This was requested by a lovely anon, I hope you like it!
It is a Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x wife!reader imagine.
Warnings: mentions of periods, mentions of pregnancy, fainting, mentions of injury (cuts made by glass), this is only proofread by me
Jake Seresin was never worried for himself, that was common knowledge.
By the way he flew in missions and even in training sessions, everyone knew that he was never too worried about his own life.
When he met you it got a little better, but still Jake just simply didn't care.
When he married you, your only condition was for him to take less risks while flying.
One thing Jake Seresin undoubtedly worried about, though, was you.
It started slowly, with Jake leaving notes around the house to remind you to drink enough water, him always having extra pads and tampons in the bathroom in case you were running out or with Jake always walking on the sidewalk on the side of the street.
He just occasionally took more care of you than you did yourself, drawing up a bath when you were stressed or reminding you to take a breather when things got hectic.
You wouldn't go so far to say Jake was the perfect partner, he was a guy after all, but you were so grateful that he cared for you.
For a few days now you had been feeling queasy, having dizzy spells occasionally, feeling more tired than usual and bloated as well.
You wrote it off as your period arriving and tried to ignore it all as best as you could.
Jake noticed how you were feeling and he made a mental note to help you more than usual around the house, but he didn't say anything.
If you wanted to talk about how you were feeling you would, there was no point in addressing the matter and maybe thereby making it worse for you.
He was coming home late one evening, having picked up your favorite chocolate and some strawberries when he knew something was wrong.
You didn't greet him with a shout through the house from wherever you were as you usually did and Jake instead shouted your name to be able to locate you.
Jake only received a weak “Hey” from you, which he followed into the kitchen.
You were sipping on a glass of water, trying to keep the dizziness at bay.
But setting down the glass you missed the counter, glass scattering on the floor at the same time you fainted.
You didn't see Jake rushing to help you but he caught your head before it hit the kitchen tiles, not minding the shards of glass that tore into the soles of his feet.
When you woke up again you found yourself in a hospital bed, surrounded with white.
Jake was sitting beside you with a worried expression on his face, but there was something else, almost like giddiness, that was almost ready to break to the surface.
He was immediately by your side to give you a glass of water he had kept ready for you.
You took a sip just as Jake asked how you were feeling.
“How're you feeling, baby?” He asked as he put the glass down on your nightstand and grabbed your hand while you told him you were fine.
“What happened?” You asked back, gripping the hand he gave you for a feeling of security.
Jake sent you a short smile before he answered you.
“You fainted, baby”, he replied, and you felt his thumb run over the back of your hand gently.
“The doctors say you're fine. You didn't hit your head, and the few cuts you have from the glass you fell on are bandaged and shouldn't bother you anymore in a few days”, he went on, fully leaving out the fact that his feet were bandaged much more than anywhere you had been cut.
Jake took a second for you to process before he continued, that hint of a smile you had seen when you first woke up once again emerging on his lips.
“They found out why you fainted”, Jake went on and took a short breath.
“Honey, we’re going to have a baby”, he grinned with excitement.
And while you were shocked, there was a tiny voice inside your head saying that you had already known.
You looked at Jake and saw the way he sat up straight, excited about the news you had just received.
You were excited too, but there was one other thing that came to your mind; Jake was about to find out he could worry on a whole new level.
Warning: Unexpected Pregnancy, Inspired by Purple Hearts, I've never been pregnant so idk how the appointments really go
Part Summary: You and Jake finally move in together. You also finally get health insurance: It's time to see your baby for the first time.
*Not Proofread*
Marrying a Stranger Masterlist
Jake's true to his words.
Every time I pull into the parking lot after a closing shift at the bar, Jake's there already waiting. He walks me up to my door, making sure I get inside safely.
I feel a little guilty. Some days I can tell he's really tired, but he still shows up and goes out of his way to walk me to the door.
I try take back the arrangement, let him know I'll be okay coming home by myself. He's tired and he should be resting, not walking me to my door at 3 in the morning.
He doesn't budge.
I feel a little better when it's finally time to move. It only takes my parents, Jake and I a few hours to move everything and clean out the apartment. My mixed feelings however, make it feel longer.
This place was mine. My first apartment, the first place I could call my own. Sure, it has problems. My neighbors are difficult, it's sketchy at night, everything's falling apart... but it was mine. I worked for it.
It's hard to let it go and say goodbye.
When I have to turn in the keys, I feel my heart ache a little. So much has changed in such a short amount of time. It's hard to wrap my head around it.
But, it's not like I can back out of this now. I have to keep going forward.
"This is it." Jake unlocks the door, pushing it open to reveal a small but neat apartment.
The furniture is simple, functional, all neutral colors. A worn leather couch sits against the wall, with simple coffee table in front of it, holding nothing on the surface. There are no throw pillows or blankets, no photos on the walls, just the basics.
The kitchen is the same. Spotless, but empty. The counters are clear, the fridge hums in the corner, and there's nothing on the shelves except for a coffee maker, a box of cereal, and a few mugs.
It feels quiet. Like a place that has only ever been lived in halfway.
Jake sets the keys on the counter, turning to look at me. "Not much to look at," he admits with a little shrug.
But it's clean. His shoes are lined up by the door, his jackets hung neatly on the back of a chair. The bed, when he shows me, is made with military precision, corners tucked tight enough to bounce a coin off.
It is not warm. It is not cozy. But it is Jake's.
And for now, it is mine too.
----
The first week felt like a learning curve. Neither of us had lived with someone else like this before and even though we were married for the baby, it was clear we were still figuring out each other's rhythms.
At first I wasn't sure how much of my stuff I should put out. His apartment was so bare, and I didn't know if he even wanted decorations on the walls. My picture frames and throw pillows sat in their boxes, and every time I thought about unpacking them, I hesitated. It felt like I was invading his space.
But Jake made it clear in little ways that he wanted me there. He cleared out a couple drawers in his dresser for my clothes, pushed some of his things aside in the closet, and even moved his bottles around in the shower so I had room for mine. He made space in the bathroom cabinet too, just enough for my stuff.
The place itself is small, just a one bedroom, one bath, which is why most of my bigger things ended up in storage. My mattress, a few pieces of furniture, and some extra boxes had to stay there. Jake insisted I take the bed, and that he would sleep on the leather couch. Even though I was nervous about sharing a bed with a man I still barely know, I couldn't let him do that. He needs to get good rest for his job, and he's not going to be able to get that if he's sleeping on a couch every night. We kept a large gap between us, neither of us wanting to accidentally make the other uncomfortable.
The morning after I moved in, I woke up to an empty apartment. Jake had already left for training at 5:30, just like he told me he would the night before. I didn't notice it at first. My picture frames, the ones I had unwrapped but hadn't hung up yet, were already on display. My throw pillows were sitting on the couch too, brightening up the worn leather.
On the counter, there was a note in his handwriting.
'We missed a few of the boxes last night. I'll put the rest up when I get home.'
I stared at it longer than I probably should have. It felt like his way of telling me it was okay to make the place mine too. That he wanted me to.
He wanted this to feel like my home now too.
That means a lot.
----
It's almost 6, earlier than my usual time off but Penny lets me go home early. Jake's not back yet, but I know he will be soon.
I barely finish setting the table when I hear the soft click of the front door unlocking. Jake steps inside, boots thudding against the wooden floor. His hair is a little messy like he's had a helmet on all day, and there's a worn-out edge to his eyes. He looks tired.
"Hey, smells great in here." He gives me one of his easy grins as he bends down to unlace his boots. He lines them up neatly against the wall next to mine, like he always does. Even exhausted, the man treats the entryway like inspection's coming any minute.
"Hi," I say, setting down a fork on the table. "It's almost ready. Ten more minutes."
"Perfect. I'm starvin'. He stretches his neck like it's been stiff all day. "I'm gonna clean up real quick. Be back in a minute."
He disappears down the hall toward the bathroom, and I swear I hear him sigh as the door shuts. It makes me feel weirdly soft, knowing he's probably been running on fumes all day. Makes me glad I cooked.
While he showers, I finish cooking our dinner. I turn off the burner when I hear the bathroom door open.
Jake walks back into the kitchen, freshly showered, hair damp and pushed back with a comb. A small strand of hair hangs against his forehead.
It's kind of adorable. Is that weird to say about a grown man?
He's swapped his uniform for a soft gray t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants that sit low on his hips. He looks much more relaxed than when he arrived. Still tired, but less tense.
There is an ease to him like this, clean and comfortable, that makes it hard not to stare. I catch myself and look away.
Yeah, he's attractive. Obviously.
Don't make things awkward. I scold myself.
Jake doesn't seem to notice my staring or internal battle, thankfully. He pauses by the table, eyebrows lifting slightly as he takes in the setup. "Damn," he says with a low whistle. "This looks amazing."
"Thanks. I hope you like it."
We sit down across from each other around Jake's small dining table, plates in front of us. For a moment, it is quiet in a comfortable way, the kind that doesn't feel like silence, just calm.
"I thought you weren't supposed to be off until 12. Penny let you off early?" Jake asks, twirling his fork casually.
"Yeah, Penny let me go before the rush. She accidentally scheduled too many people tonight. . I figured I'd actually make something for once instead of grabbing drive-thru on the way home."
He huffs a little laugh. "Well, remind me to thank her. Beats the protein bars I was about to call dinner."
I grin. "Long day?"
"The usual. Sim training in the morning, then paperwork. I swear I spent more time staring at a computer screen than actually flying these days." He leans back in his chair, rolling his neck with a small crack. "You?"
"Busy, but manageable." I shrug. "Washed a bunch of glasses, told three different guys we don't sell tequila shots before noon."
He snorts. "Menaces."
We fall into easy conversation. Nothing serious. Just little stories from our day, the kind you'd share with a friend. I find myself laughing more than I expected to.
There is a lull as he sets his fork down, almost like he remembers something.
"Actually," he says, wiping his hands on a napkin, "I meant to tell you earlier. I talked to Tricare today."
My head lifts. "Yeah?"
He nods. "Your enrollment went through. Since we're officially married now, you're covered under my plan. You can go to the doctor whenever now."
For a moment, I just blink at him. "Wait. So... I have insurance now?"
"Full coverage," he confirms. "Prenatal care included. You won't have to pay out of pocket."
The breath that leaves me is deeper than I expect. Weeks of quiet stress loosen all at once in my chest. "Jake, that's... that's huge. Thank you."
He shakes his head. "You don't have to thank me. It's how it's supposed to work."
I've been so worried about the baby, I'm glad we can go to the doctor now.
We.
Does Jake want to go to the appointment? Dad's usually do that, right? It's a big thing for me, so it's probably a big thing for him too. I mean, it's his baby. He cares about it. Why wouldn't he want to be there?
I swallow, deciding to ask him. "Would you... want to come with me? To the appointment, I mean. I should set one up soon."
Jake looks up from his plate, eyes warm. "Yeah, definitely." he says without hesitation. "I'd love to. If you're okay with that."
I smile. "Of course, I kinda don't want to go alone."
His tone is serious as he holds my gaze. "Then you won't be. Whatever you allow me to go to with you, I'll go. I was serious when I said I want to be there for you both."
I feel my heart flutter slightly. "I'll call tomorrow. See when they can take me."
"Let me know what they say," he replies. "I'll talk to my CO and get the time off."
"Alright, I will." I take a sip of water, then glance around. "So, what did you eat today? You didn't just run straight home, did you?"
"Ha, no. I grabbed a snack, nothing fancy. Just enough to keep me from fainting on the drive home," he says, leaning back in his chair. "You know, military cuisine... highly sophisticated."
I roll my eyes playfully. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing beats a soggy sandwich from the commissary."
He laughs and it feels easy, natural. "Exactly. I think your cooking just officially ruined every other meal for me this week."
I smile, feeling warmth spread through me. "Good. I'll take credit for that. Next time, maybe I'll add dessert just to make it even worse."
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Please do. I think I could survive another week on pasta and that kind of temptation."
The conversation drifts on like that for a while, friendly and calm. We've come a long way since the beginning. I feel like we're actually starting to become friends.
When we finish dinner, Jake helps me clean up. We clear the table and put the left overs away. He washes while I dry the dishes. We chat a bit more about work and the chaotic situations his friends get involved in. After the last dish is put away, we decide to watch our first movie together.
We grab a couple of blankets and settle onto the couch, leaving a little space between us at first. I pick the movie, something light and funny, and hit play. Jake stretches out a bit, his arm brushing mine, and I don't pull away.
We end up laughing at the same parts, making small comments to each other about the characters. At one point, he nudges me slightly with his shoulder and I nudge back. It's awkward at first, but in a comfortable way, like we're learning how to exist around each other without stepping on toes.
By the time the credits start rolling, he's dozed off. One of my throw pillows rests across his lap, his hands loosely draped over it, and his head tilts slightly against the couch. His hair is now completely dry, strands falling softly across his forehead. His breathing steady.
For a moment, I just watch him. His face is completely relaxed, softer than I've ever seen it, the usual tension gone. There's a quiet peace in his expression, like the weight of the day has melted away.
He looks at home here, vulnerable in a way he rarely lets anyone see. And in the soft glow of the lamp and the fading light from the TV, he seems almost impossibly… real. The curve of his jaw, the slight lift of his lips, the way his lashes brush against his cheeks... even in his sleep, Jake's a handsome man.
I reach over and carefully turn off the TV, not wanting to wake him. I grab blanket and gently drape it over his shoulders so he doesn't wake up cold. He stirs a little but doesn't wake, just lets out a soft sigh.
I take one last look at him before turning off the light and heading to bed.
Tonight was a good night.
----
Jake drives us to the appointment.
He insisted. I offered to take my own car, said I could meet him there after work, but he shut that down immediately with a simple, firm, "I'm taking you."
Now we're sitting in the waiting room of the doctors office, surrounded by pastel walls and soft instrumental music that doesn't match the nerves in my stomach. I fill out paperwork while Jake sits beside me, flicking through a random pamphlet he found.
His leg bounces. Subtle, but enough for me to notice.
Is he nervous too?
He catches me looking and smirks. "What? You think I get jittery in a doctor's office?"
"A little," I tease, trying to distract myself from my own nerves.
He scoffs. "Sweetheart, I pull nine Gs on the regular. I think I can handle a couple pamphlets on prenatal vitamins." His tone is playful, but I can tell he's trying to keep it light for my sake too. His eyes betray his confidence, a glimmer of uncertainty reflecting off of them.
They finally call my name, and we both stand up at the same time. Jake follows me without being asked. When the nurse leads us into the room, he pauses at the doorway like he's waiting for her permission.
"You're dad, right? You can come in," she says with a polite smile.
Jake nods and steps in, standing close but not crowding me. I lie back on the exam table, heart pounding as the doctor comes in and introduces herself. She asks a few questions, types notes into the computer, then wheels over the ultrasound machine.
"Ready to see your little one?" she asks gently.
I nod. My mouth is dry. Jake moves closer, standing at my side. His hand hovers for a moment like he's not sure if he should offer it up for support or not.
I grab it before he can pull it back. He lets me hold onto him. His fingers firmly curl around mine instantly.
The gel is cold on my stomach and I flinch.
"Sorry, it's a bit cold" the doctor says with a small chuckle. "Always is." She presses the wand against my skin, moving it slowly, searching.
The room falls quiet except for the hum of the machine.
Then it happens.
A flicker on the screen. A tiny lime sized blobish shape. The image moves as the doctor rubs the wand around my stomach slowly. It's fast and steady, a beautiful song I could listen to for hours. It's unlike anything I've ever heard before.
"There's your baby," the doctor says softly. "The heartbeat looks strong."
My vision blurs. I don't even realize a few tears have fallen until Jake squeezes my hand.
The sight of our baby fills me with more love than I ever knew I could be capable of having. I feel all my anxiety float away as my mind focuses on the tiny human on the screen. I can't believe how small it is!
Jake lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, almost like disbelief. His eyes are trained on the monitor, wide and completely entranced by our little baby. "Damn," he whispers under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "That's really... our baby."
"Yeah... yeah it is." My voice cracks in the middle, but I don't care. I can't look away from the screen.
The doctor prints a few pictures, wiping the gel from my stomach before stepping away to grab the images.
I sit there, still holding Jake's hand. He hasn't let go. His thumb brushes once, slow and soft across my knuckles like he's not even aware he's doing it.
The doctor steps back over and hands him a small strip of ultrasound photos. Jake's hand gently pulls away from mine as he takes them carefully and his eyes scan over the images.
"Can I get an extra copy?" he asks suddenly, glancing up at the doctor.
She smiles. "Of course."
"One for my wallet," he says quietly, mostly to himself.
The doctor grabs another copy for Jake who immediately sticks it into his wallet while I have a turn looking at the first copy. Before we leave I'm given a few pamphlets, prenatal vitamins and a list of things we should do to prepare for the baby and birth. It's a little overwhelming, but we leave feeling more confident and excited than when we arrived.
The hum of the engine fills most of the silence as we pull out of the parking lot. I watch the world blur past the window while my hand rests over my stomach.
Jake keeps one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his thigh like he needs to release some of the energy buzzing through him.
After a while, he speaks.
"You good?"
I nod. "Yeah. You?"
He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh. "Not sure yet."
I glance at him. "In a bad way?"
He shakes his head. "No. Just… feels different now. I don't know how to explain it... more real?" He pauses, eyes fixed on the road. "Kinda hit me in the chest."
I smile softly. "Me too."
He nods slowly.
Another beat passes.
Jake gently without looking, pats the pocket his wallet is in, the ultrasound photo tucked away inside. "Hey… do you think the baby will like planes?"
I turn toward him, smiling. "With a dad like you? It's probably gonna come out doing barrel rolls."
Warning: Unexpected Pregnancy, Inspired by Purple Hearts, Y/N's parents are given random names, Parents letting down their kid
Part Summary: You and Jake finally get married.
*Not Proofread*
Marrying a Stranger Masterlist
I wake up feeling the need to throw up, the same feeling I've been dealing with for weeks now. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it still hits like a punch to the gut every morning. The clock says it's barely five, but there's no point in trying to fall back asleep. I know I won’t be able to.
Instead, I shuffle into the kitchen, sip on some water, and try to take advantage of my rare day off. I pick up the clothes that have been draped over a chair for way too long, run the vacuum, and wash a few dishes. Little things to keep my mind busy.
A few hours later, there's a knock at my apartment door. When I open it, I'm met with the warm, familiar faces of my parents. They're both dressed nicely for the courthouse later. My mom's left hand is hooked tightly around the handle of a large gift bag, while my dad's carrying a decently sized grey storage box filled with my old baby items.
After they bring everything in, I pick out the outfit I feel my best in and continue getting ready. By the time I'm done, it's time for us to get ready to go. My parents and I drive together to the courthouse, following the directions Jake sent to me yesterday.
When we pull into the parking lot, I immediately spot Jake's truck parked near the front of the building. He's early. I wonder how long he's been here?
He's standing outside of the vehicle, his back slightly turned toward us. He's wearing a fitted black suit that hugs his broad shoulders and muscles just right. Underneath the jacket, he's got on a dark blue button-up shirt with the top button left undone, giving him a relaxed but sharp look. His dark dress shoes gleam in the sunlight, and his hair is neatly combed to the side, clean and effortless. His eyes are focused on his phone which he's tightly holding in his hands. His expression is blank, his jaw slightly tensed.
I wonder what that's about.
My dad pulls into an empty space a few cars away from Jake. "You ready to do this, kiddo?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
We get out of the car and I begin to walk towards Jake. My parents head inside, giving us a little privacy.
Jake looks up when I say hello and ask if he's alright, his eyes flickering with a bit of distraction. "Oh, hey," he says, glancing down at his phone again before pocketing it with a small shrug. "It's nothing. I'm alright."
I nod but can tell he's still a little distant. We head inside the courthouse and tell the front desk we're here for a marriage. We're a bit early, but they direct us to the officiant's room anyways, my parents trailing behind us.
I glance over at Jake as we walk. His parent's aren't here. Are they really not going to show up? Maybe they're running late?
"Are your parents coming?" I ask, concerned that we might be leaving them behind if they're running late. I might not like them very much, but they're still Jake's parents and this is our wedding. Jake deserves to have his parents here if he wants to.
Jake tenses, just a little. "My uh mom texted, said they won't be able to make it."
Suddenly, his fixation on his phone earlier makes sense. He was texting his mom.
I swallow a lump. I know they don't approve of our marriage or of me, but I thought they'd at least show up for Jake. This is a big thing, one most parents want to be apart of. How could they miss something so big for their son?
I think about how my parents have handled this situation. A mixture of gratitude and guilt fills my chest. My parents have been trying to support me through everything. Jake's are choosing not to support him.
If Jake's mom just texted, that probably means he hasn't seen them today. He's spent the whole day, his wedding day, by himself without any sort of familial support. No one to give him gifts or talk to about his fears and worries. He might not have had anyone to help him figure out whether to dress fancy or casual, and to tell him that what he picked looks nice on him.
The thought of Jake spending the entire day alone, patiently waiting for our appointment to come without anyone there to spend time with him hurts my heart. He has to feel so alone.
He shrugs, but I see it in his eyes. It stings more than he lets on. "It's their choice. Doesn't change what we gotta do."
That makes me feel even more guilt, but I say nothing more.
The baby and I are the reason his parents aren't here today. He knows it. I know it. They hate us so much they're willing to hurt their son to show their disapproval.
I didn't mean for this to happen. Any of it. The pregnancy... the money problems... the stress... and I definitely didn't mean to tear a hole in Jake's family.
We reach the officiant, a kind-looking person who begins by confirming our paperwork. We both present our IDs, sign the marriage license, and then the officiant reads the short ceremony, a simple California courthouse wedding.
The entire time my mind is on Jake and our situation. I'm causing him so many problems, and I don't know how to fix it.
The officiant says the usual words about commitment and partnership.
I glance over at Jake. His posture is perfectly straight and serious. His eyes are fixed on mine, holding my gaze steadily. His expression is calm, almost stoic, like this is an obligation he's fulfilling rather than a moment of love. I mean, it technically is. We're doing this for our baby. Not because we want to. But that doesn't stop the twinge of pain that stabs my heart.
This is not how I pictured my life turning out. I'd always pictured marrying someone I loved and who loved me back just as much. I pictured my wedding day would be full of happiness and excitement. That when I looked into the eyes of the man I was marrying, I'd see love and warmth. Not absolutely nothing.
I imagine Jake had the same idea and hopes for his own life, if he even wanted to get married. It might not have been in his plans at all.
Now neither of us gets what we hoped for.
I wonder if he's thinking about what could've been, just like I am and have been doing the past few weeks. I wonder if he regrets asking me to marry him, but just felt too bad to take it back. Will he end up resenting me and the baby for causing him to have to do this?
I hope not.
I'm so caught up in my own head that I miss the officiant saying: "You may kiss the bride."
Jake leans in closer, his eyes searching mine for permission like he's asking if it's alright. I hold his gaze and give a barely-there nod, my heart picking up pace. Slowly, his lips brush against mine, warm, soft, and tentative at first. The kiss deepens slightly, but doesn't go much further. Time seems to pause around us, the world narrowing down to just this quiet connection.
I can feel the slight tremor of nervousness in him, a stark contrast to the way he kissed me that night in the back of his truck. That night, he was confident, like he knew what he was doing and what to do next. Now, it's barely noticeable, but I can tell he's unsure.
The kiss is over quickly. Jake pulls away, creating some distance in between us. He glances away, like he's not sure what to do next.
It's official. We're married.
The officiant congratulates us with a warm smile before asking if we want a photo taken of us with my parents. I glance at Jake, wondering if he'll feel sad his parents won't be in the photo.
Jake catches my look and answers for us before I can say a word. "Sure, we'd love one, ma'am." His voice is steady, but there's something quiet and sure in the way he says it, like he's telling me without words that those photos are for us, not for his parents. Like he knows I'm thinking about his parents not being there, but he wants me to know it's okay. And that this moment is just as important for me and my parents as is it for him.
My parents stand on either side of us, my mom next to me and my dad next to Jake. I feel Jake's arm gently press against my back. He flashes the camera his signature charming smile, his white teeth showing. I do my best to look happy for the camera, like I'm not feeling a million things at once.
A few pictures are taken before the appointment ends. We walk out of the court house quietly, none of us sure what to say. What can you say about a marriage of convenience? Congratulations?
My dad breaks the silence, glancing down at his watch. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."
"I was just about to say the same thing," my mom agrees, looking between Jake and me. "Why don't we all go get dinner?"
I glance at Jake to see if he's up for it. He nods in agreement. "Yeah, sounds good to me, I could use some food." He gives me a small smile. Like he's acknowledging the feelings of awkwardness and uncertainty between us, and he's trying to lessen that.
We leave the courthouse together, the crisp air outside a relief after the still, stuffy tension inside. My parents head toward their car, and I pause, suddenly unsure. Should I ride with them? Or with Jake? We're legally married now. That thought still makes my head spin, but we're not a real couple. Is it weird if I ride with my parents?
At the same time, I can't just invite myself into Jake's truck. It's his truck. This all could've been avoided if I just drove my parents in my car here. Why didn't I think of that before?
Jake must notice me lingering. He tilts his head, that sharp-eyed attention locked right on me. "Want to ride with me?" he asks, voice low and casual, like he already knows my answer but he's giving me the choice anyway.
I take a breath and nod. "Yeah… I'd like that."
He gives me a quick grin before reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Good," he says, almost like he's checking something off in his head. Then he pulls out a small velvet box, holding it between two fingers.
My heart skips. "Jake…"
Is that what I think it is?
He flips it open, revealing a simple, beautiful wedding ring. Nothing flashy, just a delicate band with a tiny diamond that catches the sunlight.
I feel my breath catch at the sight. My eyes widen.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get you somethin' bigger," he says, scratching the back of his neck like he's not used to feeling awkward. "I didn't want you to miss out, since you couldn't have a real wedding. You at least deserve a ring and I figured you might like one."
I blink, caught between surprise and something warmer. I can't believe he went out and got me a ring, that's so sweet. "Jake, it's beautiful. I love it. But you didn't have to get me anything. I hope you didn't feel pressured to-"
"Didn't feel pressured," he cuts in, reassuring me. "I wanted to. You deserve a ring. Fake relationship or not, you're my wife now. And any wife of mine deserves a ring."
I feel heat crawl up my cheeks from him calling me 'his wife'. I'm a wife now.
He takes my left hand gently, his thumb brushing over my skin before he slides the ring onto my finger with care. His fingers are warm on my skin and they leave light tingles anywhere he touches me.
I stare down at the ring, smiling. It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen. "It's perfect. I love it, Jake. Thank you."
He grins wide, that proud, sunlit Jake Seresin smile that makes it hard to look at him for too long. "Knew you would," he says, glancing at my hand.
Jake opens my door and I slide into the seat, still glancing down at the ring, still not believing it's there. He closes the door for me, jogs around to the driver's side, and climbs in. The engine roars to life, country music low on the radio, and the windows rolled down to let in the warm evening air.
My parents follow Jake's truck to a nearby restaurant. The drive is quiet, aside from an occasional comment about the beautiful coastline and setting sun. I feel a bit better than in the courthouse, less stressed.
Jake and I might not love each other, but we're going to try to make this work. He doesn't hate me, at least I don't think. Why would he go out of his way to buy me a ring if he did?
We pull up to a nice restaurant. It's fairly busy, but not overwhelming. A warm glow spills out of the windows, and couples and families are trickling in and out, dressed somewhere between casual and date-night polished.
The dinner passes by quickly, smoother than the night before. Jake slips into the role with ease, respectful and attentive, listening carefully to every word my parents say. He asks the right questions, laughs in all the right places, and never once lets the conversation fall flat. Where he's bold and teasing at the bar, here he's polished, careful, almost like he's determined to undo the damage his parents left behind the night before.
He doesn't let his ego run wild, something I've seen many times with his friends.
It's strange, seeing him like this. Not the cocky pilot who thrives on attention, but someone softer around the edges. He leans in when my dad speaks, nodding thoughtfully, and my mom practically beams at how polite he is. It's clear he's going out of his way to impress them, to leave them with something better than the sour taste his family gave.
By the time dessert plates are cleared, the tension that lingered after last night feels like it's been erased.
When it's time for us to say goodbye to my parents, a feel a twist of uncertainty. The calm dinner gave me a break from my worries about the future. Now that it's over, I remember there's so many things we still have to do.
Everything's moved so quickly and combined with both of our busy schedules, we haven't really had time to get to know each other or figure out the next steps. We still haven't talked about who's moving where or when.
Like the night before, Jake drives me home. The ride is quiet, but not in a bad way. My parents liked him, and that thought keeps circling in my head. When he parks outside my apartment, I find myself hesitating. I could just say goodnight and go inside like yesterday.
But, we're married now. There's a lot we have to figure out, uncertainty. I bite my lip, gathering my courage.
"Do you… want to come in for a bit? Talk about where we go from here?" I ask when we make it to my apartment door. I keep my eyes trained on my keys which I'm pushing into the lock.
"Yeah." He agrees, following me into the apartment. "I think that'd be best."
Inside, I head straight for the kitchen, nerves buzzing under my skin. "You want anything to drink?"
"I'm alright, thanks." he says quietly, looking around my home.
I nod and grab a water bottle from my fridge, opening up the lid and taking a sip.
"What's this?" He taps the lid of the big gray storage bin sitting in the middle.
"Oh." I walk over, running a hand across the unsecure lid. I forgot to close it this morning. "My parents brought it over earlier. It's for the baby. Just… some of my old things they saved."
He slightly pushes the lid to the side A tiny folded blanket rests on top, soft from years of being washed. Underneath are little clothes, pairs of tiny shoes and other things I looked at earlier with my parents.
I watch Jake quietly as he picks up one of the pairs of shoes, holding it in his palm like he can't quite believe how small they are.
His hands engulf the tiny shoes, making them look like they belong to a doll instead of a real life child.
"Whoa," he says quietly. "Hard to wrap my head around it. A few months from now, we're gonna have a little human wearing these."
"I know, it's crazy. It's all so small. It's hard to believe a person can actually start out this tiny." I gently run my fingers over a small white onesie.
A few minutes later, we end up on the couch.
"So," Jake starts, resting an arm along the back of the couch. "We should probably talk about a few things. Where we're gonna live, for starters. Are you open to moving, or does this place have your heart?"
I shake my head, a small grin on my lips. "Definitely not. I could live without the constant arguing of my neighbors."
