#Jake Seresin smut

[hxbbit]

This Thing We've Started (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader)

Summary: After losing your job and getting caught in a messy on-again/off-again situationship with your ex, your sister Natasha offers to let you stay with her, hoping the distance will help you move on for good. And it does - especially when you meet a charismatic stranger at a bar who’s supposed to be a simple fling. No strings attached. But things get complicated when you run into him again… and find out your sister knows him, too. With that revelation, you swear to stay away - determined not to get dragged into another mess of your own making. But that was easier said than done.

Words: 13.3

Warnings: nsfw, afab!reader, protected and unprotected sex, talks of birth control, p in v, oral f!receiving, fingering, slight praise kink, dirty talk, phone sex, slight erotic choking, creampie, talks of toxic/emotionally abusive/manipulative relationship, swearing, some physical violence, some threats

Other tags: no use of y/n, sibling dynamics, implied older sister!natasha trace but not specified, talking about the story of how phoenix got her callsign, hangmans dirty mouth, slowburn-ish, lots of dialogue (sorry not sorry), secret softie!jake, not really proofread.

a/n: this was the only thing on my mind for like a full week and I'm glad it's finally done and out of my head even though i'm not 100% sure i love the ending lol Comments, likes and reblogs are super greatly appreciated :)

Your sister was supposed to be home a while ago. Instead, only a text came through. 

something came up at work. will be a late one…

sorry :(

Huffing, you threw your phone to the side. 

It wasn’t her fault and you knew that. But Natasha had promised to show you around North Island today and you were looking forward to it. She had picked you up late last night from the airport and barely had time to talk. You hadn’t seen her in a while and phone calls and texts just weren’t the same as hanging out in person.

After losing your job, Nat had offered to let you stay with her for a while, just until you got back on your feet. And also to get you away from your shitty ex Dylan - who’s not really your ex, but definitely should be. It was a messy situation between you two. You had broken up, but somehow he had this strange hold over you that kept you coming back to him. It wasn’t even that you still had feelings for him. You were so over him and his bullshit, but just couldn’t get away. The last resort - distance. Physical distance. And blocking him everywhere. 

You took a week to mull Natasha’s offer over and a few more days to get things in order, booking a flight, packing the necessities and not looking back. 

Just sitting in her apartment now, felt strange. Familiar in a way that you could recognize it as your sister’s - the books, the pictures and pots of plants crammed in every corner and on every surface - but unfamiliar in the simple ways. You didn’t know which drawer held the cutlery or which cupboards kept glasses and plates. You couldn’t even figure out how to turn on the goddamn shower in your en-suite bathroom, having to use the one in hers that was easier to figure out instead. It didn’t feel like home yet. Weren’t sure it ever would or if you’d even stay long enough to get to that point.

Instead of sitting around, you decided to go for a walk down to the beach, to soak up some sun, maybe dip your toes into the sea. It was only May but an unusually sunny day, so you threw on a little flowy dress, leaving your legs bare in case you wanted to wade into the water. 

The walk there was a bit longer than expected. You hadn’t looked it up beforehand, just knew the general direction, but the view at the beach made it all worth it once you got there. The golden sun, the breaking waves, the scent of saltwater in the air. You walked along the water for a while - dipped your toes in once but then decided it was too cold - until you found a spot that invited you to sit down and relax for a while. The sun was setting by then and with it came a noticeable chill. You knew, you should probably get home soon, but you were absolutely parched from the walk and the sun and figured you’d grab a quick drink first.

A quick google told you there was a bar by the beach further back from where you came. You must’ve walked straight past it on your way here but not paid noticed it.

About ten minutes later, you spotted it. The Hard Deck. 

It had a warm, relaxing atmosphere, classic rock softly playing from a jukebox in the background. People were laughing, playing pool and darts - busy, but not overly so. 

Walking up to the bar, you ordered a beer, sat down and glanced around the room before absently scrolling through your phone.

You didn’t look up again until someone spoke.

“Hey there.”

Raising your head, you were met with the green eyes and a dazzling smile, belonging to a ridiculously good-looking guy. He leaned up against the bar, relaxed. 

“Hi,” was all you managed, caught off guard and a little intimidated by his looks. You gave him a quick - hopefully subtle - once over. He wore a plain white t-shirt, jeans and… cowboy boots. An odd choice, maybe, but somehow he made it work. 

“Mind if I sit?” He pointed to the empty seat beside you. 

“No, go for it,” you found your voice again, more confident now, even gave him a small smile. 

“I’m Jake.” He held out his hand and you shook it, giving your name in return. Jake held on to your hand a beat too long, his fingers slightly dragging over yours before he let go.

He was hitting on you, that much was clear. And while you came to stay with Natasha to get away from guys - or at least one specific guy - you decided it wouldn’t hurt to flirt back just a little. 

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he knew everyone who frequented this bar, but there was a question buried beneath. A small smirk still on his face as he took you in. 

“Just here visiting.” It wasn’t a lie. You were technically visiting, just for an undetermined amount of time and also sort of moving in with your sister. It was simply easier than to explain the whole ordeal with your ex and your job. 

Jake was undoubtedly military. You’d been to enough of Nat’s graduations and promotions to recognize the type. You could tell by the clean shave and in regs haircut, the way he held himself and that cocky attitude. It all gave him away. 

But then again, the entirety of North Island was basically one big Naval base. Running into military men was inevitable.

“Yet you’re here alone.” Again, a statement meant to be a question.

“My sister was busy.” You smiled and took the last sip from your glass, draining it. 

Placing the it back down on the bar, you were about to get up, start your way back home.

“Can I get you another one?” Jake asked before you could. There was something in his eyes that screamed trouble and that alone should’ve been your sign to decline and leave. However, you didn’t. You stayed. And said yes.

You kept on chatting easily, him asking you questions about yourself and where you were from, but barely revealing anything about himself. Those two beers helped loosening your tongue, making the words come out easier. Maybe it was the drinks, but something about Jake was so irresistible and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. He was charming, confident and cocky, teetering on the edge between infuriating and entertaining. And that slight southern drawl almost made him sound like a gentleman. 

As you kept looking at him, you decided he was exactly what you needed to jumpstart that new chapter of your life. A distraction. Someone to wipe away the traces of your ex-boyfriend off your body. Replace his touch with someone else’s. 

You decided to ask the question you knew would get you what you wanted. 

“So… what does one do for fun around here?” You leaned in closer, voice lower, and looking up at him through your lashes. For a split second he looked surprised, before a wolfish grin spread across his face. 

It all happened very quickly after that. 

Somehow you found yourself in a backroom of the bar, not really sure you were supposed to be there. But it didn’t really matter. Jake’s lips were on yours, hard and hungry. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he pushed you up against the wall. Kissing down your neck, fingers slipping under the dress strap and dragging it off your shoulder, exposing more of your breasts. You held on to his strong arms, his shirt, ran your fingers through his hair - whatever you could reach. 

Soft moans escaped your lips as arousal built in your body. His cock pressed hard against your belly and even through his jeans, he felt huge. 

You needed him. Now. 

Hands finding the buckle of his belt, undoing it quickly before moving to work on the button and fly. And when you pushed your hands down his boxers to grip his length, both of you moaned. He was big, just as you suspected, and you knew he would feel good inside of you. 

Stroking him for a few seconds, then pulling him out. 

“You got a condom?” you asked, breath shaky, biting your lip as you shamelessly ogled his cock. It was perfect. The girth, the length, that perfect pink color that got deeper at the tip. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jake replied, digging in his pockets until he found one. As he tore the wrapper and rolled it on, you quickly shimmied out of your panties and stepped out of them, leaving them discarded on the floor. 

Once finished he reached his right hand between your legs, fingers sliding through the folds of your pussy with ease, gathering up some of the wetness there. A shiver ran through you.

“Fuck, you’re wet.” 

He smirked and then used that same hand to spread your juices over his condom-wrapped cock. You leaned back against the wall, Jake hitched up one of your legs and hooked it around his waist, fingers digging into your thigh as he stepped in closer.

You felt the head of his cock nudging at your center, sliding through the folds once - twice - and then slowly pushing in. 

“God, you’re so tight.” His forehead rested against yours, looking down to where he disappeared inside of you, breath mingling with yours. 

He took his time. More time than you probably had being in the backroom of this bar, but it was necessary with his size. You held on to his shoulders, strong and steady, until he bottomed out. 

A moan shuddered out of you. His lips found yours again, kissing you deeply as he pulled out in a slow drag - then pushed back in. Faster now, harder, and that slight sting of the stretch disappeared, morphing into absolute pleasure. 

You couldn’t help the moans and whimpers that escaped you every time he pushed inside. 

“Shhh, quiet, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his other hand wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just settling there, warm and possessive. 

“Unless you want the whole bar to hear how good I’m fucking you.” You could just hear that grin as he spoke.

You bit your bottom lip in response, trying to keep quiet. 

Jake kept moving inside you and it felt incredible, but you needed more to reach your peak. 

Sneaking one hand between your bodies, you started rubbing circles on your clit. 

“That’s it. Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock.” His words sounded so deliciously filthy, pushing you closer to the edge.

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still surprised you how quickly you were about to come. Only a few more of his deep thrusts, hitting all the right spots inside of you and you fell apart. Your walls clenched around his cock with every wave of release. One final thrust, and he came too, stilling inside. 

His forehead rested against yours as you both caught your breath. Hearts beating fast and heavy. 

Leaning down again, he kissed you. Slower, deeper, languidly. 

Jake eventually pulled out, probably more out of necessity than really wanting to and discarded the condom somewhere as you brushed down your sundress again. He bent down to pick up something, probably the wrapper of the condom and shoved it into his pocket and then grabbing your hand to lead you out of the room. 

Together you walked out to the front, night air cool on your flushed and sweaty skin. He dropped your hand and instead grabbed your face in both of his hands, pulling you into another sweet kiss. 

“You need a ride home?” He offered and it was a nice gesture, but you wanted to walk back home. Cool down a little before being back in Nat’s apartment. 

“I don’t take rides from strangers.” You replied, half-joking. 

“Oh, but I think you just did.” Jake was quick with it and it made you laugh. He laughed too, and it was a warm, comforting sound.

“Can I at least get your number?” He asked and you thought about it for a moment. 

“I don’t think so.” You stepped back as you said it, his hands sliding from your face, a soft smile on your lips to soften the blow. This night was perfect. Uncomplicated and exactly what you needed. 

Swapping numbers would only complicate things and potentially ruin what would be a perfect memory. 

You expected him to push back, ask why. But instead he just nodded, smiled and said: 

“Alright, have a good night, then.” 

You really appreciated it, more than he could probably know.

“Good night,” you whispered, before returning around and starting the walk back to Natasha’s apartment. 

Halfway home you realized you left your panties at the bar. The cool night air drifting under your short dress reminding you of the wetness still lingering there, exposed. It was definitely too late to go back for them so you cut your losses. 

Opening the front door, you snuck inside, not expecting to see Natasha sitting there on the couch. 

A single brow arched as she looked at you in silence. 

"You're home!" You said, happy to see her. You thought she'd either still be at work or already in bed. 

"So are you," she replied in that perfect blend of amusement and scolding only a sibling could master.

"Uh yeah… I was down at the beach." You weren’t ready to tell her everything, at least not yet. Wanting to hold on to it a little longer and bask in the warmth of it. 

"And then?" She knew there was more, could read you like a book. 

"And then... I went to a bar..." you knew you were screwed. 

"Uh-huh..." she wanted you to keep talking.

"And then I met this guy… and we may or may not have fucked in the backroom," you spoke fast, trailing off at the end, hoping she didn’t quite catch it. 

"You did what?!" She looked at you, eyes wide, incredulously. 

"Okay listen, I didn't plan it and it just happened but it was incredible!" You then just went for it, telling her all about it.

"God, his dick was amazing." You sighed wistfully. 

“Long. Thick. Hitting spots I didn’t even know I had.”

Natasha laughed at that, hard, head thrown back. You joined her in it, laughing together for a while until tears blurred your vision. It reminded you of the time you told her about losing your virginity and the absolute disaster it had been - but when you laughed together, it didn’t seem quite so bad.

"Gonna see him again then?" She asked, still with a smirk.

"Nope! Didn't get his number. He asked but I declined.” You shrugged. 

“I just wanna keep it as it is. No strings attached, uncomplicated."  You explained and she nodded.

“Honestly though, it was the best sex I think I've ever had. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with Dylan... I always had to fake it with him. Otherwise he'd get insecure, upset - and tell me it was my fault I couldn't orgasm." 

"Damn, seems like I might actually have to thank that guy for making you see the light," she joked but you knew, a part of her was relieved and happy you were getting over your ex. Which is exactly what she wanted when she asked you to stay with her. 

She probably didn't expect it to be in the form of a bar hookup, but beggars couldn't be choosers. 

“We should go out and have a few drinks next weekend - celebrate your newfound freedom,” Nat suggested and you eagerly agreed. 

The weekend rolled around and you spent Saturday in various spots around North Island - breakfast at a cute cafe, lunch at the beach and dinner at home before you got ready to go out. And everywhere you went, you secretly hoped to run into Jake again. Thinking about your encounter - and him - most nights when you were alone in bed at night.

Natasha wanted to bring you to her favorite bar - the one her team always hung out at - and you were excited to see her usual stomping grounds. 

Driving down, the streets started to look familiar and as she pulled into the parking lot, you realized it was that bar. The one from a week ago. The one whose backroom you shouldn’t be so intimately familiar with. 

And also the very same bar that probably still held your panties in a lost and found box somewhere. 

"This is the bar I went to," you told Nat and you didn't have to elaborate, she knew exactly what you meant.

“Oh! Maybe your mystery man is also gonna be here again,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.  "But at least try and make it home this time before ripping each others clothes off." 

"Ha ha.” You fake laughed. Trying to hide the fact that you had been thinking about him an indecent amount. "I told you I don't want anything more from him."

Then you thought for a second.

"Okay, maybe one more time wouldn't hurt, but definitely nothing more than that!”

“If you say so.” She shrugged you off with a side-eye as she parked the car.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scanning the crowd for a blonde head of hair and dazzling smile the second you stepped inside. You got a drink at the bar - the first sip of alcohol soothing your nerves a little - turning to look around more from a different vantage point.

And then… there he was. 

Jake.

You grabbed Nats arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"That's him!" You said under your breath, frozen to the spot. Somehow you hadn't expected to see him again and it caught you off guard. 

"Which one?" She whispered back, trying to scour the crowd for the mystery man with the perfect cock you had told her about. 

"That one standing by the pool table!"

Finger pointing subtly at the tall blonde who was talking to someone else.

She looked at you incredulous. ”Wait… Hangman?!"

“No, no, no!” You - of course - had heard stories of Hangman. But the guy you slept with couldn’t be him. 

"The one on the right!" You corrected.

"Yes, Hangman!"

A beat. Silence. 

Realization dawned on you

"No...". 

"Yes..." Natasha replied, with an exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"But... he said his name was Jake!” Trying to make sense of it, even though you knew it was hopeless.

"Well Hangman is obviously not his real name!” 

You both went quiet, sitting with the weight of that realization.

Hangman. The cocky fighter pilot from Natasha’s team who knew exactly how to push everyone’s buttons, riling them up and smirking his way through it.

“Jesus, I can't believe you slept with him!” She whisper-yelled, gearing back up again and smacking your arm.

"Ouch!" You rubbed where she had hit.

"Why did you have to tell me about his dick? God, I need to get very, very drunk and kill off all the brain cells that remember what you told me about him.” Natasha genuinely looked like she was going to be sick.

"How was I supposed to know it was him?!” You tried shifting the blame.  “You always made him sound like the devil incarnate and that night... he definitely was not." Or maybe he was, the way he made you feel like pure sin and ecstasy.

"You should've just... known! Felt it, I don't know."

It was your turn to sigh now. In truth, you had felt something, but it had nothing to do with his identity - and a lot more with an orgasm. 

"Next time I'm gonna need pictures of all the people I'm not supposed to sleep with." You deadpanned.

"Next time, just don't sleep with people you barely know!” 

She got you there.

“Don’t slut shame me,” you said, half-joking. Nat just rolled her eyes.

In that moment you felt eyes boring into you, still frozen at the bar. 

His gaze landed on Natasha first, giving her a familiar, easy smile and then they shifted to you. For a split second it faltered. Recognition setting in as he put two and two together.

His smile returned, teeth on full display as he started walking over. Like a predator stalking its prey, poised to pounce.

His smirk only widened as he closed the distance.

Flashbacks of last night invading your mind, making your heart race. 

Natasha was the first one to speak up.

"Don't even fucking look at me right now, Hangman,” she said before walking away, holding up a warning finger to Jake, before storming off to the other side of the bar, shaking her head.

Jake turned his attention back to you, that smile still curling at the corners of his lips.

“Phoenix is your-“ He started, using Natasha’s callsign.  

“My sister,” you confirmed, finishing his sentence. “Yes.”

“And she…?” He trailed off, as if unsure what to say next.

“Yup. She knows.” You nodded, biting your lip, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. 

He nodded slowly in return, taking it all in. 

“Well, she seemed thrilled.” He was clearly being sarcastic, but it earned a huff from you. 

“I might’ve described your cock to her. In vivid detail,” you admitted. That made him laugh. 

“All good, I hope?” Jake wanted to know, but you didn’t bother replying, your eyes probably said it all. So you just laughed. 

“I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said, his gaze roaming your body, softening slightly when it landed on your face. 

“Me neither.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you was thrilled to see him again, the other part heard alarm bells ring, loud and clear. 

And that tingling feeling low in your belly that almost felt like butterflies? That needed smothering immediately.

On one hand, you wanted a repeat of last week, throw caution to the wind and indulge in him, have fun. On the other hand… you knew it’d get complicated. Especially now that you knew he worked with Natasha and that as long as you were around her, he’d be around, too. 

You took a small sip from your drink, eyes never leaving his. The kind of eye contact some might even call glorified eye-fucking. That’s when he stepped closer, invading your space. His cologne hit you, waking a memory, pulling you right back into that backroom. 

He was tall and so close, you had to tilt your head further to look at him. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he said, face suddenly more serious. Voice dropping lower, quieter. The noise around you seemingly drowned out by his sheer presence and Jake being the only thing you could focus on. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. Agreeing before your brain could even weigh in. 

“Let me take you out,” he said, surprising you. You expected him to offer you another romp, but not an actual date.

“I can’t…” Those two words even shocked yourself a little, because you desperately wanted to say yes.

“Because of Phoenix?” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked again - clearly finding the situation amusing.

“It’s not just that,” you said.

“Bad break up?” 

Your whole face dropped. You couldn’t believe the way he just hit the nail squarely on the head. How on earth could he have possibly known that?

“Something like that,” you admitted quietly, shrugging lightly.

He leaned in, close enough that his chest brushed against you, reaching for something, grabbing a pen and napkin from behind the bar.

Quickly, he scribbled a few numbers down before sliding it closer to you.

“If you ever wanna talk. Not talk,” he smirked. “Or if you just want your panties back.”

You looked down on the napkin at a row of numbers that was clearly his phone number and then his words hit you. A blush spread across your face. Remembering when he had picked something up after you were done fucking against the wall, having believed it to be the condom wrapper, but it must’ve been your panties. 

He gave you a wink, another one of his smirks and walked off before you could say anything else. 

You found Natasha in the corner and slid onto a chair beside her. 

“Jake is holding my panties hostage,” you told her, that napkin with his number tightly clenched in your fist, hiding it from Nat. 

“I did not need to know that a guy on my team is a panty-stealing pervert,” she said flatly.

“But truly, I am not even surprised.” Her tone was bleak like she had accepted the fact that she’d be learning more about Hangman than she ever wanted. 

You sat in silence with Natasha for a while, drinking. Your eyes kept drifting across the bar and occasionally landing on Jake, even though you tried really hard not to look at him. But the few times he caught you staring, he gave you a knowing smirk, making your heart race. The napkin with his number burning a hole in the pocket you had shoved it in. 

"Okay," Nat sat up straighter in her seat. 

"All those guys over there—" she pointed to a group near Jake, then to a few more in a different corner playing darts. “—are on my team. Therefore I would greatly recommend, suggest and deeply appreciate if you didn't sleep with any more of them." 

You laughed. 

"Noted." You nodded.

Not a problem. 

Because the number of the only one who caught your attention was already in your pocket. 

More drinks were poured. 

At some point Nat introduced you to some of the others, still glaring daggers at Hangman though and very obviously avoiding bringing you anywhere near him. 

You and Jake were like two planets moving in each other’s orbit. Gravity keeping you tethered. He shifted a few feet to the right - so did you. 

Always keeping your distance, but never not aware of where he was. 

You ended up chatting with Rooster (which, you assumed, wasn’t his real name either) for quite a while. He and Natasha were quite close and you could see why - there was just something so effortlessly likable about him. He was funny, friendly and tried to integrate you into the group so you wouldn’t feel left out. 

“I just gotta ask,” Rooster said, lowering his voice conspiratorially - words slightly slurred.

“Is it true?”

You had a feeling you knew what he meant, but played dumb. Forcing him to say it out loud. If he wanted to get drunk and ask embarrassing questions, then he needs to have the balls to ask them outright. 

“Is what true?”

“You know…” He looked at you, then at Jake who was standing somewhere to your right, then back at you. You didn’t say anything but you couldn’t quite fight the smile creeping onto your lips.

“You and Hangman? The whole squad is talking about it,” he whispered, like it was some big, terrible secret that should never be said out loud. 

Your eyes flicked to Jake, who seemed to be following your conversation with Rooster with great interest, even though he tried not show it. 

“It’s true,” you confirmed, lips pressed together, nodding. 

“How?” He kept asking. 

“You know, when a boy and a girl really like each other-“ you were about to mess with him, but he cut you off.

“No, obviously I get that part, but just… I don’t know, he’s just… Hangman.” 

“And I didn’t know that.” You explained. “I just thought he was hot. Confident. Weirdly charming in that cocky way. Everything that my ex wasn’t.” 

You shrugged like it was the simplest thing on earth. And honestly, you couldn’t understand why Rooster didn’t get it.

The rest of the night went pretty smoothly, all things considered. You left the car behind and walked home, sobering both you and Nat up, while talking about everything and nothing. 

Once you were back at the apartment, ready for bed, you pulled that napkin from your pocket again. 

You made sure the door was shut, somehow nervous to get caught by your sister with Jake’s number, as you saved it in your phone. You could’ve thrown it away. But instead you slipped it into your nightstand. Not really sure why. It just felt right.

Staring at the new contact, simply labeled Jake, you contemplated texting him. 

Hovering your finger over it multiple times,. Again. And again. Then you finally just went for it.

I hope my panties safe while you’re holding them hostage. 

You reread the sentence a dozen times. Rewrote it. Scrapped it. Wrote it again. And then hit send.

Immediately you flipped your phone over, not wanting to see if its been delivered, if he��s read it or even typing already. 

You were just about to crawl under the covers when your phone vibrated. Just once. 

Waiting a full minute, you picked it up, not wanting to seem too eager. Not even to yourself.

Of course. They’re my most treasured item. 

He didn’t even ask who it was. Didn’t need to. Unless, of course, he had a secret stash of women’s underwear at home.

You thought for a second, then typed out your reply. 

Hope you’re not using them for any funny business. 

The three typing dots appeared instantly. 

Can’t promise that…

You let out a quiet laugh, but at the same time, you thighs shifted. Pressing together, trying to soothe the slow ache building there.

A mental picture invading your mind. Of Jake with his cock in one hand and your panties in the other. Wondering if he would use them to jerk off, rubbing them over his cock or hold them up to his face, inhaling the scent of your pussy soaked into the cotton.

Maybe you should keep them then, you sent back.

Suddenly the idea didn’t seem too bad. 

I’m willing to trade. 

Jake was baiting you, it was obvious. But you bit. 

For what?

He took longer to reply this time. 

A date. 

You sighed. Of course he would ask again. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, it was simply for the fact that it felt wrong. Even just texting him felt like going behind your sister’s back.

Told you I can’t do that. 

Then I’ll just have to hold on to them a little longer, he answered.

You didn’t text back. Partly because you didn’t know what else to say, but mostly because you were conflicted. So turned on it almost hurt - and aching in a way you didn’t want to name.

This was exactly what you didn’t want. Complications. Feelings. 

And whatever this was turning into felt a lot like both. 

You knew, if you were smart, you’d cut this off right here, right now. Forget the backroom and his smirk. Forget all of him and delete his number. 

But you didn’t. 

You just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. 

Instead, you went to sleep. Horny. Frustrated. And aching with something deeper. 

Two weeks passed, which you spent focused on yourself, banishing any and all thoughts of certain off-limits aviators. Instead you were sending out job applications for back home but also around town - just trying to land something that would keep your head above water for a while.

Of course, Natasha didn't need you to pay rent but you also didn't want to be a complete freeloader and live off of her and your savings. 

During that time you also eyed your phone an awful lot, fingers twitching to text Jake, but every time you stopped yourself. Did it help with those pesky, budding, lingering feelings? Absolutely not. 

So it surprised you when your phone got a text on Friday afternoon.

You should come with Phoenix to the bonfire tonight.

He didn't ask, but it also wasn't an order. But there was a hidden plea in that invitation.

An I want you to come to the bonfire tonight or a please come to the bonfire.

In truth, you hadn’t known it was happening, Nat not having mentioned it, but she's been busy with work too. 

You didn't know how to bring it up to her without revealing that you've been texting with Jake. 

So when she came home from work that evening you subtly asked:

"Any plans tonight?"

She put down her bag and took off her boots.

"Uh, actually there's a bonfire down at the beach by the hard deck tonight. We should go, they're usually pretty fun." 

You tried to hide your excitement.

"Oh, cool yeah! That does sound fun."

You were surprised when she offered up the invitation so easily. It seems two weeks without any reminders of your sexual exploits with Jake have put her mind at ease and calmed her down. 

And now that you had the confirmation that you were going, you secretly sent Jake a text back. 

We'll be there.

You had a quick dinner with your sister and got ready after. You opted for a short skirt (for no particular reason) and a pretty low cut top (also for no particular reason). The fact that Jake would be there absolutely not being a deciding factor in what you wore. At least that's what you told yourself. 

You got there just as the sun was starting to set and the fire was already burning. People crowded around it, many of Nat's squad but also lots of other people. It didn't take long for you to spot Jake. Beer bottle in hand, wearing a pair of shorts and being completely shirtless - illuminated by the setting sun, making his skin look golden, accentuating every line of his abs. He looked like a fucking Greek god. 

Your mouth almost started to water. 

You and Nat made a round. Saying hi to Rooster who handed you beers and talking to some others, introducing you to new people. You and your sister took a few pictures together, smiling into the camera with the sunset in the background.

She even introduced you to Maverick, her team leader, and Penny who owns the bar. You really hoped she was oblivious to what you had done in her backroom or the blush dusting your cheeks as she was talking to you.

The sun had almost set and you and Jake seemed to fall into the same dance as before. Avoiding each other with practiced ease. 

You looked over at him at one point in the evening and saw he had his phone in his hand. Not two seconds later yours buzzed. 

Brows furrowed you pulled it out and saw the text was from Jake. 

Nice skirt. 

You glanced back at him and saw his eyes trail the entirety of your body before he started typing again.

If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask. 

Who says I wore it for you? You grinned down at your phone.

Either way… you got it, he quickly replied. And it’s making me think some very indecent things. 

You bit your lip and chanced another look at him as his eyes flicked up at you before he started typing against.

Reminds me of how pretty you looked in your dress that first night.  And even prettier with it bunched up around your waist when I was fucking you. 

Your smile dropped as arousal started building maddeningly fast, tugging low in your belly. You quickly looked around, checking to see if anyone noticed anything and angling your phone slightly away from Natasha standing next to you. But she seemed blissfully ignorant to what was going on and continued talking to some guy whose name you've already forgotten again. 

Careful..., you only answered, heart pounding. You were playing a dangerous game. 

Or what?

Jake was calling your bluff. He knew he had you hooked and all he had to do was reel you in. 

Another glance over at him told you everything you needed to know. Even from a distance you could see his eyes had darkened as he took you in. 

"Who are you texting?" Natasha ripped you out of the moment and you quickly put your phone away. 

"No one." You lied, badly. 

She eyed you intently, but dropped it. 

The night went on and there was a new electricity in the air. You had been aware of his presence and had felt his looks on you before, but it was dialed up to a new level now. 

As the bonfire died down and people started leaving, you decided to help with the clean up. It would help keep you distracted from Jake and it also felt like atonement for the sex in Penny's bar, at least a tiny bit.

Grabbing an empty crate and you started collecting empty glass bottles before carrying them inside to where Penny had shown you. 

You were on your second round, placing the crate down in the back of the bar, the glass bottles rattling loudly, when you turned around and bumped into someone. 

Instinctively you knew who it was - could feel it in the press of his body against yours, the smell of his cologne and the steadying hands on your hips.

Jake.

You looked up at him. 

At some point in the night he had put on a shirt, but it was so tight, you could still see every groove of his hard muscles.

"Were you following me?" You breathed out quietly.

"Maybe." He shrugged, a slight curve of a smile on his lips. "Had to get you alone somehow."

"To do what?" You asked, barely above a whisper.

"What I've been wanting to do all night." He whispered back, eyes dark and hungry.

Jake’s hands that had been resting on your hips started slowly sliding down and to your front, until they reached the hem of your short skirt. 

His fingertips grazing the skin of your bare thigh and running underneath it.

You tried to hide the breath hitching in your throat, but Jake noticed. 

Of course he noticed. 

His fingers pushed up higher under your skirt until they found the seam of your underwear in the crease of your thigh.

"I bet you're wet already," he muttered as he leaned down an inch, towering over you.

You shook your head, denying it even though you knew it was futile. 

One of his fingers pushed underneath the fabric, pulling it aside just enough to run a probing finger through your folds. Proven right by the wetness he found there.

A dark, knowing smile spread on his lips.

"Liar."

He leaned in closer, lips only mere inches away from yours when suddenly you heard footsteps approaching, followed by someone calling your name. Natasha. 

Jake and you seemed to realize it at the same time and jumped apart, quickly righting your skirt and trying to get your breathing back under control when she rounded the corner. 

She saw you first - then Jake. 

"Jesus Christ," she sighed exasperatedly. 

"Jake was just -" you said.

"I was only-" Jake started talking at the same time, both trying to pretend like nothing was happening and it was pure coincidence you were both back here alone. 

"Do you think I'm dumb?" She asked, cutting you both off, anger lacing her voice.

"Did you really think I didn't notice you texting and eye-fucking each other all night?" It was a rhetorical question and you remained silent. You couldn't even really look at her, feeling ashamed in a way. 

“You and I will talk after," she looked at you before turning to Jake. 

"And you..." she took a deep breath, trying to control herself as she stepped closer to him

"I swear to god, Hangman, if you're just fucking around with my sister and hurt her, I will cut off your dick and balls and feed ‘em to you." She underlined her words by stabbing him in his chest with her finger. She was furious, you could tell.

In her mind, it was probably one thing to sleep with you once when he didn't know who you were. But now - flirting, texting and continuing whatever this was behind her back... that's where she drew the line.

"She doesn't fucking deserve that.” Her voice got low, threatening, and Jake had the good sense to look scared. 

He held up his hands, not fighting it, just taking what she had to dish out.

"Got it." He said, jaw clenching.

Nat glared at him a little longer before backing away. 

"Let's go," she turned back to you, already walking out. 

You muttered a quick sorry to Jake before following her, head bowed.

Natasha kept walking - home - you realized and you stayed a few steps behind, waiting for her to talk first. But when she didn't, you knew you had to say something. 

"I'm sorry," you said and your sister stopped in her tracks. 

"I'm sorry for... sneaking around with him." You sighed. 

"I swear I tried to stay away."

Finally she turned around and looked at you. 

"Listen, Hangman is part of my squad and I trust him with my life, but I don't trust him not to break your heart," she said.

"I've known him for years now and I know he loves a challenge. The thrill of the chase. Winning. And I'm not saying that it's impossible he might feel more, I just want you to be careful." Her eyes softened and her shoulders sagged slightly. The fight leaving her body. 

"You finally got over and away from Dylan. You're doing better, and I don't want you to stumble into something else that might break you again."

You knew she was right and she had every reason to be upset. And you couldn't even blame her because you weren't even sure Jake wanted more than just sex. Yes, he had asked you out on a date - twice - but was it just a means to an end? Wine and dine you to get you into bed again?

You took her words to heart. Kept thinking about them the entire walk home and even after as you went to bed. Nat was a good judge of character, always had been, proven in the fact she hated your ex Dylan, even if she couldn’t put her finger on it at first. 

So maybe you should listen to her, when she told you that Jake’s motivation might not be any deeper feelings he might harbor for you, but simply the excitement of something forbidden. 

It didn’t even make you feel better when you woke up to a text from him he had sent last night after you’d gone to sleep. 

Everything alright between you and Phoenix?

You saw everything through a different lens now - couldn’t help but wonder if he asked because he was genuinely worried or just to check if he was going to be in more trouble with your sister.

For a minute, you genuinely considered not even texting back, but the thought it if made you feel bad. Instead you did something else. You pressed the call button, pressing the phone to your ear.

It was still early in the morning, but you hoped he was awake already. 

The phone rang for a while and you almost suspected he wasn’t going to pick up, until he did. 

Silence and shuffling on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” Jake’s voice came down the phone, deeper and a little rough. 

“Hey… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you replied, suddenly feeling shy. This felt a lot more personal than texting. 

“No it’s okay. Is everything alright?” He sounded a little clearer, shaking off the tiredness. 

“Yeah, Nat and I had a talk last night,” you began explaining. “She’s just worried about me, you know.”

“I know, I get that.”

“It’s just after that whole thing with my ex…” Your voice trailed off. 

You’d never really spoken to him about it, except for the one time he correctly guessed that you’d been through a bad break up and you more or less confirmed it.

And maybe it was time to come clean. Actually talk about things - reveal your back story so he could understand - putting the ball back in his court that way. He could decide if he was still interested afterwards.

“You can tell me about it,” he said as if he knew what had been on your mind.

You took a deep breath.

“Dylan and I were in a weird, toxic and messy relationship for almost three years and in those three years, we broke up like five times.” you laughed a little at how absurd it sounded now.

“At first it was great, we were in love. Happy. But only a few months in, we started fighting. A lot. Mostly because he was jealous and insecure - accused me of cheating if I even so much as looked at another man.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Jake spoke up, sarcasm dripping from his words with a bitter note. 

“Yeah… we broke up for the first time shortly after our first anniversary. I’d had enough of the incessant fighting. I knew it was bad then, but I still gave him another chance when he came crawling back the next day, a huge bouquet of red roses in his arms, promising he would change.” You let the words linger for a moment. 

“Fun fact: I hate red roses,” you said with a soft laugh and Jake scoffed. 

“But it was this big romantic gesture, so I ignored it. After all I knew he meant well. Even though it was glaringly obvious he didn’t know me at all. 

“Let me guess, things didn’t change?” he asked correctly. 

“No, they didn’t. They maybe even got worse. The cycle continued - Explosive fights, break ups, big gestures and begging for forgiveness.

“And I forgave him. Every time.”

For some reason, you started feeling tears prickle at your eyes. Laying out the full story made you feel exposed, embarrassed and even ashamed, but you kept going even with your voice shaky. 

And Jake just listened. 

“I honestly don’t even know why… I guess it still felt like love, every time he came back. Like I was worth fighting for. He still made me feel wanted. And there was also a dependability in that whole spiel, which turned into something familiar and almost comfortable in its discomfort.”

You blinked away some of the tears, wiping the one that fell off your cheek. 

“But you wanna know the best part?” You asked. 

“It get’s better?” Jake sounded skeptical. 

“In those three years, he’s never made me come. Not even once.”

You could practically hear Jake’s jaw drop. 

“You’re kidding,” he said. “Please tell me you’re joking.” 

He sounded like he genuinely didn’t believe something like this could be possible. It made you laugh, even with the tears in your eyes.

“Nope, I wish I was. He blamed me. Said something must be wrong with my body and he would get angry because of it. Eventually I just started faking it, trying to appease his small ego to avoid more fights.” 

“I’m sorry. For all of it,” Jake said quietly and you could hear he actually meant it. 

“Thanks.” You wiped away a few more tears, then took a deep breath before continuing. 

“But to top it all off, I lost my job and when I told Natasha about it, she offered to let me stay with her for a while. And I saw my chance to finally escape. I didn’t even say goodbye or tell him, I just left and blocked him everywhere, because I was scared that if I saw him, I’d give in again.

“So I came here and on my first night, I met you.” You finished the story, letting it come full circle. 

You were still nervous what he would do - now that he knew the whole story - but you felt almost relieved it was out of your hands. At peace.

“Thank you for telling me. For trusting me,” Jake said sincerely. 

“It makes sense now, why Phoenix is so protective over you.”

There was a heavy silence hanging between you now, tension thick, neither of you quite knowing what to say next. The quiet didn’t feel awkward, though, it was almost comforting. 

Something about Jake’s presence - even over the phone - felt so steady. Solid. 

“And if you’re wondering now,” you were the first to speak again. 

“I didn’t fake it with you.”

It was meant jokingly, to lighten the mood, but it came out a little huskier than intended. 

Jake chuckled on the other end of the line. 

“Oh, I know.” His voice was darker now as he spoke, but still a little smug.

“Unlike your loser-ex, I can actually tell when a woman is enjoying herself and when she’s coming.”

“Is that so?” You asked, trying not to give away that his words were already affecting you, suddenly glad he couldn’t see you. 

“I could see it in the way your skin flushed. Could feel your nails digging into my shoulder and your pussy clenching around my cock. You also made that sweet little sound, trying to be quiet and hold back a moan… you can’t fake that.” 

His words sent a shiver down your spine where it pooled into that dull ache at your core. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” you admitted quietly.

It was an almost involuntary action, but your free hand moved down your body and between your legs, slowly stroking over your clothed pussy.

“I've been replaying that moment in my head so many times. You looked so beautiful, absolutely perfect," Jake kept talking. And by now you had pushed your hand underneath the fabric of your underwear, craving more friction. Your fingers slid along the slit, landing on your clit - a moan slipping past your lips. 

"Fuck," Jake said, voice rough. "Are you-" he stopped himself, as if unsure whether he should even ask. You let out another quiet moan, almost goading him to do it. 

"Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your first instinct was still to lie and deny, embarrassed that just his voice could get you so turned on, but then again, you wanted him to know exactly that. 

"Yeah," you said, nodding even though he couldn't see it. 

You circled your clit, fingers gliding over it easily with the slickness there. 

"You like listening to me talk about how beautiful you looked taking my cock and how good it felt? And that I've been thinking about it every night since?"

Again you whimpered a quiet affirmation. 

"I could feel how wet you were and I've been imagining how it would feel like without the condom."

You started rubbing your clit harder as your desire built with every word Jake spoke. 

"Tell me how you're touching yourself. Are you rubbing your clit or are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" he asked and you could hear his breath coming a little faster, words more clipped. 

"Clit," you only ground out, unable to say much more as you chased your high. 

"Is it 'cause you know it won't feel as good as having me inside of you?"

You moaned in confirmation, but it wasn't enough for him. 

"Use your words, baby. I need to hear you say it."

You fought your way through the haze occupying your mind.

"Yes... felt so good."

"Good girl," he hummed in approval.  

"I bet you look real pretty right now, too."

Words should not have this much power, but coming from Jake's filthy mouth? Calling you a good girl? It had you nearly coming on the spot. 

"Jake, I-" you sighed between rapid breaths and with a pounding heart.

"I'm gonna come."

"Come for me, baby. I wanna hear it." 

And that's what pushed you over the edge, your orgasm releasing, pussy clenching around nothing as you kept rubbing your clit.

"Oh, Jake, fuck," falling from your lips as you came. 

You could also hear a moan on the other end of the line coming from Jake once the blood stopped rushing in your ears. After that it was quiet, only heavy breathing on both ends. 

Jake was the first one to break the silence.

"I think I could listen to you moan my name for the rest of my life." The absolute sincerity made you laugh, though you didn't dare linger on the implication behind his words.

"I can't remember the last time I had phone sex." You said instead, a breathless laugh escaping with it.

"Yeah, me neither. At least while not on deployment." 

Comfortable silence stretched on.

"Thanks, Jake - for listening." You said.

"To you coming? Any day, baby." He laughed and you knew he meant it as a joke. 

"But no, seriously... thank you for sharing your story with me. It means a lot." 

You could tell he was being earnest, all traces of sarcasm gone. 

Still a question was lingering - a what now? hanging over the conversation like a storm cloud. Looming. You kept talking a little longer. Jake asking you stuff about yourself and you needling him in return, wanting to know more about him, falling into easy conversation.

After a while you heard dishes clanking in the kitchen, a telltale sign that Natasha was awake and making breakfast. 

"I think I should go - Nat's awake," you said, not really wanting the call to end.

"Yeah, alright..." he replied, before adding, "are you coming to the Deck tonight?"

You weren't sure of Natasha's plans, but you decided you were going to go.

"Yeah." Past the point of playing it cool, you eagerly agreed. 

"Good." You could hear the grin in his voice.

"I'll see you there," you said.

You hung up the phone and stayed in bed for a moment longer, enjoying the last traces of your post-orgasmic bliss, before getting up and joining your sister in the kitchen. 

"Good morning," you greeted her.

"Morning." Nat was cracking some eggs in bowl, scrambling them when she glanced up.

"Were you talking on the phone?" She asked - must’ve heard you when she walked past your room to get to the kitchen. You hoped she didn't hear the tail end of that conversation, though.

“Yeah, with uhh… Jake." You needed to be honest with her. Sneaking around obviously didn't go well, so you might as well come clean. 

"Oh," she sounded surprised, but you couldn’t tell if it was at your confession or the fact it was Jake.

"I told him about Dylan." You let the words hang in the air, letting her decide what to make of it. 

“I know, you don’t approve…” you said as Natasha stayed silent. “But you can’t protect me from other men forever.” 

“It’s not about approval.” She sighed, about to say something more but you cut her off.

“He makes me feel alive again after I spent the last three years with my head underwater. Now I can finally breathe. And if that’s all he is and this is going to be - then I’m fine with that. With him it’s… easy and fun. Everything with Dylan was always so difficult.” You explained and something on her face made it look like she started to understand. Her eyes softened as she took you in. 

“I mean it obviously also doesn’t hurt that he’s hot as hell and pretty to look at.” You added with a smirk and that got her to laugh.

It took some convincing to get Natasha to come along to the Hard Deck, her telling you it might be weird between her and Jake now and she didn’t want to ‘disturb your night’. That was exactly why she had to go - so it wouldn’t get weirder. But it warmed your heart that she seemed to be starting to accept whatever it was you and Jake had.

Jake was waiting outside the bar, which was surprising, but definitely not unwelcome. 

You couldn’t hold back your smile as you walked up to him. For the first time approaching him directly, the gravity pulling you towards him instead of pushing you away along his line of orbit. 

It was that magnetism that went beyond just sex or physical attraction - it ran deeper - and you could no longer deny it.

He was grinning, a newfound softness in it. 

And God - you wanted to kiss him. Get on your tiptoes, wrap your arms around him and just kiss him. But you couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least - and not in front of your sister. 

You didn’t even trust yourself to hug him, scared any full-body contact would drive you mad with want.

“Hi,” you whispered as you looked up at him.

“Hey,” he smiled down at you, eyes flicking to Natasha behind you. 

He gently touched your hip, gave it a little squeeze before he stepped around you and directly in front of your sister. 

“Peace offering.” He held up a knotted plastic bag towards her, filled with… something. You had no idea what it was - hadn’t even noticed he was holding it. But by the annoyed smile on Nat’s face you could tell that she did. 

She kept him waiting, not immediately reaching for the mystery bag. When she finally did, Jake looked genuinely relieved. 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” you said, slipping into the bar, greeting Penny as you passed, though you kept an eye on them through the windows. They talked and you wished you could hear what it was. Natasha laughed - a good sign. And then they hugged. Tension, you hadn’t even realized you were holding, slid off your body. You had worried, your presence - your thing with Jake - had damaged their relationship, something vital for their work. So it eased something deep in you to see it was at least on the mend, if not yet fully repaired. 

When they came back inside, Jake made a beeline for you and your sister drifted towards a group of others. 

“What on earth did you give her?” You asked with a curious grin. 

“Bag of ash,” he stated matter-of-factly as if it were the most normal thing to gift someone. 

“What?” You blinked at him, brows furrowing. 

“For her plants.” He shrugged. “That’s how she got her callsign. Because she’s always digging through the leftover ash after every bonfire, taking some home to use in the soil of her plants. And one particular time, the wind caught her off guard and she got absolutely covered in it. Looked like a phoenix rising from the ashes - hence, the name.”

You couldn’t believe you didn’t know that story - had never even bothered to ask how she got the name. 

“Huh, I always thought it was just a badass name,” you laughed. 

Jake knowing your sister so well made you realize how much of a family they really were - the whole squad was. And also how close you’d come to fracturing something important by not keeping it in your pants.

It wasn’t just Jake who needed to apologize. You’d have to apologize to her, too. 

“So now that I’m back in your sister’s good graces…” He smirked. 

“Will you let me take you out on a date?” 

You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile but failing spectacularly. 

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Good.” Jake leaned in closer. “And maybe I’ll take you home after… see how many times I can make you finish before you tap out.” His voice took on a sinful note, eyes darkening, as he said it, tightening that coil of desire in your belly. 

Your gaze flicking to his lips. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

A voice suddenly spoke next to you. You knew that voice. 

“You are.” Jake didn’t take his eyes off you, but the annoyance was clear in his reply. 

You didn’t need to look up - knew exactly who it was - but you did anyway. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, rage simmering underneath. Eyes wide as you were staring at him. 

Dylan. 

Your reaction made Jake look up as well and his eyes narrowed as realization set in. 

“Isn’t it obvious? I came here for you.” Dylan had the audacity to sound amused. 

This couldn’t be happening. After everything. After you finally got away and things were turning out to be good - he showed up again.

Your heart was pounding, but not in the exciting way like when Jake looked at you. This was the opposite. 

“Dylan, is it?” Jake spoke up for you, guessing correctly who he was. 

“It’s none of your business,” Dylan replied, but he was solely focused on you, not even sparing Jake a glance. 

“Oh, I think it is.” Jake stepped closer to him, rising to his full height, back ramrod straight and chin high. But you put a hand up to his chest, stopping him. 

This was something you had to try and resolve yourself. 

“I don’t want you here, Dylan,” you told him, trying to keep your voice firm but you couldn’t help the slight waver in it. 

“Come on, don’t say that. I’ve missed you. I got on the first flight when I saw the picture your sister posted.” He came closer - just an inch - but you noticed. 

Hearing I’ve missed you and knowing that he’d flown out to find you would’ve cracked your resolve before.

But things were different now. 

You were different.

“I’m done with you. For good.”

“Why? Because of him? Is that it?” Dylan got a little louder and it drew eyes from people around you.

“He has nothing to do with it.”

“You’ve barely been here a month and you’re already fucking someone else. He’s probably just using you. Just a warm place to put his dick. Because he’ll never love you like I do - no one can - and we both know that.”

You felt Jake tense next to you, his fists clenched, but you still had your hand on him, making him stand down. 

“You’re nothing without me. That’s why you always come back, because you need me. I know you do.” Dylan closed the gap and reached to put his hands on your face. You tried to back away but were met with the bar behind you. That’s when you let Jake step in. 

He slid in front of you smoothly and pushed Dylan back a few staggering steps.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” His voice was low, threatening. 

“Or what?” Dylan asked through gritted teeth.

You saw the way Jake’s body tightened, ready to throw the first punch if needed. 

The bar had gone quiet. All eyes on the three of you and whatever was about to unfold. 

Movement caught your eye and you saw Natasha make her way towards you through the crowd.

“Hey Dylan!” She yelled as she closed in. He reluctantly turned away from Jake and towards your sister. 

He opened his mouth to say something when Natasha raised her fist and punched him square in the face. He didn’t even have time to react - just dropped to the ground, blood spurting from his nose. The whole crowd gasped, some cheered and you stood frozen. 

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” She said as she shook out her hand. 

“Jesus, Nat,” you breathed, still in shock. She gave you a crooked smile and a light shrug. 

She turned to Jake. “Take her home. I got this.”

He nodded, grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the bar towards his car. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you said as Jake led you into his apartment after a quiet car ride. 

You couldn’t believe that Dylan had actually shown up here and that Natasha had punched him.

Jake had decided to take you to his place because he wasn’t sure if Dylan knew where your sister’s apartment was - or if he might try to show up there. 

You plopped down on the couch in his living room, Jake sitting down next to you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, worried, reaching for one of your hands that was still trembling slightly and squeezing it. 

You took a deep steadying breath. 

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“That guy really is one manipulative asshole.” he said and you nodded in agreement. 

“He is. Thank you for letting me handle it and not stepping in right away. I needed that.”

That moment - standing you ground and ending it with Dylan - was the final part of a chapter you’d needed to finish for far too long.

“You handled it really well.”

He gave your hand another squeeze. 

“Thanks,” you smiled, turning his hand over and lacing his fingers with yours. 

There was one positive thing that came from it: you were finally well and truly over Dylan - and free from whatever hold he’d had on you.

You took a moment to look around the room. It was definitely a man’s apartment - dark monochrome colors, very tidy - but there were traces of Jake scattered throughout. 

Military patches and plaques hanging on the walls as well as propped up on shelves. A pair of longhorns mounted above the TV and cowboy boots by the door. 

It was so him - and you loved it - enjoyed getting to know more about him and his life. 

You turned back to him, finding he was already watching you.

His thumb rubbed slow circles into the back of your hand, his gaze dark and piercing. 

Electricity humming between your bodies and the tension was thick. 

“I know you said you want to take me on a date first…” you said quietly, trailing off. 

“Fuck the date,” he muttered, then surged forward, crashing his lips onto yours in a kiss you’d been waiting for for weeks. 

His hands found the back of your neck, pulling you closer against him, almost desperate. 

You opened your mouth and he wasted no time in sliding his tongue inside, claiming it. 

Claiming you. 

He kissed you hungrily, deeply and you felt a familiar ache start to build inside you. 

Grabbing onto his shoulders, you moved into his lap, straddling him and pressing your body closer against him, needing to feel all of him. 

His hands slid around your body, one up and between your shoulder blades, the other down to palm the curve of your ass. 

If kissing him at the bar was amazing - this was ecstasy. After weeks of build up and sexual tension it all finally came to a head. 

You raked your nails through his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on whatever was long enough to grab and started moving your hips back and forth. 

Center dragging over his growing bulge, a moan slipped into his mouth at the contact. 

Hips bucking up in response, while his hand on your ass pulled your further down against him for more friction. 

His hands wandered under you shirt, pushing it up as he went, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head, then diving right back in to explore. It felt like he was trying to memorize every inch of your body by touch alone. 

And you loved the way they felt, warm and heavy - slightly calloused - but it only added another layer to the sensation.

Jake reached around to unhook your bra and you shrugged it off quickly. Leaving you topless in front of him. Palms immediately found your breasts, squeezing them roughly. Pinching the nipples into stiff peaks. 

You kept grinding down on him and if he let you - you could probably come from that alone. But Jake had other plans. He held you tight and flipped you around so your back was against the couch and he was above you between your open legs, moving your body with ease. Sitting up, he pulled his shirt over his head and while you loved seeing him like that, you whined at the loss of pressure, grabbing at him to pull him back down. 

He let out a little chuckle at that, clearly enjoying how desperate you were for him as you pulled his lips back onto yours. Your legs fell open further, giving him more space to get closer.

But it wasn’t enough, needed more, the ache between your legs growing exponentially.

You slid your hands between your bodies, unfastening the button and zipper of his pants with ease, then tried to shove them down his hips.

“Someone’s eager,” he teasingly whispered against your lips. 

“Please, Jake,” you whined - needing his cock, his hands, something. 

He sat up, hungry eyes tracing the lines of your body, then started working on your pants, tugging them down together with your underwear. You lifted your hips to make it easier until you were completely naked on the couch in front of him. 

Legs still spread indecently, everything on full display. Jake ran his hands up your thighs, fingers twitching, digging into your soft skin and making you spread your legs even more. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, eyes flicking from your face down to your glistening center. 

The way he looked right now - shirtless and pants undone, hair messy and his eyes dark - made you take in a shuddering breath.

You started squirming under his gaze, feeling exposed but also so needy. 

His right hand crept to the top of your thigh, thumb running along your slit, pressing down to glide easily between your folds until he reached your clit. 

The sudden contact made you twitch, your hips angling towards him as you bit back a moan.

“Always so wet for me.” His gaze was fixed to your pussy, watching his thumb rub around your clit, occasionally dipping back down to gather up more of your slickness.

Your hands were fisting the fabric of the couch, digging your nails into it.

“Please,” you tried again, almost begging, ripping him out of his trance.

He looked back up and licked his lips with a small smirk. “I got you.”

Jake moved - his face so close to your wet pussy now you could feel his breath against it - his broad shoulders wedged between your knees, demanding space.

His middle and index finger replaced his thumb, but he kept on rubbing your clit - until they drifted lower, teasingly circling your entrance, threatening to push in before pulling back. 

You looked down at him, his green eyes staring back - then his fingers entered you, one swift push in. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you threw your head back. A moan spilling from your lips at finally feeling him inside you again. His fingers fit perfectly, just a slight stretch as he started pumping them in and out, curling them up as he did. 

And because it wasn’t enough, his mouth then found your clit - latching on to it - sucking and flicking at it with his tongue. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, pushing his face deeper into your pussy as your back arched off the couch. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered breathlessly. The onslaught of his tongue and his fingers was everything - too much and not enough - as the coil deep inside of you tightened. 

His left arm hooked under your leg, hand landing on your belly to keep you in place and hold you still as he continued his ministrations. 

Jake sped up slightly and your orgasm built relentlessly. More and more until it couldn’t any more and you came. Hips bucking, moaning his name through strangled sobs of pleasure. 

His fingers slowed to a stop, but he didn’t pull out just yet. He looked up at you, lips and chin glistening with your juices, giving you a wicked smirk as you tried to catch your breath. 

“That was…” you panted, but were lost for words. 

“I’m not done yet,” he said and your eyes widened. “I think you need to come again.”

“I- I don’t… think I can,” you stammered, excited but also intimidated by the idea. 

“We’ll see,” he smirked before he dove back in.

Your clit was hypersensitive and you jerked away, but he held you right where he needed you. 

No partner - especially not Dylan - had tried to make you come more than once. If they even cared about you coming at all.

The feeling of overstimulation slowly faded and turned back into pleasure. It seemed like your body was primed and ready to go from your first release, because the second one approached much faster. So fast, you hardly believe it was happening. 

It only took him pushing a third finger inside you to make you fall over the edge again, clenching around his digits as the waves of your orgasm crashed through you. 

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst right out of your chest. 

This time Jake pulled his fingers out of you after slowing down to a stop and came up to hover above you. 

“I knew you could do it.” He looked smug - but rightly so. 

You laughed breathlessly. He leaned down, but not to kiss you, instead he wrapped his arms under and around your body and before you could react, he’d lifted you and tossed you over his shoulder. A yelp escaped you as you dangled upside down. 

“Jake!” you shrieked, half laughing, half scandalized. 

“I’m taking you to bed,” he said and gave your bare ass a playful slap.

You were still giggling when he dropped you on the bed, bouncing on the mattress. You watched as he got rid of the rest of his clothes, marveling at his naked body and his perfect cock - making your pussy clench around nothing in anticipation of him. 

He joined you back on the bed and you immediately went back to kissing, still eager for more, but a little slower this time, some of the desperation and need having dissipated with your previous orgasms. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

You took his cock in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft, and he groaned at the contact - at the feel of your hand stroking his velvet-soft and rock-hard length.

You gave him a few slow pumps, sliding your thumb over tip and feeling a drop of precum gathered there. 

You rolled Jake over so you were on top of him, straddling him once more, still kissing. Your center awfully close to his cock which seemed to be twitching in response. 

Jake moved, his hand reaching for something in his nightstand and you looked up to see him pull out a condom from the drawer. 

He looked at you and you shook your head, his brows raising. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. You started kissing him again. 

“Yes… want to feel you,” you muttered against his lips, “and I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, okay. You don’t have to tell me twice.” You watched him toss the condom to the side with theatrical flair and his kisses turned more heated. Biting your bottom lip, tangling his tongue with yours. He grabbed your hips, guiding you until the head of his cock was nudging at your entrance.

You were so wet still that it would be no problem for him to slide inside with ease.

You sat up, bracing your hands on his chest and slowly sank down on him - feeling every inch - as his girth stretched you in a way that even three of his fingers hadn’t prepared you for.

Once fully seated inside, Jake let out a moan.

“Feels even better than I imagined.”

You let out a sigh, the feeling of being so filled was absolute bliss, even better than the first time.

After a few more seconds, you started to move, fucking yourself on his cock. 

Careful at first, then picking up speed, feeling him deep inside you every time you sank back down on him completely. Heat building in your body with each time. 

He was still gripping your hips tightly, letting you go at your own pace, but you could feel his restraint falter in the way his hips jerked up to meet yours. 

“Look so pretty riding me,” he said, his breathing slightly labored, looking at you intently.

His hand moved, thumb finding your clit again and rubbing it in messy circles. That, together with the way he filled you so perfectly, made another orgasm approach.

You weren’t sure you still had it in you, but the idea of coming with his cock buried deep inside was too enticing not to try

“I can feel you clenching around me already.” He began thrusting up shallowly, helping you ride hime while - his thumb never leaving your clit.

“Are you gonna come all over my cock, too?” he asked, his words had you nod and moan in return. 

The coil kept tightening and at some point you let him take over. Thrusting into you fully now, harder and even deeper. You were close, but couldn’t quite get there yet and Jake seemed to realize that. He pulled your body down on him and flipped you over so he was hovering above you, staying inside the entire time. 

This new angle allowing him to go even deeper and let him do all the work, so you could relax your body and focus more on your release. 

His fingers found your clit again as he built you back up to that edge, coil of pleasure so tight it was going to snap any second. Then his other hand wrapped around your throat and applied the lightest of pressure to the sides, and that’s when it happened. You clenched around him, back arching and moaning. Pleasure overwhelmed you completely and the noises that came from deep within you were genuine sobs. That incredible orgasmic feeling, coupled with the overwhelming, almost painful sensation of having been pushed over the edge multiple times.

Jake’s thrusts became faster in turn, more irregular, and you knew he was close too. But you’d let him fuck you in whatever way he needed to come, especially after giving you three incredible orgasms. 

After one final, deep thrust, he stilled. A strangled groan falling from his lips as he dropped his head to your shoulder. 

You let your fingertips lazily trace across his back as you both caught your breaths again, his body heavy atop yours. You felt absolutely spent and you weren’t sure you could ever get up out of this bed again. 

“I thought the sex we had at the bar was incredible…” you swallowed, still somewhat out of breath. “But this right here, might’ve been life changing.”

He laughed. And it was that deep, warm laugh that rumbled in his chest and gave you a strange sense of comfort. 

“Better get used to it.”

Jake dragged himself off of you eventually and cleaned you both up before he laid back down in bed next to you. You were turned towards each other, his fingers tracing patterns on your hip and lower back. 

“So what did you say to Nat earlier?” you asked him, curious.

“I told her the truth,” he simply said. 

“Which is?”

“That I have no intention of hurting you or breaking your heart.” A beat.  

“‘Cause I like you. A lot.” He confessed.

You smiled at him. 

“Good. Because I also like you a lot,” you whispered back. 

“She did also threaten to cut off my balls again, but that’s completely beside the point.” He waved it off with his hand.

“I didn’t expect anything less,” you laughed. Jake had a special talent for lightening the mood and taking the tension out of heavy moments.  

You leaned in to kiss him again and he pulled your body closer against his. 

“I still expect you to take me out on a date, though.” You grinned. "And I want my panties back."

He didn't reply, just smirked against your lips as he kissed you deeply.

You might not be one-hundred percent certain what this thing you’ve started was, but you definitely liked where it was going. And that was enough for now.

Tags: @trelaney

[thedonswife13]

Cole is still seeming suspicious…but Jake, honey, you can’t be saying stuff like that after what’s happened!! But protective Jake has me all

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Ten

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Ten

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death, Language, Talk of mating rituals, Talk of potentially life threatening situations, Smut (oral, f receiving), Dirty talk, Confrontations. I think that's it, but please let me know if I've missed anything!

Word Count: 4k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

The rain was more of a mist in the following days, setting the mood that had fallen over the rest of the town. Seagulls cried off in the distance and the waves crashed almost dully against the drab beaches of North Island. It was like the life had been sucked out of the little town in a matter of seconds.

Had anyone liked Mandy? Not particularly, but the idea of someone you’ve known your entire life meeting such a violent and unexpected end was sure to make people feel some type of way. Maybe not overwhelming sadness, but perhaps a mixture of shock and fear. That could have been anyone after all.

You watched waves crash into the shore from your perch on some of the rocks outside the Floyd home. They had departed earlier that morning, dressed in all black and looking worn.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Susan asked you, her eyes rimmed red from the tears she had been shedding nonstop over the past couple of days. You had given her a tight-lipped smile.

“I’m sure, Susan,” you murmured, nodding slightly. “It wouldn’t make sense for me to go, anyway.”

There was no love lost between you and Mandy. In truth, she despised you, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t feel something similar towards her.

Still, the thought of her lifeless body laying there on the beach had tears springing to your eyes.

You had sobbed into Bob’s chest, shoulders shaking and fingers becoming stiff from clutching him so hard. It wasn’t until a pair of gentle hands rested on your arms that you opened your eyes, revealing concerned, familiar green staring back at you. You flung yourself into Jake’s arms, your tears and sobs starting anew as he held you tightly, stroking a hand over your hair as he murmured assurances into your ear.

You felt ridiculous for it, really. You hadn’t even known Mandy all that well, and there you had been, in hysterics as if you had while everyone else stayed strong for you. So, no. It didn’t feel right to attend her funeral, so you stayed behind, allowing those who knew her the chance to mourn her properly.

The mist clung to you, seeping down into your bones until a chill settled over you and you could no longer keep the shaking at bay. You trudged up the wooden stairs to the back of the house, the grey light casting a gloomy glow throughout the different rooms as you made your way up the stairs to change.

You had promised Nat that you would swing by Mrs. Cambroni’s shop to pick up the masks for the Moonlight Masquerade that weekend.

“I would go,” she had murmured, her face drawn and a distant look in her eyes as she spoke, “but I have to be there.”

“I understand, Nat,” you had assured her. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help in any way that I can.”

So now you found yourself walking down the nearly empty streets toward the boardwalk. Most people were tucked away in their houses or in the various businesses that didn’t require one to be outside in the rain, and in some ways, you envied them.

You had expected this summer to be uneventful at best, spending time with Bob and his childhood friends while swimming and winning prizes on the boardwalk. It was supposed to be a fun, but overall underwhelming time spent with new and old friends before you went on to continue your studies with Bob.

