Soph|22|Side blog of @whatislovevavy| just a thirsty hoe who has an incurable case of hangman brain rot and likes writing and drawing/graphic designing| obsessed with Marvel, Top Gun (1986 & 2022), X-files, The Boys| I just think Hangman, Rooster, Bob and Bucky are pretty :)
Mustang and Hangman have had sexual tension since the night they met at the Hard Deck at the start of a high-risk assignment. Each interaction further solidifies your callsign in the best ways.
Learning from the Best
Caledonia ‘Cali’ Hughes has always put romance on the back burner. With getting through her biochemistry graduate program at UC San Diego and many relationships that failed before they could start, she has always viewed true romance and sex alike as treasures that were never for her to experience. Turns out a job at the Hard Deck and an eavesdropping, emerald-eyed pilot offering his ‘expertise’ lets her learn from the best, and, most importantly, that she has always been worthy of such treasures.
Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure Part II
Hangman and Cherry have never been able to be in the same room as the other without nearly ripping each other's throats out. Hangman provides a solution that provides her a sense of freedom and pleasure that she begins to crave.
Vending Machine Glow on Route 79
Before leaving for college, you and Jake say goodbye in more ways than one on the last night of your cruel summer.
Sliding Stops & Beating Hearts
Tyler Owens has worked almost his entire life for this moment. And he’s so glad he gets to share it with you.
Spices, Trauma, and Haircuts
An exploration of why Bucky Barnes decided to cut his hair.
Hey, love I'm have a idea, imagining during the summertime, Cali tell Jake that comic con is coming up, so, even though, her & Fanboy are the biggest nerds of this stuff. She decided to invited Jake to come along and he starting to like it and saw some stuff he like.
Hiiiii Sorry this took so long for me to post, I hope you like it :) I thought about this a lot ❤️❤️ Pictures used were from Pinterest.
Feel free to drop into my ask box More of Jake and Caledonia <3
"Cal, I don't know about this."
You paused mid lipstick application, meeting his gaze in his bathroom mirror. Eyes admiring the way his costume hugged his broad shoulders, down to his lean waist and strong thighs. And the way his hair settled into a style similar to Han Solo. Your smile widening at the sight of his sour expression.
"You look so good, and the scowl is very in character. Trust me." You breathed out a chuckle with amused eyes.
His scowl deepened.
But this was the price he paid for wanting to be included in the plans Fanboy, Bob, and yourself made to go to San Diego Comic Con right in front of him during one of your shifts at the Hard Deck.
Jake was a very self assured man, but it would be a cold day in hell the day he let someone who knew the name of every Storm trooper's second cousin sweep you out of his arms.
He needed to supervise.
Plus, the delighted smile that lit up your face after he agreed to go as Han Solo still made his heart somersault and lips tilt up in a smile.
You capped your lip stick, "They should be here soon. Fanboy has all of our day passes."
Right. He also agreed to drive people to the event.
The things love made him do needed to be studied.
You turned towards him, exhaling quickly. "How do I look?"
His eyes softened as he really looked at you: Beautiful ruby red lips; a layer of mascara making your sapphire eyes, that he couldn't get enough of, pop; and your hair beautifully braided over the top of your head; the faux white leather zip up costume clinging to your plush curves and thick thighs.
He licked his bottom lip, taking purposeful steps towards you. Eyes bright as his hands came to your waist.
"Like the prettiest general in the galaxy."
You laughed, gently pulling the back of his neck down to bring his lips to yours with a sigh.
He gently pulled away, eyebrows furrowed in hesitancy, "Leia is a general, right?"
Your grin brightened, "Yeah, she is." He smiles as you bring him into another kiss.
The sound of the doorbell brings you apart.
-
Jake really tried to keep up with you, but Jesus, in your element, you moved fast.
He was starting to feel like a chaperone at this point. The car ride felt like he was listening to a language he only knew on a basal level. Fanboy, in his impressive Darth Maul cosplay, and Bob, in his Obi-wan costume, actively debating and theorizing what was going to happen in the next season of another Star Wars series he could barely keep up with. Or which panels they should go see first.
At least you took the time to keep him in the loop while you kept your soft hand under his on the gear shift, your matching white almond cut nails gleaming in the sun light.
It made the torment from his teammates somewhat more tolerable.
"Is that lip stick?"
"Never thought I'd see the day you'd willingly go to a comic con."
"How does karma feel, Bagman?"
Perhaps he busted his colleague’s balls too much about a subject his Lass loved endlessly.
His eyes caught sight of you. Strides quick as he reaches you looking at a vendor selling star wars themed accessories and custom light sabers. Your eyes bright and excited as you finished making conversation with the woman behind the booth. His hand immediately intertwines with yours, your body jumping with the surprise contact.
"You're holding my hand for the rest of the trip, Sweets, can't keep losing you in here." He huffed, much to your amusement.
"Sorry, Honey, there's just so much to see. I didn't mean to abandon you." You gave him a bright close lipped smile that had your dimples popping out.
He sighed. He really couldn't be mad at you. This was your playground.
"If it makes you feel any better, I bought you something special that I think you'll really like." You teased softly, a mischievous grin playing at your lips.
His ears perked up, as his eyebrows furrowed in interest.
"What kind of 'something special'?"
You playfully shrugged, smirking.
"You'll have to wait and see till we get home." Your eyes twinkled, giving his intertwined hand a squeeze as you led him to the next stop on the vendor map, missing his attempt to peak into the bag you kept close to your side.
The rest of the day moved without a hitch as Jake got led around the convention hall and eventually into a few panels with the others.
If he was asked to recite anything that was said at any of the panels or by any of the other cosplayers, he'd be screwed. But, he had a pretty good excuse - you.
Smiling and attentively looking over at him every once in a while as you kept your fingers intertwined with his own. Your grin illuminating as you hung onto every word the panelists said. All he could do was stand by and watch you express endless joy for something so important to you.
He squeezed your hand as your pretty blue eyes met his with a smile.
By the end of the day, you both had received numerous compliments on your couple's costume and 3D printed guns you had made beforehand. Fanboy got a number from a girl cosplaying as General Grievous, and Bob got his original trilogy movie set autographed, along with a few numbers.
The drive home was peaceful. The radio softly playing as Fanboy slept leaning against the backseat window, and Bob kept reading over and over the names of the cast members that autographed his beloved disc set. Jake still kept his hand intertwined with yours on your thigh as you scrolled through the pictures you took. Your gaze settling on the picture an Ahsoka cosplayer took of you and Jake, smiling with dimples and all, while you were looking for the rest of your group.
You selected it as your new home screen background.
Jake's eyes glancing to the bag at your feet, and at the sheet of photos you got from the photo booth.
One where you kissed his cheek, his eyes playfully wide. Another where you're both sticking your tongues out at each other. Another where you became borderline indecent in the curtained photo booth. And lastly, one where you both were grinning and bumping noses.
Jake pulled into his driveway. You, ever the saint, gingerly woke up the dozing Darth Maul in Jake's backseat. Soon, you were all hugging goodbye and already planning with Fanboy and Bob the next convention to attend together.
You shut Jake's front door with a click.
"You know, that wasn't half bad." Jake stated as he took off his boots.
"See, I knew you'd enjoy it. You should go to the next one with us." You teased as he puffed out a laugh.
"Speaking of ‘enjoying’, I want to see this special something you got for me." He smirked, reaching for the bag in your hand.
You quickly hid it behind you with a playful smirk. His eyes growing playful as he tried to reach for it again, interest exponentially piqued.
"I'll show it to you. Upstairs. In 5 minutes." You bit your lip as you turned to scurry up the stairs.
He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he put his keys away, placing some of the other memorabilia onto the kitchen counter, and running his hands through his hair before he followed after you towards his bedroom.
He gingerly knocked on his bedroom door, before pushing it open, seeing the silk cover up he bought you hug your curves deliciously, the soft fabric ending just below your mid thigh. Your hair down in loose curls, lips still ruby red and complimenting your bright eyes.
You smiled, biting your lip, "I thought I told you to wait 5 minutes."
His troublemaker grin showed through, "You know I'm not patient, Sweetheart." His grin grew as you stepped within arms reach of him. His hands squeezing your hips and waist, inching down to squeeze your ass as he pulled you into a kiss.
Your nails tantalizingly scratched at the back of his neck, humming as you pulled away from his lips.
His fingers toy with the tie around your waist, "What's the surprise, pretty girl? You hidin' a gold bikini under here?" he murmured, broad hands squeezing your waist. That devil-may-care smile tilting his lips as he leaned his head down to kiss at your neck, slowly exposing your collarbone to his hungry mouth. You smirked as you weaved your fingers of your hand through his hair, the other grasping his shoulder.
"Something like that..." You whimpered out as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back hitting his mattress with a thump.
"Think of it as a thank you for going with me. I know it made you feel a bit out of your element."
His grin widened as he dexterously untied the fabric keeping your gorgeous curves from him. His eyebrows shooting up as his gaze ran along the curves of your tits held wonderfully in decorated gold and maroon, down to the gold chains holding the flimsy material of your panties over the part of you he craved most right now.
He let out a low whistle making you grin brightly.
"Sweetheart, I'll go to as many comic cons as you want if you keep bringing pretty bras and panties back home with you."
You sat up, legs still wrapped around his waist, hands cradling his jaw as you pulled him into a deep kiss. Your tongue runs along his lower lip before gliding into his mouth with a smile, a groan rumbling from his chest, making you squeeze your thighs around his waist.
Pulling away, his voice soft and teasing, "I love you."
You smirked, leaning in to whisper, "I know." His spine tingled as you ran your cut nail along the inner seam of his pants. "Now, I wanna see your blaster pistol, Solo." You ran your palm ran over his growing, thick bulge. Giving it an intoxicating squeeze, making his breath stutter as his grin grew an exciting edge, eyes getting darker and glassier.
His voice came out like honey wrapped gravel, "Anything you want, Princess."
--
I hope you guys liked it :) sorry for the drought lmao
Hey, love I'm have a idea, imagining during the summertime, Cali tell Jake that comic con is coming up, so, even though, her & Fanboy are the biggest nerds of this stuff. She decided to invited Jake to come along and he starting to like it and saw some stuff he like.
Hiiiii Sorry this took so long for me to post, I hope you like it :) I thought about this a lot ❤️❤️ Pictures used were from Pinterest.
Feel free to drop into my ask box More of Jake and Caledonia <3
"Cal, I don't know about this."
You paused mid lipstick application, meeting his gaze in his bathroom mirror. Eyes admiring the way his costume hugged his broad shoulders, down to his lean waist and strong thighs. And the way his hair settled into a style similar to Han Solo. Your smile widening at the sight of his sour expression.
"You look so good, and the scowl is very in character. Trust me." You breathed out a chuckle with amused eyes.
