summary; Jake is completely bewitched by the calmest four-year-old and her single mother in a four hour flight from New York to Texas.
word count; 3.3k
warnings; FLUFF FEST
a/n; this one came to me in my sleep, i love girl dad jake in any way i can get it honestly, let me know what you think! read part two here
masterlist
Jake Seresin really should’ve booked the later flight.
He’s still a little hungover, the kind that hums behind his eyes and makes his stomach tilt every time the plane jerks with another passenger shoving a bag into the overhead bins. His back aches from the too-soft hotel mattress, and the starched collar of his shirt itches against his neck.
He runs a hand down his face as he steps into the narrow aisle, the low hum of pre-flight chaos buzzing around him. The air smells like coffee, recycled air, and too many people in too small a space.
He’d spent the weekend in New York for a buddy’s wedding — a good time, sure, but too much whiskey, too many late nights, and way too much small talk. He’s ready to go home. Ready for quiet.
“Eighteen C,” he mutters under his breath, glancing at the numbers overhead as he lugs his carry-on down the aisle.
He’s one of the last to board, so everyone’s already settled in — headphones on, blankets pulled up, the lucky ones already half asleep. His luck? Historically bad.
He spots his row halfway down the cabin and feels that familiar pinch of dread in his gut.
Window seat’s taken.
Middle seat too — by a tiny girl in pigtails, her legs swinging as she hums softly to herself.
Jake exhales through his nose, amusement and exasperation battling somewhere behind his tired eyes. “Of course,” he mutters under his breath.
A four-year-old. For a three-and-a-half-hour flight. Fantastic.
She’s got a white tracksuit on, the hood shaped like little bunny ears. Her pink backpack is open on her lap, stuffed with crayons and snacks, and she’s so focused on her coloring book she doesn’t notice him right away.
He shifts his bag on his shoulder, preparing himself for the inevitable chorus of “I’m bored” and “Are we there yet?”
Then the girl looks up.
Her eyes are big and bright, her expression open — the sort of kid who’s been raised to look people in the eye. “Hi, sir! Are you sitting here?”
Jake blinks, momentarily thrown. “Uh… yeah. Looks like it.”
She nods solemnly, like this is an official transaction. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. “Glad to hear it, sweetheart.”
The girl beams, turning a little to point toward the woman in the window seat. “Mommy, he’s here.”
Jake follows her gesture — and for the first time, really sees you.
You’re half-turned toward the aisle, hair loosely pulled back, one hand resting protectively on your daughter’s knee. There’s a softness to you that stops him for a second — not flashy, not showy, just… gentle. A quiet kind of pretty that sneaks up on him.
“Sorry,” you murmur, offering him an apologetic smile. “We were trying to keep her things out of the way.”
Jake shakes his head, suddenly more awake than he’s felt all morning. “You’re good. No trouble at all.”
He slides into his seat, careful not to bump either of you, his arm brushing the side of the little girl’s chair for just a moment. The contact is barely there — but he feels it.
And the kid’s not shy, that’s for sure.
As soon as Jake clicks his seatbelt, she turns toward him again, tiny legs still swinging. “Are you going home or going somewhere new?” she asks, bright and curious, like they’ve known each other for years.
He blinks, startled by the directness, then chuckles. “Uh… home, I guess. What about you?”
“I live in Texas,” she announces proudly, “but we went to New York for Mommy’s work. I got to see tall buildings and ride in a taxi and eat a pretzel as big as my face.”
Jake grins despite himself. “That so? Sounds like a good trip.”
“It was!” she says, emphatically. “Except the taxi smelled like feet.”
“Ivy,” you murmur softly, a quiet warning.
She glances up at you, guiltless and sweet. “It did, Mommy.”
Jake’s shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh. You catch it, and your eyes flick toward him — that shy little smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He feels the back of his neck warm.
You lean slightly forward, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sir. She can get a little talkative.”
He waves it off easily, shaking his head. “She’s fine. Really. I’ve had worse seatmates.” He smiles down at Ivy. “You’re not bothering me, sweetheart.”
That earns him a delighted grin and a small, “Thank you, sir.”
You mouth another quiet sorry as the flight attendants start their pre-takeoff checks. Jake only smiles back, settling into his seat as Ivy obediently faces forward.
The hum of the engines deepens. The usual rustle of belts and bags, the clipped voices over the intercom — all of it routine. He glances sideways, expecting at least a little squirming or noise from the kid, but Ivy’s sitting calmly, hands folded in her lap, expression serious.
You lean over her, gentle and practiced, slipping tiny pink earplugs into her ears. “There,” you murmur. “All set, baby.”
Jake watches the whole thing — the ease of it, the quiet assurance in the way you move. Ivy doesn’t fuss, doesn’t whine. Just blinks, takes your hand, and squeezes once. Like she’s done this a thousand times.
He’s… kind of impressed.
Most adults he knows get twitchy the second a plane door closes. But this four-year-old? Cool as can be.
When the plane starts to lift, Ivy presses back into her seat, clutching her little stuffed rabbit — a floppy-eared thing wearing a bow — and hums under her breath again. The sound’s soft, soothing somehow.
Jake finds himself smiling, eyes flicking to you when the seatbelt light finally dings off.
You exhale quietly, relaxing into the seat, and reach for the tote bag at your feet. “Good job, honey,” you tell Ivy, fishing something out. “You can play for a little while now.”
She perks right up, accepting the thin booklet with reverence. Jake catches a glimpse — it’s one of those sticker books, with pages like empty rooms and little sheets of people and furniture to decorate them.
“Which one’s that?” you ask her, smoothing the page open.
“The coffee shop,” Ivy says. “I’m gonna make it fancy.”
You hum approvingly. “Good choice.”
It’s then that you notice him watching, elbow resting on the armrest, that small, crooked smile on his face. You tilt your head, half-apologetic again. “She loves those. I think I’ve bought a dozen at this point.”
“Yeah?” Jake says softly. “She looks like she’s got it down to a science.”
You glance at Ivy, who’s busily arranging tiny sticker croissants in a display case, tongue poking out between her teeth in concentration. “She could play for hours,” you admit. “It keeps her happy when we travel.”
Jake hums, still looking — but not at the sticker book. At you. The way you talk about your daughter, the warmth in your voice, that mix of exhaustion and affection. He feels that unfamiliar tug again — not lust, not quite — something gentler. Something that makes him want to keep watching.
They’ve been in the air maybe half an hour when Ivy suddenly looks up from her sticker-covered page, expression bright and decisive.
“Mommy,” she says, “can I have another book from the bag?”
You glance up from your Kindle, a faint smile already forming. “Another one? You’re not done with your coffee shop yet.”
“I want to make one with…” Ivy pauses, looking straight at Jake. “With him.”
Jake blinks. “Me?”
She nods, serious. “Yes. So we can have a competition.”
You glance between them, torn between amusement and embarrassment. “Sweetheart, I don’t think the nice man wants to—”
But Jake’s already chuckling, leaning forward to grab the tote from under the seat. “You kidding? I never turn down a good competition.”
You freeze for a second, surprised, as he pulls out another sticker booklet and passes it to Ivy. His grin’s a little lopsided, charming in that lazy way he probably doesn’t even realize.
“What’s the game?” he asks, flipping open the first page.
Ivy’s thrilled. “We both make our coffee shops, and Mommy’s the judge. You can’t copy me, though. That’s cheating.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says solemnly.
You can’t help laughing, soft and breathy. “You really don’t have to—”
But he looks over at you then, eyes glinting, voice dipping lower. “Trust me, darlin’, I’ve survived Navy flight school. I can handle a four-year-old with stickers.”
Your face goes warm instantly. You look away, shaking your head, pretending to be exasperated — but you’re smiling.
So they start.
Ivy’s methodical — she narrates every choice: where the counter goes, what kind of muffins she’s “selling,” the people waiting in line. Jake, meanwhile, takes it as seriously as any mission he’s ever flown. He turns his page sideways for “better layout options” and mutters to himself about the placement of the espresso machine.
Every few minutes, Ivy leans over to inspect his work and announces, “That’s actually pretty good.”
Jake grins at that, his heart doing a strange little flip at her approval. “Thanks, partner. You’re a tough critic.”
You’re watching from beside them, one arm draped protectively over Ivy’s seat, your lips curved in a quiet smile you probably don’t even realize you’re wearing. There’s something in the way you look at them — at him — that hits him right in the chest.
He wasn’t expecting this flight to feel… like this.
Not when his head still throbs faintly from last night’s whiskey, and his back’s sore, and he’d been fully prepared to endure four hours of crying or chaos.
Instead, there’s this — the soft hum of the cabin, a kid’s laughter, your eyes meeting his over the aisle armrest.
He clears his throat when Ivy declares she’s finished and spins her page toward you. “Mommy, we’re ready!”
You play along beautifully, taking the role of judge with exaggerated seriousness. “Alright,” you say, folding your hands. “Let’s see what we have here.”
Ivy goes first, pointing out every detail. Jake listens like it’s the most important briefing of his life, nodding solemnly at mentions of pastries and tables.
Then it’s his turn. “Mine,” he says, flipping his book around, “is less about efficiency and more about atmosphere.”
Ivy gasps. “You put a piano!”
“Sure did. Live music every night.”
She narrows her eyes, impressed but determined. “Mommy, who wins?”
You take a long, thoughtful pause — partly for effect, partly because both are honestly adorable. “I think…” you say slowly, “…it’s a tie.”
Ivy lets out a triumphant laugh. “A tie!”
Jake puts his hand over his heart, mock-relieved. “Fair call, judge.”
When you glance at him, there’s a spark of something in your expression — warmth, amusement… maybe a hint of curiosity.
He gives you that soft, easy smile again. “Told you I could handle her.”
You smile back, cheeks pink. “You did more than handle her.”
For a second, neither of you looks away.
Then Ivy breaks the spell with a small yawn, curling sideways in her seat and resting her head on your arm.
Jake leans back, watching as you brush a few strands of hair from her forehead, your hand lingering there. The way you look at your daughter — soft, full of love — tugs at something deep in him.
He doesn’t even notice he’s still smiling.
When Ivy starts rubbing her eyes and fidgeting, you pull a pink iPad out of your tote bag and queue up Tangled. She’s practically giddy as you slip the comically large headphones over her head — they look like they belong to someone twice her size.
Jake grins at the sight. The headphones tilt slightly to one side, almost slipping off, but Ivy doesn’t seem to mind. Within minutes she’s completely engrossed, mouthing along to the songs like this is a regular ritual.
“She’s got taste,” Jake murmurs. “Tangled’s the best one.”
You glance at him, smiling. “We’ve seen it… I don’t know, a hundred times?”
“I can see why,” he says, settling back. “Pascal really carries the movie.”
You laugh softly, and he feels that sound bloom somewhere in his chest — like a small, unexpected spark of sunlight through the window.
He thinks that’ll be the end of it, that you’ll dive into a book or close your eyes for the rest of the flight. But you don’t. You’re quiet, your focus half on your daughter, half on the screen ahead — and Jake finds himself wanting to know more.
“So,” he starts, voice casual, “what do you do, when you’re not running coffee shop competitions at thirty thousand feet?”
You smile at that, the kind that’s half shy, half amused. “I’m an architect. I do mostly residential projects — smaller firms, family houses.”
He whistles low under his breath. “That’s impressive. You the creative type, then?”
You shrug, a little bashful. “I guess. I like the process. Turning something that’s just lines on a screen into someone’s home.”
“Home,” he repeats softly, like he’s tasting the word. “That’s a nice way to put it.”
Your gaze flickers to him, just briefly, and then you look back to Ivy, as if to ground yourself. “What about you?”
He smiles, a little lopsided. “Fighter pilot. USA Navy.”
You blink. “Oh. Wow. That sounds… intense.”
“Sometimes,” he admits. “But not as intense as three hours next to a four-year-old with stickers.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “You handled that very well.”
“I’ve had tougher cases,” he says, deadpan, and that earns him another small laugh — the kind that makes him want to keep going, just to hear it again.
Then, after a moment, he nods toward Ivy. “She’s great, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid that age sit still for this long.”
You glance down at your daughter, her tiny legs tucked under her, the light from the tablet washing her face in soft color. “She’s… she’s my calm in the storm,” you admit. “I lucked out with her. My mom helps a lot too, so I get to breathe sometimes.”
Jake hums quietly. “You doin’ this on your own?”
You hesitate for just a second — barely noticeable, but he catches it. “Yeah,” you say finally, soft but certain. “It’s just us.”
He nods, not prying further. There’s something he admires in your tone — not defensiveness, not self-pity, just quiet strength.
He should leave it there, but the way the sunlight cuts through the small window, landing on your cheek, makes it hard to stop himself.
“You know,” he says, voice dropping just slightly lower, “you’ve got a really pretty smile.”
You turn to him, startled. “What?”
He grins, unbothered. “Just sayin’. I’ve been on a lot of flights, but this one’s got the best company I’ve had in a while.”
Your cheeks go pink instantly. You try to busy yourself with Ivy’s tablet, adjusting the volume even though she’s fine, mumbling something about how kind that is.
Jake bites back a chuckle. He’s always liked flustering people — but with you, it feels less like a game and more like gravity pulling him in.
He angles his seat a little closer, his knee just barely brushing Ivy’s kicking feet. “You blushing, sweetheart?”
You exhale a small, nervous laugh. “You’re flirting with me?”
“Maybe,” he says, grin widening. “But you’re smiling again.”
You are — and it’s soft and unguarded, the kind that makes him want to lean in, to keep you talking for the rest of the flight.
So he does.
You talk about nothing and everything: Ivy’s favorite movies, his favorite cities, how you hate small talk but somehow this doesn’t feel like that. Every time he says something teasing or calls you darlin’, your pulse stutters — and every time you look up at him through your lashes, Jake feels it too.
By the time the captain announces the descent into Dallas, he realizes he hasn’t thought about his hangover or his aching back in hours.
Just you. And the tiny, headphone-wearing four-year-old between you who, unknowingly, might’ve just introduced him to his favorite person on a plane.
The moment the wheels hit the runway, Ivy claps her little hands like they just landed on the moon. Jake can’t help but laugh — she’s so effortlessly joyful that even the people in the row ahead turn to smile at her.
You thank him again for helping with the overhead bag, but he waves it off, brushing a hand through his blond hair. “Please. I’ve faced worse challenges than a carry-on and a four-year-old.”
“I’m sure,” you tease lightly, hoisting your tote over your shoulder as people start filing out.
It takes a few minutes to deplane, and Ivy keeps glancing up at him like she’s thinking something very serious through. Then, right before they step into the jet bridge, she tugs on his sleeve.
She unzips her tiny backpack with great ceremony, digs through it, and pulls out a small sheet of stickers. “This one’s for you,” she says, peeling off a sparkly golden star and sticking it on his hand.
Jake stares at it for a second — the little glimmer of foil shining under the airport lights — and feels a ridiculous warmth spread in his chest. “A gold star, huh? That’s high praise.”
“You were a very good passenger,” she informs him with complete seriousness. “And you helped Mommy.”
You’re instantly flustered. “Ivy—”
But Jake’s already smiling. “Well, thank you, ma’am. I’ll wear it with pride.”
They reach the baggage claim, and he waits with you — partly because he’s a gentleman, but mostly because he doesn’t want to walk away just yet. You make small talk about Texas heat, and Ivy tries to stand on the luggage carousel (“absolutely not,” you say, gently yanking her back).
When your suitcase finally comes around, Jake grabs it before you can move, setting it upright beside you. Then he hesitates, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“So… listen,” he starts, a little awkward now that there’s no plane seat holding him there. “Would it be crazy if I said I wanted to see you two again?”
You blink, startled — and blushing, of course. “Oh. Um. I don’t—”
“I mean it,” he says, soft but steady. “You don’t have to decide right now, but… maybe coffee sometime? No stickers required.”
That makes you laugh, the sound easing the nerves from your shoulders. “Coffee sounds… nice.”
He hands you his phone, open to a new contact. You type your number quickly before you can overthink it.
Jake’s grin is slow and genuine. “Guess I’ll call you then.”
He takes a few steps back, blending into the stream of people heading for the exits, and you turn to lift Ivy onto your suitcase handle, her little legs swinging.
But then it hits you — you don’t even know his name.
“Wait!” you call, and your voice echoes lightly through the hall.
Jake turns, that same easy smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah?”
“I don’t even know your name!” you say, half-laughing, half-mortified.
He chuckles, taking a few steps backward but keeping his eyes on you. “It’s Jake,” he calls out. “But you can call me anything you’d like, sweetheart.”
Ivy giggles, perched on your suitcase, her small hand waving wildly as Jake lifts his in return.
You’re still smiling when he disappears into the crowd — the kind of smile that lingers even as you step out into the Texas sun, a golden star still stuck to his hand somewhere in the airport.
Summary : Despite how much he irritates you, when Jake loses his father’s watch, you go to the moon and back to bring it back to him.
Pairing : Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️ :)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so sorry for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading !💞
Word count : 5.5k
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“Lightning watch out !”
You barely had time to register that Javy was screaming your call sign before a ball came crushing down next to you, sending sand flying everywhere on your opened book and sticky, lathered in sunscreen, skin.
Beautiful colors of pink and violet were painting the sky, the sun beginning his descent towards the western aerosphere. It had shined brightly throughout the entirety of the squad’s monthly beach day, bathing your skin in warmth and golden light.
“For fuck’s sake, Javy ! You guys can shoot down a target from two hundred feet while flying at Mach one but you can’t aim a volleyball for shit !” You snapped, dusting the thousands of grains of sands from your book and towel.
Next to you Natasha was hiding a laugh behind her own book.
Pointing a finger at her, you warned, “don’t you dare laugh at me, Nat.” You got up to brush off more sand off your legs, “that’s why I hate going to the beach with them, there’s nothing less relaxing on this earth,” you mumbled out, a frown making the lines on your forehead prominent.
“My bad, Lightning !” Jake called out, his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound, though his tone was very much not apologetic, and the smirk stretching his lips only fueled the irritation simmering under your skin.
Glaring at him, you debated for a second on yelling back a piece of your mind, indulge into this game he seemed to initiate anytime he could. Riling you up, provoking you and then simply grinning like an idiot when you eventually ended up taking the bait.
But for once, you decided to be the bigger person. So you settled on raising your middle finger high enough that he could very much identify what lovely sign you were throwing his way.
“I love you too, darlin’ !” He yelled back.
You rolled your eyes so hard you feared for a moment that they’d get permanently stuck.
“Careful, you’re blushing,” Natasha snickered, still lying next to you.
Scoffing you flipped her off as well, “which side are you on ?”
“The side of love, darlin’.” She smiled in a perfect imitation of Jake’s Texan drawl.
You couldn’t have contained the laugh that broke out of you even if you tried, “shit, you actually sound just like him.”
“I know,” she cooed, obviously proud of her trick, “is it turning you on ?” She inquired, wiggling her eyebrows at you.
A shocked laugh escaped you, “Geez Nat—“
“OH MY GOD WHAT TIME IS IT ?” Javy’s sudden gasp made you both jump as he came running towards you, where all of the squad’s stuff was and he started abruptly digging through his bag.
“It’s seven.” Bob supplied after a quick look to his watch.
“I was supposed to meet my mom for dinner fifteen minutes ago,” he explained, panicked as he was hastily grabbing all his stuff and throwing it carelessly in his bag. “Jake, can you drive me ?”
Usually, you carpooled to avoid bringing everyone’s car and having to park too far away if the beach was busy that day.
“Let me think about it…” Jake walked over, deliberately slow, pretending to think it over.
Javy groaned, not in the mood to entertain his friend’s antics, “come on, man.”
Jake sped up a bit, raising his arms in mock defense, “alright, alright, don’t throw a fit mama’s boy. I’ll drive you.”
As he was gathering his own stuff, you suddenly saw him frown, and then frantically look around. Lifting his towel, emptying his bag only to pack it again, passing his hands in the sand in visible hope of stumbling upon something…
You were about to throw in a witty remark when you noticed something missing on his wrist.
His watch.
His father’s watch.
In its place was now a tanning line. A ribbon of whiter skin surrounded by his Californian and natural Texan tan.
It didn’t take a genius, nor being Jake’s best friend to know how precious that watch was to him, or to guess that it might have been one of the last few things left from his dad.
He wore it at all times. There weren’t much occasion you had seen him without it ever since you’d met him. It had stayed securely around his wrist all throughout Naval Academy, and then had stayed through every one of his deployment until he got permanently assigned in San Diego. During every flight, every mission, every exam even, every casual outing… You could always see the watch rest proudly on his cuff. Perhaps it was the only thing about him Jake didn’t feel the need to flex, a quiet legacy he carried around with him, feeling the weight of it in his every move, every decision.
The only times he ever took it off was during underwater training and at the beach if he went for a swim. Surely a watch like that was waterproof and even capable of descending a few feet deep, but the fact that Jake was unwilling to bring it with him in an environment it was specifically designed to survive in, was only another proof of its value to him.
He never talked about it. Never ever voiced the words ‘my dad’ out loud, but everyone knew. You knew.
Javy was ready to go, packed bag at his feet as he hastily threw in a t-shirt over his head, “Jake ? Are you good to go ?”
Jake froze for a moment. It was rare to see him display anything other than sheer haughtiness. And it weirdly tugged at your heartstrings to see him look so lost for an instant.
You were about to help him look for his watch — sure you hated him, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel empathy for him losing something so precious to him, when—
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He said a bit absentmindedly, his eyes still frantically looking around as he stuffed, slightly violently, all his stuff in his backpack.
He quickly got up, threw the bag over his shoulder as Javy was waving everyone goodbye and starting to make a run for Jake’s truck.
You watched Jake with a shock you hoped wasn’t too visible. Yes, he was the emotionally constipated type, never one to speak about feelings or do so much as even mention or acknowledge them, but surely when he was about to lose, perhaps forever, the one thing that probably meant more to him than the whole world, he would say something, express himself, let it out.
And you knew that if he’d speak up right now, the whole squad would stop everything and help him look for it. Javy would run right back on the warm sand and rampage through the entire beach if he had to.
Surely, he had to know that the squad wouldn’t see him as weak over getting a little panicked upon losing the one item he held so dearly in his heart ?
But you watched, stunned, and for some reason with a weight pressing down on your chest, as Jake looked one last time at the beach, eyes boring into the sand as if the distance would give him some perspective and help him spot the watch in a nanosecond.
“See you on Monday,” he threw to everyone over his shoulder, soundly halfhearted as he turned around and began to walk towards his truck, joining Javy.
The image stuck with you for some reason. it was like seeing him willingly abandon a piece of himself behind, and for what ? Just so he could hold on to his ‘feelings make you weak’ Hangman persona ?
If you had been closer to him, and in any place at all to call him out on this, you would have screamed at him. Yanked him back by the collar and prohibited anyone to leave this beach until the watch wasn’t back on its rightful place, on Jake’s wrist.
“I think I’m gonna head out as well,” Reuben spoke up, “does anyone want me to drop them home ?”
“Me please,” cheered Mickey, dusting some sands off his chest.
“Yes, please. Thanks Reuben,” Bob smiled, gathering his things.
“I’ll ride with Y/N, we’re gonna head back as well, right ?” Natasha turned to you.
If you had been able to say anything other than insults and provocative remarks, you would have reassured him.
If you had been able to consider yourself his friend, you would have helped him look for it.
“Y/N ?”
But you were capable of none nor were you any of those things.
And still—
“Actually I’m gonna stay a bit longer,” you blurted out without really thinking about it.
“You sure ?” Natasha questioned, skeptical.
“Yeah, the sunset is beautiful, it’s still warm and my book is getting really good, I’ll stay for a bit.” You assured, as if trying to convince yourself more than Natasha.
“Alright,” she conceded, still eyeing you a bit suspiciously, “be careful, you text me when you get home and don’t forget that Penny’s right next door if you have any problem,” she pointed to the Hard Deck which was facing the beach.
“Yes mom,” you chuckled as she playfully rolled her eyes at you.
As Reuben’s car drove away, you stood there for a moment. Watching the waves crash on the beach, the soothing sound of it blending with the distant echo of music coming from the Hard Deck. This beach wasn’t an especially popular one, and you marveled for a second at being the only person standing there.
Why had you stayed ?
You kinda had blurted it out without any real thoughts of what you would actually do once left alone.
Because you hadn’t stayed for the sunset or your book, in fact, the book was getting a bit boring if you were honest.
Jake’s expression when being met with the realization he’d lost his watch suddenly flashed into your mind and it made your heart clench. And perhaps it was what prompted you to start digging in the sand where his towel had previously been lying.
“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” you muttered to yourself while rummaging through the sand, the watch couldn’t be far… right ?
You didn’t even notice when the warm light of the sunset got subsided by the sharp, white one of the moon.
The spot where the squad had previously established its camp was empty. You didn’t find anything apart from a few seashells and a colony of small crabs that you had probably woken up from their slumber.
You probably should have gone home. The watch obviously wasn’t there. But then your gaze drifted out towards the ocean… the guys usually played volleyball closer to the water, perhaps Jake had lost the watch around there ?
The cold breeze coming from the ocean had started to pick up as you searched the grounds of what was previously the volleyball court.
And when you didn’t find anything there, you moved on to other parts of the beach, trying to remember and retrace the entirety of Jake’s steps during the day. Your knees were aching from being constantly on them, hands pruned from the wet sand you’d been digging up, nails completely darkened by the grains. Your phone was slowly dying, using all its battery to shine inside the holes you were digging up, desperate to see a flash of silver. And it was cold, so, so cold. The wind was getting stronger, making you clutch your hoodie tighter around yourself.
The moon had well settled into the sky now, an indicator of just how much time you’d spent there.
You had wanted to give up, oh so many times. But everytime you had wanted to get up and leave, an image of Jake’s face would flash back into your mind. The way he had looked back at the beach, like he was saying goodbye to his dad a second time. And every time, without fail, your brain had conjured images of him getting home, and calling his mom back in Texas, telling her about how he had lost the watch and the image was just too painful for you, enough to bring unwanted and in your opinion, unjustified, tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much.
Anyone could have argued you were being overly dramatic over a guy who you proclaimed your hatred towards from the rooftops. And you would have agreed. But you wouldn’t leave this beach until the watch was secured in your hands.
You were on your hands and knees, near shore where the water was gently lapping up at the sand, bringing new things and taking away some when—
“Y/N ! Is that you ?”
Penny’s voice from the front of the beach made you jumped.
“Jesus Christ, Penny !” You exclaimed, a hand over your racing heart, “you scared the shit out of me !”
Jogging up lightly to meet her, you saw her frown when she took in the state of you, her worried face illuminated by the Hard Deck’s sign.
“What are you doing out there, sweetheart ?” She asked softly, and you could perceive the same tone in her voice she’d use with Amelia sometimes, no doubt that her maternal instinct were kicking in, seeing you all alone, covered in sand and digging up holes in the dark.
“Oh I was— I lost my bracelet earlier, you know we had our beach day with the squad ? Yeah, so the bracelet means a lot to me and I— I couldn’t leave without it.”
You pestered Jake for being emotionally constipated but you couldn’t even admit to Penny, of all people, sweetest woman alive who’d never judge you, that you were doing this solely for him.
“I see,” she said, an empathetic smile pulling at her lips, “I’ll help you.”
“No don’t worry Penny, it’s alright, promise. I’m all good.”
Was there a sick part of you that wanted to be the one to find Jake’s watch ? Maybe, you would deny all of it thought.
“At least I’ll wait for you, I just closed the bar.”
“Don’t worry,” you repeated with the sweetest smile you could mutter out at the moment, “I won’t stay much longer anyway.”
“You sure ?”
“I am, thank you though that’s really nice of you.”
“Could you at least activate your location please ? And also text me when you get home, okay ?”
Saluting her you let out a chuckle, “I will, Penny. Promise.”
“Alright.” She conceded, bregrundly.
She knew this beach was safe, otherwise she would have never left you alone. You parted with a warm hug and watched her drive away, similar to how you’d watched your friends leave a few hours ago now… God, had it been really that much time ?
You were beginning to lose hope, Jake’s watch seemed to have truly vanished, and you tried to ignore the heavy feeling sitting on your chest that came along with this conclusion. Telling yourself to check towards the west side of the beach before leaving, though you knew it was useless, you couldn’t really recall Jake going there, you still crouched, and began to dig, again…
Phone flash blasting in the dark, the light reflected on something then…. Silver !
“Oh my god !”
You rubbed your eyes to make sure the sight in front of you was real and not the fatigue making you hallucinate. But it was real, the small silver circle was still there.
“Oh my god !” You exclaimed again in a laugh, immediately digging in.