"I have an apartment on base right now. I'll take the marriage certificate to housin' to get us put on a list for something bigger. I'm not sure how long the wait will be, but for now... you could move in with me. Be easier than staying here." He glances towards my door. "And I'm not gonna lie, I'd feel a bit better if you were out of this neighborhood."
His jaw flexes, like he's debating whether to admit the rest, then he goes on. "Walking you up the past couple nights… I didn't like it. Had me looking over my shoulder the whole time. Can't imagine how it feels for you, doing that alone, night after night."
"Coming home late is definitely my least favorite part of the day." I admit. I pause for a moment. "Will you get in trouble for moving me in? I don't want you to get in trouble for me."
Jake shakes his head. "I won't get in trouble, don't worry. I checked. If I was living in the barracks... that'd be a different situation. We should be okay."
I think for a moment.
It's a great offer, one I'd be stupid to pass up. Nothing's happened to me here so far, but that doesn't mean I'll always be this lucky. And I've got a kid to think about now. The baby's safety is priority.
"Alright, if you're sure you won't get in trouble, I'll move in with you." I give him a small smile. "Thank you, Jake. It means a lot that you're doing all this for the baby... for me."
"Of course, your safety is important to me." He replies honestly. "Until you move in, I'll keep walking you to your door. Just let me know which days you're going to be closin' the bar or out late, I'll be here. I'll make sure you get home safe." His eyes meet mind. He's completely serious. "And if anything ever happens, or if someone makes you feel unsafe or scared to be here-or anywhere for that matter, you call me. I'll deal with it."
My chest tightens, a mix of gratitude and something warmer twisting in my stomach. He really means it. Every word. It's not just talk. He's serious, and the way he's looking at me makes it clear he'll follow through. I feel a small, foolish flutter of relief knowing I won't have to walk home alone. But it's more than that. The thought that someone actually cares this much, that he's willing to step in for me without hesitation… it hits me harder than I expected. I want to say something, anything, but the words stick in my throat. All I can do is nod, a little overwhelmed by the depth of how much he's looking out for me.
Warning: Unexpected Pregnancy, Inspired by Purple Hearts, Y/N's parents are given random names but it's only mentioned once, Passive Aggression, Slut Shaming, Parental Abandonment
Part Summary: You and Jake introduce your families to each other. It goes worse then you hoped.
*Not Proofread*
Marrying a Stranger Masterlist
After I get off the phone with my mom, I pull the slip of paper Jake gave me out of my pocket.
I stare at it for a while, chewing at the inside of my cheek. My thumb hovers over my screen before I finally type it in.
Hey. It's me. I've decided. I'll do it. I'll marry you.
I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Almost instantly, the little dots appear.
Hey. Got your text. Thanks for letting me know. Since we're doing this, there's a few things we need to talk about.
I stare at the screen, waiting for something else. He doesn't send anything more.
I set my phone down on the table and lean back in the booth, staring at the empty bar. It's quiet. Too quiet.
My eyes burn. I don't cry.
I just sit there and let the weight of it settle.
I'm getting married. To Jake Seresin. A man I barely know. A man who's trying, sure, but still a stranger. Not the man I imagined I'd spend my life with. Not the kind of love story I thought I'd have.
And yet, somehow, it's the right choice.
For the baby. For the future. It's the responsible thing to do.
I should've just been responsible in the first place. We both should've. Then we wouldn't be in this situation.
I wonder if he's sitting wherever he is feeling the same pit in his stomach. Wondering what the hell kind of life he's about to walk into. Probably didn't think his bachelor days would end like this either.
But this is what it is. And now we've got to deal with it. Responsibly. Like grown-ups. Even if it still hurts a little.
I wonder if the baby will know we don't love each other. That everything's a lie. Maybe not now, not when it's little and all it needs is to be fed and rocked and sung to sleep. But one day, it'll be old enough to look at us across the kitchen table and see the distance in our eyes. To notice how different we treat each other compared to other parents. To feel it. Kids are smart like that. You can't hide everything, no matter how good your intentions are.
I keep thinking about how it'll look. How we'll smile in pictures and sign school forms together. How we'll share a house, maybe even a room. But love? That won't be part of it. Not the way people talk about it, not the way I used to dream about it. And I hate that. I hate knowing I'm giving up on the kind of love I always thought I'd find. I hate that my child's first understanding of marriage will come from something that was built out of necessity instead of feeling.
Still, I hope that our separate love is enough. Maybe it doesn't matter that we aren't in love with each other. I hope it's enough that we're both willing to love this baby with everything we've got. Maybe that's what makes a family, even if it isn't the fairytale kind.
But a part of me aches at the thought that one day, our kid might look at us and wonder why there's something missing. And I won't know how to answer that.
----
Jake and I end up working out the details through text. We settle on a dinner so our parents can meet. Jake's parents were coincidentally already vacationing here in California and my parents live a couple hours away. We plan a courthouse wedding for the next day.
While I was comfortable being open with my parents, Jake isn't. We decide to lie and pretend we've been together for a while now, so his parents will handle it better.
With every hour that passes, I can feel my anxiety grow. What if our parents hate each other? What if his parents hate me, and mine hate him? That'll open a whole new can of worms I really don't think I can deal with right now.
It doesn't help I've felt sick all day. I don't know if it's from stress or the pregnancy. Maybe both things.
My manager ends up keeping me past the time I was supposed to get off, not caring about the important dinner tonight. By the time I get out of the diner, I'm running 15 minutes behind schedule.
I rush home, almost tripping over my own feet as I race up the stairs to my apartment. I'm sweaty and out of breath by the time I get inside.
I barely have time to kick off my shoes when there's a knock at the door.
"Shit," I mutter, rushing to the mirror. I look like hell. Dark circles under my eyes from barely sleeping the past week, my hair's a mess from the rush of the lunch shift at the diner, and my shirt is stained with something from Joey's I didn't even notice until now. I try to flatten it out but it's useless. I'm a mess.
I open the door anyway.
Jake's standing there, looking like he just walked out of a magazine. Crisp button-down, sleeves rolled once at the forearms. Dark jeans. Clean boots. His hair is neatly combed like always. I see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes when he gets a look at me. He doesn't say anything, but I catch it.
"I'm running way behind," I explain quickly. "My manager made me stay late. I just got back."
He nods. "It's alright. We've still got time. I can always tell them we're going to be a little late."
I step aside. "You can come in. I'll be quick."
He steps past me, and for a second he just takes in the room. I suddenly see it the way he must be seeing it. This is the first time he's ever been here. Peeling paint, scratched floors, cheap furniture. But it's mine. I've tried to make it feel warm, even if it's worn out. The plant in the window is somehow still alive. The couch is covered with an old quilt. I have candles lined up along the windowsill I light when I'm stressed.
"It's cozy," he says finally, eyes lingering on the bookshelf like he's trying to give me a compliment without making it a thing.
"That's one way to put it," I say, grabbing my clothes and shoes before ducking into the bathroom. Thank goodness I picked everything out this morning.
"Better than my first place in Pensacola," he calls through the door. "No couch, busted AC, fridge made this weird rattling noise that kept me up at night. Used a cooler as a coffee table."
I huff a quiet laugh as I try to figure out some way to tame my hair. I slap on some makeup quickly, just enough to make me look awake.
"So I'm winning in the fake domestic partner competition?" I ask, voice raised over the sound of water running.
"By a mile. You've even got matching mugs."
I open the door, slipping on a pair of shoes. "You noticed the mugs?"
His mouth tilts up at one corner. "I'm trained to observe. Comes with the job."
I glance at the clock. We're not as late as I thought. "We still have time?"
"Yeah," he says, checking his watch. "We're alright."
I exhale. The relief only lasts a second before the nerves come crawling right back.
"Good," I say. "I just need my bag and then we can go."
We arrive at the restaurant at the same time Jake's parents do. It's a nice place, one fancy enough to make a good impression but not too expensive.
Before we get out of the car, Jake clears his throat beside me. "Hey," he says, voice softer than usual. "Just a heads-up… my parents can be a little intense."
"Intense how?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the entrance where his parents are already stepping out of their sleek black car. "They have a specific view of life and how they think I should live. If it were up to them, they'd control who I work and interact with. I already spoke to them, I'm hoping they respect my wishes. But in advance, I'm sorry about them." For the first time, he looks a little... embarrassed?
That doesn't exactly ease the tight feeling in my chest. I force a small smile. "It's okay, Jake. I'm sure it'll be alright."
We get out of the car and Jake opens the door of the restaurant for me. We step inside, and I clock them instantly. Wealthy Texans, no doubt. His mom is dripping in diamonds, even her earrings look like they weigh a few pounds each. His dad's suit looks like it costs more than my rent and car combined. Their clothes are pristine, polished, everything tailored just so. His mom's hair is perfectly blown out, her lipstick a sharp, intimidating red that perfectly compliments her smooth skin.
I lived a comfortable life as a kid, but they're on an entirely other level. They live luxuriously.
Jake greets them with a smile and a big hug. He plays it up. I watch as he shifts effortlessly into the role of the golden boy. Their son, the perfect pilot, the Navy hero.
"And this," Jake says, turning to me and placing a hand on my lower back, "is my fiancée. Darling, these are my parents."
I'm surprised a bit at the feeling of his warm hand against my back, but I don't let it show.
His mom's smile freezes for half a second. It's quick, but I catch it. Her eyes slowly scan over my face, analyzing everything about my appearance. There's a slight twitch in her eye, like she's wondering if this is a joke. His dad's eyebrows lift like Jake just told them he bought a motorcycle with their credit card.
Thankfully, I'm not showing yet. Jake hasn't told them about the baby yet, and I agreed not to. So I told my parents not to say anything about it to them. If everything goes according to plan, in a few months we'll 'announce' the pregnancy to them, telling them we had no idea when we got married.
"I didn't even know you were datin' anyone," his dad says, clearly amused.
"We wanted to keep it all under wraps," Jake says smoothly. "We didn't really tell anyone."
I give a polite smile, hoping it looks convincing. I reach out and shake their hands, trying to ignore how cold and judgmental his mom's eyes feel as they sweep over me.
"So nice to finally meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Seresin." I say. "Jake's told me so much about you." Not really.
His mom hums, a little too sharp. "Is that so, dear?"
She's already looking me up and down again, lips tight in a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Her gaze sends my stomach tumbling in discomfort.
"What do you do, dear?" she asks, but her tone is more evaluation than curiosity.
I tell her about my job at the bar and the diner, along with attending online university. She nods in that way people do when they're pretending to care. Then, as we're walking to the table, she glances down at my hand.
"No ring?" she asks lightly. "For a fiancée, I mean."
Jake doesn't skip a beat. "It's getting resized. Should be back next week. I was so excited to propose, I got the wrong size." He lies cooly.
I glance at him, surprised at how natural the lie sounds coming out of his mouth. His mom doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go.
We sit and wait for my parents, ordering drinks in the meantime. I do my best to stay pleasant, to make small talk, to seem like someone worthy of sitting at this table. But I can feel it, the tension beneath the polite conversation, the way his mother side-eyes me when she think I won't notice. It's subtle. A passive-aggressive smile here, a backhanded compliment there. His father's also a little passive-aggressive, just at a way lower scale. He isn't nearly as bad as Jake's mom. I try not to take it personally. I tell myself maybe they're just in shock or hurt Jake didn't tell them about the engagement, or even the relationship. I can sympathize with that. It would sting. Maybe this is the only way they know how to deal with the suddenness of everything.
But then Jake's mom leans in slightly during a pause in conversation.
"You're very… sweet," she says. "Different than the type of girl Jake usually brings around."
Jake's jaw tightens. "Mom."
It's firm. A warning. She leans back with a sip of her wine, like she didn't just throw a dart across the table.
My stomach knots, but I smile again, pretending I don't hear the implication. I tell myself it's just nerves. That maybe they'll warm up to me if I keep being kind and keep pretending we're actually in love.
But it's hard not to feel like they see right through me.
My parents finally show up twenty minutes late, rushing in with apologetic smiles.
"Sorry, sweetie," my mom says as she pulls me into a hug. "Traffic was a nightmare."
"It's okay," I whisper, hugging her back tighter than I probably should. I didn't realize how much I needed to see them until now. There's something grounding about their presence.
Jake stands beside me, polite and unreadable, as always. His mom glances at her watch, lips pursed. His dad just nods in greeting.
"These must be your parents," my dad says, stepping forward with a warm smile. He introduces himself and my mom.
"Lydia Seresin," Jake's mom says, her handshake brief. "And this is my husband, Jonathan."
My mom's in a navy-blue blouse, nothing fancy, just something she probably pulled out of her closet this morning. Dad's in slacks and a button-up that's slightly wrinkled from sitting in traffic too long. They're dressed nice, but comfortable. The complete opposite of Jake's parents.
When I glance over at Jake's parents, I can tell I'm not the only one who noticed.
They make small talk for a minute or two. Weather, traffic, drinks, the restaurant décor, until Lydia smiles, thin and pointed.
"So, what do you both do for work?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.
My mom answers first, calm and friendly. "I'm a third-grade teacher. Been doing it for a long time now."
"Thirty-two years," my dad adds proudly. "And I work in city planning. We're both retiring next spring, actually."
Lydia hums. "How nice. I suppose that gives you more time for... hobbies."
My dad chuckles, unfazed. "That's the plan. Traveling, maybe volunteering. We'll see."
Then my mom politely returns the question. "And what do you two do?"
There's a pause.
I feel Jake tense beside me, just barely. I glance up at him, confused, but he keeps his face neutral.
"My husband owns Seresin Oil," she says smoothly, before Jake can speak. "We've run it for decades, since Jonathan's dad passed. It's the largest privately owned oil company in Texas."
I blink.
My dad's eyebrows raise slightly. "Seresin Oil? I've definitely heard of it. I have a buddy who works at one of your plants."
I turn to look at Jake, but he's not looking at me. I don't know how I never put the pieces together. It never clicked in my mind. Not once did he mention he was part of that Seresin family. The oil giants.
When was he going to tell me?
"That's… impressive," my dad says, still smiling.
"We're proud of the work we do," Jonathan says, folding his hands. "It keeps the state moving."
"Sure does," my dad replies. "You've got quite the empire."
Lydia gives a modest smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes. "We do well."
The conversation starts to shift and Jake looks relieved. Vacation spots, retirement plans, Jake's time in the Navy, until Lydia circles back around with a carefully worded dagger.
"I have to ask," she says, smiling sweetly. "Why the rush with the wedding? I just assumed you'd be planning something a little more… traditional."
My stomach twists.
My parents look at me, and I shoot them a silent, pleading look. Please don't say anything. Please.
They don't.
Jake clears his throat and jumps in before anyone can answer. "We just want to keep it small. We've both got a lot going on, and this made the most sense for us. Nothing wrong with doing things our own way."
Lydia hums again. That same disapproving, judgmental hum she's been using the whole time.
I grab my mom's hand under the table, holding on a little tighter than I need to.
She squeezes back.
Lydia hums, stirring her drink like she's thinking real hard. "Are you sure this is what you want, Jake? I mean really sure? This the best thing for you? For your future? For the company?"
Jake's jaw tightens for the millionth time tonight, and I can feel how hard he's working to stay calm. "It's the best thing that's ever happened to me," he says. "And I've told y'all already, I don't want anything to do with the company."
His dad leans forward slightly. "Maybe not now, son. But one day, you will. You're still young. Things change."
"Not about this, they don't," Jake says, voice lower now. Still calm, but sharp around the edges. "I'm not marrying for business, I'm marrying for love. She's it for me."
Lydia lets out a soft little laugh like she knows better. "It's just... hard to believe. I mean, we don't know anythin' about her. And her parents seem... sweet, I suppose." She speaks like my family isn't literally right here at the table. "Just not what we're used to. Doesn't it worry you that this is all happening so fast? That she might be in this for the wrong reasons? For your money maybe?"
My parents shift awkwardly across from us. I can feel their discomfort like it's my own. They're trying so hard to make this work for my sake but I can tell my dad's on the verge of saying something.
Jake however, isn't trying to keep it calm anymore. "You need to watch what you're saying." he warns. "She didn't even know I came from money until today when dad told everyone about the company. She's not in this for that. You think you're protecting me but you're just insulting innocent people who have been nothing but kind to you all night, when there were plenty of opportunities for them not to be. You wanna talk about fast? Maybe take a look at how quick you are to judge."
"Watch it Jake." Jonathan warns Jake for his tone.
"No, dad. This is why I don't tell you guys about what's goin' on in my life." He growls, very frustrated. "We met, we dated, we fell in love and now we're gettin' married. Why is that so hard to accept?"
His mom opens her mouth to respond, but I don't catch it, because something warm and heavy hits me all at once. A server passes by with a plate of food, something greasy and rich, and the smell makes my stomach turn. My hand goes to my belly without thinking, just hoping the nausea settles. I swallow harshly, shutting my eyes momentarily.
This is all so stressful and now I feel sick. I just want this night to be over. I slowly open my eyes, trying to work past the uneasiness in my stomach.
There's a beat of silence at the table, and then Lydia's eyes narrow. Her gaze locks on my hand.
"Oh," she says, her voice dripping with realization. Her eyes narrow on my stomach. "So that's what this is about. She's pregnant."
The table goes still. I feel my body freeze and my eyes widen. Jake's whole body shifts toward me.
"Don't," he says quietly, but Lydia's already smirking.
"Now it makes sense, Jake. No alcohol, no coffee, she's been pickin' at her food the entire time she's had it. She wouldn't even touch the charcuterie board with all that fancy unpasteurized cheese. And you've been hovering like she's made of glass. You're rushing because she trapped you with a baby. She's got you wrapped up in this mess and now you're trying to do the right thing." She points at Jake before looking harshly at me. "That's why you're here playing house with him, ain't it, sweetheart?"
I feel heat crawl up my neck. What do I say to that? She called us out, she figured it out. She hates me.
"You need to stop," he says, flat and angry now. His posture is stiff and his fists are tightly clenched. "You're not gonna sit here and talk about her like that, like she's not a person with feelings. You think I don't know what I'm doing? You think this is some mistake? That she's beneath me? Hell, you think you're above her? I'm an adult for fucks sake, I know what's best for me, for my life."
"Do you though? All I'm saying, Jake, is that you need to seriously think this through," Lydia snaps, arms folded tight across her chest. "She's playing you, and you're sitting back and letting it happen. I won't tolerate that." She eyes me. "Are you even sure the baby's yours? Marriage is a serious commitment, Jake. You don't have to rush into anything just because she says she's pregnant."
My father stiffens beside me, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "What are you implying? That my daughter's a-"
Jake opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, his mom cuts in with a brittle laugh. "Slut? Look no offense, but we just don't know how many men she's been with. There's a military base with thousands of men a mile away, she could've hooked up with any number of them. This could be a trap, and we're supposed to believe her just like that?" She snaps her fingers. "I just find it a bit coincidental that she happened to get knocked up by our son, the heir to a fortune."
My jaw drops slightly in shock. She can't be serious?
I had no idea Jake was even connected to any money. I thought we were BOTH broke, trying to figure out how to handle this on the limited money we have. That's why we planned on getting married. To have extra money for the baby.
Why didn't he tell me about his family's money? Was he scared? Did he think what his parents believe? Was he worried I'd try to take his money from him if I found out?
On the other hand, if he has all this money, why was marriage his solution?
Hundreds of thoughts race through my mind. What the fuck is going on?
"That's enough," My mother frowns. "You can't talk to my daughter like that."
"Is it?" Lydia shoots back. "You expect Jake to marry her without even knowin' if the baby's his? He'd be a fool not to get a paternity test first. Wait until the baby's born and then make decisions. That's the smart thing to do. None of this shotgun weddin' crap."
My dad slams his hand against the table. I've never seen him so angry before. "So you'd rather he walk away? Abandon her? Leave her to do this all alone while he waits for the baby to be born? That baby is his responsibility too, not just my daughter's. She didn't make this child on her own. And I'll be damned if I sit here and let you act like she's some kind of burden... like she's the only one who should have to clean up the mess. She's not a mistake. She's not a trap. She's a young woman doing her damn best, and your son doesn't get to pick and choose when he wants to be part of that."
My mom's voice is sharp as glass. "They're trying to do the right thing. Trying to figure things out for the baby. You think it's easy? They're just kids themselves, but they're showing up. That should count for something."
Lydia scoffs. "If she wanted to play it smart, she should've been on birth control in the first place."
"I was on birth control." I mutter, sinking into my seat a little.
"So what then? This is all Jake's fault then?" Jonathan asks, apparently hearing me. He folding his arms like he's proud of himself. "He's got a career, a future, everything lined up. And what has she done? She's done nothing. Just dragging him into her mess." He looks me in the eye. "Look, if money's what you're after, we can just give you a little and send you on your way. How about that? As long as you promise to leave our son out of your shit."
My chest tightens, throat burning. The shame creeps up before I can stop it. I feel my nails dig into my palm. "I don't want anything from him," I say, voice quiet but steady. "I don't care about his money. I work 2 jobs and I was about to get a third just so I could support the baby without needing to take his money. Marriage was his idea. I'm not trying to trap him. If that's what you're scared of, I'll sign a prenup. I don't care. I just want my baby to have its dad in its life. My baby deserves a father."
Jake stiffens beside me, jaw tense.
"Again, how do we know it's his? It could be anyone's." Lydia argues.
"Because I believe her, ma." Jake says while standing up. His voice is calm, but I catch that sharp edge in it. "It is my baby."
Jonathan raises a brow, slow and heavy with that Texas drawl. "You don't know that, son."
Jake doesn't even blink. "Yeah, I do."
My heart sputters slightly at the sound of him claiming the baby. For a moment, I feel a flicker of relief. Jake standing up like that, defending me and our kid, it takes some of the weight off my chest. I can't help but hope that no matter how messy all this gets, at least he's willing to be here. That means something. Hell, it means everything right now.
He looks over at them, his eyes hardening. "You both need to quit talking about her and her folks like they're not worth anything. I've got just as much of a responsibility here as she does. I'm not gonna leave her hanging. This is on me too."
He rubs the back of his neck, then keeps going. "She's a good woman. Works her tail off. She's trying to get her life straight. Go to school, pay for it herself, doing everything she can for that baby. She's been honest with me from the start. I don't have any reason to think otherwise. I'm not gonna abandon my kid. I'd be a heartless asshole if I did. And frankly, it hurts me that you think I could even be capable of doing that."
Jake's voice softens slightly when he talks to me, a hint of guilt in his tone. He gently grabs my hand to help me up from the table. "Let's go, Y/N. We're done here. This can't be good for the baby, you don't need all of this crap. I never should've brought you or your parents here, and I never should've said shit to them." He turns slowly toward his parents, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and resolve while my parents and I gather our things quietly. "If you're gonna keep treating her and her family like this tomorrow, then don't even bother showing up to the courthouse. We're getting married. We're having this baby, whether you like it or not."
His voice lowers but holds firm, every word deliberate. "This is my life. Not yours. Not the company's. You can either accept it or not be apart of your grandchild's life."
His parents don't respond. They're stunned into silence. I can feel their eyes on us as we walk away, Jake's hand still securely holding mine. His hand is soft and warm, it grounds me.
His eyes still burn with that mix of anger and hurt, like he's carrying the weight of every word they said. My parents quietly follow behind us. I can feel the weight of every glance from the other tables around us. People have definitely noticed the argument. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
We hurry out of the restaurant into the cool night air. Jake finally lets go of my hand and rubs the back of his neck, taking a deep breath. "Y/N, I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I talked to them this morning, tried to make sure they'd be civil, but apparently it went in one ear and out the next."
I shake my head gently. "Jake, you can't control what they said. It's not your fault."
He looks at me, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I just hate that you had to sit there and take all that crap. And you've been looking sick all night."
It's true. The mixture of strong smells floating around the restaurant immediately overwhelmed my senses.
I swallow hard, feeling the nausea rise again. "It's just been a lot. I mean, with everything they were talking about and all the strong smells...I haven't been feeling very good. I think I just needed some fresh air."
Just then, my parents catch up to us. Jake immediately turns to them, his voice apologetic. "I want to apologize to you too. I didn't mean for things to get ugly like that. This isn't the first impression I was hoping to make."
"It may not have been the perfect first impression," my mom says with a gentle smile, "but you showed us a lot about your character through how you handled yourself." She looks at him warmly. "We really appreciate you standing up for all of us. That took courage. Even if this wasn't the meeting we imagined, we're glad to have met you."
She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. "If you need anything, we're family now. Just let us know."
"Let's talk for a second, okay, bud?" My dad nods his head in the direction of the parking lot.
I catch a flicker of concern cross his face at my dad's request, like he's worried he fucked everything up and my dad's going to chew him out. Jake follows his request, immediately walking next to my father. His hands are tucked into his pockets, his posture slightly tense. My dad waits for them to get a good distance away so we can't hear before he turns to Jake and begins to speak.
My mom pulls me into a hug which I immediately melt into. I feel my shoulders sag and I let out a breath.
Her voice low and caring. "You okay, sweetheart? This... this was awful. I can't believe they treated you like that." She sighs. "You shouldn't be going through this, it's a lot to handle." She gently strokes my head. "You need to go home, rest, take care of yourself. All this stress isn't good for you. You need to make sure you relax."
I nod, feeling grateful for her quiet support.
"Have you been to a doctor yet?" She asks as I pull away slightly.
I give her another nod. "I went to a community clinic a few days ago. Jake helped me pay for it." After we finished our conversation on the phone, Jake gave me some cash to help pay for my visit to the clinic. He had to work, so he wasn't able to go with me, but I filled him in on what the doctor said. Jake and I were both so relieved to know the baby is okay and growing.
"That's good, sweetheart. Make sure you keep going and take the vitamins they prescribe you."
"I will mom."
My mom glances over at my dad and Jake who are still deep into their conversation, Jake nodding slowly, like a soldier taking orders from a commanding officer. Respectful and fully absorbing every word. "I think you two are gonna be okay. He might not be the prince charming you hoped to find as a little girl, but he seems like a good man. He's got a good head on his shoulders. He'll take care of you."
"Yeah, he's pretty great." I agree, watching as Jake shakes my dad's hand firmly before the two begin to walk back to us.
Before my parents leave, my dad whispers to me quiet enough for only me to hear. "You're a smart girl, honey, you just make mistakes. Everyone one does. Don't let what was said here tonight make you forget that. You'll be alright, I know you will."
"Thanks, dad."
"And if he ever hurts you, I'll kill him. I already told him that, but I want you to know that too. I'm not 100% on board with you two getting married, but you're an adult. You can make your own decisions. I trust your judgement. Just know, we're only a phone call away if you need us." My dad's voice is serious.
"Alright, dad." I smile a little at his threat. He's just trying to protect me.
We say goodnight to my parents and watch them get into their car and leave. They'll be back tomorrow for our appointment at the courthouse.
Jake and I stand there for a moment while we watch my parents leave, the night quiet except for our breaths.
A small gust of wind catches me by surprise, sending goose bumps over my arms.
"You cold?" Jake asks, his eyes scanning my face, a slight frown tugging at his lips.
I shake my head. "Just caught me off guard."
He gestures in the direction of his truck. "C'mon. I should probably get you home anyway, it's been a long night." He opens the passenger door for me, waits until I'm settled, then climbs in on his side. Before pulling out of the parking lot, he starts the engine and cranks up the heat.
"That warm enough?" he asks, glancing over at me.
"Yeah," I murmur, smiling at the way the heat's already starting to chase the chill off my skin. "Thank you."
The ride is quiet for a minute, just the low hum of the road and the soft blow of the heater. The streets aren't nearly as bad as they were earlier. The setting sun casts a warm, comforting glow on the world. My eyes drift toward the rearview mirror, and that's when I spot it a small shopping bag tucked behind the passenger seat. It's light pink with white lettering. I squint to try to read the name of the familiar looking logo. Storks. It's a local baby boutique.
Jake follows my gaze, and a faint flush creeps into his cheeks. He scratches the back of his neck. "Oh. Uh. That's just… I stopped by the store earlier, before dinner. Wanted to see what kinda stuff we're gonna need.”
My eyebrows lift, surprised.
"I didn't get anything big yet, figured we'd make those decisions together." he rushes to add. "Just a few books. I don't like going into things blind. Figured I should educate myself on what to expect. You can take a look at the books, if you want."
Taking him up on his offer from curiosity, I look through the bag. Multiple books are stacked inside.
'What To Expect When You're Expecting'
'We're Pregnant! The First Time Dad's Pregnancy Handbook'
'How To Be A Good Dad'
'How Not To Fuck-Up Your Kids: Minimizing Childhood Trauma And Practical Parenting Ideas'
Something in my chest pulls tight, warm and aching all at once. Lately I've been feeling a lot of things; sadness, happiness, anger, fear. But right now, it's all overpowered by relief and gratitude.
Because Jake isn't just showing up, he's trying. He's thinking ahead, taking it seriously and caring enough to prepare for things I haven't even let myself think about yet.
And it hits me, all at once, how rare that is. How lucky I am. Of all the men I could've been stuck in this situation with, I somehow was fortunate enough to get Jake.
I completely underestimated him. I did exactly what his parents did to me. I judged him before I really got to know him, the real him.
How shitty is that?
Underneath all of the confidence and smug remarks, he's a thoughtful man trying to figure out everything and better his life for the sake of our baby.
Some women don't get the same support. Their kids' dads don't defend them, or they don't care about their kids. That's not Jake. He doesn't owe me anything, but he's still choosing to be here. To stand up for me and my parents. And to be a dad to our baby and support me.
I blink fast, swallowing past the lump rising in my throat. "That… means a lot, Jake," I say softly. "Really. Thank you."
He gives a small, almost bashful smile, eyes still on the road. He tries to play it off with shrug, but I can see through it. "Just trying to keep up and do right by both of you."
"You are," I say softly. "You really are."
There's a moment of silence.
"Do you think we should still go through with it? The marriage?" I ask, biting my lip slightly. "I don't want to come between you and your family. We can always try to figure something else out."
Jake doesn't answer right away. He shifts a little in his seat.
"Yes, I do." he says finally. " I've made it clear that this is my life and I make my own decisions. They know damn well if they try anything, I'll never even consider coming back to Texas to visit or working for my dad. They push me too far, they lose me for good. I made it clear to them when I enlisted. I've tried being open to fixing our relationship. I've done by part. If they want to be in my life, they need to accept my choices."
I nod slowly, watching the road blur past us. But my thoughts are stuck on other things. Things I haven't been brave enough to ask until now.
"Why didn't you tell me about all of it? The family business? The money? Why'd you want to get married when you didn't even need to? We probably could've figured out a way to handle visitation and custody."