His scowl deepened.
But this was the price he paid for wanting to be included in the plans Fanboy, Bob, and yourself made to go to San Diego Comic Con right in front of him during one of your shifts at the Hard Deck.
Jake was a very self assured man, but it would be a cold day in hell the day he let someone who knew the name of every Storm trooper's second cousin sweep you out of his arms.
He needed to supervise.
Plus, the delighted smile that lit up your face after he agreed to go as Han Solo still made his heart somersault and lips tilt up in a smile.
You capped your lip stick, "They should be here soon. Fanboy has all of our day passes."
Right. He also agreed to drive people to the event.
The things love made him do needed to be studied.
You turned towards him, exhaling quickly. "How do I look?"
His eyes softened as he really looked at you: Beautiful ruby red lips; a layer of mascara making your sapphire eyes, that he couldn't get enough of, pop; and your hair beautifully braided over the top of your head; the faux white leather zip up costume clinging to your plush curves and thick thighs.
He licked his bottom lip, taking purposeful steps towards you. Eyes bright as his hands came to your waist.
"Like the prettiest general in the galaxy."
You laughed, gently pulling the back of his neck down to bring his lips to yours with a sigh.
He gently pulled away, eyebrows furrowed in hesitancy, "Leia is a general, right?"
Your grin brightened, "Yeah, she is." He smiles as you bring him into another kiss.
The sound of the doorbell brings you apart.
-
Jake really tried to keep up with you, but Jesus, in your element, you moved fast.
He was starting to feel like a chaperone at this point. The car ride felt like he was listening to a language he only knew on a basal level. Fanboy, in his impressive Darth Maul cosplay, and Bob, in his Obi-wan costume, actively debating and theorizing what was going to happen in the next season of another Star Wars series he could barely keep up with. Or which panels they should go see first.
At least you took the time to keep him in the loop while you kept your soft hand under his on the gear shift, your matching white almond cut nails gleaming in the sun light.
It made the torment from his teammates somewhat more tolerable.
"Is that lip stick?"
"Never thought I'd see the day you'd willingly go to a comic con."
"How does karma feel, Bagman?"
Perhaps he busted his colleague’s balls too much about a subject his Lass loved endlessly.
His eyes caught sight of you. Strides quick as he reaches you looking at a vendor selling star wars themed accessories and custom light sabers. Your eyes bright and excited as you finished making conversation with the woman behind the booth. His hand immediately intertwines with yours, your body jumping with the surprise contact.
"You're holding my hand for the rest of the trip, Sweets, can't keep losing you in here." He huffed, much to your amusement.
"Sorry, Honey, there's just so much to see. I didn't mean to abandon you." You gave him a bright close lipped smile that had your dimples popping out.
He sighed. He really couldn't be mad at you. This was your playground.
"If it makes you feel any better, I bought you something special that I think you'll really like." You teased softly, a mischievous grin playing at your lips.
His ears perked up, as his eyebrows furrowed in interest.
"What kind of 'something special'?"
You playfully shrugged, smirking.
"You'll have to wait and see till we get home." Your eyes twinkled, giving his intertwined hand a squeeze as you led him to the next stop on the vendor map, missing his attempt to peak into the bag you kept close to your side.
The rest of the day moved without a hitch as Jake got led around the convention hall and eventually into a few panels with the others.
If he was asked to recite anything that was said at any of the panels or by any of the other cosplayers, he'd be screwed. But, he had a pretty good excuse - you.
Smiling and attentively looking over at him every once in a while as you kept your fingers intertwined with his own. Your grin illuminating as you hung onto every word the panelists said. All he could do was stand by and watch you express endless joy for something so important to you.
He squeezed your hand as your pretty blue eyes met his with a smile.
By the end of the day, you both had received numerous compliments on your couple's costume and 3D printed guns you had made beforehand. Fanboy got a number from a girl cosplaying as General Grievous, and Bob got his original trilogy movie set autographed, along with a few numbers.
The drive home was peaceful. The radio softly playing as Fanboy slept leaning against the backseat window, and Bob kept reading over and over the names of the cast members that autographed his beloved disc set. Jake still kept his hand intertwined with yours on your thigh as you scrolled through the pictures you took. Your gaze settling on the picture an Ahsoka cosplayer took of you and Jake, smiling with dimples and all, while you were looking for the rest of your group.
You selected it as your new home screen background.
Jake's eyes glancing to the bag at your feet, and at the sheet of photos you got from the photo booth.
One where you kissed his cheek, his eyes playfully wide. Another where you're both sticking your tongues out at each other. Another where you became borderline indecent in the curtained photo booth. And lastly, one where you both were grinning and bumping noses.
Jake pulled into his driveway. You, ever the saint, gingerly woke up the dozing Darth Maul in Jake's backseat. Soon, you were all hugging goodbye and already planning with Fanboy and Bob the next convention to attend together.
You shut Jake's front door with a click.
"You know, that wasn't half bad." Jake stated as he took off his boots.
"See, I knew you'd enjoy it. You should go to the next one with us." You teased as he puffed out a laugh.
"Speaking of ‘enjoying’, I want to see this special something you got for me." He smirked, reaching for the bag in your hand.
You quickly hid it behind you with a playful smirk. His eyes growing playful as he tried to reach for it again, interest exponentially piqued.
"I'll show it to you. Upstairs. In 5 minutes." You bit your lip as you turned to scurry up the stairs.
He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he put his keys away, placing some of the other memorabilia onto the kitchen counter, and running his hands through his hair before he followed after you towards his bedroom.
He gingerly knocked on his bedroom door, before pushing it open, seeing the silk cover up he bought you hug your curves deliciously, the soft fabric ending just below your mid thigh. Your hair down in loose curls, lips still ruby red and complimenting your bright eyes.
You smiled, biting your lip, "I thought I told you to wait 5 minutes."
His troublemaker grin showed through, "You know I'm not patient, Sweetheart." His grin grew as you stepped within arms reach of him. His hands squeezing your hips and waist, inching down to squeeze your ass as he pulled you into a kiss.
Your nails tantalizingly scratched at the back of his neck, humming as you pulled away from his lips.
His fingers toy with the tie around your waist, "What's the surprise, pretty girl? You hidin' a gold bikini under here?" he murmured, broad hands squeezing your waist. That devil-may-care smile tilting his lips as he leaned his head down to kiss at your neck, slowly exposing your collarbone to his hungry mouth. You smirked as you weaved your fingers of your hand through his hair, the other grasping his shoulder.
"Something like that..." You whimpered out as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back hitting his mattress with a thump.
"Think of it as a thank you for going with me. I know it made you feel a bit out of your element."
His grin widened as he dexterously untied the fabric keeping your gorgeous curves from him. His eyebrows shooting up as his gaze ran along the curves of your tits held wonderfully in decorated gold and maroon, down to the gold chains holding the flimsy material of your panties over the part of you he craved most right now.
He let out a low whistle making you grin brightly.
"Sweetheart, I'll go to as many comic cons as you want if you keep bringing pretty bras and panties back home with you."
You sat up, legs still wrapped around his waist, hands cradling his jaw as you pulled him into a deep kiss. Your tongue runs along his lower lip before gliding into his mouth with a smile, a groan rumbling from his chest, making you squeeze your thighs around his waist.
Pulling away, his voice soft and teasing, "I love you."
You smirked, leaning in to whisper, "I know." His spine tingled as you ran your cut nail along the inner seam of his pants. "Now, I wanna see your blaster pistol, Solo." You ran your palm ran over his growing, thick bulge. Giving it an intoxicating squeeze, making his breath stutter as his grin grew an exciting edge, eyes getting darker and glassier.
His voice came out like honey wrapped gravel, "Anything you want, Princess."
--
I hope you guys liked it :) sorry for the drought lmao
Thank you for this, and this is too cute, and poor Jake at first he feel like he out of his element. But second he slowly started enjoying himself . 😌😅💫🖖🏾
Author's Note: hey y'all, apologies for the extremely late posting, I've been going through some life transitions and finding time and motivation to write has been difficult, but here it is now :) This is part two of Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure, and is apart of @thedroneranger 's Pick Your Poison Writing Challenge with the prompt being Espresso Martinis I'm glad I got to include one of my favorite drinks with one of my favorite songs with a character I love writing for <3 I'm most likely going to do a third part with smut in it, so let me know if that would be something you lovely people would like to read :)
Warnings: Mentions of Smut, Fluff, Alcohol, Pilots catching feelings
WC: 5.2k
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
Goddamn it.
You slid the end call button as Phoenix didn’t pick up, fighting with the raindrops that fell and streaked down your phone screen, and trying to keep your jacket secure around your frame that didn’t seem to be saving your red dress from being soaked by the rain. The overwhelming damp and cold feeling seeped into your scalp and made the floodgates that held your tears back crack and crumble all the more.
You regretted this date, much more than all of the others.
A shaky sigh left your lips, frustration, and anger forming its potent mix in your mind.
You tried to keep your eyes on your phone and to stay calm; you didn’t need the people eyeing you on the sidewalk feeling sorry for you. They had nothing to feel sorry for anyway. You were just a person that had a disaster of a date and was stuck out in the rain trying to get home. Absolutely nothing to feel sorry for. You huffed, tensing your jaw as you found cover under an awning of a bookstore. Trying not to look at anyone that gave you that characteristic look of pity as they walked by. Biting your lip, you contemplated calling the last number you wanted to be calling late on a Friday night.
Just get it over with, you thought.
You quickly tapped the call button next to the infuriating little contact icon. Biting into your lip harder, finding the puddle reflecting the San Diego city lights more appealing than attempting to meet any passerbyers gaze as each tone brought you closer to a ride home. Or the teasing of a lifetime. Maybe both.
“Cherry.”
That familiar silk laced drawl made you shut your eyes and wish anyone else had picked up when you called. But alas, here you were.
“Wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you. I thought you were busy entertainin’ what’s his name, Dylan? Derrick?”
The humor in his voice brought a hot surge of frustration to the tips of your fingers as you gripped your phone harder, jaw tensing.
“Look, I’m not in the mood for this right now…” Your voice losing its bite, but only by a little, “I’ve had a really shitty night, and,” you took a shaky breath, the frustration of the evening coming in full force on your psyche, “I need a ride home.” Jake's teasing grin wilted. You never would have called him, unless it was serious. He licked his lower lip, turning to look back at his friends finishing up a game of pool from the corner near the bathrooms, the steadily growing chatter in the bar making it more difficult to hear you as the seconds passed. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing. “Ok, sit tight, sweets. I'll come get you, you're still at Benny’s?”
Your eyebrows furrowed. That’s…odd. You never told him where you were going. The wind and rain made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. The evening rain makes you shiver, jaw chittering. Taking a deep breath, “yeah, I'm outside,” eyes diverting from the passing traffic to the worn, gold tinged cursive on the window, “Clara’s bookstore.“Your eyes trained on the rain soaked overhead awning dripping to the sidewalk in front of your painted toes peeking from your heels as you waited for his response.