And sure enough, the watch was there. Covered in sand, but there. You carefully inspected it for damage, but other than the general dirt, it seemed fine.
Turning the watch over, your eyes caught something. The initials of who you could only guess was his father were delicately engraved in the metal, G.S. Before you could even think about it, your thumb passed, almost tenderly over the gravure.
A small, disbelieving laugh escaped you again, and it was incredibly chocked up. You didn’t even notice you’d been tearing up until you felt something wet roll down your cheeks.
Quickly you wiped the tears off, a feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck even though you were the sole person standing on this beach, moonlight illuminating your figure.
Forcing your emotions to settle down, it was only a watch for Christ’s Sake, you practically ran all the way back to your car. It felt as if your whole body was buzzing, and you couldn’t explain this weird feeling of excitement and… was it fulfillment ?
A genuine giddiness was coursing through your veins as you drove home, you couldn’t wait for Jake to have his watch again. See him settle, knowing his father’s legacy was in him, like it’s always been and always would be, but the physical representation of it, back on his wrist. The comforting weight of it bringing meaning to every one of his moves.
The excitement kept you awake once you were home, so you took the time to carefully clean the watch. You physically couldn’t give it back to him like that. And soon enough, once you were sure that there was not even the tiniest grain of sand left in any notches, only then, did sleep finally caught up to you.
The sun wasn’t even up yet when you made your way to base the next morning. You had decided that you would just leave the watch in his locker, he didn’t need to know who found it, and maybe he wouldn’t be too happy to see you holding his father’s watch, considering you hated each other…. Right ? At least that’s what you told yourself.
Arriving in front of his locker, you opened his numbered lock, honestly who was stupid enough to put in their birthday as a password ?
But then, anyone could argue that it was weird you knew his birthday, as someone who hated him so much.
Refusing to give this any more thought, you neatly placed the watch in his locker, on a little rag. You made sure one last time that it was perfectly clean, made sure it was not askew, made the sure the rag wasn’t wrinkled…. And for a moment it felt as if you were stalling.
“My god, I need to get a grip,” you mumbled to yourself, finally closing the locker door, a bit more forcefully than you had intended.
“I’m telling you, my mom is obsessed with getting me in a relationship !” Javy complained to Jake on their way to the locker room, “last night she just kept showing me pictures of her friends’ daughters and being like ‘you two would make an adorable couple’ like, oh my god, can’t a man go at his own pace ?”
Jake only hummed, not exactly in the mood to discuss Javy’s mom self proclaimed matrimonial agency.
Each of his step was heavy. Heavy with the lack of sleep and the mass pressing down on his chest. The missing weight on his wrist made him feel strangely stripped bare, like a piece of himself was missing, left where he had abandoned it on the beach the night before.
When Jake had gotten home after dropping Javy off, he had cursed himself. He couldn’t believe he had actually walked away, without even taking the time to look for the watch, no he had just left.
He had to refrain back tears when his mom had called him that night, asking him about his day, and he hadn’t had the courage to tell her what had happened, consumed by sorrow and shame. He felt pathetic. He spent that entire night sulking, thinking about how ashamed his father would be if he saw him like that. It felt like letting him down.
“Like she doesn’t get that I don’t want to settle down, I mean not yet anyway—“
“Yeah, tell her you want to keep bringing girls home from the Hard Deck every weekend for a little while longer, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear it.” Jake finally answered Javy’s rant, trying to give his remark its usual wit.
“You fucking jerk, you’re supposed to be on my side !” Javy whined, opening up his locker.
Jake was abort to retort something but the words died on the tip of his tongue when he opened his own locker.
He froze.
He was met with his watch. Neatly placed on a small rag, looking as new as the day he had received it from his dad, just a few days before losing his battle against cancer.
His heart skipped a beat in his chest. How ?
Jake stayed there for what felt like an eternity to him, but was only a few mere seconds, just staring at the watch. He could faintly hear Javy next to him still talking, now rambling about how his mother compared him to his cousin or whatever, but the sound of his voice was drawn out, an echo in Jake’s ears.
With shaky hands, he gently grabbed the watch and immediately turned it over, eyes fixed on his father’s initials that he traced with a tender pass of his thumb, and his heart clenched, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.
He had no idea how the watch had gotten there, and perhaps it should have worried him a bit more — whoever this was had cracked the impossible code of his locker for Goodness’s sake ! — but he chose to pay it no mind.
Now Jake wasn’t superstitious or a believer of any kind, far from it, actually. But in this moment, he chose to believe that whatever, whoever had found his watch and brought it back to him, had somehow been missioned by his father, who had probably been very upset about his son being so careless with the precious time teller.
Jake knew it was stupid, truly. His father, from the beyond, somehow orchestrating a whole plan to find the watch left on the beach and leave it in his locker on base, was a stupid theory. But the thought of it made a warmth spread out in his chest and his eyes sting slightly. So he decided that for once, he would let himself believe in a little stupidity.
This weird mix of euphoria and serenity hadn’t left him the entire week. He felt good, more confident now that the watch was back on his wrist. And he would sometimes just stare at it for a few moments, in amazement and incredible gratefulness for having been given a second chance, that’s how he saw it. And he would honor his father in every action he took while securely wearing the watch.
He had found a new vigor, a new desire to win, one that made him better, he thought. Though the squad would probably argue it just made him more insufferable.
So that’s with a pumped up step that Jake walked into the Hard Deck that week end, closely followed by everyone.
“Alright, what do you guys want ?” He cheered, still in an exceptionally good mood.
The squad all gave him their orders before going to find some seats, you merely grumbled a ‘nothing that comes from you’ and somehow, Jake understood it meant a virgin mojito.
He made his way to the bar, patiently waiting for Penny to finish off her conversation with a customer.
“Hey, sailor !” She greeted with a smile when she saw him, “what can I get you and the squad ?”
After he told her, she started to prepare the drinks on front of him, making small talk, asking about training, how life was on base when—
“Oh by the way,” she seemed to remember, momentarily stopping the making of your virgin mojito to look at Jake, “do you know if Y/N found her bracelet ?”
Jake frowned, confused.
“Um, I don’t know. I didn’t know she had lost a bracelet,” he said, head turning slightly to look for you in the crowd and he suddenly frowned more, looking back at Penny, “in fact, I didn’t even know she wore bracelets, her wrists are usually bare.”
“Oh, because I saw her last week, after your guy’s beach day. I closed the bar a little earlier than usual because it was pretty quiet, and she was there, digging in the sand, looking for her bracelet. I proposed to help her but she said she was fine. It was quite late though, so it really must have mean a lot to her, that’s why I was wondering if she’d found it. But I’ll ask her myself later then, thanks Jake.”
Penny’s words had the effect of a sledgehammer hitting Jake right in the chest. The realisation dawned on him and he froze for a moment, not sure what to do with the newfound piece of information.
“You okay ?” Penny asked him, his shock seemingly visible on his features.
Her voice got him out of his trance.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good, thank you for the drinks Penny, talk to you later !”
He made a beeline for the spot the squad had settled in, their usual one, next to one the pool tables. He absentmindedly handed the drinks to everyone, keeping your virgin mojito in his hands and making his way over to you. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that it was borderline painful. It seemed as though his vision had zeroed in on you, only you. Images of you on the beach at night, cold, alone, tired but still looking for his watch flashed into his mind and he felt a knot get caught up in his throat.
He barely heard the ‘thank you’s’ the squad threw him.
Leaning over some of the high tables near the windows, you were watching Mickey, Reuben and Bob engage in a heated game of pool.
“No Mickey it’s still my turn,” you watched with a smile as Reuben interjected his friend, “you sinked the cue ball so I get to shoot twice, gosh you’d think that you’d know the rules after playing literally every week end !”
You snorted, amused by their banter. And out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake walking towards you. Expression unreadable but his step visibly determined.
Arriving in front of you, he practically shoved the drink in your hand.
“I told you I didn’t want anything,” you said, monotonously, nonetheless still grabbing the glass.
Any excuse was good enough to start a fight with him.
You turned your gaze back to the pool game unfolding in front of you, but when the quick wit you were expecting from him never came, you turned back to him, frowning.
His jade green eyes were trained on you. Chest rising up quickly, like he’d ran a marathon before coming here. You didn’t think you had ever seen him so… moved.
“You good ?” You asked, letting your tone convey the tiniest bit of concern.
Jake took a shaky breath, “why didn’t you tell me ?”
The hand that was bringing the glass to your lips froze halfway through.
“Tell you what ?”
“My watch.” Was all he said, eyes still boring into yours, seemingly looking for answers you were absolutely not intent on giving.
Your eyes quickly flicked to the leather band sitting proudly on his wrist.
You had noticed it all week, how it was right back on shining on his cuff. How Jake had seemed to smile even more cockily than before, brighter. And you hadn’t been able to ignore the weird, warmth feeling spreading in your chest every-time you had caught him eyeing his wrist with a flash of pride and cherish.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, forcing yourself to keep an annoyed tone as your eyes flicked back up to meet his.
“There’s no use in lying, I know it was you.” He said, voice firm and steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke him up, “why ?”
You weren’t known to give up that easily.
“Jesus Seresin, I literally told you I have no idea what you’re talking about, go win at darts or something, leave me alone.”
Swallowing uncomfortably under his prying gaze, you silenced the tiny voice in your head that was telling you just how much similar to Jake you were in terms of showing feelings.
Facing your stubborn resolve in not telling him the truth, Jake let out a small, humorless laugh, “Y/N I just want to thank you properly, so please, for once, just let up.”
Let up. Stop fighting me for a second, was really what he was saying. And looking at him be willing to be honest and open for once did something to you.
“I did it because you looked all pathetic, okay ? And really, I didn’t want you sulking all day on base and mess up every training.” you finally conceded, tone annoyed despite the loud thumping of your heart in your chest, “besides it was just underneath where you had put down your towel, so really you could’ve found it if you had put a bit more effort into it. But I guess that it’s just another thing I’m better at than you, huh ?”
It was a complete lie. And both of you knew it.
Just the fact that you had been the only one to notice he had lost his watch told him everything he needed to know. And he knew from Penny that you had stayed well past midnight looking for it. To see you in front of him, knowing the length you had been to for him — despite what you were saying — made his heart do something inexplicable.
And Jake moved before he could think any more about it. He slightly bent down to wrap his arms around you, slipping under your own and hugging your middle, bringing you into his chest, chin resting on your shoulder, head touching yours.
All your muscles stiffened on instinct. The contact took you by surprise and you stayed frozen like that for a second, letting him hold you without reciprocating the touch.
He was warm, very warm. His arms were tightly wrapped around you, one draped across your shoulder blades and the other one across your waist. His body was firm against yours and for a moment, you almost thought you could feel the thumping of his heart against your chest. Your head was resting just shy of the crook of his neck, on his shoulder, and despite yourself, you caught a whiff of his smell, residue of jet fuel, his expensive cologne, the warmth of his skin and something so undeniably him it almost made your head spin.
“Thank you,” he whispered shakily, a small crack in his Hangman armor.
Those words and his tone felt like a detonator, hearing him sounding so small almost broke your heart. It only took a second after that for your arms to wrap around his neck. And as soon as your arms made contact, you felt his whole body relax and melt into you.
“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered back, rubbing his back comfortingly.
He seemed so small in this moment and it pulled at your heartstrings to know he was letting you be the one to seem him like that.
“You don’t know how much this means to me.” He murmured into your neck.
Oh, but you did. That was the whole reason you had done it.
It seemed as thought the entire bar had gone quiet, leaving only Jake and you, wrapped up in each other. You had no idea how long you stayed like that. But you certainly weren’t complaining, your arms tightening around him was met with the same intensity from Jake.
But the sudden sharp sound of a glass hitting the floor and shattering in pieces took you both out of the peaceful and comfort trance the embrace had took you both in. And you both found yourselves pulling away, reluctantly.
You noticed the slight pink hue dusting Jake’s cheeks, and his green eyes were bright, almost glassed over, shining with unshed tears.
God knew that if you had the courage you would take him into another embrace right here and then, and not let him go until the first rays of sunshine peaked through the windows, or realistically, probably until Penny kicked you out.
But unable to succumb to your deepest desire, no matter how much you wanted to, you instead fell back into your old ways.
“Try not to lose it again, cause I won’t get it for you next time.” You warned, though your tone was missing its usual bite.
You would.
You would do it all over a hundred times if needed.
Jake let out a laugh, a bit choked up, but a genuine one nonetheless.
“I promise.” He said in a smile as bright as a thousand suns.
And you had a scary realization then.
That in fact, there was not a lot you wouldn’t do to see him smile like that again.
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author's note : I have had this fic idea for literally forever and I’m so happy I finally got down to write it.
I really wanted to kinda ‘dig deep’ into Jake’s character here, I hope it worked and that I was able to do him justice. He’s my baby I love him so much.💞
Also quick question, are we sick of Jake and reader being rivals ? It’s like my favorite trope with Jake and the only one I really see fit with a character like him, and I have so many more ideas but they are all with rival reader and I don’t want it to feel redundant for you guys, so tell me what you think !
Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fe!Reader -> After Natasha presents you with an idea on how to save your family business and legacy, you start to realise maybe marrying Jake Seresin wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Disclaimer: Mostly domestic/wedding fluff, frenemies to lovers, marriage of convenience, reader has to be married in order to inherit her bakery, one bed trope, bit of a slow burn, slow 90s country ballads, mutual pining, he falls first.
“Remind me again why I’m doing this?”
Jake stood behind you, holding your shoulders steady. “Because you love me.”
You paused a little before saying, “That doesn’t sound like me.”
Jake shrugged. “Because you don’t have any other option.”
“Are you sure?”
Jake nodded as he rounded you and stood beside you. The wooden doors seemed to be getting taller. Was that even possible?
“Yep,” Jake told you. “I was there, remember? A total of a gazillion hours and this is your only suitable option.”
You groaned a little, popping your knee back and forth wishing a hole would just open up beneath you and swallow you whole.
“I hate this.”
You could hear the smile growing on Jake’s face. He was enjoying your pain way too much. Looking at him, you watched as he just shrugged.
“It’ll be fun.”
With a loud creak, the doors in front of you both opened wide and the classic wedding march started playing.
If someone had told you three years ago that the one guy on Bradley’s team – the one guy you rarely were able to hold a conversation with, without it turning into a fight – would be the one guy who would step up and come to your rescue in your hour of need…you wouldn’t have believed them.
Jake Seresin wasn’t even the last person on the list of potential suitors to be your husband. Because he wasn’t on the list, full stop.
Until a gazillion hours ago when Natasha, after suspiciously looking between you and Jake who had maintained your usual ten feet distance from one another, gave an extra idea to help save your ass. As well as your business, home and family legacy.
Apparently, when your Great-Aunt didn’t have any kids, nor did she get married, thought it was best to leave a stipulation in her will.
In order to inherit the family business – the one you had been running for her since she retired – and the house – the one that the original bakery was built into – you had to be married.
So, with the fear of losing everything you’d worked at for the last dozen years of your life – on your own, at least – you found yourself agreeing to the last thing you thought you would ever do.
Marry Jake Seresin.
With a quick exchange of vows, a swift (if a little awkward) kiss and papers being signed, you found yourself no longer carrying the same name as your Great Aunt, but rather Jake’s.
“Okay, so,” Natasha started as she pushed you and your husband towards the covered doors of The Hard Deck. “We all kinda know this wedding is a sham, but that doesn’t mean it should be treated like one. And since this is our rare collective week off, we couldn’t let the opportunity go. So, welcome to your Reception. And yes, there will be a first dance.”
“Nat!”
Natasha just smiled and pushed you through the doors as Bob and Coyote held them open.
“Holy shit,” Jake said, a little taken aback.
“You can say that again.”
“Holy shit,” he repeated.
You just looked at him, but only for a second since Bob opened up his mouth with a chuckle.
“Cute. Their first married couple moment.”
Nat smiled as she pushed you both further inside. They’d gone all out. Wedding banners, childhood photos, a decorative dancefloor, a stacked bar, a wedding cake from your bakery, a DJ…it would take you at least six hours to take it all in.
Then people started arriving.
Your family, Jake’s family, the rest of the Dagger Squad, a couple of locals that had paid Penny a lot of money to be able to see the last two people they ever thought would get married do exactly that.
Penny laughed as she took their money, saying she’ll set up a trust fund for your first born child.
“Does your family know?” Jake asked you, quietly, as you looped your arm through his.
You shook your head. “No. Do yours?”
Jake shook his head. “No. What did you tell your folks?”
“As far as they knew, my Great Aunt was leaving everything to me anyway. They have their own legacies they wanted to create, so they were happy for me. They didn’t know about the stipulation.”
Jake gave you a slightly confused look. “Okay, so what did you tell them about me?”
“Well,” you didn’t know why you were nervous admitting something like this to Jake. Especially considering the amount of times you hadn’t thought twice about telling him to fuck off to his face. “I’m not really open with my love life. I told them I’d been seeing someone for almost a year and that I was getting married. They…they were shocked. Very shocked. But…happy. Why, what did you tell your folks?”
“That…” Jake hesitated for a moment before looking back at you. Jesus, it was like his gaze bore into your soul as he spoke. “That I’d met this really great girl and that I was marrying her.”
“That’s it?”
Jake nodded. “That’s it.”
“Nothing else? No time line? Or stipulation? Nothing?”
Jake shook his head. “Figured I’d leave that up to you. Whatever you decide, I’ll back you.”
You took a breath before nodding. “Okay. Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” You jumped as Bradley appeared beside you both. “The DJ is ready when you are. Mav had the mic so he’s gonna introduce you.”
“Intoduce us? For what?” You asked, but Bradley just smiled.
“Your first dance.”
As if on cue, Mav’s voice rang out of the speakers before a spotlight moved around from the ceiling until it landed on both you and Jake.
“Okay, can I get a big welcome for Mr and Mrs Seresin!”
Mrs Seresin.
You were a Mrs.
You were a Seresin.
“Jake.”
Seeing your panic, Jake simply took your hand and enveloped it in his before leading you towards the middle of the dancefloor as Mav’s voice continued talking over the speakers.
“I-I don’t-I don’t know how to dance,” you quickly told him. “God, what song are they gonna play?”
“Natasha seems to have done a lot of this, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And, hey.” You looked at Jake as he took you in his arms as if it was second nature. “Just focus on me. Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”
“Promise?”
Jake smiled with a small nod as Mav announced the first dance. “I promise. Just trust me, okay?”
You no longer had a voice to use so you just nodded.
As people sat down at booths and tables, clapping, the DJ started playing the music; A slow country ballad When I Said I Do by Clint Black.
And, slowly swaying in the middle of the floor for the first half of the song, you tried not to concentrate too hard on the lyrics or the way it felt being held by Jake. After all, less than a month ago, you’d been having an argument in this very bar about being stuck on the same team for a game of pool.
But, somewhere between the melody and the strangely comforting feeling of Jake’s palm resting against your back, you relaxed into him and felt yourself get lost in the feeling.
Only for a moment.
Because the moment the song faded away, Mav’s voice was whooping back over the speakers and congratulating both yourself and Jake.
What followed, despite your internal warning alarm blaring for you to run away and hide for the rest of eternity, was the seven most heart-warming and heart-breaking hours of your life.
Your family blended so well with Jake’s. His mom and dad loved you, saying as much more than once. And just as much as they were happy to finally have someone to call their daughter, your family was ecstatic over having someone to call their son.
Unbeknownst to them, however, it was all fake.
The moment the twelve month stipulation was over, you and Jake would be filing for divorce immediately. Obviously, the twelve months would be a lot shorter if the circumstances were different around the kind of man you’d chosen to marry.
But Jake wasn’t like that.
For as much as you never got along with him, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t hurt you. Never intentionally, at least.
Annoyance, on the other hand? You and him competed with each other as if it was a goddamn sport.
Finally, as the night drew to a close (at least for you and Jake), people whooped and whistled as Jake helped you into the car Penny had hired to drive you both back home.
Supposedly the home you and Jake were meant to be living in together.
So far, he had one box inside your home.
“What time do you need to be up?” Jake asked you as you both walked up the back stairs of your bakery/home.
“Around four.”
“Even after our wedding?”
“It’s not like we’re having an actual wedding night. I plan on digging out my comfiest pajamas and falling straight to sleep.”
Jake smiled, locking your front door as you walked inside ahead of him. “So, uh, I have something to ask you?”
“Considering you willingly married me to save basically my entire life, I don’t think I can say no.”
Jake chuckled. “I appreciate that, but like I said earlier, you don’t have to thank me. And, you might want to say no to this.”
Popping your head back around the corner from the short hallway to your bedroom, you looked at Jake. “Oh, no.”
Still in his suit, if he did look a little worn out from the day. Even more so as he ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“My folks…they want to get to know you better. They asked if they could come and spend the day with us before we go on our honeymoon.”
“We’re having a honeymoon?”
Jake shrugged. “They think we are. I just didn’t tell them any different.”
“Well…” You paused for a moment. “I-I don’t really know what to do. I’ve never been a daughter-in-law before.”
“I could invite them to the bakery. They’d get to see you in action. Maybe find out more about you.”
You grimaced a little. “How badly do you think it’s gonna bite me in the ass when we get divorced in a year?”
Jake felt a little dejected but recovered quickly enough. “Not too much.”
“Then…okay.”
“Okay?”
You nodded. “Okay. But, shit, which day?”
“They said Tuesday.”
Today was Friday.
You nodded and Jake could already see the cogs turning in your head. “Okay. So, we get your stuff moved in here over the weekend…maybe Natasha will have pictures.”
“Pictures?” Jake asked, following you as you moved throughout your apartment.
In your bedroom you found a notepad and pen and started making a list as you ducked in and out of each room.
“We need to make it believable, right? The lawyer just checked the legality of our marriage but my Aunt was thorough. And, I suspect, so will her lawyer. He’ll probably interview our families to see if they actually witnessed us getting married.”
Jake chuckled, catching you in the middle of the hallway. “Okay, we can worry about this tomorrow. Right now, we both need sleep. Decent sleep. Not pre-fake-wedding jitters sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
“Okay,” Jake said as she took the notepad and pen from you and laid it on the desk before he turned your shoulders and pushed you towards your bathroom. “Get dressed, I’m gonna find some extra blankets and-”
“You can stay in my room,” you said quickly. “With me. We’ve both had shitty sleep and there’s no point in you sleeping on the sofa. I doubt you’ll have a comfortable sleep and, well, I owe you. Big time.”
Jake shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. But if the offer stands, then I’ll accept. Your bed does look comfortable."
With a firm nod you agreed before shutting the door to get dressed.
Despite the initial awkwardness of sleeping in the same bed as your new frenemie/husband, the tiredness took over pretty quickly. The next thing you knew, your body clock went off with your alarm and you were tiredly pulling yourself from your bed.
After a quick shower and throwing on the most presentable and comfiest clothes you owned, you made your way downstairs, through the storage units of the bakery and landed inside the kitchen.
With your headphones on, you started working.
Cookies, brownies, cakes, flapjacks – all done in huge batches of different flavours. Your Great-Aunt had started a chain of bakeries and, although you’d try to visit the most local ones as often as you could, working in the original establishment kept you pretty busy.
Beside the sweet treats, lunch was also served. As well as a lot of savoury pieces which, due to the lack of sleep before your wedding you had prepped already.
Just as your wedding came back into your head, so did everything that happened afterwards. The quiet ride home with Jake, the congratulations texts as you walked through the door which you were yet to open, the question from Jake and-
Jake.
He was still asleep when you left him. At least, you thought he was. If not, he made a damn good impression.
By the time your staff started entering, you’d already finished most of the morning batches.
“Why the hell are you here? You should still be in bed!” Rosie told you as she spotted you in the back of the kitchen.
You chuckled. “I’ve got a business to run. And he knew who he was marrying.”
“That I did.”
Rosie yelped and jumped out of the way as Jake appeared behind her in the doorway, looking (you had to admit) all different kinds of handsome in the early morning light of the bakery.
“I’ll give you two some time,” Rosie smiled before taking her leave to set up the register and seating area.
“Sleep well?”
Jake nodded. “Better than I have done in a while. You know, you could have stayed in bed longer.”
“I needed to do all of this.”
“And we’re also meant to be marketing our new found wedded-bliss.”
“God, you’re really taking this seriously.”
Jake shrugged with a happy but tired smile. “Like I said, it can be fun.”
“Well, my dear husband, fun will have to wait. I’ve already got orders coming in.”
“Want some help?”
Although you would have usually bitten his head off for asking, telling him it was fine and you would sort it, the ache and tiredness started to take over your body.
Maybe you should have taken a day off.
“Sure. Go and help Rosie in the front.”
What followed were the oddest three hours of your life; Jake felt like he was your friend and not some guy that drove you insane. Penny stopped by to drop off the wedding photos she’d gotten a rush order on just as your Great Aunt’s lawyer waltzed through the front door.
You were sweating buckets as his eyes remained on you and Jake for the duration of his stay. He looked through your wedding photos with Jake – you prayed he was just as good of an actor as he was with you when he was swaying with you on the dancefloor.
When you finally got a few minutes to take a break, you signed the official ownership documents to your entire world; your home, the bakery, the legacy left by your Great Aunt.
And as Rosie locked up the bakery, you and Jake started shifting things from his home and into yours. Enough, at least, to make it seem natural that he lived with you.
During which you both discussed what Jake would be doing with his place whilst he was living with you. Since he owned his property, he could rent it out. It seemed like the most logical plan. And, it wouldn’t look as suspicious to the lawyer that promised he’d come and visit the bakery more often – even if it was just for his favourite cookies in all of San Diego.
All in all, the first few months of ‘married’ life ran smoother than you had expected.
Jake’s parents came to visit when they could. They got to know you more, but it almost broke something in you when his mom started talking about how you had a forever home in the Seresin’s.
Oddly, you and Jake found a nice friendship despite how you’d both come to know each other just over three years ago. At the time, you’d only known Bradley and Natasha.
You’d known them for years, but never once had you met ‘Hangman’. The personal bane to Bradley’s life. And the moment you met him, you could see why. Which was how he became the bane of your existence.
Until the day he agreed with Natasha that marrying you didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You’d get to secure your entire life, and you didn’t have to jump into anything with someone you didn’t know. He was also single and, since the last couple of dates he’d been on had resulted in him wishing he’d stuck to staying away from the dating apps, he was willing to stick up for you, it seemed like a good idea.
Everyone else was either hitched or about to be, so they were a no go. There was no loophole. It was Jake or lose everything.
And, even though you hadn’t expected it, marrying Jake was one of the best decisions you’d ever agreed to. Aside from the fact your Great Aunt believed you needed someone by your side as you ran your life (despite having done it all on your own for the last twelve years), Jake had become an actual friend.
Someone who you couldn’t wait to see at the end of the day. Someone you could share the quiet moments with. Someone who, despite knowing you didn’t share much, often didn’t have to ask.
You didn’t know how he knew. But somehow, Jake seemed to know you better than you knew yourself some days.
But that only became a problem ten months into your fake marriage.
After months of friendship, apologies for judging each other the way you did in the beginning and late nights of talking about anything and everything, you started to realise you were catching feelings.
You wanted to say they were the last thing you expected to catch when around Jake Seresin all the live long day, but you…couldn’t. Not after the last ten months.
Surprisingly, he was easy to open up to. And to let in.
Despite the act he put on around his co-workers – although, you doubted it was all an act – Jake was a lot softer and calmer underneath his fighter pilot exterior.
It probably didn’t help your case that you were also starting to enjoy calling him your husband. A small part of you always figured you’d end up just like your Aunt. Not lonely, per se. But definitely alone.
Maybe a dog or two.
Your work life kept you pretty busy. And even when you weren’t working, you were thinking of work. New recipes, new designs, expansions, updates, staff rotas, ingredients shipping, storage space, health and safety. The list seemed to never end.
But Jake seemed to get it.
Granted, the marriage was still fake. And so was your relationship. But…
Each time the doubt creeped in and you tried to set the reality for yourself that the only reason it was working out with Jake was because you weren’t really married, Jake would do or say something that made you yearn that it was all real.
“I know you’ve only been married less than a year,” your mom said as she poured everyone a glass of lemonade each. “But-”
“We wanna know when you’re gonna start having our grandbabies,” Jake’s mom cut in.
Apparently since your wedding, your parents had exchanged numbers and became practically attached at the hip.
“Mom!” Jake scolded just as you did the same with your own mom.
They both just looked at each other and smiled. “What?”
Looking at Jake, he seemed to be holding a similar expression to you. Shock. Maybe a little humor.
It was nice to see your parents getting along. Even if your marriage was a sham, their friendship didn’t have to be.
“Mom, can we please not? Just for today?” You asked, covering your face as you leaned in closer on the picnic bench.
