TGM Obsessed

18+ Only, 40ish, engineer by day, obsessed with TGM by night

[dingochef]

Masterlist

Jake and Elsa Universe

Series

Stepping to You Toe-to-Toe

Dancing on the Clouds Below

One Shots/Drabbles

69/96

Truth

Lucky

Touchdown

Closed for Renovations

Flyboy

Measure of a Man

Instructions for a Good Time

Fun Size

Other Stuff

Cast List

Bob and Beth (Coming Soon)

Stealth

Jake Seresin

Have a Cup of Cheer!

On the Prowl

Hangster

Hook 'Em

Don't Let the Light Go Out

[callsignrandom]

you, me, and a bed // Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Summary: 4.2k (21+) Basically PwP. Bob's wanted you for ages and you want him too, so you ask him to take you home. Warnings: Smut. PwP, Oral (male and female receiving), protected PnV, Bob has a big dick (as he should). I wrote this at 2am, so no edits. A/N: I had a thought and decided to execute it. Enjoy! ----------------------------------------------------------

It’s been awhile. That was the only thing running through Bob’s head as you both stepped through the door into his apartment, wasting no time in reattaching your lips to his as soon as the door was locked. If this was his one chance at getting to take you to bed, he didn’t want to waste it.

He kissed you. Hard. Almost bruisingly, but you didn’t seem to mind. His glasses were fogging up a bit from your shared breath as he pressed you against the wall. Bob swallowed your moans as he pressed one thigh between your legs, allowing you to rub against his jeans with just the right amount of pressure.

And he was hard. So hard. The pressure behind his zipper was almost enough to have him whining along with you. It had been so long since he was with someone. So long since he’d even pulled himself off, though he’d considered it so many times in the last few months. Ever since you’d joined the team as Halo’s backseater, he’d wanted you. But wanting someone on the same team just didn’t seem right. So he watched you in that quiet way of his, always observant and keen to learn anything he could.

He learned your likes and dislikes. He knew you could take Hangman and Rooster’s shit and give it right back to them. He learned your coffee order and your favorite energy drink. And he also knew that you watched him right back with that smirk of yours that made him want to run away or jump out of a plane. He wanted to avoid your piercing gaze or be put under your thumb. He hadn’t really decided how he felt, but he knew he wanted you.

Bob definitely hadn’t expected to get you in his bed. Not tonight. Not ever. Because you were coworkers and you could have anyone, but you chose him. He hadn’t even realized you’d chosen him until you were at the Hard Deck and you’d sidled up next to him as he watched Nat beat Hangman at pool yet again while Jake tried to maintain his honor. You’d just sat next to him quietly. Comfortably. Like you belonged there. Two WSOs just watching the team you’d made a family battle it out over the pool table like they did every weekend. Then you’d nudged his arm.

“You wanna get out of here?” you asked quietly, not even looking at him.

Bob whipped his head towards you so fast he almost got whiplash and nearly dropped his cup of peanuts. If he were sipping on the coke sweating beside him, he would’ve done a spit take. You just gave him that slow smirk. He glanced around the room and noticed no one was watching them, so he turned back to you.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked slowly, disbelief still coloring every bit of his face.

“Oh, y’know,” your voice was nonchalant and Bob couldn’t understand how when you finished, “you, me, a bed? Your place?” Then you were taking a slow sip of your drink like you hadn’t just short-circuited his brain. Like you hadn’t just altered his brain chemistry and caused him to start stiffening in his jeans. You asked like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You mean that?” Bob asked, tone careful.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. Meet me outside in ten minutes?”

And Bob, helpless that he was when he was with you, nodded. You slipped away without anyone noticing in the direction of the bathrooms where Bob knew there was a side door and he counted down the minutes until he got up. He handed his glass back to Penny and threw his peanuts away and then he was ambling out the door. He knew no one would mind if he slipped away since he usually did pretty early, but he really wasn’t worried tonight.

He found you leaning against his car door, nonchalantly, just like when you’d asked him to bed. Your coolness was definitely affecting his ability to think straight. As soon as he was next to you, you reached up to catch the back of his head with your hand and leaned in to kiss him. And Bob fucking melted.

It was the type of kiss he imagined in a rom com. Where neither of you cared about anyone seeing you and your focus was on each other instead. You may have gotten your hand in the short hair on the back of his neck, but his hands were roaming respectfully up and down your back as you pressed your hips against the car door.

“Unlock the car, Floyd.” you laughed, breaking the kiss. He groaned, eyes fluttering back open. His glasses were askew, but he wasn’t sure he cared. However, he did as you asked and unlocked his beat up old truck. You slipped around the back and hopped in and he did as well, knuckles clenched against the steering wheel. But silence and sexual tension filled the air as he made the quick fifteen minute drive back to his apartment.

“Nice place,” you murmured when he parked in the lot. And really, Bob was pretty proud of the one bedroom apartment he’d somehow commandeered at a decent price. The building itself looked nice on the outside and he’d tried to make the inside as homey as possible. The elevator ride was torture as he struggled to keep his hands to himself, but he wanted you in his place first away from potentially wandering eyes.

But back to the present, Bob had his leg between your thighs and his mouth trailed away from your lips towards the soft skin of your throat. He was careful not to leave any marks, at least not yet and not where anyone would be able to see. He did have ideas about marking up your hip bone or maybe even your breasts. Somewhere he’d know it was there and so would you, but that no one else would see or know about. Something to prove he’d been there, especially if this was the only time he’d get to take you home.

You moaned, a little breathless, as Bob trailed a kiss at the juncture of your jaw and your neck, the skin sensitive and he smiled against your skin.

“Quit teasing, Floyd.” you groaned, hauled him back up for a kiss and giving a particularly solid press against his thigh. 

“Mhhmm,” he hummed against your lips. “I believe you said something about you, me, and a bed?”

“Correct, so take me to bed, Bob.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He was setting you back against the wall before you could even take another breath and tugging you along to his bedroom near the back of his apartment, not even giving you any time to look around. Bob had one goal and one goal only right now; taking you however you’d let him right here and now.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, letting Bob settle between your thighs. That was when he realized that your mouth was right at the same level as his cock and by your smirk, he knew you were thinking the same thing. He didn’t stop you as your fingers trailed up his thighs, sending shivers down his spine and up and down his arms. Your hands didn’t stop there either. You were nimbly undoing his belt and pushing it to the sides. Then you were popping the button at the top and your fingertips brushed over the zipper. Bob groaned at the pressure.

It felt like an eternity passed as you slowly unzipped his jeans, millimeter by millimeter. But then your fingers reached the end of the zip and you were reaching over to shove his jeans down to his ankles. Finally, his cock was free of the confines of the jeans and he quickly stepped out of them, leaving himself in his grey boxers, the front of which were tenting spectacularly with a clear wet spot where the head was.

You didn’t look surprised. In fact, you looked quite smug as you stared at the bulge between his legs. And when you touched him through the thin fabric of his boxers, his hips jutted forward of their own accord. The smile stayed.

“I knew the boys’ locker room talk wasn’t false.” you murmured. Bob didn’t even have a chance to react to that particular statement before you were leaning forward and pressing an open mouthed kiss to that wet spot and right over the head. His eyes rolled back in his head. One finger trailed up his dick from the base to the tip and he jutted forward again. “So sensitive.”

“It’s been awhile.” Bob whispered, unsure of why he’d said it. Maybe you’d stop if you knew. He hoped you wouldn’t.

“Hmm, I can tell. You’re all jumpy.” Your voice was like honey as you repeated your actions and pressed another kiss through the material. He could feel your hot breath through the fabric. “You gonna let me suck you off? Been thinking about it for weeks.”

If Bob’s brain hadn’t broken already, this was going to be it. This was gonna be how he died.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah, I’ll let you.”

“Take these off. Wanna see you. You’ve been hiding from me.” you murmured, tapping his covered thigh and his stomach, indicating that you wanted his boxers and his t-shirt off. Bob did as you asked and you stood to take off your own shirt and pants. You were left in this simple set of black underwear that shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was, but it left Bob aching for more. The ache was obvious in the bob of his cock.

He’d always known you were beautiful. He’d seen it when you whipped off your shirt at the beach the one day Mav had taken you all down there for dogfight football at the start of their team’s bonding period. You’d been left in your sports bra and shorts and he’d nearly fallen over at the first glimpse of your stomach and breasts. He’d won the game for you, though he hadn’t said anything, and he’d been too shy to take off his own shirt to show off like the others had. But you weren’t with them tonight; you were with him.

Then you dropped to your knees. Bob’s eyes widened behind his glasses, his breath coming out in deep pants and you hadn’t even really touched him. He gulped as you shuffled forward and the back of his knees hit the wall beside his bed. You steadied him with your hands on his thighs and Bob struggled with where to put his hands. He wanted them in your hair, but he wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted and he was completely at your mercy at the moment.

Like you knew exactly what he was thinking, you guided one of his hands to the back of your head and he almost smiled. Almost. Because then you had your hands on his cock for real this time, your warm hands pumping the delicate skin up and down his shaft in alternating motions. Bob whined and immediately clapped his other hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

“Don’t do that.” you whispered, breath reaching the sensitive skin you were working, “Wanna hear you. Wanna hear what I’m doing to you.”

Bob’s head hit the wall. Because as soon as you stopped talking, you ran your tongue up his length. From his balls to the tip of his cock that was now flushed and angry and weeping so much precum he wasn’t sure he hadn’t come yet. Either you were really good at this or it had been longer than he’d thought. You weren’t finished.

You popped the head of his cock into your mouth and swirled your tongue around the tip, pressure surrounding the sensitive skin of his cock. He was panting now, one hand loose in your hair and the other pressing against the wall beside him. One of your hands was still pumping him while the other held the tip steady so you could really take him. And take him you did.

Bob groaned, a guttural sound, as you leaned forward and took a few inches of him into the warm confines of your mouth. The slide of your tongue against the underside of his dick felt heavenly.

“Oh my god.” he groaned, focusing on the feeling of your mouth. This was the best blowjob of his life, by far. “Shit.”

You pulled off him for a moment and Bob almost whined at the loss of contact with your mouth until the most sinful of words was escaping your mouth.

“You can fuck my mouth, Floyd. I won’t break.” The hand you’d been pumping his cock with lifted up to touch the hand he had tangled in your hair and you nodded up at him. He’d barely registered that when you took him in your mouth again and this time, you didn’t let up until the head was bumping the back of your throat. The pressure was insane.

“Jesus, woman, you’re going to be the death of me.” Bob groaned, hand tightening in your hair. He could feel you hum around him and his cock twitched at the sound. If you kept this up, he wasn’t going to last very long. He kept his hand firmly in your hair as you worked in a rhythm of blowing him, bobbing your pretty head in front of him. “I’m close.”

You pulled off again and he did whine. “That’s fine. I’m not finished with you yet.”

This time, you moved your hand to gently circle his balls and he felt them tightening up before he was really ready. When you sucked him back down your throat and dragged a nail down the center of his balls, it was game over. He shattered, hand in your hair and the other one against his abs as he cried out, hips stuttering into your mouth shallowly while you swallowed his release. When you pulled off, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled softly up at him.

“Fuck,” he whined, “didn’t mean to finish so fast. Haven’t even touched you. Wanna touch you.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, voice hoarsened by what you’d just done. Bob hauled you up from the floor and dragged you to the bed. You let him. He ended up on top of you, completely naked and between your thighs. “You been thinking about touching me, Floyd?”

“So much.” Bob trailed a finger from the bottom edge of your bra down to the top edge of your panties and pressed a kiss just above your naval. You shivered at the contact. “Thought about worshipping between your legs and fucking you in the locker room.”

“I never thought you’d have it in you.” You grinned wickedly and pulled him down for a kiss. “What else did you think about?”

“Thought about making out with you at the Hard Deck and showing the guys who you belong to. Wanted to take my time with you and fuck you slow and steady here in my bed.” Bob punctuated that particular sentence with a slow thrust of his hips against your core and was rewarded with a whine of his own from your lips. He may have just gotten off five minutes before, but he was already growing again and he knew he’d be ready for another round as soon as he made his fantasies a reality.

“So why don’t you?” you asked, looking him dead in the eyes.

“You gonna let me take my time between your legs. Touch you here?” Bob murmured, trailing his finger between the seam of your legs now and your hips jumped.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d let you.”

“Good.” He took his time holding himself up with his knees and one hand as he leaned in to kiss you. He should’ve felt disgusted tasting himself on your lips, but somehow it was hot as sin and he groaned into your mouth. Two seconds later, his hand was on your back, unclipping your bra with just one hand. You gasped into his mouth in surprise. He smiled.

Then he was leaning back on his knees and pulling your bra off, tossing it over his shoulder. You laughed and helped him take off your underwear. Bob’s voice grew quiet as he looked over your body, completely bare in front of him for the first time. You didn’t seem self conscious as you lazily looked him over, waiting to see what he would do next.

Bob shuffled down the bed and ran his hands down the tops of your thighs, slowly spreading your legs so he could see exactly what he’d been dreaming about for months. He wasn’t disappointed. Your center winked at him, clenching and unclenching in a fluttery motion. He drew his thumb from your clit to your center, then traced your folds gently. Your hips jumped away from the gentle touch.

“Sensitive?” he asked, grinning from his space between your legs. You shot him a glare.

“Quit teasing, Bob, or I’m getting up and leaving your ass here. That’s twice in one night and my patience is growing thin.”

“I’ve got you.” He settled down, hips to the bed and came face to face with your pussy. He blew on it gently and was rewarded with a groan as you clenched again on nothing. “So pretty.”

The first kiss he placed to the skin of your inner left thigh, just next to where you wanted him. He followed up quickly with another kiss to your right thigh. Then, he felt your hand on the top of his head. Finally, he drew his tongue from the bottom of your channel up to the top and swirled his tongue in firm pressure around your clit. Your resounding whine gave him confidence as he held your hips steady and started eating you like a man starved.

He didn’t just eat you. He worshipped you. Just like he said he would. He drew patterns against your clit and your folds, alternating pressure and sucking on that sensitive button every once and awhile just to make you squirm in his hands. Soon, you were gasping and pulling on his hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He ground his hips into the bed, fully hard again as he drew you closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Oh my god,” you whined, voice hitting a new pitch the closer you got to your orgasm. Bob used that moment to introduce two fingers and he pressed upwards with them in a new motion that had you keening. He smiled and started rubbing his thumb in deliberate circles over your clit. “‘M close!”

“I know.” he replied simply and replaced his thumb with his mouth, applying a gentle suction that had you crashing around his fingers and whining his name. He kept up with his thrusts, letting you ride out the aftershocks and you quickly yanked on his hair to pull him away due to the overstimulation.

“C’mere.” you gasped, pulling him up for a kiss. He obliged and kissed you, tongue delving deep to dance with yours. It was filthy and it was perfect. You broke away. “Need you inside me. Right now. I’ve waited long enough.”

Bob nodded and climbed off of you to get a condom from the box he kept in his drawer. It was for emergencies like this one, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d grabbed one. He ripped one of the foil packets open and rolled it on and you pulled him over you yet again.

Your legs were wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass as you tried to pull him into you. Bob remained steady and held himself up over you, his strength surprising you.

“What’re you waiting for?” you whined, reaching between your legs. Bob stopped you, pulling back.

“I said I wanted to take my time with you.” he murmured, reaching down to run the head of his cock up and down your slit. The juices coated his tip quickly and you groaned.

“Fuck that. I want you to fuck me.” you said firmly, staring directly up at him. Bob smiled and leaned down to kiss you. And then he drove his hips home in one solid thrust, punching the air from your lungs as your body rushed to accommodate his length. Because Bob was long and just the right thickness to slightly rearrange your insides. Your moan was long and drawn out against his mouth and he hurried to kiss you again.

He hadn’t moved after that first thrust, letting your cunt adjust to the beating he was about to give it. But then you were pressing your heels against him again and nodding for him to move, and how could he say no?

Bob pulled out until just the tip was inside you and drove in again, stealing another moan from your lips. He continued that pace for a while until he felt you clenching around him and started thrusting even deeper and harder. Your leg shifted just enough that he was able to slide the last of his dick into your channel and the whine you gave him was like music to his ears as he panted into your neck.

Just from the way you were squeezing him, he could tell that you were nearly there and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last either. Being inside you was even more heavenly than being in your mouth and his hips started to stutter the closer he got to his own orgasm. You reached between your legs to touch your clit, but Bob swatted your hand away and reached down to touch you himself. His thumb drew firm circles and soon you were clenching again, crying out. Bob leaned in to kiss you again, swallowing those pretty sounds and reaching his own crescendo between your thighs.

He pulled out and flopped over beside you, settling your body against his.

“That was good, Floyd.” you murmured, head resting on his chest where his heart was nearly beating out of his ribcage. Bob drew his hand over your hair and smiled.

“Yeah, it was,” he said quietly. “Do you wanna shower?”

“You joining?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Please. I’m not sure my legs will work.” you sighed and Bob laughed. He shouldn’t have, but it felt right and he was rewarded with your own sleepy giggle.

“C’mon, let’s get you showered. You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in.”

“M’kay.” you murmured sleepily and allowed him to pull you into the bathroom. He turned on the showerhead and gathered two pairs of his boxers along with an oversized shirt for you.

“Hope you don’t mind. I usually just sleep in my boxers.” He shrugged and set his glasses on the bathroom counter.

“I don’t mind.” you hummed, stepping into the shower. Bob stepped in behind you, being careful to always stay within reach of your body. You were right. Your legs were a bit wobbly from the position you’d put yourself in during sex, but you weren’t upset about it. It was a good ache.

Bob handed you a washcloth and poured some sort of botanical smelling soap on it, letting you clean yourself while he did the same thing to his own body. And that’s when you really, really looked at him. Bob was toned. You knew he had to be in order to maintain the rigorous PT standards you had to follow, but he was more toned than you expected and you drew your hand over his abs.

“Why do you hide all this with those shirts all the time?” you asked softly, standing in the spray of the shower. Bob squinted at you and shrugged.

“I don’t really care to show off. It’s not my nature.” he answered, and that was that. The rest of the shower was quiet, but filled with soft kisses and wandering hands. It was a miracle you ended up outside the shower, dressed and not in it going for another round. You wanted to, but you knew you were too tired and you weren’t sure Bob’s body could handle yet another orgasm in the space of an hour.

He handed you an extra toothbrush and you brushed your teeth sleepily, ready to crash. It was only when you were in bed beside him, alarms set for him to drive you home in the morning before work that he broke the silence.

“Are we gonna talk about what this means?” Bob asked quietly. Timidly. Scared of the answer.

“In the morning. Right now I just want you to hold me.” you murmured, slipping closer to his side. He reached around your body to spoon you, settling in the gap you’d both made. And you would.

Maybe you’d tell him about your feelings besides the lust-filled ones you’d shared tonight. And maybe he’d tell you he’d dreamed of far more than just sleeping with you. But that could be said in the daylight.

[tayrae515imagines]

Only Bought This Dress So You Could Take It Off.

Requested: Nope! I just love Jake Seresin.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of death. Losing a parent. Brief mentions of smut. Non-consensual  touching (on the face for about two seconds.) Poorly grieving with death. Probably grammar, spelling or punctuation errors. Just go with it. 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Fem!Kazansky!Reader (Call Sign: Frosty)

Type: Angst with a happy ending 

Summary: Inspired heavily on Dress by Taylor Swift. 

Y/N’s relationship with the one and only Jake Seresin has always been difficult to say the least. The two banter back and forth, constantly flirting or taunting each other. They have never been more than friendenemies at best until one day they weren’t and Y/N finds herself yearning for the one man who drives her absolutely crazy. 

Authors Note:  So I have seen Top Gun Maverick about twelve+ times since it came out about a year ago now. I just love it so much. It has easily become one of my favorite movies. From the storyline to the characters and overall movie aesthetic. I have spent the past few weeks reading nothing but Jake fics and felt like writing one myself. 

I have not written anything in a very very veryyyy long time. So this honestly could be bad. But, with that being said, I am so happy with the direction this went in and it feels good to have written again. Please let me know your thoughts. :) I do also want to point out I have somewhat changed the timeline of the movie to fit my story. Thank you so much for reading!

Keep reading

[bellarkeselection]

We’re Never Meant to be Casual

Request - Jake has a best friend but they seem more like that. The squad thinks she is perfect for him but past flings get in the way. One time the reader has enough and pulls away. Jake really misses her and the whole squad tells him one tiny thing, why she is perfect for him.

Thank you to the anonymous asker who sent me some ideas for Jake

Walking towards the exit and out into the parking lot, the automatic lights flicking off behind me as I lock the door. It’s been one of those days where your whole body is just drained. A Marine finally asked for help after ten years of pretending he didn’t need any. I should feel proud but that wasn’t the case…and then I saw my best friend.

Jake Seresin, leaning against my car like he owns the parking lot. Arms crossed with his stupidly perfect grin. The one he uses on women he forgets by sunrise. “Rough day?” he asks, pushing off the hood taking two steps towards me.

“Long…..hard….the usual I suppose.”

“You okay?”

I should’ve lied and said yes. But I knew I couldn’t keep this massive crush on him buried any longer, especially since he could get called for deployment at any moment and then I’d never have the chance to tell him.

Reaching into the pocket of my blue jeans I drew out a St. Michael medallion. My dad carried it on both deployments. My brother carried it too. Rubbing my thumb over it the edges worn smooth from years of being held during moments when fear was louder than faith. “This was my dad’s, my brothers. They carried it on deployment…. I want you to have it.”

His gaze lowered to his palm that I had pressed the object into before his eyes went bug eyed with fear. “W-why?”

“For protection. For coming home……and because I care about you.”

Jake stared at me for a moment before he suddenly started laughing like I had told him a hilarious joke. “Sweetheart, I don’t need a lucky charm. I’m Hangman.”

My chest goes tight, but I keep my face calm. Years of practice taught me how. Dealing with men who were good boyfriends until we jumped into bed and then that’s when things changed. They swore they weren’t “looking for anything serious.” Men who made me feel stupid for wanting more.

“Right. Of course.”

“Y/n?”

He reaches for my wrist instantly seeing how my whole body stiffened once the words came out of my mouth. I stumbled backwards confidently knowing I’m done being the girl who gets hurt because she hoped too hard. “I’m not doing this again, Jake.”

“Doing what?”

“Being the girl who loves you more than a friend while you pretend you don’t.” I meet his gaze and for once I don’t look away when his mouth opens but nothing comes out. “I’ve had enough flings to know when I’m about to be another one.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just - how long have you had feelings for me?”

Shifting my feet backwards I quickly reached inside my bag grabbing my car keys. Giving him a gentle shove I opened the driver's door, sitting down in the seat with a huff starting the car. “I’m your best friend. And I can’t watch you treat me like I’m temporary.”

“Y/n, stop for a second.”

Pushing my foot on the gas driving off without another word leaving him standing by his truck in the empty parking lot. “I’ll see you around.”

A few days later the Hard Deck is buzzing, but the squad’s table is dead silent when Jake drops into the seat beside Coyote, jaw tight, pretending he hasn’t been checking the door every time it opens. All because Y/n’s not here. She hasn’t been here since the parking‑lot disaster. Phoenix watches him for three seconds before she speaks. “You screwed up, Seresin.”

Jake scoffs, leaning back. “Didn’t do anything.”

Rooster raises a brow. “Exactly.”

Coyote leans forward, voice low. “She gave you her dad’s medallion, man.”

“Do you have any idea what that means to someone from a service family?”

“She’s a VA caseworker, Jake. She spends her days helping people who’ve been broken by this life. She doesn’t give pieces of her heart lightly.” Jake swallows hard when Rooster’s voice softens. “And you laughed. Like she was just another girl trying to get your attention.”

“She’s not a fling. She’s not one of your bar girls. And she sure as hell isn’t going to let you treat her like one.”

Jake’s hands curl into fists as Coyote nudges him. “You know she’s had her share of crappy relationships too. Guys who only treat her nicely so she’ll climb into bed with them. Then the next time they act like they don’t know her.”

Bob adds quietly. “She pulled away because she thinks that’s all you want from her.”

“That’s not - I don’t-”

Rooster cuts him off, firm. “Then why do you act like it?”

“I don’t - I’d never do that to her. I’ve - I’ve seen her after most of those breaks ups and have to pick up the pieces when she thinks she’s the problem-“

Jake looks down at his hands trailing off in thought at the faint imprint of the medallion he’s been carrying in his pocket like a secret. Coyote delivers the line that finally cracks him open. “And she’s the only one you’d trust with your dog tags.”

“We’ve all seen it. You guard those things like they’re your heartbeat. But when she held them that one time? You didn’t even blink.” Bob added onto what was said.

“Shit!” Jake dragged a hand down his face in a huff.

He stands abruptly, chair scraping making

Coyote smirks watching him rush out of the Hard Deck. “What kind of friend am I?….I gotta find her.”

“Go fix it, Hangman.” Rooster lifts his beer. “Go get the girl!”

Laying on my small apartment living room couch scrolling through old pictures on my phone I was honestly winding down for bed for tonight until I heard a hard pounding knock on the other side of my door. I went to ignore it until it got even louder where I swore whoever it was might punch a hole through the wood. Tossing my phone down I huffed getting up from the couch going to open the door, firing back at the person. “Hey asshole, in case you didn’t realize it I have neighbors and they certainly won’t appreciate you trying to break into my apartment like the Hulk!”

“Then I guess I’m lucky Ms. Alice finds me charming.”

Jake gave me that typical smirk of his with me leaning my side into the doorway, arms crossing over my chest and a scowl on my face. “What are you doing here, Hangman?”

“Hangman, it’s always been Jake for you.”

Snapping back I watched pure hurt spread across his face. “It used to be that way. Until I realized what kind of relationship we have. You made it very clear I’m clearly not good enough for you that’s why you haven’t been trying to get into my pants. You just tell me you don’t want any serious relationship, friend or otherwise.”

“I never said anything close to that.”

“You laughed at my family’s medallion. You laughed at me when I said I like you, more than a friend. And now this conversation is over.” Stepping beside the door I began pushing it closed till he placed his boot in between the door and the doorway keeping it open. He pushed it open, walking up to me where my back hit the wall behind me before he closed the door with one of his boots.

“I wasn't laughing at you or the family medallion. I didn’t even really mean to do that.”

Dropping my arms down to my sides I bite my lip scowling up at the aviator. Jake and I have been best friends for years, knowing each other better than we know ourselves. “And why should I believe a word you tell me now. How can I know you aren’t just lying to me like all the others so you can end up getting laid tonight hmm?”

“Because of this…” He tugged down the collar of his shirt pulling out a long silver chain that had two dog tag clips hanging on it yet that wasn’t what caught my attention. The other piece that was hanging around the chain was none other than my family’s medallion. Jake met my teary filled eyes as he took another step closer mixing our breathing. “I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me. I didn’t have the heart to. Because every time I think about it I feel nervous because I would only ever trust one person with my dog tags and that’s you. It’s always going to be you Y/n.”

“Jake…”

He held his hands up letting the chain hang loose out the front of his shirt. Green eyes welling up with tears which I rarely ever got to see because most things didn't get to him. “Just let me get this out please. I screwed up and I know that. The Squad told me and I am so sorry for not seeing that until now. I never - I never wanted you to see me like the past boyfriends you've had. I know I'm better than them and so do you. You definitely deserve better than being a fling.”

“Then why did you laugh and say you don't need luck?”

He slumped his whole body in defeat looking like a sad dog that I'd just yelled at when he responded. “Because you scared the hell out of me….because I was stupid enough to think you only saw me as a friend. That's why I was hooking up with other girls cause you were doing it with other guys.”