Jake's eyebrows furrowed, eyes diverting from his phone screen to the rain streaked windows facing the beach. That's a decent walk from where you ate, he thought, eyebrows raising. Must've been quite a guy to make you leave early. And in the pouring rain, no less.
“I'll be there soon, Cher. Are you somewhere safe? Somewhere out of the rain?”
If you didn't know any better, you'd say the insufferable, look-out-for-number-one-only, selfish, arrogant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who spent each free moment he wasn't peacocking around base, making your nerves burn and fray, sounded concerned about your well being.
As soon as Jake heard your dreary, evidently rain soaked confirmation, he opted out of the game, forcing Bob to take his place with little to no explanation besides that a commitment came up,” striding down the Hard Deck steps to his parked truck.
He's not ditching you. He wouldn't do that. You repeated what felt like mantras as the minutes ticked by. Hot tears started to brew at the corners of your eyes. You clutched your now soaked jacket over your dress, your toes sinking into the soggy faux leather of your heels as you leaned back against the concrete column of the closed store. The amber overhead lights making warped reflections in the puddles of the buildings and cars passing by.
Your breathing was ragged as you felt the familiar flames of frustration lick at your brain, something that had only stopped when Jake said he was going to go come get you.
You felt so stupid. Wearing this dress. These heels. Your smudged make-up that, at one point, looked presentable. You just wanted to go home and eat a pint of ice cream.
God, why hadn't Phoenix picked up?
You clenched your eyes in frustration, a rigid breath leaving your throat as you leaned your head back against the column.
The familiar hum of Jake's truck brought your teary gaze up to the almost barely visible silhouette in the driver's seat.
Jake's door flew open, jogging with a jacket clutched in hand. Your eyes widened as he got closer to you, wrapping you up in his jacket.
By the time he reached you, his hair was drenched, now a more dull golden hue. His charm remained, unfortunately, in the city’s downpour.
“Come on sweets, let's get you inside.” Your mouth parted slightly. The sight of his shirt clinging to his biceps and broad shoulders, and the subtle scent of sweat, his natural musk, and rain almost made you miss his statement.
His rich jade eyes traced the soft reflection of the street light off of your soaked hair, to your smudged make up, to the drenched portions of your dress and jacket to your slight shiver you were evidently trying to repress.
His lips curved into a slight frown. You didn't deserve to be treated this way on a date. Especially not when you looked so-
His eyes returned to your deep brown ones, undertoned by your smudged mascara, finding them already on his; sharper than a moment ago, daring him to pity you.
He carefully wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders, guiding you to the passenger door of his truck, headlights still blinding, and refracting with the incoming rain.
The car ride was silent except for the quiet sounds from the radio. Jake would take occasional glances your way at stop lights, but your gaze remained on the road ahead; head leaned against the side rest of his car, body still wrapped in his jacket. You had to stop yourself from unintentionally cocooning yourself deeper into it.
“You want me to drop you off at your apartment?”
You glanced at him, “yeah.”
His frown curved deeper. Your tone lacked the usual spitfire attitude you always bared him, instead replaced by a sense of accepted defeat. A few beats of silence passed before Jake cleared his throat. “This Dylan guy must've been some date…you want to talk about it?” Your lip quirked up a bit. His name was Derrick, but you didn't have the heart to correct him.
You adjusted closer to the side of the passenger seat, leaning your head on the window.
“Not really.”
There was that same defeated tone again, the one that made Jake's heartache in a way he had never felt before for you. Or for anyone for that matter.
Jake brought his truck from a coast to a stop in front of your apartment building. His comforting gaze settled on your face, gaze still avoiding his. “Thanks for the ride home.” Your cherrywood eyes met his, giving him a tight smile before grabbing your purse, soaked coat, and leaving his jacket on the leather seat. His frown deepened, jaw tensing a bit as he watched you open his truck door. How dare this pathetic excuse of a man bring you to this state, a complete 180 to how he saw you every day since he met you.
“Wait,” you looked back towards him, expecting some usual hangman-esque comment that would surely make you throw your soaked shoe at him. “Look, Hangman, I appreciate the ride home, but I'm not in the mood to sleep with you as a ‘thank you’.” His eyebrows pinched. Did you really think that low of him? And in that same defeated tone? “That,” he sighed, “that’s not what I was going to say,” he reassured, pushing his hair back with his hand. Opposing hand still on the steering wheel, watch gleaming in the glow of the radio.
“Let me buy you some food and a drink, I know you like the Cajun fries at that bar downtown.”
You were taken aback by the offer. Frankly, you weren't in the mood if this was a joke. “It'd be my treat,” he lightly pressed with a comforting tone. You bit the inside of your lip, examining his face for any sign of ill intent, but you found nothing in his warm sea glass eyes or the defined features of his nose and jaw.
Cajun fries sounded nice.
Really nice.
And a drink sounded even better.
“Plus, I heard your stomach grumbling so you can't lie to me.” A smile almost broke out across your lips.
Almost.
“I don't know, Hang,” you sighed. The thought of snuggling up on your couch in a warm blanket, with a pint of ice cream and watching some trash reality show sounded appealing. But you were hungry and you had yet to go grocery shopping. And you had no booze.
“I promise, I'll make it worth your while…”
You bit your lip, “a drink does sound really nice…”
His lips twitched into a smile, eyes twinkling.
“Don't make me regret this, Hang…”the familiar spark in your voice slowly returned, making his heart skip a beat, “let me just change shoes first.” You grimaced as you remembered just how soaked your shoes were as the rain finally let up.
“Wouldn't dream of it, Sweets,” he reassured as you left him towards your front door, a concealed smile on your face that cracked with each stride to your door. He let his eyes skim from your bare back to your concealed hips with an appreciative gaze as the red material of your dress flowed around your bare thighs. His view closed off as you shut your front door.
You let your eyes drift across the interior of the bar at your booth, leaning your cheek on your hand. Jake had left you at the booth to get you a drink. You tried to give him a request, but he left before he could hear you. At least whatever concoction he brought you would be free. You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the sound of the bar top and the music player in the corner.
“One Tia Maria Espresso Martini for the lovely lady, and the fries are on their way.” You opened your eyes to see the almost onyx colored elixir with a layer of frothy foam in the glass, a triage of espresso beans that looked almost weightless on the foam layer.
How did he know this was your favorite? You had never ordered them at Penny’s since she didn't have Tia Maria. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, expecting some sort of explanation for how he knew about this.
“I remember you tried to order one of these at Penny's and thought you'd like it,” he said with a subtle tone of shyness, like he was apprehensive that he had overstepped, making your eyebrows knit together.
“I don't fully understand why you like them,” he teased, stirring his whiskey on the rocks in his glass, an effortlessly charming smile beginning to form on his lips, “but it makes sense.”
Your eyes narrowed at his playful ones, “what's that supposed to mean?”
He leaned back against the booth, eyes tracing the pretty features of your face and caramel skin tone, the neon lights above your seat adding to the gleam of your wavy, soft, dark hair.
Taking a sip from his glass, you tried to focus on his face and not the subtle bob of his adam’s apple as he took a warming sip of the amber liquid.
“You're kind of an acquired taste,” he took another sip, “bitter, but have a sweet side deep down.” Your eyes narrowed, “I'm not an acquired taste, you're just annoying and insufferable 99% of the time, so you never see my sweet side,” you clipped, eyes slowly sharpening. His lip quirked. To anyone else it would seem like you hated his guts. But he knew better, knew you better. He playfully put his hand over his heart, “Oh, Sweets, annoying and insufferable? You wound me.” You rolled your eyes, a smile slipping around the rim of your martini glass. The bittersweet elixir flowing down your throat. His grin widened, “there's that smile,” he teased. Before you could quip him back, the root of your culinary desire was placed on the table with a soft tap and a gentle "enjoy" from the waitress. The savory, warm smell of the spices and fries almost made you moan, only now realizing just how hungry you were. You had left your date just as you were barely through your starting salad.
“Easy there, Sweets, don't want you to choke,” he teased, giving you a wink.
You rolled your eyes at the poorly disguised innuendo, “don't tell me how to eat my fries, Bagman.”
He barely held back his laugh at what was essentially a growl. He contemplated telling you that technically they were his fries, but he opted to keep them to himself. If having three sisters had taught him anything, it's to never get between a woman and her food.
A comfortable silence fell over the table as he glanced around the bar and back to you, still picking at your fries. Eyes tracing over the defined round edges of your sinful red colored nails that he tried to not think about how they would feel pressed into his shoulder blades, to your necklace that dipped teasingly between your breasts. The subtle rise of your chest. The sprinkle of freckles and gentle flutter of your eyelashes on your cheeks. The touched-up mascara on your eyelashes. The soft flush of your cheeks. The cute curve of your nose. The gentle slope of your lips.
“You listening?”
His eyes shot to your own, his face a bit pink after having been caught.
“Of course, Sweets,”
Your eyes narrowed as you put your fry down in the basket, scoffing.
“I asked,” you leaned forward, arms crossing on the table, his eyes doing their damnedest to not dart down to your cleavage, “why you brought me here, because I don't buy it was only because my stomach was making noises.”
Your tone wasn't sharp or accusatory, but it still put him a bit on edge.
He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to get comfortable in his seat. You had a habit of putting him on edge, but in a way that made him crave more. It was almost adrenaline inducing.
“Just wanted to treat you a little, that not allowed?”
His collected, charismatic answer made you narrow your eyes.
“You're not a very good liar.”
His lip quirked into a grin, diverting his gaze down to his empty glass before bringing his warm eyes up to your own again. His grin settling into a thin line. It wasn't exactly a lie.
“I didn't want you to wallow on your couch thinking about that Danny guy. You don't deserve to feel that way.”
Your eyebrows rose, lip quirking. That definitely wasn't the answer you were expecting and it was still the wrong name, again.
His eyes dart away from yours to the bar top. Clearing his throat, “you want another martini?”
You blink, breaking your thoughts, toying with the empty glass, “yeah, I'll take another.”
Your eyes followed the way his body moved under his button up shirt that exposed a delicious amount of chest hair, and his worn, rich burnt sienna leather jacket. The way his stride exuded a rare sense of carefree confidence. The broadness of his shoulders under his jacket. The thickness of his fingers around the delicate glass of your martini. The way his golden locks of hair reflected the overhead lights of the bar and various neon signs on the wall you both were seated at.
It made you almost forget that you knew what it felt like to have his bare skin against your own. It made you forget, for just a moment, that you’d been fucking this man with no strings attached.
“Here you are, Sweets,”His smooth drawl derailed your train of thought that would have surely made you clench your thighs.