Jake lets out a tired sigh. "I didn't tell you 'cause I didn't want any of that touching you. Or the baby. I was gonna tell you eventually, I just… I was tryin' to keep it separate and to keep you safe from it."
He glances over, then back to the road.
"My dad's world... he's involved with more than just running an oil business. Politics, backroom deals, blackmail, lobbyists. The kinda money that gets made while people lose everything. I've watched him ruin lives just to make a profit. Doesn't lose sleep over it either. I never wanted to be like that. Never wanted to take his money or carry that name around like it meant something good."
Jake's voice goes a little quieter, but his tone stays steady. "I joined the Navy because I wanted to do something that actually mattered. I wanted to build something, not tear it down for a damn paycheck. I make my own money now, honest money. That's why I brought up marriage in the first place. Because yeah, my parents are rich, but I'm not. I've been tryin' to stand on my own two feet without their help for years and so far, I've been able to. While I do okay, with how expensive medical care is, my extra cash won't get us far." His hands tighten around the steering wheel. "I looked it up. Uninsured, if you have the baby normally, it'll cost around $36,000. That's without complications. That doesn't take into account appointments, scans and testing, vitamins or if the baby needs extra care when it's born. Neither of us can afford that. Getting married will take the stress of all of that away."
He pauses, then shakes his head slightly. "But I should've been honest with you. Told you about the situation and given you all of the information. I'm sorry about that."
I don't say anything right away.
The number alone hits like a punch to the gut. Thirty-six thousand dollars. That's more money than I've ever seen in one place. It makes sense why he brought up marriage. When you're in the Navy, that kind of coverage could mean the difference between scraping by and actually being able to breathe.
And now that he's laid it out like this, I get it. I really do.
But what gets me more than the numbers is the way he talks about his dad.
It takes guts to walk away from that kind of power. It takes even more to never cash in on it. And Jake... Jake could've had an easy life. He could be living by the beach, never working a day in his life. But he chose the hardest route possible. Just because he knew it was right.
I swallow hard.
Yeah. That world he came from… it does sound scary. And I understand now why he kept it from me. Maybe I would've done the same in his shoes. I don't know.
Still, there's this small, aching part of me that wishes I would've known earlier. Maybe not everything, but something. Just enough to feel like I wasn't completely in the dark.
"I get why you wanted to keep that world away from us. I do. But I just... I don't want there to be more surprises like that down the line, Jake. I want us to be able to talk about major things like, thing's that will impact the baby."
He nods. "I'll keep you in the loop from now on."
"And I'll do the same."
We can't keep massive things like this from each other if this is going to work. We need to be honest, for our kid.
When we pull up to my place, the street's already quiet.
Jake shuts off the engine and hops out before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt. He meets me on the sidewalk without a word and falls into step beside me, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. I don't say anything either, but I'm grateful. I always try to spend as little time as possible outside after dark.
The neighborhood isn't the worst, not by a long shot. But there's something about it after sundown that makes it feel different. The streetlights buzz overhead, half of them dim or flickering like they're ready to give out. A stray dog slips between parked cars on the opposite side of the street. There's an old convenience store on the corner with bars on the windows and a neon "OPEN" sign that blinks like it's struggling to keep up. It smells like motor oil and burnt rubber out here, even though the auto shop closed hours ago.
A couple doors down, someone's arguing behind a thin apartment wall. I can't make out the words, but the tone is sharp. Somewhere else, a car alarm chirps twice before falling silent again.
This isn't the kind of place you linger. You keep your head down, your keys in hand, and you don't stop walking. I've learned that the hard way. It's scary being a woman alone walking through the street at night, especially when there's no one waiting at home to help if something happens. But it's my life, and it's all I can afford.
Jake walks slow and steady, matching my pace, keeping just close enough to make me feel safe without making me feel watched. It's a small thing, but I appreciate it more than I can explain.
When we reach my door, I finally exhale. He doesn't seem fazed by any of it. Maybe he's just used to worse.
Whatever it is, I'm glad he's here.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask more than state. I scan his face for any sign of doubt or second guessing.
I don't find any.
Jake nods confidently. "At 5, at the courthouse."
I send him a small smile. "Alright. I'll see you then. Have a good night, Jake."
He gives me a small, tired smile back. "Goodnight. Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
With a nod in goodbye, Jake turns around and begins to walk away.
I close the door, blocking my view of his retreating image. I let out a small sigh, resting my head against the peeling paint on my door.
Part Summary: A casual hookup leaves you pregnant with Jake's baby. You tell Jake, and he suggests a marriage of convenience: you and the baby get healthcare. He gets to spend more time with his kid. Plus, the extra money can't hurt. The question is, are you willing to get married to a stranger?
*Not Proofread*
Marrying a Stranger Masterlist
My parents always stressed the importance of thinking things through. For years, I took their advice to heart. I played it safe, rarely taking unnecessary risks.
So of course, the one night I decide to let loose, everything gets massively fucked up.
It was a very busy night at the bar. Penny and I were swamped with orders. Everywhere we looked, someone needed something. Usually I don't mind being busy. I need the work and busy = more tips. So I powered through, trying to keep up the best I could.
That night, a new guy really got on my nerves. No respect, no patience. He wanted what he wanted, how he wanted it and when he wanted it. He pissed me off and made my shift so much longer then it needed to be. By the time he finally got kicked out of the bar by Penny, for disrespecting women, I was on edge. I was frustrated, stressed and beyond tired.
When the night finally started to calm down, Penny offered me a drink as a thank you 'for surviving hell with her'. I should've said no. I know I'm a light weight.
But I just needed something to take the edge off. To make me feel calm again.
Jake's been a regular for months, one who I immediately clocked as a player when he hit on me seconds after entering the bar. He's handsome but too cocky. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little flattered by his sweet talk though.
I always left it at that though. Sweet talk. Light flirting with offers for a good time. I didn't need to drama or stress that could've potentially come with a guy like him, so I shot him down. Night after night, I'd say no thanks. It got to the point where he knew I'd shoot him down every time. His inquiries went from serious offers to a playful, habitual way to end the night. A goodbye of some sort.
I don't know why he kept asking me out. Maybe he liked the chase, the way I'd sass him while shooting him down. Maybe it was just an instinctual habit.
Either way, every night I could count on him to bring up the offer to hook up.
And that stressful day, I took it.
He was surprised. I could tell by the way his brain slightly shut down, staring at me with a thousand emotions flickering through his face. Like he never actually thought about what to do if I ever said yes.
It was kind of strange, seeing him speechless for once. This guy, so smooth, so sure of himself, just standing there like he'd forgotten how to talk. His jaw tensed like he wanted to say something but couldn't settle on what. Maybe he thought I was bluffing. Maybe he thought I'd never actually go through with it. But I meant it. I was tired of the games. Tired of pretending I didn't need anything.
It didn't last long though, that moment. He blinked, cleared his throat, nodded once and just like that, the flicker of uncertainty vanished.
He waited for me to finish closing down the bar, lingering by the jukebox with a half-empty beer, spinning the cap between his fingers. Neither of us said much. There wasn't really anything to say. We both knew what was coming next. We were both drunk, and on a mission.
Not the most romantic place to hook up, his truck parked behind the bar, windows fogging up under the hazy glow of a flickering streetlight. But it got the job done. We didn't kiss much. Didn't talk. It was messy and ungraceful, that doesn't matter.
It wasn't love. I knew that going in. This was two people helping each other get what they needed, nothing more. A quick release. And maybe that's all it ever was supposed to be.
When it was over, I pulled my shirt back on and stepped out into the night air, letting the cool breeze hit my face. I didn't look back to see if he was watching me go. Didn't need to. I got what I needed; a break from my life. Some fun and spontaneity, a chance to let loose.
I left feeling a lot less stressed, and ready to just move on.
Or at least, that's what I told myself.
But, we forgot one little thing.
A fucking condom.
-----
I stare at the four pregnancy tests in a plastic baggie hidden in my purse. It's been a week since I found out, and I still can't believe it's real.
I keep coming back to them, hoping they're wrong. That it's all some really unfunny prank and somehow someone switched mine out with a real pregnant woman's tests.
But deep down, I know it's not a prank. I was literally in the room, taking the tests. It's not fake.
No matter how much I wish it was.
And I know who the father is. I've just been scared to tell him.
What if he leaves? Willingly or not willingly? He's in the military, they could ship him somewhere new any day. Or he could ask to be transferred.
He doesn't seem like the type to want a kid. He lives a bachelor's life, carefree and not tied down. What if he doesn't want anything to do with the baby?
What if he's already been moved? I haven't seen him in days, what if he left and I'll never have the opportunity to tell him?
I can't do this by myself! I'm barely getting by as it is. I can't even afford proper health insurance, let alone a kid. It costs an arm and a leg to have a baby. And what if there's complications? That'll cost even more.
I don't know what to do.
At the same time... I'm torn. Honestly, I'm a little excited.
A baby... a real baby. I've always wanted to be a mom, ever since I was kid. I've always hoped at some point, I'd be able to live out my dream and have a kid. I just didn't think it'd come this early.
So many decisions... I don't know what to do. And I can't tell my parents, not yet. I know how they'll react. They'll be beyond disappointed at how irresponsible I was. I mean, how the fuck did we forget a condom?
"Y/N? Could I get some back up out here?" Penny calls from the serving area, immediately snapping me out of my thoughts.
I close my locker door shut before quickly washing my hands and heading out of the break room.
The bar, which was earlier empty aside from 2 or 3 regulars, is now bursting with energy and people. It's the evening rush. I quickly get to work taking orders and pouring drinks. The entire time I'm serving, I catch myself glancing at the door. I can't tell if I'm hoping for Jake to show up, or praying he doesn't.
Finally, he does.
I do a double take when I see him walk over to his regular spot near the pool table, flanked by his usual crowd. He looks completely at ease, like the world's never handed him a single bad day. There's a lazy confidence in his stride, the kind that draws eyes without even trying. That damn smug grin is already on his face, sharp and charming as ever, as he leans in to joke with one of his buddies. His hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, like he just stepped out of a recruitment poster. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms, and the soft glow from the bar lights catches the edge of his jaw just right. He looks good.
My heart begins to pound fast, my anxiety rising. I know I have to tell him at some point, but the thought of it terrifies me. We really don't know each other. Sure, we'll flirt and joke around, but that's it. We've never had a real conversation. I don't even know his last name. Who knows how he'll react? Or if he'll even believe me.
For the next half hour, I try to muster up the courage to talk to Jake.
I move from one end of the bar to the other, taking orders, pouring drinks, wiping down surfaces that don't need wiping just to keep my hands busy. I tell myself over and over again that I'll do it the next time he's alone. Or maybe when he's on his way out. Or maybe... I don't know. Every time I glance over, he's laughing with his friends, head thrown back, completely carefree. And every time, it makes my chest ache a little more. At some point I start counting down.
When I get to zero I'll go over. I'll ask him to talk. I'll show him the tests. Eventually, zero happens (multiple times) and my stomach begins to churn and I back down before starting the count down from 10 again. It's like some sadistic emotional torture ritual I'm forcing myself to go through.
How do you drop something like this into someone's lap? Especially someone like him? A guy who's never taken anything in this bar seriously. Not the drinks, not the conversations, and definitely not me.
I almost knock over a full tray of glasses because I'm too busy checking the clock and overthinking every possible outcome of this conversation I haven't even had yet.
Then suddenly, he's right in front of me.
"Evening, sunshine," Jake drawls, leaning one elbow on the bar like he's got all the time in the world. His smile is pure mischief. "Miss me?"
Well, I guess nothing really has changed. He doesn't know yet.
The casual flirtation used to make me roll my eyes or fire back with a smartass comment. Now, it makes my stomach twist.
I swallow hard, forcing a polite smile. "What can I get you?"
His eyebrows lift slightly, just enough to show he notices the shift. "Straight to business tonight, huh?" he teases. "You're breaking my heart."
I busy myself reaching for the beers, hoping he doesn't see the way my hands shake just a little. "Busy night," I mumble. "Trying to keep up."
"Fair enough, 3 beers please." He watches me, leaning in a little like he might say something else. But when I slide the bottles toward him, he just nods. "Thanks."
No wink, no comeback from me. Just a tight-lipped smile and a quiet nod.
Jake lingers a second longer, that easy grin still on his face, but there's something in his eyes now. A flicker of confusion, maybe. Like he can feel the difference in the air between us, but he can't quite put his finger on it.
Still, he doesn't push. "Don't work too hard," he says, grabbing the beers and turning back toward the pool table.
I watch him walk away, my heart pounding so loud it almost drowns out the music.
Another missed opportunity. Another moment slipped through my fingers. I had him right here, I could've just said something! Why didn't I say anything? Then maybe I wouldn't have to feel this way anymore.
But how do you look a guy like that in the eye and say, Hey, remember that drunken hookup a few days ago? Well, we forgot a condom and I guess I guess we're the lucky 1% birth control doesn't work for. Congratulations. You're gonna be a dad?
----
I'm not sure how long I've been staring at the row of liquor bottles on the back shelf, but it's long enough that I don't even hear Penny walk up beside me.
"Hey," she says softly. "You okay?"
I blink, finally looking away from the shelf. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
Penny gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You've been zoning out a lot lately. Quieter than usual. And tonight? You're moving like your brain's in a different zip code. You sure you're alright?"
I open my mouth, ready to brush it off with some excuse about not sleeping or being stressed about school. I glance at her, and all that calm, grounded energy she always carries, it hits me in the chest.
I still haven't told Jake. Every time I get the chance to, every time he comes to the bar for another round or I see him alone, I chicken out.
"I just…" My voice cracks a little. "Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?"
Without a word, Penny nods and gently guides me toward the small office behind the bar. She closes the door behind us and leans against the desk, arms crossed, waiting patiently.
For a second, I can't speak. The words are there, clawing at the back of my throat, but saying them out loud makes them real. My hands fidget in my lap.
"I, um… I found out something. And I haven't told anyone. I can't tell my parents. They'll be so disappointed. And I don't even know how to tell him. Or what he'll say. Or if he'll even want to stick around. We don't really know each other. Oh Penny, I really really fucked up big time."
Penny softens. "Hey. Take a breath. Whatever it is, I'm not gonna judge you."
I swallow hard and glance down at my hands. "I'm pregnant."
The silence that follows is both deafening and a relief. Penny doesn't gasp or shout or ask a million questions. She just lets it settle.
"I found out a week ago," I add, voice barely above a whisper. "I've taken, like, four tests. They were all positive. I also missed my period. And I've been waking up feeling like shit."
Penny exhales slowly and walks over, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. "Okay," she says gently. "Okay."
"I'm still working on my degree," I say quickly, the panic rising again. "I don't have health insurance, I can barely afford rent, and I already work two jobs, how the hell am I supposed to raise a kid? I don't even know how to tell my parents. They're going to be so upset. They've always told me to be careful. That doing stupid shit like this can ruin my life."
"They'll come around," Penny says, squeezing my shoulder. "It might be hard at first, but you're not alone, okay? You've got people who care about you. You've got me. I know how you're feeling. I was terrified when I found out about Amelia. It's normal to feel all of this, having a baby is a big thing."
Tears sting my eyes and I blink them away, sniffling. "I don't even know if I can afford prenatal appointments."
"I can give you more hours here," Penny says without hesitation. "Whatever you need. We'll figure it out together."
I nod slowly, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. "Thanks."
There's a beat of silence, then Penny says gently, "Do you mind if I ask who the dad is?"
I hesitate. The thought of saying his name aloud makes my stomach twist into knots.
I take a shaky breath and whisper, "Jake."
Penny blinks. "Hangman Jake?"
I nod, eyes still downcast.
"Wow," she says after a moment. There's no judgment in her tone, just surprise. "Didn't see that one coming."
I manage a weak laugh. "Yeah. Me neither."
She pauses, then adds, "You gonna tell him?"
"I want to. I'm just… scared."
"Well, you don't have to do it right now. But you will feel better once you do. And if you need backup, I'll be here."
I look up at her, and for the first time all night, I feel a little less alone.
"Thanks, Penny."
"Anytime, kid."
I end up leaving Penny's office feeling a little bit lighter, like I don't have to carry this massive secret alone. Penny's got my back.
I'm still terrified of what's going to happen, but at least I know Penny'll be there to have my back.
-----
Today is the day.
I'm telling Jake.
I've been putting this off for too long, and I know it. Every time I see him walk into the bar, I lose my nerve. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep carrying this alone.
He's heading for the door, a relaxed smile splayed on his lips as he talks to his buddies.
I take a breath, step out from behind the bar, and call after him.
"Jake!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Penny look up. I send her a tight lipped smile, one she gives me an encouraging nod to. She gives me a look that says 'I'll be here waiting if you need me'.
I turn back to Jake, making my way around a group of pilots in front of me.
He stops, turns around with that familiar smirk. "Well look who finally decided to talk to me."
"Can we talk? Just for a second. Outside."
He blinks, clearly confused, but shrugs and pushes the door open. "Sure."
We step out into the cool night air, the buzz of the bar fading behind us. Jake says a quick goodbye to his friends, watching as they walk off to their cars. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stay grounded. Jake shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing sideways at me.
"You've been real quiet lately," he says. "Not like you. Thought maybe you were trying to pretend that night didn't happen."
I don't answer right away.
He lifts a brow. "You gonna tell me what's going on or do I gotta guess?"
My heart is pounding. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the Ziplock bag I shoved in there before my shift started. I hold it out to him, my hand shaking just enough to make me angry at myself.
He takes the bag slowly, eyes narrowing when he sees what's inside. Four pregnancy tests. All positive.
"I'm pregnant," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jake doesn't say anything at first. Just stares at the bag like it might change if he looks long enough.
Then, after a long pause, he looks at me.
"You're sure it's mine?"
My stomach drops, even though I knew the question was coming.
"I'm not into casual hookups, Jake. That's why I turned you down so many times. That night was a one-time thing. You're the only person it could be."
He drags a hand over his face and lets out a breath. "Shit."
I watch him step back like the words physically hit him. He paces a few feet away, then turns around, then back again. The smug smile is gone, replaced with a thin line. He's just... rattled.
"Okay," he says finally. "Okay, I just... I need a minute to think."
"I'm not asking for anything," I say quickly. "I just thought you deserved to know."
He nods, still not looking at me. "Yeah. No, you were right to tell me. I just... damn. I didn't think I'd be hearing this when I walked in for a beer. "
He starts backing up, toward the street. He's still holding the bag.
"I'm not running" he says. "I just need some air. I'll be back, alright?"
I nod, but my chest feels tight.
He turns and walks off into the night, the bag still in his hand, and his body tense.
And I stand there, staring after him, not sure if he meant it when he said he'd come back.
When I go back inside, Penny is waiting for me, a concerned expression on her face. "How'd it go?" She asks.
"He said he needed some time to think and left. He says he's going to come back. I don't know when." I reply honestly with a sigh. "I guess we'll see what happens."
"It'll be okay. Whatever happens, it'll be okay." Penny reassures me.
"Yeah." I halfheartedly agree. Her words don't do much to soothe my nerves and anxiety.
I spend the rest of my closing shift at the bar half-working, half-waiting, my body going through the motions while my mind stays stuck on Jake. Every time the door creaks open, I glance over my shoulder, pretending I'm just checking the crowd. But really, I'm looking for him. Wondering if he meant it when he said he'd be back.
Minutes blur together. I wipe down the same spot on the counter more than once, a habit I've developed from everything that's been on my mind the past few weeks. I refill drinks. Collect empties. Smile on autopilot. But my eyes keep drifting toward the door, as if I can will him through it.
When the time finally comes for Penny to start ushering out the last few stragglers, guys nursing warm beers and clinging to closing-time conversations, I feel it settle in. That dull, sinking feeling. He's not coming back. Not tonight at least. What if he never comes back? I have no way to contact him.
I try to play it off. Shrug like it doesn't matter. Tell myself maybe something came up. Maybe he got distracted or pulled into something else. But the truth is, I'm disappointed.
More than I want to be.
I hoped maybe... I don't know. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe we'd actually talk and I won't have to figure this out alone anymore. But instead, I'm just standing here with dishwater on my hands and a bitter taste in my mouth.
I finish cleaning in silence, the jukebox quiet now, chairs flipped onto tables, and the bar stripped of its noise and distractions. It's just me and alone with the echo of what didn't happen.
----
I spend a few hours working on my online classes, trying my hardest to focus even though every few minutes my eyes drift away from the screen. The words blur together, and I have to keep rereading the same sentences just to retain anything. I take notes, highlight, click through lectures, do everything I'm supposed to, but my brain feels like it's wading through molasses.
There's a weight pressing down on me today, one that seems to get heavier as time passes.
By the time I head to my first job, I'm already dragging. The hours crawl. Customers are rude, my feet hurt, and everything feels just slightly louder than it should be. The fluorescent lights give me a headache, and I spend most of the shift counting down the minutes until I can leave.
And yet, even when I clock out, there's no real relief. Because after this, I still have to head to the bar.
I sit in my car for a while before starting it, just letting the engine hum while I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I feel worn thin. Not just physically, but emotionally too.
I don't want to go. I don't want to plaster on a smile and pour drinks and pretend like I'm fine. But most of all, I don't want to walk into that bar not knowing if Jake's going to show up.
Because if he doesn't, I'll tell myself I expected it. That I knew better. That I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up in the first place. But it won't matter.
I'll still be upset.
And if he does come back? I don't even know what I'll say or where we go from here.
So I sit there, hands still on the steering wheel, torn between wanting to see him and not being able to take it if I don't.
Eventually, I force myself to drive. The sun is low in the sky, painting the horizon in gold and pink, but I barely notice. All I can think about is the door to the bar and whether or not he'll walk through it tonight.
By the time I get there, the sky's already gone dark, and the bar is humming with its usual evening noise: laughter, low music, the clinking of bottles. I go through the motions, clock in, tie my apron, wash my hands, and start working. But underneath it all, that same quiet anticipation keeps pressing at me.
Every time the door opens, I tense. I keep telling myself not to look. Not to hope.
I've finally managed to find the strength to stop glancing around the bar when I hear his voice.
"Hey."
I freeze from my spot cleaning the counter at the sound of his calm, deep voice.
I look up, and there he is. Jake. He actually came back.
For a second, I just stare at him, a mixture of emotions running through me. It takes me a beat to register that he's not here to flirt or order a drink or play pretend like nothing ever happened. He's here to talk about the news I gave him last night. He looks... different. A little less sure of himself, like the weight of it all is finally sinking in. It's different then how I've seen him before.
He walks up slowly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. "I, uh... I shouldn't have left like that last night. And I should've come back. I probably stressed ya out. I'm sorry."
I nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. "It's life changing news, I get why you reacted like that."
"Still. I should've handled it better." He glances around, then leans on the bar, eyes meeting mine. "Look, I don't know how to be a dad. I mean, I'm not ready. I don't think I'd be good at it. I'm impulsive and reckless. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing most days."
My chest tightens. I brace myself for the rest. For the part where he walks away for good.
He rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now. "Do you... want to keep it?"
His tone isn't forceful. He's not trying to push me. Just trying to understand where I'm at. But it still stings a little.
I take a breath, steadying myself. "I think I do... I mean... it's my baby and I already love it. But, I understand you might not be ready for that. Your life is busy, I'm sure a baby would add a lot of stress onto that. If you don't want to be part of its life," I swallow. "that's your call. I won't force you. But... there might be a time, years from now, when they ask about you. And I hope you'd at least be willing to meet them then. For their sake."
For a moment, he's silent. I watch the words hit him, settle in. His expression shifts, eyebrows pulling together like he's trying to process something that doesn't sit right.
"You think I'd just disappear?" he asks, a little sharper than before. "That I'd just... bail and never look back? Pretend that this never happened, that the kid doesn't exist? Like it doesn't mean anything?"
I blink, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. "I'm not saying that," I say, softer. "I just-"
"No, you kinda are," he cuts in, voice low but firm. Then he exhales and shakes his head. "Look, I didn't expect this. I'm scared outta my damn mind, alright? I spent all of last night walking around town, thinking about what kinda dad I'd be. I sat in that old diner off Main until they closed, just nursing a coffee and picturing this tiny kid running around with my smile, wondering what the hell I'd even say to them. I ended up parked outside a 24-hour pharmacy at like three in the morning, just sitting there like an idiot, staring at the baby aisle. Diapers, formula, those tiny-ass socks... I had no idea what half that stuff even was."
He pauses, his voice rough.
"And the worst part? I kept thinking, what if I screw this up? What if I mess up this kid's life before it even starts? What if I'm just like every dad I swore I'd never be? But then I realized... running from it would be a hell of a lot worse. I may not know what I'm doing, but I'm not gonna vanish and pretend it's not happening."
He takes a breath and looks at me again, steadier this time.
"I ain't got a clue how to be someone's dad, but I'm not a deadbeat. If you wanna have it… then I'll do my part. I'll be there. I'll pay child support. I'll show up and try to be there for the baby. We'll figure somethin' out. I got us into this too, so it's only fair I do my part."
I nod slowly. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."
I pause, chewing on the inside of my cheek before speaking again, quieter this time. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like you'd just disappear or like you wouldn't care. I just... I didn't know what you'd want. I didn't want to back you into something you didn't ask for, or make you feel trapped."
I glance down at my hands. "I guess I was just scared you'd be angry or walk away, and I figured if that was the case, it'd be better to just keep my distance. I didn't want to expect too much and get hurt, or worse, mess things up even more."
I look back up at him, eyes stinging just a little. "But I know you're not a bad guy, Jake. I shouldn't have implied that. I just didn't know where we stood… or if we were even on the same page."
Jake shifts on his feet, jaw working for a second like he's trying to find the right words. He looks at me, and there's no heat in his voice when he speaks.
"Look, I get it," he says. "You were just tryna protect yourself. And the baby." He lets out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. " I've given people plenty of reasons to think that before. I know my reputation's not exactly clean. But I'd never abandon my kid. I know I can be an asshole sometimes, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He tries halfheartedly to joke.
His lips tug into a crooked half-smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm scared too. I don't know how to do this… but I want to try. I want to be there. You shouldn't have to do this alone, and that kid... our kid, deserves someone who's gonna show up."
Then he takes a step closer, voice lowering. "So yeah, maybe I messed up before. Maybe I've been selfish, stupid, whatever. But I'm here now. And if you'll let me… I'll keep showing up."
"I believe you," I say honestly. "I believe that you mean it. That you want to try." My voice is shaky, but I don't look away. "And I want to talk more. Just... not right now. Not with the rush about to start."
He huffs a soft laugh. "Yeah. Not exactly a heart-to-heart kinda vibe."
"Plus I've got to actually get some work done this shift. That is why I'm here." I smile a little, then glance at the time. "I close tomorrow night. If you're serious about this... stop by after. We can talk. Really talk."
Jake doesn't hesitate.
"I'll be there," he says, quiet but sure. "You got my word."
Something in my chest loosens.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'll see you then."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
----
As promised, Jake comes back the next day.
It's late, almost 12:30 am, and I've just finished kicking out the last few stragglers. It's been another long, hard day. My feet are killing me, and my hair smells nauseatingly like booze, but when I see him walk into the bar, I forget all about the ache in my bones.
"Hey," I say, trying to sound more awake than I feel.
"You look beat," Jake says, walking up and leaning against the bar.
"Yeah, closing shift'll do that to you," I say. "You want a drink?"
He nods. "Sure."
I grab a clean glass and pour a couple fingers of whiskey. My hands are steady, but my heart's thudding loud in my chest. I slide his glass over and lean against the back counter, grabbing myself a bottle of water.
He takes a sip, eyes still on me. "You sure you wanna do this now? You look like you could pass out right here. That can't be good for the kid." There's a hint of concern evident in his tone.
I shake my head. "No, I want to talk. Figure everything out. I think that'll help me feel less stressed. And maybe we can get a game plan going."
Jake nods, waiting.
"I've been trying to get into the community clinic," I say. "Just... trying to get the money together for the visit. My insurance went up this year and I can't afford the premium anymore. I've been applying to CHIP and Medicaid, seeing if they can help, but I don't know when that'll come through."
His brows draw together. "You haven't seen a doctor at all yet?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. I'm going to. I just need a little more time."
"I'll pay for it."
The words catch me off guard. I blink, sure I must've misheard him. "What?"
"I'll cover it," he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. "You shouldn't have to wait to get checked out. Especially not with a baby involved. I've read there's vitamins and things you're supposed to be takin', and if you don't get them, it'll hurt the kid. And you."
He's been researching.
I stare at him, my throat tightening. "Jake, I can't ask you to do that."
"You didn't ask. I'm offering." His voice is soft but firm. "Let me do this."
I nod slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Okay."
He watches me for a second longer. "Are you working anywhere else right now?"
"Yeah," I admit. "Two jobs. Penny's been offering me more hours here, so I'm taking them. And I've been looking around for a third job. Something flexible. Just until I get things sorted."
Jake whistles under his breath. "Three jobs?"
"Yeah." I nod. "I don't really have a choice. If I want to keep the baby, I have to be able to take care of it. Give it what it needs."
He runs a hand over his mouth, processing. "You've really got a lot going on."
"Yeah." I sigh.
He leans back a little, like he's trying to figure out where to even start. His fingers tap the edge of his glass. "Geez," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "You've got more on your plate than most squadrons I've flown with." A flicker of uncertainty flashes across his face. His jaw tightens and untightens, like he wants to say something but he's not quite sure if he should bring it up. He takes a sip, watching me closely. "I've been thinking about everything. And, uh, something came to mind."
I raise an eyebrow, leaning back on my heels.
"A buddy of mine, old squad guy, he ended up marrying this girl he was seeing. Not because they were head over heels or anything. She was sick, didn't have health insurance, and he... well, he needed the extra cash that came from it to pay off some debts." Jake glances down at his glass, then back up at me. "Worked out for both of them. She got coverage. He got a little extra pay from the Navy."
I stare at him, trying to keep my face neutral. My heart's already climbing up my throat.
"I've been looking into it," he continues. "The Navy... it can be rough for single parents, especially if the kid's born out of wedlock. Figuring out custody and how that's going to work with my schedule is going to be a process. We'll need to come up with a Family Care plan to turn in, to let them know you'll take care of the baby when I'm on missions. And deployments, relocations? If I got stationed somewhere else, we'll have to figure out visitation and what to do then."
He lets out a quiet breath. "But if we were married, everything changes. The baby gets covered. You get covered. Housing, medical, financial support... We'd both have it easier. And yeah, I know it's not romantic or ideal. But it'd mean I could be in their life more. If I get moved, you guys would come with me and it'd all be paid for. Is marriage something you'd be open to? It doesn't have to be forever. When the kid gets older and you get more financially stable, we can figure something out."