It didn’t do much in the way of helping you escape from the comfortable hold Jake had with his arm wrapped around you. But part of you was relieved when he shuffled closer to you, his thumb absentmindedly brushing your side.
“Mom,” Jake looked at his own mother. “It’s still early days, okay?”
Both your moms seemed to be more than a little dejected. “We know, honey. But…time flies by when you’re married.”
“Mom,” Jake warned again.
“She’s right, honey,” your mom said to you. “Time’s a-tickin’”
“Mom!”
“Relax, sweetie,” you dad said as he came back out from the house, closing his book and laying his reading glasses inside his pocket shirt. “Your mom’s ran out of things to make for her bookclub and someone told her baby clothes would be a good idea.”
“Sweetheart,” Jake’s dad said to his wife. “Leave the kids alone. They’ll have kids when they’re good and ready.”
“Thank you, dad.”
“Oh, hush, you,” Jake’s mom said as her husband sat down beside her. “You’re just as bad. He’s so ready to be a granddaddy.”
You tried to keep the fear inside you as best as you could despite the small laugh that left you.
As your parents leapt into discussing what your future children would look like before diverting off into stories from when you were kids, you took the small escape into the house.
Only when he knew it was safe to do so – the moment both of your parents forgot you were both sitting right in front of them – did Jake make his escape, too.
He walked around slowly, taking everything in.
Since the businesses kept your family busy, and Jake’s family had their own lives back in Texas, your parents had come up with the idea of monthly dinners.
The weather was starting to turn colder as the summer drew to a close and Fall fully took hold, so he hadn’t spent much time inside your childhood home.
The walls were littered with different pictures, all of you at different ages. Some were from your family vacations, your graduation, your parents life together as a married couple, friends and extended family.
Looking around, the furniture was worn but loved. It was almost like each creak of the floorboards, or scar on the sofa held a little story you were yet to tell him.
They usually came late at night when you were too tired to keep your walls up. Those were some of Jake’s favourite moments with you.
“Hey,” Jake found you in the kitchen.
“Hey,” you managed to smile back. “Sorry for leaving you.”
Jake just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry about my folks.”
“I’m sorry about mine, too.”
“Guess they really love that their only children got married.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Pushing himself from the doorframe, Jake walked over to you. “I know this marriage didn’t have its most conventional start, but we did swear vows together.”
You took a breath as you wrapped your arms around your just a little tighter. But with Jake’s hands running up and down the top of your arms, you let out a sigh.
“Talk to me,” he said, softly. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Y/n.”
Looking at him, it struck you hard in your chest that you couldn’t lie to him. You didn’t want to lie to him.
“Okay,” your voice broke, quietly. “It’s just…between our families, our friends and…us, I guess. It’s just…sometimes this feels too…” You let out another sigh and lowered your voice. “Jake, we’re meant to be getting divorced in two months.”
Jake felt his heart take another punch. “I know.”
“And it's just…all of it…” You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“C’mere,” Jake pulled you into him, and it didn’t take you a second thought to wrap your arms around him and hold him just a little tighter.
“I know this feels like a lot right now,” he told you. “But we’ll get through it. Together.”
You swallowed a little before nodding and curling into him.
A few hours later, good food had been eaten and good conversation had been shared. And, just as the stars settled over the sky and you and Jake should have been in bed, you were standing on the back porch of your home listening to the light whistle of the wind.
You didn’t jump as Jake’s hand settled across your back or winded around to your front. Instead, you relaxed into his chest as he held you gently against him.
“Jake,” you said, his name leaving your lips like a whisper into the wind.
“You feel it too?” He asked you, his lips by the shell of your ear. You closed your eyes. “That’s why you’re out here?”
“Two more months, Jake,” you told him. “It’s just meant to be two more months.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Jake.”
“I know you feel it, too. And I know that you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. We can take it as slow as you want.”
“We’re already married,” you pointed out. “And sleep in the same bed. And live in the same house.”
“So, we take it slower.”
“Jake-”
“I want you in my life, Y/n.” Jake told you as you turned around to face him. “I want you as my wife, too. I know we didn’t come together in the most conventional way, and we’re probably the last two people on this planet that expected to be what we are but I think we were brought together for a reason.”
“Because it was Natasha’s idea.”
Jake chuckled. “That too. Maybe we skipped the first couple of steps, but, you know, conventional can be boring.”
“Jake, my track record for dates isn’t great. I work too much. When I’m not working, I’m thinking about work-”
“You forget I’ve been married to you for the last ten months. And I’ve known you for four years. You work hard, Y/n. And that’s something to be proud of. And I’m proud of you, too.”
It struck you harder than you expected, hearing that Jake was proud of you.
“I want to be there for you, Y/n. Through it all. The early mornings, the late nights, I want us to keep doing what we’re doing, together. I am madly in love with you. Kind of embarrassingly so.”
You chuckled a little as he held you closer to him.
“And if you wanna take this slower than a snail’s pace, or you want to start building a nursery space right now, then I’m with you. No matter what.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “We can go a little faster than a snail’s pace.”
Fixing the hair beside your face, Jake cupped your cheek. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
In ten months, you and Jake had shared exactly three kisses. The first on the altar, which was swift but awkward. The second was during the reception photos when your parents wanted one of you and Jake sharing a kiss just outside The Hard Deck. That one had felt odd, but not bad. Almost like faking a kiss was natural. And the third had been late at night, sitting out on the porch. You’d had a long day of dealing with extra shitty customers and Jake had been dealing with egotistical pilots that thought they were better than their several instructors.
Neither of you had talked or mentioned the third kiss after it had happened. But you would never forget it. It was soft, if a little nervous. Two things you hadn’t expected in a kiss from Jake Seresin.
But this kiss; the Fourth.
It was like breathing a sigh of relief.
Finally,
Finally.
Holding onto your face as he backed you against the railing, Jake stopped to catch his breath as he leaned his forehead against your own.
“Wait here.”
“Where are you going?”
Jake didn’t say much, but he did smile at you as he flicked on the radio you kept on the window cill. The familiar melody of The Keeper of the Stars by Tracy Byrd started to dance around the back porch.
“What are you doing?”
Jake took your hand in his before he pulled you into him, both of you swaying gently to the melody. “Redoing our First Dance.”
“Why?”
“Because, as perfect as it was,” Jake smiled as he turned you around and pulled you back in. “That was for show. This. This right here. This is just for us.”
You smiled as he held you closer to him. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”
With your hand still enclosed in his, Jake ran a finger down the side of your face, his gaze gently leaning into your own before he closed his eyes and leaned against you and lightly sang along to the lyrics.
“There really are no words to show my gratitude. So I tip my hat to the keeper of the stars, when he joined these two hearts.”
Closing your own eyes, you let the moment capture itself in your memory. The way his arms held you, a silent promise to never let you go or let you fall. The song, the lyrics, the moment. All of it. With Jake.
“I hold everything when I hold you in my arms, and I’ve got all I’ll ever need, thanks to the keeper of the stars.”
Washed-up rockstar Jake Seresin is a notorious playboy; the only real relationship he’s ever maintained is with his manager — you. You’ve kept him in line for years, until one backseat slip and long-buried feelings threaten to rewrite everything.
▸ PAIRING: Rockstar!Jake Seresin x F Manager!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, hurt/comfort, semi-public sex (car), penetration (without condom pls wrap it), grinding, miscommunication, jake was a player
▸ WORD COUNT: 18.9K
▸ A/N: miscomm is my fave, so it's in everything. i havent written jake in a bit but this is my longest fic for him to date and is my first time with him outside the navy. please go easy on me :') i hope you enjoy this labor of love. i missed him sm. pics are for vibes only, no descriptions for reader aside from having hair! if you enjoyed, please reblog / like / comment, i appreciate every single one!!!
↤ holiday collection masterlist | main masterlist
“Do I really have to—”
“Yes.”
“But this song is—”
“I know. Shut up and sing it, Seresin.”
If looks could kill, you’d be dead right now. Good thing you’re impervious to Jake’s deadly glares. Any other person would’ve cowered, would’ve immediately yielded to his demands. But not you. Never you. It’s the only reason why you’ve survived as long as you have with him; that and being one of his oldest friends who takes no shit from him.
When the melody begins to play, his brows furrow at the sheet music before him. You can practically see him tapping his finger on his thigh, a habit to start counting and matching the beat to get into the rhythm. While this broody energy is not the one you want him to bring into a cheerful holiday song, you give him some grace considering this is him on his best behavior, particularly when you know the ask isn’t easy for him to do.
Jake Seresin is a man with a lot of pride. That pride comes from a rightful place of talent, skill, and dedication over the years to mold his career into the exact shape he wants it to be. He has always been a big believer in a musician’s genuine artistry over the mass-produced, soul-sucking, radio-targeting songs that many songwriters choose to do today. He would never sacrifice his craft for the sake of money.
It’s why he finds himself in this predicament today.
Times are changing. With that comes the change in taste. Those who spend money on music are no longer adults who idolize rock and roll, who blast the legends on repeat on their record players. Now, they are people who love nostalgic pop hits and mainstream upbeat tunes that go viral on social media. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just a sign of the times, but Jake absolutely loathes it.
Mainly because it’s not the kind of music he wants to write, or sing, or publish. Because of this, it means his fanbase is dwindling and so are his album sales, particularly his most recent one which underperformed against the target so much so that the head honcho of the record label had to step in and ask you what the ever loving fuck? Jake had been his cash cow after all. Now, he’s just on his way to becoming a has-been! His words, not yours.
But you’ve been with Jake from the start — when he was making music out of his bedroom, then his parents’ basement, and then into small studios before joining the big leagues. He went from underground gigs where he got booed off stage, to fifty-person shows at local clubs, to selling out stadium tours with nearly a hundred thousand in capacity. You’ve seen how much he has grown, how much he has changed. You respect the hell out of him for that; it’s why you’ve stuck around so long.
Well, that but also the fact that nobody else can put up with this diva. God knows how many times you’ve considered quitting, tried finding your replacement, only to decide that you wouldn’t subject any other poor sucker to the job of putting up with Jake Seresin.
Despite all this, you can complain about him all you want, but you love this man like family. He’s your best friend, in the loosest sense of the word. He has seen you through your highest and lowest, the same way you have done for him. He has supported you through that depressing post-college unemployment period before he offered you the opportunity of a lifetime. He made you a nepo friend before you could even sign on that dotted line. It’s why you’re here today, making a generous salary from a very generous friend who thought you deserved it.
However, this assignment you have placed on his shoulders may be too much to bear. You may finally be asking too much of him.
Out of all the things you’ve asked him to do before, this may be his greatest challenge yet. Because you are asking him to create a holiday hit.
A rendition of a classic Christmas song after negotiating the rights for it. It’ll still be heavily pop, but you trust Mark to twist in Jake’s usual sound into it. When you told him to head into the studio this morning, he never expected you to ask this of him.
“Absolutely not,” he harrumphed. You pointed once to the recording booth and he marched his ass right in there. It’s why he has been sulking all morning. You told him he’s not leaving this room until he sings the perfect Christmas song, good enough to take down good old Mariah Carey and whoever else only comes around this season.
Despite his protests, Jake sounds good. Really good. He always does. It’s what put his name amongst the stars in the first place. His career has been on a steep upward trajectory for a decade now. Hit after hit. It certainly doesn’t hurt that he is a typical blue-green-eyed dirty-blonde man with a slightly rugged touch. He tests well with both men and women. Magazines with exclusive photoshoots sell out as quickly as his albums do.
All you want to do is put him back on the map where he belongs. Jake still makes fantastic music, is still incredibly passionate about his craft. He’s just had… one too many distractions lately. By lately you mean the last few years when his reputation has been riddled with one scandal after another.
If it’s not a supermodel’s heart he’s breaking, then it’s a drug issue. Or excessive partying. Or being a foul-mouthed asshole to assholes who piss him off, assholes who are willing to sell their story to tabloids about how rockstar Jake Seresin cursed him out for serving his friend the wrong salad. Mind you, Jake had been out with a friend who was severely allergic to nuts, asked multiple times to verify that there were no nuts, asked the waiter politely to please swap out the salad when he saw nuts, and the waiter brought him another salad. A salad with peanut dressing. Poor Bob.
Nobody wants to touch that hot mess with a ten-foot pole. It’s a liability. If he doesn’t get his act together, he’ll be stuck doing small-time (but beloved) podcasts forever, ones that even you admittedly haven’t listened to. Not that you usually do, podcasts are the bane of your existence.
To his credit, Jake has been trying. He has been squeaky clean over the last year or so. No drugs. No crazy parties. No naked runs through the city’s biggest park at peak hours. He has been good. Well-behaved.
Now, you want to bring him back to what matters. His music. That is, once he is completely back on the good graces of the general public. It all starts with a Christmas song.
Mark looks up at you from the soundbooth, doubt written all over his expression. “Is this really a good idea? I mean, I know he hasn’t been doing so hot, but a Christmas song? It’s not very him.”
You’ve had to justify this to your boss (Jake), your boss’ boss (record label CEO), and now his producer is last on the list. “I think we can inject his sound into a Christmas song. It definitely isn’t what he usually does but it’s not exactly a terrible shift for him. He needs this to worm his way back into people’s hearts. Like a little disease crawling back in, you know.”
“Not a promising visual.”
“I trust you and him to bring my vision to life. I think we can do this. I’ve been doing all the pre-release work. Promotions are out, marketing is on full force.”
“How did you get all of that out without him realizing?”
You huff, “You’d be surprised by how much I control what he consumes on a daily basis.”
As much as you want to keep this charade going, you need to face his reality as his manager. If this man wants to maintain his ridiculously exorbitant lifestyle in his ridiculously exorbitant penthouse with a ridiculously exorbitant mortgage, then he has to suck it up. He has to learn that some people have had to make sacrifices for the greater good; in this case, the greater good is his career.
When Jake fumbles over a lyric, his eyes flick up at you for a brief second, but you’re already ahead of it, pressing the button to cut the music.
“Run it again, Seresin.”
“Damn it!”
However, again, without another whine, Jake does as he is told. He doesn’t look happy doing it, but he does it anyway. He does it again and again and again until you decide you have the perfect take. Mark layers in instruments in between, pieces of a puzzle that would make the song more Jake.
“You know what, it’s not half bad,” Mark nods, clearly proud of himself. “I think we may have ourselves a new Christmas hit.”
A smile stretches across your face and you finally look up at Jake who is still looking at you with a very sour expression. “Good job, Seresin. Let’s wrap it up.”
“Finally!”
“Oh, boo hoo, you have to do your job,” you mock him with a roll of your eyes. “There are worse things you can do than sing a Christmas song.”
“In this very moment, I can actually think of none.”
—
When you really think about it, you really are going above and beyond for your boss. It’s the only reason why so many candidates have dropped out of being Jake’s potential manager, or even his second assistant. The man is incredibly high-maintenance.
You function professionally as a manager who organizes and controls his schedule, screens all fanmail for inappropriate paraphernalia, fields interview requests from late night hosts and magazines, and ensures that he gets to every single activity you’ve booked him for in a timely manner and with the appropriate clothes.
However, on top of all of that, you are also acting as a babysitter — making sure he eats enough, making sure he takes his daily vitamins, making sure he gets his IDs and passports renewed, making sure he doesn’t walk into incoming traffic when he’s too busy texting his old college friends. You are also the one who makes sure this man gets up on time, especially when he was out drinking his liver to death the previous night.
Sunlight bathes the room when you swish the curtains open, removing all traces of darkness, including the shadows cast upon Jake’s massive bed. He lets out a loud groan and burrows himself deeper into his pillows, shoving his head underneath one. “I fucking regret giving you your own key,” Jake mumbles against his Egyptian cotton.
“Who would find you when you finally drink yourself to death then? Your body would be cold and rotting by the time anyone thinks to check on you.”
“You’re mean.”
“That’s why you pay me,” you smile, dragging the blankets off him.
It’s a mistake. A huge one. Massive really. Because then you are subjected to the sight of Jake Seresin in nothing but his briefs. His biceps flex, muscles protruding, as he holds onto his pillow tight. When he rolls over, you see his abs in their full glory. All hard lines, chiseled planes, which all seem incredibly unfair given his abysmal consumption habits. Even the alcohol last night does nothing to hide how fucking fit he is. His legs stretch out long, thighs tensing where they curl up into his body.
Worst of all, you can see his morning wood straining against the cotton. Thick. Long. The outline leaves little to the imagination. You can practically see the tip peeking out.
You force yourself to look away, heat crawling up your neck at the state of him. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before; in fact, you probably have seen too much of him as someone who has never been his lover, long term or otherwise.
“Jake, we have a couple of interviews to hit today. Come on.”
It is then he chooses to jerk up, eyes blown wide. The light catches in his eyes, reflecting more of the green flecks in his irises. His gaze is iridescent. “Wait, didn’t the song go up last night? How’s it been? Is it bad? Is my career officially over?”
“Okay, drama queen, why don’t you get your ass into the shower first? I’ll run you through the numbers and what to expect today.”
Jake presses his lips in defiance, but once again, does as he is told. A manchild as many would say. You’re just used to him being a brat around you. Jake is relatively self-reliant otherwise. You’ve seen him survive the weeks you were gone on vacation or when you went back home to visit your parents. He can manage by himself, he just chooses not to. Not when he has you.
It would be a lie to say it isn’t flattering to a certain extent. You like how much he relies on you, even if it sometimes drives you up the wall. It feels nice to be needed, especially by someone like him. Someone who is incredibly capable.
Well, you say this as you’re working to knot his tie, looping the fabric around.
“You really need to learn how to do your own tie.”
“Why would I when I have you?” Jake grins cheekily, popping a cheerio into his mouth. It’s become a habit for you to carry around a ziploc of cereal. It is how he chooses to start his day and he takes a handful while you help him pick out his outfit in the morning.
“What if I’m not around?” You sigh, tugging the knot up to his neck.
Jake frowns down at you. Genuine hurt flashing across his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you be around?”
You throw him a look, which he ignores. Like manager, like artist.
This routine is similar to when he had been booked and busy. When he wasn’t on tour, Jake was out there doing big press events, interviews from sunrise to sunset, and one-off performances for television segments. Since his last album didn’t do so hot, you didn’t have to filter through too many requests, picking and choosing the biggest opportunities.
But with this new Christmas song — well, let’s just say that you were working overtime last night the moment the song dropped. It’s a miracle that you’ve been able to keep the man off social media as long as you have given the ramp-up around the release.
“Darlin’, how does this look?”
You turn away from his floor-to-ceiling windows with the impeccable view of the city; this really is a ridiculously exorbitant apartment. However, when your eyes land on Jake, your breath is knocked straight out of your lungs. Jake cleans up nice. You’ve always known that, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this.
With rockstars, they have a constant rotation of t-shirts, leather jackets, and silver jewelry that go on repeat. Their entire look is built on caring less about their appearance, more about their music. Jake has never been any different. Even with how princessy he acts — and god knows how much time he spends on his hair every morning, he’s not one to waste time choosing clothes and getting himself dolled up.
Unlike today.
He is dressed in a suit. A very impeccable, custom-tailored suit.
“Why am I wearing this again?” He frowns. “I feel like a fuckin’ penguin.”
He fiddles around uncomfortably with the necktie, glaring at it like it’s personally offended him. You swat his hand away and instead focus on adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “Because both of us are on thin ice after your last album. However, the big boss wants to see you after the song release last night.”
“Should I start scoping out whatever job-seeking platform you were on? Remember the one you were crying about like eight years ago.”
It’s your turn to throw him a dirty look. “Cute.” He flashes you that charming grin, your heart beats against your ribcage. You flatten your palms against his chest with a sigh once he looks ready to go. “Let’s hope not, so let’s not give him another reason to cut you loose, alright? I’ll run you through your schedule in the car.”
Jake’s hand reaches up and curls around yours. He lifts it like he’s inspecting it. “Didn’t you get that gold bracelet recently? You’re not wearing it.”
“It was a cheap find, I lost it somewhere. I need to find a better one anyway. Investment piece and whatnot.”
“Trying to get me to get you one?”
You laugh. “If you’re feeling ever so generous.”
His lips tilt into a softer smile. None of that cocky performance he puts up for everyone else. It’s a smile that’s always been reserved for just you. His oldest friend.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmurs.
And for a second, you’re freshly graduated from college again, sitting on Jake’s bedroom floor and weeping to him about yet another rejection email. He’s tangled around you, long arms winding around you and his chin propped up on your head as he tells you that everything will be okay. You can still feel the press of his lips against your temple as he whispers, “I’ll make sure everything will be okay.”
But then you’re back to the present and Jake is no longer that same kid you grew up with. No, this Jake is a successful rockstar who strictly dates supermodels and actresses, the kinds you wished you grew up to be — only because those are the ones he cares about. None of the people he has dated so far ever looked like you. Not even remotely. He has a type and he sticks to it.
“No need to thank me,” you clear your throat, shifting away to pick up your bag, “that’s what you pay me for.”
When you look at him again, you swear you see a flicker of hurt cross his eyes, but it’s gone in a blink. Then that charming, plastic smile is back in place. “Let’s get out of here.”
With only a week and a half left before actual Christmas, you have your work cut out for you. Between pre-booked interviews you managed to get him on and additional segments that were added to his schedule last minute, Jake has his work cut out for him. You’re in the back of the car, seated right next to him, rattling off times and names for the day. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when the car jolts over a pothole, Joel up front apologizing.
“So that’s everything for the day. Any questions?”
Your hand drifts back down to your lap, to the file settled on top of your stocking-clad legs. Jake doesn’t say a word, his gaze glued on the document. Irritation prickles your skin. You have a feeling he didn’t hear a word you said.
“Jake, did you—”
“Is that a new dress?” He looks up at you then, bright eyes finding yours.
The question is unexpected, catching you off guard. “What?”
“Never seen this dress before on you,” he says, sounding almost thoughtful. “Or those heels.”
You look down at your outfit. You bought a new dress over Black Friday. And a new pair of heels from a thrift shop down the block from you. Jake usually does notice these things, so it’s nothing surprising. You’re just not sure why that’s relevant in this very moment.
“Yes,” you say slowly.
“Looks good,” he clears his throat then glances out the window. The tips of his ears are pink and you frown, wondering if he’s warm enough, so you reach over and press the back of your hand against his forehead. Jake jerks back, pressing himself up against the car door. “What’re you doing?”
“Are you sick? Why are you red?”
“I—” he stops himself, biting his tongue. “Nothing. I’m not sick.”
Your lips pinch together doubtfully. “Should we stop by the pharmacy? You know you catch colds like a baby and we have so much planned this next week. Not to mention Christmas is around the corner and you don’t want to be sick for that.”
“My family’s traveling anyway, don’t think Christmas will be an issue,” he mumbles.
The look on his face pricks your heart. Jake has always been close with family but, over the last few years, he’s been relatively estranged. Between his never-ending schedule and his parents’ full-time farm in Texas, it’s difficult to fly to one place or the other. His parents also don’t entirely agree with his lifestyle, which only pushed Jake further away, digging himself deeper into the hole out of spite.
What you don’t tell him is that his parents still check in with you from time to time, asking you how he’s doing. There’s a lot of pride on both sides and all you want is for Jake to speak to them properly again, just like the old days. No more quick texts. No more two-minute calls.
For now, you instead say to him, “Well, I did invite you to my Christmas potluck.”
“Out of pity,” he drawls out.
“Because you’re my friend, dumbass,” you shoot right back.
“Your friends hate me.” You’re about to argue against it but clamp your mouth shut. “Thought so.”
“They don’t hate you,” you say, struggling to find the words. “They just… think I work too hard, but that’s not on you and I’ve made that very clear multiple times.”
“You do work too hard,” Jake notes with a stern look. “Keep tellin’ you to take a sabbatical and you don’t listen.”
“Who’s going to wipe your ass in the morning if I do?”
Jake glowers at you. “I can survive, you know. I’m not just going to drop dead just because you give yourself a break.”
“I know,” you say, softer. “I like working with you. I like building this thing with you, that’s why I’m here.”
His face melts, hard lines smoothing over as he tugs you close, kissing the top of your head. “I know, darlin’. I appreciate you. More than you know.”
That’s when you look up at him. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that because Jake, from this angle, still looks unfairly attractive. The stubble speckling his jaw, his bright pearly whites, and those mesmerizing eyes — the ones that have you falling in love with him over and over.
Before Jake can hear the way your heart threatens to beat straight out of your chest, you extract yourself from him and cough. “Anyways, do you have any questions about your schedule for the day?”
His lips twitch. “I ain’t going to lie, sweetheart. I didn’t hear a word you said. I was busy admiring you in that dress.”
“Jake!”
When Joel pulls up in front of HQ, you shoot him a quick smile. “We hopefully won’t be too long. I’ve sent over all the addresses for the remainder of the day. It’s a pretty tight schedule but I think I’ve allocated enough time for travel, even with city traffic.”
Joel thanks you and bids the two of you good luck. You’re really going to need it.
Your palms started sweating five blocks ago and you hate to wipe it on your perfectly good new dress. Your heels clack on the pavement as you drag Jake sulking behind you. The elevator ride up is quiet, partially because you’re nervous and partially because— well, you don’t know why Jake’s quiet. He’s never quiet.
“Why are you being so quiet?” You finally snap as the elevator beeps to indicate yet another floor.
Jake only responds two beeps later. “What do you mean?”
“You’re never this quiet. It makes me nervous.”
The corner of his lips tug into a smile, his side leaning against the elevator wall as he looks at you. “I make you nervous?”
Your pulse skips. Damn you, Seresin. He knows what he’s doing. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
You sear him with a glare. “You’re being too quiet. You usually can’t keep your mouth shut and yet here you are. Quiet..”
“You’re cute when you say quiet, say it again,” he lilts teasingly. .
That’s when you turn, arms crossed over your chest as you look at him. Beep, beep, beep. It almost feels like your heartrate on a monitor. “Jake, can you please be on your best behavior?”
“Thought the world liked me bad.”
“I don’t like you bad.”
“Then what do you like? What do you want me to be?”
“Jake,” you sigh, exasperated. “We’re not doing whatever the fuck this is you’re doing.”
“What is it I’m doing?”
Your pulse spikes in annoyance again. “I’m not entertaining this. We’re almost there and Bradley wants to see you.”
This time, his brows pinch to meet in the middle. “Bradley? Since when are you on a first-name basis with him?” His name rolls off your tongue with vexation laced into the single syllable. He pushes up off the wall and towards you, frown still firmly in place. “I’m serious. You been meeting him without me?”
His proximity, the whiff of his cologne, is entirely distracting. So is his broad chest in front of your eyes. It doesn’t fucking help when he looks delicious enough to eat in that suit, you’re this close to ripping it off with your teeth.
Self-control, you tell yourself. You need more of it. Maybe it’s time to finally invest in meditation. Or a self-help class on how to not want to screw your boss.
“I’ve met him a few times without you, yes,” you confess. You don’t know why this feels like an interrogation. You’re just meeting your boss’ boss. Sometimes you and Bradley strategize what Jake’s next step should be. He runs the label so it’s unsurprising you would want his input.
“Why didn’t you bring me?”
You give him a deadpan look. “You hate meeting him. You have literally told me that you’d rather be spitroasted as a sacrifice than sit in a room with him again.”
“That’s because he’s boring,” Jake shoots back, “so why are you meeting him?”
“It’s for work. We talk about your next album. We talk about marketing. He was the one who supported my idea for the Christmas song, by the way. So play nice.”
“And it’s usually just you and him?”
You’re about to scold him again for being so immature when the elevator finally halts on the top floor. The room is busy when you arrive, everyone’s hustling and bustling for the last stretch before the holidays. Record labels aren’t a fun place to be during this time when the music gets made. While not many artists choose to release new content during this time, there are always a few big names looking to capitalize on the season.
Including your very own.
“Wait, so it’s just you—”
Your name echoing down the hall has you looking up. Bradley’s strolling towards you, looking as put together as ever. If you see him walking down the street, you would never think he owns one of the biggest labels based out of the East Coast. He’s dressed in a simple crisp shirt and trousers, handsome as always. But he’s young, incredibly young for a CEO running a multi-million dollar business.
“Look at you,” Bradley grins. He’s got a smile that could power a whole city, might even give Jake a run for his money on who could be more charming. “Stunning.”
You can hear Jake’s scowl next to you.
Bradley then turns to Jake. “My man, it’s been a while. How’ve you been? My superstar.”
That has Jake alert. “Uh, what’s going on?”
