The Death of Peace of Mind | Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader
Part 2: Red
summary: a timeline of your first three “dates” a/n: big thanks to @lethalchiralium as per usual
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Then
You met your future husband at a large, popular bar downtown.
“From the gentleman at the end.”
The bartender placed a shot of what you presumed was tequila in front of you and nodded his head in the gentleman’s direction. He was cute enough; oh, who were you kidding, he was a stunner. And he knew it, by the cocky smirk, toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. His eye bore into you, setting your soul, stomach, and face aflame. You smiled back and raised the glass in his direction. He raised his as well, and you took the shot together from across the room. You both slammed the glass on the counter, and by the time you fixed your face, contorted by the hard nature of liquor, he was gone.
“Hi there,” a light, soft, but ostensibly manly voice says behind you. “I hope I’m not being too forward by coming over here.”
You looked over your shoulder only to be met with a broad chest encased in brown flannel. You tilted your head back, and your eyes up, up, up, until you found the man with the cowboy hat smiling down at you, his bright blue eyes sparkling. And he’s tall.
Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you couldn’t help but try to push it down. You refused to be a cliché. You refused to get picked up in a bar. But you were polite, and you had no issue flirting a bit. What could go wrong? There was nothing wrong with having a little fun. That was the whole point of going to the bar by yourself, anyway.
“Not at all. Thanks for the drink,” you said, turning in your chair to face him, your back straight against the bar behind you and your chin up. Some people may be intimidated by his stature, the way his presence swallowed up your space; his arms across both the back of your chair and the empty chair next to you crowded you in, showed off his impressive wingspan and the bulk hiding beneath his shirt. But you were confident. Confident in your ability to read people and pull whoever you wanted into your orbit. “What’s your name?”
“Hangman.”
You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Don’t pull that with me. Your real name.”
“And what am I pulling?”
“The military ego shit. It doesn’t impress me. You’re a dime a dozen here.”
His smile grew ten sizes as he mulled your comment over. You had hit the nail on the head. The callsign, the cocky grin, usually made women swoon. But you? He would have to work for it.
And he liked that.
“Jake. Jake Seresin,” he replied, and offered you his hand.
You took it, giving a not-gentle-yet-not-too-firm handshake. Jake’s hands were soft but strong, with a few calluses across his grip. He never took his eyes off you, like he was committing every detail of your face to memory, and you did the same as you told him your name, and the handshake lingered towards handholding territory.
“I like your dress.” He dropped your hand, motioning toward the dark red sundress you had on.
It showed a tasteful amount of your chest, not modest but not skimpy either. The A-line cut hit your waist perfectly, and flowed down over your hips to the top of your thighs where the ruffled hem just covered you. While you knew the sundress was an attention grabber, you also chose it for the movement. It twirled around you while you danced and made you feel like a princess.
“Wow, very original.”
“A guy can’t compliment a woman on her outfit anymore? I like the red. It might be my new favorite color.”
“Do you dance, Jake Seresin?”
His head bobbed side to side, a thoughtful look on his features. In truth, he would give anything to feel any part of your body against his. “I’m a Texan at a bar with a dance floor.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Yeah, I could dance.”
You gestured toward said dance floor. “After you.”
The two of you danced for quite a while. You made for fast partners, like you’d danced together dozens of times before. He led with strength and control, as if he could sense where you wanted to go and how you wanted to move. You had never had such an astute line-dance partner. You trusted his leadership, somehow knowing with complete certainty that he would never let you fall or crash into another dancer. After about an hour, the DJ took a break, and the crowd settled into the club playlist vibe, hot bodies bumping against each other. Your back was plastered to Jake’s firm chest, and his hands gripped your hips as they ground against his.
There was no earthly way you could miss the firm pressure under Jake’s jeans pressed against your ass. The energy between you was electric, for lack of a better term. The only question was what you wanted to do with it.
You placed your hands on top of his, and dragged them up your body - over your stomach, ribs, and breasts. You left his hands there to hold yours above your head, settling them behind you on his neck.