I swallow hard. My brain feels like it's short-circuiting. I'd barely wrapped my head around being pregnant. Now he's suggesting a marriage of convenience?
Jake must see the hesitation in my face, because he softens his tone.
"You don't have to decide now," he says. "I know it's a lot. It's a big thing, a decision I don't want you to feel pressured to make. But I figured... you deserved to know the option was there. I'd do it. For the kid. For you."
I nod slowly, trying to untangle the knot in my chest. It's tempting. No scrambling for health coverage. No late-night panic over rent or baby bills. But it's also huge. Marriage. A legal, permanent kind of huge.
"Can I think about it?" I ask, voice quieter now.
"Of course," he says quickly. "Take all the time you need."
"Maybe we can talk in a few days? Once I've had a minute to... figure out what to do?"
"Yeah." He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a slip of paper. "Here. My number. In case you need anything."
I take it. His phone number is neatly scribbled on the paper, his first and last name above it.
Seresin. Jake Seresin.
"Thanks," I say, and I mean it.
He gives me a nod, eyes lingering for just a beat longer. Then he steps back, dropping a few bucks on the bar for the drink.
"Oh, it's alright, it's on the house." I wave it off.
"Keep it. The kid's gonna to need it." He tucks his wallet back into his pocket. "Get some rest, alright?"
"You too."
And just like that, he's gone, leaving me with a million more things to think about.
-----
I stare at the phone in my hand for a good ten minutes before I finally call.
The dial tone makes my stomach twist. I haven't talked to her in a while, not since everything started to unravel. I feel like a kid again, about to confess something that's going to break her heart. I know she'll still love me, but I hate the fact that I'm going to disappoint her.
She picks up after three rings. "Hello?"
"Hey, Mom."
There's a pause. Then, cautious warmth. "Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
No. Not even close. I press my thumb against the edge of the counter, grounding myself. "I need to tell you something. And I know you're not going to be happy, but... I really need your advice."
Another pause. "Go ahead. You know I'm always here for you."
"I'm pregnant."
She goes quiet. The kind of quiet that buzzes. Then, finally, she exhales, slow and heavy. "Oh, honey."
"I didn't mean for it to happen. I wasn't being careful. I know I messed up."
"You think?" Her voice sharpens, just a little. "You're smarter than this. You should've thought it through. Used protection."
"I know. I'm sorry." I swallow hard, shame blooming hot in my chest. "I really am."
"I know you are." She sounds tired now. "I just… I expected more from you. But what's done is done. I still love you. Always."
Relief hits me like a wave. I nod even though she can't see it.
"Is the father in the picture?"
"Kind of," I say. "His name's Jake. He's in the Navy. A pilot and a regular here at the bar. We weren't serious, but… he's been trying to step up."
"Trying?"
"He offered to marry me," I say, the words falling out in a rush. "Not for love. Just… practical. He said it'd help me get covered for everything. The baby too. He'd get a bigger allowance, which will help with the costs."
She hums, low and thoughtful. "Is he a good man?"
"I think he is. He's… rough around the edges, maybe a little full of it sometimes, but he means well. He's doing his best."
She's quiet for a long moment. "Then if you want my honest opinion?" she says finally. "I think you should go through with it. For the baby."
I blink. "Really?"
"It's not a fairy tale, but it's a smart decision. You need help. You need stability. And this sounds like your best shot at both. When the baby comes around, things are going to get a lot harder. You need someone there who can help you. As long as he treats you well and you're okay with it, I think you should do it."
"I didn't think you'd say that."
"I didn't either," she admits. "But sometimes life doesn't play out the way we planned. If he's willing to stand by you, even in this way, then maybe it's worth it. It might not be what you imagined for yourself, or what your dad and I hoped for you, but it might be the best option right now."
I press my palm to my stomach, heartbeat fluttering under my ribs.
"Okay. Thanks, Mom."
"Whatever happens, I'm here. Just… be careful. And make sure you're doing it with your eyes open. If anything happens, your dad and I will be here to help you. We'll help any way we can." She pauses. "And before you get married, let us meet him, yeah? It might make it easier for your dad."
"Of course mom. Thanks."
We hang up, and I sit in the quiet for a while, letting it all sink in. Not what I imagined. Not how I pictured telling her. But somehow, it feels a little bit lighter.
Now I just have to tell Jake.
------
A/N: I did some research on what's it's like for single parents in the military/healthcare options for low-income pregnant persons, but the story might not be completely accurate about it. Plus, the way I wrote it furthers the plot so...
Hey, love I'm have a idea, imagining during the summertime, Cali tell Jake that comic con is coming up, so, even though, her & Fanboy are the biggest nerds of this stuff. She decided to invited Jake to come along and he starting to like it and saw some stuff he like.
Hiiiii Sorry this took so long for me to post, I hope you like it :) I thought about this a lot ❤️❤️ Pictures used were from Pinterest.
Feel free to drop into my ask box More of Jake and Caledonia <3
"Cal, I don't know about this."
You paused mid lipstick application, meeting his gaze in his bathroom mirror. Eyes admiring the way his costume hugged his broad shoulders, down to his lean waist and strong thighs. And the way his hair settled into a style similar to Han Solo. Your smile widening at the sight of his sour expression.
"You look so good, and the scowl is very in character. Trust me." You breathed out a chuckle with amused eyes.
His scowl deepened.
But this was the price he paid for wanting to be included in the plans Fanboy, Bob, and yourself made to go to San Diego Comic Con right in front of him during one of your shifts at the Hard Deck.
Jake was a very self assured man, but it would be a cold day in hell the day he let someone who knew the name of every Storm trooper's second cousin sweep you out of his arms.
He needed to supervise.
Plus, the delighted smile that lit up your face after he agreed to go as Han Solo still made his heart somersault and lips tilt up in a smile.
You capped your lip stick, "They should be here soon. Fanboy has all of our day passes."
Right. He also agreed to drive people to the event.
The things love made him do needed to be studied.
You turned towards him, exhaling quickly. "How do I look?"
His eyes softened as he really looked at you: Beautiful ruby red lips; a layer of mascara making your sapphire eyes, that he couldn't get enough of, pop; and your hair beautifully braided over the top of your head; the faux white leather zip up costume clinging to your plush curves and thick thighs.
He licked his bottom lip, taking purposeful steps towards you. Eyes bright as his hands came to your waist.
"Like the prettiest general in the galaxy."
You laughed, gently pulling the back of his neck down to bring his lips to yours with a sigh.
He gently pulled away, eyebrows furrowed in hesitancy, "Leia is a general, right?"
Your grin brightened, "Yeah, she is." He smiles as you bring him into another kiss.
The sound of the doorbell brings you apart.
-
Jake really tried to keep up with you, but Jesus, in your element, you moved fast.
He was starting to feel like a chaperone at this point. The car ride felt like he was listening to a language he only knew on a basal level. Fanboy, in his impressive Darth Maul cosplay, and Bob, in his Obi-wan costume, actively debating and theorizing what was going to happen in the next season of another Star Wars series he could barely keep up with. Or which panels they should go see first.
At least you took the time to keep him in the loop while you kept your soft hand under his on the gear shift, your matching white almond cut nails gleaming in the sun light.
It made the torment from his teammates somewhat more tolerable.
"Is that lip stick?"
"Never thought I'd see the day you'd willingly go to a comic con."
"How does karma feel, Bagman?"
Perhaps he busted his colleague’s balls too much about a subject his Lass loved endlessly.
His eyes caught sight of you. Strides quick as he reaches you looking at a vendor selling star wars themed accessories and custom light sabers. Your eyes bright and excited as you finished making conversation with the woman behind the booth. His hand immediately intertwines with yours, your body jumping with the surprise contact.
"You're holding my hand for the rest of the trip, Sweets, can't keep losing you in here." He huffed, much to your amusement.
"Sorry, Honey, there's just so much to see. I didn't mean to abandon you." You gave him a bright close lipped smile that had your dimples popping out.
He sighed. He really couldn't be mad at you. This was your playground.
"If it makes you feel any better, I bought you something special that I think you'll really like." You teased softly, a mischievous grin playing at your lips.
His ears perked up, as his eyebrows furrowed in interest.
"What kind of 'something special'?"
You playfully shrugged, smirking.
"You'll have to wait and see till we get home." Your eyes twinkled, giving his intertwined hand a squeeze as you led him to the next stop on the vendor map, missing his attempt to peak into the bag you kept close to your side.
The rest of the day moved without a hitch as Jake got led around the convention hall and eventually into a few panels with the others.
If he was asked to recite anything that was said at any of the panels or by any of the other cosplayers, he'd be screwed. But, he had a pretty good excuse - you.
Smiling and attentively looking over at him every once in a while as you kept your fingers intertwined with his own. Your grin illuminating as you hung onto every word the panelists said. All he could do was stand by and watch you express endless joy for something so important to you.
He squeezed your hand as your pretty blue eyes met his with a smile.
By the end of the day, you both had received numerous compliments on your couple's costume and 3D printed guns you had made beforehand. Fanboy got a number from a girl cosplaying as General Grievous, and Bob got his original trilogy movie set autographed, along with a few numbers.
The drive home was peaceful. The radio softly playing as Fanboy slept leaning against the backseat window, and Bob kept reading over and over the names of the cast members that autographed his beloved disc set. Jake still kept his hand intertwined with yours on your thigh as you scrolled through the pictures you took. Your gaze settling on the picture an Ahsoka cosplayer took of you and Jake, smiling with dimples and all, while you were looking for the rest of your group.
You selected it as your new home screen background.
Jake's eyes glancing to the bag at your feet, and at the sheet of photos you got from the photo booth.
One where you kissed his cheek, his eyes playfully wide. Another where you're both sticking your tongues out at each other. Another where you became borderline indecent in the curtained photo booth. And lastly, one where you both were grinning and bumping noses.
Jake pulled into his driveway. You, ever the saint, gingerly woke up the dozing Darth Maul in Jake's backseat. Soon, you were all hugging goodbye and already planning with Fanboy and Bob the next convention to attend together.
You shut Jake's front door with a click.
"You know, that wasn't half bad." Jake stated as he took off his boots.
"See, I knew you'd enjoy it. You should go to the next one with us." You teased as he puffed out a laugh.
"Speaking of ‘enjoying’, I want to see this special something you got for me." He smirked, reaching for the bag in your hand.
You quickly hid it behind you with a playful smirk. His eyes growing playful as he tried to reach for it again, interest exponentially piqued.
"I'll show it to you. Upstairs. In 5 minutes." You bit your lip as you turned to scurry up the stairs.
He shook his head, chuckling to himself as he put his keys away, placing some of the other memorabilia onto the kitchen counter, and running his hands through his hair before he followed after you towards his bedroom.
He gingerly knocked on his bedroom door, before pushing it open, seeing the silk cover up he bought you hug your curves deliciously, the soft fabric ending just below your mid thigh. Your hair down in loose curls, lips still ruby red and complimenting your bright eyes.
You smiled, biting your lip, "I thought I told you to wait 5 minutes."
His troublemaker grin showed through, "You know I'm not patient, Sweetheart." His grin grew as you stepped within arms reach of him. His hands squeezing your hips and waist, inching down to squeeze your ass as he pulled you into a kiss.
Your nails tantalizingly scratched at the back of his neck, humming as you pulled away from his lips.
His fingers toy with the tie around your waist, "What's the surprise, pretty girl? You hidin' a gold bikini under here?" he murmured, broad hands squeezing your waist. That devil-may-care smile tilting his lips as he leaned his head down to kiss at your neck, slowly exposing your collarbone to his hungry mouth. You smirked as you weaved your fingers of your hand through his hair, the other grasping his shoulder.
"Something like that..." You whimpered out as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back hitting his mattress with a thump.
"Think of it as a thank you for going with me. I know it made you feel a bit out of your element."
His grin widened as he dexterously untied the fabric keeping your gorgeous curves from him. His eyebrows shooting up as his gaze ran along the curves of your tits held wonderfully in decorated gold and maroon, down to the gold chains holding the flimsy material of your panties over the part of you he craved most right now.
He let out a low whistle making you grin brightly.
"Sweetheart, I'll go to as many comic cons as you want if you keep bringing pretty bras and panties back home with you."
You sat up, legs still wrapped around his waist, hands cradling his jaw as you pulled him into a deep kiss. Your tongue runs along his lower lip before gliding into his mouth with a smile, a groan rumbling from his chest, making you squeeze your thighs around his waist.
Pulling away, his voice soft and teasing, "I love you."
You smirked, leaning in to whisper, "I know." His spine tingled as you ran your cut nail along the inner seam of his pants. "Now, I wanna see your blaster pistol, Solo." You ran your palm ran over his growing, thick bulge. Giving it an intoxicating squeeze, making his breath stutter as his grin grew an exciting edge, eyes getting darker and glassier.
His voice came out like honey wrapped gravel, "Anything you want, Princess."
--
I hope you guys liked it :) sorry for the drought lmao
Summary: After a tense night at the bar, you and Jake end up back at his place, still simmering from something he said in front of the squad. The fight carries over inside, sharp words and stubborn silence giving way to a real apology. Jake’s not one to back down, and he’s certainly not letting you go easy.
Warnings: Arguing/Relationship Conflict, Strong language, Explicit Sexual Content.
The ride back from the bar had been silent, except for the hum of the tires on asphalt and the faint clink of the keys Jake kept rolling between his fingers. You’d kept your gaze fixed out the passenger window, the streetlights flashing over your face as the tires rolled on the asphalt.
By the time you got to his place, the quiet had turned heavy. You dropped your bag by the couch without a word and kicked off your shoes. He locked the door behind you, tossed his keys onto the counter with a little more force than necessary.
“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, voice too even to be casual.
You didn’t look at him. “You really don’t know?”
His brows drew together. “I made a joke–”
“You embarrassed me,” you cut in, sharper than you meant. “In front of the entire squad.”
He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t meant like that.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that it landed like that,” you shot back, folding your arms.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “So what, you’re gonna stay mad all night over nothing?”
You exhaled. You were too exhausted to have this fight right now. “Let’s just go to bed.”
Jake stayed where he was, leaning a shoulder against the wall. His hand flexed on the doorframe like he was holding himself in place. You could feel him watching you from across the room.
He finally spoke, quieter this time. “I’m not going to leave it like this.”
Jake pushes off the wall, his boots slow against the hardwood as he crosses toward you.
“Alright,” he says, the word drawn out. “I’m sorry.”
It’s too quick. Too easy. Like tossing a bandaid over a bullet wound. You lift your head, meet his eyes, and see nothing but stubbornness in the set of his jaw.
“No, you’re not,” you say flatly.
His brows knit. “I just said–”
“You’re not apologizing because you’re sorry,” you cut in. “You’re doing it because you think it’ll fix it. Because you think I’ll just…drop it.”
His lips part like he’s about to argue, then close again. He exhales through his nose, trying to keep his temper in check. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Too late,” you mutter, turning toward the hall. “You know what, just forget it. I’ll call an Uber, go back to my place.”
You barely make it two steps before his hand finds you. His fingers curl enough to keep you in place but gently enough to not cause you pain.
“Hey.” His voice isn’t sharp this time. It’s lower. Calmer. Stripped of the bite from before. “Will you just stay? Please. I don’t want you to leave. I want you here.”
You keep your arms crossed, chin tilted just enough to make it clear you’re not folding easily. “And why’s that?”
“Because I don’t like being away from you. I just…want to make it right.”
You turn your back on him, arms crossed, the words spilling out before you can think better of it.
“You can’t make it right, Jake. You don’t even think you did anything wrong. That’s why you won’t apologize. You can’t put your stupid ego aside for five fucking minutes to see that you hurt me.”
For a beat, he doesn’t move. Then you feel the shift in the air behind you, the quiet weight of him stepping closer. His arms come around you from behind, slow but sure, locking you against him.
You push at his forearms, not hard, but enough to test if he’ll let go. He doesn’t. His hold just tightens, his chin brushing the top of your head.
“Don’t walk away from me like this,” he says, voice low, rough in a way that has nothing to do with anger.
“Then let go.”
“No.” His chest rises against your back as he exhales. “I’m sorry.”
You still at the words. They’re softer this time, stripped of the throwaway tone from before.
“I’m sorry for what I said, and for making you feel like it didn’t matter,” he goes on, his breath warm near your ear. “It did. You do. And I was an ass for brushing it off.”
Something in you loosens, just a little. You don’t turn to face him, but you stop fighting his arms around you.
He takes the opening, pressing a kiss into the curve of your neck. It’s hesitant, like he’s asking permission without saying it.
“Let me make it up to you,” he murmurs against your skin, and before you can answer, his mouth moves again, finding that spot he knows will melt you no matter how hard you try to hold on.
His breath is warm, his stubble scraping lightly with each kiss as he works down the side of your neck. His hands flatten over your stomach, holding you still when you shift like you might escape.
“Not fair,” you manage, though your voice has already softened.
“I wasn’t going for fair,” he says, his lips trailing lower, lingering at the base of your throat. “Just effective.”
You feel your defenses slipping with every unhurried kiss, every squeeze of his hands like he’s reminding you he’s there, and not letting go until you let him in.
When you finally turn your head to tell him to stop, his mouth catches yours instead. The kiss is warm and deep, all the leftover fight burning away under the heat of it.
You break the kiss, breath sharp. “You can’t just fuck your way out of this, Jake.”
The flicker in his eyes is part challenge, part something deeper. “Wanna bet?”
Before you can roll your eyes, he spins you, the wall cool against your back. Your breath stutters when his thigh slides between yours, solid and deliberate. The friction is immediate, dangerous.
Your palms press to his chest, but it’s not quite a shove. Not quite surrender, either. “Jake–”
His hands slide to your hips, thumbs pressing in just enough to make you aware of how close he is. He leans in, mouth grazing the line of your jaw before you can say more.
“Don’t talk,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me make you feel good, baby. Then you can be mad at me later.”
You swallow, but the protest dies when his lips find that spot just under your ear. The scrape of stubble from his five day old beard, the heat of his breath…it all frays your resolve.
“Jake…” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out more like a gasp.
He smiles against your neck. “Yeah, keep saying my name like that.”
Your grip on his shirt tightens. You give in. The shift is instant, his mouth slants over yours again, hungrier now, and your hands are sliding under the cotton at his back, nails dragging lightly over skin.
He groans into the kiss, and it sounds like a victory. “God, you’re so hot when you’re all worked up,” he mutters between breaths, like he can’t stop himself from saying it.
Clothes start to vanish without either of you thinking about it. His shirt is pulled over his head, and yours is tugged free in return. He nips at your lower lip, hands firm on your hips, drawing you against him until there’s no space left.
You barely notice when he bends and catches you under the thighs, lifting you with ease. Instinct has your legs wrapping around his waist, your arms looping over his shoulders. He carries you through the short hall, mouth never leaving yours for more than a breath.
The bed catches you both, his weight settling over you. It isn’t dominance. It’s immersion. Every inch of him is committed to every inch of you in this moment. His hands frame your face as he kisses you again.
When he finally slides into you, the air leaves your lungs in a rush. His forehead presses to yours, his eyes locked on yours as his hips find a slow, steady rhythm. The earlier edge between you dissolves into something more fragile, more necessary.
Your breath hitches with each movement, his name slipping from your lips without thought.
“Please don’t ever stop loving me,” he murmurs, the words raw, almost a plea.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, your chest aching for reasons that have nothing to do with the way he’s moving inside you.
“I’m not leaving,” you whisper, and his eyes close like that’s the only thing holding him together.
The pace builds, not rushed, but insistent. He kisses you like he’s chasing that promise, like every movement is part of sealing it. You feel it when the line starts to blur. Between anger, forgiveness, and need…until there’s nothing left but the two of you, moving together until you can’t think past the heat and the sound of his voice in your ear.
When release finally hits, it’s all encompassing, and he’s right there with you, catching your mouth in a kiss that’s more relief than hunger.
He stays close, his body still braced over yours, one hand brushing damp hair from your face.
“Don’t leave me,” he says again, quiet enough that it’s more hope than demand. “I”m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. But please don’t leave me, baby.”
You press your lips to his chest. “I’m not leaving. Not tonight. Not ever.”
His arms tighten around you, the motion instinctive, pulling you flush against his chest. You go willingly, settling into the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The sweat cooling on your skin makes you shiver, but his body heat is enough to keep you warm.
You let your fingertips wander lazily over him, tracing idle patterns along the hard lines of his chest and shoulder. He doesn’t move, just lets you draw on him like you’re mapping something only you can see.
A smirk tugs at his mouth, though his eyes stay closed. “Still mad at me?”
You huff a quiet laugh, tilting your head to rest it in the crook of his neck. “Ask me in the morning.”
He hums, the sound low and satisfied, and pulls the blanket higher over you both. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you here ‘til then.”
OTHER AUGUST PROMPT FICS:
Glen Powell (RPF)
Make You Mine I Hands Under Water I Heartfirst
Tyler Owens (Twisters)
Bandaged and Bare I The Parts You Don't Remember
Jake Seresin (Top Gun: Maverick)
Such a Tease I Not So Mouthy Now
Mark Reynolds (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society)
summary: as a bartender at the hard deck, you enjoy the downtimes to create some signature cocktails... perhaps inspired by some regulars || warnings: alcohol, alcohol consumption || word count: 1217 || masterlist
As a bartender at the hard deck, there are times in the day when the bar is calmer and you have a moment to yourself. In such times, there is nothing more you enjoy than playing with your practised skills behind the bar and creating some signature cocktails inspired by your favourite regulars from top gun.
There's a blackboard hanging behind the bar, a different speciality cocktail every week, each with a familiarly styled name and a well known base. There's a small drawing for each drink, crudely sketched with chalk and smudged from being redone one too many times. Each week, the aviators saunter in, waiting to see which gets their turn at the top of the board as your ultimate inspiration.
week one: maverick's afterburn
based on an old fashioned; smoked bourbon, demerara syrup, angostura bitters, orange bitters, and a dash of absinthe. served in a rocks glass with a flamed orange peel.
Pete trails behind his squadron as they trickle in, taking their usual spots around the pool table. He diverts, heading over to the bar for a drinks, or to catch a glimpse of Penny.
"She's not here tonight." You tell him gently, replacing glasses back onto shelves as you speak. "She's left me in charge for the night."
He took a moment to steady himself, glancing around and shrugging his worn leather jacket closer to his frame. "Just a beer then please."
"Coming right up." You hesitate slightly, milling over your next words as you hide a smile. "You ever thought about a signature cocktail?"
He frowns, head tilting as you tilt your own head towards your blackboard with his name emblazed.
"An old fashioned? You calling me old?"
"Let's say experienced." You tease, "Can I tempt you?"
"Fuck it, yeah."
You pull all the bottles you need, letting the rhythm dictate your movements. Bartending and especially cocktail making is incredibly therapeutic for you, an occupation where you want for nothing else. As you carefully peel an orange for the garnish, Mav perks up.
"What'd you change about it?"
"Not a cocktail connoisseur?"
"Exactly the opposite."
It takes a moment to compose yourself as you place the glass on the bar top. "Soaked bourbon has a deeper flavour, a bit more gritty. The demerara syrup kinda feels more mature than simple syrup. And, uh- This?" You hold up the orange peel and a lighter as you quickly light the oils and drop the peel into the drink, pushing it the final inches towards him. "I thought it was appropriate."
It doesn't take long for your fire show to attract attention and the the conversation to die down and the aviators to filter towards you for their usual's with some extra questions. You take the opportunity to show off something more than popping caps off bottles of beer as you turn to the final pilot in line.
"What's this about Mav getting his own cocktail? What about the Rooster?" He reached for his beer but had to tear his eyes away from the blackboard.
You laugh as you wipe the condensation from your hands. "Wait your turn Bradley. Good things come for those who wait."
week two: phoenix rising
based on a french 75; gin, lemon juice, hibiscus syrup, topped up with champagne. served in a champagne flute with a lemon twirl and hibiscus flower.
The next week you wait until the whole group is there before revealing your board, edges drawn with curling flames and soaring birds.
"Any thought on the special, Nat?"
She took a moment to study the board before breaking out into a grin, "Sounds right up my alley."
It's a composed a focused drink, with the champagne toasting her every and many achievements. The syrup gives hint of her femininity and as you top it with the flower, it sinks to the bottom before rising once more, a true phoenix.
You didn't see Natasha as a hardened aviator, but a woman who had clawed her way to a space she deserved and earned. There was so much strength behind the gentle smile and the flowing hair.
Bradley takes one look at the board and shakes his head, reaching over the bar to grab his own beer with a amused smile. "Next week?"
"We'll see!"
week three: breeze over bay AKA the bob
based on a white cosmo with a peach twist; vodka, cranberry juice, peach liquer, lime juice, cointreau. served in a chilled martini glass with thinly sliced peach to garnish.
Bob blushes as you present his drink on the bar for him. It's sweet and sharp, a comfortable drink made to be enjoyed. It doesn't have to be flashy and put on a show, it can speak for itself through taste, and it's honest about what it is.
"Thank you." His voice is quiet as he lifts his drink to take a sip, savouring the subtle flavourings. "It's really good."
"Glad you'll enjoy."
week four: hang in there
based on a tommy's margarita; choice tequila, lime juice, agave syrup, jalepeno slices (muddled). served in a margarita glass with a tajin rim and lime wheel.
It's a drink with a temper, a flare for the dramatics just like Jake. He drinks it with a grin the size of Texas, even coming up to the bar for another soon after finishing his first. When Bradley saunters up the bar, you meet his gaze, pointing up to the name of Hangman's drink. Hang in there. It's just one more week.
week five: dry roost
based on a negroni; dry gin, contratto bitter, amaro nonino, maple syrup. served in an old fashioned glass with a dehydrated orange wheel and maple soaked cherry on a brass pin.
"Bradley Bradshaw!" You call his name the moment that hawaiian shirt drifts into the hard deck. "Your time has come!"
There's a shout from his direction as he weaves past his friends to beat them to the bar. You're already mixing his drink, a mix of old fashioned classics with a modern twist that still give homage and respect to the past.
As he takes his first sip, he leans over the bar to plant a kiss to your cheek, almost laughing with glee. "It's perfect!"
"I should hope so, I made it." You joke but secretly watch his continued reaction. "Worth the wait?"
"Definitely worth the wait. Can you make this a regular item for me?"
You grin, shoving him away from your bar. "Whatever, maybe just for you. I'll charge you double for the inconvenience."
"You created the drink!"
"I can crack you a beer in a second."
week five: bar beachy keen
a non-alcoholic house specialty lemonade, perfect for drinking on shift; fresh lemon juice, honey simple syrup, club soda. served in a mason jar with a twisting straw, a mint sprig and a lemon wedge.
You watch the dagger squad chat as Bradley finally sips his own cocktail, satisfied at last. And you finally take a seat at you calm bar, mason jar of your homemade lemonade in hand, curly straw tucked between your lips and an mini umbrella threatening to fly out of your glass.
But as you watch the waves lick the sand and the sun slowly dip below the horizon, there's no better place you can think of.
Hmmmmmm, Mulan Hangster au where o!Jake is determined to join the Navy, no matter what rules they have against omegas enlisting, and so, with the help of Javy, and two CO's who knew him growing up, Jake bathes in scent blockers and pops suppressants like tictacs and rises through the ranks until he's known as one of the best fighter pilots in the US.
And it goes well. He's so painfully arrogant and cocky and an asshole that no one suspects it's all a ruse, until he gets stationed at north island and meets one Bradley Bradshaw, alpha, hot as balls, and a raging bag of d*cks.
Jake hates him on principle, even if his heavily suppressed omega whines at the sight of such a strong, delectable mate. They end up at each other's throats more often than not, and Jake isn't afraid to call out Bradshaw when he's flying below average. (Even if Bradshaw is team leader, and technically his CO, Jake will not stand by and let someone dictate what he does whilst they sit on a perch).
They're sent on an active combat mission, and Jake is fine with being at sea, mostly, until Javy tells him the suppressants aren't working as well as they should be anymore. That Javy can smell Jake's omega scent, if just barely, and that he should fake an illness to get sent back to the mainland. Jake, obviously, does not do that.
Its fine.
(Its not fine.)
They're flying in pairs when two bogeys appear outta nowhere, and Bradshaw is under heavy fire instantly. Jake does his best, but two more enemy combatants appear on radar and he watches, heart in his throat, as Bradley is shot down. He does however spot the parachute, so he knows the other pilot is at least alive, for now. But the seconds he spent looking for the chute was enough time for the enemies to get tone on his jet, and Jake's evasive tactics only buy him a few extra minutes before he too has to eject.
He passes out right before landing and wakes to a splitting headache and a hand shoving at his shoulder almost painfully. When he can open his eyes fully, he spots Bradley hovering over him, a scratch over his eyebrow and a bruise on his neck, but otherwise seemingly healthy, Jake can't help but sigh with relief.
"What the hell is wrong with you!"
So much for relief. Jake frowns, glaring at the alpha. "What the fuck do you mean? I got shot down! Which, news flash, you did too!"
Bradley looks like a combination of annoyed, frustrated and relieved and it's kinda funny, so Jake giggles a little. "This isn't funny. Jesus fuck." Bradley claws at his hair, then let's out a breath. "Okay. Okay. Are you injured? Did you mayday as you went down? Are they sending S&R? Did anyone else get hurt?"
Every question makes his head pound harder. "Fuck stop talking, my head is killing me."
Bradley's fingers clutch at his chin, tugging gently until Jake lifts his head up. He squints, the sun too bright for his sensitive eyes, and sees a blurry Bradley frowning.
"You probably have a concussion. There's a nasty bruise on your temple." Bradley pauses, then shuffles a little closer and begins to prod extremely gentle fingers at Jake's torso and limbs. "Is there any other pain? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?"
Jake wants to laugh. Wants to maybe pick a fight. But his head hurts too much to do more than listen obediently. Besides his head there's only aches, nothing too bad to indicate possible breaks or internal bruises. He tells Bradley as much, and gets a sigh of relief and Bradley's forehead resting softly against his own.
They sit for a little while longer, but then Bradley shoots up and looks around. "Its not safe here. We need to keep moving." He glances back down at Jake, frowning. "Can you walk?"
He can. Slowly. Bradley is a solid presence at his side, but doesn't offer to help after Jake almost bites his head off the first time he asked.
They walk for hours, the sun rolling higher into the sky until it begins a hasty decent in the horizon. They're sweaty and sore, hunger pangs making them jittery and crampy. Its fine though, Jake knows Javy Will come for him.