Instead, you found yourself in the middle of a nightmarish fairytale filled with mermaids and murder. It chilled you to think of how many times you had been dragged beneath the waves and the one time you had. But, you wondered if all would be well now, as horrible as it seemed. After all, it was Mandy that had tried to kill you that morning by luring you into the water. Would it really be that big of a stretch to assume that she was behind the other murders as well? You supposed not, considering that seemed to be the line of thinking everyone had adopted. They tried to steer clear of that conversation for the most part, but you had overheard Nat and Bradley talking in hushed tones the day before about delayed claiming. They had stopped when you walked into the room, and before you could question them further, they had directed you out the door with the promise of ice cream.

They should have known by now that you wouldn’t drop it.

The bell above the door chimed to signal your entrance, and you shuddered as a wave of air-conditioned air washed over your still damp form. Why you thought changing would help, you weren’t sure, but it never failed to hope. The static laced pop song from the radio that sat on the counter filtered throughout the shop, feeling almost suffocatingly normal to you now.

You immediately headed for the display table near the front. An array of masks sparkled in the fluorescent lighting of the shop, and one in particular stood out to you. It was an off-white fabric that was embroidered with baby blue and pink flowers, different colored pearls embellishing the fabric. It amazed you how perfectly it matched the dress Nat had picked out for you, as if someone had known you’d need it.

“I was wondering when you’d stop by.”

You whirled around to meet the green eyes of Cole. He smiled as you placed a hand over your heart, willing the muscle to calm down.

“You startled me,” you groused half-heartedly, offering him a smile. He peered around, frowning when he saw you were all alone.

“You by yourself today?” He asked, brows pinching in concern. You shrugged, turning back to the mask and picking it up from the table.

“Everyone else is at the funeral.”

“Right,” he murmured, walking over to stand by you. “My aunt went to pay her respects.”

“You didn’t want to?” You questioned, earning a sigh from the older man.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” he hesitated, “but it wasn’t like Mandy was well liked, was she? I certainly wasn’t her biggest fan.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” you replied, voice almost a whisper as the gruesome scene that plagued your thoughts once again flashed in your mind’s eye.

“The dead aren’t here to listen,” he snorted, shoving his hands in his pocket. Your eyes flickered over to him before turning your attention back to the mask in your hand. The two of you stood in silence for a brief moment as you ran your fingers over the mask.

“Has anyone told you yet why we throw on the Moonlight Masquerade every year?” He asked, turning to face you.

“Isn’t it just another excuse for everyone to get dressed up and wasted?” You countered with a snort. Cole grinned, plucking the mask from your hands.

“We celebrate it,” he began, hovering the mask over his face, “to remind us that the sea people walk amongst us undetected. That they could be anyone, and we would never know unless they revealed themselves to us.”

“I suppose it’s great for the local businesses to make some money too,” you chuckled. Cole smirked, handing the mask back to you before turning and heading towards an accessory display a few shelves over.

“You know,” he drawled, casually running his fingers over the different necklaces before grabbing one off the line, “it would be a shame if your look was marred by that mark on your neck. Why don’t you wear this too?”

“The mark?” You balked, your hand flying up to reflexively touch the mark in question. It tingled underneath your fingers, and you couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran up your spine.

“Yeah,” he smirked, walking back towards you. “It actually reminds me of the claiming marks in the legends.”

“Does it?” You hummed. “You know, I’ve been hearing a lot about it, but no one has told me anything about it.”

The two of you stood in silence once again as Cole studied you, his face neutral and not giving anything away.

“What is it you want to know?”

“How does it work?” You asked, feeling excitement coil in your belly at the prospect of finally having your questions answered.

“Well,” Cole drawled, “let me see. You’ve heard the stories about the intention bites?”

You nodded.

“Good,” he continued with a nod, “well, the claiming bite is the next stage, the permanent stage. The sea people don’t give it without being completely sure about who they’re giving it to. People don’t accept it without being completely sure it’s what they want.”

“And why is that?” You breathed, leaning in closer, practically vibrating with anticipation. Cole smirked at you.

“Because it could kill you.”

You jerked back, eyes wide. “What?”

“The process can kill you,” Cole said as if he were talking about the weather.

“How?” You frowned, clutching the mask in your hand a little tighter.

“Well, it’s the whole process of it all, really,” he sighed, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment. “In order for a sea person to claim their chosen mate, they have to drag their partner down, down, down beneath the waves, cutting them off from air until they’re to the point of death. Then, they breathe life back into them, bringing their partner to the surface where the bond is sealed with a physical act followed by the claiming bite.”

You stood in shocked silence, processing what he was telling you. How had the others not told you any of this? Were they just going to let you walk into this blind?

“Are you okay, Skipper?” Cole asked, concern laced in his features as he watched you. You took a shaky breath before offering him a small smile.

“Yes,” you nodded. “Yes, Cole. Thank you. I should get going though. I promised Nat that I’d meet her later.”

“Don’t forget your masks,” he smiled, gesturing towards the table. You let out a laugh that was much too high pitched, wincing internally at how freaked out you sounded.

“Right,” you sighed, picking out a mask that you thought would match Nat’s dress, quickly scurrying after Cole towards the counter.

“I’ll see you around then, Skipper,” he smirked, handing you the paper bag once you had finished paying. You gave him a small wave before turning and all but fleeing the store, the bell chiming ominously after you.

Cole’s words lingered in your mind as you walked along the boardwalk with Jake a few days later, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as you tucked yourself into his side. The sun hovered below the horizon, casting the last little bit of light onto the beach before the darkness of night took hold.

“Are you cold?” Jake asked, leaning down so that his breath brushed against the shell of your ear. A small shiver ran up your spine at the sensation, and you pressed yourself a little closer to him with a shake of your head.

“No,” you hummed, a content smile on your face as the two of you continued to walk. “‘m perfect, actually.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, green eyes sparkling as the two of you neared his home. “You are.”

You let out a rather unladylike snort as you trotted up the stairs and onto his porch. Jake grinned at you, trapping you between himself and the porch railing as he leaned in, arching an eyebrow at you.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you giggled. “You’re just really fucking corny, sometimes.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open in fake outrage, sending you into a round of giggles as he pressed into you further, his knee slotting in between your thighs as he did so. Your giggles cut off into a small gasp, eyes growing wide as he leaned in close enough that his nose brushed yours.

“You think I’m corny?” He challenged, a devilish smirk finding its way onto his lips. You let out a shaky breath, unable to tear your eyes away from his as you nodded slightly.

“Yeah,” you replied, cursing yourself for losing composure so quickly. You shifted, unwittingly brushing your clothed core against his thigh and letting out a moan at the pressure against your clit.

The change in Jake was instantaneous. His green eyes began to glow as he let out a low growl, hands gripping your hips slightly harder as he deliberately rolled them back down onto him. You cried out, hands flying to find purchase in his shirt.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” He asked, the smirk once again finding a home on his face. “You like when I rub you right there?”

“Jake,” you whispered, eyes hooded with lust as you attempted to move against him. He tsked at you, holding you firmly in place as he gave you an admonishing look.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted, leaning in to hover his lips above yours, his breath washing over you in hot waves as you let out a needy whine. “Good girls don’t take without asking.”

His lips pressed against yours then, slightly chapped but firm against your own. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, and you immediately granted him entrance, groaning as his tongue licked into you, stroking against your own. After a moment, Jake pulled back, nipping at your bottom lip before looking at you expectantly. It took you a moment before you realized what it was that he wanted.

You leaned up, capturing his lips with yours for a moment before leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from his lips, down to his jaw, and down the length of his neck.

“Please, Jake,” you whimpered. “Please make me feel good.”

“I don’t know,” he hummed, teasingly. “It doesn’t sound like you really want it.”

You let out a frustrated grunt as you once again attempted to roll your hips down against him, only to have him stop you. You nipped at the base of his neck, soothing over the bite with your tongue. Jake stiffened against you, and before you could ask what was wrong, his hands slid to grasp the underside of your thighs, hauling you up and through the screen door, lips moving eagerly against yours as he did so.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you let out a gasp as you felt his length press against your thigh. Jake made a beeline for the stairs, and looking back later, you were impressed with how easily he managed to get the two of you up the stairs without incident. Jake maneuvered the two of you into the room you had slept in just two weeks before, and you realized in that moment that it was his room.

Jake sat you on the bed, pulling away with short pants of breath as he looked at you with hooded eyes.

“I promised I’d take it slow,” he murmured, gaze searching yours, letting you make the next move. You reached for him, pulling him towards you by his shirt.

“I don’t care,” you said firmly, shaking your head as you pulled back to look at him once more. “I don’t care. Need you.”

Jake’s lips connected with yours once more as he laid you down on the sheets, running a hand up your side and underneath your shirt to lay just below your breast. His lips left yours, mimicking your actions from earlier and trailing his lips down from your jaw to your neck where his mark lay. He ran his tongue gently over the mark, earning a keening cry from you as you arched into him.

Jake quickly pulled your shirt up above your head and making quick work of your braw before latching on to your right nipple. His other hand came up to tweak the other, sending rivers of pleasure straight to your core as you writhed and moaned beneath him.

“Jake!” You cried out as he scraped his teeth over the pebbled nub before switching his attention to the other. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers curling in the soft, blond strands as his hand moved down to unbutton your shorts, helping you slide them down your legs and onto the floor.

He peeled himself away from your breasts, trailing his tongue down the expanse of your stomach as he settled in between your thighs, eyes trained on your clothed core where you could feel the wet spot on your panties. Feeling heat pool in your cheeks at his hungry gaze, you attempted to close your legs, but Jake caught each knee in one hand, prying them back apart and leveling you with a glare.

“Don’t hide from me,” he growled, leaning forward to run his nose along your covered slit, inhaling deeply. He let out a strangled groan as you let out another gasp at the action, chest heaving with anticipation. His nose pressed into you, nudging your clit and sending you arching into his touch. You were sure it hurt with how tightly your fingers held onto his hair, but Jake was too lost in the bliss of you, mouthing at your center and reaching a hand down to push your panties to the side.

“This all for me?” He asked huskily, glancing up at you with hooded eyes. You swallowed thickly, only able to manage a nod. You let out a yelp as Jake frowned, turning towards your right thigh and biting down just hard enough to leave an imprint.

“I asked you a question, sweet girl,” he warned, soothing over the bite with his tongue as he gave you another glare from the corner of his eye.

“Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, it’s all for you.”

“I made you this wet, huh? Did I make my pretty girl feel good?” He prompted, peeling your panties down your legs.”

“Yes,” you sobbed, arching into him, desperate for some type of relief, but Jake was firm, holding you down as he toyed with you.

He hummed, darting his tongue out to give an experimental lick at your dripping slit. You let out a strangled cry, pressing your face into the sheets as he repeated the action.

Jake let out a low growl as he dove in, tongue fucking you as his nose repeatedly bumped against your clit, his strong hands keeping you open and on display for him. Your breaths came out in pinched cries as he drove you closer to your high, the coil inside your belly pulling tight. You nearly sobbed as he added a finger, plunging it into your depths, seeking out that spot inside of you.

“So tight,” he whispered, almost reverently as he focused his attention on your clit, adding a second finger and hooking them until you let out a wail. You felt him smirk against you, and if he wasn’t making you see stars, you’d have smacked.

“Did I find that sweet spot, pretty girl?” He chuckled, honing in on that spongy spot deep inside of you. Your release was quickly approaching, and your hips rocked up to meet his thrusts your hands moving to find purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into the skin.

Jake let out a low groan as your walls fluttered around his fingers, the sting of your fingernails driving him mad as he chased your release almost more eagerly than you did.

“Need you to come for me, angel,” he murmured, sucking your clit back between his lips and adding a third finger. The stretch of his fingers had you keening, and he sped his thrusts up. “Look so pretty like this, all strung out for me. Can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock, this pretty little pussy milking me dry. I’m never going to get enough of you, I swear it. I’m gonna keep you nice and full, and you’ll feel me for days. Now come for me, sweetheart. Come all over my fingers.”

And with a brush of his teeth against your clit, you were sent careening over the edge with a high-pitched cry, your eyes scrunching closed as the coil in your belly finally snapped. Jake lapped up your release eagerly, tongue licking up everything you had to offer. You trembled in his grip, thighs shaking from excursion and aftershocks as the blond licked you clean. You let out a shaking breath as he pulled his fingers from you, licking your juices off with a hum.

“So sweet,” he murmured, eyeing you up and down with a small smirk. You fought to catch your breath, reaching out clumsily for him. He leaned into your touch, allowing you to pull him into a lazy, lust-filled kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, moaning at the flavor and reaching a hand down in between the two of you to grip his length. Jake let out a moan before pulling back abruptly, pupils blown as he looked at you.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, and you frowned up at him.

“What?”

“No, I-” he paused. “I don’t want our first time to be like this. I want to do it right.”

You watched him for a moment, your mind still reeling from the orgasm he had just pulled from you. Slowly, you nodded, pulling him down into another kiss, your fingers lacing through his hair to massage his scalp.

“Okay,” you nodded against his lips.

Jake smiled down at you, repositioning the two of you so that your heads were up by the headboard, facing each other as he traced his fingers absentmindedly over your skin. The two of you stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other's presence. You allowed your mind to wander, and it inevitably drifted to what Cole had told you the other day.

“It could kill you.”

“Jake?” You whispered, peering up at him from where you were nuzzled into his neck. He hummed, one eye slinking open to look at you.

“Is it true that the mating bite could kill me?” You asked, and Jake’s eyes shot open. He sat straight up, leaving you scrambling to follow.

“Where did you hear that?” He demanded, brow furrowed as he watched you wearily. You frowned up at him, your own brow pinching together as you regarded him.

“So, it’s true,” you muttered. Jake shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh.

“It’s true that the mating bite comes with its risks,” he conceded, chewing on his bottom lip. You waited patiently for him to continue, curling your knees up to your chest as you watched him. “It’s rare for it to kill someone though.”

“But it does happen?” You prodded, lips pursed. Jake glanced at you before looking down at his lap.

“Very, very rarely,” he admitted. “The process becomes more dangerous the longer someone goes without taking a mate.”

“Like you?”

Jake looked at you fully, a look of hurt mixed with desperation painted on his pretty features. He reached for you, and you allowed him to cup your face in his hands, his thumb running gently over the apple of your cheek.

“I would never do anything to hurt you,” he murmured, eyes pleading as they darted over your face. “Don’t for a second believe that I wouldn’t kill for you, Skipper. You are everything to me.”

You studied him silently, eyes tracing over the hard lines of him. Jake had never given you a reason to not trust him. Quite the opposite, in fact. The desperation in his voice had a part of you regretting even bringing up the topic in the first place. You smiled up at him softly, running your fingers over his jawline, his day old stubble rubbing against the pads. You leaned up to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, laughing lightly as he tried to chase your lips with his.

“I trust you,” you whispered.

A/N: Friendly reminder that I am in the process of redoing my tag lists. If you have not signed up for the new one, please do so by clicking the link at the top of the post! Please be sure to have your age/age range and blog filled out or I will not tag you and more than likely block you. As always, please comment and reblog to show your support! Updates are also posted on my AO3 account under arcane_vagabond. If you enjoy my work, consider leaving me a tip!

[shortnspidey]

FLIGHT RISK

Jake Seresin X Female!reader || WC: 9.7K

SUMMARY: Jake "Hangman" Seresin had a reputation for flirting with anything that breathed, which is exactly why you never paid him much attention whenever the Dagger Squad rolled into the Hard Deck. But the more time you spend around him, the more you realize he’s not the arrogant jerk you assumed he was. Against all odds, you fall for him, hard. So when you suddenly start pulling away, Jake can't help but wonder what he did wrong.

WARNINGS: One-sided miscommunication, angst, self-deprecating thoughts, implied daddy issues, jealousy, fluff, cursing, platonic reader x Dagger Squad, lovesick!Jake, making out, probably some inaccurate military details (sorry)!

A/N: Literally hated his character when I first watched the movie, yet the more I watch edits and read fanfiction the more this man has grown on me... which is how this came about. Hope y'all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ jake seresin masterlist

The Hard Deck was buzzing as it usually was on a Friday night. You and Penny moved in perfect sync behind the bar, dodging each other with practiced ease as the room filled with the clamor of laughter, clinking bottles, and the low hum of music from the jukebox in the corner. The scent of citrus and salt clung to your skin, your fingers sticky from pouring whiskey sours and popping lime wedges into beers.

You wiped your hands on a towel tucked into your apron, catching Penny’s eye just as she slid a beer down to a waiting customer. Penny leaned in as she wiped down the bar, eyes flicking toward the entrance. “They’re here.” She murmured, barely suppressing a grin. You didn’t need to ask who. The sound of boots scuffing the floor and the unmistakable blend of egos and energy meant only one thing: The Dagger Squad, fresh off another brutal day of training.

Maverick must’ve put them through hell, judging by the way Bradley dragged his hand through his hair like he might tear it out. Natasha looked like she was already plotting revenge, and Mickey was slumped against the pool table like gravity had it out for him personally. “They look like death.” You noted, already lining up glasses. Penny smirked. “Except for a certain blonde who’s looking at you like you’re his reward for surviving it.”

You threw her a dry look, but heat bloomed at the back of your neck. “You’re imagining things.” Penny rolled her eyes, nudging you with her elbow. “Oh, sure, I must be also imagining the way you check your lip gloss every time he walks in.” You snorted and turned away to hide your smirk, reaching for the tequila. “God, you’re even worse than Amelia.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The squad fanned out across the pool tables, dropping into their usual spots with groans and exaggerated sighs. Bradley clinked his dog tags against the counter like a bell, while Natasha stretched out her shoulders and grumbled something about Maverick trying to kill them. And then, right on cue, Jake Seresin. He swaggered in a few beats behind the rest, as if the doors themselves had waited for his entrance.

His hair was a little messy, his skin kissed by the sun, dog tags catching the low light as they swung against his collarbone. He moved like he owned the room, like he’d fought gravity and won. But you knew better now. He’d fooled you once. That cocky smile, that drawl, that insufferable nickname, Hangman. You’d pegged him for exactly the kind of man who flirted with anything that moved and forgot the names of anyone who didn’t. So you ignored him.

Every night he came in, you barely spared him a glance. And every night, he tried again. But Jake didn’t win you over with charm. He won you with patience. When your car wouldn’t start after a long shift and you were ready to scream into the night, he appeared, hands in his pockets, smile soft. No teasing, no smug remarks. Just a quiet offer to take a look. Thirty minutes later, he had it running again. He didn’t ask for anything in return.

He started walking you to your car after closing, no pressure, no flirting. Just company. And then he started showing up on your off days. Not in uniform. Not with the squad. Just Jake. He’d sit at the bar, nursing a soda or a single beer, and talk to you while you cut garnishes or cleaned glasses. He asked about your family. Your hometown. Whether you liked working nights or if you ever thought about leaving the beach behind.

He never made it about himself, not at first. And when he finally did, it was different. One night, long after the bar had emptied, you found him leaning against the jukebox, staring at the floor like it had personally offended him. “My dad never thought I’d amount to much,” He murmured when you passed him. “Guess part of me still tries to prove him wrong.” You’d stopped in your tracks. That was the moment something cracked. Not in him, in you.

Because behind all that swagger, Jake Seresin was carrying something heavy. Something private. And he trusted you enough to let you see it. That was when you started falling. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sudden. It was slow. Unavoidable. A creeping warmth that found its way under your skin and settled there. So now, as Jake leaned across the bar, sweat-damp and sun-touched from a long day of dogfights, you didn’t feel annoyance anymore. You felt fear.

Because you’d let him in. Because he wasn’t who you thought he was. Because he looked at you like you were more than just a bartender, and you weren’t sure what to do with that. “Evenin’, darlin’.” His voice dropped low into that familiar Southern drawl, thick like honey and rough at the edges, and it sent goosebumps skittering down your spine before you could stop them. Jake leaned one elbow against the bar, casual as ever, but his presence was anything but forgettable.

Sunlight from the open doors caught in his windswept hair, and sweat still clung to the base of his throat. Those hypnotic green eyes, greener tonight under the warm, flickering lights, swept over your face with the same lazy intensity they always did, as if he were memorizing you every time. You arched a brow, letting your hands stay busy with the shaker. The clink of ice helped mask the fact that your heartbeat had kicked up a notch. “You look like Maverick dragged you through a jet wash.”

Jake’s grin curled slow, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was an edge in them, subtle, but there. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was something else. “He sure as hell tried,” He muttered, rolling his shoulder with a wince that was half hidden. “But it’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” You slid a cold beer across the polished wood without looking up, but your fingers brushed his for half a second longer than they should have.

His hand was warm, calloused and steady, and instead of pulling away, he lingered. Just a breath longer. Just enough to make your skin tingle where he touched you. You hated that it made your pulse skip. Hated it even more that he seemed to know exactly what it did to you. Jake gave you that heartbreaker wink before peeling away to join the others, the beer already raised in a half-salute. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You watched him walk, shoulders still squared from the cockpit, tags clinking lightly against his chest, and tried not to let your eyes linger too long. Penny had, of course, seen all of it. As she restocked the limes with a knowing look, one perfectly sculpted brow lifted in dry amusement. “You keep looking at him like that,” She murmured, voice low as she tossed a handful of garnishes into a silver tray. “He’s gonna think that you actually like him.”

“He already thinks that.” You rolled your eyes, mostly to distract from the flutter blooming in your chest. “Because you do,” She countered without missing a beat, slicing through a lemon with precision. “Might as well admit it before you combust.” You didn’t answer. Not because she was wrong, but because she wasn’t. And you hated how easily she saw through you. The truth was… you did like him. Too much. In ways you didn’t want to admit out loud.

Jake Seresin had wormed his way past your sarcasm and rolled eyes and cool indifference like it was nothing. And the scariest part? He hadn’t even tried that hard. “I’ll be right back.” You muttered, grabbing five beers from the cooler and sliding them onto a tray with practiced ease. You tucked a cold can of Coca-Cola into the front pocket of your apron, Bob’s usual, always sipped with quiet contentment while the others knocked back drinks like they were on shore leave. Penny caught the gesture and smirked.

“Go get your man.” You didn’t dignify her with a reply. Just rolled your eyes and turned on your heel, weaving between the crowds with practiced grace, the tray balanced effortlessly in your hands. But your stomach flipped all the same, traitorous and fluttering, because the moment your eyes found Jake again, laughing with Bradley. And you weren’t sure how long you could pretend you weren’t. Taking a deep breath, and squaring your shoulders you shook those thoughts from your head.

“You all look like you could use a pick-me-up.” Every head at the table turned toward you, some sluggishly, others like your voice alone had jolted them back to life. “A beer for you,” You chirped, placing the cold glass in front of Mickey, who looked like he’d barely survived the day. His forehead rested on the edge of the table until he forced himself upright. “You’re an angel.” He groaned, already reaching for the glass like it might bring him back from the dead.

“And a Coke for you.” You placed the soda down with a satisfying clink in front of Bob, who was seated slightly off to the side, content with his quiet corner and a half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His cheeks turned pink as he straightened his glasses and smiled shyly. “For my favorite WSOs.” You added with a playful wink. Both men flushed under your gaze and responded with a thank you, in perfect unison.

You kept moving, passing out drinks with ease and affection. Natasha muttered something about you being a godsend as she reached for her beer, lifting it in a silent toast before taking a long, grateful sip. Rooster gave you a wink and a crooked smile that probably worked on half of San Diego, though it never really had an effect on you. Javy nodded with an appreciative grin, and Reuben gave you a friendly fist-bump.

“For my favorite pilots.” You teased, grinning as you finally came to rest beside Natasha. She leaned her head onto your shoulder with a contented sigh, her hair brushing against your cheek. “Marry me.” She mumbled, half-serious, half-drunk on exhaustion. Before you could even talk, a familiar voice, smooth, smug, and laced with that Southern twang, broke the silence. “That’s just cruel,” Jake drawled. “I thought I was your favorite.”

Your head turned before you could stop yourself. And just like that, your heart didn’t just skip a beat, it slammed into your ribs like it was trying to break free. Jake stood at the pool table, cue stick in hand, body bent low as he lined up a shot. His back arched just enough to make your mouth go dry. His biceps flexed as he adjusted his grip, veins prominent, forearms corded with strength. His khakis clung low on his hips, his flight belt hanging lazily from a loop.

He looked ridiculous. Unfair. Like he’d walked straight out of a damn recruiting ad, but dirtier. Infinitely more dangerous. Jake’s head lifted slowly, eyes cutting toward you from beneath those long lashes. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk when he caught you looking. Caught staring. “You wound me, sweetheart,” He added, standing to his full height. “All that charm, and I don’t even rank in your top five?”

You masked your thudding heart with a dry laugh. “I said favorite pilots,” You shot back. “Didn’t say anything about most high-maintenance.” The squad erupted in low chuckles, a few of them tossing mock “oofs” in Jake’s direction. Jake only grinned, unbothered, sauntering toward the group with that same easy swagger that made it impossible to tell whether he was teasing or flirting, or both. You forced yourself to look away, turning back toward the tray.

Yet, your stomach was doing somersaults, and the heat creeping up your neck wasn’t from the warm summer air drifting through the doors. You leaned your hip against the edge of the table, tray balanced on one hand, the soft clink of glass against wood fading into the background as you glanced around the table. Everyone looked a little less dead now, drinks in hand, shoulders relaxing bit by bit. “Do I need to talk to Maverick for all of you?” You teased, eyes flicking from one exhausted pilot to the next.

Bradley groaned loud enough to turn heads. “Please do. Tell him we're human. Or at least that some of us are.” Natasha scoffed, lifting her beer toward her mouth with a half-glare, half-laugh. “We were human. Until Mr. Hotshot over there decided he could outfly Mav.” All eyes slid toward Jake. “Okay, whoa. Let’s not point fingers here.” He was already making a face. “You tried to buzz Maverick,” Mickey interjected, half-leaning across the table with animated hands. “In a tight turn. In a no-fly zone.”

“And missed.” Reuben added between mouthfuls of peanuts, a smug grin spreading across his face. Jake raised both hands, feigning innocence with the precision of someone who’d practiced. “I wasn’t trying to buzz him. I was maneuvering. Strategically.” Javy snorted covering it up with a cough as he received a glare from Jake. “And we all got punished for it,” Bob chimed in quietly, lifting his Coke as if to toast to their shared suffering. “One hundred push-ups.” You winced at his words, that sounded brutal.

“In flight suits.” Reuben groaned, rubbing his shoulder like the soreness was still setting in. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, the image forming vividly in your mind, Jake, cocky as ever, probably smirking even as Maverick made them drop. The others glaring daggers at him while dripping sweat onto the tarmac. Jake, of course, leaned into the attention with no shame. “You’re welcome, push-ups build character.” He grinned, sliding into the empty chair beside you with smooth ease.

You barely had time to register the motion before his arm draped over the back of your chair, knuckles grazing your shoulder. “You’re lucky they didn’t bury you under the tarmac.” Natasha muttered, but her lips twitched. Jake leaned a little closer, the heat of his body now radiating into your side. His voice dropped a note, low and velvety. “You know, I think I could use a little personal motivation to recover from today.” Your breath caught before you could control it.

His fingers brushed lightly against the bare skin of your upper arm as they “accidentally” adjusted across the tables edge. You turned toward him, ready to make some smart remark, maybe put him back in his place before he got too cocky again, but your gaze collided with his, and just like that… you froze. His eyes weren’t just green, they were alive with something deeper. Mischief, sure. But behind it, a flicker of something that made your stomach swoop. Like he wasn’t just teasing you tonight. He was waiting.

“Jake—”

“Y/N!” Your name snapped through the air like a whip, pulling you back to earth. You turned sharply toward the bar where Penny stood, waving a bar rag like a battle flag. “Bus just pulled up, I need you.” You groaned under your breath but moved fast, peeling yourself away from the table. Jake’s arm slid off your shoulders with a warmth that lingered longer than it should have, his fingers brushing your back as you stood. The moment broke, but not before you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Try not to cause anymore trouble while I’m gone.” You grabbed the empty tray and backed away from the table, shaking your head. “No promises, sweetheart!” He called after you, voice lazy, teasing. But his eyes, they lingered. Watching you like a man who knew the exact altitude you’d started falling. You spun on your heel and disappeared behind the bar, pulse still hammering, trying to remind yourself that you were here to work.

But even as Penny tossed you a bar towel and pointed toward the flood of sailors crowding toward the taps, all you could think about was the warmth of Jake’s body next to yours, and how dangerously easy it would be to let yourself fall. Thankfully, the flood of newcomers provided the perfect excuse to busy your hands and bury your thoughts. You moved, mixing cocktails with quick flicks of the wrist, pouring beers until foam kissed the rim, sliding credit cards back with a polite nod and a practiced smile.

Every small task became a wall, something to hide behind. Something to keep your mind off of Jake. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself. As the crowd dwindled and the bar quieted into a low murmur, the shield began to crack. The last round of locals had migrated toward the dartboard. The jukebox slowed to soft rock. A few scattered voices still rose in laughter near the back where the Dagger Squad remained, sunburnt, beer-drowsy and content.

You peeled off your apron with a sigh and glanced at Penny, who gave you a reassuring nod and a knowing smile, motioning for you to take a breath, take a break. Your feet moved before your heart could object. You stepped out from behind the bar, every movement purposeful, steady, because if you hesitated, you knew the ache lingering just beneath your ribs might crawl up into your throat and give you away. You smoothed a hand down your shirt and walked toward the group, fully prepared to ask if they wanted one more round before last call. But then you heard it.

Jake’s voice.

Clear. Familiar. Cruel. Coated with disgust. “I just cannot stand her.” The words stopped you mid-step, your sneakers suddenly glued to the hardwood floor. The air left your lungs in one cold rush, and your feet carried you just far enough to place yourself behind the wooden beam beside the jukebox, half-hidden in the low light, half-ashamed for eavesdropping, but too frozen to move. “She walks around following me like a puppy, flirting, even her voice is annoying.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears, louder than the low hum of music, louder than the clatter of a dropped glass in the far corner. His voice cut straight through you, each syllable like a shard of glass. “She just doesn’t get the hint. I’m not interested in girls like her.” The blood drained from your face. You knew it. God, deep down, you always knew it. Jake Seresin was never going to want someone like you.

You’d seen the women he flirted with, tall, perfectly made-up, curves in all the right places, confident, playful, bright in the way that lit up a whole room. You? You were just the bartender. The convenience. The friend. The joke. The girl with rough hands from long shifts. The girl who hid behind sarcasm because confidence never came easy. The girl who, despite everything, had let herself believe, hope, that the way Jake looked at you sometimes meant something real. A dull ache bloomed in your chest. You pressed your hand against it like that would stop it from spreading.

At least now you knew. At least now the daydream could die. Now you could stop pretending. You swallowed down the lump clawing its way up your throat, nails digging into your palm as you pivoted, quick, silent and fast, back toward the bar. You didn’t even bother pretending to smile. Didn’t care who saw your glassy eyes or the way your breath came out shaky as you ripped the apron from its hook and slung it over the counter.

Penny turned, concern flickering across her face clearly noticing the entire shift in your demeanor, but you simply waved her off with a weak motion and a whispered goodbye. Not trusting your voice to hold steady. Not trusting her not to ask. If she so much as asked if you were okay, you’d break. You were out the door before Jake could even glance up. Before he could offer that sweet, mocking drawl. Before he could try to walk you to your car like he always did, like it meant something. Your heart couldn't take it. Not now. Not after that.

Back at the bar, Jake still reclined in the chair, nursing the same beer he hadn’t touched in ten minutes, finishing his train of thought with a huff. “I just hope Mav doesn’t put her on our training rotation again,” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve told her time and time again I’m not interested,” He continued with a groan. “She just doesn’t get the hint that she’s not my type.” Mickey nearly choked on his drink.

“Yeah, Hangman, we all know what girl is your type.” He grinned, elbowing Bob. Bradley leaned in, all smugness and raised brows. “The pretty bartender you make eyes at every time she’s near? The one you nearly punched me over for breathing near last week?” Jake froze. Bradley tilted his beer toward him, that smirk spreading. “The one you pretend not to care about, then sulk like a teenager when she walks away with anyone else?” Javy whistled. “Dude, just admit it. You’re into her. Bad.”

Jake ran a hand over his face, jaw tightening. “Shut up before she hears you.” But as he turned to glance toward the bar, expecting to find you rolling your eyes behind the counter, maybe catching his gaze just long enough to blush, his brows drew together. You weren’t there. Your station was empty. No apron. No sarcastic smile. No parting wave. Just… gone. His chest tightened without reason. You never left without saying goodnight.

A flicker of unease passed through him, but the others were still laughing, throwing teasing comments like darts, unaware of the sudden shift in his expression. He forced a grin, let the moment pass. But something inside him knew. Something felt wrong. And you, already halfway down the boardwalk with tears blurring your vision, didn’t get to hear the rest. Didn’t get to hear the way his voice softened when he talked about you.

You were cautious, careful, even. Every move you made around him became intentional. Guarded. Since that night, since the moment his words gutted you like a blade between the ribs, you’d started pulling away. Not all at once. No. That would’ve been too obvious. And despite the ache still lodged in your chest like a stone, you refused to let Jake, or anyone else, see you unravel. Instead, it was subtle. Gradual. A slow withdrawal masked as busyness, exhaustion, distraction.

When Jake came to the bar now, you didn’t linger. You took his order without looking him in the eye, handed him his beer with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. No teasing remark. No small talk. Just efficient, impersonal service. The kind you gave to strangers. The kind you gave to men you didn’t want to know. And you definitely didn’t allow his touch to linger, not that he’d had much chance.

Gone were the moments where his fingers brushed yours over a glass, or the way his hand would rest at the small of your back when you passed too close. You kept distance now. Measured it. Maintained it like it was a lifeline. You didn’t let him close. And Jake? He noticed. At first, it was subtle confusion. A longer-than-usual pause when you walked away. A look that lingered too long as you joked with Bob or nudged Natasha’s shoulder with a grin that used to be his.

Then it turned into something else, hesitation, maybe even hurt, though if it was, he didn’t show it outright. Luckily, or maybe tragically, the squad had been kept busy by Maverick all week. Long hours on the tarmac. Briefings that dragged past sunset. Extra sims, surprise drills, and mock dogfights that left them sore, sweating, and barely able to keep their eyes open when they dragged themselves into the Hard Deck each night. It gave you an excuse.

To work the bar, serve the drinks, and disappear behind orders before Jake could try and ask what was wrong. It was easier this way. Safer. You told yourself it would fade, the sting, the weight in your chest, the memory of hearing her voice is annoying and I’m not interested in girls like her whispered in that same drawl that used to melt you. But it didn’t fade. It stayed. Like smoke in your lungs.

You heard it in the silence after your shift when the beach was quiet and the waves were the only sound. You felt it in the ache behind your ribs when someone mentioned his name in passing. You even dreamed about it, twisting memories into warped versions where his words echoed again and again, his face turned away from you, laughter in his throat while you stood invisible behind the jukebox. You hated how much it hurt.

You hated that it still mattered.

The fifth night after it happened, the bar was quieter than usual, just a slow Thursday, a break between storms. You were stacking clean glasses behind the bar when Jake walked in alone. No squad. No backup. Just him. He looked tired. Disheveled in a way that felt different than post-training exhaustion. Like he hadn’t been sleeping much. His hair was messier than usual, shirt a little wrinkled, tags tucked into his collar like they were suddenly too heavy to wear out in the open.

You felt his eyes on you the second he stepped through the door. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t. He approached the bar slower than normal, his boots echoing too loudly in the now-quiet space. You busied yourself with organizing lemons. Limes. Anything not him. He stopped a few feet short of the bar. Didn’t speak. Not right away. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low, cautious, unsure. “You alright?” You kept your gaze focused on the citrus you were already over-slicing. “Fine.”

“You’ve been distant.” He murmured, like he was still trying to piece it together. “Did I do something?” You shrugged. Cool. Detached. “Just tired, Jake.” A lie. But he didn’t push. He just studied you, jaw working slightly like he was chewing on whatever thoughts were flooding in. “Right,” He said eventually, voice quieter. “Of course.” You turned to put the knife down, finally meeting his eyes for a split second. And it nearly undid you.

Because Jake wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t cocky. He looked…confused. A little wounded. The way someone does when they’ve lost their grip on something they didn’t even know they were holding. But you couldn’t tell him the truth. You couldn’t admit that the thing you’d overheard, the words that weren’t meant for your ears, had unraveled you completely. Because what if you were the only one who misunderstood?

What if, worse… you hadn't? So you turned away. Left him standing there with his fingers curled slightly over the edge of the bar, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or walk away. Jake didn’t push. He never did. But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice. And tonight, you knew he’d felt it, that little bit of space you’d suddenly started putting between the two of you. Because if he kept getting closer, you wouldn’t just fall.

You’d crash.

The days blurred. Long shifts, short sleep, aching feet, and a heart you couldn’t seem to quiet. You kept your rhythm sharp, precise, like it was armor. You showed up, moved through the motions, mixed drinks, gave smiles, told stories to sailors who needed a little kindness. And avoided Jake Seresin like he was a fault line waiting to break beneath your feet. You weren’t cold. Just distant. Detached in a way that made you feel like you were watching your life from the outside in.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Late one night, the bar winding down into a lazy hum, Penny passed you a glass of water and leaned her elbows onto the bar. You felt her gaze before she spoke, quiet, steady, knowing. “You alright, Y/N?” You didn’t look at her. Just nodded, wiping down a spill that didn’t need wiping. “I’m fine.” It was clipped. Dismissive. Enough to signal that the door was closed. You had mastered the lies and excuses, yet Penny wasn’t stupid.

She knew you like the back of her hand. She watched you for a few seconds longer, watched the way your eyes didn’t meet hers, the way your fingers trembled slightly when you reached for the towel. She gave a tiny, imperceptible sigh, then pushed away without pressing no matter how much she wanted to know what was wrong with you. Safe to say, you were grateful for it. Because if she had asked again, your walls might’ve just cracked.

Jake wasn’t doing any better. After your "talk", if you could even call it that, he’d been a wreck. Not the kind anyone outside the Dagger Squad would immediately notice. No, Jake Seresin still smiled at the rookies. Still strutted across the tarmac with his usual confidence, boots scuffing against the concrete, sunglasses low on his nose like he didn’t have a care in the world. But those who knew him best could see the cracks forming.

The way he flinched when your name was mentioned. The way he scanned the bar every time he walked into the Hard Deck, hoping, praying, that this would be the night you looked at him like you used to, eyes soft, smirk tucked behind your lip, leaning on the bar like you were daring him to flirt first. But that look never came. And it was driving him insane. Even in the air, his escape, his safe place, he felt off. Slower. Sloppy in a way that set off alarm bells in every seasoned pilot’s gut.

His reaction times were lagging, the sharp, lethal precision that earned him the call sign Hangman dulled under the weight of something heavier than G-forces. Natasha had picked up on it immediately. “You’re flying like you’ve got a piano strapped to your back,” She muttered through comms one afternoon after a sim run went sideways. “The hell’s going on with you?” Jake’s jaw had locked so tight, he didn’t even answer. Back on the ground, it was no better.

Bradley had cornered him near the locker room the next morning. “You’re off, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” He told him bluntly. Jake ran a hand through his hair, matted from the helmet. “I’m fine.” Even he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You’re not.” Jake simply shrugged. “Let it go, Rooster.” But they didn’t. Not really. They just watched. Waited. Wondered what the hell had happened that turned cocky, unshakable Jake Seresin into a man unraveling from the inside out.

What they didn’t know, what he wouldn’t dare say aloud, was that it was you. The problem was you, or more accurately, the way you’d slipped through his fingers before he even realized how tightly he’d been trying to hold on. He didn’t understand it. How things had gone from warm glances and shared touches and that night where you had almost let something real slip between you… to now. To this cold distance. Where you wouldn’t so much as look at him unless it was absolutely necessary. And the worst part?

He didn’t know what he’d done.

The nights dragged on like this. Jake would come in with the squad, sit down like nothing was wrong, but the light in his eyes was gone. His jokes were duller. His smirk half-hearted. Even his beer sat untouched longer than usual, condensation dripping down the bottle as he watched you move around the bar like a ghost he couldn’t reach. Sometimes, he’d almost say something. His hand would twitch, or he’d lean half out of his seat, like he was on the verge of getting up.

Of walking over. Of fixing it. But you never gave him the chance. You never looked long enough to invite it. A deep, sinking pull in his gut. Like something was breaking open inside him and he didn’t know how to stop it. And so the distance remained, a thick, aching thing that hovered between you both, invisible to everyone else but suffocating just the same. Neither of you said a word. Neither of you walked away. But neither of you dared to move closer, either.

And it was killing you both.

Four days later, the Hard Deck was full, buzzing with heat and voices and that low, salty tension that clung to late summer nights on the coast. Dagger Squad was there, scattered across their usual pool table. Jake wasn’t with them yet. And for once, you were thankful. You could breathe without feeling his eyes track your every move. Or so you thought. You were behind the bar when you saw her walk in. Tall. Glossy.

Designer jeans that clung perfectly to her long legs and a strappy black tank that dipped low in the back. Blonde hair curled, nails perfect, and a walk like she owned every pair of eyes in the room. You recognized her instantly, one of the women you’d seen Jake flirt with a few times before. Only this time… she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking for him. And then, like a movie in slow motion, Jake walked in. He hadn’t seen her yet.

He was laughing with Bradley, dragging a hand through his hair, unaware of the way her eyes locked on him like a target. She moved toward him with purpose, lips already curling into a smile, like she knew he’d be hers the second he looked up. Your chest constricted so sharply it almost knocked the air out of your lungs. You turned away fast, heart hammering like you’d been punched. God. You were such an idiot. What were you expecting? That he’d pine over you?

That he’d choose you over someone like that? You braced your hands on the edge of the bar, the stainless steel biting into your palms. Don’t cry. Don’t cry here. Not in front of him. You grabbed two beers off the counter, trying to ground yourself in the moment. If she was what he wanted… fine. You weren’t going to compete for someone who’d already made their choice. But you could prove that he didn’t affect you anymore. At least, not on the surface.

So when you saw Bradley standing alone near the dartboard, you moved toward him without thinking, hips swaying just a touch more than usual, the corner of your mouth lifting in a practiced smirk. “Hey, Bradshaw,” You breathed as you passed him a beer, your fingers brushing his arm as you leaned close. “You winning?” He blinked, caught off guard by the softness in your tone, then chuckled low in his throat, catching on quickly. “I am now.” You laughed, light and teasing, and let your hand linger just long enough to be seen.

It wasn’t real. Not really. But it didn’t have to be. Not when Jake was watching. Because he was watching. Across the room, Jake's head snapped around the second he heard your voice. He’d been leaning against the bar, cornered by a girl with glossy lips and a laugh that grated on his nerves. She was touching his chest, twirling her straw between her fingers like a goddamn prop, but he hadn’t registered a single word she’d been saying.

Not since he walked in and saw you glowing in that golden Hard Deck light, laughing with everyone but him. But now? Now you were touching Rooster? His jaw clenched. There it was, that look. That flicker of heat buried deep in his eyes, something possessive and raw curling beneath his cool exterior. He was trying to keep it contained. Failing. You’d been giving him nothing but distance all week. Cold shoulders. Professional smiles.

And now you were here, cozying up to Bradley fucking Bradshaw, touching his arm like it meant something. Jake barely acknowledged the girl in front of him. Didn’t even glance her way when she laughed again, too loud, too fake. He stepped away like she wasn’t even there, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he moved. Fast. Direct. Heat rolling off him like the pavement in July. You tried to stay cool. Calm. Unbothered. But the second you felt him behind you, everything inside you began to splinter.

His shadow fell over you before his voice did, low and rough, like he was holding back something sharp. “Can we please talk?” No drawl. No swagger. Just those four words, spoken low enough for only you to hear. You turned slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his. And what you saw there made your throat go dry. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together like he couldn’t trust what might come out next. His breathing was shallow.

His chest rose and fell like he’d just finished a sprint. And his eyes, God, those eyes, were burning. Not with arrogance. Not even with anger. But with desperation. Desperation and hurt. Something cracked in your resolve. You'd spent days convincing yourself you didn’t care. That you were over it. Over him. That whatever you thought was between you had been imagined, one-sided. Stupid. But the way he was looking at you now? There was nothing one-sided about it. You hesitated. Your mouth didn’t move. But your heart answered for you.

You nodded.

And Jake exhaled like it was the first real breath he’d taken in days. Wordlessly, he led you outside to the back patio where the air was cooler, salt-stung and quieter than the inside. The string lights overhead glowed gold against the dark, and the music became just a dull vibration through the wood beneath your feet. Jake stopped near the railing, raking a hand through his hair like he didn’t know whether to speak or scream. His chest rose, then fell, like the effort to stay composed was costing him something.

“What the hell’s going on with you?” His voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even demanding. It was tired, frayed around the edges. You folded your arms across your chest, forcing your spine straight, your eyes sharp. “Nothing.” Jake scoffed. Harsh. Humorless. “Bullshit.” He stepped forward. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. You won't even look at me anymore.” You turned your face away, blinking too fast. The ache in your throat burned. “Maybe I’ve just been busy.” He exhaled through his nose, slower this time. “Did I do something?”

You wanted to scream. To shove the words into his chest and make him feel what you’d been carrying since that night. But fear twisted around your tongue like barbed wire. So you said nothing. Jake took a step closer. Slower now. Careful. Like you were something on the edge of shattering. And you hated it, hated how much you wanted him to reach out. To touch you. To say something that made it all make sense. “I—I heard what you said,” You whispered, voice thin and raw. His brow furrowed.

“That night. After training.” You swallowed hard. “You were talking to the squad. You said you weren’t interested. That I wasn’t your type.” A bitter laugh escaped your throat, hollow and trembling. “God, it’s my fault, really. I was stupid enough to believe that Jake Hangman Seresin, serial flirt, legendary pain in the ass, would ever want someone like me… when he could have Malibu Barbie throwing herself at him.” The words spilled out before you could catch them. Sharp. Bare. Bleeding.

Jake flinched. Confusion flashed first, wide-eyed, disoriented, then understanding slammed into him like a punch to the gut. “No,” He breathed, face paling, panic crashing behind his eyes. “You thought I was talking about you?” Your silence was answer enough. He stumbled back half a step, hands dragging down his face. Like he needed to wipe the guilt from his skin just to breathe. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His voice cracked. Rough. Gutted. “I wasn’t talking about you. God, no. I didn’t even know you were there.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You looked away, arms tightening around yourself like armor. “It does matter,” He snapped, voice raw. “You think I could ever, ever, talk about you like that?” His voice faltered, and he ran a shaking hand through his hair again, pacing once before turning back. “You think I’d look at you and say your voice is annoying? That I’m not interested? Are you serious?” You finally met his gaze, and what he saw nearly dropped him to his knees.

You weren’t angry. You were hurt. Really hurt. “I don’t think you meant to,” You whispered. “But you don't see me. You never do.” Jake looked like he’d been hit. The silence stretched, tangled between you, trembling and thick. Then he stepped closer. One step. Then another. His voice came softer now. Hoarse. Frightened. “I see you.” You shook your head. “I see you,” He repeated, louder this time, like if he said it enough it would finally reach you. “More than anyone ever has. And it scares the hell out of me.”

Your lips parted. A sound escaped, half-breath, half-sob, and the first tear slipped free before you could stop it. You turned your face away, but his hand lifted, gently brushing the drop from your cheek like it hurt him to see it. He hesitated, fingers twitching near yours, unsure if he was allowed. Then, with a breathless whisper, “Darlin’… I don’t want Malibu Barbie in there,” You blinked brows drawing in confusion. His hand hovered near yours, trembling.

“I want you. The girl who makes Bob blush. The one who doesn’t back down when I flirt, who gives it right back. Who knows when I’m lying through my teeth even when I don’t.” He reached again, this time slower, curling his hand around yours like it was sacred. Like letting go would ruin him. To his surprise, you let him. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. His fingers threaded through yours like they belonged there, like they’d always belonged there. And God help you… they did.

You were silent for a long time. Then, finally, so quiet it almost wasn’t real, you spoke pushing past the lump in your throat. “I thought I wasn’t enough.” Jake’s heart cracked clean in two. “You’re everything,” He whispered. “Everything, Y/N." Jake’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand like he couldn’t stop touching you now that you’d let him. His gaze was locked on yours, open in a way you’d never seen before, no walls, no smirk, no cocky bravado. Just Jake. Real. Unfiltered. Bleeding.

“I’ve been gone for you since the day you rolled your eyes at me instead of blushing.” You blinked, caught off guard. He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so wrecked. “I flirted. God, I poured it on. You remember? That night I tried to buy you a drink and you told me to grow up and learn how to pour my own?” A reluctant smile tugged at your mouth. “You called me a heartbreaker.” You whispered recalling the moment as if it were yesterday. “Because you were,” He whispered, voice cracking just slightly.

“You are.” You swallowed, hard, but he didn’t stop. “I kept telling myself I just liked the chase. That I could move on. That you were just another pretty face behind the bar, except—” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “You’re not.” Your brows knit, but you didn’t look away. “I told you about my dad.” Jake’s voice dropped, softer now. “I didn’t even realize I’d done it until after. I’ve never talked about him. Not to anyone. Not like that.” The memory came back instantly. That night after last call, lights dimmed, your elbows resting on the bar between you.

He’d looked so tired, so open. You’d asked one small question, something about his hometown, and suddenly he was talking about Texas and silence and a man who never really told his son he was proud. Jake stared at you now, breathing hard like he was barely holding himself together. “You didn’t say anything when I told you. You just… listened.” He looked down, eyes catching on your joined hands. “You let me be someone I don’t let anyone see.” He swallowed. “I noticed everything about you, Y/N.” Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I know you hate wearing your hair down when you’re working because it sticks to your lip gloss and drives you crazy. I know you pretend to be annoyed when Bob leaves peanut shells on the bar, but you never actually throw them away until after he leaves, because you don’t want to make him feel bad.” Your eyes stung. His voice was reverent now, like he was listing truths he’d memorized like scripture. “I know you tie your apron the same way every night, double knot on the left, even though you’re right-handed,"

"You hum when you count cash. You clench your jaw when you’re about to cry and you never cry in front of people, and—” He exhaled, blinking fast. “I know how it felt. That night you sat beside me after training, shoulder to shoulder, not talking much.” He was close now. Closer than before. “I replay that night more than I want to admit,” Jake murmured. “The way your knee brushed mine and you didn’t move it. The way you leaned into me without even realizing it. I wanted to grab your hand so bad, but I was scared it’d ruin it. Scared you’d pull away.”

You hadn’t realized your breath had hitched until he reached up, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m not scared now.” You were blinking back tears. “I was falling for you then,” He breathed, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “And I’ve just kept falling. Every damn day. Even when you stopped talking to me. Even when it felt like you were slipping through my fingers and I didn’t know why.” His voice dropped to something trembling and soft. “You’re it for me, Y/N."

"The real thing. No games. No stupid lines. Just you.” You opened your mouth and closed it. Shaking your head, just slightly. “But I’m not your type.” You whispered, voice thick with emotion. Jake smiled, and it wrecked you. “Darlin’,” He coaxed, stepping even closer, pressing your joined hands gently against his chest. “You are every type I didn’t know I needed. You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted to stay for.” Your heart was a drumbeat in your throat. Jake leaned in, breath warm and uneven between you.

“I want late nights on this patio with you. I want to sit on your kitchen counter while you complain about your day and steal your snacks. I want you in my bed. In my arms. In my life. All of it. You.” The tears spilled freely now. “I don’t want Malibu Barbie, or any of those girls who laugh at jokes I didn’t even tell. I want the girl who saw straight through me before I even knew who I was.” Your fingers clutched his shirt now, knuckles white. Jake leaned his forehead gently against yours, voice barely a whisper now.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The words hung there, raw, open, real. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest lifted. Because he meant it. And he’d never looked more terrified… or more certain. Your breath caught. There it was, laid bare between you. His heart, stripped and beating in your hands. Jake Seresin, the man everyone thought was untouchable, cocky, invincible was standing here, terrified. Loving you with everything he had. For the first time in weeks, the fear that had been curling like smoke in your chest started to ease.

But it didn’t vanish. Because you were still scared. Not of him. Of you. Of how badly you wanted this. How deeply you felt it. How vulnerable it made you to need someone this much. You lifted your head slowly, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, your breaths mingling in the salt-tinged air. “I love you too Jake.” You whispered, and it cracked something open inside both of you. His eyes squeezed shut as he let out a slow, unsteady breath, like he’d been drowning, and those words were the air he’d needed for weeks.

“But I’m scared,” You admitted, your voice trembling, fingers still clutching his shirt. “Scared that this is just a moment. That you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not what you want. That I’ll never be enough.” Jake opened his eyes, and the look on his face made your chest cave in. There was no hesitation. No uncertainty. Just devotion. He cupped your face like you were something fragile but precious, like he was honored just to hold you. “Y/N…” He breathed, stepping even closer, until your body was flush against his.

“I’m gonna spend every damn second we have proving just how wrong that voice in your head is. Every second.” You blinked fast, your heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to reach him. “I’ll show you,” He whispered, thumb sweeping along your cheek. “Not just once. Not just tonight. Every day. I’ll show you in the mornings, when you’re grumpy and still half-asleep and stealing the covers. I’ll show you when you’re mad at me, and I’ll deserve it, but I’ll still be there, because I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, just barely.

Like he didn’t want to overwhelm you, only remind you he was there. “I’ll show you when things get hard. When I have a bad day, and you have worse, and we’re tired and angry and still choosing each other anyway. That’s love, darlin’. And I’ve got it bad for you.” Your breath hitched, and your hands came up to grip his forearms. “I’ll prove it in every single look, every word, every time I hold your hand or brush your hair behind your ear or make you laugh after a long shift,” He murmured.

“I’ll remind you that you’re it for me. You’ve always been it.” The tears returned, but this time they came softer. You looked at him through the blur, voice nearly lost. “What if I fall even harder?” Jake smiled, gently resting his forehead against yours again. “Then I’ll be there to catch you. Every damn time.” You didn’t mean to lean in first. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, wild with devotion, soft with fear. Maybe it was the way he said you’re everything like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Maybe it was just that you couldn’t take it anymore, the aching distance, the space you’d both been tiptoeing around for too long. But suddenly your lips were on his. It was slow, searching. Like you were both discovering what it meant to be held this close by someone who knew you, who had seen you, in the mess, in the fear, in the fire, and chose you anyway. Jake let out a broken breath against your mouth.

Like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he wanted to admit, and kissed you like it might kill him not to. It started slow, trembling. His hands cradled your face with aching reverence, thumbs trembling slightly against your cheekbones. But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted on a gasp, everything between you snapped, weeks of tension combusting all at once. He kissed you harder. Hungrier.

One hand slid into your hair, curling into your ponytail, while the other held your waist like he needed you closer. Like he couldn’t bear another second of space between you. His mouth moved against yours with heat and purpose, lips molding, tongue brushing yours, breath hitching as your bodies pressed together like magnets pulled tight. You whimpered softly against his mouth when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, the sound swallowed by him as if he’d been starving for it.

He tasted like mint and beer and Jake, home, somehow, even in the chaos of it. Your teeth grazed, breath catching. Then your tongues slid together again and it was messy and warm and real. His hand fisted gently in your hair. You pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, dizzy from how easily your body molded to his, how his chest rose and fell in stuttering exhales, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. He kissed you like it was a promise.

And you kissed him like it was the first breath after drowning. Jake finally broke the kiss, gasping softly, but only just enough to press his forehead back to yours, breath mingling, both of you shaking. “Believe me now?” Jake grinned, the edges of his mouth still curved from that kiss, the one you were still trying to catch your breath from. He leaned in, nudging your nose with his playfully. Your lips twitched into a smile, still dazed. “It’s hard not to after a kiss like that.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound warm and rich, before dipping his head to press one last, lingering kiss to your lips, this one slower, softer, like a promise more than punctuation. “Come on,” He murmured against your mouth, hand already sliding into yours. “I want to show off my girl.” Your heart fluttered hard in your chest, giddy and unsteady. His girl. You could definitely get used to that. The two of you walked back toward the patio doors hand-in-hand, the cool ocean breeze still trailing behind you.

Jake was practically glowing, his grin wide, his shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. You could feel his thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles as you walked, grounding you in the surrealness of the moment. As you stepped into the warm buzz of the Hard Deck, the shift in the room was instant. Bradley let out a long, low whistle, raising his beer. “Well, finally.” You flushed instantly, heat crawling up your neck as Natasha gave you a knowing grin from across the table.

Jake didn’t even hesitate. Still beaming, he strolled right up to the squad’s table, pulled out an empty chair, and dropped into it without letting go of your hand. Before you could react, he tugged you gently down into his lap. You gasped, startled by the sudden PDA, hands bracing against his chest as he held you there, one arm wrapped around your waist like a vice, the other resting lazily on your thigh. His body was warm beneath you, solid and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to hide.

Now that he had you, really had you, Jake Seresin clearly had absolutely no intention of letting go. The squad erupted in cheers and teasing jeers, beers clinking, boots scuffing against the wooden floor. But then something caught your eye. You watched, wide-eyed, as Mickey, Reuben, and Javy each reached into their wallets and started sliding bills across the table, straight into the waiting hands of Natasha and Bradley. “Hold on,” Jake barked, brows shooting up. “You assholes had a bet going?”

“Please. We’ve been placing bets since the second she didn’t slap you the first night.” Natasha leaned back smugly, counting her winnings with all the grace of a champion poker player. “I thought I heard someone say ‘by Valentine’s Day or bust.’” You muttered, staring at Bradley as he fanned out a crisp stack of twenties. Jake turned, brows raised in mock betrayal. “Bob.” You looked toward the quietest member of the group, who was sheepishly sliding a twenty toward Natasha, cheeks flaming.

“Not you too!” You gasped dramatically. “I-It was obvious.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were all just waiting for the two of you to stop being blind and realize you were already in love.” Mickey stayed matter-of-factly. Jake groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic flair. “Unbelievable.” But then he turned, eyes softening as he looked at you. “Well you’re right about one thing Fanboy, damn straight I love her.” He declared, suddenly and loudly.

His words were loud enough to carry over the music, his drawl curling around the words like honey. The table lost it, laughter exploding around you, but all you could do was stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart thundering in your chest as he tugged you tighter into him, pressing his lips to your temple, warm and unashamed. And just over Jake’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the blonde from earlier, the one who’d been leaning against him when your heart had first started to break.

Her mouth twisted, her eyes narrowed. She scoffed, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the bar without so much as a backward glance. Only, Jake didn’t even see her leave. Because his focus was entirely on you. Not some bottle blonde who he didn’t know the name of. As you leaned back into his chest, the smell of salt and citrus and something utterly Jake wrapped around you like a memory, you realized you weren’t afraid anymore. Not of falling. Not of love. Not with him holding you like this, like he’d waited a lifetime to.

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[all-my-love-for-harry]

Unleashed Desire

pairing; professor!jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; Professor Jake Seresin never expected to fixate on a student—until you. Quiet, brilliant, and untouched. The more he watches, the more possessive he becomes. You're his now. Whether you know it or not.

word count; 13.4k

warnings; AGE GAP (reader is twenty, jake is in his thirties), SMUT, daddy kink, corruption kink, innocence kink, dom!jake, dacryphilia, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, READER IS A VIRGIN, obsessive thoughts, dumbification, spitting, cockwarming (kinda), spanking, size kink, this is lowkey dark, people are responsible for their own media consumption.

a/n; this is filthy and i apologize for horny dump on y'all. sorry if this sucks i'm still getting familiar with writing this kind of smut, so if you notice i over-described some things that was me being confused and word vomiting all over my word document. there were too many ideas i tried to fit them all, but will definitely do blurbs for these two

masterlist

Jake Seresin walked into the lecture hall like he owned it — because, in a way, he did.

Ten years in the department, full tenure, two books under his belt, and an entire building’s worth of undergrads who hung on every word that came out of his mouth. He knew what he looked like — tall, sharp, confident. He knew what the students whispered. Hot. Smart. Dangerous in a button-up.

And yeah, he liked it.

Most of them didn’t care about postwar American History, not really. But they filled the seats anyway, hoping for an easy grade or a reason to stare at his forearms when he rolled his sleeves past the elbows.

He smirked to himself as he adjusted the papers in his hand. Another semester, another group of over-eager girls and under-prepared essays.

He stepped into the lecture hall, already mid-sentence in his head, and—

Stopped.

Dead.

You were sitting in the front row.

Directly in front of him.

Plaid skirt. White button-up blouse. A ribbon tied neatly in your hair like you didn’t even realize what that did to a man with a functioning pulse. Your legs were crossed, your posture perfect, your desk already arranged — notebook laid flat, post-its stacked by color, pens uncapped and ready.

And your head was bowed.

Not in some coy, flirtatious way. You weren’t looking up at him through lashes or biting your lip to be seen.

You were just… focused. Calm. Present.

Everyone else in the room had turned to look at him the moment he walked in — eyes on his shoulders, his hands, his jaw.

But not you.

You didn’t even glance his way.

You were already writing the date in the top corner of your notes in tiny, perfect print.

And that?

That got him.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to keep walking, setting his materials down on the desk with a quiet thud. The usual whispers rippled through the room. He didn’t care. Not anymore. He only cared about the girl in the front row who hadn’t looked up once.

He started the lecture on instinct alone, the words rolling out smoothly, years of experience keeping his tone measured and confident. But his eyes kept flicking back to you — the curve of your jaw, the bow in your hair, the soft flutter of your lashes as you scribbled something in the margins of your notes.

You weren’t like the others.

You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t trying to flirt.

You were just… good. Sweet. Serious.

You didn’t even know how fucking adorable you looked, sitting there all buttoned-up and composed, legs crossed and lips slightly parted as you listened — not to him, but to the lecture.

And maybe that was what did it.

The restraint. The genuine interest.

Because by the time class ended, Jake couldn’t remember a single other face in the room.

Only yours.

And something deep in his chest — something he hadn’t felt in a long time — curled in quiet anticipation.

He needed to know your name.

And if he wasn’t careful, he’d need a hell of a lot more than that.

You were in the same seat.

Second row, third desk from the left.

Just like the day before.

Jake had tried to shake the way you lingered in his mind — tried to forget the way your skirt had tugged just slightly over your thighs when you crossed your legs, how your head had tilted as you wrote, like you were pulling something from memory — but it was pointless.

Because there you were again.

Same posture. Same calm energy. Same goddamn ribbon in your hair.

Today’s outfit was a pale pink blouse, collar neatly buttoned, a plaid skirt in navy and cream. Knee socks. Perfect posture. The kind of softness that didn’t feel designed to tempt, and somehow tempted even more because of it.

You still didn’t look at him when he walked in.

You were too busy underlining your notes with a pastel blue pen.

And that made something in him tighten.

You didn’t crave his attention like the others. You didn’t light up when he passed. You didn’t flash a smile or a low-cut neckline or flutter your lashes like a dozen other students had already done before class even began.

You didn’t care.

Or maybe you were just trying very, very hard not to show it.

Either way — it made him want you.

The lecture began the same way it always did — syllabus points, early framework, a few jokes to keep the room alive.

But then he asked a question.