“Wait so you knew and didn't say anything?” The question slipped out where I just stared at him till a fit of laughter came from my mouth. Hitting my hands on my knees feeling some happy tears falling down my face now. “What kind of pair are we, Seresin?”

Jake joined in my laughter showing me a genuine smile not the cocky one he showed everyone else. “Clearly the painfully unaware kind.”

“Yeah it seems that way.”

“Well I say screw that. I should've done this a long time ago.” He closed the distance between us, crashing his lips down onto mine with a hungry yet gentle passion. A gasp got cut off by his lips and my hands instantly flew into his short blonde hair. Tugging on some of it he drew out a moan, snacking his arms around my waist trailing down until he could lift me up by my thighs. Hooking my legs around his waist we walked to my bedroom down the short hallway while managing to never break the kiss.

I couldn’t really register what was happening till my back was pressing into the soft mattress underneath me because the feeling of my best friend kissing me was far too intoxicating to focus on anything else. Jake removed his lips from mine trailing kisses down the side of my neck which only makes me tug on his hair a little more. He leaned up grabbing the back of his shirt and tugging it over and throwing it across the room somewhere. Parting my lips I scanned his muscular body carefully, feeling a nervous pit building in my stomach when he went to reach for the bottom of my tea shirt.

“Jake, wait.”

Upon hearing my voice his hands stilled and he sat back with his knees bent on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I don't - I don't want this to be like the others…something casual. I refuse to go through that again, especially with you.”

Holding my breath I waited for the typical response. The one that I always dreaded. Yet that wasn’t what came from my best friend's mouth. He carefully lifted a hand brushing some hair out of my eyes. “Darling, we were clearly never meant to be casual. In fact ... .you have me just as much as the Navy does. You own my heart for however long you wanna love me. And I'll tell you right now I really love you a lot.” He grasped both my hands wrapping them around the chain of his tag and now the medallion. He pressed his forehead against mine.

“You love me?”

Butterflies spread across my body while I processed what he just said to me. Jake drew his head back cupping my face in his hands gently looking me directly in the eye. “Yeah, I do.”

“Jake.”

“You don’t have to say it back if you're not ready. Just know that I ain't looking for casual sex with you. I want more than that with the girl who calls her mama twice a week, who can pig out on cheese fries and dances around the kitchen in her pajamas to country music every chance she gets. I want her for the long hall.”

Laughing playfully at him I wrapped my arms around his neck climbing onto his lap, feeling his hands sneak underneath the back of my shirt touching my bare back. “I want the long hall with you, Jacob Seresin.”

“Urgh!.” He rolled his eyes pushing me onto my back, raging his body over top of mine. He glared down, shaking his head at me. “I can’t stand that name you know.”

“Yes, but I'm the only one you let call you it.”

He nodded his head connecting our lips starting another long make out session. “Damn straight, darling. Cause I love you.” He kept his hands pinned down on the mattress so as to not crush me with his body, keeping up a good pace of heated kissing.

Shortly after I push my hands on his chest making him pull away sending me a concerned expression on his face. “I - love - you too.” I slowly replied back to him watching a childish grin spread across his face. Wrapping my arms around his neck I instigated another long kiss, giggling when he flipped us so he was on his back and I was on top. And that's where we stayed, eventually getting tangled up with each other the next morning.

Tag list - just ask to be added @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @frost-queen @elenavampire21 @lover-of-books-and-tea @jssmississippihipie @khouse712 @rootedinrevisions @smoke-and-sparks @avengersfan25 @football1921 @nightqueens-world

[elixirfromthestars]

Pushing It

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: You love pushing your boyfriend’s buttons. And this time, you do so with the help of a little internet prank. Having it end in a way you weren't expecting it to.

WC: 3k

Contains: smut / 18+ mdni / fluff / female reader / oral (f receiving) / overstimulation / a bit of manhandling / Jake being a menace / Jake being a sweetheart / established relationship / starts off silly before we get to the steamy parts 💗

a/n: We're going to ignore that this has been in my drafts for like ten months... 🥲 But when the bestie requests something (even if it takes me forever sorry 😭) she gets it 💗 So thank you to my beloved Mon for inspiring this 💞 Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

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You were pushing your luck with Jake all day and you knew it.

You know he doesn't like pranks, even the silly harmless ones. Which is of course why after seeing a silly trend online, you decided to try it out for yourself. Calling your boyfriend buddy or pal—your friend—shouldn't be too bad, right? Surely, Jake will find it funny.

Jake in fact, did not find it funny.

And you would have to face the consequences of that.

Your face is pressed against the pillow, hands gripping the sheets on either side of it like a lifeline, silent screams of pleasure between attempts at catching your breath fill the air. A few whines slip through, but it's mainly a string of incoherent babbles that causes Jake to double his efforts as he brings you to your third orgasm of the night.

How ever did you find yourself here?

It started in the early hours of the morning. While you and Jake were making breakfast, your mind wandered to a video you saw the night before. A silly prank from one of those couple pages, one where a girl decided to call her boyfriend her friend all day to film his reactions. You thought the way he reacted was cute, and it made you wonder how Jake would react. You weren't sure if you even wanted to go through with it though, it just seemed so silly. But you must have been thinking about it too much because it eventually slipped out all on its own.

“Could you open this for me?” You held out a mason jar of your favorite jam in his direction, struggling to open it. Jake turned to you, stopping his pancake flipping to help you out.

“Sure, sweetheart," he easily popped it open, "Here.” 

“Thanks, buddy. You’re the best.” 

Jake’s brows pinch, freezing for a second, seemingly mulling over your words before brushing them off. There was a small speaker on the kitchen counter shuffling through a mix of his and your favorite songs. The music was low enough to not be obnoxious, but loud enough to drown out some noise. Surely, that must have caused him to mishear you. 

You definitely said baby, not buddy. 

Jake pays no mind to whatever he thought he heard—which isn't exactly the reaction you were looking for. Before you can do anything about it, however, he gently grabs your wrist to pull you into his chest. He starts swaying to the music, hands sliding to your hips to guide you to the rhythm. He's singing along to the lyrics, some cheesy love song, causing you to smile despite yourself. The way he looks at you is no short of a man hopelessly in love.

After such a sweet morning, did you have the heart to continue your silly little prank?

Yes.

Yes you did.

When Jake comes back home from deployment, a part of him looks forward to running errands with you. It might seem strange, but domesticity is a breath of fresh air for him. The grocery shopping, visits to the post office or stops at the bank—hell even retail shopping. He looks forward to all of that with you because it's a small yet integral part of your lives that is now intertwined, and he likes that.

And after a morning that stretched into the afternoon of running errands with you, there's nothing more he'd love than a coffee.

Jake pulls up to the drive thru of a local coffee chain, one you two frequent often. He knows your order by heart and easily recites it along with his own, before he pulls up to the window to pay. You think back to this morning and the same idea pops into your head. You don't say anything at first, not until he hands you your drink.

"Aw, you remembered my order, thanks pal."

The usual smile Jake wears around you falls off his face. This time Jake definitely heard you. The radio was on way too low for him to give you that excuse. 

“I’m not your pal, darlin'," he says coolly, drinking a bit of his coffee as he pulls away from the drive thru. He's trying to play it nonchalant, but you can tell by the way his jaw ticks, he knows you're up to something.

You smile at him innocently. “But you are, you're my best bud," you reply sweetly, taking a sip of your own drink as you watch him side eye you. He's still playing it calm and collected, but you know you're starting to get under his skin. The way he's swirling his drink in his hand like he's trying to process what you're saying says as much.

“You’re pal, huh?” He says it like he's giving you a chance to rectify yourself. His expression is slightly hidden under his sunglasses, and by the way he hasn't taken his eyes off the road. But you'd kill to see the look in his eyes right now.

“Mhm," you hum out simply, studying him for any kind of response. He doesn't give you one though, just nodding thoughtfully as he lowers his cup into the cup holder. That same hand, cold from his drink, snakes its way onto your thigh, exposed by the shorts you're wearing. The icy touch causes you to hiss lowly, eyes darting to the gesture and missing the way the corner of his mouth twitches in response.

He gives your thigh a slight squeeze, voice low in warning, “You do know I could get you off right here, right now, right?”

You hate the way he says it so casual like getting you off is a walk in the park for him. Which it is, but that's not the point right now. You also hate the way your body instantly reacts to him, fidgeting in your seat as your mind runs through examples of exactly how he could do it. And he catches it instantly, smirking and giving your thigh another squeeze with a bit more pressure to tease you.

Maybe he thinks by flustering you he can get you to back down or stop, but with this development in his reactions, it only makes you wonder how far you can push it—push him.

This just means the next time you choose to continue your prank has to be strategic. Enough time to make him feel safe before you throw it on him again. So for now, you'll play it safe, make him feel like you're conceding—like he's won.

You lift his hand from your thigh, intertwining your fingers and bringing it up to kiss your joined hands, almost like a silent apology. His smirk melts into a softer smile, giving you the sign that he's taken the bait. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze as if saying 'it's alright'.

Now to get him when he least expects it.

It happens at dinner. You're sitting across from each other having light conversation when it hits you. You haven't thanked Jake for cooking dinner yet.

“Thanks for cooking dinner, bud. I really appreciate it.” 

He stops chewing, sea green eyes looking up from his plate to shoot you an unamused look, "Sweetheart…"

“What?”

His lips form a thin line, “Don’t play coy, you know what.” 

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you dismiss him before changing the subject. He blinks, eyes narrowing warily at the way you switched between topics so quickly. There's no way you're done just yet. You're not. In fact, you only let the conversation go on for another five minutes before you try him again.

“Could you please pass me the dressing, pal?” 

That does it.

“Darlin’, I don’t think a pal would have done what I did last night,” he reminds you, taking his time with his next bite of food to keep himself composed. Oh, he shouldn't have said that.

“Mm, I don't know,” you bite on your bottom lip to stop the smile that threatens to show itself, “I’ve been with a few buddies that do that, so…”

Jake’s fork clatters as it drops onto his plate. 

You shouldn’t have said that. 

He leans back slowly against his chair, dinner long forgotten in front of him. His gaze travels your form, like a predator seizing up his prey. His eyes darken with heat and warning as he all but dares you, "Say that again."

A shiver of anticipation and nerves runs up your spine, more electrifying than anything. You've come this far to back down now.

“I said that I've been with a few buddies that—" He doesn't let you finish. In seconds he's up and striding toward you. When you're within reach he's hauling you over his shoulder like some barbarian. You shriek, flailing in his hold as he takes you away, yet your heart stutters with a giddiness you can't ignore.

“Jake! What are you doing?” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he's got a tight hold on you. You barely register you're in your shared bedroom when you're tossed onto the bed. You gawk at him, but all he does is grin at you like you have no idea what's coming for you. “Reminding you exactly who I am to you."

Instantly he cages you beneath him, your rebuttal dying in your throat as he kisses you deep and feverish. That kiss a first sign of many that his patience is running thin. He wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes with expert precision, tossing them haphazardly around the room. His hands grasp at every inch of skin they can reach greedily, while yours get lost in his hair, tugging just enough to pull a deep groan from his chest.

“You and your little games," he nips at your bottom lip, shaking his head, "you enjoy riling me up too much.” It's not long before you feel the brush of his fingers against your core causing your lips to part in a needy gasp. He smirks against your mouth, feeling for himself how wet you've gotten for him. He traces a line up and down your slit with just enough pressure to have you stirring underneath him. "Not so talkative now, are we darlin'?" He mocks you with the smugness of a man who knows he's got you right where he wants you. You curse out his name which only serves to amuse him more. His lips connect with yours again, kissing you harder until its all tongue and teeth. One hand cradles the back of your head to keep the kisses deep while the other stays at your cunt. His thumb circles your clit, desperate little moans slip from your lips, and Jake greedily swallows every single one. He's kissing you like he wants to steal all the breath from your lungs until all you're breathing in is him.

It's not until your lungs beg for oxygen that he pulls away. He grins in satisfaction at your kiss swollen lips, but even more so at the way you practically whine at the loss of him. He gives you one quick chaste kiss before he starts traveling down your body. Every press of his mouth to your skin, every devout touch of his hands leave an ardent heat in its wake. Each one is full of a possessive reverence, one that only a man who knows and loves you entirely could give. It's enough to placate you until he reaches the place where you need him most.

When his mouth finally presses against your core, it's slow and torturous. He hikes up your legs, placing them over his shoulders to trap himself between your thighs—exactly where he wants to be. His tongue flicks slowly, lapping lazily, taking his sweet time exploring your cunt as if he doesn't already know every inch of it. Like he doesn't know exactly how you like it and in turn hits you in every way that leaves you wanting more.

You fist the sheets impatiently, hips bucking against his face for more friction, but the grip his hands have on your thighs holds you down. You call out his name in wanton frustration, but he elects to ignore it. His response comes in licking one long stripe up your slit until reaching your clit and mouthing at it, making your legs jerk like you're trying to get away. Jake's eyes shoot up at the action, his gaze locking with yours—dark and heady. "Stay still," he demands, voice muffled from where his lips refuse to detach themselves from your core. “I can’t—please—I can’t,” you beg in between broken breaths. You know what you're begging for, he knows what you're begging for. But he's not exactly inclined to give it to you just yet.

“Yes, you can, sweetheart. You’re always so good for me," he praises you, twisting his head ever so slightly to nip at your thigh, "Are you this good for all your pals?” That last word is said with a harsher edge, with a bit of ire at the thought of anyone else having you in the way he has. You shake your head immediately, “No! No, baby. Only you.” He hums, the vibrations against your thigh making the ache between your legs worse, “What was that?” He bites down a bit harder on your skin, clearly wanting to leave a mark. And every time you try to speak up, he bites and sucks another mark into your skin, rendering you speechless as your need hits a boiling point.

"Jake!" The way you say his name makes him pause. You're on the cusp of utter ruin in the best way and he keeps depriving you of it, and you're sick of it. He chuckles, a wolfish gleam in his eye as he decides he's toyed with you long enough. He removes his mouth from your thigh, preening at what he's left behind for you to discover tomorrow. The intensity in his stare and tone is almost too much for you, “Now darlin', you be good for me, 'cause if you don’t stop moving and I have to stop what I’m doing—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow with what I'll do to you.” You swallow hard, heart racing in your chest knowing he'd make good on that promise. So you decide to listen—for now.

It really does seem like Jake is done prolonging your punishment, as the next time his mouth connects to your cunt he goes at it harder, fervently. Alternating between suckling and fucking your core with his tongue, driven by the desperate sounds falling from your lips. Eating you out like you had starved him of this all day. Giving you exactly what you need to reach the peak he has been holding you back from getting to all this time.

“That’s it darlin’, give it to me.” You barely hear him grunt out the words as your own moans ring in your ears. You come hard, one hand reaching down to tangle in his hair like you need it to ground you from the euphoria he's taken you to. But he doesn't stop there. He continues his ministrations, helping you ride out your orgasm, and then some. Not even stopping when you tug at his hair to get him away, a deep growl falling from his lips at the mix of pain and pleasure.

Jake keeps going, pulling away for a moment only to readjust his position to allow two of his fingers to enter you. He pumps them inside you at a rhythm that drives you crazy, crying out in want. He curls them just right, hitting the spot that makes you see stars, lips sealing around your bundle of nerves and sucking hard. His free hand slides up your body to palm at your breast, stimulating you even further until you can't seem to form any thoughts. At this point, you're riding his face shamelessly, driven by pure desire.

You come a second time, covering his face in your essence. Mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure as you're positively overwhelmed by everything you're feeling. From the top of your head to the tip of your toes, you're buzzing with an all consuming bliss. Jake finally decides to take a bit of mercy on you. He laps at you softly, easing you from your climax in a gentler manner than before. Dropping whispers of praises into your skin of how good you were for him and how much he loves you.

“You made a mess, baby. Look at you,” he groans in utter want, staring at how soaked you've left his hand and sheets beneath you. He's suddenly aware at how painfully hard his dick is straining against his pants. He's honestly surprised he didn't come undone with how badly you have him worked up.

Jake's clothes suddenly start feeling stuffy, so he reluctantly removes himself from you to get rid of his shirt. Even in your post orgasm haze you find yourself shakily sitting up, hands reaching out to help him remove his belt. He chuckles in disbelief at your readiness to keep going, hooded eyes looking up at him, tempting him to go all the way. But when your hands reach for the button on his pants he stops you. You frown at him, a pout starting to form that he swipes away with a soft brush of his thumb. He cups your face with both hands, your own landing on his bare chest, golden skin beneath your finger tips as he pulls you in for another kiss.

But this time its different. It's searing, full of worship. He holds you against him like only you matter. Like you need to understand this had nothing to do with your silly little prank, and all to do with something he needed to prove.

When the kiss breaks, he's staring at you affectionately, but there's a seriousness to his gaze that pins you in place. “I’m not your buddy, bud, pal—none of that. I’m yours. And I’m gonna remind you of that all night, darlin’.” He whispers a promise full of devotion and heat before falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. You know when Jake's determination has taken a hold of him there's nothing that can stop him.

You're about to have a long night indeed.

a/n: Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated my lovelies! ♡♡♡

top gun masterlist || main masterlist || library blog

[jtheteenagewitch]

[elixirfromthestars]

You said it my lovely!! 🤭😏💞💞

[dingochef]

Damn.

[sunderlust]

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader) 

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, alcohol consumption, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date. 

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin. 

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.  

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.  

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects. 

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.” 

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders. 

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose. 

“What? Blood?” 

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger. 

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic. 

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?” 

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate. 

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face. 

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?” 

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question. 

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile. 

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?” 

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?” 

“If they’re better questions, yeah.” 

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.” 

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?” 

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-” 

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.” 

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.” 

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.” 

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?” 

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?” 

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?” 

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say. 

It’s nice. 

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.  

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.” 

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help. 

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.” 

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly. 

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.” 

-- 

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game. 

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?” 

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice. 

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.” 

“He gonna let you write that other thing?” 

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly. 

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend -  into the late hours of the night.  

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes. 

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.” 

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”  

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?” 

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.” 

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well. 

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask. 

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ” 

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ” 

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you. 

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?” 

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down. 

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.” 

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now. 

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.” 

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.” 

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.” 

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -” 

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -” 

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?” 

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.” 

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?” 

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?” 

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling. 

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?” 

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.” 

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.” 

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?” 

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.” 

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle  and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home. 

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?” 

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster. 

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.” 

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.” 

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?” 

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?” 

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers. 

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes. 

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?” 

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -” 

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!” 

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements. 

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake. 

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?” 

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -” 

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?” 

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.” 

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse. 

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes. 

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour. 

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.  

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.” 

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls.  He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it. 

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more. 

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless. 

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.” 

Ah, and the dream lives on. 

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything. 

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare. 

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other. 

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks. 

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant. 

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him. 

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home. 

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal. 

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe. 

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with. 

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard. 

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to. 

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue. 

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes. 

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.” 

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.” 

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff. 

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?” 

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes. 

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?” 

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?” 

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ” 

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.” 

“I’ll make it,” you insist. 

--

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern. 

“Yeah?” 

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?” 

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.” 

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back. 

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight. 

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily. 

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all. 

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word. 

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he  watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one. 

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss  that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji. 

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you. 

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -” 

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?” 

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.” 

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?” 

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?” 

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking. 

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in. 

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.” 

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily? 

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.” 

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.” 

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?” 

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.” 

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this? 

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words. 

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air. 

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.” 

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit. 

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you. 

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating. 

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold. 

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back. 

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now. 

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!” 

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth. 

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone. 

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin. 

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground. 

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.” 

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.” 

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground. 

“Yeah.” 

”…How long?” 

He swallows. “Since New York.” 

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?” 

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart. 

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to? 

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him. 

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin. 

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.” 

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern. 

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can. 

“Sweetheart -” 

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened. 

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets. 

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind. 

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.” 

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control. 

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

--- 

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.” 

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward. 

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around. 

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem. 

They’re not Jake. 

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories. 

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you. 

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake. 

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream. 

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”  

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add. 

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face. 

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out. 

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).  

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out. 

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.” 

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with. 

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated. 

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart. 

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.” 

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you. 

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?” 

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly. 

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar. 

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.” 

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.” 

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today. 

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.” 

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase. 

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row. 

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path. 

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be. 

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him. 

-- 

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously. 

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush. 

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?” 

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.” 

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...” 

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.” 

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last. 

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body. 

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - " 

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink. 

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.” 

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.” 

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person. 

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.” 

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out. 

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks. 

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence. 

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway. 

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole. 

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen. 

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment. 

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into  your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat. 

He’s really here. 

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch. 

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.” 

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice. 

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.” 

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further.. 

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming. 

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him.  “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic. 

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?” 

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?” 

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms. 

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.” 

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.” 

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend. 

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?” 

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets? 

People change indeed. In more ways than one. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?” 

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can. 

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, 2 Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ” 

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.” 

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully. 

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...” 

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.” 

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.” 

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest. 

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

--

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

[helloimhereforabit]

I SWEAR TO GOD THIS IS THE BEST JAKE SERESIN FIC IVE EVER READ.

Im going to re read this and re read this and re read this. This is genuinely everything I want in a fic! Your characterization of him is perfect. I love you forever for writing and sharing this ❤️❤️❤️

[dingochef]

Reblog to read later.

[hyperfixations-go-brrr]

Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Pt. 1

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Summary: After months of being on a squad with Hangman, you finally get to see the real him when it’s just the two of you.  Reader’s call sign is Squeaks Title from “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader Insert, Reader has a Call Sign, Star Gazing, Flirting Note: I love writing colleagues/annoyances to lovers where you can pinpoint the moment Reader starts feeling differently toward a person based on how they’re referred to in the mind. So 👀 look out for when Hangman becomes Jake 🤭🤭Let Top Gun Summer begin!! Word Count: 2.2K | Cross-posted on Ao3 Part One |

The waves lapped soothingly across the beach as you sat in the sand and gazed out at the dark ocean, the water barely illuminated by the moonlight. Behind you, the loud thumping of music leaked through the doors that led into the Hard Deck Bar. Inside, your teammates and friends were enjoying their night of freedom. You had been too, but there was nothing you enjoyed more than being able to appreciate a dark and peaceful beach, so you had slipped out the back and walked until you met the shore.

It was hard to see stars in Miramar, given the light pollution, but if you squinted enough, you could just make them out. You gazed up at the sky, letting your thoughts wander. You’d been at Top Gun for a couple of months now, which was sometimes hard to believe. Hard to believe you made it onto the Dagger Squad and that the Navy saw it fit to keep the squadron around for similarly dangerous missions.

Under Maverick’s tutelage, the Dagger Squad worked like a well-oiled machine, at least, it did now. It had been pretty rocky at the beginning, given how everyone was vying for the limited spots on the mission and whatever the hell Rooster and Hangman had going on. You couldn’t really picture yourself with any other team, though.

“Make out any constellations?” The voice roused you from your thoughts. You turned your head to the side and spotted Hangman walking up beside you, his shoes in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Speak of the devil.

“You see right there?” You pointed into the sky, Hangman’s eyes following. “That’s Ursa Major and I think that one over there is Canis Major cause the brightest star is Sirius.” He sat beside you in the sand, silently handing you off the water. You took it, but didn’t comment.

“You good? You kinda dipped out without telling anyone,” he asked.

“Too stuffy in there. Plus, I never get to enjoy the sand like this.” To emphasize your point, you scooped a handful of damp sand and watched it fall from your fingers.

“Like what? All up in your ass crack?” Hangman laughed, showing off his teeth. You huffed out a laugh, not at all willing to stroke his ego with a real one. You couldn’t remember a time, if ever, that the two of you had had a one-on-one conversation. Usually, your interactions were limited to group settings, where he would say something stupid and slightly chauvinistic or shamelessly flirt with you and then he’d get dogged on by the rest of the team.

“No.” You made a show of rolling your eyes, turning your body to face him. “I meant at night and without hordes of people around. There’s something very calming about digging your feet into the sand and listening to the waves.” You wiggled your toes for emphasis, the sand on top falling away.

“What, like this?” Hangman asked, burying his own feet into the damp sand. He folded his arms around his knees, copying your body position. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in before letting it out, the tension slowly leaving his frame. “That is nice,” he admitted.

The conversation lapsed into silence, the two of you choosing to instead embrace the tranquility. Hangman kept his eyes on the horizon, listening for the crashing waves and gentle laps as they crossed the beach, while you returned to gazing at the stars.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a deceptively complex man. On the surface, he presented himself as an arrogant, yet incredibly proficient, pilot and an even cockier womanizer. While those aspects of him were certainly true, you could sense there was more to him that he buried beneath all that macho bullshit.

You had seen it first hand after he risked his life to ensure that Maverick and Rooster made it back from the mission in one piece. You remembered the way that sinking dread had settled over the reserve Daggers as you heard the news that not only had Maverick gone down, but Rooster, too. Hangman hadn’t given up on them, he’d stayed poised and ready to assist in their rescue and it was because of him that there had been a celebration rather than two funerals.

Jake Seresin had proven his call sign wrong that day; he hadn’t left his teammates hanging. It was hard not to admire him in some small way after that. Although, you probably would never voice it; no need to stroke his ego even more.

“So, why Squeaks?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. You turned to face him, but immediately turned away at his shit-eating grin.

“It’s really stupid,” you tried to dissuade him.

“Most call signs are, that’s just how it goes.” There was that smile again, all bright and charming. Your resolve cracked, not that it was that strong in the first place.

“It’s because of my shoes,” you admitted, hanging your head dramatically. You’d come to love the call sign, but retelling the story of how you got the name was still just as embarrassing.

“Your…shoes?” he asked, clearly amused.

“I just wanted to be comfortable on my day off; I didn’t know my slides would squeak so loudly,” you cried out, your tone exasperated. “My squad immediately started in on the jokes and the name Squeaks just stuck,” you sighed out, burying your feet deeper into the cool sand.

Jake let out a full-body laugh, his shoulders shaking with the weight of it. You glared at him half-heartedly, even as you felt your cheeks burn.

“Knowing you, this makes complete sense.” He swiped tears from his eyes, clearly exaggerating the motion to get a rise out of you. All the while, his smile never faded once. He caught the way your eyebrow raised and rushed to say, “Not an insult!”

“Uh huh,” you replied, dryly. “How else am I supposed to take that?” you teased, no heat behind your tone. Under the starlight, your eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I never thought the call sign fit you well, you know? I thought it was a quip about you being as quiet as a mouse or something and that’s just not you.” Jake leaned back on his arms and stretched his legs out, his gaze following the patterns of the night sky. You watched him curiously, wondering where he was going with this. “You have your quiet moments, sure, but you always speak your mind when it matters. You’re determined and persistent and even after you got assigned that call sign, you still wear those god-awful shoes.” Your breath hitched from the intensity of his speech.

“Wow, I didn’t know I had my own stalker,” you joked, trying to settle the uncomfortable feeling rising in your chest. You hadn’t expected such high praises from Jake of all people. To a pilot like him, you figured you fell in as background noise, but he had seen you in a way no one else had in a long time.

“Not a stalker, just observant.” He smiled like it was a secret between the two of you. It sent butterflies throughout your stomach, a feeling you thought you’d never have over Hangman of all people. “I notice a lot about you,” He said it off-hand, like it wasn’t a big deal. Your cheeks warmed from the attention.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” you asked hesitantly, almost afraid of his answer.