Then Bradley turns back to face you, eyebrows jumping. “You haven’t told him?” Jake’s expression grows increasingly irritated; he hates being left out of the loop. “You’re a star again! Skyrocketed to the top of the charts. Nobody thought a new rock Christmas hit would do well with all the new pop Christmas albums popping up, but your manager here has good instincts. Eight million streams overnight! You’re on track to take down some records, my friend.”
Jake whips around to face you, surprise glittering in his eyes. “You’re serious? That stupid Christmas song?”
You smirk. “Yes, that stupid Christmas song.”
Bradley’s arm winds around Jake as he guides him down the hall. “Now, let’s talk about promotions.”
The rest of the meeting goes by relatively uneventfully. Bradley spends most of that time gushing about how excited he is for this song, how he plans to revive it every Christmas season to beat out you-know-who. At some point, you do have to interrupt and tell him that Jake has other events lined up for the day.
More than that, Jake looks exhausted. Bradley’s not usually a yapper, but when he’s having a good day, you can’t get him to shut up.
“Of course!” Bradley beams, shaking Jake’s hand eagerly. “If this song does as well as I think it will this season, you can write whatever the hell you want for your next album.” That has him perking up as he mumbles his thanks. Then Bradley turns his attention to you, arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “And you, you genius, I hope Jake gives you such a fat bonus this year, you can get yourself a whole new wardrobe. This dress is beautiful.” He takes your hand and brings it up to his lips. “Happy holidays, sweet girl. Hope to see you soon.”
Before you can grace him with a response, Jake takes your hand and is already leading you stumbling and tripping down the hall. His stupid long legs and your painful heels. Before Bradley disappears from sight, you see the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
“Jake, shit, slow down.”
He stops abruptly, causing you to lose your balance into him. He quickly steadies you, eyebrows still puckered. “Sorry, shit. I didn’t mean to rush.”
“We’ve got time, I just figured you needed to get out of there.”
Jake stares at you for a second. His expression blank but you can see something more in the margins, something softer. “Right. Well, better early, right? Like you said, early is on-time and on-time is late.”
It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Since when do you care about being on time?”
The remainder of the day seems to fly by. With two interviews lined up, both with performances of the song, Jake is caught in the whirlwind of it. After all, he’s never done these songs live and he has to memorize the lyrics in the car.
Fortunately, he’s good at playing his usual charismatic self, wooing everyone in the audience and his interviewers. The first one is your more casual daytime show, but the fun happens during the late-night segments taped late in the afternoon. Jake is focused on the task at hand, which is trying not to blink when fruits are thrown at the transparent screen in front of him. The object explodes when it gets shot straight at the surface and Jake manages to keep his eyes open, his composure intact.
You even let a giggle or two slip from the sidelines. Jake’s eyes fly to you more than a handful of times, as if seeking your approval, and he smiles in satisfaction when he sees the proud grin on your face.
Jake is in the middle of his short interview segment before his performance when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Looking at the caller ID, you mutter a quick crap before excusing yourself backstage.
“Hi, Mrs. Seresin, how are you doing? How’s Italy?”
“Oh, honey. I keep telling you you can call me Patty at this point.” Her voice crackles on the other side, her southern drawl much more prominent than Jake’s. Jake has been away for a while, keeping just enough of that accent to be endearing to larger audiences.
In the background, you can hear the cawing of seagulls in the background, the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Oh, the dream. Instead, you’re stuck in a windowless studio. Regardless, a smile stretches across your lips. “Alright, Patty,” you say with full intention to revert back the next time, and she knows this too, “how’s Italy?”
“Italy’s wonderful. How’s Jake doin’? Has he been eatin’ enough? Is he gettin’ enough sleep? We heard his song here. It’s been playin’ everywhere.”
The two of you chat for a little bit, mostly you getting them up to speed on everything he’s been doing and everything he will be doing. They sound pleased to hear that he’s been doing well, and you can hear the bit of sadness staining their voices.
“You know,” you start hesitantly, “I think he would appreciate a call from you.”
Silence. You wince. Then Patty starts again, “Oh, I don’t think he would. We would just bother him. He looks real busy.”
“No, no, I promise, I think he would really appreciate the call. We have long car-rides in between and I think—” you’re not sure why but your throat feels like it’s closing in on you, “He misses you. A lot. I’m sorry I have him busy this Christmas, but I think he’d love to do a family vacation with all of you soon.”
“He paid for this trip,” Patty says quietly, “but he didn’t even book a ticket for himself.”
“He just doesn’t want to intrude. You know Jake, you have to invite him three times before he realizes that you mean it enough for him to agree. But he would absolutely love it.”
A sigh carries from the other end. “You’re right, honey. We’ll give him a call. Thank you for lettin’ us know. We’re grateful that he still has you, you know. You take such good care of him.”
“Part of my job.”
She snorts. “Sweetheart, I don’t know who you think you’re talkin’ to but you’re not foolin’ me.” Your heart jumps in your chest. “You’ve been in love with that boy for as long as I can remember.”
“Mrs. Seresin—”
“Think you should call me Patty permanently, honey. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a heck of a lot more of you soon.”
“Why would you think that?”
Someone calls out to her in the background. “Oh, shoot. We have that dinner reservation, don’t we? Well, thank you for answering, honey, even when you’re so busy. Give Jake our love and we’ll be sure to call him very soon. Toodles!”
The line goes cold before you can get an answer to her very vague statement and you end up frowning at the black screen of your phone.
By the time you return towards the studio, filming has been completed and Jake is manhandling you out the exit. You’re still a little dazed from the call and it doesn’t help that Jake’s hand is firmly on your hip, arm around your back.
“Where’d you go?” He questions curiously.
“Oh, uhm, just had to… pick up a call,” you say, cursing yourself for sounding so stilted. Way to make it sound suspicious.
“From who?”
You scowl at him. “Why are you so nosy?”
His face morphs into one of amusement, a laugh slipping past his lips. “My parents again, huh.”
That has you losing your balance again, these heels will be the death of you. Jake once again keeps you upright. “How did you—”
“I’m not an idiot,” he gives you a look, which you reflect right back at him, “not all the time. You only get nervous when I ask you that when it’s my parents. Usually it’s a quick mind your own business, Seresin.”
Heat crawls up your neck. You didn’t think you were that obvious. “They’re just worried about you,” you mumble.
“I’m sure they are.”
“They are, Jake.”
“If they were worried, they’d call.”
When you make it to the exit, the lights are instantly blinding. Fucking paparazzi. It’s nothing new but it still irritates you each time. Luckily, Joel doubles up as a bodyguard and immediately blocks the two of you from the increasingly agitated crowd. Jake pauses to sign a few autographs and snap selfies with fans who have been waiting outside for probably some time.
“Y’all must be cold. Make sure to warm up after this. Can’t have you catching a cold right before Christmas.” He winks and they literally swoon.
Then Jake is back next to you, a protective arm secure around your waist as he helps you into the car.
At least that’s his last thing for the day. You turn to him to respond to his last comment. “They are worried. All of you are just too damn stubborn. None of you want to call because you think the other doesn’t want to hear from you. But you’re all always talking through me and I’m playing telephone between you and your parents. How about you give them a call? I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.”
“Doubt it.”
“Jake,” you sigh, “they miss you. I can hear it, you know. Every time they call, all they do is fuss about whether you’re eating or sleeping enough. They keep up with everything you’re on — interviews, performances. They’ve already heard your Christmas song and they loved it.”
A flush spreads pretty across his face, glowing red even in the dim car. “They have to say those things, they’re my parents.”
“Don’t be a pain in the ass, Seresin. It’s the holidays. Give them a call. Deep down, you know that all of you would love that.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles under his breath. A maybe is better than a no. It means he’s caving. Stubborn prick. A lovable stubborn prick.
You sigh then lean back against the door, staring at him. In the hours after a long day, Jake feels a little smaller. His ego is still there, it’s why he’s so damn pigheaded all the time, but he’s more relaxed. Like he has caved into the weight of the day. He has his elbow on the arm rest, chin on his palm as he gazes out the window to the city lights blurring before him.
“You’re going to see Javy tomorrow, that’ll be fun,” you try to lighten the mood.
“His movie premiere?” You hum in confirmation. Despite his demeanor, Jake is thrilled. You’ve learned the telltale signs over the years. His shoulders a little straighter, his lips twitching with the threat of a smile, and — of course — his beautiful eyes bigger and brighter. “Are you going?”
“Oh, I was planning to just drop you off. Figured you would enjoy the time without me nagging.”
“Come with me,” he says, voice surprisingly soft. “It’ll be fun.”
“I really don’t need to. Plus, I have nothing to wear.”
“Take my card. Buy something for yourself. Overnight it if you have to.”
You purse your lips at him. “You have a mortgage to pay, Jake. You shouldn’t really be spending lavishly on your staff.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as his face tightens. “You’re not… just my staff. I want you there. If all you need is an outfit then that’s an easy problem for me to fix.”
“You sure? There will be an after party too so I can dip out after the premiere.”
“No, come. Javy would love to have you there too.”
Fighting Jake takes too much effort when he’s determined to get one and only one answer. “Alright fine.”
He beams, clearly pleased with himself.
You roll your eyes. “For tomorrow, I just have you for a radio show at noon then we’ll get you to hair and makeup for the premiere.”
He smiles weakly at you. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”
“Not if the wicked wants to get paid,” you grin.
The car stops first in front of Jake’s building. The street is emptier this time of night and it’s easier for him to sneak right in. Plus, security is tight so you’re not very concerned. Not to mention, Joel could take down anyone with his pinky alone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I won’t be here too early to nag you but I expect you to be ready to go at eleven.”
In lieu of responding, he instead reaches over to take your hand. “Come up with me,” he murmurs, eyes unreadable in the darkness of the vehicle.
Your brain short-circuits for a second. Your first instinct is to be skeptically optimistic. A yes would be too easy of an answer. A yes would be your preferred answer. Sometimes, Jake just need a little bit of company at the end of the day, and that’s nothing new.
But your heart knows it’s a terrible idea. Horrible, in fact. You can’t help the way your heart hopes — yearns — for something more. Something that he can’t give you. He has always been good to you. A good boss. A good friend, great even on some days. Unfortunately, your heart has other plans when it aspires for more.
“Jake…”
“A glass of wine or something. Or I’ve also got that sugar cookie things you like, the one with that little fat man on the cover.”
Your lips quirk up. “Pillsbury ones? What shape?”
Jake rolls his eyes. “You only eat the snowman ones, god knows why. They all taste the same.”
“You don’t eat those. Why do you have them?”
“For you.”
His simple answer — quick and honest — has your heartbeat stuttering. A momentary lapse in the way it functions. You swallow thickly. “I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?” He presses.
“We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“We don’t start until noon—”
“Jake.”
He looks at you and you look at him, and whoever wins this stupidly petulant staring contest will come away unscathed. Or as unscathed as possible. Luckily for you, you grew up with Jake, you’ve done these a handful of times before, and you know exactly how long it takes before he needs to blink.
In three, two, one…
“Dammit,” Jake groans, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate that you’re so good at that.”
“Only need to last a second longer than the other guy,” you throw him a smug smile. “Now get out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
–
Admittedly, there are perks to working in entertainment. Despite the grueling hours and the never-ending stream of fake pleasantries, you do get plenty of opportunities not many other jobs offer. This includes anything from backstage passes at the biggest concerts (you have met many a legends, ones that make you sign NDAs), front-row VIP tickets without the hours-long waiting game, and even advanced screenings of blockbusters earlier than some critics. You have many chances to get up close and personal with your favorite entertainers.
Of course, the side benefits of Jake’s fame and fortune come at the expense of your poor head, which is now sporting more than a few strands of grey hairs. It also cost you a large chunk of social life; try scheduling brunch plans when you’re living off a rockstar’s schedule.
No matter how many times you defend Jake, your friends aren’t particularly fond of him. It isn’t his fault that you are a self-appointed workaholic. However, part of the reason why they also aren’t happy with him is because they think he has been stringing you along all this time, practically playing the part of a doting girlfriend, but paid. You’re a glorified sugar baby who happens to also moonlight as his manager.
Once again, you have to remind them that it isn’t his fault that you have been in love with him for forever. It’s not his fault that you haven’t built up the courage to tell him how you feel, not when you are risking jeopardizing more than a decade of friendship and a professional relationship. Your career. While you know that Jake wouldn’t hang you out to dry for pining over him for the better part of the decade, you also don’t ever want to put him in that position.
This is what you remind yourself when Jake hands over his black Amex without batting an eye, telling you to knock yourself out. You’re not his girlfriend that he’s spoiling, not even when he shoots you a bemused frown and says, why are you asking me for fashion advice? You look good in literally everything. You’re definitely not his girlfriend when you send him a picture of you in the dress to check if it’s good and he responds with sweetheart, if that’s what you’re wearing, i’m going to have to ask javy to up security at the venue.
Curse you and your frail, starving heart.
As you’re dropping off Jake with his own glam team, he quirks an eyebrow at you. “Why aren’t you coming with?”
You open your mouth with the obvious answer, but then close it. “I’ll do my own makeup and hair at home.”
“Just come with me. I’m sure they have extra sets of hands.”
“Jake, nobody just has extra sets of hands in this business. That costs of money.”
“It’s a work expense, we’ll figure it out.”
Before you can argue further that some things you can’t just figure out, Jake is already dragging you out the car. “Joel, we’ll be a while. Can you drop off the clothes with the stylists inside? Then feel free to chill for a couple of hours. Have lunch on me.”
“You got it, boss.”
Then it’s chaos. The staff swirl around the two of you like tornadoes, bringing you into separate rooms to get ready. Although you have gotten prep done by a professional team, you’re never there for full glam. Quick touchups to make sure you look good as his manager in the background.
Key word: background. Not in the spotlight.
This one feels different; you’re supposed to be an additional head to keep Jake company for the premiere. You’re supposed to blur into the scenes behind him, certainly not standing front and center. However, the way they’re putting extra care into your makeup, the additional glimmer and sparkle, it’s almost as if you’re his—
“Jake said you’re his plus one! You’re already gorgeous but don’t worry, sugar, we’re going to take real good care of you.”
The hours pass quickly with you making conversation with these pros. The makeup artist has done this for people with twice your salary and twice your ego. The hair stylist tells you all about the divas that she has worked with, including more than a few household names.
“Beautiful,” the makeup artist smiles with a fake swipe of her tear. At least you know why she works in entertainment.
While you have always been relatively confident in your looks, you’ve never really seen yourself like this. Hair effortlessly chic. Makeup done to perfection. Soft, sexy, sultry. This transformation has left you in awe, so much so that you’re even gawking at yourself in the mirror.
“This is— wow, I mean, you’re both so— this is incredible.”
“We get that a lot,” the hair stylist smirks. “Alright, Jake is outside getting into his suit so let’s also get you into the dress so we can show off how stunning you look to him.”
You snort quietly, “He really doesn’t care how I look. I’m not going to be the one the paps are chasing down.”
The two look at each other and burst into giggles. “Okay, honey. We’ll see about that.”
Your dress spills over you like second skin. It cinches in in the right places and loosens to drape over the floor. The slit sits high mid-thigh, giving sexy without being too slutty. Your two artists are gushing behind you and all you can do is duck your head in embarrassment. You can certainly dish out a compliment, but you are miserable at taking it.
The doors open up and you’re practically shoved out there into Jake’s awaiting arms as you trip a little bit in your heels. His hands move fast to catch you. “Whoa there, you—” then he stops. You hear his breath hitch in this throat.
You right yourself and ease a loose strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. “Shit, sorry. New shoes. I have to get used to them.”
For a moment, you don’t get a response so you look up and you find Jake drinking you in from head to toe. His throat moves, an almost impercetible movement that you only notice because he’s standing so close to you. You smell the faint traces of bergamot and vanilla in your favorite cologne of his.
However, as much as Jake is looking at you, you’re also looking at him. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you see him dressed up, each time you’re left admiring how dashing he looks. His usually unruly dirty blonde hair is tamed down into a style that looks clean without being overly stiff. His beard has been trimmed down into a neat shadow across his jaw, maintaining that rough edge that screams successful, millionaire rockstar over classic Hollywood heartthrob. He looks so good you could eat him right up.
Not to mention, his dark blue suit that makes his cerulean eyes shine.
His dark blue suit that very much matches your navy dress.
You completely forgot that you had requested this specific suit from the stylist — and now it seems as if you intentionally matched with him. God forbid he thinks that, because that would be real humili—
“You’re stunnin’.”
The compliment slips out so easily from his lips that you almost miss it. Your head jerks up immediately, giving you a short sting of whiplash.
“I mean, you always are but… wow. You’re—” he pauses, like he’s struggling to find the right words to say. You swear you hear the glam team tittering behind you, but all of that fades into white noise when all you see is Jake.
“Thanks, you look great too,” you respond, sounding as awkward as you feel.
His face melts into something softer, fonder. A chuckle rises from his throat. “Could never take a compliment, darlin’.” That makes you scowl in defense. “You look… breathtaking. Perfect, really.”
“Okay, I’ll let you take a break after the Christmas promotions are done, you don’t need to keep kissing my ass.”
It’s a poor attempt to deflect, but you don’t know how to react when Jake is looking at you like that. Deep eyes, intense gaze. A look that says I see you. I want you. Because a look like that could be easily misinterpreted. It could even give you hope, which is futile when you’ve seen his track record.
Jake’s lips pinch together. He’s irritated. You bite back a wince.
Before he can say anything else, the team is ushering the two of you out the door and back into the car. You’re looking through the logistics in the email to make sure you arrive at the right time at the right entrance, prattling off instructions to Joel and Jake. Your head is back on work mode to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.
As expected, Jake is already tuning you out. You see it when you look up at him and he looks vexingly distracted.
“Jake,” you sigh, annoyance staining your tone, “did you catch a word I said?”
His lips are pressed in a thin line, eyes somewhere on the car seat.
“Jake.”
“You really going to wear that out there?”
Frowning, you look down at your dress again. It’s not… bad. Sure, it’s nothing crazy glamorous, but you thought it would work fine. “Yes. Was it the wrong thing? I mean, I could skip—”
“No, I just—” His hand reaches up, like he’s about to run it through his hair, but halts when he remembers the wax streaked through it, and his face curdles. A nervous tic.
“I thought you said I look good.”
“You look—” He stops again, face pinking in a real struggle. “You do know how good you look right? Because if you don’t, it might drive me crazy. I can’t spend all night trying to convince you how incredible you look.”
You open your mouth but the words don’t come out. How are you supposed to respond to that? Your heart flares with a thrill, your confidence expanding to the size of Jupiter. It’s one thing to have Jake give you a compliment, it’s another to see him struggle doing so.
Because Jake is smooth lines when it comes to the ladies. Seeing him tongue-tied around you — someone he has known all his life — tugs at your heart strings.
“Thanks, Jake,” you murmur.
“That dress, fuck, I don’t know if I can handle you out there looking like that. Javy’s going to pull some stupid ass line on you and I’m going to get pissed.”
“Javy will not.”
“Javy most definitely will.” He sounds firm, irked.
“Well, I’ll take a compliment from Javy.”
Jake scowls. “Javy is a womanizer.”
“So are you.” You’re rewarded with another scowl, but he knows you’re right. A proud smirk settles on your face. “Javy will be Javy. Let’s focus on you tonight. This is a good place to get the word out on your song, talk about the process or whatever.”
“Darlin’, I’m going to be distracted all night with you next to me.”
Huffing, you shake your head. “I’ll be behind you as always, don’t worry.”
“You’re my date to this thing, you are gonna stand next to me.”
Date? You choke on the saliva in your mouth as your throat dries completely. Jake shoots you a funny look before his eyes dart behind you.
“Showtime.”
You don’t have another second to think before he’s out the door, rounding the car, and opening yours. With a hand out, you gingerly step onto the pavement. Jake has his dashing smile plastered on, seeming almost genuine as he places his hand on your lower back and eases you into the wolves. The flashes are immediate and blinding.
Winter hasn’t fully arrived yet, which means you can at least keep your coat off for the photos. The number of bodies spread across each side of the barrier of the red carpet also help. Every time you try to sneak away from him, Jake tightens his grip on your hip to keep you next to him.
“Jake, they want pictures of you alone.”
“Don’t really care what they want, darlin’. Now, smile so we can show my parents how well we’re getting on.”
You’re about to argue against him when a reporter calls him over. With one last smile and wave to the larger crowd, he tugs you over to the barricade where he then proceeds to answer multiple questions with ease. He’s trained after all; all these years of being in the spotlight, the hours of media training you put him through.
“And this is your lovely date for the night, very different from your usual type, Jake,” one interviewer — People magazine, you think — teases.
“I’m just his manager,” you clarify with a tight curl of your lips.
“She’s the one who keeps my life together, keeps me alive really. I wouldn’t be here without her,” Jake piles on, fingers once again digging into your side, as his eyes look affectionately at you. If your embarrassment didn’t warm you up, the weight of his gaze surely does. “Anyone would be lucky to have her next to them. I’m just the lucky bastard she chose.”
Then he is excusing himself to go to the next one. And the next one. And the one after that.
The wind is slowly becoming unforgiving, gusts skirting around your ankles and rising up your body until they pebble your skin with goosebumps. You’re hoping that you’ll be going indoors for the screening soon because you’re not sure if you can take much more of this city chill.
A warmth blankets over your shoulders and you find that Jake has shedded his jacket and placed it over your shoulders. He does it with such ease too, so casually that he doesn’t even stutter mid-answer to another journalist. The reporter, of course, flags this and eyes you curiously. Before they can ask another question, probably one that is too intrusive, Jake immediately moves you away.
“Aren’t you cold?” You peer up at him.
“I’m fine, darlin’. You okay? Should we move inside now?”
“No, you should keep going. This is good publicity. Plus, Javy hasn’t even arrived yet.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I can always come back out for Javy. I want to make sure you don’t get hypothermia.”
“Idiots can’t catch colds, remember?” You smirk.
“We both know you’re the furthest thing from one.”
The remainder of the premiere goes by without a hitch. You look at Jake proudly from the sidelines, still cozy covered in the suit that smells too much like him. When Javy arrives with the rest of the cast, Jake is the one who looks on proudly. They’ve been best friends since Jake had been hired to write an original song for Javy’s movie, since Jake threw a fit over how poorly the director was treating Javy who hadn’t been a main role at the time. They have been inseparable ever since.
“Good god, it’s been a while. You look fucking fantastic.” Javy slides over to you with that Hollywood-trained grin. He wraps you in a hug and notes Jake’s jacket in amusement. “Staking his claim huh?”
You look down at the jacket, heat crawling up your neck. “No, I was just cold.”
“Mhmm, I’m sure that’s why,” Javy says, shooting Jake a look, which is rewarded with a satisfying elbow to his best friend’s gut.
The after party is even better. It’s the first time you let loose in a while. The champagne does not stop flowing, mainly from the waiters into Javy’s hands before he forces them into yours with an encouragement to relax. “You’re off the clock,” he coaxes you, “try to enjoy some of the fun that comes with this job.”
This man is a bad influence.
Sure enough, by the end of the night, you do feel lighter. Much lighter. You’re not stressing whether Jake is doing well or keeping up apperances. You trust him. He knows how to handle himself.
Javy has you on the dance floor, spinning you around as you laugh. When you catch Jake’s eye across the room, you find him already watching you with a twinkle in his eye. The music is intoxicating, playing throwback after throwback that has the crowd piling onto the floor.
At some point, Javy gets dragged away by another friend and a warm hand settles on your hip. Your fight or flight instincts would usually kick in, if it weren’t for the fact that you recognized the touch.
“Finally decided to join the fun crowd?” You tease over your shoulder, eyes blinking up at him.
Jake hums, ducking his head to graze his lips against the shell of your ear as he stands behind you, hands on your hips. “You look like you’re having too much fun.”
“No such thing.”
“No? Letting Javy hold you like that?” His fingers tighten. It’s still a teasing touch, but there’s a possessive undertone to it that makes you shiver.
“Javy was merely being a gentleman and dancing with me. Unlike some broody rockstars who end up in a corner, sulking while nursing his room-temperature beer.”
Jake chuckles and the sound sends delicious ripples up your spine. “My girl,” you swear you hear him whisper. Perhaps you really have drunken too much.
By the end of the night, your body is buzzing off adrenaline and endorphins. The alcohol has mostly weaned off as you slip into the back of the SUV. Joel throws you an amused glance as Jake only shakes his head and slides in behind you. Thankfully, Jake doesn’t live very far, which means the ride back is relatively short.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t entirely disappointed that the day has come to an end. It’s been busy, busy, busy recently, all professional schedules that you haven’t really gotten the chance to spend time with your friend Jake.
“Joel, why don’t you head off for the night? I can take the car from here.”
Jake’s instruction has you whipping around to face him with a questioning look. Unsurprisingly, Joel quickly agrees and bids the two of you goodnight.
“You’re going to drive me home?”
“We are going for a drive.”
The two of you move to the front seat. You’ve still got enough energy thrumming in your veins that you wordlessly agree. Jake takes the highway downtown, city lights across the water smudging into streaks in the dead of night. Even in a city like this, the kind that never sleeps, there are many winding paths that end up deserted at this hour. Jake finds a pier to dock by, far from prying eyes but with a view that still steals the air from your lungs.
“You would always come here before recording your next big album,” you murmur thoughtfully, reminiscent of a time not too far out of reach.
“You introduced me to it,” he supplies, “it brings me a lot of peace. Same way you do.”
A soft snort leaves your lips. “Yeah, well, now you just come bulldozing through my apartment to work off those nerves.”
“Those cookies you make certainly are no help when I’m already running on a high.”
“I always make those to share but you clean them out.”
The two of you bicker for a while, a push and pull that feels all too familiar. It’s a shared language, one that raises questions about how well you really work professionally in the eyes of others, but one that you know is a comfort for the two of you. A normal routine that keeps both of you grounded.
“I am thankful, you know,” Jake says after a moment of silence, “for you.”
“I bet you are.”
His lips twitch as he tosses you an expression of feigned irritation. “I’m serious. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“You give me too much credit. You have all the talent and the passion, I’m just really good at organizing calendars.”
Jake reaches up, a firm hand sliding around the back of your neck and tangling in the air at the base of your head. He watches you closely, watches the way your pupils dilate at the act, the way your throat moves as you swallow the bundle of nerves trapped.
“You—” he pauses, inhales sharply, “just— I don’t know how you do it. You’ve completely bewitched me. I’d do anything you told me to do, you know. Anything at all.”
Anything. That’s a big, bold word. Anything means everything. Anything feels like a challenge. A temptation. The air is thick with tension that compresses your chest, but you can only think of one thing.
“Kiss me.”
Jake is on you before you can finish the order, his mouth warm on yours. His lips are soft where they steal the breath from your lungs, swallows it up and claims it as his own. The groan that vibrates through his heart goes straight into yours, a sound you keep as yours. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your lips, “been waiting to do that all night.”
You don’t get a word in because Jake doesn’t once release you from his grasp. His fingers burrow deeper into the trenches of your hair, his mouth slants across yours hot with a swipe of his tongue along the seam of your lips. You open up readily to him, welcoming him to taste him on your own. The shift lever digs slightly into your stomach but you can’t care less, not when Jake tastes like every dream you’ve ever had. Every dream you’ve latched onto since you were young and foolish meeting for the first time.
“Need—” he chokes, “need more of you. Come to the backseat with me. Need to hold you.”
The two of you move quick, wasting only a second to scramble to the space you have occupied over the years. There has always been chasm between you, this invisible line drawn where the two of you work. Jake on the right and you on the left, always hovering but never touching. That line has been crossed, slashed, and eviscerated when Jake drags you onto his lap, your knees on the leather, and continues to mouth down your neck.
His touch is mind-numbing, the inebriating cocktail of firm and gentle. His hands slide up your back to draw you even closer as he eases the flimsy straps of your dress down your shoulders. His lips drag down your skin, teeth grazing and nipping to leave behind traces of him, ones that will remain after the magic of the night fizzes out.
“Jake, please,” you whimper. You don’t even know what you’re asking for but Jake seems to understand as he laps at your neck, his fingers peeling away your sticky bra to cast them aside. He rolls your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling in a way that has you arching your back into his hands.
“So needy,” he whispers with the kind of hunger that signals his readiness to devour you. “So fucking soft. Always knew you’d be so soft.”
A breathless laugh escapes you. “What are you on about, Seresin?”
He leans back, dark eyes taking you in. They rake over your figure with the kind of intensity that makes you shift away from him. He doesn’t let you run, not when this is what he and you have been waiting for — have been building up to — all this time.
“You’re always so tough, tongue like a knife. But in bed, fuck, I knew you’d be soft. Rounded corners, no edges. You’d be sweet, would make noises that would stick to my brain for weeks. Months.”