A tough one.

A silence followed. Then, as expected, a dozen hands flew up around the room — loud, eager, obvious.

But his eyes went straight to you.

“You,” he said smoothly, pointing without hesitation. “Third seat, first row. Go ahead.”

Your head snapped up, wide-eyed. The pen slipped from your fingers.

He watched you blink, inhale sharply, lips parting as you searched your mind for the answer. He could see the nerves flash across your face, that same little crease forming between your brows as you swallowed.

“I—um. The, uh… the cause of the shift in policy was—was rooted in post-WWII diplomatic tension,” you stammered, voice soft. “Specifically the… growing divide between the U.S. and the Soviet Union in the early years of the Cold War.”

A pause.

Then: “Yes,” he said, lips curling into something dangerously close to a smile. “Exactly.”

Your cheeks flushed pink. You looked down immediately, biting your lip, and picked your pen back up like you’d said something wrong.

Jake exhaled slowly through his nose.

Fuck.

You looked so pretty when you were flustered. When you stumbled just slightly over your words. When you turned red from something he did.

He wanted to see that look again. Not here. Not like this.

Closer. Louder. Wetter.

His jaw flexed.

He shouldn't be thinking about you like this. You were a student. Twenty, maybe. Barely even an adult. And he was a professor — your professor — with no business imagining what you might look like on your knees, still wearing that fucking bow.

But you made it so hard not to.

That quiet intelligence. That unintentional sweetness. The way you never looked at him for too long, like you didn’t trust yourself to.

You were perfect in the kind of way that made men like him ruin things.

And he already knew he would.

Because after just two classes, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not during his office hours. Not during faculty meetings. Not even at night, lying in bed with his hands gripping his cock, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like to own that innocence.

And God help him — he already knew this wasn’t going to be enough.

Just watching you from across the room?

It was never going to be enough.

You were walking out of class when he saw it happen.

Some kid — backwards hat, lazy grin, the kind who barely passed the midterms and only showed up when attendance counted — let his eyes drag down the length of your legs as you passed. No shame. No subtlety.

Jake watched from behind the podium, pretending to shuffle papers, while something cold and sharp curled in his chest.

The kid wasn’t alone.

There were two more — one leaning against the doorframe, another pretending to scroll through his phone — all of them stealing glances like you were something they could take.

Their eyes lingered on your skirt, that pretty little plaid thing you always wore. On your thighs. On the bounce of your step. And Jake knew — he knew — what they were thinking.

Because he’d thought it first.

He’d seen that skirt and wondered how far it would ride up if you sat on his desk. He’d looked at the ribbon in your hair and imagined tugging it loose just to watch it fall. He’d watched the way you blushed when he called on you and wondered what you'd sound like if he kept you flustered on purpose.

But they didn’t get to think about you like that. Not them.

You weren’t some girl at a party or a name on a group chat. You weren’t a story they could brag about over beer and noise and cheap cologne.

You were soft-spoken. Smart. Thoughtful.

You were kind.

And you were his student.

Jake’s grip on the folder in his hand tightened.

Those boys — those kids — didn’t even see you. Not really. They saw a pair of legs and a short skirt and a pretty mouth they wanted wrapped around their dicks.

They didn’t know about the way you highlighted your notes in color-coded tabs. The way your eyes lit up when you made a historical connection no one else caught. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, or how your breath hitched ever so slightly when he spoke too directly to you in class.

No. They didn’t deserve to look at you. Not like that.

He did.

He watched you stop by the door, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes flicking up for a second — not at him, never directly — before you slipped into the hallway and disappeared from view.

Jake exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t want this.

But that ribbon in your hair? The way your skirt swayed when you walked?

He was already imagining how easy it would be to press his palm flat against your lower back and guide you into his office. Lock the door behind you. Make you say his name in that same breathy voice you used when answering questions you already knew the answer to.

He knew it was wrong.

But it didn’t stop him from thinking it.

And it sure as hell wouldn’t stop him from watching the next time someone else looked at you like that.

Because next time, he might not be able to stop himself.

You were in the library when he saw you again.

Tucked away near the windows, hunched over a stack of books so tall it looked like they might topple over. Your ribbon today was white, soft satin, tied in a bow at the base of your ponytail. You had one foot tucked beneath you, a highlighter between your lips, fingers moving quickly as you copied something down into a lined notebook.

And you didn’t see him watching.

You never did.

Jake had only meant to pass through. Drop off a faculty packet, maybe grab a coffee on the way out. But then he caught a glimpse of that pale bow and that neat little skirt, and suddenly he wasn’t moving at all.

You were so good. So careful.

You read every assigned chapter before class. You came prepared, never late, never distracted. You didn’t party. You didn’t gossip. You didn’t flirt.

You were smart, painfully shy, and still untouched in all the ways that mattered.

And God help him — he wanted to ruin you.

And he didn’t mean in some metaphorical, hypothetical way. No, he meant it like something that would happen. And when it did, it would be rough. Controlled. Intentional.

The first time he touched you, it would be the kind of touch that would make you tremble. He’d talk you through it. He’d teach you. God, the things he'd teach you. He’d whisper in your ear and press kisses to your flushed cheeks and tell you how perfect you were while you came undone beneath him.

Jake didn’t do this. Didn’t fixate. Didn’t cross lines. But with you? Every inch of restraint felt thinner by the day.

And today, he didn’t walk past the table.

He stopped.

“Reading ahead?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, a touch amused.

You startled — just a little. The highlighter fell from your mouth and hit the notebook with a soft thump.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

And then you nodded quickly. “Y-yes. I mean—yes, Professor Seresin.”

You said his name like it meant something. Like it tasted like nerves and reverence and something you hadn’t named yet.

Jake gave you a smile. Not the one he used in lectures. A quieter one. Just for you.

“Didn’t peg you for a library regular,” he said, even though he already knew you came here. He’d seen you. Twice now. Same seat. Same coffee order from the student café. Same color-coded system of sticky notes.

You looked down at your notebook like it might save you. “I—I usually come when it’s quiet. Helps me focus.”

“Mm,” he hummed, gaze flicking to the page in front of you. “You always this thorough?”

You blushed.

Of course you did.

Jake leaned in just a bit, resting one hand on the back of the empty chair across from you. Not quite an invitation. Not quite professional, either.

“You’re one of the smartest students I’ve had in years,” he said, voice low.

You blinked up at him, stunned, your eyes shiny like you were a child who had just given the biggest lollipop.

He knew he shouldn’t be talking to you like this — not here, not like this — but watching the way your fingers curled nervously around your pen, the way you pressed your knees together under the table upon hearing his praise? It made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years.

Possessive.

Protective.

Predatory.

You weren’t like the others. You weren’t careless. You didn’t wear revealing clothes or beg for attention or ask him what kind of wine he liked just to test the waters.

You were soft. Nervous. You fidgeted with your sleeves when you spoke. You licked your lips when you were thinking. You didn’t even realize how many eyes followed you down the hallway — or that he was one of them.

He cleared his throat.

“If you ever want to come by my office hours,” he said carefully, “we could talk more. You’ve got an eye for detail — more than most.”

You nodded, almost too quickly. “O-okay. Thank you.”

Jake smiled again. “Anytime.”

Then he stepped back, just enough to leave you looking flustered and glowing and completely undone from a two-minute conversation.

And when he walked out of the library, it wasn’t coffee on his mind.

It was the bow in your hair.

And how long he’d last before he finally reached out and untied it.

-

It had been almost a month since that conversation in the library.

Four lectures, two assignments, and not a single visit to his office.

You hadn’t come by. Not once.

Jake told himself he didn’t care. That you were just shy. That you probably didn’t want to seem like you were trying to impress the professor. That he liked that about you — the restraint. The self-discipline.

But still. You’d said okay.

And ever since, he’d watched you walk past his office every Tuesday and Thursday after class without even looking in.

It gnawed at him.

You were in his head now — had been since day one — all sweetness and blushing cheeks and that damn ribbon you wore like it didn’t mean anything. And now you were avoiding him?

Jake didn’t like being ignored.

Especially not by you.

So when he saw you outside on campus — standing under the awning of the science building, laughing softly at something some guy was saying — something in him snapped.

The kid was tall. Blonde. Baseball cap and sneakers, some letterman-style arrogance in his stance.

And he was standing too close.

Jake watched from across the quad, invisible behind his sunglasses and department-issued windbreaker, the expression on his face unreadable. To everyone but himself, that is.

Because what he was feeling?

Jealousy.

Sharp. Hot. Irrational.

He watched your hands fidget with the hem of your sweater. You were smiling, polite, nervous. You weren’t flirting — not really — but you weren’t walking away either. And that was enough to make Jake’s teeth clench.

Because what the fuck did he have to say that kept you standing there?

Jake had asked you to come see him. Invited you.

And you hadn’t even glanced his way in a month.

But now this guy? This idiot in Nikes? He got your smile?

No.

No, he didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Later that evening, Jake sat at his desk, staring at your name on the attendance roster. The cursor blinked. His hand hovered over the keyboard for less than a second before he typed:

Miss [Last Name],

I’d like to speak with you regarding your most recent essay. Please stop by my office during my posted hours tomorrow.

– Professor Seresin

Short. Professional. Perfectly appropriate.

But his intention couldn’t have been clearer.

You wanted to pretend you didn’t know the pull he had on you? Fine.

But he wasn’t going to stand back and let some boy with a half-formed thought about post-war diplomacy steal your attention.

No.

You were better than that.

You were his.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.

-

He drank black coffee and stared at his computer screen for exactly forty minutes, unable to work, until your knock came.

You stood in the threshold, clutching your bag to your chest like a prayer. Sleeves of your baby pink cardigan pulled over your fists. Ribbon today was pale blue, tight at your temple.

For a second, Jake thought you might apologize for being early, but you only looked at him with those wide, serious eyes and said, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

He drank the moment in: the tremor in your voice, the nervous twitch of your left thumb along the bag strap, the way you hovered on the edge of his office like you were afraid to disturb the air.

He wanted to disturb you.

He gestured at the battered armchair across from his desk. “Come in, have a seat.”

You nodded and moved in, perching on the very edge of the chair. He watched your knees press together, skirt riding up just enough to show the bare curve above your knee, and something about the carefulness of the gesture — the fact that you didn’t even try to hide it — made him want to lean forward and rest a palm on the soft skin there, just to see how quickly you’d color.

He didn’t, of course.

Instead, he folded his hands on the desk, faking composure.

“I read your paper,” he said, voice low. “A few times, actually.”

Your jaw twitched. “Oh,” you said quietly. “Was it… bad?”

He fixed you with a look, letting the silence hang, letting you squirm beneath it. “No. It was excellent. Maybe too excellent.”

A little furrow appeared between your brows. “What does that mean?”

Jake smiled, slow and deliberate. “I mean, it was a little hard to believe you wrote it.”

A flash of hurt, quick and sharp, before you schooled it away. “I— I did write it."

“All by yourself.”

You blinked, lips parting. “I—” A flush crept up your neck, coloring your cheeks. “I did. Write it myself, I mean.” You looked down at the papers in your lap. “I just… I really liked the topic.”

He let his smile soften. “I know you did.” He hesitated, then pushed his chair back and stood, circling the desk. You straightened, hands tensing on your bag.

He perched on the edge of the desk beside you, close enough to catch the faint scent of your shampoo—something sweet and citrus, fresh and young. “Would you mind walking me through it?” he asked. “Your argument was good. I only want to hear it in your own words. Sometimes things get lost in translation, from mind to page.”

You nodded, silent, and fumbled for the copy of your essay in your bag. He watched as you smoothed the pages, careful not to crease them, your fingers trembling as you laid it in your lap. “Uh—should I just… talk through it?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Please,” Jake said, and he let his knee brush yours—just the faintest touch—then leaned back, giving you the illusion of space.

You glanced at the first page, unsure, and then you started: “I argued that the US containment policy was less about ideological opposition to communism and more about economic self-interest, especially after the Marshall Plan. I thought—well, I noticed you mentioned the importance of domestic industry in lecture, and—”

Jake watched you stumble through the explanation, your voice catching, your hands trembling as you clutched the paper. You were so fucking earnest, so desperate to be right, to be good, to impress him, and it made him want to ruin you in every way that counted.

You kept talking, oblivious to his attention, until you realized he hadn't noted it in the margins — the way your voice gathered confidence, the way you straightened as your thesis came into focus. By the end of your summary, you were almost steady, flushed but proud, the paper cradled to your chest like you were daring him to snatch it away.

He hadn't meant to smile, but he did. A real one, gentle at the edges, before he remembered himself and cleared his throat.

"You see it, then," he said. "The connections. Most students don't." He tucked a finger beneath the ribbon trailing by your cheek, almost brushing skin, and let it drop. You drew a sharp breath, the color high on your cheeks now, eyes darting to the window, the door, anywhere but at him.

He let the silence hang. It was a test. He wanted to know how long you'd last before you broke it — if you would. Most didn't. Most filled the air with nervous chatter or apologies. You just sat there.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached, slow and deliberate, and rested his hand on your knee.

You stopped breathing.

It was nothing, technically—an academic gesture, a comfort, the kind of thing professors did all the time. But there was something in the way his palm curved to your knee, warm and heavy, that made it feel like the most significant touch you’d ever felt.

He squeezed, gentle but certain.

Your heart tripped. You couldn’t look away.

"Hey," he said, voice softer now. "You’re not in trouble. You’re a smart girl. Maybe a little too smart for your own good."

"T—Thank you, sir."

Oh, that went straight to his cock. Jake thought he could cum from your voice alone. So innocent, sweet.

He couldn't help but let out a mix between a breath and a laugh. "You really have no idea, do you?"

You looked confused. Completely, utterly confused and that turned him on like he's never been turned on before.

"You sit in my classroom. Front row, wearing the shortest skirt you could've found and tying your hair all pretty in a different ribbon, every damn day." He rose from his chair with a fluid motion, circling you slowly, much like a predator sizing up its prey, eyes lingering with an intense focus. "Do you do it for me, sweetheart? Do you enjoy that I notice?" His voice was a low murmur, resonating with a mix of curiosity and something more primal.

A tingling energy coursed through you, setting every nerve on edge. Your skin erupted in a wave of goosebumps, a testament to the power of his words that seemed to resonate deep within, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

You attempted to speak, but the words seemed to tangle and lodge in your throat, stubbornly refusing to emerge. The intense, undeniable ache between your legs heightened your anxiety, and without conscious thought, you instinctively pressed your legs together, desperately seeking any form of friction to relieve the tension. He noticed, naturally. His face lit up with a wide, mischievous Cheshire Cat smile, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes.

"Do you want to be my good girl, sweetheart? Is that it?" The smirk on his lips widened, a playful yet commanding expression that seemed to dance in his eyes. "Do whatever I say?" His presence was magnetic, drawing you in with an irresistible allure that left your heart pounding in your chest.

You forced a small nod, the tiniest tilt of your head, a mere ghost of motion. But it wasn't enough for him. He craved the certainty of your words. "Say it, baby. Say you want it," he demanded softly, his voice a velvet command. His arms created an unyielding fortress around your chair, his presence enveloping you like an unwavering sentinel. Despite his dominating posture, there was an intensity in his eyes, a searing warmth that promised he would stop if that was what you truly wanted.

But you didn't want him to.

So you gathered all the courage you had in you. "I—I want i—it, Sir."

Jake yanks you up to the desk in one powerful motion, his strength both surprising and reassuring. He positions himself between your legs, forcing them apart with a commanding presence. Leaning over you, he creates a tension that makes you instinctively grip the blue fabric of his shirt, seeking solace.

His lips hover tantalizingly close before slamming into yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. He kisses you with the desperation of a man who has been deprived, as if this moment was something he has longed for, dreamt of, and maybe, just maybe, it truly was.

His hands shot up your skirt with a fierce urgency, forcing a gasp from your lips against his. A sly smirk flickered across his face, but he pressed on, undeterred, his touch becoming more daring. His fingers danced higher, swiftly locating the waistband of your panties and yanking them down with a ruthless determination. Without hesitation, he thrust a single finger inside your soaking core, his lips trailing a fiery path down your neck as you gasped and shuddered under the onslaught of these electrifying sensations.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight, bet no one has ever touched you down here before." He growled in your ear, drawing out a desperate whimper. "Don’t worry baby, I'll make sure my cock fits in this tight little hole."

Jake brutally forced in another finger, his movements rough and relentless, making your vision explode with stars. His free hand clamped around your throat, jerking your gaze to meet his intense stare. "I've been fucking patient, baby, I played your little teasing game. I let you sashay out of my classroom every fucking day as if you hadn't just given me the most excruciating hard-on of my life."

"I—I didn't mean—" You choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure and his brutal words.

"I know you didn't, and that fucking kills me. But I waited, baby, I fucking waited, and now I'm going to take what's mine."

He abruptly withdrew his hands from both your core and your throat, leaving a sudden void that made you whine softly, a sound filled with longing and need. Your hips instinctively pushed toward him, desperate to reclaim the connection you had lost, as if trying to chase the lingering warmth of his fingers. A low chuckle escaped his lips, rich with amusement at the needy, almost pitiful sounds that escaped yours. As he deftly undid the zipper of his pants, the metallic sound seemed to echo in the charged atmosphere, and he revealed his hardening erection with a confident ease.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to him, widening slightly as your lips parted, a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement washing over you in waves. He was impressively large, thick, and commanding, and you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. The sight was both intimidating and mesmerizing, and you were certain that even the tip alone would stretch you to the point of discomfort. Yet, despite the apprehension, there was an undeniable allure to him, and your mouth watered in response, captivated by the raw, primal energy he exuded.

The older man takes his shaft in hand, the thick, bulbous tip glistening with anticipation. He slaps against your sensitive cunt, sending a sudden, electrifying jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, making you flinch with each deliberate tap. Then, with a deliberate slowness that makes you ache, he traces the wide, smooth head down to your entrance, where it pauses, poised to claim. He begins to push in, his eyes locked on the sight of his thick shaft stretching you, millimeter by millimeter. The sight of your body yielding to his, the contrast of his thick, veined shaft against your delicate folds, is intoxicating. A low, primal groan escapes his lips, drawn out from some deep, ancient part of him.

There's a pain that ignites like a flame, a burning sensation that makes you gasp and bite down onto his shirt, muffling your cries. Jake watches you intently, his eyes searching your face as he continues to sink his length into you, inch by thick inch. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I know it’s big, baby." he coos, his lips curving into a soft smile. "But you can take it." His voice is a warm, gentle breeze against your skin, a stark contrast to the fierce, burning stretch of his body claiming yours.

Your postwar American History professor slams against you, his heavy balls slapping your ass. He growls your name and the pet names he’s claimed you with, demanding your gaze. “Let me see those fucking eyes, princess,” Jake commands. You tear your face away from his chest, eyes meeting his.

“I’m fucking buried in you, baby. All the way in your goddamn gut,” he snarls, beginning to fuck you with harsh, shallow thrusts. You cry out with each punishing drive, pain morphing into pleasure, a pleasure that consumes you. “That’s it…” he groans, eyes wild with lust and dominance.

"It hurts," you observe, your voice catching in your throat, punctuating the sentence with a sharp intake of breath as Jake's movements become increasingly vigorous. "P—please, sir," you add, your words barely a whisper amidst the growing intensity, each sensation rippling through you like a cascade of electricity.

He nods his head and smiles at you sweetly, “That’s right, baby. That’s what happens when your teacher stuffs his fat cock inside your virgin little cunt.” His words made your walls squeeze him even more, making him groan. "Fuck, you're swallowing me, greedy whore."

“I’m gonna start fucking you now, sweetheart, and you'll take whatever I give you,” he forewarns, and you nod your head.

“Yes, sir.” At your words, Jake begins to pummel in and out of your pussy. Obscene noises come from where you’re connected to him—wet sounds and skin slapping against skin.

Jake gazes down, eyes ablaze, as his thick shaft brutally vanishes and materializes, your tightness struggling to accommodate his massive invasion. His heavy balls swing and slap against your ass, glistening with your wetness. “Drenched fucking everywhere,” he growls, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. “You're fucking loving this—I knew you would.”

His cock batters your cervix with each thrust, sending waves of pain crashing through you. But when he grinds against your sweet spot, the agony morphs into ecstasy almost instantly. “Fuck, look at your juices coating my cock,” Jake snarls, slamming forward with renewed ferocity. “You're fucking gushing, dripping down to my balls—shit!”

Jake leans down to kiss you. At first, it’s soft. But then, like the way he's taking away your innocence, it grows rough and desperate. He's in complete control, shoving his tongue into your mouth and doing all kinds of things you can’t keep up with, yet still try to.

Jake impales you, plunging into your fuckhole without mercy, his shaft brutalizing your soaked cunt. His length ravages your sensitive walls, fucking you with a savage skill. He's finally abusing your pussy with the ferocity he's been craving since he the first time he saw you.

"S-sir! It's... it's too much— I—I can't— I can't control—” You’re overwhelmed, body convulsing, senses spiraling. Jake revels in your chaos, finding your confusion fucking exquisite.

“That’s a orgasm, princess. Now, sit still and fucking beg for my cock,” he growls, and you nod, desperate.

“Drench my thick fucking cock, baby. Come on, make a goddamn mess on this dick,” he orders, punctuating his words with hard slaps on your chest and the side of your left thigh. Your cunt spasms around him, clit pulsing like a live wire, back arching sharply as you explode around his cock for the first time. “Atta girl.”

He roars as your eyes roll back, lids clamping shut like a vice while your face contorts in a grimace of raw ecstasy. Your mouth gapes open, shocked by the inferno that consumes you. Your pussy clamps down on Jake’s cock like a vise, squeezing him mercilessly, demanding more.

Jake pounds into you through your climax, barely slowing as your body convulses with wave after wave of pleasure. Your walls clench and release, milking him until he forces you through the crest, and then he resumes his relentless, brutal pace.

Your breasts heave wildly with each brutal thrust of Jake’s hips, your body jerked upwards like a ragdoll before he yanks you back onto his pulsating shaft. “Ah—ah—ah!” you cry out, mindlessly drooling with each primal grunt, eyes rolling back as coherent thought abandons you.

“Silly little girl—prancing around in miniskirts, acting like a little slut when you haven’t even known real sex,” Jake growls, gripping your jaw tightly, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. He hocks a thick wad of saliva into your mouth, commanding you to swallow it like the good little whore you were.

You obey him instantly, a twisted smile on your lips before your face contorts from the brutal sensations his cock inflicts. "Greedy little slut—your hungry pussy is devouring my thick cock," he growls, ramming his thickness mercilessly in and out of you.

"It's so deep, Sir! C– Can feel it in my belly," you cry out, and your words make Jake's cock pulsate violently within your clenching, drenched walls. Your juices gush over his cock, leaving a thick, glistening coat around his shaft and balls.

“Uh-huh—you’re just so tight, baby. I had to force it in—but now you’re takin’ it like pro.” He grunted. "My little fucktoy… This pussy is mine now—all mine, just like the rest of you," he roars, and your second orgasm crashes over you without warning, leaving you shattered and gasping.

You thrash desperately, trying to escape Jake's grasp, but it's futile. Your swollen nipples rasp against his shirt, the friction sending jolts of unwanted pleasure coursing through you. Jake's thick shaft impales you, your tightness making his movements rough and punishing. "That's it, take it," he growls, his voice a low, feral rumble. "Choke on this cock. My little whore." His mouth attacks your jaw, biting and sucking, marking you with primal intensity.

"I'm going to make you mine," he growls, eyes glinting with dark desire. "You're the perfect fit for me, crafted for my every whim. Gonna turn you into my little whore.”

Your walls clamp down on Jake's shaft, throbbing and desperate. You're drowning him in your heat, your body screaming for his release. "Daddy..." you cry out, a shivering, sweating mess, convulsing with an ecstasy so raw it's agony. Jake's jaw tightens at the sound of that word, his eyes wild, fighting back the cataclysmic explosion threatening to detonate within him but it feels like trying to stop a stampede of 1000 horses with a single thread.

"I'm your Daddy, and don't you forget it," he growls, thrusting with a ferocity that makes you gasp. Each movement is a relentless assault, as if his sole mission is to claim you completely. His focus is unwavering as he drives into you with raw determination, intent on filling you to the brim with his release before flipping you over for more. He relishes the challenge of forcing his girth inside you, feeling the tension and resistance. "You're driving me wild, baby. I'm gonna reward you for taking me so well."

At his statement, you jolt with a surge of excitement, your senses suddenly sharp despite the haze enveloping your mind. "R– Really, Daddy?" you manage to utter, your voice trembling with the thrill of anticipation at the promise of a reward.

"Promise, sweetheart. You're such a good girl for Daddy—"

"Going to fill you up, baby," the older man growls with a raw, primal intensity, his voice a rough edge of desire. "I'll stuff you so full of my cum that you'll be dripping with my seed for days," he declares, his words punctuated by a fervent string of curses, each one a testament to his overpowering need.

The sudden cessation of his hips' rhythm is jarring, an interruption as abrupt as a lightning strike. With a surge of animalistic urgency, he drives himself forward, embedding to the core with a fierce determination. The unexpected force draws a frown from you, a sharp hiss escaping your clenched teeth as the unexpected jolt of discomfort courses through you. But then, a searing warmth bursts within, his release thundering through your inner walls, saturating them with a molten, pearlescent fervor.

"There we go—now you're truly mine, princess," he growls, his voice resonating with the deep rumble of distant thunder. His smile is a languid curve, sated and triumphant, his cheeks flushed with the fiery afterglow of his climax. "And I know you love being Daddy's." His eyes, heavy-lidded and shadowed, lock onto yours with a possessive, almost primal, tenderness.

The air was heavy with the musky scent of sex, mixed with the lingering smell of your professor's cologne. It was a heady and intoxicating smell, one that enveloped you and filled your senses. Your mouth is dry, throat constricted as you try to swallow. The taste of him still lingers on your tongue, a mix of salt and musk.

For a fleeting moment, you remained motionless, struggling to catch your breath while your mind grappled with the reality of the situation. The warm sensation of your professor's release trickled from you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you had just shared, while his member remained embedded deep within you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your gaze darting around the room, deliberately avoiding his eyes. An awareness settled over you, knowing that his intense gaze was fixed on you, observing your every subtle move, every minute reaction. This scrutiny set your skin ablaze, a fiery sensation that coursed through your body, leaving you flushed and breathless.

"I'm still buried deep inside of your pussy and you can't even look at me? Thought we were past the shyness." Jake's hands grabbed hold of your neck, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes were black as a moonless night, just as they'd been when he'd first claimed your mouth. You could feel his cock, still hard as steel, impaling you, pulsing with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

He withdrew slowly, not out of gentleness, but to revel in the sight of his cock glistening with their mingled essence. A primal growl tore from his chest as he watched his seed spill from you, dripping down your thighs and onto his desk in a filthy, sacred mess.

A dark urge compelled him to his knees, hungry to taste you. In his mind, he had earned this right to your flesh. He had been patient, and now it was time to claim his reward. Though he had already taken your virginity, it wasn't enough. He wanted to devastate you, to leave you feeling his mouth, his fingers, his cock for weeks to come. He wanted to imprint himself on you, a brutal, carnal memory that would haunt your every waking moment.

Jake crashed to his knees, forcing your thighs apart with a feral hunger. He buried his face in your heat, growling at the sweet, intoxicating taste of you. Of course, you tasted like fucking honey—ambrosia from the gods themselves. He'd fantasized about this a thousand times, and your taste was always the same. Sweet. Maddening. Pure.

You fought to push him away, desperate to close your legs and hide the wrecked, ravaged mess that was still soaking wet. But Jake was relentless. His massive shoulders wedged your thighs open, and his arms locked around your waist like a vice. You weren't going anywhere.

"St—stop... too much, p—please," you begged, voice trembling, but your pleas crumbled into a moan as that electrifying sensation surged through your belly once more. The wet, obscene sounds he produced while devouring your pussy were utterly maddening, and your body quaked with the overwhelming intensity of overstimulation.

He ripped himself away, eyes locking onto yours like a predator's. "Don't you dare move, baby," he growled. "Daddy's not done with you yet." His words sent a brutal surge through your pussy, clenching around the emptiness. He saw it, lips curling into a feral smirk. Then he plunged back in, straight for your clit, sucking until your legs convulsed.

You shattered again, and Jake devoured every last drop, his tongue relentless. He was ravenous, a beast feasting on your pleasure, ready to spend eternity between your thighs. And you'd let him, just like you were now, offering yourself up for his use, his possession. He wouldn't stop until you were molded into his masterpiece.

He finally ceased his relentless assault with his mouth and pulled away, delivering a final, teasing slap to your pussy just to watch you squirm once more. His eyes locked with yours as he began to button your cardigan with deliberate precision, the silence between you charged and electric.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice laced with a dark edge. "Do you often allow random men to have their way with you like I just did?" He tucked himself back into his dress pants with a nonchalant air. As he bent to retrieve your panties from the floor, he casually stuffed them into his pocket, while your eyes tracked his every deliberate movement, filled with a mix of wide-eyed curiosity and incredulous wonder.

Your cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson, and warmth spread across your entire face at his words. "I—I've never... you know. I—I mean, n—no one has—" you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

He silenced you with a gentle, fleeting kiss, his lips barely brushing yours before pulling away. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. I just wanted to see you all flustered," he murmured with a playful glint in his eyes.

A soft, melodic giggle escaped your lips as you glanced down, feeling a mix of embarrassment and delight. Gathering the courage, you lifted your gaze to meet his captivating green eyes once more. "Was... Was I good, Sir?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with anticipation and a hint of vulnerability.

Your eyes sparkled with a tantalizing blend of innocence and a desperate craving for any morsel of his approval. It ignited a fire within him, making his desire stir once more with an insatiable hunger.

"You were absolutely perfect, baby. Such a good girl, taking everything I gave you like a champ." Jake's hands cradled your face with an unexpected tenderness, his eyes burning with desire. "Are you going to let me do it again? Let me split you wide open? Make you cum until you can't hold back the tears, stretch you nice and deep, huh? Would you like that?"

Jake observed you with a newfound eagerness, your head bobbing up and down with excitement, causing the once neatly tied ribbon in your hair to tilt askew, bouncing in time with the soft strands cascading around your face.

"Can we do it again?" you asked, your voice infused with enthusiasm, yet your cheeks still bore that familiar blush, a rosy hue that seemed permanently painted across your skin, much to Jake's amusement.

He couldn't suppress a chuckle, his hands gently grasping your hips to help you slide off his desk. He tugged your skirt back into place, ignoring the creases that formed in the fabric. "Try walking to the other side of the room first," he suggested with a playful smile, "and then tell me if you want to go again."

You tried to walk. God, you really tried — wobbling like a newborn deer with his cum dripping down your thighs with all the resolve of someone trying to pretend they hadn’t just been wrecked over a desk by their History professor. And still, you were trying to collect yourself — brushing hair from your face, smoothing the fabric of your clothes like you could piece together the composure he'd stripped from you.

You didn't make it far before your knees buckled, surrendering beneath you the moment you released your grip on the desk. Jake witnessed the exact instant when realization dawned on you—that you weren't going to make it across the room. The quivering in your thighs was too intense, and the ache that pulsed between your legs was too profound.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Jake inquired, his voice a low, amused rumble, yet gentle, as if he were trying not to startle you.

You nodded—rapidly, too rapidly—and shifted your weight in a way that betrayed your embarrassment. “Mhm. Just… didn’t expect…” Your voice faded into silence, and you caught your lower lip between your teeth.

God, that lip. That mouth. That brilliant mind of yours, always racing ahead, leaving your words struggling to keep pace.

“Didn’t expect what, exactly?” Jake murmured, though the answer was already clear to him.

“Di—Didn’t expect it to feel like that,” you confessed, your voice barely a whisper.

"That means I fucked you way too good." His voice dripped with possessive satisfaction, a reminder that he couldn't resist repeating. "If we're doing this, you need to grasp one thing, sweetheart. You're mine, completely and utterly. From this moment on, no one else will ever get to see you like this, do you understand?"

Your knees buckled once more, this time at the mere thought of belonging entirely to him. You hadn't entered his office with such a scenario in mind, as your nature was far too reserved for such bold intentions. Yet, you couldn't deny the truth—you had often imagined Jake in contexts far removed from professionalism.

From the very first day you laid eyes on him in that classroom, you had waged a relentless battle against your own thoughts, striving to rein in the endless reveries that involved your achingly attractive professor. His presence was magnetic, with his deep-set eyes and the confident way he carried himself, and it took every ounce of your willpower to keep your mind from wandering into those tempting fantasies.

You weren't sure what he saw in you. You were acutely aware of your own shyness, the way it seemed to wrap around you like a cloak. You struggled to maintain eye contact and engage in proper conversation, yet your mind excelled in academic settings, a sanctuary of logic and equations. You figured it was your only advantage, a lifeline you clung to almost desperately. Jake, on the other hand, was someone effortlessly attractive, radiating a confidence that drew others in like moths to a flame. He was fully conscious of his allure, aware that any girl on campus would jump at the chance to be with him. So why you?

The question baffled you, but you decided not to dwell on it.

You were drawn to Jake Seresin with an intensity that was new and overwhelming, a yearning that eclipsed anything you had ever experienced before. This world of desire was uncharted territory for you. Prior to what had just transpired, you had never even explored your own body, let alone shared it with someone else. Yet here you stood, stripped of your underwear, having been thoroughly ravished and brought to the peak of ecstasy multiple times by the man who now stood smirking before you.

It was almost sacred how swiftly and clearly the words escaped your lips. "I understand, Sir."

-

The following day, as you stepped into Jake's classroom, you donned those skirts that unfailingly sent his mind into a frenzy, accompanied by a matching ribbon that you now anticipated he'd deftly untie and loop gently around your neck later in the day. You settled into your usual spot, your desk adorned with a meticulous array of color-coordinated pencils and sticky notes.

Yet, a new dynamic was at play—an electric exchange of eye contact that threaded through his lecture like a secret conversation. Every so often, you'd lift your head, your eyes seeking his, only to find his deep green gaze already fixed upon you, causing a blush to bloom across your cheeks, a silent acknowledgment of the shared understanding between you.

Once his lecture concluded and the class was dismissed, you leisurely gathered your belongings, carefully tucking each item back into your bag. Your gaze wandered over to where Jake stood, surrounded by a cluster of girls who lingered after class with trivial questions that bore no relevance to the subject. You tried to suppress a smile as he finally sent the last girl on her way, his eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intent.

"Miss, could you hang back for a second? I need to give you the pointers I made to your last essay." His lie flowed smoothly, as he pretended to rummage through his own bag, extracting a seemingly random stack of papers. Once the room was clear of others and you were entirely alone with him, he let the papers drop onto his desk, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "I want to take you to my place tonight."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "What? W—why? I—I thought we'd meet at your office."

"The thing is, sweetheart," he growled, stepping closer with an imposing presence that seemed to swallow the room. "The things I desire to do to you demand a bed—a real one. While my office has all the space in the world, there's just no way I can cram a bed in here and tie you up the way I envision without setting off alarm bells for everyone around."

You gulped. "Okay."

"Atta girl." He reached out to give your arm a light squeeze, his fingers lingering for a moment. "Be a good girl and go to your next class, then come find me in my office when you're done."

You managed to nod before turning away from him and toward the exit. You didn't want to go to your next class, not when the ache between your legs was growing rapidly as you processed Jake's words. He wanted to tie you up on his bed, and you were supposed to sit through a two-hour lecture about the American Revolution? Not fair.

The day only seemed to slow down after that. You tried so hard to focus, scribling in your notebook like a maniac, pretending there wasn't a borderline humiliating wet patch in your panties from the thought of getting fucked by your professor. And when the last class was done, you practically threw your things inside your bag without a care and made your way to Jake's office.

Your hands trembled with raw anticipation, a visceral thrill coursing through your veins. For a fleeting instant, a sharp doubt pierced through the haze of desire—what the hell were you thinking? Racing to his door, burning with the reckless urge to be taken like a desperate whore in his house, sprawled on his bed.

But then, the memory of him flooded back, an overwhelming tidal wave—the way his fingers, mouth, and cock overwhelmed you, filling you in ways you had never dared to dream possible. You weren't naive; you understood sex long before losing your virginity to Jake, but you never could have fathomed it would ignite a pleasure so consuming.

There was no room for overthinking; he was already there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his office having closed for the day. His posture was relaxed yet expectant, with arms crossed over his chest and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong, sinewy forearms. The late afternoon light cast a warm glow, accentuating the subtle play of muscles beneath his skin.

"Ready to go? I don't know about you, but I'm ready to relax a little."

You didn’t know how he managed to stay so composed on the walk to the parking lot, especially when you kept glancing over your shoulder every few steps, half-certain someone would see you slipping away with your professor. Still, you stayed close beside him, matching his pace, and murmured a soft thank you — cheeks flushed — as he opened the passenger door of his car for you.

"I hope you didn’t make any plans this weekend," he said casually, draping his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder to reverse the car. "You’re staying at my place tonight."

"I—I am? But I didn't bring any extra clothes with me."

Jake didn’t even look at you as he pulled out of the lot, voice low and wicked with promise. “You won’t be needing any, sweetheart. I plan on keeping you naked all weekend.”

-

His house was exactly what you’d imagined — maybe even more so. Warm, quiet, and steeped in character, it felt like stepping into the private study of a man who lived and breathed knowledge. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, packed so tightly with old hardcovers and leather-bound tomes that some were stacked horizontally on top of others. The scent of aged paper mingled with the faint aroma of coffee and sandalwood. Dark leather armchairs, clearly well-worn and well-loved, faced a stone fireplace that looked more decorative than functional.

Framed photographs of ancient ruins, battlefields, and crumbling cathedrals dotted the walls — remnants of places he’d likely studied, maybe even visited. A globe sat near the window, polished and antique, and a mahogany desk in the corner was littered with yellowed papers, fountain pens, and a magnifying glass. It was the kind of house that didn’t just belong to a history professor — it belonged to him.

"You’ve read all of these?" you asked, eyes wide as you slowly scanned the towering shelves, your head tilting back to take them all in.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, you felt the warmth of him as he stepped up behind you, the quiet rustle of his shirt as his arms slid around your waist. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the scent of you more than air.

"You can come read them whenever you want," he murmured against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your ear. "Preferably naked."

"You’re relentless," you declared with a stern edge, and he responded with a deep, rumbling laugh, pulling you even tighter against him.

"I can't switch it off, darling. Not when all I crave is to have my way with you again. Would you let me, baby? You've been driving me mad all day with those tempting short skirts of yours."

You inhaled sharply, surrendering to the intoxicating warmth of his touch as his hands roamed possessively from your waist to your thighs. "P—please, sir," you pleaded, your voice a desperate whisper. In response, he pressed his lips to the tender spot behind your ear, sinking his teeth in just enough to send electric shivers down your spine.

"I'll take care of you, sweetheart, don't you worry," he promised, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. Your heart raced with anticipation, believing he would finally let his fingers venture to the place where your desire burned brightest. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself aching with disappointment as he withdrew entirely. "But first, I'm making you dinner. We can't have you passing out on me before the fun even begins."

Jake's hand landed on your ass with a sharp, stinging slap that echoed through the room, making you gasp. He then strode confidently to the kitchen, immersing himself in the task of preparing food, his focus unwavering, as if your presence was a mere afterthought.

"Can I ask you a question?" you blurted out, your voice barely steady as you mustered the courage to trail him into the kitchen and perch nervously on a stool, eyes glued to his every move.

He paused, lifting his gaze from the simmering stove to lock eyes with you, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "Anything you want, darling."

Your heart pounded like a drum in your chest. "Ba—back in your office, w—when you said you'd turn me into your... your w—wh..." Your cheeks flamed as red as the tomatoes he stirred with casual ease, your words stumbling to a halt in the suffocating tension.

"Whore? It's okay, you can say it." His smirk deepened, dripping with a mix of amusement and challenge, as though speaking to a child. "I can't believe you caught that. Thought you blacked out for a second."

"I—I just, I don't get what you mean," you stammered, your confusion swirling with a potent cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

"God, you are so innocent," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with raw desire. "Well, sweetheart, do you want me to teach you?"

"Teach me what?"

"How to be my little whore." His words were delivered with a chilling nonchalance, as if he were commenting on the day's forecast rather than proposing to unravel your very soul.

"W—what do I have to do?"

"Eat your dinner, baby. Let me do the rest."

-

After you agreed to Jake's proposal and found yourself in his office for that first heated encounter, you never anticipated the whirlwind that followed. The last thing you expected was for him to transform from a detached lover into a gracious host, cooking you dinner with an unexpected sincerity. He peppered you with questions about your life, as though you were on an intimate date, not caught in an arrangement where you were, essentially, reduced to being his fuckdoll.

Yet here you were, stumbling over your words but still managing to answer everything he asked with a nervous stutter. A fiery blush spread across your cheeks as you squirmed in your seat, every nerve electrified when Jake's hand stealthily slid under the table to rest possessively on your knee, or when he leaned in with piercing focus to tenderly wipe the corners of your mouth after each bite. You wanted to dismiss his almost parental attention as strange, but you couldn't deny the truth to yourself.

His intense gaze tracked your every move, igniting a thrilling tension. He effortlessly cut your steak after you shyly confessed you'd never eaten it before, and each time his hands inched closer, your eyes followed them, captivated by their grace. It was inexplicable how the ache between your legs intensified with every considerate gesture he made for you, a pulsing desire that grew stronger with each passing moment.

“Before we do anything else,” he said at last, once you’d finished eating, “we need to talk about a few rules.”

He withdrew his hand from your knee slowly, deliberately, then leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. The motion was effortless, confident—his spine relaxed against the chair, posture loose but commanding, like he knew exactly how the rest of the night would go.

“Like what?” you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be. It was almost pathetic, the way you were ready to agree to anything—just for the chance to feel his hands on you again, to have him close, claiming you.

"First, during sex and when we're alone, you'll address me as Sir or Daddy. You call me anything else and I'll have to punish you, alright, sweetheart?" His eyes bore into yours, demanding an answer from you.

"Yes, sir."

"Atta girl." He smirked. "Second, I need you to know you can say no to me anytime you don't feel okay with what we're doing. While I'm fucking you, we'll use something called the traffic light, you know what it is?" You shook your head. "I'll ask you for your color and you'll say green when you want me to keep going, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop completely."

"I understand, sir."

"I knew you would, you're a smart girl." His words made you squirm in your seat, every part of your body begging to be touched by the man in front of you. "Last, when you're with me, no panties are allowed in the house, so hand them over."

"R—right now?" Your eyes widened, half incredulous and half scandalized at his request.

"If you make me ask again, I'll have to punish you, baby. And I'd rather not leave any marks on you just yet." His tone darkened as he opened his right hand to you. You trembled a little as you stood from your seat and slid down your baby pink panties down your legs to place them in his hand. "Good girl. Shall we begin?"

He stood and guided you toward the stairs, his hand firm on the small of your back. With each step you climbed, your skirt rode a little higher, and he watched with a dark, hungry gaze your naked ass.

Jake’s bedroom was spacious and sharp, every corner reflecting his controlled, deliberate nature. A king-size bed dominated the center of the room, dressed in dark gray sheets that looked both luxurious and well-worn, like they’d been chosen for comfort but never shared. Beside the bed sat a sleek nightstand, a single drawer nestled beneath a reading lamp and a half-finished book. The rest of the space was just as orderly—clean lines, muted tones, nothing out of place. It was a room meant for rest, maybe even solitude—until now.

He led you straight to the bed with an unyielding grip, and with a firm yet gentle shove, you fell onto it with a soft, resonating thud. "I know you've had your pussy eaten before because I did it the other day." He murmured, his eyes locked onto yours with an electrifying intensity. "But tell me, sweetheart, have you ever felt the relentless hum of a vibrator on your cunt?"

"N—no, Daddy. Never." You breathed, aching for him to come closer to you.

You watched with bated breath as Jake strode purposefully to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with a confidence that made your heart race. He retrieved a white wand vibrator, massive and imposing, and instantly, a deep, throbbing heat pulsed through you. Though you had never encountered such a device so intimately before, an instinctive shiver coursed through your body, foretelling the overwhelming intensity that piece of plastic promised to unleash.

"I'll show you how to use this on your pretty clit, princess. It'll have you screaming my name without me even lifting a finger." His voice was thick with dark desire, an electric promise as he flicked the switch and the device purred to life. He gently teased it against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, causing you to gasp and shiver.

"It tingles, Daddy," you whispered, breathless and yearning.

"Is that so? Let's see how you handle it when it's right… here." With deliberate slowness, he traced it upward, igniting a fiery trail up your thighs before pressing it against your drenched, eager pussy. Your head fell back, a moan escaping as your body instinctively tried to close itself to the overwhelming sensation, but Jake's firm grip kept you exposed. "Don't even think about it."

You fought desperately against the instinct to close your legs, driven by an overwhelming desire to fulfill his every desire. Jake reveled in the spectacle of your surrender beneath him, his eyes drinking in your submission as he increased the intensity of the vibrator, leaving you drenched with arousal. Your breath came in ragged gasps, a symphony of whimpers and moans spilling from your lips, torn between pleas for more and desperate cries for mercy as he continued his relentless assault of your sensitive hole.

"Cum for me, sweetheart. C'mon, let me taste you." His voice was a sultry command, his teeth grazing your thighs with a tantalizing bite, sending shivers through your body.

You came with a breathy moan escaping your lips, chest rising and falling rapidly as you gazed down at Jake nestled between your thighs. He discarded the vibrator carelessly and repositioned your legs over his broad shoulders, diving back in with fervor. His mouth worked magic on your most sensitive spot, the sinful sounds echoing in the room as he devoured you with the hunger of a man possessed.

"Pl—please… too much, sir," Your fingers clutched the sheets desperately, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations. That exquisite tension coiling in your belly was all too familiar, yet irresistibly intoxicating. His mouth worked its magic, drawing gasps and needy whimpers from your lips, torn between the plea for him to stop and the desperate desire for him to continue.

"Come on, baby, give me another one." His voice was a sultry whisper, vibrating against your most sensitive spot, as his hand pressed you firmly against the mattress, ensuring you stayed right where he wanted you. Not that you had any intention of moving.

You came for the second time that night, tears of overwhelming bliss pooling at the corners of your eyes, teetering on the edge of spilling over as the intense pleasure surged through you, almost too much to bear.

Jake growled, "You're fucking pretty when you cry." His mouth reluctantly left your drenched core. He pushed himself up, now looming over you, still fully clothed. Leaning in, he licked the tear stains from your cheekbones, his tongue hot and hungry. "So fucking beautiful, so pure. So innocent, ready for me to defile."

He held his weight with one arm, his hand pressed firmly into the mattress beside your head. His other hand roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps before pausing at your belly button. "Color?" he demanded, his voice thick with lust.

"Green, sir." Your breath hitched, your body ached with need, and your mind was a whirlwind of desire. Jake grinned, a wolfish smile, before claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. He trailed kisses across your face, making you squirm and giggle.

"You're going to come for me again, sweetheart." His fingers danced down to your swollen, sensitive pussy. Your legs trembled and tried to close, but he kept them open with his knee. He thrust a single finger inside you, making you gasp and arch off the bed. "Fuck, you're so tight. Can you take more?"

You nodded eagerly, desperate to please him and to satisfy the hunger within you. "I—I can take it."

"That's my good girl, my best girl, taking everything I give you." He groaned, adding another finger, stretching you, possessing you.

Jake fingered you relentlessly, his every movement a brutal assault on your senses, catapulting you over the edge into a shattering abyss again and again. His gaze, unyielding and fierce, feasted on your undoing, watching you splinter apart with each savage thrust.

"The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, baby," he growled. "You begged for this, didn't you? You craved your older professor to break you, corrupt you. Filthy little slut, teasing me with your clothes, your scent—you knew exactly what you were doing."

"Ye—Yes, Daddy! Please," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea, your mind a chaotic storm. His words and movements were a relentless assault, scrambling every coherent thought until nothing remained but the overwhelming presence of the man above you, his fingers deep inside your pussy.

You would say anything, do anything, just to sustain this intoxicating sensation. It felt like you were drowning, submerged in the inebriating aroma of his cologne, lost in the depths of his piercing eyes, consumed by the feeling of his cock.

"That's it, baby. Cum, cum on my fingers. God, you're so pretty, wish you could see what I'm seeing right now."

You came again, your legs trembling with a delicious intensity and your eyes glazed over in a daze. Exactly where Jake wanted you—utterly undone. A needy whine escaped your lips as he withdrew his fingers, only for your eyes to widen in pleasurable surprise when he slid them into your mouth. You eagerly sucked on them, savoring your own essence, a satisfied hum escaping you as he gazed at you with eyes brimming with desire, pure and consuming.

You lay there in a hazy blur, body boneless and warm, still trembling from the aftershocks. Jake moved quietly around the room, the sound of running water drifting in from the bathroom. When he returned, the cloth in his hand was warm and gentle against your skin. You flinched slightly at the contact, a soft hiss slipping from your lips, but he was quick to soothe you with a low, “Easy, sweetheart.”

He took his time, careful and thorough, then helped you sit up with a firm, steady hand. One of his shirts—soft and oversized—was slipped over your head, the familiar scent of him surrounding you like a second skin. You sank into it, into him, and he brushed your hair back with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

"You're incredible," he said finally, voice thick with something dark and reverent. "I wasn’t lying, sweetheart—you’ve been in my head since the first damn day. Walking into my class like temptation wrapped in innocence."

Your limbs were limp, boneless in his sheets, every nerve still singing from how thoroughly he’d ruined you. The afterglow made your lips loose, words tumbling out unfiltered. "I—I didn’t show it, but I had a crush on you too," you confessed, cheeks burning. "You're so smart... I didn’t know how to act around you. It was kind of intimidating."

He let out a low, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he hovered over you. “I just told you I’ve been wanting to fuck you senseless since the moment I saw you—and you were worried I was smart?”

There was no cruelty in his tone—just wonder. Like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

"You’re unreal," he murmured, brushing your hair back, eyes hungry even now. “So sweet, so fucking shy—do you have any idea what that does to me?”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, over your jaw, your neck. “You’re mine now. Every soft little sound you make, every blush, every part of you—mine to ruin, mine to worship.”

His voice dropped as he pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’m nowhere near done with you, baby.”

-

His shirt felt impossibly soft against your skin — and far too big. The sleeves draped over your hands, and the hem brushed your bare thighs with every quiet step you took. You hadn’t meant to wander, but the living room drew you in: all warm wood and soft lighting, shelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling.

You glanced over your shoulder. Jake was stretched out on the couch, one leg propped up casually, a glass of something dark in his hand. His gaze followed you like it always did — slow, intent, full of quiet hunger. He hadn’t looked away from you since you left the bedroom.

The bookshelf was packed. All history books. Some names you recognized, some you didn’t. You ran your fingers along the spines before stopping at one with worn edges: The Private Lives of the Tudors. You pulled it out carefully.

Jake’s voice came from behind you, warm and amused. “You’ve got a thing for scandals, sweetheart?”

You blushed immediately, ducking your head. “N-No. I mean—I just like that era. The clothes. The... politics.”

He laughed under his breath, low and fond. “Adorable,” he muttered. “Pick something you like and bring it here.”

You turned to him slowly, book clutched to your chest. “You want me to read?”

“I want you next to me,” he said simply, his voice dipping into something velvety and sure. “The reading part’s optional.”

Your cheeks flamed again, and he smiled wider, patting the cushion beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re too cute when you’re flustered — I’d hate to miss a second of it.”

Heart racing, you padded across the room and sat down beside him, still clutching the book like it might save you. Jake draped an arm over the back of the couch and let his fingers play lightly with your hair, brushing against your neck now and then just to make you squirm.

He leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “Bet you blush even harder when we get to the juicy parts.”

You hid your face behind the book.

Jake chuckled, low and satisfied. “God, you’re perfect.”

You sat stiffly beside him, the book heavy in your lap, pretending to read while trying not to focus on how close Jake was — how his fingers brushed your hair, your neck, your shoulder, just to watch you squirm.

“I have an idea,” he said after a long moment, voice velvet-smooth, full of mischief.

You turned toward him slowly, unsure whether to be intrigued or terrified — probably both.

He smirked. “Let’s play a game.”

You blinked. “A game?”

Jake reached over and tapped the cover of your book. “You read to me,” he said, tone almost innocent. Then, his eyes dipped lower. “And I’ll keep myself entertained.”

Your breath caught.

“I—Jake—”

“You keep reading,” he cut in gently, “no matter what I do. If you stop... I stop.” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Think you can handle that, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks went hot, your heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Still, you gave a shaky nod.

He grinned. “Attagirl.”

Jake took the book from your trembling hands, flipping a few pages as he settled between your legs. He helped you shift until you were lying back on the couch, the book propped open in your hands, your thighs parted around him.

“Start here,” he said, tapping the paragraph with a single, commanding finger. “Nice and loud.”

You began to read, your voice uneven, barely above a whisper. “’Despite the grandeur of court life, privacy was rare—’”

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, warm and steady. Your breath hitched, but you kept reading.

“’Even monarchs found it difficult—d-difficult to escape the eyes of—of their households.’”

Jake chuckled against your skin — low, amused, impossibly pleased. You couldn’t see him, not really, but you could feel him. The heat of his mouth, the trail of soft kisses he left along the inside of your thigh.

You bit your lip.

“Keep going,” he reminded you gently, voice vibrating through you. “Don’t stop.”

You took a shaky breath. “’Henry VIII was known for his appetite, both literal and—’” Your voice faltered as his lips pressed higher, breath warm and maddening. “—and... and otherwise.”

He hummed in approval. “History never sounded so sweet.”

As he kept going, your words grew more tangled, breathier, every syllable a challenge. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the book. Jake was relentless — not cruel, just completely, devastatingly focused. Worshipful, almost. Like he’d dreamed of this and was finally, finally getting everything he wanted.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with desire and pride. “God, look at you.”

You tried to answer, to keep reading — but your voice cracked, and Jake paused instantly.

“Ah, ah,” he teased, pulling back just enough to make you whimper. “Rules are rules.”

You forced the next sentence out, breathless and desperate, cheeks burning from the effort — from how good it felt, how much he was making you feel without even asking for anything in return.

Jake watched you, his own breathing heavier now, eyes never leaving your face. He kissed the inside of your thigh again, softer this time, and murmured like a secret: “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You shook your head, eyes glazed, lips parted.

He grinned, utterly undone. “Good. You keep reading, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And then he went back to it, dragging you under all over again — and this time, you didn’t even try to keep your voice steady.

Your voice was barely holding together, words stumbling out between shaky breaths and quiet gasps as Jake kept his promise — and his pace.

“’Royal apartments were not—mm—not designed for solitude...’” you managed, eyes fluttering shut for a second before forcing them open again. The page was swimming in front of you, your fingers white-knuckled on the book’s spine.

Jake was gentle and deliberate with every movement, every kiss, every stroke of his tongue — like he knew exactly how much you could take before your thoughts scattered again. His hands never stopped caressing you, coaxing you, steadying you when your hips twitched or your legs tried to close around him.

He paused only to murmur, “Eyes on the book, baby. You stop reading, I stop.”

You whimpered, blinking rapidly to refocus. “I-I’m trying,” you whispered.

He grinned against your skin, sinful and smug. “I know you are. You're so good for me.”

Your voice quivered again, reading now a whisper of syllables barely stitched together. “’M-many monarchs... r-relied on a network of—’”

Another flick of his tongue made you arch, voice breaking. “—trusted attendants to guard their privacy...”

Jake rewarded your effort with a deeper press of his mouth, and your whole body reacted — a shiver racing through you, your breath catching.

“You’re so sweet like this,” he muttered between kisses, lips slick against your inner thigh. “Trying so hard. You like being good for me, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak.

He chuckled low. “I knew you’d be like this. Knew you’d melt the second I touched you right.” His voice dropped. “I’ve had to bite my tongue every day just to keep my hands off you.”

Your fingers trembled again, the book slipping slightly as another wave built low in your belly. It was too much and not enough, all at once. You didn’t even realize you’d stopped reading until Jake pulled back, and you let out a quiet, pleading noise.

He raised an eyebrow. “I warned you, baby.”

“Daddy,” you gasped, eyes wide and desperate now.

He leaned up just enough to kiss your inner knee and then trailed one finger along the crease of your thigh. “Then read,” he said gently. “Be a good girl and I’ll give you everything you want.”

You fumbled for the words on the page, voice wrecked and shaky. “’Despite the formal nature of court life, physical passion was—was often c-concealed behind—’”

Jake rewarded you instantly, returning his mouth to you with slow, deliberate strokes that had you crying out again — this time muffled into the back of your hand.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice thick. “God, you taste like heaven. Keep going. Let me hear you fall apart.”

You tried, you really did — but your body was already trembling again, heat curling fast and sharp in your belly, and your voice collapsed completely as the words dissolved into moans. Jake held your hips steady as you writhed, grinning against you, utterly drunk on your reaction.

And when you finally broke apart — shaking, panting, head tipped back in pleasure — he didn’t stop right away. He drew it out, kept you there, lips soft and reverent as he coaxed you down from the high he’d built just for you.

When he finally pulled back, your thighs still trembling, the book had slipped to the floor.

Jake rested his chin on your knee, watching you with flushed cheeks and soft eyes, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You,” he whispered, catching his breath. “Are so worth the wait.”

You could only nod, still dizzy and breathless.

He leaned up to kiss you — sweet, slow, utterly different from what he’d just done — and smiled against your lips.

“I hope you’re not too tired,” he murmured. “We’ve still got the whole weekend.”

[tw1sters]

Flight Risk

Two years should have been enough for you to move on from a heartbreaking situationship. However, Jake's return to North Island proves that time doesn't necessarily heal all wounds.

▸ PAIRING: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex (she's on the pill), lots of dirty talk, sexual banter, some angst, basically maverick!jake, jealous & possessive!jake (personal fave) ▸ WORD COUNT: 15.1K ▸ A/N: longest work yet and this jake made me frustrated and happy. this is basically if mav and penny started off as fwbs. planning a lot of jake pov scenes from this one because i want to write him as an emotional mess! for now, pls enjoy :)

—

Quiet mornings at The Hard Deck are your favorites. With all the rowdy patrons gone, you’re left in the peace of the bar. It’s just you, the sticky floors, and the sound of waves lapping up against the shore. 

It’s been a few years since you took over for Penny. Her retirement with Maverick is well-deserved. The woman has the patience of a saint for dealing with military chaos for years before they chose to settle down somewhere quieter, somewhere less… government. Now, this is your life. Nothing you should be complaining about.

You like the hands-on work, you like being able to meet new people while also having regulars. The manual labor is almost gratifying. The motions of the day are muscle memory at this point. Restock any necessary bottles behind the bar, ensure you still have sufficient supply in the back, wipe down counters, and do your best to remove the residues from the previous night off the worn wooden floors. The number of people who come this way has increased over the last few months, something about training more and more graduates for air combat. Always preparing for a war that hopefully never comes. 

Some faces are more familiar than others, ones that come much too often. Out of all of them, your mind tends to wander to a certain blonde, and your heart pinches at the thought. Even after years of absence, he never fails to remind you of the things you’ve lost.

You shake his face away from your head. Today is not the day. You haven’t thought about him in a couple of months. There are things here on the island that remind you of him, spots you can never scrub free of traces of him, no matter how many memories you try to put in their place. 

Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a blessing and a curse. Once upon a time, you might’ve even considered him your best friend. The first time you met, he pulled all of his best lines to charm the pants off you. The only thing he left with was a hefty bar tab after he slid his phone on the bar counter to you, asking for your number. That bell ring is still the most satisfying one you’ve done to date. 

He ended up on North Island often, pulled in for special detachments and training. Eventually, he even started training his own batch of recruits. With the amount of confidence and sweet-talking he brought to you, it was no surprise that you ended up in his bed at some point. Well, him in yours mostly because your place had a lot more privacy compared to the apartments he shared with Bradley. 

And that one time turned into two and then three. After a while, you lost count of how many times you’ve come apart in his hands. It wasn’t only his witty remarks or playful banter that won you over. It was the quiet nights you shared when he told you about growing up in Texas, when you told him about what it was like growing up with both your parents in the military, when you both shared your secret fears and desires in the darkness of your room. 

Jake was all hard edges and sharp lines. He was a shameless flirt and an incorrigible asshole. But he was also a devoted son who visited his parents states away every time he had a weekend off, a good friend who apologized for missing a night with you when he had to comfort Javy after a breakup, a man who squeezed your hand through your nightmares and held you close. 

He was a man who was hard to miss in both senses of the phrase. Handsome. Smart. Loud. Loyal. 

Falling for him was inevitable. Even now, as you’re trying to distract yourself with chores for the day, the pain from that night still lingers. Your whispered confession, the flare of panic in his eyes. 

“I love you.” The words come out easily. They are ones that have been trapped in your chest for the longest time, restricting your heart from beating as freely as it should. You’ve known it for a while, choosing to bury them deeper and deeper until the feelings pile up again to the surface. With nowhere else to go, the only way to release it is to say it out loud. But saying it out loud makes it real and that terrifies you more than anything.

You and Jake are no secret to regulars. No official labels, but when he’s on the island, you’re his. Completely. It isn’t as if you’re sleeping around with anyone else, even when he’s gone. He’s rarely gone long enough for you to crave touch from someone else – not that you do. Jake has replaced the memory of every man before him, and spoiled you for every man after. 

The silence speaks volumes. You don’t dare look up, instead opting to withdraw from him in favor of slipping on your shirt. Another barrier between the two of you. A belated protective shield for you. 

When you finally chance a glance his way, there’s a storm of emotions clouding his eyes. You can recognize the ones you anticipate: disappointment, resentment, pity. He doesn’t move where he sits on your bed, still naked beneath your sheets. Your name comes out of his mouth like a scold. Your face crumples into a wince. 

After the first few times, you both agreed that this is meant to be clean. A no-relationship relationship. Just sex whenever he’s in town. It’s a win-win for him who’s constantly on the road and for you who can’t imagine yourself managing anything else beyond the bar. 

But who were you kidding? You never stood a chance with Jake Seresin. Nights with him aren’t just hours spent tangled in each other, chasing the sort of pleasure that only comes from familiar, experienced hands. They are midnight conversations and tender touches. They are your laughs encouraged by his kisses.  

“I know” is all you can muster. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Jake doesn’t. He can’t possibly give you a response that would remedy this situation. This relationship. 

“Look, forget about it. It was a mistake.” 

“You made it complicated, sweetheart. I told you I don’t do complicated.”

“I get it,” you snap back, a little harsher than you intended. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… it came out.” 

Jake licks his lips as his hand reaches up to run through his messy hair. Minutes ago, it was your fingers that rumpled through his blonde hair. It feels like a lifetime away now. His frustration is more palpable now. He grits his teeth when he coldly says, “Why did you have to go on and ruin a good thing?”

It’s like driving a stake through a gaping wound. “I fucked up, I’ll admit. But you don’t need to be an asshole about it. There are probably worse things in life than to have someone tell you they love you.”

A hoarse laugh escapes him. “Really? You think so? Because right now, it doesn’t feel like there is.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” 

“Well, I’m not the one that decided to fall in love with a fucking asshole.”