“Like how you get easily irritable if it's too hot outside, which it usually is because it’s California, or how you doodle on the margins of mission briefs if the meeting drags on for too long.” Jake took a deep breath before continuing, “How you reapply your lip balm every hour or so because your lips are always dry from biting them.” You blinked owlishly as he finished. Out of everything you thought Jake might notice about you, it was the small things that stuck out to him.

“I don’t know, that sounds pretty stalker-like, Jake,” you said with a laugh, trying to diffuse the building pressure between the two of you. You couldn’t put a name to the feeling, only that you knew it was starting to slip into something not appropriate between colleagues, but it was hard for you to care when he was looking at you with those eyes. He looked at you like you were the center of the universe, like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing at that moment than talk to you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me Jake before,” he admitted. His smile softened, as if he knew he had found a crack in your armor. It was true, in all the time you’d spent with the Daggers, you had kept the barrier of first names between Jake and you, in part because of his excessive play-flirting.

“Didn’t want you to think you had a chance,” you admitted, looking up at him through your lashes. He looked a little shocked at your answer.

“And now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. He fiddled with his fingers, that smooth Hangman persona reduced to anxiety. You licked your lips in thought of how to answer him, all too aware of his eyes following the motion.

“Now, what?”

“Now do I have a chance at a date with you?” His tone seemed sincere, happy even. His words hit your heart like an arrow, but your traitorous mind was already running the scenarios for how this could play out. There were too many ways it could go wrong.

“...No.” It felt untrue to even say it, but you couldn’t let one single night with Jake sway what you already knew about it, even if it pained you to see the way his face fell into confusion. “Just because you flirt with anyone who has a pulse does not mean I’m going to let you disappoint me.” Jake’s eyebrows shot up at your accusation.

“Why are you so sure that I’d disappoint you?” he asked, earnestly. He continued on before you could answer, already rushing to defend himself. “I may be a flirt, but I am not a cheater. If you said yes to me, you’d be the only one.” You tilted your head at his words, involuntarily envisioning what it would be like to be with him in such a way. It was crazy how hours before, you wouldn’t have even given him the time of day outside of team-bonding hangouts. Now you were seriously debating spending more one-on-one time with the man. Your nose twitched at the thought. “Oh come on. I’m just gonna keep asking you out until you say yes, y’know?” he said, putting on that award winning smile once again.

“That’s more likely to earn you a restraining order than a date,” you deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at his audacity. You feigned a yawn and brought your hand to your mouth, using it to conceal the smile that tugged at your lips. You couldn’t believe you were actually falling for Jake Seresin’s charms. Maybe you needed a trip to the base’s medical unit.

“Now, hold on.” Jake raised his hands up in mock surrender. “I know how to take a rejection.” You interrupted him with a snort. “But you hesitated to say no. Look, I know in the past I’ve been–”

“Aggressively arrogant and sexist?”

“Hard-headed,” he finished, pursing his lips at your add-ons. “Please, just give me one chance. One date and if I blow it, we never have to mention it again. I promise.”

“You promise? You’re not gonna parade it around for your boys?” That was the last thing you needed, to be known as easy while on a naval base.

“I promise,” Jake reassured you. “Me and you will be the only ones who’ll know. Scout’s honor.” He even held up three fingers to make the pledge to you. You had to stifle a smile at his ridiculousness.

“Fine,” you agreed, getting up and dusting the sand off of you. “You get one date, Seresin. Better make it good.” You held your hand out for him to take and he did so eagerly, pulling himself up off the ground.

“I think I did a pretty good job at this pre-date, so I think I’ll be fine.” There was that cockiness, but it didn’t bug you like it normally would.

“Hmm, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.” With your shoes clutched in one hand and the water bottle Jake had given you in the other, you began the trek back to the Hard Deck. “Goodnight, Hangman,” you called out over your shoulder, pleased that the darkness would conceal from him the smile on your face and the heat on your cheeks.

“Goodnight, Squeaks,” he yelled back, his voice carrying over the crashing of waves. Once he watched you sneak back into the bar, he took a deep breath and released it before turning his gaze upward. Staring at the same stars you had pointed out earlier, Jake suddenly felt the calmest he had felt in ages.

And it was all thanks to you.

[dingochef]

Like how this is shaping up!

[elliekayfiction]

Dangerous

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: SMUT. Pool table smut.

A/N: SMUT SMUT SMUT It's like smut with some backstory like the last ones. Multiple orgasms, unprotected!PIV allllll the way, Reader giving Jake the time of his life lol, and just a friendly game of pool beforehand. Alcohol consumption for fun for Reader and Jake. Pics from Pinterest and Banner made by me with Canva.

Song Inspo is 'Dangerous' by Sleep Token. Give it a listen please!

Also please consider giving this a look (as well as my other fics) on Wattpad! Would really appreciate some engagement over there as that is where I primarily post. As always, I appreciate likes, reblogs, comments, etc. Thanks and enjoy!

Taglist: @dizzybee03@djs8891@crossskylinesandcontrails@khouse712@barnesboo1967@kmc1989@fantasyfootballchampion@kaleysbookshelf@rootedinrevisions@cowgirlstateofmind89@teacupsandtopgun@sunnysidevans@mlqueen89@harmonic-tempest@tgmreader@simplypaisleyjane@fanficmom94@lunatygerqueen @abbysglenera @laurenwren91

Yes, this starts out like every other fucking story about Hangman. Or as you knew him, Jake. 

Just Jake.

Every girl knows Hangman, or...Jake. Well, no, they know him as Hangman. Very few, if any, get to call him Jake. You though? You do.

Jake, for most situations with exceptions, but it was all in the inflection, the tone, the tamber in which his name slipped from your lips.

Jakey, when you were teasing him.

Jacob, when you wanted to punch him in his pretty mouth.

But is this the same as every other story you've heard about Hangman? Maybe. Boy meets girl. Girl teases boy mercilessly. Boy falls in love. Truly. Madly. Deeply. But boy doesn't want to tell girl because...why?

Boy doesn't know what he wants.

Jake has a small house, humble even for him, a single level, small yard, fenced in and a carport for his truck. Jake's truck was usually the butt of jokes.

He's compensating. He's got a tiny ween. But you knew he wasn't. He wasn't the biggest guy you'd been with, but he was packing a perfectly average length and girth of cock that he for sure knew how to use, among other things.

No, Jake just liked the things he liked. That made him picky with partners. And over time he'd begun to realize that there wasn't ever going to be a girl like you. Someone who knows all of his quirks, all of his icks, all of his favorites.

But something had changed between you two. Jake had just broken up with the last girl, some pretty little blond that worked at the Hard Deck. You were sure that would be awkward next time you went for drinks. And you, you had broken up with the guy that almost punched Jake out for hugging you. That was a wild couple of months.

Jake had been wracking his brain, trying to figure out his feelings, the feelings that kept growing the more he saw you with that guy, the more he hung out with the little blond, the more everything and everyone tried to force the two of you apart.

It just made Jake want you more. You were his best friend. His favorite person. Even more than Roos or Javy. His attraction to you felt...dangerous. More than a mission gone wrong. More than engine failure. More than anything he'd ever experienced, this, these feelings...felt lethal.

But what could he do?

He invited you over and you came, of course. It was better than sitting alone in your tiny apartment. Jake's little house was cute. The single level was convenient, and the perfect size for him and the scary black Malinois, Ballast, with the amber eyes, who looked like a demon, but was actually the sweetest boy.

Jake had an odd assortment of things. Not so much decor, but just...things. He had his big diesel truck, lifted on thirty fives, blacked out and accented with red. He had a riding lawnmower, as if he couldn't be bothered to walk with the push mower. He had one bedroom, but it was huge, with a walk in closet and a full bath with a fancy walk in shower. Jake redid it himself when he first bought the house. He also had the hot tub out back, which you and he had christened the first night by spending hours in it, shit-talking and making out.

Then there was of course the pool table. That was in its own room, the only room that was really decorated. It gave bar vibes with pictures of planes, license plates, random signs that Jake had collected (or stolen) over the years, and the small bar in the corner where he kept only top shelf shit. Next to that was the kitchen but Jake wasn't exactly a five star chef. He did simple meals, but anything he made was good.

The living room had a huge tv that he left on during the day if he left Ballast home, though that rarely happened. Jake was currently testing new jets, and he was able to bring him to the base, but when he couldn't, you would often find Ballast sitting on the couch napping, or straight up watching whatever show was on.

Most nights you and Jake hung out and it usually led to more, but you always went home. You never talked about it. He never asked you to stay and you never asked either. And you dated other people, so did he. But you both never quite felt right with anyone else.

But tonight, he was going to make sure you stayed. He wanted you to.

When you arrived, Jake had gotten takeout from your favorite place, the little taqueria close by that had the best chicken tacos you'd ever eaten. It was already laid out on the kitchen island, plated with a drink next to it, but Jake was nowhere to be found.

Ballast greeted you happily, tail helicoptering with excitement. You knelt down to greet him, rubbing his ears and butt for a good solid minute before Jake sauntered in from his bedroom. You smiled warmly at him, which he reflected back as you stood. He drew you into his arms, the embrace tight and comforting.

There was something different in the feel of it that had you suspicious though. The way his arms nearly crushed you as if he was about to give you the worst news in the world.

"Hey." He said softly, his breath hot against your ear causing you to shiver slightly. You turned your head, kissing him on the cheek softly. He turned, his lips meeting yours then and you couldn't help the giggle that broke the contact. Your eyes met and he bit his lip, watching you for a moment before tipping his head down.

"Someone's feeling spicy tonight." You said, poking your nose at him. "You good?"

"Course. Just really happy to see you, baby." He purred. He motioned for you to sit and eat, a guiding hand at the small of your back. You both relaxed and ate decently quickly, the whole time playing footsies and Ballast watching you closely.

You were messy with tacos and when you got sour cream at the corner of your lips, Jake wiped it with a paper towel. Hot sauce on your chin? Jake grabbed you by the jaw and licked it off, making you laugh so hard you snorted. Everything felt comfortable with Jake. It always did.

Jake cleaned everything up once you were done and he grabbed you another drink. He rinsed off the dishes and threw away the little bit of leftovers.

Jake knew that you liked White Claws and Trulys so he always kept those stocked, but he also knew you enjoyed a variety of sodas too. As soon as you headed to the pool table, or the hot tub, it would be Jack and Coke, Gin and Juice, or Rum. Just one or two. Never enough to get wasted, just enough for an easy buzz.

"So, you wanna watch a movie and then play pool, or other way around?" Jake asked, leaning back against the counter while he dried his hands off. You stood, walking around to him slowly, placing a hand on his chest and invading his space. He smirked down at you, lids lowering as his hands settled at your lower back.

"I guess we could play pool. Don't feel like watching anything but you right now." You mused, making him chuckle deeply.

"Yeah? Well, I'll put on a good show for you then, babygirl." He said, pressing his hips toward you to force you away from him. You took his suggestion, backing away a step and turning on your heels to head toward the pool room.

It gave off its usual vibes but once he entered he caught your attention, turning the lights down.

"Check this out. Just got these." He murmured, flicking a switch on the wall that bathed the room in small green string lights, setting a dark ambiance that made your brows raise. He turned the old overhead fan light off, a relic from the nineties that he didn't feel he could part with just yet, and glided effortlessly to the cue wall.

He took his down, the one with blue tape on the handle and a cactus and serape pattern painted down the shaft to a rounded leather tip stained with blue chalk from many a game. Yours was similar except with a more floral motif, but still western in nature.

"I like the mood lighting. It'll be great for when I kick your ass." You joked as you leaned across the table to grab the eight ball from its spot to place it in the middle of the rack. Jake brushed his hand across your back as he walked behind you to set himself up at the head of the table.

"Mhm. Before or after you tease me some more?" He asked, chalking his cue quickly. He tossed the square to you and raised a brow. "Nine, eight, straight, or one-pocket?"

You deliberately for a moment, trying to pace out the timing for each game. If Jake was on and not super touchy, eight ball would go too quickly. Nine might too. Your favorite was one-pocket because it forced him to slow down and you could always see the wheels turning as he thought three moves ahead of you. You loved watching his mind puzzle over things, eyes darting around, analyzing and trying to find the solution.

"You know how much I love one-pocket." You grinned wide and he matched your energy, tapping his pocket. Always the one to the left of him. You always then picked the diagonal opposite, but this time you decided to take the middle pocket instead.

"Changing it up?" He asked, getting ready to take the first shot. You nodded and motioned for him to go. He took his shot and all the balls broke, one nearly heading straight for your pocket, but bouncing off the side instead. There were a few shots right off the bat that you could make, but before you did, Jake wagged a finger at you. "In numerical order, call your shots."

"Oof. Making me work for it tonight." You mused.

"I promised you a show. I'll show you just how good I am, sweetheart." He said, moving around to where the number one ball was. He lined up his shot and called, "one hits nine out of the way, then one in my pocket" and as always, his precision never surprised you. Just made you hot and bothered. He sank the one ball and then offered you the table.

"Jesus Christ. Jake. Really? On the first shot?" You groaned, setting up for your first go. He chuckled and placed his cue down for a moment so he could pour a glass of whiskey for you both. You glanced over before your shot, noticing the golden amber color of the drink he poured.

"Take your shot, babe." He said, placing your glass down on the shelf behind you.

"Two in my pocket." You said, lining up and whacking the ball a bit harder than you meant to, but still making the shot. You rose, taking a sip of the liquid. It was oaky, vanilla and sweet to the nose and you noted a fruity, rich caramel flavor, with a hint of spiciness and a lingering finish. "Mmm. This is good. What is this?"

"Kanosuke Hioki Pot Still Whiskey. Cyclone gave it to me for my birthday last year. Said a friend of his swears by it. I've been saving it." He explained and that dinged alarm bells in the back of your mind. Saving it? For what?

"I like it." You said softly, and Jake noticed the subtle shyness that crept into your tone. He tilted his head, wondering what made you withdraw like that, but then clocking it in his previous words. Saving it. Damn. He had been saving it to share with you, but he knew you thought he meant it for some other special occasion.

Truth be told, this was a special occasion. This was when Jake planned to ask if you wanted to make this official, because it never really was before. You flirted, you fucked, but the feelings never really sank in until now, yours or his. Well, he didn't know about yours, but he was sure of his.

"Jake?" You asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He shook his head.

"Sorry. My shot, right?" He asked, positioning himself for his next.

"Distracted a bit? Is my outfit really that stunning tonight? I surely thought the yoga pants and sweatshirt wouldn't be too much for you."

"Ha ha. So funny. Three, banks off the side, in my pocket." Jake's brows furrowed in concentration, jaw working. You loved getting him frazzled. But it never seemed to be enough because he sank the shot like he always did. He tapped his fingertips on the side, his eyes flicking to the felt for you to take your turn.

"You gave me shit for a shot." You murmured, examining the table with a good walk around.

"That's the point isn't it?" He asked, his voice low, gravelly, and getting slightly more impatient by the minute.

You set up a shot, just one to knock balls out of their positions, but you felt his hand on your back as you hit the ball, the contact screwing with you.

"You did that on purpose."

"Don't get so distracted, darlin'." Jake prowled around the pool table, the line of his jaw tight. He leaned over the felt, positioning the cue for his shot, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Four, banked, into my pocket."

God, the green in those eyes. It made you fucking weak.

In your knees, when they tracked up your body. The ache that settled lower when he stared at you with burning sage blurred the lines of what you thought was just casual. Or at least it was supposed to be. You told yourself this wouldn't go anywhere.

No hanging around. No spending the night. No heavy drinking. And no suspicious substances because the one time you did do that with him, you woke up the next morning with him still inside of you. That wouldn't happen again. You told yourself it wouldn't. It couldn't...you couldn't...

"You good, babygirl?" He asked, before you tipped your head down, clearing your throat. His lips contorted into a sly smirk. "Whatcha thinkin' bout?"

Lie.

Lie.

Do it. Lie.

"You." You swallowed hard.

FUCK. Can't like to him.

"Me? What? How easily I could bend you over this table and fuck you silly?" He chuckled, adjusting his stance before taking his shot, eyes still connected to yours. He didn't even look at the ball or the pocket. He hit it, barely, and the damn ball went exactly where he wanted, as if he had some sort of dark magic dominion over the pool table itself.

"Oh yeah? You think I'd let you?" You asked, trying to regain something, some semblance of composure. Your brows rose as he straightened up. His chin dipped, dimples ever present and so very punchable as his lithe form stalked toward you, placing the cue on the raised edge of the table.

"Wouldn't you? If I asked nicely?" He mused, accentuating the last word slightly, in a darker tone, as he stood, back to the table, sidelong to you, leaning back leisurely to meet your gaze again. His lids lowered as you pursed your lips at him. You placed your cue against the table, hands fiddling with the felt on the edge.

"You don't do anything nicely, Jake." You murmured, rolling your eyes and sighing heavily.

"Oh, darlin', you wound me. I do you nicely." He poked his nose toward you and your eyes dropped to his lips, wholly aware of how warm they were, how good whiskey tasted from them, how good he tasted, then quickly rushed back to sage green.

"I wouldn't call it nice. It's like, more of this, I don't know, flailing type of thing that you do, and then the moaning is like, it's extra, and..." You felt his fingers close around your chin, gentle but firmly guiding your mouth to his, and you instantly melted into it. Like no one and nothing ever before, Jake's kiss rendered you fucking useless. The air left your lungs like a dying fire, but he put it back, the back draft burning you down to your core.

And you whimpered when he broke away, his brows knitting in feigned sympathy. He pulled your sweatshirt off first, exposing your bra, a pretty, sapphire colored lacy thing that made him grin. He loved when you didn't wear anything else under your sweatshirt except lingerie.

"You're almost as bad as me with the talking." He joked, his voice low and softer maybe than even he intended. His fingertips drifted, caressing your cheek, the rhythm of your breath and the thudding of your heart the only things filling your ears in lieu of his voice coming through. "And I don't flail."

"What do you call what you were doing on the beach then?" You asked, leaning back away from him slightly.

"Trying to not have us get caught." He said, invading your space once more, this time, his hand traveled around your waist, wrapping tight and pulling you in front of him. Your hands met his chest, feeling his taut muscles through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"And what about right now?" You asked, your nails grazing down his stomach, to the hem, where they peeled the cotton up slightly, so that you could feel his warmth.

"What about right now?" Jake teased, as he watched your lids lower while you pushed your breasts up, arching your body against him. His tongue darted out, licking his lips nervously, before he sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Well, since I don't do anything nicely, why don't you show me what you mean?" He challenged, timbre dangerously low as he brushed his fingers across his belt. His eyes dipped down between you, then back up, and you knew exactly what he meant. You swallowed and wet your lips, letting the tip of your tongue stay just between your lips as you made short work of his belt and the button of his jeans. You hooked your thumbs in his belt loops and slid them down just a little, enough to where you could coax his length from beneath his boxers.

You felt arousal pool at your core as you massaged his cock, long and languid passes, making him groan. He cupped your cheeks then, pressing his lips firmly to yours as you continued to work him in your hand. Already hot and hard, you ran your thumb over the tip, precum leaking from it.

Jake reached down, peeling your hand away before he got to his point of no return. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt as you began to make out furiously. His tongue battled with yours, and you felt his hips grind against you before he halted everything for a singular moment.

"Would you be a good girl for me and get on your knees?" He half asked, half demanded. You obeyed without question, a wide smile affixing to your lips as you sank down his body. He leaned against the table, letting it catch most of his weight. His hands splayed on the felt and you pushed the bottom of his shirt up a bit so that you could taste his skin. You kissed along his happy trail, above the waistband of his pants before pulling them down a bit more.

He let his head fall back as you cupped his balls and exposed them to the warmth of the room. You were gentle as you fondled them. You then licked a line from his base to his tip before taking him in your mouth, just the head at first. You could hear him suck in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring as you went down on him. He ripped his shirt from his body, the fabric stretching, screeching as it nearly shredded.

His hands met your shoulders, one threading through the hair at the back of your neck. As you continued, you felt his hand move again, gathering your hair, and pulling it into a ponytail, his hand then resting at the back of your neck. He gave a short tug, making you moan around him. A chuckle started in his throat but it caught and dissolved into a strangled gasp. You felt him throb, and his other hand met your chin, settling under your jaw. A signal for you to stop, even though you were more than willing to continue.

You let his length drop from your mouth with a soft pop and your gaze tracked up his heaving chest.

"Don't. Want to be inside you when I finish." His words came out strained, and you nodded, pulling his pants down the rest of the way, letting them pool at his bare feet. He hoisted you up, against the gilded and toned skin of his torso, pulling you in tight for a messy kiss. His breath was shaky and he turned you around so that you were against the pool table.

His hands traveled to your waist, lifting you onto the table, then tugging your pants down. Your hands met the back of his neck, guiding his lips to yours as he pulled your panties aside. He invaded your space, his chest meeting yours before he aimed and sank his shot, easily slipping inside your wet warmth. A moan left both of you in sync and you stilled, breath mingling in the ambient green of the room. He removed your bra deftly, showing his dexterity with one hand.

His name spilled from your mouth, taking that as his cue to start a slow rhythm. His hips moved against yours, the friction of the felt against your ass making you groan as he captured your lips again. He pressed deeper, his hands meeting the table. His movements became rougher and his lips connected with your neck, nipping, kissing, sucking at your heated skin.

"Jake, ugh, you feel so good inside me." You moaned, letting your head fall back, and then he pulled out, making you whimper from the emptiness, but he wasn't done. No, he flipped you over, forcing you down over the table, holding your hands above your head. He tugged your panties away before he slipped back inside you and leaned over you, his hand going to the back of your neck. You giggled, feeling Jake adjust behind you, locking your legs in with his.

He groaned your name, and he gave you one, two, three hard thrusts before he stilled. You felt warmth spread inside you, and your breath came in shallow gasps as you clenched hard around him.

You whined again as he withdrew, your brain fuzzy and fucked out to the point that when his arms wrapped around you to drag you onto the floor, you barely realized what was going on. You were floating in a state of bliss, your body boneless, and as he placed you on the rug, you reached for him, nails digging into his biceps.

"One more?" He asked, and you nodded, your cheeks bright red with heat, brow soaked with sweat. He spread your legs, pushing them up to give him a deeper feel, and kissed down your body, then back up, filling you once again. "Fuck...I...fuck...love you."

Your head shot up, eyes meeting sage green. He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from your to your lips as if he was waiting for a reply before he continued. Normally you wouldn't. He knew you wanted to keep going but his admission had caught you so off guard that you had to stop.

You blinked a few times and then stretched up to kiss him, hoping he would just keep going.

But he didn't.

"Stay." He said. It was soft, a demand but almost in a pleading way.

"You never ask me to stay." You say through labored breaths.

"Not asking. Stay. Please, babygirl." He asked, truly asked this time and you couldn't say no. Not to Jake.

"I'll stay. I wanna stay. I've always wanted to stay." You admitted and he didn't waste another second. He began to move his hips back and forth, this time slow and sensual instead of the rushed harshness that he'd had on the pool table. You could feel sticky warmth coating your thighs, your cum mixed with his, leaking out of you as his hips rolled against yours.

Your hands moved to his cheeks, cupping them, fingers caressing the hair at his temples as your mouth felt open, waiting for him to cover it with his own. Of course he did, his tongue tangling with yours, not for dominance, not to win, but to taste. To explore. To feel. To love.

His thrusts became more deliberate, more finite, and you could feel that familiar inferno building in your core again. You reached down, working a finger in rapid circles on your clit, joined by Jake's shortly after to aid you in reaching that perfect peak of pleasure a little quicker. The carpet burning your back, his body sticking to yours, and the sounds of satisfaction spilling from his lips as he fucked you, all added to it, bringing you right to the edge.

And what tipped you over it?

Stay.

You erupted in a gasp of ecstasy, his name coming hard and heavy from your mouth as you came, your nails digging into his back, his neck, lips crashing into his one final time before he collapsed beside you, panting hard. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, one of his arms still draped over you, a leg too.

You could feel the mess between the two of you, the mess that you both made.

"That was..." You began, but he shushed you with a kiss. He inhaled sharply before propping himself up on his elbows, a smirk across his lips. His tongue darting out, wetting them, parting them in a wide grin, his lids lowered as he watched you for a moment.

"We should probably clean up." He murmured, tilting his head, but not moving.

"Since I'm staying though...we can take our time." You whispered, reaching for him. He nodded.

"Yeah, we can. Finally." His sage green eyes met yours, full of the love that had always been there, and had finally come to the surface. 

[harddeckstories]

Pleasure Is No Shame - Part 1

Summary : Walking into a sex shop to buy your first toy at your age was a humiliating enough experience, but running into your arch nemesis there ? Was enough to send you into an early grave.

Pairing : Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader

Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️ :)

Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading !💞

Word count : 5.1k

‼️CONTENT WARNING : suggestive, talking about sex, sex-toys, sex-shop, talks on pleasure and masturbation. No actual smut but sex is heavily talked about.

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“What the fuck am I doing,” you muttered to yourself, staring back at the bright, red neon sign of the sex shop that seemed to mock you.

PLEASURE TEMPLE

What a shitty name. But alas, it was the only sex shop that was relatively close to base, the next one was thirty miles away and no matter how much you sought relief and pleasure, there was no way in hell you would drive that far for a vibrator. You just hoped the inside of the shop wouldn’t be as shitty as the name.

Standing still, frozen in front of the shop, you considered walking away for a split second, not knowing why you felt so ridiculous all of a sudden. You were an adult, a grown woman with desires and needs — there was nothing embarrassing about you going into a sex shop, it was perfectly normal. So why, why were you suddenly so reticent to walk in ?

Pleasure had always been a tricky matter for you — ever since the first time you touched yourself in front of a sketchy porno at the peak of your hormones’ rising during puberty, to the times where you had tried one night stands, trying to get experience and discover what you liked, only to get brutally disappointed and let down every single time.

The rare and few men you had been with didn’t seem to actually know what they were doing, despite them claiming the opposite. And you were never able to guide them, as you were ignorant — yourself — about your own envies and pleasure.

So, finally, after all these years of disenchantment and a talk with Natasha who told you all about the wonders of her womanizer — and how her bedsheets ended up soaked each time she turned it on, you decided to take the leap. To end the constant disappointment, the incertitude, the awkwardness, the frustration — and embrace your sexuality and pleasure, at last be able to thrive in it.

One more pep talk and the reminiscence of all your terrible past experiences finally got you to walk up to the door and push it open. And it might have been the well and true equivalent of opening Pandora’s box.

The store was huge, bigger than what the shopfront outside could ever let on. It caught you off guard a little, you had expected to walk into some small, independent boutique, buy the first tiny vibrator you’d see and walk back the hell out. Your courage had a limited time before it disappeared into thin air and you’d feel the shame creeping back in, the enormity of the place definitely was about to extend your stay. And you’d kill yourself before going up to an employee to ask where the very tame, small and beginner friendly toys were.

Wandering through the shop shelves that were the closest to the entrance, you took a moment to let your eyes wander.

Thundering proudly on the shelf on your left — Dildos, in all shapes, color and lengths. Some made your eyes almost bulged out of their socket from how wide and long they were, God how could they even fit...? It was almost impressing how many different models there were.

