rather uncomfortably. “I had a boyfriend, remember? I had no business liking you.”

Jake narrows his eyes but stays silent.

“I think it’s because…” you voice trails off and you let out a grudging sigh.

“It’s the truck, isn’t it?” Jake asks pompously. “One ride was all it took.”

You snort out a chuckle and shake your head. “No,” you say. “It’s that.” You gesture at him and he knits his eyebrows together, intrigued. “That ‘sharp sense of humor’,” you say, mockingly repeating the first ever compliment he made you all those moons ago. “No matter how mad you make me, or how pissed I am at the world, you somehow can always make me laugh.”

Jake watches you soberly now, touched that you were finally able to express your feelings. “Don’t tell the truck that,” he mutters.

“Why?” You grin, taking a step toward him. “Does the truck have an ego problem?”

Jake’s lips form a tight, guilt-ridden smirk as you approach. “The truck might have an ego problem.”

You’re standing so close to him now that you have to lift your chin to maintain eye contact. “I might have another confession to make,” you say softly, so that your voice nearly gets swept away in the small breeze filtering through the tunnel.

Jake gulps, not sure he could handle standing at this proximity without getting a little stupid. He’ll have to keep his mouth shut because his brain isn’t the organ being prioritized at the moment.

“I think about the truck a lot,” you whisper, your eyes flitting slowly between his.

“You do?” Jake croaks, and then, clearing his throat, repeats, “You do?”

You nod. “I like how it handles the bumps in the road.”

“Well, yeah, it’s got some heavy-duty shocks, plus the ground clearance –”

“Jake,” you cut him off, unimpressed.

Jake grins. “It’s pretty well-equipped for off-roading, was what I meant to say.”

You gaze at him in amusement. “Perhaps we could try to navigate away from the uneven terrain.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You lower your gaze with a small chuckle but, despite the smile, you look uneasy. “I need to know that you’re not going to do anything reckless.”

Jake considers your words for a moment. “Define reckless.”

You glance up at him impatiently. “Check the dictionary.”

He grins. “Fine,” he agrees. “But I can’t vouch for the truck.”

You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and take me home, Jake.”

“Does that mean you’re staying?”

You smile at him and start walking.

“Finally,” Bradley exclaims as the two of you catch up to him. “You guys talk way too much. We’re still fugitives, you know?”

“Sorry, I just needed Jake to know how much I love his truck,” you say with a giggle.

Bradley gives you a confused look while Jake does a double take. “You love my truck?”

You stare at him. “I thought that was obvious.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “No, that was not at all obvious.” Jake steps around Bradley and stops you in your tracks.

Bradley groans in frustration, throwing up his hands. “Guys!”

“You love…” Jake say, “my truck. You love my truck. You love my truck?”

You blink at him innocently and nod. “Uh-huh,” you acknowledge and then walk around him to continue on your merry way.

Jake takes your wrist and you turn back to look at him. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Just to clarify – so that I know we’re on the same page – I’m the truck, right?”

You press your lips together to keep your growing grin at bay and lower your gaze. “You’re the truck, Jake,” you respond coyly.

“I’m the truck,” Jake repeats stupidly. Hadn’t he earlier meant to stay quiet?

You catch his gaze and smile more freely now. “Right,” you say. “And I could really go for another ride.”

Jake stares at you for a moment, lost for words. Then he slides his arms under your butt and scoops you up so that you’re looking down at him, your feet dangling a foot off the ground.

“Way to remain inconspicuous, you two,” Bradley remarks in the background.

But Jake ignores his best friend and cranes his neck as you lower your lips to his. And he lets you cradle his face in your delicate hands and kiss him. Because, damnit, it’s high time for some action.

A/N: THE END!!! Thank you guys so much for reading! xoxo

Tag List:

I'll try my best to put the rest of the tag list in the comments but it's gotten a little messy over the years so I might not get everyone.

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[dempy]

OMG i can’t belive it’s over !

I loved this story !

[simplypaisleyjane]

Chasing You

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x AFAB Reader

Summary: At The Hard Deck Jake Seresin spots a stunning woman who he has no business getting involved with. But he doesn’t know that yet. When he figures out her father is an admiral, his interest only deepens. But she’s not as easily impressed as Jake may have hoped. Will he win her over? Or will the chase be more than he bargained for?

Warnings: I don't think there are any :)

Tags: I want to thank @mynameismckenziemae for supporting me and encouraging me to post this! If you haven't yet, definitely check out her stuff!

Also tagging @djs8891 @khouse712 @withahappyrefrain @86laura11 because it seemed like you may have been interested based on the Ask on McKenzie's page! (If you'd like to not be tagged just let me know!)

The Hard Deck was filled with its usual noise, a mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft background music coming from the jukebox. Jake Seresin leaned against the far back wall, beer in hand, casually scanning the room figuring out who he wanted to spend his evening talking to. 

His gaze stopped when he caught sight of a woman talking to Maverick and Penny near the corner of the bar. She was laughing, her smile lighting up the space, and Jake’s interest was instantly piqued.

“Hey, Bradshaw,” Jake nudged Bradley. “Who’s that?” He tilted his head toward the girl.

Bradley glanced over his shoulder, following Jake’s line of sight. When he spotted you, a knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, her?” he said, his voice carefully casual.

“Yeah, her.” Jake’s tone was dripping with curiosity—and something more. “She’s gorgeous. You know her?”

Bradley turned fully toward Jake now, feigning thoughtfulness. “Actually, I do. She’s real sweet.” He paused for effect, letting the words sink in before adding with just enough sincerity to be dangerous, “I think you should go talk to her.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly weighing the risks. “You serious?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bradley replied, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “She’s single. And you’re you, right? What could possibly go wrong?” He tipped his glass, hiding the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jake chuckled, straightening his shoulders and adjusting his stance like he was walking into battle. “You’re not wrong, Rooster. I’m irresistible.” He set his beer on the counter and took a deep breath, the picture of confidence. “Wish me luck.”

Bradley raised his glass in a silent toast. “Oh, you’re gonna need it,” he muttered under his breath, watching as Jake strode across the bar like a man on a mission.

As Jake approached, you looked up and met his eyes, your smile widening slightly. Maverick and Penny exchanged a glance, their conversation stalling as they noticed the incoming pilot.

“Hey,” Jake started, his southern drawl turned up to full charm mode. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room. I’m Jake.”

Maverick smirked, clearly enjoying the show, but didn’t say a word. Penny raised an eyebrow at Maverick, who simply shrugged, leaving you to handle the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” you replied, your tone friendly but guarded.

Before Jake could respond, Maverick spoke up, his voice casual but carrying just enough weight to make Jake pause. “Hangman, you do know who her father is, right?”

Jake’s grin didn’t falter—much. “No,” he said confidently. “Should I?”

“Probably,” Maverick replied, leaning back with a smirk, “he’s sitting over there.”

Jake’s head snapped to the other side of the bar, where Cyclone was seated, his gaze locked on Jake like a hawk sizing up prey.

Jake turned back to you, his confidence shaken but not broken. “You know,” he said with a sheepish laugh, “I think I might’ve left my beer at the pool table. Don’t go anywhere, though.”

Back at the pool table, Bradley was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Jake smacked him on the shoulder, muttering, “You’re a real piece of work, Rooster.”

“Worth it,” Bradley managed between laughs. "You retreating already, Bagman?” Bradley teased, his grin wide and smug.

Jake grabbed his beer and took a long sip before setting it down with exaggerated nonchalance. He leaned casually against the pool table, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Retreat?” Jake scoffed, turning his head to glance back in your direction. “Nah, Rooster. I’m just regrouping.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And what exactly is the plan now?”

Jake’s smirk widened into something almost wicked as he turned back towards the bar, fixing his collar and brushing his fingers through his hair. “Simple,” he said, his drawl thick and smooth. “I’m going to get her number.”

Bradley barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Jake started toward you again, then stopped to look back at Bradley, his smirk now full-blown.

Bradley shook his head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “This is going to end so badly, and I can’t wait to see it.”

You noticed Jake approaching again and sighed inwardly, though a small smirk tugged at your lips. He was persistent, you’d give him that.You had half expected him to give up once he realized who your dad was. You thought the line about forgetting his drink was him tucking his tail between his legs. 

You glanced over at your dad who was still seated on the other side of the bar, his gaze heavy as he followed Jake’s movements back towards you.

“Back already?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he stopped in front of you.

Jake leaned casually on the bar, his smirk as charming as ever. “Couldn’t stay away,” he said smoothly. “Hard to ignore someone as beautiful as you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the faint blush that you knew was on your cheeks. “Is this your usual routine? Flash a smile, throw out some compliments, and hope for the best?”

“Depends,” Jake said, his grin widening. “Is it working?”

“Not even a little,” you shot back, though the corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting a smile.

Jake chuckled, undeterred. “Good. Wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy.”

You turned your head back toward Maverick and Penny, clearly dismissing him. If he was just looking for a quick lay for the night he could find it with someone else.

But instead of walking away, Jake stayed put, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world.

“Still here? Let me guess,” you said without looking at him. “You’re one of those pilots, aren’t you?”

Jake’s grin only grew. “Guilty as charged. And you? Let me guess…Cyclone’s daughter?”

You finally looked at him, your eyes narrowing. “If you already knew that, why are you still here?”

Jake shrugged, his gaze unwavering. “Because you’re gorgeous, and I don’t scare off that easily. Besides,” he added with a wink, “I like a good challenge.”

“Good luck with that,” you said, turning your back on him completely.