On some level, you’re probably aware that he doesn’t mean to be this cruel, throwing your feelings back in your face. It’s the heightened emotions and the exhaustion from a long day. However, you’re also the one who got rejected. The least he could do is be decent about it, be gentler. 

“Love isn’t a goddamn decision, prick.”

“Name-calling, darlin’? Not your best attack.” Your humiliation and sorrow are replaced by fury. As someone you once considered a close friend, mocking you in this very moment feels like a bullet straight through you.

You swallow thickly, looking away. Any more from him and you may break down in tears, and the last thing you want to give him is your vulnerability. Clearly, he doesn’t deserve it. Nor did he ever want it. 

“I should go.”

Looking at the darkness outside, you feel your heart soften. You’re pissed, but you’re not a complete monster. You won’t resort to being one like he did. “You should stay the night, it’s late. You can leave in the morning. Take the couch.”

A grunt. “You know that’s no longer a good idea. I’ll be fine.” He shrugs on his clothes quickly. The ticking clock on your wall feels like a bomb that’s about to explode. Only, you feel as if you’re already standing in the aftermath of it all. 

You walk him out quietly, standing a foot away when he opens the front door. The evening breeze chills your hallway and you immediately rub the goosebumps rising on your arms. Jake looks up at you one more time, those three so-easily identifiable feelings still etched onto the lines of his face. 

“I don’t think we should do this again.”

The final nail in the coffin. All you can do is nod in agreement. It hurts. Of course, it fucking hurts. But there’s nothing else you can do – he held up his end of the bargain and you let it fall apart in your hands. 

“Be safe,” you say in response. It feels like the only appropriate one. 

Jake nods and closes the door behind him. With the roar of his bike, he disappears into the night.

Two years. It’s been two years since that fateful night. Jake hasn’t been back since. It’s not just your bar that he avoids, it’s the entire base altogether. While you see some of his friends on occasion, his face is nowhere to be seen in the crowd. There are murmurs on where he’s located, even if people try to whisper it far away from you. But Jake isn’t one to stay under the radar for too long, his exploits are thoroughly discussed by many who pass through your bar. Last you heard, he is deployed in the Middle East somewhere on a long-term operation. 

Part of you is grateful that you don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of being half an ex; it stings even more when you think you’re not even really an ex. However, after months of constant texting and late FaceTime calls even when he’s gone, his absence is noticeable. The ghost of him is apparent in the echo of his laugh by the pool table, the shadow of his broad frame when he leans over your bar and shoots you a wink. 

But it’s been two years and you’ve moved on. Somewhat. You’ve seen other people since then – not only sleeping with them but actually going on dates in what hopefully would turn into something more. 

No such luck. 

The effort is exhausting and you find working at the bar much more rewarding. It’s small talk that is meaningful to you, building new relationships with soon-to-be regulars rather than vetting an unknown man to be your potential boyfriend. At this point, you can almost say for certain that there is not a lot of potential in the crowd you meet. 

After two years, the ground beneath your feet is steadier. You hold nothing against Jake. You knew what you signed up for with him and it was neither your fault nor his that you ended up losing someone close to you. You’re thankful that you were able to tell him your feelings before he disappeared; it’s comforting to you that at least he knows, wherever he is, that he has someone who cares about him. 

With that said, you also have no interest in reliving one of the worst moments of your life. Your embarrassment lives in the deepest corners of your mind. You’ve thought a lot about what you would do if Jake ever came back. 

You would play it cool. You would be friendly. Cordial. But you also have no interest in a fresh start. You and Jake are going to be complete strangers with a lot of mutual friends.

It’ll be fine. It will work. 

At least, that is what you tell yourself when you sense that familiar presence. You hate how attuned you still are to him. The sound of his footsteps, the laugh that the wind carries in, and even the way he opens the door. A slight creak that sounds almost thunderous in the sparse bar. 

You don’t look up. You don’t need to. You continue wiping down your glasses and chatting with Irene, who probably spends too much time here. However, her company in the present is much appreciated. Your back faces the door and you have an excuse to keep your eyes fixated on the woman in front of you, rather than the blonde who’s getting closer and closer. 

Andy – the second bartender you’ve hired since business picked up – is manning the side of the bar closer to the door. He can handle him. Irene’s voice blurs into the background and suddenly your heart is rushing in your ears and the only voice that slices through is Jake Seresin saying your name. 

Fuck.

Two years. Two long years without him and you still can’t get yourself together when it comes to him. 

Andy taps you on the shoulder, tells you someone is asking for you. You wish Irene weren’t so kind, wish that she would tell Andy to take care of the man himself. Instead, she leaves you to your misery with a comforting smile. 

Taking a deep breath, you urge your heart to slow. It’s just Jake. You were friends once. You can be friendly. 

You turn around. 

Nothing could have prepared you to see how much Jake has changed. He’s still undeniably and objectively handsome, those sharp features and bright eyes could appeal to any man and woman in the vicinity. However, the five o’clock shadow along his jaw and the healthy tan on his skin give him that rougher edge that his boyish self never had. He’s older, grown.

Even so, there’s a softness to his eyes that’s new. His gaze has always been hard when he dials up his flirting game. This tenderness – it feels like the work of a woman. 

Could it be? Someone has finally tamed the young and wild Jake Seresin? The thought hurls you with bitterness and annoyance. It’s been a few years. It’s entirely possible that in that time, he’s met someone who changed his mind about love. 

Your mouth dries at the thought and you internally curse your body for reacting this way. Be happy, be nice. You inhale a shaky breath as you make your way towards him, a small smile forced onto your face. 

“Jake Seresin.” Saying his name feels like a prayer and a curse.

He tips his head and then offers you that blinding grin. One that you’ve grown so used to receiving and have missed immensely. “How are you doing, darlin’?”

“Same old.” Your lips quirk up. “What are you doing back on this side of the planet?”

Jake leans over the bar, his large frame coming up too close to your personal space. The temptation to draw the invisible line that he cannot cross is there, but that would be a little too immature, even for you. His arms fold on top of the counter. “Looking for the prettiest girl on the planet.”

“Hm? Any luck?”

“Yeah, think I got it right on the first try.” 

Your heart does a backflip in your chest. Fucking Jake Seresin and his snake charming tendencies. It’s almost painful how easily the two of you fall back into old routines – the banter, the flirting. You neutralize your expression to ensure nothing gives away how difficult this is for you. You’re not giving him the satisfaction of showing him how affected you are by him. Still, even after two goddamn years.

“What do you want, Hangman?”

“Iced tea.” Your eyebrows jump at that. 

“Have I entered the twilight zone in which you don’t get drunk off your ass the moment you walk into this bar?”

That was a mistake, because you’re then rewarded by that full-bellied laugh. The one you grew fond of. Your heart does its thing again. 

“As much as I would love to clean out your stockpile of IPAs – you probably have a surplus at this point, I do have to head to base after this.” 

You take your chance to pull a fresh glass and prepare his drink, your back once again facing him. You run through the list of safe questions in your head. Don’t ask him how long he plans to be here, you’ll sound interested. Don’t ask him what he’s doing here, you’ll sound like you care too much.

You’ve learned the hard way that he hates that. 

Instead, you settle for a simple “got it.” 

Calm, cool, collected. That’s your motto for however long Jake has his fucking feet on this blasted island. 

You turn back around and slide the glass over to him as he hops onto a stool. He tilts it back and takes long gulps, like a parched man in the desert. He cleans out the drink and immediately asks for a refill. You oblige and hand it back to him. 

“How’ve you been?”

There are so many ways you can answer this question. Three C’s. Remember the three C’s. “Good, it’s been busy here. A lot of new faces but some familiar ones. Think Coyote was here a couple of weeks ago so you just missed him.”

“Yeah, he told me. The man’s getting married soon.”

Of course, he still talks to Javy. Why wouldn’t he? Unlike the two of you, they’re actually friends.

You mentally chide yourself for being so petty. On the outside, you nod. “Winter wedding. Good thing he’s doing it in Mexico City. That’ll be a fun trip.” 

“You’re going then?”

“Yeah, winter is actually pretty slow for the bar so think Andy has it covered.”

Jake nods slowly. You observe his thinking face, another question on the tip of his tongue that he decides not to ask. The serious expression disappears as he flashes you another smile. “I’ll catch you then for sure.”

“Best man?”

“Best best man,” he replies with a wink and you can’t even stop the laugh that comes out of your mouth. His eyes gleam a little brighter. Jake straightens a little, looking almost awkward when he asks, “Are you bringing anyone?”

The implicit questions are there. Are you seeing anyone? Are you dating anyone serious enough to bring to a wedding? A wedding where your ex-situationship is the best man?

You think of the limited number of ways you could avoid answering this question. “Thought it was a small wedding, didn’t think I would get a plus one.”

“Javy would definitely let you bring one if you wanted.”

“That would be nice of him.”

“So are you?”

Stupid Jake and his stupid ability to push. You could lie, but that means you would have to find someone by that time to actually bring to this destination wedding. That feels a little much, even if it’s to teach Jake a lesson. 

“Nope,” you shrug and your curiosity wins out, “are you?”

He seems to think about it for a bit, worrying his bottom lip. “No, not right now at least.”

Not right now. It definitely hurts more than it should. 

Jake quickly adds, “I’m not seeing anyone. I just – you know, things can change between now and December.” 

“Right, yeah, of course.” 

When you look at him again, he seems to be contemplating something. The thinking face is back on. “I’ll be here for at least a month,” he starts. You have a bad feeling about where this is going, but you already know your answer. Your resolution stands firm. Thankfully, he keeps it in safe territory. “Teaching a new batch of recruits with Bradshaw, actually.”

“Oh, I haven’t seen him around in a bit so that’ll be nice.”

If you say nice one more time, you may actually choke on how nice you’re trying to be. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “It’s kind of crazy. To think they would trust me to teach other pilots.”

“Is it that crazy?” His eyes flare with surprise. “I mean, you and Bradley are probably the best aviators. You trained under Mav. Plus, you can be a tough teacher, but your confidence is something that gives other people confidence.” 

Jake lifts his glass to his lips again, saying nothing.

That’s when you realize– “Are you blushing?”

He immediately scoffs, still hiding behind his drink. The ice clinks against the glass as he jerks it up higher. “I don’t blush.” 

“Aw, Jake, you don’t have to be so shy about it.”

The tips of his ears turn a deeper shade of red as he rolls his eyes at you. “I’m not shy. I just… wasn’t expecting that from you.”

“Expecting what?” 

“I don’t know, a compliment?”

“Am I really that mean that you don’t think I could compliment you?”

“It’s not that,” he huffs, curling his fingers together around his cup as he stares down into it. “The way we left things off, I didn’t think–” he pauses, “–I wasn’t sure how you would feel about me being here again.”

Oh. You shift a little where you’re standing. “I’m an adult, Jake. I can take care of myself so you don’t have to worry. My feelings are not your responsibility. It’s also been two years, I’ve moved on. It’s fine.” 

His eyes flicker with something unknown. “I never apologized for—”

“You really don’t have to,” you interrupt, a coarse laugh slipping past your lips. “You definitely do not have to apologize.” 

“No, I do. At least for how I responded. I was a dick. The situation at the time wasn’t ideal, but you deserve better than how I reacted.” 

Your smile softens. “Well, thank you. The apology was unnecessary but appreciated.” 

Jake returns your expression. “I’ll be around. I have to head to base, just wanted to stop by and say hi.” He drops a few bills on the counter. Before he turns, he looks at you again. Those blue eyes that still spark something inside of you. “It’s good seeing you.”

“You too, Seresin.” 

With that, he’s gone and you’ve just survived your first interaction with Jake Seresin. 

–

Jake wasn’t kidding when he said he would be “around.” Without fail, every night, he is back at the bar with the trainees. They are a boisterous crowd, reminding you of the Dagger Squad years back, before you even took over for Penny. Most of them are always by the darts or pool table, bickering about who’s the better player, which apparently translates to who’s the better pilot. There are a few that Bradley drags over to the piano, belting out classic rock songs that he and Mav used to bond over. 

Even as a cocky pain in the ass, Jake has always been good at building connections. The peals of laughter following whatever story Jake tells reverberate across the bar, catching your attention and momentarily distracting you from whatever customer you were serving. 

It’s kind of heart-warming to see Jake with the next generation of fighter pilots. You’ve seen him grow into his skin. From being a thoughtless asshole to a confident, skillful team player, Jake Seresin has created a reputation of his own. Maverick’s name will live on at Top Gun forever, but Jake won’t be too far behind. 

Some nights, Jake would saunter over to the bar himself to grab the next round. He could’ve easily sent off one of his students with his credit card, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes showing off in front of you and them. 

“Next round’s on me, darlin’.” 

Before your heart can skyrocket traitorously, you snatch his card and ring him up for two rounds of beers for the entire crew. He doesn’t blink at the doubled amount, signing his check with a wink before whistling them over to grab their drinks. When one of them fails to thank you for the service, Jake will slap them on the back of their head and scold, “Manners.” 

Still polite as ever. 

“How’s your day going?” Jake asks as he slides onto a stool, taking a slow sip of his beer.

God, you know those eyes. That is a look that is all too familiar. That come-hither that has led you to the back room, his bed, a wall, and whatever remotely accessible surface he can press you against.

“Don’t even think about it,” you hiss. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you really think I wouldn’t know that look on your face after seeing it for years?”

Jake smiles with feigned innocence. “I was actually hoping you would remember.” His eyes drag lazily from your face, down your neck, to your curves, before flying back up. His pupils are blown wide as he wets his lips. You resist the shudder that creeps up on you.  

Shaking your head, you hide your smile as you back up towards the bell. 

Jake’s expression falters fast as he looks down at his hand, where his phone is. “My phone didn’t even touch the counter,” he argues.

“That look you’re giving me is pretty disrespectful, Seresin,” you smirk as you ring it loud enough for the entire place to hear. His phone clattering to the bar should’ve earned him a second ring but you decide to show mercy.  

The room erupts into cheers, people – including his recruits – stopping by to give him a firm pat on the back. Comfort or gratitude, or maybe both. “Rookie mistake,” you pick up his phone and toss it his way. 

Even with a tab that’s slowly mounting, Jake doesn’t lose the smile on his face. “Anything to get you more business, sweetheart.” 

Shaking your head, you click your tongue. “I hope your credit limit has improved since the last time this happened.” Paying for the entire bar and getting thrown overboard was a memorable experience for him. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, I came prepared this time.” 

When the night comes to an end and you pull up Jake’s tab, all he can do is offer a sheepish look. 

“I’ll get you the remainder tomorrow?”

Even if the bar is closing soon, you max out his credit card on the majority of the tab but still have his recruits toss him out onto the beach. When you look at him splayed out, covered in sand, he still has a dopey smile on his face. “Take an economics class and learn about inflation before you come back tomorrow, Seresin.” 

Jake’s magnetism knows no bounds. It’s difficult not to be drawn and trapped into his orbit. Between his chiseled face and toned body (only half of which is visible, mind you), he also has the added appeal of that southern spell. The slight drawl to his syllables and the invisible cowboy hat. And this is all before he starts recounting stories of his adventures in the Navy with an added, “It’s all confidential, of course.” 

Once, you were on the receiving end of all of that. Back when he still needed to talk you into going home with him. Now, you can see the full force of his charisma when even some of your regular girls – ones you know are not the type to fall at the feet of the first hot man to walk in – fall at his feet. 

Even with all the attention on him, you find that his eyes always come back to you. 

There is something incredibly flattering about the way his stare peruses you lazily, the slow stroll of his eyes up your body until your gazes lock. He doesn’t turn away, nor does he even blink. He isn’t awkward about the fact that he has been caught looking. Instead, he flashes you that blinding grin again, the one where his lips stretch wide to reveal his perfect set of pearly whites. 

In another world, Jake probably could’ve been a model, like the ones on the cover of Vogue, with an equally attractive female companion. In this one, he’s a purely cocky and insufferable government asshole.  

You always break your gaze away first. Sometimes he stares at you so intensely with that look in his eyes. A second longer and you may be one of those people falling at his feet and you certainly cannot have that happening.

Again.

When you close up shop for the day, you find him waiting outside, leaning against your car. His arms are crossed over his chest, emphasizing how thick his biceps have gotten since you last saw him. You didn’t even think that was possible. A toothpick flips between his lips as he smiles at you. “Drive you home?”

“I can drive myself home, thanks.”

“Just want you to be safe, darlin’.” You narrow your eyes at him and he holds his hands up in defense, yet that stupid smile never leaves his face. “I’ll be good, scout’s honor.”

“Woe are your fellow men if you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“Don’t disrespect the organization. For your information, I was an Eagle Scout.” He puffs out his chest proudly. “And I did swear an oath to help other people at all times. Hence, here I am tonight. Looking to help.”

“And how will you get home after?”

Jake’s eyes twinkle with something mischievous that you immediately scowl at. He laughs, “I’ll get Bradshaw to come get me. He’s not too far.”

It’s been a long day and you can feel the exhaustion disintegrating deep into your bones. Rather than argue further, having a driver for the night doesn’t seem like the worst idea. You toss your keys over to him and watch as he swings open the passenger door for you. Once you’re settled in, he jogs over to the other side.

You forget how familiar he is with your car. He knows just the right wiggle to get the old thing to start purring, where all the knobs are, and even to avoid the cupholder on the driver’s side where you constantly spill your hot drink for the day. Before long, he is pulling out of the lot and starting the short drive to your place. You make a mental note that Jake still remembers where you live – admittedly, he has driven there many times before. Perhaps too many times. 

Jake always starts the conversation by asking how your day went. With anyone else, you keep it short with a “good” because they usually don’t actually care about your day, they want to get their beer. However, Jake actually does ask follow-up questions. Sometimes he asks you if you’re planning to change your beer selection for the season, or how work with Andy is going, or even if there’s anyone causing you any trouble.

“You let me know and I’ll handle it.”

You shake your head, a smirk tugging on the corners of your lips. “The only trouble in my bar is you, Seresin.”

“Me? Trouble? Never.”

“Isn’t it part of Scout’s honor to never lie?”

He laughs, head tipping back as he does so. “Don’t think they make us swear that oath. How do you think I got away with so much?”

“And again, I say, trouble.”

Jake turns to you for a brief moment, his eyes shrinking as his smile stretches wider. You raise your eyebrow at him in question. He lets out a deep sigh but the delight does not seem to leave his face. “It’s always you,” he murmurs quietly. 

You’re not sure if he intends for you to hear, but it might be best to ignore it. Your stomach is already fluttering uncomfortably, and you can feel your pulse racing, pressing against your skin. When your eyes fly over to his one-handed grip on the wheel, you can’t help yourself from studying the veins that run up his large hand. His other hand holds onto the gear shit, clutching tight. 

The breeze from the open window carries in the memories you’ve tried to bury deep. Long drives on summer evenings when you don’t feel like going home just yet. His hand on your thigh, large and imposing. Parking on the side of a deserted road where he pulls you onto his lap and has you ride him until you’re a whining mess. 

Fuck. 

You mentally bat the thoughts away. The last thing you need is to get turned on in Jake’s presence. You can already feel your thighs pressing involuntarily together and you just hope Jake doesn’t notice. 

Except, when you look up at him, his gaze is already trained on your legs where they are exposed underneath your shorts. It’s heated. There’s a weight to them that you can’t ignore. It only makes you shift even more. Your gaze shifts to his hands, his knuckles now white from how tightly he’s holding onto the wheel. Your eyes meet for a brief second and he follows the movement of your throat as you swallow the saliva that’s gathered on your tongue. 

Luckily, your house is already in sight. You pull your eyes away from him, clearing your throat to look at the road ahead instead. He slows to a stop in front and turns off the engine, leaving you both in the silence, accompanied only by the winds blowing from the shore. 

You pull yourself off the leather seat and get out of the car, hearing Jake do the same. Without giving him another glance, you walk up to your door. Your knees feel wobbly and you curse yourself for being so spineless. 

Two years without him and you were fine. 

Two years and your body still responds to him this way. 

As you unlock your front door, Jake calls out, “Not going to invite me in for a drink?” 

You stare at him from your front porch. He is again propped up against your car, arms crossed. Only this time, he isn’t smiling. He stares at you with that look. The one that reminds you of sex and regret. He looks like a man straight out of the movies. Good thing he never went into Hollywood. 

It’s all too tempting to say yes, tell yourself that one drink can’t hurt. 

But you always know where you end up with Jake.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, Commander.”

Jake’s eyes shine with something dangerous. Desire. Want. He loves it when you call him that. He clenches his jaw. “You’re really going to leave me out here after addressing me like that?”

“Thanks for the ride, sweetheart.” You smile and disappear behind your door, breathing in deeply once you’re safe in the confines of your home.

If you were keeping score, you’d guess you’re at least a point ahead of him. 

–

It’s a gorgeous day. The kind that feels like a nice break before the chaos that will inevitably occur at the bar tonight. You enjoy quiet afternoons like these. The sun sits high in a cloudless sky, and seagulls soar lazily overhead, caws sounding in the distance. A light breeze drifts in from the ocean, salty and soft, just enough to cool the warmth that kisses your skin. 

You’re perched on one of the outdoor tables, your bar ledger in front of you as you’re scribbling down line after line of expenses. Each one makes you wince a little more. A bar is not the most profitable endeavor. While you enjoy the work, you know that you’ll never live a life of luxury running this place. It’s something you’ve come to terms with a long time ago. 

Releasing a deep sigh, you reach your arms up in a stretch. The bar is taking a toll on your savings and your back. Aging isn’t a kind process. 

While you mourn the numbers on your pages, you do have one good thing going for you.

Namely, the hooting and hollering happening down by the water. 

Touch football has become a tradition for the Navy, at least for those who had been part of the Dagger Squad. Maverick’s success lives on through this team bonding activity that the members now pass on to their trainees. It’s become a ritual for them to bring out a new team out here to get more comfortable with each other. You’ve seen a number of them throughout the years and each group is always more enthusiastic than the one before. 

You place your hand above your eyes, blocking out the sun so you can get a better look. Jake and Bradley aren’t difficult to spot. Two tall, muscular men running circles around their recruits. They seem to be enjoying the exercise much more than the people they’re supposed to train. The cheers and yells echo down to where you sit and you find your eyes following the silhouettes chasing after the footballs on the beach. Some of them fall over, rolling around in the wet sand, while others are tackled straight into the sea.

You can admit to yourself that you’re really only paying attention to one man. Since he’s been back, you’ve only seen him in uniform or in casual wear like denims and t-shirts. But it’s been a while since you’ve seen him shirtless. Even from this distance, you can see the shadowed lines of his sculpted six pack, his broad shoulders, and the curves of his structured arms. 

It’s no wonder Penny enjoyed sitting out here. She got a good look at Maverick while she did her accounting, you just inherited the habit from her. Your work is long forgotten now, pen useless in your hands as your eyes continued to follow his form traveling across the sand. 

Biting your lip, you replay all those times you’ve run your hands over that body, how much time you spent watching every muscle flex when he hovers above you. You could practically feel the whisper of his lips against your skin. 

Fuck, you really need to get laid. Soon. 

Not by him. Definitely not him. 

You’re about to bang your head against the table when Jake perks up and waves at you. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face and you can already see that wicked glint in his eyes hidden behind his shades. You force a smile and return the gesture before hunkering down on your work again. 

You curse your past self for thinking that manually keeping track of quantity and dollars would be a better idea than running the whole thing on a spreadsheet. Penny always liked the act of holding a pen and writing all of these digits down, said it made it more tangible. 

More like tangibly painful. As you wrap up the last of your receipts, you make a mental note that it’s time to join the modern world and dump this entire thing into a software that would make your life infinitely easier. 

Just as you’re about to stretch again, a figure steps up and obstructs your exposure to the sweltering sun. The brief reprieve from the afternoon rays is one you welcome, but not when you realize it’s Jake who’s shown up. The sun traces a glow around his figure, an unwelcome ethereal effect that makes him look more than human.

He shifts away and slides into the bench opposite you. A smug smile is still dancing on his lips as his chest and shoulders heave with heavy breaths. “Care to join?”

Your eyes fly to the crowd that’s still running around like headless chickens and back to him. “Absolutely not. Who do you think I am?”

Jake’s eyes begin to dangerously explore you. From your hair pulled away from your neck in a loose bun, strands messily swirling in the wind, to the shape of your smooth, exposed shoulders carrying the thin straps of your tank. His gaze trails down to your chest, where your cleavage peeks out from beneath the flimsy fabric that lifts and falls with the wind. You can’t deny that this top makes your tits look great, and no, of course you didn’t wear this just because you knew Jake was coming to the beach today. 

You definitely did not. 

That would be ridiculous. 

You tell yourself that that’s the truth, and it helps you sleep at night. 

Jake looks at you again, but his gaze has darkened. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you running around in a bathing suit,” he smirks. “Or if you prefer to run around wearing nothing at all, I don’t think I would mind, but let’s keep that for the bedroom.”

Scowling, you fling your pen his way and he easily catches it. Stupid Jake and his stupid military reflexes. “The only thing running around here is your imagination. Keep it in your pants, Seresin,” you snap. 

“That’s not what you said before.”

“Years ago,” you bite back, “I’ve outgrown you, Hangman. You and all your bravado. We all know why they call you that.” 

Jake laughs and you can’t help but drink in his sun-kissed skin. He looks golden. “You know full well I’ve outgrown that definition of my call sign. Now, Hangman just means something else – something you’re intimately familiar with.”

It takes you a second to divert your attention away from his radiant skin. When the realization of his words dawns on you, you involuntarily gag at his comment.

He opens his mouth and you cut him off before he could say a word, “If you even think about dropping a ‘that’s what she said’, I’ll personally ban you from the bar and charge you for every single drink from here on out.”

Jake doesn’t falter. He grins even wider, “Never took you for financial fraud, that’s kind of sexy.” 

You sniff, turning away from him and back to your papers. “Orange isn’t really my color so, again, keep it in your pants.”

“Every color is your color, darlin’. We can both agree on that.”

That’s the first compliment he’s given you in a while. You feel your cheeks warm but you blame it on the blistering afternoon sun. Perhaps it’s time to take your work back indoors. Before you do though, you snipe back, “Well, red isn’t really yours so put on more sunscreen.” You gather up your documents and move towards the entrance.

Of course, you don’t miss the last wink he throws at you and the blatant ogling of your ass as you walk away.

Okay, so maybe his staring can be a little flattering.

–

Ever since Jake came back, you’ve been a little more than sexually frustrated. When you close your eyes at night, the image of him shirtless above you appears. From the way his blonde hair falls over his eyes, mussed up from a workout, to the way his blue eyes glitter deviously. Your imagination – worse yet, your memory – carries you through the whole scene of Jake’s fingers in your hair, his grip around your thigh, his cock—

Fuck, you barely last more than ten minutes most days.

You end up frustrated with your hands between your legs, pleasured but not completely satiated. 

Jake Seresin is a blight you need to purge from your life. 

It certainly doesn’t help that he shows his face night after night, flashing that smile at you from across the room. You have to remind yourself that you’ve done that more than enough times, you can’t do it again. 

Instead, you focus your energy, including your insatiable libido that keeps growing, on your patrons. It’s not the best idea, especially when you start accepting and returning the flirty remarks you receive from men you usually wouldn’t glance twice at – not because they weren’t attractive (because they were), but because you simply had no interest in a full romantic commitment with any of them. 

Being a bartender means you’ve endured a good amount of flattery, some more appropriate than others. You’ve never responded to them. You just take their money and you run with it. If they ever get too disrespectful – well, you know the drill. 

Not tonight, though. You’re enjoying the attention you were getting, and the sources of said attention noticed that. When they flirt, you flirt back. You relish in the fact that you still have a little game left in you. It’s supposed to be fun, light. It helps ease some of the sexual tension that has you all wound up. 

The bar is particularly busy so you have some regulars who are surprised by how welcoming you are and newcomers who are more than happy to oblige. 

This behavior does not go unnoticed by Jake. His eyes are always on you after all. 

When you’re bending over particularly low over the counter or giggling more over silly pickup lines, you could feel his gaze burning into you. You don’t acknowledge him. Instead, you flick your hair over your shoulder and smile at whoever you’re talking to. 

The tip jar gets some much-needed love that night. 

When you do look over at him, his eyes are still stuck on you. He barely pays any mind to whoever’s trying to speak to him. There’s a strange, sick satisfaction in the way his knuckles pale when he grips the cue by the pool table, the way he grits his teeth with a stiff jaw. 

You add another point to your scoreboard. 

With his eyes on you, maybe you do exaggerate your game a little bit. You sashay your hips a little more when you grab a beer. You brush your fingers against theirs. Even Andy shoots curious looks your way, but thinks better than to question it. There is a ninety percent chance that you’ll regret leading on these people tomorrow, but that’s a problem for future you.

Current you enjoys the suggestive looks these men are throwing your way. 

Andy calls your name from the other side and tells you that you’re out of coffee liqueur behind the bar. “I’ll get it, keep these fellas company for me, will you?” You give them one last wink, receiving some excited howls, before heading towards the back. 

The stock room is dimly lit by the sun setting outside. The light has been broken for a while and you make your tenth mental note to get that fixed. One day, you’ll get around to it. 

When you hear the stock room door close behind you, you don’t need to turn around to know that Jake is standing there. His cologne and familiar footsteps reach you before his question does. “Having fun?” His voice slices through the muted rumbles of the outside. 

There’s a heaviness to his question that sends a shiver up your spine. Rather than turn around and look at him, you purposely take your time scanning through the boxes to find the bottle you’re seeking. You bend over low to grip the neck of one before slowly rolling up, pretending to inspect it. 

“What ever do you mean?”

Jake steps into your line of sight. His height towers over you, and you back yourself up against the supply. He leans over, palm pressed against the box near your head. He’s so close that you could smell the mix of beer and mint in his breath. You can feel yourself clench tight between your legs. He presses his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t like to share.”

Irritation pricks at your skin. You glare at him. “Newsflash: I am not yours, Hangman.”

“If you want me to take care of your little problem, you are.”

Your lips part in surprise. Frowning, you snap, “What are you talking about?”

A sour laugh bubbles up his throat. The sound isn’t comforting. It feels almost like a warning. “You think I haven’t noticed you sending me those fuck me eyes. How you press your legs together when you look at me.”

As if on cue, you instinctively press your thighs together. God, there’s always something about Jake when he’s more demanding than usual. The dark shadow across his eyes as he takes you in hungrily. 

You lick your lips, his eyes dropping to them before darting back up. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you simply say. 

“I know you better than you know yourself, sweetheart. You know this. So what is it that you want? Do you want me to take you here in the backroom? Because I could, it wouldn’t be the first time–” you gasped and he continues, “I could bend you over that bar outside, show those guys who you belong to. Who gets you this wet.” 

Air refuses to leave your lungs, but you manage to spit out, “I’m not fucking wet.”

Jake laughs, “You’re telling me that if I stick my hand up your dress right now, you’re not wet? I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, you’d like that.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest. You refuse to back down but so does he. All your emotions feel heightened in that tiny room. The anger, the wanton need. It feels as if you’re about to combust. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears. 

Taking in a faltering breath, you grit your teeth. “I have a bar to run.” You move to pass him with your trembling knees, but not before he catches your arm. 

He keeps his message short and simple. “Anyone touches you again, I’ll knock their teeth out.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”

“Maybe, but you’d look good on my cock again.”

Fuck. Your breath hitches, and the sound speaks volumes in the quiet room. The fucking audacity of this man. You yank your arm away from him and march to the door, swinging it open. 

“I mean it,” he calls out, “I’ll knock out anyone who even tries with you tonight.”

Jake is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He does not bluff. His confidence comes from a rightful place of pure experience and skill, both of which he has with you. Rather than risk a brawl, you decide to heed his warning. 

You no longer find excitement in how some of the men flirt with you, spending the rest of your night ducking away from their grasp and ignoring their teasing. The disappointment and confusion are clear, but all you can do is offer a sheepish look. They can blame the six-foot blonde keeping his eyes on you.

It’s not the fear of Jake starting a fight per se, but rather the way you revel in the way his gaze prowls over you. Constantly present, clear in your periphery. 

When you finally call it a night and shoo the last of your drunk visitors out, you lock up the bar and turn to find him standing there. There’s an air of ease around him, one that’s usually there, but it almost feels like there’s something more brewing. Something a little more sacriligeous. You tense when his eyes pull up from his phone to you. He quickly tucks his phone into his pocket and smiles at you.

“You always were a good listener.”

At that, you scowl. “That wasn’t for you. I just didn’t want to give them the wrong idea.”

His smirk only deepens. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He plucks the keys from your fingers and unlocks the car, swinging open the passenger door before you can protest. “Get in, darlin’. I’m not in the mood to argue with you.”

“That’s a first, you make it seem like it’s your full-time job,” you mutter but slip inside anyway.

He slides into the driver’s seat and turns on the engine. When he backs out of the parking lot, he stretches his arm across the back of your seat and looks over his shoulder, leaning closer towards you. You catch a good whiff of his scent again. 

Fuck him.

He knows exactly what that move does to you.

When he finally backs out, there’s a knowing smile dancing on his lips. 

There’s a thrum of anticipation in the car. Soft jazz croons from your crackly speakers and the wind whipping through your hair is barely a distraction. Jake is tapping his finger against the wheel in a consistent beat, his other hand on the seat between the two of you. His fingers are so close to your thigh, but they don’t touch. If you shift even a little bit, you could probably feel him on your skin. 

However, you would not give him that satisfaction. You know that he wants you to do precisely that. To admit that you are as affected by him as he says you are. 

That stupid smile is still on his lips. “Having fun?” You mocked, imitating his question from earlier.

His blue eyes sweep to you. “What ever do you mean?”

A glower mars your features. “You’re such a prick.”

“You fucking love it.”

“Ego the size of goddamn Jupiter, I’m surprised the president hasn’t kicked you off this planet yet.”

Jake chuckles. “Missed that mouth of yours.”

“Give you my fist instead,” you grumble under your breath. 

“Not my thing, darlin’. But if you want to try, you know I always aim to please.”

You balk. “Kinky motherfucker.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Jake parks in front of your house, switching the engine off and drenching the two of you in silence. 

The ride is short, but the stillness stretches for miles. 

A heavy hush coils in the car again, thick with something unspoken. Still, all you can hear is the steady rhythm of Jake’s finger on the wheel,  like a clock counting down to what you both know is inevitable. Your heart pounds loudly in your ears, masking all the white noise around you until all you can focus on is him. 

Then, his hand shifts. Just an inch. Just enough for the edge of his pinky to brush the hem of your skirt. 

You freeze, breath caught halfway in your lungs. Your body wants to lean into the touch, but you hold still. His pinky strokes the bare skin of your thigh – so faint, it could almost be accidental. But it’s not. 

You know it. He knows it. 

When you don’t pull away, his touch turns deliberate. His entire palm glides over your thigh, slow and steady. You could practically feel his pulse against your skin. The sight of his broad hand on your leg makes your stomach flip, and you swallow hard, trying to resist the whimper clawing its way up your throat. 

“Darlin’,” Jake starts, voice rough and low, tinted with a touch of desperation. 

You chance a look his way and catch the tension in his jaw, the heat behind his eyes. Your gaze falls to his lap, and you see the length of him pressing against his jeans, clear and thick even through the denim. 

The sharp ache between your legs is sudden, insistent. This time, the sound that leaves you is impossible to hold back. A soft whimper that fills the car with heat. 

Jake’s tongue swipes across his lips. The movement draws your eyes to them. 

This is a bad idea, you remind yourself. 

But that voice, one that is all too familiar to you, a voice that is soft, sly, and unmistakably yours, whispers back that this might just be the best one you'vel ever had. 

His name is barely out of your mouth before he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and capturing your lips in his. You melt like molten lava into the seat of your car. His hands are fast to slide up your hips to cup your cheek as he presses his lips more insistently against yours. He tastes like bitter beer, sweet mints, and excruciating heartbreak. 

But you relish in the flavors. A recognizable mix that belongs to you and only you. 

The clouds curl between your thoughts, a delicious haze that has you pliant in his hands. He’s kissing you so intently, a determination and hunger that feels like homecoming. Every moan you let out, he swallows like it’s his last breath. 

“Fuck, you taste so good. Missed you,” Jake mumbles against your lips, nipping lightly.

You can’t bring yourself to respond when he begins peppering wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His hand slides down to cup your breasts, his thumb dragging lightly over your sensitive nipple over the fabric. “Shit, Jake,” you groan.

“Let me take you inside, sweetheart. Wanna take care of you properly.” 

Jake doesn’t wait for your response and hops out of the car. He circles to open your door and practically drags you out, your feet stumbling to keep up with his long strides. He presses you up against your door, one hand on your waist and the other buried in your hair. He tilts your head and slants his lips over yours again, tongue slipping into your mouth to tangle with yours. 

His grip on you is firm, holding you up even when you feel your foothold go unsteady. You turn to unlock your door and he’s close behind and you can feel the thickness of his erection against your ass. 

The room spins when he finally closes the door behind him and leads you to your bedroom. He scoops you up and tosses you onto the bed before climbing on top of you. He’s shrugging off his shirt in between kisses, flinging it somewhere across the room. Jake kisses you like tomorrow won’t come, like this is the last time he will get to indulge in the taste of you. 

He drags his tongue down your neck and sucks lightly on the skin until you feel the bite of a mark. He loves leaving his traces on you, a territorial seal that tells everyone else that you’re his. You forgot how much you love it when he does that. 

Jake leans back slightly, thumb against the blooming stain on your skin. “Fuckin’ gorgeous. All mine.”

He crawls down between your legs and hikes up your dress to your waist. He curses under his breath about how short these things are, how he could see your ass so clearly. However, his words taper off when he sees his favorite lace panties. 

So sue you, maybe you were expecting something to happen tonight – if not with him, then someone else.

Oh, who were you kidding? There’s no one else. It’s always been him. 

His finger slides down the damp line on your underwear and you clamp your legs together, embarrassed by how wet you are. How wet you’ve been the entire tonight. His large hands splay out on your thighs and pry them open again until he can see and smell you. “Shit, honey, your fucking pussy is dripping for me, isn’t it?” 

The force of his gaze has you twitching underneath him. 

He positions himself on his front between your legs, his mouth huffing hot hair too close to your sensitive skin. You’re so responsive to him, almost too responsive. He knows every little thing that makes you tick, every touch that makes you all too aware of his presence. 

His lips rake kisses up your thighs, and he pauses when you squirm in his hold. 

“You’ve never been shy,” Jake murmurs as he looks at you more closely, hooking his finger on your panties and slowly pulling them down to carelessly toss them aside. 

“It’s been a few years, alright,” you grunt, throwing an arm over your eyes to avoid looking at him in your vulnerable state. 

“A few years–” he stops, “Have you not–not since we last…” He trails off, the question dying in his mouth. 

You roll your eyes, “Of course, I have. Just–I haven’t had anyone go down on me in a while.” 

“Oh, darlin’,” he says it not in pity, but in a way that has your cunt seizing. Like he himself has waited too long for this moment. 

The first touch of Jake’s mouth on your pussy has fireworks exploding behind your eyes. There is no hesitance in his movements, not in the languid way his tongue strokes up your folds, not in how his fingers dig into your legs as he pulls you down closer towards him. Your breath jerks in your lungs as he dips his tongue in and drags it up to your clit. His moans vibrate throughout your body until you’re arching off the bed. 

God, Jake knows exactly where to put pressure, where to tease you. Your fingers cannot compare to the way his mouth moves on you, slow and anchored. He takes his time appreciating your taste and how you whine needily with every caress. Your hands fly to his head as he buries his tongue deeper into your cunt, collecting your juices and spreading it across your skin as he plants more kisses on your thighs. His mouth hones in on your clit as one finger slides into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, “you’re so fucking tight, darlin’. Like a virgin.” 

Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he pushes another one in. It’s been months since your last good fuck. 

You tighten around him again when he says, “God knows I’ve been in this pussy enough times before. Can’t wait to fill you up with my cock. Want to stuff you with my come.” 

“Jake,” you cry out as your eyes slide shut. An expletive leaves your lips as he begins leisurely sliding his fingers in and out of you while he sucks on the sensitive nub. 

It’s been so long. You’re so close. You could practically feel your orgasm clamoring to free itself. It’s so close but Jake doesn’t let you enjoy it that easily. 

He pulls his fingers out and climbs up to slip your dress above your head, using the fabric to keep your hands together as he ducks his head to pull your nipple into his mouth. “No bra, darlin’? You’re trying to get me to kill a man out there.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“All that bending over, you probably had people peeking on these pretty tits, sweetheart,” Jake growls, tightening his hold on your wrists. “Is that what you wanted, hm? Tease strangers just to get me jealous?”

Maybe. You turn your face away in lieu of responding. 

“You don’t need me jealous. You already have me. I would’ve fucked you if you just asked.”

“Go fuck yourself, Seresin.”

He laughs, “Missed this mouth. The things you say. The things you could do.” He kisses you again, and this time, there’s the tart tang of you on his tongue. His soaked fingers push back inside you and he traps every moan that leaves your lips. “So fucking wet for me. Could’ve had you warming my cock at the bar. Show all those guys who you belong to. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The mewls that escape your mouth are answer enough. The thought of him taking you in front of everyone, sitting on his lap with his cock buried inside you, has you clenching around his fingers again.

“Don’t come yet, darlin’. I want you falling apart on my cock. I’ve waited too long for this.” He drags his fingers out along with another protest from your throat. 

Jake finally releases your hands as he moves on top of you again. It’s straight out of your fantasies. This same image has plagued your every thought. When you’re alone at home and all you have are your fingers and this memory of him. You had imagined him pleasuring you so many times before that this feels like a fever dream. 

But Jake reassures you that he’s there with another kiss to your lips. The feeling is jarring, a delicious dose of reality. 

“Don’t think I can wait any more,” Jake pants, as he shoves off his pants. You tuck away a mental note that he goes commando. That’s new. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy for so long, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah?” You smirk, confidence settling back. “How long?”

“Since I walked back into your bar that day and saw you again. All I could think about was kissing you stupid and bending you over the counter. Imagined how wet your pussy would be for me. Then again and again whenever I saw you at the bar, at the beach, driving you home. I’d stop the car and fuck you by the side of the road if you asked.” 

Shit, you bite your lip and stare up at him with hooded eyes. He seems to enjoy that because he drags his tongue across his teeth again. 

“But you’re no different, are you? I can still smell you in these sheets. Been touching yourself? Have you been thinking about me?” 

A scoff that sits on the tip of your tongue falls when he runs his hand through your hair. 

His gaze is loaded, pulling the truth from your lips rather than a poorly concocted lie. “Yes,” you confess, “been thinking about this right here. You on top of me.” 

“Shit, honey, I could’ve been here all along taking care of you.” Jake shakes his head. “I’m here now, going to make sure you feel real good. It’s been so long, I don’t know if I’ll even fit inside of you.”

Before you can tell him off for his cockiness, he’s pushing the tip in. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s big. You forgot how big he is. He pushes in slowly, sweat beading his forehead as his biceps flex as he tries to carefully ease into you. You know he’s doing his best not to hurt you, but all you want is to be full of him. 

You lift your hips up to meet him, legs curling around his torso. “Fuck, darlin’, don’t do that,” Jake groans. “I’m gonna come too fast.”

“Please, Jake,” you whimper. “Just wanna be full of you.”

Another pleased sound escapes him. He pushes all the way in until he can’t fit anymore of himself inside you. It’s mindblowing how big he is. It takes him a few more thrusts before he can bury himself completely inside of you, your pussy stretching to accomodate his length. 

“Fuck, condom,” he pales when he realizes. His cock twitches inside of you. 

Oh. Oh, he likes being inside you without it. 

“I’m on the pill,” you admit.

“But–”

You cannot have him leave you when it feels this good. “I’m fine. I’m clean, are you?”

“Yeah, there’s been no one else.”

Those words catch you off guard but Jake is too distracted with fucking into you slowly. Your brain shortcircuits when he bends your knee so he can fuck into you deeper and harder. Your groans blend into a symphony in the quiet of your room, bouncing off the walls and echoing to amplify your pleasure. 

Jake presses into you, slow at first, like he wants to feel every inch of you around every inch of him. His mouth is everywhere, finding your lips, then trailing hot kisses across your chest. “Fuck, you feel so goddamn good, darlin’. So tight.” 

His voice breaks slightly as he tries to restrain himself from fucking too hard, too fast. He wants this to last, wants this to be as good for you as it is for him. 

“You were made for me,” Jake breathlessly whispers. It isn’t a question. It’s a prayer he speaks into an honest truth. The kind that you say in confessionals, a secret that only one other person knows. 

Your hips meet him greedily, chasing the friction and the stretch. He rocks harder inside of you at an angle that has you curving off the bed, the tip of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you. Every wet, desperate sound between your thighs interweaves with the shared moans and whimpers that fall from both your lips. 

You claw at his back, your nails scratching your own territorial lines down his back, red against his tan skin. The sting yanks another deep groan from his throat. 

“Do that again, sweetheart. Mark me. I’m yours.”

So you do, harder. Your fingers delving into the muscles of his back. He rewards you by snapping his hips forward, plunging himself so deep into you that you gasp. Everything feels like lightning striking the earth. 

“You like that? Like me ruining this pussy? No one else can have you like I do. I’ll ruin you for everyone else.” He says it like a promise, a threat. All you can do is nod, biting his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming.

His hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit again with a precision that reminds you how familiar he is with you. Everything that makes you crumble under his touch. 

It’s all too much. You can feel the blood climbing and rushing. His cock is dragging against your walls and his filthy, private thoughts sounding too loud in the cacophony of your moans. 

You feel it building fast. Your orgasm curls tight inside of you. 

“Come for me, darlin’. Make a mess on me. Let go.” 

You obediently listen. Your body trembles, your ass lifting off the mattress in your final chase, as he follows with an urgent groan, hips stuttering with him holding you close. The orgasm crashes over you in waves, dragging you under.

But Jake is quick to breathe more life into you, kissing you deeply as the last of his come paints your insides. You feel the warmth spill into you as he holds you tight, tattered breaths against your lips. 

Your chest heaves as you come down from your high. You’re a sticky mess. Your hair is a frazzled nest on top of your head, your skin feels clammy, and your pussy is dripping the evidence of his pleasure. But you’ve never felt more alive. 

Jake presses a kiss against the side of your head before he slowly pulls out with a groan. He rolls off your bed and wanders into the bathroom, coming back with a warm, damp cloth. You lie there as he litters kisses all over you, drawing a laugh from your lips, as he wipes you down carefully. 

“‘M gonna shower anyway,” you mumble.

“In case you were lazy,” Jake smirks.

You peel yourself off the bed and jump straight into the shower. The hot water cascades down your skin, stripping away the grime from your prior activities. Jake steps in behind you, his lips on the back of your shoulder as he scrubs you down with soap, massaging your tense shoulders and lingering around your breasts. 

His moves are purposeful. When his fingers slip between your legs again, you come apart a second time under his touch. 

By the time you tuck yourself into bed and Jake slides in to spoon you, your eyelids are heavy with a pleasant, sated sort of weariness, the kind you haven’t experienced in a while. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart” is the last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under. 

–

Waking up the next morning is easy. You feel sore in all the right places, but you feel satisfied. A sort of peace that you didn’t even realize you were missing. 

However, the regret washes over you all too fast. An overwhelming tide that pulls the rug out from under you. The weight of his arm across your middle and his face nuzzling into your hair as his light snores fill the room are reminders of what transpired. It’s proof of what you’ve just done. 

The one thing you told yourself you would never do again. 

Not after last time. 

You mutter a silent “fuck” to yourself. Calm down. It’s just Jake. This is a one-time thing and it will never happen again. Never. He’s going to leave again and not come back for a while, just like he always does. He’ll disappear from your life just like he did last time. 

Only this time, you won’t be pouring your heart out to him. You won’t be professing your love for him like a blind, lovesick fool. No matter how much your heart demands it of you. 

When you look down at him again, you observe how his long lashes brush against his cheeks. You run your fingers delicately over the stubble on his jaw. God, he’s fucking beautiful. 

The ache that haunts you from two years ago returns in full force. Your heart leaps in your chest as you swallow the realization thickly.

You’re still in love with Jake Seresin.

Two years have done nothing to diminish your feelings. It’s as if you buried them six feet under, only to dig them up again when he comes around. It’s a cycle that erodes the hope within you. 

Jake will leave again and you’ll have your bar in this small town. You’ll continue your life as if he never came back. As if you’ll never see him again. 

Seeing his smile and hearing his laugh in the bar. The echo of his overjoyed calls across the sand. You have just gotten used to having him around again. Not as yours, but almost adjacent. It’s a gut-wrenching thought. One you don’t let yourself dwell on too much as you painstakingly extract yourself from him,

The loss of his warmth is immediate. Your feet touch your cool floors to bring you back to the real world. Reaching for your t-shirt, you tug it on and pad downstairs to start the coffee. He always needs a cup with sugar and a splash of milk before he heads in to the station. 

You go through the motions numbly. Grabbing the instant coffee from the top shelf, filling your kettle with water, and then waiting. Jake never sleeps in too late and the clock on your wall signals that he will likely be up in the next ten to fifteen minutes. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watch the kettle boil. The slow whistling and the smoke seeping into the air distract your mind from spiraling over what happened last night. You don’t want to think about what’s next for you and him. 

In fact, there is no you and him. 

You have work to get to. Restocking, ordering more supplies, figuring out bills for the end of the month. Then you have to work on Penny’s boat, which means you have to take it out to the yard and–

“Morning.” His voice is a low rumble behind you. That gravelly, break-of-dawn voice you once started your mornings with but now feels like a distant stranger. 

Your eyes flick to the wall again. He’s up earlier than usual.

“Coffee’s almost ready,” you say, opting not to turn around. God knows your resolve will falter the moment you see him. 

Jake doesn’t let your decision last for long as he saunters up to you. A strong arm winds around your waist to pull you close. He tucks your face into his chest and his lips find your temple in a tender kiss. 

He never plays fair.

He disregards your weak attempt to untangle yourself from him. “Missed you in bed,” he mumbles. Luckily, you’re saved from having to respond when the kettle screeches to completion. He moves to prepare his own cup of coffee. The only problem is that he keeps his arm around you as he navigates through your kitchen with too much familiarity. He finds the mug he gifted you a while back on the shelf above the sink, the sugar in your spice rack by the stove, and pulls the milk you always have in the right side of your fridge.

The entire time, he keeps his hold firmly around you. He maneuvers you around the kitchen with him as he works with one free hand. 

“Are you heading to work early?” He asks as he stirs his coffee. “I could drop you off and pick up my bike.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll drop you off at the station, then head to the bar. You can get your bike later.” 

You notice that he’s already dressed in the clothes from yesterday. He’s leaving. You know this already but seeing your worst concerns materialize still hurt. It’s mortifying how you’re still so hurt by something you’re already anticipating. 

Your eyes are glued to the buttons on his shirt, focusing on the one hanging on to a loose stitch. 

“Sweetheart.” There’s that drawl again. You hum in response, your eyes still fixated on his shirt. “Are you going to look at me at all this morning?”

Your throat dries. “Don’t feel like seeing your ugly mug this early,” you mutter with no bite.

Jake laughs and the sound is clear, resonating straight to your core. His chest rises as he does so, stretching the fabric across it even more. “Better sooner than later.” 

There is a split second of silence before you feel his fingers on your chin, drawing your face up to look at him. He searches your eyes for a moment, lips tightening at whatever he sees there, then he dips his head and places a soft kiss on your lips. 

You sigh into his mouth, tucking yourself closer in his hold. Your mouths move leisurely, soft in the early hours of the morning. There is no hurry in his movements, no agitation, nothing like last night. It’s as if you have all the time in the world to drown in each other’s company, quenching the parchness from two years’ worth of distance. He swallows your little whines and presses his fingers deeper into your hips. 

When his phone beeps, it’s like a cold splash of reality. He curses quietly against your mouth, reluctantly drawing away to yank his phone out and look at it. A deep sigh escapes him. “I have to go, darlin’.”

Oh. 

It’s bound to happen. You know this. So you nod quietly. “Yeah, let me get dressed and drive you over.” 

“Rooster’s picking me up.”

Right. “Oh, okay.”

Of course, he wouldn’t want an awkward drive with you, not after last night. His training is probably coming to an end soon, and he’s going to be deployed elsewhere, far away from the island. 

You avoid his eyes as you busy yourself putting things away. You hear him sigh again before he comes creeping back up behind you, his arm slipping around your waist again. There’s the feel of his mouth against the back of your head. “I’ll catch you later at the bar, hm?”

Unlikely. “Yep.”

“We need to talk.”

No, we do not. You do not need to rehash this conversation again. You’re a grown woman and you know when it’s time to let go. This is one of those times. Instead of saying this, you say, “Okay.”

He pauses for a moment, waits for something that never comes. Another sigh. You feel his lips on top of your head before he draws away from you, leaving a chill in his absence. The front door opens and closes, and you hear the crunching of tires on gravel growing distant by the second.

You slump against your kitchen counter, releasing a deep breath. This is fine. You have a lot to do today, so what’s an early start to the day?

Somehow, you keep your mind mostly off that dread that’s sitting in the pit of your stomach. You tell Andy not to come in too early so you have more to do to keep your hands occupied. Your arms are throbbing by the time you finish the prep work, and the real grunt work of running the bar hasn’t even started. 

Right as you’re fixing up the final touches on the bar before you open, the door swings open and you’re about to tell whoever it is that you’re not open for another… 5 minutes. It’s been a long day. However, your words vanish when you see it’s Nat by the door.

She pulls her sunglasses up on top of her head as you round the bar to greet her. 

“Nat! It’s been too long!” You wrap your arms around her in a deep hug. She laughs and returns the embrace. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Tell me everything.”

Nat left long before Jake did. It’s been years since you properly saw her. She is your favorite person from the crowd of Top Gun graduates so far. Fierce, fearless, and fucking fabulous. 

She grins, “Slow down, crazy. I am here for fun, I have been in a confidential location abroad that I will personally never return to. And yes, I’m doing great, how are you? How was sex with Hangman last night?”

“That’s great! And—” You freeze. “What? How do you—”

“I fucking knew it,” she hisses, laughing and clapping to herself. “I just knew when I saw him and his distracted ass that it was you again. It’s always you, isn’t it?”

You scowl. This reunion is no longer welcome at your bar, at least not with this topic of conversation. “No idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, come on. I walk into base today and Hangman’s fumbling over a guide he’s been teaching for fucking years? His recruits are convinced that the legendary Hangman is losing it and finally ready to retire.” 

You ignore the pinch in your heart at the mention of him. “I don’t want to talk about him, I want to hear about you.”

Nat offers a sympathetic look and it makes you feel shittier. “Alright, fine. Let’s sit and chat if you have time. I know you’ll get your crowd soon.”

That gets your spirits up as you two settle down. “First of all, who comes here for fun?”

–

Nat decides to abandon you when you can barely get two words out to her before a customer is flagging you down at the bar. The evening rush picked up fast and you can only send her apologetic looks that she waves off. She drifts over to the pool table where the recruits she met earlier are hanging around. 

Surprisingly, you haven’t yet spotted Jake in the crowd. It’s bitter to realize that, but it also comes as a relief because you’re not ready for the “I have to go and leave you again and cannot commit to you” conversation. This would be the third time – fourth if you include the tragic rejected “I love you” two years ago. 

You would think a girl would learn her lesson. 

You’re grateful that the groups keep you busy. Plenty of familiar faces – some coming in from out of town for a new assignment or training, and others, like Nat, who are apparently here for “fun.” You’re still not entirely sure what that entails when there’s barely anything to do around here. 

By the time the last customers leave and you’re wiping down the last table clean, you’re exhausted down to your bones. It is the kind of exhaustion you needed so you wouldn’t wallow in your self-pitying, woe-is-me thoughts before sleeping tonight. You had even sent Andy home early, preferring to do the grunt work yourself. That man’s been having a great week with your misery.

When you hear the front door creak open, you automatically say, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“Even for a regular like me?”

Your head whips up to see Jake standing there, weariness evident in the shadows under his eyes. “Oh, you’re here late. What are you doing here?”

“Told you we needed to talk.”

Crap. Your heart drops to your feet at the thought. You drop the dishrag on the counter and cross your arms. It’s a small thing, but you feel more protected. A fence that separates the two of you.  “Look, I don’t really want to have this conversation again. It’s fine. I’m an adult, I don’t need you to give me the talk every time you fuck me and leave. I get it.” 

He grits his teeth and sighs. “That’s not why I’m here. I mean, that’s not what I was going to say.”

You tilt your head in question.

“Can you just come over here so we can properly talk?”

Chatting with him from this distance when he’s about to “break up” with you again is safe. Chatting with him with zero space for you to break into an escape between you feels like another incoming regret.

“I’m good.”

He closes his eyes for a second, exasperation radiating off him in waves. “Please don’t be difficult tonight. I just want to talk.” 

Part of you wants to be difficult, just to show him how hard it is to be with him when all he does is push you away. But you see the desperation in his eyes and you cave. You cave so easily. 

You go around the counter, maintaining a good two feet of distance from him. He looks at you, pained again, but lets it slide. 

“I’ve been thinking about us.” 

Frowning, you look at him in confusion. 

Jake stops, seeming to mull over his words. “I’ve been thinking about what to say to you, but I don’t think anything I say could make up for all the time I’ve hurt you.” He swallows thickly. “This time—it’s not like last time. I’m not here to fuck around and leave.”

You take a deep breath. “Jake, you really don’t have to. Look, I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”

He quickly interjects, “That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t want you to take care of yourself. I want you to let me take care of you.” 

Uncertainty only sinks deeper into you. 

“I’ve left you behind so many times before, sweetheart. It’s been a fucking miserable two years, you know. I’ve been trying to avoid coming here because it feels like all my mistakes are rooted here—”

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’ve always known that he has regrets, but you never thought he’d look at you and see a mistake.

“That came out wrong,” he huffs, running his fingers through his wind-swept hair. “My mistakes are not you. You— you’re the best thing to happen to me. My mistake is that I let you go time and time again. When you told me you loved me two years ago, I ran. When I’m in the air, I feel fucking invincible. But that time, I couldn’t even say the words you wanted me to say back. I was scared shitless. I didn’t want to disappoint you. We had a good thing, I thought that it was the only way I could satisfy you. I couldn’t guarantee that you would be happy with me. So I ran. I ran from what could’ve been a great thing between us. 

“And being back here now, it just made me realize how much I miss all this, you. You’re all I ever wanted, and all I did was push you away because I was a coward. I want you to know that I want to try this time. I want to do right by you. I’m not leaving you again. I want to wake up every morning with you and go to sleep knowing you’re the last thing I see. I want to make you smile and laugh, but I also want to challenge you and tease you. Fucking highlight of my day when I get you all red and annoyed.” 

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help the smile on your lips. That elation that’s been concealed so far deep is climbing up your chest and curling around your heart.  

“When I came back here, I thought you would’ve… found someone else. Someone better. But there you were – same as always. Even after I hurt you all those years ago, you still smiled at me and welcomed me back. I want to say that you’ve always been my better half, but let’s be honest. You’ve always been a whole – you’ve taken up the entirety of my mind all this time.

“I wanted to wait until everything was settled before you know, we slept together again. I wanted to take you out to dinner and treat you right. Court you properly. Then you went ahead and showed me what I was missing, what I could lose when all those guys were flirting with you. God knows I’m a fucking asshole but I’m an asshole that loves you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It was implied in his words, tucked hidden between the vowels and the consonants. But there’s something about hearing it for the first time. The words that you’ve been waiting for so long, words you didn’t think you would ever hear. Your heart is in your throat as he goes on.

“I confirmed my full-time position as an instructor at the station here. It’ll be mostly for special detachments, and I’ll be mostly here. I might be deployed from time to time, but this will be my home base.” 

“You’re saying–”

“I’m saying that I’m staying, darlin’. I’m staying for you.”

All the words you had planned to say remain caught on your tongue. Your mouth is opening and closing, but nothing you say could even begin to express how you feel. 

Jake smirks, “Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to give me a kiss? Thank me for all the hard work I did?” 

Even in the most romantic moments, he proves to still be an insufferable piece of shit. But you laugh, roll your eyes, and come up to him. 

“I’ll give you a kiss and a kick to your ass for putting me through all this. God, you owe me a really nice, expensive dinner. I know a good place in the city for that. Actually, maybe a lot expensive dinners for the years you put me through hell.” 

“Whatever your heart desires, sweetheart.” 

“You said you love me?”

“That should come as no surprise to you. You’ve always been the smarter one.”

“Yeah, all that time in the air probably sucked all the oxygen out of your brain.”

He laughs, kissing you deeply. “God, fucking love that smart mouth of yours, even better when it’s wrapped around my–”

Let’s end it there and say that you lived happily ever after. 

Or at least, as happy as you could be with Jake and that unbearable mouth of his. 

The one you love most, of course, when it’s telling you he loves you.

↤ Flight Risk Masterlist

[sortagaysortahigh]

Domestic | Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

A/N: Heyyyyyyy guys <3 here's my first TGM fic that's ever hit the dash, and ofc it had to be my favorite douchebagJake Seresin!!!! but ugh the idiots in love fic lmfao. Rivals to roommates to lovers but the catch is they're literally so dense they don't know they're in love <3 UGH I LOVE LOVE! Also thank u to my lover in christ @anxietyandtacos for reading this for me and being a hoe <3

Summary: Moving in with Jake Seresin was the last thing you'd wanted to do, but you were out of options. Turns out, life is nice with Jake, if anything, you both enjoy being a little domestic.

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors (I am who I am), cursing, 2nd person POV, mentions of violence, Jake get's smacked a few times, Rooster and Nat supremacy bye, kissing, hand holding, mentions of hazing (not fraternity level fucked up hazing NEVER THAT!), idiots in love like honestly truly Smut: tongue kissing, spitting, handjobs, jake cums in his pants, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, cowgirl (WOO HOO!), spanking/slapping (tee hee!), creampie (unprotected p in v)

Word Count: 12.4k

Jake Seresin x Fem!Aviator!Reader

This man is such a douchebag i love him <3

Reader's Callsign is Hellfire

Living with one of your co-workers was usually a recipe for disaster, especially when said co-worker was an overconfident douchebag with a Texan twang that irritated you beyond belief. 

Moving in with Jake Seresin was a last ditch effort to move off base after the dagger squad had become a permanent addition to North Island following the success of their first high-risk mission surrounding the destruction of an unsanctioned uranium enrichment overseas.

For the most part, everyone worked very well together. Mainly because the group had learned to swallow their pride and get over their differences when they were in the air. Of course there were still several petty fights and arguments over the comms systems, and several repercussions surrounding mission reports, locker clean outs, and physical torture—being the workouts Maverick had them doing in ninety degree heat. 

You were one of the last members of the squad to look for an apartment, mainly because you hadn’t had the time. Unfortunately for you, one of the most infamous Admirals at North Island happened to be your father, and based on his callsign alone, it was evident that he wasn’t exactly America’s sweetheart. 