Sitting quietly, but deadly, on the right shelf, were womanizers and other vibrators that looked powerful enough to power a small town. Directly next to them were some vibrating butt plugs, along with double penetration vibrating dildos, and next to that—

It was almost dizzying, suddenly being hit in the face with this immensity of possibilities that you had so strongly denied yourself until now, and for what ? Shame, fear, feeling ridiculous… All those feelings had now been left at the sex shop door as you could feel the awkwardness in your body progressively being replaced by a tingle of excitement. You could buy anything you wanted, your days of self pitying over your inability to bring yourself pleasure were finally over. Your new sex positive life was starting today.

With a new thrill going up your spine, you made your way through the alleys, curious to let yourself wander more, not wanting to treat this outing as a hit and run anymore. You stopped in front of an imposing and rather intimidating display of dildos that had really weird forms. One was in the shape of a tentacle, another looked like a giant unicorn’s corn, and one looked like it straight up come out of a sci-fi movie. The thing they all had in common was their abnormally huge size. The little signboard on top of the shelf caught your attention the, ‘Monster Cocks’ it read. You couldn’t possibly have contained the little stunned laugh that left your lips, well that certainly explained a lot. Who knows ? Maybe one day you’d come back here to buy one of these. The thought made you quietly laugh even more, yeah maybe you would, in a million years when sex and pleasure would not be taboo for you anymore and stopped being a tricky puzzle to which you never seemed to find the missing piece.

“Well well well, what do we have here ? If it ain’t Lightning !” Came a booming voice behind you.

You froze, pure, sheer dread filling your veins at an alarming speed, every muscle in your body seemed to tighten up instantly upon the sound of his voice hitting your ears. No, no no no— there was no way. This could not be happening right now. Not here, not right now. Hair stood up on the nape of your neck, heart beat quickening and sending blood in all your vital organs as if it was preparing to fight or flight.

“What ? You not gonna turn around and say hello to your favorite squad mate ?” Jake teased, cocky grin evident in the sound of his voice. You heard him take a few steps towards you, which only heightened the state of duress your body was going through, you felt cornered in the worst possible way.

Slowly, you started to turn around, not seeing any way out of this. Your face must have been showing every sign of distress you were feeling in the moment because Jake’s smirk only widened, a twinkle of delight shining in his jade green eyes.

“Oh, not expecting to run into little old me, were you ?”

The words seemed stuck in your throat. Fuck, of all the places you could have run into him, this just had to be the one ?? There was a small part of you that thought that even seeing Cyclone here would have been less embarrassing. Your lack of response seemed to only spur Jake on, you could see it on his face, he was thrilled, almost euphoric at the thought of having caught you in such a vulnerable situation.

And as if things couldn’t possible get any worse, you saw his eyes divert from you for a second, landing on the display behind you. His expression shifting to a stunned one, only for a second before a huge grin reclaimed its place on his lips.

“Wow, Lightning,” he let out a low, impressed whistle, “didn’t know you were into that.” He exclaimed in a laugh, giving a pointed look to the dildos behind you.

That was the last straw, as if on cue, you found your voice again.

“No that’s not— I’m not— I’m not into that !” You exclaimed, voice almost shaking from embarrassment, index finger pointing behind you, not daring to turn around to look at the dildos again, that would be hitting the last nail in your coffin.

By now, you could feel your cheeks reddening with the heat that was coming onto them, you just wished that the earth would swallow you whole, that was the only way to get out of this mess while keeping at least a semblance of dignity.

Jake only raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey it’s okay, I’m not judging. Everyone likes what they like,” for how kind and accepting his words were, his tone sure kept that overly amused and teasing tone.

You glared at him, and you hoped it was conveying every bit of unamused frustration and just overall exasperation you felt towards him, instead of the general dread and embarrassment that was still lingering in your veins, and not planning to leave anytime soon. And that’s when you really realised what situation you were in, what situation you were both in.

“What about you, Seresin ? What are you doing here ?” You questioned, in an attempt to redirect the humiliation against him.

“Oh, me ?” He repeated, a finger pointed at his own chest, “well you see Lightning, I actually come by here pretty often.”

You should have known that any effort to make Jake feel even a quarter of the discomfort you were feeling, would be vain. You would often think that his callsign should have been ‘shameless’. It’s like he had been wired to never, ever feel an ounce of shame.

Nevertheless, his answer left your jaw hanging open a little, he comes here often ??

And as you were about to retort another jab, still vainly trying to inverse the roles, a man suddenly appeared from behind a vibrator covered shelf.

“Jake, stop bothering the clients, man” he directed at Jake in an exasperated tone before turning to you, offering an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry ma’am, he’s just one of our very annoying regulars.”

“Don’t worry Marty, I know her.” Jake countered, throwing an arm around your shoulder to pull you close to him. “We fly together, we’re a real good team,” he declared, a proud smile stretching across his lips.

Marty’s eyes landed on you, silently asking you if Jake’s words were true. But you didn’t catch his wordless questioning of your well being, as you were too busy trying to get out of Jake’s grip.

“Get off Hangman,” you hissed through gritted teeth, pushing him off, “and I wouldn’t exactly call us a team, you might as well be flying solo with the way you always leave me hanging to my death !” You snarled, finally having found your venom back after all the embarrassment.

“Yep, she knows him,” Marty whispered to himself in a resigned tone before going back to the counter where he’d been opening packages.

Jake only smiled at you after you repelled him.

“So, if ‘Monster Cocks’ are not your thing, what are you looking for ?” He inquired, his tone only half as teasing as it’d been before. His voice now held a certain eagerness, a genuine interest, and the way his eyes took you in entirely for the first time since running into him made a shiver run down your spine. Shiver of dread or excitement, you weren’t sure exactly. “I know my way around here, could give you a few recommendations.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you simply said, turning around and aiming for the exit. You weren’t about to entertain his antics. No matter how alluring he looked standing there — in the middle of all these toys whose sole purpose was to bring you an infinite amount of pleasure — crossing that line was a huge barrier you had fixed yourself long ago, a few months only after meeting him.

Some women on base or at the Hard Deck liked to joke that Jake was some kind of Greek God, he always looked perfect, never a hair out of place, charming smile unfailingly stretching his lips at all times.

But you had always thought of him as some sort of devil. He looked too perfect to be real, in that aspect the ladies who always fawned over him were right, but not in the Greek God way, in a devilish way. It gutted you to admit it, even to yourself, but Jake was otherworldly, sent to lure, charm and corrupt. That’s how you saw him. And at this moment — in something as decadent as a sex shop — he had never looked so tempting.

Jake Seresin was dangerous, you’ve always known it. That’s why fleeing whatever the hell this was before it got too far, was the only and best option.

“Aww, come on Lightning don’t take it like that, come back !” He laughed.

But as he realized you were not stopping, not turning back and still marching towards the exit, he quickly caught up to you, putting a hand on your shoulder to try and stop you. You flinched a little at the contact as you turned around, not expecting it. Seeing your reaction, he immediately retracted it, putting his hands up in defense.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm, promise.” He said, voice softer now, referring to his comment as well as his hand on you.

You took a moment to look at him then. His features were twisted in what some might consider an apologetic articulation, jade eyes locked into yours, expression serious instead of teasing for once. He slowly put his arms down and the movement caught your eye, looking down at his tanned forearms, all the way up to his biceps that were just at the limit of stretching the sleeves of his white t-shirt. Up to his broad shoulders which filled up the piece of clothing so well, his neck where you could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His squared jaw that looked like it could cut if you traced your finger on it, his lips which you had imagined on your skin more times than you would ever admit. Looking like it was carved by the Gods themselves, or perhaps the devils if you sticked to your metaphor, his nose sitting proudly in the middle of his perfect face, the top of it leading to the most intense eyes you had ever been given to see. Like two emeralds throning above these flawless features.

Inhaling a bit too sharply upon your ogling of him, you could feel a dangerous thought starting to bloom in your mind. Jake was still looking expectantly at you, awaiting your response. If he had definitely noticed the way your eyes had shamelessly raked over him, he knew better than to tease you about it right now, that would only result in your immediate departure from the shop, and that was the last thing he wanted.

And before you could even try to stop it, try to shove back the thought where it had emerged — from the darkest confines of your mind, where you were even scared to venture — you just said it.

“Were you serious ?”

Jake blinked, confused and also surprised that you had actually deigned to continue speaking to him after being so dead set on getting as far away from him as possible, only moments prior.

“Was I serious about what ?”

“When you said you had great recommendations, were you serious ?”

A beat passed. The look on Jake’s face would have been one you would have taken a picture of, were you in any other situation. A flash of incredulity passed through his eyes, his jaw hanging open a little, dumbfounded was not an expression Jake Seresin’s face showed often, and a part of you revelled in knowing you were the one to put it there.

But it was a short lived victory, because as quick as his surprise had appeared, a cocky smirk replaced his open mouth and his eyes retook their familiar teasing twinkle.

“I knew you’d make the right choice,” he smiled at you, a smile that had everything in common with that of a predator who had finally cornered his prey, you thought. But were you really the prey if you had put yourself there willingly ?

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a look of annoyance even though another shiver shook your spine, and this one was definitely of excitement.

“Don’t make me regret this Seresin, come on, spit it out.”

He put one hand in the air to stop you.

“Slow down, darlin’. We have all the time in the world, and to give you my recommendations, I need to know what you are looking for first.” He explained, wolfish grin firmly in place.

Trying to not let the way he said ‘darling’ absolutely consume your entire existence, you swallowed a little too audibly. If telling your arch nemesis what kind of sex toy you were looking for was already the number one most embarrassing experience of your life, the second might have been that…. You didn’t actually know what you were really looking for. Sure, you had walked in here with the idea of a simple vibrator that would end your miserable days of not coming, but… would it really solve the problem ?

You hesitated for a moment as Jake was looking at you — uncharacteristically patient. Were you really about to say to him what you were gonna say ?

Screw it, you were already in the lion’s den.

“Okay so um— here is the thing,” you mentally slapped yourself for losing all your bite and confidence, “I don’t really know,” you mumbled out, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

You were expecting him to laugh but the sound never came, when you looked back up he was only nodding in understanding.

“First time getting a toy, huh ? I’d guessed that much.”

Glaring at him, you didn’t dignify him with a response. Jake seemed to think for a moment before he spoke again.

“First off, would you like something that’s more clitoral stimulation or penetration ?”

Your jaw almost dislocated itself from how fast and how big it hanged open.

“What the fuck Jake ?! What kind of question is that ?”

He only seemed amused by your outburst, oh the bastard was enjoying this.

“Have you seen where we are ?” He asked, looking a bit around him to emphasize his point, “I’d say that’s a pretty standard question, and probably the most tame one.” He finished in a predatory grin.

Fuck, he was right. You were in a sex shop, and you had willingly decided to stay with Jake to actually listen to his recommendations. So if you wanted to really do this, you were going to have to lose some of your inhibitions.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound as confident as you possibly could in this situation.

“Something— um something that would be…. Um—“ you said you were going to try, didn’t say it would be easy. You whispered the last part out, “something external ?”

Jake nodded, a hint of pride flashing in his eyes at the articulation of what you wanted, “alright, so something to stimulate the clit, that’s a good start.”

“Please I’m begging you, stop saying that word.”

“What word ?” He quirked a brow, perfectly knowing what word you were referring to.

“Do you want me to leave, Hangman ? Because I still can, and I will if you continue this bullshit.” You scowled at him.

“Come on, Lightning, you need to loosen up a little ! And besides this is just anatomically correct language. External stimulation is clitoral stimulation, because you stimulate your clitoris.” He said matter of factly, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, that’s just your body.”

Taking a moment to ponder over his words, you marveled at how comfortable he was in all this — in this environment, in this conversation, his own skin. There seemed to be oceans between you, how could he be so carefree, unashamed, devoid of any ignominy ? It felt like watching him from the other bank, unable to fully emerge yourself in the water to join him.

Seeing your silence, perhaps even seeing a glimpse of your thoughts for a moment, Jake continued, voice a little bit gentler, “I promise you there’s nothing embarrassing about any of this. There’s not a thing you could say right now that would make me cringe, or think any less of you. Pleasure is a normal part of life, and it’s great that you are looking more into it.”

As weird and unexpected as this entire situation was, Jake’s words felt comforting, like the reassuring squeeze of a hand on yours. Somehow, having your rival — the actual last person you would have ever wanted to have this conversation with — express the words you’ve never been able to voice yourself, felt consoling.

Jake’s shameless and confident behavior felt like the final push you needed to jump willingly into the ocean. The water might have been cold, but it made you feel alive.

“You know what, Jake ? Yes, yes I want something for clitoral stimulation. Now, where are those great recommendations of yours ? Feels like you’ve been raving about them and I haven’t heard anything yet.”

His smile widened, whole face opening up, his eyebrows slightly raising in delight. His jade green eyes shining with something that looked strangely like fondness.

“Well there you are, Lightning. Was wondering when you’d show up again,” he teased, eyes raking over you, like he was rediscovering you, meeting a new version of you while at the same time acknowledging you were still undeniably you.

You rolled your eyes at him, more playful than irritated now.

“Seresin, recommendations. Now.” You commanded, reminding him why you were here in the first place.

Jake slightly bit his lip at your authoritative tone, smile still stretching his face, the gesture caught your eye and made your breath hitch.

“Yes ma’am,” he mock saluted you. “Alright now if you would be so kind as to follow me, what we’re looking for is at the deep end of the shop. So let’s go on a bit of a tour, shall we ?”

Gesturing at him to lead the way, you offered him a rare, genuine smile that had Jake feeling like Christmas came early, “Lead the way, Seresin.”

He started walking backwards, eyes never leaving yours as he guided you effortlessly through the shop.

“If you look to your left,” he started in a tour guide voice, right hand gesturing to what he was referring to, “you’ll see a beautiful display of monster cock dildos, but I believe you’re already well acquainted with them.” He winked at you.

You scoffed, swallowing your laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“Now taking a look on the right, you’ll see gorgeous restraints of all kinds. Handcuffs, rope…” he picked up one pair of handcuffs that was decorated with leopard fur, “oh I just know you’d look so good in this.”

His words painted a very dangerous picture in your mind, one you desperately tried to get out of your head as you could feel your body already reacting to it. Cheeks slightly heating up, heartbeat picking up and a tingle you could feel traveling all the way down to your core.

But instead of shutting him down like you usually would, the words that left your mouth surprised even yourself.

“Really ? I was thinking maybe they’d look good on you.”

Jake let out a stunned laugh, looking at you like he couldn’t believe you had actually said that — to be fair, you couldn’t believe it either.

He bit his lip again, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that almost made you shy away. But you held on, a small mischievous smile pulling at your lips.

“Shall we continue ?” You asked.

Jake inhaled a bit sharply, a smirk firmly in place, “we shall.”

He eventually led you to the left corner of the shop, where the smaller and low powered vibrators were.

“Here we are my dear Lightning,” he proudly showed the display with a gesture of his hand, “right off the bat, do you see anything that catches your eye ?”

You took a moment to take it all in — the vibrators were all of various sizes and shapes while still remaining rather small. You directed your eyes back to him.

“I’d like something that’s not too powerful, I just want to experience a little buzz, you know ? See what that feels like, just experiment with it, really.”

Jake took in a sharp breath then, nodding in understanding, his features momentarily twisted into an expression of restraint, like he was at war with himself, torn between taking it further or following your pace. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah— yeah we can see that.”

He picked up a small, incurved, deep red colored vibe on the display shelf, handing it to you so you could see what it felt like.

“This one’s great, small enough that you can take it anywhere. It’s also waterproof, super useful if you want to use it in the shower, you can also take it in the bath but don’t leave it emerged under water too long though,” he explained, and you did your best to not interrupt him and ask how he knew all that, “it has ten modes, I think ?” He picked up the box and read the instructions on the back, “yeah, ten modes. Goes from very tame to a bit more powerful, but nothing crazy. Also it’s kinda flat so you can slip it in your underwear and leave it there, without having to hold it, that’s pretty convenient.”

You stayed silent, looking at him while trying very hard to pretend his simple description of a sextoy and how you could use it wasn’t the single most erotic thing you’d even been given to hear. Feeling your temperature rising at an abnormal speed and the earlier tingles intensifying in your core, you let out a nervous giggle — unable to not react at how quickly and strongly your body was responding to him.

Jake looked at you inquisitively, one eyebrow raised and an amused smile dancing on his lips.

“Is something funny to you, Lightning ?”

You did your best to silent your fit of giggles, “sorry, sorry, just— how do you know all that ?”

He shrugged, “well I like sex.”

“That much I figured.”

Giving you an amused pointed look, he continued, “as I was saying, I like sex. And sextoys are a great way to make it better for yourself alone or with a partner, so I like knowing about them.”

Forcing yourself to not squeeze your thighs to relieve yourself of the unbearable tension that was growing in your core, your eyes looked down at the toy you were holding, moving it around to see it all.

“Here, let me show you.”

Jake gently took the toy from you, turning it on — a low buzz filled the air — and pointed to your hand with a raised brow, a silent inquiry for your permission. You simply nodded, extending out your hand. He took it and placed the vibrating toy on the palm of your hand.

Oh.

“That’s the first setting,” he told you, pressing it down a bit on the thin and sensitive skin of your palm, moving it around, “how does that feel ?” His voice had went down an octave and it felt as if it was vibrating in your entire being.

So good, you wanted to say, unabled to not imagine Jake asking that same question while pressing the toy on another part of your body.

“It’s… nice,” you whispered out, voice strained.

“Yeah, I bet it is.” Jake said, tone matching yours.

You both stayed like that for a few seconds that felt like hours. This situation alone was so much more erotic than any of the sex you’d ever had in your life.

“I’ll take it.” You finally said, breaking out of your trance, eyes snapping back up to him.

His green eyes stared right back into yours.

“Yeah ?” He asked in a cooing tone that almost had your knees buckling.

“Yeah.”

Jake turned the toy off, letting your hand go.

“It’s a good choice, you’ll have fun with it.”

A shiver ran up your spine as he placed the toy back on the display shelf and handed you a box. Your fingers brushed his when you took it, and the contact sent a small electric shock through your body, causing you to let out a small gasp — one that sounded like a subtle testimony of the arousal pumping in your veins.

Jake seemed absolutely delighted with your reaction, all while looking like he was on the edge of the precipice himself.

You both silently walked up to the counter to pay, Marty looked up from the packages he was opening when he heard you coming.

“Did you find what you were looking for ?” He smiled at you.

Exchanging a small knowing look with Jake, you swallowed a laugh and looked back at Marty, reciprocating his smile.

“Yeah, I did, thank you.”

“Was he of any help ?” He asked again, a bit teasing, nodding towards Jake, who was standing next to you.

“You know I was, Marty.” Jake retorted, laughing with his friend.

Marty ringed the toy up and you paid for it while he was giving you instructions on how to clean it and take care of it.

“Alright, that’s all, there you go.” He slid back the box over to you, “have a great rest of your day and maybe I’ll see you another time !”

You took the time to think his words over as you took the small box in your hands, “yeah, yeah I’ll see you another time.” You smiled before walking towards the exit with Jake.

When you were both outside and walking towards your car, one unanswered question popped into your head. You stopped when you reached your car and looked up at Jake.

“What were you looking for in here, Seresin ?”

He looked at you, seemingly pleased by your interest.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Lightning ?”

You scoffed, laughing fondly — perhaps a bit too fondly — while shaking your head, getting out your car keys.

“You’ll tell me how it is.”

“How what is ?” You questioned, confused for a second.

Jake pointed to the box in your hand, “the vibe, you’ll tell me if it’s good or not.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Hangman ?”

It was his turn to scoff out a laugh, playfully shaking his head disapprovingly. His eyes looked you up and down one last time, a signature smirk pulling at his lips.

“I’ll see you on base on Monday, sweetheart.”

You just nodded, watching him walk away to his own car, eyes drifting down to his narrow waist, the sway of his hips as he walked, the shape of his ass…

Tearing your gaze away from him, you looked down at the vibrator in your hands, and then back up at his retreating silhouette. You smirked to yourself.

Yeah, it was going to be a great week end.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Author’s note : this is my first time writing anything even remotely suggestive, so please do tell me if this hits the mark or if I completely failed😭

Again, I wanted to thank you all for the support on my fics, I see every reblog, every comment, every like and it means a lot to me so thank you !!

Also, I was thinking of doing a part 2 to this that would definitely be more smutty, would you guys be interested in that ?💞

[theharddeck]

i want your midnights (jake seresin x f!reader)

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: though he's halfway across the country, Hangman doesn't like the idea of his girl spending new year's eve alone...and what's the point of being a pilot, if you can't take a red eye here and there.

word count: 6.5k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: boy howdy, are we back. we've got a heavyyyy daddy kink, not so much explicit DDLG vibes, but our first time calling Jake daddy, on page, which is fun. Some light degradation, our typical overstimulation, and, as contractually obligated, breeding. oral sex, m!receiving, fingering, penetration, creampie, also manhandling--idk how big or tall you are, Jake Seresin works out to be able to manhandle his girl. He's tossing her around, flexing like hell the whole time. it's been a minute since i posted on here, so please let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: it occurs to me, as I hit publish, that I also wrote jake seresin NYE smut last year. I do so love that for us. stay safe, be well, friends 💛

“Ten!”

Well, this was stupid. 

It wasn’t even the New Year in California, but the ball was dropping in New York City and the pixelated screen over the bar at The Hard Deck was broadcasting the display, and now everyone was counting down. 

“Nine!”

You swirled your soda in a mason jar, Penny’s attempt to make sure you felt included, even though you both knew you had to stay sober because you were 100% the one driving yourself home tonight. 

“Eight!”

It wasn’t even like you’d never been alone on New Year’s Eve before. 

In fact, having Jake to kiss when the clock passed midnight had been a more recent development, and five years against the rest of your life was really only a fractional number. 

“Seven!”

This year, you’d spent a lonely holiday in Texas with the Seresins, all painfully aware of the empty seat at the table. And they were a lovely family, and it was special to facetime Jake with all of them, but so bittersweet to know he was just four hours south in Corpus Christi, leading officer’s training. Your flight back to San Diego hadn’t come soon enough. 

“Six!”

Natasha and Javy meant well, and you were grateful they’d insisted you come out, rather than wallowing in your house, alone. You hadn’t dressed up—for all that it was an institution, the Hard Deck was still just a bar—jeans that fit you well, and a college tshirt of Jake’s, offset by lipstick that you’d never wear if your husband was here, for how he’d grumble about not being able to kiss you for fear of smudging it. 

At first, it’d been fun to play pool, suggest increasingly obscure songs for Rooster to struggle through on the piano, and then rifle through songs on the Jukebox when he gave up. But then you’d been across the bar, as the Daggers settled into their partners or the single ones found equally devastatingly beautiful people to talk to, and someone had played a Randy Travis song on the jukebox. 

“Five!”

Not just any Randy Travis song, but “Forever and Ever, Amen” —the sweet, hokey song that had been playing over the loudspeakers at the Poway rodeo five years ago, when Jake had spun you around in the dark parking lot and whispered “I think I love you” into your hair. 

“Four!”

Coming out had been a stupid idea. 

In addition to keeping your left hand practically glued to your shoulder, in clear line of sight so that enterprising sailors could see the rock Jake had put there, and discourage them from trying a line, you were about to ring in the new year three hours early, in a bar, without your husband. 

Nope, you decided, it was time  to drive yourself back to your home—nevermind that it was too small for you and Jake, but somehow felt cavernously empty with just you there—put on Christmas pajamas, give yourself a perfunctory orgasm with the vibrator you’d made sure to plug in before you left, and then cry yourself to sleep in peace.

“Three!”

You put your glass in the bus bin on the end of the bar, grateful Penny had kept your tab current. She was probably in some back room with Mav, so you weren’t keen to find her to settle before you left. 

A quick look around the bar saw your friends with their arms around each other, their sweethearts, and hot strangers, and the smile on your face felt bittersweet. The 13 weeks of officer training wasn’t even that long, even if it felt like an eternity to you, but they deserved to start the new year without your rainy cloud of melancholy hovering over them.

“Two!”

The crowd of people seemed especially dense, as folks clinked glasses together and pressed closer to the heart of the bar as the countdown got louder. You knew you needed to be outside, away from the crush before ‘midnight’ hit, so you ignored it when you heard Natasha calling for you to wait. 

“One!”

And you should’ve panicked. 

You should’ve pulled away immediately when a hand closed over your arm, when someone pulled you back to face them, when green eyes winked at you, but before you realized it was Jake, before you recognized the smell and presence, and rightness of him being there, you knew. 

“Happy New Year!!!!”

The bar erupted in cheers and Jake dipped you, like the end of one of the countless line dance moves he’d taught you over the years, and you kissed him even as your mind raced to catch up with the impossibility of him being in this bar.

“How are you here?” you whispered, and Jake pulled you up to standing. 

“Couldn’t let you start the new year without me,” Jake shrugged, like that made 1,418 miles pass in the blink of an eye, and maybe it did. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and his banded around your waist. You feet may have left the floor, for how tightly he was hugging you, but he was pulling even closer.

“Don’t know if that’s your shade, Seresin,” a voice behind you said, and a second later, Jake rocked forward as Bradley smacked his shoulder, the two of them laughing at your lipstick smeared across Jake’s lips. 

Your husband was pulled into hugs by the rest of his former crew, and you let him go reluctantly—you’d facetimed him last week for Christmas, and they hadn’t seen him before officer training had started. New rounds were ordered, introductions to strangers were made, and you were wedged under Jake’s arm. You didn’t know how long he was in town for, and the fact that he was in his khakis didn’t bode well, so you were sticking as close to him as physically possible. 

Jake must’ve been feeling some of the same clinginess, because, earlier than he normally would’ve opted, he was steering you out the door. 

It still wasn’t anywhere close to midnight, but the ocean air was cool, wrapping around you as you stepped out of the Hard Deck. Jake’s hand found yours as you walked toward the car, and you squeezed his fingers. Before he opened the door for you, he guided your back to the car, and your head tipped up to meet him. 

Unlike earlier, there was no surprise in this kiss, just Jake. The softness of his lips, the taste of cider on his tongue, the way he smelled like the cloves and pine of his cologne, rather than the planes he must’ve been in and out of today. His tongue swept your bottom lip and you opened for him, accepting a deeper kiss. 

God, you’d missed him. 

So damn much, and you knew you should be grateful he was only a couple states away, but having him back in your arms reminded you that you’d almost started the year without him. 

Jake seemed to sense your urgency, his body pressing against yours, and you curled into the warmth of him. 

He pulled back, too soon, his forehead pressing to yours. 

“Let’s get you home, Mrs. Seresin,” Jake said, and you felt your cheeks heat at the gravel in his voice. You leaned up to brush a kiss against his jaw, and pushed off the door so he could open it for you. Jake let you into the car, jogging around the front of it to get behind the wheel. A moment later, his hand was sliding across the center, palm up, and you placed yours in his. His broad fingers wrapped around yours, and you smiled as you pulled away from the curb. 

It was a quick drive, quiet, and you were comfortable in the silence. Jake’s thumb brushed back and forth across the top of your hand, and you tried to ignore the sparks his simple touch sent up your spine. 

“How long are you home for?” you asked, as he parked in the driveway. 

“They have me heading back on an overnight tomorrow,” Jake responded. “Training starts up again at 0800 on the 2nd, so you’ve got me till this time tomorrow.”

It wasn’t as much as you’d hoped, but more than you’d expected. Jake’s grip on your fingers tightened slightly, and you knew he felt the same. 

You’d barely gotten through the front door when Jake’s hands were on you. 

You could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin cotton of your tee, and even the thicker denim of your jeans. His hands were greedy as he guided you deeper into the kitchen, his lips seeking yours as you whimpered into his kiss, months of longing condensing into the urgency of this moment. Dishes rattled as Jake pressed you against the cabinets, and a moment later, his hands dipped lower to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter. 