Jake laughed softly to himself, taking the hint—for now. He walked back to the back of the bar where the pool tables were and stopped beside Bradley, who was watching the whole exchange with poorly hidden amusement.

“She shut you down, didn’t she?” Bradley asked, grinning.

Jake picked up his beer, taking a long sip. “She’s just playing hard to get.”

Bradley snorted. “She’s not playing, man. She’s actually hard to get.”

Jake glanced over his shoulder at you, catching the way you smiled at something Maverick said. A genuine, soft smile, not the guarded one you’d given him. His smirk softened just a fraction as he turned back to Bradley.

“Even better,” Jake said, leaning against the bar. “That just means she’s worth it.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sincerity in Jake’s tone. “You’re really not giving up, huh?”

Jake’s smirk returned, but there was a glint of something more genuine in his eyes. “Not a chance.”

A few weeks later The Hard Deck was once again buzzing. It was Friday night, and the sound of voices and clinking glasses filled the air. Jake was nursing a beer at the bar, laughing at one of Coyote’s bad jokes, when his eyes landed on you.

You were seated at a small table outside near the edge of the patio, absently twirling a straw in your drink as you stared out at the ocean. This time, you weren’t surrounded by Maverick, Penny…or your father thankfully.

“Hangman,” Coyote said, nudging him. “You listening?”

Jake didn’t even glance his way. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, already rising to his feet.

Coyote followed his line of sight and smirked. “Oh, this should be good. You really going to try this again? You know who her dad is right?”

Jake didn’t respond, just shot him a wink before making his way toward you.

You noticed him approaching out of the corner of your eye and sighed. Of course, he was coming over. It wasn’t like you hadn’t expected it, but you’d hoped he might take the hint after the last time that you weren’t interested.

“Evening,” Jake said smoothly, sliding into the seat across from you without waiting for an invitation.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping you company,” he said, flashing that infuriatingly perfect grin.

You gave him a flat look. “Who said I wanted company?”

“Call it a hunch,” Jake replied, unfazed. “You looked like you could use someone to talk to. Or, you know, someone to distract you.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Distract me, huh? And what makes you think you’re qualified for the job?”

Jake smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Because, darlin’, distraction is what I do best.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t entirely hide the amusement that flickered across your face. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Gotta be with someone like you,” Jake said, his tone softer now. “You’re not exactly making it easy for me sweetheart, are you?”

“My name’s not sweetheart. And why should I?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “You seem to like the chase.”

Jake chuckled, holding your gaze. “Maybe I do. But it’s not just the chase that’s got me sticking around.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“Well,” you said finally, reaching for your drink, “if you’re expecting someone to go home with you, I’m not her. There’s a cute blonde at the bar in the pink dress that might be interested though.”

Jake grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Who said I was looking for someone to go home with me?”

He stood, giving you a quick two-finger salute before heading back to the bar. You watched him go, shaking your head.

For the first time, you found yourself wondering if maybe—just maybe—there was more to Jake Seresin than his charm and good looks.

The ocean breeze lost its appeal as the night wore on, and you found yourself wandering back inside The Hard Deck, craving the warmth and the noise of the bar. You sidled up to the counter, setting your empty glass down with a soft clink.

Penny caught your eye from behind the bar and made her way over with her usual easy smile. “Refill?”

You nodded. “Just a soda, thanks.”

She grabbed the glass and began filling it, her movements practiced and smooth. As you waited, your gaze drifted across the room—right to Jake Seresin, who was leaning casually against the far end of the bar, laughing at something Coyote had said.

You quickly looked away, but not before Penny caught the direction of your stare.

“So,” she began, sliding the refilled glass back to you, “what do you think of him?”

You blinked, playing innocent. “Of who?”

Penny’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she wiped down the counter. “Jake’s been orbiting you all night.”

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “He’s…persistent.”

“That he is,” Penny agreed, leaning against the bar. “But he’s also not as one-dimensional as he might seem.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what? That he’s not just some cocky pilot who thinks he’s God’s gift to women? Cause that’s what everyone around here is saying.”

Penny chuckled. “Oh, he’s definitely cocky. But there’s more to him. He’s loyal, sharp as a tack, and surprisingly thoughtful when he wants to be.”

You scoffed lightly, though the words lingered in your mind. “Thoughtful, huh? Doesn’t seem like the type.”

Penny tilted her head, studying you with an amused glint in her eyes. “Maybe you haven’t given him the chance to show you that side of him.”

You sighed again, fiddling with your straw. “To answer your question, he’s…fine, I guess.”

“Just fine?” Penny teased, arching an eyebrow. “You were staring pretty hard for ‘just fine.’”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly took a sip of your soda to hide your embarrassment. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Of course not,” Penny said, her tone light and teasing. “But if you were, I’d say maybe it’s worth it to give him a chance.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll see.”

Penny winked at you before moving on to another customer, leaving you to your thoughts.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Jake glancing in your direction, his grin widening when your eyes met. You quickly looked away, cursing the heat rising to your cheeks.

As much as you hated to admit it, Penny’s words stuck with you. Maybe there was more to Jake Seresin.

Or maybe you just weren’t ready to find out yet.

You were halfway through your soda when you glanced over again, catching Jake in the middle of another laugh with Coyote. He leaned back against the bar, looking so relaxed and self-assured that it almost annoyed you. Almost.

When his gaze shifted, locking onto yours, your stomach flipped. His grin stretched wider as if he could see right through you. You quickly looked down, pretending to focus on the melting ice in your glass.

Moments later, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

“Need a refill?” Jake’s voice drawled, smooth as ever.

You looked up to find him standing beside you, one hand resting casually on the bar. His emerald-green eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else there too—something that wasn’t as easy to dismiss.

Your first instinct was to brush him off again, but Penny’s earlier words echoed in your mind. Maybe you hadn’t given him a chance. Maybe you should.

“Sure,” you said finally, surprising even yourself. You pushed the empty glass toward him. “Knock yourself out.”

Jake blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your agreement. Then his grin returned, slow and satisfied, like he’d just won a small victory.

“Coming right up,” he said, grabbing your glass and heading back to the bar.

When he returned, he set the drink in front of you with a little flourish. “One soda. Extra ice, just how you like it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know how I like it?”

He shrugged, leaning against the edge of the table. “Lucky guess…or I may have had some help from Penny.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Okay, Jake. You’ve got my attention. Now what?”

His grin softened into something more genuine. “Now I get to know you.”

You tilted your head, intrigued despite yourself. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Jake pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, his movements unhurried. “By asking you questions,” he said simply. “And, if I’m lucky, you might actually answer them.”

You sipped your drink, studying him. “Fine. Go ahead. Ask away.”

He paused for a moment, as if considering his options. Then he asked, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t gotten the chance to yet?”

The question caught you off guard. It wasn’t what you’d expected—not some flirty remark or shallow small talk, but an actual question. Thoughtful. Genuine.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Travel, I guess. There’s a lot of the world I haven’t seen yet.”

Jake nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Any place in particular?”

“Greece,” you said, the word slipping out before you could stop it. “I’ve always wanted to see the islands. The history, the views… It just seems like it’d be beautiful.”

“It is,” Jake said, surprising you again.

“You’ve been?”

“Once,” he admitted. “A couple of years ago. Only for a few days, but it was incredible. The water’s so blue it doesn’t even seem real.”

For the first time, you found yourself genuinely curious about him. “What were you doing there?”

“Just passing through on leave,” he said with a shrug. “But I’d go back in a heartbeat. Maybe next time I’ll stay longer.”

You cleared your throat, glancing down at your drink. “Okay, your turn. What’s something you haven’t done yet?”

Jake smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Convince you to let me take you on a date.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “You were doing so well. Why ruin it?”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Just being honest.”

For the first time, you found yourself smiling back. Maybe Penny had been right. Maybe there was more to Jake Seresin than you’d thought.

Note: This is my first time writing any fanfiction that's more than a paragraph or two. And is also my first time sharing or posting what I wrote so I would love to know what you guys think!

I am also considering maybe writing a second part of this that shows you finally giving Jake a chance if there's interest??

[whatislovevavy]

11. Strawberry Kisses & Lovers’ Reprieve 

Jake Seresin x OC (Caledonia Hughes)

WC: 11.4 k (God, I’m so sorry…but I’m really not)

Masterlist  Previous Part   Next Part

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+), oral ( f & m recieving), p in v, a touch of angst, Jake still needing to do some groveling, bits of fluff sprinkled throughout

AN: Thank you guys for your immense patience with this story. Hopefully the fact that it’s hella long makes up for the wait. I hope you guys like it. I put a lot of thought and effort into this one. Thank you @sebsxphia for the encouragement to write this story when it was in development, it means the world <3 

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

These characters, except for Caledonia and Ella, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

The soft glow of the morning sun softly stirred you from the depths of slumber that clung to your mind like cooling tar. It couldn’t have been that early, could it? Your toes sought to stretch out, but were hindered in their efforts, ensnared by a pair of taut, strong legs.  Eyes fluttering open, you were immediately met with soft, tan skin and pink, parted lips. 

Has he always looked so peaceful like this?

Your lip quirked, eyes tracing over each fine feature of his face. You almost felt like you were intruding, seeing something truly vulnerable and rare, like a doe tending to her fawn in a free meadow. His soft puffs of breath washed over the crisp white pillow case, his feather-light eyelashes brushing against the soft material as you silently admired him in the morning light. You snaked your arm from between your bodies, letting the back of your forefinger brush against the slight scruff of his exposed cheek, drifting to his temple, and softly brushing some of the stray blond strands of hair away from his forehead. Your teeth find their home in your bottom lip as you gently trace his cupid bow with the pad of your forefinger. A soft sigh passed his lips that almost had you jolting against his warm body that was intimately intertwined with your own, retracting your finger with a suppressed bright grin. 