Inferno had served almost his entire adult life in the Navy, he graduated at the top of his Top Gun class, had led the Pacific Fleet with Admiral Kazinsky for some time and was currently in the running to take over the Fleet following Iceman’s passing. Upon the news that you’d been selected as one of the elite pilots to be called back to Top Gun he was thrilled.

That was for many reasons, the first being he got to spend more time with his favorite child—something that he wouldn’t admit in front of your siblings, but everyone knew it to be true. You’d followed in his footsteps and joined the Navy, while your brother did the same thing, he wasn’t an Aviator, he chose the mechanical engineering route as an Aviation Machinist. 

The second reason was because he practically lived to torture Aviators in the Top Gun program. With you here, he was able to double down on them, and use you as one of his many pawns in his schemes—to be fair, they weren’t terrible, usually just a bit of sanctioned hazing for the newest recruits. 

But as much as you enjoyed spending time with your father and participating in him reigning hell throughout North Island while simultaneously pissing off other Admirals—especially Cyclone, you also needed to find your own space. 

Moving back in with your parents was not an option, especially with the fact that your younger sister and her husband also lived in their pool house. Not that you had anything against them, but being around your very loud and very energetic family twenty-four seven was like your own personal hell. You liked to spend time with them, then head home to decompress.

So when you started looking for a place to live, you quickly learned that the housing options were slim, and several of the places you’d considered had long waitlists because of the constant influx of military personnel in the area.

Either that or they were overly expensive for a lackluster space, or a downright shitty place.

After complaining at the Hard Deck, Javy jokingly commented that Jake was looking for a roommate, it was somewhat of a joke because you couldn’t stand Jake, and vice versa. You’d met at North Island several years ago, and you were the reason he finished second in the class.

The rivalry should’ve died down in the years that you hadn’t worked with one another, but anytime you’d cross paths—even briefly, you couldn’t help but bring it up. Opting to call him ‘Number 2’ with a wicked smile on your face. As two Top Gun graduates it wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths, your squadrons had worked together on a few missions in the past, and you couldn’t help but bring up the old nickname.

It was better than calling him Hangman or Bagman, you were the only one who could call him Number 2, it was almost special.

Jake had scoffed at Javy’s joke, however upon meeting your pleading eyes, he realized that you were actually considering it. He was genuinely looking for a roommate, rent in San Diego was far from cheap, even with his salary and basic housing allowance. 

Besides he originally moved into the two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with Javy, but Javy had recently moved in with his girlfriend which left the room vacant. 

That day at the Hard Deck you grimmaced before swallowing your pride and asking Jake if he actually needed a roommate, you hated the barracks, and you’d tried staying with your family but it was too overstimulating after having long days of work. You’d even agreed to stop calling him Number 2 for a week—he tried indefinitely but you wouldn’t budge.

It also helped that Natasha, Javy, and Mickey took the time to actually convince him to consider it.

You moved in three days later, and you’d spent most of that Saturday bossing him around. He was already over your shit, then he watched as you rearranged the kitchen—his kitchen—and that left him flabbergasted. You complained that the counters were too cluttered and there wasn’t enough genuine open space.

Jake didn’t care if the counters seemed cluttered to you, everything was clean and everything had its place. Then suddenly, you were like a tornado, knocking everything out of place.

Not to mention your piles that you made, gathering everything like some kind of hamster storing their food for the winter—or like a packrat hiding their stash of goods. You had several piles around the kitchen and dining space, going through each and every one of them—making smaller piles—then finally reorganizing it all and putting the new mixture of his things and your things away. It also bothered him how easily you could just mix your belongings and his—like you were there to stay.

Of course, you’d only agreed to living with him for six months, you paid the first month’s rent up front, and told him that if things didn’t work out, you’d pack your things and find somewhere else to live—either that or you’d kick his ass first then leave.

To make matters worse, two months into living together, Jake Seresin realized he actually enjoyed you being there. Even if you cleaned like an absolute maniac, you also cooked, offered to help with the laundry, and forced him to watch terribly predictable horror movies with you. It was kind of nice in a domestic way.

He hadn’t expected that—at all.

Actually, he expected it to be something similar to your callsign—Hellfire. 

You’d gotten the callsign in flight school for several reasons, of course a major one being you were Inferno’s daughter, and where there was an Inferno, Hellfire followed. It was also because you had your father’s attitude and unfortunately for most of your instructors, his temperament as well. It wasn’t a secret that your father spent his early days of his career a bit out of control, disobeying orders and walking a thin line—you followed suit.

Jake expected living with you to truly be his own living hell. You were annoying as ever, that hadn’t changed, but there was also a sense of serenity with you that had completely blindsided him.

Of course it made perfect sense that after a long day of work anyone would want to relax, but with you, you’d spent all of your time off in a pretty peaceful state. Your usual attitude and smartass remarks were at a minimum, it was rare that you’d make an off-handed remark to him—which was a complete shock for the first few weeks.

If you weren’t such a smartass on base, he’d even consider you a genuine friend.

Hell, he knew you two were friends, even if neither of you would ever admit it out loud. 

You enjoyed living in the apartment, it was a nice space—although it did take some time for you to ‘cozy’ it up, prior to adding your own personal touches, the apartment lacked that extra warmth. It was definitely a man’s apartment, and it even smelled like Jake—that much you didn’t mind. He smelled nice, even after a long day of dogfight drills and Maverick’s usual torture.

It did piss you off that he insisted on using the overhead lights in the place. They made sense in the kitchen, but in the living room? That’s where you drew the line. Eventually you’d dragged him to the local Goodwill to look for lamps that had ‘spunk’ and ‘character’, settling on three different ones after arguing in the middle of the aisle like two crazy people. 

You also yelled at him inside of the local hardware store when he tried to buy lightbulbs that were a cool white light instead of a warm yellow hue. 

That’s also when you found out that he only had one lamp in his bedroom, and it had the bright white bulb in it. You snuck into his bedroom and replaced the light bulb the next morning when he was at the gym.

The first month of living together was full of adjustments on both of your ends, you both had to get used to one another’s schedules and routines. Not to mention the few arguments over how you cleaned, Jake practically storming off into his room to avoid seeing the chaotic mess. You also hated Jake’s cooking, you called it bland and tasteless—which he argued were complete synonyms.

His spice cabinet was embarrassing, so the next trip to the grocery store, you’d bought almost one of every spice in the aisle. Meanwhile he made comments about never needing most of them, but you simply shushed him with your signature glare. There was also the utensil issue, apparently Javy had purchased most of their silverware and upon moving out he and his girlfriend had completely forgotten to buy some—so he’d stolen it from Jake.

He was nice enough to leave two spoons, two forks, and two butter knives. 

So you had to buy silverware as well, and an actual set of kitchen knives considering your sister had stolen yours. 

To his dismay, Jake actually enjoyed shopping with you. The first few trips to the stores were absolute disasters. You drove, which he already hated because you had road rage and a tendency to speed and weave through traffic like a maniac. Then you two would argue in the aisles, going back and forth about what you needed and didn’t need, eventually you’d shush him over and over again until he’d roll his eyes and stop fighting back.

But, things got easier once you two managed to formulate a routine of sorts.

The first major part was that Jake drove. If you needed to go to the store, to the dry cleaners, to drop something off on base, anything that involved you two traveling together and carpooling—Jake was the one driving. 

Then you’d opted to only do your deep cleans when he was at the gym on sunday mornings, that way you had two hours to make your piles and sift through them without his overbearing, controlling, clean-freak nature. 

You usually cooked, you hated his cooking, although you did force him to sit with you on nights that you were both home, and eventually, he started helping and asking for directions. He was still working on the whole ‘seasoning with your heart’ thing, but turns out, he’s a pretty good sous chef.

He vacuumed, you hated vacuuming. But you mopped the kitchen because he hated mopping.

Both of you would play rock paper scissors when it came to dusting. It was the shittiest chore in the house. 

You both cleaned your own spaces, you with the hallway bathroom and bedroom, him with his bedroom and ensuite. He would only clean the hallway bathroom when everyone would come over because he hated people in his bathroom, so it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

One and a half months into living together is also when you found out that he had an array of hair products, which was funny considering his hair was relatively short. You’d caught him one morning heavily concentrated on his hair, two brushes and a comb on the bathroom counter alongside a jar of pommade and something in a spray bottle. 

You laughed at him for twenty minutes over it. 

Learning one another’s routines did help with your combined routine though. Jake knew that on your days off, you didn’t want to be bothered before ten in the morning, meanwhile he was up and ready to leave to the gym by seven. Even if you were awake, you were not a morning person, he eventually got used to your silence as you’d walk into the kitchen and start brewing a pot of coffee.

After work, he would come home and shower first, you’d focus on getting dinner started because you hated showering before cooking because you’d be left smelling like whatever you’d cooked after. It worked too because it guaranteed that you would both get hot water for your showers—also something you’d fought about during the first month of living together.

Every night after about seven you were usually quiet, at first it was alarming to him, because you’d never been quiet—not at work and not at the bar or anywhere else the dagger squad would go together. 

You also liked to watch movies during that time. He hadn’t really expected you to enjoy watching movies the way you did, and turns out, you had quite a few streaming subscriptions, some you paid for outright, others were your siblings that you’d been using long enough that they had profiles specifically for you. 

A month into living with each other you’d invited him to watch a movie with you. It was a bit awkward at first, mainly because Jake didn’t know what to say or do. You weren’t exactly the best of friends, and sitting in what should’ve been a comfortable silence was uncomfortable for him. Or at least it was until you’d kicked your sock-clad feet into his lap and tossed him the other end of the oversized throw blanket. 

Since then, it was an almost nightly tradition when you two were home together. When everyone would go out, or either of you would go out, you wouldn’t watch anything, but when you were both home, he didn’t need to be told to join you, he just did.

You both have been living together for almost five months at this point. 

Within the span of five months you’d pretty much turned his entire apartment around. Before you moved in it was just a regular apartment with standard furniture and a few decorations here and there, he liked to keep things minimal—his logic stood at ‘the less things, the less there is to clean’. 

That logic had been swept out of the door, you’d decorated the entire place, opting for funky rugs with different colors and patterns, your plants were scattered around the living room and kitchen closer to any windows, several knick knacks also lined the window sills, and there were three new shelves in the living room that housed his books and yours, all neatly separated and on display—much to his dismay—especially the romance novels.

His two grey sofas now had throw blankets folded over them with a series of decorative pillows in odd shapes and sizes, and the lamps you’d thrifted all sat in their own designated corners of the large common space. You made it a rule to not use the overhead light as well—and you’d forced him to take the lightbulbs out. 

The walls also had numerous photos and prints now, the wall closest to the front door had a corkboard with different pinned polaroids of the dagger squad that Natasha had taken during one of your beach days—you both agreed it made the most sense to hang photos of your shared friends. You had a collection of classic horror movie inspired prints that sat on the wall around the TV—which you also forced Jake to mount. 

The space felt warm, inviting, and lived-in.

Hell, he’d even taken after your eclectic decorating in his own room, adding a few more knick knacks and lamps. 

You both were comfortable in your routine, and you had boundaries already set, such as your hookup protocol. Whenever the other person was bringing someone home, it had to be approved, mainly because neither of you wanted to hear the other person having sex or deal with the awkward aftermath of a one night stand walking out to see you or Jake in the apartment.

It worked well, and for the first two months you both stuck to it. However, now, neither of you ever really texted one another about bringing someone home.

Jake was under the impression that you just opted to hook up at someone else’s place, and you were under the same impression about him. 

Neither of you had been having casual sex with anyone, you just didn’t feel the need to.

It was odd for Jake to not pursue hookups, he was the former king of one night stands, he’d pick up a new girl every few days for the hell of it. Plus the sex was also a great stress reliever for him. Occasionally he’d sleep with the same girl for a few weeks at a time, but when they’d get too clingy he’d break things off.

But now? Now it was like he didn’t care about the sex.

He also wasn’t as stressed as he used to be, part of him knew it was because of you—but he didn’t want to admit that.

You weren’t huge on casual sex, but you did dabble here and there. At least you used to dabble here and there, every few weeks you’d have a one night stand then spend the next day venting to Natasha about it. Most of the time the conversations revolved around the sex being mediocre for you because of the lack of an emotional connection.

She’d laugh at you, teasing you for needing to be emotionally invested in someone to enjoy sleeping with them, but you know she meant no genuine harm in it. You were just one of the people that needed that connection to really feel satisfied. 

Sure your hookups could make you cum, but that was it, you’d have sex, have a mediocre orgasm, then kick the person out—or you’d get dressed and leave.

Everyone around you and Jake noticed the shift and subtle changes between the both of you. It was obvious to them all, but for some reason you and Jake seemed to be incredibly oblivious to the elephant in the room.

It started a few months ago, something as simple as you two showing up to the Hard Deck together.

Everyone watched as he got out first, rounded the truck, then opened your door for you. Meanwhile you were smiling at him with one of your signature ‘Hellfire’ grins. The same look that everyone knew meant you were up to something.

The windows near the pool tables being adjacent to the parking lot that you two were in was a pure coincidence. But it gave the entire dagger squad a front row seat to whatever show you were about to put on. 

To everyone’s surprise, you grasped Jake’s hand and let him help you out of the truck. Then again it was a somewhat lifted truck that you constantly made fun of him about—something about being from Texas and having a very ‘Texan’ truck. 

The most shocking part of it all though was the way that you grasped his hand, practically pulling him behind you as you walked towards the bar. It didn’t help that you weren’t in your usual Khakis, instead wearing a red sundress that had Jake’s eyes on your figure the entire time. Then you looked back and smiled at him, clearly making a joke that had him laughing and shaking his head.

You’d dropped his hand once the both of you had walked into the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd, spotting the Daggers, Jake making a beeline towards them. You opted to head to the bar, ordering another round for your friends while simultaneously spotting your brother—pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

He didn’t hesitate to ask about Jake.

“So, is the pretty boy finally your boyfriend? Seen you two walking in together” you rolled your eyes at Dante, shrugging.

“No, why would he be? We’re friends I guess, although sometimes I wanna kill him. Like straight up wring his throat” your hands moved in a choking motion for a second before you and your brother bursted into laughter.

“Please, my wife wants to wring my throat like six days a week, I think it’s part of the age ol Inferno family charm. Besides, that man looks at you like you hung the stars, and he’s even volunteered to help with Dad’s hazing fiascos on base just to impress him and spend more time with you—“ you shook your head, interrupting him.

“Uh no, he does that because he’s a total show off! We literally live together, I don’t see how he’d ever want to spend more time with me!”

Your brother laughed, shaking his head at you “you’re so smart but so dumb at the same time. Mark my words little miss Hellfire, we’ll be at your wedding in a few years.”

You scoffed “please, I’d rather jump off a bridge than marry Jake Seresin.”

Dante shook his head at you, raising a single brow—in this exact moment he looked just like your father. “Yeah right, sure, that man is literally looking at you right now like you’re the love of his life—look” he then nodded in the direction of the pool tables, you glanced over your shoulder, making eye contact with Jake, raising a single brow.

Then he shrugged, raising his brow—a silent challenge. You scoffed and looked away.

“Please, he’s probably plotting on how he’s gonna piss me off tonight, then annoy me with apologies on the drive back home.”

Your brother nodded slowly “...so the same thing a boyfriend would do?” 

You rolled your eyes again, shoving him while shaking your head.

Before you could respond, Penny placed a few drinks on the bar, whistling to catch your attention. “Here’s that round beautiful!, also when were you gonna tell me about you and Hangman? I saw you two lovebirds smiling at the door! Does Mav know?”

Your eyes widened as you shook your head, feeling the familiar blushing heat overtake your features.

“We aren’t together—oh my god please don’t tell Mav if you think we’re together, I don’t think I’d survive the embarrassment from him, it’s bad enough that I have to fly ops drills with him now that Harvard and Halo are both on leave. God—Mav literally gave me shit a few days ago because I told Bagman to screw off mid-air.”

Penny slowly nodded, exchanging a knowing look with your brother before she shrugged. “If you say so, but your boyfriend and Coyote are heading over here, probably for those drinks”

Then you looked over your shoulder, immediately making eye contact with Jake—again. 

There were other signs of the change in your previous tension filled rivalry relationship as well. The quick-witted quips had turned into flirty remarks on and off base. At first you assumed it was his new way of annoying you, but eventually, you’d gotten used to it and the comments didn’t bother you as much.

You’d take the time to adjust your flight suit on days that were scorching hot while standing on the tarmac and the second Jake would walk by, you’d hear his comments and whistles.

“Looking light a sight for sore eyes today Hellfire, better stop tugging on that zipper before you give us the show I’ve been waiting for”

Or “If you wanted to take your clothes off for me all you had to do was ask”

Once, when you were telling Phoenix that you were excited to take a cold shower he’d even offered to join you. Then he elbowed you playfully and kept walking.

Hell, you’d gone to the grocery store together once and he asked if you wanted a cream pie from him. Then he had the nerve to ask if you preferred to be painted like a toaster strudel while holding both boxes up. 

Jake had said it loud enough in the aisle that a group of teenagers started laughing. That day you nearly slapped him before practically dragging him out of the snack aisle—what made matters worse is he always criticized everything in the snack aisle, but somehow decided that on a random Sunday afternoon, he’d terrorize you instead.

The one singular time you agreed to go to the state fair with everyone, all of you had been drinking and laughing with one another for hours on end. It was in the middle of the spring, a day that wasn’t too hot or too cold, and the longer you all were there, the drunker you’d gotten.

Randomly, Jake had asked you if you preferred riding fast or slow. It wasn’t smooth at all, but it was enough to earn a loud scoff, followed by you hitting him with the large stuffed panda that you’d won after beating everyone at a dart balloon popping game.

“Oh come on! The line didn’t even land! Stop hitting me baby!” he yelled, letting out a dramatic scream as if you’d actually done any damage, then his hands were up, guarding his face while he mumbled about how perfect it was and how ‘his face couldn’t afford the damage’. 

“Stop being a freak Bagman!” he shook his head at your shouting “but I’m only down to get freaky with you baby!” he yelled back in a sing-song voice, earning several looks from the other adults and teenagers walking through the fair—thankfully most of the people with their children had already left.

Bradley and Javy both shared a look before bursting into laughter, meanwhile Mickey and Reuben tried to egg Jake on, ignoring your death glares. 

Bob and Natasha were off getting funnel cakes for everyone, which left you to suffer with the group of drunken idiots. (Granted, they were your drunken idiots)

You forced them all onto the tilt-a-whirl and they’d nearly thrown up during the ride. All letting out high-pitched screams each time their carts spun faster and faster. 

During their time on the ride Bob and Nat had gotten back with the funnel cakes, both of them exchanging a confused expression at the sight of you practically fuming, watching the rest of their friend group squeal like little kids on the ride—Rooster holding onto his stomach while trying not to throw up. 

Mickey had his hands in the air, cheering. Reuben and Javy both were panicking—trying to make sure no one threw up because they’d all managed to squeeze into one of the carts together. The ride instructor said it only seated four max—now they were all smushed with Rooster and Hangman who both looked ready to puke. 

Bob asked if you were alright, considering how pissed you looked. Then you vented to him for five minutes about how annoying everyone was, and how weird Jake was acting—which he’d already noticed but clearly you were oblivious to the evident shift in emotions. Bob shrugged, offering “have you considered the possibility that maybe Bagman might actually be romantically interested in you? And vice versa?”

You blinked a few times, for a couple of minutes you were contemplating it—maybe Bob did have a point. Then as you glanced back over at Jake, who was now standing up from the ride, blinking several times—trying to regain his balance, you shook your head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

Bob sighed, shaking his head then looked at Natasha. “They’re hopeless.”

You didn’t hear his comment, not when you were already making your way towards the area full of wooden outdoor tables. Then Jake practically tackled you, his arms wrapping around your waist while he pulled your back against his chest, a wide smile on his face as he rested his head on your shoulder. 

“That ride was killer Sweetheart, gotta say—you’re an evil woman.” You nodded your head, rolling your eyes while smiling, laughing at him as he held you in place. 

Everyone stared in shock. What no one understood was why you weren’t cursing Jake out anymore, each time anyone would bring up the possibility of you or him having feelings for one another, you’d simply shrug them off, saying it wasn’t true—because for some odd reason, you didn’t think it was.

The shift in dynamic was confusing to everyone except for you and Jake.

Today was no different, you’d all opted to go midnight mini-golfing because the several drinks you’d had at the Hard Deck left you all a little too tipsy to call it a night. Plus Maverick had given the squad the day off tomorrow. So after much deliberation, you all agreed that it would be fun to try out the new mini-golfing place half an hour from base. 

Squeezing into several ubers, was hilarious to most of you. Instead of opting for the Uber XL options, you guys somehow assumed ordering two regular Ubers would be fine. Both cars ended up being Priuses. 

You were squished in the backseat with Jake and Javy while Natasha sat in the front, except you’d managed to beat Jake at rock paper scissors, forcing him to take the middle seat which led to you practically being halfway in his lap, your left thigh completely draped over his right. Meanwhile your head leaned against his shoulder while you laughed at Javy’s jokes.

Nat looked at you and Jake from the rear-view mirror, a single brow raised at your closeness. She’d been skeptical about the two of you for a few weeks now, but she knew if anything had really happened you would’ve told her. Maybe you really were that oblivious.

It didn’t help that Jake looked down at you, mumbling your name not your callsign to catch your attention. You glanced up at him, faces inches apart while holding eye contact. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he shook his head, mumbling a quiet ‘nevermind’ before giving you a kiss on the top of your head.

Javy’s brows knit together at the motion. He met Natasha’s gaze through the rear view mirror, double checking if she’d seen it too. Sure, he was drunk—but he wasn’t that drunk. There was no way in hell Hangman would ever be kissing the top of Hellfire’s head. 

Not in a million god damn years.

Once everyone actually arrived at the mini-golfing spot and tumbled out of the small ubers like clowns leaving a clown car, everyone mostly walked in a large group, but you and Jake were side by side in the back, hands gently brushing against one another with each step. Then you absentmindedly grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers while walking towards the payment booth.

There was already a line of drunk adults waiting to be assisted, so everyone moved to the end of the line in one large cluster of sorts. 

No one said anything about you and Jake holding hands, but everyone noticed. They always did.

Mickey and Reuben exchanged a knowing look. Natasha and Bob did the same thing before shrugging, then Coyote and Rooster blinked several times, squinting with their jaws dropped as if this was the craziest thing they’d ever witnessed.

These are all aviators that have been in real-time active combat and somehow the most shocking thing was the sight of you and Jake not only getting along, but being rather close.

Mickey was the first to crack, he leaned closer to Reuben a harsh whisper as he faced away from you and Jake, looking towards the neon-colored booth with several black lights facing it. “Are you seeing them too? I’m not losing it right? Like that’s actually happening?” 

Reuben nodded, looking back at you and Jake for another brief moment. “You think they finally slept together?”

Coyote interrupted, clearing his throat while interjecting himself between the two men, shaking his head. “No way they have, Hangman hasn’t told me anything—and trust me when I say he tells me everything. Also, he keeps saying he’s not into her—but then he’s kissing her on the forehead like they’re an old married couple”

You leaned your head against Jake’s shoulder again, now looking up at him, eyes tracing his side profile as you spoke “Bagman, you’ve got pretty eyes.” Your words slurred a little from the one too many drinks, and you couldn’t stop the dopey smile on your face while you looked at him.

He nodded his head, looking at you with a brow raised “you flirting with me Hellfire? Don’t you know it’s frowned upon to fraternize with your fellow Aviators?” Jake laughed at his own joke, a wide smile on his face as his eyes trailed your features. “You’ve got pretty eyes too, got a little twinkle to them.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head while you looked away from him, hand still intertwined with his. 

Maybe this was just the liquor and your newfound friendship with Jake, all you knew was you enjoyed the closeness. He didn’t let go of your hand either, even offering a reassuring squeeze as you all moved forward in line.

Everyone was talking about mini-golf, Coyote and Rooster going back and forth about how they were great golfers, so mini-golf would be a walk in the park for them. Meanwhile Natasha shook her head, rolling her eyes while reminding them both that they were two large men who were playing golf with small putters on a course much tinier than they were used to.

They scoffed, brushing her off, even betting that they’d do the best. 

One hour into being out they both quickly realized they were terrible at mini-golf. Rooster looked bulky and awkward trying to drunkenly maneuver around the course, meanwhile Coyote kept over extending his shots, the golf balls flying all over the place, he’d even lost a few in the small man-made ponds and rivers. 

Now, two hours in, everyone was still drinking and you and Natasha had been tied for first place. 

Jake had also helped you with a few hits, his hands on your hips, angling them slightly while he spoke directly into your ear, his low southern drawl giving you goosebumps as he directed your movements.

Everyone tried their best not to acknowledge it, well, everyone that was focusing—which would’ve just been Natasha and Bob, the rest of the squad were too drunk to care about whatever was going on between you and Hangman.

Bradley and Javy were shotgunning beers as if they were twenty-one and the president of a fraternity. Both chest bumping after finishing their drinks before swinging their puts around a little too frantically as they headed towards the next course.

Then Fanboy tripped over one of the small bird-house-esque obstacles, he’d gone face forward into the turf, which had everyone erupting in laughter. He got up quickly, giving everyone two thumbs up before realizing his nose was bleeding. 

Your eyes widened, now stepping away from Jake whose hand had been around your waist, resting gently along your hip. For a second it felt like he didn’t want to let you go, but you gently pushed him away to rush over to Mickey, shaking your head at him while he awkwardly pinched his nose, flashing you a bloody smile.

“Are you shitting me Mick?” you couldn’t help but laugh at him, now digging through your purse, grabbing some tissues and handing them to him before looking over at Reuben who was laughing so hard he’d been hunched over gripping his chest, still laughing.

“Payback, chop chop, it’s time to head home! Fanboy’s officially cut off” you were laughing as you spoke, one hand rubbing gentle circles into Mickey’s back while he pinched his nose with the small stack of slightly crumpled tissues. He was still smiling, eyes hooded, the drunken haze very evident on his features. 

Reuben slowly stood up, still letting out a few laughs, shaking his head while he pointed directly to Mickey “you are an absolute legend man!” 

Bob and Natasha exchanged a look, both sighing as he pulled out his phone, now opening the Uber app—Bob was always the most responsible one on these outings, even after a few drinks. “Don’t worry, Hellfire, I’m calling the uber now. You heading back with them?”

You nodded your head at him. “Yeah, I’ll make sure they get in alright—these two morons might end up killing each other if we let them go alone” you giggled as you glanced between Mickey and Reuben. Both of them exchanged a look before bursting into a fit of laughter, what made it worse was now Reuben was falling over the same miniature house, except he’d managed to land directly on his ass, groaning at the impact.

“I can head back with them, that way Hangman can make sure you get in alright plus you two live together so it makes the most sense—Rooster and Nix are gonna head back with Coyote.” Bob motioned behind him, your eyes following his hand.

You looked over at Coyote and Rooster who were still in their frat-boy era, now trying to coordinate a handshake while drunkenly laughing together, then they both paused, belching loudly.

“Geez, Nat you sure you wanna deal with that?” 

She laughed, shrugging a bit before looking over at them. That’s when you noticed the smile on her face as she looked directly at Bradley, your brows knit together—eyes wide. Before you knew it, you were gasping, catching everyone's attention, then you muttered out an apology, clearing your throat while giggling.

“Phoenix! We have a lot to talk about tomorrow!” 

She blinked a few times, then her eyes widened as she watched your eyes jump from her to Bradley. “Don’t get me started!” both of her brows raised as she looked from you to Jake, which only confused you, there wasn’t anything going on between you and Hangman—at least you think there’s nothing going on there.

You’re friends—ish?

“Alright everyone, as much as we would all love to stay here until someone else gets hurt, our rides are here.” Bob announced, then he called out to Bradley and Javy, who turned so fast they’d managed to smack into one another. 

Maybe midnight mini-golf wasn’t the best idea.

Bob shook his head, pausing before looking back at you. “Hellfire, do you need me to call you a ride?” 

You shook your head, digging through your pockets, eventually finding your phone in one of them. “No, it’s okay—I’ll be fine with Number 2 over there! Be careful getting home guys! Text the group chat when you’re in okay! Or, I guess Bob and Nat text us?”

They both nodded, then the group started heading back towards the initial booth to return the puts, most of the golf balls were now long gone, something that you’d apologize profusely for once you turned everything in.

Jake helped Rooster and Coyote into their ride, Nat shaking her head as she climbed into the front seat while mumbling apologies for the two drunken idiots in the back seat. Meanwhile Bob managed to grab more napkins from the woman behind the golf counter for Mickey, who was getting into the car while still holding his bloody nose as Reuben practically flailed himself into the backseat.

“Good luck Bobert!” he laughed at the nickname, shaking his head at you before getting into the car and waving goodbye. 

Once everyone else was in, you glanced over at Jake who was scrolling through his phone. “Alright sweetheart, looks like we’ve got eight minutes to kill. Apparently those esteemed pilots managed to snag the closest rides here. Unless of course, you count me, y’know what they say about saving horses.”

He tried to be serious, but the second you made eye contact, the both of you were bursting into a fit of laughter. You shook your head at him while smiling.

“Seriously? You think that was smooth or something? No offense Bagman, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle me giving you a ride.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, meanwhile you gave him a flirty smile and a shrug. It was a challenge, that much he knew. You were both overly competitive, it’s one of the major reasons you couldn’t get along when you’d first met—hell it was the entire reason you two were even friends now.

Neither of you said anything else during the wait, it was a comfortable silence, you leaned into him while he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you closer to his side. 

By the time the both of you had gotten home, it was a little past three. 

You were in his bed before four. 

The second you’d walked into your shared apartment, he was on you. As soon as the door shut, he had you pinned against it, looking down at you in a lustful drunken haze, eyes slightly hooded while he smirked. 

You raised a single brow. Eyes moving from his blue irises to his lips—that’s all the confirmation he needed, his lips were on yours in seconds. You weren’t sure what happened or what changed tonight, but something shifted between the both of you—the previous gradual change had now fully tipped the scales.

Jake Seresin kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. One of his hands firmly held your waist, the other caressed the side of your face, thumb on your chin, lightly tugging against your bottom lip for a brief moment—just long enough for him to slip his tongue between your lips. 

Your hands gripped his shirt as you did your best to keep up with him, but it was clear this was one competition you wouldn’t be winning. So you shoved him back slightly, biting his bottom lip as he pulled away, your eyes meeting his again.

He licked his lips as he nodded, eyes stuck on your kiss-swollen lips “what was that you said earlier? You wanna go for a ride?” his voice was deeper than usual, and it had you biting your bottom lip and nodding.

If anyone were to ask you how you ended up half-naked in Jake Seresin’s bed with him between your thighs? You wouldn’t have a proper answer. One day you couldn’t stand the man, the next he was leaving bruising kisses along your body, then biting into the plush skin of your thighs. 

You looked down at him, biting your bottom lip as he ran his tongue along the bite mark on your inner thigh. He was already looking up at you, steely blue eyes on yours while he kissed a trail along your inner thighs, the way he stared at you was downright filthy.

Your clothes and his were in a scattered mess, trailing from the living room to his bedroom, your panties now dangling from your left ankle while he spread your thighs even further, moaning at the sight of your glistening core. 

“Fuck—wanted to taste you for so long baby” your eyes widened at the confession, but before you could say anything, Jake’s tongue was already lapping at your cunt. With zero hesitation he rapidly flicked his tongue along your swollen clit, your back immediately arching, one hand grasping his sheets, the other in his hair, tugging on the blonde strands.

He moaned against you, alternating between fast movements to slowly, deliberately trailing his tongue along your clit. He was practically french kissing your cunt—the motions had you whimpering. 

Jake didn’t care about the obscene wet sounds coming from his mouth against your pussy, if anything it turned him on even more. He focused on your clit—gauging your reactions to different speeds and pressures, doing his best to build a rhythm that would push you over the edge. 

Then he paused, biting his bottom lip at the low whine you let out.

“Jake—don’t tease me”

His cock had never been harder in his life. Jake Seresin had never once cum in his pants from going down on a woman—but today that might change. With the way you were tugging on his hair and whining his name and the taste of your cunt on his tongue—he was seconds away from finishing.

He nodded his head “don’t worry Sweetheart, I’ll give you what you need.” then one of the hands holding your thighs in place moved, now sliding into the apex of your thighs, right below his tongue. 

The feeling of one of Jake’s fingers fucking into you had you moaning his name desperately. You were practically begging for more already, rolling your hips against him. 

Jake nodded his head “fuck, you’re so tight baby—gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock. Pretty girl, you need more don’t you” 

You didn’t hesitate to moan “Fuck—yeah please-please Jake” his name sounded absolutely filthy leaving your lips in a desperate plea. 

Then he was wrapping his lips around your clit, hollowing his cheeks and harshly sucking on the swollen pearl while sliding a second finger into you, the combined sensation had your eyes rolling back, hips rocking against his face and fingers, trying to chase your high that he was dangling right in front of you.

He sped his fingers up, curling them slightly—just enough to have you moaning his name again. 

You were begging to cum, moaning a slurred mixture of pleas and his name. 

Jake didn’t care about anything else in this exact moment except for making you cum. What pushed you over the edge was the feeling of him slipping a third finger inside of you—your thighs practically caging him in—back arching off the bed, eyes squeezed shut.

“Jake—oh fuck! Oh fuck—Jake—” 

He moaned against you, a deep guttural moan as his entire body stiffened up, then it happened. Jake’s eyes widened as he kept his motions up, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he could—letting you wrap your hands in his hair and cage him in with your thighs.

When you finally pushed him away, he licked his lips, slowly sliding his fingers out of you, free hand gently caressing your hip—thumb rubbing half moons along the soft skin as you slightly winced from your own sensitivity. 

You were out of breath as you watched him sit up, the bottom half of his face covered in your slick while he tried to steady hsi breathing. Then your eyes were trailing along his body, Jake had always been muscular—that much you knew, and of course he was easy on the eyes, but you’d never seen him like this.

Chest rapidly rising and falling, a red flush to his skin, lips swollen, lust evident in his gaze. Then your eyes trailed even lower, taking in the defined ridges of his abdomen, and the trail of hair that led to the waistband of his briefs. However, nothing prepared you for the sight of his half-hard bulge below the grey Calvins with a dark patch evident on them.

“Did you—?” he shushed you, shaking his head, now looking slightly embarrassed as he looked away from you.

“Fuck, don’t ask me that—y’know I did. I’ve never—it’s never happened—shit don’t laugh at me baby” His drunken rambling was cute, it was clear that Jake was embarrassed, but he did little to nothing to hide it from you—he was comfortable around you and that had your heart doing somersaults.

You did your best to stop laughing at him, biting your bottom lip while raising both brows. “Yeah, never had pussy this good?” you tried to be serious, but you laughed again, and that caused Jake to laugh as he shook his head at you.

“You’re the bane of my existence y’know that? No wonder they call you Hellfire, you’re terrible” he nodded as he spoke, shifting slightly, trying to ignore the fact that he was getting hard again. Something about this—how intimate it was—was sending his caveman brain into overdrive. 

Then you were sitting up, grasping his hand, pulling him towards you. Once he was on top of you, you rolled over, the two of you in a fit of laughter at your lack of finesse—you blamed that on the drinks.  

Eventually you managed to properly straddle him, now unclasping your bra, tossing it across the room. His eyes widened at the sight of your tits, he licked his lips, looking at one, then the other, already imagining biting into them—maybe he had a thing for biting—Jake was discovering a lot about himself tonight.

You didn’t hesitate to tug on his briefs a bit, sliding them down just enough to grasp his cock, laughing at the sticky wetness to it, raising both brows at him as you wrapped your hand around his length, hand pumping along it as he gasped. You could feel how hard he already was—but based on his reactions, he wasn’t there just yet.

“F-fuck, you’re gonna kill me baby” 

You smiled at that, “not before I get my ride, how else am I gonna save a horse?”

His moan was animalistic, Jake covered his face with both hands, muffling his own moans while your hand moved faster, wrist slightly twisting, adding to the sensation. It didn’t help that you were slotted directly behind his cock, giving yourself the perfect view of it—and he had the perfect view of you. 

When he moved his hands, he watched as you spit onto it, a thin string of spit leaving your tongue, landing on the head of his cock, you quickly used it to move your hand even faster now. Then you looked at him, holding eye contact as you spit again.

Jake had to start doing mental math to stop himself from cumming. He was in his head calculating the force behind pulling four G’s in-air. 

This was a side of you that he knew nothing about—he’d never once in his life heard you talk about your sex life, nor did he know if you were actually out hooking up with people—but he didn’t care—not at this moment when you were jerking him off like a vixen straight out of a porno.

“Is now a bad time to say I’d wear one of your hats if you asked me to—not tonight though—I think you might go into shock or something” your light hearted tone, giggles, mixed with the fact that you were suggesting wearing one of his cowboy hats while simultaneously jerking him off had him squeezing his eyes shut, taking in a sharp intake of breath and thinking of Maverick—doing his best not to cum again.

It was terrible, having to think of your mission instructor just to avoid cumming for the second time in one night—Jake was humiliated—which might’ve been making the situation even worse.

“Why the face?” he blinked a few times at the question, taking a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, do you realize how sexy you are right now? I’m over here five seconds away from cumming—again. Between me and you, I’ve gotta think about Mav to stop myself from finishing”

You paused your movements, eyes widening before bursting into a fit of laughter, head thrown back with a wide smile on your face. “Hangman! Seriously?!” he nodded, rolling his lips inward and taking a deep breath.

“So, if you could, I’d like that ride—before I end up embarrassing myself twice tonight.”

You nodded at him, grasping his cock again, now sliding your body forward, lining him up with your dripping entrance, then you were taking his cock—slowly at first. You moaned at the stretch, toes curling, eyes rolling back slightly. It was obvious that he was big—but feeling him stretching you out was euphoric.

Then he grasped your waist, biting his bottom lip, trying not to buck his hips into you. 

By the time you had him fully sheathed in your cunt, you were slightly out of breath, now leaning backward slightly, hands resting on his toned thighs, your head thrown back while you adjusted to the feeling of him. “You’re so fuckin big—fuck me.” 

Jake was on cloud nine, his head practically spinning. He must’ve died and gone to Heaven—and the exact moment he was asking himself if this could get any better, you were lifting yourself off of his cock, using his thighs to brace yourself, then slamming back down.

He expected you to take it slow, but you had your own ideas. 

When you said he wouldn’t be able to handle you riding him—he now realized you might’ve been right.

You bounced on his cock without a care in the world, too cock drunk to think about anything but fucking Jake Seresin. Hips rapidly moving up and down along him, skin slapping against skin as your cunt practically swallowed him—soaking him in your essence.

He bit his bottom lip, moaning at the sight of your bodies connected, his cock practically shining, covered in a thin layer of your slick while you rode him. At this rate, he could hardly remember his own name, hands moving from your hips to your tits, he was testing the waters now, landing a gentle but firm slap to one of them, earning a choked moan from you.

The sting only intensified your pleasure, you moved one hand now, sliding it between your own thighs, two fingers rubbing circles into your clit—walls fluttering around his cock at the sensation. Jake’s hips bucked into you uncontrollably. 

Before he could start apologizing, you looked at him again, still fucking yourself against him, still rubbing your clit, and letting him play with your tits. “Fuck—do it again Jake—please”

He was in heaven. This was it—or he was in Hell and you’d be torturing him for eternity—using him for your pleasure. Actually—that wouldn’t be torture, not when he felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire and all he could focus on was the slick vice grip your cunt had him in.

Jake planted his feet on the mattress, one hand firm against your waist-grip bruising—then he started fucking up into you, meeting each and every one of your movements. 

You were a whining, moaning mess. It wasn’t long before you were practically begging him to cum—asking him for permission. That had his mind hazy again.

“Fuck, y’wanna cum baby?” His voice was strained, deep, and that texan drawl was driving you crazy. “Yeah, keep taking this cock—fuck just like that—such a good fuckin girl—best pussy I’ve ever had—Fuck—” Jake’s words were strained, at this point he hardly knew what he was saying, his filter was gone, all he could focus on was your pleasure and his. He pushed your hand out of the way, using his thumb to rub hard circles into your clit.

That sent you over the edge, you practically fell forward as you came, moaning his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around him so tight that he couldn’t hold it—you felt his cock twitch inside of you then he was coating your walls in ropes of cum—the warmth spreading throughout you.

It took a few minutes for both of you to fully come down from your shared high. You rested your head against his chest, eyes fluttering shut while you caught your breath.

“Seresin—I’ve never been fucked that good before”

He laughed at your hoarse voice, nodding his head while he massaged your scalp with one hand. “Pretty sure you fucked me, not the opposite”

That had both of you laughing again.

Eventually you slowly slid off of him, biting down against his shoulder as you winced. Then you were rolling onto your back, looking at the ceiling, biting your bottom lip and laughing. He slipped out of the bed, heading to the bathroom for a few minutes. 

When Jake came out you were already half asleep, a dopey smile on your face while you looked at him, it had his heart racing. You looked so beautiful, the warm glow of the light against your skin made you look like a renaissance painting, all soft edges and sweet smiles—the definition of beauty itself. 

He had a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips, then he was back between your thighs, gently maneuvering your body around, a warm washcloth between your thighs as he cleaned you up, taking a mental picture of his cum leaking out of you—something he’d think about later when it was just him alone at night.

Eventually when he was finished, he handed you one of his older PT shirts, ‘NAVY’ across the front in bold letters, the shirt was definitely one that he didn’t wear often—you knew that based on the fact that it was actually an oversized shirt. Jake Seresin was the kind of guy to only wear fitted t-shirts, showing off his body that he’d ‘spent so long curating’. 

You sat up in his bed, looking at him for a few seconds, finally sobering up—well from the drinks—admittedly you were still a little cockdrunk and fucked out.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he smiled at you, nodding his head. 

“Nothing I’d want more.”

Both of you expected the next day to be awkward, when you’d woken up on the sofa, tangled together under your usual blankets with the TV displaying an ‘are you still watching’ screen. But neither of you felt awkward about the previous night, you’d had sex—arguably amazing sex, and that was it.

He gently got off of you, helping you off the sofa with a wink. You raised a single brow “don’t get any ideas Seresin, my thighs are on fire” then you laughed, shrugging before walking off to your bathroom. 

Jake watched you walk off, his eyes trailing your figure, brows knit together, trying to process his own feelings. Sure you were still his annoying overly competitive friend—but you weren’t just his friend. You acting so casually also didn’t help, not a single awkward laugh or moment of eye contact. You’d gotten up and made a joke about it, and that was it.

Before he could dwell on it, the doorbell rang. He glanced over at the clock you forced him to mount near the kitchen, it was barely nine, who the hell would be showing up to your place at nine in the morning?

When Jake opened the door, the sight of Natasha in a pair of sweatpants, blacked out sunglasses, and a very oversized ‘Margarittavillle’ t-shirt told him everything he needed to know. Especially considering that was the same shirt Rooster wore to the gym all the time. 

They exchanged a knowing look. Natasha’s brows knit together as she noticed Jake’s half-naked form, her eyes trailing him skeptically. Then she noticed the evident reddish purple bite-marked shaped bruise on his shoulder. 

“Long night Hangman?” 

He nodded “You too Phoenix?”

She nodded. He then stepped to the side, making room for Phoenix to come into the apartment, which she gladly did, mumbling a ‘thanks’ while Jake shut the door behind her, locking it then scratching the back of his neck.

“So, are you here to debrief with Hellfire over your freaked out sex with Rooster? Is now a bad time to make a joke about his coc—” 

“Jake Seresin! If you finish that sentence I’ll personally kick your ass!” you shouted from the hallway bathroom, now stepping into view, pointing your toothbrush directly at him, both brows raised—shooting him a warning look. He knew that look well, it was better than the usual warning glare though—that one was a little scary.

Nat sat on the smaller sofa, raising a brow as she took in your disheveled appearance. Most notably the Navy t-shirt you had on that hardly even covered anything—it had just enough give to keep your bits hidden, but the second you turned around, she was flashed the bottom of your ass.

“Put some pants on Fire! Your ass is out!” 

Ten minutes later you were mostly dressed and brewing a pot of coffee, Jake decided to skip the gym for the first time in a very long time, instead he actually joined you and Phoenix for the debrief. Mainly because he wanted to be nosey about their relationship. 

While you stood in front of the coffee pot, he slid right behind you, hands on your waist while he kissed the side of your exposed neck—your hair all braided into two thick braids now. You giggled a bit at the feeling, trying to hold in your smile, lightly swatting at him.

“Stop it Jake!” your giggles gave you away, he then wrapped his hands around your waist, holding you against his chest. 

“C’mon baby—can’t I just be sweet and doting?” 

You scoffed, pushing him away while shaking your head. “No, don’t make me start doing my weekly deep clean early!” his eyes widened at the threat, shaking his head.

“Please—God please no. The piles are crazy! It drives me insane! It makes no sense!” 

You shrugged, now turning back, grabbing three mugs from the cupboard above you. “It makes perfect sense, you’re just mister neat freak, although you’re not very neat when it comes to se—” his hand was over your mouth, you laughed against it, while he blushed.

“None of that! Jesus—Phoenix is here!” 

You pushed his hand away, shrugging while pouring each cup of coffee, then you grabbed the milk that you’d gotten out already, pouring some into his coffee and dropping a singular cube of sugar into it—the way he liked it. He’d told you that a few months ago, said his mom drank it like that, so he did too.

Then you focused on making yours and Phoenix’s, adding the vanilla coffee creamer in until both cups were the right color. He shook his head at the sight.

“Y’know how much sugar is in that shit? It’s terrible for you Sweetheart.”

You raised a single brow “what are you, my almond mom? As a top Naval Aviator who was number one in my Top Gun class, I think I'll be okay drinking coffee with vanilla creamer. Besides, if it kills me at least I’ll die happy—not depressed with bitter nasty coffee.”

Then you were grabbing the mugs and walking past him, walking around the kitchen island, heading over to the sofas, handing Phoenix her mug before taking a seat in your usual spot on the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket then taking a sip of your coffee.

You and Phoenix both looked back at Jake who was leaning against the kitchen island with his coffee in hand. 

“We’re not including you in our debrief if you stand there like a creep Bagman.” You hummed in agreement with Natasha. Jake let out a dramatic sigh before walking over and sitting on the couch beside you, using one hand to lift your legs into his lap.

“Are you two together? Everyone on the squad wants to know. Even Mav” 

You and Jake exchanged a confused look, then you both looked back at Nat.

“No, why would they think that?” You shrugged as you spoke.

Jake spoke at the same time as you “No, who said that?”

Natasha slowly nodded her head at the interaction. “You two are like heavily domestic, and we’re at that age where two people who are heavily domestic are usually in a relationship. I mean look at this apartment, it’s all warm and cozy and screams ‘I let my girlfriend decorate’. You two hold hands in public now, you laugh and smile at each other? You haven't been chewed out about arguing during ops for like two months now! Y’know Mick asked Inferno if he knew his daughter was in a relationship”

Your eyes widened at her last sentence. Everything else hadn’t bothered you, you didn’t really notice the shift in your relationship with Jake—honestly you liked the shift. But Mickey telling your overbearing nutcase father that you were in a relationship? That was a problem in and of itself.

“I wouldn’t say we’re heavily domestic, I dunno, we just get each other.” Jake spoke with a shrug, the same oblivious nature that you had evident in his tone. Natasha sighed and shook her head, pinching her nose bridge slightly as she finally slipped off her hangover sunglasses. 

“You two are hopeless. Nothing about your current dynamic screams relationship to either of you?” 

You and Jake exchanged a look, then you both shook your heads. 

“No.” followed by “Nope.” 

Natasha didn’t get it—she truly didn’t understand either of you. She was currently sitting in your shared apartment, that you’d practically bullied Hangman into redecorating, you constantly bossed him around and he responded as if he liked it. You two had your arguments and disagreements—but nothing was major anymore and you both simply brushed things off. 

Holding hands in public was one thing, but she’d literally watched him kiss your head in an uber as if it was a normal gesture? If any of the daggers kissed her head she’d probably smack them.

You two naturally gravitate towards one another now, then the fact that you’d both managed to fall into a regular routine while living together, spending quality time with one another—completely dropping all of your previous hookups. Now you’d clearly had sex with one another, and somehow, someway, you two were still convinced that there was no romantic inkling in your dynamic?

Natasha had a headache already, and you two were making it worse.

“You two are morons. Anyways, now it’s time to talk about why I’m a moron.” 

The three of you laughed together. Then Natasha went into her story-telling mode, and she’d even given you and Jake all of the details on her and Bradley’s changing dynamic. 

They’d been friends since flight school, and they kept in touch, to the point that she’d been genuinely mad at him when he hadn’t told her that he was finally stateside again following the original assignment and callback to Top Gun.

“But here’s the thing, I don’t know if I’m genuinely into him, or if I’m just lonely and crave a relationship and domesticity! We’ve been friends for a long time, it’s not like you just randomly develop romantic feelings for your friends.” 

She sighed as she spoke, now slumping into the sofa, her mug on the coffee table while she wrapped herself in another one of the throw blankets, a pillow in her lap.

“Actually, it’s pretty common to randomly develop feelings for your friends, especially as you get older and realize that they have genuine traits that you like—plus Bradleys not exactly ugly. I’m sorry but he’s fucking fine, that man is like a 6’2 wall of muscle, and have you seen his hands?” 

She nodded as you spoke, meanwhile Jake scoffed. 

You glanced at him, raising a brow “is there a problem Twosie?” He rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Of all the names you have, I told you not to call me Twosie, it sounds like I’m a damn child.” you shrugged at him.

“Oh well, don’t throw a fit like one then. Now why are you scoffing, what are you gonna disagree that Bradley’s not super sexy? He’s like sex on legs.” Jake rolled his eyes at that comment. “Anyways, back to what I was saying before the Ken doll interrupted me. Bradley Bradshaw is a catch, and honestly Nat, with the way he looks at you whenever you two talk? I wouldn’t be shocked if he has a thing for you too.”

Jake nodded his head at that “yeah, that man looks at you like a lovesick puppy.”

“So he looks at me the way you look at Hellfire?” Natasha spoke with such a matter of fact tone that she had you actually thinking about how Jake looked at you. Everyone was constantly saying that the way he looked at you meant something—but you just didn’t see it.

“I do not look at her like a lovesick puppy.”

She rolled her eyes “yeah, sure Bagman. Back to me now.”

The three of you spent the rest of the morning and afternoon talking, eventually you’d also called Mickey and Reuben to get their advice on the situation, both of them agreeing that Natasha very clearly had romantic feelings for Bradley. Hell, the second you texted Bob, he sent a thumbs up, followed by ‘yeah, she’s into him.’

Eventually Natasha left, and you were back with just Jake.

Your brows knit together as you sat on the couch again, now staring at him.

“Jake?” he nodded his head, eyes practically glued to the TV as he scrolled through Netflix, looking for something interesting to watch tonight. You told him to pick once because you always pick, so now, once in a blue moon he cashes in his ‘it’s my turn to pick’ card.

You cleared your throat, he got the message and turned to look at you. Your brows were knit together, a confused expression on your face, while you looked at him.

“Yeah? What’s the matter sweetheart?” He sounded so concerned, and that only added into the confusion you were feeling.

“Are we in a relationship?”

Jake shook his head “uh no, we’ve never even been on a date.” Then he started thinking, you two had never really been on a date, neither of you had asked one another out.

But you did go to restaurants together, and you dragged him to several art galleries, the two of you drove to the beach to watch the sunset, you went to the movies together, whenever he saw something that you might like he jotted it down for later, taking you as a surprise.

Hell, just last weekend Jake had woken you up early, forced you to get ready just to drive two hours away to go cherry picking with him because he’d overheard you mention cherry picking season to your sisters on FaceTime two weeks prior. 

Then when you’d gotten there, he paid for everything and let you drag him around the entire orchard while he carried an eight pound bucket of cherries. Once you’d gotten home, he also helped clean each of them, and helped you bake for nearly five hours before taking you to your parents house to drop off several pies.

Jake had also managed to meet your mother, he already knew Inferno—but showing up to his house with his daughter in tow was something he hadn’t exactly thought through, so he was grateful that the man was on base. 

He also understood why you didn’t enjoy living with your very loud, very rambunctious family. They were all amazing, and he fit right in—which your mother teased you about—-but between the yelling, children running around, animals all over the place, and your brother’s family showing up as well, it made sense why you liked having your own slice of peace.

Your mother had also told Jake that he really liked him with you—which at the time, he simply shrugged off with a smile. Not wanting to get into the whole ‘we’re friends’ debacle with the woman that managed to stay married to a man as intense as your father for over twenty years.

Not to mention, the woman had also managed to raise your psychotic self—although Jake liked you for who you were.

His eyes widened “holy shit, we have been on dates—like a lot of dates. Wait, I think we are in a relationship—when’s the last time you’ve had sex—outside of last night.”

You shrugged, trying to think back on it “I think like three or four months ago now? I dunno, I just stopped having casual sex with people—I didn't really want to anymore.”

Jake nodded “yeah, actually. It’s been a few months. I preferred one night stands for the stress relief, but I haven't really been stressed in a while.”

“Isn’t that also around the time that we started getting close?” He nodded again with a light hum. 

Then he glanced around the apartment, thinking about what Phoenix had said, it hadn’t really bothered him when you started redecorating, and sure he’d argue a bit, but for the most part he just did what you told him when it came to moving things, mounting things, and rearranging.

All of your stuff was mixed with his stuff outside of your separate bedrooms. He didn’t mind, usually he would’ve—but with you it was different.

“Listen Sweetheart, I know we’re not friends. That much is for sure.”

His tone wasn’t venomous, not in the slightest. He sounded sincere, and almost vulnerable. But Jake was right, you weren’t friends. This was different—much different. 

Mick, Reuben, and Bob were your friends. You would never sleep with them—drunk or not. You also wouldn’t do their laundry willingly or cook dinner for them, or spend your decompressing time with them. 

Natasha was right, you and Jake were downright domestic.

Even after having sex with him, there was nothing awkward, there wasn’t a single sense of regret in either of your bodies. There was no awkward ‘oh this was a mistake we’re never speaking about this again!’ conversation. It felt normal, you felt normal.

“Jake, I think we’re in a relationship.” 

He nodded his head “yeah, no, that tracks. Considering you’re the only woman I want to spend my free time with, actually, if we’re being honest, I wanna spend all of my time with you. It’s part of the reason I’m always kissing your dad’s ass.” 

You laughed at him, smiling “don’t worry Bagman, I like spending my time with you too—otherwise I would’ve kicked your ass and stolen your apartment. But I think I just made it our apartment instead.” 

“We should’ve had sex sooner then.”

“Jake Seresin!” you paused, eyes widening “oh my god—my dad probably already thinks you’re my boyfriend. I’m so sorry for what Inferno’s gonna put you through.” 

He shrugged “it’s fine, I made it through the Hellfire, I’m sure I can handle the Inferno.” 

“Have you seen the way he hazes new Top Gun recruits? Not sure if you’re really ready for what Inferno’s gonna put you through.” you smiled at him, pulling him into a kiss.

Fin. 

-

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 As always feedback is appreciated!

[cowboybeepboop]

Desire

“Anything you want, baby,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader

Genre: Friends to lovers, romantic smut

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your feelings for Jake resurface after you tried to push them away, leading to an extremely intimate night with your best friend.

a/n: I really hope there's still an audience for Top Gun Maverick smut because I really loved writing for Hangman and Rooster. Also, I’m currently working on the requests in my inbox but as always feel free to send any my way! I hope you enjoy <3

You're best friends with Jake, in fact you're the only one who he doesn't seem to have an attitude with. Working at The Hard Deck allows you to see him even more frequently, which you truly enjoy.

You know not to get too attached to him, you know how he is with women, you know that given the chance he would simply fuck you and leave your life forever. So of course you’ve entirely given up on the chance of ever being anything more than just his friend, his best friend.

The doors swing open with Mav and his team bounding in, he greets Penny, glancing over at you as you lean over a table obviously lost in thought.

“What are all of you doing here? I’m not even open yet,” she starts to scold but Maverick brushes her comment off.

“I thought you could make an exception for us,” he shoots her a sly grin and she rolls her eyes. Hangman gives you a gentle pat on the back as he passes you, saying a soft hello.

Phoenix chuckles as she stands in front of you, “Hey Y/N,” you groan in response.

“Hey, bagman.” Phoenix addresses the blond who's standing at the pool table, “What's up with Y/N?” Hangman turns toward Phoenix and raises an eyebrow in response to her question. He didn't seem particularly interested in the conversation, but his attention was piqued nonetheless.

"Hm? Oh, Y/N? What about her?" he said, leaning against the pool table with a nonchalant tone.

“I mean, just look at her. She looks like she's got something on her mind.” she says, nodding in your direction. Their gazes fall on you, watching as you wipe the same place over and over. He approaches you with a frown on his face, clearly noticing your distracted state.

He stands in front of you, his arms folded across his chest, and observes you silently. "You look like you're in another world, sweetheart," he finally says in a low voice, tilting his head to get a better look at your face.

You glance up at him, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, something like that.” you mutter.

“Well, don't just say that and not give me the details.” he raises an eyebrow, watching the way you look away. Something was definitely on your mind, he could tell by the look on your face alone. He knew you all too well, and your usual mood was certainly not this solemn.

He leaned down a bit, making sure he was in your field of vision again, his arms still crossing his chest. “Come on, you can tell me. What's going on?” he prodded, a hint of concern in his voice.

“It’s nothing,” your expression softens as you toss the rag into the red bucket under the counter.

“Oh, really now?” he says with a doubtful tone. He knew you were lying straight to his face, you were usually a pretty terrible liar. He leans against the counter a little bit, keeping his eyes on you. “I know there’s something going on in that pretty little head of yours. So spill it.” He spoke in a firm tone, trying to get you to open up to him.

“It's just,” you purse your lips as you choose your words carefully, making sure he doesnt find out you're talking about him. “Just some guy, has me distracted.”

“A guy?” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. There was something off about the way you spoke, like you were intentionally being vague. But his curiosity quickly shifted into jealousy as you mentioned you were distracted by another guy.

His arms tensed across his chest as he leaned a little closer towards you. “Who is this guy? Is he bothering you?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He didn’t like the idea of someone else capturing your attention, let alone making you distracted.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over it.” you tease him, your mood becoming a bit more lighthearted.

He rolled his eyes at your teasing, a small hint of a smile appearing on his face. But he was still determined to figure out who this other guy was, who was taking your attention away from him.

He pushed off the counter, moving to stand in front of you so that you were now face to face. “Come on, spill it. Who is this guy?” he said, a hint of insistence in his voice.

“I don’t want to make you jealous.” There was a hint of a smirk on his face as you mentioned making him jealous. He knew you were teasing him, but his competitive nature couldn’t resist the challenge.

“Oh, you think I’d get jealous?” he said, a hint of mock arrogance in his tone. “I don’t get jealous, sweetheart.” you think for a second, realizing that maybe getting advice from the man who's bothering you so much, might actually be your best option.

“Fine,” you pull yourself up on the counter, sitting on the edge in front of him. “He’s an ass sometimes, all he cares about is getting laid so I know I need to stay away. But.. I just can’t stop thinking about him.” you sigh.

Hangman looks a bit surprised by your admission, he wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt about the situation. He wants to tell you to forget about the guy and focus your attention on him instead, but he knows he doesn’t have any claim over you.

He leans against the counter next to you, his arms resting across his chest once again. “Sounds like a player, why bother with him?” he asks, trying to sound indifferent.

“I don't know, it’s just that he's always on my mind.” you lean back on your palms, “I guess that's why I’m so distracted today.” He can see the hint of frustration and confusion in your expression, it was clearly bothering you that this guy was constantly invading your thoughts.

He’s silent for a moment, his mind racing with different thoughts and feelings. But eventually he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You can do so much better than some player,” he says with a slight scoff, “You don’t need a guy like him in your life.”

Your eyes wander across his face as you sigh, “I know..” your voice trails off. He looks down at you, noticing the way your eyes are wandering across his face. He can see the hint of disappointment in your expression, as you admit that you know you can do better.

He steps a bit closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face. “So why bother with him then? Why waste your time and energy thinking about a guy who doesn’t deserve you?"

“I should get back to work.” you smile softly at him, hiding the frustration at his admission. He didn’t want you to go, he wasn’t ready to let the conversation end just yet. The way you smiled softly at him, a hint of frustration in your eyes, made him want to keep talking to you and find out more.

But he knew you had a job to do, and he didn’t want to come off as needy or overbearing. He nods in response to your statement, forcing a small smile back.

“Y/N,” Penny smiles warmly at you, “How about you call it a day?” she presses her hand to your back.

“Are you sure?” you question her, she simply nods at you. You find your way over to the pool table watching the pilots play.

The pilots are in the middle of a game of pool, laughing and teasing each other as they take turns shooting. Hangman in particular is clearly enjoying himself, relishing in the competitive atmosphere. He knows he's good at pool, and he's not afraid to show it.

He’s the first to notice your approach, and his demeanor changes slightly. He glances at you, a hint of a cocky smile on his face. “Finished working already?” he teases, his eyes watching you intently.

“Yeah, but my ride won't be here for a couple more hours.” you bite down on your bottom lip, gazing at him.

He steps even closer to you, his gaze unwavering. “If you don't want to keep waiting, I can drive you home.” his voice lowered as he stares down at you.

“Actually that sounds like a great idea,” you smile up at him, thankful you won’t have to stay any later.

He can't help but feel satisfied that you agreed so easily to his offer, pleased that he'll have more time alone with you. He grins back at you, his arms still crossed in front of his chest.

"Alright then, let's get going." he says, jerking his head towards the exit. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the doors. You wave goodbye to Penny and Mav who are deep in a conversation.

“Do you maybe have time to watch a movie with me?” you fiddle with your fingers, “I mean, it's been a while since we've hung out just the two of us.”

He listens to your question, his mind racing with different thoughts, but he quickly shoves them down. He would do anything to spend more time with you. He pretends to act a bit indifferent, but his voice betrays him as he replies.

"Sure, we can watch a movie." he shrugs, trying not to seem too eager. "Got one in mind?" you reach for the handle of his passenger side door.

“Hm, we could watch anything. I just want to be with you,” you admit carelessly while getting into the car.

He can’t help but feel a flutter in his chest at your admission, his heart races a little bit faster as he watches you get into the car. He quickly gets into the driver’s seat, trying to act like your words don’t affect him.

“Anything, huh?” he teases, glancing over at you quickly as he starts the car. “Even a cheesy romance movie?” he smirks, knowing how much you love them.

You gasp in response, “Obviously, you *know* they're my favorite.” his mind goes back to the discussion you had earlier as you smile at him.

He lets out a soft chuckle at your response, “Of course I do, I can’t forget your obsession with them.” he teases, his eyes staying focused on the road as he drives. But his mind starts to wander again, thinking about your earlier confession.

As his mood shifts slightly, he glances over at you with a hint of a frown on his face. “So, uh, this guy you were talking about,” he says, breaking the silence in the car. “How… how serious are you about him?”

“Hm?” your eyebrows furrow softly. His grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly at your reaction, his eyes staring straight ahead as he continues to drive.