You scooted to the edge eagerly, appreciating the proximity of the angle. Jake fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back to control the angle of the kiss and you felt yourself go molten. Heat followed his touch as he ran his other hand over you—your thighs, waist, back to the front of your shirt. It was like he was convincing himself you were here, reassuring himself by touch, and you were more than willing. 

“Were you missing me, honey?” he asked, his fingers skimming over the familiar cotton of his tshirt, a statement of the obvious. 

You nodded, gasping when his hands slipped under the shirt. He trailed kisses down your neck, and you squirmed as he reached around you to undo your bra. You shrugged out of it, unsurprised that Jake wanted access to your boobs but not at the cost of taking his clothing off of you. His mouth continued hotly down your collarbone, his fingers closing around your breasts and he groaned at the weight of them in his fingers. Your back arched, an automatic response to his touch, craving more of him, and Jake brushed his thumbs over your nipples. He looked up at you, his green eyes meeting yours as he kissed over the fabric, lower, his lips drawing your breasts into his mouth through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Jake,” you whispered his name, the heat of his tongue dragging over fabric, drawing your nipple to a stiff peak. You hadn’t realized your hand had wound into his hair until he grunted as your fingers pulled, laving his tongue over you. His ministrations turned the thin fabric almost translucent, a display of both your desire, and you whimpered as his hand tightened on your other breast. 

“You always look so good in my clothes, baby,” Jake muttered against your chest, switching to the other nipple. His tongue was punishing, and you felt your pulse quicken as he sucked on your fevered skin. Jake was always so attentive to you, so keyed in to what was working, but you’d missed him so much, pretty much everything was doing it for you, right now. 

“Yours,” you said, your voice already shaking, “wanted to look like yours.”

Jake groaned, his teeth nipping at you lightly before he straightened. 

“Mine,” he repeated, before his lips reclaimed yours. His kiss was frenzied and messy, and you loved that he was just as desperate for you as you were for him. Your hips were rocking towards him, and when you reached the edge of the counter, your zipper met his khakis and you broke away from his kiss with a gasp. 

Your jeans were fitting a little tighter these days, a fact you were grateful for as the pressure of his body against yours ground over your clit. You rocked your hips back slowly, a whine slipping out of your throat at the heavenly drag of wet fabric over your pussy. 

“That needy for me already, honey?” Jake asked, satisfaction thick on his voice, and you loved the sound of it. You nodded mutely, more than happy to stroke his ego, and rewarded when he dropped a hand to undo the button of your jeans. It shouldn’t have been hot how quickly he had your jeans undone and his hand in your pants, but it was, it really fucking was. Your head fell back at the first brush of Jake’s thumb over your aching core, and your husband chuckled, his shoulders shaking under your tight grip. 

“Honey,” he whispered, dragging a knuckle through your folds, meeting no resistance, “is this all for me?”

Obviously, you wanted to snipe at him, but you couldn’t, not when he felt this good. 

His finger was so thick, and there wasn’t much room between the front of your pants and the hand cupped over your pussy; you ground your hips against him, and Jake shifted so you could move against his palm, and you moaned at the feeling. His rough palm, his fingers slipping lower, the sureness of his touch, like he couldn’t be more certain that this was exactly what you wanted, because it was. You were pretty sure you could come just from the fact that he had crammed his hand so close to you, and you reached for him again, kissing him messily as you ground against his hand. 

“Good girl,” Jake praised, his voice deep against your lips, “God, you’re soaking my hand. You feel so fucking good, baby, humping yourself against my palm. How’s that feel, hmm?”

It felt amazing, it always did with him. The roughness of his hand, the way he held you steady, it was perfect. Your hips sped up, and you bit your lower lip as you built your orgasm. His fingers felt so good over you, but you needed him in you. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, and you were practically lifting yourself off the counter to get closer to him, but Jake was holding back. 

“Jake,” you panted, your hips canting into his touch. “Touch me, please.”

“Baby,” Jake said, a hint of condescension creeping into his voice, and you whimpered as he held his hand still. “Need something to fuck yourself onto, don’t you?”

“Please,” you gasped. “Jake, please, yes, want to feel you.”

Jake hummed, dipped his head to kiss lightly along your neck, like he was considering it. He ground his palm against your core and you whimpered, your hips rising to meet him, but Jake tightened a hand on your hip, holding you in place. 

“Ask me nice, baby,” he said, his voice dropping impossibly deeper, as he pressed another wet kiss to your throat. 

His words registered a moment after you heard them, and you blinked your eyes open, flitting between his. 

It was something you’d sexted about, during his assignment to Corpus Christi. Something you’d read about, in your romance novels that Jake teased you about, and something he’d told you he wanted to try, but you’d never said it aloud to him.

“Jake,” you whined, not sure why you were shy suddenly. He called you any number of pet names, and they never had any deeper meaning, but this felt forbidden.

“Baby,” Jake taunted back, and you shivered at the anticipation in his voice. He pushed against your jeans, keeping steady pressure on your clit with his palm, but curling his fingers back. You felt him trace between your thighs, a tease, a promise, he was just waiting for you. 

You closed your eyes. 

“Touch me, Jake,” you whispered. “Please…daddy.”

“Fuck,” Jake groaned, the curse ripped out of him like you’d truly leveled him with a word. He slammed two fingers into you and you keened, arching off he counter and curling into him. “That’s right, baby, take it. Good girls get what they ask for, when they ask for it right, and that’s the sweetest you’ve ever asked, isn’t it?”

You moaned, your thighs shaking as you shoved your hips back to meet his hand. You were clinging to him, shoulders braced against upper cabinets but suspended by your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and his hand thrusting in and out of your cunt. He felt so good, his fingers so much longer and thicker than yours, filling you. 

“Look at me,” Jake gritted, and you lifted your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes were piercing in the dark of the kitchen, and you saw he was breathing hard. His gaze raked over you. 

“Fuck, baby, how could I stay away? I’ve got the prettiest girl just waiting for me, her cunt weeping and so fucking ready for me—God, you feel so good, baby, you’re so fucking tight. Will you come for me like this? Just with daddy’s voice and fingers?”

Your eyes rolled back and you felt yourself tighten when he called himself it. Fuck, why was that so hot??

You meant to moan his name, but all that came out was the most pitiful whine of “daddy,” and Jake groaned. 

“That’s right, baby, I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good, honey, you’re doing so good for me. Taking my fingers so fucking well, like you always do. God, you gotta come for me, baby, gotta loosen up so you can take me. I have to be inside you, need you so badly, baby—”

Jake broke off in a moan, your hips bucking wildly into his hand. 

You reached blindly for him, pulling his face back to yours and Jake kissed you messily, his fingers stroking inside you as his tongue licked into your mouth. You could feel how hard he was breathing, holding you up and seeking your pleasure as greedily as if it was his own, and his palm ground harder against your clit and you shattered against his hand. 

Jake groaned, feeling your release on his fingers, drenching your panties. “Fuck, honey, look at you, coming for me. You did so good, did that feel good, baby? You’re so beautiful for me, like this.”

You moaned, your hips still weakly flexing against Jake’s hand, riding out your orgasm. Your skin felt on fire, and the air around you felt cold suddenly, and you realized Jake had set you back down on the counter. Through heavy eyes, you watched him pull his hands out of your pants, watched him lick you off his fingers, and his shoulders slacken at your taste.

He bent down, pulling off your shoes and tossing them somewhere behind him, before giving your jeans the same treatment. Then he was pulling off his khakis, a foresight that made your cheeks heat, because if he got any closer to you right now, you’d ruin his uniform. When he stood before you in just his boxers, he pulled you to him, a rumble of contentment rolling through him when you pressed against his chest. 

He was broad, and smelled so good, and he wrapped his arms around you like he wanted nothing more than to warm you. Your wet tshirt snagged against your breasts, but you snuggled against him anyways, and Jake’s arms tightened, like he also couldn’t get close enough. 

“That okay?” he mumbled against your hair, and your nodded. Only your husband would bring you to the fastest orgasm of your life, wring you out on the kitchen counter, and then check in if you were okay with his guilty pleasure nickname. You turned your head to kiss his chest, surprised to taste salt on your lips. It pleased you that what you’d just done was hot enough to work Jake Seresin into a sweat. 

“More than okay,” you said honestly, pulling back to smile up at him. “Now what’s this about needing to be inside of me?”

“Nothing new there,” Jake said, his eyes roaming your face. He tipped his head to the side. “Need water, or anything?”

You shook your head. “Just you, Jake.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, and he framed your face with his hands, kissing you gently. You ran your fingers up his side, feeling goosebumps rise in your wake, and smiling against his lips when Jake leaned into you, like he couldn’t help it. Your hands trailed down, one of your hands coming to the front of Jake’s boxers, and you lifted your chin, breaking the kiss to watch Jake’s expression as you reached between his legs. 

How was it possible to miss him this much? 

It made you shiver to feel the hot length pressing against the front of his boxers, like every inch of him was straining for your touch. You ran your hand over his bulge, and Jake’s eyes fluttered shut, before his hand stopped your wrist. When he stepped back from the counter, you hopped off of it, following him eagerly to the bedroom. Jake turned to you, his grip on your wrist tightening to help you onto the bed, but you had other ideas. 

You dropped to your knees, fingers curling around the hem of Jake’s pants as you went.

“Honey,” Jake protested, but you grinned at him from the ground. Jake would call you greedy when you were begging for him between your legs, but you’d call yourself just as greedy here. You’d already cum for him, and now you wanted the taste and weight of him on your tongue. 

“Let me taste you first,” you said, pulling down his boxers, and looking up at him through your lashes, already smirking before you added, “Daddy.”

Jake groaned, his head tipping back to the ceiling. “You’re gonna be too dangerous with that, aren’t you?”

You liked the thought of being dangerous, just to him. 

When you pulled his boxers down his thighs, his cock bounced free, and you cooed at the precum smeared over the tip. It was so hot that he’d gotten this hard from fingering you, making you cum. You didn’t know what your expression was doing, but Jake mumbled something to himself, running a hand through his hair, his other settling on the top of your head, a gentle caress. 

You wrapped your palm around his base, squeezing lightly, and traced your tongue over a vein on the side of Jake’s cock. Jake’s breath stuttered, and part of you wanted to keep teasing him, but the other part of you wanted to take him, hard, like he’d taken you. 

You wet your lips, opened your mouth, and took your husband’s cock as deep as you could. 

Jake stumbled, knees fully buckling, and pride swelled in your chest as his cock hit the back of your throat before he straightened. 

“Baby,” Jake groaned, “Jesus, that mouth…”

You hummed around his cock, pulling yourself back and bracing your hands on the front of his thighs. You couldn’t take all of him down your throat, not this quickly, he was too thick. But you wanted to, and you set up a quick rhythm, sliding your mouth up and down his length. The salty taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, made your movements slower than you wanted, but you stretched around him as best you could. 

“Such a good girl for me,” Jake murmured. “Christ, baby, look at you. Couldn’t even wait to get to the bed to take daddy’s cock.”

You moaned; you loved when he praised you like this—eyes barely open, mouth hanging slack, awed by you. 

You still felt shivery from your orgasm, but his words were like wind over embers, slowly rekindling heat. You bobbed your head, twisting your hand at his base, and your other hand reaching up to cup his balls. At your first touch, Jake jolted, and he swore quietly, before pulling you off of him. A moment later, his hands closed around your upper arms, pulling you to your feet. 

“Gonna finish too quickly if you start that,” he muttered. He kissed you, moaning at the taste of him on your lips, and then he moved quickly, tossing you onto the bed. You gasped when you hit the bed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, but Jake was already crawling over you, his hands pinning your arms to the bed.  You writhed, your body pressing up against his, addicted to the slide of bare skin between you. 

“Every damn part of you,” Jake muttered against your skin, sucking in a long breath through his nose as he ran it along your neck, “that mouth, your cunt, every fucking inch of you feels so good, baby.”

He sank on top of you, and you moaned, your arms clasping around his back as his weight settled over you. His sharp body, hard were you were soft, was the most delicious friction, and you gasped when his cock brushed between your thighs. 

You tried to lift your hips, seeking him, but his weight had you pinned. Jake seemed content with the contours of your body aligning with his, you were aching for where he wasn’t yet filling you. 

“You’re too smug for someone who almost came after two seconds in my mouth,” you muttered, and Jake’s shoulders shook as he laughed. 

“Baby, you haven’t seen the beginning of smug,” he chuckled, but he leaned down to line himself up with you. 

Just the tip of him at your center had your eyes rolling back, and your hips frantically shifting. To have him so close, and not in you yet, was maddening, and you fully whined before you realized Jake was waiting. 

“Jake,” you panted, your hips rolling, helpless, “please, want you to fuck me, come on.”

Jake pressed into you obligingly, filling you with the head of his thick cock, and you spread your thighs, welcoming the stretch of him. But a moment later, he stilled, and you whimpered again. 

Jake kissed your cheek, pushing off of you enough to reach for your chin. He tilted your head up to meet his eyes, the green of them barely visible around his blown irises. “Want you to fuck me…?”

You moaned, knowing what he was asking, and felt a rush of arousal flood through you, just at the thought of begging him like that. 

“Jake—” you started, and he only had to pulled back slightly before you recanted. “Daddy—shit, please, fuck me. It’s been too long, need your cock inside of me, daddy, please—”

“That’s my girl,” Jake gritted, and then he moved his hips. 

God, what a man. 

It was like he was working you open, bludgeoning his way into your body and you spread wider and opened further to him, but there was still more of him to fill you. You moaned, a long broken sound as his hips worked closer to yours, his cock pressing deeper into you. 

“Fuck, it’s so good like that, isn’t it?” Jake asked, his voice rough. “Feeling you open up for me, honey, it’s the sweetest thing. Your tight pussy clenching around daddy’s cock, like you don’t want me to stop—”

“Don’t you dare,” you gasped, your body tightening further around him. “Feels so good; keep going.”

“Anything, baby,” Jake gritted, his head dropping to beside yours on a groan. You felt he meant it, with his breath shuddering through him, and the way his shoulders were shaking. You realized he was still working into you, holding himself back, and that wasn’t what you wanted at all—you wanted to feel him, all of him. 

“I can take it,” you whimpered, your hips pressing weakly up into him. “I can take it, daddy, let me feel all of you.”

Jake groaned, but his hips slammed forward, shoving the rest of his length into you. You cried out, the stretch of him brutal and perfect, and what you’d needed for months. Jake was around you, pinning you down with his body, filling and stretching you so perfectly, and you couldn’t help but come. 

“Fuck, baby, did you just—” Jake whispered, feeling you flutter around him, but it was all you could do to keep riding it out. You felt like you were coming out of your skin, like his touch was everything you needed but you needed it so much more for it. 

“Didn’t mean to,” you gasped, or maybe sobbed, your body shivering at the intensity of the orgasm. Jake propped himself up on his elbows, so his hands could run over your skin. He soothed you with his touch, his warm fingers and gentle hands sliding wherever he could reach, while his hips kept up a gentle rocking to help you through it. 

“Shh, you did so good, baby,” Jake promised, and you wanted to curl inside the warmth of his voice. “Such a good girl for me, for daddy, so perfect. Coming on my fingers, on my cock, baby that’s so hot.”

“Daddy,” you echoed, and you felt it settle over him. He’d let go of your hands, so you wrapped them around him, feeling his muscles work as he nudged his cock further inside of you. “Feels so good...”

“You have no idea, baby,” Jake said, and then he pulled partially out. “Shit, you cannot imagine how fucking perfect this pussy feels. Fluttering around me, can tell you missed me, makes me want to make sure you remember me here, all over.”

You moaned at the drag of his cock through your core, and the way he pressed back into you, perfect, full. 

“Yes, daddy,” you panted, unsure what you agreed, or wanted, but knowing it was more, “please.”

Jake grunted, reaching for your hands and winding his fingers between yours. He stretched your arms above your head, bracing himself in your grip, rutting in and out of you as you spread under him. 

You were pretty sure you’d melted into the bed. 

The cotton of Jake’s shirt felt scalding against your skin, but it was nothing against heat in his eyes. He was grunting with each thrust, fucking deep into you and your thighs burned where they were spread for him. His cock was brushing a deep part of you, and you couldn’t come again, not that quick, but it felt so damn good. 

“Shit, baby, this pussy,” Jake groaned, “She’s so tight for me. God, I missed you, baby, miss you so much. Miss you in my bed, in my arms, having you to come home to…”

His thrusts got sharper, and something clenched in your heart at his words. “I’m right here, baby,” you whispered. “I miss you too, so so much.”

“Baby,” Jake whispered, his voice impossibly soft, like you missing him was harder to bear than his own hurt. 

He pushed up, rising to his knees and his hands going to your waist to hold you to him. You moaned at the way he kept his cock in you, like he needed a change of position but not enough to be anywhere other than inside of you. He reached for a pillow to wedge under your hips, and then his hands wrapped around your waist again to pull you on and off his cock, when his gaze snagged on something on the nightstand. 

“Honey,” Jake said, his breathing still rough, but a thread of amusement in his voice, “did I interrupt your new year’s eve plans?”

You craned your head to follow his gaze, your cheeks heating when you saw your still-plugged-in vibrator. 

“Didn’t know if you were going to be able to call me,” you admitted, not sure why it felt like a secret. Jake had helped you pick out a number of toys for when he was away; it wasn’t like he didn’t know you had them. “It was just to help me get to sleep, it wasn’t—”

Jake reached for the vibrator, pressing it on, and holding a thumb over it, feeling the vibration. “Last I checked, that was my job,” he growled, possessiveness heavy on his voice, before he pressed the vibrator to your clit. 

You bowed off the bed, the sudden sharpness of the vibrations rocking through you. 

“Jake,” you moaned, collapsing back to the bed, reaching for him weakly, but in the position he’d pulled you into, you were spread beneath him, and couldn’t reach more than the hand holding the vibrator. 

“Who?” he said darkly, circling your clit with the vibrator. Sensations sparked through you, the vibrations intensifying the press of Jake’s cock within you, how unbelievably full you were, and how you couldn’t hide from him. 

“Daddy,” you sobbed, pulling on the hand that held the vibrator, not sure if you needed more, needed less, what you needed, just him. “Daddy, please—”

“You’re going to come on my cock,” Jake commanded, actually commanded, a voice he often used to order squadrons, and your eyes rolled back. “Come with my vibrator on your clit, my cock in your pussy, and you’re going to call me daddy until I come in this pussy, and finally keep her full.”

“Daddy,” you whimpered, begged, your legs shaking from the heat the vibrator was churning up under your skin. Jake started moving again, his hips slamming into you. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as he fucked his cock impossibly deeper into you, holding the vibrator against your skin. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re gripping me so tight,” Jake groaned, his voice breaking as he slammed into you, “this pussy feels so good, you’re so good to me, baby, clenching around me, shit.”

“Jake,” you managed, your hands traveling up his arm and pulling weakly. Jake knew, of course he did, understood you were still with him, still into this, just needed him closer. He pulled you up and sat back; you all but collapsed into his lap, gravity now pulling you tightly onto Jake’s cock, shoved deeper by his thrusts. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jake groaned, and you realize the new position wedged the toy between you. The vibrations now moved over your clit and over the base of Jake’s cock, and his thrusts spread up, taking on a more frantic note. 

“Need you to come, baby,” Jake gritted and you shook your head. It was too much, too good, but you were pretty sure you couldn’t bear it if he stopped. You turned into his shoulder, your mouth gaping open on a continuous moan as he thrust up into you. 

“So deep,” you mumbled, your voice reedy. You couldn’t tell where he ended, what was melting you, his cock, the toy, the togetherness you’d gone crazy for missing. “So good, please—”

“I didn’t ask, honey,” Jake said, shifting the toy and making you cry out. “Come on daddy’s cock, baby, do it. Let me feel you milking my cock, need to feel the pussy I missed so fucking bad, need to feel my girl come on  my cock, come on.”

He let go of the vibrator, wedged it between your bodies and dug his hands into your waist, pulling you down on his cock. You moaned as he held his cock against that soft spot inside of you, as his toy shook you, as he mumbled things you couldn’t hear into your ear, and you fell apart. 

You couldn’t stop shaking. 

Everything was aflame, your body wrung out and floating and perfect, and you were crying but couldn’t stop your hips from moving. You needed more of Jake, needed him forever, needed him deeper and harder, and you were pretty sure you were rubbing yourself raw against him, but you couldn’t stop. 

“My beautiful girl,” Jake was whispering, his hips moving slower and he finally pulled his shirt over your head, wrapping you tightly against his chest. You could tell he was still hard, straining inside of you, and you were still shaking, but you tightened around him as best you could. 

“Shit, baby,” Jake choked, and you licked at his chest. He was salty and slick with sweat, and you were dead weight in his arms, but you needed to feel him, needed more of him, and you were burning alive with it. 

“Come for me, Jake,” you asked, needing it. 

Jake groaned, like he was just holding himself together, and your words might undo him. 

“Give me a sec, baby,” he gritted, even as his hips punched up before he could stop them. “That was a lot, need to make sure you’re—”

“Come in me, Jake,” you whispered, another kiss to his chest. “Let me feel you.”

Your back hit the mattress and Jake crawled over you again. His hair was slick with sweat as he hovered over you, his beautiful profile illuminated in moonlight, and he reached between you again. His touch was light over your clit, not to stoke anything, but a gentle touch to soothe you there, and you melted into the bed. You curled a hand behind Jake’s head, and his eyes fluttered shut at the softness in your touch. 

“You’re so fucking good to me, baby,” he said, his voice almost tortured.

You could say the same to him. 

His cock was so hard inside of you, and you could feel him trembling, just waiting, so you licked your lips, and waited for him to look at you again. 

“Jake, I need you like this,” you whispered, and his hips pushed forward. Your mouth fell open, and you whined out your final request, “Breed me, daddy.”

Jake groaned, his shoulders dropping to the mattress. At first he braced himself against the bed, but then he reached under you, holding your shoulders and pressing your body to him, needing to be so close to you as he rutted into you. 

“I love you so much,” he groaned into your shoulder, his teeth catching as he thrust. “Fuck, I love you. I’m gonna come, baby, gonna fill you up…”

His hips slammed into yours and you lifted your body weakly to meet him. The world was a midnight cloud around you, there was only this bed, your husband, the strength of his body as he used it to cleave to yours. His hips pumped, once, twice, and then he stilled as a long moan poured past his clenched teeth. You whimpered as Jake spent inside of you, your body opening for him, taking the final promise of his presence, that he was here, that he was yours. 

“Just like that, baby,” you whispered into his hair, your hand still playing with the damp hair at the base of his neck, and Jake groaned. His hips moved of their own accord, weakly fucking his release into you, and you smoothed your hand over the muscles of his back.

You lay there together, until the sweat on your skin reminded you that it was December, and Jake reached out blindly for the blanket. 

“Happy New Year, Mrs Seresin,” he mumbled, pulling you into his side as the blanket wrapped the two of you closer. 

“Happy New Year, Lieutenant Commander,” you whispered back. You were pretty sure it still wasn’t midnight, not technically, but you cuddled closer to your husband, grateful that you didn’t just get to start the new year with him—you’d ended this one with him, too. 

[justwaveandsmile]

Emergency Princess Dress

pairing: jake seresin x reader

a/n: fluff, girldad! jake, second pov

wc: ~2.6k

**my first fic, please be nice 👉👈**

You are just finishing the last of your work emails when you hear the front door burst open, followed by Jake's voice using what you've come to recognize as his "tactical situation" tone.

"We have a CODE PINK. I repeat, CODE PINK!"

You close your laptop, confused. "Code pink?"

Jake appears in the kitchen doorway, holding your daughter in his arms. Her face is blotchy and tear-stained, and she's clutching a torn piece of purple fabric.

"What happened?" you ask, immediately moving toward them.

"Mama," she sobs, "my princess dress ripped and the tea party is in two hours and I can't be a princess without my dress and... and..."

She dissolves into fresh tears against Jake's shoulder.

Your heart drops. The tea party. One of her friends from nursery school is having a princess themed birthday party, and she's been talking about it for weeks.

Jake meets your eyes over her head, and you can see the barely controlled panic there. For a man who stays calm at Mach 2, a crying daughter is clearly his kryptonite.

"Okay, baby, let me see," you say gently, taking the fabric from her hands. It's her favorite dress-up gown, the purple one with the sparkly tulle, and there's a significant tear along the side seam.

"Oh, sweetie."

"Can you fix it, Mama? Please?" She looks at you with those green eyes - Jake's eyes - full of hope and devastation in equal measure.

You examine the tear. It's not great, and your sewing skills are rudimentary at best.

"I can try, but honey, I don't know if - "

"What about the store?" Jake interjects, already shifting into problem-solving mode. "We could hit that costume place on Main Street. They've got princess stuff."

"They close at six," you remind him gently. "And it's 5:30 now."

His jaw tightens, and you can practically see him running through options like he's planning a mission.

"Okay. Okay, we can work with this. What do we need?"

"Jake -"

"No, seriously." He sets his daughter down carefully on the kitchen counter, smoothing her hair back from her face.

"Baby girl, look at me. We're Seresins, right? And Seresins don't give up. We find solutions."

She sniffles, nodding. "Like pilots?"

"Exactly like pilots." He glances at you. "What if we make her a better dress?"

You blink. "Make her a- Jake, I can't sew a whole dress in two hours."

"Not sew. Improvise."

A grin starts to emerge, the one that usually means he's about to do something crazy and somehow pull it off.

"Come on, where's that creative genius I married?"

Despite the situation, you feel a warmth in your chest. "You're insane."

"You say that like it's news." He's already moving, opening random drawers.

"We've got to have supplies. Fabric, sparkly things, whatever princesses are made of."

"Daddy," your daughter says, a tiny smile breaking through the tears, "princesses aren't made of anything. They're just girls in pretty dresses."

"See? We just need a pretty dress. How hard can it be?"

Famous last words.

Twenty minutes later, your kitchen looks like a craft store exploded. Jake has raided the linen closet, the gift wrap drawer, and somehow procured every sparkly, shiny, or remotely princess-like item in the house. There are ribbons, old scarves, a set of string lights, tissue paper, and - inexplicably - he's holding his flight suit, scissors in his other hand.

"Jake. No. Absolutely not," you say firmly.

"Hear me out. The Nomex is fire-resistant, incredibly durable, and I can cut patches from the arms for -"

"That is a regulation flight suit! You need that!"

"I have three of them," he argues. "And think about it! What's more badass than a princess cape made from actual pilot gear? She could tell everyone her cape is made from the same stuff her dad wears when he flies."

"Mama's right," your daughter agrees, now sitting cross-legged on the floor in her t-shirt and leggings, watching this chaos unfold with increasing delight. "You need that for flying, Daddy!"

"I have backups, baby girl," Jake says, but he's lowering the scissors.

"Though I guess your mama has a point. Might be hard to explain to the CO why I need a replacement because I turned one into a princess costume."

"Very hard to explain," you agree. "Put the flight suit down and no one gets court-martialed."

He grumbles but complies, setting it aside. "Fine. We'll find something else that screams 'aviation excellence.'"

You pick up a pale pink bed sheet from the pile. "What about this as a base?"

Jake examines it critically. "Structural integrity?"

"It's a sheet, Jake, not an aircraft."

"Everything needs structural integrity."

But he's grinning, and so is your daughter, and you realize this has somehow turned into an adventure rather than a crisis.

"Okay," you say, getting into it now. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right. Princess, what kind of dress do you want?"