It made you eternally grateful for saying yes to Jake in the frayed maroon booth of Francisco’s. You were so scared and unsure, like a newborn foal shakily coming to its feet. The memories of your arrangement came through your mind like a gale through a house on the coast.  

From how he started calling you Lass the first night you started working at Penny’s bar.  

When he kissed you for the first time.

Left his first love bite on your neck.

Unraveled you like no one ever had.

Held you oh so closely at the retirement gala and fiercely defended you at the turn of a dime. 

How he held you securely, yet delicately. 

Was so kind and understanding during your first time, and with every experience thereafter. 

How he never looked at you with pity.

The immense sense of safety you felt when around him. 

How much you loved him, and how much he loved you in return. 

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?” 

His sleep riddled tone broke your train of thought, eyes flashing to his still closed ones. You hummed, lips morphing into a smile. A content smile grew on his lips as you gently scratched your nails along his scalp, eyes still closed. “Just thinking,” you whisper. He peaked his eyes open, letting the sunlight pass through the verdant hue of his eyes. His eyebrows rose teasingly. “Hmm, about how much of an amazing lover I am?” You bit into your lip, shaking your head as a grin overcomes your features, a soft laugh coming through your plush lips that makes him grin. “No,” you teased, softly shoving his bare chest with your hand, a soft chuckle passing his lips, “just how much has changed for the both of us since that night at Francisco's.” He hummed, letting his hand settle at your waist, gently toying with the thin material of your cotton panties that made goosebumps blossom on your skin. 

“Only good things, I hope,” he whispered as he leaned in closer to your lips. 

“Only good things,” you affirmed, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips. 

His comforting smile met yours, gently nudging more and more into your personal space with an increasingly heated energy. He gently rolled you onto your back as he supported himself on his bent elbow, his finger gently running along the smooth skin of your collarbone. Softly, he separates, letting his forehead settle against your own and giving you that same charming smile that had you pouring him an extra few ounces at the bar top. 

“God, you drive me crazy, Caledonia.” 

Your breath hitched at the heavy sincerity of his tone that almost makes you clutch your thighs in need. And the way he said your name always, always, made you giddy. 

 “Aw, Jake, you just can’t get enough of me, huh?” You teased with a playful gleam in your eye. A perfect mix of playfulness and lust gliding through the waters of his irises. 

"I'm not entirely to blame for that," he whispered, leaning in closer to your face, his hand sneaking under the covers to run his thumb along your hip, "You're the one laying here in your tiny pair of panties makin’ it hard to think about much else." You snorted, rolling your eyes as his infectious chuckles met your ears. He brings his lips to your own, humming at your taste as your lips meld to his, languidly making out like two well-acquainted lovers. Moans slipping past your lips as his calloused hand gently slips between your hot skin and the thin layer of your undergarment, your thigh adjusting to grant him better access. Breath hitching against his lips as the tips of his fingers meet your clit. He smirks against your lips, starting to rub the pads of his fingers over your sensitive pearl of nerves. The soft whines he pulls from you stroke his steadily beating heart, encouraging him to continue his soft, tender ministrations as his lips trail down your neck to your bare breasts, gently pulling the sheets down below you. He smiles against your skin at the feeling of your nipples stiffening in the AC. Your hips bucking in anticipation against his hand. 

“Easy there, Lass.” You want to glare at him. The smug bastard. He wears his cat-got-the-cream grin as he takes your slowly stiffening peak into his mouth, softly nibbling and toying with the sensitive flesh. His tongue peaks out to tantalizingly flick at your taut nipples, almost making you taste blood with how hard you’re biting into your lip. Squirming as he softly bites down, making you cry out, almost missing him start to crawl down your body, and settle between your plush thighs. His eyes meet yours, that same playful gleam as he slides your panties down your thick thighs. Breath hitching as he leaves tender kisses along your ankle, to behind your knee to the inside of your thigh. He takes a deep breath, his cock throbbing at the sight of your bare cunt, gleaming in the morning sunlight, like morning dew on a petal. His gaze pinpoints on a single drop of your peach sweet essence that teases him as it rolls down your blush pink folds. His tongue peaks out to wet his lower lip. 

“Jake.”

His eyes flashed to yours, a wry grin curving his lips, “what is it, pretty girl? What do you need?” You huffed, thighs clenching around his shoulders in the volatile brew of lust and frustration. His smile grew tenfold.

“Need your mouth.” 

The taste of iron is almost present as your teeth imbed themselves into your lower lip.

He hummed, letting his hand run along the sensitive complexion of your inner thighs. His chest filling with pride at each shiver and flinch of your thighs against his feather soft caress. 

“You're missing something, beautiful.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed in your lust hazed state. What the hell was he- oh. “Your such a fucking tease, you know that?” His eyebrows rose vexingly, waiting for you to rectify your statement that was borderline a command to keep your sanity in check. 

You licked your lips, “Please, J-Jake, I need your mouth on my pussy.”

His smirk grew into a devilish grin. 

“Good girl, Lass… can't have you forgetting your manners.”

Your breathing hitched, fingers twisting harder into his locks of hair making him groan. Any defiant answer died on your lips as he toyed with your clit using the tip of his tongue. His mischievous eyes locked on yours as he teasingly flicked at your clit, caressing it with his smooth muscle. His sinful smile grew across his face as his tongue worked its steadily overwhelming magic on you, each shot of electricity making your toes curl. 

“You're like m’own personal honey stash,” he chuckled, giving your flushed folds a broad lick, a deep chested groan of satisfaction meeting your ears. Eyes fluttering shut as his dextrous muscle met your plush bundle of nerves, the feeling like the return of spring after a barren winter. You can feel him rocking his hips into the mattress as he nibbled and sucked at the soaked lips of your cunt. It made your head spin thinking about how this man acted when it came to getting on his knees for you. 

“So fucking perfect, taste so damn good, sweetheart.” You shivered as he growled, his tongue running through your folds, lapping up everything you offered to him. You’re helpless, laying on your back cushioned by his soft sheets and pillows as he drinks from your flushed cunt. Your thighs try to squeeze around his head but his broad hand pins one of your thighs above your hip, his free hand placing your other thigh over his shoulder, leaving you completely at his mercy. No choice, but to let him softly feast on you. “Oh, yes,” you crooned, thighs shivering as his stubble scratched at the delicate complexion of your inner thigh, your fingers threading tighter into his locks of hair making a sly grin overtake his features and eyes glint with mischief. The obscene slurps and groans from between your thighs made your cheeks heat, his hands almost trying to physically conjoin to your hips and pinned thigh. It wouldn't surprise you if you found marks in perfect resemblance to his broad hands on your thighs from his ministrations. 

“Yes, yes, I missed your mouth so much,” you moaned out with a whimper. His eyes fluttering shut as your nails pierce into his scalp, weaving into his gilded tufts of hair. The tantalizing touch of the blunt-edged, ruby red nails digging into his scalp paired with the sweet, intoxicating taste that dribbled from your cunt made his spine tingle between his hips. He could definitely get used to lazy mornings like this with you, savoring and worshiping your body the way it deserved- the way it always deserved. He let his lips leave your cunt, your soft whines marking his exit. Softly, he lathed kisses on the inside of your thighs, sucking and nibbling at the tender flesh. Your mewls of pleasure and increasing neediness made the marks he left on you that much sweeter. Beautiful blotches of magenta, lavender and deep blue litter your thighs and thick hips. 

He gently teased two of his thick fingers at the ingress of your cunt, letting them run through your folds and soak up the sweet nectar you always gave him an abundance of. You tugged at his hair, “Jake, please.” He chuckled against your thighs, littering one last blotch of color to his favorite canvas. 

“Shh, princess, I’m just takin’ my time, no need to get hasty.” 

You pouted, making him chuckle, and that saccharine grin that always made your stomach flip to grace his features. Your breath hitched as he pushed his fingers in, letting your walls embrace his welcomed digits. He whistled, “jus’ like a hot knife through butter, baby.” A fresh wave of heat courses through you at his drawl, the vice of your cunt tightening around his fingers, much to his delight. He gently brought his tongue back to your sopping cunt that gushed beautifully for him. Thrusting into your soft, welcoming embrace, his tongue danced along your clit. Toying with your sanity with each playful suck and nibble of your sensitive gem. Your hitched breaths and mewls filled his bedroom as every cohesive thought left your head. He felt your hands move frantically between grasping the back of his head and the pillow beneath your own.

"Oh, Jake." 

He swore he would never get used to the wanton, sultry, desperate tone your voice took in this state. A high pitched whine left your throat as your thighs shook against his iron hold. 

His fingers continuing their steady rhythm into your dripping cunt, against that sweet, delicious, little spot that had your mind hazy and incoherent syllables leaving your perfect lips. Your eyes clenched shut, silent screams, and broken cries leave your lips as he pulls your release from you. Playing your body and mind with the ease of a professional violinist in concert. 

His lips lathed open-mouthed kisses along the insides of your plush thighs, gleaming eyes dancing to your teary ones as he diligently watched you return back to your body. His fingers moving at the same soft pace, relishing in your walls fluttering around his thick digits like the butterflies he got in his stomach whenever you smiled at him. 

