bliss lane
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@emberselfships
any other betas who find they get heats or ruts not on any sort of cycle but just out of the blue? I know for absolute certain I'm a beta, there's no doubt in my mind about that… right up until I get one of my random heats where I'm clingy and tired and horny and suddenly have an appetite and I start questioning everything again.
Any other betas get this?
the videogame man is real and he will marry me you’ll all see
🩵 fictos, selfshippers, OC x Canon peeps: whatever color that is associated with your F/O, did it became your favorite color?
♡ it is now my favorite color because of them!
♡ I'm starting to like that color but I wouldn't say it's my favorite.
♡ I just like it./meh?
♡ no, I don't like that color.
♡ Other (put your own answer in your tags!)
♡ it's been my favorite color and it has nothing to do with my F/O.
Shout out to self shippers that are too nervous to talk to others in the community! You’re not a burden! Your f/o loves you!
I think I should be allowed to manipulate the fabric of reality. it's for a good cause(cuddles with my f/o's)!
December F/O Art!
Reblog this with your f/o and I'll draw them in a winter outfit or as a present!
Let me know which you'd prefer and please include your f/o's name and source so I can find more references if I need them!! I can also do self-inserts if you prefer but one character per reblog please ^-^
Here are my darling Tumblr and Sun as examples, these poses are based on clipart so I'm using a lineless style :)
*waves* could you do Mikaele Salaese from TMA please?
Photo for reference (this is the only one I could find ;-;) and link to credit
Lunchbox Confidential
pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader
summary; The Daggers suspects Jake has a girlfriend when he starts taking homemade food to base every day.
word count; 3.7k
warnings; another secret girlfriend trope because i wasn't lying when i said i had a hundred concepts planned for this. FLUFF FEST
a/n; i just thought this was a funny concept!!! also i have to admit i thought about it after watching one of those tiktok videos of girls packing their boyfriends lunch hahaah
masterlist
It started with the lunchbox.
At first, no one said anything — it was Jake Seresin, after all, and he had a habit of doing things just for the attention. But when he showed up on base three days in a row with the same sage green Stanley lunchbox tucked casually under his arm — with a matching thermos, no less — it didn’t go unnoticed.
Especially not during lunch.
They always ate together. Spread out across one of the long tables in the hangar break room or under the shade of the awning if the weather allowed. Paper bags, energy drinks, and fast food wrappers littered the table like confetti most days. But not Jake’s spot. Not anymore.
His lunch was neat. Glass containers with perfectly portioned meals, color-coded and stacked. Shiny utensils instead of plastic. Napkins — actual cloth napkins. And he wiped his hands with them. His coffee came from the thermos now — not the break room sludge or the vending machine down the hall — and it smelled faintly of cinnamon and something warm and sweet none of them could place.
The rest of the Daggers tried to ignore it at first. They really did.
But when Jake pulled out a kale salad with pomegranate seeds and some suspiciously perfect grilled chicken on a Tuesday — after years of watching him inhale gas station taquitos and drink Red Bull like water — something snapped.
They began watching.
Not staring, per se — just... observing. Like scientists. Anthropologists. Phoenix was the first to spot the change in behavior: Jake no longer bought food on base. No quick donuts. No protein bars with expiration dates rubbed off. He came prepared. Bob noted the tiny container of homemade salad dressing and the lemon wedge tucked beside it. Fanboy spotted fresh herbs — fresh herbs — scattered over roasted vegetables one day. And Rooster, ever the skeptic, saw the glass container of couscous and nearly fell out of his chair.
Couscous.
That Thursday, they were all eating lunch together as usual. Burgers and fries, burrito bowls, leftover pizza — the usual chaos. Except for Jake, who opened his lunchbox to reveal grilled salmon, jasmine rice, and something that looked an awful lot like sautéed spinach with garlic.
Not a word was said at first. But the silence was loud.
Jake, as always, ate like it was nothing. Cool and composed. Not a hint of embarrassment. If anything, he looked proud of his meal. Maybe even smug.
The others exchanged glances over greasy paper bags and foil wrappers. Something was happening. Something had changed.
Jake wasn’t just eating better. He was glowing.
His hair looked shinier. His skin? Suspiciously clear. He wasn’t snapping at anyone. He wasn’t even being a smug jackass as often as he usually was. He still smirked — but it was softer. More amused than arrogant. And then there was the humming. Jake had been humming under his breath lately. Actual tunes.
The realization came slowly, then all at once:
Someone was making him lunch.
Not just anyone. Someone who cared.
The neat handwriting on the masking tape labels. The balanced meals. The lemon wedge. The cinnamon coffee. The fresh herbs. All from scratch.
That wasn’t meal prep. That was love.
And that’s when it hit them — they were dealing with a full-blown mystery girlfriend situation.
No one had seen her. No one had heard about her. But she existed. And she cooked. And she packed his lunch in a Stanley box like a 1950s housewife crossed with a nutritionist.
The Dagger Squad didn’t say anything that day. But they all knew one thing:
They were going to get to the bottom of it.
Even if it killed them.
The confrontation came on a Friday, and it was far from subtle.
They were all seated around the usual table outside the hangar — Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Bob, Coyote, and Jake. The air smelled like jet fuel, sunblock, and desperation. Lunch had just begun, and once again, Jake pulled out his Stanley lunchbox with the same casual nonchalance of a man not being stalked by his coworkers.
Except he was.
Fanboy was the first to break.
“That’s it,” he said, slapping a napkin down like he was laying a court summons. “Who is she?”
Jake didn’t even glance up as he unscrewed his thermos. “Excuse me?”
Phoenix leaned in, pointing at his perfectly packed tupperware like it had personally offended her. “You used to eat vending machine peanuts for lunch, Seresin. Dry ones. With Coke Zero. Now you’re out here with your anti-inflammatory salmon and chia seed pudding.”
Coyote nodded solemnly. “You brought fruit yesterday, man. In a ceramic bowl. Who the hell owns ceramic bowls?”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “People who don’t eat like raccoons?”
Rooster squinted at the fork in Jake’s hand. “Is that... bamboo?”
“Reusable,” Jake said, chewing slowly. “It’s called being environmentally conscious.”
Bob looked genuinely impressed. “The presentation is really nice. There’s, like, a color theme every day.”
Jake shot him a warning glance. “Et tu, Floyd?”
Fanboy ignored him. “So? Who’s the domestic goddess making your lunches?”
Jake leaned back, slow and smug. “Y’all are acting like I can’t boil rice.”
Phoenix crossed her arms. “Jake, last year you set off the smoke alarm reheating soup.”
“One time,” he said. “One time.”
Rooster leaned forward, face dead serious. “Is your mom visiting or something? Be honest. She’s staying with you, right? That’s why you’ve been showing up with fucking lemon vinaigrette.”
Jake snorted. “My mother hasn’t flown in since Christmas, and if she were making my lunch, you’d all be dead from butter overload.”
Coyote grinned. “So it’s not your mom.”
Jake finally looked up, leveling them all with a cool glance. “Why are you people so obsessed with what I eat?”
“Because it’s suspicious!” Phoenix threw her hands up. “You have a thermos now. And that coffee smells like snickerdoodles. Your mood’s suspiciously stable. Your skin looks... hydrated.”
Rooster nodded. “I said that last week, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Bob added. “And his hair’s been extra fluffy.”