He placed the martini on the table with an almost silent clank against the table, eyes bright and playful, the rich green color added by the neon cloverleaf above his head.
Your lip quirked, “thank you…. You know I don't like it when you call me, Sweets, Hang.”
A smirk grew on his lips, “I think it suits you,” his gentle gaze on yours.
You scowled, trying to repress the smile that threatened to break through. He didn't need more encouragement to call you these…you wanted to say demeaning titles, but that felt a bit cruel. It was more like a pet name, a source of teasing that wore your nerves down faster than any other trick he had in his well developed arsenal. He'd always been something akin to a wart. Once you caught him, he was hard to leave.
“Fries any good?”
You looked down to the near-empty basket to his teasing features. A small smile broke through as you gently pushed the basket to him. After all, he did pay for them.
You watched as he took a few and brought them between his perfect teeth, eyes darting between the sight of him dipping a few more in ketchup, to picking at your red manicured nails. A comfortable silence fell over the table and quiet conversation followed, from what plans were set for their work colleagues to hang out next, to whether Bob was going to ask Admiral Simpson’s new secretary out.
“I don’t think he’s gonna do it.” Jake said confidently as he leaned back against the booth, his arm over the back, his other hand holding his near empty glass of whiskey. Your eyebrows rose, feeling a bit more loose and warm since first sitting down, mostly attributed to the fact you were finishing up your third martini. You cracked a smile, eyes comfortably heavy, “you don’t know Floyd very well then.” His eyebrows rose, encouraging you to go on. You leaned forward, eyes bright and intense, just how Jake liked them, “you do know what Bob stands for don’t you?” His lip quirked, eyes bright and mirthful, “of course, baby on board.” You took a sip from your glass, rolling your eyes at his typical cocksure tone, “No, it stands for…” His brow quirked waiting for you to finish, his grin starting to form as he watched your eyes dance across the ceiling looking for the words in your impaired state.
You leaned forward closer across the table, putting your pointer fingers up, biting at the inside of your cheek, losing your battle with the grin that wanted to gleam on your face, “it stands for Big Ol’ Balls.” His own laughter bubbled up in his throat as he watched you crumble into near hysterics at what had just left your mouth.
His laughter settled while yours continued, failing to do anything else but just listen to the sweet noise. He had heard your laugh before, but he’d never had any significant part of bringing it out of you. He let a smile grace his lips at the sweet noise. As your laughter died down, he let his eyes wander to the jukebox in the corner and the thinning out crowd at the bar. He bit the inside of his cheek, the creases of his forehead showing as he listened to the song emulating from the speakers.
“Do you wanna dance?” Jake asks, not fully thinking about the question.
Your espresso martini almost did a full stop in your throat. Tonight had been a series of firsts with Hangman; sharing fries, him buying you drinks, and seeing you in your romantic element. Dancing together was an oddly intimate first. Sure, you’d both fucked each other’s brains out almost every other day, but dancing, well, dancing was something that seemed to be a step further than that. It didn’t involve a physical closeness attributed to taking your frustrations out on each other; it was two people flowing together, not trying to wrack each other’s physical resolve. It completely contradicted the original purpose of getting physically close to this insufferable, arrogant man; an outlet for pent up frustration through deeply satisfying, carnal escapades.
Before you could stop yourself, you nodded.
He rose up out of the booth first with a squeak, offering you his hand. Your deep brown eyes looking up at him, then darting to his outstretched hand, your lips parting.
This was new, uncharted territory.
“I promise I won’t bite,” he reassured with a smile. He tried to not think about the way your red dress hugged your curves so deliciously, or how your cleavage almost spilled over the top of your garment. You had already had three martinis, and were definitely feeling the effects of them. He didn’t want to make you feel pressured into anything that you both typically took part in when you were this close physically. But he still wanted to be close to you.
You bit the inside of your lip and, for reasons only God could tell you, you took his hand.
He led you to the corner near the jukebox that was otherwise mostly emptied out. The beginning of England Dan and John Ford Coley’s I'd really love to see you tonight flowed from the speakers as Jake settled his hands on your waist, your own apprehensively around his neck, keeping your body upright as you let the initial beats flow through you in your relaxed state. His evergreen eyes traced over your melted brown ones, admiring the subtle flush of your cheeks to your low, lidded eyes.
Hello, yeah, it's been a while
Not much, how about you?
Your eyes darted around his face, avoiding his eyes that seemed to solely focus on your own. His hands squeezed your hips. In attraction or comfort, you couldn’t quite tell.
I'm not sure why I called
I guess I really just wanted to talk to you
You should have felt more alarmed by the close proximity and unorthodox reason behind it, but, and you didn’t want to admit it, the proximity felt nice. Maybe it was because of the drinks? It had to be because of the drinks.
And I was thinking maybe later on
We could get together for a while
One of his hands left your hip to softly, ever so softly, to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. “What are you getting shy about?” The gentle smirk on his lips paired perfectly with his rich green eyes.
It's been such a long time
And I really do miss your smile
You swallowed, eyes trapped in a jade coated trance. “I think I just had too much to drink.” His lip quirked at your soft, almost whispered tone, holding you as you both swayed to the music. He knew you could hold more alcohol, but didn’t press.
I'm not talking about moving in
And I don't want to change your life
He brought you closer to him, resting his head against the side of your own. Savoring the soft smell of citrus from your hair and the warm skin of your lower back against the palm of his hand, and the silk texture of your hand in his own.
But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out
And I'd really love to see you tonight
This felt like the most alien and natural thing he had done with you. It almost made him forget that within only the last few hours, he was fucking you against the hunter green lockers, feeling you cum on his cock.
We could go walking through a windy park
Or take a drive along the beach
He tried to not ruin the delicate moment he was having with you, and he figured his dick pressing into you might make you forget about all the good the night has brought between you two. A larger part of him than he cared to admit didn’t want to go back to the no-strings-attached arrangement he’d had with you for the past few months.
Or stay at home and watch TV
You see it really doesn't matter much to me
He wanted more moments like this with you. But he could feel the apprehension that, as much as he didn’t want to admit, was mostly attributed to his reputation. In the months since first feeling you fall apart under him, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. Not even the desperate tag chasers in form-fitting maxi dresses at the Hard Deck. And that had to count for something.
I'm not talking about moving in
And I don't want to change your life
He couldn’t help the pang in his chest; you were definitely open to dating other men. Could he really change your mind about him?
But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out
And I'd really love to see you tonight
You had to admit, if someone had told you months ago that you would be slow dancing with Hangman in a nearly empty bar, and you wouldn't be trying to claw his throat out, you would have told them they’d been breathing in too much jet fuel. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt nice and, dare say, comforting being here with him.
I won't ask for promises
So you don't have to lie
The soft texture of his jacket, warm hold, and soothing scent around his neck made you sigh. It was different from his usual mix of jet fuel, sweat, bergamot, and cedarwood. A part of you really hated how anything looked good on him and that he smelled amazing in whatever scent wafted off of him.
We've both played that game before
Say I love you and say goodbye
“I’m sorry your date didn’t go well tonight,” You gently leaned back from his head, eyes meeting his own. Your eyes drooped comfortably as you looked over his face, trying to detect any sense of pity or ridicule. But all you found were warm, soulful, malachite eyes looking back into your burnt sienna ones under the neon lights. If your mind was clearer, you’d say it was romantic. But this was Hangman, and what he did best was no-commitment hookups in the dead of night. Not romance. It would take more than three martinis to make you forget that.
I'm not talking about moving in
And I don't want to change your life
“Yeah, me too,” you muttered before leaning your head back on his shoulder. He swallowed gently, afraid that the movement would disturb you.
But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out
And I'd really love to see you tonight
Jake continued to hold you close as slow songs continued to ebb and flow from the speaker, one after the other; trying to not let his mind drift to how this would play out tomorrow in your more sober mind, until he could feel your weight grow heavier against his body as you swayed gently.
“Hey, Sweets,” he whispered against your hair. You hummed, eyes fluttered closed. “I should get you home.” You hummed in agreement, not having the strength to fight him on the pet name. Your sequoia-colored eyes peeking open, making him smile.
He settled the tab, placing his leather jacket around your shoulders that wrapped you in warmth and the soothing smell of cedarwood and cinnamon.
He walked you back to his truck, opening the door for you and making sure you were settled before closing the door.
The car ride back was silent as you tried to stay awake, listening to the slow country song on the radio, your eyes drifting shut. The smooth stall of the truck made your eyes flutter open. Jake gently reached out to you, gingerly rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against your exposed forearm to get your attention. You flinched at the unexpected, soft, almost non-existent contact, body tensing. “We’re here, Sweets,” his gentle tone letting your body ease back into the seat.
Before your mind thought to open the door, he was already on the other side opening it for you, and offering you his hand to step down. It was truly unfair how good he looked under the streetlights outside your apartment, with his unbuttoned shirt, sunglasses hooked in the front, and slightly disheveled hair. It made you wonder how you came to hate this man in the first place. But then again, hate was a strong word and maybe he didn’t deserve to have it placed on him. Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis he bought you, tinting your vision of who he was tonight.
Jake didn’t ask if you wanted him to walk you to your door. He held your hand gently in a way that seemed unusual for him as he walked with you up the stone steps to your front door. “Thanks for tonight. I really needed it.” His face broke out into a soft, sincere smile, “anytime, Cherry.” Your lips tugged into a smile, diverting your eyes to the house keys in your hand. His eyes couldn't stop drawing to the strand of dark hair that kept getting in your eyes. Your gaze shot to him as he let his forefinger sweep the hair behind your ear.
“You deserve to have fun every once in a while.”He murmured, eyes tracing over the fine features of your face and the rich color of your hair under the porch light. His soft eyes brought a certain warmth that you'd never experienced with him.
You gave him a smile, as you fiddled with your keys, fighting off the blush that threatened to break through.
“Do you think,” you swallowed, “that you could not tell anyone about my really shitty date?” Jake, putting on a small smile, nodded, “yeah, of course, Sweets. I mean, I think I did a pretty good job at rectifying the experience.”
His gentle, carefree smirk made your lip tip up into a small smile and shake your head.
You let go of his hand, resisting to admit that you missed the contact already.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Hang,” you bid farewell.
He watched with a gentle smile and warm eyes as you closed the door behind you, giving him a soft wave.
His lips pursed, morphing back into a smile as he walked back to his truck. The night seemed to fulfill him more than all of your trysts combined.
It had to count for something that you didn't ask him to never mention your... date? if he could even call it that...
You leaned back against your shut front door, a smile on your lips that he had never brought past your lips.
Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis and this haze would lift in the morning, and he’d go back to being Hangman.
Or maybe, just maybe, he truly wasn't as bad as you thought.