He knew you could handle another one; it was all part of making up for lost time. He softly brought his hand up, gliding it along your skin, to settle at your breast; fondling, squeezing, and pinching at your taut nipple, smirking at the noises he brought past your lips. 

"Such a good girl…missed taking care of you like this," His thick, sleep graveled drawl made your walls clench around his fingers. You hummed, a soft whine passing your throat. 

He grinned from his spot between your legs, "you missed that too, Lass? Missed when I took care of my pretty, little pussy? Stuffed you full with m’ fingers." You feverishly nodded, a whine passing your lips. His lips quickly advancing back to your swollen folds, languidly toying with your already sensitive clit. 

A hiss leaves your throat at a particularly harsh suck, clit throbbing between his soft lips. If there was one thing you’d learned from your time with Jake, he loved, no, craved, being the best. He needed there to be no doubt in your mind that he was the best candidate for taking care of you; whether that was eating you out or fucking you into the mattress. And if that meant he made you lose your mind at the hand of his sinful tongue and intoxicating cock, then that was the sacrifice he was willing to make. 

"Fuck, baby." Your sweet gasp made his cock throb against his sheets. Eyes clenched shut, your nails dug into his hand and the back of his head. He moved his fingers more diligently, feeling your pretty noises and the constriction of your walls increase so. A sharp cry left your lips as he gave a delicious suck to your clit. 

You’re far too sensitive, his mouth too much. 

Chest heaving as you summoned any strength you had to push his head away, your release following suit with a shriek. He shuddered at the gush of liquid downing his chin and neck, immediately forcing his way back to your dripping cunt, your hands clawing at his head and the back of his neck as he claimed your cunt again, latching back onto your poor, abused clit, letting it leave his mouth with a lecherous pop, feeling a few spurts leave your pussy as your whines of pleasure met his ears. 

"Such a perfect girl, squirtin' all over me," his tone a mix between a growl and pure awe. Your thighs shook at the overwhelming feeling of his savory timbre. If all of your brain cells hadn't been fried, you might have been embarrassed. He thrusted his fingers more diligently, keeping his gaze on you.

"Come on, beautiful, I know you have at least one more for me," he purred, giving you that same panty dropper grin that made you blush at the bar top as his fingers stroked that sweet spot inside you, a string of your arousal linking his lips to your cunt, shining in the light through his curtains. Your liquid lust makes his chest and shoulders glimmer with the light peeking between the shades. You feverishly nodded, letting out a pathetic, little whimper. He wracked your lower body with the strength of his entire arm, making you mewl and cry out. Nails digging into his taut forearm, his veins bulging with exertion. You could feel your core tighten, and as he removed his fingers, your release coated his bare chest and bed sheets. 

"Such a good job, Caledonia, such a good girl squirtin' around my fingers." He goaded with pride, his breathing heavy as he rubbed his open palm over your flushed folds and engorged clit. Shocks of intense pleasure racked your brain, sharp gasps leaving your lips, your hands shooting to keep his hand still. 

He smirked, a small chuckle passing his lips as he settled on softly rolling your tender clit between his forefinger and thumb. Your mind tried to grasp any semblance of normal brain function, but with Jake touching you oh so sinfully, it was fruitless. Your chest swelled and fell as soft sparks of pleasure shot up your body as your hands softly clutched at his own. He lathed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your plush inner thighs as you slowly came down from your high, your breathing heavy still.  

Shakily, you sit up and reach out to him, bringing your lips to his, passionately savoring the heavenly combination of your taste and his natural one as your tongues meld together like metal; melting and emulsifying into a perfect alloy. He chuckled as he felt your nails tangle into his hair. Gently crawling over him, you pushed him down onto his back as you kept your lips on his with a soft thump against his sheets. A mischievous smile breaks out as you see his eyes gleam, his breath hitching at the change in position. His hard length twitched against the flesh of your ass, an immense sense of pride filling you.  

You had this effect on him. No one else.

You.

Your soft breaths met his ears as you ran your palms over his toned chest, down to his chiseled abs, tantalizingly scratching your nails along his flesh, goosebumps following in their wake, head still spinning from the intense high that wracked your brain. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he watched you scoot further down to settle over his knees, his cock thick and hard, standing at attention for you. Watching as he bites his lip, his pupils fully dilated, hiding that lovely shade of green, his chest heaves as he waits with anticipation. His breath hitches as you grasp his hot, throbbing cock with the perfect amount of pressure. You spit on his dick, demanding the attention of the man below you, letting the viscous fluid dribble down from your pink lips to his sensitive tip. He twitched in your hand, making you grasp him tighter, shooting him a flirtatious smile that makes his stomach flip. His eyes clenched shut, his tongue wetting his lower lip in anticipation. 

“Cal-sweetheart.”

You smirked, grasping his cock harder in your silken palm. 

“I think you're forgetting something.”

He turned his chin down to get a better look at you and the bratty look in your eye. 

His Adam's apple bobbed and cock twitched in your hand. Your grin widened at the sight, posture straightening at the further change in power, a special gleam in your eye he didn't see often. His broad hands knead at your thick hips and thighs. 

“Cal-.” 

“Come on handsome, I'm not the only one that needs to have manners.” You said wantonly as you gave his engorged length a squeeze, one of your manicured nails drawing hearts on his Adonis belt and abdominal muscles as you waited patiently. His muscles softly twitching under your tantalizing touch. 

He bit his lip, a scoff bubbling from his throat making your grin widen. “Such a fuckin’ minx,” he growled. A teasing chuckle leaves your lips as you lean down to place a feather soft kiss to his swollen tip, making him sigh and eyes flutter shut. A gentle squeeze to his balls has his words leaving before he can think. 

“Fuck, cal-, please.”

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself  as you lean down, letting your tongue run up the length of him. "Fuck, sweetheart," he croaked, eyes fluttering shut. You look so perfect like this, he thought. "Missed your pretty mouth so much," he groaned, rambling as his eyes clenched shut as you playfully sucked at his red, inflamed tip. Your heart and walls fluttered at his words. "Mhm, I missed sucking your thick cock," you purred, pumping his length. His stomach jumping at your confident, lustful tone. You were getting more and more confident with each perfect, tantalizing moment with you. 

Especially with that little please stunt. 

And he loved every second of it. 

He had a feeling you would outmatch him one day, and he needed to be the one to experience it. He’s completely entranced by your molten lapis lazuli gaze as you sucked a love bite on the underside of his throbbing dick. His eyes clenched shut with a hiss, your perfect, soft hands squeezing his balls as you continued your sinful acts. "Fuck, your mouth is perfect-so fuckin' good, Caledonia," he growled, his hips bucking into your hand. Each squeeze of your hand and impure suck to his tip had the thread of his soul reeling loose from its spindle. Every coherent thought seemed to dissipate as you soaked his cock with your perfect mouth. You held his length, giving him a sultry smile as you pushed your copper locks over your shoulder to the other side. His hand quickly intertwined with your soft, wavy hair, letting his fingers card through the strands. The way your hair glowed in the morning light and how your perfect, pink lips wrapped around his saliva soaked cock made his core tighten and heart flutter. He sighed as you gripped his hips, nails digging into his adonis belt as you brought your mouth down over his swollen dick, savoring each ridge and crevice of his fat cock with your tongue. 

"Shit! So fuckin' good, baby." 

If you didn't know any better, it almost sounded like the cocky, self-assured Hangman was pleading for you. You let him leave your mouth with a pop, "does that feel nice, handsome? Feeling me suck your dick like a goddamn bomb pop?" He feverishly nodded, willing to let you do whatever you want to him. 

"God, I love how thick you are, feel so good in my mouth and balls deep in my pussy," you moaned out, eyes full of intense flames of lust as you stroked him with a steady rhythm.

Fuck, where did you learn to talk like that?

He realized how stupid of a question that was. 

His chest heaves, his breathing shaky as low moans passed his lips as you quite literally sucked his life source from his throbbing cock. His eyes clenched shut as his load is about to burst, hips bucking into your mouth. "Oh, fuck, sweets, keep doing that, such a good girl." He choked out, his eyes rolling back as you gave him a sinful, perfect suck to his tip. You squeezed his hips harder as they became wracked with tremors, feeling his hand desperately reach the back of your head, fingers intertwining with the soft strands. “Holy shit, Caledonia.” He gritted his teeth as he groaned, his back arching as his release hit the back of your throat in thick ropes, almost startling you as his hand kept your head in place. His slightly salty taste eased you as you continued to lathe your tongue around his dick, collecting any last remnant of his release. Jake's breathing evened out as he recovered, opening his eyes to you placing a sweet, oh so tender kiss to his tip.

 It would almost make him smile if it didn't make his dick twitch. 

You licked your lips, letting your gaze meet his blissed out one, giggling at the sight of his bed hair, and soft, rosy cheeks. His breath hitched as you licked the last of his essence from your fingers. Crawling back up and over him, you gently placed a kiss on his lips. The taste of himself on your lips making his core ache in reinvigorated need. 

"How was that?" You bit your lip, smiling with awaiting eyes. He takes a deep breath, licking his lips as he takes in the mix of your tastes, his lip lifting into a smile, making you giggle. His fingers digging into your plush hips, bringing you closer.  His hand travels up to the base of your neck, bringing your lips down to his. Your soft sighs against his lips has his libido rising by the second. 