Jake rubbed his temple. “Jesus Christ.”
Fanboy leaned forward like he was about to interrogate a suspect. “You’ve got a girl, don’t you?”
Jake’s jaw ticked. “Not that it’s any of your business—”
“He has a girl!” Rooster exploded, pointing dramatically. “He’s so in love, it’s disgusting!”
Phoenix gasped, shoving Jake’s shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re domestic now. Who is she? Does she do your laundry? Does she iron your flight suits? Is she a ghost?”
“She’s not a ghost,” Jake muttered.
“Wait,” Coyote said, eyes narrowing. “Have we met her?”
Jake took another bite of his grilled chicken like he had all the time in the world. “No.”
“Why not?!” the table chorused in complete offense.
Jake shrugged. “Because she’s smarter than all of you, and I wanted her to like me before she met the clowns I work with.”
Rooster clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “He’s ashamed of us.”
Jake sighed dramatically. “You’re like toddlers. Nosy, loud toddlers.”
“I bet she bakes,” Phoenix said. “She definitely bakes.”
“She pickles,” Bob whispered in awe.
“You’re in love,” Coyote said, grinning. “Look at him. Look at that dumb smirk.”
Jake wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and raised his brow. “If you’re done analyzing my lunch like a bunch of food critics on meth, I’d like to eat in peace.”
But none of them were done. Not even close.
Because Jake Seresin — call sign Hangman, cockiest bastard alive — had a girlfriend.
And she packed him snack-size containers.
This was war.
When Jake walked through the front door, the scent of garlic and lemon greeted him first. Then came the faint hum of jazz from the kitchen speaker, and the soft shuffle of slippered feet across tile.
He closed the door behind him, shrugging off his flight jacket, and tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl by the entryway — the one you made yourself at that pottery class you dragged him to two months ago. The bowl was hideous, all warped and crooked and smudged with a thumbprint in the glaze.
He wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Incoming,” he called, his voice echoing down the hallway.
“In here!” you answered gently, just barely loud enough to carry. It was a voice that never quite matched the chaos of the world he came from. Soft, warm, comforting — like fleece and firelight and freshly baked bread. Everything he didn’t know he needed until he had you.
Jake stepped into the kitchen, eyes landing on your small figure standing at the stove, stirring a pan of sautéed vegetables like it was the most important job in the universe. You wore an oversized sweatshirt that hung halfway to your knees and fuzzy socks with little peaches on them. Your hair was clipped up messily, a pencil tucked through it. Your cheeks were pink from the heat, your eyes bright as you turned to smile at him.
His day melted off his shoulders the second you looked at him like that.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said, walking up behind you and pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. “Dinner smells amazing. What is it?”
“Grilled salmon,” you said, reaching for the oven mitts. “Roasted sweet potato, asparagus, and quinoa with lemon zest. And I tried that raspberry vinaigrette you mentioned.”
Jake made a low sound in his throat, like a man witnessing divinity. “God, I love you.”
You giggled quietly. “You say that every time I feed you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always true.”
He leaned over and snagged a slice of sweet potato from the baking tray. You batted his hand lightly with the spatula.
“No snacking,” you said, then softer, “You’ll ruin your appetite.”
Jake grinned, clearly unbothered. He slid onto one of the counter stools, still in his flight suit. “You would not believe the interrogation I was subjected to today.”
You turned off the burner and looked over, blinking. “Interrogation?”
“Oh yeah.” He pulled out his thermos, waved it for emphasis. “This. Your lunches. Apparently I’ve been exhibiting ‘suspiciously stable mood patterns,’” he added with exaggerated air quotes. “Rooster almost staged an intervention. Fanboy asked if my mother was visiting.”
Your eyes widened in concern. “Oh no, did I—did I cause a scene?”
Jake smirked, all teeth. “Babe, the scene was already there. You’re just the reason it’s gourmet now.”
You ducked your head, cheeks coloring. “They were really talking about my food?”
“Nonstop,” he said, voice softer now. “Bob noticed the color coordination. And I may have accidentally confirmed that yes, I’m off the market and eating like a real adult because of a certain little nutritionist I’m in love with.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, shy but glowing.
“Oh.”
Jake’s smile softened. He reached over the counter to brush a crumb from your chin. “Yeah. Oh.”
You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, nerves making your fingers twitch slightly. “Well... maybe they should just come over. For dinner. You know. If you want.”
Jake blinked. “Wait, you wanna meet them?”
You bit your lip, then nodded. “I mean... they’re important to you. And you’re important to me. I don’t want to be a secret.”
Jake stood, rounded the counter, and cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin up gently. “You are not a secret. You’re my best-kept treasure. But if you want to meet the zoo I work with, I’ll happily unleash them on our home.”
You giggled nervously. “They’re not that bad, are they?”
Jake gave you a look. “One of them thought I was being poisoned because my skin started clearing up.”
You laughed out loud then, the sound like windchimes in spring. “Okay, maybe we’ll ease them in with dessert.”
“I’ll text them,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “Tomorrow night?”
You nodded, then hesitated. “Should I make the gluten-free pasta for Phoenix? I think you said she’s cutting back on wheat.”
Jake blinked. “You’re terrifying.”
“I’m thoughtful,” you corrected, nose wrinkling.
He kissed that exact wrinkle and pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re perfect.”
And as he watched you pull out your little recipe notebook with color-coded tabs, already muttering about prep time and ingredients, Jake realized something:
His squad wasn’t ready for you.
But he was.
Jake had told them to arrive at 7:00 PM sharp.
Which, to be fair, was a bold assumption considering this group couldn’t even synchronize takeoff times most days — and yet, somehow, the entire Dagger Squad showed up early.
At 6:46 PM.
Jake opened the front door still wearing his "casual hosting" T-shirt — grey, a little snug on the arms — and a face full of horror as he looked past the group to his watch.
“You guys can’t read numbers?”
Phoenix blew past him like she owned the place, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a box of pastries in the other. “Relax, Hostess Seresin. We brought offerings.”
Javy followed right behind her, grinning. “We were hungry.”
“Some of us were excited to meet the mystery woman,” Bob added gently, clutching his own six-pack of sparkling water like it was a housewarming gift.
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t have just waited in the driveway like normal people?”
“Normal people don’t talk about you bringing Tupperware and homemade lemon water for two weeks straight,” Rooster said, stepping inside and looking around the open-plan living room and kitchen. “This is like… a holy pilgrimage.”
“Make yourselves at home,” Jake muttered dryly, closing the door as Payback and Fanboy filtered in, already bickering about who called shotgun on the ride over.
“Wow,” Phoenix said, setting her wine on the counter and surveying the kitchen. “This place is nice. Did you clean just for us?”
“No, he lives like this now,” Fanboy replied, eyeing the perfectly folded throw on the couch. “Ever since he started bringing soup in a thermos. It’s freaky.”
Jake opened his mouth to snap back, but was immediately distracted by the sound of a cabinet opening and the soft pad of your footsteps.
“Jake, can you—oh.” You stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, your eyes landing on the cluster of aviators now standing in the middle of your living room like excited kids on a school field trip.
You were wearing a soft blue sweater, an apron still tied around your waist, your hands lightly dusted in flour. Your hair was clipped back, your expression shy but warm, and for a second, nobody said anything.
Then:
“Oh my God, you’re real,” Rooster said, like he couldn’t help himself.