She thinks carefully, her little face scrunched in concentration. "Something swirly. And sparkly. And maybe with a cape? Because capes are cool."

"Capes are very cool," Jake agrees seriously. "Smart thinking."

For the next hour, your kitchen becomes a combination war room and design studio. Jake, with his unexpected attention to detail, figures out how to wrap and pin the sheet to create a makeshift dress, using safety pins from your sewing kit. You work on embellishments, hot-gluing ribbons and some sparkly tulle from an old Halloween costume along the edges.

"How are we on time?" Jake asks, holding a pin between his teeth while he adjusts the shoulder"

"Hour and ten minutes," you report.

"We can make it. Hand me those silver ribbons."

Your daughter stands on a kitchen chair, serving as the world's most patient fitting model, chattering happily about which friends will be at the party and what games they might play.

"And Emma said there might be real horses for pictures!" she says excitedly.

"Horses?" Jake's head snaps up. "Like, actual horses?"

"Uh-huh! Little ones, for riding."

You watch something pass over your husband's face—a flicker of concern that he tries to hide.

Protective papa bear mode, activating.

"That'll be fun," he says carefully. "But remember, we listen to the grown-ups about what's safe, right?"

"I know, Daddy. You tell me every time we go anywhere."

"Because you're precious cargo," he says, booping her nose with a fabric-free finger. "The most precious."

Your heart does that annoying fluttery thing it's been doing since you first met him at The Hard Deck, back when he was all swagger and smirk. You would never imagined he'd be the kind of man who'd help make an emergency princess dress on a Tuesday evening.

"Cape time!" you announce, holding up a silky purple scarf you've embellished with stick-on gems.

Jake ties it carefully around her shoulders, making sure the knot isn't too tight.

"Every princess needs a proper cape fastening. That's, like, princess rules."

"Really?" she asks.

"Absolutely. I read it in a book."

"What book?"

"A very official princess book."

You snort. "You're such a liar."

"I'm creative with the truth," he corrects, whispering. "There's a difference."

Finally, finally, you step back to assess your work. The dress is... well, it's definitely handmade, and no one will mistake it for store-bought, but there's something magical about it anyway. The sheet drapes in soft folds, the ribbons catch the light, the cape flows dramatically, and your daughter is absolutely glowing.

"Can I see?" she asks eagerly.

Jake scoops her up and carries her to the hallway mirror. You follow, watching her face as she takes in her reflection.

Her eyes go wide. "I look like a real princess!"

"You are a real princess," Jake tells her, setting her down so she can twirl. The makeshift dress spins out around her, and her delighted laughter fills the house.

"Daddy, Mama, you made me the best dress ever!"

You feel Jake's arm slip around your waist, pulling you against his side. "Team effort," he murmurs into your hair. "Though I did provide the engineering expertise."

"I'm sorry, who did the actual decorating?"

"Like I said, team effort." He presses a kiss to your temple. "We make a good team."

"The best team!" your daughter agrees, crashing into both your legs for a hug.

You glance at the clock. "We need to leave in fifteen minutes if we're going to make it on time."

"Roger that." Jake shifts into efficient mode, already mentally running through the checklist. "Baby, go brush your teeth. We'll get your shoes."

She scampers off, cape flying behind her, and Jake immediately turns to you.

"How did we do? Really?" There's actual worry in his voice. "She's not going to get there and feel bad because all the other kids have fancy store-bought costumes, is she?"

You stroke his cheek, feeling slight stubble. "Jake. Look at her. She's never been happier. We could've put her in a paper bag and she'd be thrilled because we made it for her."

"A paper bag wouldn't have structural integrity," he mutters, but he's smiling.

"Plus," you add, "she's going to have the best story. 'My daddy the fighter pilot and my mama made me a custom princess dress in under two hours.' She's going to be the coolest kid there."

"She's always the coolest kid there. Gets it from her old man."

"And her humility too?"

He laughs, "Thank you. For this. For all of it. For being exactly who she needs."

"Jake."

"I mean it." His voice drops lower, more serious. "When I'm up there flying, you know what gets me through? Knowing I'm coming home to both of you. My girls."

You're saved from your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you by your daughter running back in.

"Ready! I'm ready! Let's go!"

The drive to the party is filled with excited chatter from the backseat. When you pull up to the house, which is indeed decorated like a castle, complete with balloon towers, your daughter presses her face to the window.

"Wow," she breathes.

"Pretty fancy," Jake agrees, but you can see his eyes sweeping the area, noting exits and checking for safety hazards.

Always the protector.

You help her out of the car, making sure her cape is straight and her dress is sitting right. Several other parents are walking in with their kids, and yes, many of them are in store-bought princess costumes.

"Mama," your daughter whispers, suddenly uncertain, "some of those dresses are really fancy."

You kneel down to her level. "You know what makes a princess a princess?"

She shakes her head.

"Not the dress. It's being brave, and kind, and true to yourself. And you, my love, are the best at all of those things."

Jake crouches down too, adjusting her cape one more time. "Plus, you've got the best origin story. Batman's got nothing on the epic tale of the Emergency Dress."

She giggles, confidence returning. "Will you walk me in?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Jake says, standing and offering her his hand. She takes it with one hand and grabs yours with the other, and the three of you walk toward the castle together.

At the door, the birthday girl's mom does a double-take at your daughter's dress.

"Oh my goodness, that's beautiful! Where did you get it?"

Your daughter stands up straighter, proud. "My mama and daddy made it for me! My other dress ripped but Daddy said Seresins don't give up, so they made this one and it's even better!"

The mom's expression softens as she looks between you and Jake. "That's... that's really special. You're lucky to have such creative parents."

"I know!" your daughter says brightly. Then, with a quick hug for each of you, she's off, running to join her friends, cape streaming behind her.

You and Jake stand in the doorway for a moment, watching her show off her dress to a group of delighted kids who all seem appropriately impressed.

"We should go," you murmur, but neither of you moves.

"One more minute," Jake says quietly. "Just want to make sure she's good."

You smile, leaning into him. Of course he does.

Finally, when she's fully engrossed in whatever game they're playing, you make your way back to the car. As soon as you're both inside, Jake lets out a long breath.

"Crisis averted."

"Crisis conquered," you correct. "By Team Seresin."

"Damn right." He reaches over to take your hand, threading his fingers through yours.

"You know what? I think that went even better than if the dress hadn't ripped."

"How do you figure?"

"Because now she knows that when things go wrong, we figure it out together. That's a better lesson than any perfect dress could teach her."

You squeeze his hand, "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You just didn't notice because you were too distracted by my incredible good looks."

"There's the ego I know and love."

He grins, bringing your hand to his lips. "Love you too, Mrs. Seresin."

You spend the next hour at home cleaning up the craft explosion in the kitchen.

Jake insists on documenting the chaos "for the scrapbook," which really means taking photos he can show the Daggers at work tomorrow.

"Rooster's going to give me so much shit for this," he says cheerfully, snapping a picture of the fabric scraps.

"And you're going to love every second of it."

"Damn right I am."

When it's time to pick up your daughter, you both go together. She comes running out of the house, still in her dress, chattering a mile a minute about the party.

"- and we had cupcakes and there WERE horses, little ones, and I got to pet one and his name was Butterscotch and Emma said my dress was the prettiest one there and- and- "

She pauses for breath.

"Can we make more dresses? Just for fun?"

Jake laughs, buckling her into her car seat. "Tell you what, baby girl. Next weekend, we'll have our own dress-up day. We'll make whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Can Mama help?"

"Mama better help, or nothing's going to have structural integrity."

You roll your eyes fondly as you climb into the passenger seat. "One emergency dress and suddenly you're a fashion designer."

"I'm a man of many talents."

That night, after your daughter is bathed and tucked in (still talking dreamily about the party), you find Jake on the back deck, beer in hand, looking up at the sky.

You slide your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back. He's changed into soft worn sweatpants and a t-shirt, his dog tags cool against your arms.

"Today was a good day," he says quietly.

"Yeah. It was."

"Thank you."

You move to stand beside him, and he immediately pulls you close. "For what?"

"For being her mom. For being my wife. For helping make an emergency princess dress and not laughing when I suggested cutting up my flight suit."

"I definitely laughed."

"Internally doesn't count." He turns to face you fully, his expression soft in the porch light.

"I mean it though. I don't say it enough, but you're... you're everything. To both of us."

You reach up to cup his face, this man who flies fighter jets and makes princess dresses with equal dedication.

"You're not so bad yourself, Seresin."

He kisses you then, slow and sweet, tasting like beer and home.

"So," he murmurs against your lips, "next weekend. What should we make?"

"Please tell me you're not serious about more dresses."

"I'm absolutely serious. Maybe we should branch out. Tutus? She'll definitely have a whole new wardrobe."

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

And the thing is, you really, really do.

Tell me what you think please! :)

[pullmecloseman]

CALLSIGN CUPID

Summary: When Jake Seresin realizes he’s in love with his best friend—you—he does what any emotionally repressed Navy pilot might do: sets you up with other guys instead. But after three bad dates, a paper airplane, and one squad-intervention later, Jake finally stops playing Cupid—and starts being honest.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Word count: 13.6k

A/N: This was in fact loosely inspired by “10 things i hate about you” but it was also inspired by this one book i read a very long time ago that kinda had the same vibe, not sure what the name was it was at least 5-6 years ago but i still think about it sometimes 💔 also omg?? i think this is the longest thing i’ve ever written! just a disclaimer this was written almost 2 months ago, it was apart of my test subjects before i released “honor & duty”. ALSO MIGHT LOWK MAKE A HANGMAN MULTIVERSE TOO??

Warnings: Second person POV, slow burn, mutual pining, slight sa scene (just a bit of inappropriate touching), jealousy, bad date scenarios (including one with a taken guy), light swearing, emotional tension, one knee-drop romantic gesture, meddling squad behavior, and one very flustered Hangman trying his best.

pt 2

There were a few things you’d come to accept as non-negotiable truths during your time at Top Gun:

Coffee tasted best when stolen from Rooster’s thermos.

Phoenix and Fanboy would always argue like siblings during preflight.

And Jake Seresin—Hangman himself—couldn’t mind his own damn business to save his life.

You were midway through a morning briefing, half-listening to Cyclone run through upcoming mission simulations, when Jake leaned over just enough to whisper out of the side of his mouth.

“You know, I heard Supply Guy is single again.”

You didn’t even turn your head. “And I heard you should shut up before Cyclone catches you talking.”

Jake grinned, unbothered. “Just trying to help. I’d hate for your roster to run dry.”

You gave him a side-glare sharp enough to slice steel.

Across the room, Phoenix stifled a laugh.

The air in the briefing room was its usual mix of cold coffee, jet fuel, and pure, unfiltered sarcasm. Jake Seresin lounged in a rolling chair near you, boots kicked up onto the empty seat beside him, arms crossed over his chest like he hadn’t a care in the world. His sunglasses were still on. Inside. Because, of course, they were.

“Y’know, Hangman,” Rooster drawled from the front row, “it’s called a briefing. You’re supposed to look at the screen, not just bask in your own reflection.”

Jake tipped his sunglasses down just enough to make eye contact. “I multitask.”

“You can’t spell ‘team’ without ‘me’,” Fanboy muttered, not even looking up from the protein bar he was dissecting with a spork.

“Not how spelling works,” Payback shot back, smirking.

In front of him, you were half-paying attention, flipping through a file with one ear tuned into the mission rundown and the other eavesdropping on the squad’s banter. Bob sat next to you, pressed shoulder to shoulder like always, posture straight and focused—but when Hangman piped up again, you felt Bob shift subtly beside you, like he was biting back a grin.

“Some of us,” Jake said, lifting his voice just a little, “don’t need to memorize the brief. We are the plan.”

“You are insufferable,” Phoenix replied flatly, finally turning toward him with a look that could’ve knocked a lesser man on his ass.

“Didn’t hear a no,” Jake replied with a wink.

Coyote groaned. “I swear to god, if this is how today’s going to go…”

It was how today was going to go.

You’d all been grounded the past week for maintenance drills and mission prep, so the tension in the squad was ramping up like coiled wire. Too much time on the ground made everyone itchy. Especially pilots.

By the time the briefing was about to end, you were already winding down from the tactical talk, scribbling a note in your logbook. Bob leaned toward you, voice quiet.

“You flying lead today?”

You nodded. “Rooster’s wing, but I’ve got lead. Try not to make me look bad.”

His smile was small but genuine. “You could fly solo and still make us all look bad.”

“Flattery gets you… nothing,” you teased, “Except maybe some snacks in the ready room.”

Bob’s face lit up like you’d just promised him classified intel and a hug.

-

Cyclone dismissed you all fifteen minutes later, and as you filed out into the hallway, Jake was still going.

“I’m just saying, I’ve got a gift. A sixth sense for chemistry.”

“Oh yeah?” Rooster asked, slapping Jake’s shoulder. “That why you’re still single?”

“That’s a choice,” Jake shot back, fixing the collar of his flight suit. “I’m out here doing the Lord’s work. Playing Cupid.”

Fanboy groaned. “God, not this again.”

“You don’t even believe in monogamy,” Phoenix said, crossing her arms as she walked backward in front of you all.

“I believe in giving people a little push,” Jake replied. “Like matchmaking. Strategically. For morale.”

“Since when do you care about morale?” Coyote snorted.

Jake pointed at you. “Since she’s been moping around base like she lost a bet.”

“I haven’t been moping,” you argued, though you knew exactly what he was referencing. One shitty date with a comms officer and suddenly Hangman was acting like he needed to fix your whole life.

“You’ve been quiet,” Bob added from your other side, his tone gentle. “Quieter than usual.”

“I’m allowed to have quiet days.”

Jake leaned in again, smirking. “Or maybe you just need someone to make some noise in your life.”

Phoenix punched his arm. “Back off, Casanova.”

-

The pre-flight was smooth. You were zipping up your G-suit when Jake wandered over to your jet, dragging Coyote along like an accessory.

“Need help strapping in, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning against the wing like a car salesman trying too hard.

You gave him a flat look. “Only if you want a wrench to the temple.”

Coyote snorted.

“I was just saying,” Jake continued, completely undeterred, “you’re the picture of confidence. Someone should be here to appreciate it.”

“Jake,” Bob called from a few feet away, arms crossed as he leaned against your jet’s ladder. “You hit on her one more time and the plane might spontaneously combust just to escape the cringe.”

“Ohhh,” Rooster added as he approached, dragging his helmet in one hand. “Burned by Baby on Board. Rough morning for you, Seresin.”

Jake grinned lazily. “Hey, you all mock now, but when I’m the best man at her wedding? You’ll wish you were as charming.”

You raised a brow. “You volunteering?”

“Best man? Groom? I’m flexible.”

You groaned. Bob muttered under his breath, “Flexible like your ego.”

-

You all made your way toward the flight deck, helmets in hand, the morning sun bouncing off the tarmac. The simulation was in forty-five minutes, and you were itching to get in the air—partially because it was the one place where Jake couldn’t talk your ear off.

The air was different on base lately.

It wasn’t just the hotter-than-usual summer, or the fact that everyone had started sneaking ice pops from the freezer in the officer’s lounge. There was something else. A shift.

Everyone was restless. The mission load had eased slightly, giving you all more downtime. And when Top Gun pilots had too much downtime? Stupid things happened.

Betting pools. Pranks. Unnecessary competitions.

And, in this case: matchmaking.

Jake’s obsession had started as a joke—something he said after your third bad date in two months. But now, it was gaining momentum. He’d already made one match between a junior lieutenant and a flight mechanic (they’d gone on two coffee dates and then ghosted each other, but Jake claimed it was a success). And now, unfortunately, you were in his line of fire.

But what you didn’t know—what none of you knew—was that the boys had made a bet.

It started that night. A few hours after debrief, Rooster invited the squad over for drinks and poker.

-

Rooster’s house smelled like beer and leftover pizza, and Jake was already two whiskeys in when the idea started forming.

“Admit it,” he said, shuffling cards with a flourish. “I could get her a date that lasts longer than a week.”

“You think you could find her the right guy?” Fanboy asked, incredulous. “You’re the worst person to set anyone up.”

“I have charm.”

“You have trauma,” Payback muttered.

Jake smirked, unfazed. “I’m serious. She’s just… picky. And I know her type.”

Coyote raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s her type?”

Jake sipped his drink. “Someone with a sense of humor. Smart, but not arrogant. Good with their hands. Probably someone in uniform.”

“So… you,” Rooster said dryly.

Everyone laughed.

Jake rolled his eyes. “No. She’d hate dating me.”

“You sure?” Bob asked quietly, brows lifted.

Jake hesitated. “Yeah. She’d kill me before the first appetizer.”

“Let’s make it interesting,” Fanboy said, leaning forward. “Twenty bucks each. You pick someone—set her up. If it lasts more than five dates, you win. If not? We keep the cash.”

“Make it fifty,” Jake challenged.

The boys stared at him.

“Confident much?” Coyote said.

Jake shrugged. “She’s my friend. I know what she needs.”

The pot grew to $300. Jake grinned.

-

You had no idea what you’d just become the center of.

But the next morning, when Jake asked casually if you’d ever considered dating that guy from supply again, you should’ve known something was up.

The next morning broke clear and sharp over the base, the sun spilling golden through the narrow slats of your blinds. You were still half tangled in the remnants of a restless sleep when your phone buzzed with a text.

Jake: “Hey. So… you ever thought about dating supply?”

You blinked, sitting up, the question feeling more like a prank than a genuine suggestion. Jake Seresin, your self-appointed Cupid, was already in full swing.

You typed back with a dry smile:

You: “You’re starting early.”

-

The squad gathered for the morning briefing in the usual cramped room, the air thick with anticipation and the faint smell of burnt coffee. Cyclone was rattling off last-minute mission details when Jake sidled up next to you again, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

The morning sun had barely crept above the hangar roof when the squad gathered for the day’s briefing. The cramped room hummed with quiet anticipation, punctuated by the rustle of flight suits and the faint buzz of comm chatter filtering through the air vents. Cyclone’s voice was all business, drilling through the mission simulation details like a machine.

But no one was really paying full attention—not you, and certainly not Jake Seresin.

Leaning against the wall beside you, Jake’s eyes gleamed with that familiar spark of mischief. “Alright, today’s the day,” he whispered, a grin tugging at his lips. “My matchmaking game is officially live.”

You rolled your eyes but fought a smile. Jake had been on this ridiculous kick since last night at Rooster’s, practically bursting with excitement over the stupid bet with the boys. You weren’t sure whether to be amused or mildly concerned.

“Seriously, dude, give it a rest,” you muttered, but he just shrugged and turned back to the briefing.

-

Once dismissed, the squad filtered out toward their jets, the metallic clang of helmets and gear blending with the distant roar of engines warming up. The familiar adrenaline spike coursed through your veins as you slid into your cockpit, fingers expertly running over the controls. Flying was always your sanctuary—the one place where Jake’s antics faded into white noise.

That was until your comm crackled with Rooster’s voice, thick with mock warning. “Hey, Hangman, keep your eyes on your wingman today. No matchmaking during maneuvers. We’ve got enough chaos as it is.”

Jake’s tone answered back, playful and teasing, “I’m just out here doing the Lord’s work. Somebody’s gotta fix this mess.”

You chuckled softly, settling into formation as the jets lifted off in perfect synchrony. The sky was a crystal blue canvas, the sun gleaming on your visor as you sliced through the air.

Flying helped.

Whatever chaos lingered on the ground got swept away the moment you lifted off. You and Rooster made clean turns, slicing through the California sky like it owed you something. Over comms, you could hear the easy banter between Payback and Fanboy, the static-muted smirks between Phoenix and Bob.

Jake, of course, never stopped talking.

“Hey, Bagman,” Phoenix called out mid-loop. “You miss basic training where they teach you how to shut up?”

“You love it,” he fired back.

“I’d love silence.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

It was all clockwork—banter, barrel rolls, and bullshit. But it was in the rhythm, in the instinctive trust that came from knowing every one of them would be there when it counted, that you found your balance.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until Bob’s voice came over the comm.

“You’re humming.”

“Shut up, Bob.”

“You’re humming over the intercom. I think that’s a first.”

Jake’s voice cut in, “She’s humming because I’m inspiring.”

Bob immediately: “I’m ejecting.”

-

Back on the ground after a flawless simulation, the squad dispersed toward the mess hall in a slow, hungry shuffle. The air was thick with post-flight energy—half adrenaline, half exhaustion—and someone behind you (probably Rooster) was humming the Top Gun anthem under his breath like he did after every mission.

You were barely through the door, already scoping out whether the snack bar had restocked the decent granola bars, when Jake popped up beside you like a damn prairie dog.

“Hey,” he said, voice pitched low, too casual to actually be casual.

You side-eyed him. “What now?”

He hesitated. That alone was enough to make you stop walking.

Jake Seresin? Hesitating? That was new.

He rubbed the back of his neck, expression a strange mix of nerves and smug determination. Like a kid about to admit they broke a window and that it was totally worth it.

“You remember the supply officer? The one from last week?”

You frowned. “Yeah. What about him?”

Jake cleared his throat. “Well… I might’ve, uh, invited him out for dinner. As part of my… project.”

You blinked. “Project?”

“Matchmaking,” he said, like duh. “Obviously.”

You laughed. Loud enough that two airmen passing by looked over.

“Jake, you can’t just ‘invite’ people for dates like it’s a mandatory training exercise.”

He shrugged, attempting nonchalance but failing miserably. “It’s not an official date. Just… a social outing. A vibe check.”

“A vibe check?”

“I figured I’d do some of the heavy lifting,” he continued, walking beside you now as you made your way toward the salad bar. “Save you the trouble of awkward small talk. If it’s a bust, you can blame me. If it works, you’re welcome.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You do realize this is borderline insane?”

“Borderline charming,” he corrected.

“Borderline manipulative.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” he said, waving a hand.

You stopped at the drink cooler, opening the door with more force than necessary. “Let me get this straight. You, without telling me, set me up with someone I barely know, because you think you know better?”

Jake looked smug. “Yeah. And you’re gonna love it.”

Before you could respond—probably with something that would’ve gotten you written up—Phoenix slid between you both like she’d been waiting for the right moment to intervene.

“You owe me five bucks,” she said to Jake, grabbing a Gatorade from the cooler behind you.

Jake’s smile faltered. “You bet on this?”

“Obviously.” She winked at you. “I said you’d go off on him the second he opened his matchmaking mouth.”

You glared at them both. “This entire squad is feral.”

Fanboy appeared from behind the soda machine, his tray already stacked with two grilled cheese sandwiches and a mountain of fries. “Hey, are we still on for movie night?”

“Depends,” you muttered, eyeing Jake. “Is it a movie I pick, or one Hangman picks based on who he’s trying to set me up with?”

“Ouch,” Jake said, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”

“She’s got a point,” Coyote added, showing up just in time to steal a fry off Fanboy’s tray. “You’re making this personal crusade way too obvious.”

Jake’s eyes flicked to you for a second. “It’s not personal. I just think she deserves someone solid.”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said, sipping her drink like she wasn’t starting a fire with every word. “And definitely not you.”

He grinned, sharp and defensive. “Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes.

You weren’t blind. You’d known Jake for years—flown with him, fought with him, gotten blackout drunk with him during Coyote’s infamous Vegas birthday weekend. You knew what he looked like when he was bluffing.

And this?

This was a bluff. One he’d doubled down on way too hard to back out of now.

“Fine,” you said slowly, popping the lid on your water bottle. “I’ll go. One dinner. But if this guy’s weird or tries to tell me about his crypto portfolio, I’m blaming you.”

Jake grinned like he’d won something. “Deal.”

Phoenix shook her head as she walked off. “You’re playing with fire, Hangman.”

Jake called after her. “Lucky for me, I like the burn.”

-

Movie night started like they all did—overcrowded, under-supplied, and dangerously close to devolving into chaos.

Rooster was balancing a tangled knot of wires in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other, muttering something about HDMI adapters and “government-issued bullshit tech.” His ancient projector—the one that had survived deployments, sandstorms, and one very unfortunate encounter with tequila in San Diego—was propped up on two old aviation textbooks and a can of Pringles.

Fanboy arrived ten minutes late and unapologetically smug, cradling a six-pack of Dr. Pepper like it was a rare treasure. “Don’t worry,” he declared loudly, “I saved movie night. Again.”

“No one asked you to,” Phoenix called from where she was elbow-deep in a duffel bag looking for her Captain America fleece blanket.

“Democracy asked me to,” Fanboy retorted. “You’re welcome.”

Bob, sweet dependable Bob, came bearing the only thing anyone actually appreciated—cookies. His sister in Lemoore had mailed him two Tupperware containers filled with snickerdoodles, peanut butter blondies, and something suspiciously green that no one questioned. The second the plastic lids came off, the room collectively moaned like it had just been released from purgatory.

Jake, of course, brought nothing but opinions. And himself. Both in equally large supply.

“Who voted for Hot Fuzz?” he asked, hands on his hips like an outraged PTA mom.

“Me,” you said flatly.

“And me,” Bob added, already curled into the arm of the couch with a cookie in hand, quietly smug.

Jake turned toward you like you’d personally betrayed him. “We could’ve watched John Wick, and you went with British satire?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, completely unapologetic. “Are you anti-cornetto trilogy?”

Jake blinked. “I’m anti-being-bored.”

“Then maybe don’t bring the same six stories about your exes to every hangout,” Phoenix muttered.

“Rude,” Jake replied, not denying it.

The lights dimmed. Rooster finally got the projector to cast a halfway decent image against the white wall, and Payback threw a sock at him when the subtitles didn’t match the audio. Someone screamed “SHOTGUN!” for the beanbag chair that had mysteriously migrated from Coyote’s room. Popcorn flew. The floor space vanished in seconds.

You wound up sprawled beside Bob, your back against a floor cushion that may or may not have once belonged to Hangman before it got appropriated during a game night standoff. Your sock-clad toes brushed against Bob’s shin; he didn’t even flinch, just nudged a peanut butter blondie toward you in a wordless offer.

You took it.

Coyote wandered in halfway through the opening credits carrying two slices of pizza stacked on top of each other, looked at the chaos in the room, and just sighed. “This is why we don’t have nice things.”

“You’re just mad I got the last slice of Hawaiian,” Fanboy sang from the corner.

“We talked about pineapple on pizza,” Coyote said darkly.

Meanwhile, the movie hit its stride—quick edits, dramatic zooms, jokes that landed even harder because everyone in the room had already memorized the lines.

“Point Break or Bad Boys II?” Jake called out in his best Nick Frost impression.

“Which one do you think I’ll prefer?” Rooster responded instantly from across the room, already grinning.

Payback lobbed popcorn at them both. “If y’all quote this whole damn movie, I’m leaving.”

“You say that every week,” Phoenix said, rolling her eyes. “And then you fall asleep halfway through with your mouth open.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Jake flopped onto the arm of the couch behind you, like gravity had simply decided that spot belonged to him. His knee brushed your shoulder, lingering a second longer than necessary, and you didn’t shift away.

“You good?” he asked, voice pitched low so the others wouldn’t hear.

You tilted your head back, craning to look at him upside-down. “Define good.”

His lips twitched. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

You hummed. “Depends.”

“On?”

You gave him a saccharine smile. “Whether this guy turns out to be a serial killer.”

Jake laughed, and it was real—low and sheepish. “He’s not. I promise. He’s a little weird, maybe. But not murder-y.”

“Solid endorsement.”

“You asked me to look out for you,” he said, still smiling, but there was something beneath it—something quieter. “That’s what I’m doing.”