Your lips part, a small squeak escaping.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have you so pliant with me, like honey on my skin. Darlin’, I couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like coming apart in my hands.”
The words catch in your throat, twenty six letters out there and none of them could piece together into a single syllable. Your bad habits kick in, a defense mechanism. “Awfully confident of you to think I’d come apart in your hands.”
“Sweetheart, you know you will. You know you want this. As much as you’ll come apart in mine, I’ve been completely undone by yours.”
Before you can think of another retort to ruin the atmosphere, Jake captures your lips again, nipping on your bottom lip hungrily as his tongue delves back into your mouth. Your body seems to have a mind of its own. With your hands on his shoulders, you press down against him, against the bulge growing underneath his slacks.
Jake’s groan is guttural as he brings his lips to your neck again, teeth sinking in deeper this time. “Fuck, baby, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”
Come apart indeed. The only layers separating you are your flimsy panties — lace which means it’s practically nonexistent — and his pants. You wonder if he goes commando underneath, he’s mentioned many times that he hates wearing briefs. The thought makes you salivate like a dog, makes you want to unzip his pants with your teeth and take him between your lips.
Jake’s hands drag up the weight of your skirt to your hips, lifting it enough to see the baby blue underwear underneath. An expletive dirties his tongue as he takes you in. “I’m gonna keep these,” he murmurs, more so to himself. He watches as you grind on him, juices leaking through the thin layer and dampening the cotton of his pants.
His head lands back against the headrest with a thud as he lets you take your time, lets you enjoy yourself with the delicious friction. It’s a small flame inside of you, quickly festering into something bigger, warmer. The heat that licks your skin and threatens to burn — and you’ll gladly accept the sacrifice.
“I need to take this off,” Jake grunts, halting your hips just enough to slip the material down your legs. He catches them between his fingers and stares for a moment before he brings it up to his face, breathing in deep. The sight makes you clench between your legs. “Smells so sweet,” he whispers before tucking it into the front of his jacket, the pale string dangling from his pocket.
“I want your cock,” you say, honest and braver than you expected to be.
Jake’s eyes flare with surprise, but he’s ready and willing. He gently eases you up enough for him to tug his own length — no underwear, you pleasantly note — out of his trousers. His cock sits rock hard, bumping lightly against his stomach.
“Lay back on the seats, Seresin,” you urge him, fruitlessly attempting to push him back.
Not a lick of amusement in his eyes. He grips your hair again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. The slight sting has you squeezing around air again. “When you’re wet like this on top of me, when your pussy’s dripping all over me, you call me Jake. You call me by my name, sweetheart.”
Shit. Your legs tighten, clamping together around his thighs, and he notices. Of course, he does.
“Come on, say it,” he coaxes. Once again, gentle and firm.
“Jake.”
“That’s my girl,” he groans and finally settles back into the seats. He pushes a lever to shift the seats further back, allowing him to still get a good perspective on you as you begin to roll your hips on top of him.
No barriers. Skin on skin. He watches in the darkness as your folds swallow his length, sliding wet and slick over his cock. It burrows deeper between your legs, but never sticks all the way in. His tip nudges against your clit every time you do so and you find yourself sinking deeper against him, palms flat against his chest as you rub yourself on him. Jake assists you with his hands on your hips, moving you on top of him like he’s using you for friction. Like a toy simply there for his pleasure.
“Feels so good, darlin’. So wet for me. Look at your pussy drooling all over my cock.”
“Jake, fuck,” you curse. His filthy words do nothing to ease your growing need, that wanton need spreading through every nerve in your body. “S-so good, you’re so hard. So thick.”
The filthy sound of your cunt sliding along his cock is heady, a soundtrack that you can hear on loop inside your mind. A reminder of this night.
“I know, baby. Feels so good. Shit, you’re fucking unbelievable. Cunt’s so slick.”
“I want you inside. Want you to fill me up.”
Jake licks his teeth, jaw clenching. “Got no condom on me, honey. I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”
You could cry. Your stomach is wrung tight with need. A desire to be filled. Your pussy is pulsing to demand more, more, more.
“Cum on my cock like this, I’ll get you off. I promise.”
Unfortunately, now that you have planted the seedling of him sliding his thick cock into you, you can’t imagine finishing in any other way. You can’t imagine anything better in that moment. You’ve been consistent with your birth control, and you know Jake’s latest check-up came out clean.
“We’re good. I’m good to go, we can fuck. I’m on the pill and we’re both clean,” you babble, lifting yourself up to position his cock at your entrance.
Jake’s fingers dig into your hips to stop you, one of his hands wrapping around his cock to squeeze at the base. A vein in his neck strains as he struggles to keep it together. His voice is breathless when he says, “Darlin’, we can just— we can stop here, head back if you want to fuck. I want to be safe with you.”
You know. You know you can. Your head knows that, but your heart and the second heartbeat between your legs refuses it.
“I want you,” you emphasize. “I want you right now.”
Jake looks at you, slight worry in the murkiness of his eyes. “Are you sure? I can still get you to cum like this. You know your pussyjob’s still going to get me cumming all over this pretty dress.”
Jesus, where does he get the confident to say those words so easily? The words that light every fibre of your being on fire.
“I’m sure. I want you inside.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Jake moans. It’s almost cute seeing him like this, so obedient. So sweet on you. This big, tough rockstar undone by your hands, by the sweet little hole between your legs.
You raise yourself up and positions his cock at your entrance before slowly inching down on him. Jake’s hands tightening on your hips stop you.
“What?” You snap with annoyance tinging your voice.
“So fuckin’ tight, baby,” he practically whimpers. “Go easy on me. I’ve been hard all week. Been thinking about this for far too long. Not even my imagination could do this justice.”
You nearly cum on the spot from that pitiful sound. You didn’t think it would be your thing to have Jake so cute and needy underneath you, but you could get used to this.
“You’re so wet, Christ. Your greedy little pussy’s taking me in so well, darlin’. Look at her swallowing me right up. You’re so tight but it slides in so, so easy. Splitting you open like this.”
And he’s not wrong. The burn is prominent between your legs, his cock stretching out your folds and your insides, molding you to the shape of his shaft. You have to ease yourself on it even with the natural lubrication, sinking an inch down before rising and then coming back down. Each time, you drive him a little deeper into you. Each time, Jake slams his head harder against the seat.
When he is buried to the hilt, you ready yourself to ride him properly but Jake stops you again. Irritation prickles your skin. “What now?”
“i don’t—” he chokes and coughs, “feels so good, honey. I need you to go slow on me.”
“So demanding, S—” It’s your turn to pause, “Jake. You’re not in charge anymore, you know. Not like this. Not when your cock is so hard, your balls so full, when you’ve been waiting for me.”
Jake spits out another profanity. “I don’t even want to know where you learned to talk like that. To take cock like this. I might kill any man I find who’s been with you. Don’t want to picture you like this with anyone else.”
Your lips curve into a slow smirk. “So damn possessive.”
“Damn straight,” he grunts, “you’re mine.”
That claim is all you need to get you going. You sink yourself over and over again on him, agonizingly slow just like he wants. Regret simmers in those irises when he realizes the painstaking pace you’re making him endure may be worse. It’s a torturous feeling, the heat between your legs growing until it blazes into a heat that curls your toes, has you gasping for oxygen.
Jake continues to narrate, mouthing off filthy phrases to encourage the burn where the two of you are joined, the tight coil of pleasure in your stomach.
“Sweet, greedy cunt taking my entire cock so well.”
“Stretching my girl out around my dick, going to shape you to me.”
“I’m going to cum so deep inside you, sweetheart, you’ll feel it dripping for days.”
The words do as much for him as they do for you. You lean back, hands on his knees as you continue riding him. The new angle has him gasping, hips rutting up to meet yours unconsciously. You take him in deeper, tilts his cock in a way that makes him whine pathethically underneath you. Your tits bounce as you pick up the pace, as you ride him harder and faster. It’s like you have the sun between your legs with the way your entire body burns.
“Fuck, darlin’, I’m going to cum too fast like this. L-let me fuck you instead.”
“No, I like you like this. Big tough rockstar squirming underneath me like a virgin.”
Jake’s head smacks against the back. “The mouth on you.”
“You haven’t even had my mouth on you.”
“I don’t think I’ll survive that,” he offers you a wry smile, which quickly evaporates into a gasp and a groan when you roll your hips just right on top of him. “I don’t think I’ll survive this. Christ, your cunt is fucking perfect.”
Your mouth twitches into a proud grin as Jake begins to match your pace. He’s no longer being passive, His thumb zeroes in on your clit as he leans forward to catch your nipple between his teeth. His hands roam everywhere, mapping every inch of your curves like he’s commiting them to memory. It’s all too much. You can feel him in you, on you. Everywhere.
That cologne you love so much infiltrates your senses along with the unquestionable smell of sex. Combined with the sound of slapping skin, your ass meeting his thighs, his cock slickly slipping inside you, you feel your legs squeezing around him.
“Jake, I’m gonna— please—”
“I know, honey, me too. Me too. Fuck. Cum for me. Want you to cum all over me.”
And you deliver the final blow. “I want you to cum inside me.”
His hips stutter as you feel warmth paint your insides, triggering your own release as your orgasm wracks through your body. For a moment, you swear you see stars on the ceiling of the car, hot-white flashes of satisfying lust pulsing through you as he continues to spill into you. You’re full — cock still buried deep inside you, his cum warm and leaking from where you’re joined.
Jake’s chest rises, his pants completely ruined with a mix of your juices and his cum dripping. “Fuck,” he mutters, “that was—” You only manage a nod. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”
You let out a little breathless giggle as he swipes your hair away from your sweat-lined face. “I knew that.”
But then Jake is soft again, the hardness in his gaze chips away into something molten. He cups your jaw, delicate this time, and draws you in to kiss you one more time. Gone is the desperation, only velvet desire left in its wake.
“Let’s go home. I need to take care of you again, need to make sure you know I can make you cum.”
“Once wasn’t enough?”
“Once will never be enough with you.”
–
You’re slow to stir to consciousness. The sunrise washes the room in shifting glows of oranges and pinks. The pale silk sheets underneath your fingertips absorb every inch of color, gliding along your naked, aching limbs like the sun is carressing you awake. With a cat-like stretch, you let your eyes flutter open to the sight of a familiar room. A familiar room that isn’t yours.
Fuck.
Muffling a groan into the extremely comfortable pillow (one you had purchased for him as a gift after he complained about the crick in his neck), you begin to question what your life has come to. You’ve officially, royally, single-handedly risked your entire livelihood on what could potentially be a one-night stand with your boss.
Your boss who fucks anything walking and breathing. Your boss who fucks everyone, but no one that looks like you.
Your boss who fucked you last night like he didn’t want anyone else.
Despite it being what you’ve always wanted — and more, you can’t help but stew on the promises he made last night. Promises to satisfy you more than once because once will never be enough with you, and the fact that he over-delivered on it, evidenced by the twinge between your legs.
The sheets next to you are cool to touch which means Jake’s been gone for a bit. Is this his way of subtly kicking you out? You’ve had to remove many women from his previous apartment in the early stages of his career. You know his tactics. This could be one of them.
The slam of the front door has you jolting, scrambling to find something — anything — to wear. Because if Jake Seresin is about to give you the boot, you would rather walk out of here with your head held high, preferably fully dressed. Your fingers catch onto the fabric of a t-shirt, one of his. Better this than nothing.
His footsteps crescendo as they approach his bedroom and you quickly, instinctively drag your fingers through your hair to hopefully tame whatever nest sits on top of it.
Jake walks in looking absolutely… delicious. Fuck. He’s got running shorts on and a dry-fit shirt that clings to his every muscle. Sweat rolls down his face, cheeks flushed from the cold and the run he must’ve been on. A smile stretches across his lips when he sees you still sitting in his rumpled sheets, gaze flicking to the graphic on the shirt you’re wearing. His smile tips up just a tad higher.
“Morning, darlin’.”
“Morning,” you clear your throat, nervously picking at the duvet. It’s too high quality to have any loose threads for you to focus on.
He hands you a warm cup and a small box. The smell of an English breakfast wafts into the air, soothing your exhausted soul. You flip the lid open on the box, finding your favorite strawberry danish from your favorite bakery, Luca’s, which is twenty blocks away from here.
“Figured you could use a pick me up. Some sugar to get you going in the morning.”
The gesture leaves you dumbstruck. “Right. Thank you. This is… nice.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t add any sugar into your tea though. I know you like it black and freshly brewed. I tried the new café around the block, reviews say their tea is very good.”
You feel like a parrot when you say, “Right. Thank you.” You glance at the digital clock on his nightstand then at the pastry longingly. “I should get going though. I need to get ready for work.”
“Stay. I have some clothes here for you, all business appropriate, I promise.”
Once again, you are left without words. “What? Why would you have clothes for me here?”
Jake wets his lips, looking almost nervous for the first time in a very long time since you’ve known him. You don’t think you’ve seen this look since the first time he met Paul McCartney; now they’re on a first-name, texting basis. His hand reaches up, running through the wet strands of his hair. “In case you ever slept over. I wanted to have it ready.”
“Oh.”
“Not just for— you know,” he blushes, “just if you ever need it. I asked my stylist to pick out some things she thinks you’d wear so they should be the right size and style. If it’s not then I can always drive you back to your place.”
Sure enough, when you pad over to his closet, you find a rack all dedicated to you. Blouses, shirts, skirts and pants, dresses. A variety of things you would certainly wear for work.
Jake sidles up behind you, his palm circling your waist to press against your stomach. Press you back against him. “Now that that problem’s solved, how about we test out my shower pressure? I heard the new fixture is divine.”
“I ordered you that new fixture,” you swallow.
He leans down, tucks his nose into your neck and smiles. “I know.”
“We don’t have time—”
“I’ll be fast. I promise.”
You’re quickly learning that Jake always keeps his promises.
—
Since you’re already at Jake’s, you do spend a little bit of time getting yourself ready. Jake’s bathroom is stunning and you rarely ever get to use it, despite his insistence for you to move in with him. It’s something he has pushed for for a while. “We practically see each other twenty-four-seven. It saves you rent and time.”
However, given the current predicament of your years-long feelings and your need for some separation to hopefully shrink said feelings, you never said yes — and it hurt you to turn down that gorgeous second bedroom he has.
Jake stays out of your way for the most part, which means you slather yourself in the very expensive, very nice floral soap he has for you. It means you’re primping yourself properly with the makeup he had gotten ready for you too, a complete duplicate set of your own (you have no idea how he knows). You’ve got one of his recent podcast episodes playing in the background, mainly for you to have some calming white noise to ease your jitters, and partially for you to vet the interviewers and Jake’s answers. Jake is always professional, always charming, so you’re less concerned about him. It’s the podcast hosts you’re usually worried about.
As you’re dabbing on your concealer, you listen closely to the words.
“So, Jake, you’re usually never out without a girl on your arm, at least for the better part of your career. It’s been a while since the press have spotted you with one. Anyone special you’re hiding?”
His chuckle crackles through the speakers. “No, nobody like that.”
“Oh, come on, what’s your longest relationship to date? Two days?”
Your lips twist in annoyance as you glare at your phone. What a stupid ass question. You make a mental note to write off this podcast for any future conversations.
“Probably fifteen years.” His answer has your hand stopping, face frowning. Fifteen?
“Fifteen?” The host echoes your unsaid question.
“Well, relationship in the loosest sense of the word. My manager’s been with me from the start. She’s the only one who can really keep me on my toes. Only one I would want around for that long.” Your heart flutters traitorously with his words. It’s platonic, of course it is. This episode was recorded months ago.
The host lets out a low whistle. “Oh, wow, is this what I think it means?”
“No, it’s—”
His words are cut off and you look away from the mirror to find Jake standing there, his finger on your phone to pause the podcast. A red tint sprawls across his neck and face. Did he take another hot shower? Sit in his in-house sauna?
“Why are you listening to that?”
“Because I haven’t listened to it?”
“You hate podcasts. You never listen to the ones I do,” Jake argues.
Your brows pinch. “Yes, but I need to start fielding which interviewers you should still go to. With your next album, I want to be prepared. What if I feed you to the dogs again? Remember Arnie from that one annoying radio station?”
“Yes, nightmare. Never again.”
“Exactly.
Jake coughs, “This one was fine. It’s not worth listening to.”
You pause, eyeliner in hand as you look at him. His shifty behavior. His eyes looking at anything and everything but you. “Are you high? Are you on drugs again? Because if I need to hold an intervention again—”
“I’m not! Don’t we have interviews to get to? Hurry it up, let’s go.”
Joel doesn’t say a word when he sees you walk out with Jake, but you note the flicker of surprise. You swallow a wince because this is part of why you were so hesitant about staying. Joel usually picks you up first and then Jake. You had sent him a text earlier today to go straight to Jake’s. Lo and behold, you are the one to come strutting out first.
The day should have been easy breezy. It’s a couple of interviews. One minor one with a small influencer, some event in which he is forced to give away a prize (neither of you were informed of this ahead of time) so Jake had to whip out a pen in his pocket and offer it up. It looks bad. You wince, he notices, so he immediately throws in a dinner on him at the most exclusive restaurant in town.
The second one is for yet another late night show, but it’s got a bigger audience so you’re hoping Jake is on his best behavior. Even if the host can be a bit challenging, oftentimes going off script, he has too large of an audience for Jake to be making snarky comments. You’re already biting your nail on the way there and Jake has to drag your hand away, keeping it in his and giving it a squeeze.
“Trust me, will you?”
“I do. It’s him I don’t trust.”
The lines on his face levels out slightly. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
You breathe a little easier. Jake brings your hand to his lips, brushing them against the back. You may have swooned a little, heart dancing against your ribcage. However, when you look up and catch Joel’s eyes in the rearview mirror, you immediately pull your hand away, pretending to pick at a piece of lint on your dress.
Jake frowns at that, a questioning look on his face as he reaches out again, but you shake your head, gaze flicking towards the front again where Joel has now refocused on the road ahead.
All in all, you were doing just fine until you step backstage and see none other than Bradley. Oh god. Why would he be here? This is a small thing. Nothing you haven’t handled before. Did you mess up scheduling? Was he here to deliver bad news?
It is only when Bradley turns to the two of you with a lazy, pleased grin that you let out an exhale. Bradley gives Jake a firm shake and surprisingly wrangles you into a hug. You blink at him when he pulls away. “You’re a fuckin’ genius. I have to give you my flowers. If Jake doesn’t give you that bonus this year, please allow me to.”
“She’ll get her bonus,” Jake snaps, resentment clouding his tone.
Bradley disregards his snap before you can chide Jake to behave. “They want you on set to test the mic and also do any makeup touchups. I’ll keep your lovely manager company in the meantime.”
Jake looks far from pleased with the idea, glance flying to you in a desperate last attempt. Like a plea for you to come with him. You smile tight, shaking your head. Professional. On set. You’re not some puppy dog non-girlfriend following him around. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you and I’ll be watching your taping.”
With his lips thinned into a stubborn line, Jake does stalk off, guided by one of the stage managers. Bradley spends most of the time letting you know that he’s ready to green light whatever project Jake does next.
“Whatever his heart desires,” he says. Christmas came early this year.
Jake’s performance goes off without a hitch, and then he moves into the interview portion. You’re able to sneak into a corner by the stage right next to Bradley; apparently being the CEO of a major label means he can do whatever he wants.
Jake looks good. Too good. Good enough to eat. The studio lights give his hair that golden glow, his skin looks clean, face refreshed. Then your mind flashes to the scenes from last night. Jake above you, hands pinning down your wrists. His front flush against your back, his cock sliding deep inside you as his palm covers your mouth. Then it’s this morning when he’s on his knees, mouth on your cunt, your leg thrown over his shoulder, and your hands tangled in his wet hair.
Embarrassment sneaks up on you and you can feel your face warm. You press your hands against your cheeks, hoping to cool yourself down. Bradley cocks an eyebrow at you, as if to question if you’re okay. You look even more sheepish as you nod.
What are you doing? Get it together. You’re at work.
When you look up again at Jake, his eyes are trained on you. There’s an unhappy twitch to the way his lips sit that makes you tilt your head in question. However, the interview begins before he can respond.
They start with small chatter about his new song, Jake joking about how he’s a huge Christmas nerd, mostly because he gets to splurge on his nieces and nephews. It plays well with the audience that coos at the most recent picture of Jake with his family back home. You wonder if his mom has called yet. Christmas is so close after all.
Then the interviewer pivots into additional questions, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but still makes you stiffen. “So, this Christmas, you’re known for joining and throwing the wildest parties. Anything exciting planned for this year?”
“No, nothing too out of the ordinary. I’ll probably end up drunk at Paul’s again or something. Don’t let his age fool you, he throws the most insane socials.”
“So no one special you’re spending it with then? No one to cozy up with you by the fireplace? No romantic dinners?”
Your heart skips. His eye twitches. “Christmas is a time for people with someone they love in their lives.”
“And that’s not you?”
He pauses, you hold your breath. “That’s not me. Not right now. So, nobody special for now. Same as always.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame. I know there are many ladies across America who would love to keep you company. Isn’t that right?”
The crowd cheers in response but you can’t hear it past the roaring in your ears.
It shouldn’t be surprising. Just because you’re not aware of anyone Jake has slept with recently doesn’t mean that it isn’t happening. You’re not together all the time. You’re not his type. You’re not… special. Last night was meant to stay a memory. This morning was a fluke.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself to tape together the crack in your heart. Slap a bandaid on for now. You were a fool to even hold onto that minute chance that your feelings would be reciprocated.
But you’re a big girl. You can pick up the pieces and move on. You just can’t make the same mistake twice.
After the segment is done, you’re waiting for Jake backstage with Bradley. You ask him about his holiday plans and, in all honesty, you’re barely listening to his answers. Something about the Bahamas and visiting his godfather. Your eyes are searching the hallway for Jake, impatiently wondering what he’s doing that’s taking him so long.
So then you excuse yourself to find him.
It seems your pattern the past couple of days is to find ways to split your heart in two. When you find Jake, he’s talking to one of the PAs in a corner. He’s laughing — and you know that laugh, it’s a genuine one. She’s looking up at him in awe, a simpering smile on her face. She looks just like his type, like all the girls he has been with before.
This is it, isn’t it? You’re being replaced.
Then again, you were never his to begin with.
Be his manager. That’s who he wants. Who he needs. The one that has been with him for fifteen years. The only one he wants around for a long time.
In the car leaving the studio, Jake seems to be in a much better mood. He’s chipper, almost buzzing with energy as he slides closer to you. His hand settles on your thigh covered by only a flimsy pair of stockings. He leans close, lips grazing your ear. “Come over. Our schedule’s done for the day. We can relax at home.”
Home. His. Not yours.
“Can’t wait to have you again, I’ll bend you over the kitchen counter, maybe press you up against my windows,” he murmurs. His words send heat straight between your legs.
You and your stupid hormones. They go into a frenzy around him. But your heart shatters with the confirmation; all he wants is a body to warm his bed. His apartment. Whatever fucking surface is available. You’re there, you’re convenient.
It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know how you feel. He doesn’t know that his proposition only tears open the gaping wound inside your chest.
Your hand peels his off your thigh and he stares at you, partially astonished. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jake.”
“Oh,” he says, quiet. “We can also just watch a movie. Or if you wanted to go out for dinner, I can get us a reservation at that restaurant you like. The one with the spicy curry. Then we can go home after. I’ll make sure to take care of you again. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’.”
The nickname used to be cute, used to have butterflies floating inside your stomach. Now, you feel uneasy. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch.
It’s a tempting offer, of course, but you need to get a better hold of your self-restraint. “No, I’m pretty tired. I’m going to head home.”
“Right, what—”
“Listen,” you interrupt, breath trembling in your throat, “you’re performing at the ball drop for new year’s this year. I’ve cleared your schedule up until then. Give your parents a call, maybe you can head home to Texas for a bit and see them. They should be back from Italy.”
Jake licks his lips, worried eyes searching your face for something, you’re not sure what. “You could come with me, I think they’d like to see you too.”
“You should go alone. It’s time to be with your loved ones right? Enjoy your time off while you can. I’ll catch you for new year’s, yeah?”
The car pulls up right in front of your apartment building. Your hand grasps the handle but Jake catches you before you can slip out. You turn to face him again. “Hey, what about your Christmas thing with your friends? It’s in a couple of days right?”
Your face feels tight when you smile at him. He notices this, of course he does. “You don’t have to worry about it. I know it’s not your thing, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. You’re free to obviously but I figured you’d prefer to go home and see your family while you can.”
Before he can stop you again, you swing the door open and step out. You offer him one last smile.
“Goodnight, Jake. I’ll see you soon.”
—
The preparation for your Christmas dinner with your friends keeps you busy. It keeps your mind off Jake and that look on his face right before you leave him. It helps you stop yourself from constantly thinking about the way Jake felt between your legs, buried deep in your thighs, especially when he does that thing with his tongue—
“Jesus, you’re burning that shit,” Natasha mutters.
You look down and, sure enough, there lies your brussels sprouts. Rest in peace. “Crap. I don’t know if I have more.”
“A couple of people are bringing vegetables, you’ll be fine. You already prepared more than enough.” She’s not wrong. You have prime rib roasting in the oven with your potatoes and greens. There is already a gorgeous charcuterie board sitting on your table with a wide array of cheeses and meets. In the fridge, you’ve got your own concoction of a Christmas jungle juice (heavily spiked given your state of mind when mixing it). Then there is the roast lamb legs, mashed potatotes, and green bean casserole sitting on your table.
People start trickling in shortly and you find yourself caught up playing host, which works well to keep your head and hands busy.
Another knock on the door has you wiping your hands on your apron, now filthy with all sorts of stains from the various sauces you’ve cooked up. When you swing your door open, you’re more than surprised to find Jake standing there.
“Jake! What— I thought you went back to Texas.”
He squirms a little, nose red from the cold, a few massive boxes in his hands, all labeled Luca’s. “I’m leaving in a couple of days, staying for a few days before I fly back for the new year.”
“Oh, well, uhm, come in,” you gesture him inside, opening the door much wider to help him take a couple of the boxes. “You brought a lot.”
“I wasn’t sure what people liked or the allergies, so I got a wide variety.”
A wide variety indeed. He has pies and cakes and tarts and even some gluten free and vegan options. To say your friends are surprised by his thoughtful gesture is an understatement. They openly gawk at the dessert selection. It warms your heart to see your worlds colliding and for people to see Jake in this light you’ve always perceived him in.
While you fuss around with keeping cups filled, plates full, and people entertained, Jake seems to find his own footing in conversations with your friends. They’re impressed by how down-to-earth he is, some going as far as letting you know that you should bring him around more often. A small smile stays on your lips the entire evening.
Even when you’re not with him, he’s constantly within your line of sight. And you in his. When you look over at him, his eyes immediately shift to you. A question in them, asking if you need something. Anything.
You only shake your head with a smile.
The night goes on for much longer than you expect. Everyone’s tipsy, stumbling around your home with giggles and singing Christmas carols all in different keys. It is only in the wee hours of the morning that the last of them finally spill out into their respective cabs. Despite many of them insisting they could help you clean, you tell them not to worry their pretty little heads and go on home.
Only one doesn’t listen.
“Jake, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to stick everything in the dishwasher.”
“You have so much trash here. Let me at least do that. You hate taking out the trash.”
You do, but you’re also stubborn and you’re a good host and he’s a guest. “It’s fine. I’ll do it. Can you please just—”
But Jake is already drifting around the room, collecting empty and half-filled paper plates and cups to toss into a huge trash bag. He piles up two of them before taking them outside. In the meantime, you cave into his persistence and focus on rinsing off your dishes and stacking them in your dishwasher. The ones you cannot wash, you shove up the sleeves of your sweater and get to work.
The two of you are a well-oiled machine, chipping away at the mess bit by bit until you’re left standing side by side by the sink, rinsing what’s left of your dishes.
“Thanks for staying and helping me clean. You really didn’t have to.”
The end of his lips tug up into a wry smile. “I wanted to. Only way I could get you to talk to me, right?”
You flinch before you can stop it. So maybe you have been avoiding him the last couple of days. It was part intentional (yes, you couldn’t bring yourself to properly talk to him aside from a few emails about work that were urgent for him to screen through) and part accidental (grocery shopping really takes out your energy).
“Sorry,” you mumble, “it’s been hectic with everything going on here.”
“Is that really it? That why you ran away from me that night?”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him, instead focusing on how the suds slide off your hands and down into the sink. It’s now or never. You want to keep working with him. You can’t constantly have this tension looming over your shoulder, chasing you down like a ghost that will never disappear. So you swallow your pride, close off the tap, and turn to him.