“You made the lemon lavender loaf?!” Bob added, awe in his voice.
You blinked, cheeks warming. “Um… yes?”
“Hi,” Jake said quickly, stepping forward to loop an arm around your waist. “Everyone—this is my girlfriend.”
The room erupted in a chorus of greetings.
You gave a tiny, polite wave and a nervous smile. “Hi. Welcome. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” Javy said, practically vibrating with joy.
You stepped aside, motioning toward the dining room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable. There are drinks on the sideboard, and appetizers if you’re hungry now.”
“Oh my God, there are appetizers,” Rooster whispered reverently.
The dining table was a vision: long and wooden with soft linen runners, candles, and mismatched vintage plates. On the sideboard sat homemade lemonade, cucumber water, fresh juice, and two pitchers of iced tea — one sweet, one unsweetened. Next to that, a tray of cheese-stuffed mini bell peppers, tiny crostinis with whipped feta and honey, and skewered watermelon cubes with mint and balsamic glaze.
You stood back, hands twisted in your apron, as the Daggers descended.
“This is witchcraft,” Phoenix murmured around a crostini.
“What’s in this?” Fanboy asked, mouth full.
“Ricotta, lemon zest, and love,” Jake said flatly, earning a soft elbow from you.
Bob carefully poured himself some cucumber water, looking like he was about to cry from joy.
“Okay,” Payback said after his second skewer, “so let’s talk about how you’re real. Jake Seresin told us nothing except that you packed his lunch and made ‘homemade marinara from scratch.’”
You flushed. “Well, I’m a nutritionist, so… food is kind of my thing.”
“Oh my God, he wasn’t lying,” Rooster said dramatically.
Jake smirked. “Told you.”
Dinner proper was a feast.
You brought everything out in waves, starting with fresh-baked dinner rolls still warm from the oven, followed by a creamy butternut squash soup served in delicate ceramic bowls you’d thrifted with Jake one weekend.
“This is…?” Natasha asked, spoon midair.
“Roasted butternut squash, a little coconut milk, ginger, and nutmeg.”
“I’m ascending,” Fanboy said seriously.
Jake leaned toward Bob, who had already finished half his bowl. “You should see brunch.”
Next came the main course: a honey-glazed salmon, lemon herb roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted rainbow carrots, a spinach salad with strawberries and candied pecans, and a quinoa pilaf with grilled veggies.
“Oh my God, this is what Jake eats every day?” Fanboy asked, already scooping seconds. “We thought he joined a cult.”
“I made a peanut butter and jelly today,” Payback said. “A peanut butter and jelly.”
“Meanwhile, I’ve been eating gas station sushi,” Rooster mumbled.
Jake just leaned back in his chair, arm resting on the back of yours, smug as hell. “Yeah, well. You know. She likes me.”
Natasha snorted. “You’re just lucky she doesn’t realize she can do better.”
You gave a soft laugh, tucking your face into Jake’s shoulder. “I think I’m right where I want to be.”
Jake pressed a kiss to your temple.
Around the table, groans of fake gagging.
Then came dessert.
Which, of course, you also made from scratch.
Mini lava cakes. Fresh whipped cream. Vanilla bean custard. A tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries. And, because Jake had casually mentioned it in passing last week, a tiny banana cream pie — just for him.
There was silence as everyone took the first bite of lava cake.
Then, from Bob: “Do you… do you give cooking lessons?”
Jake snorted. “Bob, don’t fall in love with my girlfriend.”
“Too late.”
Eventually, the night wound down. Everyone was stuffed, glowing, and a little in awe. Jake sat back with his arm around you, and the rest of the Daggers sprawled like satisfied house cats in every available seat.
Phoenix raised her glass of lemonade. “To the chef. And to the woman who somehow managed to civilize Hangman.”
You smiled bashfully as everyone echoed the toast.
As they filtered out with hugs and leftovers and more compliments than you knew what to do with, Fanboy paused at the door and turned back to Jake.
“Hey man,” he said, nodding at you. “You’re punching so far above your weight.”
Jake just grinned, watching you finish wiping down the table, a dreamy look in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
The house was finally quiet.
The last of the dishes were drying in the rack, the dining room table wiped clean, and the candles had long since flickered out. Outside, the crickets hummed a steady rhythm beneath the open kitchen window, and inside, the only light came from the under-cabinet glow washing everything in soft, honeyed warmth.
You leaned against the counter, still in your apron, still a little flustered from all the compliments. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your voice was hoarse from answering so many questions, but Jake? Jake looked at you like he could stay in this moment forever.
“Did you have fun?” you asked, brushing your fingers along the edge of the countertop, not quite meeting his gaze.
Jake didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped in front of you, gently untied your apron and set it aside on the counter. Then he leaned in, cupping your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye where the day’s effort still lingered.
“You are… incredible,” he said quietly.
You rolled your eyes, trying not to melt. “They were just hungry.”
“They were obsessed with you,” he corrected. “And for the record, so am I.”
You laughed, just a little. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m lucky,” he said, kissing your cheek. “That’s what I am.”
You hummed, looping your arms around his waist as he tugged you closer. The tips of your noses brushed. Your smile curled slow and sleepy as his lips found yours — slow, soft, a kiss made of everything unspoken. Thank you. I love you. Please don’t ever leave.
Jake pulled away just far enough to whisper, “You know I’d marry you for those lava cakes alone, right?”
You smacked his chest. “Go to bed, Hangman.”
He grinned. “I’m serious. That pie sealed it.”
You leaned up to kiss him one more time, quick and warm. “Brush your teeth first.”
“Bossy,” he said, but he was already walking away, barefoot and happy.
The next morning, at Naval Base North Island, the squad was gathered around the usual lunch table — same routine, same noisy chatter — when Jake strolled up like he didn’t have a care in the world, coffee thermos in one hand, and a pastel-colored bakery box in the other.
“Morning, sunshine,” Rooster called. “You recover from that feast?”
Jake smirked and plopped the box on the table. “Barely. But she sent me with these.”
Natasha blinked. “Wait… what’s that?”
Jake popped the lid. Inside: delicate rows of homemade pastries. Mini scones with lemon glaze. Tiny berry tarts. Swirls of buttery palmiers and flaky raspberry pinwheels. Each one placed with the care of someone who loved to feed the people her person loved.
“She made these?” Bob asked, already leaning in like he was in a dream.
“Packed them herself,” Jake said, lifting out a tiny wax-paper note that read, “For the squad. Don’t let Jake eat them all. Love, Me.”
“Oh my God, she likes us,” Fanboy gasped.
“She likes me more,” Jake said smugly, popping a tart into his mouth.
Natasha was already holding a scone delicately between her fingers. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“You didn’t tell us she bakes,” Payback said through a mouthful.
Jake wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his seat like he’d just conquered the world.
“I told you guys. She’s perfect.”
the way he loves you
Summary: The Dagger Squad starts to notice the subtle ways Jake Seresin shows his love for you, from quiet moments at home to stolen glances at the Hard Deck. As each of them pieces it together, they realize Jake isn’t just Hangman—he’s yours.
Warnings: use of Y/N, she/her, fluff.
Word count: 1121 (oops i got a bit carried away)
A/N: someone reposted my last “curious gazes” and requested one with all the daggers, and i’ve been thinking about it ever since. i finally got time to write it so i hope you enjoy, i’ve been loving these!!