He can’t help the pang of jealousy that runs through him, he glances over at you, his face trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. “I just mean, you said you didn’t want to get in trouble with a guy.” he says, his tone guarded.

“I don’t know.” you sigh looking out the window.

His heart does a backflip at your words, he tries to maintain a neutral expression, but he can’t help the small smirk that appears on his face. “So, you’re single, huh?” he teases, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Mhm, why do you ask?” you question him. He continues to drive, keeping his eyes focused on the road as he answers your question.

“Just wondering,” he replies casually, trying to feign indifference. But he can’t help the nervous energy that’s building inside of him. He glances over at you, his gaze raking over your face thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve been single for a while too,” he adds, an underlying hint in his voice.

“You’re always single,” you retort, “you prefer hook-ups over relationships, right?” you tease him.

He lets out an annoyed huff, not expecting you to tease him like that. His face flushes slightly as he remembers all the past hookups he’s bragged about to you, in an attempt to make you jealous. “Hey,” he says with false annoyance in his voice, “I can be in a relationship if I wanted to.”

“And would you want to?” you question as he pulls into the parking lot of your building.

He parks the car, his heart racing slightly at your question. He turns to look at you, hesitating for a moment. The thought of being in a relationship, with you, was something he’d fantasized about for a while. But he’s also a coward, terrified of being vulnerable and getting hurt.

He takes a deep breath, trying to maintain a casual composure. “Maybe, if it was the right person.” he finally responds, his eyes searching your face for a reaction. You nod in response, slightly disappointed with his answer.

“Who’s your right person?” your voice is quiet. He’s taken aback by your question, the subtle disappointment in your voice stabbing at his heart. He glances down, his mind racing with different thoughts and emotions.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. His heart pounds even faster as he musters up the courage to answer you. “Well.. I think you already know.” your eyes widen at his implication, feeling his hand moving to cup your cheek.

He can see the surprise in your eyes as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb stroking your skin softly. His heart is racing as he looks down at you, his eyes searching your expression for a reaction.

He takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “Do you… do you feel the same way?” he asks, his voice soft and nervous.

“Jake.. I.” your heart races as your words get stuck in your throat. His chest clenches as you struggle to speak, his stomach in knots as he waits for your response. His hand is still gently caressing your cheek, his eyes never leaving your face.

He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure. “Please, just tell me. I need to know.” he says, his voice quiet but firm. Finding yourself speechless, you respond by pressing your lips to his.

He’s taken by surprise by your action, his eyes widening for a split second before he responds to your kiss. A wave of relief and happiness washes over him as he feels your lips against his, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief as he realizes the asshole you were talking about earlier just so happens to be him.

He moans softly against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he kisses you back, passionately and hungrily. You lean closer to him, your hands cupping his cheeks as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue twirling with yours. He can’t believe this is actually happening, that you feel the same way he does.

He pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips and guiding you onto his lap. He moans against your lips, his hands roaming down your sides, his touch both gentle and desperate at the same time.

“Jake,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his bulge pressed against your heat. He shudders hearing his name leaving your lips, his eyes darkening with desire for you. He can’t help but moan softly as he feels your body pressed against his, his hips instinctively bucking up slightly in response.

He pulls you even closer, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips trailing down your neck. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I want you so damn bad.” you moan quietly, leaning into his touch.

“We need to go inside,” your voice and gaze are filled with desire. His heart races at your moan, his body aching with need for you. He nods in agreement, his eyes filled with the same desire.

“You’re right, we should go.” he mutters, his hands roaming over your hips, unable to keep himself from touching you.

He lifts you off his lap, opening the car door and practically dragging you out with him. He shuts the door behind you before pulling you towards the building’s entrance, his eyes filled with impatience and lust.

He presses you against the wall of the elevator, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of exposed skin. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire. He kisses and nips at your neck, unable to get enough of you, your soft moans fill the cramped space.

He can’t help but smirk to himself as he hears your moans, his heart racing as he realizes he’s the one making you feel this way. He feels a surge of pride and satisfaction knowing he’s the one who has your heart racing and your body yearning.

“Jake, fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” The ding of the elevator pulls you both out of your trance as the doors open, revealing the empty hallway. He grabs your hand, practically dragging you towards your apartment.

You fumble with the doorknob as you unlock it, feeling his desperate hands around your waist.

He can't keep his hands off you, his fingers tracing the exposed skin of your waist as you fiddle with the keys. Impatience floods him, his desire growing with every second.

He presses himself against you from behind, his lips finding your neck once again. "Hurry up," he mutters against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "I need you, right now."

You pull the door open, smirking at his impatience. He traps you between his arms, your back pressed against the closed door, his body pressed firmly against yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and low. He leans down and captures your lips in a fierce and passionate kiss, his body desperate to get closer to you.

You press against him, your palms against his lower abs, as you lead him to your bedroom blindly. He follows your lead through the apartment, his lips never leaving yours. His body is on fire, the feeling of your hands on his abs driving him wild.

He pushes you against the doorframe of your bedroom, his body pinning you to it as he continues to kiss you deeply and hungrily. He can't get enough of your mouth, his tongue tasting every inch of it. He slips his knee between your thighs, pressing into your sensitive pussy. You moan into his mouth, your eyebrows scrunching in pleasure.

His knee presses against your sensitive core, his tongue exploring your mouth greedily. He can hear your moans, your breath hitching as he presses into you. He feels a surge of satisfaction as he knows he’s the one who makes you feel this way.

He nips at your bottom lip, his hands roaming down your sides, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “You like that, sweetheart?” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. “You want more?”

“Please,” you grasp onto his sides, moaning desperately, “I need more please.”

He can hear the desperation in your voice, your fingers gripping his sides. His heart aches at your plea, his body responding instantly to your need.

He moans against your mouth in response, his hands roaming down to your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you into your bedroom.

He gently but firmly presses you against the plush comforter of your bed, his eyes devouring every inch of your body. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting shadows across your flushed cheeks and the passionate hunger in his gaze. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, and it sends shivers down your spine.

With a low growl, he starts to peel away the layers of fabric that separate his skin from yours. His rough hands glide over your smooth flesh, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each piece of clothing that falls away reveals more of your beauty to him, and he can't help but moan in appreciation. His eyes are locked onto yours, watching the way your pupils dilate with every touch, every kiss.

He nips at your earlobe before tracing the line of your jaw with his teeth, making you squirm under him. His hands are everywhere, exploring the curves of your body, learning every dip and peak that makes you gasp. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your neck as he sucks soft hickeys into your skin. You can feel the pressure build, the promise of bruises that will be a secret between the two of you.

Your breath comes in pants as he kisses down your chest, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipples. You arch your back, pushing your breasts closer to his eager mouth, your hands tangling into his hair. He groans, the vibration of his pleasure echoing through your body, making your core clench with need. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and you can't help but bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

His mouth continues to travel downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your stomach. His eyes never leave yours, the hunger in them growing with every inch closer he gets to your wet pussy. You can feel your heart pounding against your ribs, the anticipation of his touch making your skin tingle with excitement.

With surprising gentleness, he spreads your legs apart, his gaze lingering on the wetness that's already gathered there. He groans, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his pants. He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, and you can't help but moan out his name as he kisses the inside of your thigh.

The first suck is gentle, but firm, and you feel your pussy clench in response. He starts to suck dark hickeys along the sensitive skin, each one a little harder and closer to your center. Your hands tighten in his hair as he works his way closer to your core, the pleasure building with every mark he leaves.

“More, Jake, please!” you beg him, your voice desperate and needy. He chuckles against your skin, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your back arches as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. You moan loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls of your small apartment.

He inserts one finger inside you, feeling the slickness of your arousal. You gasp as he starts to pump in and out, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, teasing and taunting it. His eyes watch yours as he reads every reaction, making sure to hit all the right spots.

You're close, so close, but he knows you can take more. He adds another finger, stretching you just right, the friction making your toes curl. Your eyes roll back into your head as he starts to pump faster, his mouth never leaving your clit. He feels you tighten around his fingers, the warmth of your orgasm approaching.

He keeps his rhythm steady, not letting up even when your moans turn into whimpers of pleasure. You're so close, your body begging for release. His eyes never leave you, the intensity of the moment causing your chest to heave with every ragged breath. And then it hits you, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

You scream his name, your body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps his mouth on you, drinking in your release, savoring the taste of your arousal. As the waves subside, he kisses up your body, his hands still holding you in place.

"You taste so good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice filled with satisfaction. He can feel your legs shaking as his own need for you grows with every second. He strips off his own clothes, his eyes never leaving yours, and then he's on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress.

He positions himself at your entrance, his cock aching to be inside you. He looks into your eyes, searching for permission, and you nod eagerly. He takes a deep breath, then gently pushes in, feeling your warmth envelop him. You gasp as he stretches you, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

As he’s fully sheathed in your wetness, he holds still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being connected to you so intimately. He starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, torturous rhythm. Each time he thrusts into you, your eyes widen and a moan escapes your lips. He loves the way you react to him, the way your body moves with his.

He keeps his movements gentle, not wanting to overwhelm you, despite his own desperate need to claim you completely. His hands are everywhere, stroking your skin, feeling your curves, as he kisses along your jawline. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

Your thighs squeeze around him, your heels digging into his back as he continues to thrust into you, deeper and deeper. His movements become more urgent as he feels your body tightening around him, the walls of your pussy clenching down on his cock. You moan his name, urging him to go faster, harder, and he responds eagerly, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm.

You can feel yourself on the edge of another orgasm, your breaths coming in short gasps. Hangman’s eyes are locked on yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze, feeling the power he has over your body. He can’t believe how beautiful you look, your face contorted in ecstasy, your eyes glazed over with lust.

Your body begins to spasm around him, your pussy clenching down hard. He groans, his hips stuttering as he feels you start to cum. The sensation is overwhelming, your muscles tightening around his cock like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through his body.

With a sudden jolt, he pulls out of you, unable to hold back any longer, his cock spurting cum onto your stomach with a loud groan. His eyes never leave your body, watching as your orgasm takes over, your pussy pulsing and gripping at nothing.

He's left breathless, his chest heaving as he looks down at you, his expression one of awe and satisfaction. He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, before his eyes drift down to the mess he's made of you.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body trembling with the pleasure he’s given you. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction at the sight of your beautiful, sated body.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and exhaustion. His eyes rake over your form, taking in every curve and plane, every mark he’s left behind.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he mutters, his fingers tracing the lines of his bites and hickeys on your skin.

“Now let's get you cleaned up, hm?” He lifts you up, wrapping his strong arms around you, and carries you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, letting the water run until it warms up, before placing you gently under the spray.

He steps in after you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to lather your body with soap, his hands moving over your skin gently but possessively. You exhale contentedly as you press into his chest, relaxing in his embrace.

He holds you close, his arms encircling you, as the water cascades over your bodies. His hands run over your body, washing away the sweat and evidence of your passionate encounter. Jake nuzzles his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, a sense of peace washing over him. He murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

“You’re not just fucking around with me are you?” your voice is uneasy as your stomach twists with anxiety. He freezes, taken aback by your vulnerable question. He can hear the anxiety in your voice, and it pierces his heart.

He pulls away slightly, turning your body to face his, cupping your face gently in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are intense but filled with understanding.

“No. No, sweetheart, I’m not just ‘fucking around with you’.” His voice is firm but tender. “What we did tonight, it meant something to me. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. You mean way too much to me.” your eyes soften as his gaze into yours with sincerity.

“Good, because I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” you bite down on your lip. He feels a rush of tenderness and protectiveness wash over him as he hears your sincere words. He pulls you closer, your wet bodies pressed against each other, his arms encircling you in a firm embrace.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he mutters against your hair, his voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and possessiveness. “You’re all I want too, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I need you.”

[onehoplessromantic]

Masterlist | Glen Powell

Jake “Hangman” Seresin - Tyler Owens

Updated: 6/7/2025 (link check)

!!authors!! if you want ur work removed please pm me

I’m back again with another one!!! It’s definitely not as lengthy as my other lists (yet) but I’m hoping to find some more for all three. I also figured I’d get a stake in this territory as the Glen Powell fanclub grows post-twisters. I hope y’all find what you’re looking for!

peace 💕

join the taglist here

fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

𐚁 BROTHERS BEST FRIEND | @tongue-like-a-razor

13 parts | ongoing | 🤍🌧️🍋

Jake Seresin x Bradshaw!Reader

The trials and tribulations of falling for your brothers best friend.

𐚁 BRUISES | @ohtobeleah

8 parts | complete | 🌧️‼️

Jake Seresin x WSO!Reader

After a mission goes south, Jake finds himself captured by insurgents that show no remorse. But whats worse than knowing he failed his mission? Knowing that the Weapons Systems Officer who trusted him to bring her home safe was in the same cell as him. Collecting bruises that match his own.

themes of heavy violence, sexual assault, torture, 18+ content, minors dni, mature themes, being held in captivity, hostage style situations, main character death! whump, angst, conversations that discuss antisocial and antisemetic views

𐚁 ROCKS ARE ALLOWED TO CRACK, STARS ARE ALLOWED TO DIM | @sarahsmi13s

oneshot | wc: ~8.0k | 🌧️

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!pilot!reader

everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder.

angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings

𐚁 THE WALLS ARE CAVING IN | @desert-fern

oneshot | wc: 5.5k | 🌧️🤍

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (known as honey bee/honey)

You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho

𐚁 THE BEANERY | @callsign-peach

oneshot | wc: ?? | 🤍

established hangman x female!reader

Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why.

tooth-rotting fluff

Tyler Owens

𐚁 LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 3.7k | 🌧️🤍

tyler owens x harding!reader

you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of the famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knack for knowing just what the storms thinking, a little infuriating and incredibly impressive

fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info and medical info, angst, fluff, some hurt/comfort

𐚁 CHASE YOUR FEARS | @briefinquiries

oneshot | wc: 11k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x f!reader

you and your younger brother are road-tripping across the US when you encounter a tornado. Luckily, the tornado wrangler himself shows up to help.

tornados, fear, flufffff

𐚁 WORTH YOUR WHILE | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 2.9k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x fem!reader

As the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. While you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, Tyler barreled into it head-first. But things change in the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than the safety of a newsroom.

dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornadoes, language, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info

Glen Powell

𐚁 HEY THERE DARLIN’ | @shellbilee

6 parts | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋

Glen Powell x OFC (Billie James)

fluff, swearing, angst, eventual smut

ⓒ onehopelessromantic, June 2025

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were Masterlist

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: You need a fake boyfriend for your sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, your childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth. You think he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for you to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 2 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 3 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 4 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 5 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 6 - Part I | Part || | Part III | Part IV

Epilogue

I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I did writing it! It's been my first finished fic IN DECADES. I will still post in parts because my conscious self has to keep re-reading and re-writing parts. Any feedback is always appreciated and I am just happy you are all here. Thank you!!! <3

Note: Links in RED are SMUT (or at least half of it)

[promisingyounglady]

watermelons. | JS x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Jake loves ur boobs. That’s it really.

PAIRING: Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: written for all my big tit girlies, from a big tit girlie herself.

He’s been obsessed with the girls since he first saw them.

And by the girls, he means your tits.

Like just imagine, cocky little top gun aviator, Jake Seresin, turning into a complete mess first glance at you. Spilling his beer all over his tan golden chest that one summer afternoon at the beach with the dagger squad, just because he saw you in your denim shorts and yellow halter top.

And they sit so nicely, your tits. Full, large, and beautiful.

The breeze carries the scent of salt, the air humid and yet all jake can do is stare at the girl with the sweet smile and pretty tits, laughing loudly with her friends on the Hard Deck patio.

“So you’re just gonna stare like a creep or what?” Bradley’s low voice calls out beside him, crossing his arms across his chest as he adjusts his aviator sunglasses, muscles glistening as well under the heat. He whistles softly when he sees you, to which Jake shoves his friend away playfully, annoyed that he’s looking at you too.

“Back off, Bradshaw”

And so next thing he knows, he’s by your side, immediately serenading you with his charming smile and kind eyes.

“Hi sweetheart”

It’s so fucking cheesy and simple, and yet it works on you. You’re spinning around, eyes going wide at the firm, golden chest your face to face with and the way Jake just looms over you, hands on his hips, sweaty and golden from a match of beach football.

“Would you allow me to buy the pretty girl and her friends a drink?” He asks your friend group, sending a wink that makes the girls swoon.

“Oh my fuck” slips out from one of your friends behind you, the group gawking at the sight of the tall, handsome man in front of them.

And she was right. Oh my fuck indeed.

All it took was one line of southern drawl and you were hooked.

That night when Jake has you pinned against the alleyway wall outside of the bar, both your cheeks hot and the breeze cooler, you stare up at the man you had just spent the whole day flirting to.

“So you’re stationed here for a few months?” you breathe out, staring at his broad chest and chiseled jaw, feeling so small under his gaze. You gasp when his hand shifts closer, holding your waist firm in his grasp.

He nods, no need for words when he’s busy admiring you as well. The tall man gently nestles his lips beside your ear, whispering praises as he pressed a kiss to your neck.

You shut your eyes, fluttering your eyelashes at the proximity and sheer sensuality of it all.

“Can I touch you?” He asks pulling away, looking at your eyes with something more than just lust.

You smile, chest heaving as you replied coyly. “Where do you want to touch me?”

Jake is starstruck at your words, trying so hard to shield you from the world under his arms and selfishly have you all for himself.

You take both his hands in yours and wrap them over your hips, letting them grab the mounds of your flesh and groan, feeling his hard on pressing against your front.

“feel me. and show me where you want to touch me most” you gasp, eyes shutting closed.

Jake pulls his hands away to caress your cheeks, taking your face as he presses his lips against yours.

“Here” he says under his breath. That was where he wanted to touch you most.

The kiss is deep, soft under the starry beach sky.

The same hands slide down to softly squeeze your tits, and that’s when you know that was the second spot he wanted to touch most. You smirk against the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing into him further.

Jake Seresin was a tits guy.

So when Jake comes home to his apartment after a year of steady dating, he’s already making a beeline to find you, settling on the fact that you must be in the laundry room finishing up the chores.

You don’t even have time to greet your boyfriend properly before he’s shoving his face in your tits and smacking a kiss to each one.

“Jake, what is up with you?” You giggled, shocked at how needy and hot he was. “I didn’t know they let you off early”

He sighs, taking them in his strong hands and pressing a kiss to each breast again.

“Just missed my girls, that’s all” he groans, holding you closer as you give him a hug.

you rolled your eyes, watching as he continue to rub them softly, pressing a kiss to your collar bone.

“I cut up the watermelon, it’s in the fridge” you told him, pulling him away to press a peck to his cheek.

You took the laundry basket, propping it against your hip as you smiled when Jake called out while pouting at the loss of contact.

“Not the melons I need!” he exasperates, trailing after you quickly.

[jacksabbotts]

. ᵒ .༄ DBF!JAKE x ARTIST!READER !  ࿔* ━━ ⋅⋆ ·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🎨 possible trigger warnings .' mention of past and current masturbation, nude sketches, descriptions of male anatomy, lowkey sexting  ‧ 🛩️ ‧ ━━ WC 2.8k

series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request for dbfjake x artist!reader * ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune + @dollywons + @bernardsbendystraws

⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · .  DRAFTED TO DEATH ━━ chapter nine ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ summary up all night and buried in discarded sketches, you spiral into horny delirium, beg jake for cock dimensions at 8am, and end up with a dick pic and a near-death experience when your dad almost opens one of the failed nudes.

you hadn’t slept.

not a wink. not a blink. not even the kind of power nap that accidentally ruins your rem cycle.

no. you’d spent the entire night surrounded by balled-up sketchbook pages, graphite smudges on your wrists, and a growing sense of artistic defeat.

jake seresin’s dick—his actual, real-life dick—was your white whale. and every time you thought you had it right, something was off.

too symmetrical. too clinical. too pornographic. too romantic. one version looked like a weapon. another looked like it needed medical attention. the worst one was shaped like a dolphin. you cried a little after that.

now you were down to your last page.

your. last. page.

there were literal paper shrapnel casualties all around you. the floor looked like an art student had a nervous breakdown in the middle of a figure study. ( which wasn’t far off. )

You stared at the blank page. You knew if you messed this up, you’d lose your mind completely. So you did the worst possible thing. You picked up your phone and texted him.

to jake 🐍 8:03 am

i need you to be so dead fucking serious with me for a second i need measurements like actual dimensions because i cannot for the fucking life of me get your cock right i’ve tried. i’ve really tried. i’m surrounded by sketchbook corpses and i’m on my last page

to jake 🐍 8:04 am

ok i think i’m sleep deprived ignore that last message

jake 🐍 8:07 am

well good mornin’ to you too, picassoyou gonna tell me where exactly you’re measuring from? base? tip? angle of elevation? curve radius? ...actually kinda flattered you ran outta pages before you got it right

you dropped your phone.

literally.

face-first onto your mattress with the kind of flinch that made your whole body recoil like you’d touched a live wire. you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop the feral noise trying to crawl out of your throat.

you were vibrating. actually vibrating. like your soul was trying to escape your flesh prison via shame-induced astral projection.

he was teasing you. mercilessly. flirtily. casually. like he hadn’t just confirmed that he knew—knew—you were still sketching him. like he wasn’t currently implying he’d be happy to give you detailed specs. possibly blueprints.

you hadn’t slept. hadn’t eaten. were drawing his dick like it was the sistine chapel. and now jake fucking seresin was offering to send over engineering-grade references like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you curled inward like a dying bug, sketchbook on your knees, surrounded by a graveyard of rejected cock drafts. your final page sat untouched, glowing like holy parchment beneath your lamp. you couldn’t even look at it right now.

your phone buzzed again.

jake 🐍 8:11 am

you still want the numbers?

you screamed into your blanket. actually screamed. then chucked your pencil across the room and dramatically collapsed into the pile of failed attempts.

you reached for your phone with trembling fingers.

to jake 🐍 8:12 am

jake. be serious.

jake 🐍 8:13 am

i am bein serious this feels like a medical consult at this point you want soft or hard?

you blacked out. flatlined. died and came back like lazarus with a graphite-stained hand and a kink-induced migraine.

he was still going. and the worst part? so were you. your fingers twitched toward your pencil. toward the final page. toward the haunting blankness of unfinished business and artistic torment.

you were going to respond. you had to respond. but what were the units? inches? centimeters? did you ask for girth?? was that too much?? was there a polite way to say do your balls hang or sit pretty?

you were going to combust

your thumbs hovered. your brain went static.

soft or hard??

what kind of psychosexual choose-your-own-adventure was this?? you stared at the message like it had fangs.

your jaw dropped. your spine melted. you were gripping your phone like it owed you money, pupils fully dilated, mouth open in a stunned little o as you slowly processed the magnitude of what he’d just asked you.

this was not flirting anymore. this was an offer. a choice. a fucking fork in the road of your life. and then, your phone buzzed again.

jake 🐍8:13 am

if you want hardyou’re gonna have to give me a minute

you let out a noise that wasn’t human. just a high-pitched wheeze like someone had stepped on a squeaky toy inside your lungs. you dropped your sketchbook. you fell back against the pillows like a victorian woman in a corset fainting over her embroidery.

you were going to explode. he was—

he was going to get hard for you.

for a drawing.

you’d made two objectively bad sketches of his dick and this man—this sinister blond menace—was about to commit a felony against your nervous system in return.

you scrambled back up. fingers flying.

you clutched the pillow to your chest. you were sweating. your heart was trying to hammer its way out of your ribcage. your thighs were pressed together on pure instinct. your brain was screaming

what does he mean give him a minute. what’s he doing with that minute. where is he. is he in bed. does he sleep shirtless. does he sleep in boxers. does he even sleep???

you fumbled to type again.

to jake 🐍 8:15 am

are you actually

no reply yet. you stared. the silence was too loud. you were frozen in the middle of your room, surrounded by ruined sketches, heart in your throat, phone in one hand, last blank page in the other.

was he actually—was he hard right now?

for you?

you stood then sat down again. and then you laid all the way back. and you waited. (and you maybe pressed your thighs together a little harder.)

you were actually losing your mind.

no reply. no blue check. just… nothing. except your own spiraling thoughts. you flopped back on your bed and stared at the ceiling, one hand gripping your phone and the other clutching the edge of your last clean sheet of sketch paper like it was a lifeline.

your legs kicked once. then again. you were vibrating. why wasn’t he answering?? was he joking?? were you being punk'd??

your phone buzzed.

jake 🐍 8:22 am

patience, angelit’s a little hard to measure while i’m like this

your mouth dropped open. you stared. you shrieked into your pillow. you scrambled to reply.

to jake 🐍 8:22 am

wtf does that mean??

no answer. not immediately. you stared. you waited. your legs were moving again. restless. kicking the air like it had wronged you.

jake 🐍 8:24 am

real stiff real warm real curious how bad you wanna know

you choked. you were lying on your back, legs bent, sketchbook abandoned, brain short-circuiting as your phone slipped down to your chest. you could barely type. your hands were shaking. you were shaking.

to jake 🐍 8:24 am

just put me outta my misery

his typing bubble appeared. then vanished. then came back. then vanished again. you were gonna combust. you were about to explode into fucking confetti.

jake 🐍 8:26 am

you want the truth, baby? gonna need you to say it a lil clearer what exactly are you askin me for?

you died. you fucking died. you were melting straight through the mattress, short of breath, eyes wide, lips parted, phone trembling in your hand. what exactly were you asking for?

you stared at the screen. you were—you were asking for . . . you licked your lips. sat up. tugged your blanket over your lap even though it did nothing.

you typed.

then backspaced. then typed again. then stared at your words like they might set themselves on fire. then, finally—

to jake 🐍 8:27 am

i want the hard dimensions width. length. curvature. vein placement. don’t make me beg again

he didn’t reply immediately.

but when he did—your phone lit up like a goddamn molotov cocktail.

jake 🐍 8:28 am

good girl sit tight i’m nearly there

you blacked out. you did black out, came back, and blacked out again.

you were clutching your phone like a rosary, whispering prayers to a god who had clearly left the chat, and waiting for a follow-up message that was going to ruin you for every man on the planet—

jake 🐍 8:33 am

7.8 inches just shy of eight little curve up thicker at the base two veins—left side’s more pronounced tip’s real flushed right now

you made an inhuman noise. like an injured animal. like a kettle boiling over. like the ghost of your soul trying to evacuate your body through your mouth. you were going to die on this hill. on the hill of jake seresin's dick specs.

your hand slapped over your mouth, eyes watering from the pressure. your thighs squeezed together like they were about to start a conference call. your sketchbook slid to the floor, forgotten. your phone buzzed again.

jake 🐍 8:33 am

need a cross section? happy to supply a diagram though you seemed to have one hell of an imagination already

you bit your knuckle. you couldn’t type. you physically could not respond. your brain had turned to hot mush. your fingertips had betrayed you. your knees were curled up like a goddamn victorian ghost fainting on a chaise lounge.

he was still typing.

jake 🐍8:34 am

gonna draw me again?or are your hands too busy right now

you froze.

absolutely, unequivocally short-circuited.

your legs twitched. your eyes blurred. you were sweating again—same as last night—only now it was morning and your sketchbook was hanging off the edge of your mattress, surrounded by torn-up failures, crumpled paper balls like battlefield casualties.

your fingers hovered above your screen.

another buzz.

jake 🐍8:35 am

need more inspiration, angel? i could send you something for reference, of course

your soul straight-up left the chat.

you clutched your phone like it was sacred scripture. your heart stuttered in your chest.

was he—? no. he wouldn’t.

would he?

you typed back before you could talk yourself out of it. before shame could catch up. before the rational part of your brain could slam the brakes.

to jake 🐍 8:37 am

don’t tease me

jake didn’t hesitate.

jake 🐍 8:37 am

oh i’m serioussay please

your breath caught. you blinked. once. twice. and then your thumbs moved like they had a mind of their own.

to jake 🐍 8:40 am

please.

it took exactly fourteen seconds. fourteen seconds for your phone to buzz again. for your screen to light up. for your life to change forever. there was no warning. no countdown. no playful teasing.

just—uncensored. unfiltered. taken from above, clearly handheld—jake’s tan thighs splayed in the frame, the worn hem of his gray boxer briefs shoved halfway down, waistband biting into muscle. and his cock—

jesus christ.

you stopped fucking breathing.

thick. heavy. hard as a fucking rock.

sloped against his abs with a curve that made your thighs clench on instinct. the head flushed dark and wet, swollen like he’d been edging for you, just waiting for the go-ahead. his shaft—veined and twitching—lay proud across a trail of happy trail scruff and carved muscle.

one hand cupped the base, fingers not even fully wrapping around.

just like he said. his cock was at least seven and a half inches ( and that was being conservative ), girthy enough to make your hand sore, veins fucking everywhere—but two prominent ones winding up the left side like highways, with smaller ones spidering outward, thick, honey-gold happy trail that just dared you to follow it with your tongue and skin flushed warm, a bit pink toward the tip—clear contrast against the tan of his lower abdomen.

jake 🐍 8:42 am

still need dimensions?or do you wanna measure it yourself?

you blacked out. you dropped your phone. you howled into your mattress. because what the fuck. what the fuck. jake seresin just sent you a dick pic at 8:40 in the morning, and it was frankly illegal how beautiful it was. golden skin, thick girth, proud arch, a damn poster child for sin. you were sweating. shaking. spiraling.

and then—you picked your phone back up.

because you were a artist. a woman of integrity. and if he was gonna send it, you were gonna study it. like your life depended on it.

jake 🐍 8:44 am

if that’s all… i think i gotta go take care of my problem i’ll be thinkin’ of you, darlin

your entire nervous system short-circuited.

that was it. you were done. game over. no saves. no respawn. jake seresin had just sent you the holy grail of dick pics at sunrise. told you, very casually, that he was about to jerk off. told you he’d be thinking of you while he did it.

you actually made a sound. some poor, breathless squeak of disbelief. your face buried itself in the pillow, your legs kicked like you were mid-exorcism, and your phone fell to the floor again, likely in self-defense.

you reached down to grab it, hand trembling, and just stared at the screen. because that message was now immortalized. burned into your corneas. etched into your spinal cord.

your brain short-circuited.

you couldn’t even bring yourself to type a response.

you just sat there in the glow of his glory—surrounded by sketchbook scraps, biting your lip, heart in your throat—knowing jake seresin was down the block, fisting his cock to the thought of you.

you whimpered.

you actually whimpered.

and for a split second—just one—you considered texting back : wait—show me.

but you didn’t. you were embarrassed enough for today. and now your hands? your hands were suddenly very busy. reaching for the hem of your nightshirt, just as you had done last night. toying with the edge of your panties—

knock knock.

you jumped so hard you nearly hit the ceiling. ( dramatic, i know, but that was the visceral reaction you had when you were about to finger yourself to a dick pic sent by jake seresin and you got interrupted. )

a pause. then a voice spoke through your door. “sweetheart?”

your father's voice.

your father’s voice.

oh my god.

you scrambled, phone screen still lit with evidence, and slammed it face-down under your pillow like it was contraband. you frantically pulled the blanket up to your chest as if modesty could erase what you’d just seen—what you were just about to do.

“y-yeah?” your voice cracked. “what’s up?”

another pause. "are you alright? heard a bang. thought maybe you fell.”

no. no no no. the only thing falling was your dignity.

you sprang up, fingers running through your hair as you tried to school your expression into something less . . . post-orgasmic. ( even though you hadn't even gotten to the orgasmic phase of your morning. )

“i’m fine!” you called. “just—uh. dropped my phone.”

“well, alright,” he said slowly. “can i come in for a sec?”

no. absolutely not. there was a dick on your phone and a hundred balled-up sketchbook pages littering the floor like you were mid mental breakdown.

but it was too late. he was already opening the door.

you lunged off the bed, trying to block his view. “watch the—paper,” you blurted, sweeping some crumpled pages behind your legs with one foot.

he blinked at you, then looked around at the chaos. “what happened in here? looks like a possum got into your recycling.”

you forced a laugh, pulse jackhammering. “oh, you know, just—uh, rough night. artist problems.” he stepped in, frowning, then bent to pick up one of the wadded-up pages.

you panicked. “no, wait—!”

too late. he turned it slightly, starting to open it. you snatched it from his hand with the reflexes of a navy seal. “it’s not ready,” you said quickly. “none of them are.”

he raised a brow. “alright. no need to tackle me, kiddo.”

you hugged the crumpled page to your chest like it might explode if he touched it again. “sorry. just—it’s kind of a personal piece. very, very early stages.”

his eyes softened. “well, i'm sure it’s great. you’re your worst critic, y’know.”

“mmhmm,” you squeaked.

then he looked around again. “can’t get it right?”

you swallowed. “something like that.”

he nodded like a wise sage. “sometimes walking away helps. clear your head.”

“right. yeah. totally. i’ll, uh—i’ll do that.”

he smiled, clearly oblivious, then patted your shoulder. “alright, well. i’m makin’ pancakes. want some?” you nodded, unable to speak. and then he was gone. door shut. silence. you collapsed onto the floor in a full-body oh my god cringe.

that man had almost unrolled a sketch of jake seresin’s cock.

you would never emotionally recover.

🔖  .   @spooky-librarian-ghost  @Soupie_MeowMeow  @gardeniarose13  @kmc1989  @Coldmuffinbanditshoe @nubecita040 @moonriseoverkyoto @alldaysdreamers @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @timeofmadness @writergirl28 @alldaysdreamers @khouse712 @nightmenotyou @hiireadstuff @beltzboys2015 @bobsbri

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[avengxrz]

the fool, the golden boy, and everything in between ⁃ jake "hangman" seresin [epilogue]

pairings: jake seresin x higherrank!reader (callsign: rogue) word count: 26.5k words (i am sorry) synopsis: what do you call a man who once flew too close to the sun, only to fall willingly, stupidly, beautifully for the one person who turned his recklessness into devotion, his chaos into quiet love, and gave him a home, a family, and a son asleep on his chest? warnings: filthy smut, breeding kink, pregnancy sex, soft!jake, jealous!jake, public teasing, emotional angst, comfort, fluff, domestic chaos, baby fever, hurt/comfort, jake being obsessed with you (as he should), and language that would make cyclone retire early. 18+ only. don’t read this on your grandma’s kindle. flight log: goodness, we’ve come to the epilogue now—wild, right? from enemies to lovers, to co-commanders, to baby-making soulmates… it’s been a ride. thank you for being here, for reading every chaotic chapter, and falling in love with these two fools right alongside me. and hey, who knows—i might drop a few bonus chapters if anyone’s curious about post-baby chaos or wedding shenanigans (hint hint). just say the word. ♡ disclaimer: my works are not made using ai. every word comes from me, my thoughts, my hands, my time. do not steal, copy, or feed my fics into ai for any reason.fuck ai and what it’s doing to creative spaces. support real writers. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ main masterlist part one , part two , part three , part four , part five , bonus chapter

Six months ago, you would’ve sworn—sworn on seared pride and buried rage—that you would never, not in a thousand lifetimes, so much as touch a hair on Jake Seresin’s head. And yet, here you were now. Bare skin tangled in cotton sheets, a warm, familiar weight pressed behind you, his arm slung over your waist like it belonged there. Like he belonged there. The morning light filtered through the blinds, golden and drowsy, casting lazy stripes across your shared bed. Jake’s heartbeat thudded slow and steady against your back, and without even realizing it, your breath synced to his.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It hadn’t been awkward in a long time. It was... quiet in the way only true comfort could be. The kind you didn’t question. The kind you couldn’t fake. Jake was still asleep behind you, mouth parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in a rhythm you knew like your own. He’d shifted once already, tugging you closer in his sleep, and when he’d murmured your name into the curve of your shoulder, half-conscious and warm as a prayer, you’d closed your eyes and pretended not to hear it. You hadn’t trusted yourself not to melt.

Meanwhile, the apartment was still. Only the distant hum of the ocean outside and the occasional creak of wood settled into the quiet. Somewhere under a heap of Jake’s Navy hoodie and your half-zipped duffle bag was your phone, buzzing silently with texts from the squad. You ignored it. There was no flight today. No emergency debrief. No Hell Day looming. Just a soft morning, sunlit and slow, wrapped in sweat and afterglow and the scent of his skin.

You hadn’t told anyone. Not officially. Not even the squad, which was a miracle in itself considering Payback couldn’t keep a secret to save his life and Fanboy was nosier than a Sunday tabloid. It wasn’t shame. It was protection—of rank, of respect, of careers neither of you could afford to gamble. You were the higher rank. You knew what people would say. And Jake, for all his reckless charm, hadn’t argued once. When you explained it—halting, careful—he’d just nodded, cupped your jaw in his hand, and said, “Then we wait. For as long as you need.”

Still... you had your suspicions. Jinx side-eyed you more than usual. Ruin had made one too many jokes about pilots suddenly “growing up overnight.” Maverick? Well, Maverick just watched you both like he knew every damn thing and was waiting for you to admit it. But they never said a word. Because you’d earned your place. Because Jake had changed. Because your glare could still cut glass when you wanted it to.

Then Jake stirred behind you with a low, sleepy groan, voice thick with dreams. “You’re thinkin’ too loud again, sunshine.”

You smiled into the pillow before you could stop yourself. “Am not.”

“Are too,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his voice barely a breath.

And for a moment, the world outside your bedroom faded. All the years and wounds and mistakes blurred into the kind of peace you never thought either of you could deserve.

“So… about last night,” he drawled, voice husky with sleep and something thicker.

You rolled your eyes, but you could already feel the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t start,” you warned, your voice barely above a murmur. “I’m still recovering.”

Jake chuckled, low and smooth. “Recovering? Sugar, I was the one who couldn’t feel his legs for a solid ten minutes.”

You shoved him lightly, and he grabbed your hand before you could pull away. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, slow and reverent. “You know I mean it, right?” he said. “This… you. Me. All of this.”

Something in your chest softened, melting like sugar over heat. He wasn’t just joking anymore. There was that quiet, tender honesty again—the one he didn’t always wear so openly, but never faked when it showed up.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, closing your eyes against the weight of it all. “I know,” you whispered. “And I do too.”

“You should be sore,” Jake murmured, voice thick with sleep and sin, his palm already sliding between your thighs like he owned the space there. “Because last night? I didn’t just fuck you—I ruined you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, but it hitched halfway, because his fingers were already brushing over your folds—wet, swollen, aching from how hard you’d come hours ago and already greedy for more. “You sound pretty cocky for someone who begged me to let you come,” you shot back, lips curved in lazy defiance.

He grinned, slow and wolfish, and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. “Damn right I begged. You make me pathetic,” he whispered, voice a rasp, fingers circling your clit like he was playing a song only you got to hear. “You make me lose every last bit of control.”

Your body arched, hips tilting up to meet his touch. God, he was barely doing anything and you were already soaking his fingers. It wasn’t fair. He knew exactly how to take you apart—what made you whimper, what made you scream. And the worst part? He loved knowing it. Loved watching you fall apart because of him.

“Jake,” you whispered, already breathless.

He kissed down your chest, lips wet and hungry, until his mouth closed over your nipple and you gasped. He sucked hard, biting just enough to make you jolt. Then he pulled off with a pop and looked up at you, pupils blown wide, sweat already beading at his temples.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You didn’t even hesitate. The second you did, he shifted down and dragged his tongue up your center in one slow, devastating stroke.

“Oh my God—”

“Not God,” he growled, voice muffled against your cunt. “Just me. And you’re gonna pray to me anyway.”

He devoured you—no finesse, no teasing, just filthy, open-mouthed hunger. His tongue circled your clit, then flicked it quick and merciless while two fingers slid inside you, curling, pumping, coaxing you toward that edge with ruthless precision. You were already shaking, already crying out his name like a chant.

“Fuck, Jake—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, lifting his head just enough to speak while his fingers stayed buried deep. “Let me hear it. Let the neighbors fucking know who owns this pussy.”

Your orgasm hit hard—violent, shaking, stars behind your eyes. You came with a broken scream, thighs clamping around his head, and he moaned like he loved it. Because he did. He lived for it.

He slid up your body, mouth shiny, beard slick with you, and kissed you like a man deranged.

“Taste that?” he rasped. “That’s mine.”

You were still trembling when he flipped you over, dragged your hips up, and shoved his cock in with one brutal thrust that made your mouth fall open. No teasing. No easing in. Just Jake, raw and ready and filthy.

He fucked you from behind, one hand twisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard you’d have bruises for days. His thrusts were fast, deep, punishing—like he was trying to ruin you all over again. And God, he was.

“Say it,” he growled, snapping his hips so deep you sobbed. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, voice high and desperate.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Jake—fuck—I’m yours!”

He bent over your back, mouth pressed to your neck. “You’re gonna come on my cock again. Gonna feel me so deep, you won’t be able to sit without thinking of me.” He reached around and rubbed your clit hard, fast, relentless. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you milk me.”

You shattered again—body locking, cunt spasming around him, and Jake cursed as he came too, loud and guttural, hips jerking, spilling into you like he needed to mark you from the inside out.

The only sound left in the room was the ragged panting of two people who had just seen God—and decided He wasn’t enough.

He collapsed next to you, chest rising and falling fast, pulling you against him with shaking arms.

“I should’ve fucked you like that years ago,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

You laughed, dazed and warm and still pulsing with aftershocks. “Would’ve saved us a lot of bullshit.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to earn you like this.”

The shower was scalding, steam curling into the air like smoke off a battlefield. Your body was still buzzing, thighs aching, skin raw from the way he’d taken you—twice, maybe three times if you counted what he did with his mouth before that last round.

And yet, here you were. Back against the cool tile, water running down your shoulders, your legs wrapped around Jake’s waist like you hadn’t just come undone minutes ago.

His mouth was on your neck, your jaw, your collarbone—biting now, not kissing, like he was trying to leave proof you were his. “Fuckin’ can’t get enough of you,” he growled, hands gripping your ass like he was holding on for dear life. “I just had you and I still want more. What the hell did you do to me?”

You whimpered, grinding against him, feeling how hard he already was again. “Maybe I wrecked you.”

He looked up—wild, flushed, pupils blown to hell—and grinned. “You did. And now I get to return the favor.”

He slid in with one brutal thrust, and the sound you made was damn near filthy—a broken, strangled gasp that bounced off the tile. You were still so sensitive, still stretched from before, and he knew it. He could feel every twitch, every pulse of your walls clenching around him.

“Jesus, baby,” he hissed, forehead pressed against yours, hips grinding slow and deep. “You’re so tight like this. So fuckin’ wet—”

“It’s the shower,” you managed, but your voice cracked halfway through.

“No,” he snapped, slamming into you again, making your head hit the wall. “That’s me. That’s your body needing mine.”

And fuck, he wasn’t wrong.

He rocked into you like he was trying to break something open—slow, punishing thrusts that had you shaking, water and sweat mixing down your back. One hand held you up, the other slid between you to rub tight, hard circles on your clit.

“Jake—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, biting your bottom lip between his teeth. “You’re gonna come again. Right here. On my cock. Against this wall. Let it drip down my thighs. Let me feel it.”

You were already so close. Every thrust dragged across every nerve ending. Every grind of his fingers sent sparks up your spine.

“Do it,” he demanded. “Come on. Give it to me.”

And when you came—again—your whole body snapped. Your back arched. Your legs trembled. You screamed into his mouth and clenched around him so tight it nearly broke him.

He followed instantly, hips jerking, spilling into you with a groan that echoed like a thunderclap in the wet heat of the shower. His whole body went tense, then slack, and he buried his face in your neck, panting like he’d just flown a Mach 10 mission and barely survived.

For a while, the only sounds were the water, your ragged breathing, and the distant hum of reality returning.

Then Jake leaned back, looking at you with a cocky little smirk and wrecked, reverent eyes.

“Round three?” he asked, like a fool.

You laughed, legs still trembling. “Let me stand first, you absolute menace.”

He grinned, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “I’ll hold you up, baby. Always.”

You didn’t even make it out of the bathroom.

He was still toweling off, chest flushed, abs glistening, hair dripping into his eyes—Jake in his final form—when you turned, yanked the towel from his hips, and shoved him down onto the counter like he was the plaything now.

He blinked, stunned and stupidly turned on. “Baby—”

“Shut up.”

Your voice was low. Commanding. Dripping with authority that had his cock twitching back to life in seconds. You climbed into his lap like it was your throne, dragging your fingers up his chest, watching the way his breath hitched under your touch. His hands flew to your hips, ready to grip, control, guide—

“Touch me and you don’t get to come.”

His hands froze. Just like that.

His eyes met yours—wide, glassy, pupils blown so far there was no green left. Just hunger. Just desperation.

You lined him up and sank down slowly, painfully slow, inch by inch, keeping your eyes locked on his the whole time. Watching him break. Watching the cocky fighter pilot beg with his eyes. His head fell back, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt.

“Jesus fucking Christ—”

“Nope,” you said, grinding your hips in slow, torturous circles once he was buried deep. “Just me. And I’m going to ride you ‘til you forget your own name.”

He choked on a moan, hands twitching at his sides like they were dying to grab, anchor, survive. You started to move—hips rolling, slow at first, deliberate. Your pace was lethal. Pure torment. Every drop of you squeezed around him like a vice and he was losing it.

“Please—please, Rogue—let me touch—”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice a venomous purr. “Didn’t I just warn you?”

Then you started to fuck him. No rhythm, no mercy. Just frantic, reckless movement, skin slapping, breath shattering. His head fell forward, mouth open, and you could feel how close he was. His thighs were trembling under yours, stomach tight, every muscle locked down.

“You like being used like this?” you whispered, hand wrapping around his throat—not tight, but enough to own him. “Like being just a cock for me to ride?”

His groan was feral, strangled. “Fuck, yes. Anything you want. Anything—”

You moved faster. Harder. Your nails dug into his chest, your breath ragged, your thighs burning. And he watched you, wide-eyed and reverent, like he was witnessing a goddess losing her mind in the sky.

When you came, it hit like a bomb. You cried out, body locking, nails raking down his chest. And when you leaned forward, mouth crushed to his, letting him feel the quake of you unraveling—then you whispered, “Now you can come.”

And fuck, did he obey.

Jake let out a growl so deep it shook his chest against yours, then snapped, hips jerking up into you as he spilled inside, trembling, breathless, completely and utterly wrecked.

You stayed there, on him, around him, both of you panting, shivering, sweaty. His hands finally found your thighs, holding you like you were all that kept him grounded.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

You smirked, dragging your fingers down his cheek, then tugging his face up so he met your gaze again.

“You still cocky, flyboy?”

He looked at you—fucked-out, flushed, breathless—and whispered, “Marry me.”

“Shut up.”

You were barely off his lap when he grabbed you—one arm around your waist, the other under your thighs—and walked you back toward the bed like you weighed nothing. His cock was still hard, already twitching back to life, slick with your release and his own, and you knew the second your back hit the mattress—

He wasn’t done.

He hovered over you, jaw clenched, eyes blown black. Not cocky. Not smirking. Just obsessed.

“I need it,” he rasped, voice ruined. “Need to feel you come around me again. Need to get deeper. Need to fucking breed you.”

Your breath caught. Everything inside you clenched—because fuck, the way he said it? Like he meant it? Like it wasn’t just some filthy talk but a mission statement?

“Jake—” you breathed, already squirming, already soaked again.

He gripped your thighs, pushed them back, wide and open and helpless, and growled, “You’re gonna take every drop. Gonna let me fuck you full and keep it in.”

Then he slammed into you in one brutal stroke.

You screamed—high and wrecked—as your body arched, already raw and sore and overstimulated. And he just groaned, deep in his chest, like your tight, used heat was all he’d ever wanted.

“That’s it,” he grunted, thrusting hard, fast, balls slapping against you with wet, obscene sounds. “That’s my girl. So fuckin’ perfect. So ready for me. Your pussy wants it, doesn’t it?”

You nodded frantically, gasping. “Yes—yes, please—fill me—”

“Oh, I will,” he growled, slamming into you harder. “Gonna put a baby in you. Gonna fuck you so deep your body has to take me.”

He grabbed your jaw, forced your eyes to his. “Say it.”

“Put a baby in me,” you cried, wrecked. “Breed me, Jake. Fill me up.”

That broke him.

He lost all rhythm, hips pounding into you like a man deranged, sweat dripping, hair stuck to his forehead. He grabbed your hips and forced you down on him with each thrust, chasing that final high, that last act of claiming.

“Take it,” he snarled. “Take it like my good fuckin’ girl. My wife. The only one I’ll ever breed.”

You came hard, body locking up, a scream tearing from your throat as you clenched around him like a vice.

And then Jake snapped—hips jerking once, twice—and he came with a guttural moan, pouring into you, hot and endless, thick ropes spilling so deep you swore you could feel it in your chest. He kept moving, slower now, grinding it in with each lazy thrust, like he was trying to make sure not a drop got wasted.

When he finally collapsed, body pressed to yours, both of you drenched in sweat and panting like you’d just run through hell and back, he didn’t pull out.

No. He stayed inside.

“Not done,” he whispered, lips pressed to your throat. “Gotta keep it in. Gotta make sure it takes.”

You laughed—broken and breathless. “You trying to give me twins now?”

He chuckled, still inside you, still rock hard. “I’ll give you a squadron if that’s what you want, baby.”

And the worst part?

You almost wanted him to.

You didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep—still full, still warm, still claimed—until his mouth brushed over your lower stomach.

Soft. Reverent. Filthy.

“Think you’re holding onto me already,” he murmured, voice wrecked and raw, lips ghosting over the curve just below your belly button. “Think your body’s already makin’ a home for it.”

You whimpered, barely able to lift your head, thighs still slick and shaking. “Jake… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered. He was between your legs again before you could breathe, dragging your legs open slowly, carefully, tenderly—like you were breakable now. “You will. Just one more. Let me love you like this. Let me seal it in.”

You shivered. Because holy hell, you were ruined and overstimulated and aching—and you wanted it anyway. Wanted him.

He didn’t slam into you this time. No, this time he pushed in slow, inch by aching inch, watching your face like a man watching the sunrise after war.

You gasped—so full, too full—but he stilled the moment he bottomed out, letting you feel the stretch, the heat, the intimacy of it.

“That’s it,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Just feel me, baby. Let me stay in you. Let me fill you again. I need to.”

And he moved—slow, deep thrusts that had you keening, trembling, tears springing in your eyes because it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he groaned, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “You were made for this. Made to take me. Made to be mine.”

His hand slid between your bodies, rubbing tight circles over your clit again, and your whole body bucked—pleasure sharp, unbearable, blissful.

“Jake, I— I can’t—please—”

“Yes, you can. Just one more, sweetheart,” he whispered, mouth at your throat. “Come for me. Milk my cock. Take all of it. I wanna fuck it in so deep you’ll still be leaking when you walk tomorrow.”

You shattered. Screamed. Clawed at his back like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your orgasm tore through you like fire—hot and electric and endless.

And Jake? He followed—groaning your name, pressing so deep into you you swore he touched your fucking soul, spilling into you again, harder this time, longer, like his body was trying to carve a legacy inside you.

When he finally collapsed, still inside, still hard, he wrapped his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

“I hope it sticks,” he whispered, one hand cradling your lower belly, the other stroking your thigh. “I want everyone to see you swollen with me. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

You were too gone to answer—just clung to him with everything you had left.

But in your chest?

You were already hoping it stuck too.

The sun had risen higher than you’d expected. Its golden light spilled lazily through the open window, warming the tangled sheets and the well-wrecked bed you still lay in. You blinked at the clock sluggishly, brain swimming in post-orgasm haze, only to see the glowing red numbers: 9:03 AM. Your heart jumped in mild panic as your eyes widened. “Shit,” you rasped, voice still hoarse from sleep—or more accurately, from the downright sinful things Jake Seresin had done to you just hours ago. “I’m late for work.”

Before you could fully bolt upright, a warm hand pressed lightly to your stomach, keeping you anchored to the mattress. “Relax,” Jake murmured beside you, voice rough with sleep and still laced with that smugness that always meant he was hiding something. “I already called Jinx. Told him you’re not feeling well.”

You blinked again, disoriented. “You—what?”

He grinned, sleepy and cocky, propped up on one elbow, his other hand lazily smoothing over your waist beneath the oversized shirt he had put on you sometime after round three or four—when you’d passed out cold and he, the menace, had tucked you into bed like you weren’t the same woman who’d ridden him raw against a bathroom mirror. His boxers hung low on your hips, loose and warm and entirely his. “Said you woke up with a fever,” he added. “And you’re showing...symptoms.”

You scoffed, pressing a hand to your forehead dramatically. “Oh? And what symptoms would those be?”

Jake leaned in close, voice barely a whisper as he brushed a kiss to your jaw. “Soreness. Fatigue. Uncontrollable trembling in the legs.” His hand squeezed your thigh pointedly. “Classic post-Seresin syndrome.”

You groaned, flopping back against the pillow. “They’re going to know, Jake. Jinx is not stupid.”

“Let them know,” he replied with a shrug and a wicked smile. “I also called Maverick. Told him it was an emergency.”

Your head shot up. “Jake—what kind of emergency?!”

“The kind that involves a bed, a lot of sweat, and you screaming my name,” he said without missing a beat.

You smacked his arm with a pillow, laughing despite yourself, cheeks already heating from embarrassment. “You’re gonna get me killed.”

“Nah,” he drawled, pulling you closer and kissing your cheek. “They’ll just be jealous.”

Then, as the laughter started to die down, the room softened. Jake reached for his phone, scrolling through a playlist before one quiet, scratchy old tune began to play from the speaker—some 60s ballad that your dad probably danced to with your mom in the kitchen when they were young. You arched a brow. “Really? You’re playing this right now?”

Jake stood and offered you a hand, completely unbothered by the fact that you were both half-dressed and still radiating sex like the whole damn house couldn’t tell. “Dance with me,” he said simply, like it was the most normal thing to do at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday after being thoroughly fucked into the mattress.

“I’m not dancing with morning breath,” you said, sliding out from the covers on shaky legs. “Give me thirty seconds before you start pretending we’re in a rom-com.”

Meanwhile, Jake just watched you with soft, fond eyes as you disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t need the music or the sunlight or the moment to feel perfect—but hell, they didn’t hurt.

You returned a few minutes later, face washed, teeth brushed, hair loosely tied back. His shirt was still hanging off your frame, sleeves too long, collar wide and falling over your shoulder. He was already waiting in the middle of the room, hand extended again, expression gentle now—no smirk, no teasing. Just him. Just Jake.

And this time, you took it.

His hand closed around yours, warm and sure, pulling you gently into him like gravity had nothing on the way your bodies naturally fit together. You rolled your eyes a little as the soft croon of the old song filled the room—something wistful and full of crackling vinyl charm, the kind of music old souls kept hidden away for rainy days and love-drunk mornings.

Jake pressed a kiss to your temple and swayed with you slowly, guiding your hands to his shoulders while his rested at your waist, fingers splayed just beneath the hem of his shirt. The motion was simple, lazy, just a soft back-and-forth like neither of you had anywhere to be—and you didn’t, not today. Because he’d made damn sure of that.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, though you made no move to step away. You even rested your head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat lull you deeper into the haze.

“And yet you’re still dancing with me,” he murmured, spinning you a half-step before pulling you back in close, chest to chest, nose brushing yours. “Must mean I’m doing something right.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, even though your lips were already curving into a smile. “The bar is so low, Jake.”

“Good,” he smirked, dipping his head so his mouth hovered near your ear. “Means I can clear it without spilling you.”

You snorted, but didn’t protest when he tightened his arms around you and rocked you gently, rhythm matching the slow tempo of the song. Then, in a moment that caught you off guard, his voice dropped even softer.

“I could dance with you like this forever, you know.”

That made your breath hitch—not because it was cheesy, but because he meant it. He always meant it when he got like this—when the cocky smirk faded and that rare, unguarded honesty bled through. You lifted your head to look at him, to meet those sea-green eyes full of everything he couldn’t say out loud in a crowd, but always told you when the world was still and the room was quiet.

“I’d let you,” you whispered, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. “Even if it’s to music like this.”

Jake chuckled, twirling you lazily before pulling you back into his arms again, your bare legs brushing his as you swayed. “Don’t act like you’re not secretly into it.”

“I am not,” you said with faux offense.

“Sure,” he said, lowering his mouth to yours. “That’s why your hips are moving like you’re in a black-and-white movie and I’m about to carry you off to war.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else—just a soft press of lips, slow and sweet and so wildly at odds with the way he’d wrecked you hours ago. Then you buried your face in his chest again, letting the song wrap around you both like a second blanket.

And in that little cocoon of music and stolen time, nothing else mattered.

Not Maverick. Not Jinx. Not Ruin. Not the Dagge Squad. Not the world outside those walls.

Just him, and you. And the music between your breaths.

The song faded into silence, leaving only the soft hum of the morning and the lazy beat of Jake’s heart beneath your ear. He didn’t move right away—just held you like he was trying to memorize the exact way you fit against him, the smell of your hair, the quiet way you sighed when you felt safe.

Then, without warning, his arms tightened around your thighs and lifted you clean off the ground.

You squeaked in surprise, arms flying around his neck. “Jake!”

He grinned, cocky and unbothered, carrying you like it was nothing. “What? You danced. You earned breakfast delivery.”

“I can walk—”

“I know you can. I just don’t want you to,” he said smugly, brushing a kiss to your cheek as he padded barefoot toward the kitchen, both of you still dressed in barely-there remnants of last night’s chaos. His shirt on you, his boxers barely clinging to your hips, and his scent absolutely everywhere.

When you entered the kitchen, the smell hit first—eggs, bacon, toasted sourdough, and the lingering whisper of coffee.

“Wait,” you blinked. “You cooked?”

Jake set you gently on the counter, your legs dangling as he turned back to the stove and grabbed a plate. “Yeah, I’m a man of many talents. Fighter pilot by day, domestic god by morning-after.”

“You cooked before or after you wrecked me into a coma?”

“Little of both,” he said over his shoulder, plating eggs with a precision that was honestly terrifying. “Had the bacon going before round two. Turned it off. Turned you on. Multitasking.”

You stared, vaguely scandalized. “You timed our sex between flipping bacon?”

Jake looked over, eyes glinting. “Well, not intentionally, but if we’re giving out awards…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin creeping across your face. “Unreal. You’re unreal.”

He handed you the plate, then picked up a second for himself and leaned against the counter beside you, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Eat up. Gotta rebuild your strength.”

You gave him a flat look. “Jake.”

“Baby, I’m just saying... you’re gonna need it. We’re not leaving this house today.”

Your stomach flipped, and not just from the scent of breakfast.

Meanwhile, the coffee maker burbled behind you, sunlight pouring in through the window like the universe was in on the joke—like it knew the two of you were wrapped in something bigger than just heat and hunger.

Something softer.

Something permanent.

You took a bite, and he watched you, eyes lingering on your lips like he hadn’t just kissed the life out of you three times over. And as the music shifted to another slow tune in the background, he reached out again, brushing your thigh with the back of his fingers.

“After breakfast,” he said, voice low, “you’re mine again.”

And you believed him.

Because you always were.

After breakfast and a bit of lingering—okay, a lot of lingering, with Jake nibbling kisses along your shoulder every time you tried to put your plate in the sink—you finally managed to peel yourself away and head for the bathroom to shower properly. You shut the door behind you with a firm but playful “Stay out, Seresin,” and heard him let out the most dramatic groan from the hallway, like you’d just exiled him from paradise. Which, honestly, you kind of had.

By the time you stepped out, hair still damp, fresh-faced and finally wearing real clothes instead of his shirt and boxers, Jake was sprawled on the bed like a man in mourning. One arm tossed over his eyes, the other resting across his bare chest like he was waiting for someone to come and play a sad country song over his broken heart. He lifted his head the moment he heard your footsteps.

“You dressed?” he asked, voice a mix of genuine betrayal and outrage. “You got out of the shower and got fully dressed without calling me back in?”

You glanced down at your jeans and tank top, drying your hair with a towel. “Yes, because unlike you, I have errands to run. We need milk. Also vegetables. We can’t survive on bacon and orgasms.”

Jake let out an actual whine, sitting up on the bed and reaching for you like you’d just announced you were enlisting for war. “But why do you have to go? We were having such a nice time. There’s eggs. We have leftovers. I’ll cook again. I’ll make pancakes. You like pancakes.”

You raised an eyebrow as you tugged on your shoes. “Pancakes aren’t gonna keep us alive when we run out of coffee and toilet paper, Jake.”

He stared at you for a second, then dramatically stood up, completely naked and unbothered by it. “Take me with you.”

“No.”

His jaw dropped. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean, you’ve ruined my entire body. My legs still feel like jello. I’m going to do the one normal thing today that doesn’t involve being pinned against a surface, thank you very much.”

Meanwhile, he crossed the room like a puppy denied his favorite toy, trailing behind you as you grabbed your keys and shopping list. “Please let me come,” he said, voice pitiful. “I’ll carry the bags. I’ll push the cart. Hell, I’ll even use the self-checkout without complaining.”

You turned around, arms crossed. “Jake. You don’t even like grocery stores.”

“But I like you in grocery stores,” he insisted, eyes wide with devotion and desperation. “You get this little furrow between your brows when you’re deciding between two brands of pasta sauce and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I need to witness that again.”

You tried not to smile, but your lips were already twitching.

“I’ll behave,” he added, now clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “I won’t even make a scene when you ban me from the snack aisle again. Scout’s honor.”

“Jake, you weren’t a scout.”

“Fine, but I am a fool. For you. Let me come, babe. I’ll wear a shirt. I’ll even brush my hair.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed your tote bag. “I don’t know what spell I put on you, Seresin, but it’s clearly too strong.”

Then, while you weren’t looking, he grabbed a shirt off the floor and began putting it on with the speed of a man trying to make a plane.

Jake, did, in fact, not behave.

It began well enough—he held the basket like a gentleman, followed you through the produce aisle without once trying to juggle the apples, and even nodded seriously when you debated the merits of frozen versus fresh spinach. For a brief, shining moment, you thought maybe—maybe—he would actually make it through one single errand without devolving into chaos incarnate.

That illusion shattered somewhere near aisle five.

You had turned to check the grocery list—half-distracted by the absurd number of brands under the “almond milk” label—when Jake’s voice echoed out like a proud child: “Babe. Look what I got.” He was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, holding up the very last box of your favorite double-chocolate cookies, the ones that were almost always sold out.

Except you were pretty sure those hadn’t been on the shelf a second ago.

You narrowed your eyes. “Where’d you get that?”

He tried to look innocent, which only made him look more guilty. “It was just... there. On the edge of the display.”

Suspicious, you glanced past him—and that’s when you saw the child. Maybe seven or eight years old, standing just down the aisle, eyes wide and watery, lower lip trembling in real-time horror. His small hands were still frozen in the air, like he’d just reached for something that wasn’t there anymore.

“Oh my God, Jake,” you hissed, smacking his arm. “Tell me you didn’t just steal cookies from a child.”

Jake looked between the boy, the box in his hands, and you. Then he leaned closer, voice hushed and defensive. “Okay, first of all, he was taking too long. It was like a three-second window and he wasn’t committed. I was.”

“Give them back!” you whisper-shouted.