You stared at him, upside-down still, and for just a second the playful banter faded into something else. Something more loaded.

Your gaze held his for a second too long. Then you looked away, your neck aching a little from the angle. You shifted your weight back into the couch cushion.

“Just don’t make this a habit,” you muttered.

Jake didn’t answer right away. You felt him move behind you—his elbow brushing the back of your hair as he leaned forward slightly.

“Would it be so bad if I did?”

The question hung in the air.

It wasn’t flirtatious, not really. There wasn’t that usual drawl to it. He wasn’t playing this time. There was no smirk. No teasing. Just… curiosity. And something softer underneath it that he probably didn’t even realize had slipped through.

You glanced at him again, your expression unreadable. And for the first time, Jake actually looked unsure.

Before either of you could say anything else, Coyote and Phoenix started arguing across the room about whether or not Nicholas Angel—Simon Pegg’s character—was technically the villain of the movie.

“I’m just saying,” Phoenix started, “he ruins everyone’s fun.”

“By solving murders,” Coyote countered.

“You can’t prove Timothy Dalton didn’t have a point!”

You let their voices fill the room. Let the squad’s laughter and the chaos and the comfort of familiarity drown out the tension curling low in your chest.

Because the truth?

You didn’t hate the attention. You didn’t hate the way Jake always checked in, or the way he always saved you a spot without saying anything, or how he laughed harder when you were around. You didn’t hate any of it.

You just didn’t want to think too hard about why it mattered that it came from him.

Not yet.

-

The next morning arrived with zero fanfare and a whole lot of regret.

Not regret over anything you had done, but regret in the shape of Jake Seresin’s smirking face as he leaned against the edge of the table in the mess hall, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t just offered you up like tribute the night before.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out, “you excited?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, halfway through your oatmeal. “Excited for what?”

Jake blinked, all innocence. “Tonight. Dinner. Supply officer.”

Fanboy perked up from across the table. “Wait. You’re going out with the walking spreadsheet?”

Rooster choked on his juice. “The one who alphabetizes the peanut butter?”

You gave Jake a look that could have melted steel. “You told everyone?”

Jake had the audacity to look affronted. “I didn’t tell them. I just—mentioned it.”

Phoenix leaned in, grinning like she smelled blood in the water. “Did you also mention that she was strong-armed into this by you?”

Jake shrugged. “It’s not coercion. It’s encouragement.”

“Encouragement usually involves enthusiasm,” you muttered. “Not bribery and peer pressure.”

“I didn’t bribe you.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘If you go, I’ll never bring up that time you accidentally FaceTimed me from the bath again.’”

Fanboy nearly spit out his coffee. “What?”

Jake held up his hands. “Not what it sounds like.”

You stood, grabbing your tray and ignoring the stares. “You’re all children.”

Phoenix cackled. “Be sure to send us a group text if he turns out to be a taxidermist.”

Jake called after you, “He’s a very normal guy! You’ll have a great time!”

You didn’t respond. But you did flip him off on your way out of the mess.

-

It was 7:00pm sharp when you arrived at the seafood place Jake had suggested—off-base, casual enough to avoid dress uniforms but nice enough to warrant eyeliner. The place had string lights, polished wood tables, and the kind of menu where everything came with a “reduction” of something or other.

You spotted your date—Mike, the supply officer—before he spotted you. He was seated in a booth, already halfway through a glass of water, his posture too perfect and his shirt just a little too tucked-in.

“Hey,” you said as you slid into the seat across from him.

His face lit up with the same earnest enthusiasm he’d had when you’d signed for your new flight gloves last week. “Hi! You made it!”

You smiled politely. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Conversation started off… fine.

He asked about your squadron, complimented your call sign (which he’d mispronounced twice), and talked about how he’d minored in aviation logistics at Purdue. He had a laugh that was technically charming, and a habit of straightening the salt shaker every time he leaned forward.

He wasn’t creepy. Or mean. Or even weird, really.

But the longer you sat across from him, the more glaringly obvious it became that this was not going to be the beginning of anything remotely romantic.

Your brain betrayed you somewhere between the appetizers and the main course. Because all you could think about was Jake.

Jake, who never sat that straight. Jake, who never got through a meal without sharing food off someone else’s plate. Jake, who once made up a fake call sign for Rooster just to mess with a group of visiting officers (“It’s ‘Cockadoodle-Doom,’ sir, and he earned it.”).

Jake, who had set you up on this date. Who had pushed you toward it with that easy smile and the kind of confidence that only someone with absolutely no self-awareness could manage.

“So,” Mike said, snapping you out of your daze, “are you into board games?”

You blinked. “Board games?”

“Yeah. I host a game night sometimes. We do Settlers of Catan and Terraforming Mars. I’ve got an expansion pack for Wingspan that adds European birds.”

You took a sip of your drink. “That’s… specific.”

Mike grinned. “You’d like it. You seem like someone who appreciates rules.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not usually what people say about me.”

He looked slightly panicked. “I meant—like… structure. Not in a bad way!”

You laughed once, politely. Then glanced at the time on your phone.

Still forty minutes to go, if you were being generous.

-

Back on base, Jake was restless.

Bob watched him pace from the armchair, where he was trying to read. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the rug.”

Jake ignored him, turning toward the window like he could somehow see the restaurant from there. “You think she’s having fun?”

Bob didn’t look up. “You mean the girl you tried to pawn off like an Amazon package?”

“I didn’t pawn her off.”

“You did. It was weird. You should’ve just asked her out yourself.”

Jake froze. “I don’t— That’s not what this is.”

Bob finally looked up. “Isn’t it?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Didn’t have one, honestly.

-

By the time you made it back to your place, you were tired in a way that had nothing to do with your day. Mike had walked you to your car like a gentleman and given you a hug that lasted half a second too long.

“You’re really cool,” he’d said earnestly, eyes hopeful.

You’d smiled and thanked him.

And then you’d sat in your car for five full minutes, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, wondering what the hell you were doing.

Your phone buzzed.

Jake: “So… still alive? Didn’t join a cult?”

You stared at it. Debated. Then typed back:

You: “Barely. He asked if I wanted to see his board game collection.”

Jake’s reply came instantly.

Jake: “That sounds like a euphemism.”

You: “It wasn’t.”

Jake: “That somehow makes it worse.”

You smiled in spite of yourself. Tossed your phone onto the passenger seat beside you. The night was still. Quiet.

And the only thing louder than the silence was the thought you’d been trying to avoid since the moment Jake first brought this whole “project” up.

Why was he so interested in trying to get you to date?

And why was HE of all people on your mind all of a sudden?

-

The squad didn’t do boredom well.

Two days after movie night and that god awful date, Phoenix convinced half of you to join a beach volleyball tournament on base. You weren’t even sure how it had been sanctioned—maybe the C.O. was just as restless as the rest of you—but suddenly there were nets set up just past the tarmac, and someone had roped off court boundaries with neon cones and caution tape.

You showed up in gym shorts and a tank top, hair pulled back and sunscreen barely rubbed in. Bob handed you a water bottle as you arrived, his cheeks pink from the heat despite the early hour.

“Phoenix and Rooster already claimed each other,” he said. “So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Poor thing,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his.

He just smiled—calm, steady Bob—and tugged his cap lower against the sun. You loved flying with him. Loved hanging out with him. Sometimes you thought maybe you loved everything about Bob, full stop.

Fanboy was the one who brought the speaker. Of course. He queued up a playlist titled “Top Gun Top Hits” that had everything from Kenny Loggins to Doja Cat. By the time the first game started, Rooster was dancing between points and Phoenix had already spiked a serve into Hangman’s chest.

“That one was for your ego,” she said, tossing the ball back over the net.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” Jake shot back.

You and Bob held your own, surprisingly enough. You weren’t flashy, but you had good instincts. And Bob was sneaky—he didn’t talk much during games, but he always seemed to know where to be.

“Okay, that was kind of hot,” you admitted after he dove for a save and landed in the sand.

He just looked up at you, winded and flushed. “You like that?”

You did. Too much. And maybe Jake noticed, because suddenly he was rotating in as your opponent with a little too much enthusiasm.

Afterward, you collapsed on a towel with Phoenix, both of you gulping water and yelling at Coyote for eating all the orange slices.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Phoenix muttered.

“Yeah, well, next time bring more,” he shot back, mouth full.

By late afternoon, the squad scattered—some toward the showers, some to grab food, and Jake? Jake lingered.

“You’re free tomorrow night, right?” he asked, nudging your foot with his.

You narrowed your eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just… remember that avionics tech from the hangar? The one with the buzz cut and the arm tattoo?”

“The one who said Star Wars is overrated?”

Jake winced. “Okay, so he’s not perfect. But he’s free. And I figured—just a quick drink. Harmless.”

You groaned. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s for morale,” he said smugly, already walking backward toward the barracks. “And entertainment.”

-

The bar was dim and vaguely sticky, tucked into a side street just outside the base gates. It smelled like old beer and buffalo sauce, the kind of place that tried to pass itself off as “divey” in a charming way but never quite nailed the charm. Off-duty personnel clustered at the high tables, uniforms swapped out for jeans and team shirts, most pretending not to watch the pilots coming and going like it wasn’t their entertainment for the night. Country music played over the speakers—loud but not loud enough to cover the clink of bottles and the low buzz of half-drunken conversations.

Trevor—aka Buzz Cut Guy—was already seated at a corner booth when you walked in. You spotted him instantly. Tight black t-shirt, designer watch, one leg sprawled out too far into the walkway like he wanted people to trip over him. His cologne hit you before his smile did: something aggressively masculine, the kind of scent that tried too hard to say I lift without any actual lifting.

He stood when you approached, teeth flashing in a grin that felt more practiced than warm. “You must be Jake’s friend,” he said, sliding a hand across the table and pulling out your chair with the sort of flair that implied he’d rehearsed it.

“He said you’d probably try to bail.”

You raised a brow, pausing halfway into the seat. “That’s a weird opener.”

Trevor chuckled like that was somehow endearing. “Just messing. I’m good at reading people.”

You doubted that.

Still, you sat. Mostly because you didn’t want to give Jake the satisfaction of knowing you almost turned around and left the second you saw that buzzcut and smug expression in person.

“Figured I’d keep it casual tonight,” Trevor said, nodding to the waitress as she came over. “Can I get you something? Beer, wine, appletini?”

You blinked. “I’ll just take a ginger ale, thanks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No alcohol? That’s cute.”

Your jaw clenched. “Or maybe I just have early drills tomorrow and don’t want to show up hungover. Wild, I know.”

Trevor shrugged, unbothered. “Your call. I’m off tomorrow. I usually am. Perks of being indispensable.”

Oh boy.

It only got worse.

Trevor was, admittedly, attractive in the technical sense. Broad shoulders, straight teeth, a tattoo of what looked like a circuit board wrapping around his bicep—but every sentence out of his mouth made you question how many brain cells it took to put on deodorant in the morning.

“I’m kind of a genius with electronics,” he said, not even a full five minutes into the conversation. “Like, borderline savant. I rewired my mom’s entire security system when I was sixteen. She still doesn’t know how I did it.”

You nodded slowly, sipping your ginger ale like it was spiked with the patience of a saint. “Impressive.”

“I don’t get why people worship Maverick, honestly,” he continued, tipping his beer toward you like you’d agree. “Bit of a burnout vibe, don’t you think? Washed up. Always breaking the rules.”

You blinked. “You do realize everyone in my squad reports to him, right?”

He waved that off. “Yeah, but come on. You really think he’s still got it? Dude’s a relic.”

You forced a smile, digging your nails into the underside of the table. “So what made you join avionics if you’re such a prodigy?”

“I could totally be a pilot if I wanted. I just don’t want to deal with all the bullshit training. So much red tape, man. You guys live in the cockpit, but I live in reality.”

It was almost impressive—how quickly someone could become more unbearable with every word. You found yourself cataloging the signs like a checklist: talks over you, check. Makes his job sound harder than yours, check. Thinks The Matrix was “based on real science,” check.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on women who fly. No offense,” he said, glancing at you with that same fake grin. “Just seems like a tough gig. Like, do they even make helmets that small?”

You blinked. Slowly. “Excuse me?”

“Kidding,” he said quickly, hands up. “Joking. Lighten up.”

You had lasted thirty-seven minutes. You decided to be generous and make it to forty. Not because he deserved it, but because walking out before the forty-minute mark would just give Jake ammo to say I told you so.

You nursed your ginger ale. You let him talk. You imagined throwing his phone into the jukebox. And finally—finally—you stood.

“Well,” you said, pushing your chair back with a polite smile that barely masked the storm brewing in your chest. “This has been… something.”

Trevor stood too, reaching for your hand like he thought this was going well. “This was nice. Maybe next time you let me pick the music. Jake says you like weird stuff.”

You pulled your hand back. “Jake’s never heard me complain about music.”

Trevor blinked. “You sure? He said—”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, already turning for the door. “Thanks for the ginger ale.”

The second you stepped outside into the cool night air, you exhaled like you’d just surfaced from a dive. Your boots hit the sidewalk harder than necessary as you made your way toward the parking lot, fingers already curled around your phone.

Jake 🙄

So??

You stared at the text. A dozen responses came to mind, ranging from sarcastic to profane, but you settled for closing your phone without replying. Not yet.

Let him sweat.

-

It was the kind of late afternoon where everyone lingered in the hangar instead of showering—half still suited up, half in undershirts, flopped on crates or leaning against the wing of Rooster’s F/A-18. No one had the energy to leave yet, and unfortunately for you, that gave them plenty of energy to gossip.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Phoenix said, cracking open a water bottle and tossing another one at you. “That bad?”

You caught it with one hand and gave her a look. “It wasn’t good.”

“Oh, do tell,” Fanboy said, perking up immediately. “We’ve been waiting for the post-mortem.”

Jake, of course, chose that moment to walk in, sunglasses still on despite being indoors and half the sunlight gone. “Here we go,” he muttered, under his breath but not low enough to go unheard.

You ignored him and sat on an ammo crate. “Okay, well. His cologne could’ve killed a small animal.”

Coyote winced. “Yikes.”

“Buzzcut Guy didn’t pass the vibe check?” Rooster asked, adjusting his backwards cap. “I thought Jake said he was ‘normal enough to survive a night with her.’”

You turned slowly. “He said that?”

Jake held up his hands. “In my defense, I said it in confidence to Rooster.”

Phoenix raised her brows. “So you knew he was questionable and still sent her out there?”

“I didn’t know he was that questionable!” Jake protested, finally removing his sunglasses and hooking them onto his collar. “I mean—how bad could it have been?”

You looked at him flatly. “He said, and I quote, ‘Do they even make helmets that small for female pilots?’”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Noooooo,” Payback said, wheezing.

Fanboy doubled over like he’d been physically struck. “Nooo shot. Jake. Jake.”

Even Rooster looked horrified. “He said that to your face?”

“Loudly,” you said, sipping your water. “Like he thought it was charming.”

Phoenix’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “He sounds like a national treasure. Jake, where do you find these guys? Do they have a club? Is there a pool you dip into specifically marked ‘do not recommend’?”

Jake looked genuinely pained. “Okay, first of all, Trevor didn’t say any of that shit when we were at the gym.”

“Because of course you recruit men at the gym,” Phoenix said.

“Next you’ll be setting her up with a guy who thinks ‘Top Gun’ was a documentary,” Payback added.

Jake looked at you, eyes a little sharper now. “So what—you’re mad at me again?”

You shrugged. “Not mad. Just impressed you managed to pick someone even worse than the last one.”

Fanboy raised a hand like he was in class. “Question: how do you keep managing to top yourself? Is this a long game to ruin her faith in men so she just gives up and settles for you?”

The squad howled.

Jake’s jaw clenched. “That’s not—”

“I mean,” Rooster said casually, spinning a socket wrench in his fingers. “You do seem to care a whole lot about who she ends up with.”

“Because I’m trying to help,” Jake snapped.

“Help yourself into her pants?” Phoenix offered, deadpan.

“That’s not—oh my god,” Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

You watched him, letting the squad’s laughter drown out the weird warmth under your skin. Jake wasn’t looking at you now, not directly. His ears had gone a little pink.

“Just admit you’re bad at this,” you said calmly, tossing your empty bottle into a nearby bin.

Jake scowled. “You know what? Fine. I’ll do better next time.”

“Oh no,” Rooster said. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

Jake ignored him. “Give me one more shot. I’ve got someone in mind already.”

Coyote looked alarmed. “He said that like a man about to suggest someone who drinks Monster for breakfast.”

Phoenix put her face in her hands. “This is gonna be another ‘I swear he’s normal’ guy, isn’t it?”

You crossed your arms, amused despite yourself. “Is this how you flirt? Just slow psychological warfare until I give up?”

Jake met your gaze. This time, his expression softened. “I could stop if you asked me to.”

You held his stare for a second too long—again—and didn’t reply.

Fanboy clapped his hands. “Alright! Next date pool starts now! Who wants to put money on this one lasting less than thirty minutes?”

“I’m giving her fifteen,” Phoenix said.

“Ten,” said Coyote.

Jake looked around, scandalized. “You guys are actual traitors.”

“Traitors with taste,” Rooster added.

The squad fell back into their banter, placing increasingly dramatic bets, and you let it wash over you—grateful, at least, for the distraction. But as Jake sat beside you on the crate, a little quieter now, you didn’t miss the way his knee bumped yours.

And stayed there.

You glanced back at Jake, who was pretending to be interested in the banter going on with Rooster and Payback, but his knee was still casually brushing yours. Your chest tightened, a weird mix of comfort and something unspoken hanging in the air.

“Alright, Cupid,” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “If you’re so confident, when’s my next ‘date’?”

Jake gave you a mock offended look. “Whoa, slow down. You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of serial dater.”

“Well, you are definitely the reason I’m meeting these characters.” You smirked. “And don’t think I forgot that you specifically picked Buzz Cut Guy.”

Jake shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. “Quality control.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, quality control right into the dumpster.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping an octave. “Hey, I’m trying here. It’s a process.”

You caught the glint in his eyes—the same one you’d seen during briefings, in the heat of missions, and now here, in the middle of all this ridiculous squad chaos. It was easier to tease him, easier to laugh, but your heart hammered with every accidental touch, every shared glance.

“Just… try not to kill me with your ‘dates,’” you teased.

Jake’s smile softened. “No promises.”

For a moment, the noise around you faded, the room shrinking until it was just the two of you—two friends tangled in something neither of you was quite ready to name.

Then Rooster shouted from across the room, “Hey, you lovebirds, quit hogging the crate!”

Jake’s knee finally slid away, but the spark between you lingered.

“Come on,” you said, standing and stretching. “Let’s see what disaster you have planned next.”

Jake was already on his feet, quick on the comeback. “Oh, it’s going to be legendary.”

You laughed, feeling the familiar warmth of the squad around you and something a little more dangerous simmering just beneath the surface.

-

The next morning, the base was buzzing with its usual hum—pilots prepping for missions, techs bustling through equipment checks, and the faint scent of strong coffee drifting from the mess hall. You were sitting at one of the picnic tables outside, scrolling through your phone when Jake strolled up, his flight jacket casually slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, dropping into the seat across from you with that familiar smirk. “So, about dinner last night…”

You arched a brow. “What about it?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flickering sideways like he was debating how much to spill. “Trevor wasn’t exactly my best pick.”

You chuckled, setting your phone down. “That’s one way to put it.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I thought he’d be better. But then again, I guess it’s hard to find someone who doesn’t suck.”

You snorted. “Thanks for the glowing endorsement.”

Jake grinned. “I’m just saying, your standards are high.”

Before you could respond, Payback and Fanboy appeared nearby, carrying trays loaded with breakfast. Payback gave you a knowing look.

“Talking about your love life again?” he teased, plopping down beside Jake.

“Only because Jake here is apparently moonlighting as a matchmaker,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

Jake defended himself. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. And I’ve got a new candidate lined up.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, half-exasperated, half-amused.

Rooster wandered over, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Another date?”

Jake nodded, eyes twinkling. “Yep. This one’s different. Supposedly a real stand-up guy. Name’s Marcus.”

“Marcus,” you repeated slowly, trying the name out. “Sounds promising.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake said, waving a hand. “He’s a cop. Good with his hands, apparently.”

You squinted at him. “How do you know all this?”

Jake smirked. “Let’s just say I do my research.”

The squad chuckled, settling into easy banter as you all ate.

-

The restaurant was dimly lit with an ambiance that felt more like an exclusive lounge than a casual dinner spot. Soft jazz floated through the air, blending with the quiet clinks of silverware and murmurs of other diners. You sat at a small, candlelit table across from Marcus, the cop Jake had set you up with. From the start, you knew this was going to be a challenge, but nothing prepared you for how quickly it spiraled.

Marcus smiled with that easy confidence cops often carried—the kind that told you he was used to getting his way. His eyes lingered a little too long, and the way he spoke felt less like a genuine conversation and more like an interrogation.

“So, Jake thinks we’ll hit it off,” Marcus began, swirling his glass of red wine with practiced ease. “Apparently, he’s a big fan of mixing things up.”

You smiled politely. “Yeah, Jake has his own ways.”

He chuckled but didn’t take the hint to dial it back. “So, what do you do for fun? I mean, besides dating mystery men?”

You raised an eyebrow but answered carefully. “I’m pretty into my work. Flying missions, training. It keeps me busy.”

Marcus nodded as if that was expected. “I get it. Structure, discipline. I’m all about rules myself.”

You tried to steer the conversation to something more neutral, but the undertone grew heavier.

“You know,” Marcus said, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping an octave, “a woman like you probably likes a man who knows what he wants. Someone who takes charge. Makes decisions.”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. “I’m pretty capable of making my own decisions.”

Marcus smirked, clearly amused. “Sure, but there’s something nice about a guy who can show you the way. Keep things simple.”

You shifted in your seat, trying to maintain your composure. The subtle power play was becoming obvious.

“So, what’s your idea of a perfect date?” Marcus asked, but it wasn’t a question so much as a challenge.

You shook your head slightly, feeling the conversation close in. “Honestly, I just want someone who respects me.”

Marcus’s smirk faded just a little. “Respect’s earned, you know.”

At that moment, Marcus’s hand slid from the table, moving slowly until it landed on your thigh. The contact was light but unmistakably deliberate.

You froze, your stomach twisting. “Marcus…”

He didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he let it drift further back, brushing the curve of your hip, and then—before you could react—he gave a quick, possessive squeeze on your lower back.

Your breath caught, and your polite smile hardened. You pulled your chair back slightly, creating distance.

“Look, I don’t know what Jake told you about me,” you said quietly but firmly, “but I’m not here to be touched without consent.”

Marcus’s face tightened for a moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, but he masked it with a forced laugh.

“Hey, I’m just trying to show you I’m interested.”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Interest isn’t physical if it makes me uncomfortable.”

The rest of the meal was a blur of awkward silences and forced smiles, each minute stretching longer than the last. Your mind raced for a way out, but you were trapped by the formalities and the restaurant’s watchful eyes.

Finally, you excused yourself, mumbling something about the restroom.

Inside, you locked the door behind you and pressed your back against the cold surface. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and frustration flooding your senses.

You pulled out your phone, fingers trembling as you fumbled to unlock it. Your breath hitched as you typed the message again, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot twisting tighter in your stomach.

You: Jake, please come get me. Marcus is… not what I expected. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m about to lose it.

The silence stretched. Then your phone buzzed.

Jake: Hang tight. I’m leaving now. Don’t do anything stupid.

You exhaled shakily, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. But you couldn’t help the worry gnawing at you.

A few minutes later, your phone rang. You answered quickly.

“Jake,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice was low but tight, laced with anger and concern. “What the hell’s going on?”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling small. “Marcus… he crossed a line. I told him to stop, but he—he touched me.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then Jake’s voice dropped, deadly serious.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Just… uncomfortable. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Goddammit,” Jake muttered, his frustration clear. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped this before it even started.”

You pressed your forehead against the cool bathroom wall, trying to calm your racing heart. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve. I’m on my way, alright? Just stay put. Locked door, no matter what.”

“I will,” you whispered.

Jake’s voice softened for a moment. “I’ll be there soon. You’re not alone.”

As the call ended, you pressed the phone to your chest, letting the sound of Jake’s promise settle in. Somewhere between fear and relief, you realized you trusted him more than anyone else right now — and that maybe this ridiculous matchmaking project was turning into something a lot more complicated.

Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath, glanced at your phone’s screen — Jake had texted back, I’m waiting outside. Don’t say a word until you get here.

You slipped out of the bathroom door quietly, heart thumping so loud you thought it might give you away. The restaurant’s dining room buzzed with muffled conversation and clinking glasses. You ducked behind a pillar, weaving past tables with your eyes on the exit.

The cool night air hit your face as you slipped out the side door, the city sounds washing over you in relief. And there he was—Jake, leaning casually against his car, arms crossed, watching the street like a sentinel.

“You made it,” he said softly, voice just for you.

You barely nodded, sliding into the passenger seat before he even opened the door. The car smelled faintly of leather and pine-scented air freshener, oddly comforting in the tension of the moment.

Then, out of nowhere, the front door of the restaurant slammed open and Marcus stomped outside, scanning every shadow.

“Where the hell did she go?” Marcus growled, voice thick with frustration.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, and before you could blink, he pulled the door closed and locked it with a quiet click.

“Hide,” Jake hissed, pulling the seatbelt tight.

You ducked lower, barely able to keep from laughing as Marcus prowled past the car, his angry muttering unmistakable.

Jake cracked a grin. “Looks like your charming date doesn’t have a clue.”

You giggled, the absurdity of the situation hitting you. “Yeah, real smooth.”

As Marcus circled the block, you and Jake exchanged amused looks, the kind that said, Can you believe this guy?

A laugh escaped you, and Jake’s grin widened until it was all teeth and mischief.

“You know,” Jake said, voice dropping a notch, “we make a pretty good team.”

Your eyes met his in the dim glow of the dashboard, and suddenly the air shifted — the easy humor melting into something softer, something more electric.

Jake’s gaze lingered on you, warmth pooling in his eyes like a silent confession.

“Uh…” he cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I should probably drop you home now.”

You nodded, cheeks flushed for reasons beyond the cold night air.

Jake started the engine and pulled away, the city lights blurring past the windows.

“I’m sorry you had to put up with that asshole,” he said quietly.

You reached over, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for saving me.”

He glanced your way, that grin teasing the corners of his mouth.

You laughed softly, the tension finally unwinding as the car hummed along the quiet streets.

-

The car pulled up outside your place—a modest, familiar building that felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the night. Jake cut the engine and glanced over at you, his expression softer now, the easy teasing replaced by genuine concern.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, you reached into your bag, pulling out the small jacket you’d tossed over your shoulders earlier. The cold was creeping in now, but you barely noticed.

Jake stepped out and walked around to your side, opening the door. You hesitated for a moment, then slipped out, the night air cool against your skin.

You stood side by side on the sidewalk, the silence between you thick but not uncomfortable. It was as if the city itself had paused to let this moment breathe.

Finally, Jake broke the quiet.

“Next time, i’ll leg you pick out the date,” he said with a small, crooked smile.

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the distant hum of streetlights and passing cars.

“Deal,” you whispered.

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, fingers lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Neither of you said more, but the weight of everything unspoken hung in the air—something tender, something promising.

With a final look, you turned toward your door, and Jake watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

-

Two days after the restaurant escape, everything felt a little brighter. The sky over base was stupidly blue, the coffee in your hand was criminally good, and for once, your morning wasn’t crawling with tension. Instead, you walked through the hangar bay doors with a little spring in your step, humming under your breath, the lid of your cup pressed to your smile.