***
Jake “Hangman” Seresin had a reputation for being bold and larger than life. To most, nothing more than a cocky, overconfident pilot, the kind of guy who never seemed to take life too seriously. But when the Daggers met you, they began to see a side of Jake they’d never expected—a side that made them realize there was far more to him than they ever realized.
And it happened in little moments, each one chipping away at the image of Hangman and revealing Jake.
***
Phoenix
Natasha had always been sharp. She could read people easily, and Jake was no exception. She’d noticed the changes in him before anyone else: how he wasn’t as quick to boast, how he lingered on his phone more often, smiling at something no one else could see.
Still, it wasn’t until that night at the Hard Deck that she put the pieces together.
Jake walked in with you by his side, and Natasha immediately noticed the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the casual charm he used on everyone else—it was softer, almost reverent.
“Guys, this is Y/N,” Jake said, his voice filled with a kind of pride that made Natasha blink in surprise.
You smiled and waved, introducing yourself as Jake’s girlfriend, though you didn’t need to. Natasha had already figured it out.
She watched as Jake stayed close to you all night, not in his usual attention-seeking way, but quietly, as if he couldn’t bear to let you out of his sight. When you laughed, he leaned in just a little closer. When you spoke, he listened like your words were the most important thing in the world.
Later, as Jake brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek and a soft smile, Natasha smirked and leaned over to Bob. “He’s gone.”
Bob
Bob Floyd noticed it in the details, in the quiet moments that others might overlook.
When Jake and you invited the squad over for dinner, Bob didn’t know what to expect. He’d never pictured Jake as the hosting type, but as he stepped into your cozy home, he could tell this was different.
“Make yourself at home,” you said warmly, handing Bob a glass of sweet tea.
Jake was in the kitchen, wearing an apron—an apron, of all things—as he stirred something on the stove. Bob couldn’t hide his surprise.
“You’re domesticated, Seresin,” Rooster teased, leaning against the counter.
Jake smirked without looking up. “Happy wife, happy life,” he said easily, earning a laugh from you.
“Not your wife yet,” you teased.
“Yet,” Jake said, glancing at you with a grin and tossing you a wink that made Bob’s chest ache with secondhand fondness.
Bob noticed the way you moved around each other, wordlessly passing utensils and dishes, finishing each other’s sentences. There was a quiet rhythm to it, a kind of unspoken understanding that came from deep love and trust.
When dessert came out, Jake set the plate in front of you first, brushing a kiss to your temple. Bob caught the way you smiled, the way Jake’s hand lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary.
Bob glanced at Phoenix, who raised her eyebrows knowingly. “That’s love,” she whispered, and Bob couldn’t agree more.
Rooster
Bradley Bradshaw noticed it during a pool game at the Hard Deck.
Jake had always been competitive, but tonight, he wasn’t playing to win against the squad—he was playing to impress you.
Every shot he made, he’d glance over at you, his grin widening when you clapped or cheered. But it wasn’t just the showmanship that caught Bradley’s attention. It was the way Jake handed you the pool cue, guiding you through your shots with a patience Bradley hadn’t thought him capable of.
“Am I doing this right?” you asked, laughing as you tried to line up your shot.
“You’re perfect,” Jake said softly, his voice so low that only you and Bradley heard.
Bradley rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “You’re whipped, Seresin.”
“And happy about it,” Jake shot back, winking.
Bradley couldn’t argue with that.
Payback & Fanboy
Fanboy and Payback noticed it on the beach.
It was a rare day off, and the squad had decided to hit the sand for some football and relaxation. You’d tagged along, sitting under an umbrella with a book in hand while the others played.
Jake kept sneaking glances at you between plays, his grin growing every time you looked up and smiled.
When the game ended, Jake jogged over to you, dropping to his knees in the sand beside your chair. “Having fun?” he asked, brushing sand off his hands.
You smiled, closing your book. “Always, when I’m with you.”
Mickey nudged Reuben, jerking his chin toward the two of you. “Look at him. That’s not the Hangman we know.”
“Nope,” Reuben said with a grin. “That’s Jake. Big difference.”
Coyote
Javy had known from the beginning.
He’d been there when Jake first mentioned you, his voice tinged with something Javy hadn’t heard before: vulnerability. He’d watched as Jake navigated the early days of your relationship, unsure of himself in a way that was both endearing and rare.
At a barbecue one weekend, Javy pulled Jake aside, nodding toward you as you chatted with Phoenix and Bob.
“She’s good for you, man,” Javy said.
Jake nodded, his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah. She is.”
“You ever gonna tell her how whipped you are?” Javy teased.
Jake smirked. “She already knows, no need to say it.”
The Moment They All Realized
The squad’s collective realization came during another gathering at your house.
It was late, and the group was sprawled across the living room, laughing and swapping stories. You were in the kitchen, tidying up, when Jake disappeared without a word.
A few minutes later, he returned with a dish towel over his shoulder, carefully carrying a handful of freshly washed glasses.
“Need a hand, sweetheart?” he asked, walking straight to you.
The room went silent as the squad watched him press a kiss to your temple before helping you dry the dishes.
Phoenix broke the silence first. “Holy shit. He’s a househusband.”
The room erupted in laughter, and Jake looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Jealous?”
“Absolutely,” Natasha said, grinning.
As the laughter died down, Javy raised his beer. “To Y/N,” he said.
You looked up, surprised. “To me?”
Javy nodded. “Yeah. You turned Hangman into Jake. And we love you for it.”
The squad cheered, and as Jake’s hand found yours, you squeezed it, your heart full.
Because while Jake might not have always been the loudest about his love, the people who mattered most could see it clear as day.
Feels Like Home
Summary: It all started with a care package. What began as a few thoughtful letters quickly unraveled into something deeper between two friends.
Warnings: Pining, Masturbation (male), Nudity, Consensual Intercourse, Protected Sex (Condom use), Girl on top, P in V sex.
Word Count: 6,687
Jake’s bunk was quiet when he stepped in, the kind of still that only came after a sixteen-hour day. It had been filled with flight drills, debriefs, and a sun that wouldn’t quit. He dropped his duffel by the door and rolled his shoulders, sweat clinging to the back of his neck.
He didn’t notice the package until he turned toward his bed.
It was there on the thin Navy standard issue blanket. Just brown cardboard and a label slapped on it. The corners a little smushed in from the journey to get to him. It was nothing fancy. But the handwriting on the front was unmistakable. He’d know it anywhere. Curvy letters, a little rushed but still neat. Her name in the return address.
He smiled before he even touched it.
Jake sat down on the edge of the bunk and pulled the box into his lap. It smelled faintly of something sweet. Vanilla, maybe. Or lavender. It was soft, barely there, but it was still there.
The tape came off easily. She always used too much. She’d do a layer then worry if it would hold so would add two or three more sloppy layers on top.
He opened the flaps and was met with a folded sweatshirt on top. It was his sweatshirt. Faded gray, soft as hell, worn down by years of use. One from his basic training days years ago. He’d left it at her place back in the spring when he’d visited home for a long weekend. She’d told him she was keeping it hostage and never giving it back. Apparently, she’d finally given in to his requests for it back.
He lifted it to his face and breathed in.