“Look, I just wanted to say no hard feelings. We fucked, we can be adults about it. I’m not going to hold you to anything. We can forget about it.”
“Forget about it? What?”
“I know you probably haven’t been with anyone in a while and I was just convenient—”
“Convenient?”
“All I’m trying to say is that I can’t do this. I’m not a one-night stand kind of person.”
“Well, neither am I—” he stops, bites his tongue, “Not anymore. Not for a while now.”
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. The fight or flight instincts kick in again and all you want to do is escape. It’s a loathesome feeling — love. Fear. You’ve never been one to cower in the face of a challenge but this is a long-winded battle you’re tired of fighting. Perhaps the only solution is to wave that white flag.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jake.”
“Tell me what I have to do here. I-I don’t know what’s gonna make you look at me properly. I’m trying— I’ve been trying. I cut out all the bad. I wanted to leave all the good — be good — for you. I’ve been clean, I promise. Just tell me what I need to do to get you to fall in love with me.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart seizes in your chest, almost as if it’s stopped working entirely. Your lungs seem to have malfunctioned, refusing to let you breathe, Let you think. Your brain is going on haywire, each nerve shooting off signals in every direction. Purposeless, frantic.
“What?” You squeak, “Why would you want me to be in love with you?”
An exhausted sigh slides past his lips. “Because you are the fucking love of my life. And to be honest, despite everything, we have had a wonderful life, don’t you think? I want to do better with you. I want you to be proud to have me on your arm. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart and devastatingly perfect. I know I have some ways to go but tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.”
Your brain is still struggling to catch up. The words are there. The meaning is there. It’s clear as day. But that part of your mind that’s listened to you and your greedy desires for so long, all those daydreams about a happily ever after, asks you to doubt. It asks you to question whether you’re really understanding this correctly.
“You’re in love with me?” Your voice is quiet, timid. Like you’re asking a question to the wind that will never answer. Because if it doesn’t answer, you’re still allowed to hope.
Jake shoves his fingers into his hair again, eyes looking at you desperately. Blue melting into green. An emerald lake rippling with a quake. “Darlin’, I was on the phone with my mom earlier today. Talked about you. How good you are to me. She’s known all this time. She told me to get my head out of my goddamn ass and just tell you. That’s fuckin’ terrifying, because I’ve always had you. Even when I had nothing, I had you. And I can’t lose you.”
“But this doesn’t make any sense,” you choke out. “You— you don’t like me?”
“Of course, I fucking like you. I just told you I’m in love with you.”
“No, I mean, you don’t like people who look like me.”
“What are you on about? I don’t think I could’ve been more obvious than last night when I couldn’t even get my dick down when you were scrolling through emails in the middle of the night after we fucked. Was it not obvious?”
“No! You literally do not date nor do you fuck anyone who looks like me. You were even flirting with that girl after your taping!”
“What? What girl?”
“The PA,” you spit out.
“The PA—” it clicks then and he softens, just a little bit. “Darlin’.” The scowl remains on your face. Stubborn.
Then he pulls something out of his pocket. A gift-wrapped box. It’s nothing big. The package is light when he hands it to you.
“Merry early Christmas,” he smiles.
You almost want to snap at him for inappropriate timing. As you begin to delicately unwrap the box, you ready yourself to give him a piece of your mind about time and place. But then you see the name of the designer on the box and your brain stops whirring for a moment. Your trembling fingers flip open the lid.
“I saw that bracelet on that PA. Thought it would be cute, something you’d like. You mentioned wanting an investment piece and she told me people like this one.” Jake picks it up from the box, the delicate chain dangling from his fingers as he wraps it around your wrist. The clasp clicks into place, the gold shining underneath your kitchen lights. “I was just asking her about it. That’s all.”
“You—” You can’t even have it in you to be upset anymore. “You need to work on your timing,” you say weakly. “Also, it still doesn’t explain why you’ve never been with anyone that looks like me. Everyone you date is a complete opposite.”
“Because I’d rather have you or nothing at all. I haven’t— shit, I haven’t been with anyone in years. All those rumors, those pictures of me leaving with those girls — they’re all fake. I left with them but I never went home with any of them. I did it to stay in the public eye, so I could stay successful. So you’d stay with me; god knows you’d be better off with a fucking teenager making stupid pop hits by now. But I’m selfish, I’m so fuckin’ selfish when it comes to you, sweetheart.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead. So tell me, darlin’. Tell me what I have to do because you’ve got my heart at your mercy.”
When the words leave your mouth, they are small — almost private — but they speak volumes. The syllables thunderous given the moment.
“I’ve been in love with you.”
It’s Jake’s turn to freeze. You can practically see the gears turning and shortcircuiting in his mind, crumbling into nothing more than disparate pieces of a failed system. “What? Since when?”
“Forever.”
Jake squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It didn’t seem like I was your type!”
He grits his teeth, revealing his bright blue eyes again. They’re sharp now. Predatory. Fury, desire, adoration all mixed into one. “You’re my type. You. Not anyone who looks like you or acts like you. Only you. All of you.”
“Shit,” you groan.
Jake doesn’t waste a second before he’s on you, hands capturing your face as his lips take yours. His kiss is ravenous, delightful, but most of all affectionate. You can feel the warmth in his touch now. It’s not just physical attraction. But you are two magnets drawn to each other, never meant to separate. He clings to you like syrup, saccahrine sweet on your tongue.
“We’ve been idiots,” he mumbles against you, tugging you towards your bedroom. “Fuck. I’m not wasting any more time. Move in with me.”
“Jake—”
“Darlin’,” he grunts, “tell me what I gotta do to convince you. You just told me you’ve been in love with me for years. Years. We wasted all that time. I’m not letting you out of my sight for another second.”
“You’re insane.”
He flashes you a devious grin. “Insanely in love with you.” You roll your eyes at his cheesiness. Some rockstar he is. He’s all mush. “Now say it.”
You quirk an eyebrow.
“You know what.”
A soft laugh. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”
—
“No, it’s— She’s important to me. She always has been. Through it all, she has been by my side. She stuck by me through everything, all the highs and the lowest of lows.” Jake pauses, takes a deep breath. “I can’t ask her for any more than that. I think I’ve always asked for too much from her.”
“That’s surprisingly sweet of you,” the female co-host adds with awe.
Jake chuckles. “I love that woman more than anything. When the time comes, when I’m finally brave enough to take the leap, maybe I’ll let her know.”
“You don’t think she’ll be listening?”
“Knowing her, she’ll only listen to this when she has time — and she never has time.”
“Speaking of time, when will that time be? When you let her know.”
“Who knows? The holidays have a bit of magic to them, haven’t they? So maybe it won’t be too far away.”
Summary: After finally admitting how he feels, Jake Seresin doesn’t wait another second. Showing up at 2 a.m., he makes it painfully, deliciously clear that he’s done pretending—and that you’re entirely, unmistakably his. What follows is a night of fiery, urgent, and relentless heat, messy passion, and messy laughter, culminating in a morning full of closeness, teasing, and the kind of chaotic domestic bliss only Jake can deliver.
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: Hi guys! it’s been a while, I hope your all doing well. I’m sos sorry it’s so short! but i’m planning on making a universe out of callsign jake just like i did with boyfriend bob! There is also a bradley fic coming out that’s been in my drafts since i posted honor & duty 😭
Warnings: No smut but it does get a bit steamy so 18+
pt 1
The second your door closes behind him, the house goes silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence — the kind that hits you right in the chest, the kind that makes the whole night feel suddenly too real. You’re still leaning against the wood, fingertips touching your lips like you’re afraid the kiss might vanish if you move wrong. Because Jake Seresin kissed you. Not a friendly kiss. Not a “comfort” kiss. A real kiss. A “days, weeks, months of wanting you” kiss.
Your knees finally give, and you let your back slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor in the dark, staring at nothing, pulse hammering.
Outside, you hear car doors slamming.
Oh God.
The squad.
The nosiest, loudest peanut gallery in the history of naval aviation.
You press your ear to the door.
Rooster’s voice: “BRO. BROOOO. DID YOU SEE THAT?!”
Phoenix: “I SAW EVERYTHING. WE NEED TO DEBRIEF IMMEDIATELY.”
Fanboy: “MY CAMERA WAS OFF. I AM A FAILURE.”
Coyote: “Jake’s in shock. Look at him. He’s not blinking.”
A long beat of silence.
Coyote, quieter: “Jake, buddy? You good?”
Jake’s voice, dazed: “…she kissed me back.”
-
Jake looks like he walked into a jet intake. He’s standing on your driveway, one hand still on the steering wheel of his truck even though he’s not inside it anymore, eyes slightly glazed, mouth parted like the kiss short-circuited every functioning neuron he had. Which, in fairness, it probably did.
Rooster slaps him so hard on the back that Jake jolts forward. “SERESIN. HOLY SHIT. YOU FINALLY DID IT.”
Jake doesn’t answer. He’s staring at your front door like you might open it again. Like he’s willing it to happen.
Phoenix leans against the Bronco, arms crossed, smirk lethal. “So what’s next, Romeo?”
Jake blinks. Slowly. “…I don’t know.”
“You don’t—?” Fanboy sputters. “Dude, you told us for weeks you were in love with her.”
“I did not—” Jake starts.
“YES YOU DID,” the entire squad yells.
He runs a hand through his hair — the kind of run-through that means he’s unraveling a little. “I wasn’t supposed to say that part out loud.”
Phoenix snorts. “Jake, you were loud loud.”
Rooster leans in. “So? What’s the plan?”
Jake’s jaw works. You can practically hear his heart from here. “I need—” He swallows. “I need to think.”
“WRONG,” Phoenix says immediately. “You need to communicate.”
Jake gives her the most offended look known to humankind. “I did communicate.”
“By accident,” Coyote says.
“WITH YOUR MOUTH,” Fanboy adds.
“On her mouth,” Rooster says, because he’s extra.
Jake snaps, “Do all of you just want to die tonight?”
Phoenix pats his cheek. “We’re proud of you, Seresin. You finally stopped being an idiot.”
He scowls. “I didn’t—”
“You did,” they all say again.
Jake’s face goes red. Not embarrassed—flushed. Like he’s still thinking about the kiss, replaying it, burning with it. He turns back toward his truck.
“Where are you going?” Rooster calls.
Jake pulls open the door, pauses, mutters, “Home.”
Phoenix cups her hands. “Text her.”
Jake doesn’t look back, but his shoulders tense. “I’m not texting her,” he lies.
-
He texts you the second he’s in his truck.
Jake: You okay?
You type too fast.
You: Yes. Are you?
Pause.
Jake: No.
Jake: I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months
Jake: So no, I’m not okay
Your phone falls out of your hand. Because Jake Seresin doesn’t send texts like that. Or—he didn’t. Until now.
You breathe out and type:
You: Come back
Delete. Rewrite. Delete again. Hate yourself. Finally send:
You: I’m okay, Jake. Really.
Three dots appear. Vanish. Appear again. Stop. Nothing.
Your stomach drops.
-
Meanwhile, Jake is gripping the steering wheel like it insulted his mama. Rooster’s voice echoes: What’s the plan? Phoenix’s: Communicate. Coyote’s: She kissed you back.
Your voice: I’m okay, Jake. Really.
Jake knows he’s lying to himself. He is not okay. He’s vibrating. His pulse hasn’t slowed once since his mouth touched yours. His whole body feels too tight.
He drives home. Paces his kitchen. Stares at the wall. Takes off his jacket. Puts it back on. Checks the time.
2:04 a.m.
Something in him snaps.
“Fuck it.”
He grabs his keys and is out the door before the thought finishes forming.
-
You aren’t expecting the doorbell. Not at 2 a.m. Not after tonight. Not with your hair still damp from the shower you took to calm down.
But when you open the door—
Jake is there.
Breathless. Wild-eyed. Like he drove here with his heart instead of his hands.
And before you can say anything—before you can gasp or think or speak—he steps inside, cups your face, and kisses you.
Not the soft, hesitant kiss from before. Not the careful, testing one. This one is urgent. Hungry. Like he’s been holding himself back for months and the dam finally broke. Like he’s terrified of losing the feeling of you.
You stumble backward, and he follows, kicking the door closed behind him without breaking the kiss. His hands slide to your waist. Yours fist in his shirt. His mouth moves like he’s memorizing you, apologizing for waiting this long, asking a question he already knows the answer to.
When you break for air, Jake’s forehead presses to yours, breath shaking.
“I tried to go home,” he says, voice low and ruined. “I really fuckin’ tried.”
Your fingers curl in his collar. “Jake—”
“No,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. “Sweetheart, I need you to hear me.” His chest rises and falls too fast. “I’ve wanted to kiss you again since the second I walked away. I lasted an hour. An hour, darlin’. I’m pathetic.”
You laugh softly, but he doesn’t. His hand slides down your hip.
“I’m not leaving again unless you ask me to.”
Your pulse spikes.
“What are you doing here?”
Jake’s mouth brushes yours again, a ghost of a kiss.
“Making up for lost time.”
And then he kisses you again—deep, slow, devastating.
This time, it’s different. Urgent. Hungry. All teeth and tongue and need, like he’s been holding back for months and every second of restraint was a lie. His hands move with purpose, sliding along your sides, gripping, testing, claiming. Every brush of his lips, every press of his body, tells you exactly what he’s been thinking — exactly how long he’s been imagining this.
You try to catch your breath. Fail.
“God, you’re insane,” you manage, voice trembling, and he laughs — low, rough, dangerous — against your lips.
“I’m not insane,” he murmurs, nipping at the edge of your mouth, dragging you back against him. “I’m just… done waiting.”
Your fingers clutch at his shirt, tugging, trying to anchor yourself. He hums into the kiss, deep and throaty, like it’s killing him not to hear you moan. His hands roam, possessive, unapologetic, pressing you flush to him, feeling the weight of your reaction under his touch.
“You feel that?” he whispers against your lips, thumb brushing over your hip with a slow, deliberate drag that makes you shiver.
“Yes,” you gasp. “I—”
“Shh,” he interrupts, voice rough and broken, teeth grazing your jaw. “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just feel it.”
His mouth moves lower again, teasing, claiming, dragging fire across every inch he can reach without mercy. You tilt your head, giving him more access, more freedom, because you can’t stop yourself. You don’t want to. The tension, the heat, the sheer, reckless need is too much.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, voice low, rough, almost desperate. “And I swear… I’m not even halfway done.”
He kisses you again, slow and deliberate, letting the taste of you linger on his lips, on your jaw, like he’s memorizing it. His hands press harder now, claiming, holding, testing limits he hasn’t crossed yet but is dangerously close to. Your knees threaten to buckle and he catches you just in time, murmuring your name like it’s a prayer, a warning, a promise.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, mouth against your ear. “Tell me, and I’ll—”
You don’t.
“I knew you’d say that,” he groans, brushing his lips along your neck, voice rough and soaked in need. “God, you’re driving me insane. I’ve imagined this—imagined you—more times than I can count, and none of it prepared me for right now.”
His hands slide lower, along your sides, under your shirt, pressing, holding, testing. His mouth moves back to yours, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, every kiss, every moan, every whisper telling you exactly what he’s thinking. The heat is unbearable, electric, dangerous.
“You’re mine tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, low, commanding, and it makes your heart pound so fast it feels like it might shatter. “I don’t care what you say, where we are, what happens. You’re mine.”
You can barely breathe. Can barely think. Can barely stop yourself from melting completely under him.
“And I swear,” he adds, voice dark and thick with want, “I’m going to make you remember me for a long, long time.”
He kisses you again, deeper, hungrier, pressing his body closer, teeth grazing your shoulder, hands sliding along your back, and everything inside you twists with need.
You gasp. He groans. Every touch, every whisper, every word is loaded, filthy, impossible.
“God,” he mutters, dragging his mouth across your neck again, voice breaking, “you have no idea what you do to me…”
And then he presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving, lips brushing against yours once more, voice low, rough, barely more than a growl:
“I’m going to ruin you tonight.”
And that’s the last thing you hear before the world narrows to heat and breath and him, and everything else ceases to exist.
-
You wake to warmth, too heavy and too familiar to ignore. His arm is draped across your waist like it’s always been meant to be there, pressing you flush against him. You shift slightly, trying not to disturb him—but of course, that only earns a low, satisfied hum against your shoulder.
“Mm,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep and whatever else is still lingering from last night. “Don’t even think about moving.”
You try anyway. He catches you without effort, pulling you back with that same arm, chest pressing you down into him.
“Jake—” you whisper.
“Shh,” he murmurs, teeth grazing your neck just enough to make you shiver. “You’re staying right here. I said so.”
You freeze. He hums against your skin, warm and low and deliberately slow, dragging the words across you like a promise and a warning all at once.
“God,” he mutters, teeth brushing your earlobe. “I could do this forever and not get tired. You have no idea…”
You bite your lip, trying to think of a way to wriggle out. He tightens his grip slightly, pressing you closer.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, low, rough, claiming, every word like it’s a vow and a threat. “Mine, and I’m not letting go. Not now, not ever.”
Your breath hitches.
“You feel that?” he asks, voice husky and broken in all the best ways. “Every inch of me? I’m wrecked over you.”
And then he kisses you again, slow and heavy, that weight behind it making your heart hammer like it might explode. Every brush of lips, every hum, every low whisper against your skin is loaded, filthy, impossible, and you don’t even want to stop him. You don’t even want to think.
Finally, he lifts his head just enough to look at you. His hair’s tousled, eyes dark and slightly hooded, jaw tight. He smirks faintly.
“Wake up like this, and I swear…” he murmurs, voice rough, deep, deliberate. “…I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
You laugh breathlessly, a little terrified, a lot turned on. He grins like he’s won some private, delicious battle, and you know it’s true.
He presses a lingering kiss to your temple, then nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, soft now but still claiming, still dangerous. You sigh, curling into him, realizing that despite the chaos and heat, this — him, you, this tangled, messy warmth — feels exactly like home.
-
Somehow, hours later, you’re both in the kitchen.
Flour is on his cheek. Chocolate chips are suspiciously missing. Pancake batter somehow ended up on the floor. He’s wearing your oversized sweatshirt, sleeves rolled up, hair sticking up in every direction.
“I’ll have you know,” he says seriously, flipping a slightly burnt pancake, “these are professional-grade, and also the fluffiest you’ll ever taste in your life.”
You lean against the counter, arms crossed, smirking. “Professional-grade or not, I feel like I need a fire extinguisher just to eat them.”
He tosses you a flour-dusted smirk. “You mean you feel like you need me to eat them.”
You snort, shoving a chocolate chip at him. He catches it in his mouth without missing a beat.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.
“Funny,” he replies, sliding up behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You like it.”
You laugh, half-exasperated, half-melting. “Don’t push it.”
“Never do,” he says, grinning, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Besides, if I push it, you push back. That’s my favorite part.”
The kitchen is chaos, but it’s soft now. Warm. Full of laughter, little jabs, and the kind of intimacy that doesn’t need words. Pancakes are burnt. Chocolate chips are everywhere. Flour coats the counters. And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize you wouldn’t change a single thing.
Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here
A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader
Word Count: 3.3k+
T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in
Mornings at North Island always started the same way.
Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because that’s what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didn’t spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.
Jake Seresin knew it too.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.
You didn’t turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.
“Hangman,” you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. “Looking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.”
His smirk deepened as he took you in. “It is, actually darlin’. But I manage.”
You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.
“Good thing I’m here to keep you humble,” you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.
Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.
“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasn’t around?” He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.
You arched a brow, lips curling. “Oh, I’d manage.”
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. “Damn shame sweetheart.” This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.
“Seresin, you done harassing my officer?” Maverick’s voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.
Jake straightened slightly but didn’t look away from you. “Just making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.”
You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. “Aw, how sweet of you Jake.” You cooed at him.
Jake hummed, tilting his head. “Sweet’s not usually what they call me, darlin’.”
The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.
“Guess I’m just special then,” you said with an easy grin.
His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.
“Guess you are,” he murmured. His voice softer this time.
And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.
Until last night.
Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.
Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.
Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.
Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.
The cops arrived minutes later but it didn’t matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.
You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.
And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.
And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.
Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.
He tilted his head. “Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, watching for a reaction.
Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadn’t heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.
But then he really looked at you.
Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.
“You sick or somethin’?” Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.
You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. “I’m fine,” you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.
Jake’s stomach twisted. Bullshit. You weren’t fine. He knew fine, and this wasn’t it. But what he didn’t know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall you’d put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there should’ve been fire, there was only silence.
Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.
But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasn’t the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.
Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.
The rest of the day, he didn’t leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.
You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Jake, I—”
“Something’s wrong,” he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. “And I need you to tell me what it is.”
Your breath faltered. You didn’t answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Hey. It’s me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.”
You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. “I—” You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. “Someone broke into my house last night.”
Jake went still.
Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. “I woke up and he was just there. He had a knife… I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off but…” You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. “He ran before the cops got there. They haven’t found him. They won’t find him most likely.”
Jake’s fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.
Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.
“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. “You’re safe now, okay? I promise you, you’re safe.” And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.
You weren’t sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jake’s arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadn’t realized how much you needed it until now. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. “You’re safe. No one’s scaring you again, I swear it.” You knew his words weren’t empty promises, weren’t meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.
Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “You’re not staying at your place alone tonight.” He said with such conviction.
You blinked up at him. “Jake—”
“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlin’.” Your resolve wavered. You should tell him you’ll be fine. That you don’t need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you again…
You swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a guest room,” you murmured. “You can take the guest room.”
Jake’s smirk deepened. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’ll sleep on the porch if you want.” You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.
Jake didn’t waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.
“You know,” you said while crossing your arms, “I could’ve called a locksmith for that.”
He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to prove to you that I’m useful outside the cockpit.” You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.
After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.
So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.
He made you laugh.
You weren’t sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.
“—I swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, she’s behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and I’m dead in the water.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “I bet she lovedthat.”
“Oh, she hasn’t shut up about it since,” Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didn’t even bother hiding the smug look.”
You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.
You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Thanks, Jake.”
His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He should’ve said something. Should’ve teased. Should’ve smirked and drawn out the moment. Should’ve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t the game anymore.
His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.
Your breath caught but you didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.
His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.
Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadn’t boiled over sooner.
Jake’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.
His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me, darlin’.”
And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasn’t sure if this was the first or the last time he’d get to do this. It wasn’t playful. Wasn’t teasing. It was real.
When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.
“Get some sleep sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadn’t made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.
Jake.
You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.
Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like he’d done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but he’d changed into the sweatpants you’d tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.
He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.
At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He held out a mug. “Figured you might need this.”
You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. “Didn’t take you for a domestic type, Seresin,” you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.
Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. “You saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?”
You hummed, taking another sip. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.”
His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. “Not my style, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. “You slept okay?”
The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.
“Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. I slept more than okay.” Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.
Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. “Good. ‘Cause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?”
You blinked. “You’re making breakfast too?”
Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, darlin’, you think I’m lettin’ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but you’re really bad at getting rid of me.”
You scoffed while shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”
“Charming,” he corrected, winking.
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, “Pancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.”
He gave you that devilish grin, “Noted darlin’.”
And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.
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Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Nine) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST
Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.
Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post
WC: 13k / navigation / inbox / summer of series
A/N: the longest chapter yet!! i can't believe i ever finished this behemoth. i wrote most of this in a dazed frenzy which i think is exactly how i should have written it because that's exactly how they're feeling in the story. this one's juicyyyy >:))) i can't wait to hear what you think! and the next chapter is the one you've alllll been waiting for ;)
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
You’re really starting to wish you’d packed for functionality and not attractiveness on this cruise. The bikini you’re sporting today had become irrevocably tangled in your beach bag, and now presents you with a challenge: untangle it here, in the grimy public restroom just off the beach, or snorkel in your lingerie.
“Are you alright in there?” Jake shouts through the door, and you envy the way he’d worn his swim trunks as shorts. This bathing suit is nice for catching eyes, but really wouldn’t offer you any support to wear as an outfit.
“My suit’s tangled,” You call back, the ocean air nipping at your chest and perking your nipples as you struggle with the ties. You quickly realize that you’re going to lose this fight, and eye your lacy lingerie where it hangs on the door. You could redress yourself, struggle through a push-up bra and a romper, give up the bathroom, and beg Jake for help. Or…
“Jake?” You shout, undoing the lock and quickly clasping your hands over your bare breasts, “Come in here?”
He does, and most definitely doesn’t expect you to be standing there nearly naked. Your bikini bottoms are on, but nothing else is, and he has violent deja vu to just yesterday when he’d had to either puzzle out your bikini’s straps or flash your tits to the world.
“It’s tangled,” Your eyes jerk towards the suit on the counter, and Jake is quick to shut himself into the bathroom with you, locking the two of you inside. It doesn’t feel predatory at all- it feels safe. He knows you’ve trusted him to see you like this, and he’ll make sure no one else does.
“I’ll get it,” He hums, tearing his eyes away from your frame as you stand there, clutching at your chest, “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d let me see you anywhere close to naked.”
“I needed help,” You admit reluctantly, but you notice the way he keeps his gaze strictly on the bathing suit, miles away from the way he’d have eyed you up mere days ago. There’s something about the expression you find in his eyes that makes you think. You watch him, and you see the way his eyelashes flutter slightly, his attention solely on the mess in his hands and not your naked flesh mere inches away from him. You’ve asked him for help and he’s giving it to you, even if there’s other things he could be doing. Other things that he would be doing, if he were his old self.
You’ve been really, truly struggling to maintain your conviction that nothing has changed within him. Repeating it over and over again has only gotten you a headache. It only makes you seem childish and stubborn. But now, in this light, you understand, and really believe this time, that you’ve been right all along. You’ve just been looking at it wrong. The Jake you know is the Jake he wants you to know, and this one is what he keeps locked away for when it matters most. But this is the real one, and this- you… matter to him. The most.
Maybe this is who he’s always been, and yesterday in the pool wasn’t an outlier, maybe he hadn’t been replaced by an imposter at all. Maybe this is just Jake. This is him- he’s sweet, determined, and caring, but only if he wants you to see him like that. Only if you won’t use it against him, and even if he’d started your feud all those years ago on the tarmac, you’d fired back at him, and he’d closed himself off for fear of being wounded.
You realize all at once that you and Jake are the same. You’re both trying to win, you’re both trying to survive. You’re trying to stay wary about this, trying to keep your armor on but it’s damn near impossible now that Jake is letting you strip his down. He’s letting you peel back the layers of his own defenses, you’ve stripped him of his cocky persona and now you’ve got him behaving even if you’re near-naked.
It’s now that you can really see him as a person, not the machine he pretends to be. He does everything in his power to take his own humanity away, and even if he’d proved himself caring once, long ago, he’d fallen right back into old habits. And you’d let him- you’d known somewhere in the back of your mind that he was capable of being a good man but you’d let him disguise himself again, and you’d let him goad you into taking more stabs at him. He’d drawn you back into your war, and you’d let him fight you because he’d let you fight him back. He does a good job at convincing people that nothing touches him, but standing here with him, seeing the humanity in the way he shifts on his feet, noticing his tongue peeking out from between his lips you remember that he pushes himself to appear so untouchable because he doesn’t trust anyone to see him otherwise.
You understand that, and even if your fear manifests itself in different ways, you can’t deny that you and Jake are one and the same. You’re both flowers, tightly coiled centers surrounded by layers and layers of petals that you’re plucking off one by one. Each dig, each glance, each silence takes one away, he loves me, she loves me not, and you wonder who will peel away each petal first. And once you do, once someone reaches the vulnerable little bundle protected at the center, will you wilt? Or will you bloom again together?
“Jesus, could they make these things any more confusing?” Jake asks, breaking your epiphanic silence by unwittingly untangling the final straps, “How are you supposed to get this on?”
It’s said in his old voice, with his old cynicism, but you see him the way he really is. You see his frustration, you see his vulnerability, you see Jake.
“Wait-” You stop him as you see the top take shape, your fingers still pressed into your chest, “That’s how it goes! Leave it, you got it.”
“This?” Jake’s face scrunches into a grimace, looking at the fabric in his fingers, “This is how it goes?”
“Hold it like you’d put it on a hanger,” You instruct, your own hands occupied, “The straps are supposed to cross each other in the back, so just let them hang over one another like- that.”
The suit falls perfectly into place, and he quickly realizes you’ll have to let go of your breasts to slip it over your head.
“Okay. Uh- where do you want it?”
“If you let go it’ll get tangled again,” You frown, looking at his thick fingers holding up the suit, “Just- close your eyes?”
They flutter shut without any further prompting on your end. Jake’s fingers are still extended, your suit hanging off of them, and you wait a mere two seconds to make sure he doesn’t open his eyes again before releasing your grip. That’s all you need- you know he won’t look.