In one quick motion, you’re below him, letting out a squeal of delight that morphed into a titter. His grip on your hips tighten as he towers above your sprawled out form. He stands on his haunches, spreading your legs with his broad hands. A low whistle meeting your ears, “God, I need to be inside you,” your clit tingled at the prospect, “You want me inside you, sweetheart?” You pathetically nodded. His eyes tracing your fingertips as they traverse the curves of your plush body that lead to the sensitive little pearl at the apex of your thighs, your soft fingertips gingerly rubbing at your clit. 

“Please Jake, I need it so bad.” 

A deep groan resonated in his chest as he manhandled your knees to hook over his shoulders, pressing onto you.

"Jake." 

“Shh, baby, I'm gonna take care of you.” He murmured, fighting off the deep rooted urge to slide all in at once and fuck you till the headboard breaks. He gave you that same salacious smile you love. Running your fingernails down his torso, you nodded. His lips parting as he notches his tip at your entrance. He leans down, keeping his gorgeous evergreen gaze on you. A pitiful whimper leaves your lips as the bulbous head enters you, already stretching you. His hands quickly intertwine with your own, placing them by your head, nose nudging yours.

"Shh, it's ok, Lass, taking me so well, just breathe." You nodded, eyes glassy as you focused your gaze on him as he continued to enter you inch by inch. He can’t help but feel the warmth in his heart with each pinch of your brow and soft mewls that passed your lips as he split you open. 

You’re absolutely perfect. 

And you’re all his.

He smiled so softly and tenderly at you. "I love you so much, you have no idea how much I missed you," he whispered. 

Your eyes starting to tear up, voice thick, "I love you too, Jake." 

He leaned down, passionately, desperately kissing you like you’re the only keeper of his sanity. "I'm not going anywhere," you whimpered out against his lips, his forehead resting against your own as he gently rolled his hips into your own, fully sheathing himself into the welcoming embrace of your cunt. His rhythm has moans pouring from your lips and his bed frame rhythmically banging into the wall. Your breathing intermingles, gazes staring into one another. The focus solely on the feeling of Jake on you, holding your hands so tenderly yet firmly, and the way he throbs gently inside you with each thrust. He savors the velvet feeling of your walls around him, and the twitch of your knees against his shoulders. 

Each moan and whimper spurring him on with each soft thrust, rubbing that sweet spot inside you that had you clutching onto his shoulders for dear life. 

"Jake," 

He nipped at your neck, putting his entire lower body weight into his thrusts, making you gasp and cry out as he ransacked that special spot that made you see stars. Your lips muffled his groans as he continued to thrust into your perfect cunt that he would swear under oath was made for him. 

"God, you feel so fucking good, Jake!" His growls and groans are a reply enough to your broken moans and gasps of breath. 

You both are consumed only in each other, not the headboard banging into the wall or the possibility of Javy hearing your escapades- just the perfect mix of you and him. He lifted your hips letting him thrust with all his strength into your welcoming cunt, your walls begging him to never leave. 

"Such a good fucking girl, wanna spend every mornin’ like this… God, such a perfect, tight, little pussy," you gasped and cried out as he punctuated each graveled word with a deep, perfect thrust. "You love it when I fuck you like this, don't you?" You nodded feverishly, tears welling in your eyes. 

"You just feel so good, please don't stop," you choked out, the dull edges of your nails digging into his hands that encased yours. He grinned at you, placing a soft kiss to your plush lips, feeling pride swell in his chest.  “Love seeing you get all teary eyed taking my dick,” he cooed. You moaned as he set a brutal rhythm, making you see entire galaxies behind your clenched shut eyes. Shuddered gasps left your throat as he leaned down to mouth at your tits, sucking at your peaks, and releasing them with gentle pops. 

"Baby, look at me," he purred, his voice strained from his excursions. Your dazed gaze met his, your vision hazy from your impending orgasm. But even then, you could still make out the thin halo of green that surrounded a sea of black. 

“So fucking pretty, baby.” The sight of his lust dilated eyes and the constant assault on the soft spot inside you has your sanity unraveling, your high rushing over you with broken gasps, chest heaving up into his. 

“Jesus Christ, so fuckin’ tight.” He groaned with that sinful graveled tone into your ear as you mewled and shook as your high consumed you. 

His eyes clenched shut as your walls choked his cock, making his release hit him like a bullet, groaning into your neck as his release painted your soft velvet walls. 

You relished in the feeling of his weight on your body, softly running your fingers through his hair as his cock gently twitched in your molten cunt. Heaving breaths and the soft smell of sex filled the room as the AC hummed lowly. He gently lifted his face to meet yours, a sweet, dazed smile painting his lips, sweat beading at his hairline. You bit your lip, “good morning.” His relaxed smile morphed into a grin, “mornin', my beautiful girl.” Your grin matched his as you gently pulled him into a sweet kiss, letting your nails gingerly scratch at the base of his neck. He softly whined in protest as you pulled your lips away for air. “I have to breathe, Jacob,” you teased, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your warm gaze met his own, a soft smile on your lips that made your dimples pop. His eyes glazed over, tracing over each wisp of color in your sapphire eyes and the rouge dusting your cheeks. How did I get so lucky? 

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” You whispered softly.

His lip quirked, “jus’ thinking about you,”

Your blush deepened, biting your lip to hide your grin, “only good things, I hope.”

“Only good things.” He repeated with a gentle smile. 

You lightly pulled his lips back to yours, lips languidly melding with his. Savoring the taste of you on his lips that he never wanted to forget. 

—

Jake’s breathing evened out as you traced the edge of your nail on his pec, gently scratching at the sparse chest hair. Your head nestled into the crook of his neck, eyes tracing over the freckles sparsely peppering his bare skin, following the tip of your finger. His fingers mindlessly toy with your wavy locks, watching the soft strands curl around his finger and the glow of that lovely copper hue in the morning light. He felt like he needed to pinch himself, just to make sure this was all real. He refrained; pinching himself may cause all of this to go away. You listened to his steady breathing, softly letting your eyes flutter shut. 

“We should get cleaned up and something to eat,” you whispered against his chest. He hummed, still coming down from his high. You giggled, sitting up before rising off of the bed. Softly stretching in the morning light, bare to the world, walking towards his bathroom on shaky legs that had his chest filling with pride. Turning towards him, you leaned against the doorframe, “you coming, cowboy?” His mouth felt dry, eyes glued to your full body that was fully exposed for him to admire in the soft, golden morning light. Your eyes caught on. A playful smile tugged at your lips as you watched his eyes travel from your eyes down to the rest of your body. The gaze of others had always planted a pit of insecurity in your stomach that caused your heart to quiver. But being with Jake, he eased your insecurities. Softly and slowly, he eased you to expose yourself to him. But even in these moments there were small pockets of self-consciousness that broke through the protective layer that Jake helped to cultivate. 

Soon enough he'll realize that your body type isn't what he wants.

This is all a ruse and he didn't mean it when he said he loved you. 

He'll get sick of your body at some point. 

You felt your lips threaten to tug into a frown, his gaze feeling more scrutinizing as he held his gaze on your body. In all the time you had known him, Jake had never been a quiet man. Maybe he didn't like how your thighs were so thick. 

Or the soft flesh of your tummy. 

Or how your breasts weren't as perky as with the other girls he’d been with. 

He nodded, a beat of silence passing, “that sounds perfect.” There was no air of cockiness in his tone, only the heavy sincerity of his whispered words. He rose out of bed, sauntering towards you. You tried to keep your gaze on him instead of the way his cock was starting to harden again and animatedly bob with each stride. He took your hand in his, anxiety easing as he brought your hand to his lips, eyes full of love before silently leading you with him into the bathroom. 

—

“Jake, stop, that tickles,” you protested teasingly as you manned the stove top, flipping the eggs and bacon in the skillet as the toast finished with a ding. His chin lifted from its place at your neck with a groan, halting the teasing rubs of his freshly shaven cheek against the column of your neck. His hands playfully squeezed your hips as he stepped away to collect the toast. 

“So, sweets, do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” He placed the plate with the warm toast on the counter across from you, letting the edge press into his bare lower back as he buttered the pieces of toast. Shutting the burner off with a click, you grabbed both of the filled plates before joining him at the countertop. You could feel his eyes settled on where his shirt barely covered the curve of your panty-clad ass. The attention made your cheeks heat. Granted, you should have been used to it by now, but it was so hard to adjust when every time he looked at you, your entire body heated up like a fireplace. And his bare chest on display certainly didn’t help. Or the fact you could trace out the bulging veins in his forearms. 

“Um,” you cleared your throat, “I have a shift at Penny’s later tonight, but besides that I’m free.” He turned to lean on his elbow against the counter to face you while he held his plate, eagerly digging into his breakfast. You leaned forward against the counter, foraging at the strawberries Jake had cut up earlier. He smiled around his piece of toast, “glad to hear it, I was hoping for a few more hours with you.” He teased, pinching under the curve of your ass as your blush bloomed on your cheeks. You swatted at him, his chuckles meeting your ears. He placed his plate down, moving to embrace his arms around you, the small droplets of water from the shower falling onto your neck and shirt. You yelped as his broad hands grasped the underside of your thighs, placing you onto the edge of the countertop, out of the way of your plates of food. Your chuckles died down as your gaze met Jake’s playful one. His thumbs rubbed small circles on your hips as he stepped between your spread thighs. The back of his finger gently caressed your cheek. Your teeth digging into your bottom lip, hands gently rubbing at where his broad shoulders met his neck, fingers occasionally toying with the chain of his dog tags. Your eyes traced over the fine features of his face, fingers cradling the back of his head, leaning down to kiss his passion-swollen lips. 

Groaning against your lips, he pulled away. 