They find a solid place to rest for the night, and Jake passes out with little wherewithal to the dangers of being a soldier in enemy territory and only wakes to a very low, very distinct growl. Snapping his eyes open, Jake clocks Bradley's hunched, tense form a dozen or so feet away, hand pressed firm over his mouth and nose and eyes wild.
Oh shit.
"Bradshaw." Jake tries, but Bradley is shaking, muscles coiled. "Bradley, it's just me. Just Hangman. Just the annoying asshole you've been arguing with for months now. "
That, at least, earns a choked off laugh from the alpha. But Bradley is still very tense. Voice muffled by his hand, he finally asks. "You're an omega?"
The question is so absurd that Jake can't help but laugh. Bradley's answering growl cuts him off quickly though. "Yes. Yeah." He sighs, rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "Surprise?" Bradley doesn't do much more than glare harder. "Okay, yeah. Not time for jokes. Look, everything is fine. Im on suppressants, the scent blockers just wore off."
Bradley still looks two seconds away from bolting or pouncing, and Jake can't help but want one over the other. He prays his scent doesn't give away the thought, but with how Bradley's eyes widen slightly he assumes he's outta luck in that department.
"Okay, so yes. Im an omega. And we need to get out of here. So put your big boy alpha pants on, scent me if you need to, or don't. And let's get to a safe place for evac, alright?"
Bradley stares for a few more minutes before finally letting out a ragged breath. "Okay. Yeah. Ill just—" he doesn't finish what he was saying, just shuffles awkwardly over until his nose is pressed to the delicate skin of Jake's nape, and then he begins the arduous task of scenting Jake.
They make it to the evac spot not long after, and get picked up by S&R within the hour. Jake smells heavily like Bradley's woodsy, campfire scent that the other officers look confused and weary, but Bradley glares at anyone who lingers too long on Jake.
Back on the ship they're sent to medical, where Javy is hovering and discreetly hands him his suppressants and blockers before making a big scene and getting the medics teams attention so Jake can do what he needs to. Bradley watches the whole ordeal, eyes hard and glaring.
They're deemed safe but battered, and sent back to North Island to recover and debrief. Jake is convinced he's going to be court martialed and discharged, because there's no way Bradley hasn't told the superiors that one of his pilots is a masquerading omega.
But instead they're given a week leave and left with pats on the back for coming home, a little wounded but still combat ready.
Bradley walks him to his car. Jake can't take the silence. "Why didn't you tell them?"
Bradley shrugs. "You're one of the best pilots I've ever seen. The best the Navy has. They don't need to know if it means grounding you." Then, he sniffs, scuffs his foot against the gravel. "If you need any help. For anything. Just let me know."
Jake pauses. "Are you offering to help me with my heat?" Its a little forward, but he can't deny the connection between them.
Bradley goes bright red. "Well, no. Not specifically. But I'd be more than willingly, if that is something you would want."
And it's that, plus everything else, that makes Jake all but tackle Bradley in a searing kiss.
Friday night, you dreaded it. Not because something bad would happen or that you would go home alone, the opposite actually. You were going on a date, not a first date or a second date, no just a date night with your boyfriend.
But this week has been long, you’re tired and honestly don’t feel like dressing up and doing your makeup. But the idea of telling Jake that you didn’t feel like going out was enough to keep you going. He had finally gotten a couple days off and you had already missed your anniversary and tonight was gonna be a make up night for it.
As soon as you got home you jumped in the shower and started getting ready, Jake had gotten a reservation at some fancy restaurant.
You were putting on mascara when Jake entered the bathroom, “I am so sorry.” Ok that wasn’t the best start to the night, him apologising.
“You’ve gotten all ready and I know I promised to make our anniversary up to you, but the restaurant cancelled and… I just, can we just cook something at home, I promise I’ll cook you won’t even have to do anything.”
As soon as he finished talking you were out of your dress, make up off, pjs on and the rest of the night was spent making steaks and watching movies. It was exactly what both of you needed.
Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fe!Reader -> After he told you to relax, Hangman finds a few more ways to help you relax.
Disclaimer: This does contain smut -- 18+ mdni. Fluff, nicknames, secret-ish dating, flirting in a bar, aftercare, swearing, brief mirror involvement, praise. Part One can be found here. Not fully proof read.
You didn’t know what time it was, but, frankly, you didn’t care.
You’d exhausted yourself over the last two months to the point where even sleep wasn’t curing it. You felt like you could sleep for an eternity and still wake up tired.
But not this time.
After climbing into bed with Jake the night before, it was the quickest you’d fallen asleep since…ever. He’d pulled you flush with his chest, and by the feeling of it, you hadn’t moved much during the night.
Neither of you had.
Except to turn over, so rather than face to face, your back was the thing flushed against him.
Hangman’s breathing was even beside you. Clearly, he was still fast asleep. And you wanted to keep it that way.
The moment you moved, he’d wake up and the warm cuddle he was holding you in would end. And, surprisingly, that was the last thing you wanted to happen.
Closing your eyes with a soft and content sigh, you shuffled a little closer to him. Your hand ran down his forearm before your palm was flushed against the back of his hand.
Jake tensed a little under you, if only to hold you a little tighter. Then you were back asleep. Whatever magic was in his hugs, you needed more of it.
A few more hours passed before you woke again, and this time, you found Jake already awake.
“Mornin’,” he smiled with a little chuckle.
You’d caught him watching you, and rather than deal with that piece of information, you laughed a little yourself and buried your head into his side.
“Morning,” you eventually replied.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” you smiled and despite the heat on your cheeks, you found courage to look up at his morning bed head. “Thank you…for letting me stay.”
“Thank you for coming to me.”
Unsure of what to reply, you just smiled. “What time is it?”
Jake turned until he got a clear view of your alarm clock and held it in front of you both. He was still holding you to his side, and your hand found itself a resting spot just above his heart.
“Just after eleven. I don’t think I’ve slept in like that since college.”
“After all those five am wake-ups, you probably needed the rest, too.”
He placed your alarm clock on the bedside table before looking down at you. “Yeah, maybe.”
“You busy today?”
Jake shook his head. “Nope. Not unless you need me to be.”
An hour later, Jake was teaching you a new breakfast recipe in your kitchen.
“Whoa, hey, okay. How about an apron?” He asked as you opened up a new bag of flour only for a flour storm to puff across your clothes.
You chuckled, “Maybe.”
From inside your laundry room, Jake pulled out an apron. However, rather than hand it to you to place on yourself, he told you to bow your head a little as he slipped the loop over and pulled your hair gently out from the back.
You felt your breath hitch as he lowered his body a little and reached around you to take the ties from the front and pull them around your back. You felt him tie a simple knot, a little tight, before he leaned once more and had you caged in against your counter tops.
Turning your head a little to look at him, his green eyes never once left yours as his fingers deftly tied a bow at the front of your body.
You could feel your senses becoming consumed by his aftershave, his body wash from his shower half an hour ago, his laundry. You could feel your senses becoming consumed by him.
“Jake…”
As his eyes remained fixed on yours, his hand came to lean against either side of the counter as he stood to his full height. And when one hand rested on your hip, you closed your eyes and leaned closer.
Jake’s own eyes fell closed as he leaned closer, pressing his head against yours.
“Sweetheart,” he swallowed. It was killing him inside. “We shouldn’t…”
Rolling your lips, you nodded. But when you tried to move away, you couldn’t.
“You’re meant to be a risk-taker,” you reminded him.
“I am,” he nodded, turning his body just a little before his other hand came to cradle your cheek. You could feel his fingers pressing into the base of your skull.
He was holding himself back.
“But not with you.”
“What if I wanted you to be?”
He shook his head, his eyes still closed and his forehead against your own. “You mean more to me than just a one night stand.”
You sighed, shifting your body weight forward. He felt your hands run up and down his arms as his second hand mirrored his first. Holding your head steady against his. Holding you away from him, but close enough to let you know he was having a battle with himself.
“Then show me.”
“Sweetheart.”
“Show me, Jake,” you whispered. “Show me how much I mean to you.”
And he did.
Taking your breath away in a sweeping kiss, he seared his taste into yours. His hands pulled you closer than either of you thought possible until his hands were back to pulling at the bow he’d created out of your apron ties.
Once it was finally off, he practically swept you from your feet and carried you from the kitchen.
“If we’re doing this, it’s not going to be on your kitchen counter.”
Less than thirty seconds later, you were both back in the spare bedroom. As he dropped you onto the edge of the bed for you to watch him pull the t-shirt over his head, you turned your head.
Your sheets smelled of him.
As quickly as the t-shirt was off, Jake was climbing over you, kissing the ever-loving life out of you. You were pretty sure that when you took a shower later – hopefully with him – you’d find a trail of lovebites across your entire body.
“Just relax, Sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear as he heard you whimper. “You can take it.”
You whimpered again as he slid back inside of you, a little deeper than the last.
Hooking your thigh over his arm, Jake watched as he slid back into you a little easier.
“That’s it, Sweetheart.” Jake praised you. “You’re taking me so well. You can take me-”
You could hear him coming apart as he sped up, and after your fourth earthshattering orgasm, he finally finished, too.
Heavy gasps for air, Jake went to finally pull out of you, but you shook your head.
“Wait. Wait, not- not yet.”
Holding him inside of you, you held his face in your hands as he braced above you. Both of you sweaty and freshly fucked, you leaned up and kissed him.
Your other kisses had been needy, borderline desperate. But not this. This was…intimate. Slow and kind.
“God, you’re gonna be the death of me, Sweetheart.”
The sentence practically fell like a prayer from his lips. His head against yours once more, he kissed you again.
“Stay there. I’m gonna clean you up.”
And he did.
Slowly pulling out of you, he took a mental image of you and him together before moving to your bathroom to run a washcloth under some warm water.
Ten minutes later, you were both laying in bed, foreheads pressed together as his fingers danced up and down your spine.
The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. You returned to work at the end of the week, with more energy than you’d had the week before.
And it was safe to say, the others noticed the change, too.
On your break, rather than calling Hangman out to get him to miss his shot, you let him teach you his darts technique.
“Just relax, Sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips to the shell of your ear as he held his hand in front of your eyes. “Lift your hand.”
You did so.
“Good girl, now aim. Ah, hey, no peaking.”
You rolled your eyes, mumbling, “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, but you love it.”
Ignoring the heat beneath your cheeks, you followed his next couple of orders before finally-
“Now throw it.”
Hearing the dart hit the board, you both looked. Wasn’t exactly a bullseye, but at least it was on the board.
“Not too bad,” Jake smiled, his hand softly trailing from your hip and across your lower back as he went to collect the dart, adding it to the small pile in his hand.
Once you were back at work, you could feel his eyes trailing most of your movements. A couple of times, you caught a glimpse of someone on the dagger squad shoving Hangman in order to get his attention.
Finally, after last orders, you managed to find a bit of peace in the storage closet as you refilled the napkin holders.
Behind you, you heard the door open. At first, you figured it was Penny. Maybe you’d finally run out of receipt paper.
Then you felt a pair of hands on your waist.
“Relax, it’s just me.” Hangman whispered before he felt you lean against his chest, and into the kiss he placed on your shoulder.
Letting out a sigh, you closed your eyes for a second.
“Tired?”
“Tired,” you nodded.
“Then let’s go home.”
“Just give me ten minutes, I need to-”
Jake took your hand. “Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago. Penny told me to come and find you. Not that, you know, I needed the excuse.”
You smiled a little before reaching up and pecking a few kisses to his lips.
“Okay. Home time.”
On the drive back, you let the salt air breeze in and out of the window as you leaned back and felt Jake take your hand. He only ever dropped it to change gears.
Fumbling with your door key, he helped you unlock it before guiding you inside.
“Head up to bed, I’ll lock the place up.”
Turning in his arms, you kissed him again and let your hand drag down his front as you walked towards the stairs. “Okay.”
Ten minutes later, Jake ascended the stairs only to stop a few short from the top. He smirked as his eyes raked over your body.
“I thought you were tired.”
“Tired from work,” you said as you watched him climb the last couple of steps. “Not too tired for this. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Good job you didn’t show me this before,” Jake’s fingers deftly ran over the fabric of the sheer nightgown. “Otherwise, you would have definitely been late.”
“I already was late,” you reminded him. Not that he needed the reminder.
“Fine. Late-er.”
With his hands on your hips, he lowered his head to drop a kiss on your collarbone.
“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” you admitted before he lifted you by your waist.
“I’m here, now.”
By the time an acceptable morning hour rolled around, the duvet cover was in a crumpled mess on the floor, two extra washclothes were waiting in your laundry basket and the nightgown you had been wearing was tossed somewhere in the direction of your vanity.
By the time you finally found it, you were greeted with memories of the night before.
“Look at you. So fucking beautiful,” You watched in the mirror as his arms wrapped around you. One hand slid between your legs and spread you wider for him whilst his other cupped at your breast.
You had a lovebite to specifically remember that moment, on the dip between your shoulder and your neck.
“Look at how well you’re taking me, Sweetheart. So. Fucking. Well.”
Squeezing gently at your neck, you felt another orgasm rush over you as you cried out his name for the millionth time.
“Get some rest, Sweetheart,” he’d told you when you woke up to his alarm.
“I can’t believe you get up this early. No-one gets up this early.”
Hangman chuckled as you buried yourself beneath the bed sheet. Through tired eyes, you watched him shower quickly before getting dressed for work.
“I’ll see you later?”
You nodded, reaching out for him as he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over you. Pressing three kisses to your lips, you kissed back.
“Relax, Sweetheart. Get some rest.”
And you did.
Years down the line, when your finger wore his ring and your passport held his last name, you still smiled over that one word.
Relax.
Something he told you every morning before he went to work, something he told you when you needed to hear it, something he told you when you made love and something he told you simply out of care for you.
Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fe!Reader -> When you're run down and exhausted, Hangman takes care of you.
Disclaimer: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of periods, dislike to (almost) lovers, use of nicknames, not fully proof read.
“You look like hell,”
You glared at Hangman. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“Actually, it’s Lieutenant."
Rather than glare a second time, you rolled your eyes and moved away. You hadn’t meant to come into work at all, but Penny had called. Apparently there was a new rush of tourists so the Hard Deck was packed past the doors.
The only reason you came into work, besides from the fact that Penny needed help, was because you highly doubted people could catch what you had. After all, it was a mixture of restless nights, double shifts for the last two months, and an early period which had kicked the ever-loving shit out of you.
You were exhausted. But you could push through for Penny.
For the next two hours, you served half the drinks you’d usually be able to serve. You’d sneezed three times from cleaning up the pepper pot that you spilled when serving a customer a plate of food. And throughout the entire night, you didn’t once yell at Hangman to keep it down despite several other patrons being a hell of a lot louder than him.
It wasn’t until you dropped a glass that you felt someone interrupt your work.
“Okay, come on.”
You looked around you until you focused on the owner of the hands and the voice. “But-”
Hangman shook his head. “Coyote’s gonna deal with it. Come on, I’m taking you home.”
He pushed you gently towards the end of the bar. If your bones weren’t so tired, you would have fought harder to stay.
“But Penny needs my help.”
“The guys can help. I know for a fact at least three of them worked in a bar in College.”
“Hangman-”
As he guided you through the rowdy crowds and towards the back exit, he leaned down so you could hear him. You could also feel his lips gently touching the shell of your ear.
“So help me God, Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low. “If you say you’re fine, I’ll carry you out of this bar. Kicking and screaming, if I have to.”
You swallowed thickly, glad the bar was stuffy. The heat crawling up your neck could be explained away.
Pushing the door open for you, Hangman stuck close by your side. And when you fished your car keys from your bag, he took them from you.
“Hey-”
“I’m driving.”
“What- no. Hangman-”
Once more his hand guided you until you found yourself in the passenger seat of your own car with Hangman by the door.
“Jake-” You stopped the door with your hand before he could close it. But all he did was lean on the frame and cock a hip. “You don’t have-”
“You’re run down.” Jake said, plainly. “You’re exhausted. I’ve been watching you all night. You need a break. And I’m driving you home, end of discussion.”
Jake closed your door and rounded to the driver’s seat before starting up the engine and putting his seatbelt on.
Meanwhile, you just stared at him. Even more so when he stared back, one fist braced over the steering wheel.
“Safety first, sweetheart.”
It took you a second before you looked away from him and put your seatbelt on. And once you did, Jake smiled at you and drove out of the parking lot.
“What about your car?”
“Coyote drove.”
You just nodded before turning to look out of the window. Fifteen minutes into the drive, Jake asked you if you’d had dinner. That, too, took you a moment to figure out. And when you finally shook your head, you felt the car turn.
Two minutes later, Jake locked you in your own car and ran into the store. You were half way through the second track of your playlist when he came back carrying two grocery bags.
Despite your home being another fifteen minutes away from the grocery store, it was long enough for the soft hum of the car engine to rock you to sleep.
Waking up, you turned over and tried to fall back to sleep. Until it struck you that you were no longer in a car. You’d fallen asleep in the car, right? Or had that been a dream?
Peeling open your eyes, you recognised where you were.
Your spare bedroom.
The blinds were half drawn, the window was letting in a cool morning breeze that smelled of sea air, and you were in your spare bedroom.
Sitting up carefully, you looked around you and then at yourself in the vanity mirror across from the bed. Your hair was a mess, your face was a little less puffy compared to before you went to work yesterday, but you were still in the clothes you’d worn for work.
So…definietly not a dream.
It came back to you in quick waves. The pepper, the glass, Hangman, the grocery store then…nothing.
Had Jake carried you to bed?
Finding enough energy to pull yourself from your bed, you headed downstairs. The house was mostly quiet, save for the soft scratches of radio static and someone humming along to the slow summer eighties classic.
Where you usually found a quiet kitchen, you found Hangman. Jake. Cooking at your stove, dressed in fresh clothes – he’d gone home, clearly. But he’d also come back?
And he was humming.
In a world of his own.
You had to admit. Of all the domestic things you imagined Hangman doing – not that you ever really did – you did not imagine him humming along to the radio and cooking.
“Morning.”
Jake looked over his shoulder quickly as he heard your voice. Then he smiled. “Morning. Breakfast is almost ready. How’d you sleep?”
You didn’t know whether to walk closer to stay where you were. Would moving break the image in front of you?
“Good,” you said. “Still tired, though.”
“You’ve been working double shifts for two months. You’re gonna be.”
“Did you…last night. Did you carry me to bed? Because I don’t remember-”
Jake nodded as he plated up some homemade hashbrowns, eggs, sausages and bacon. “Yeah. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Well…” You didn’t really know what to say. You’d never been carried to bed. Well, not past the age of seven. “Thank you.”
Jake smiled at you before laying the plate on the dinner table. “Here, eat up.”
You still didn’t move. And then he chuckled.
“Come on, Sweetheart. I don’t bite.”
Finally shuffling inside, you took a seat at the table with a small thank you. Jake nodded and turned to plate up his own breakfast before joining you. And, for the most part, you both sat in silence letting the radio fill the gap.
It shocked you how relaxing the morning was. You hadn’t had one of them in a long time, and you certainly never figured you’d have a relaxing morning with Jake Seresin of all people.
A lot of people got on your nerves, but him more than most. You knew he was a good guy, but he still had his moments, more often than not, of being an asshole.
“I noticed you’ve got some shelves that need putting up. I could do that for you.”
Halfway through your breakfast, you looked at him.
“I’ve got nothing on today, and- please don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Always a good start.”
He smiled, “You look like you could use the help.”
You swallowed your food. “How did you know I have shelves to put up?”
“Saw them in your room. I was gonna lay you down until I saw the blood stain. They’re in the dryer by the way.”
“You…you changed my sheets?”
Jake shrugged. “Relax. I’ve got a sister and I’ve had a girlfriend before. I’m also a grown man. It’s no big deal.”
You just stared at him as he continued to eat his breakfast as if he didn’t just shatter your world view on him. And a lot of men- well, boys – you’d dated over the years.
“Right, uh, yeah. Well…” You were fumbling for words as you looked back down to your plate. “Thanks. And, uh…yeah. I-I could use some help…with the shelves.”
Jake nodded in agreement. “I’ve got some tools in my truck.”
Forty minutes after breakfast where Jake washed up and you dried – despite the fact he tried to push you out of the kitchen three times, with the orders to go and relax – you were sitting cross-legged on your bed reading the instructions as Jake was looking over all the pieces he’d laid out with military precision.
“So, what are you planning to put on these shelves?”
“Books.”
He smiled, “Should have known.”
“By the way, if Natasha asks, I got rid of forty five books from the collection.”
Jake gave a whistle. “Forty five?”
You nodded. But he could see the guilty look behind your eyes.
“Where are they really?”
“In the basement.”
He gave a laugh and you smiled. “I can’t bear to part with them.”
Jake shook his head as he began screwing things together. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sweetheart. I get it.”
The way he said it told you there was more to his story. He wasn’t saying it just to join in the conversation.
“Back when I was at college, I was staying with my grandparents. They lived closer to campus and I didn’t have to pay a fortune to live in the dorms. Anyway, one summer I’m helping them clean out the attic and I come across an old trunk. You know, the kind you see in those old British films.”
You nodded. You were pretty sure you owned one.
“Anyway, inside were all these books. Romance, mystery, action, western. Everything. The first one I picked up, it had been purely out of boredom but…I was hooked. That summer I got through most of them and once they opened a second hand bookstore in town, there was no stopping me.”
You chuckled softly, watching Jake and listening to him talk about his love for reading. The amount of books he owned, the amount of books he secretly owned.
“So, kinda long-story-short, your secret is safe with me, Sweetheart.”
You smiled. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, and without once checking the instruction manual, Jake had your shelves built and secured to the wall. And there wasn’t a piece missing.
“What do you think?”
You blinked, “Wow.”
Once again, you were shocked with the domestic-ness of Hangman. He’d built you your shelves and had them secured in record time.
It had taken you six months to convince your ex just to help you lay down renter’s tiles in your shared apartment.
“Like ‘em?”
You nodded. “Thank you.”
Jake shrugged and surveyed his work alongside you. “Happy to help.”
Throughout the day, more and more things began to shatter your mental understanding of Hangman. He hummed when he cooked, he can cook, he can build and not complain, he’s helpful as well as resourceful.
The old slats of wood which had been from the shelves you’d torn down a few weeks ago were now acting as a brand-new planter on your kitchen window sill.
And above all…
He was kind.
Yes, he could be an asshole. Mostly an affectionate one, but still an ass nonetheless.
But he was also kind.
Thoughtful.
And he totally carried the Acts of Service gene in his blood.
“I’m sorry,” you told him over dinner.
“For what?”
“I misjudged you. I thought-”
“I was an asshole?”
You nodded.
Jake just smiled and shrugged. “Never gave you a reason not to think so.”
“Well, you have now. More than one, in fact.”
He smiled at you once more, and for the first time that night, he was the first one to look away. “So,” he tried to hide his smile. “What do you wanna watch?”
“You’re staying?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta make sure you relax. Unless…you don’t want me to?”
You quickly shook your head. “No. I-I want you to stay.”
He smiled. “Okay then.”
And just like that, he stayed.
He stayed by your side on the sofa when you both finally agreed on a movie.
He stayed by your side when you both made up the beds.
He stayed by your side when you both got ready for bed.
And he stayed by your side when you woke three hours later, padded down the hall and climbed in beside him.
He’d opened up the blanket for you, covered you back up and slid you across the sheets with his arm, bracing you against his chest.
“Go to sleep, Sweetheart.” Jake’s voice mumbled by your ear.
That was the last thing you heard before you settled against him and closed your eyes.
summary; Enemies with a deal: play the perfect couple for one week. But in the heart of Texas, under one roof and one lie too many… They forget where the act ends and the feelings begin.
word count; 4.1k
warnings; fake dating au, enemies to lovers, age gap (reader is in her late twenties, jake's in his late thirties), smut, oral (fem receiving), jake has a praise kink, reader has mommy issues (too self-indulgent haha), slight angst, happy ending
a/n; i originally had planned for reader to freak out and leave jake but i decided i wouldn't make y'all suffer so i went for a happier path, also can you notice i took a page out of glen's set it up's book? haha. this is the final part of the series, thank you so much for reading and commenting and reblogging, it made my day <3
series masterlist
masterlist
You didn’t talk about the kiss.
Not when Jake backed you into the guest room like a man on a mission. Not when the door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality. And definitely not when you shoved him back by the shoulders until he hit the mattress and stared up at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.
“I’m on top tonight,” you said, breathless but firm, planting a knee on the bed beside him. “Keep your hands to yourself until I say.”
Jake huffed a laugh even as he obeyed, hands lifted in mock surrender. “Bossy pants really is your final form.”
“You’re lucky I let you talk at all,” you muttered, already reaching for his shirt. “Now lift.”
He did — with zero hesitation, smirking the whole time — and as the fabric peeled away, your hands froze halfway up his stomach.
“Jesus,” you whispered.
“What?” His grin widened.
“Do you live at the gym?”
Jake arched a brow and flexed, just to be a menace. “Gotta look good when my fake girlfriend demands performance excellence.”
You rolled your eyes, shoving the shirt over his head — and he chuckled until you shoved him backward, straddling his hips in one smooth movement.
Jake exhaled hard through his nose, smirk faltering just slightly when you leaned down and kissed a slow, confident line from his throat to his collarbone.
“You’re going to let me take my time,” you said into his skin, “and you’re going to keep that mouth shut unless you’re begging.”
He swallowed. “This is some lawyer dominance fantasy, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” you said, kissing just under his jaw. “But you’re not complaining.”
Jake’s breath hitched. “Not even a little.”
You undressed slowly, methodically, taking pleasure in the way his gaze darkened with every inch of skin revealed. And when you reached for him — still in command, still fully in control — he hissed softly, hips stuttering beneath you.
“I said still,” you reminded him, voice just above a whisper. “We do this my way.”
Jake groaned low in his throat. “God, you’re going to ruin me.”
“That’s the plan.”
You leaned down again and kissed him hard, grinding your hips into his until he broke, one hand gripping the sheets like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
He let you take your time — let you guide his hands, his mouth, his body — until the teasing tension that had simmered between you for weeks snapped like a live wire.
And still, you kept control.
Even when his hands clutched at your hips and his mouth fell open against your shoulder. Even when his voice finally broke, a pleading groan tumbling out of him: “Please. Please. Tell me what you want.”
You smiled — slow, smug, triumphant.
“I want your mouth,” you whispered, voice low and warm. “And I want you to keep your eyes on me while you do it.”
Jake was a pilot — trained under pressure, calm under fire — but when he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and dragged you forward with careful, reverent hands, he looked anything but composed.
And when his mouth met your skin, your hands tangled in his hair, and your voice spilled out louder than you meant it to — he groaned again, holding your thighs tight as you moved against him, deeper into every flick of his tongue, every slow draw of his mouth.
“You’re—God, you’re—” you gasped, losing the thread of thought as heat licked through you like wildfire.
“Say it,” he murmured between strokes. “Tell me I’m good.”
You gave a breathless laugh. “You’re fine. Adequate.”
Jake growled — low and dangerous — and suddenly, he was devouring you with a hunger that had your head spinning and your knees locking around his shoulders. You tried to maintain control, tried to hold on to the power you’d claimed — but it splintered, deliciously, until all you could do was whisper his name like a prayer.
And when you collapsed back against the pillows, breathless and shaking, he crawled up beside you, lips slick and eyes alight with pride.
“You’re impossible,” you managed.
“I live to serve.”
You stared at the ceiling, still catching your breath.
Then, very quietly: “That was… the first time anyone’s ever…”
Jake stilled.
His head turned slowly toward you, surprise flickering behind his expression.
“You’re serious?”
You nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Guys my age don’t usually care about—”
Jake was already sliding down the bed again.
You blinked, startled. “Jake.”
He looked up from where he’d nestled between your thighs again, eyes very serious now.
“We’re doing that again.”
“Jake—”
“I’m making up for lost time.”
“Jake—”
His mouth cut off your protest.
And after that, all you could do was say his name.
Again.
And again.
-
The room was dark now, save for the moonlight slipping through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the wall. The sounds of crickets outside had replaced the quiet chaos that had filled the room earlier. Jake lay on his back, breathing steady, one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped securely around you.
You were curled against his side, warm and soft, your cheek resting against his chest as if it had always belonged there. Your legs were tangled with his beneath the sheets, and you hadn’t moved since you collapsed beside him — flushed and breathless and laughing quietly into his shoulder.
You traced light, absentminded shapes on his stomach with your fingers, drawing lazy lines over the ridges of muscle like you weren’t utterly aware of the effect it was having on him.
“Say something,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy.
Jake looked down at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” you said, face still hidden against his chest. “Something to distract me from the fact that I might have just rocked your world.”
He laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that rumbled under your ear. “You’re so modest.”
You tilted your head up to glance at him, your brows raised. “Am I wrong?”
He stared at you for a beat, then shook his head slowly. “Not even a little.”
There was a flicker of smugness in your smile, but it softened just as quickly as it came, and Jake saw it. Saw the way your bravado ebbed into something gentler, quieter. Not gone — just… muted.
He’d never seen you like this. Still sharp-tongued, still smart as hell, but not putting on a show. Just you. Hair messy, cheek pressed to his bare chest, your fingers still tracing faint circles along his ribs like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.
Jake swallowed hard.
He was in trouble.
Because you were funny, and brilliant, and a little terrifying in a courtroom — but this? This softer side of you, peeking out just for him?
It gutted him.
“You’re staring,” you muttered without looking up.
“I’m thinking,” he replied, his voice quieter now.
You gave him a sideways glance, playful. “Dangerous.”
Jake didn’t smile this time. Not fully. “I just realized I don’t really know when it stopped feeling fake.”
Your eyes flickered to his face, some quip clearly forming — but you didn’t say it. Not yet. Not when his hand moved gently over your hip, his thumb brushing along your skin.
He was still looking at you like you were something to be studied. Admired. Wanted.
You cleared your throat and shifted slightly, your hand landing on his chest again. “Careful, Lieutenant. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you’re in love with me.”
Jake gave a short, quiet laugh — but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He was.
He was in love with you, and it scared the hell out of him.
Instead of saying it, he pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. You let him. Even curled a little tighter against his chest, your body fitting against his like you were carved for this exact moment.
You didn’t say anything for a while.
Just lay there, his heartbeat under your ear, the soft warmth of his hand on your back.
Then—
“Don’t get used to this,” you said casually, voice muffled against his chest. “I’m still sleeping on the opposite side of the bed tomorrow night.”
Jake grinned into your hair. “Right. Strictly business.”