It’s cold, briefly, but to Jake’s credit, he doesn’t bat an eyelash while you’re changing. It’s a test, even if he doesn’t know it is, but he passes because you knew he’d pass from the second you’d offered it. He feels you pluck the suit out of his hands but he doesn’t budge, and when you’ve got the top situated correctly on your shoulders you heave a sigh of relief. He looks nice like this, not cocky, not brash, just nice, his brown lashes resting delicately over his cheeks and his mouth pinched slightly where he’s biting the inside of his cheek. You run your eyes over his tranquil face, his caramel-tanned skin and his square facial structure that looks sturdy and handsome. You study his nose, his eyebrows, his ears, all under the guise of adjusting your bathing suit. You study him, for clues, for answers, for red flags but you find nothing, only crow’s feet and laugh lines. He looks like a man you could very much fall in love with, and that realization makes you step back, something nervous and afraid simmering in your gut. If you keep thinking of Jake as a person instead of the dick you’ve been arguing with for years, you’re going to fall in love with him.
“Open.” You demand anxiously, and when his lashes part, his irises meet your eyes, not your chest.
“You really need to get some clothes that aren’t just dental floss tied together.” Jake informs you, and your trance shatters, prompting you to lunge forwards to shove at his gut. It’s familiar, but it’s not mean, it’s the push of friends teasing friends, not an attack launched on enemy forces. It’s something that draws upon your constant bantering but doesn’t sting like it, something old made new by the way you duck your chin to your chest to cover your grin. He covers himself between the legs on instinct, but because you’ve shoved Jake and not Hangman, for once you’ve chosen to attack his vulnerable belly instead of what comes beneath it.
“Ah! I mean it,” He almost wheezes, his breath caught short in his chest from your brutality, “This is the second time I’ve had to untangle your outfits for you. Not to mention the way your bathing suit decided to float away yesterday because there’s only one string tying the thing together.”
“I thought I was gonna get fucked on this cruise,” You remind him, “I was supposed to look incredibly sexy.”
“Well, you do.” Jake admits, and that’s what it is- an admission. Not a tease, not a jab, just an observation. One that isn’t accompanied with a grating smirk but a softness in his eyes and a neutral expression. You wet your own lips cautiously, the change in his tone striking your chest like an axe and giving another hefty cleave to the walls surrounding that chasm in your chest, the one you’ve been ignoring since nearly kissing Jake last night. The space full of ‘what-ifs’ and romantic violin music that blinds you to the danger of letting Jake in- The danger of falling in love with him.
Everything, every difference you notice, every comment from Danica presses the wedge further and further into your psyche and you’re certain it’ll split soon if you’re not careful.
Will it be worth it to let Jake tear the two halves apart? Will you have to piece the splintered fragments back together later?
“You have to promise me you won’t go braindead like this in the water.” Jake frowns at your distant expression, your eyes lingering on one of his feet as you chew against the inside of your cheek, “It’s gonna be really hard for me to cover this whole fiasco up if you drown out here, and I’m the one investigated for it.”
Right, fiasco. That’s what this is, it’s one big mess with no way out. It’s almost-kisses, it’s dragging Jake away from a vendor’s booth where he’d been acting as your guard dog, it’s dreaming about a man with Jake’s face who was meant to be someone else, it’s knowing that you’re on the precipice of something you can’t crawl back out of if you fall. You shake off your cryptic thoughts and start towards the door of the bathroom, murmuring a near-silent apology to the person waiting for their turn just outside.
You don’t wait around to see if they send you a look of distaste for having been in there together.
You’d envisioned something a little more opulent for a snorkeling excursion, but what you’re led to is a short expanse of beach with a ‘no diving’ sign planted in the sand. You cast Jake a wary glance as he wades into the water, feet, ankles, and thighs quickly being submerged as he shuffles through the sand so as not to startle any possible sealife lingering in the shallows.
“Water’s nice,” He hums, and once he’s standing where the gentle waves lap across his broad chest he offers you a hand, “Come on in, darlin’, I’ll make sure you don’t step on anything.”
True to his word, your feet sink into sand, and you don’t feel any fins trapped beneath them.
“They probably stay away from the shore,” You muse, almost nervous as you wait to see something darting around in the crystal-clear water beneath you. You hike your snorkel mask onto your nose and Jake very kindly doesn’t mention how silly it must look, grappling with his own as he tries getting it to cover his nose without squishing it.
Logically, you’re sure a killer turtle isn’t going to spring from the depths of the sea and nibble at your achilles heel. But you’re expecting to see animals, and the stillness of the water beyond the gently lapping waves is unnerving. You realize with a start that you’re still clutching the hand Jake had helped you in with, and when you drop it the water rushes against your skin with a chill the rest of your body has already adapted to.
Your phones hang awkwardly against your chest, wrapped in a water-tight bag that the company had lent to you. You hope they work, because you’re intent on getting pictures of some of the sealife without ruining your phone.
“Let’s swim out that way,” Jake suggests, towards a deeper portion of the sea, opposite from the boat you’d sailed in on, “Maybe we’ll find something worth looking at.”
“Lead the way,” You sink lower into the water so that you’re up to your neck, fitting the mouthpiece in front of your teeth.
Tilting yourself forwards and planting your face in the water offers you a view like no other. Even if the waters are free from critters, the sand shimmers beneath the sunlight that filters through the waves, and the water is so delectably blue that it looks dyed that way. It’s all things tropical, and you find yourself staring wide-eyed at nothing but sand and buried shells.
You almost forget Jake is there too, but then one of his abnormally large feet drifts into your field of vision and you shove it away. He falters where he’d been trying to float on his belly, nearly dunking the end of his mouthpiece into the water and rendering it useless.
He’s wise enough not to start an all-out splash war in what’s meant to be a tranquil zone, but you’re sure he’ll chuck you into rowdier waters later.
For now, he drifts to the left, and lets you gain speed on him, your head now aligned with his own.
Your first animal sighting comes in the form of a tiny fish- you hadn’t read through the brochure on the local wildlife, but you’d say it’s about the size of a minnow. It darts beneath you, shadowed by your body until it swims beneath Jake instead. He points at it, like perhaps you’ve missed the only moving thing you’ve seen so far besides him, and turning your face to look at him gets you a glimpse of his grin around the mouthpiece.
You find out quickly that the little fish travel in schools, because another one flits by, then another, and soon the ocean floor is nearly obscured as what you’re certain is the entire population of that fish in the sea blanket the sand.
This, you’ll test out your waterproof phone pouch for. You’re able to pull up your camera with only minor difficulties, the thick-walled plastic pouch keeping your phone dry even if you can touch the screen through it. You snap at least a dozen photos of the tiny fish, even getting a shot of one that grows curious and darts upwards to see what your phone is. You’re sure all you’d managed to capture is his eye, but it makes you laugh and you wonder if it’s an odd sound above water where you’re sure it’s coming from your snorkel’s mouthpiece.
Jake hears it, though you’re sure it’s muffled for him, and he takes your phone where it’s hanging around your neck, angling it towards you as the small fish investigates your hand and fingers. You draw it up towards your face, the glee on your face restrained only by the fit of the mouthpiece in front of your teeth. You let the little fish flit between your fingers and brush the end of his tailfin against your palm once, then watch as he darts away to rejoin his friends.
Your grin must be infectious, because there’s a matching one on Jake’s face as he films you. You’re not sure whether he’s been taking pictures or videos, but you’re careful not to get his face in frame as you take your phone back.
The more you drift away from the dock, the more sea life you encounter. It’s admittedly funny to watch Jake nearly scream when a turtle drifts beneath you out of nowhere, but you manage to get a shot of it that isn’t blurry from your shoulders shaking.
You also manage to get a shot of the bird that Jake flips you beneath the water as a direct response to your laughter, and you decide to keep it even if it’s of him. His face isn’t really in it, and it’s funny, and it’s something you can save as your own personal memento of the trip even if you don’t show it off to anyone. You let your phone drift back down towards your chest on the lanyard, the camera still open for easy access.
This makes it all-too-easy to snap a picture of an angelfish that glides through the water, and you point ecstatically at it while Jake slows himself before he startles the poor creature. You watch as it flits through the water, inspecting the terrain this way and that, failing to realize or care that there’s two gargantuan people floating above it. It drapes itself in your shadows, and you must take at least a million photos of it before it eventually darts away.
You brace a foot on the sand after it's out of sight, finally coming up for air that isn’t through a plastic tube.
You spit the mouthpiece out and breathe like you’ve been deprived of it, but your grin gives away that you’re merely excited.
“That was so cool!” You gush, and Jake smears his wet hair up and off of his forehead, similarly out of breath.
“That was a pretty one.” He agrees, his voice slightly nasally from the way the snorkel mask fits him, “‘Really thought that turtle was gonna kill us, or something.”
“Turtles aren’t murderous,” You scoff, bracing your hands on your hips in the shallow water, barely fifty feet from the shore, “I got a few good pictures of him, but I think you were in some of them.”
“I should be taking some too,” He glances down at his own phone hanging from his neck, “But you beat me to the good ones every time.”
“I can send you mine,” You offer, “It’s not like I don’t have your number.”
“You act like you don’t. You barely ever use it,” Jake grumbles, “Unless you forgot something in my car.”
“I don’t always have much to say to you.” You blurt without thinking, and the way it tangibly brings down the mood surprises you- it’s a stark difference, something that makes Jake’s shoulders deflate slightly as he stands dripping water from his fingertips.
“-that isn’t- y’know, mean.” You finish, though it doesn’t heal the wounds you’ve reopened. The ones that are just starting to heal, the ones that had barely clotted and now bleed again.
It does, though, make Jake’s lips twist thoughtfully, one corner lifting as he bites the other, “Right. Well, now you have turtle pictures.” He shifts his feet in the sand, glancing sharply towards his ankle when a bold fish brushes against it, “Back in?”
“Back in,” You agree, easing onto your belly in the water so as not to startle any timid critters.
You spot fish of all sizes, shapes, and colors, some pretty and some that you don’t take photos of. You’d only booked an hour of snorkeling but you’re fairly certain you’re over that limit now, and you’re half expecting to be wrenched out of the water by your mouthpieces. You are grabbed by the hand, but after you startle you realize it’s only Jake. You turn away from the seashells you’re peering at, beautiful dusty pinks and peaches half-obscured by the sand, and glance at where he’s pointing.
It’s a stingray.
Jake drags you closer by your hand, keeping away from the business end of the animal while admiring its fluid movements. Every twitch of its body is graceful, and you try to emulate it as you stay perfectly still, your hand interlocked with Jake’s.
The stingray isn’t in a hurry to leave. It’s drifting along the seafloor, but so slowly that you and Jake manage to follow it without creating ripples that chase it off. You manage to gain the lead over Jake, and you carefully reach for your phone to take photos of the ray before it decides it has better things to do.
You don’t realize you’ve done it, but you’re using your free hand to hold your phone, and your opposite stays snugly nestled against Jake’s own. He notices, though, and that’s what he takes a photo of. He hasn’t felt the need to capture the sea life swimming around you, not when you’ll send him your own photos. He’ll let you be the trip’s photographer, but this- this he has to have. The way your hair drifts through the water, each strand separated and swaying with the gently lapping waves. You’d had it in a ponytail earlier but you’d wrenched it out the second the water had weighed it down, and now the rubber band rests on your wrist. The way your interest and curiosity shines through the clunky snorkel mask, your eyes wide and inquisitive, your teeth pinching against the mouthpiece in a grin. The way you’re floating there, suspended in time, clutching his hand- that’s the photo he deems worthy of capturing.
You don’t notice that he’s snapped a picture of you, which Jake thinks is best, for now. You’re coming around- he knows you are, he knows it simply in the way you’re still holding his hand, your fingers curled around the back of his own. Three days ago you’d have drowned rather than take his hand, and now you’re floating together, fingers interlocked.
But still, it might be better for now if you don’t know you’re the only thing Jake’s cared enough to photograph on this entire trip.
You make the mistake of resurfacing after the ray swims into deeper waters, and you’re waved back to shore by the employees who had fitted you with your masks. Perhaps you’d have been able to evade suspicion for longer, and gotten a few more free minutes of snorkeling, but you give in, and you and Jake traipse slowly through the sludgy sand back to dry land.
Your belongings had stayed safe and dry in lockers you’d rented from the facility, but you realize as you’re tucked away in the bathroom again that you hadn’t accounted for what you’d do with your hair. The ponytail was supposed to be your failsafe, but your hairbrush is back on the ship, and now that it’s been flowing freely through the water you know it’ll be impossible to wrangle your hair into something that looks nice without a brush. It’s grown longer in recent months because you’ve been too lazy to cut it, and admittedly it does make the regulation bun easier now that you’ve got more to work with. But more length means more hassle now that it’s wet and stringy, perpetually wetting the back of your neck and seeping through your shirt.
You’d swapped out your bathing suit for your lingerie, letting the wet fabric sit in the bottom of your beach bag. You resolve to just let your hair air-dry, but you attempt to detangle it with your fingers so that it doesn’t mat. It’s what Jake catches you doing when he finds you outside the men’s bathroom waiting for him, and he winces in time with you as you hit a particularly tight knot in one of the strands.
“You need a hairbrush?” He asks, and you know he doesn’t have one, so you shake your head.
“I’ve got it.” You grumble, “I forgot to pack one.”
You manage to separate the knot, but it has a twin on the opposite side of your head. You’ve no sooner freed one strand than caught another, and you groan as your arms begin to ache from holding them to your head for so long.
“Easy, Hercules,” Jake grabs your hands, tugging them out of your hair, “You tryin’ to rip it out?”
“Jake, I know how to brush my own hair.” You stare exasperatedly at him from beneath your lashes, pulling your hands from his grip, “Just- grab my hairtie from my bag?”
You let him wrestle one of the straps down your arm, and he fishes around inside for the ponytail. Once he’s grabbed it you try to take it from him, but he rears backwards, holding it over his head.
“No, I want to do it.”
“Jake,” You huff, but he won’t even let you finish.
“No. You’re being too rough with it.” He insists, pointing to a bench beside a cluster of palm trees, “Sit down there, and let me braid your hair.”
“Braid? You know how to braid?” You ask, and he nods firmly.
“Remember, I got about a thousand tiny little nieces,” Jake explains, “The longest hair you’ve ever seen. In the summers it gets real hard to handle, so they always wanted me to braid it for ‘em before they went swimming or riding horses.”
“That’s- cute.” You have to admit, and you realize you’ve been disarmed, drifting over towards the bench that Jake directed you towards, “Fine. Just- be quick, please? I don’t want to waste our time here.”
Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.
“I’ll be fast.” He promises, and his fingers get to work right away on your tangled tresses.
His hands are exceptionally gentle. And skilled, too, as he undoes knots in your hair with precise tugs that don’t rip any strands out of your scalp. You’re surprised, really, that you’d let him have free reign of your head because you’d never trust him not to break out a pair of scissors and butcher your hairdo. But that’s because three days ago he was your enemy, and now you’re realizing he’s just as vulnerable as you are. That was old Jake, and new Jake separates your hair into three sections and gets to plaiting before you even realize he’s managed to undo the tangles.
“M'kay,” He pinches the bottom of the braid, tucking a strand tighter behind your ear, “Give me back the ponytail.”
You offer your wrist without thinking, and your other hand hastily reaches to meet it mid-air, but Jake’s gets there first. You feel his rough-tipped fingers scrape delicately at your skin, pinpricks of contact that make your free hand freeze where it hovers uselessly. It’s like each spot he touches fashions a pressure point, and all five combine to short-circuit your brain.
It’s why you’re silent as Jake slips the rubber band off of your wrist, circles it four times around the end of your braid, and then places- not drops, places it against your back.
With care. With intention. With thought.
“There,” He hums, and you’re discovering now that there’s a third type of silence you find yourself caught in with Jake. First had been tense- the prayer that his grating voice wouldn’t be heard, the hope that you could flee before he figured out his next jab. Then there was comfortable, when you’d finally calmed down enough to remember that you’d make it out alive. But now you’re not so sure about that for entirely different reasons- you’d nearly kissed- on purpose ! - and Danica seems to be haunting your every waking moment with how frequently you think about her convictions.
Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.
You’re not sure what to call this kind. Awkward, maybe, but the tense ones had been awkward, too. These are softer, not comfortable, but something… hopeful. Tentatively so, like keeping an ear out for the mailman but waiting until he’s gone to venture outside. You’re nervous, intensely so. Your stomach pulses with energy like it’s being lit up, and your limbs feel like they’re submerged in thick, sticky molasses when you try to speak or move forwards from the silence. But you’re excited, too, maybe just a little bit, even if you’re never going to tell Jake.
You’re excited- maybe, because you’d thought changing meant you and Jake up until now. You thought change meant Jake was going to transform into a gentleman, and you were going to have to become his prize. But what’s changing is your bad habits, the way you both shield yourselves from being known. Now it clicks: you’re not becoming new people, you’re finally letting the people you really are see the light of day. That makes you more confident, in both yourself and Jake, because you hadn’t wanted to change to love him, and you hadn’t wanted him to change to love you. But that’s not what has to happen- you’re not losing the parts of yourselves that you like, you’re losing the ones that keep those hidden away, the walls you throw up to hide the glittering city behind them. It’s your behavior that’s changing, not your essence, and maybe if you’re having trouble drifting with this tide, Jake will take your hand and pull you along with him to look at wayward stingrays.
“Braided your hair so good I put you to sleep,” Jake teases, but it’s not a malicious tone he uses. You’re far too accustomed to that one, you’d know it from a mile away. No, this one’s sweeter, almost endeared- and that’s nudging you further and further towards that leap of faith you’ve finally come to terms with but aren’t quite ready to take yet, so you stand and nearly tip forwards in your hurry.
“Let’s go-” You urge, heading down the street without looking back at him, “Let’s- we can find a snack or I can finally get a hat or we can get-”
“Massages.” Jake interrupts, his voice stopped dead a few feet back, “We can get massages.”
You turn on your heel, finding yourself faced off with him in front of an open massage parlor. Your stances read like a wild west shootout, and you wonder what’s engraved on the pistols Jake’s come holstered with.
Wit and deviancy, of course, as he turns towards the signage outside, the grin that blooms on his face something akin to the enemy of whoville.
Mud Spa 20 Minutes - $25
Massage 1 Hour - $75
Massage + Mud Spa - $90
Couple’s Massage + Mud Spa - $150
He strides in before you can stop him, and you’ve barely stepped through the doors before he’s slapping his card onto the reception desk, “One couple’s massage and mud spa, please. How long do we get?”
“Twenty minutes in the spa,” The woman at the counter is already swiping his card, giving you no time to protest, “And couples get an extra thirty minutes of massage treatments.”
Jake reholsters his smoking guns with a devilish grin towards you.
You’d been so focused on Jake and his antics that you’d missed the employees behind you, standing on either side of the entryway and moving to action the second your payment is processed. They each grab bathrobes and come up behind you, one heading towards Jake and the other slinging the robe around your shoulders.
“Go change,” They point you both towards a room with nothing but the number three on it, and you wonder if there are two other actual couples in here that you’ll have to put up with. You’ll have a hard enough time wrangling Jake in here, and you’re not even together. You can’t imagine staying civil with someone you really wanted to go wild with.
“Speedy service,” Jake notes as the door clicks shut behind you, leaving you stranded in a large space, decorated as opulently as possible while leaving the open floor space occupied only by two massage chairs.
There’s dried flowers on the walls, numerous babbling fountains lining the walls and brown wooden accents that make the space feel relaxing like a deep breath. It’s calming to be there, as is the floral scent that floats through the air, taking up so much of your airways that there’s little room for pure oxygen.
Calming, of course, until you remember you’re meant to be stripping.
To Jake’s credit, he hadn’t looked earlier. But you’d asked him not to, and now he’s shimmying out of his wet swim trunks, the soaked fabric clinging to his skin. You don’t get to finish your thought because he perks up, ears nearly straightening like a dog’s, as he cranes his neck to look at you despite being bent in half.
“Sorry, I forgot about our agreement earlier.”
At first, you think he’s going to turn around, and let you have your peace. But perhaps New Jake isn’t fully formed yet, because he blinks at you, faux-innocent, “Do you want to see my penis?”
There’s a million things you want to say to him. And you’re formulating all of them, your hands fumbling with the straps of your romper, trying to separate them from your bra. But evidently your brain is taking too long, because your mouth decides it’s got this one, and your own traitorous voice comes from your own traitorous lips, “Do you want to see my tits?”
Out of the million things you wanted to say to him, that wasn’t even one of them. That wasn’t anywhere near one of them, and hearing it come from your mouth makes your spine straighten like a rigid lightning bolt had pricked at each disc. But you think about taking it back, about griping at him for being so pushy and you realize that perhaps you’re starting to… enjoy this. Maybe you’re offering now because he’d listened earlier when you’d told him to shut his eyes. You’re not giving in, you’re not letting him have you, you’re not tarnishing your reputation but since you’ve both been fighting to kill for your entire lives, maybe you’re going to torment him the same way he keeps trying to torment you. And maybe it’s not torment at all, maybe this is the way Jake is, and this is how you meet him in the middle. You’re giving him a chance, being open to changing your own behavior if he’s going to break his back trying to fit himself against your edge.
If he’s going to play your game, you’ll play his.
His brows raise, intrigued, “Not two hours ago I closed my eyes so you could take ‘em out.”
“And that was kind of you.” You hum, slipping the straps of your romper off of your shoulders, “And I like kind, Jake. Kind is why Daniel got to kiss me.”
His eyes flash with something dangerous, a glint you assume you’d see in a bull staring down a red cape. He finishes stuffing his swim trunks down his thighs, standing up straight and unabashedly showing off his cock that you’re still too proud to openly stare at, “Yeah? That’s how he won you over?”
“Yeah.” You nod, teasing him with merely the tips of each bra cup as you shimmy out of your romper, “Well- that and the beard. You notice it’s lighter around the mouth?”
Jake rolls his eyes, cocking his weight onto one hip. You don’t dare look, but you know it makes his cock swing slightly where it’s hanging between his legs.
“Yeah, I saw that.” Jake notes, “I eat too, y’know.”
Daniel, at this point, feels like a distant memory. But he’s fresh enough in Jake’s mind to do some damage, and you can tell his name riled Jake up like a coiled spring.
You wind it tighter, finally shucking your romper off of your torso and letting it fall in a heap at your feet.
Apparently, Jake thinks you’re as stunning in your lingerie as you’d thought just this morning. His eyes flicker downwards, but before they can go too far they glance up at your face, his jaw tightening.
“You really want this?” He asks, something sobering in his tone despite the hormones you’d both ridden up to this moment.
“No touching,” You scoff, “Just- you can look. This time, you can look. Because you were nice enough not to last time. Because you’re nice, Jake.”
That’s all you want, really. All you want is to know you’ll be safe with Jake. You know that on a basic level, you wouldn’t be injured or belittled around him. For all he belittles you himself, if anyone else tried, he’d end it quicker than it could begin. And there was the night you were blackout drunk- you knew you’d be safe then. He wouldn’t have taken advantage of you, and he never will. You’ve known for a while that somewhere, on some deep, basic level, Jake is a good man. But now that he’s acting the part, you can make sure he stays that way.
As soon as you let him, his eyes drop. He rakes them down your body, and you watch them pick up every detail on your lacy underthings. They flicker like flames, licking up the curves and contours of your near-naked frame until he remembers he doesn’t have anything on himself.
“Get after it,” He grunts, his voice an octave huskier than the last time he’d spoken, “Take your own look.”
It’s- big.
It’s really, truly big, which you won’t tell him, because it might flip whatever switch had been disabled somewhere along your voyage and bring back egomaniac Jake. He’s tan all over, but there’s a slightly paler portion where a different pair of shorts have cut his bare skin from the golden-brown patches. You note that the tan lines look a lot like briefs, and you wonder if Jake lays out in the sun in his tighty-whities. Before you can laugh at the image your eyes catch back on his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs. He’s got hair above it, a trimmed patch that isn’t unruly but isn’t clean either. It’s somewhere in between, something musky you can bury your nose in- you won’t be doing that, but hypothetically, though, you could. This is just looking, this is just gratuitous staring, but seeing the length, the thickness and the tapered, rounded head and imagining what it might do to you- it brings heat to your core that you squirm at, shifting your weight to just one leg.
“You gonna take ‘em off, darlin’?” He asks, nodding at your lingerie. You see where his eyes are pointed, straight between your legs where the pad of your underwear gets swallowed by the pillowy flesh of your thighs.
“No,” You smirk, “Not for you.”
“What- why the hell am I naked?” He asks, reaching for the robe. You try to ignore the way his cock swings, thick and hefty.
“You just stripped,” You shrug, fastening your robe around your lingerie, “I didn’t ask to see your penis, if you recall.”
“I was promised tits,” He counters, eyes rolling skywards, “Does your word mean nothing?”
Actually, he’s right. You had offered, even if the words that had come from your mouth were from some other part of you you’d never set free before. So you sigh, unfastening the robe’s tie just as soon as you’ve cinched it, “Fine, I’ll take it off.”
“Really?” Jake asks, too enthusiastic, his head snapping in your direction, but he calms himself, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“I know.” You nod, reaching behind your back for the clip of your bra, “That’s why I’m going to.”
The pressure around your chest relaxes, and the fabric falls to your feet. You have to dip your arms forwards, but the movement doesn’t cheapen the experience for Jake, not with the way his eyes dart towards your now-bare chest, widening and dancing with the flames you’d seen earlier.
It’s a maddening experience, teasing someone.
Especially teasing someone like Jake, someone who makes himself seem untouchable, someone who’s teased you for your entire career. Here, now, as your lacy bra hits the floor, he’s completely at your mercy.
He stares blatantly at the swell of your breasts, and doesn’t seem to mind at all that they’re not pushed together anymore. They sit lower on your torso now without the bra holding them together and boosting them up but he seems just as entranced as when he’d seen them pinched together beneath your chin. He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he clears saliva that had pooled beneath his tongue. You watch him watch you, and he inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw squared and shifting.
He lets out a low whistle, taking a half-step forwards that makes you tense where you stand. He notices, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture, “I know, I know. No touching. Are you gonna take the bottoms off too, darlin’?”
“I only said tits,” You remind him, a note of devilish glee in your voice, “Turn around, Hangman.”
He does, and you allow yourself one moment of ogling his ass before you drop your panties and fit yourself into your robe. He’s- firm, the skin a shade lighter than his back and thighs, and you wonder if he’s always been this nice to look at from behind, or if you’ve just never noticed through his uniform.
When you’re robed, you call him to turn again, and he takes his sweet time putting his robe on, leaving his dick on display for as long as possible. Maybe you look, and maybe he notices. Maybe.
You make good time, because as soon as he’s cinching his robe shut the attendants walk back in. They knock, but don’t wait long before barging inside the room, and you’re grateful you’d managed to tuck your clothes into a neat pile instead of leaving them strewn about the floor.
“We’ll be showing you to our mud spa first,” The attendant nearest you explains, “It’ll loosen and relax your muscles for the massage later. We’ll go down the hall, come with me.”
You follow single-file after the woman, glancing around at the neatly-decorated massage parlor. It’s elegant and cozy all at once, and the warmly-lit room they lead you into hosts a large tub of mud that you presume you’ll be stripping before entering.
The attendants confirm your hypothesis, “Please derobe, and you’ll soak in the mud for about twenty minutes. After you’re out, you’ll shower over there,” She points to a row of shower stalls, “And we’ll head back over for your massages.”
“Thank you,” You hum gratefully, and Jake echoes your sentiment, eyeing the mud bath with wary intrigue.
“First mud bath?” You ask, untying the robe easier this time, more confidently. It catches Jake’s eye, and he reaches for his own tie.
“First spa-grade one. I used to get covered in mud all the time as a kid, but I bet it didn’t have the same healing properties.”
You laugh at the image of little Jake coming inside from a long day of play, covered in mud with bugs in his pockets and hair. It’s such a distracting thought that you don’t realize you’ve now exposed your bare lower half to Jake, but when you cast a semi-panicked glance his way, his eyes are drawn towards the floor.
He knows, and he’s not looking.
The next breath of air that you take seems to fill your lungs deeper, fuller.
Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.
The mud is warm, almost hot when you dip your toes in, but lowering yourself carefully into the bath does nothing but heat you to your core. It doesn’t burn, and Jake watches carefully, respectfully as you sink into the thick, earthy substance.
“Is there a step?” He asks, and you point him towards it, watching as he submerges himself across from you. You settle on the shelf that runs the perimeter of the spa, the back of your neck hitting the edge and prompting your head to tilt backwards against the floor.
“I think there’s mud in my asscrack.”