“I meant what I said last night and this morning…about being in love with you. I don't want you to feel that it was just in the heat of the moment for me.” He softly whispered, as if it were a secret from the rest of the world. Your eyebrows rose a little, your heart warming. “I know Jake. It wasn't a heat of the moment deal for me either. I love you too. Just promise me something.” 

“Anything.” He reassured.

“I know relationships are a complicated thing for you,” you diverted your gaze to your fingers playing with the pebbled chain of his dog tags, “but if you get scared or anxious, please don't pull away and make a rash decision. Be open with me. Talk to me.”

His warm eyes melted more if that was possible. 

He nodded, murmuring “I will, promise.” His nose touches yours before he places a sweet kiss to your lips. He hummed at the taste of strawberries on your lips.

“Glad to see you guys made up.” 

Javy’s voice made you jolt against Jake, trying to discreetly reach to slide Jake's shirt under your ass, much to Javy's amusement and Jake's disgruntlement. 

Javy made his way to the coffee maker with an amused expression on his face as he poured himself a cup of coffee. You could feel Jake's hands tighten on your waist. 

“Coyote, I thought you were at Delilah’s.” Javy smirked around the rim of his mug at Jake's tone. He leaned against the opposite counter, an amused expression on his face as he took in his much more kept together appearance; shaved cheeks, diminished bags under his eyes. 

“Good morning to you, too. I got back late last night after dropping her off for her red eye for her business trip.” Javy grinned, diverting his gaze to you. “Hey, Caledonia.” 

“Hey, C-Coyote” you stammered, cheeks flushed.

“You know, we were kind of having a moment. Alone.” Jake bit back, attitude rolling off of his tongue, as he tried hiding your body with his. That only made Javy smile all the more. 

“Sorry, I must have missed the part where this was your kitchen.” He placed his mug in the sink. “But really, I'm happy for you both. He was much more tolerable when you both were messing around.” Jake continued to glare at him, his grip on you getting more and more possessive the more your cheeks heated. “Oh, and if you guys decide to utilize the counter, use the Lysol afterwards.” Javy winked at Jake, giving him a pat on his bare shoulder and stealing a strawberry as he passed, heading towards the front door, closing it with a click. As soon as the door closed, you giggled into Jake's chest, a mix of amusement and mortification filling your chest. 

“God, I'm gonna kill him.” 

Your laughter brought his gaze down to you. 

“He's just being supportive.”

“Yeah, well, I wish he wouldn't look at you while he's being so supportive.” Jake huffed.

“Jake…”

“What? I don’t like him looking at what’s mine, especially when you’re looking like a wet dream out of a Playboy Magazine.”

Your smile grew with the shivers that ran along your spine at his tone. 

“I wouldn’t say that-” Your eyes diverted from him to focus on the tiled floor. Your hair was still messy from your roll in the sheets and shower, and your eyes still felt sticky with sleep. 

He gently lifted your chin to meet his gaze. 

“I would. Every time.”

You swallowed at his tone that dripped with loving sincerity. He grinned, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before quickly reaching your lips with a deep hum. 

If you had a mirror, you’d assume your face was the color of fully-bloomed roses.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, lewdly persuading entrance to tangle with your own. You moaned against his mouth as he gently laid you back against the cold countertop, his mouth trailing down your neck, gently teasing your pert nipples through the cotton of his Navy shirt with his expert tongue. 

“Jake-”

He hummed, “What is it, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers tugged down your panties to the cold tile floor with a soft thump. His hands pushed your shirt up over your head to expose your lush breasts to his warm touch, flinging the piece of cotton onto the couch.

“We don’t know when Javy’s getting back.” Your hands coming up to cover your bare chest.

His eyebrows furrowed in amusement, a gentle smirk on his lips.

“Javy always does his errands on Saturday mornings. He’ll be gone for a good few hours.” 

You swallowed, biting at the inside of your cheek. 

“Plus, he was right about one thing.” 

Your eyebrows scrunched together, his nose trailing along your neck as his lips reached the shell of your ear. His hands gently move to replace yours on your breasts. 

“The counter would be smart to utilize while he’s gone.” He nipped at your earlobe, relishing in the soft moan and shudder than accentuated his improper words and actions. His eyes rose to meet yours as his broad hands pushed down on the counter to show its sturdiness with a smirk. 

“We’ve barely touched our breakfast, and-” you words paused on your lips as his hands squeezed at your hips and thighs, nudging them further apart, “don’t you get tired of being this horny?”

Deep chested grumbles of laughter bubbled up as he brought his lips to yours. 

“You just have that effect on me, sweetheart, and I have a lot of time to make up for.” He teased with a grin, gently running the pad of his forefinger through your already soaked folds. 

“And it feels like to me, you don’t seem to mind.” He husked. 

Your chest heaved with a shortness of breath you didn’t know you had. You pulled his lips to yours, moaning against his now strawberry sweet lips. A sharp whine leaving your own as he eased two of his thick fingers into your molten, awaiting cunt. 

“Easy there, Lass, I’ll take care of you.” His saccharine grin made you realize you would be on this counter for as long as time would allow. 

—

“So I noticed your car was parked here this morning.”

Penny’s amused tone made you almost drop the clean glass in your hand.

“Yeah,” you awkwardly chuckled, “I stayed the night with a friend.” You gave her a tight lipped smile. Penny’s eyebrows furrowed, but she didn’t press. Her typical kind smile passed her lips, “Well I’m glad to see you got over Hangman. You’re too good for him, and he’s still not welcome here.” You swallowed as her eyes grew ever sharper with each word. 

“Yeah,” you fiddled with the towel and the glass in your hand, “well, actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” You bit your lip as her face grew concerned. Your eyes darted around the empty bar, hoping to find something to take the edge off of the conversation. Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes focus back on her.

“Hang-,” you cleared your throat, “Jake came by here last night.” Penny’s posture straightened as her eyebrows furrowed. 

Your eyes grew wide in panic, “But it’s ok! He came by to apologize to me.” The sharpness in Penny’s gaze dulled as your tone and words registered. “And, I spent the night with him.” You breathed out. “He told me he loves me.”

Penny’s gaze was trying to fight for any semblance of sharpness. She’d known Hangman for years before you came along. Seen all the hookups that transpired in her bar because of his charm, and the inevitable wreckage afterwards. And not once did he have the decency to apologize for breaking a poor girl’s heart. Much less tell them he loved them and make up with them. 

“Even after we… did things.”

You frankly didn’t know what compelled you to share that detail. Maybe it was because Penny had become a maternal figure to you during your time at grad school and you could be vulnerable with her about this. She would probably know more than most, given her history with Maverick. You bit your lip, hoping and praying that Penny wouldn’t tear Jake to shreds if he stepped foot into the Hard Deck. Penny had had her fair share of relationships and only one of them resulted in her being told she was loved after sex- Maverick. Penny’s eyes reverted to the same trademark warmth she always looked at you with, a small smile on her face. “I’m glad you and Hangman made up, but if he hurts you… promise me you’ll tell me. Ok?”

You nodded, ”Does this mean Jake is ok to come back to the Hard Deck?”

She breathed through her teeth, before chuckling, “I think you’ll need to clear the air with Phoenix first. My jurisdiction only goes so far. If she sees him here, she’ll do a lot worse than punch him in the nose.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Did Nat punch him in the nose?”

—

“Well, you’re looking better.”

You quickly turned at the sound of Phoenix’s encouraging tone. Her eyes tracing over your lush, wavy hair and your scintillating blood moon manicured nails that made your eyes pop. 

“And it looks like it in more ways than one too.” She smirked, eyes tracing over the poorly concealed hickey.

Your blush spread like waves over a shoreline, bringing your hand up to hide the mark with a nervous smile.

“Yeah, I’m feeling better since last night.”

You swallowed as your eyes darted to see Bob settle against Phoenix at the bar top. Giving Bob a smile, you placed a cup of peanuts from under the bartop in front of him. 

Phoenix smiled at the gesture. 

“So did you end up going out with Halo’s friend from the gym?” Bob asked before scooping some peanuts into his mouth.

You always admired how perceptive Bob was. He could piece together a conversation like the snap of his finger. 

“N-no, I didn’t.” You bit at your lip. 

I really hope they don’t kill me for this, you thought. 

“Well,” Phoenix urged on, “was it somebody who came in last night?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, nervously puffing out laughter.

“You could say that.”

Her eyes lit up, “Ok, so who’s the lucky guy… or girl?” she teased.

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. 

Phoenix had been encouraging you to explore your sexuality since the whole situation with Hangman went down the drain. Well, before Jake pulled it out of said drain less than 24 hours ago. 

You bit your lip, “Um.” You swallowed.

Phoenix’s eyebrows furrowed and Bob watched on with piqued interest.

“Jake came by last night.” 

You internally winced as both of their smiles fully faded.

“Cali…” Phoenix’s voice was laced with frustration and pity, the latter burning the most. 

“I know it sounds bad, but-”

“How could you take him back?” Phoenix’s voice rattled your heart. Bob stood by silently. But his face spoke the words just said. 

You took a breath, swallowing “he came by to apologize.”

Her gaze softened. But only slightly so. 

You still slept with him, again, She thought. 

But then again, Hangman didn’t apologize. Ever. 

“And, he told me he’s in love with me.”  

And he most definitely didn’t tell hookups he loved them. Much less in love with them. In fact, in time Phoenix knew him, Jake never had anything serious with anyone. Not even a date.

Phoenix and Bob exchanged looks.

“And that he can’t let me go again.” You finished, watching them apprehensively as you toyed with your nails. 