Hangman and Cherry have never been able to be in the same room as the other without nearly ripping each other's throats out. Hangman provides a solution that provides her a sense of freedom and pleasure that she begins to crave.
Warnings: Smut, P in V, degradation, hot pilots being delusional and horny
Word Count: 3.4k
Soph's Collection of Literature
A note: This is a nice little piece I made for @roosterforme's TopGun 80's Rocktober Challenge using Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to Rule the World. The lovely divider was made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more. I hope you enjoy <3
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
“God, you’re such a dick,”
You almost missed the way his lips curved into a smirk into the sensitive flesh of the column of your neck. Hands gripping into his shoulders as he sucked at your pulse, pushing your hips into the cold metal lockers behind you with a resonating bang, his broad hands digging into your Nomex clad waist enough to leave marks.
Time was not in your favor, and you could sense that the team had their suspicions about what Hangman and Cherry were doing while they weren’t trying to rip the other to shreds on the tarmac.
“I always did like you more when you were too busy takin' my cock to say your little bratty comments,” he growled into your throat.
You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way his gravelly tone and filthy words made you want to clench your thighs around his lean waist.
A huff left your lips.
He was absolutely vexing.
His hands gripped harder into your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your ass, making you let out what could be best described as a repressed sigh.
And shameless and cocksure.
He harshly sucked at the flesh of your neck, sure to leave angry, deep purple marks in his wake, the act making you hiss.
A significant part of you had stopped caring to cover up the traces of your rendezvous; new ones would be there the following day or later in the week anyway.
And was absolutely filled to the brim with brazen confidence and a glaring disregard for others.
You had to bite into the soft, plump flesh of your lip to silence yourself as his mouth made you want to softly whimper.
Chewing him out only turned him on, and ignoring him just made him press harder into your nerves.
You couldn’t win with him. Maybe that was why you let yourself have this arrangement.
To see if you could win, and claim victory over the infamous Hangman that had women for miles lined up for a chance to warm his bed.
Because just like him, you craved victory.
His fingers frantically reached for your front zipper, pulling the dark green material down your body, exposing more and more flesh by the second to his ravenous mouth.
A sigh passed your lips as he fondled your breast, bringing your tank top down to expose your pebbled nipple to the cooler air of the locker room with a gasp, taking the sensitive flesh into his warm mouth with a deep growl.
You hated that he had this effect on you.
Not in a way that itched your skin, but in a way that made your insides swirl and buzz with…
A low whine pulled its way past your lips as he let the rough pads of his fingers run through your folds.
“Mhm, so wet, Cherry. This all f’me?”
His chest inflated with pride at the glare you shot him.
He watched with salacious eyes as he removed his fingers, “Come on, sweets, we both know ya don’t get this wet for just anyone.”
You watched as he let his tongue glide over his bottom lip, his gaze heavy on your flushed cheeks and glazed over eyes.
Agitation overcame you at the sight of him as he closed his eyes, humming at the taste of you on his fingers, trying to ignore how much you ne-wanted his touch again.
And trying to remember how much you hated it when he called you that little endearment with that irritating southern drawl of his.
Maybe this whole arrangement was to gain some freedom from this chase you both did with each other, to put your hatred for him to better use.
To have an outlet. Yeah that was it. An outlet. A reprieve from your hatred induced frustrations.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
His dry laugh made your insides burn and your nails dig into his shoulders just that much harder.
He nipped at your jaw as your nails dug harshly into the back of his neck.
The act made him growl into the column of your throat, the vibrations making you almost shiver.
“I already do, sweets. You wouldn’t keep coming back if it weren't the case.”
You scoffed.
“You’re insufferable.”
His lip quirked.
“And so god-damn frustrating.”
He hummed, his ego growing like his cock in the thin confines of his flight suit with each breathless word that passed sweet, no-faults-in-sight, perfect straight shooter Cherry’s lips.
“But I’m not wrong,” he replied, giving your neck a playful nip.
“I never said you were right, and don’t call me sweets,” you quipped back, trying to keep your voice steady as he sucked at your pulse point.
He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot against your skin, “always so feisty, Cherry,”
Your words died on your lips as his lips lathed at your chest, softly biting into your nipple. A soft sigh left your lips as he soothed your flesh with his frustratingly nimble tongue.
His touch almost made you miss him as he took a second to pull down his flight suit, his white undershirt clashing with his golden tan skin and clinging to his biceps. The imprint of his dog tags showing through his cotton shirt. Your eyes followed the path of the white fabric as he unveiled the sharp ridges and dips of hard muscle from his defined adonis belt, to his marble carved abs that seemed to go on for days, to his pectorals and thick, broad shoulders.
"We don't have all day, Bagman," you said, voice lacking the authority you hoped it would still have.
His muffled dry laugh made your jaw clench and stomach flip.
Your voice couldn't have sounded that desperate, could it?
His lip quirked, revealing pearly white teeth.
"Didn't realize you were in a rush, got a hot date later?"
Your eyes narrowed, his teasing smile grating on your nerves.
"As a matter of fact, I do," you managed to say without your voice sounding too breathless or shaky.
His eyes narrowed for only a millisecond.
A flash of something you've never seen before.
In his eyes, at least.
But as soon as it appeared, it was gone.
"Mhm," he bit the inside of his cheek, leaning down to kiss at your neck, coming up to your tender ear lobe, giving the soft flesh a delicate bite that had a hitched breath leaving your parted lips.
You hated how well versed he was in the subtle language of your body.
He firmly squeezed your hips in his broad hands, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your bunched up flight suit to your ass.
You almost shivered at his warm breath settling against your ear.
"Does he know he's gonna be getting sloppy seconds?"
A scoff passed your lips, "I don't see how that's of any concern to you."
He hissed as your nails dug harder into the back of his neck.
"We both know you don't date. That's why this works so well, "he said dryly as he kissed at your neck, slowly pulling the Nomex material below your waist, your legs moving at their own accord to step out of the sleeves.
He had a point. An annoying and frustrating point.
"It's the first date anyway," you replied, choosing to ignore the evident vibrations of the chord he just struck through your chest.
He let his jade, evergreen eyes settle on you.
Those same eyes that could read you like a book he's read a hundred times over.
His lip quirked, eyebrows scrunching in amusement.
"That's really romantic, Cherry, really. Showing up with another man's cum dripping down your thighs as he sweats himself on the first date."
Your mouth dried up, utterly speechless at the words he said with that trademark Hangman confidence.
Your eyes narrowed, eyebrows softly pinching together.
A smirk grew on his lips that made you want to slap him, or pull his lips towards yours.
You couldn't decide.
He kept his heated, lust-bright gaze on yours as he trailed his calloused fingers in between the material of your panties and your soft, supple skin, relishing in the feel of gooseflesh he left in his wake.
You watched as let his gaze shift downwards, clicking his tongue.
"Cherry, you shouldn't have... you wore my favorite pair just for me?"
You bit your lip as he continued to toy with the soft, blush pink material of your undergarment.
That same full-of-himself smirk that you hated curved his lips.
But do you know what you hated more?
The fact that you couldn't help but feel like some part of you purposely decided to wear the pair, and not because you purely wanted to, but because there was a part of you that wanted to wear them just for him.
He gently rolled them down your thighs, letting you step out of them.
He let his hand drift under the back of your thigh to behind your knee, grasping your leg and lifting it to bend at his hip before snatching the pair of pink panties that hung off your ankle.
Your eyes followed his hand as he bunched the material between his dexterous fingers.
"Excuse me, I'd like those back," you snipped.
His lip quirked.
"If you're good, I'll consider it, sweets."
You huffed, glaring at the smirk and subsequent wink he sent you.
Your glare worsened as he brought the material to his nose, taking a deep inhale, a deep sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips, doing your damnedest to ignore the soft throbbing of your clit at the sight, and to suppress the whine that threatened to bubble up in your throat.
"Always smell so sweet, Cherry, like a perfect, little cherry pie." He murmured as he placed the debauched material into the pocket of his flight suit.
"You're disgusting and don't call me sweets," you gritted back, raising your voice with a snarl that Jake knew was all bark and no bite.
At least with him.
He gave that salacious smile that always made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or knock his perfect teeth out. Or fuck him. Or grab him by his hair and-
Your jaw tensed, nostrils flaring.
His smile widened, evidently proud of the rouse of emotion he pulled from you.
You were too much fun to tease.
"Shhh,” you could have sworn that you saw red the moment the condescending noise left his lips, “someone's gonna hear ya if you keep that up, and ya wouldn't want someone to see just how well I can get along with ya, right Cherry? Make ya make such sweet, absolutely sinful sounds f’me?”
Heat rose to your cheeks, much to your unending irritation with the visceral response this man managed to pull out of you each time he had you.
Whether it was the Hard Deck bathroom during the saturday night rush, that one time at the beach long after Bob Floyd’s birthday celebration, or on the other side of Admiral Simpson’s white fence during the Fourth of July BBQ that past summer.
A chuckle broke free from his chest as you laid a smack to his thick pectoral, eyes still sharp and full of what could be described as a cauldron of hate and lust to anyone else who had the misfortune of interrupting their, what could be described as, animalistic rutting.
He pulled down his flight suit to settle down to the tiled floor with a small thump, his body only clad in his signature pair of Calvin Klein briefs.
That was another thing you hated about him; he looked good in anything.
It pained you to say that he could easily have become a model if the Navy hadn't worked out.
Your nails dug into his shoulders before softly tracing down his body, over each ridge, each chord, each plane of muscle and bulging vein that made you salivate more than you would care to admit.
He pulled his briefs down, letting his thick cock that always forced you to take a minute to adjust to sprung up against his adonis belt with a soft tap.
A soft sigh passed your lips as he gently traced at the embarrassingly soaked folds of your cunt with the pads of his fingers.
Jake "Hangman" Seresin would never admit it, but he was disappointed he didn't have the time to taste you, to savor what he would describe as the intoxicating taste of candied cherries that dribbled down your flushed folds like a sweet nectar.
Sweet nectar from a poisonous, intolerable, type-A personality fruit.
He hated that he wanted to quirk his lip at the birthmark just above your soft, sensitive little clit. To hear that sweet sinful sound he, disappointedly, hadn't been able to find in anyone else when he fucked you with his tongue.
A soft puff of breath passed your lips as he lined up the angry, red bulbous head at your flushed cunt. Grunting as his sensitive head met your drenched folds.
His entrancing eyes hurriedly met yours.
You feverishly nodded.
Jake pushed his length into the delicious inferno of your tight, little pussy.
Your breath felt like cement in your lungs as he let his full, long, thick length accommodate itself into your welcoming heat.
He let his head fall to the crook in her shoulder, her nails still gripping into the thick cords of muscle of his shoulders, trying to ground yourself.
"Jesus, Cherry,” he murmured.