It didn’t smell like his cologne anymore. It smelled like her detergent. That comforting, clean scent that reminded him of nights on her couch watching bad movies, of her laundry basket always overflowing in the corner of her room cause she hated folding, of her curling up beside him in pajamas while she made fun of whatever he picked on Netflix. And under all of that, barely noticeable unless you were looking, was her perfume. That soft floral warmth that always clung to her skin and hair. Faint, but there.
Jake’s throat tightened.
He set the sweatshirt aside and dug deeper.
Snacks. His favorites. Sour gummies, barbecue flavored sunflower seeds, and the off brand licorice she used to buy in bulk just because he’d mentioned once that he liked it. There was a little plastic container of trail mix she definitely made herself. His kind. No raisins, but heavy on the M&Ms. She’d taped a note to the lid in blue ink.
This mix is 80% sweet, 10% salt, and 10% health. Just like you.
He huffed a laugh and shook his head, fingers brushing over the handwriting. It was so like her, casual and playful, the kind of teasing that came easy after years of knowing each other inside out.
There were more notes scattered through the box.
One taped to a pack of gum: So your breath doesn’t kill anyone in the cockpit.
Another tucked inside a second bag of trail mix: You’re welcome for the peanuts. Even though they’re gross.
He kept reading as he picked up each one. Every one made his smile stretch wider, softer.
She didn’t have to do any of this. But that was her. Always going out of her way. Always remembering the little things.
At the very bottom of the box was a sealed envelope with his name on it.
No teasing note. Just Jake written in that same handwriting. He turned it over in his hand before carefully tearing it open.
The letter was shortz, just a few lines, but it hit him harder than anything else in the box.
I figured you might be needing a piece of home. So here’s your hoodie, your snacks, and a little chaos in paper form (that’s me). I know things are tough right now and I wish I could do more than send you a box, but I hope this helps even a little.
Don’t forget to sleep.
Don’t forget that you’re loved.
Text me when you get this.
He folded the letter slowly, and tucked it into the inside pocket of the hoodie like it belonged there.
Jake leaned back against the wall, hoodie in his lap, the scent of her still clinging to the air around him. His fingers ran over the edge of one of the pictures she’d included. Mostly her making funny faces, her and their friends at a bonfire, a beach trip from spring break.
He hadn’t even gotten to the last one yet. The one tucked in the back. The one that would hit him in an entirely different way.
But for now, he let himself sit in this moment. Warmth in his chest. Bittersweet, comforting, familiar.
She was his best friend. She always had been.
And God help him, she was everything he wanted and nothing he was allowed to touch.
Then he noticed the last one.
It was her on the beach. Alone this time. Standing in the sun, wearing that tiny little bikini she used to joke about but never actually wore when he was around. She was tan and golden, hair a little windblown, and blowing a kiss to the camera. Lips pursed. Hip cocked. Chest out. And the look in her eyes…
Fuck.
Jake swallowed hard, eyes stuck to the photo like it might burn if he looked too long.
It probably would.
He ran his thumb along the edge, then flipped it over. Scrawled on the back in blue ink were five words.
Wish you were here ;)
He should’ve laughed. Or rolled his eyes. Teased her in return. But instead, his stomach tightened.
He looked back at the photo. That bikini didn’t leave much to the imagination. And suddenly, imagination was all he had.
His hand slipped into his sweatpants before he even realized what he was doing. A slow, almost subconscious motion. His fingers grazing the waistband, eyes still fixed on her body in the picture. She was dripping wet, droplets on her skin catching the sun, glistening in places that made his pulse throb in his throat. His cock stirred beneath the fabric, thickening with every slow breath.
Jake closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow. The hoodie was bunched up against his chest, and without thinking, he pulled it higher, buried his nose in the fabric.
That scent again.
God, she was everywhere. His mind. His nose. His fucking dreams. He was so gone for her. And she was gone for that stupid guy she had been dating that he was sure was sleeping with girls behind her back.
The tension in his body deepened as he pressed the heel of his palm against his length, just enough to feel the ache sharpen. His fingers flexed, wrapped around himself through the thin cotton of his boxers. He was already half hard and only getting worse. Or better. Depending on how much guilt he was willing to live with when this was over.
She has a boyfriend, his brain reminded him.
Jake squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
But his imagination didn’t care.
The sand is hot beneath his feet, but the breeze is cooler. It’s salty and soft as it rolls in off the Gulf. She’s standing just a few feet away, dripping wet from the ocean, water beading on her skin. That bikini clings to every curve, leaves nothing to mystery.
She walks toward him slowly, deliberately. Hips swaying. That same flirty smile playing on her lips.
“Miss me, Hangman?” she teases, voice low and warm, like a summer night.
Jake swallows hard and reaches for her waist. She steps in between his knees, still damp, water dripping down her legs. She straddles his thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands on his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.
“You’re trouble,” he mutters.
She grins. “You like trouble.”
Her hands slide down his chest. Her fingers toy with the chain around his neck. She leans in, lips brushing his jaw, and every inch of him sparks alive.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about this,” she whispers.
Jake groans, hands digging into the back of her thighs. “Since the damn day I met you.”
Her mouth crashes into his. Hot, urgent, desperate. Her body rocks against his, wet heat grinding into his lap. He groans again, this time into her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look him in the eye.
“Then stop pretending you don’t want me.”
Jake’s hand is working inside his sweatpants now, fingers wrapped tight around his cock. He’s leaking already, precum slicking his palm. His jaw clenches as he thrusts up into his grip, slow and shallow, trying not to lose control too fast.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, biting it off like a sin.
The photo lies beside him. That kiss she blew frozen in time, her lips parted just enough to make him imagine them wrapped around something else.
He lets out a low, strangled sound and fucks into his hand harder. Sweat beads at his temples. The hoodie is still tucked under his chin, still thick with her scent. He breathes her scent in like oxygen. Like he needs her to survive.
She’s on top of him, riding him slow and dirty, hair sticking to her skin. His hands are gripping her hips, guiding her movements. His fingers just barely grazing the tiny strings. One little pull is all it would take to have her bare right now. Every bounce of her body sends heat coiling low in his belly.
She moans his name, and it tears right through him.
Her fingers clutch his tags again and she pulls him up to her. She leans down, pressing her forehead to his. “You’re all I think about.”
“You’re taken,” he groans, voice cracking.
“I don’t want him,” she whispers. “I want you.”
Her nails dig into his chest. Her rhythm quickens. His hips meet hers. She throws her head back, crying out as he feels her clench around him.
And he’s gone.
Jake’s thighs tense, toes curling. He strokes himself faster now, more erratic, on the edge. His back arches, hoodie crushed against his chest, the scent of her flooding his lungs.
Her name slips out before he can stop it. He comes with a shudder and a growl, biting down on his lip hard enough to hurt. Warmth spills over his hand, thick and hot, and he rides the wave until it leaves him raw.
Silence crashes into the room like a slap.
Jake lies still, chest heaving, eyes glazed. The photo is still there. So is the guilt.
✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️
The airport was quiet for once. Jake’s boots hit the tile floor with a steady rhythm as he scanned the space. And then he saw her. Tank top. Short shorts. A messy ponytail like she’d barely bothered to try, but somehow she looked better than half the girls who’d spent hours getting ready.
Jake blinked once, twice, forcing himself to breathe through the punch of heat that rolled through him. She waved when she spotted him, that big easy smile on her face that made something shift in his chest.