“I just don’t want you to punch him again.” You softly state.

Phoenix took a breath, before scoffing.

“It doesn’t excuse him from what he did-”

“I know that-”

“But, nothing. You’re too good for him, and how can you trust he won’t hurt you again?”

You swallowed, trying to stave off tears.

Bob winced at her words. Phoenix was right to be concerned. Angry, even.

But he saw how Jake had changed since spending time with you, and how he was when you ended your arrangement. That had to mean something more than what words alone could reveal. There was even a running joke regarding how much time Hangman spent with Caledonia, even just helping her at the Hard Deck. 

“Nat,” Bob interrupted. 

She turned to him, eyes still bright with fire. “You’ve seen how he’s been lately and how he was before.” Her jaw tensed. Of course Bob had a point. He always had a point. 

A thick silence settled over your corner of the bar top as regulars started to trickle in.

“I can’t explain how I know, but I just know that he means it.” You turn your gaze from Bob to Natasha, making your stance clear.

She sighed, “look, I just want you to be safe and happy, and if you truly believe he can be that for you… then he’s in serious trouble if he hurts you again.”

You embrace Nat in a hug that has her a bit startled. Sniffling, “I will. Thank you.”

You pull away, wiping away the last remnant of your tears with your apron. 

“Promise me you’ll take it easy on him on base? Well, easier?” Your borderline plea made  Natasha purse her lips before breathing out of her nose.

“Yeah, I’ll do my best. But if he starts something, I have my right to respond with a full arsenal.” 

Your lip tipped up into a grin. 

“I hope you know that you’re the only person I would ever do this for. You know that right?” 

You nodded, cheeks aching from your grin.  A regular had called you over, excusing yourself from your friends. Phoenix and Bob watched on as you served drinks. 

“Hangman better watch out if something happens to her. He doesn’t know what he’s got in a girl like her.” She huffed, snagging a peanut from his cup.

“I think he does now.” Bob’s quiet comment stops her mid chew.

His gaze still on you across the bar before turning to her. 

She huffed again. She had a scintilla of belief that Bob was right. 

—

Your shift passed you like a blur, lost in the fluid routine of serving drinks and orders. The comfort of familiarity flooding your fingertips and eased your senses. The laughter of your friends around the pool tables and Penny’s words of encouragement as things got busier as the night went on made you feel at home again.

“Here’s a whiskey neat for you.” You smiled, turning back to where the beer taps were, grabbing more glasses from underneath the polished wood. 

“Excuse me, Darlin’.”

Your eyes darted up to a voice that had excitement thrumming through you, your grin barely contained. Evergreen eyes greeted you, “a whiskey neat on my tab please.” His bright grin soon matched yours.

“What are you doing here?” you asked warmly as you made his drink.

“Penny texted me saying I could come back to the Hard Deck.” His lip quirking, “On the condition that I help you close up after your shifts for the foreseeable future.” He chuckled, letting his lips tilt into a smile, “and I wanted to see you.” 

He leaned in closer to you, his eyes tracing your full lips up to your eyes that held so much warmth. “She did mention that I needed to worry about Phoenix, though.”

You snorted. “I think you’ll be ok, just stay here at the bar top with me. I’ll protect you.” Your playful wink made his chest rumble with laughter. 

Jake stayed at his spot at the bartop, even when you slipped away to serve drinks. The more you were gone, the more exposed he felt, and the more he felt his confident facade was weakening. He could still feel a bounty on his head, hence the lack of appeal the pool tables held for him tonight. He took sips of his drink, keeping his gaze on you.

“You have a lot of nerve showing your face here.” He almost flinched at the familiar baritone. He turned, met with a questionable choice of Hawaiian shirt and a mustache he could barely stand. 

“But given how miserable you were, it’s not entirely a surprise you came crawling back to her. And by the looks of it, she took you back.” He stated more flatly. 

“Hey, Rooster, can I grab you something?” you asked sweetly, eyes darting from Jake’s to the aviator in front of you.

“Yeah, Rooster, what do you want? It’s on me.” Bradshaw’s eyebrows shot up as Jake laid down his card on the glossy surface. Bradshaw eyed him suspiciously before diverting his gaze to you. “One Blue Moon, please, thanks.”

You smiled at Jake, taking his card. 

As you turned away to grab his glass, Bradshaw was back to facing the last man he thought he’d see tonight.

Jake took a sip of his drink, rocking the glass in his hand. “For what it’s worth, I’m trying to make it right.” Bradshaw couldn’t find a sliver of anything to indicate Jake had ill intent, making his eyebrows furrow for a split second. 

“Here’s your beer, enjoy.” You smiled at Bradley.

“Here’s your card, baby.” You leaned in giving Jake a kiss, sliding the card over the bartop to him. Bradshaw had only seen Hangman blush when he was relentlessly teased in the break room and locker room. It was…different, to see Jake blush when the reason for it was right in front of him. As soon as you were there, you were whisked away to serve another customer. Bradshaw’s gaze followed you before turning to Jake, seeing the smile on his face. Not a cocky, confident smile, but a genuine one that was getting less and less rare with you around.

“I don’t know what she sees in you, but you better not fuck up again.” Bradshaw’s tone didn’t hold the same bite it had before. His hand gave an attempt of a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. Some semblance of an olive branch being passed to him.

“I won’t.” Jake said just before Bradshaw left ear shot, saying it more to himself than anyone. 

   As your shift progressed members of the team came and passed, relations settling at the sight of you and Jake at the bar top when you weren’t being pulled away to serve customers. Soon the end of your shift had arrived and your friends waved goodbye and some even acknowledged Jake as they left. Phoenix’s gaze towards him as she waved goodbye wasn’t as sharp as it had been the past few weeks. The last chair was stacked above the tables and soon you were dragging Jake out of the Hard Deck with you after bidding Penny a goodnight. Penny’s watchful yet warm gaze settled on you both as Jake held the door for you to go outside, and followed you till your cars left the parking lot, heading in the same direction. 

—

"Well, who is this little miss?" Jake crouched down in the hallway and let your new addition to the Benjamin's home softly sniff at his hand and rub her head against his leg.  

"Oh, um, that's Chanel. I got her a few weeks ago,” you replied.  

"Chanel," Jake tried out, "that's a very pretty name for a very pretty girl," he cooed as she let him scratch under her chin and purred. You smiled at the sight, "she's been a little shy around…well, everyone. It's nice that she's warming up to others." A snort left you as Jake tried to stand up, but was met with charged meows of protest. 

"I'm sorry, Chanel, I thought I gave you enough attention…but you're just like your mama, can't get enough." He winked at you, making you smile and your cheeks warm. 

 "Where'd you find this little attention magnet?"

"There's an animal shelter near the lab that was having a meet and greet. Ella took me when… when you ended things.” You tried to push down the somber thoughts that threatened to bubble up after all the positive progress that was made tonight. Jake's gaze softened at your words. “She was huddled in the back of the room, so I took her home." You could feel your eyes get teary at the resurface of the freshly scabbed wounds. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, his lips pointed in a slight frown. “I’m so sorry, Caledonia.” Your eyes met his heavy, sincere ones as he gently took your hand in his soft grasp. 

“I should never have done what I did to you.” 

You bit the inside of your lip, taking a step closer to him, gently cupping his freshly shaved cheeks. Letting your thumbs rub against his smooth skin.

“I know you’re sorry, and,” you took a breath, “I forgive you.” 

Jake feels his heart beat halt in his chest. He couldn’t describe in words how much those three words meant to him. “But you should know, I don’t give out second chances easily, and…for what it’s worth, Phoenix clocking you is quite the punishment.”

You gently ran your fingers along the edge of his nose.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling his lip quirk. 

“You heard about that, huh?”

He cringed a bit as your lip tilted into a smile. 

“Surprisingly, Penny was less discreet about it than your colleagues.” You breathed out a chuckle. He watched as Chanel trotted to your crouched down form, circling in front of you, sliding your open palm along her arched back, her tail that rivaled that of a Swiffer duster oscillating above her. Jake knew he would do whatever it took to stay with you. He’d already been given a chance he didn’t deserve and he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste it. His warm jade gaze watched on as you gingerly picked her up as little trills and chirps left her, supporting her, and gingerly stroking her chin as she closed her eyes. "Do you wanna come upstairs? Watch something?" His gaze snapped to your own, nodding. 

"Sure," he murmured.

—

“You, know, I haven’t taken you out on a proper date, yet.” Jake whispered, his warm gaze shifting from Chanel’s purring form between you both on the bed to your bright ocean blue one already on his. 

“Glad to hear that’s where your mind is at after watching the X-Files with me, lover boy.”

His grin widened at your teasing tone. He scooted closer on his side, leaning down to kiss your ever-so sweet lips. 

“I’m serious. I want to do this right with you.”

Your heart pulsed all the faster, your lower lip trapped between your teeth, warping your smile. 

He took a breath. “Ms. Hughes, would you do me the honor of going out with me this Saturday night?”

Your blush bloomed on your cheeks like a field of poppies. He watched tentatively as you tilted your head to the side, gaze diverting as if thinking hard about the question. 

You sucked in air through your teeth, “Hm, I don’t think I can.” Jake’s face dropped.  “There’s this guy I really like that asked me out, and well, he’s sweet and very well endowed. And I don’t think I can say no to him. I’m sure you can understand.” You playfully examined your scarlet red manicured nails, fighting to keep your resolve neutral. His eyebrows furrowed, before a teasing smile lit up his features. 

“Hm, well endowed, huh?” His eyes matched your gleam.