“Very strict.”
“And we definitely didn’t just break half a dozen fake-relationship clauses.”
“Clause 9 said no oral fixation,” you added, deadpan. “That one’s out the window.”
Jake snorted.
You looked up again, resting your chin on his chest now. “What time’s the wedding tomorrow?”
He exhaled, brushing a strand of hair off your face. “Mid-afternoon. My mom already cried twice today thinking about it.”
You smiled softly, then went quiet again.
Jake studied you — this you, without the armor, without the sarcasm to shield every vulnerable thought — and he wanted to kiss you again. Not because of lust this time, not even because of the thrill of sneaking around.
But because he didn’t want to stop kissing you. Ever.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he let you fall asleep first, tucked warm and safe against him, your breathing slow and even. And when your hand twitched in your sleep — the same way it always did when you were overwhelmed — Jake didn’t let go.
He just held you tighter.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, that little voice returned.
This isn’t fake anymore.
He was in love with you.
And tomorrow, he’d have to watch you walk beside him into a wedding that wasn’t yours — smile like it didn’t hurt, pretend like it didn’t mean more than it was supposed to.
He kissed your forehead softly, barely a whisper of a touch.
“Don’t get used to it,” he murmured.
But he already had.
-
The Seresin house was buzzing with the quiet hum of a slow Sunday morning, all sun-drenched windows and the distant sound of birdsong. Outside, the Texas heat was already licking at the horizon, but inside, the air was cool, calm, and touched with something expectant.
Jake was ready.
Showered, shaved, and tailored within an inch of his life in a crisp dark suit. His tie was already knotted, shoes polished, cufflinks in place. He rarely dressed like this anymore — the Navy didn’t exactly demand black tie on the tarmac — but he wore it well, the sharp lines of the suit emphasizing his broad frame and golden skin.
He stood in the living room with his mother, who was adjusting the final touches on her pearl earrings, when he glanced toward the stairs.
You still weren’t down.
He checked his watch.
Not because he was in a hurry. He wasn’t. In fact, he could’ve waited all day if it meant seeing you walk down those stairs.
He didn’t know what dress you’d chosen. He didn’t even know if you’d let him zip it up like you did with your cocktail dress a few nights ago. But he knew—knew—you’d look like sin wrapped in silk.
“Where is that girl of yours?” his mother mused, slipping on her heels. “I’m about to go upstairs and drag her down myself.”
Jake opened his mouth to respond—
But then the soft click of the bedroom door opened above them.
He turned toward the stairs.
And the world? It stopped.
You descended slowly, one hand lightly trailing along the polished banister, your other gathering the skirt of your dress just slightly so it wouldn’t trip under your heels. The fabric shimmered like liquid obsidian with every movement — that kind of black that held hints of silver where the sun hit it. It clung to you like it had been painted on, hugging every dip, every curve, strapless and daring, the hem brushing just at your ankles.
But it wasn’t just the dress.
It was you.
Hair swept up loosely, a few curls framing your face. Eyes lined with something smoky and magnetic. Lips a soft rose. Poised. Elegant. Devastating.
Jake’s breath caught in his throat.
You smiled when you caught his gaze — and not just a regular smile. It was cheeky, the kind of smile that hinted you knew exactly what you were doing to him. You paused on the second-to-last step, pivoted just enough to give them a view of the plunging back of your gown — a graceful scoop that dipped scandalously low, exposing the smooth plane of your back down to the small of it.
“Too much?” you asked innocently, looking over your shoulder.
Jake blinked, then cleared his throat.
His mother let out a delighted gasp. “Oh, sweetheart,” she gushed, hand over her heart. “You look stunning. Doesn’t she, Jake?”
Jake nodded slowly, still staring. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Yeah, she does.”
You turned fully then, descending the last few steps, and Jake stepped forward instinctively to offer you his hand — like it was second nature. You took it, steadying yourself, letting your fingers linger in his a little longer than necessary.
“Guess I clean up well,” you said softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.
He smirked, but it didn’t reach the cocky heights it usually did. It was quieter. More reverent. “You don’t look like you belong at a wedding,” he said, leaning just slightly closer.
“Oh?”
“You look like you’re about to ruin one.”
You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Maybe I am.”
Jake’s mother laughed as she grabbed her clutch. “Alright, lovebirds. Enough ogling. Let’s go pretend we’re not about to sit through the longest ceremony Texas has ever seen.”
You and Jake followed her out the front door, the morning sun now high and bright. As he opened the passenger side door for you, you looked back at him, the barest smile still curving your lips.
“You’re staring again,” you said lightly.
Jake leaned in as you slid into your seat. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, then winked. “My girlfriend’s hot.”
And before you could come up with a snappy reply, he closed the door with a grin and walked around to the driver’s side — smug, flustered, and already dreading how much harder today just became.
Because if anyone thought he’d been acting before?
He was in real trouble now.
-
The church was filled with soft music and the rustle of lace and linen. Floral arrangements spilled from every pew in cascading whites and greens, and sunlight poured in through stained glass windows, casting jewel-toned shadows across the aisle. It was beautiful. Timeless. Perfect.
And Jake Seresin hadn’t heard a single word of the ceremony.
He sat rigid in the wooden pew, his hand resting on yours, his thumb stroking idle circles against your skin — not like it was part of a show, not for appearances. Just because. Because he couldn’t seem to stop touching you.
You didn’t pull away.
You hadn’t in a while.
Your other hand sat gently on his knee, fingers curling ever so slightly against the fabric of his suit. Your dress shimmered when you shifted, drawing his eye like it always did — like it had when you came down the stairs this morning and knocked the air straight out of his lungs.
And when you glanced at him, your eyes soft and lit with something he couldn’t name, it hit him all over again.
You were supposed to be fake.
But there was nothing false about the way he felt right now. Nothing fabricated in the way his pulse stuttered when you leaned into him during the vows, your shoulder brushing his. No script in the way your fingers sought his when Lila walked down the aisle, radiant and smiling and already someone else’s.
He looked at her only once.
And then, almost involuntarily, he turned back to you.
You didn’t say anything. Just gave him the smallest of glances, your lips quirking softly, like you knew. Like you'd known all along that this — whatever this was — had long since stopped being pretend.
He didn’t say anything either. But his hand slid from yours and cupped your thigh instead, fingers spreading over the silk fabric, a quiet claim. And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t glance around to see who was watching. You just leaned your head against his shoulder — bold and sure and entirely yours.
Jake tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against your hair.
The world kept moving around you. The vows were exchanged, the kiss was sealed, the audience clapped politely.
Jake barely noticed.
He was too focused on the way your hand had wandered to the inside of his arm, how your nails lightly traced the seam of his jacket. The way your perfume had soaked into his shirt from leaning on him, leaving a scent that he was beginning to crave.
There was no line anymore. No point where the act had ended and the real feelings had begun.
He didn’t even know when it happened — maybe somewhere between that first fake kiss in front of the neighbors or the time you fell asleep on his shoulder during the drive back from town. Maybe when you teased him about mowing the lawn shirtless. Or when he kissed you just to shut you up by the stables — and then didn’t stop.
Maybe it was now.
Now, when you turned to face him during the reception, your heels kicked off beneath the table, your chin resting in your hand as you looked at him like there was no one else in the room. Like you meant it.
He didn’t kiss you then. Not yet.
But he took your hand again, raised it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles like it was a secret just for you.
Your lips parted slightly, surprised.
He didn’t say a word.
And neither did you.
Because you both knew now.
-
The reception was winding down in a haze of soft lights and clinking glasses. Out on the lawn, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, the murmur of conversation fading beneath the gentle chords of a slow country song floating from the speakers. Twinkle lights hung like constellations between the trees, flickering above the dance floor.
And you were in Jake’s arms.
He held you close, one hand resting firmly against the small of your back — your bare back, where the silk of your dress gave way to warm skin. His other hand curled around yours, fingers laced together like it was second nature now. Your palm pressed to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath it.
You danced in slow circles beneath the stars. The world had gone quiet, the chaos of the day falling away until there was only this — the warmth of his touch, the weight of his gaze, the hush of his breath so close to yours.
He hadn’t looked away. Not once.
Tilting your head, you caught the way his eyes drank you in like you were the only thing worth seeing. It wasn’t lust. Not entirely. It was something heavier. Warmer. Familiar.
“What?” you asked softly, voice barely carrying over the music. “You’re staring.”
Jake didn’t smile. Not right away.
He just looked at you like he wanted to memorize the moment. Like he already had.
“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low, rough. “I am.”
You huffed a soft breath, lips curling, trying for lightness. “We’re not in character right now, you know. No one’s watching.”
“I know.”
Your fingers tightened slightly against his chest.
And something passed between you — a crackling, quiet understanding. A shift so subtle it didn’t need to be spoken. Because somewhere between the pretending and the playing house, the little lies and practiced kisses, you had both fallen out of step with the story you’d been telling.
This wasn’t part of the plan anymore.
And still — neither of you let go.
Jake leaned in, his forehead brushing yours, his breath mingling with yours in the warm night air. “You drool when you fall asleep on planes,” he murmured.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“And you organize your closet by color, but your suitcase is a goddamn war zone.”
You stared, caught off guard by the teasing glint in his eye, the softness under it.
“Jake…”
“I like how you always try to act unimpressed when I say something nice, but your ears go a little pink every time.” His thumb brushed slow circles against your back, grounding you. “Drives me insane, darlin’. In the best way.”
Heat rose in your chest, threatening to spill over. “Why are you saying all this?”
His eyes darkened, serious now. “Because if I don’t, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
The ache in your ribs sharpened. “You don’t mean that—”
“I do.” His grip tightened like he was afraid you might slip away. “You know what I meant when I said you don’t belong at weddings?”
You arched a brow, trying for levity even as your pulse thundered. “Charming.”
Jake shook his head, gaze locked to yours. “You belong wrecking them. You walk in, and everything changes. Every time. You changed everything for me.”
Silence stretched, weighted and fragile.
Your voice cracked when you whispered, “You know what scares me the most? That none of this was ever fake.”
Jake exhaled, shaky, like he’d been holding it in for weeks. “I don’t think it ever was.”
The words rooted in you, took hold, bloomed.
And you knew you couldn’t hide anymore.
“You drive me insane most of the time, you know that?” Jake finally said, voice low, the words half-laugh, half-confession. “You’re bossy as hell, stubborn to a fault, and you wouldn’t survive more than twenty-four hours out here in Texas without someone killing the spiders for you.”
Your mouth dropped open, offended, but before you could snap back he leaned closer, cutting off the space between you.
“And I love you for it,” Jake added, softer now, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I love the way you roll your eyes at me. I love that you try to tell me what to do even though I never listen. I love that you hate country music but you still danced with me at the cookout, even when you stepped on my boots a dozen times. I love that you make me laugh when I don’t want to, and I love that you’re here—right now—with me.”
His thumb brushed your jaw, gentle. “I love you, even when you’re annoying as fuck. Especially then, actually.”
You blinked, your throat tight, your chest pulling in that aching, hopeful way that made everything else in the world fall away.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, almost breathless.
The smile that spread across Jake’s face in that moment was the kind of thing people wrote love songs about.
Relief to finally say it crashed through you like a tide, mingling with laughter that trembled out of your chest, half-sob, half-joy.
Jake lifted your joined hands and kissed your knuckles, lingering, reverent. No audience this time. No lie to sell.
Just him. Just you.
And then, slowly, like gravity itself had shifted, he dipped his head and kissed you. His hand tightened on your back, pulling you in as your fingers curled into the lapel of his suit. Your mouths met again and again, gentle and then not, smiling into it like two people who had finally stopped running.
When you broke apart, his forehead stayed pressed to yours, both of you breathless, both of you grinning like fools.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love you.”
He smiled — that rare, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. “Good. Because I’m not letting you take it back.”
And beneath the twinkle lights, wrapped in his arms, you knew you never would.
summary; Enemies with a deal: play the perfect couple for one week. But in the heart of Texas, under one roof and one lie too many… They forget where the act ends and the feelings begin.
word count; 3.2k
warnings; fake dating au, enemies to lovers, age gap (reader is in her late twenties, jake's in his late thirties), reader has mommy issues (too self-indulgent haha), slight angst, happy ending
a/n; so sorry for the delay!!! i had to rewrite this part because i wasn't sure of the ending. THERE WILL BE A FIFTH PART!!! 🫶🏻
series masterlist
masterlist
The boot store smelled like leather and sawdust and something deeply, irrevocably Western. Like the moment you crossed the threshold, some unseen force whispered yeehaw directly into your soul.
The place was huge. Rows upon rows of boots, belts, and hats lined the walls like the world’s most aggressive country music museum. A taxidermy longhorn head stared at you with judgment from above the cashier’s desk, and Johnny Cash crooned softly through dusty overhead speakers.
You didn’t just stick out — you looked like you’d wandered in from an entirely different movie.
Jake’s mom, on the other hand, was in her element. She was already halfway across the store, beckoning you excitedly toward a display. “These just came in, sweetheart! Let’s start here!”
You followed dutifully, trying not to wobble in your loafers. “Do they come in… black patent leather?”
Jake snorted. “No, but maybe if you ask nicely, they’ll bedazzle a pair for you.”
You shot him a look, grabbed a boot with rhinestones and threatened him with it.
“Careful,” he grinned. “That’s a weapon in the wrong hands.”
“This is the wrong hands,” you deadpanned.
Jake leaned against a nearby shelf, arms crossed, watching you with unconcealed amusement. “You gonna survive this, city mouse?”
“I’ve done worse,” you said, managing to tug one boot onto your foot. “I survived bar prep.”
“Sure,” he said. “But did bar prep require decorative stitching and steel toes?”
You wobbled slightly as you stood, adjusting the boot. “I look ridiculous.”
“You look…” Jake trailed off as he took you in, one hand casually sliding into his pocket, head tilted. “...like you just got cast in a reboot of Bonanza.”
You flipped him off behind his mother’s back. He laughed like you’d complimented him.
“Try this pair too,” his mom said, handing you another set of boots. You tried those. And then another. You were half-wearing one when she suddenly appeared with a wide-brimmed straw hat and dropped it right onto your head.
“Oh, God,” you muttered. “It’s happening. I’m being converted.”
Jake turned around from another aisle just in time to see you standing in front of the mirror: boots on, jeans tucked in, wide-brim hat sitting low over your eyes.
He froze for a second. Just one.
Then he smiled — and it was soft. Real.
“You actually…” he said, stepping closer, “look kind of adorable.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Adorable?”
“Adorably lost,” he amended, smirking again. “Like if you wandered onto a ranch, someone would probably take pity and feed you.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “What a glowing review.”
Jake stepped beside you in the mirror, leaned down a little, and pressed a kiss to the side of your head — feather-light, familiar, way too natural for what was supposed to be a charade.
Your eyes flicked up to meet his in the mirror. For a heartbeat, it was quiet between you. His hand brushed your lower back. Your mouth felt dry.
“Alright,” you said finally, clearing your throat and turning away. “Boots acquired. I now possess one percent cowboy energy.”
Jake grinned. “I’m proud of you, Boston.”
And then—
“Oh my God, Jake?”
You both turned in unison.
A woman stood at the edge of the aisle, her blonde hair catching the light, eyes bright and familiar in a way that immediately made your stomach knot. She was exactly what you would’ve pictured if someone had asked you to draw “Jake’s type”: the kind of girl every Southern boy wrote love songs about — sweet and sun-kissed, a sundress skimming her frame like she’d just stepped out of a Nicholas Sparks adaptation.
Jake went still beside you. His shoulders tensed, his jaw ticked. “Lila.”
So this was her.
The ex. The reason you were even standing here in a borrowed pair of boots.
You caught it instantly — the flash of discomfort he didn’t quite hide, the subtle way his stance shifted like he’d braced for impact. She, of course, looked completely unbothered, as if running into him was the most casual thing in the world.
“It’s been forever,” she said with a soft laugh, closing the space between them. Her voice was light, teasing, just a touch too warm. “Wow. Look at you.”
Jake’s charm flickered back on like muscle memory, his drawl sliding into place. “Yeah, it’s been a while.”
Her eyes drifted, curious, polite — and then landed on you. That’s when your pulse jumped.
Showtime.
Sliding an arm around Jake’s waist, you pressed yourself flush against his side, tilting your chin just enough to meet her gaze with your most flawless, practiced smile.
“Hi,” you said smoothly, following with your name. Then, with a playful little shrug, you added, “Although I don’t know if my name really fits my new cowgirl personality.”
Jake blinked, caught off guard. For one half-second, you saw the corner of his mouth twitch — admiration, maybe amusement — before he recovered, his arm curling over your shoulders, tugging you in closer. His thumb began brushing slow, lazy circles on your upper arm, and you almost flinched at how convincing it felt.
“Mom’s converting her,” he said lightly. “One boot at a time.”
Lila’s smile brightened, though you didn’t miss the faint flicker in her eyes as she studied you both. “That’s so great. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lila.”
You extended your hand with a saccharine smile that screamed I win. “Pleasure. I’m Jake’s girlfriend.”
Jake didn’t correct you, didn’t even hesitate. Just smiled that easy Seresin smile — and pressed his thumb into your shoulder in a slow, appreciative circle that nearly gave you away.
Lila glanced between the two of you — evaluating, weighing, maybe even doubting — but her expression never cracked from pleasant perfection.
“Well,” she said finally, with a little wave. “I’ll see you both at the wedding.”
“Can’t wait,” you said sweetly.
Only when she was gone did you realize how tightly you were still holding onto Jake.
You waited until she was truly gone before pulling away from Jake, crossing your arms. “Well. That was fun.”
Jake exhaled, still smiling faintly. “You’re scary when you commit.”
You turned to him. “You hesitated.”
Jake blinked. “I—what?”
“You hesitated before you introduced me.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did. There was a pause.”
Jake squinted at you. “Are we seriously debriefing this like it’s a courtroom cross?”
You arched an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way. I sold the hell out of that.”
Jake smiled again, and this time, it was something different — softer, edged with something warm and unreadable.
“Yeah,” he said. “You really did.”
-
The next few days played out like a highlight reel from a romantic comedy — the kind with the perfectly curated soundtrack and golden-hour lighting, where no one talked about their feelings but every glance said too much.
It started innocently enough.
Jake had the audacity to look comfortable in every situation — whether he was helping his mom haul firewood like a walking Levi’s ad, or teasing you mercilessly when you stepped outside in your city sneakers again and promptly sank into the mud.
“You’re not even trying to blend in,” he laughed, steadying you by the elbow as you flailed.
“This place is trying to kill me,” you hissed, gripping his arm for balance. “It smells like hay and lies.”
So, naturally, he offered to teach you to ride a horse.
It went about as well as anyone could’ve predicted.
The sun was low and golden over his mom’s pasture, cicadas buzzing lazily in the heat. Jake stood in the middle of the fenced paddock like he’d been born there, reins in hand, ball cap tipped back, grinning at you like this was his life’s true purpose.
You, on the other hand, were perched stiffly on top of a patient old mare named Clementine, clinging to the saddle horn as if it were your only lifeline.
“Relax,” Jake called, giving Clementine’s flank a light pat. “She can sense fear.”
“She should,” you snapped, knuckles white on the leather. “I’m broadcasting it loud and clear.”
His grin widened, dimples flashing. “She’s the sweetest horse on the ranch. My cousins learned to ride on her. She’s practically a saint.”
“Then maybe she can also perform miracles,” you muttered, shifting like the saddle itself was plotting against you. “Because I’m going to die.”
Jake leaned against the fence, looking infuriatingly at ease. “City girl like you? Dying in boots? That’s a Texas tragedy.”
“Keep laughing,” you warned, “but if I fall off and break my neck, I’m haunting you.”
“Wouldn’t mind,” he said smoothly, eyes raking over you in a way that made your stomach flip. “Might even enjoy the company.”
Your retort was lost the second Clementine shifted under you. You yelped, clutching at the saddle horn with all the dignity of a kid on a carnival ride. Jake bit down on a laugh, which only made it worse.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Relax,” he repeated, moving closer. “Loosen up your knees, stop gripping like you’re in a rollercoaster harness. Horses aren’t machines, darlin’. You gotta work with her.”
“I am working with her,” you hissed. “I’m negotiating the terms of my survival.”
It took all of thirty seconds for your stubborn determination to collapse. You slid gracelessly off the horse, landing on shaky legs. Clementine gave a bored snort as if to say amateur.
Jake was there in an instant, catching you as you stumbled. Strong hands closed around your waist, steadying you before you could faceplant into the dirt. His face was suddenly far too close, breath warm against your cheek, eyes gleaming with that insufferable mix of amusement and something heavier.
“City girl’s got soft bones,” he drawled softly, voice pitched just for you.
You shoved at his chest, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”
He didn’t. Not even close. Jake just laughed, that wide, easy sound that carried all the way across the field. His hand lingered at your waist longer than necessary, thumb brushing your side before he finally stepped back.
“Don’t worry,” he said, cocky as ever. “We’ll toughen you up before the wedding’s over.”
You glared, brushing dirt off your jeans. “Pretty sure the only thing getting tougher is my patience.”
“Patience?” His grin turned slow, knowing. “Sweetheart, you’ve got more grit than you think. And don’t worry—” he tipped his hat at you like some insufferable cowboy out of a movie, “—I’ll be right here to catch you every time you fall.”
You hated that your heart skipped at that. You hated even more that he noticed.
And he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.
Later that evening, he found you wrapped in a blanket in front of the stone fireplace, eyes narrowed as you patted the spot beside you on the rug.
“It’s for the fantasy,” you told him primly.
Jake raised a brow. “Cuddling by the fire?”
“It’s romantic,” you argued. “We’re in love, remember?”
Jake had chuckled low in his throat — but he’d joined you anyway, settling behind you, arms wrapping around your waist like it was muscle memory.
And, okay — you hadn’t expected it to feel that nice. His chest was warm against your back. His chin fit perfectly over your shoulder. He smelled like firewood and pine and something deep and comforting that you refused to label.
The flames popped in the hearth. He played with your fingers. Neither of you spoke.
-
Breakfast on the porch, his mother watching you both from the kitchen with a pleased little smile while Jake slid your coffee mug closer and you offered him a bite of your toast.
You trying on an old denim jacket of his from high school — a bet you lost after attempting to learn line dancing at a neighborhood event his mom roped you into. Jake clutched his stomach from laughing too hard, claiming you looked like a “five-foot-tall ranch hand with no spatial awareness.”
You threw a boot at him.
And then one evening, she pulled you aside. Hands soft, warm, steady against your arm. Her voice quiet in the way that made it feel like a secret.
“I haven’t seen him like this in years,” she said, eyes crinkling with something tender. “Not since before his daddy passed. You’ve brought him back to life, sweetheart.”
Your mouth went dry. “I… I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It is.” She smiled, slow and certain. “He used to laugh like this all the time. Teasing, showing off, always with that big grin plastered on his face. After we lost his daddy, it just… disappeared. For a long time. But this week?” She squeezed your arm gently. “That boy has light in him again. And I can see it plain as day — you’re the reason.”
You tried to laugh, but it came out uneven. “Maybe it’s just being home.”
“No, darling.” Her voice was kind, but it left no room for doubt. “It’s you. He looks at you the way his daddy used to look at me. Like the sun came back up after the longest night.”
You didn’t know what to say.
You couldn’t find words. Not when guilt pressed heavy in your chest. Because it wasn’t real. None of it was real.
She studied your silence for a moment, then her hand softened into a gentle pat. “Just… promise me something, will you?”
Your throat tightened. “What’s that?”
“Don’t break his heart,” she whispered, almost pleading. “He gives it away too easily, even if he pretends otherwise. And you… well, you’re the first girl in a long time I’ve seen him let close.”
It felt like a knife twisting. You managed a nod, your smile too tight, too rehearsed. “I won’t.”
But the words burned as soon as they left your mouth.
Because you weren’t sure you could keep them.
-
The house was too loud.
Too warm. Too kind.
Jake’s mom had spent the entire evening practically glued to your side — refilling your glass, showing you old photos of Jake in Little League, asking questions about your job and your favorite foods and your family with so much genuine maternal interest that your skin itched from the weight of it.
She was just... sweet. Honest. She looked at you like she already knew you and loved you anyway.
You couldn’t take it.
The night air was cool and still, the kind of quiet that wrapped around your shoulders like a wool blanket. You wandered without really thinking, ending up near the stables, where the fence creaked in the breeze and the scent of hay clung to everything.
It was so different from anything you’d ever known.
You wrapped your arms around yourself and stared out into the dark pasture, the grass silvered under the moonlight, and let your thoughts get too loud.
You were lying to a woman who had done nothing but be kind to you.
You were pretending to love a man who was — infuriatingly — starting to feel less like a prop in this charade and more like a crack in the wall you’d spent years reinforcing.
And worst of all?
You liked this. All of it. The chaos. The sweetness. The quiet. The way Jake looked at you like he knew something you didn’t.
You didn’t belong in this life. But God, you wanted to taste it anyway.
“Thought I might find you out here,” came his voice, low and steady behind you.
You didn’t turn around. “I needed some air.”
Jake stepped closer, boots crunching the gravel, his silhouette tall against the barn lights. “You disappeared.”
You shrugged. “You were busy. Your mom’s got stories for days.”
Jake let a silence settle between you. Then:
“She really likes you, you know.”
You exhaled, something bitter catching in your throat. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Jake’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
You finally turned, facing him, the porch light cutting a soft glow across his face. He looked concerned. Not annoyed. Just — confused. Like he didn’t get what the big deal was.
You hated that it made your chest ache.
“She’s great, Jake,” you said, voice tight. “Your mom is... everything a mother should be. And we’re just—” You waved a hand, heat blooming in your face. “We’re lying to her.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “It’s just for the week.”
“Yeah, and then what? We leave, and she keeps thinking you’re in love and that I’m her future daughter-in-law and—”
He cut in. “We agreed to this.”
“I know we did,” you snapped, voice cracking. “But I didn’t expect her to be so—so kind. So interested. And now it feels like I’m just spitting in her face every time she looks at me like I’m someone worth—”
You stopped yourself, but it was too late.
Jake was staring.
His voice softened. “Is this about your mom?”
You froze.
Jake took a step forward. “Back at the apartment... you said she wasn’t really affectionate. That she wasn’t—”
“I didn’t say anything,” you said quickly. “You assumed.”
Jake tilted his head. “I’ve met enough people to recognize when someone doesn’t know how to accept love.”
The words hit too close. Too sharp. You blinked hard.
“She would never—” Your voice shook. “My mom would never do any of this. She wouldn’t throw a cookout. Or hang up baby pictures. She didn’t even hug me growing up, Jake.”
You were unraveling now. Words slipping out faster than you could stop them.
“She told me crying was manipulative. She said affection made you weak. And your mom—she just...” You shook your head, throat burning. “She asks if I slept okay and makes breakfast and tells me she’s proud of me and—and it makes me want to scream because it’s not real. None of this is real.”
Jake was silent.
You looked up at him, heart racing. “And you just go along with it like it’s nothing. Like this doesn’t matter. Like we’re not just—lying to this woman who would probably adopt me if you asked.”
Jake’s gaze was unreadable.
You breathed hard, hands curling into fists at your sides.
“I didn’t sign up to feel guilty about this,” you whispered. "I think we should—"
And then, without warning—
Jake stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.
Hard.
Desperate.
It was not gentle. It was not polite. It was not fake.
You made a startled noise against his mouth, but he didn’t stop. One hand slid into your hair, the other stayed cradling your jaw, and he kissed you like it was the only way he could shut you up. Like if he didn’t, he’d explode.
And God help you — you kissed him back.
You curled your fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, let yourself melt against him like it was natural, like it was inevitable. The night air pressed cool against your skin, but Jake’s mouth was fire, and everything tilted sideways the longer it went on.
Finally, finally, he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, breath ragged.
“You talk too damn much,” he muttered.
You didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t.
Because something had just shifted — deep and final and terrifying.
And you weren’t sure pretending could save you anymore.
summary; Enemies with a deal: play the perfect couple for one week. But in the heart of Texas, under one roof and one lie too many… They forget where the act ends and the feelings begin.
word count; 5.4k
warnings; fake dating au, enemies to lovers, age gap (reader is in her late twenties, jake's in his late thirties) smut, oral (fem receiving), jake has a praise kink, reader has mommy issues (too self-indulgent haha), slight angst, happy ending
a/n; part 3!! this is soooo the proposal meets probably every single enemies to lovers romcom there is just because i'm actually obsessed with that movie and romcoms in general
series masterlist
masterlist
The second Jake pulled into the long gravel driveway and killed the engine, you knew something was… off.
It wasn’t the house — a wide, sun-bleached ranch-style home with a wraparound porch and hanging baskets of pink petunias swaying gently in the breeze. No, the house looked exactly like what you’d pictured.
It was the volume that gave you pause.
Voices. Dozens of them. Laughing. Shouting. Country music floated in the air, and was that the sizzle of a grill?
Jake frowned too, head tilted. “Did she—?”
The front door slammed open.
“Jacob Seresin, don’t you dare sit in that car another second and leave me waitin’!”
A woman in cropped jeans, a floral blouse, and pristine white sneakers was barreling down the porch steps, arms spread wide, her smile bright and unstoppable. Jake’s mother.
You barely had time to open the passenger door before she was there, wrapping Jake in a tight, no-nonsense Southern hug that made his six-foot frame look like a child’s.
“Hi, Mama,” he said, laughing into her shoulder.
“I told you I’d make peach cobbler and look at you, all late,” she scolded, squeezing him one more time before turning toward you.
And then—target acquired.
You barely had time to blink.
“Oh, you must be his sweetheart,” she beamed, and suddenly you were in her arms, her perfume (vanilla and something vaguely citrusy) enveloping you as she hugged like someone who had never once in her life done it halfway.
You tensed instinctively — not used to warmth so immediate, so unfiltered — but after a beat, your arms returned the gesture. Awkward. Soft. But real.
“I’m—hi,” you managed.
“You are darling, look at you,” she said, stepping back just enough to cradle your face in her hands like you were a lost puppy. “Jake’s been holding out on us.”
Jake coughed. “Mama.”
“Don’t you ‘Mama’ me, I had to hear about her through the phone!”
“Technically—” Jake tried.
But she was already waving him off and turning back toward the porch. “Now come on. Everyone’s waitin’. Don’t keep your cousins in suspense.”
You blinked. “Everyone?”
And then you heard it — more voices. Laughter. A child shrieking somewhere in the distance. Was that… lawn chairs clinking?
Jake winced, leaned close. “I think my mom threw a cookout.”