He missed her. More than he would let himself think about while he was over there. He walked toward her, duffel slung over one shoulder, posture relaxed even though every muscle in him felt tight.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, stepping forward.
Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into a hug. Not a half assed one either. His arms wrapped fully around her, tucking her into him like she belonged there. She smelled like coconut and sunshine, and he had to grit his teeth to keep his hands from wandering.
“Damn, it’s good to see you,” he murmured, voice a little rough.
“You too,” she said softly, pulling back a little, but not far.
Her eyes studied him, and for a second, he let himself get lost in the moment. Let himself pretend that she was his. That he could kiss her, whisper stupid things in her ear, carry her out of here like every fantasy he’d had in the desert.
Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped back. “You, uh…forget your pants this morning?”
She grinned, not missing a beat. “Nah. Figured the shorts would be a warm welcome.”
He shook his head with a small laugh, swallowing down every thought he didn’t have the right to say. “Well, consider me welcomed.”
With every ounce of restraint in his body, Jake kept it light. Kept it friendly. Because she wasn’t his. No matter how bad he wanted her to be.
The ride back from the airport was full of all the usual catch up chatter. How the flight was, how good it felt to be on solid U.S. ground again, how Jake didn’t realize how much he’d missed real air conditioning until he got into her car.
She had the windows cracked, music low, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly in the car. There was something he couldn’t quite name that he felt every time she laughed or tucked her hair behind her ear in that nervous way she always seemed to.
“You hungry?” She asked as they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex.
Jake turned his head, smirking. “Starving. You offering to feed me?”
She cut the engine and grabbed her bag. “You’re staying with me, remember? It’s my job to make sure you don’t live off gas station burritos and protein bars.”
“I happen to like gas station burritos,” he argued half heartedly, following her up the steps.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside, and it all seemed to hit him like a wall. The entire space felt like her. It felt familiar and warm. There was a scent in the air. Something floral layered over the faint smell of cleaning products. Knowing her she had probably done some cleaning before she came to pick him up.
Her place looked a little different from last time. It felt brighter. There were more plants, and more pillows. Just more things that seemed like she had picked them versus the bachelor pad vibe their last place had to it.
“Go sit,” she told him, toeing off her sneakers. “I’m making dinner.”
Jake didn’t argue. He sank into the couch, dropping his duffel by the door. His whole body relaxed into the cushions like it hadn’t in months. He watched her move into the kitchen, confident and barefoot, digging through the fridge with practiced ease.
He knew exactly what she was making the moment he saw the ingredients come out.
“You’re doing the garlic chicken?” he asked, lifting a brow.
She turned, shooting him a grin over her shoulder. “I remember your favorites, don’t I?”
God. She really did. It made something twist low in his stomach, something he wasn’t sure he had the right to feel.
Her hair was pulled up, tank top riding just a little higher every time she reached for something in the cabinet. He tried not to stare. But Jesus. She was effortlessly sexy, and she didn’t even know it. That was the worst part.
He let his head fall back against the couch, watching her through half lidded eyes. The sound of the pan sizzling, the soft hum of her singing along with the music. It was the kind of thing that should’ve bored him. Domestic. Mundane. But not with her. With her, it felt like something he could fall into and never want to leave.
“You’re staring,” she said without turning around.
“I’m not,” he lied.
She glanced back at him, smirking. “You are.”
Jake shrugged, lazy and unbothered, even as his pulse ticked up a beat. “Just appreciating the view.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.
He exhaled slowly, gaze trailing from her bare legs to the way her hips swayed when she moved. The way she hummed to herself, a little off key but familiar. This was dangerous. Her, in her kitchen, cooking for him like she’d done it a hundred times before.
He’d been with plenty of girls. Girls who’d tried to be impressive, seductive, and unforgettable. But none of them had ever made him feel like this, like he wanted to come home to them. Like he wanted to sit on this same damn couch for the next forty years, watching her cook in a tank top and laugh at her own bad singing.
Wifing her up. Jesus. Who even thought like that? But the thought came anyway, loud and clear, and he didn’t bother trying to shove it away.
Jake leaned forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. He needed to clear his damn head. Shake off the image of her in a sundress, barefoot in this kitchen, laughing at something he said like it was the only sound that ever mattered. Shake off the thought of her being his.
She’s not yours, he reminded himself. She never was.
Still, something gnawed at him.
His brows drew together as he looked around again, slower this time. Not just at her, but at the place itself. The couch was new. Lighter color than the black one she used to have. Throw pillows with tassels sat beside him. The rug wasn’t the one he remembered. The walls were the same soft white, but...they were bare. No photos on the side table. No stupid framed pictures of her and that guy doing pumpkin patch crap.
His mouth opened before he could second-guess it. “Hey...this isn’t your old place, is it?”
She stilled at the stove.
He sat up straighter. “Did you move?”
She didn’t look at him right away. “Yeah.”
Jake frowned. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for a plate, turned the burner off, and started plating the food like nothing was wrong. But he saw that her shoulders were just a little too tight, her movements just a little too careful.
He stood up slowly. “Hey.”
Still, she didn’t turn around.
He moved a little closer. “You guys break up?”
That made her glance over her shoulder. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that.”
“Something like that,” he repeated quietly. “You wanna give me the unfiltered version?”
She gave a breath of a laugh. “He kicked me out.”
Jake’s stomach clenched.
She shrugged like it didn’t matter, even as her voice went quieter. “Turns out I wasn’t the only one he loved. There were two others. Maybe more. Guess I was just one of the rotating favorites.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “Jesus.”
She finally turned to face him, setting the plate on the counter. Her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I was planning on marrying the guy. I should’ve seen it coming, honestly. He was always looking at his phone, always had some excuse when I wanted to do anything real.”
Her voice cracked on the word real, and it gutted him.
Jake didn’t think. He just moved. Closed the space between them and pulled her into his arms before she could wave it off or fake another smile. She was stiff for a half second, then melted against him, forehead to his chest.
He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms tighter around her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “I should’ve been here.”
“You couldn’t have known,” she whispered.
“Still.”
Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world stilled. His guilt tangled with something else—hope, maybe. A thread of it winding through his ribs. Hope that maybe he hadn’t missed his shot entirely. That maybe this time, the guy who knew how to love her right wouldn’t be too late.
But he didn’t let that hope lead. Not now. Right now, she didn’t need a guy with a crush. She needed a friend. A safe place to land.
So he didn’t kiss her. Didn’t tell her she deserved so much better. Didn’t say I could be that guy.
Instead, he smoothed his hand up and down her back and let her stay in his arms for as long as she needed.
When she pulled away, her eyes were glassy but dry.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Yeah. Just embarrassed about the whole thing, mostly.”
“You don’t have to be.”
She gave a small smile. “Thanks for saying that.”
“Anytime.”
They stood there for another beat before she sniffed and nudged his arm. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”
Jake followed her back to the counter, the scent of garlic chicken thick in the air, and something else lingering between them now. Something heavier, something real.
He didn’t know what it would become. Didn’t need to. All he knew was that whatever she needed right now, he was going to be it.
Even if it meant ignoring the part of him that wanted so much more.
✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️ ✈️
Jake leaned back into the couch, a plate of food balanced on his thigh and a satisfied grin stretching across his face. “Okay, I’m not even gonna pretend this isn’t the best damn chicken I’ve had in years.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, settling in beside him with her own plate. “You’re just saying that because I fed you like a stray dog.”