But Jake was already stepping back, holding the box over his head like it was the golden idol in a temple full of booby traps. “It’s the last one,” he said, the tiniest, most chaotic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Survival of the fittest.”

Then he stuck out his tongue at the kid.

You were horrified.

The child’s mouth started to wobble. His eyes brimmed with tears.

“Jake, he’s going to cry!”

“Run!” Jake shouted, already grabbing your hand as he turned on his heel and sprinted down the aisle with you in tow.

You both darted past the paper towels and dish soap, breathless with shock and a little too much laughter, while Jake clutched the box of cookies like it was the Declaration of Independence. Shoppers turned their heads. One woman gasped. Another glared. But neither of you stopped until you rounded the corner and ducked into the cereal aisle, hiding like criminals.

Panting, you leaned against the shelf, trying to catch your breath. “You’re insane. I cannot take you anywhere.”

Jake was grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You can’t leave me anywhere, either. That’s the real problem.”

Then he offered you the box with a dramatic little bow, like he was gifting you a national treasure. “For my queen.”

You snatched it and smacked his arm again, trying not to laugh. “We’re going to hell.”

“We were already on the list,” he said, winking. “This just bumped us up to first class.”

Once the cookie heist adrenaline wore off, you both returned to your regularly scheduled shopping—albeit with a few more giggles under your breath and the occasional glance over your shoulder, just in case the child’s parents were plotting revenge. Jake behaved for the next few aisles, which in his case meant only tossing two unauthorized bags of snacks into the basket and humming the Star Wars theme song under his breath while pushing the cart with entirely too much swagger.

And then you passed the baby section.

It was tucked into the corner, just past the seasonal displays, where pastel-colored onesies hung on little plastic hooks and tiny socks were bundled together like clouds. It wasn’t even on your radar—until Jake suddenly stopped walking.

You glanced back and saw him frozen mid-step, basket in one hand, staring wide-eyed at a rack of baby clothes like it had just whispered state secrets to him. His face was lit with something ridiculous—wonder, mischief, and the kind of open awe that made your stomach twist.

“Jake?” you called, cautiously.

He turned toward you, eyes still locked on the rack. “We should get these.”

You blinked. “Get what?”

He was already moving, grabbing a tiny navy-blue onesie that said Daddy’s Co-Pilot in white lettering. Then he picked up another—this one soft gray, with a little jet embroidered on the front and a patch that read Squad Goals.

“They’re on sale,” he said like that explained anything.

You squinted. “Jake. We do not have a baby.”

“I know,” he said, not looking the least bit discouraged. “But look at this one. It’s got aviators printed on the butt. That’s hilarious. C’mon.”

You walked closer, lowering your voice. “You’re seriously proposing we buy baby clothes just because they’re cute and discounted?”

Jake looked at you then, really looked at you, that playful glint softening into something warm beneath his gaze. “No,” he said, quieter now, thumb brushing along the edge of the fabric. “I’m saying... maybe we could use them someday. And in the meantime, I’d like to imagine it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but your heart had already jumped straight into your throat. Because for all the teasing and chaos and chaos-causing, Jake Seresin was standing there holding a onesie with a tiny fighter jet on it, looking at you like you were the missing piece in every future he’d ever imagined.

Then, before the moment could get too heavy, he held up the onesie again and added, “Also, this one says My Daddy Flies Faster Than Your Daddy, and I kind of need it.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you pulled the cart forward. “You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m in love,” he corrected, tossing the onesie into the basket like it belonged there. “Let me dream, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers still brushed his gently when he caught up with you—and you didn’t move away.

Not even when he reached into the basket again, pulled out the ridiculous jet-butt onesie, and held it up to his chest like he was already imagining matching flight suits.

You sighed, long and exaggerated, but it didn’t hide the way your lips twitched when he started making plane noises under his breath and pretended to fly the onesie like it was on a carrier launch sequence. The man was a literal naval aviator—a decorated, sharp-as-hell fighter pilot—and yet here he was, making vroom sounds with baby clothes in a grocery store like a five-year-old with a new toy. It should’ve been absurd. It was absurd. But it was also Jake.

And Jake was impossible to stay mad at when he looked this damn happy.

“Alright, Hangman,” you muttered, tossing another onesie into the basket—one that said Future Wingman with little dog tags printed across the front. “We buy three, and that’s it. We’re not starting a collection for someone who doesn’t exist yet.”

He beamed at you, actually beamed, and for a second you forgot you were in the middle of a Target next to a display of car seats and pacifiers. His fingers curled gently around your wrist as you moved to push the cart forward again, grounding you in place.

“You’d be a great mom,” he said suddenly, voice low, almost too serious for the moment.

You froze, blinking at him. “Where the hell did that come from?”

He shrugged, but his gaze never left yours. “Just thinking. Watching you plan and make lists and drag me through produce aisles like it’s war prep. You’re organized. Patient. And you didn’t let me return the cookies after I emotionally traumatized a child.”

“You literally stole from him,” you pointed out.

Jake smirked, unapologetic. “All I’m saying is—you take care of people, even when they’re ridiculous. That’s kind of your thing.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Your hand tightened a little on the cart handle, the soft rustling of plastic packaging the only sound between you. And then, like he could sense the emotional weight tipping just a little too far, Jake bumped your hip with his and grinned. “Also, I’m like ninety percent sure if we ever do have a kid, they’ll come out with a pilot helmet and ask for clearance to taxi.”

You barked out a laugh, the tension breaking like sunlight through clouds. “They’ll come out with attitude, that’s for sure.”

“And perfect hair,” Jake added, flipping his own with dramatic flair.

You gave him a look. “I will personally shave your head if that attitude passes down.”

“Worth it,” he said, sliding his arm around your waist as the two of you finally made your way to the checkout line. “Totally worth it.”

Meanwhile, a passing elderly couple gave the two of you a smile—the kind reserved for people who look like they’ve figured it out, like they’re just starting something real and don’t even know it yet. Jake nodded politely, but once they passed, he leaned in close to your ear.

“We’re buying matching flight suits for Halloween next year. It’s not a suggestion.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the cashier started scanning. He was chaos, he was relentless, and he was yours—God help the world when that baby ever did exist. Because if Jake Seresin had anything to do with it, the poor kid would be flying paper airplanes before they could walk.

The sun was warm on your skin as you stepped out of the grocery store, bags in hand and the gentle hum of a perfect morning settling between you. Jake, of course, had insisted on carrying everything—even the lighter bags you clearly could’ve handled yourself—but he strutted down the sidewalk with all the pride of a man protecting national treasures. You didn’t argue. You just adjusted your sunglasses and strolled beside him, listening to the paper rustle with every step.

You passed a few little storefronts as you headed toward the car—bakeries with hand-lettered signs, a florist already putting out midday bouquets, and a vintage record shop that immediately caught Jake’s eye before you tugged his sleeve and pointed to a tiny bookstore tucked between a café and a candle shop. The display was charmingly crooked, with a chalkboard sign out front that read Half Off Paperbacks, Full Price Escapes.

You gave his sleeve another playful tug. “Come on, we’re going in.”

But Jake had stopped walking.

His head had whipped to the left like he’d just seen something he wasn’t supposed to, body going a little stiff. His grip on the bags shifted, like he was about to bolt—or do something deeply suspicious.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He glanced back at you, far too casual for someone acting so obviously not casual. “Hey, babe, go on ahead. I’ll be back in a sec.”

You blinked. “Where are you going?”

Jake hesitated. “Just, uh... there was a... navy buddy I think I saw across the street.” He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction, nowhere near the traffic lights or crosswalks. “Just wanna say hi real quick.”

“You wanna cross four lanes of traffic to maybe say hi to someone who might not be your friend?”

He nodded, grinning with that innocent who-me? expression that never fooled you. “Exactly. Won’t be long.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He raised his hand like he was taking an oath. “Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout, Seresin.”

He winced. “Right. Forgot you remembered that.”

Still, you let him go. You rolled your eyes and shoved the bookstore door open, muttering under your breath about chaotic pilots with secrets and terrible excuses. A little bell rang as you entered, and the familiar, dusty smell of old pages and quiet corners wrapped around you like a soft blanket.

You wandered between the shelves aimlessly at first, fingers trailing the worn spines, until you hit the graphic novel section—and there it was, practically glowing on the middle shelf.

A Star Wars comic.

Not just any issue, but the one Jake had been whining about for a week—the continuation of the arc he’d blazed through at 2 a.m. with a bowl of cereal in hand and zero patience for cliffhangers. You’d told him to go buy it himself. He hadn’t. Typical.

You pulled it from the shelf, flipping through the glossy pages, already imagining his smug little smile when you handed it to him. For all his cockiness and chaos, Jake Seresin had the attention span of a golden retriever with too many toys and not enough time. He would absolutely devour this one by sundown.

You brought it to the register, paid in cash, and tucked it into one of your grocery bags, smiling to yourself as you stepped back outside.

But Jake wasn’t waiting where you left him.

He was across the street, looking shifty as hell, standing near one of those boutique jewelry stalls that sprouted like wildflowers in this part of town.

Your brows lifted.

What the hell was he up to?

You barely had time to process the scene before Jake noticed you watching him. His head jerked up from the stall—eyes wide, like a kid caught red-handed in the cookie jar for the second time in one day—then he grinned, bright and crooked, and took off into a full jog across the street.

“No running!” the vendor called after him, waving a paper bag, but Jake just offered a sheepish salute and sprinted toward you like the sidewalk was a runway and you were the touchdown point.

You crossed your arms, trying to look unimpressed, but the sight of him bounding toward you—with the wind tousling his hair, grocery bags swinging in one hand, and something clutched carefully in the other—made your chest tighten in that familiar, dangerous way.

He stopped just short of you, slightly breathless but beaming, and held something out between you.

A bouquet.

Not just any bouquet—white lilies. Your favorite. The petals still held traces of dew, edges soft and glowing in the sunlight, and Jake’s hand trembled ever so slightly as he offered them like they were the most sacred thing he could give.

“For you,” he said, a little bashful now, that confidence softening into something boyish and warm. “I saw them and... I dunno. Thought they looked like you.”

You blinked. “Like me?”

He scratched the back of his neck, still holding the bouquet toward you like he wasn’t sure if you’d take it. “Yeah. Kinda impossible to miss, kinda... I dunno. Bright. Clean. Right.” His voice dipped a little, the words less rehearsed now, more raw. “Didn’t wanna leave without them.”

Your hands reached out on instinct, wrapping around the stems. They were cool against your skin, firm and freshly cut, and your fingers brushed his when you took them. “Jake...”

“I know,” he said quickly, trying to downplay it even as his ears turned pink. “It’s corny. I just... wanted to get you something. Something real.”

Meanwhile, your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, wild and sure all at once. You stared at him, this ridiculous man who stole cookies from children, flew jets for a living, made plane noises with baby clothes, and now stood in front of you—nervous, hopeful, and holding lilies like they were some kind of vow.

So, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft and slow and right there on the sidewalk, lips pressed to his like you’d waited your whole life for this exact moment. And maybe you had.

Then, when you pulled back, you smiled and said, “You’re lucky I like flowers. And bad liars.”

Jake grinned, exhaling like you’d just let him breathe again.

“I’m lucky you like me,” he said, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Even when I’m the worst.”

“And the loudest,” you added.

“And the hottest,” he said shamelessly.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, looping your arm through his as you started walking again, grocery bags and lilies in tow, the comic still tucked safely inside like a secret surprise.

The sharp clack of your boots echoed through the halls of North Island as you moved with the practiced confidence that only came from years of doing this job and doing it damn well. The sun outside was already brutal, casting heat across the tarmac, but inside the debriefing room, the air was cool and sharp with tension. The Dagger Squad had assembled early—some perched on the edge of their chairs, others leaning back like they didn’t have a care in the world—but all eyes turned the moment you walked in.

You wore the uniform like it was etched into your skin, every patch earned, every rank commanding respect without needing to say a word. Behind you, Ruin and Jinx followed, their expressions unreadable save for the way they both slid a very knowing glance in your direction. You met them with a hard stare, unflinching. Jinx smirked and Ruin arched a brow, but neither said a word. Wise. You didn’t have the energy for their commentary—not after yesterday’s chaos, and definitely not with Jake sitting two rows back, looking at you like you’d hung the stars and wrote the manual on gravity.

Which, to be fair, you sort of had.

You moved to the front of the room, clearing your throat once. The chatter died instantly.

“Dagger Squad,” you began, voice sharp and clear, “as of last month, your status as a provisional unit has officially ended. You are now a fully recognized elite squadron under North Island’s command structure.”

There were a few exchanged glances, a low whistle from Payback, and an unmistakable fist-pump from Fanboy. You kept your expression flat, but your eyes flicked toward Jake—who was, unsurprisingly, not paying attention to the details. His chin was resting on his hand, eyes fixed on you with that same ridiculous, love-struck awe he always tried to hide but never succeeded in doing.

You ignored him and continued.

“Six months ago, we launched the Gauntlet. A multi-phase crucible to evaluate this squad’s operational effectiveness. Each of you was pushed to your limit—physically, mentally, tactically. Not just to see how well you fly, but how well you adapt when everything goes wrong.”

Your gaze swept the room. There were no green pilots in here. Every single person had earned their seat—some with blood, some with bruises, and all with absolute grit.

“Fuel-starvation, altitude suppression, no-comm blackout tactics. Every element of the Gauntlet was designed to find your pressure points. And for four more months after that, we watched. We observed. We threw you into unannounced drills, paired you with different command chains, monitored your formation cohesion, and tracked every recovery you made under stress.”

Behind you, Jinx crossed his arms and Ruin gave a quiet nod. They’d been there for all of it—your wingmen not just in the sky, but in the planning room, in the briefings, in the chaos. The three of you had built the test together. Survived it together. And now, the countdown had begun.

“In another four months,” you said, steady, “the three of us rotate out of North Island. New command will take over, and you’ll be on your own.”

The reaction was immediate—a ripple of disbelief, frustration, and disappointment threading through the squad. Bob sat a little straighter, like maybe he misheard. Phoenix's brow furrowed. Even Hangman looked rattled, though he schooled it fast.

“Make no mistake,” you said, firm, “this isn’t a punishment. You’ve graduated. You’re ready. But the mission structure is evolving, and so is the command. You’ll be taking point on live ops across the Pacific corridor starting next cycle. The next time you fly together, it won’t be for training. It’ll be for real.”

Meanwhile, Jake hadn't moved.

He was still looking at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered—like the speech, the assignment shifts, the impending command change didn’t even register on his radar. And honestly, you could feel it. His stare burned into the side of your jaw, warm and steady, and when your eyes flicked over to meet his—just for a moment—he had the audacity to wink.

You almost lost your composure.

Almost.

But instead, you reset your shoulders, flicked your eyes back to the squad, and said, “Debrief begins in ten. Final Gauntlet data packets are loaded in your files. Study them. You’ll be replicating Phase Three this Friday with Maverick observing. Questions?”

The room didn’t erupt exactly—but it rumbled. Subtle at first, like a brewing storm over the open ocean. The kind you could feel in your bones before it cracked the sky.

Fanboy was the first to speak, hand shooting up before you even dismissed the floor. “Wait—leave?” His voice cracked halfway through, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “As in... permanently?”

You exhaled slowly. “As in we’ve completed our rotation. We’re being reassigned to the Pacific Theatre Command for intel design and integrated air defense simulation. Forward strategy.”

“But that’s not—fair!” he protested, standing now, arms thrown in the air like you’d just announced the squad was being grounded. “We just got good at this!”

Payback muttered something about mutiny under his breath, and Bob nodded with all the solemn weight of a man who’d just been told the family dog was moving out.

Then Phoenix leaned forward, elbows on the table, her expression sharp. “So that’s it? We get through hell, pass your little flying crucible, and you’re just... gone?”

Ruin let out a soft, measured sigh. “You didn’t pass, Trace. You survived. There's a difference. And we’ve trained you to stand on your own.”

“But we don’t want to,” Fanboy interrupted, clearly on the verge of something dramatic. “You three—you're like the brain and the anger and the wrath of God. How are we supposed to function without that terrifying combo?”

That earned a small snort from Jinx, who was trying—and failing—not to smile. “We’ll still be in the Navy. You’re not losing us. We’re just not in your hangar anymore.”

“And besides,” Ruin added, tilting his head toward you, “the wrath part’s staying with you a little longer. Rogue’s got a longer leash. She’ll be the last to rotate out.”

Fanboy looked at you like you’d betrayed him personally. “Then at least take me with you. I’ll carry your bags. I’ll cry silently in meetings. I’m very adaptable.”

Jake chuckled low from his seat, but didn’t speak. His eyes were still locked on you—not with concern, not even with amusement, but with that same silent, unwavering pride. Like he was watching the best thing he’d ever seen and didn’t want to interrupt.

You ignored the butterflies in your gut and leveled the room with a stare. “This squad doesn’t depend on us. We were just the match. You are the fire. What you’ve built—what you’ve survived—that’s yours now. And what’s coming next? It’s going to demand everything from you. The training wheels are gone. You’re flying solo.”

Fanboy visibly slumped. “You’re so mean when you’re inspirational.”

You allowed the corner of your mouth to twitch. Just a little.

Then, behind you, Jinx added, “And for the record? You’ve got the best damn chance out of any unit we’ve trained. Don’t waste it wishing we were still here yelling at you.”

That silenced the room. Not in defeat—but in understanding. These pilots had bled for this squadron. They’d clawed their way through blackout drills, near-failures, and your infamous no-warning 0400 strike alarms. They were the best. Because you made them the best. And now, they had to be it.

Meanwhile, Jake hadn’t moved a muscle.

And even though you were surrounded by elite pilots and two of the most formidable officers in the Navy, it was still his eyes you felt anchored to—the quiet promise that even when duty pulled you apart, he’d still look at you like you were gravity itself.

The door swung open at the far end of the debriefing room, and the energy shifted immediately.

Captain Pete Mitchell—callsign Maverick—stepped in with that usual mix of casual defiance and command presence that still turned heads no matter how many decades he’d been in the cockpit. Dagger Squad straightened, and even Jinx and Ruin reflexively stood a little taller as Maverick approached. He gave a nod to the room, then looked directly at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of something respectful in his eyes.

“Commander Rogue,” he said, voice low but carrying. “Permission to take the floor?”

You gave a crisp nod. “It’s yours, sir.”

He turned toward the Daggers, hands behind his back, shoulders squared. “You’ve all come a long way since I first saw you fly this deck. Some of you were cocky as hell.” His eyes flicked briefly to Hangman, who didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Some of you didn’t believe you’d make it. And all of you were thrown into a crucible none of you were ready for.”

He paused.

“But you survived it. You earned your wings all over again under these three.” He glanced over to you, Ruin, and Jinx, nodding once. “This squadron wouldn’t be what it is without their leadership. Their brutality.” A pointed look at you. “And their belief in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourselves.”

You felt something twist in your chest, but you kept your posture sharp, unmoving.

Then Maverick turned back toward the front. “I’ll be taking over interim command as they prepare for rotation. I won’t be recreating the Gauntlet—” more than one pilot visibly exhaled at that “—but I’ll be reinforcing the systems they’ve put in place. You’ll keep flying hard. You’ll keep pushing. And you’ll keep proving that this isn’t just a name on your patch. It’s a legacy.”

There was a quiet, collective breath taken across the squad, a shift in the weight of the moment. You could feel it settle in their bones. Then Maverick relaxed just slightly, the edge of formality lifting.

“Oh—and one more thing.”

He looked at you three again, this time less like an officer, more like someone who knew what it was to build something and have to walk away.

“Penny and I are throwing a small thing at our place Friday night. Just a thank you. Nothing formal. You three in?”

Ruin didn’t miss a beat. “Hell yeah, we are.”

Jinx clapped once. “I will eat so much potato salad. And I’m bringing bourbon. The expensive kind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize we were celebrating just yet.”

Maverick gave you that slight grin—the one that always meant he knew more than he was letting on. “You built a family, Commander. That deserves at least one good night.”

You hesitated only a moment. “...Sure. We’ll be there.”

And just like that, the weight of transition felt a little lighter. A little warmer. You weren’t just handing off command—you were leaving it in good hands. In capable hands. And whether they realized it yet or not, Dagger Squad had already become something stronger than any one officer.

Meanwhile, behind the rest of the group, Jake tilted his head and mouthed something at you when no one was looking.

“You’re still the boss.”

Friday night rolled in slow and golden, spilling soft light through the blinds as you stood in front of the mirror, dabbing a final touch of highlight along your cheekbones. Your uniform had been replaced by something more casual—black jeans, a fitted tee under an open button-down, sleeves cuffed, dog tags still tucked beneath your collar because some habits refused to die. You were going for that lethal mix of effortless and “don’t mess with me,” and it was working, if you did say so yourself.

You leaned in closer, fixing the wing of your eyeliner with the precision of someone who once flew through a canyon at Mach speed. Outside, a breeze rustled the palm trees. The smell of charcoal already teased the air from somewhere distant, and your stomach rumbled in agreement.

Then came the whine.

“Baaaabe...”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet!”

“I do, actually. You’ve been trying to seduce me out of this barbeque for the last hour.”

Jake’s reflection appeared in the mirror behind you—half-shirtless, towel still slung around his neck from the shower, hair damp and tousled in a way that was definitely intentional. He looked like sin and Southern charm and bad ideas wrapped in golden-boy packaging. And he was pouting.

Full lips. Puppy eyes. Bare chest. Weaponized everything.

“Look at us,” he said, walking up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder. “We could just stay in. Watch some old movie. You know... something with a loose plot and convenient fade-to-blacks.”

You smirked, grabbing your mascara. “Jake. You mean sex. You’re describing sex.”

“Netflix and chill is a cultural institution,” he murmured against your neck. “It would be rude to abandon tradition.”

You snorted and flicked him away with the back of your hand. “You’re not getting me out of this, Seresin. I want ribs. I want brisket. I want potato salad that’s mostly mayonnaise and regret. And I want to see Ruin try to pretend he doesn’t cry when Maverick gives speeches.”

Jake groaned, dramatic and loud, flopping onto the edge of the bed like you’d wounded him. “But you’re hot, and you smell like vanilla and sharp decisions, and I just shaved. This is prime conditions for a full-blown house arrest scenario.”

You turned and gave him a look over your shoulder. “We made a promise. We show up. We eat meat. We thank Penny for putting up with all of you.”

“But you’re my meat,” Jake mumbled into the mattress.

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw stars. “That is disgusting, and I’m telling Maverick you said that.”

Jake peeked up, grinning. “Tell him. He’ll be proud.”

You ignored him, stepping away from the mirror to grab your shoes and slide them on. “You’ve got ten minutes to get dressed or I’m leaving without you.”

He sat up immediately. “Do you think Hangman would really miss a party thrown by the legendary Maverick? The man literally saved the Navy’s ass and then married a woman who owns a boat bar. He’s my hero.”

You gave him one last look—messy hair, towel, bare chest, and that wide, stupid grin.

“Then get your ass in gear, Hangman. We’re going to a barbeque.”

The engine purred under your control, the windows down just enough to let the salty California breeze snake through your hair as you cruised down the winding road toward Maverick and Penny’s place. The sky was slathered in that perfect sunset gradient—deep orange bleeding into rose and lavender, like the whole horizon had set itself on fire just to show off.

Jake sat in the passenger seat, finally dressed, finally presentable—well, barely. His button-down was undone halfway, and his aviators hung lazily off the collar like an afterthought. He looked criminally good, lounging with his arm against the open window, tapping the dashboard to the beat of a country song you weren’t even sure was playing. All smug confidence and denim-wrapped thighs—until he suddenly snapped upright like he'd been hit by lightning.

“WAIT.”

You slammed the brakes on instinct, the tires skidding slightly against the pavement as your hand shot out across his chest, years of flight protocol kicking in like second nature.

“What the hell, Seresin?!”

Jake turned to you, eyes wide with panic, breath caught somewhere between full-blown anxiety and chaotic energy. “We can’t arrive together.”

You blinked. “What?”

“They’ll know!” he said, flailing one arm toward the dashboard like it was somehow guilty in your imagined crime. “Ruin and Jinx already gave us that look. And now we’re gonna show up in the same car? We might as well walk in holding hands with matching wedding bands and a neon sign that says ‘Been boning for months, thanks!’”

You stared at him, then slowly pulled the car over to the side of the road, parking beneath a palm tree that cast swaying shadows across the hood. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“I am, and I hate it,” he whispered, staring ahead like a man who’d seen the future and didn’t like what it held. “They’re gonna say things. Hangman cannot be the punchline. I’m the one who makes the punchlines.”

You leaned an elbow on the steering wheel and looked at him coolly. “Relax.”

Jake turned to you like you’d just solved climate change. “...You have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.”

“Does it involve a rooftop insertion or a stealth op under the grill?”

You reached for the gear shift and smirked. “Just trust me, Lieutenant. You get to make your dramatic solo entrance like the attention-starved manchild you are. I’ll be there already, drink in hand, pretending I barely remember your name.”

Jake looked both horrified and delighted. “Oh my God. You’re unhinged.”

“And you love it.”

He sighed, sinking back into the seat like the weight of the world had been lifted. “I really do.”

You glanced at him once more before hitting the gas again, pulling the car back onto the road. “Now shut up and let me execute the op. I’ve got a very specific window if I want to get there before Maverick starts one of his war stories.”

“And when do I show up?”

“When the ribs hit the grill.”

Jake let out a low whistle. “Ruthless. Sexy. Tactical.”

You grinned. “I know.”

By the time you pulled up to Maverick and Penny’s place, the backyard was already buzzing—grill smoking, music humming low through crackling outdoor speakers, and pilots strewn across folding chairs and patio steps like sun-dazed dogs. Someone had already opened the good whiskey. You could smell the ribs in the air, and it was divine.

You parked just far enough down the street to make it look casual. Intentional. Not at all like you’d spent fifteen minutes strategizing this exact entrance.

Jake had slipped out of the car a beat later, adjusting his shirt like it was armor, running a hand through his hair for the tenth time since you left the base. He followed a few paces behind you, like he wasn’t totally sure if this was a setup or a blessing. But either way, he was in it now.

You pushed open the side gate and stepped into view just as the golden hour light hit the backyard, sunglasses still perched on your nose like you were walking into a runway instead of a barbeque.

Heads turned instantly.

Rooster raised his beer. Bob blinked twice. Coyote said “Well, damn,” under his breath, and even Phoenix sat up straighter on the picnic table like something had just clicked in the Matrix.

And then they saw him.

Jake, hands in his pockets, trying his best not to look too happy. He trailed behind you by a few steps, gaze caught somewhere between “kill me now” and “I would die for this woman.” His cheeks were faintly pink. Not from sunburn.

You tugged your sunglasses down just enough to meet the crowd’s suspicious silence, cocked a hip, and said with full authority, “Seresin hitched a ride with me. Said his car battery died because he left it running while trying to fix his hair.”

A beat.

Hangman made a wounded sound, halfway between a scoff and a betrayed gasp. “That is not what happened—”

You raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I logged it under ‘pilot incompetence.’ Already filed the incident report.”

Phoenix choked on her drink. Rooster laughed so hard he nearly dropped his plate. Bob looked between the two of you like he was watching a courtroom drama unfold.

Jake, for his part, just looked devastated. Shoulders drooped. Eyebrows knitted together. He glanced around at the others, eyes wide like an injured golden retriever trying to understand why no one was standing up for him.

“She made me ride in the backseat like cargo,” he mumbled, voice quiet and wounded.

“I should’ve made you sit in the trunk,” you shot back easily, brushing past him.

The group howled.

You could feel Maverick and Penny watching from the porch, and when your eyes flicked toward them, Mav just gave you a subtle nod, a ghost of a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. Penny raised her glass slightly, sipping it like she’d known this would happen from the moment she set the guest list.

Meanwhile, Ruin and Jinx were already posted near the grill, absolutely giggling behind their beers like two school kids who knew exactly what game was being played.

Jake finally caught up to you, falling into step at your side, voice low. “You are evil.”

You smirked, reaching out to straighten his slightly wrinkled collar. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

He blinked. “You’re lucky I’m into terrifying women.”

You leaned in, close enough for only him to hear. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell them you asked me to pick out your shirt.”

He groaned into his hands as you strutted away, completely and utterly victorious.

The sun had dipped lower now, casting long amber shadows across the backyard as the barbeque roared to life—flames licking the grill, the scent of charred meat and smoke curling into the air like a battle cry. Maverick, ever the wise host, had somehow vanished just as responsibility was about to be handed out. Penny, with that sly glint in her eye, passed the spatula off to you and Jake with a grin that said “have fun” and a wink that promised chaos.

Which was, of course, exactly what followed.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Jake declared the moment you both stepped up to the grill, eyeing the meat like it had personally offended him. “Last time you cooked anything, Rogue, I swear the burger mooed when I bit into it.”

You turned slowly, spatula in hand like a weapon. “Excuse me?”

“I’m still in therapy.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “The center was pink, not raw. That’s called flavor, Lieutenant.”

Jake dramatically pointed to the steak on the tray. “That is called endangerment of personnel. I’m not trying to get salmonella in front of my squad. Again.”

You snapped the tongs open twice, as if testing their readiness. “And what about the last time you cooked, huh? You incinerated the chicken so badly I thought we were being attacked by a drone strike.”

“That was intentional.”

“That was arson,” you fired back, flipping a rib with so much force it slapped the grill with a loud hiss. “You seasoned it with gasoline.”

Jake grabbed the seasoning with a flourish, shaking it over the slab in front of him like a showman. “Better than the time you thought garlic powder and cinnamon were interchangeable!”

“That was one time! And I was distracted because you kept licking the damn spoon and flexing like you were auditioning for a cooking calendar.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Still got the job though, didn’t I?”

You leveled him with a look so cold it could’ve frosted the grill, then turned to flip the next slab of ribs.

Meanwhile, the Dagger Squad had gathered in a loose semi-circle a few feet away, holding their plates like theatergoers watching a chaotic stage play. Bob had slowly stopped chewing, mesmerized. Phoenix was barely holding in her laughter, Rooster whispered “five bucks says Rogue throws him into the pool,” and Coyote was holding up a phone like he was definitely filming this for evidence.

Jake leaned in, voice lower now, playful. “You know this whole ‘bickering in public’ thing? It’s dangerously close to foreplay for us.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Touch my ribs again and I will throw you onto that lawn chair so hard it becomes part of your anatomy.”

Jake took a small step back and raised his hands. “So hot when you threaten me.”

The grill hissed louder as if groaning in protest at the combined heat—flames, meat, and whatever fiery tension was practically vibrating between the two of you. The smoke curled up, and somewhere behind you, Maverick’s laugh floated through the breeze, followed by Penny yelling, “Don’t set anything on fire this time!”

You both called back, in perfect unison: “No promises!”

The grill kept sizzling like it was trying to warn everyone that something unholy was about to happen. You and Jake were still locked in your verbal knife fight—tongues sharper than the skewers, egos even bigger than the brisket—but the meat was cooking, and somehow, no one had died yet. A win.

You reached for the sauce, elbow-deep in rib duties, when a familiar voice slinked up behind you like a cat that had way too much confidence for someone who still couldn’t land a perfect vertical descent.

“Well, well, Commander Rogue,” Rooster drawled, leaning on the picnic table with a grin that was a little too smug. “Didn’t know you moonlighted as a grill master. Should I be impressed? Or concerned?”

Jake didn’t look up, but his jaw flexed just slightly as he flipped a steak with what could only be described as violence.

You didn’t miss the tone, but you played along, lips quirking. “You should be concerned. I’ve got full jurisdiction to throw people into the pool for flirting with their superiors.”

Rooster grinned wider, teeth flashing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I got wet for a woman in command.”

Jake coughed so hard it almost sounded real. Almost.

“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath. “No, no, no—this is not happening.”

Rooster stepped a little closer, resting his elbow on the grill’s side, eyes flicking over you like you were a target he was just brave enough to chase. “You know, if you ever need help in the kitchen, I’m real handy with my hands.”

Jake dropped the tongs.

Clatter. Sizzle. A moment of sheer disbelief.

“You okay there, Seresin?” Rooster asked innocently.

Jake bent to grab the tongs, muttering, “Oh, just dropped my will to live.”

You smirked, but before you could fire back, Jake straightened up and slid way too close to you, all heat and muscle and the smell of citrus body wash. He leaned an arm casually on the grill right next to yours, cutting off Rooster’s line of vision.

“Actually, Rooster,” he said smoothly, “she already has help in the kitchen. Certified, in fact. I passed the meat handling seminar twice.”

You side-eyed him. “One of those times you were asked to leave.”

“Still counts,” Jake fired back, then turned slightly toward Rooster, voice perfectly pleasant but with just enough bite beneath it. “Anyway, you might want to cool it. Wouldn’t want you to get burned, Bradshaw.”

Rooster blinked. “...From the grill?”

Jake smiled. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

The tension was palpable. Phoenix was now openly eating chips and watching like it was her favorite soap. Bob whispered something to Coyote, who mouthed “Oh, it’s getting good.” Even Penny glanced out the kitchen window, eyebrows raised like should I intervene? Or is this foreplay?

Rooster, to his credit, chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Standing down. Don’t want to come between a man and his meat.”

You almost choked on your soda.

Jake gave him a tight smile. “Good choice.”

As Rooster walked off—still smirking, because of course he was—Jake turned back to you, bumping your hip gently with his.

“You liked it, admit it,” he muttered, voice low so no one else could hear. “Got all jealous and southern and everything.”

You rolled your eyes. “You threatened him with steak energy.”

Jake beamed. “That’s love, darlin’.”

Dinner was in full swing now, the backyard steeped in that warm, dusky glow that made the ribs glisten and everyone’s cheeks a little more sun-kissed. Laughter spilled from the picnic tables like smoke, plates were stacked with dangerously unhealthy amounts of meat, and Penny had finally broken out her famous strawberry bourbon.

You’d barely sat down on one of the benches, cold drink in hand, ribs stacked on your plate like you were claiming dominance through protein, when he appeared.

“Room for one more?” Rooster asked, already sliding into the seat beside you without waiting for an answer.

You blinked at him, then shrugged, scooting just an inch to the left—not too much, but enough to keep up appearances. “Sure, Lieutenant. Long as you don’t steal my cornbread.”

Rooster leaned in with a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Unless it’s the kind with jalapeño in it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “It is.”

“Then I’m dreaming,” he said smoothly, nudging your shoulder.

Across the table, Jake Seresin paused mid-bite.

His fork hovered above his brisket like it was caught in enemy fire. His seat had been stolen—his seat—and now he was forced to sit directly across from you, watching Rooster lean in a little too close, laugh a little too loud, and eat his damn jalapeño cornbread.

You didn’t even need to look at Jake to know he was internally combusting. His jealousy was so loud it might as well have been on AM radio.

“So,” Rooster said, mouth full of buttery heaven, “remind me again—what exactly do I have to do to earn a second round of training from you, Commander?”

You took a slow sip from your drink. “Well, first? Learn how to finish the first round without crashing into a mountain.”

“Ouch,” he winced, but he was grinning.

Jake stabbed his rib so hard the table shook. “You doing okay over there, Hangman?” Phoenix called from the next bench, sipping her drink.

“I’m great,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fantastic. Loving the seating arrangement. Real cozy.”

Rooster leaned back slightly, throwing one arm along the back of the bench behind you. Jake’s eye twitched. Twitched.

You leaned in to whisper, “He’s doing this on purpose.”

Jake muttered back, “He’s dead to me.”

You smirked, playing innocent. “He’s got good teeth though.”

Jake dropped his fork with a clink and muttered, “I will commit a war crime.”

Meanwhile, Ruin and Jinx were not helping. They were watching this unfold from their own corner of the table, laughing into their drinks, whispering like two agents of chaos blessed with front-row seats to the slowest breakdown of a very territorial pilot.

“Man,” Jinx said under her breath, “I haven’t seen Seresin this twitchy since the last time we locked him in a sim with Rogue and cut his comms.”

Ruin chuckled. “If he flips this table, I called it.”

Jake exhaled sharply, then stood with the slow precision of a man trying very hard not to commit violence in front of his superiors. “I’m gonna go get more potato salad.”

Rooster called after him, “Bring me some if it’s the spicy kind!”

Jake didn’t even turn around. “I hope it’s empty.”

Jake returned five minutes later, holding a single scoop of sad, unspiced potato salad like it had personally insulted him, which—judging by the way he slammed the paper plate down in front of his seat—maybe it had. His jaw was tight. His eyes locked on the table, not on you and Rooster, who were now deep in a suspiciously lively conversation about call signs gone wrong.

You were laughing—genuinely, stupidly laughing—and it sent Jake spiraling.

“So, wait,” you said through your giggles, nudging Rooster’s arm. “Someone actually called you Beanstalk once?”

Rooster grinned. “Mhm. Right out of the academy. I was lanky, awkward, and apparently climbed everything like a freaking kid on a jungle gym.”

“Oh, my God,” you wheezed. “That’s terrible.”

Across the table, Jake finally snapped his head up. “It wasn’t that bad. I’ve heard worse. Hell, I’ve been called worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Jake blinked. “Uhhh…”

Jinx leaned over, oh-so-helpfully. “Didn’t someone call you Blondie Backfire for a while?”

Ruin spit out his drink.

Jake glared. “That was one time and it was not my fault that missile malfunctioned, JINX.”

Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying this. “Blondie Backfire? That’s kinda hot.”

Jake stood again, like his chair had personally offended him now too. “I’m getting a drink.”

“I thought you had a drink,” you said sweetly, glancing at the full cup beside his plate.

Jake blinked, then picked it up and dumped it in the grass. “Now I don’t.”

Rooster was cackling now, leaning into you like you two had been friends forever—his arm definitely still behind you on the bench, his voice low and conspiratorial. “He’s real twitchy tonight.”

“Mmhm,” you said, not hiding your grin as you watched Jake stalk toward the drink table like it owed him something.

“Think he’s mad?”

You shrugged. “He’ll live.”

Meanwhile, Jake grabbed a cup with such force it cracked in his hand.

Maverick wandered by just then, side-eyeing him with that ageless pilot wisdom and decades of dealing with emotional men in uniforms.

“You good, Seresin?” Mav asked casually.

Jake stared into the drink cooler like it held the answers to all of life’s betrayals. “Peachy, sir.”

Maverick raised an eyebrow. “Sure looks like it.”

Back at the bench, you were sipping sweet tea, eyes flicking over to Jake’s back as he muttered curses at the ice cubes. Rooster was definitely trying to be charming, and you were definitely letting him. A little.

When Jake finally returned, he didn't sit. He just stood behind your bench, arms crossed, the picture of a man scorned. You leaned your head back and looked up at him with a faux innocent blink.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

Jake leaned down so his mouth was by your ear, voice low and dangerous. “You are testing me.”

You smiled without turning. “And you’re failing.”

Rooster, still oblivious—or pretending to be—took another sip of his drink and said, “You know, I always liked the idea of two strong pilots clashing. Very Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Lots of tension. Chemistry.”

Jake leaned in just a fraction more. “Keep talking, Bradshaw. I dare you.”

Rooster raised a brow, catching the shift in Jake’s voice for the first time. He glanced between the two of you, pausing, brow furrowing just slightly—like a man suddenly doing very important math.

Jake straightened up. Smiled sweetly. “So, Bradshaw… how much do you like your kneecaps?”

Rooster blinked.

You turned back to your plate like none of that just happened.

It was always going to be chaos. That much was clear the moment Maverick handed off hosting duties and disappeared toward the grill like he hadn’t just left the two most unhinged pilots on base at the same damn picnic table. The only question was when someone—Jake—would break.

The answer?

Exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds after Rooster leaned in just a bit too close and said, “You’ve got something on your cheek.”

You blinked, lifting your napkin, but Rooster caught your wrist midair with that signature lazy grin. “Let me,” he offered, thumb already reaching for your face.

Jake’s soul left his body.

He’d been watching—burning—from behind your bench, fists clenched, drink abandoned, and knees bouncing like he was trying to keep himself from launching over the damn table. Rooster’s fingers hovering near your cheek were the last straw.

“That’s it.”

The words were low. Clipped. Nuclear.

Rooster turned slightly, eyebrow raised in confusion, but before he could blink, Jake rounded the bench, hand snaked around your waist, and dragged you up into him like a man possessed.

“Wait—Jake—” you started, caught off guard.

Too late.

His lips crashed into yours with zero warning and absolutely no chill. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was full-on, toe-curling, spine-arching claiming. His mouth moved over yours with the kind of desperation that screamed mine in every tongue imaginable. One hand anchored at your hip, the other threaded through your hair, tilting your head just right so he could deepen the kiss—and God, did he ever. You barely remembered where you were. The backyard? The whole damn planet?

Everything else blurred.

Rooster froze—mouth open, hand still awkwardly raised from where he’d almost touched your face. Phoenix gasped so loud it echoed. Bob dropped his fork. Jinx let out an unholy screech. Ruin shouted, “FINALLY!” like he’d been holding it in for a year.

When Jake finally pulled back, breath ragged, lips flushed, pupils blown wide, he kept you tucked against him. Possessive. Proud. Like he’d just walked off a battlefield holding the enemy’s flag.

You blinked, completely dazed. “...What the hell, Seresin.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, eyes still locked on yours. “He was gonna kiss you.”

Your eyebrows flew up. “So you assassinated him with PDA?”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Rooster stood there, arms half-raised in surrender, lips twitching into a grin despite himself. “So… I’m guessing the whole ‘we hate each other’ thing was an act?”

Jake turned to him, expression flat. “Back off, Bradshaw.”

Rooster gave a mock salute. “Yessir. Message received.”

Phoenix stood up and slow clapped. “Oh my God. This is so much better than the time Coyote accidentally tasered himself in the sim.”

Jinx doubled over, nearly spilling his drink as he wheezed out, “I told you! I told you! I said if Seresin had to watch another man breathe in Rogue’s general direction, he’d explode like a malfunctioning Sidewinder!”

Ruin was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, pointing at Jake like he’d just witnessed the second coming. “I had ‘six weeks’ in the betting pool. SIX. You made it three and a half!”

Jake didn’t care. Jake looked like a man who had just sunk a carrier with one missile. He tightened his hold around your waist, pulled you close again—though this time it was soft, grounding, not a declaration of war—and dropped a smug kiss to your cheek. “Couldn’t help it. He was flirting. And you were letting him.”

You tilted your head at him, one brow raised. “I was not letting him.”

“You giggled,” Jake deadpanned.

Phoenix walked past behind him, muttering loud enough for the entire backyard to hear, “Yeah, you definitely giggled. It was alarming.”

You elbowed Jake, not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to remind him who the real threat was. “You ruined the cover, genius. Now they know.”

Jake shrugged unapologetically. “Worth it.”

Rooster, back at the table and dramatically fanning himself with a napkin, piped up, “I don’t know what hurts worse—the whiplash or the fact that you two have been lying to us for MONTHS.”

Bob finally found his voice. “Wait… months?!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can we not do this here—”

But it was too late.

The squad had descended, circling you both like wolves high on gossip and baby back ribs. Phoenix sat down next to Rooster, eyes gleaming. “Okay, spill. When did it start? Who confessed first? Was it during that awful storm in El Centro? Wait—was it after the Gauntlet debrief? I KNEW it!”

Jinx cackled. “Bet it was the Gauntlet. Nothing says romance like emotionally traumatizing a squad together.”

Jake looked entirely too pleased with himself. “It was classified.”

Ruin raised an eyebrow. “Was?”

You groaned. “Apparently it’s not anymore.”

Maverick chose that exact moment to stroll back over, beer in hand, looking like he’d just finished listening to Penny relay the entire scene. He stopped, glanced at the crowd, then looked between you and Jake—arms still around each other, your cheeks flushed, your eyes narrowed at the squad like you were weighing the pros and cons of a group court-martial.

“Congratulations,” Maverick said dryly. “You’ve managed to turn a barbecue into a briefing.”

Jake stood straighter. “Sir.”

You straightened, too. “Sir.”

Maverick gave a long-suffering sigh, then sipped his beer. “Next time, just tell us before one of you claims the other like a caveman.”

Jinx burst into another fit of laughter. “TO THE CAVEMAN!”

And because pilots have no chill, someone actually raised a toast.

Jake grinned, unapologetic. “You’re welcome.”

You shook your head. “You’re insane.”

And he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, and whispered just for you: “For you? Every damn time.”

Four months had passed since the great barbeque incident—the day Jake Seresin, golden boy and world-class flirt, had snapped like a dry matchstick and blown your secret sky-high in front of half the Dagger Squadron and most of command. You’d gone to bed that night with his arms wrapped tightly around you, his mouth muttering sleepy apologies against your shoulder, and still woken up at dawn ready to kick his ass in the name of professionalism.

From then on, the two of you drew a line. You returned to work with your head held high, uniform crisp, voice clipped and clear in the briefing rooms. There were no lingering touches, no slip-ups, no soft eyes across command tables. If anyone thought you were bending the rules, they were wrong. Because you were Commander Rogue—the superior officer. Jake was your subordinate, no matter how many times he'd kissed you breathless or whispered that he’d follow you into hell. On base, you were steel. At home, you were his.

Today, the debriefing room was full. The walls hummed with low chatter and boots tapping against the tile floor. The Dagger Squadron sat shoulder to shoulder, still sharp despite the lazy summer heat outside. Maverick leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and eyes alert. Hondo grinned beside him, and Warlock gave you a polite nod as you passed. Even Cyclone was present, his usual scowl fixed firmly in place like the sky might fall if he dared to look pleased. You stepped up to the head of the room, flanked by Jinx and Ruin, both standing at attention with the calm swagger of people who had seen these pilots at their very worst—and brought them out better.

The chatter died down the moment you stepped forward. You let the silence stretch, just long enough to demand respect.

Then you began. “One year ago, the Dagger Squadron was reassembled here in North Island. You were selected not just for your skill, but for your grit, your trust, and your ability to adapt under pressure. We trained you hard. We tested you harder.”

A small chuckle rippled through the room at that, likely remembering the Gauntlet—your very own personal brand of torture.

You continued, voice steady. “Some of you flew better. Some of you fought harder. Some of you cried behind hangars when you thought no one was watching.”

Fanboy visibly flinched. Yale wiped at his eye like something definitely flew into it. Payback patted his back in brotherly solidarity while Phoenix smirked beside them, sharp and unbothered as always.

“After the mission’s success, we were tasked with observing the squad’s progression over the next four months,” you said, glancing at Jinx and Ruin, who both nodded. “And as of today, that evaluation period has ended.”

Your tone dipped slightly—so subtle, but just enough to suggest finality. Across the room, shoulders began to tense. Rooster tilted his head. Bob leaned forward. The Dagger Squad had seen enough exits to know what this sounded like.

“We know what you’re thinking,” Jinx cut in, voice smooth and teasing, eyes dancing with mischief. “You think this is goodbye.”

Ruin folded his arms. “You think we’re packing up and heading back to Top Brass HQ.”

You waited. The room went still.

Then you smiled.

“Well... you’re wrong.”

A beat of silence—then chaos.

Cheers erupted instantly. Phoenix laughed loud and bright, slapping her hand on the table. Rooster threw both arms in the air like he’d just been handed a winning lotto ticket. Payback whooped. Coyote grinned like he’d just been gifted free beer for life.

Fanboy made a sound that could only be described as a sob. “You’re—you’re staying?!” he choked out, grabbing Yale’s arm for emotional support. Yale, who was also now wiping tears, nodded wordlessly.

You smiled, chin lifted with pride. “As of today, the three of us have been assigned permanent duty here in North Island. The Dagger Squadron is no longer a temporary experiment. You are officially designated as an elite, high-readiness strike force under our command.”

Jinx added, “You’re stuck with us, losers.”

Ruin grinned. “Hope you didn’t make retirement plans.”

While the squad practically lost their minds, your eyes wandered—just briefly—across the room. And there he was.

Jake Seresin didn’t cheer. He didn’t clap or shout. He just smiled—soft, slow, and warm enough to melt through titanium. He looked at you like you were his home and his future all at once. It wasn’t cocky or wild. It wasn’t the grin of a man who’d just won something.

It was the smile of someone who’d known all along that this was where you were meant to be.

- Jake -

Now, Jake stood in front of the mirror, hands braced on the counter, heart pounding like he was about to walk into a goddamn carrier launch. His dress whites were pressed to perfection, gold buttons gleaming, but he couldn’t stop adjusting the collar, couldn’t stop the way his fingers trembled when he reached for his watch.

Tonight wasn’t just another Navy event. Tonight, everything changed.

He swallowed hard and let his gaze drift upward—to the reflection of the man staring back at him. Not the boy who used to walk through college halls like he owned the place. Not the golden child who thought charm could solve anything. No—this was the man who broke hearts and then learned to stitch them back with calloused hands and the quiet ache of humility. And he owed every inch of that growth to her.

You.

He remembered the girl you used to be—sharp-eyed and smarter than any of them, walking with a stack of textbooks and no patience for bullshit. He’d seen you as a challenge back then, something to conquer, to use. And use you he did. You’d carried his files, cleaned up his messes, wrote papers he claimed credit for with a wink and a promise he never kept. You were the soft answer to his arrogance. And he, in all his careless glory, treated you like a footnote.

But you weren’t one. God, no.

You outranked him now. Humbled him. Unmade him.

Jake exhaled, slow and steady, thinking about that night on your birthday—the night you should’ve been out celebrating, but instead found yourself sitting alone under a bleeding sunset. You’d been a vision, wrapped in solitude and silence, and still somehow he was the one who got to speak. Got to beg. Got to fall apart.

And you—damn you—you let him. You let him come undone, then held him while he stitched himself back up. You didn’t forgive him right away. You didn’t fall back into his arms like a storybook. No, you made him work. You made him earn it. And that was the moment Jake Seresin knew he would never be that boy again. Because you didn’t need a golden boy. You needed a man. And he was going to be that man, or die trying.

Now, tonight, he wasn’t just going to be Jake. He was going to be yours.

He had the ring. He had the words. And he had the kind of love that didn’t come easy—but burned deep. You weren’t just the girl he wanted to marry. You were the girl who changed him. You were the girl who looked at the mess he was and saw potential, not ruin.

Jake Seresin would never stop proving he was worthy of you.

And tonight?

Tonight someone was going to become Mrs. Seresin.

The Hard Deck was humming with life that evening—laughter spilling out from open doors, glasses clinking, music threading through the salty ocean air like a second heartbeat. Jake stood near the back of the bar, leaning against a post, eyes locked on you as you threw your head back laughing at something Phoenix said. Penny, Halo, and Amelia were gathered close, drinks in hand, forming a loose circle of warmth and light around you. And there you were, right in the middle of it—eyes bright, lips pink from laughter, that soft glow on your skin that came from golden hour and good company.

Jake knew he had to do it now or he’d never do it at all.

He didn’t bother to cut through the crowd with swagger like he used to. No cocky strut, no loud greeting. Just a quiet step forward, weaving around dart players and off-duty aviators until he was by your side. You didn’t notice him at first—your hand was around a chilled glass, the other gesturing as you recounted something that made Amelia gasp and Penny roll her eyes fondly. But then Jake’s hand gently grazed your back, fingers brushing lightly at the small curve where your shirt met your skin.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You turned, giving him a slight side-eye and a teasing scoff. “Jake. We just got here.”

“I know,” he said, shifting on his feet. “But I was thinking… maybe we could take a walk. Just us.”

The groan you let out was exaggerated, and he grinned despite himself. You tipped your head back like he was asking you to run a marathon barefoot. “Jake, I just got a drink. Can’t it wait a bit?”

Before he could say anything else, Phoenix nudged your shoulder. “Go,” she said simply, sipping her beer with a knowing smirk.

“Seriously,” Penny added, giving Jake a glance that was equal parts amused and suspicious. “Let the man be dramatic. He looks like he’s gonna explode.”

Halo snorted. “You two are so married already.”

Even Amelia, perched on a barstool and pretending not to be interested, piped up with a shrug. “It’s romantic. Go.”

You narrowed your eyes at them, suspicious, but Jake saw the way your lips twitched. Still fighting a smile. Always trying to act like you weren’t soft for him—when you were the softest thing he’d ever touched.

“Fine,” you muttered, setting your glass down. “But I swear, if you brought me out here just to complain about who ate the last of your cereal again—”

Jake grinned, already lacing his fingers through yours. “I promise, it’s not about the cereal.”

He didn’t miss the glint in your eye as you allowed him to lead you out of the Hard Deck, past the blur of dart boards and pool tables, through the open doors and onto the soft crunch of sand. The cool breeze kissed his skin, and the low rustle of waves became a steady backdrop as you walked side by side, your bare feet sinking into the warm grains beside his boots.

But Jake could feel it—the weight of every eye behind them. The squad pretending not to watch. The sidelong glances. The elbow nudges. Rooster probably whispering something to Bob, who was terrible at hiding his reactions. And Maverick? Oh, he definitely knew something was up.

Jake swallowed, his pulse ticking high and hot beneath his collar. Every step made the ring in his pocket feel heavier, like gravity itself was conspiring to keep him grounded in the moment. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could feel the ears. The eyes. The weight of what he was about to do.

And all he could think was: God, let her say yes.

The ocean whispered beside them, waves folding into the shore with lazy rhythm, and for a while, neither of them spoke. You walked slightly ahead, bare feet sinking into the damp sand while your hand remained laced in his, fingers warm and certain in a way that still made Jake’s heart ache a little. The sky was a quiet spill of lavender and silver, the last remnants of daylight fading like old photographs. Somewhere in the distance, someone lit a firepit, the faint scent of smoke curling on the breeze.

Jake cleared his throat, squeezing your hand gently. “Y’know,” he said, voice quieter than usual, “I still remember the first time I saw you wear that smug little smirk you give when you know you’ve outsmarted everyone.”

You glanced over your shoulder, one brow arched, amused. “Which time? I do that a lot.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “You do. And I used to think it was annoying.”

You tilted your head, still walking, now kicking a seashell gently out of your path. “Used to?”

Jake chuckled softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Now I think it’s terrifying. In a hot way.”

You snorted, eyes rolling, but the corner of your mouth twitched, betraying the smile you tried to hide. Then, slowing down until you were walking shoulder to shoulder again, you let your gaze wander to the horizon. The ocean stretched endlessly, horizon bleeding into sky, and the stars had begun to peek out one by one.

Jake looked at you—really looked. At the wind-tousled strands of hair sticking to your cheek, the slight wrinkle of your nose when the breeze turned sharp, the way your posture relaxed only when it was just the two of you. Out here, you weren’t Commander Rogue. You were just you. His girl. The one who wrecked him, rebuilt him, and then let him love you anyway.

“I don’t say it enough,” he murmured, eyes still on you. “But I’m proud of you.”

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone, then gave him a side glance. “For what?”

“For everything,” he answered, shrugging one shoulder. “For not just surviving, but thriving. For being the kind of leader I never had the guts to be. For being smarter than me. For loving me even when I didn’t deserve it. For forgiving me… when I damn well didn’t earn it.”

Your steps faltered, just slightly, but you didn’t pull your hand away. Instead, you slowed even more, the two of you coming to a gentle stop where the surf could nearly lick your feet. The breeze carried salt and the faintest hint of laughter from the Hard Deck, but all Jake could hear was the quiet thud of his heart.

You looked at him then, brows drawn together with something softer than surprise. “I didn’t forgive you right away.”

“I know,” Jake nodded, eyes locked on yours. “And I’m glad you didn’t.”

There was a long pause, the kind that felt full and necessary. Then you looked away, lips quirking slightly, eyes fixed on the stars. “You’ve changed, Jake.”

“So have you,” he murmured. “But not in the way people think.”

You turned back, curious. “What do you mean?”

Jake stepped closer, lifting a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re still that girl who used to show up ten minutes early with your whole life in your backpack and too many dreams in your eyes. But now? You know your worth. You don’t shrink anymore.” He smiled, something tender and unguarded. “You used to orbit around people who didn’t deserve you. Now you walk straight through ‘em.”

You didn’t say anything right away, but your eyes softened, and your grip on his hand tightened just slightly.

Then Jake added, voice lower now, “I still can’t believe I’m the one who gets to walk beside you.”

You laughed, breath catching in your throat, and nudged his side with your elbow. “You’re being sappy.”

“Can’t help it,” he said with a shrug. “Sand, sunset, and you in that dress? It’s over for me.”

He grinned when you rolled your eyes again, but this time you leaned in and rested your head lightly on his shoulder. Jake exhaled, shoulders easing, and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close as the waves rolled in and the moon rose behind the clouds.

He didn’t ask yet.

Not tonight.

But the weight of the ring in his pocket felt a little warmer now.

They stood like that for a while, molded into the quiet hush of the shoreline, your head on Jake’s shoulder and his arm snug around your waist like it had always belonged there. The kind of silence that didn’t demand words — the kind born from knowing someone’s weight, their shape, the rhythm of their breath. Occasionally, the wind would toss your hair gently against his jaw, and every time, he would press a soft kiss to your temple like a reflex he never wanted to break.

Eventually, your feet began moving again, slow and aimless as the two of you wandered along the sand, letting the tide chase your toes. The Hard Deck was nothing but music and gold light behind you now, swallowed by distance and salt air. Jake didn’t mind. He was more interested in the way your hand swung with his, the subtle skip in your step whenever the cold water kissed your skin, the little giggle you bit back when he splashed you once with his foot.

Then, as you passed a spot where driftwood lay bleached and worn, you slipped off your sandals and let yourself climb onto one of the larger pieces like it was a balance beam. Jake’s hand stayed at your hip, steadying you — even though you didn’t need him to. He just wanted to. Meanwhile, you smirked down at him, playful and sharp, and said, “Still think I’m just a detour?”

Jake’s breath hitched, but his smirk answered for him first. “Nah,” he murmured, reaching up to tug your hand until you stepped off the log and into his arms. “I think I took a lifetime-long wrong turn, and you were the destination the whole damn time.”

You groaned, resting your forehead against his shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “That was so cheesy, Seresin.”

He chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “Yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.”

Still holding you close, Jake let his chin rest atop your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your skin sun-drenched and ocean-kissed. It hit him then, all at once — how much he wanted to keep this. Not just the beach, not just the moment. You. All of you. The good, the hard, the brilliant and bossy and brutally honest commander who had turned his whole damn world upside down.

“I ever tell you how I used to dream about this?” he asked suddenly, voice low against the top of your hair.

You leaned back slightly to look at him, curious. “Dream about what?”

“This,” he said, motioning vaguely to the waves, the stars, the distance from everything but each other. “Us. Not just the fantasy stuff — not just the kissing and the staying in bed all day and you stealing all the covers — but this. Walking with you. Talking with you. Laughing with you like nothing ever got broken.”

Your smile dimmed, but not with sadness. There was something softer there now — something raw and real. “Jake…”

“I know I screwed it up,” he cut in gently. “I know it took too long to get here. But I still dreamed about it. I still thought about you. Every time I passed a girl with a sharp tongue, I thought, ‘She’s not her.’ Every time someone rolled their eyes at me, I thought, ‘She would’ve decked me by now.’ I kept comparing everyone to you, and they all fell short.”

You inhaled deeply, blinking up at him, but before you could speak, Jake reached up and brushed a thumb along your jaw. “I know we’re still figuring it out. I know we’ve still got baggage and scars and maybe even a few leftover landmines. But I’m in this. All the way.”

You searched his face for a moment, heart fluttering in a way that was both familiar and terrifying. Then, with a sigh, you leaned into him once more, your hands slipping beneath his jacket to curl into the back of his shirt. The sound of your heartbeat against his was steady now — not racing, not panicked. Just sure.

Jake smiled into your hair, eyes closed.

And under the stars, beside the sea, with the taste of your breath still warm on his skin, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t going to wait much longer.

Jake pulled back slightly, just enough to really look at you. The way your eyes caught the starlight, the way your fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of his collar — like you didn’t even realize you were clinging to him, like your hands had learned him so well they reached for him on instinct alone. His throat tightened. Not with nerves, not really. With the weight of it. Of you. Of everything you’d been through and still chosen to stay for.

Then, wordlessly, Jake took a step back.

You blinked, confused for a moment as he let your hands slip from his grip. But then he exhaled, slow and certain, and he reached into his back pocket — and your heart skipped. Stumbled. Froze.

Meanwhile, Jake was already lowering himself to one knee in the sand.

You froze in place, arms limp at your sides, lips parted and eyes wide. The ocean behind him caught the moonlight, waves crashing soft like applause, like the earth itself was holding its breath.

Jake cleared his throat, but his voice didn’t shake when he began.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. At first, it was just a daydream. A maybe. Something I didn’t even think I deserved. Hell, something I definitely didn’t think I’d ever earn. But then, you gave me a second chance. You let me prove that I could be more than the kid who didn’t know how to love someone right.” He smiled up at you, that cocky, sunlit grin softened by something deeper — devotion. “You turned the golden boy into the fool. And I’ve never been more grateful to be foolish.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, eyes already stinging. Jake kept going.

“You humbled me. You outranked me — literally and metaphorically — and thank God for that. Because I needed to be humbled. I needed to be taught that love isn’t a reward for good behavior. It’s something you earn by showing up. By trying. By apologizing and meaning it. By choosing someone even when it’s hard.” His voice thickened, but he didn’t stop. “You made me want to be better. Not for a medal. Not for a promotion. But for you.”

Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. “You are the strongest, smartest, most terrifyingly brilliant woman I’ve ever met. You know me in a way no one else ever has. You see me — even when I didn’t want to be seen. Even when I didn’t like what was underneath. And you stayed. You stayed, Rogue.”

He opened the small box then, and the ring glinted like a promise — a simple band, nothing overdone, but so clearly chosen with care. It looked like you. Honest. Steady. Sharp in its elegance.

Jake’s eyes locked on yours, and his voice barely made it past the catch in his throat. “So now I’m asking. Not just as the man who loves you — but as the man who wants to spend the rest of his life making up for every moment I wasn’t there. Commander. Rogue. The love of my life.”

He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling with the force of it. “Will you marry me?”

For a second, nothing moved. Not the wind. Not the waves. Not even you. It was as if time had gone still, the world narrowing down to the two of you beneath the stars. Jake could feel his heartbeat in his throat, behind his eyes, hammering inside his chest like it wanted to escape. His knee pressed into the sand, his hand holding the box steady, but everything else inside him trembled — because this was the leap. This was the real dogfight. Not in the sky, but here on the ground, where love didn’t just take courage, it took surrender.

Then, you exhaled — a breath caught somewhere between disbelief and joy — and your hands rose slowly, trembling as they covered your mouth. Your eyes were wide, wet, disbelieving in that way that shattered him because how could someone like you ever be surprised that someone would want you forever?

“Jake,” you whispered, barely audible over the hush of the surf. “You… idiot. You absolute dumb, reckless—” You were already crying, and Jake felt his own vision blur again. “Of course. Of course it’s yes.”

And just like that, time slammed back into motion.

Jake let out a breath that collapsed into a laugh, choked and giddy, like someone who had just survived something dangerous and divine. He surged up from the sand before you could even finish wiping your cheeks and pulled you into him, arms tight around your waist, mouth pressed to yours like a vow. It was desperate and tender and all-consuming, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he still didn’t believe this was real — that he’d asked and you’d said yes and the world hadn’t stopped spinning from the sheer weight of it.