He gave your chest a gentle squeeze and dropped one hand to your stomach, pushing you somehow even more flush against him, emphasizing his hard-on. The man was in heaven, nibbling on your ear, copping a feel wherever he pleased, placing soft kisses down the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Jake could stand there in that bar, swaying along with your ministrations, forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so turned on; truthfully, he may or may not have been fighting against the instinct to finish in his pants like a teenage boy.
Wait.
My hat-
Jake’s head popped up from your jugular, and you pivoted on the balls of your feet to face him.
“Blonde,” you hummed, placing his wide-brimmed hat on your head. “I’m not sure what I expected, but I like it.”
He glanced back and forth from your shit-eating grin, to your mischievous eyes, to his hat on your pretty head in silence. He was awestruck.
“You’re playing with fire, Red,” he chastised and flicked the brim of his hat.
“Oh? We’ve moved on to nicknames already?”
“It suits you. Do you mind?”
“No, I like it.” You bit your lip and let your lashes flutter up at him. “And…who says I don’t know what I’m doing?”
Neither of you were moving anymore. Hadn’t since you stole his hat. Rarely was Hangman rendered speechless, but your audacity and mischief were unlike anything he had seen before, outside of himself. You were a girl who knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it. He had thought himself the hunter, and you his prey.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. He fell for your ploy – hook, line, and sinker.
His hands settled on your hips again, and he smiled into your ear. “My truck’s in the back lot.”
Mission accomplished.
“Lead the way, big boy.”
Neither of you bothered to get your clothes off once you were in the backseat of this truck, too impatient, swapping spit, pushing and pulling at each other’s bodies and clothes. You rode him with fervor, panties pulled to the side and your straps falling down your arms while Jake licked and sucked on your nipples.
Jake looked down where your hips met over and over. He could have drooled at the sight. The band of his underwear strained against his balls, his cock just out over it and his jeans unzipped and tugged down just enough.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he wheezed, one hand abandoning its place on your hip to spread your pussy apart. “God, I want you in my bed every fucking night, Red.” He was struggling to keep himself together, to make the mindblowing sex last as long as possible before blowing his load. But, truth be told, he could’ve filled you to the brim within the first minute of you riding him as your life depended on it.
A sharp gasp escaped you at his touch, followed by a deep moan when his thumb drew soft circles on your clit. Your hips jerked toward him, urging him to apply more pressure, and he adjusted. You nearly sobbed at the pleasure, the wet sound of your pussy slapping against his balls and the white-hot sensation from his ministrations edging you closer and closer to oblivion.
“Keep–Keep going, just like that.”
“Yeah? You gonna cum for me?”
“Keep ta-alking.” Your eyes rolled into your skull. “Oh my god–”
His other hand, still on your hip, guided you up and down, fingers digging bruises into the flesh of your ass. “Wanna see you, wanna see your pretty face when you cum on my fucking cock, princess. Show me, show me how good you are and milk me fucking dry,” he growled, nudging your chin with his nose.
Your walls clenched around him, and the corner of his eye twitched. “You want me to cum in this pussy? Fill you?”
“Fucking yes, Jake,” you sobbed, your legs starting to shake both from exhaustion and in anticipation of your inevitable release. Just a little more…
“Then make me, Red. Take it.”
The second time you meet Jake is at the same bar.
“Put her on my tab.”
You turn your head from accepting your first drink to find the same pilot hovering behind you, that wide grin hovering over you.
Talk about deja vu.
“Fancy finding you here! Two weeks in a row, sweets?”
“My usual spot dried up. I’ve heard the meat selection here is A-prime.”
He quirked a well-kept brow and rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. “Have you, now? And have your expectations been met?”
You let your tongue poke out a bit as you made a point to really think before you spoke. “Not sure,” you acquiesed. “The night’s still young.”
Jake’s drink, that you presumed to be whiskey, was drained while he playfully rolled his eyes at you. He chuckled as he reached by you to return his glass to the bartender. His hand lingered on the edge of the bartop, keeping him close to you. “I meant to give you my number the other night,” he said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“Because you want me in your bed every night?”
You didn’t miss the sudden pinky warmth in his cheeks, but he laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “What can I say?” he asked, tilting his head toward you. “It was a moment of weakness.”