God, the way his voice graveled out praise was the most unfortunate consequence of this arrangement that still affected you hours after your trysts.
His cock seemed to push any capability of forming coherent sentences out of your body.
All that passed your lips were sharp intakes of breath and low mewls that left your throat without your consent.
He gave an experimental thrust into your heat, letting your soft sighs of pleasure meet his ears as you adjusted to his length.
Your breath hitched as he brought your other leg around his waist, his biceps bulging with the effort of thrusting into you against the smooth, metal locker doors.
"More."
"Come on, sweets, you can do better than that."
He smirked at your breathless tone.
If his cock didn’t feel like the only thing you needed at the moment to live, you would have told him to go fuck himself.
You laid your head back against the dark gray metal surface, eyes meeting his fiery, lush, emerald gaze, voice frozen in your throat, lips parted.
He manhandled your legs, forcing them to cross around his waist, gripping your waist in his broad hand in a borderline painful grip.
His other hand brought up to grip at the sides of your throat. A low moan came from your lips that had him smirking deviously and your cheeks turning red, utterly at the mercy of him and his thick cock that was rubbing deliciously at that spot he always found with maddening accuracy.
“Please, more,”
Those two words made you cringe with embarrassment, unable to stop the small whimper that passed your bite swollen lips.
His salacious chuckle met your ears, making your cheeks burn brighter.
“God, I can never get used to you like this… so needy and desperate. You become such a sweet girl when I get my dick in ya. Haven’t even started yet, and you're already babbling like a cock-drunk little slut.”
All you could do was part your lips and muster enough composure to utter two simple words.
“F-fuck you,”
His eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, leaning his head towards your ear. The scent of bergamot and cedar wood filling your senses.
“You already are, sweets,” he growled, sharply thrusting into your sopping wet cunt.
Your gasp and tightening of your grip into his shoulder and hand that settled at your neck had him throbbing against your velvet walls that oh so begged him to never leave.
“Fuck, Cherry, I bet you don’t even hate me,” he panted, “not,” thrust, “even,” thrust, “a little,” thrust, “bit.”
Your cries of pleasure spilled from your lips and into the empty on base locker room, fingernails gripping and scratching into him almost enough to draw blood.
He gripped your throat just a bit harder, enough to have your eyes rolling back, wanton moans pouring from your lips as he pistoned his hips into your cunt.
He yanked your neck closer to his. Close enough to see the small specks of hazel in his almost unending green eyes. And the kink in his nose he got when he broke it back at the Naval Academy. And to smell the potent scent of you on his breath.
“I think you just need someone who can fuck you like this. Treat you like a slut and fuck your tight, little hole. Just like you need.” He gritted out, continuing to pound up into your dripping heat that dribbled your arousal to the tile floor below.
You couldn’t help the labored pants of breath as you nodded feverishly, your consciousness shutting down and your own body taking over.
He let out a dark chuckle with a carnal grin, his abdomen feeling tight as his balls slapped against the underside of your ass, his release building.
“God, you’re fucking adorable for thinking anyone else could fuck you like this,” he snarled.
Your high pitched whines and obscene moans had him gripping you that much tighter and chasing your high.
“Oh, fuck, please!”
He could feel the sweat building at his forehead and chest as he pistoned his hips into your pretty pink, flushed, little pussy.
He ne-wanted you to come first. His ego demanded it. Demanded that he bend you to his will.
His spine tingled at the feeling of your walls spasming around his dick at his brutal pace.
You shuddered at the feeling of his mouth near the soft cartilage of your ear, breathing caught in your throat.
“Please what, sweets? Use your words.” he growled.
“Please, Please… make me cum.”
A deep chested groan rumbled through his throat at your pathetic whine, “fuck, I’ll make you cum, sweets, I’ll make you cum,” he growled.
Your body was wracked by tremors as he thrusted, channeling each ounce of strength in his body into pummeling your flushed cunt.
He watched as your eyes clenched shut, eyebrows pinching together as your feather soft lips parted into a strangled moan that was much louder than the previous ones.
In a split second, he crashed his lips to yours, swallowing each sound of pleasure that escaped your body as he finally felt your walls choke his cock for all he was worth. Your breath mixed with his as your chest heaved, his hips still pistoning into your no doubt raw cunt.
Oversensitivity wracked your body, making you cry out as his chest heaved and lips swallowed each cry and moan. Stars and galaxies flashed before your eyes as he kept his grip on your throat, chasing his high as your second one consumed you.
You could feel with each thrust, how his cock throbbed against your slick, sensitive walls.
“Jesus fucking christ,” he grunted out, a gut punch groan resonating against the locker walls that encased you both.
Your clit tingled at the feeling of his release painting your walls, squirming with each soft impact they landed against your delicate cervix.
His head fell down to your shoulder as his chest heaved, breathing heavy.
You felt as though your head was spinning as your breathing evened out, absentmindedly running your fingers along the pebbled chain of the dog tags that settled between his pecs on a soft bed of sparse, golden chest hair and freckles sparingly scattered across his chest.
Your fingers paused, retracting them to hold onto his shoulder as his breathing settled.
This arrangement was meant to get you both the most of freedom and of pleasure.
Nothing more and nothing less.
He placed a kiss along your neck. His soft touch almost made you sigh.
Almost.
You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering shut, basking in the moment of feeling him still inside you. His softening cock letting his release dribble around the seams of where his cock perfectly encased itself between your folds.
His head rose up to meet your face, cheeks flushed and sensuous evergreen eyes that seemed to glow with a post high gaze.
Synopsis: An exploration of why Bucky decided to cut his hair
AN: This has been in my Google Drive for about two years and finally got around/had the motivation to finish this. This piece was technically my first ever piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. My writing mostly pertains to Top Gun and Top Gun Maverick so this was a nice little brain break from that. I thought I'd include the original author's note I put together, having never written fanfiction at the time, just for nostalgic sake and if anyone wants to know just how new to this I was lol. Also this divider is not mine and I was unable to tag the account that made it since it was deleted. This work will be posted on my side blog @sophs-writing-nook.
Original Author’s Note: Hello everyone :) This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written and I really hope you guys like it because I’m a bit nervous about it. I’ve had this idea since I saw the first promotions for the Falcon and Winter Soldier series and didn't really do anything about it for a variety of reasons. I haven’t seen a lot of fics exploring this concept so I decided to write this on a camping trip in my notes app where I didn’t have reception so I apologize if there is bad grammar, spelling errors, etc. If there happens to be a similarity to another fic, it is purely coincidence and I don’t intend to plagiarize anyone. Please let me know if it does appear I have. I have a lot of respect for fanfic writers and don’t want to disrespect anyone and steal anyone’s work unintentionally.
Warnings: Blood, Trauma (PTSD), sadness with some bittersweet moments sprinkled in, supportive Sam because that’s a warning in itself.
None of these characters are mine. Read at your own discretion.
Bucky had tried finding a routine after coming back: Get up by 7, go on a run make breakfast, try to keep in touch with his friends he had made since coming back, try a new recipe, maybe try online dating, catch up on what he missed the past 70 years, try to forgive himself for all the atrocities he didn't have a choice in committing, make dinner, shower, and sleep by 9.
That's what his therapist, Darlene, told him to do at least.
She wanted him to write in a journal the names of the people and families he wanted to make amends with, things he wanted to explore and try out, and good things he remembered before he was the Winter Soldier.
Darlene had kept encouraging him to keep referring to the Winter Soldier as if he were his own separate person, and not affiliated with James Buchanan Barnes.
It helped a bit with passing the blame, but not by much. He, naturally, chose the last remnant of Steve he had- his journal- to hold these thoughts.
Steve saw the best in him when he couldn't.
He made an effort to try and forgive himself for everything he did, for Steve’s sake.
Why Steve had left him, he didn't fully understand.
It didn't make the "forgiving himself" part any easier.
If his lifelong friend, who had been with him through thick and thin, decided to leave him now in this time of his broken, mutilated life, what did that say about him?
Was he wrong about him?
Did he truly believe he was worth being fixed and forgiven?
There were small moments of hope that he could be fixed, but they were few and far inbetween.
His nightmares had gotten worse.
If Darlene would ask, he’d tell her, “no, they haven't", "they've stopped", or "I haven't had one for a while.” Bullshit excuses that anybody who saw the dark circles under his eyes wouldn't believe. Darlene knew he was lying and would try to reassure him that their space was safe and it would help him to get his nightmares out in the open.
He didn't think so.
This woman didn't know what it was like to have the same horrific scenarios play out in his mind every time he went to sleep.
To see himself killing innocent people like he was in the backseat of his mind.
The blood.
Their faces, some close friends and others strangers.
Their pleas and calls for mercy were what always broke him.
He was forced again and again to witness himself taking their lives and couldn't do anything to stop himself. Forced to use any part of himself for Hydra.
Nothing was spared.
He felt unforgivable, these nightmares were a sign of the Winter Soldier still being in his head, buried and ready if Hydra got their hands on him again.
He was tired of fighting and worrying, only wanting lasting peace and a full night's rest.
He had started renting an apartment in downtown Brooklyn near where his family had lived during the 40's. It was near the church cemetery his mother, father and sister, Rebecca, were buried. They were placed in the row closest to the street behind the church his family frequented during his youth.
His parents had passed from old age when he was imprisoned by Hydra.
A small part of him was thankful for that.
They never had to learn that their son had done such horrible things.
They lived with the good memories of him.
His sister had passed during the time half the population was gone, the Blip people called it, from Alzheimer's. He visited her once before, but she was in the late stages, and was a shell of who he remembered growing up.
His little sister Rebecca, whom he protected, opened jars for, teased, and made sure the boys she liked would be good to her, was now unable to remember him. He was told she passed peacefully in her sleep a few months after he disappeared.
Darlene thought that buying an apartment so close to his family's resting place might be overwhelming for him, but he wanted to be close to them and the memories he had.
The apartment consisted of a basic floor plan; kitchen, bathroom with a shower and bath, living room, bedroom, closet. However, he only used the kitchen, bathroom, and living room.
He didn't have many things when he moved in, and didn't feel he needed all the space allotted to him.
He had invested in a modest tv set, a microwave, blender, and a camping mat, courtesy of Sam's encouragement.
He had tried sleeping on a mattress, but he felt that he was going to sink through into the floor with how soft and marshmallow-like it felt. He always slept on the floor with a few blankets and sheets.
Sam had the same experience when he came back from Afghanistan.
Sam had tried to help him adjust to things since coming back, and had done a lot for him, including to help him find his apartment and encourage him to try new things.
There were times he had trouble getting out of his headspace to return Sam's calls and initiate with his friend. Darlene had been saying that for a person who allegedly had no one left, he seemed to have a safety net in Sam. She pushed him to call someone other than her and initiate with him. It was another case where he felt she didn't fully understand how difficult it was for him to build relationships, and "get his nightmares out in the open" since coming back.