You turned to him, wide-eyed. “Like, a welcome party?”
He gave you a look that could only be described as deep, exhausted son energy. “She texted me last night and said something about ‘just the family stopping by.’ Which, for the record, means aunts, uncles, cousins, half the neighborhood, and probably the high school gym teacher who coached my JV football team.”
Your jaw dropped.
He tried to smile. “You can back out. I’ll say you got sick. Or jetlag. Or—”
You squared your shoulders, lifted your chin, and said through gritted teeth, “You owe me so much wine.”
Jake blinked.
Then smirked. “Yes, ma’am.”
—
You lost count of how many people hugged you within the first ten minutes. Some of them kissed your cheek. One woman brought deviled eggs and referred to you exclusively as “that pretty girl Jake’s been hiding in California.” Another cornered you by the sweet tea station and showed you Jake’s baby pictures. Naked baby pictures.
You were hot, slightly sunburned, and fully overwhelmed. But you were also, miraculously, holding your own.
Your lawyer instincts kicked in — charm, nod, mirror, distract — and you leaned on the backstory like a crutch, filling in blanks with little lies that sounded like truth. You laughed when Jake made jokes, slid your hand into his when someone looked too closely. You let his arm rest casually along your waist as people asked where you met and how long you’d been dating and when you were planning on giving his mama grandbabies.
Jake, for his part, was surprisingly… easy. Steady. Every time he touched you, it was warm but never forceful. And every time you stumbled — a name you couldn’t remember, a question you didn’t expect — he was right there to redirect, to draw attention back to himself like he was built for it.
You were trying to stay focused, to keep the walls up, but Jake… Jake was looking at you differently.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible — the way his eyes lingered for half a second longer when you pushed your sunglasses up your nose. The way his brow furrowed when you tugged at the hem of your blouse — that nervous twitch of your fingers he must’ve clocked somewhere in the last hour. The way his lips quirked every time your nose scrunched in confusion.
He was noticing things.
Little things.
And suddenly, so were you.
Like the way he lowered his voice when he spoke directly to you, just enough that it felt private, like a secret. Or the way he subtly stood closer when someone asked a personal question, like he was buffering you from too much scrutiny.
You cleared your throat and stepped away to refill your lemonade.
Jake watched you go, eyes narrowing — not with suspicion, but with something heavier. Something thoughtful.
“Boy,” his mother’s voice floated beside him. “You got a look on your face.”
Jake turned, startled. “Huh?”
She smiled, slipping a serving spoon into the coleslaw. “Just saying. You always get that squinty little forehead crease when you’re figuring something out.”
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s hot out.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, not looking up. “You're in love.”
He made a face. “You’ve known each other five minutes.”
His mother laughed. “Jake, I’ve watched you go twenty years without bringin’ home so much as a girl you kissed under the bleachers. This one’s different. I can tell.”
Jake opened his mouth to deflect — something witty, something smooth — but nothing came out.
His mother patted his shoulder and walked off, humming.
Across the yard, you were laughing with one of his younger cousins, crouched in the grass in your red-bottom loafers like it wasn’t completely impractical. You had grass on your trousers, lemonade in your hand, and your smile — genuine and rare — was breaking across your face like sunlight.
Jake blinked.
Yeah.
This was a problem.
At some point between your third glass of sweet tea and the sixth person asking if Jake had finally proposed yet, the crowd began to thin. Or at least, they stopped swarming you like you were the newest baby goat at a petting zoo.
You took a breath. A real one.
Jake was on the patio now, talking to someone in a sheriff’s department polo who, if you heard correctly, used to be his high school wrestling partner. You watched him from your perch near the porch railing, the sun dipping low enough to cast everything in that warm, peach-colored glow.
You finished your drink, set it down, and plastered on the softest smile you could manage. Time to turn this into a performance again.
You sauntered over to where Jake stood, touched his arm lightly, and pitched your voice just loud enough for anyone within twenty feet to hear.
“Honey,” you purred, lacing the word with the kind of sweetness that could send someone into a diabetic coma, “would you mind bringing my luggage inside? I want to change out of these city clothes and into something a little more… barbecue-appropriate.”
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, sweetheart.”
You smiled. He smiled.
And in the exact same breath, under your teeth, you hissed, “You’re lucky I don’t stab you with one of your mom’s kebab skewers.”
Jake, ever unfazed, leaned in just slightly, that shit-eating smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. “You’d miss. You’ve got no upper body strength.”
You smiled wider, waved at a passing aunt, and said through clenched teeth, “That’s rich coming from the man who almost cried carrying my carry-on.”
“Almost,” he said smugly, turning toward the driveway. “Didn’t. Key word.”
You followed him across the grass and pretended not to hear the very audible chorus of “Awwww” from the lawn chairs as Jake opened the back of the rental SUV.
Your luggage spilled out like an overstuffed clown car.
Jake stopped and blinked at the lineup. “I still think this is a war crime.”
You crossed your arms. “I told you, some of us like to be prepared.”
“For what? The apocalypse? Did you pack a wetsuit? Is there a flamethrower in here?”
“Texas weather is unpredictable.”
Jake grunted, heaving the first suitcase out. “You’re unpredictable.”
You leaned casually against the SUV. “You know you love it.”
He hauled another bag out, muttering something about airline weight limits and chiropractors, and started rolling them toward the house. The wheels snagged on the gravel twice, and you pretended not to hear the quiet stream of curses under his breath.
Behind you, someone actually whistled.
Jake glanced over his shoulder.
Half the party — cousins, neighbors, some guy named Dale in cowboy boots — was watching the two of you with open grins, eyes tracking every movement like it was a Hallmark Channel live taping.
You leaned closer to Jake and whispered, “We’re being watched.”
“I know,” he whispered back. “Put your hand on my back. Make it look romantic.”
You pressed your hand to the small of his back and smiled sweetly at the crowd. “How’s that?”
Jake grunted under the weight of your last suitcase. “Perfect. Nothing says romance like minor spinal injury.”
You giggled, which startled you a little — the sound felt genuine, too real for something that was supposed to be pretend.
By the time you reached the porch steps, Jake had a sheen of sweat on his forehead and was muttering something about “city girls and their beauty products” as he lugged the last bag inside.
You stepped in behind him, the cool air of the house washing over your skin, and murmured, “You know, I do appreciate this.”
He turned, wiping a hand down his face. “What, me playing bellhop?”
You gave him a faux-innocent look. “You carrying all my emotional baggage too.”
Jake stared at you for a beat, then snorted. “Nah. That’s clearly a whole other checked bag.”
You grinned, brushing past him into the hallway, calling over your shoulder, “I’m changing into something cute. Tell your mom to save me a slice of that peach cobbler.”
Jake called back, “You better wear something comfortable, because she also made you a plate of ribs the size of your torso.”
You paused at the bottom of the stairs, turned back with a perfectly smug smile, and said, “Can’t wait to eat it… sweetheart.”
Jake groaned dramatically, turned toward the kitchen, and muttered, “Lord help me, this woman’s gonna be the death of me.”
From outside, through the still-cracked screen door, a voice called out from the lawn:
“Y’ALL ARE ADORABLE!”
Jake’s face went red.
You laughed all the way upstairs.
While you were upstairs navigating the jungle of your wardrobe options (and, let’s be honest, googling “what to wear to a Texas cookout without looking like a caricature”), Jake was in the kitchen, getting a drink and trying to remember which of his cousins had made that spicy jalapeño dip that nearly melted his esophagus.
His mom stood at the stove, humming along to a country song playing softly from a little Bluetooth speaker, her pink apron dusted with flour and barbecue sauce, like a battle-worn flag from a culinary war.
“Go on and bring your bags in too, Jacob,” she said casually, flipping something in the skillet.
Jake glanced up, mid-sip. “To where?”
She turned, eyebrows raised like it was the dumbest question she’d heard all week. “To the room.”
Jake blinked. “The room. As in… the other guest room?”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “No, sweetheart. The room. The one y’all’ll be sharing.”
He lowered his water bottle slowly. “You want us to share a room?”
“You’re grown adults in a committed relationship,” she said, turning back to stir. “Ain’t no reason to pretend you’re sleeping in different beds.”
Jake made a vaguely strangled noise. “You have two guest rooms.”
“Yes. And I turned the other one into my yoga space, thank you very much.” She shot him a look over her shoulder, and then — without mercy — added, “Besides, let’s not act like y’all don’t sleep in the same bed every night already. You’ve been together for what, six months? Your words, not mine.”
Jake coughed. “Technically.”
She smiled sweetly. “Exactly.”
He opened his mouth to protest again, but she cut him off with a warning glance, the kind only mothers — Southern mothers especially — could deliver with a wooden spoon in hand.
“Oh, and Jacob?”
“Yeah?”
She turned fully now, arms crossed over her apron. “I’m really proud of you for bringing her.”
Jake stilled. “You are?”
She nodded, something softer sneaking into her voice now. “You’ve been stuck for a long time, honey. We all saw it. Ever since Lila… well. I just want you to be happy. And she makes you smile.”
Jake’s jaw tightened just slightly at the name — Lila — the echo of an old chapter he thought he’d buried deeper. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his jeans and forced a crooked grin.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “She’s something.”
His mom patted his cheek affectionately. “You’re not foolin’ me, Jacob. That girl’s the real thing.”
Jake swallowed thickly and turned toward the hallway, lifting his keys off the counter with a clink. “I’ll go get my bag.”
As he walked out, his mother called after him, “Be sweet to her, Jacob — I want grandbabies before I’m fifty-five.”
“You’re sixty-two,” he called back over his shoulder.
“And yet my uterus still aches for them!”
Jake groaned so loud the front door rattled as he stepped out.
Upstairs, you had just finished reapplying lip gloss and pulling on a breezy button-down dress when you heard his heavy boots on the stairs. A moment later, his voice filtered in through your cracked door.
“You decent?”
“Define decent,” you replied, smoothing the front of your dress. “Do I look like someone who’s not dying inside?”
Jake pushed the door open, suitcase in hand, and paused just long enough to raise an eyebrow. “Honestly? You look hot.”
You blinked.
He blinked.
“Temperature-wise,” he added quickly, face deadpan. “Obviously. It's brutal out there.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping aside so he could drag his bag inside. He parked it beside the dresser — your dresser, apparently — and straightened up with a long sigh.
“Bad news,” he said.
You crossed your arms. “More bad news?”
“We’re sharing a room.”
You stared.
He gestured vaguely. “Apparently, your side of the bed is the one closest to the fan. You’re welcome.”
Your brain short-circuited. “Wait. Hold on. What do you mean we’re sharing a room?”
“I mean there is one room. Singular. Uno. Mama Seresin said, and I quote, ‘Let’s not pretend y’all don’t sleep in the same bed already.’”
Your mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”
He shrugged helplessly. “She’s crafty.”
You turned away, pacing to the far end of the room like you were in a courtroom summation. “This is bad. This is so bad. I need a diagram of how bad this is.”
“She also wants grandkids,” Jake added.
You stopped pacing and turned to him, scandalized. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
You groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands. “I’m going to have a stress-induced aneurysm.”
Jake walked over, crouched beside you with all the faux-seriousness of a man ready to be annoying on purpose. “I promise not to hog the covers.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “Do you snore?”
“Like a lumberjack.”
“Oh, perfect.”
Jake smirked. “You say that now, but give it one night and you’ll be curled up against me like a koala.”
You stared at him.
He winked.
You tossed a throw pillow directly at his face.
Jake caught it one-handed. “See? This is exactly the kind of couple energy your firm would love.”
You groaned again and flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched like you were ready to be taken by the Lord.
Jake laughed — actually laughed — and it wasn’t smug this time. Just light. Easy. It made your chest tighten for a reason you didn’t feel like examining yet.
Outside the window, laughter drifted up from the backyard. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting everything in honey-colored light.
Jake stood and offered you his hand. “Come on, koala. If we’re stuck sharing a bed, might as well get through dinner without anyone catching on.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you.”
He pulled you up anyway, grinning. “Nah. You tolerate me. Aggressively.”
The sun had long since dipped below the hills, the cicadas now buzzing in sleepy rhythms while porch lights flickered on like fireflies across the neighborhood. The grill had gone cold, the paper plates stacked in the recycling, and at last — finally — the last aunt had waved her final goodbye with her arms wrapped around your shoulders and a wink that made you mildly uncomfortable.
Jake’s mom stood in the doorway, a dish towel over one shoulder, watching the dust trail of the last truck disappear down the drive.
“Well,” she sighed, satisfied. “That was lovely.”
You and Jake were elbow-deep in soapy water at the sink, handing off rinsed dishes like a well-oiled, overly attractive domestic machine. You were still trying to wrap your head around how many side dishes a single backyard barbecue required when she turned to you, grinning.
“Darlin’, you’ve been such a trooper. City girl, bless your heart.”
You smiled politely, managing not to flinch when she pressed another kiss to your cheek.
“But go on now,” she added, waving the towel. “Shoo. I’ve got the rest. You two lovebirds go get some rest before someone needs to wheel you both out of here.”
You opened your mouth to protest — maybe offer to dry something — but Jake’s hand was already on the small of your back, guiding you toward the hallway like he’d just been handed the keys to a prison gate.
“Wouldn’t wanna disrespect the head of the house,” he said smoothly, barely hiding the grin in his voice. “Thanks for everything, Mama.”
“Oh!” she called after you both as you reached the stairs. “And no funny business under my roof, y’hear?”
You froze.
Jake didn’t.
Without missing a beat, he raised his voice and called back, “Define funny!”
“I mean it, Jacob Seresin!” she replied, laughing.
You covered your burning face with one hand. “I’m going to die here.”
Jake just smirked. “Not before we establish bed boundaries.”
By the time you reached the room, your shoes were off, your back ached, and your face hurt from fake smiling. Jake kicked the door shut behind you, tossing a hoodie onto the corner chair and stretching like a cat with too many muscles.
“Well,” he said, glancing around. “Home sweet nightmare.”
You turned toward him with a hand raised like a traffic cop. “Turn around.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I need to change.”
He scoffed, already walking to the other side of the room. “Please. It’s nothing I haven’t seen in a dream sequence.”
“Jacob.”
He snorted, but turned around, raising both hands like a hostage. “Fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Or on the entire bed, apparently.”
You changed quickly — opting for your favorite oversized sleep tee and shorts — and when you cleared your throat, Jake glanced back, clearly fighting a smile.
“Cute,” he said, eyeing the cartoon on your shirt. “Real intimidating.”
“Your turn,” you said, plopping onto the mattress and immediately stacking pillows around yourself like a moody princess in a rom-com bunker.
Jake pulled off his t-shirt with a stretch that was frankly illegal, then yanked on an old Navy Academy tank and gym shorts. He flopped down dramatically — not on the bed, but on the floor — and used his backpack as a pillow.
You frowned. “You’re seriously sleeping on the floor?”
He stared up at the ceiling. “Yes.”
“…Why?”
Jake turned his head slightly toward you, eyebrow raised. “Because your honor, the defendant has clearly stated that any attempt to share the bed would result in litigation.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like I’ll sue you. I’ll just smother you with a pillow.”
“Comforting.”
A beat passed.
Then—
“You can sleep on the bed,” you muttered.
Jake grinned at the ceiling. “Nah. I’m good. This floor’s got great character.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “One day, when I throw out my back and can no longer fly, I hope you think of this moment. This betrayal.”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound bouncing off the walls of the cozy little room.
Jake shifted slightly, settling in. “You know, for a fake girlfriend, you’re doing pretty well.”
You rested your head on your arm, facing him. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a professional headache.”
He smiled, eyes crinkling. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
There was something comfortable about it — the teasing, the banter, the rhythm you’d fallen into like you hadn’t spent the last year arguing about everything from coffee orders to parking spots.
You watched him for a moment, just long enough to wonder if you were in over your head. If the fake was starting to blur. If Texas heat could get under your skin in more ways than one.
But instead, you said, “If you steal my blanket in the middle of the night, I will kick you.”
Jake smirked from the floor. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
You tossed a pillow at his face. He caught it — again — and grinned, eyes glinting in the low light. “Goodnight, City Mouse.”
“Goodnight, Luggage Mule.”
Outside, the crickets chirped.
Inside, Jake lay on the floor with a stupid little smile on his face.
And you — well, you pretended you weren’t smiling into your pillow, too.
-
You didn’t wake up to an alarm. Or to a rooster, thank God. You woke up to the loud, masculine drone of a mower outside your window.
At first, you thought you were dreaming — some vaguely unsettling suburban nightmare where your exes mowed lawns shirtless in slow motion. But as your eyes adjusted and you peeled your cheek off the pillow, the hum continued.
And then you made the mistake of getting up to look.
The old farmhouse window framed the morning like a movie. Warm, golden light spilled across the lawn, and there — glistening with sweat, biceps flexing, baseball cap backwards — was Jake.
Shirtless.
Like, gloriously shirtless.
His back muscles moved with each push of the mower. His shorts hung just low enough on his hips to make you feel mildly unwell. He wiped sweat from his brow with the hem of a rag hanging from his pocket, and when he stretched to dump the bag of clippings, you nearly fainted.
“Has he always been this—” you whispered, then cut yourself off and darted back like a guilty Victorian widow caught staring at a stable boy.
Jake Seresin had no business looking like a GQ cover shoot before 9 a.m. on a Thursday.
You changed in record time — tugging on your most casual button-down shirt and a pair of fitted jeans. They were a little tight, but flattering, and fine, you’d admit it: you wanted to look good. You even tried to wear loafers, which turned out to be a rookie mistake.
Hair up. Gloss on. Not thinking about Jake’s abs. Not thinking about—
Okay, now you were just lying to yourself.
When you made it downstairs, the kitchen smelled like heaven. Bacon, cinnamon, and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a cozy Southern hug.
Jake’s mom was already at the stove in a floral apron, flipping something golden in a cast-iron skillet. A full spread was laid out on the table — biscuits, jam, eggs, fruit, the works.
“Well, good mornin’, sugar,” she beamed when she spotted you. “You sleep alright? You need coffee?”
You nodded, offering a sheepish smile as you slid into a seat. “I’d sell my soul for coffee, actually.”
She chuckled and poured you a mug.
“So,” she said, sitting across from you with a mischievous sparkle in her eye, “what’s your story, sweetheart? Where’d you grow up?”
You smiled, relaxing slightly. “I’m from Boston originally. Born and raised.”
“Lord, no wonder you look like you’re allergic to humidity,” she teased. “What do you do in California?”
“I’m a lawyer,” you said, and at her impressed noise, you added, “Criminal defense.”
Her eyes sparkled with something between admiration and mischief. “A woman who knows her way around an argument. I like that.”
“I’ll try not to cross-examine you at breakfast.”
She laughed again, warm and genuine. “College?”
“NYU. I lived in the city for a while. I only moved to California a couple of years ago. Too many rats in New York.”
“I’ve always said rats should pay rent,” she nodded solemnly.
You laughed. “Exactly.”
The kitchen door creaked open just then, and in walked Jake — still sweaty, still shirtless, a towel slung around his neck like a war medal. You tried very hard not to stare.
He made a beeline for the fridge, snagging a water bottle, and offered a lazy grin. “Mornin’.”
His mom glanced over her shoulder. “Boy, don’t drip all over my clean floors.”
Jake just smirked at you. “Did she tell you yet?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Tell me what?”
Jake’s mom straightened up, pointing a spatula at your feet. “Those,” she said. “Are not shoes.”
You looked down at your—admittedly polished—loafers. “These are Ferragamo.”
“Sweetheart,” she said gently, “Texas doesn’t care what they cost. They’re city shoes. You’ll break an ankle trying to cross a dirt road.”
Jake nodded solemnly. “It’s true. You’ll be the first casualty of fashion this side of the Mississippi.”
You glared. “Thank you, Vogue and GQ.”
His mom clapped her hands. “Which is why we’re all going into town later.”
You blinked. “We are?”
Jake looked amused. “We are?”
She turned toward him. “Yes, we are. My son is not dragging his girlfriend across the entire state of Texas without proper footwear. We’re getting this girl some real boots.”
Jake's eyes glinted with mischief. “Can I pick them?”
“No,” you and his mother said at the same time.
She winked at you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll find you a pair that says ‘I fight for justice and look damn good doing it.’”
You smiled, suddenly charmed and overwhelmed all at once.
Jake finally pushed off the counter, tossing his towel in the laundry bin. “Alright, alright. I’ll go shower so I don’t scandalize the boot shop with my manly physique.”
You rolled your eyes. “Please. They’ll think you’re doing a calendar shoot.”
He paused in the doorway, flexed dramatically, and shot you a wink.
You snorted into your coffee. “Someone needs to humble you.”
Jake pointed at you as he backed away. “And someone needs boots that won’t get them killed by a gopher hole.”
You leaned back in your chair, hiding a smile behind your mug.
Across the table, his mother just watched the two of you with an expression that could only be described as smug.
The drive into town was all blue skies and golden fields — postcard-perfect and offensively charming, like Texas itself had decided to play up the clichés just to mess with you.
You sat in the passenger seat of Jake’s dusty truck, the leather warm under your thighs despite the air conditioning on full blast. His mother rode in the backseat, humming something country and cheerful, her arm resting out the open window like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Jake, naturally, looked like he belonged in a commercial. Aviators. Henley rolled at the sleeves. That smug little half-smile that said he was very aware of how good he looked behind the wheel.
You hated how well he pulled off this whole aesthetic.
Worse, you hated that he was currently pulling off affectionate boyfriend like it was second nature.
His hand rested casually on your thigh — not too high, not too low, but perfectly placed — his thumb brushing slow circles against the seam of your jeans as he drove. He hadn’t asked. He’d just done it. You, flustered and dumb, hadn’t had the spine to move it.
And maybe you didn’t want to move it.
You cleared your throat, shifting a little. “You know you don’t actually have to touch me for the entire drive, right?”
He didn’t look at you. “I’m selling the fantasy, plus you know I can't keep my hands off you, honey.”
“Oh, is this the deluxe package?” you said, deadpan. “Does it come with thigh groping and excessive cologne?”
“That’s just my natural musk, sweetheart,” Jake said without missing a beat, turning to flash you the most infuriating smile known to man. “Be honest, you like it.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but his mother leaned forward from the backseat.
“I think it’s sweet,” she said, positively beaming. “I love how playful y’all are. So many couples forget how to have fun together.”
Your jaw snapped shut.
Jake squeezed your thigh like a punctuation mark. “We have tons of fun, don’t we, baby?”
You turned to him slowly, smile tight. “Oh, it’s a nonstop joyride. Just last week we fought over what color the living room throw pillows should be.”
Jake’s grin deepened. “And I was right, wasn’t I? The burnt orange really brought out your fiery temperament.”
You blinked at him. “You are so lucky your mom is in this truck.”
“Oh, I know.”
From the backseat, she laughed. “Honestly, I’ve never seen Jake like this. He’s practically glowing. You bring something out of him, sweetheart.”
You turned to the window to hide your blush. Jake just kept smiling — relaxed, easy, like he hadn’t just broken the Geneva Convention by flirting with you like that.
And then — to really commit to the role — he pulled into a spot on Main Street, killed the engine, and got out of the truck with an exaggerated stretch. You reached for the door handle, but he was already rounding the hood to open it for you like some cowboy Casanova.
You gave him a look as you stepped out. “You’re really leaning into this, huh?”
Jake leaned down, voice low. “You said I’d make a terrible actor. I’m just proving you wrong.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
He closed the door behind you with a wink. “Too late.”
“Y’all are just precious,” his mother said from behind you, fanning herself slightly in the summer heat. “I swear, you should be in one of those Hallmark movies.”
Jake looked smug. You looked vaguely nauseous.
“Come on,” she added brightly. “Boots first, coffee later.”
Jake fell into step beside you, hand settling again on your lower back. You stiffened instinctively — not because you didn’t like it, but because you did.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered as the three of you walked down the street.
“Of course I am,” he said, brushing his fingers up your spine like a casual threat. “You’re letting me touch you in public and not slapping me for it. It’s the best day of my life.”
You glared at him. “Keep talking and I’ll ‘accidentally’ push you into a display of belt buckles.”
Jake leaned in, lips just near your ear. “Kinky.”
You elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Jesus.”
He laughed — genuine, loud, and a little too warm — and you hated that it made your stomach twist.
Back home, things were clean-cut, logical. Contracts, courtrooms, control. Here? In this sun-drenched, rodeo-hatted nightmare? Everything felt messy. You weren’t supposed to be flustered. You weren’t supposed to like the way Jake looked at you like he actually wanted to keep touching you.
You were supposed to be faking.
But from the way his mom sighed and smiled like her son had finally fallen in love — and from the way Jake squeezed your hand gently as you crossed the street — you couldn’t help but wonder:
summary; Enemies with a deal: play the perfect couple for one week. But in the heart of Texas, under one roof and one lie too many… They forget where the act ends and the feelings begin.
word count; 4.1k
series masterlist // masterlist
The takeout containers sat between them like a tiny, chaotic buffet — half-finished pad thai, a nearly empty box of dumplings, two egg rolls, and the sad remains of a fortune cookie that had crumbled in the bag. You were cross-legged on the living room floor with your blouse sleeves rolled up, hair messily pinned, chopsticks in hand like weapons. Jake was on the couch, one arm slung over the back, the other balancing a beer on his knee, watching you like you were his evening entertainment.
Which, unfortunately, you were.
"This could’ve been an email,” you muttered, fishing a rogue scallion from your noodles.
Jake leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. “And miss out on this quality time? No chance.”
You scoffed. “Pretty sure I already spend more time with you than God intended.”
“And yet,” he said, with that maddening grin, “here you are. In my living room. Stealing my dumplings.”
“They were communal.”
“Not the pork ones.”
You didn’t even look up as you popped the last one in your mouth. “Whoops.”
Jake huffed a soft laugh, sipping his beer. For a few quiet seconds, the only sounds were rustling containers and the distant hum of a ceiling fan.
Then—
“I just realized I don’t actually know anything about you.”
You raised an eyebrow without lifting your head. “Is that you trying to flirt? Because the last time you asked a woman that, I’m pretty sure you were nineteen and on spring break.”
He smirked. “You wound me.”
“Good.”
Jake nudged a carton with his foot. “I’m serious. If we’re gonna pull this off, I need to know the basics. The essentials. Favorite color. Childhood trauma. Weird hobbies. The usual.”
You gave him a flat look. “Why?”
“In case my mom asks.”
You rolled your eyes and leaned back on one hand, chopsticks dangling from the other. “Fine. I like navy blue. I don’t do hobbies. And I once gave myself a stick-and-poke tattoo in high school after watching one Vice documentary.”
He sat up. “Wait, really?”
“No,” you said dryly. “But see? That should tell you everything you need to know.”
Jake chuckled under his breath. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Likewise.”
He studied you for a moment, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Seriously, though. You don’t talk about yourself much.”
“That’s because I’m not interesting.”
“Bullshit.”
You looked away, fixing your gaze on a plastic soy sauce packet. “Can we just stick to the story?”
Jake hesitated. Then leaned back again, nodding once. “Alright. Let’s say we met six months ago.”
You nodded slowly. “At a bar. Mutual friends.”
“Easy. Phoenix introduced us.”
“She hates both of us equally. Checks out.”
Jake grinned. “First date?”
You considered. “Bowling.”
He blinked. “Really?”
You shrugged. “It’s neutral territory. Public. Low pressure. Plus, I’m alarmingly good at it. Would’ve boosted your ego to beat me.”
“Oh, sweetheart, if we ever went bowling, I would’ve crushed you.”
“You’d have pulled something and limped for a week.”
“Okay. Second date?” Jake asked, leaning forward like this was some kind of game show.
You tilted your head. “You want to keep going with this?”
He gestured around the room. “We’re already elbows-deep in spring rolls and fake commitment. Might as well go all the way.”
“That’s what she said,” you deadpanned.
Jake blinked, then barked a laugh. “Did you just—?”
You pointed your chopsticks at him. “Don’t make it weird. Just answer the question.”
He grinned. “Alright. Our second date was… tacos.”
“Tacos?” you repeated.
“In my truck. Late night. You were wearing those ridiculous high heels you swear are comfortable but make you limp after five minutes—”
“Excuse me,” you cut in, “I would never agree to food that requires napkins and a lap while wearing couture. I’m not an animal.”
Jake raised a brow. “Couture?”
“Shut up. This is my fantasy too.”
He chuckled, rolling his beer bottle between his palms. “Fine. Fancy rooftop wine bar?”
You shook your head. “Too obvious.”
“Bowling alley?”
“We already used bowling.”
“Okay, smartass.” He smirked. “Where do you take your fake boyfriends on their fake second date?”
You pretended to consider it. “Art museum.”
Jake blinked. “That’s the opposite of tacos in a truck.”
“Exactly. You hated it. Complained about all the abstract pieces and asked why everything looked like genitals.”
Jake’s smile widened. “That sounds like me.”
“And I was this close to leaving you there,” you added, holding up your fingers.
“But I won you back by buying overpriced gift shop merch,” he said proudly.
You nodded. “A tote bag that said ‘Modern Art Makes Me Sad.’”
Jake laughed. “I’d absolutely carry that around.”
“You did. I made you.”
He shook his head, clearly amused. “You know, for people who allegedly can’t stand each other, we’re disturbingly good at this.”
You didn’t look up from your noodles. “That’s because we both have control issues.”
“And probably too much free time.”
“And deep-rooted emotional avoidance patterns.”
Jake raised his beer in a mock-toast. “To us.”
You clinked your chopsticks against it. “A match made in neurosis.”
He grinned, eyes dancing as he watched you across the room. “So how did I win you over? What moment made you realize I was the love of your life?”
You snorted. “You’re assuming I’m the one who fell first?”
“Oh absolutely,” he said confidently. “I probably annoyed you into submission.”
“Please. You couldn’t annoy me into making you a sandwich.”
Jake grinned wider. “C’mon. There had to be a moment. A fake, heart-melting, perfect-for-a-wedding-speech moment.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite bite back the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. You fixed my radiator.”
Jake blinked. “That’s it?”
“It was January. I was freezing. You came over with your toolbox and those stupid biceps and made it work again. I was vulnerable. Don’t get cocky.”
Jake looked mock-offended. “You fell for me because I played handyman?”
“Temporarily. Then you mansplained how a thermostat works and I came to my senses.”
He shook his head. “You’re a menace.”
“You’re the one who asked.”
He watched you for a second, something playful flickering behind his eyes. “So we’re good? This is our story?”
You nodded. “Yep.”
“Perfect,” Jake said. “Now all we have to do is sell it to my mother.”