“Ahh. Glad we cleared that up.” You stepped back from the pickup area, taking your drink with you and and sipping from the tiny straws. “Well, thanks for the drink, Hangman.”
He quickly followed, crowding your space again. Oddly enough, you didn’t mind. “Oh, no,” he challenged, tsking at you. “You’re mistaken. I’m buying all your drinks.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you pushed.
“I want to,” he pulled.
“What if I want to spend my night with someone else?”
“We both know that’s not happening.”
“Cocky.”
“Just enough.”
Your cheeks hurt, and you couldn’t do anything but stare at him. And he stared back just as well. It was like you were having an entire conversation with your eyes. Jake was good; maybe a little too good, and you wondered how many other women had fallen prey to the same antics. Nevertheless, he was handsome, smelled good, and then there was the big cock.
He broke first.
“Do you wanna dance?”
“I dunno…You stepped on me last time,” you teased. You twirled one of the strings attached to the collar of your blouse and bit your bottom lip. “Sounds kinda risky.”
To say he was appalled would have been an understatement. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’ve never stepped on anyone’s toes in my life. You’d better take that back.”
“I’m so glad to be your first. Gonna prove me wrong?”
“Absolutely.”
You found yourself in the same position as last week. What some (most) would consider heavy petting in the middle of the dance floor, breathing hard, salty rivulets gathering at your hairline. You slowly sank to the floor, twisting your hips as you went, and dragging your hands down the clothes planes of Jake’s chest, stomach, thighs and crotch with your tongue caught in your teeth. You rose back up just as slow, watching him watch you, before turning your back to him. You knew what you were doing.
“Hey.” He tugged on the back of your belt, his index and middle fingers dipping below the waistline for your jeans.
You tilted your ear toward his mouth.
“You’re comin’ back to my place, right?”
You smiled and shrugged. “Buy me another drink–” you drawled back, drunk on the tension and a little buzzed from the booze, “–and I’ll think about it, pretty boy.”
The ride to Jake’s apartment felt like both a lifetime and the quickest drive of your life. On one hand, you blinked, and suddenly your door was being opened; on the other hand, time seemed to stop as you couldn’t take your eyes off the red scrunchie around his rearview mirror.
Your scrunchie. The one that had been strangely missing for the last week.
You spent the length of the drive, and the walk up to his floor, letting the image of him marinate; him finding your hair tie in his back seat and intentionally putting it on display. What kind of game was he playing? Was it a trophy? Was it a war—
Suddenly, you were much taller, your hands resting on his neck and your legs tight at his firm waist as Jake hiked you up by the backs of your thighs.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, smirking up at you.
“You can get your clothes off.”
“I like the way you think.”
The man was set on leaving his mark, making sure you were ruined for any man who could possibly come after him. The weight of Jake’s body on yours was delicious, perfect in every way. He knew just where to place his weight on your back to not be too overwhelming while providing the right amount of control. You saw stars while his crooked arm applied pressure to either side of your throat, restricting enough pressure to make you gasp for air without suffocating. Your nails dug into his forearm and bicep, leaving stinging crescent moons in his skin.
The sound of skin snapping against skin, layered with your deep, drawn out, breathless moan punctuated by his thrusts made Jake weak in the knees. He could feel your muscles quivering around him, on the brink of yet another orgasm for the night. You tilted your hips up just the slightest amount, letting him take you impossibly deeper, he laughed.
“Just can’t get enough of me, can you, Red?” The blonde latched his mouth on your neck for a moment, sucking and kissing the spot gently. “Pussy’s fucking made for me. Can you be good and give me another?”
The next morning—more accurately, afternoon—when he woke up to an empty bed and cold sheets beside him, Jake’s heart sank into his gut. He had expected you to at least let him bring you back to the bar to get your car. He wondered to himself how you managed to get out from under him without alerting him to your departure while he looked for his phone. When he found it on the breakfast bar, his brows furrowed.
Ubered to my car. Thanks for the drinks ;)
He plucked the sticky note off the screen and flew to text the number you’d left on the bottom.
Just the drinks?
Thirty seconds passed where Jake stood, leaning against the counter, waiting for your reply with baited breath. His tired grin reached his ears when three bubbles appeared.