He had gotten home late that night from the store, buying ingredients to make a recipe Darlene recommended: chicken tikka masala, he thought she called it.
He was amazed at the amount of change he had missed, especially from a grocery store. His family would boil everything with what minimal spices were available, other than the usual salt and pepper. He found solace in trying new recipes and exposing himself to the technological wonders of the 21st century, including learning how to use a DVD player and the iPhone he recently bought. He tried online dating but found it was too overwhelming and made him feel like a fish out of water. Asking people on dates and seeking relationships came easily to him when he was younger before the war, but everything felt so different now.
He felt so different and foreign to himself. His arm. His mind. He felt like a shell of the person he was before the Winter Soldier.
His groceries were unloaded into the fridge and he started to prepare his dinner. He placed a bowl on the counter for mixing chicken marinade and marinating the soon to be cooked slices of chicken. The chicken slices were placed into a pan on a low heat to begin cooking. They wouldn't take long since they only had to cook halfway through initially. He gathered the spices for the marinade.
The soft smells of turmeric, ginger, cumin, and garam masala reminded him of the evenings he spent helping his mother cook during the summer. His mother would rummage together some cash every once in a while to buy a few sachets of spices from the local grocery. It was an indulgence she took part in that, compared to now, seemed simple and less of an everyday luxury.
Sure, the spices she would bring home were more mild and less "exotic" than what he had available to him now, but it was the familiar memory of being taught to cook and the soft smells of his mother's cooking.
His conscience told him to use the spices sparingly despite himself being confronted with a substantially sized grocery aisle complete with spices from almost every corner of the world a mere few hours ago.
Maybe it was his upbringing during the Great Depression and watching his parents worry about where the next paycheck would come from.
Or maybe it was his instinct telling him this small semblance of peace he had found in his Brooklyn apartment would be snatched away, and that he needed to savor every new experience in stride.
Because if he let himself enjoy them too much, it would make the snatching that much more painful.
He couldn't decide.
He finished the marinade and would have to wait an hour or two to start the sauce and cook the chicken. He placed it in the fridge and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.
The warm water felt nice on his warped, scarred flesh around his arm on his left side. The area would often become sore and plagued by knots. Sam recommended warm showers, aloe vera, a massage and spa place nearby, and Advil. The thought of people he didn't know touching his scarred flesh made him feel nervous, so the rest of his suggestions were his go to.
His scar tissue and long hair were the last physical mark of Hydra on him.
He was thankful he didn't have to see the red star that had branded him for so many years when he looked in the mirror anymore, since leaving Wakanda.
But there was still his hair.
His hair that had blood, dirt and grime stained into it for his 70 years of service. No matter how many times he showered, he knew the blood would never leave his hair or his hands. His mind would drift through waves of hopelessness in quiet moments like these more often than not.
He dried himself off with a soft towel, changed into a pair of boxers, and began to gingerly apply aloe vera to the junction where his arm met his shoulder. His shoulder was still a bit sensitive after all these years despite the enhanced healing from the serum. Shuri theorized it was because the metal cavity of his arm continuously tore through the underlying tissue. She was able to remove the bits and pieces of metal embedded in his shoulder. His arm was in the healing process, but it would take a while after years of damage even with the serum. After he finished rubbing in the aloe vera, He put on a dark t-shirt and made his way back into the kitchen to finish the sauce.
He carefully prepared the onions, garlic, and spices for the sauce the way his mother taught him to.
He couldn't help but think about how his parents and sister would have loved to have tried this recipe with him.
He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to "cut the onions a bit smaller" or "don't let the garlic and onions burn in the pan".
Rebecca's eagerness to try the sauce prematurely with a perfected pout and whines of protest when denied so.
His father's quiet yet strong presence at the kitchen table reading the daily paper and soft scolding of his sister.
Steve drawing in his journal at the dinner table on evenings when Sarah Rogers would be working late at the hospital.
The radio softly playing in the background as a soothing ambiance.
The kitchen window opened to let the aroma of the Barnes’ family dinner wander through the back alley of the apartment building, and let in the sounds of the neighbors' soft conversations, clothes oscillating in the wind on the clothes line, and car engines humming as people made their way home at dusk.
All qualities of his family's evening routine and upbringing he longed for, but took for granted in his youth.
The stark smell of overcooked onions brought him back to the task at hand, pulling him from his thoughts but leaving his buildup of emotions he felt were about to rupture. He added the heavy cream, spices, brown sugar, and let them stir with the marinated onions and garlic. He felt tears start to form in his eyes. Letting the sauce thicken, he turned the pan onto a low heat, and added the marinated chicken to finish cooking.
He placed the spatula down on the counter top with a shaky hand, placing his hands on the counter to support himself as he let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.
God, he wished they were here with him. Steve. His mom. His dad. Rebecca.
He wished he had somebody who knew him before the Winter Soldier that could help him to pick up the broken pieces of himself and to become the person he was again.
He wished he could have said goodbye to his parents, Rebecca, and that Steve hadn't left him.
He wished he could've held his parents one last time before they passed, met the man that Rebecca fell in love with and had a family with, and fought harder for Steve to stay with him and help pick up the pieces.
All things that he couldn't do anything about now.
He wiped his tears away and returned to stirring his chicken masala. Thoughts of his family blending with the thoughts of his recipe like the spices and heavy cream in his pan as a cope. Darlene had mentioned that the recipe goes best with garlic buttered rice or naan, so he had bought ingredients for both, but opted for the naan. He turned on the oven, placed some naan from the store on a baking sheet, and into the oven before returning to stirring the contents of the pan.
He remembered Sam wanted to come over and check in on how he was settling into his apartment, sometime the next day. Maybe he would want to try some of his dish.
"Initiate, take small steps to initiate". This counted as initiating, right? He hoped so.
His chicken masala was well blended and deemed done. His naan close behind. He placed a bowl and plate on the counter, served up his recipe and naan, and sat down at his two person dinner table, and prepared to eat. Darlene had told him that making a makeshift taco with the naan tasted good if he opted to not make the garlic butter rice. He took his first bite and let himself experience each incredible flavor.
He would definitely be making this recipe again.
Maybe he could make a batch for Sam.
It would be a small way to return the favor.
He made his way through his dinner, and would start heading to bed soon. It was almost 9 anyway. Shuri told him that consistent good sleep would also help him heal mentally along with his therapy and the treatment she provided.
He made a mental note to try making the garlic butter rice, thank Darlene for the recipe, and ask her if she had any more favorite recipes he should try during his next session.
He brought his dishes to the sink, moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and shed himself of his shirt. Sleeping shirtless was normal for him both during the war and after getting the serum, finding that he would warm up easily and end up tossing and turning in the night.
His escalated body heat helped him to survive the frigid Siberian winters during his imprisonment, but not the mild to warm summer nights in Brooklyn.
Laying on the hardwood floor with the lights out left him with his thoughts. He remembered the nights he and Steve spent laying on couch cushions on the living room floor of his parents apartment.
The nights he and his sister would read The Hobbit under the covers of his bed when they were younger, while their parents thought they were sleeping.
He liked to sleep with the TV on at a low volume and the window opened so he wouldn't be lost in his thoughts for too long.
He didn't have as much trouble falling asleep as before. Darlene told him to take deep breaths while resting his eyes and had gotten better at it since seeing her.
Breathe in for 5 seconds, exhale for 10, and repeat till he felt calm enough to drift to sleep.
He steadily awoke hours later, feeling warm and groggy.
It was quiet.
The TV was off and the window was shut.
He was none the wiser in his hindered state of being as he lifted himself off of the floor and trudged to the bathroom, the soft sound of his bare feet pattering on the wood floor like rain drops on a window, encompassing his apartment in a soft echo.
He turned on the soft bathroom light and twisted the cold faucet on, leaned down and scooped cold water in his hand, and poured it on his face. Supporting himself by his forearms, he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of cold on his face and cascading down his neck.
The water felt warmer now and had a distinct iron smell to it.
He opened his eyes and was met with his hands drenched in blood. Blood flowing into the sink from the tap.
He slowly turned to meet his reflection. Met with the cold, dark, blank eyes of the Winter Soldier. The blood stained leather vest, black muzzle, and the long brunette hair stained black from blood falling over his face.
He was there with him, as clear as day.
He felt a stark and deep rooted sense of fear awaken and burrow itself in his chest as he quickly retreated from the sink, pressing himself against the opposing wall. Eyes wide and breathing heavy, he felt the walls of the bathroom constricting him.
The Winter Soldier reached out his metal arm, severing the separation between the mirror and his bathroom, and brought it down onto the counter top with a resounding crack, small remnants of the cheap countertop tumbling to the floor. He lunged for the door and twisted the knob but it wouldn't budge. Desperately, he tried to break down the door, knuckles bleeding and eyes teary. He could feel the Winter Soldier getting closer to him and was too terrified to turn back and face him. He broke through the door with a splitting crack, splinters in his hands. Awaiting on the other side was a long dimly lit corridor lined with bars and cold concrete walls.
His heart stopped.
He knew this corridor.
He would always know this corridor.
He didn't want to go forward, but he had no choice. Breaking into a sprint, not looking back and praying he didn't trip over himself, he felt a sudden, strong grip on his leg, pulling him backwards. Landing on the hard concrete with a groan and turning himself to face his captor: Two dark, army clad figures awaited him. He shuffled away from them as fast as he could but couldn't get to his feet fast enough to avoid being dragged to by his feet towards the bathroom. His screams echoing off the walls, and hands burning from friction against the cement floor at his attempts to escape their grasp.
He couldn't believe what was happening, he thought he was free from Hydra.
Free from these corridors.
Free from the chair.
He felt his nails fruitlessly catching on the small ridges of the cement floor as he was mercilessly dragged. The hallway enclosed in darkness behind him and the bathroom light ahead of him, serving as a beacon of pain and suffering.
He was left on the bathroom floor, shaking and crying, accentuated by the sound of the slamming of a steel door. His teary eyes searched for the figures but found none. Instead, his eyes landed on the dull gleam of the worn metal frame in his bathtub, tinged with small droplets of blood, smoothed down edges, and strained leather straps.
If he wasn't sobbing before, he was now. He felt so trapped, his heart beating out of his chest; his lungs made of tin, unable to expand.
His shaking frame was folded on the floor by the bathroom door. A few moments of silence flooded by the drops of his sink tap and his attempts to catch his breath.
Abruptly, a handful of his hair was grabbed, his body dragged to the chair as he let out seethes of pain and cries.
He was held down in the chair as he was strapped in by faceless, dark army figures. Soft whispers and murmurs of pleas for mercy and forgiveness settled around him, originating from every vent and faucet in his bathroom, nestled their way to his ears.