Your lips part in a toothy grin before you can stop them, but your eyes stay firmly shut, bliss curling peacefully in your belly like a cat tucking in for a nap. You breathe a sigh, long and deep as Jake settles in opposite you.
“Is it supposed to go on my face?”
Your eyes drift open, and you peer at Jake, close to irritated, “Remember the hot tub yesterday? Quiet zone.”
“Right,” He scoffs, his foot brushing against yours beneath the mud’s surface, leg following as he crosses his feet beside your lap. You wonder if you’d be able to stretch your legs across the entire length of the hot tub yourself, or if Jake’s legs are just impossibly long.
You let him melt, you let his muscles loosen and slump into the wall of the tub for almost a full minute before you sneak up before him and smear a muddy hand over his cheek.
“It can go on your face,” You grin, as his eyes snap open and he jolts forwards in his spot. His incredulous laugh is breathy and the huff hits your face, and it’s only then when you realize you’ve spread your legs to fit his between them, and you’re standing naked before Jake, inches away from his face.
“Alright, missy.” He gripes, a splotch of mud sticking to his cheek, “Where should I put yours, huh? Up your nose? In your ear?”
“Don’t!” You plead, but it’s too late, and he’s already latched his hands around your wrists like cuffs. He bends you to his will, ignoring your shrieked laughter and tucking you sideways into his lap with thick layers of sticky mud between your bare skin and his. He keeps you pointedly away from his groin, but you can feel both his torso and his thighs touching your hips as he lets you float bridal style in his arms.
It pushes your chest out of the water, and you’re nervous for a moment before you remember there’s a sludgy layer of mud covering any sensitive material. Besides- you suppose it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, something you wouldn’t have been able to say before merely an hour ago.
“You’re a menace.” He decides, his eyes on your own, mud caked up to his neck, nearly painting his chin, “I finally shut up and let you have some peace and quiet, and this is what you do to me?”
“That’s why I did it,” You nod, your head nearly submerged in the mud with the way he’s holding you sideways against him, his muddy hands against your bare skin, “You did what I asked, so I let you have it.”
“I don’t understand you,” He chuckles, but the sincere, slightly dim look in his eyes speaks volumes to you.
“I understand you, I think.” You admit, your voice lowering as he keeps you suspended just above the mud’s surface. You’re turned sideways to face him, and your sobering tone reminds him that he’s still got you held captive in his grip. He rights you, his movements slow and his eyes piercing as he stares at your own. You’re set on your feet, now standing between his spread legs, staring down at him with your muddy chest exposed. The substance begins air-drying on your skin almost instantly, covering you even if Jake’s attention is still trained on your face.
“What do you mean by that?” He asks, and the question makes your heart skip a beat. When it resumes it’s pumping wildly, fast and furious and flighty.
“I mean,” You start, blinking rapidly to shield your eyes from his own, though you don’t cast them elsewhere, “I- I mean that,” You think, long and hard about the past three days, about the way Jake had drifted to your side while Daniel had stormed ahead, the way he’d carried you home on the first night and hadn’t left you alone to prowl for a quick fuck around the ship afterwards, the way he’s begun looking at you like you mean something more to him than just a number of training exercises to best.
And you know the way you’re looking at him is shifting, too. You’re seeing him as a person, you’re seeing his humanity, you’re seeing the man he is beneath his cocky, untouchable armor. You’re both laid bare now, not just physically, and there’s only one layer of mud left to scrape away until you see each other in your rawest forms.
Your lips try forming words, whichever ones would wash clean your souls and send the last, viscous layer of protection flowing down the drain.
But it’s too much, the dry mud chafes against your skin as you heave in a breath, and it rattles in your chest as you shut your mouth.
“I don’t know.” You conclude, attempting to back away with hasty, rushed steps that will put you as far away from Jake as possible. But he doesn’t let you, and his hands close again around your wrists, muscling them to your sides and holding you in place.
“Jake-”
“No, don’t- don’t do that. Don’t say things like that and try to walk away.” He pleads, “We’re stuck in this hot tub for fifteen more minutes, say what you wanna say.”
“I don’t wanna say anything,” You breathe, nearly crumpling under his gaze as you try squirming out of his grip, “Please? I shouldn’t have started the thought, I- I can’t finish it. Not yet.”
“When?” He asks, his eyes tired. You wonder how he can look like that when he’s only been trying for three days, when he’s spent every day up until this cruise needling his way under your skin. You wonder how he can act like this is taxing to him, like you’re exhausting him by being cautious. Before you can grow angry about it he strokes his muddy thumbs over your wrists, his grip tight but not bruising.
“I don’t know.” You admit, and he sighs through his nose as his shoulders slump.
“Fine. Alright.” He makes a good effort of keeping his voice void of any ire, but you wonder if he’s already grown tired of this back-and-forth.
You’re trapped in a whirlwind. You’re spinning this way and that, convinced one moment that he’s a playboy and the next that he’s your boy. You wonder if you’ll ever find steady ground, if your world will ever stop shifting, or if you’ll give in and he’ll continue to bounce back and forth between new and old Jake. That’s been your fear from the start, and when he releases your wrists you back up until your calves hit the shelf of the tub and you fall to your ass on the seat.
“Sorry.” He mumbles over the gentle humming of the spa’s motors, churning the mud constantly so it doesn’t harden, “You said no touching.”
It’s not inflammatory, it’s not meant to poke or to prod, and you let him lead you down a safer path.
“I smeared mud on your face first,” You shrug, your eyes roving over the bubbling muck beneath you instead of across his mud-streaked face, “No harm done.”
“Good.” He hums, perhaps more meaningfully than he’d meant to. But the outer side of his foot finds your own beneath the surface of the mud, and he leans his head back against the side of the tub before closing his eyes, letting his skin rest against yours.
It’s silent for the rest of your time in the spa. Jake keeps his eyes closed, but every time you do you see his face, inches away from yours, and muted music from the lounge you’d been outside of the night before begins playing in your mind. The memory taunts you, and opening your eyes only grants you a real view of Jake’s face. It’s set in a serene mask, but you can tell he’s tense beneath it. Now that you’ve taken one facade off of Jake you seem to be an expert at them, and you can see a protruding lump in his jaw that means his teeth are clenched. You feel guilty for ruining his relaxation, and you grab your phone from the pocket of your robe to distract yourself.
You ignore Natasha’s earlier messages, prying questions you can’t answer without giving something away. Instead, you swipe your finger over the screen, selecting all of your snorkeling photos and sending the batch to her. It’s something to do with your hands, and you stare at the cover photo while the message processes.
Your restless fingers barely have to wait a minute after sending the photos to receive a response from her. Your thumbs twitch against the screen, ready to type, but her message reads ‘I’m not looking at the damn fish, whose thigh is that?’
You realize all too late that you’ve sent her photos with Jake in them. Not his face, not his swim trunks that she’d recognize from your many team beach days, but his foot, his arm, his leg, his back, his fingers reaching for yours. Your stomach threatens to liquify and drip into your feet but you steel yourself, typing back, ‘That’s my roommate.’
‘He looks like he goes to the gym.’
You don’t have the guts to tell her he’s gone to the gym with her before.
‘He’s pretty muscular, yeah.’
‘And you HAVEN’T had sex yet?’
‘Remember? Complicated.’
‘Girl, if you don’t hit it…’
That’s the last message you dare to read. You’re sure she’s got a thousand colorful threats for you, but you shut your phone off when you hear the door to the spa open again.
“How was the mud bath?” The attendant asks, and Jake’s eyes open, avoiding your figure.
“It’s great.” He nods at the woman, “Are we being evicted?”
“Shower off in the corner,” She chuckles warmly, “Then meet me outside!”
You and Jake traipse towards the showers leaving muddy footprints in your wake. It’s silent as you each approach a different faucet, but when Jake’s turns on and you can’t get your muddy fingers to grip the handle of yours, he steps out of the warm stream of water he’s stationed himself beneath.
“Here. Take mine,” He offers, “I’ll get this one.”
“Thank you,” You hum quietly, letting him nudge you out of the way. You shuffle over to the already-running showerhead, taking a clean washcloth and soaking it in water and the soap they’ve set out for you. You get to scrubbing, chancing a glance at where Jake’s showering beside you and getting another view of his ass. This time it makes you blush- it’s a stolen thing, something he hadn’t offered you, and you turn to face the opposite wall while thinking about the way stripping for him had made you feel.
Powerful, for sure. Like for once, you were in control, you were leading, you were holding the reins. And he’d stayed respectful, never once trying to touch you.
At least, until you’d incited a wrestling match in the spa and been held captive against his chest. And then you’d opened your mouth, and promptly closed it before you could let yourself say too much, and Jake had reacted like ‘too much’ was all he’d ever wanted you to say. Even though he’s only started acting that way for a couple of days. Even though this is all the most unprecedented, complicated situation you’ve ever been in, and it makes you want to tear your hair out and scream, letting it echo along the tiles.
“Are you mad at me?” Jake’s voice comes from over your shoulder, and you turn like it might help you hear the words better, even if they’ve already evaporated with the steam rising from the tiles.
“What?”
“You heard me. Are you mad at me?” Jake asks again, throwing a glance over his shoulder where he’s still turned away from you. When he notices that you’re facing him he pivots, standing unabashedly naked before you the way you do before him.
“I’m not mad.” You promise, “I’m- confused. And afraid, a little. No- a lot.”
“Why are you afraid of me?” He asks, his eyes vulnerable and sweet. Like he’s hurt by it, like he really doesn’t know.
“I’m not afraid of you,” You sigh, running a hand over your belly to wash away the mud still sticking to it, “It’s- not like that. I’m afraid of… everything changing. Because I can’t control how it’s going to end, and I don’t like that.”
“How do you think it’s gonna end? Who says it has to end at all?” Jake’s eyes narrow towards you, and you rear backwards slightly, a scoff escaping your mouth.
“Don’t talk like you’re gonna marry me.” Your voice hardens slightly, sharpened to a steel edge, “This is a sex cruise, and you’re trying to get into my pants.”
“I’ve already done that,” Jake reaches for the towels set beside the showers, rolling one up and whipping it towards your thighs, “You gave me a whole strip tease just a few minutes ago.”
“But no touching,” You remind him, falling back into old habits as your voice takes on a teasing lilt, “You’re not there yet, Hangman.”
“Yet,” He takes your bait, his grin sharpening wolfishly. It feels good to banter, even if you’re both trying to be someone kinder, someone less jagged and sharp, “Does that mean I’ve really got a chance? It’ll happen later?”
“If you’re lucky,” You huff, “And I mean- really lucky.”
“I like those odds,” He follows you in shutting off his shower, and you walk side-by-side with him towards the robes you’d left abandoned by the spa. It’s strange, parading around a spa with Hangman, completely naked, but he seems to know just what to say, just what to do to keep you from getting lost in your head, even if it means taking a few steps backwards and teasing you again.
But now you’ve discovered you can tease him, too, and you pull your robe on slowly, cinching it around your waist and covering up the last bit of bare skin his eyes had been glued to earlier.
He doesn’t say anything about it, but his footsteps behind you are heavy when the attendant leads you back towards the massage tables, and he takes his cues from you, reaching around your waist to untie your robe for you before you can do it yourself.
You turn your head to the side, nearly running into his own that’s slotted over your shoulder. He meets your gaze head-on, and you feel tension growing like thick vines over you and him as you stand together, nearly flush. He drags the robe off of your shoulders, but walks away with it instead of ogling what’s beneath. You rush for the massage table, letting the attendant fit your bare body into its contours with a knowing smile.
“Lots of couples have a hard time keeping their hands off of each other,” She murmurs conspiratorially into your ear, “If you don’t mind me saying this, you’re a lucky woman, and he’s a lucky man.”
Jake’s grin as he settles down on the massage table, face turned towards your own, tells you that he’s betting on that luck.
You have a million things to think about while your eyes slip shut on the massage chair, but the second your attendant digs her hands into your stiff back they all float away into static. Your brain goes numb, and you let out a startled gasp at the shooting pain that travels up your spine. It’s quickly replaced by bliss as your muscles loosen where they’d been tensed, but it’s going to take her a minute to warm you up.
“Just relax,” She hums, and Jake’s masseuse gets to work on his back, spreading lotion over his palms before digging into the aviator’s own stiff back, “We’ll have you turn over later, but for now, just close your eyes and let all of your tension go.”
Tension. You wonder if she’d seen what was really going on, that your ‘tension’ isn’t born of a couple forbidden to touch each other for a few measly minutes, but of two springs coiled so tight they’ll snap if they’re not released soon. You let out a shaky moan as the masseuse wrestles out a particularly large knot in your lower back, and Jake clears his throat from across the room.
You refuse to be embarrassed about enjoying yourself. You’ve been so tense lately- sure, because of work, but just the past three days alone have put you closer to a heart attack than you’ve ever been before, you’re sure of it. All of your worries, all of your struggles, all of the times you’ve wanted to pitch yourself overboard melt away in the wake of this woman’s hands kneading through your back, and when she dips down to your thighs and pinches at the seldom-stretched muscles there, you let out an even louder grunt.
“That’s a pressure point,” You can hear the smile in her words, “It feels good, doesn’t it?’
“It feels amazing.” You mumble, your face squished against the massage chair, “Can I pay for a second hour-and-a-half?”
“It might melt you beyond repair,” She laughs, throwing a glance at Jake who’s similarly blissed out, “I want you two to be able to walk back to your ship tonight.”
“She won’t be walkin’ right tomorrow morning,” Jake grunts, a sleazy drawl in his voice that reminds you you’ve both elected to take a step safely back from each other, for fear of repeating the mud bath incident, because it’s easy, and you’re just not brave enough to change things yet, “Just do whatever she wants and I’ll drag her back to the ship by her braid.”
“Dick.” You accuse, flipping him the bird though you’re not sure if his eyes are open to see it or not. He responds only with his own elaborate, drawn-out moan, and you resign yourself to an hour of hearing him grunt and groan, not that you’ll be quiet yourself.
You don’t fall asleep, but you drift somewhere close to it. Perhaps another plane of existence, where you feel the woman’s hands digging into your flesh and you hear Jake’s guttural moans but you don’t have to think about them. It’s such a wonderful thing, not having to think, and you silently thank the employee nearly elbow-deep into your back muscles for her service.
When your blessed hour and thirty minutes is up- far too soon, you sigh one last time into the massage chair, and look at the masseuse like she’s heaven-sent.
“I love you,” You hum at her, eyes ten times more adoring than they’ve ever looked at Jake, and she grins at you as she passes you your robe.
“Everyone says that to me,” She laughs, her voice clear and melodic, “But no one ever comes back for a second session.”
“I’m getting at least two more,” You promise, “And I’m bringing you some wine off of the ship.”
“I’ll be expecting you tomorrow,” She grins, and Jake’s masseuse smirks in your direction, though he makes it clear it’s at your dialogue and not your bare body by keeping his eyes strictly on your face. You admire their respect, meekly covering your figure with the robe without putting it on.
“Go ahead and leave the robes on the floor,” Jake’s masseuse gestures lazily towards your discarded clothing, “If your payment’s already been processed, you’re free to go. If not, just stop by the desk on your way out. Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” He tilts his head towards you and Jake, a knowing glint in his eyes, “And enjoy not being able to walk tomorrow.”
“This is all your fault.” You glare at Jake when the door shuts behind the man, and once again Jake is standing proudly naked before you. You’ve got your robe in your lap, and Jake’s kind enough to hand you your underwear when he reaches for his swim trunks.
“They know we’re on a sex cruise,” He scoffs, “And they thought we were a couple anyways! I bet everybody in here thinks we’ve been banging for three days straight.”
“It probably didn’t help that you kept trying to moan louder than me,” You slide your panties on carefully, hoisting them up around your hips while holding the robe in front of your bare lap. Once you’re clothed on bottom you gesture towards your bra, but when Jake takes it in his hands he doesn’t offer it to you.
“You want this?” He asks, and the challenge in his voice makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.
“Jake…” You warn, “Give it.”
“Take it.” He sets his jaw squarely in a smirk, reaching his hand over his head and letting it dangle from his fingers, “You were teasin’ me like crazy earlier, doin’ that little strip tease. Now it’s my turn. If you want it, come and take it from me, darlin’.”
You wish you could say it’s not fair. But he’d given you your panties, let you cover the one part of yourself you hadn’t yet been bold enough to share with him, and you suppose you had shucked your bra off only to stir something between his legs. Once again you’re powerless against him, but this time it doesn’t feel so horrible.
You stand from the massage table, topless and covered only by your panties. He watches, his eyes hungry as you approach carefully, then you spring to your tiptoes and test the reach of your arm against his.
He darts backwards, keeping the garment out of your reach.
“Weak,” He criticizes your attempt, “You’ve gotta try harder than that.”
“You’re horrid,” You laugh, a sound you wouldn’t have expected to come out of your mouth in this moment, your bra being held hostage by Hangman, but it is, and it’s a freeing sound as you dash after him.
Your chest bounces as you dart around the room, chasing the strap of your pretty, lacy bra as he dangles it just out of your reach. You jump against his side and nearly manage to grab hold of it, but he swaps hands and it’s out of range again. You lunge for it without jumping around again, your feet clumsily stepping on his own and stunning him just enough to where he stays still, your fingers finally closing around the strap.
“Got it.” You breathe, panting slightly as you stand on Jake’s toes, your bare chest against his.
It’s cold with almost no clothing on, and your nipples have stiffened in the chilly air. They brush against his toned chest, sending pinpricks of stimulation through your body straight down to your core. It’s a thrilling position, your tits slammed against his pecs, his eyes alight with something dangerous as he stares down at you. You’re both still holding onto your bra, his predatory gaze never dropping from your face even if you know it wants to.
His free hand clasps onto your side. Not your hip, not low enough to touch your panties, but beneath where your breasts hang freely. It makes you gasp, a sharp inhale into lungs that suddenly seem too small. You freeze instead of fleeing, your weight still digging into his feet where you stand on them.
His head inches a fraction towards yours, and yours towards his. It’s lustful, it’s not like when you’d breathed each other’s air last night, it’s not sweet or sincere or gentlemanly. It’s his bare hand against your bare side, it’s your bare chest against his, it’s his lips parting, aiming to press against your own.
It’s frenzied, even if it’s slow, one of you a lit match and the other a pool of gasoline. You’ll burst the second your lips come into contact, you know it, and muffled voices behind the door act like a gust of wind that extinguishes the flame and blows the gasoline towards the gutter.
You barely get to fasten your bra before the door opens again, another pair of employees coming to clean up after you, you presume. Jake shields your near-naked form with his broad body, letting you struggle with your romper behind his impressive build.
“We’re not quite done yet,” His voice is kind, but stern, “Give us one more minute?”
“I’m sorry!” The closest employee yelps, and you feel bad for him- you won’t cause any problems, you won’t get him fired, “Let me- let us leave, We're so sorry. We didn’t know there was anyone in here!”
“That’s okay!” You call after them, your voice rough from the haze you’d fallen into during your massage, but the panicked employees are gone before they can hear you. The door shuts again behind him, but you’re already dressed, and the moment is well and truly over.
“You ready?” Jake asks, and you nod, your bag on your shoulder and your phone in your pocket. Neither of you speaks about the explosion you’d narrowly avoided, the way your blood had simmered beneath your skin at being so close to each other. The way your perked nipples had raked over his chest, the way his head had ducked towards yours, the way you’d wanted to fuck him-
The daylight outside of the spa nearly blinds you. You curse yet again that you don’t have a hat, but the sun is making its way towards the horizon again, and it promises a more orange hue than a bright white one as you make your way quietly back down towards the beach, towards your ship, towards your bed where you can roll over and go to sleep without inciting another incident with Jake.
He walks beside you without comment, and another one of those silences grows between you. The ones that are almost hopeful, the ones that make you think maybe you could throw your doubts to the wind and take your leap of faith, even if it petrifies you.
Jake’s hand tugs briefly on your elbow, and you slow your steps towards the shore.
“Look.” He motions to a booth beside you, and you notice a string of airborne gondolas stretching over your heads, loading just to your left, “Do you want an aerial view of the village?”
It looks sturdy, not like a tourist trap, though you’re sure that’s how they make all of their money. You nod, traipsing across the sandy stone beneath your feet, and grab cash for the both of your rides before Jake can even touch his wallet.
“Enjoy,” The operator nudges you both hastily towards an open gondola that descends mere seconds after you step up, and Jake helps hoist you into the tram before it can take off again without you.
You’re rocked a bit by the abrupt boarding, and you fall against your seat with wide eyes. You suppose you understand why they can’t stop the system for every passenger boarding, or it’d never run smoothly, but you’re lucky to have made it inside without falling back to the earth.
“Damn,” Jake notes, and you nod your agreement. You turn your head towards the window of the gondola, peering out over the ocean as you slowly and steadily rise above it.
The view is breathtaking.
Your eyes rove over the sea, sunlight glinting across its waters and shining with the reflections of palm trees. The water is so crystal clear that you wonder if you’ll spot any of the sea creatures you’d seen while snorkeling earlier, but you’re momentarily distracted by the overhead view of your ship as you begin circling the village you’re docked at.
The only sound is the whirring of the sky trams’ motors, and it’s nothing but a quiet hum, leaving the inside of your gondola a vacuum for sound. Jake shuffles in his seat, and it sounds louder than it should because of the silence you’re suffocating in.
“Pretty view,” He notes, and your eyes drift to where he’s watching you with a soft gaze.
“It’s gorgeous.” You back off from where you’d been unwittingly pressing yourself up against the side of the gondola, your feet stretched out and tangled with Jake’s on the floor of the small tram, “Jake?”
“Hm?”
“Are you still having a good time?”
Your voice is nervous, self-conscious, and it makes Jake’s brows furrow. Not entirely, but you can see the concern written on his face as he leans towards you in the gondola.
“I am. When you’re not running away from me, that is.”
You remember the mud bath, and your cheeks flare.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” You hum regretfully, “I’m sorry. I’m- not trying to make this complicated.”
“It’s already complicated.” Jake laments, biting the inside of his cheek.
“It is,” You nod slowly, your hands clasped together, “But- I’m glad you’re not… miserable. I don’t want you to be.”
“Are you?” He asks, tilting his chin towards you, his voice just as worried as yours is.
“No. I’m not miserable,” Your gaze falls towards the floor, “Not- not because of you. I’m making myself miserable, I think. I’m thinking too much.”
“You know what Mav says.” Jake smiles, and even the soft curve of his lips is enough to send your stomach twisting, even if its not his usual shit-eating grin, “Don’t think, just do.”
No. Don’t. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.
“If I did that,” Your voice is raw, wry, “I’d spiral out of control.”
There’s a beat of that thick silence in the air before Jake speaks again, “I asked earlier if you were mad at me.”
“I said no,” You remind him, glancing up guiltily at him through your lashes, “I’m sorry if I’m acting like I am.”
“Do you hate me?” He asks, and the way he says it makes you wonder how long he’s wanted to ask you that for.
You hesitate before answering, but not because you have to think about it.
“No.” You state, meeting his eyes so he knows you mean it, “I don’t hate you, Jake.”
“Do you love me?”
That’s the harder question to answer.
Sitting there, in the tiny, windowed gondola, bathed in the orange hue of the setting sun, you ask yourself: do you love Jake?
You’d have reluctantly agreed before now, that yes, even if he’s a dick, he’s your friend in some capacity, so yes, you suppose you love him.
But you know that’s not how he means it, not as a friend, not as a teammate, not as a drinking buddy, but as something far more. And the worst part is that you can’t say no with the same conviction as you had earlier, even if you desperately want to.
It’s no use telling yourself not to fall in love with Jake Seresin over and over and over again, because you have a horrible, sinking feeling that you already have.
“I don’t know.” You manage to scrounge up, and it’s the most damning thing you’ve said all week. Your eyes drop from his, and you try to forget the expression you’d seen in them, scarily akin to hope. Your answer weighs heavy on the gondola, and it dips downwards for your slow descent back to the beach. You shift your eyes back towards the sunset for the remainder of your trip, watching it disappear behind the palm trees that line the shore as you finally touch down.
“Get ready.” Jake reminds you, and he takes your hand in his only to tug you out of the tram before it rises again. You stumble a few steps away from it, and keep your head ducked towards the ground as you mumble a thank you towards the operator. You start a slow, silent trek towards the shoreline, feeling frighteningly devoid of any control you thought you’d gained over the situation earlier. You’re spinning out again, lost in your own head, and you feel your knees threatening to buckle beneath your weight as you cross the cobblestone streets.
A brush of Jake’s pinky finger against your own stops your spiral, and your eyes dart to where your hands bump gently together as you walk side-by-side towards the beach.
Another step, another brush, another step, another brush, until Jake’s hand drifts through the air towards yours, his palm finally catching your own and his fingers curling to seal the deal.
You take a deep breath, close your own fingers into the embrace, and lift your head so that you can see the sunset as you walk hand-in-hand with Jake.
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A/N: written for all my big tit girlies, from a big tit girlie herself.
He’s been obsessed with the girls since he first saw them.
And by the girls, he means your tits.
Like just imagine, cocky little top gun aviator, Jake Seresin, turning into a complete mess first glance at you. Spilling his beer all over his tan golden chest that one summer afternoon at the beach with the dagger squad, just because he saw you in your denim shorts and yellow halter top.
And they sit so nicely, your tits. Full, large, and beautiful.
The breeze carries the scent of salt, the air humid and yet all jake can do is stare at the girl with the sweet smile and pretty tits, laughing loudly with her friends on the Hard Deck patio.
“So you’re just gonna stare like a creep or what?” Bradley’s low voice calls out beside him, crossing his arms across his chest as he adjusts his aviator sunglasses, muscles glistening as well under the heat. He whistles softly when he sees you, to which Jake shoves his friend away playfully, annoyed that he’s looking at you too.
“Back off, Bradshaw”
And so next thing he knows, he’s by your side, immediately serenading you with his charming smile and kind eyes.
“Hi sweetheart”
It’s so fucking cheesy and simple, and yet it works on you. You’re spinning around, eyes going wide at the firm, golden chest your face to face with and the way Jake just looms over you, hands on his hips, sweaty and golden from a match of beach football.
“Would you allow me to buy the pretty girl and her friends a drink?” He asks your friend group, sending a wink that makes the girls swoon.
“Oh my fuck” slips out from one of your friends behind you, the group gawking at the sight of the tall, handsome man in front of them.
And she was right. Oh my fuck indeed.
All it took was one line of southern drawl and you were hooked.
That night when Jake has you pinned against the alleyway wall outside of the bar, both your cheeks hot and the breeze cooler, you stare up at the man you had just spent the whole day flirting to.
“So you’re stationed here for a few months?” you breathe out, staring at his broad chest and chiseled jaw, feeling so small under his gaze. You gasp when his hand shifts closer, holding your waist firm in his grasp.
He nods, no need for words when he’s busy admiring you as well. The tall man gently nestles his lips beside your ear, whispering praises as he pressed a kiss to your neck.
You shut your eyes, fluttering your eyelashes at the proximity and sheer sensuality of it all.
“Can I touch you?” He asks pulling away, looking at your eyes with something more than just lust.
You smile, chest heaving as you replied coyly. “Where do you want to touch me?”
Jake is starstruck at your words, trying so hard to shield you from the world under his arms and selfishly have you all for himself.
You take both his hands in yours and wrap them over your hips, letting them grab the mounds of your flesh and groan, feeling his hard on pressing against your front.
“feel me. and show me where you want to touch me most” you gasp, eyes shutting closed.
Jake pulls his hands away to caress your cheeks, taking your face as he presses his lips against yours.
“Here” he says under his breath. That was where he wanted to touch you most.
The kiss is deep, soft under the starry beach sky.
The same hands slide down to softly squeeze your tits, and that’s when you know that was the second spot he wanted to touch most. You smirk against the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing into him further.
Jake Seresin was a tits guy.
So when Jake comes home to his apartment after a year of steady dating, he’s already making a beeline to find you, settling on the fact that you must be in the laundry room finishing up the chores.
You don’t even have time to greet your boyfriend properly before he’s shoving his face in your tits and smacking a kiss to each one.
“Jake, what is up with you?” You giggled, shocked at how needy and hot he was. “I didn’t know they let you off early”
He sighs, taking them in his strong hands and pressing a kiss to each breast again.
“Just missed my girls, that’s all” he groans, holding you closer as you give him a hug.
you rolled your eyes, watching as he continue to rub them softly, pressing a kiss to your collar bone.
“I cut up the watermelon, it’s in the fridge” you told him, pulling him away to press a peck to his cheek.
You took the laundry basket, propping it against your hip as you smiled when Jake called out while pouting at the loss of contact.
“Not the melons I need!” he exasperates, trailing after you quickly.