I put out, you should be thanking me
He was not falling in love.
Definitely not.
More dots appeared on his screen.
I don’t have enough data for a performance review
He could fix that.
The third time you saw each other, Hangman was already several drinks deep, planted next to his flight partner. He and Vegas were good friends; they got drinks together a couple nights a month. But that week, he decided to sit at the same bar you’d met at, on a night he’d never seen you before, to contemplate his life choices.
Jake’s forehead thudded against the bartop, having just finished a long winded rant about you. He was unbelievably frustrated, both sexually and emotionally. You weren’t texting back, not for drinks or a booty call. It had been days. He was a great lay, and he knew that, but you refusing to give him the satisfaction of praise was…
What was it? Why was it bothering him so much?
Vegas watched with a raised brow, and eventually busted out cackling.
“I know,” Jake groaned, sighing loudly.
“Man, you’ve got it bad.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
Vegas finished off his drink and shook his head. His long, dark hair fell far past his shoulders, but was well kept and sleek. Each side was tucked back behind his ears, displaying small gold hoops in each lobe. “The dramatics, dude.” He looked at his partner, who appeared both confused and bewildered. Turning his torso to face him fully, Vegas continued, “You…You like her, Hangman. You know that, right?”
“Of course I like her,” Jake scoffed. “I’m having sex with her.”
“Not…oh sweet Jesus. No, brother. You like her. You’re catching feelings.”
An emotion flared in Jake’s chest that he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) quite identify. Anger? Shame? “I don’t do feelings,” he hissed, placing his hat back on his blonde quiff. The same hat you—
Nope, don’t even go there, Hangman.
“I know you don’t. Which is why this is hilarious.”
“You’re delusional.”
“You wouldn’t be this annoyed if you didn’t care.”
Being a cocky asshole was his whole personality. Hangman was notorious, both in civilian and military life, for being a shameless whore. He loved the hunt, chasing down a good looking woman for a fun night, no strings attached.
Why fix what wasn’t broken?
“Fuck you, Vegas,” he drawled with a dramatic eye roll. “I’ll be fine once I find another hole to fuck.”
He slid off his seat and, in the midst of a quick turn in his heel, nearly slammed into a body just behind him. The person staggered, and he grabbed them by the shoulders to keep them vert—
Oh, goddammit.
His heart fluttered within his ribcage when faced with your bright smile, with enough force to almost send him stumbling.
“You should watch where you’re going, handsome. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Likewise, pretty girl.”
Your brow arched slightly, but your lips didn’t budge. “Is that seat taken?”
“No—” He heard a sudden couch behind him and blinked a few times, coming back to reality. “Uh, yeah, actually. This is my buddy, Vegas. Vegas, this is Red.”
You peeked around him to the man waving behind him. “Nice to meet you, Vegas,” you said and shook his hand. You snorted at the pair of dice tattooed on his palm. “Funny.”
“Likewise. His description didn’t quite do you justice, though.”
“Oh, so you were talking about me?”
“Only a little.” Vegas leaned forward. “Red, have you ever been to Paris?”
Fuck this shit. Jake’s eye twitched.
You laughed. You fucking laughed. “Why? Are you offering to take me?”
“Wanna roll the dice and find out?”
“ALRIGHT!” The roaring in Jake’s head finally became too much to bear, and he stepped into your line of sight. Yours and Vegas’s hands broke apart. “He’s just playing. We’ve gotta head out, get this one home before his bedtime.”
You hummed, eyeing his far too calm expression, not a lingering grin in sight. He could feel you picked him apart, baring his soul for the whole goddamn world to see.
Vegas was a dead man.
“Well, I’ll leave you two be then. Too bad, I had some free time later to spare.” Already he recognized the smug mischief behind your lashes. “I’ll see you around, Jake.”
His eyes didn’t leave your form until you disappeared into the huddle that was your friend group. He was positively glued to his spot, fists slowly relaxing as you put distance between yourself and Vegas.
“Congratulations, Bagman.” Vegas clapped a tanned hand over Hangman’s shoulder. “You’re hooked.”
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