They grew louder and droned out the sound of leather going through buckles and the mechanical "wrrrrr" of the head plates assembling towards the top of the chair.
He struggled and screamed, but it was no use.
Trapped in the chair, no chance of escape; Limited by his mind and not his body.
He anxiously waited and dreaded for the excruciating pain of electricity to course through his body, to hear the words Hydra spent so much time and care to drill into his mind.
But both never came.
He awoke with a startle, eyes wide, body and blanket soaked with sweat, lungs gasping for breath.
His window open, letting in his neighbors everyday routine squeeze into his apartment.
The TV on a low volume, playing auctions for nic-nacs and heirlooms people didn't find use for. All drowned out by his racing thoughts and attempts at breathing.
The blanket pooled around his waist as he shifted to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing.
He needed his hair gone.
Like a wounded animal, he made his way to the bathroom with shaky breaths and uneasy strides. He flipped the bathroom light on, feverishly opening and closing drawers to find what he needed most.
A pair of scissors.
A raspy sigh left his lips as his hands met the plastic frame of the twin bladed tool.
His eyes shifted from his reflection to his hold on the scissors.
Carefully, he brought his metal hand to his hair, extending one of his many locks of hair.
His eyes drifted from the lock of hair to the metal blades that almost fully encased it.
Snip.
He watched as the lock frayed till it was severed completely, feeling the freed lock in his hand and watching it fall to the counter.
A sigh of relief left his lips as tears pricked his eyes as he met his reflection in the mirror.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
His tears were flowing fully down his cheeks as almost the entirety of his left side was covered in frayed, unevenly cut hair.
He gingerly ran his flesh hand along his head, relishing in the short tufts of hair, and began repeating the same frenzied cutting on the other side of his head, and towards the back
If the tears weren’t flowing before, they were now.
He placed the scissors onto the hair ridden counter with a clang, keeping his relieved gaze on himself, feeling his chest wrack with sobs, body slowly crumbling against the sink and to the floor.
He had never felt such relief in his life.
His hands ran over the chopped hair, savoring the uneven patched of hair, his head laying back to rest against the wood cabinet below his sink, eyes fluttering shut.
Muffled knocks softly rose his mind from the depths of sleep.
He let his eyes adjust to the bathroom light, feeling his neck ache from how he slept against the drawers of the cabinet.
Sam.
He rose up to his feet with a groan, trudging to his front door.
His front door opened with a click.
“Hey, man-woah.”
He rose his eyes to meet Sam’s wide ones, giving him a small smile, “Hi, Sam.”
Sam swallowed.
“Late night hack job, huh?”
He gave Sam a tight-lipped smile, nodding.
Sam’s lip quirked.
“I, um, I made something for you if you’d like to try it.”
Sam watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand.
He moved from the door, leaving it open for Sam to come in.
Sam carefully stepped into his apartment, taking in the rumple of blankets on the livingroom floor.
“It’s chicken tikka masala, my therapist recommended it.”
Sam took the plastic container he held out for him.
“Thanks for this…We should go get you a haircut. You can’t be walking around Brooklyn looking like you had a blender cut your hair.”
His lip quirked, nodding.
After a few minutes, he met him back at the front door in jeans, a t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, and glove.
“Ready to go?”
He wordlessly nodded, closing, and locking the door behind them.
—
“Alright, what do you think?”
The hairdresser adjusted his chair so he could see himself fully in the mirror.
He could feel his eyes glaze over.
His previously poorly chopped locks were no where to be found, replaced by almost buzzed cut hair with a bit of length towards the top. Barely enough for anyone to get a good grip in.
“It’s perfect, thank you Melissa,” he muttered to the woman that gave him a kind smile in return.
He tried to hand the man at the cashier station some cash, but Sam interjected with his card.
He looked at Sam with slight bewilderment.
“You’ll cover me next time.”
His lip quirked, as Sam nudged his shoulder as they made their way to the exit.
He stopped in front of a window for a store on the way back to his apartment, seeing his reflection in the storefront.
And for once, he didn’t have a deeprooted distaste or fear of what he saw.
It almost made him cry.
He needed this.
His long hair gone. The last remnant of his time in Siberia, of the shackles that held his mind down under water like an anchor, gone.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Sam stopped a few paces ahead of him.
“You wanna stop in?”
Sam’s voice broke him from his trance.
He gave Sam a small smile.
“No, just taking it all in.”
Sam gave him a comforting smile as he caught up with him.
They continued on to his apartment to give Sam some of his chicken tikka masala, running his hand through his hair periodically with a smile on his face.
AN: Apologies for the wait, I’m in my 4th term of the school year so I’ve been hella busy and my mental health has only recently started to improve. I hope you guys like this and feel free to comment and reblog :) Thank you @sebsxphia for the encouragement to write this story when it was in development, it means the world <3 Also a big thank you to @royallyprincesslilly for the design of the divider :)
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
These characters, except for Caledonia and Ella, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Plus Sized! Organic Chemistry and Biochemistry Nerd! Reader
Caledonia ‘Cali’ Hughes has always put romance on the back burner. With getting through her biochemistry graduate program at UC San Diego and many relationships that failed before they could start, she has always viewed true romance and sex alike as treasures that were never for her to experience. Turns out a job at the Hard Deck and an eavesdropping, emerald-eyed pilot offering his ‘expertise’ lets her learn from the best, and, most importantly, that she has always been worthy of such treasures.
Warnings:
swearing, smut 18+, depression, anxiety, body insecurities, loss of virginity, low-key friends with benefits to lovers trope, Hangman being a sweetheart and having an innocence kink, talk of toxic relationships in combination with mental health, touch of angst (I’m incorporating some things from my life into this with regard to mental health and how it has affected my past romantic relationship)
Series Summary: Mustang and Hangman have had sexual tension since the night they met at the Hard Deck at the start of a high-risk assignment. Each interaction further solidifies your callsign in the best ways.
Warnings: Sexual tension, swearing, smitten and sexually frustrated Hangman, swearing, smut 18+
Author’s note: So this was my intended last part of the story but I like writing for them so let me know if you’d be interested in more parts and drabbles/oneshots of their relationship, I’d be down to write when I’m free to:) Thank you so much for reading this far:) It means the world to me :) I honestly didn’t think anyone would want to read this tbh. I’d like to thank @sebsxphia for betaing (?) this part of this fic as well as just being really sweet :)
I will be going through my followers and accounts that leave notes, especially on parts that contain smut, and if the blog doesn’t have an age on it, the blog will be blocked.
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
These characters, except for Mustang, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
Word Count: 10k, sorry but I think y’all can forgive me ;)
Series Summary: Mustang and Hangman have had sexual tension since the night they met at the Hard Deck at the start of a high-risk assignment. Each interaction further solidifies your callsign in the best ways.
Warnings: Sexual tension, swearing, smitten and sexually frustrated Hangman, swearing, and mildly insecure and shy reader, smut; p in v, oral (fem) receiving, dirty talk, dom!Jake, hint of sub!Jake
Author’s note: Just a smutty piece to read for a sinful sunday… part III :) Just letting you all know that part III and part IV are basically porn and its my comfort piece. Parts after part IV might be a bit slow coming out cus I start school again in a few days, but good things come to those who wait ;) Thank you to @call-sign-jinx and @sebsxphia for betaing (?) each part of this fic, they’re both really sweet and write some good shit on their blogs, so be sure to check them out.
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist <3
As a reminder, I will be going through my followers and accounts that leave notes, especially on parts of this story that contain smut, and if the blog doesn’t have an age on it, the blog will be blocked.
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
These characters, except for Mustang, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
Summary: Mustang and Hangman have had sexual tension since the night they met at the Hard Deck at the start of a high-risk assignment. Each interaction further solidifies your callsign in the best ways.
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings:
First part: Sexual tension, smitten and sexually frustrated Hangman, swearing, initially shy reader
Future parts: Sexual tension, swearing, smitten and sexually frustrated Hangman, swearing, and mildly insecure and shy reader, smut; p in v, oral (fem + male) receiving, dirty talk, dom!Jake, hint of sub!Jake
Author’s note: This is the first real fanfiction piece I’ve published. Frankly, I’m not even surprised it’s essentially build up for Hangman porn, I’m such a whore for that man it’s not even funny. Also, I’m a proud horse girl so there are some horse things dribbled into the plot. There will be multiple parts because it got hella long as just one fic, so let me know if any of y’all would be interested in reading more parts of this. I did my best to make Mustang’s physical attributes as ambiguous as possible when it came to descriptions to make it more inclusive to the reader. I want to get better at this so please feel free to leave constructive criticism or something you thought was strong or weak with the piece. Please be kind with criticisms. I’m sensitive. I’d like to thank @call-sign-jinx and @sebsxphia for betaing (?) each part of this fic, they’re both really sweet and write some good shit on their blogs, so be sure to check them out.
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
These characters, except for Mustang, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
Series Summary: Mustang and Hangman have had sexual tension since the night they met at the Hard Deck at the start of a high-risk assignment. Each interaction further solidifies your callsign in the best ways.
Warnings:
Series overall: Sexual tension, swearing, smitten and sexually frustrated Hangman, swearing, and mildly insecure and shy reader, smut; p in v, oral (fem + male) receiving, dirty talk, dom!Jake, hint of sub!Jake
Author’s note: Hopefully you guys liked part I :) I did my best to make the reader’s physical attributes as ambiguous as possible when it came to descriptions to make it more inclusive to the reader. I want to get better at this so please feel free to leave constructive criticism or something you thought was strong or weak with the piece. Please be kind with criticisms. I’m sensitive. I’d like to thank @call-sign-jinx and @sebsxphia for betaing (?) each part of this fic, they’re both really sweet and write some good shit on their blogs, so be sure to check them out :)
I will be going through my followers and accounts that leave notes, especially on parts of this story that has smut, and if the blog doesn’t have an age on it, the blog will be blocked.
All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
These characters, except for Mustang, are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.
“Sweetheart, I really don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse, “I want to take you out, romance you, meet that pretty mare you got back home, stargaze in the field outside my parents’ ranch… “ he smiled into kiss placed behind your ear, “and you seem really into the idea of getting caught,” he licked from the base of your throat to your ear, you shuddered, tugging on his hair, “and I would never be opposed to fulfilling my girl’s needs, no matter the time…Or place”, he said nibbling on your earlobe, smirking into your flushed skin at your breathless whimpers.
this chapter got me absolutely fucked up!!!!!!!! just jake being so deeply in love with you and not knowing what to think when you pull out the kinky side of you.
this is top tier enemies, to friends, to lovers!!!!!!! <33
Series Summary: Mustang and Hangman have had sexual tension since the night they met at the Hard Deck at the start of a high-risk assignment. Each interaction further solidifies your callsign in the best ways.
Warnings: Contains smut 18+, swearing, and alcohol