“I mean, if this is what I get I will definitely be hanging around here a lot more often like a stray.”
She laughed, nudging his knee with hers. They were sitting close—closer than maybe they should’ve been—but neither of them moved. It was easy, falling into old rhythms. Joking. Eating. Pretending the world hadn’t tilted just a little when she’d broken down in his arms a half hour ago.
They finished eating with casual banter and low humming music playing in the background. When their plates were empty, she took them to the kitchen while Jake kicked his feet up on the coffee table.
“Movie time,” she called over her shoulder. “Your pick.”
Jake glanced at the TV. “How about something dumb and romantic so I can make fun of it the whole time?”
“You mean so you can secretly enjoy it and pretend to hate it?”
He shot her a grin. “Don’t blow my cover, sweetheart.”
She tossed a throw pillow at him on her way back to the couch, then queued up a rom com. He didn’t recognize the title, but within five minutes, he knew exactly what kind of movie it was. Sappy as hell. Cute guy, quirky girl, meet cute in a bookstore. Jake was already counting the minutes to the rain-soaked kiss.
It was halfway through the movie when the male lead pulled the cheesiest move Jake had ever seen. The guy fake-yawned, stretched his arms wide, then oh-so-subtly dropped one around the girl’s shoulders.
Jake snorted. “Unbelievable.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right? That would never work. No girl falls for that middle school arm stretch move.”
Jake turned his head slowly to look at her, his mouth twitching with mischief. “You sure about that?”
She gave him a look. “Positive.”
Without a word, he exaggerated a dramatic yawn, stretched his arms overhead, then ever so slowly draped one along the back of the couch behind her.
She burst out laughing. “Wow. Really? That’s your move?”
“I’m just saying, you’d never see it coming.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping in mock seriousness. “One minute you’re judging a movie, the next—boom. Arm’s around you. You’re swooning.”
She laughed again, but this time it faltered just a little when their eyes met.
He wasn’t trying to be serious. Not really. But suddenly, it was serious.
His arm was still on the back of the couch, but now his body was angled toward her. Her smile faded, not in a bad way. More like her brain caught up to her heart and suddenly realized how close he was. How quiet the room had gone. How the glow from the TV danced across the lines of his face.
And then her eyes flicked to his lips.
His stomach flipped. Just a little.
But then she blinked and sat up straighter, a quick, small shift, like she’d just remembered something she wasn’t supposed to forget.
She scooted forward, grabbing the blanket off the armrest and wrapping it around herself as if it could shield her from whatever had just cracked open between them.
Jake let his arm fall back to his side, cleared his throat, and leaned into the cushions. “Told you it was a killer move,” he said lightly.
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “You’re such a dork.”
They didn’t talk for a while after that.
The movie played on, but Jake wasn’t watching it anymore. He was staring straight ahead, hands folded in his lap, and heart knocking hard against his ribs.
Because for one second he swore she’d been about to kiss him back.
Half an hour later the credits rolled and neither of them moved. The room felt a little too still, a little too quiet. Finally, she stretched and stood, gathering their plates and heading into the kitchen.
Jake sat there for a second longer, grounding himself. The moment on the couch had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. That almost kiss, that flicker of heat—it hadn’t been nothing. And the worst part was, it didn’t feel one sided.
He got up and followed her into the kitchen, finding her at the sink already running water.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “You doing dishes? That might be a first.”
“Hey, I can be domestic. I’m great at domestic shit,” he said, grabbing a towel and nudging her with his hip. “Besides, you fed me. Least I can do is help clean up.”
She chuckled and passed him a rinsed plate. “Dry that, Mr. Domestic.”
They fell into an easy rhythm—she washed, he dried. Their elbows bumped now and then, and the warmth between them hadn’t cooled since the couch. If anything, the close quarters only stoked it.
She reached for the spray attachment on the faucet, turning it toward a stubborn pan. “This thing’s been acting up lately—”
Before she could finish, the sprayer popped loose from the hose with a sharp clack, and a high pressure jet of cold water shot out, drenching her straight in the chest.
“Shit!” she gasped, jumping back.
Jake doubled over laughing as the water ricocheted off the sink and hit him square in the side. “Oh my God your sink just tried to murder us.”
She scrambled to shut off the faucet, her tank top soaked and clinging to her like a second skin. “I told you it was broken!”
Water dripped off her chin and eyelashes. Jake grabbed a dish towel and offered it, but neither of them moved for a beat. Something shifted. The humor still hovered in the air, but the laughter slowed as Jake’s gaze dipped.
Her cream colored tank top was soaked through, nearly transparent now, hugging every single curve. He could see the pale pink of her bra beneath it. Lacy. Delicate. And not something he should be thinking about his best friend in.
It was the same color as the bikini in those photos.
His breath caught.
Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, and Jake had to physically force his eyes upward, past the slope of her chest to her flushed face. She was looking at him, frozen, her chest rising and falling a little too fast.
His mouth went dry. He swallowed, hard.
Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers skimmed her skin, lingering just long enough to make her eyes flutter shut for a moment.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You had a little…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn't need to. Her eyes opened, and for a beat, they just stared at each other. The air between them crackled, thick and buzzing with everything they weren’t saying.
Jake’s hand hovered at the side of her face, thumb brushing the soft skin beneath her cheekbone. He was close enough to kiss her. Close enough to want to.
Jake didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
He just leaned in and kissed her. And holy shit. Fireworks. Butterflies. That ridiculous spark people always talked about but he’d never really believed in…he got it now. It was all there. Every cliché slammed into him like a freight train as her mouth moved with his, hungry and hot and aching with years of almosts and not yets.
She kissed him like she’d been waiting for it. Like she was done waiting.
His hands slid down, fingers brushing the damp hem of her tank top. He felt her shiver not from the cold, but from him. From his touch. From what this was about to become.
She lifted her arms wordlessly, and he peeled the soaked shirt off her. The pink bra underneath was still damp. Still see through. And still driving him absolutely insane.
His palms skimmed her bare waist, up her ribs, then down again, reacquainting himself with every inch of skin he didn’t know he’d memorized. She reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head, her hands bold now, tracing the lines of muscle like she had every right to.
Jake groaned low in his throat. He’d imagined this. Dreamed about it. But this was better.
He bent down and hooked his arms behind her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and setting her on the counter. She gasped, laughing softly into his mouth, and it was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.
He stepped between her legs and kissed her again, deeper this time, more need than finesse. His hands gripped her hips as her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, anchoring him to the one place he suddenly never wanted to leave.
His mouth left hers, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. He sucked gently at the curve where her shoulder met her throat, then bit, just enough to make her moan.
“Jake,” she breathed, head falling back.
His cock jerked hard in his jeans at the sound of his name on her lips like that. A moan and a prayer wrapped in one breath.
He reached behind her, fingers working the clasp of her bra. It gave with a soft snap, and he slid the straps off her shoulders, exposing her completely.
She didn’t hide. Didn’t flinch. She just looked at him, eyes heavy, mouth parted, and it hit him again just how goddamn beautiful she was.
Jake cupped one breast, kneading gently, as his mouth closed over the other. She whimpered, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, like she couldn’t get enough. Like she didn’t want him to stop.
And he wouldn’t. Not now. Not until he wrung every single sound out of her.