You hummed in agreement, “Yeah, he’s always calling me Lass and, well, he recently came to his senses about me, and,” you pursed your lips, tucking some hair behind your ear, “I don’t think I can say no to him.”

Laughter bubbled up his throat, shaking his head as he gently brought your lips to his, taking in your sweet hums and sighs. He slid his tongue into your mouth, scooting closer into your personal space, almost forgetting that Chanel was settled comfortably between you both. Her meows and yowls of discontentment separating both of you with a jolt. His eyes darted from her lounging form back to your eyes, chuckles passing both of your lips.

“Well, it sounds like I have some competition.” He murmured, eyes bright with that teasing glint you loved.

You hummed in agreement, gently running your fingers over Chanel’s delicate fur, your playful eyes meeting his. 

“Is he also hoping to pick you up at 8 on Saturday?”

Your smirk widened.

“Somewhere in that ballpark.” You teased.

“Somewhere in that ballpark?” Jake scoffed, “doesn’t really sound like you're too wild about this ‘well endowed’ guy if you can’t even remember when he’s supposed to pick you up.” 

Your smile broke out into a grin at his playful tone, his chuckles soon following yours.  

You placed a sweet kiss to his lips, your noses brushing.

“I’d love to go out with you on Saturday night.”

Jake could have sworn his cheeks hadn’t hurt this much from a grin in his entire life. Chanel jumped down from the bed, opening up more space for you to lay closer to Jake. His grin widening as you promptly filled the space. 

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up at 8.” He whispered, leaning his lips down closer to yours. 

You pulled away, slightly out of breath.

“One question, though-”

“Anything.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “can we still do our fun, little lessons together?”

His eyebrows shot up. 

 Can we still do our fun, little lessons together?

He smirked, that charming smile bubbling below the surface.

Fun, little lessons, huh?

“Yeah, Lass, we can still do our fun, little lessons. We go as long or as short as you want, remember?”

Your eyes diverted away before your grin took over, bringing your eyes back to his.

“I mean, we’ve definitely covered a lot of bases.” You murmured, toying with your nails as you let your head settle into where his neck meets his shoulder. 

“Yeah, we definitely have,” he chuckled, his hands rubbing soothingly along your back and waist as he mentally tallied off the list.

“There’s still some more things I want to try with you, though…that we didn’t get to add to the list.” He murmured against your forehead as he gave you a soft kiss. 

You hummed, the body heat encasing you making you realize just how tired you really were, “Like what?” 

He leaned his head back against your bed frame, your body adjusting to lean against him. His hand taking hold of one of your own, gently running his thumb along the back of your hand. His eyes drawing to the deep red hue of your nails that suited you well. 

“Well, Lass, I was thinking you might like being tied up a little. We still have those fuzzy blue handcuffs to try out,” he noticed the slight clench of your thighs at the statement, making him grin. He didn’t have to see your face to know it was beginning to bloom like the Indian paintbrush flowers that grew in his family’s garden.

“Maybe you’d like it if we brought some whipped cream and chocolate into the mix, maybe some ice cubes-”

Your core stirred at the idea of licking delectable treats off of his body. And him doing the same to you. 

“Ice cubes?”

“Yeah, Lass,” he chuckled, through his drawl, “Ice cubes, it feels mighty fine from what I’ve seen and heard, especially on your pretty clit and tits.” 

You sighed, feeling your horniness start to brew.

“And I was thinking maybe we could try some role playing, we never did try out that mini skirt we bought, and I have a nice suit in my closet, and, forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you strike me as someone who had the hots for one of your professors in college.” He smirked as you blushed, fully taking in the proposed scenario. You couldn’t deny his hunch. 

“And I was thinking anal might be something you’d like to try.” Your head shot up, eyes widening as you met his warm gaze, like melted jade simmering in a cauldron, his smirk still drawing your attention. You’d never even considered anal as something you would want to try, but you couldn’t deny the quick flash of excitement in your clit at the idea. 

“But we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing.” He quickly reassured. He still had the sapphire blue heart cut crystal butt plug from Myrtle’s shop, and he could always return it. But he swore he could see a glint of excitement in your eyes regarding the topic. 

“What else do you want to try?” Your breathless tone made him smile and heart buzz with excitement. 

“Well, I was thinking, if you’re up for it, we could use some more of the sex toys we bought, you could also take the lead with some of them if you’d like, like the cockring we bought,” he cleared his throat, a blush starting to work its way up his neck. 

Your eyebrows furrowed before a gentle smile took over. His demeanour when talking about taking control and relinquishing it always differed in a peculiar way.

“I’d like to try taking more control with you…Too bad the cockring is at your place.” You whispered coquettishly.

His eyebrows shot up as your body rose for you to maintain eye contact with him. His eyes followed your every move as you settled onto his lap, letting your sharp nails scratch down the material of the front of his shirt. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his pupils blown wide with lust. 

“We do have to be careful. Penny and Amelia are probably asleep.” You whispered out as he huffed. 

Right. He forgot you didn’t have your own place. 

“We’ll just have to be quiet then, handsome.” You smirked, bringing your lips down to his. 

He moaned against your lips, completely trapped under your body and your sweet, delicious lips consuming him. 

—

Jake gently closed your bedroom door with a soft click after you gave him many kisses goodnight and made him promise to visit you on your shift tomorrow. He quietly crept down the stairs. He didn’t need Penny and Amelia to be upset with him, again, for waking them up. His footsteps fell soft against the hardwood flooring as he stepped into his shoes.

“This seems a bit more comfortable than going out the window.”

Jake almost jumped out of his skin, quickly turning to see Amelia at the counter with a glass of water and her plaid pajamas. A displeased expression on her face, making him nervous. 

“Amelia, you’re up late-”

“So are you.” She quipped, eyes sharp. 

He sighed. Right. It made sense that Amelia would be mad at him. 

“Listen, Amelia,” he ran his hand over his face,” me and Caledonia-”

“Just don’t break her heart again.”

He swallowed, watching the teenage girl maintain eye contact that matched her sharp tone before gathering her things and disappearing up the stairs.

The door clicked shut behind him, his shoes crunching under the gravel of their driveway. He turned back to look at the window he crawled out of weeks prior. His lip quirked at the memory of your sweet smile and words that soothed him like balm on the cracks in his heart.

I forgive you. 

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[roselites-deactivated20260321]

one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint

word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)

author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.

“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.

“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”

“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”

“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”

“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.

She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”

It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”

Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”

“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”

Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.

“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”

“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”

You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.

“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”

-

It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).

Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”

“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”

“She called me a buttface!”

“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”

“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”

No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.

Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.

“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.” There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”

Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!

Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.

And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?

“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”

“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”

“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”

“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”

You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.

Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.

You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”

When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.

Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.

It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.

-

Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”

You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.

By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.

Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.

Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.

“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.

“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.

“No, I’m not.”

“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.

His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.

Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.

He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”

“Nice one,” you threw back.

He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.

He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”

“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.

Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”

Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”

“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”

“That cow,” Julie put in.

“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”

Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”

“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.

“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”

“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”

“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”

“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”

“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.

“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”

“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”

“Hey!” you warned.

“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”

“Seresin, what the hell!”

“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”

“Oh, didn't you?”

“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.

“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.

-

When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.

Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.

Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.

He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.

You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?

Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.

Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.

He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”

You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)

“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”

“About my personal life? You never used to care.”

“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”

“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.

“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.

Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.

If only that wasn't another reason to love him.

“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.

He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”

“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.

“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.

“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”

“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”

“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”

“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”

“Stop it!” you complained.

The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?

“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”

“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.

From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”

You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”

“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”

“There she is!” he cackled.

You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”

He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.

“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”

“What was wrong with him?”

By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz

“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”

“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”

Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”

“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”

“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.

That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”

“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”

“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”

“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”

“Really, what's that?”

Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.

You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”

“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”

Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.

-

Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.

After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”

You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.

Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.

So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.

By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.

Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.

The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.

You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.

Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.

You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.

Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.

“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.

You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.

He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”

His face went still. “What, no.”

“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”

“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.

Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”

Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.

“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”

Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.

Just messing with you, you would say.

It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.

He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”

“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”

You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.

He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”

Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”

You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.

He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.

“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”

He stopped.

“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.

“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”

“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”

“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”

“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”

“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.

She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.

As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”

It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.

“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”

“I’m making what weird?”

“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”

“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”

You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.

“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”

“Dork.”

“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.

Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.

Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”

“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.

Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”

Are you serious?  “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”

“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”

“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.

“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.

“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.

You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”

“And how would you know a thing like that?”

“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”

Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.

“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”

“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.

For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?

Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.

“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”

“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.

Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.

“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”

“Okay, well…”

“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”

“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.

Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.

You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.

That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.

“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.

The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.

“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”

With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

-

Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.

Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.

As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.

But boy were you dreading it.

“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”

“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.

“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”

All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.

You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.

You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.

It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.

Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him. 

He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”

“About last night…”

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.

From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.

“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.

“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”

It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.

Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?

“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.

Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.

The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.

Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.

The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.

Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.

(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”

Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)

At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.

“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.

This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.

You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.

-

The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.

The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.

Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.

“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”

“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”

“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.

His very muscled arm…

Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.

With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.

“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.

“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”

“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”

“What, I am nice!”

“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.

The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.

You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”

“Both true.”

“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”

He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”

“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”

“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”

Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.

Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.

“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”

“Not even the groom.”

“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?

The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.

Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.

So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!

You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.

The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.

You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.

“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.

You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”

“No.”

Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”

“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”

With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.

“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.

To be bold. To follow through.

“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.

“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”

“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…

The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”

“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.

You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.

In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.