You set your empty takeout container aside. “Easy. I’ve convinced juries to let literal criminals walk. Faking a relationship with a mildly tolerable flyboy can’t be harder than that.”
Jake leaned back, smirking. “You just admitted I’m tolerable.”
“I said mildly. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
-
The tickets were booked. The time off from work was somehow authorized after three reschedules, one favor called in, and a suspiciously vague email about “a personal family emergency.” You were officially committed.
All that was left?
The suitcase. The trip. The lie.
And Jake Seresin, knocking on your front door like he owned the place.
You opened it barefoot, still in bike shorts and an oversized t-shirt that read Case Closed. There was half a granola bar in your hand and a distinctly haunted look in your eyes.
“Tell me you’ve been robbed,” Jake said by way of greeting.
You glared at him, stepping aside. “Come in, Cowboy.”
He walked through the threshold, taking in the pristine living room — modern, sharp, color-coordinated down to the throw pillows — and then the hallway lined with framed legal diplomas, pristine white walls, and abstract art.
“This place is very…you.”
You shut the door. “Thanks. That sounded almost like an insult.”
He grinned. “It was. Now where’s the fire?”
You gestured down the hallway, and the moment he stepped inside your bedroom, he actually whistled.
“Jesus Christ.”
He wasn’t looking at your bed or your decor. No. He was staring into the yawning chasm of your closet, which looked like it had been ransacked by a particularly indecisive tornado. Clothes were everywhere — on the bench, on the floor, hanging out of drawers like they’d tried to escape mid-crisis.
“This isn’t a closet,” Jake said, arms crossed. “This is a cry for help.”
You tossed your granola wrapper at him.
“I don’t know what to pack!” you snapped, already elbow-deep in a pile of blouses. “What does one wear in Texas? Do I need denim? A Stetson? Is fringe ironic again?”
Jake took a slow lap around the disaster zone, eyeing a particularly sparkly dress hanging from a doorknob. “What exactly do you think happens in Texas? Line dancing and cattle wrangling at the airport?”
You shot him a look. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t born in a cornfield like you. I’ve never set foot in a town with a population under one million.”
Jake snorted. “That’s not a town, sweetheart. That’s a city-state.”
You dramatically flopped onto your bed. “This is my nightmare.”
Jake pulled a pair of heels out of the mix — suede, open-toe, aggressively New York — and held them up like a dead rat. “Planning to wear these to Sunday dinner with my grandma?”
You covered your face. “I have no context. I don’t know if we’re doing brunch or barrel racing.”
Jake’s voice was all mock-sympathy. “Poor little Boston girl. No idea what to wear in the wild.”
“Say ‘Boston’ in that tone again and I’ll call the airline and cancel your ticket.”
He grinned, dropping the shoes onto a nearby chair. “Relax. You don’t need to look like a country song to survive the week.”
“Says the man who owns boots.”
“I own functional footwear. Unlike you and these—” he picked up a pair of red-bottom stilettos “—weapons of mass destruction.”
“They’re Louboutins,” you said defensively.
“They’re death traps,” he replied, casually sitting on the edge of your bed like he wasn’t witnessing a full-scale mental collapse. “Alright, listen. Pack one dress for the wedding, one for dinner with my family, and then just casual stuff. Jeans, tees, something you can breathe in. You do own jeans, right?”
You shot him a death glare. “I own very expensive jeans that have never been within fifty miles of dirt.”
Jake snickered. “You’re gonna do great.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“You’re going to thrill the town, actually,” he added, smug. “They’ve never seen someone wear Chanel to a backyard BBQ.”
You groaned and reached for a pair of oversized sunglasses. “I already regret agreeing to this.”
“Too late, Counselor,” he said, stretching out and folding his arms behind his head. “You’re my fake girlfriend now. Ride or die.”
You looked at him, then at the war zone that used to be your closet. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m having the time of my life.”
“Sadist.”
“City mouse.”
You threw a folded shirt at his head.
He caught it one-handed, smirking. “That’s not going to match your hat.”
You paused. “What hat?”
Jake leaned forward, eyes glinting with pure menace. “Oh. Did I forget to mention? My mom has a whole collection. She's gonna insist.”
You dropped your head into your hands.
He clapped a hand on your shoulder, mock-gentle. “Yeehaw, baby.”
-
“You know,” you said, slipping your sunglasses down your nose as you strolled through the terminal like it was your own personal runway, “this is the most unhinged thing I’ve agreed to do since I let my roommate give me curtain bangs during a wine tasting.”
Jake, walking beside you in a t-shirt tight enough to be a war crime and dragging a carry-on with absurd ease, gave you a sidelong look. “And yet, here you are. Ready to fake-date me in the Lone Star State.”
You grinned. “I’m choosing to see this as performance art.”
“Sure. As long as your method acting includes pretending to like me.”
“I’d sooner chew glass.”
“God, I missed this energy,” Jake muttered, shouldering past a group of vacation dads in cargo shorts.
By the time you reached your gate, the boarding area was buzzing — honeymooners, tech bros, some teenagers in cowboy boots who looked like they were on their way to audition for The Voice. You scanned the crowd, checking the time on your phone.
Jake stretched, arms overhead, and you didn’t mean to look at the way his shirt lifted, but… gravity was undefeated. So were his abs.
Unfortunately.
"Stop checking me out," he said without looking at you.
“I was admiring your poor posture,” you lied, turning your attention to your designer tote. “You’re going to need a chiropractor by thirty-five.”
Jake smirked. “Good thing I’m thirty-eight and still thriving.”
“Thriving,” you echoed. “Is that what we’re calling male delusion now?”
Before he could respond, the gate agent called for first-class boarding.
Jake turned to you with a dramatic little bow. “After you, darlin’.”
You gave him a look. “Say that again and I’ll commit homicide in a Delta boarding tunnel.”
He grinned and followed you down the jet bridge.
Once seated, you kicked off your heels and stretched luxuriously, feeling very much like you were in a Nancy Meyers movie where you were just divorced and about to fall in love with a man who made bread from scratch.
“God, this is so weird,” you said, accepting a glass of champagne from the flight attendant. “It feels like I’m Hannah Montana going back to her ranch after performing at the Staples Center.”
Jake blinked. “Who?”
You stared at him. “I’m sorry?”
“Hannah who?”
You turned to face him fully. “Hannah Montana. The Disney Channel icon. The woman who taught a generation that you can, in fact, have the best of both worlds?”
Jake just looked at you like you’d started speaking Dutch.
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, sipping your drink. “You really are old.”
“That reference meant nothing to me,” he said, bemused. “Is that like High School Musical?”
You gasped. “You don’t know?!”
“I was defending the country when you were learning synchronized dances from Zac Efron.”
“Excuse you,” you said, one hand to your chest. “That movie changed lives. Lives.”
Jake snorted into his glass. “You’re such a menace.”
“I’m a cultural scholar.”
“Of bubblegum pop and teen angst.”
You grinned. “Exactly.”
Just then, a soft voice floated across the aisle.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” said a woman in her sixties, holding a well-worn book in her lap and smiling warmly, “but you two are just the cutest couple. I’ve been watching you since the terminal — the way you tease each other? So sweet.”
You froze with your champagne mid-air.
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Aw, thank you, ma’am. We try.”
You turned slowly to him, eyes wide. He just smiled, pure Southern charm in denim and sin.
The woman beamed. “I can always tell when it’s real love. Enjoy your trip!”
“She thinks we’re in love,” you hissed the moment she turned back to her book.
Jake leaned closer, his smirk criminal. “Well, sweetheart, fake it till you make it.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You like it.”
You refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, you adjusted your seat, crossed your legs, and muttered, “If I get stuck next to you for three hours, I’m upgrading myself to witness protection.”
Jake just laughed. “Welcome to the best of both worlds, city girl.”
Somewhere between your third glass of first-class champagne and Jake muttering something snide about your Spotify playlists, you’d drifted off — head tilted against the window, seat reclined just enough, arms crossed defensively like even in unconsciousness you were keeping your guard up.
Jake had, of course, noticed.
He also noticed the small, unflattering drool mark collecting at the corner of your mouth.
“Hey,” he said when the wheels hit the tarmac with a bump, his voice pitched low next to your ear, “Sleeping Beauty. You drool.”
Your eyes snapped open, your brain still foggy with sleep and recycled cabin air. “What—?”
He nodded toward your chin, totally unrepentant. “Little waterfall situation happening.”
You wiped your mouth instantly, glaring. “I hate you.”
“I’m touched.”
You shoved his arm as you sat up, blinking at the sunshine flooding through the window. “Are we here?”
Jake nodded. “Welcome to Texas.”
You squinted at the landscape. Flat, golden, stretching for miles. Your heels were already regretting this decision.
By the time you were off the plane and standing at baggage claim, reality was fully setting in. This was Texas. You were surrounded by more cowboy hats than cell towers, the humidity hit like a wet towel to the face, and the airport smelled vaguely like hay and BBQ.
You, naturally, were dressed in designer travel wear — linen trousers, loafers, oversized sunglasses, and an absurdly expensive tote you refused to check. Beside you stood Jake, perfectly at home in jeans and a t-shirt, backpack slung effortlessly over one shoulder.
And then came the luggage.
Your luggage.
Three suitcases, a carry-on, the tote, and a hanging garment bag with your wedding dress inside — all color-coordinated, all wheeled with difficulty.
Jake stood still as the final piece slid onto the conveyor.
“…Is this all yours?” he asked, voice suspiciously calm.
You didn’t even blink. “Of course.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you pack for a destination wedding or the fall of civilization?”
“Some of us like to prepare.”
Jake exhaled deeply. “You realize we’re staying at my mother’s house, not a fashion week penthouse.”
“I need options,” you replied breezily, already loading up the rolling handles and looping your bag across your chest. “Some of us weren’t born with a pair of jeans and a toolkit in our crib.”
Jake muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “city girls gonna be the death of me” and grabbed two suitcases without further complaint.
You handed him the third.
And your carry-on.
And your garment bag.
He stared at you. “Seriously?”
You smiled sweetly. “I’m delicate.”
He groaned, dragging what looked like half of a Louis Vuitton showroom behind him.
Outside, the heat was even worse — that dry, sunbaked kind of warmth that hit you in the lungs and made you wish for ice water and mercy. You immediately regretted wearing long pants.
Jake loaded your mountain of luggage into the back of the rental SUV (a navy Chevy Tahoe that looked like it had been specifically designed for football dads and small-town sheriffs) while you hovered nearby, like the helpless urbanite you were.
“My mom offered to pick us up, by the way,” he said, slamming the trunk shut and walking around to the driver’s side. “I told her no.”
“Why not?” you asked, sliding into the passenger seat and adjusting the air vents toward your face with great urgency.
“She’s sixty-two and insists on driving that old Buick of hers like it’s the goddamn Batmobile. I didn’t want her on the highway alone for two hours.”
You blinked. “Wait, it’s two hours to her house?”
Jake snorted. “Did you think we were staying in the airport?”
You slumped in your seat, dramatic as ever. “I should’ve just faked a family emergency and stayed home.”
Jake pulled out of the parking lot, the air conditioning slowly coming to life. “Too late now, sweetheart. You’re committed. Fake girlfriend contract is binding.”
“I want my lawyer.”
“You are your lawyer.”
“Tragic.”
Jake grinned, merging onto the open stretch of highway. “Buckle up, city mouse. Welcome to the country.”
Fifteen minutes into the drive and Jake had already called you high-maintenance, tone-deaf, and “so painfully city it makes his teeth hurt.” You’d countered with cowboy cosplay, toxic masculinity, and a jab at his Spotify library after he played a Brooks & Dunn song unironically.
But now the SUV had settled into a calm rhythm — road humming under the tires, warm wind filtering through half-cracked windows, the heat lazy and golden.
You kicked off your shoes, curling your feet up onto the seat, and twisted your body toward him.
“Alright, we need to get our story straight.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “What story?”
You gave him a flat look. “The one where I’m your loving, adoring, totally smitten girlfriend who for some reason agreed to spend a week pretending you’re tolerable.”
He smirked. “So basically sci-fi.”
“So,” you said, lazily turning your head toward him. “We’ve got the meet-cute, the timeline, and the first few dates down.”
"All Rom-Com worthy if you ask me."
You rolled your eyes. “Delusional, but sure. Now we just need to cover the weird little stuff. Things couples know.”
Jake glanced at you. “Like what? Favorite color? How you take your coffee?”
“Exactly. Little domestic things. If your mom asks me what side of the bed you sleep on and I freeze like a malfunctioning Alexa, the whole thing falls apart.”
He chuckled. “Easy. Right side. Always.”
You hummed. “Good. I’m a lefty.”
Jake gave a sideways smirk. “We’d be compatible if this were a sleepover and not a romantic fraud.”
You flipped him off, elbow still propped on the window.
He grinned. “Okay, what’s my coffee order?”
“You don’t drink coffee. You drink jet fuel in a mug.”
Jake nodded solemnly. “Black, no sugar. Like my soul.”
You snorted. “Jesus.”
“How do you take yours?”
“Like someone who needs therapy. Triple shot oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla and a crippling caffeine dependency.”
Jake gave a low whistle. “That sounds like a cry for help.”
You raised your brows. “You’re the one lying to your mother about being in love. I’d say we’re both circling the drain.”
“Fair.”
You reached into your tote and pulled out a small notebook. Jake raised a brow.
“You’re taking notes?”
“Obviously. I have a legal pad full of court prep in my bag, you think I’m going to half-ass our cover story? Please.”
He leaned back in his seat, watching you jot down bullet points. “God, you’re so type A it physically hurts.”
“And you’re going to benefit from it, so don’t whine,” you said, clicking your pen. “Okay, next — pet names.”
Jake groaned. “We’re still doing this?”
You turned to him fully. “Yes. If I call you ‘Jake’ every time I speak to you, it’ll sound formal. We need variety.”
He gave it a beat, then said, totally deadpan: “Pumpkin tits.”
You didn’t miss a beat. “Keep talking and I’ll stab you with this pen.”
He laughed so hard he nearly swerved again.
“Okay,” he wheezed, wiping at his eyes. “Okay. For real. I’ll call you ‘darlin’ — it’s natural, I already say it sometimes.”
“Sure, as long as you don’t say it like I’m your horse.”
Jake shrugged. “Fine. You can call me—”
“I’m not calling you daddy,” you interrupted.
He choked.
“I WASN’T GOING TO SAY THAT,” he said, face halfway between scandalized and hysterical.
You smirked, satisfied. “Good. Just making sure we set clear boundaries.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Moving on. Physical affection. PDA. Where do we stand?”
Jake cleared his throat, composing himself. “Hand on your lower back. Kiss hello, kiss goodbye. Knee touches under the table.”
You nodded. “We cuddle?”
Jake smirked. “Depends. Are you a little spoon or a big spoon?”
“I’ll smother you in your sleep.”
He grinned. “Noted.”
You scribbled a few more notes. “What else. Oh — allergies?”
“I’m allergic to cats. Mild. I get sniffly.”
You blinked. “I would not have expected that.”
“I contain multitudes.”
You looked down at your notes. “Okay. Favorite meals?”
“Yours is something absurd and gluten-free.”
“It’s actually Thai food. Pad see ew.”
He raised a brow. “Impressive. And mine?”
“Steak. Medium-rare. Baked potato. Budweiser.”
He pointed at you. “Nailed it.”
You leaned back again, squinting out the windshield as the landscape began to shift — the fields more familiar, the signs more weathered. The road was growing narrower, the GPS chiming softly with each passing mile.
“You nervous?” Jake asked after a beat.
You shrugged. “About lying to your entire family? No, I do this kind of thing in front of judges all the time.”
He huffed a laugh. “You’re something else.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Jake smiled at the echo, but didn’t respond. Instead, he reached over and turned down the music, letting the silence settle between you. Comfortable. Almost… companionable.
The lie had gotten shockingly easy to wear.
“Hey,” he said, just before the final turnoff.
You looked over.
He gave you a half-smile, quieter than his usual teasing grin. “Thanks for doing this. I know you didn’t have to.”
You tilted your head. “Just so we’re clear: you still owe me a date night with my firm and a performance worthy of an Oscar.”
“Obviously,” he said. “I’ll even wear a tie.”
You paused. “Clip-on?”
Jake looked offended. “Absolutely not.”
You grinned and faced forward again as the car bumped onto a long dirt driveway, lined with crepe myrtles and an old white fence.
You exhaled. “Alright, cowboy. Let’s go meet your mama.”
summary; Enemies with a deal: play the perfect couple for one week. But in the heart of Texas, under one roof and one lie too many… They forget where the act ends and the feelings begin.
word count; 2.8k
a/n; welcome to part one! this is the shortest chapter of the series, just a little introduction of the characters and the plot, hope you enjoy!<3
series masterlist // masterlist
The envelope had arrived in the middle of a Monday, as if it were any other piece of mail. No warning. No preamble. No thunderclouds gathering outside the windows of his office to signal the oncoming storm. Just a thin ivory envelope tucked between a flight roster and a water bill, sealed in gold foil with a waxy script that sent a jolt through his spine the second he saw it.
He didn’t open it right away.
Instead, Jake Seresin stared at it for a long, quiet moment, his fingers tightening slightly as he leaned back in his chair. The Top Gun insignia gleamed on the wall behind him, catching the warm light of early afternoon, but his mind was already a thousand miles away — somewhere green and sun-drenched and thick with cicadas.
The return address said Austin, but he knew better. That script, those colors — they weren’t just Texan. They were hers.
He slid a finger under the flap and carefully tore it open.
Inside: a glossy cardstock invitation, elegantly printed, soft pink flowers curling around cursive lettering that read:
Cordially invited to the wedding of Lila James and Dr. Thomas Grant...
Jake stopped reading.
Lila James. Lila James was getting married.
His Lila. Or, well, used to be.
The only girl he’d ever called his girlfriend out loud. The only one who ever knew him before the Navy, before the medals, before “Hangman.” Back when he was just Jake, tan and wide-eyed and reckless, sneaking kisses behind the bleachers and whispering forever like he meant it — because back then, he did.
They’d tried. Really tried. All through flight school and her undergrad, into his first real station and her first real heartbreak. It wasn’t anger or betrayal that ended it. It was just time. Distance. The quiet weight of lives growing apart.
Still, he hadn’t expected this.
He ran a hand through his hair, dropping the card onto his desk like it had burned him. The edges fluttered slightly under the A/C vent. He sat back, staring at the ceiling, and exhaled a long, low breath through his nose.
Five seconds later, his phone buzzed.
MOM.
He blinked, then groaned. “Of course.”
He swiped to answer and leaned forward again, already bracing himself.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Oh, honey, you got it, didn’t you?” His mother’s voice, all bright Southern syrup, filled the line like she’d been waiting by the phone. “I just talked to Denise, she said the invites went out last week!”
Jake closed his eyes. “Yeah. I got it.”
“Oh, it’s gonna be so beautiful. The James girls don’t do anything halfway, you know that. Lila’s always had such good taste — well, except that boy from Tennessee she dated for a while after you, but we don’t talk about him.” She laughed. “But now she’s marrying a doctor! You believe that? A real one, not just a Ph.D.”
Jake said nothing.
There was a beat of silence. Then—
“You okay, baby?”
“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “I’m fine. Just caught me off guard, is all.”
His mom hummed softly. “You know, I always thought the two of you would find your way back to each other. You were just so good together. I mean, I still have those photos from senior prom framed in the hallway.”
Jake winced. “Maybe you should take those down.”
“Why? You looked so handsome in that tux. And she was just glowing — she always did around you.”
He rubbed his temple with two fingers. “Ma.”
“I’m just saying, if there’s anything unresolved between you two—”
“There isn’t.”
“—this might be your last chance to say something.”
Jake sat in silence, his throat working. What was there to say? Congratulations? I’m glad you found someone else? I used to think I’d marry you too?
His mom sighed. “I just want you to be happy, honey. You’ve been alone for a long time. I know the Navy’s demanding, but you deserve a partner. Someone to love you. Someone to ground you.”
Jake looked down at the invitation again, still gleaming on the edge of his desk.
“Well,” he said suddenly, the words coming from some rogue part of his brain that didn’t check with the rest of him first, “I’m actually seeing someone.”
Silence.
Then: “You’re what?”
Jake cleared his throat. “I’m dating someone. Serious, actually. It’s… new. But real.”
His mom gasped. “Jacob Austin Seresin, you’ve been holding out on me!”
“I wasn’t—”
“Oh, my God! What’s her name? When do I get to meet her? Oh, this is perfect. You’ll bring her to the wedding, of course! I’ve got the guest room all made up, and I’ll finally get to show someone your baby pictures—”
“Wait, Ma—”
“You’ll fly in next Thursday, yes? I’ll tell Denise right away, she’ll be thrilled. Lord, I have to go shopping. I haven’t hosted in forever—”
“Ma,” Jake said again, louder this time. “Can we slow down a second?”
“Oh, don’t you even think about backing out now,” she warned playfully. “You’ve never brought anyone home. I’ve been begging you for years and now that you are? I’m throwing a party. This girl—what’s her name again?”
Jake stared at the empty doorway of his office, his voice stuck somewhere between regret and resignation.
“I’ll tell you soon,” he muttered. “She’s… something.”
“She must be,” his mom said warmly. “I’m so happy for you, honey. Truly.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, hanging up a minute later. “Me too.”
He dropped the phone facedown on the desk and buried his face in his hands.
Then he groaned, long and low.
“I am so, so screwed.”
-
Jake slammed his empty beer glass down on the bar with a grunt, his jaw tight as the sound of laughter echoed around him.
Phoenix was doubled over. Rooster had tears in his eyes. Bob was trying, and failing, not to smile.
"Y’all are the worst," Jake muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
“You told your mother you had a serious girlfriend?” Rooster wheezed. “And now you have to show up to your ex’s wedding with a mystery woman or she’ll know you lied? Hangman, I—” He lost it again, pounding the table. “You deserve a medal.”
“I deserve a bottle of whiskey and a parachute,” Jake grumbled. “I should fake a deployment. Get reassigned to Guam. Take up carpentry and disappear.”
Phoenix snorted. “You know what’s wild? This is your own fault. You could’ve just said no. Or sent a polite regret. But no, Mr. I-Always-Have-A-Plan had to make up a whole girlfriend.”
“My mom cornered me,” Jake snapped. “You try saying no to a Southern woman who thinks she’s finally about to get grandkids. She was already planning the wedding before I hung up.”
Coyote clapped him on the back. “Damn, man. That’s rough.”
“It’s doomed, is what it is,” Jake muttered. “I have no one. Absolutely no—”
The door opened.
Jake looked up.
And in you walked.
You stepped into the bar like a storm cloud in stilettos — all sharp lines and cool elegance, your tailored black trousers hugging your hips like they were stitched just for you, the silk blouse tucked neatly into the waistband, a soft cream that made your skin glow under the Hard Deck’s dim lights. The click of your red-bottomed heels against the worn wooden floor was almost too loud for the room, slicing through the laughter and noise like a courtroom gavel.
Jake straightened automatically.
Not that he was staring.
Or noticing how good your legs looked when you walked. Or how your lipstick was still intact — probably from a full day of chewing through opposing counsel. Or how your hair was pulled back in that effortlessly intimidating way that said I’m too busy winning to care what you think.
Definitely not noticing.
You reached the bar and dropped your purse beside Phoenix, sliding onto the stool with a tired sigh.
“Hell of a day,” you muttered. “I just spent four hours in front of a judge who thinks Title IX is a suggestion. I need a drink.”
Phoenix raised her eyebrows. “Rough?”
You nodded, rolling your shoulders. “Rough. My client almost cried. I did cry. But only after I got back to my office.”
Jake cleared his throat. “Didn’t know you were joining us.”
“Didn’t know it was your birthday,” you shot back without missing a beat. “Oh wait — it’s not. So I’m allowed to be here.”
Rooster choked on his drink. Coyote bit back a laugh. Phoenix just smirked.
You always had that tone when you spoke to Jake — smooth, crisp, dry as a martini with an extra twist of disdain. It wasn’t mean, not really. You didn’t seem to hate him. You just couldn’t be bothered to pretend you liked him.
Which, naturally, meant Jake spent most of his time trying to get under your skin.
You turned to Nat, already tugging the pins from your hair. “What did I miss?”
Phoenix grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that Jake’s in a desperate situation.”
You arched a brow. “Oh?”
Jake groaned. “No.”
Rooster leaned forward, grinning. “He told his mom he has a girlfriend—”
“I panicked,” Jake muttered.
“—so now he has to take her to his ex’s wedding next week. You know. The one serious relationship he’s ever had.”
“Because his mom thinks he’s emotionally stunted,” Phoenix added sweetly.
“I am right here,” Jake snapped, waving a hand.
You looked unimpressed. “So what’s the plan? Hire someone off Craigslist? Or go stag and fake a tragic breakup in front of the shrimp cocktail?”
Jake opened his mouth. Closed it. Scowled.
And Phoenix — your beautiful, treacherous friend — tilted her head and said, “Actually, I have a better idea.” Jake’s stomach dropped.
You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t like that look.”
Nat smiled wider. “You should go with him.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Come on,” she said, elbowing you lightly. “It’s perfect. You’re single. He’s desperate. You’re already great at pretending not to want to murder each other. That’s basically halfway to marriage.”
Jake stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “What?!”
“Absolutely not,” you said flatly, spinning your stool to face the bar.
“Why not?” Phoenix pushed.
“Because I’d rather throw myself into the ocean.”
Jake held up both hands. “For once, I agree with her.”
You spun back to him. “Oh, don’t act offended. You’re the one lying to your mother.”
“At least I didn’t come straight from a courtroom with blood in my eyes.”
You leaned forward slightly. “Don’t tempt me, Hangman.”
“Okay, okay,” Coyote laughed. “Let’s not burn the Hard Deck down.”
Phoenix held up a hand. “I’m just saying — if, hypothetically, you did need to pretend to be in a relationship for one single week, wouldn’t it be better to do it with someone who already knows your bullshit?”
You and Jake locked eyes. And hated that it made sense.
-
The Hard Deck buzzed around them — pool balls cracking, music playing low from the jukebox, someone whistling near the back patio. You’d long since turned your body toward Coyote, laughing at something he was saying about Rooster’s latest attempt at growing out his hair, your wine glass nearly empty. Whatever ridiculous idea Nat’s tossed out earlier had been dismissed and buried.
At least, it looked like it had.
But Jake Seresin had barely spoken since.
He stood by the bar now, arms crossed, a half-full beer warming in his hand. His eyes kept straying — unintentionally, of course — to where you sat, golden under the flickering light, a lock of hair curling behind your ear, the top two buttons of your blouse undone like an afterthought. The heels were off, tucked under the barstool, but the rest of you still looked like you belonged in a courtroom, delivering a closing statement that could dismantle a man’s entire existence.
Jake had seen you cut someone down with three words and a look. You were lethal. And now, you might also be his last chance.
He muttered a curse under his breath.
“Grow a pair,” Phoenix said behind him, taking a sip of her drink without looking.
Jake blinked. “What?”
She didn’t even turn her head. “Go ask her. Nicely. Or don’t. But stop staring like a Victorian maiden with a crush.”
He frowned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m thriving,” she said, and walked away.
Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair, exhaled slowly, and set his drink down.
You’d just stepped outside, heels in one hand, cell phone in the other, scrolling through a few emails you’d ignored all day. The ocean breeze was cool against your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to the bar’s wooden beams and sun-warmed deck. You leaned against the railing, typing one last line into your reply before hitting send.
Behind you, the door creaked open.
You didn’t need to turn to know it was him.
The silence that followed his arrival was weighted, taut — a held breath between opposing forces. You waited for him to speak. He didn’t. So you broke the silence first.
“If you’re here to ask me again, save your breath.”
Jake stopped a few feet away. “Come on, Counselor. I haven’t even said anything yet.”
You turned, giving him a pointed look. “Yet.”
His mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “You know, I always assumed you hated me because I’m annoyingly good-looking and smarter than I look. But now I’m starting to think you just enjoy saying no.”
“Or,” you said, “I just enjoy peace and quiet. Which tends to evaporate around you.”
He moved closer, the boards creaking under his boots. “Look, I get it. You think I’m a walking ego trip with a pilot’s license.”
“I know you are.”
“Fine. But desperate times…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if I had another option. But this isn’t just about the wedding. It’s about my mom. She’s… she’s excited. Like, really excited. She’s already baking pies and digging out photo albums.”
You raised a brow. “So lie to her again. Tell her your fake girlfriend bailed.”
Jake shook his head. “She’ll never believe that. And the minute I walk in alone, she’ll be looking at me like I kicked a puppy and let it die in the rain.”
You stared at him for a moment, arms crossed.
He sighed. “She’s just… lonely. Since my dad passed. This is the first time she’s had people over in months. And I think she was holding out hope — not for me and Lila, exactly, but for me at all.”
Your brow softened slightly. Not much, but enough.
Jake noticed.
He took a step closer. “And yeah, okay, maybe I made it worse by lying. But I was trying to give her something to look forward to. Something to smile about.”
The breeze picked up, brushing a strand of hair across your face. You pushed it back absently, still watching him.
“You rehearsed that speech?”
Jake tilted his head. “Would it help if I said yes?”
“No.”
He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Alright. What if we made a deal?”
You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of deal?”
“You come with me. Play the part. Just for a week. Be charming, hold my hand, maybe let me kiss you once in front of my grandma—”
“Absolutely not.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. We’ll negotiate. But in exchange… I’ll owe you one.”
You looked unimpressed. “You already owe me several.”
“Okay,” he said, licking his lips. “Then name it.”
You paused.
And Jake saw it — the flicker of something behind your eyes. Calculating. Weighing.
Then, slowly, you said, “I have a work dinner coming up. One of those old boys’ club nights where the firm pretends not to care about your personal life while absolutely caring about your personal life.”
He nodded cautiously. “Okay…”
“I’ve been shortlisted for a partner-track promotion,” you said, looking out toward the water. “But the firm’s obsessed with ‘well-roundedness.’ Family. Stability. Being seen as the kind of person they can build the brand around.”
Jake blinked. “You want to bring me as your date to your law firm’s fancy dinner?”
You turned back to him. “You said you’d do anything.”
“I thought you meant, like… carry groceries. Wash your car. Not wear a suit and be judged by ten Harvard grads and a managing partner named Gregory.”
“Well,” you said dryly, “welcome to my world.”
Jake studied you for a long moment. “So we fake date. For each other’s benefit.”
“One week in Texas. One night in a downtown ballroom.”