Jake’s mouth was still on her skin when his hands drifted lower. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and popped the button in one smooth motion.
Before she could process what was happening, he grinned, scooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
“Jake!” she squealed, laughing and kicking gently against his chest. “Put me down!”
“Nope,” he said, smug as hell, his hand braced firmly against the back of her bare thighs. “You’re already half undressed. Might as well commit.”
“You’re such a caveman—”
Smack.
She jolted as his palm landed squarely on her ass. Not hard, but not soft either. A test. A question. A tease. She sucked in a breath, biting back the sound that tried to escape her throat.
Jake heard the sharp inhale, felt the way her body went still for half a second, and made a mental note. He was going to explore that more. Later. Slowly. Thoroughly.
But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to take his time. Tonight he wanted to make love to her.
He kicked open her bedroom door and strode in, dropping her gently onto the bed. She bounced slightly, hair splayed around her face, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
Jake wasted no time. He tugged her shorts down, taking her underwear with them in one slow motion. She lifted her hips to help, completely unashamed, completely his in this moment.
His gaze dragged over her, hungry and reverent all at once.
“Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough.
He slid a hand between her thighs, fingers parting her gently before easing one inside.
She moaned softly, head tipping back. He added a second finger, curling just right, just enough to make her gasp.
“You’re already soaked,” he said, voice low and ragged.
“Maybe,” she breathed, meeting his eyes with a heat that nearly undid him.
His cock twitched hard in his jeans. He needed to be inside her. Now.
Jake pulled back just long enough to unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. He popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down with his boxers in one rough motion, his cock springing free, thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.
Her eyes dropped, widening slightly, and he swore he saw her throat bob with a swallow.
He grinned. “You okay, darlin’?”
She nodded slowly, eyes hot. “Better than okay.”
Jake sat back on the bed, legs spread, his hands settling at her waist as he gently guided her forward.
She followed his lead, climbing into his lap, but the moment she realized what he was asking of her, she hesitated. Her body stilled, hands lightly braced on his chest, eyes searching his.
He noticed instantly.
“Hey.” His voice was soft, the kind of tone he used when things mattered. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip, a blush rising in her cheeks. “I…I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Jake blinked. For some reason, that admission made his chest ache. Not because she was nervous, but because she trusted him enough to say it out loud.
He cupped her cheek with one hand, tilting her face to look at him. “You can’t do it wrong, baby.”
It slipped out before he could stop it. Baby. He’d never called her that before. But now? It fit.
The pink on her cheeks deepened, but she nodded slowly.
When he pulled her closer again, she didn’t resist. She rose up onto her knees, bracing herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching between them to guide him.
Jake sucked in a breath as the head of his cock brushed against her entrance, hot and slick and perfect.
“Easy,” he murmured, helping her. “Take your time.”
She started to lower herself onto him, inch by inch. His grip tightened at her waist, a low groan rumbling from his throat.
Fuck.
The heat, the pressure, the way her body wrapped around him—tight and so damn wet—it was overwhelming.
When she finally sank all the way down, both of them stilled. Her fingers dug lightly into his shoulders, and she looked at him like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to move.
Jake opened his eyes and saw the hesitation on her face. Her lashes lowered as she glanced down at their bodies, then back up to his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again, softer this time.
She let out a breath. “I still…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Jake smiled, his thumb brushing her hip. “Whatever feels good.”
She bit her lip again, nodded once, then slowly lifted herself off him an inch or two, and sank back down.
Jake’s head dropped back against the headboard, a curse escaping under his breath.
“Like that?” she asked, shy and unsure.
He let out a huff of laughter, voice rough with disbelief. “Jesus, yes. That’s perfect.”
She did it again, a little more confident this time. The slow drag of her around him was insane. It was like he could feel every inch, every pulse, every shift.
She moved again. And again. His hands gripped her hips, but he let her take the lead.
The room filled with soft breaths, stifled moans, the quiet creak of the bed beneath them.
She found a rhythm, her body rolling with his in slow, deep strokes, and Jake was losing it.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders. Her head tilted back slightly, chest rising and falling fast.
And then it hit him. Too fast. Too much.
His hands jerked at her hips, holding her down as his body went rigid beneath her.
He grunted, breath breaking, as he spilled into the condom.
Her eyes widened. “Did you just—?”
Jake’s chest heaved. His head fell back again, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Yeah, I—fuck.”
She blinked, still flushed and catching her breath, but then the smallest smile tugged at her lips. “That fast?”
He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Don’t make it worse.”
“I wasn’t—”
He peeked at her through his fingers and gave a breathless laugh. “You’re outta your damn mind if you think you don’t know what you’re doing. You just broke me.”
She giggled then—actually giggled—and leaned in to kiss him.
Soft. Sweet. Honest. And Jake…couldn’t stop smiling into it.
There they were, bare skin pressed together, breath still uneven, her cheeks flushed pink, and he couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he murmured against her lips.
“I’m not,” she said, clearly lying as she tried to stifle another giggle. “It’s just…your face. You looked like you short circuited.”
“I did,” Jake said, deadpan. “You blue screened me.”
That made her laugh harder, and she buried her face in his neck. “Oh my God.”
He let his head fall back against the pillow, arms sliding around her waist to hold her close. “Glad you find this hilarious.”
“You came so fast, Jake.”
“I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, his chest shaking with a soft laugh. “You feel like heaven, and then you started moving like that? I was doomed.”
She kissed the side of his jaw, still grinning. “Guess I do know what I’m doing after all.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her. Her eyes were bright, mouth still curved in amusement, but there was something soft in her expression too. Like she hadn’t expected to enjoy this as much as she did.
Jake smoothed a hand along her back, his voice dropping a little. “I meant it, you know. You can’t do it wrong. Especially not when you’re laughing with me like this.”
Her smile faltered just slightly—just enough for her to press another kiss to his lips, slower this time. “I’ve never…laughed like this during. Not like this.”
He pulled her a little closer. “Good. Let’s make it a habit.”
She snorted. “You’re gonna start cracking jokes every time I take my shirt off, huh?”
Jake smirked. “Only if you want me to. I have a whole set ready to go.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he said, brushing a hand over her hip. “But you’re still sittin’ here naked on top of me, so what does that say about you?”
She leaned in until her nose brushed his. “That I might be a little ridiculous too.”
Jake kissed her again—slow and deliberate, with just a hint of promise.And when they finally curled up under the covers, the afterglow laced with warmth and laughter instead of awkwardness, Jake couldn’t help but think—This. This right here. This is what I didn’t know I needed.
it’s him i fear
f/b wants you to take your medicine and eat well and drink water by the way,,,,, do it for themmmmm
F/o (who is horrible at singing) sings you your favourite song and it does not turn out the best... but hey at least f/o tried
Me every morning to my f/o husband
f/o who's the only one who can see past your physical form and see who you truly are <3
At some point, I'm gonna come in here and start yammering about how much I love Undyne. And that is when you'll know I'm REALLY using this blog!!! Undyne [Last_Name_Unknown] my beloved! 💚💚💚
just a little bit of reassurance for my fellow selfshippers
“I don’t really post about them that much but I still really love them” not posting about your loved ones doesn’t mean they’re not in your life ❤️ even if you don’t see them that often they still doesn’t null your relationship!
ya gotta stop caring what people think and start being extremely weird. but never cruel. i think that might save you