Bob was the first to notice.

“Wow,” he said, blinking behind his glasses as you passed him. “Someone’s chipper this morning.”

You smirked, biting back a reply as you took your usual seat beside Phoenix on the toolbox near the main maintenance station. She leaned toward you immediately, squinting. “Okay, what gives? You look like you’re about to break into song.”

Fanboy glanced up from where he was trying to fix the squad’s broken coffee machine. “Please don’t. I haven’t had caffeine in three hours. I might actually cry.”

You held up your cup in mock apology. “I had mine already.”

“Traitor,” he muttered.

Jake looked up from where he was half-bent over a clipboard with Rooster. The second he saw you—your smile, the little crinkle at the corners of your eyes—he felt something twist in his chest. He didn’t say anything, just watched as you took another sip and tried not to grin too hard.

You were glowing. Genuinely glowing.

And it wasn’t because of him.

Coyote joined the group, tossing a wrench onto a nearby cart. “Alright, spill. You’re grinning like you just found out Maverick’s paying off everyone’s student loans.”

You glanced around at all their faces—expectant, amused—and finally caved.

“I met someone,” you said.

Jake’s clipboard snapped shut in his hands. No one else noticed, but his jaw ticked.

Rooster tilted his head. “When?”

“This morning. At a coffee shop, just off base,” you said, twirling your cup slowly. “I was in line, and we started chatting. He’s… funny. Really charming. Works in environmental science or something.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “So not in the military?”

“Nope.”

“Already a green flag,” Fanboy said under his breath.

You laughed. “Right? And he asked me out.”

Jake’s stomach dropped.

You kept talking, unaware of the spiral unraveling behind his practiced expression. “We’re getting dinner tonight. He suggested this little Thai place near the beach. Said it’s his favorite spot.”

“He’s got good taste,” Phoenix said.

“He sounds promising,” Rooster added. “Better than Buzzcut and Cop Guy.”

You winced. “God, don’t remind me.”

“Wait,” Fanboy said, lifting his head. “You’re saying this one might actually be decent?”

“I think so,” you said softly. “He seems… different. It’s not just about looks or whatever. There’s something about him.”

Jake was frozen. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t nod. He was staring at the floor like it held the answers to every single one of his bad decisions.

Because it had just hit him—like a missile to the gut—that he didn’t want to see you smiling like that because of someone else.

He’d wanted it to be him all along.

And now you were going on a date with someone who hadn’t made a complete ass of himself in front of you. Someone you were actually excited about. Someone who made you glow.

Jake couldn’t breathe.

Phoenix noticed the change in his posture and gave him a strange look, but he stood before she could say anything.

“I, uh… I gotta check something in the breakroom,” he muttered, walking off without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Phoenix frowned. “The breakroom?”

Bob glanced at Rooster, then at Fanboy. “We don’t even keep anything in there anymore.”

Rooster sighed. “He’s losing it.”

-

Later That Night

Bob’s place was already filled with the scent of pizza and the low hum of music when the squad filtered in. There was a pile of shoes near the door, two half-full coolers, and a lopsided stack of movies no one would watch.

Jake sat on the couch, beer in hand, eyes glazed over as the rest of the squad cracked open drinks and teased Fanboy for trying to light the fire pit with a lighter too small for the job.

“She’s not here, you know,” Coyote said, flopping onto the other side of the couch.

Jake didn’t reply.

“She’s probably having the time of her life right now,” Fanboy said with a smirk, strolling past with a handful of chips.

“Let it go, man,” Rooster added, nudging Jake’s leg. “We’ve accepted the fact that you’re the world’s worst matchmaker.”

Phoenix dropped down beside them and rolled her eyes. “It’s actually impressive how bad those dates were. I mean, come on—Buzzcut? Marcus?”

Jake took a long sip of beer. “They weren’t that bad.”

“They were terrible,” Phoenix replied. “And now she found someone by accident. Coffee Shop Guy is already in the lead.”

That was the moment her phone buzzed on the table.

Phoenix didn’t look at it right away. She was in the middle of tossing a gummy worm at Rooster’s head. But when it lit up again, and again, she finally picked it up.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh my god.”

Everyone paused.

She turned her phone around and held it out. “Look.”

It was a photo. Taken an hour ago, timestamped. You were on the pier, sitting on the railing, hair blowing in the breeze. Ice cream cone in hand. Laughing. Glowing.

Next to you, a guy. Not Buzzcut. Not Marcus. Someone new. Handsome. Casual arm on the back of your bench.

He looked just as happy.

Jake felt like the air had been knocked out of him.

“That’s him?” Bob asked, peering over her shoulder.

“I guess so,” Phoenix muttered. “My friend saw her and sent this. I had my phone on DND. This was taken, like, an hour ago.”

Jake stood up so fast the couch shook.

“Jake?” Rooster asked.

Jake stared at the picture. And then, before anyone could stop him—

“I love her.”

Everyone froze.

Phoenix blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “I freaking love her. And I’ve been setting her up with losers because I didn’t want to admit it. But I love her.”

Rooster dropped his beer. “Dude.”

Fanboy choked. “WHAT?”

Coyote threw a pillow at him. “You moron! You let her go on four dates?”

“I KNOW,” Jake groaned.

Phoenix stood up. “You have to tell her. Like now.”

“But she’s with him. Look at them!” Jake pointed at the photo. “They’re probably planning their damn wedding.”

“No,” Bob said calmly. “They’re eating ice cream.”

“We need to find her,” Phoenix decided, grabbing her keys. “Now.”

-

“You want to what?”

Rooster stared at Jake like he’d just suggested they storm the Pentagon in flip-flops and Hawaiian shirts.

Jake stood in the center of Bob’s living room, hair sticking up in every direction, chest heaving with chaotic energy and pure desperation. “A paper airplane. I’m writing her a message. On a damn paper airplane.”

Silence.

Then Fanboy, holding a beer and looking deeply unimpressed, said flatly, “What the hell kind of third-grade rom-com fantasy are we living in right now?”

“I’m serious,” Jake barked. “She told me once—like a year ago—that if someone ever gave her a paper airplane with something meaningful written on it, she’d cry. Happy cry. She said she’d marry them on the spot.”

Phoenix narrowed her eyes. “Wait. She really said that?”

“She was drunk,” Jake admitted, pacing like a man on the edge. “We were playing Truth or Drink, and she was tipsy off two margaritas. She said it was the kind of gesture no one makes anymore—personal, sweet, thoughtful. Like… actually knowing her. Not just pretending.”

Bob, from the armchair, blinked slowly. “You realize that means she probably meant it.”

Jake nodded fast, almost frantic. “Exactly. That’s why I have to do it.”

Rooster tossed a piece of junk mail at him. “Here, use this—wait. Never mind. That’s a Domino’s coupon.”

Coyote reached into his backpack and chucked a half-used notebook across the room. “Use this. But don’t waste the back pages—I have my gym log in there.”

Phoenix snatched a pen off the coffee table and pointed it at Jake like she was about to knight him. “Write from the heart. But don’t be cringe. I swear to god, if you start it with ‘Dear beautiful,’ I’m lighting you and the paper on fire.”

“Noted,” Jake muttered, sitting down like he was about to defuse a bomb instead of write on lined paper. His knee bounced. His fingers drummed. The notebook sat in his lap, untouched, and the squad stared like they were watching a live soap opera unfold on Bravo.

“Bro,” Fanboy said. “Just start with her name.”

“I’m not writing her a letter,” Jake said. “Not like that. I’m writing… pieces. Memories. Stuff I wish I’d done right.”

Bob tilted his head. “Like a patchwork confession?”

“Exactly,” Jake murmured, flipping the notebook open to a clean page and clicking the pen. “Things I should’ve said. Dates I should’ve taken her on. Dumb moments I should’ve known mattered.”

He began writing.

For a long time, the only sound was the soft scratch of the pen and the occasional beer bottle clinking against the coffee table. Jake’s brows furrowed, his mouth tugged into a tight line as he scribbled fast, pausing only to cross something out or shake his head at himself.

One by one, the squad wandered closer, like a group of nosy aunties pretending not to read over his shoulder.

On the top right corner, Jake wrote:

should’ve asked you to be my date to Coyote’s promotion party — you looked so good that night I forgot my own damn name

In the center:

remember that diner in El Centro? I should’ve asked for your number before we even got our food

I should’ve kissed you on the tarmac after that night flight

I should’ve told you that your laugh ruins me

Near the fold:

I kept trying to set you up with guys who weren’t me

because if I admitted I wanted to be the guy — and you didn’t feel the same — I’d never come back from it

Near the tip:

I want to take you on real dates

the kind with car karaoke and milkshakes and pulling you closer on the couch when the movie gets boring

the kind that end with you in my sweatshirt

Near the tail:

I’ve been in love with you since that time you punched Rooster in the arm for making fun of Bob’s playlist

I should’ve told you

I didn’t

I’m sorry

In the bottom left corner, nearly hidden:

I don’t deserve a second chance

but if you gave me one

I swear to god I’d never waste it

By the time he finished, the squad had gone quiet.

Jake exhaled hard through his nose, like the act of putting it all down on paper had taken something out of him. He stared at the page. Folded it. Creased it carefully, like it was a sacred artifact. With practiced fingers, he turned the notebook page into a perfect paper airplane and held it in both hands, like it might break.

“Dude,” Rooster said, blinking. “That’s actually… like, good.”

“Kind of beautiful,” Bob offered, smiling softly.

Fanboy looked dumbfounded. “Okay, I take back all the slander. That was not stick figure energy.”

Jake stood up slowly, paper airplane in hand, and said—more to himself than anyone else—“I’m giving it to her tonight. I don’t care if it makes me look insane.”

Phoenix grinned. “You already look insane. But also? Kinda hot.”

“I hate how much I’m rooting for you,” Rooster muttered.

Coyote clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Let’s go find her, man. You made your plane. Time to fly it.”

Jake groaned. “That was awful.”

“Thank you, I try,” Coyote said with a wink.

And just like that, the mission was a go. Paper airplane loaded. Feelings confessed. The squad ready to take on the world—or at least the city—in the name of rom-com chaos.

Next stop: the pier.

If she was still there.

If Jake wasn’t already too late.

-

The paper airplane sat on the coffee table like it held nuclear launch codes. Jake didn’t take his eyes off it.

“It’s not even that late,” he muttered, already pacing again. “They could still be at the pier. Maybe walking around or eating somewhere else nearby.”

Phoenix pointed at the picture on her phone again. “Okay, but which pier? That’s the problem. This could be anywhere. There are like seven piers in the county.”

Rooster squinted at the photo. “Zoom in on that sign behind them. The one next to the bench.”

She did, dragging her fingers across the screen. The image was grainy, and the lighting was terrible, but you could just barely make out a few blurry letters.

Fanboy tilted his head like a confused puppy. “That says ‘Pelican something.’ Pelican Wharf? Pelican Bay?”

Bob perked up. “Pelican Point. That’s a real place—it’s by the old marina past the naval museum. There’s a pier right next to it, with that same kind of bench. I’ve been there with my mom.”

Coyote grinned. “Bob, you beautiful genius.”

Jake was already grabbing his keys. “I’m going. I’ll drive out there. If she’s not there, I’ll keep looking.”

Rooster held out a hand like a crossing guard. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can’t just drive off into the night like it’s a Nicholas Sparks movie.”

“I absolutely can,” Jake said, and then paused. “And technically, it’s more like 10 Things I Hate About You.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “So, what? You’re Heath Ledger now?”

Jake pointed at her dramatically. “If the shoe fits, baby.”

Coyote clapped his hands once. “Alright, alright. Let’s not waste time. Jake, you take your truck and go to Pelican Point. If she’s not there, call us.”

Fanboy stood up too. “Wait—we should track her location.”

Everyone turned.

“She shares it with Phoenix!” he added quickly. “Remember when we all went camping and she said if she got murdered in the woods, she wanted someone to find her body?”

Phoenix nodded. “Yeah. I still have her on Find My Friends.”

She pulled up the app. “Okay, last ping was almost two hours ago. But—” She tilted the phone. “—she’s not at Pelican Point anymore.”

Jake frowned. “Where is she?”

Phoenix zoomed in, and then frowned too. “Uh…she’s home.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Wait,” Bob said slowly, “so she’s not on the pier anymore?”

Phoenix shook her head. “Nope. She’s back at her place.”

Fanboy looked around. “So…should we tell Jake not to go?”

“No,” Jake said instantly. “I’m still going. I’ll check the pier just in case the location’s lagging, and if she’s not there, I’m heading to her house.”

Phoenix crossed her arms. “And what’s the plan? You’re just gonna knock on the door and say what? ‘Hi, sorry all your dates sucked. Turns out it’s because I like you?’”

Jake didn’t blink. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Bob smiled softly. “Don’t forget the airplane.”

Jake grabbed it from the table with a reverence normally reserved for flags and championship rings. He looked at the squad, still wide-eyed and vibrating like a caffeinated hummingbird.

“I have to try,” he said, voice low. “Because if she actually liked this guy—if he’s good to her and he makes her smile like that—and I just sit back and let her be with him, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

Rooster groaned into his hands. “God, you’re in deep.”

Phoenix threw him his hoodie. “Go. But call us if she’s not there.”

Fanboy pointed at the airplane. “And don’t chicken out. That thing’s not gonna launch itself.”

Jake nodded. He turned and made it to the door.

Then paused.

“…You guys coming?” he asked, glancing back.

The squad looked at each other.

And then, like a slow-building mutiny, they all stood.

“We’ll follow you in Rooster’s Bronco,” Coyote said. “But from a distance.”

“We want to see what happens,” Phoenix added. “And make sure you don’t wimp out.”

Bob stood too, grabbing his car keys like they were tactical gear. “Also, if it goes badly, you’ll need backup.”

Jake huffed a disbelieving laugh. “You guys are insane.”

Rooster patted his shoulder. “Welcome to the club.”

They poured out into the night like a small military unit on a love-fueled recon mission. Jake climbed into his truck. The squad piled into two cars behind him. The paper airplane sat on the dashboard like a little talisman.

Operation: Find the Girl was officially underway.

-

Jake’s headlights swept across the gravel lot as he pulled up to the edge of Pelican Point. The pier jutted out into the water like a dark, jagged silhouette against the horizon, the last traces of sunset bleeding into the sky. He threw the truck into park, killed the engine, and stepped out into the warm coastal air.

The wind coming off the ocean hit him like a wall—salty, humid, and just cool enough to feel cinematic. His boots crunched over old wood planks as he walked the length of the pier, scanning every shadow, every bench, every corner where a couple might still be wrapped up in each other.

But it was empty.

No laughter. No clinking silverware from the food shack that had already shut down. No dimly lit photo booth glowing in the background. Just the creaking of wood and the soft lap of waves beneath him.

Jake let out a long, slow breath. “Shit.”

He stood at the railing for a second, holding the paper airplane in both hands, his fingers tightening around the folded wings. The edges were soft now—creased from where he’d clutched it all the way here. His pulse thrummed in his ears.

He glanced down at it again, rereading the scrawled notes across the wings and tail:

“Wish I took you to that rooftop jazz bar instead of setting you up with Trevor.”

“Should’ve kissed you after that night on the beach.”

“You looked so happy at the wedding last spring. I wanted to be the reason.”

“I like you. God, I like you so much it makes me feel twelve.”

He swallowed. Looked out at the water. Then grabbed his phone and hit Phoenix’s name.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Not there?” she asked, no preamble.

“Nope.” Jake dragged a hand through his hair. “Pier’s dead. Not a soul in sight except two drunk teenagers making out on the stairs.”

“Gross.”

“She’s not here, Phoenix.”

“I told you she was home—”

“I know, but I had to check.”

Behind her, he could already hear chaos brewing. Rooster shouting something about Google Maps, Coyote yelling at Fanboy to stop touching the AC controls.

Then Phoenix must’ve put the call on speaker, because suddenly the whole squad was in his ear.

“Abort mission?” Rooster asked.

“No,” Jake snapped. “Not aborting.”

“Then what’s the play?” Fanboy demanded.

“She’s at home. You gonna just roll up and throw the airplane at her window like a boombox?”

“Not a bad idea,” Coyote muttered. “Very Say Anything. Classic.”

Jake turned and leaned his back against the railing, staring up at the sky. “I don’t know, man. I feel like I missed the window. She’s probably sitting on the couch right now with this guy, talking about how great the date was.”

Silence.

Then Bob’s voice came in, quieter. “If that were true, she wouldn’t be home alone.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“I mean,” Bob said, “if the date went that well, wouldn’t he still be with her? Or at least walking her to the door, staying for a drink, texting her right now? You think she’d really be sitting there by herself?”

Jake said nothing, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“She’s not texting,” Phoenix added. “I can see the read receipts. Last message she sent was a meme about a raccoon eating french fries. That was two hours ago, so your best hope is that she’s not sitting on that couch and making out with that gorgeous man right now”

Rooster groaned. “Why do you know this much about her phone activity?”

“Because I care, Bradley.”

Jake pushed off the railing. “Okay. Okay. I’m going. I’m heading to her place.”

“Hell yeah,” Coyote said immediately.

“Good,” Phoenix added. “And this time, don’t chicken out. Don’t make a joke. Don’t try to flirt your way around it.”

“Be honest,” Bob said gently. “If this is your one shot, take it seriously.”

Jake looked at the paper airplane one more time. Ran his thumb over the wing that read: “Wish I’d told you the truth sooner.”

He nodded to no one.

“On it.”

He hung up.

The squad, for once, didn’t say anything else.

Back in the truck, he laid the airplane carefully on the passenger seat, like it was more fragile than it looked. And for the first time all night, Jake Seresin wasn’t overthinking the landing. He was just aiming straight and trusting the wind.

-

Jake didn’t remember the drive to your place.

Somewhere between the pier and the turnoff to your street, his brain just… blanked. He barely noticed the green lights, the low hum of country radio still buzzing through the truck’s speakers, or the way his hands clenched the steering wheel so tight his knuckles cracked.

All he knew was that the paper airplane sat on the passenger seat like it held his whole heart.

He hadn’t even realized how fast he was driving until he practically skidded up to the curb outside your place, tires whispering against the pavement. His boots hit the ground hard, truck door slamming behind him.

He took the steps two at a time.

Then three.

And then he was there — fist raised, pounding on your front door like it owed him money.

“Open up!” he barked. “Come on, come on—”

He was still muttering to himself when the door opened.

And then you were there.

In a hoodie. Hair pulled back. Eyes glassy.

You looked… wrecked.

And Jake’s voice immediately faltered.

“I—I was gonna—” He waved a hand around like it could pull the words out of the air. “Shit, sorry, I know it’s late, I just—listen, I should’ve said something a long time ago, I was stupid, I thought I was helping you but I was just—God, I’ve been in love with you since that day at the hangar when you made fun of my playlist—”

“Jake.”

“I know you probably hate me,” he rushed on, words tumbling out. “But I had to try, okay? I had to say something before it was too late. I don’t care about the other guys, I don’t care about Coffee shop guy or whatever his name was, I care about you, and I swear to God if you tell me to leave I will—but just let me say this first—”

“Jake.”

You cut in again, softer this time.

He finally looked at you—really looked.

And the words died on his tongue.

You weren’t just tired. You weren’t just annoyed he’d shown up unannounced.

You were upset.

Something in your expression cracked like porcelain under pressure. Eyes rimmed pink, lower lip trembling, arms folded around yourself like armor.

Jake’s chest tightened.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low now. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“I left the date early,” you muttered. “He—he has a girlfriend.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

You laughed, bitter and broken. “Yeah. She showed up halfway through. Started yelling at him. Apparently this is a thing he does. Picks up girls at coffee shops and sees how long he can keep the lie going.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “I’m gonna kill him.”

You didn’t answer.

Just stared down at the floor like it held the last shred of your dignity.

And that’s when Jake’s whole demeanor shifted.

The flustered panic drained from his face. The tension in his shoulders melted, replaced with something raw and real and steady. He took one careful step forward, then another, until he was right in front of you.

You didn’t flinch when his hand cupped your cheek. You just leaned into it—soft and broken and trusting.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault.”

“I think it is,” he said. “I think if I’d said something sooner, you never would’ve gone on that date.”

Silence stretched between you.

And then Jake reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the folded paper airplane.

“I was gonna just give you this,” he murmured. “Let it speak for me. But now I think you deserve more than a folded-up piece of notebook paper.”

He stepped back.

And then—to your absolute shock—he dropped to one knee on your porch.

“Jake—?”

“Don’t freak out,” he said quickly. “I’m not proposing. Not unless you want me to, in which case I’ll go grab a ring pop from the gas station, we can make it official.”

You snorted despite yourself.

He smiled.

Then he held the airplane out in both hands like an offering.

“I wrote everything I should’ve said,” he said quietly. “Everything I didn’t say when I should’ve. It’s all there. Every missed chance. Every almost. Every wish.”

Your fingers brushed the paper.

Jake’s voice wavered, just slightly.

“I thought if I couldn’t find the right words… maybe I could fold them.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stood there, stunned, holding the paper like it might shatter if you breathed wrong.

“I know it’s late,” Jake added. “I know I’m late. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every day making up for the days I didn’t say the right thing.”

You blinked fast, trying to keep the tears in.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you whispered.

Jake stood.

“I was scared,” he said honestly. “Because once I told you… it’d be real. And if you didn’t feel the same, I don’t know if I could’ve stood next to you every day pretending it didn’t kill me.”

He looked at you.

And something cracked open inside you.

You didn’t even think. Just stepped forward, dropped the paper airplane gently to the porch, and reached for his collar.

Jake barely had time to register the movement before your mouth was on his.

The kiss was everything.

Long-overdue and breathless. Gentle and feral. All teeth and tears and tangled hands in hair and whispered promises between gasps.

When you finally pulled back, Jake was grinning like a fool, forehead pressed to yours.

And then—

A honk.

From the street.

You turned, squinting into the dark—

And saw two parked cars.

One held Fanboy half hanging out the window, fist pumping in the air.

The other had Phoenix leaning on the horn and Rooster hanging a “FINALLY!” sign out the passenger side.

Jake groaned. “Oh my god.”

“They followed you?”

“I hate them so much.”

“I love them,” you corrected, grabbing the paper airplane and tucking it close to your heart. “And I think I love you.”

Jake blinked.

Then grinned.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

You kissed him again.

Longer this time.

From the cars, a chorus of victorious whooping erupted—cheers, clapping, and at least one bottle of champagne being popped (probably Coyote’s doing).

But Jake didn’t hear any of it.

He was too busy falling into the kiss like it was his softest landing yet.

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

Hangster x Pride and Prejudice commission for @redfurrycat :D

full body + half body // simple colour

[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!

taglist; @primadonnasdream @lunatygerqueen @bellarkeselection @dizzybee03 @mrsevans90 @untoldshortsofthefandoms @jackiehollanderr @literal-tv-menace @khouse712 @heartz4chucky @iefitzgerald-blog @myownevils @kmc1989 @pullmecloseman @kvmitchell @read-just-cant-stop @hipsternerd9 @fantasyfootballchampion @whatislovevavy @britt217 @eloquentdreamer @lynnevanss @madsothree @xhazzz @daggersquaddoll @lomlbuckybarnes @pascalquinns @sydneejean @bodhiscurls @calirindo @kastlepage @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @clonesdserveb3tter @fox-saturn @kyliesalvatore @7dreambaby @moonymeloncholymoney @football1921 @edelweissbob @peakysanakin @404rogers @farfrombuck @pmitchell @averyhotchner @jackiehollanderr @fortjackson @clean-and-claire @mrsnikstan @random-reader-13 @wylesgirl @lmrwriter

[se7entyrell]

look at us now, a bradley bradshaw 70s rock AU, coming 2026!

reworked, rewritten, and better in all the ways that count! i'd like to thank everyone who was so kind about the original, and for your endless patience, but i really do think it's worth the wait. i feel really good about the development of bradley and lola's (stage name! she's still an undescribed reader, don't worry) relationship, and i can't wait to share them. a little sneak peak of the upcoming rewrite :)

He repeats your name, but the white noise in your head is roaring. God, how long has it been since your last bump? "No, I get it, don't worry," You snap. "You're fine to fuck around behind her back until there's a baby involved. That's where you draw the line."

"It's not like that-"

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Please do explain it to me then, Bradshaw. Because from my end, you've just spent the entire tour insisting you're going to sign the papers, be done with it all, be with-" You cut yourself off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of pleading. “What the fuck was it all for?”

He steps forward, and then he’s kissing you. It's desperate, and entirely transparent. He doesn't want to argue. He'd rather fuck.

For just a second, you consider letting him get what he wants. Until you bite down a little too hard on his lip, in an attempt to ground yourself. With all your effort, you shove him off of you. "Fuck off-"

"I love you," Bradley bursts out, and you freeze.

"No, you don't," You reply, stepping back.

"I do," He insists. "I promise you, I do. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. I mean, kid, there's nothing like the two of us together. Writing, fucking, whatever it is-"

"Stop talking," You beg, scrunching your eyes shut.

"-I love waking up with you in the morning, and god, you’re the smartest fuckin' person I've ever met-"

"-Stop it-" You repeat.

"I need you to listen to me-"

"Stop talking! Stop fucking talking!" You yell, surprising even yourself with the volume. "You're a selfish prick," You spit, pushing him back against the wall. For a second, Bradley thinks you're about to kiss him. "I hate you." And then you're gone, storming down the hallway.

He says your name again, and you have to bite back a scream.

"What kind of sadism is this? Do you get off on telling me why I'm so wonderful right before you're about to leave me for a woman you can't stand?"

When he doesn't reply, you take it as confirmation to keep going.

"How dare you?" Your voice is getting louder, and you know the band will probably have to pay a noise disturbance fee tomorrow. You can't find it in yourself to care. "What the fuck do you want from me? You want me to play stepmother to your new baby? Be at your beck and call for when you get bored with your wife again? Yeah, fuck that. And fuck you too."

The anger buzzes through your veins, but you know when it dissipates all you'll be left with is total and utter grief. You're not what he wants. Even after everything, he wants something that you can't, or won't, give him. The first person in your life who's ever truly seen you, and it's still not enough.

tagging people who were tagged in the original, just in case they hadn't heard! happy to untag or add others to the taglist though @avengersfan25 @cherrycola27 @sparkles121127 @sometimesanalice @itsforreadingonly @springsteeen @impossibleblizzardstudentposts @slut-for-bucky-barnes @harrycherrylove @translatemunson @nnatel @shamelessghostwagonwobbler @a-serene-place-to-be @crowdedimagines @inky-sun @princessofglitterland @celestialeviereads @faceache111 @hopeless-romantic-baby @mimi-8793 @stripes2607 @shanaenayy @bobgirllll @123457sworld @saangie @yourlocalbritish @letlly @thatlonelyalto @luckyladycreator2 @vvaeda @malibuhearts @harrycherrylove @shaannnn @roosterforme @pastelpoppies @khouse712

[isthiscoinsidenceorasign]

Latest Glen Powell photoshoot for LNT, Sharp magazine, Fotogramas, and GQ.

[avengxrz]

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LILIAN ★★★ marvel. top gun. harry potter. writer of emotionally devastating things. crybaby with a keyboard. lives off angst & comfort fics.

my works are not made using ai. every word comes from me, my thoughts, my hands, my time. do not steal, copy, or feed my fics into ai for any reason.fuck ai and what it’s doing to creative spaces. support real writers.

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typing like it’s therapy. dreaming like it’s survival.

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