Meanwhile, your hands were in his hair, in his collar, gripping him like you were trying to hold him to the ground, like you were both afraid he might disappear. He kissed you again, and again, and again, only pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathless.

“You said yes,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “You actually said yes.”

You nodded, smiling through your tears. “I did. I said yes, Seresin. Try not to crash the moment.”

Then, he laughed, bright and loose, the sound ringing out into the night air like a victory bell. He held you close, one arm wrapped around your back, the other still holding the ring between you as if the universe needed to know you were spoken for.

He slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands and kissed you like a man who had just found the rest of his life.

As the kiss finally broke — sweet and slow, your noses brushing gently as you pulled away — the sound of cheering erupted behind you like a wave crashing against the shore. Jake blinked in surprise before turning his head toward the Hard Deck. The windows were lit up like a festival, filled with blurry silhouettes of your people practically bouncing against the glass. Maverick was grinning from the bar like he’d known all along, Penny beside him wiping at her eye. Amelia was practically climbing the table to see better, Phoenix and Halo were whooping like the sky had just given them permission, and Fanboy had both hands over his heart, dramatically swaying like he might pass out from joy.

Then came the flood — the doors of the Hard Deck swung open, the Dagger Squad pouring out, voices rising in a wild crescendo. “Let’s goooo!” Bob shouted, cheeks flushed and smile bright, while Payback let out an actual bark. Rooster clapped his hands like he was starting a standing ovation, already whistling through his fingers.

Jake laughed, dizzy with all of it, his hand not once letting go of yours. He held it up like a trophy, flashing the ring like a kid showing off a prize from a claw machine. You rolled your eyes, but your smile was all love, all firelight and softness as you leaned in close enough for only him to hear.

“And now,” you said coolly, brushing your thumb over his ring finger, “we’ve got to choose a godfather and godmother really carefully.”

Jake blinked, confused. “What?”

You bit your lip to hide the smirk. “Because I’m pregnant.”

For exactly two seconds, Jake stared at you, face slack like his brain had quite literally shut down. Then his jaw dropped. “Wait—wait, what?”

You didn’t say anything, just lifted one eyebrow and gave the faintest nod.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” he asked, voice climbing with each word until it nearly cracked. His free hand shot up to his head like he was checking if this was a hallucination. “I’m gonna be a dad?!”

You snorted, and before you could say another word, Jake actually let out a full-blown shout and jumped up, fist in the air like he’d just won the Super Bowl. “I’M GONNA BE A DAD!”

The crowd from the Hard Deck went absolutely feral. Bob actually screamed. Yale dropped his drink. Rooster almost fell to his knees in the sand. Maverick just buried his face in his hands with a laugh, while Jinx and Ruin looked like they’d just been hit by a tidal wave of unfiltered joy.

Jake turned back to you, grabbing your waist and lifting you slightly off the ground as he spun in one giddy circle, laughing the whole way. “You’re serious?” he gasped. “You’re not just saying that to win the proposal?”

“I’m serious, you absolute idiot,” you said, both laughing and crying now. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

Jake didn’t kiss you this time. He just stared — wide-eyed, jaw slack, the sun hitting his face as he tried to process all of it. And you could see it. The exact second it hit him. That his future wasn’t just a woman anymore. It was a family.

And it was real.

The car ride home was quiet, sure — but not peaceful. It throbbed. Each second was soaked in everything unspoken: the glitter of a brand-new ring on your hand, the ghost of the cheers in your ears, and Jake fucking Seresin stealing glances like he didn’t know whether to cry or pull over and fuck you in the backseat till you saw stars. Like he was one breath away from breaking, but holding it in just to savor the ache.

You parked. The engine died. But neither of you moved.

The porchlight spilled gold over the front of the house, casting long, lazy shadows like it knew what was about to happen. Jake turned to you, slow and reverent, his eyes devouring you like you were his favorite goddamn prayer. His fingers brushed along your jaw with this impossible tenderness, and he whispered, hoarse, “You sure you’re real?”

You tilted your head into his touch, lips parted. “Was just about to ask you the same thing.”

The door barely clicked shut behind you before the air snapped.

He didn’t lunge. He didn’t pounce. Jake was slow — agonizingly slow. He closed the distance like a man approaching holy ground. Because that’s what you were now, weren’t you? His woman. His wife-to-be. The mother of his child.

And fuck, if that didn’t wreck him.

“I need to be careful,” he breathed, his thumb brushing over the stretch of your lower belly, barely a curve yet — but his whole soul already bowed before it. “You’re mine. All of you. Both of you.” His voice cracked on the last word. And that’s when it all snapped loose.

He kissed you, open-mouthed and starved, like a man lost at sea who just found land. His hands slid up your sides, under your shirt, thumbs teasing the underside of your tits till you gasped into his mouth. He growled, low in his chest, “You better tell me now if you want soft, baby, because I am barely hangin’ on.”

You smirked against his lips. “You’re gonna be a dad. You really think I want soft?”

That broke him. He stripped you bare with unhurried hands and filthy eyes, every inch of you kissed, licked, marked. He dropped to his knees like it was instinct, spreading your legs with gentle hands, and just looked.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re already so wet, aren’t you? Fuckin’ soaked, all for me.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then sucked a bruise right there, claiming skin like it was sacred. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

When he did? Oh, God.

His tongue was sinful. He licked you with slow precision, devouring every drip, every whimper, like he was starving for you. And when he slipped two fingers inside you, crooking them just right?

You screamed.

“Shh,” he smirked, lips shiny, voice gravel. “You’ll wake the neighborhood, sweetheart. Let ‘em know you’re mine, huh?”

You came with his name on your lips and his tongue still buried in you, but that wasn’t enough for him. Not even close.

He pulled back, unzipped his jeans, and let his cock slap against his stomach — flushed, hard, throbbing.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” he growled. “Every inch. You’re fuckin’ made for me. Look at you. Fucking perfect, pregnant with my kid, and still so greedy for my cock.”

And then he pressed in.

So slow. Too slow. The stretch burned, and it was glorious. You clawed at his back, panting, writhing, begging — and he just watched you fall apart under him like he was memorizing it.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, holding himself still inside you. “You feel that? How tight you are? This pussy’s mine. You’re mine. All of you.”

You whimpered, bucking your hips, but he pinned you down with one big hand on your hip.

“Uh-uh. I’m gonna fuck you slow, sweetheart. I wanna feel you. Every squeeze, every breath. Wanna fuckin’ watch you fall apart.”

And he did.

Every thrust was deliberate, deep, filthy. He rocked into you with precision, dragging moans from your chest and curses from your lips. His hand stayed on your belly, protective, reverent, even while he was ruining you.

“You’re gonna carry my kid, wear my ring, and still beg for this cock every damn night, huh?” he rasped, sweat dripping from his jaw. “You like it. You love being full of me. Stuffed and leaking.”

You moaned — helpless, wrecked, blissed-out.

He kissed your temple, slow and sweet, even as he fucked you harder. “I’ll be careful,” he swore. “But I ain’t pullin’ out. Not ever again. This pussy’s got a job now — stayin’ warm and full of my fuckin’ cum.”

When he finally came — deep inside you, groaning your name, shaking with it — he didn’t stop moving. Just rocked you through it, slow, deep thrusts while you clenched around him like you never wanted to let him go.

And when it was over? When you were trembling in his arms, filled to the brim with him and still gasping?

Jake kissed your ring, your lips, and your belly.

And then he whispered, “Next round, I want you on top. Wanna watch those tits bounce while you ride me.”

You climbed on top of him, naked and lazy and smug, his hands immediately going to your thighs like they belonged there. He watched you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted, hair sticking to his forehead. Wrecked. Gorgeous. Already getting hard again under you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, awe in every syllable. “Gonna ride me with my fuckin’ baby inside you?”

You grinned, leaning down until your lips brushed his. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Oh, it’s exactly what I wanted.”

He grabbed his cock, guiding it up between your folds — slow, teasing strokes that made you both gasp. You were still soaked, still sensitive, and when you finally sank down onto him? He shook.

“Jesus fuck,” he hissed. “Still so tight. You tryna kill me?”

You rocked your hips, slow and deep, letting him feel every inch. “Maybe.”

Jake’s hands went to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise but holding back, letting you set the pace. His eyes dropped to your stomach — just the faintest curve — and his breath caught.

“You’re carryin’ my kid,” he said like a prayer. “And now you’re sittin’ on my cock like it’s yours.”

“It is mine,” you whispered, grinding down until he cursed. “You gave it to me.”

He moaned, long and low, hips bucking up just once before he caught himself. “Fuck, baby. Don’t say shit like that unless you want me to come already.”

You rode him slow — hips rolling in a rhythm that was more tease than thrust, more ache than relief. He let you set the pace, but he couldn’t stop watching. The way your tits bounced. The way your belly shifted when you moved. The way his cock disappeared into you like you were made for it.

“You feel that?” you whispered, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “How deep you are? Right where you belong?”

Jake growled, grabbing your ass with both hands, kneading it as he groaned. “You’re filthy. Fuckin’ filthy. And I love it.”

You sped up, riding him harder now — still slow, still controlled, but punishing in the way your walls clenched and your moans broke. Jake’s head tilted back, sweat beading at his brow, his whole body straining under you.

“Let me see,” he begged. “Touch yourself. C’mon, baby, lemme watch you fall apart.”

You obeyed, fingers slipping between your legs to rub tight circles over your clit. You clenched down on him, moaning loud, breath hitching, vision blurring. He watched every damn second of it — eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing left in the world.

“You look so fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned. “Ridin’ me like that, carryin’ my baby. Fuck. I could come just from lookin’ at you.”

You tightened around him and that was it — Jake lost it.

He slammed up into you, losing control for just a second, and you welcomed it — met every thrust with one of your own. He grunted, voice rough and raw, “Take it. Fuckin’ take all of it, baby. You want more, don’t you? Want me fillin’ you up over and over till you’re drippin’ with it?”

You came with a strangled moan, clenching hard around him, and that was what finally broke him.

Jake groaned your name like a curse and a prayer, hips stuttering, spilling into you again, deep and messy and so much. He held you down on him, grinding through the aftershocks, panting, swearing, kissing your belly like it was holy.

And then he whispered, dazed, “What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”

You smiled down at him, blissed out and aching and full in every sense of the word.

“You knocked me up,” you said sweetly.

Jake laughed — breathless, ragged — and ran a hand down your spine.

“Then I guess I better keep doin’ it.”

You barely made it to the bathroom. Your legs were shaking, cum dripping down your thighs, and Jake — still flushed and breathless from round two — followed behind like he was stalking prey. The water was already running when he pressed you against the cool tile, his hands rough on your hips, mouth hot on your neck. The steam rose around you like smoke, wrapping both of you in something feral and thick.

"Look at you," he rasped, licking a stripe up the column of your throat. "Still fuckin’ leaking from me. You're mine, baby. Walkin’ around full of me, full of my kid, and now you’re lookin’ at me like you want more."

You whimpered — didn’t even deny it.

He spun you gently, pressing your front to the wall, and dropped to his knees behind you. Spread your legs. Didn’t even wait.

His tongue buried itself in your cunt like he was starving. He groaned against you, wet and obscene, licking up his own cum as it spilled out of you.

“Fuckin’ messy,” he growled, voice vibrating against your soaked folds. “Can’t even keep it all inside you, can you?”

He licked every drop clean. Then sucked your clit, slow and relentless, until your knees buckled and you were begging — stuttering his name like a sin.

“Please, Jake—”

He stood behind you, dragging his cock through your folds, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance without pushing in.

“You want more of my cum in you, baby? You want me to fuck you with our baby inside you, stuff you full again?”

You moaned — needy and feral — grinding your ass back against him. “Yes. God, yes.”

Jake didn’t ask again. He slid into you from behind, one hand braced on your hip, the other splayed across your belly. His cock filled you slow — too slow — stretching you open again, making you feel every damn inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, hips pressing flush to yours. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ perfect. Just takes me.”

He started moving — deep, hard thrusts that smacked your hips into the tile, but never strayed from that possessive grip on your belly. Like he was claiming you and the life growing inside you in one goddamn motion.

“You like this, huh?” he panted. “Gettin’ bred in the shower? My cum dripping out of you while I fuck you right back open?”

You couldn’t speak. You just moaned, fingers clawing at the slick wall, body arching into every thrust like it was instinct. He bent down, pressing his chest to your back, voice dark and thick in your ear.

“This pussy belongs to me now. Every time I fuck you, you get tighter. Hungrier. Like your body knows what it’s made for.”

You whimpered, lost in it, and Jake grinned.

“Gonna keep you pregnant, baby,” he growled. “Keep fuckin’ filling you up till this belly’s round and swollen with my kid. Gonna make sure everyone knows who fucked you like this.”

He slammed into you harder. The slap of skin echoed in the shower, filthy and fast, water cascading over both your bodies like it couldn’t wash away any of the sin.

“I want you so full you feel me for days,” he groaned. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt again. You ready for that?”

You nodded frantically, clenching around him. “Please, Jake. Fuck, please—need it—need you.”

That broke him. He slammed into you once, twice, and then spilled inside you with a shout — hot, thick pulses of cum painting your insides while he held you there, cock twitching deep, his whole body shaking with it.

And even after he came, he didn’t pull out. He stayed inside you. Held your hips, kissed your spine. Murmured filth and praise and a little bit of love against your neck while your bodies pulsed and throbbed and trembled together under the water.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he whispered. “Gonna end up with a whole squad of little Seresins runnin’ around if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

You looked over your shoulder, dazed and fucked-out. “Might not be a bad thing.”

Jake grinned. “Then I guess we better practice.”

Jake watched you step out of the shower, water still clinging to your skin, and something in him snapped. You caught the look — dark and feral, low on patience but high on obsession — just as your back hit the cold counter.

“Get your hands on the sink,” he growled, voice rough as gravel, still dripping wet, cock already hard again. “Now.”

You did it without thinking. Bent forward, palms flat, steam curling in the mirror in front of you. You could see yourself. Eyes glassy. Lips swollen. That barely-there swell of your belly.

And then Jake was behind you.

He kicked your legs apart, wrapped a firm hand around your throat from behind, and leaned down till his lips brushed your ear. “Look at you,” he rasped. “Fucked three times already and still so needy. Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

You whimpered, pushing your hips back against him. You could feel his cock pressing against your ass, hot and heavy and so ready.

“Oh, you want it,” he said, cocky and breathless. “You want me to bend you over this sink and fill you again while our baby’s still soaking in the last load I gave you.”

And then — fuck — he slid into you.

No teasing this time. No softness. Just one brutal, delicious thrust that knocked the air from your lungs and had your knuckles going white against the counter.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he growled. “I want you to watch me fuck you. Watch how good you look when you’re getting bred like this.”

You lifted your head, lips parted, face flushed. In the mirror, you saw it all — the way your body trembled with every thrust, the way his hand stayed right on your belly, protective and possessive, even while he was ruining you.

“God damn,” Jake grunted, pounding into you so deep you saw stars. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ perfect. Warm and tight and already so full. But it still wants more, huh?”

You moaned — high and broken — and he gave it to you.

He fucked you hard, relentless and punishing, hips slapping into your ass with obscene sound. One hand on your belly, the other slipping between your legs, rubbing tight circles over your clit that had your knees buckling.

“Feel that?” he panted. “That’s me. Stuffin’ you full over and over till you’re dripping. You’re gonna see it — dripping out of you down your thighs, all over this sink, ‘cause your greedy little cunt can’t hold it all in.”

You came with a cry, body spasming around him, and Jake lost it.

He slammed into you, once, twice, and then came with a snarl — hot and so much — his cock twitching inside you as he filled you again. But he didn’t pull out. He stayed inside you, grinding slow, watching his cum spill out and slide down your thighs in the mirror.

Jake kissed your shoulder, rough and breathless. “Fuckin’ look at that,” he whispered. “You’re dripping, baby. Dripping with me. I could spend the rest of my life right here — fucking you full, watching it leak out, and doing it all over again.”

You met his eyes in the mirror, ruined and flushed and glowing. “Then do it,” you whispered.

Jake grinned. “Oh, I plan to.”

You were still bent over the sink, arms trembling, breath stuttering out of your lungs as your thighs twitched from the last orgasm. His cum was dripping down your legs, thick and hot, pooling at the backs of your knees.

And Jake? He stepped back, panting, eyes locked on the mess between your legs like a man possessed. His fingers brushed your inner thigh, catching a trail of it — and when he brought it to his mouth, licking it off with a groan?

Something unholy took over. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re leaking. Look at this shit — I just filled you up and you’re wasting it. Can’t let that happen.”

And then he dropped to his knees. No hesitation. No teasing. Just hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open, face diving in like he was starving — like the only thing that mattered was tasting everything he left inside you.

His tongue licked a slow stripe from your knee up to your center, catching every bit of cum as it dripped out. He moaned against your pussy, deep, filthy, obscene.

“Jesus fuck, baby,” he groaned, lapping at your folds. “You taste like me. So fuckin’ good — sweet and messy and mine.”

He started eating you out from behind, tongue pushing into your soaked cunt, licking up the mix of both of you like it was dessert. Every moan vibrated against you. Every filthy word was soaked in praise.

“Gonna fuckin’ clean you up with my mouth,” he panted. “Get every drop back where it belongs. Can’t let this pussy waste a thing, not when it’s mine.”

You were shaking. Boneless. Gasping his name like it was the only word you knew.

He used his fingers now — spreading your folds so he could see the mess, groaning like it drove him insane. And it did.

“This right here?” he whispered, licking a drop off your clit. “This is what I want every day. You, bent over, leaking with my cum, and me down here takin’ care of it like a good fuckin’ man.”

You cried out when he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue working in slow, punishing circles. Your hands fumbled for the edge of the sink, trying to hold on as he licked you clean and brought you to the edge again — your third, fourth, who-the-fuck-knows at this point.

And when you came, again, shuddering and sobbing and completely undone, Jake groaned into your cunt like it fed him.

He didn’t stop until your legs were shaking, your pussy was clean, and your breath was just little broken gasps.

Then he stood, slow, smug, lips glistening. He kissed your shoulder, your neck, and finally your lips — letting you taste just how wrecked you were.

And he whispered, warm and dark, against your mouth: “Next time, sweetheart… you’re gonna sit on my face. And you better be leaking.”

Later, you lay tangled in his arms, the room quiet save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the steady beat of Jake’s heart beneath your ear. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, and you could feel his smile in the kiss he pressed to your temple.

“Mrs. Seresin,” he murmured, voice thick with love and sleep.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Not yet.”

“Soon,” he whispered, pulling you closer. “And forever after that.”

And in that moment — wrapped in his arms, the future glowing just ahead — you believed it.

The first month after your engagement passed in a haze of quiet wonder. You and Jake moved through the days like you were still in a dream, passing the ring between your fingers when the world felt too loud, whispering “fiancé” like it was a secret only you two were allowed to hold. The pregnancy symptoms hadn’t kicked in just yet—just the whisper of fatigue, the occasional bout of nausea, the way your heart raced when he touched your stomach like it already held galaxies. Jake read every article he could get his hands on, even highlighted some (in three colors), and kept a growing folder on his phone called baby research. You laughed, but part of you melted too.

By the second month, the nausea hit with a vengeance. You found yourself curled on the bathroom floor more times than you could count, your head resting on Jake’s thigh while he rubbed your back and whispered comfort like prayers. He tried to cook for you—God help him—and after two failed attempts at scrambled eggs and a melted plastic spatula, you both agreed he was banned from the kitchen unless supervised. Meanwhile, he started keeping saltines in his pockets like some over-prepared dad scout and offered them to you with the most serious face imaginable, which made you want to cry and laugh at the same time. Hormones. Yay.

The third month brought cravings. Horrible, chaotic, unpredictable cravings. You once burst into tears because you wanted fried pickles and caramel ice cream at the same time. Jake, bless his golden soul, did not question the science of your hunger. He just got in the truck at 11 p.m. in his boxers and a hoodie, drove thirty minutes, and came back victorious. “Anything for my girls,” he declared, smug. You, still mid-bite, glared. “Jake,” you said with narrowed eyes. “It’s a boy.” He raised a brow. “Nope. I googled your symptoms—nausea this early? That’s a girl. Plus, your feet are colder.” You blinked. “I’m literally growing a person. Every symptom makes sense.” He smirked. “Exactly. Girl.”

By the fourth month, you were officially showing. Just a bump. A little one. Enough for Jake to start whispering to your stomach when he thought you were asleep, saying things like, “Hey, you don’t know me yet, but I’m your dad. I’m sorry for being dumb sometimes, but I promise, I’ll learn.” You didn’t always cry. But sometimes? You really did. Especially after HR cornered you gently with a memo in hand, officially placing you on maternity leave. You cried in the car with the door open, muttering that you were still capable and just needed another month. Jake held you through it, one arm around your shoulders, the other cradling your belly. “You’re not leaving the sky,” he whispered. “You’re just giving someone else a reason to fly.”

The fifth month was when the bickering intensified. Jake, now fully convinced he was correct, began baby-name debates with “girl options only.” You countered by buying a onesie that read Future Maverick with little aviator wings stitched on the chest. Jake recoiled dramatically. “That’s your call sign,” he pointed out. “The baby’s gonna need something more badass. Like Viper 2.0.” You tossed a pillow at him. “You think we’re having a damn F-14, not a human child.”

Meanwhile, the baby kicked for the first time. And both of you forgot the argument instantly.

Jake dropped to his knees, hands trembling, eyes wide. “Did—did he just kick?” You looked down at him, smug. “He?” Jake’s face faltered. “I mean—they. They kicked.” You just smiled, threading your fingers through his hair. “Gotcha.”

Then came the sixth month, where the weird dreams began. You swore you were fighting aliens with a diaper bag and a lightsaber. Jake swore he saw your belly grow three times in one night. The both of you were sleep-deprived, emotionally unstable, and yet somehow, more in love than ever. He started painting the nursery without telling you—badly—and you ended up helping, barefoot on newspaper, both of you speckled with pale green. “It’s gender-neutral,” Jake declared proudly. You raised an eyebrow. “So is white, but go off, Picasso.”

But even with the teasing and the chaos, something in Jake had changed. He was softer now. Quieter, sometimes. Like the world had finally tilted into focus. Every day he’d pull you close, rest his forehead against yours, and murmur something low, like, “Thank you for giving me this.”

And you would answer, always with a smile: “It’s ours.”

By the seventh month, there was no hiding it anymore. Your walk had slowed, your back ached more often than not, and the little kicks had turned into full-blown somersaults that made Jake leap up mid-conversation and yell, “She’s practicing her turns!” To which you’d calmly respond, “He is literally kicking my bladder, not flying a sortie.” It was an ongoing war, this baby-gender debate, and both of you were committed to your sides like two stubborn admirals refusing to yield.

Meanwhile, the Dagger Squad had become fully invested. Phoenix took it upon herself to host a “neutral” baby shower, complete with cake pops, tactical onesies, and a betting board on the baby’s gender. Fanboy made spreadsheets. Yale cried twice while writing a toast. Rooster tried to be the godfather in advance by bringing you smoothies and casually flexing in front of Jake, who responded by following you everywhere like a loyal guard dog.

“You’re not the one carrying the baby,” you told Jake one evening when he insisted on buckling your shoes for you.

“I know,” he replied, kissing your knee, “but I’m the one who loves both of you. So you better get used to me hovering.”

By the eighth month, Penny had dubbed you the Hard Deck Queen. You barely made it three feet inside without being swarmed—Amelia made a habit of talking to your bump like it could respond, Bob offered calming teas, and even Cyclone started opening doors with a muttered “Commander Rogue coming through.” You were glowing, sure, but also perpetually annoyed, emotional, and sweaty. Jake, the fool, found this adorable.

And then the incident happened.

One night, Maverick threw a low-key dinner for the squad, and someone (Harvard) let slip that you had been voted “Most Likely to Scare the Baby Into Good Grades.” You’d blinked. Then narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?” But before a proper roast could commence, Jake had stood and clinked his glass like a proud husband at a wedding.

“I just wanna say,” he began dramatically, “that my wife—sorry, fiancée—is the strongest, smartest, most terrifyingly hot woman I’ve ever known. And also…” He paused. Then looked directly at you. “She’s wrong. We’re having a girl. And I will be a girl dad if it kills me.”

Chaos ensued.

Rooster yelled “Team Boy!” from across the table. Coyote called it “too early to declare.” Yale and Fanboy cried again. You just sat there, hand on your belly, staring at Jake like you couldn’t believe he made breathing this annoying.

In the ninth month, you took leave from nearly everything. Not because you wanted to—but because you had to. Your feet were swollen, your hips were sore, and the baby had taken up residence in your lungs like it was subletting space. You cried when you saw your uniform hanging in the closet, and again when you realized you couldn’t zip it anymore. Jake caught you both times, arms wrapping around you gently, forehead resting on your shoulder.

“I miss flying,” you whispered once.

He kissed your temple. “You’ll fly again. Right now, you’re building the best wingman we’ll ever have.”

Your days were slower now, softer. The nursery was finished—aviation-themed, of course—with hand-drawn clouds Jake had painstakingly painted himself. Maverick and Penny dropped by often with food, gifts, and very unsolicited parenting advice. Hondo gave Jake a stern lecture about burping techniques. You nearly peed yourself laughing.

But at night, it was just the two of you again. Jake would talk to the baby through your belly, reading flight manuals in a bedtime voice, making little jokes that made you snort and then wince. “She likes my voice,” he’d whisper. You rolled your eyes. “He’s trying to sleep.”

It was supposed to be a chill afternoon. Just a couple of hours at the Hard Deck, some mocktails, light banter, and Rooster trying to convince Jake that the baby was going to come out with his jawline. But then, without warning, your glass slipped from your fingers, clinking gently against the floor as your hand went to your belly. You blinked once. Twice. Then you stood, very slowly, and calmly said the words that sent a shockwave through the bar.

“Oh, my water just broke.”

For a second, there was silence. Dead silence. Like the music itself paused to listen. Then—

“OKAY. EVERYONE. STAY CALM!” Jake barked, standing so fast his chair skidded backward and hit Yale in the shin. “SHE’S HAVING THE BABY. I REPEAT—THE BABY IS COMING—STAY CALM—”

No one was calm. Least of all Jake.

He spun in three full circles, pointing to people like he was issuing deployment orders. “Phoenix! Towels—I don’t know, just in case? Rooster! Clear the path. Bob, I need—uh—what do I need?”

“You need your fiancée,” you said dryly, hands on your hips, looking far too composed for someone whose child was on the way. “Preferably not abandoned in the middle of a bar.”

Jake had bolted halfway to the car by then, keys in hand, but your voice—laced with unimpressed Command energy—yanked him back like a leash. He reversed course so fast it was almost cartoonish, scrambling back to your side with wild eyes and flailing arms.

“Right, right, yep, no—baby first—yes, okay,” he muttered. “We’ve trained for this. Flight manual said breathe. And support. And snacks. Wait, did we bring the hospital bag?”

“It’s in the car,” you said, wincing slightly as another contraction hit. “Seresin, if you leave me one more time, I will hobble my way to labor and then make you watch the full delivery standing.”

Jake paled. “Never. Never again. I’m glued to you. Like a barnacle. I am your barnacle.”

Meanwhile, Penny had already called ahead to the hospital, Maverick was handing you your go-bag like a seasoned Navy vet ready for deployment, and Amelia was snapping blurry photos, whispering, “This is going in the baby album.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Jake had one hand on the wheel and the other on your knee the entire time, muttering affirmations under his breath like some half-prayer, half-pep talk. “You’re doing great. You’re amazing. We’re gonna meet them. I swear I didn’t mean to say it was a girl this whole time. Boy or girl, I love them. I love you. Did I say that already? Okay, I’ll say it again.”

You groaned through a contraction, gripping the door handle tightly. “Jake, please. Focus.”

“I am focused. Hyper-focused. This is me being a calm and rational father,” he said, taking a corner a bit too fast. “Also, I might throw up.”

But eventually, finally, the hospital doors opened before you like a miracle. Nurses were already waiting, a wheelchair ready, and Jake was practically vibrating out of his skin with nerves. He followed your stretcher like a man possessed, clinging to your hand the second you allowed it, whispering again and again, “You’ve got this. We’ve got this. I love you.”

The contractions were getting closer, sharper, and everything smelled like disinfectant and adrenaline.

Still no baby yet. But soon. So very soon.

The delivery room was a battlefield. Monitors beeped in rhythm with your rising pulse, nurses moved like clockwork around you, and the doctor’s calm instructions barely registered over the white-hot pain pulsing through your body. You were soaked in sweat, your legs were in stirrups, and the pressure building inside you felt like the sky was trying to fall out of you in one violent, miraculous moment.

Jake was beside you. Barely.

“YOU DID THIS TO ME!” you screamed, clutching his hand in a death grip that had him hunched over in pain. “I SWEAR TO GOD, JAKE SERESIN, IF YOU EVER LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Jake yelped, tears already streaking down his cheeks as he tried to both breathe and not pass out. “You’re doing amazing, baby, I swear! I’m never touching you again unless you tell me to. I swear it. You’re—oh my God—is that the head?!”

“STOP LOOKING!” you shrieked. “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING?! STAY BY MY FACE!”

“I’M TRYING TO BE SUPPORTIVE!” he cried, wiping his nose with his shoulder as he braced your hand to his chest. “I’ve never been so scared in my life—God, you’re so strong, I love you, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done!”

“DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE,” you shouted, nearly ripping his arm from the socket as another contraction slammed through you. The doctor calmly told you to push, and the nurse offered words of encouragement, but all you could focus on was Jake’s wide, tear-filled eyes and the fact that you’d probably break every bone in his hand before this was over.

Meanwhile, Jake was trying not to fall apart. He had flown combat missions, been shot at, survived some of the worst conditions known to man—but none of that compared to watching you fight through the pain like this. He’d never seen anything so terrifying. Or so holy.

“You’re almost there,” the doctor said with a calm that made you want to slap him. “One more push. Come on, Mama. You’ve got this.”

“I hate you,” you told Jake, bearing down with all the strength left in your body.

Jake sobbed. “I love you, too!”

And then—just like that—time split wide open.

There was a cry. Small. Loud. Angry. The sound of life punching its way into the world.

Your body went slack with exhaustion, your chest heaving as you stared at the ceiling in disbelief. The pain ebbed, not gone but dulled, and your hand—still gripping Jake’s—relaxed ever so slightly.

Jake gasped. “Oh, my God.”

The nurse was cleaning the baby, the doctor already congratulating you, but all Jake could do was cry harder as he turned to you with trembling lips and whispered, “You did it. You—baby, you did it. Look—look, it’s our kid.”

Then the nurse placed the tiny, wrinkled, squirming bundle into your arms. Your eyes widened. Your breath caught. And for a moment, nothing existed but this small miracle against your chest, this impossibly warm, impossibly loud creature with your nose and Jake’s pout.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, barely able to believe the words.

Jake froze. “Wait—he?!”

You looked up with a smug, exhausted grin. “Told you it was a boy.”

Jake Seresin’s knees nearly gave out.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, utterly undone, leaning over to kiss your forehead and then the baby’s. “I’m a dad. I’m really a dad. You're a mom. And he’s—he’s so small—do they always come out this small?! Oh my God, you made him. You made this whole person, babe.”

“You helped,” you muttered with a tired smirk.

Jake laughed through his tears, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed, one hand cradling your shoulder and the other brushing over your son’s impossibly soft head. “He’s ours,” he whispered like it was a secret he was still trying to believe. “We made a whole-ass person.”

You didn’t speak—just leaned your head against his and closed your eyes, letting the weight of it all settle. Your son snuffled gently against your chest, a little fighter already, full of voice and storm and love.

And Jake? He was already gone for him. For both of you.

The room had quieted into something sacred. The dim overhead light hummed faintly, casting a soft golden glow over pale blue walls and the low beeping of machines that monitored steady, rhythmic signs of life. The chaos of labor had given way to something still and warm. You were fast asleep now, your face slack with exhaustion, cheeks flushed, one hand curled against your chest like even in sleep you were still tethered to the memory of holding him.

Meanwhile, Jake sat shirtless in the reclining chair tucked in the corner of the hospital room, the baby swaddled snug against his bare chest, skin-to-skin as the nurse had instructed. His dog tags hung just above the bundle, catching the light every time he breathed a little too hard. The soft rise and fall of his chest matched the slow, steady rhythm of the baby’s tiny breaths. Jake had one large palm curved protectively over his son’s back, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles. His other hand rested behind the baby’s head, cradling it with the sort of gentleness no one had ever thought Lieutenant Jake Seresin capable of.

His eyes, though—those were something else entirely.

“Hey, little guy,” Jake whispered, voice just above a hush. “We haven’t officially met yet. I mean, not outside the womb where you’ve been doing karate on your poor mom’s organs for the past few months.”

The baby didn’t stir. He was tucked against Jake’s chest like he belonged there, utterly content, as if he knew this heartbeat by instinct alone.

Jake chuckled under his breath, voice still watery with disbelief. “You’re… you’re really here.” He glanced over at your sleeping form, gaze softening like it always did when he looked at you. Then, he tilted his head back down. “She did everything, you know that? She brought you here. Fought like hell. Cursed me out like a sailor and nearly broke my fingers, but—God, I’ve never loved anyone more than I do her. You’ve got one hell of a mom, kid.”

He looked down again, lips twitching into a grin. “And you? You look just like me. That’s probably gonna be a problem later.” He traced his pinky along the baby’s soft cheek. “You’ve got my chin. My mouth. Even my ears, damn it. She’s gonna be so mad when she realizes she carried you for nine months just to give birth to my clone.”

The baby let out a small hiccup of air, nose scrunching as if offended. Jake grinned wider. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. You’ve got her fire, though. I can already tell.”

Outside the window, the world had gone still, the deep blue of night wrapping around the city like a blanket. In that corner of the room, though, time didn’t exist. There was just Jake—once the golden boy, the hotshot, the reckless one—and now… just a man. A father. Holding the future in his arms like it was the most fragile, sacred thing in the world.

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve done to me already,” he whispered, bending to press a kiss to the top of his son’s downy head. “But I promise you this—I’m not gonna miss a single moment. Not one. I’m gonna be here. Every day. Every late night bottle, every scraped knee, every stupid little joke. You’re stuck with me, little man.”

He leaned back slowly, eyes growing heavy now but still glued to the tiny miracle against his chest.

“I love you,” Jake whispered one last time. “And I love your Mommy. More than anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Then, just as the night deepened outside, Jake closed his eyes, rocking slowly in the chair, the baby warm and steady in his arms.

Morning sunlight filtered gently through the half-drawn curtains, casting soft, golden stripes across the hospital bed where you sat propped up against a mountain of pillows. Your hair was messy, your eyes still heavy with sleep, but none of that mattered—not when your son was latched to your chest, tiny fingers curling against your skin like he’d known you forever. You watched him in awe, blinking slowly as the waves of love, exhaustion, and straight-up disbelief washed over you in equal measure.

Meanwhile, Jake stirred in the corner, shirt half-on, hair a wild mess of blonde tufts standing at every angle. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, blinked blearily—and then his gaze landed on you.

He froze. A beat passed. Then another. And then, Jake Seresin—naval aviator, call sign Hangman, heartbreaker of yesteryears—grinned like an absolute menace.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, voice still thick with sleep. “Like father, like son.”

You blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”

Jake leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, that familiar cocky tilt playing at his mouth as he motioned to your chest—where your newborn son was feeding contentedly, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. “Look at him. Locked in. Zoned out. Completely infatuated. Yeah. That’s my boy.”

You stared. He didn’t even blink.

Then you groaned, adjusting your arm around the baby as you shot him a glare sharp enough to slice steel. “You are unbelievable.”

Jake grinned wider. “I mean, c’mon. You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to marrying me.”

“You were crying in a chair twelve hours ago,” you reminded him.

“And now I’m witnessing greatness in action.” He stepped closer, crouching beside the bed as he placed a gentle kiss to your temple, his hand brushing softly over the baby’s head. “Also, I will never recover from how ridiculously beautiful you look right now.”

You narrowed your eyes, though your cheeks warmed. “I haven’t showered, I’m leaking milk, and I just gave birth.”

Jake gave a dreamy sigh. “Still the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. And our son clearly agrees.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re a menace.”

He leaned in closer, his voice softening now, gaze flickering between your face and the tiny bundle nestled against you. “I’m a menace in love.”

You laughed under your breath, your free hand finding his and squeezing it gently. “You better be. Because this little one is already a full-time job.”

Jake chuckled, brushing another kiss along your jaw before whispering, “Good thing I already got the job of a lifetime.”

“We have to name him eventually,” Jake murmured, his voice low and lazy, like the words were slipping through the late afternoon light.

You tilted your head to glance up at him. “We do,” you agreed. “And no, we’re not naming him after a jet.”

Jake feigned offense. “What? F-18 has a nice ring to it. Or Raptor. Ooh—Falcon.”

You snorted, laughing softly as you shifted the baby’s weight in your arms. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to throw something at you.”

“I’d dodge anyway,” he smirked, before softening again. “Alright. No jets. What are you thinking?”

You glanced back down at your son, his mouth puckered slightly in sleep, little brows already starting to resemble Jake’s. “I’ve always liked the name Theodore,” you said quietly, the name rolling off your tongue like a secret you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “It sounds strong. Timeless. Like someone who matters.”

Jake blinked. Then looked down at the baby like he was seeing him for the first time all over again. “Theodore,” he repeated, testing it out. “Theo.”

“Theo,” you echoed, voice hushed with affection.

Jake stared for a moment longer, then smiled—soft and deep, the kind that only ever reached his eyes when he was looking at you or, now, at the tiny human who somehow made both of you feel brand new. “He does look like a Theodore.”

“I know, right?” You let your head rest back against him again. “Theodore Seresin. Has a nice ring to it.”

Jake grinned like he’d just won a dogfight. “It’s perfect.”

He reached down and gently touched the baby’s cheek, his thumb barely brushing the soft skin. “Hi, Theo,” he whispered. “Welcome to the world, little man.”

Who would've thought? That the quiet girl once overlooked and the golden boy once too proud would end up here—no longer adversaries, no longer almosts. Just two people, side by side, bruised and rebuilt, holding the life they made between them. In a world made of roaring engines, heavy medals, and call signs stitched onto uniforms, it was never the victories in the sky that defined them. It was this—late afternoons wrapped in quiet laughter, soft kisses pressed to sleepy foreheads, whispered arguments over baby names and midnight feeds. It was love, loud and unruly, tender and patient.

And somehow, in the mess of all the years, the heartbreak, the second chances—they became a little family.

The fool, the golden boy, and the miracle they named Theodore.

[bloatedandalone04]

Don’t Ever Leave My Side

➪the one where you finally let jake take you out on a date after countless rejections, but it turns out that the guy you convinced yourself he was, isn’t who he is at all.

Warnings: smut, fluff, pda, unprotected sex, swearing, pining, oral (f receiving), jake being whipped bc i missed writing for him

Word Count: 4.7k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You weren’t sure why you had reapplied your makeup for the third time now after deciding that it didn’t look good enough. And you opted to leave your hair how it normally looked right after a shower and to not touch it, but here you were, hastily curling it as you checked the time on your phone for the fourth time since plugging in the curling iron. 

None of it mattered at all. It was just a stupid date. One stupid date you promised Jake Seresin you’d go on with him, that was it. 

The guy had been asking you out for months now, and you’ve shut him down every time since you knew how he was with the women who frequented the Hard Deck. He was a player, in the sky and on the ground, and you wanted nothing to do with it, which is why you’ve rejected him more times than you can count on both hands. 

Yet he was persistent, the fucker. To get him to stop, you agreed to go out with him the last time you bumped into him, and that date was scheduled for tonight. In exactly four minutes, but you were planning on being late just to fuck with him, because there was no way you were going on a second date with him. No way. No.

You just finished your hair when your phone went off with a text, and you glanced down at it as you unplugged the curler and set it down on the counter. 

Jake Seresin: I’m here, gorgeous. Hope you’re prepared for tonight ;)

For some reason, reading that gave you butterflies in your stomach, and you quickly typed out a response before setting your phone down and pulling on the simple black dress you picked out for tonight.

Nice. I’m not ready yet.

The dress was tight around your torso area but got looser around your thighs, and the straps were so thin, you had to wear a strapless bra so it didn’t look dumb. The hem around your chest was lace and provided a small amount of cleavage that left nothing to the imagination, so yeah. It was very simple. 

After checking yourself a respectable three times, you slide on your ankle boots and grab your purse. 

You wondered if Jake was annoyed that you took so long to get ready since he read your text but never responded to it, but you were wrong as you opened your front door and saw him leaning against the passenger side of his truck with a stupid fucking smile on his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted as you huffed and turned to lock the door. When you made your way over to him, Jake moved out of the way and opened the passenger door for you. “You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” you drag the word out a bit as you hop up onto the seat and place your hands on your lap as he shuts the door behind you. A few seconds later, he was sitting beside you in the driver’s seat as he put the truck into drive. “Where are we going?”

Jake grinned over at you as he flicked the radio on, and some country song began playing quietly through the speakers as he answered, “It’s a surprise. Shocking, I know, but if I’m only getting one shot at this, I’m gonna do it right,”

“Great, I love surprises,” you mumbled, looking out the window before quickly looking back at him once you further processed his words. “And there’s no if, Jake. You are only getting one shot at this.”

You weren’t sure whose head you were trying to get that through at this point. 

But Jake wasn’t fazed as his grin grew. “Better make sure I don’t fuck this up then,” he said, glancing over at you. “I promise, I’ll make it count.”

He sounded so excited and he looked hot in his jeans and button up and jacket. You hated it, because you’ve seen him with other girls before, and he never put on this nice of an outfit, and he never gave them the amount of attention he’s already given you since you left your house. 

And you were even more annoyed when he pulled into a parking spot right outside your favorite Italian restaurant ten minutes later. You looked at the bright sign that said the name of the restaurant with squinted eyes before looking over at Jake. “Why are we here?”

Jake looked a bit panicked for a second as he paused mid-way through taking off his seatbelt. “Is this not…I thought this was your favorite place to eat at,” he sounded nervous now and you loosened up a bit as you took off your own seatbelt. 

“It is,” you confirmed, “But how did you know that?”

Jake looked more relaxed as he finally let his seatbelt go and opened the door. “Bird Boy told me,” he said and you groaned. 

“Damnit, Rooster,” you muttered as you grabbed your bag and reached for the handle, but Jake was already there and opening the door for you. “I’m going to yell at him the next time I see him.” You state as you get out of the truck.

Bradley was your best friend, and the guy who had witnessed a lot of your rejections to Jake firsthand. You weren’t all that surprised that he felt a little bad for the blond and helped him out with this, because your best friend was a decent guy and one of your favorite people. But you were still going to yell at him.

“Really?” Jake laughed as he placed his hand on the small of your back and led you towards the doors of the restaurant. “Because I can’t stop thanking the guy, and that’s kind of a big deal for me.”  

You huffed out a laugh in return as he guided you inside, and a few minutes later you were sitting at a booth with him with your drinks placed in front of you. Your menu was flat on the table while he held his up, his eyes flickering over the options as you subtly watched him. 

“What’s good here?” He asked, “This is my first time in this place.”

You picked up your margarita with a shrug, “Everything, from what I can tell,”

Jake glanced at you over the top of his menu, his brows furrowing as he realized that you didn’t even look at your own. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

You set your drink down and leaned back against the booth. “I know what I’m getting. I get it every time,”

Jake’s lips turned upwards at that as he set the menu down and slid his water closer to him on the table. “Oh, you’re one of those people, huh?” He asked with a smirk as he sipped a bit of the bland drink. “You don’t like, I don’t know, trying something different?”

“If it’s not broken, don’t fix it?” You offer with a raised brow as you watch him set the water back down. “You’re seriously not drinking tonight?”

He shook his head as he closed the menu and pushed both yours and his to the edge of the table. “No. I want to be sober the whole time so I can remember this night with vivid detail. I think you deserve that,”

Your face heated up as you cleared your throat, his words doing a number on you as you sat up a bit. “What are you getting?” You quickly change the subject as you felt the sudden urge to kiss the guy you’ve been avoiding for months now. 

“What are you getting?” He asked back and you narrowed your eyes as you told him your usual order. “Perfect, I’ll get that too. Maybe I’ll like it enough to order it every time I come here.”

And that was how you found yourself eating identical meals not long after, and a blush seemed to be stuck on your face as you answered every single question he had for you. Your favorite color, your favorite song, the teacher you hated most in high school, your worst dating experience, all of it.

For some reason, this wasn’t bad. This wasn’t bad at all. Talking with Jake felt easy, like you could do it all the time and never complain about it. Why was this shaping out to be kind of the perfect first date? Why was he kind of being the perfect gentleman? 

He seemed so interested in you, like how he was during the build ups to him eventually asking you out. You were beginning to feel bad about constantly saying no, because you were actually having a really good time with him. 

“Well?” You started as Jake asked for the bill. “How was it? Will you be returning just to order that every time?” You gestured to the empty plates in front of you and Jake shrugged as he took out his wallet. 

“It wasn’t bad. Your taste in food is pretty decent,” he hummed as the waitress, who had been checking Jake out the whole night and who hadn’t been looked at by him for more than a total of six seconds, placed the bill on the table. You reached for your own wallet but he stopped you and handed you his keys instead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Wait in the truck for me, okay?”

You take the keys from him and give the waitress a soft smirk as you stand up, noticing the scowl that had formed on her face as she heard the affectionate nickname Jake gave you. 

Less than a minute later, Jake was beside you in his truck again as he backed out of the parking space with one hand. You were feeling a bit shy now as you looked over at him and took in just how handsome he actually is. “Thanks for tonight,” you say quietly as he pulls out onto the road. “It was kinda…it was fun.”

“You think it’s over?” He laughed softly as he glanced over at you in the dark truck. “I only get you to myself for one night, you really think I’m just taking you out to dinner?”

Your face heated up for the hundredth time tonight as you quickly broke eye contact. “Oh…where else are we going?”

Jake looked back at the road as he drove with one hand, and you were sure he wasn’t aware of just how hot that was. “To the place we first met,” he answered simply and your eyes widened a bit as you laughed.

“The Hard Deck?”

“Yeah,” he grinned over at you. “I have to show at least one person from work that I actually managed to get you to go out with me. And Bird Boy doesn’t count.”

You weren’t entirely sure why, but that had you smiling like a love struck teenager the whole ride, and when you arrived at the Hard Deck, you allowed Jake to lead you inside with his hand placed firmly on your hip. 

A few of his coworkers smirked at him, a few looked beyond shocked, and then there was Bradley, who avoided eye contact with you as soon as you entered the bar. Okay, so maybe you wouldn’t be yelling at him later. 

The Hard Deck was rowdy as usual, but Jake wasn’t paying attention to anyone but you, and you realized just how much you liked being the center of his attention. 

And he was completely sober as he held you in his arms as the two of you swayed to an old song playing on the jukebox. He looked content and so handsome, you had to look away as you mumbled, “Okay, so maybe this isn’t so bad after all,” and pressed the side of your face against his chest. “You kind of planned the most perfect first date, Jake. I’m actually so surprised.”

Your head vibrated a bit when he laughed and tightened his hold on you as if he was scared to let you go. “Well, when you’re determined to make someone fall head over heels for you, you’ve got to put in a bit of effort,” he said and your whole body heated up in a blush. “So, uh…does this mean there’s gonna be a second date?”

You pull back slightly and look up at him. “That depends on you,” came your quiet response as you slid your hands up his back. “You’ve been the most perfect gentleman tonight, and you’ve been so sweet, but will it be like this every time? Or was this just a show for tonight?”

Jake lifted a hand and brushed some of your hair behind your ear, his thumb stroking your cheek after. “You deserve to be treated right, and I want to be the person to do that. I want to be the perfect guy for you, Y/n. You’re special to me,” he said and sounded so genuine, you had no choice but to believe his words. “Give me a chance to show you that I’m not the stuck up ladies man you think I am. I’m falling for you…and I don’t want to mess this up.”

There it was. Jake had just put his heart on his sleeve for you, and now it was completely up to you what happened next. 

You press your lips together and look down at the wooden floor of the bar. “I was wrong about you. You’re not the player I thought you were. And honestly, I don’t care about how many women you’ve been with. The guy you’ve been tonight…it’s a different side of you, Jake. Or maybe it’s who you’ve been this whole time and I’ve just been too stubborn to see it,” you murmur and place your hands flat on his chest as you look back up at him. “The guy you are right now, I can see myself with him. With you. Tonight has been…perfect, in every single way. You’ve been perfect, Jake.”

There was your own confession that, early this morning, you would’ve never said out loud, but things had clearly changed. 

Jake smiled and leaned down to brush his lips against yours in a teasing kiss. “You haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your mouth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “So why don’t we skip right to the part where you agree to a second date?” He asked in a deep voice as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You laughed, looking up at him with unguarded eyes. “I think it’s safe to say you got that second date. And the third. And the fourth,” you grinned, curling your fingers around his jacket as your gaze intensified a bit. “Tell me something, does the perfect gentleman kiss on the first date? Because that teaser you just gave me wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy what I’m feeling right now.”

Jake’s smile grows before he leans down and presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It starts off somewhat soft, and he lets you take the lead as you kiss him a bit deeper, and then his tongue was pushing past your lips and brushing against yours. 

It was clear from the kiss that he had been holding back his desire for you for months, and you suddenly didn’t regret pushing him away so much, because it allowed you to feel every inch of his want for you with every brush of his mouth against yours. 

After a few more seconds, he breaks the kiss. “There you go,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your puffy bottom lip. “But that’s just one of many. I plan on kissing the fuck out of you on every single one of those future dates.”

A content hum leaves your lips, a feeling of excitement for the future settling in your bones as you lean up and kiss him again. Soon enough you’d become addicted. You were sure of it. 

Your fingers slide into his hair as the music continues to play and the patrons of the bar chat amongst themselves, not paying either of you any attention as you lose yourselves in each other. 

Jake’s hands grip your waist tighter, pulling your chest against his. “You’re mine now, Y/n,” he mumbled when he finally broke the kiss after a few minutes, and you held back a squeal at just how good that sounded. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it.” 

You bite down on your lip and trace the sides of his face with your fingers. “Any chance the perfect gentleman takes me to bed on the first date?” You playfully asked, but you were also very serious, even if you thought that you should probably wait to have sex. Maybe until the second date. That seemed long enough. 

“Patience, baby,” he rasped, tugging at your bottom lip with his thumb. “A perfect gentleman knows how to build anticipation.”

He tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear as you hum quietly, threading your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck as you try not to squeal again at the cute pet name. 

“Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to be worth the wait. I know it’ll be…fucking amazing between us,” he added, brushing another soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, by the end of our second date, I’ll give it to you so good, you’ll still be sore when we go on our third date.” 

You grin excitedly and nod. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “I can wait. I know that now, Jake. You’re worth the wait.”

Jake smiled down at you before kissing you one last time then taking your hand and leading you towards the bar. 

-

A couple weeks, and several dates later, you and Jake are officially together and crazy in love with each other. 

The realization that you had only pushed him away for so long because you were so into him was a tough pill to swallow, but when you finally got it down, you threw yourself headfirst into this relationship with him, and neither of you planned to look back. 

It became official shortly after the first date, where he drove you home, kissed you sweetly, then left you wanting more. By the end of the second date, Jake stayed true to his promise and fucked you so good into his mattress, you were addicted by the time the sun came up. 

You’d both been insatiable since then, which wasn’t all that surprising. The chemistry between you two had been undeniable from the start, so of course the sex was fucking amazing. 

Now, having just gotten back to his place after your eighth date, you and he can’t keep your hands off one another as you stumble through his front door, your mouths connected and your hands all over each other. 

You pull off his jacket and let it fall to the floor of the entryway while he helps you slide off your heels, your mouths meshing noisily together. He kicks the door shut before reaching down to grab the backs of your thighs, never breaking the kiss as he lifts you into his arms. He begins to walk towards his bedroom, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulls away. “I’m gonna take you slow and deep tonight,” he mumbled against your lips. “Wanna drag it out this time.”

He was referring to the previous date, when he fucked you hard and fast into his couch while you screamed your throat raw, and the reminder of it just turned you on even more. 

Jake lays you down on his bed before standing back up and working on ridding himself of his belt. You lean back on the bed, pulling your dress off to leave you in a matching black lace lingerie set that paired sinfully well with your thigh high stockings. 

Leaning back on your elbows, you spread your thighs and beckon him to you with a curl of your finger. “Come here,”

Jake’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. He’s seen you naked countless of times by now, but seeing you in something so effortlessly hot was something else, especially since he knew exactly what the black fabric was hiding from him. 

His hands reach down to pull off his belt and he shrugs off his clothes, leaving on his boxer briefs for now and showing off just how hard you made him through the thin material. 

Crawling onto the bed, he positions himself between your thighs, his lips peppering kisses along your stomach as his fingers tease the edge of your panties. “God, you’re fucking stunning,” he mumbled, running his fingers over the flimsy fabric. “Tell me, baby, were these expensive?”

You hum, looking down at him as you shrug. “A little, but not too bad,”

Jake smirked, mumbling a quick, “Good,” before he ripped the delicate fabric and tossed it aside, revealing your slick folds to his needy eyes. 

“Jake!” You gasped, your eyes widening as his big hands gripped the backs of your thighs and spread your legs a bit wider. 

“I’ll buy you more, one in every color,” he promised, grinning up at you before looking back down at your heat. He runs his fingers through your wetness, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, “You’re so wet for me, baby. All for me.”

Then he was burying his face between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up your entrance before sucking on your clit. “Oh, fuck,” you whined and he groaned, sending a jolt of pleasure up your body. You shuddered, your muscles tightening as you reached down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Just like that, Jake. Feels so good.”

Jake’s tongue pressed more firmly against your clit while his fingers gathered more of your wetness before sinking knuckle-deep inside you. He fucks them in and out of you as his teeth gently nip at your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you fell back onto his pillow as he devoured you. 

The sight of you looking already so fucked out with your hair draped across his pillow had him refraining from bucking his hips against the bed, because it was something he had been dreaming about seeing for months. He was still kind of shocked that he could now see it whenever he wanted.

“Fuck,” you gasped, arching your back as he guided your legs to rest over his shoulders. Your fingers were pulling on his hair pretty hard, and he fucking loved it. He loved every single second he spent with you, and he couldn’t get enough of your sweet taste, your soft moans and the fact that you had finally, finally given him the chance he’s been craving for so long. 

You were finally his, and he was never letting you go. 

“Cum for me,” he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue as he curled his fingers deep inside you. “Cum all over my face, baby. Let me taste it.”

If there was one thing Jake knew how to do, it was to spew the most filthy fucking things to you. And he knew you loved it. He found that out pretty quickly the first time he took you to bed, and he was more than willing to delve into your desire for dirty talk. 

Like he suspected, your mouth parted in a loud moan as you tugged harshly on his hair, and a second later you were coming on his tongue and fingers. “Jake…holy fuck, baby,” you moaned as you writhed against his face. “Fuck…feels so fucking good.”

The taste of you on his tongue makes him groan, and he continues to ravish your pussy until you’re shaking and whimpering incoherently. Once you settled a bit, Jake lifted his head, his lips and chin soaked with your release as he grins up at you and begins to place kisses along your stomach while he pushes his boxers down. 

He hovers over you, his hands squeezing your breasts through your bra as he teases your quivering heat with the tip of his cock. “I need you, baby,” he mumbled, reaching down to grip his base as he coats himself in your arousal before slowly pushing inside you. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder as he started to slowly rock into you.

His hand moves from your chest to grip your hips as he picks up the speed a bit, his body fitting perfectly against yours with each deep thrust,

“There you go,” he rasped, kissing along your neck. “Take it all, baby, every inch.”

You moan loudly as you arch your back, and you guide his hands around you to the clasp of your bra. “Fuck, Jake, you feel so good,” you whimpered, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. 

Jake hums, expertly unclasping your bra before guiding the straps down your arms, all while keeping the pace of his thrusts. His eyes immediately lock onto your breasts, now bare to his dark eyes as they bounce with every movement. “You’re a fucking dream,” he mumbled, leaning down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples as he rocks his hips against yours. “You make me lose control, every single time.” He grunted through ragged breaths, his cock brushing against every hidden spot deep inside you. 

“Jake,” you moan desperately, guiding his mouth to yours in a messy kiss. “I love you.”

He groans, kissing you again as he feels himself close to coming already because you felt that fucking good. “I love you, too,” he rasped, his words muffled against your mouth. “So fucking much.”

You moaned, tugging on his hair as you lazily met his thrusts halfway. “I’m close,” you mumbled and he groaned in both pleasure and relief as he reached down to rub circles against your clit. 

“Me too,” he muttered, pinching and pulling at your bundle of nerves. “Cum with me, baby. Let go for me.”

A few seconds later, you were coming for a second time, but on his cock, and a couple thrusts later, he was too. He filled you up as his body shuddered, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck as he fucked his seed deep inside you. 

Once you were both spent, he collapsed gently on top of you, keeping his cock lodged inside you as he cuddled you against his chest. “Stay with me tonight,” he begged quietly, turning you both on your sides and tucking your head under his chin. 

You smiled, nuzzling against his sweaty chest. “Where else would I be?”

Jake smiled back, pulling you impossibly closer. “What about tomorrow? Will you stay here tomorrow, too? We can have breakfast in bed,” he offered with a teasing grin on his lips. 

You hummed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Pancakes or waffles?” You ask instead of answering him, confirming that you will be staying at his place for the remainder of the weekend. 

“Pancakes,” he replied, pulling back to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “And bacon. A fuckton of it.”

Even though this wasn’t the first time you would be spending the night in his arms, Jake still felt beyond happy that, after months of pining over you, he was given the chance to experience life with you. He was also really fucking excited to spend tomorrow morning with you in his bed. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mumbled, holding you a bit tighter. “Wanted you.”

You go silent for a few seconds before pulling back to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bottom lip with your finger. “Truthfully, I didn’t think it could be this good. I was so wrong.”

Jake shakes his head, taking your hand in his and pressing a few kisses to your knuckles. “Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly. “It was worth it, all of it, if it meant we’d end up like this. Together.”

He leaned down to kiss you deeply, and you returned it instantly. “I love you,” you mumbled against his lips as you gently gripped his face. 

“I love you, too,” he said back and meant it with his whole heart as he rolled you onto your back again and settled on top of you.

Because without a doubt, his heart had been entirely yours since the second he saw you, and he knew that, he was just finally able to make you see it too.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR WRITING. can i request a jake fic inspired by the song moth to a flame by the weeknd? the other guy could be bradley/bob or literally anyone else.

THANKS SO MUCH ive been thinking about this a lot

pairing; jake seresin x fem!reader

word count; 6.9k

warnings; toxic relationships, cheating (don't do that), angst, smut, jake's an asshole but so is reader kinda

a/n; i wasn't sure of using any of the guys for this but i saw david as your pfp and got a vision lol, hope you like it!!!<3

masterlist

David gets home before you do most days.

Tonight’s no different. When you step inside your apartment, the air smells faintly like rosemary and lemon — he’s cooking something light, something thoughtful. There’s jazz playing softly from the speakers in the living room. You drop your keys into the bowl by the door and exhale without meaning to.

“Hi, love,” he calls from the kitchen. “Shoes off, please — I just mopped.”

You smile, toeing off your heels as you walk in.

David’s in a worn gray t-shirt and soft navy joggers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’s barefoot, hair a little messy from running his fingers through it. His frame is tall and broad, elegant without trying. Strong hands, kind eyes. His face is flushed from the heat of the stove.

You cross the kitchen and wrap your arms around him from behind. “Hey.”

His hand immediately covers yours where it rests on his chest. He tilts his head toward yours. “Long day?”

“God, yes,” you murmur.

“Shitty clients or shitty coworkers?”

“Both. And a surprise meeting. You?”

He shrugs. “Uneventful. Wrote a speech for a mayor who talks like he learned English through old crime dramas.”

You laugh softly into his back.

David turns in your arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another, to your temple. His touch is always gentle like that. Never hurried. He treats your body like it’s something precious, not just desirable.

“I made soup,” he says. “And there’s bread warming in the oven.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to.”

That’s David. He never does things out of obligation. He wants to take care of you. You’ve never had that before — not like this.

Later, after dinner and two episodes of the show you’re slowly bingeing together, you end up in bed, curled against him.

Your head on his chest. His fingers drawing lazy circles on your shoulder.

You’re not tired yet, but your body is still. His is warm, familiar, something you trust without thinking.

“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.

“Mmm,” you hum, eyes half closed. “Always.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

You blink. “Miss what?”

“The chaos,” he says simply. “The… unpredictability. I know I’m not the most exciting person you’ve ever dated.”

You lift your head to look at him.

David’s blue eyes are soft, serious. He’s not accusing — just curious. Like he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“You think I’m bored?” you ask.

“No,” he says gently. “I think you’re… recovering.”

You pause. “From what?”

He smiles, small and sad. “Whoever hurt you before I met you.”

You look at him for a long moment.

And then you say the truest thing you’ve said all week: “I don’t miss the chaos. I miss the way it made me feel. Alive. Wanted. Important. Like nothing else mattered.”

David nods. Doesn’t flinch. He brushes a thumb across your cheekbone. “You are all those things,” he says. “You’ve just stopped needing pain to feel them.”

Your throat tightens.

He kisses you, slow and deep and steady.

It’s not the kind of kiss that sets you on fire.

It’s the kind that lets you breathe.

-

Penny calls around five, just as you and David are getting dressed for dinner.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says. “I hate to ask, but I left my order forms in a folder behind the bar and I need them tomorrow morning. Any chance you could swing by and grab them? It’ll take two minutes.”

You glance at David, who’s standing in the doorway buttoning his shirt, and cover the phone. “You mind if we stop by the Hard Deck on the way?”

“Not at all,” he says easily. “You want me to drive?”

You smile. “Sure.”

Back on the phone, you tell Penny, “We’ll swing by on the way to dinner.”

“You’re an angel,” she says. “Folder’s got a pink tab on it. Should be under the counter. Just tell whoever’s working that I sent you.”

You hang up. You don’t think twice about it.

The Hard Deck looks the same as it always has — surfboards, string lights, sand sticking to the floorboards. But there are more cars out front than usual, more people spilling out onto the patio.

When you and David step inside, your fingers laced loosely together, it’s warm and loud and full of laughter.

You scan the crowd on autopilot, looking for familiar faces — and freeze.

The Daggers are back.

You recognize Natasha first, laughing at something Payback says, beer in hand. Bob and Coyote are nearby. Fanboy’s holding court at the jukebox. It takes all of three seconds for your heart to drop into your stomach.

Because Jake Seresin is here too.

He’s leaned against the bar like he owns the place, talking to a blonde in a sundress. One hand on the counter, beer in the other, that smug half-smile on his face like nothing in the world could touch him.

And then he looks up.

And sees you.

Your body goes cold.

You don’t move. You don’t blink. You don’t breathe.

Jake's eyes catch on yours, and for a split second, something flickers there. Surprise. Recognition. Maybe even something darker.

But then it’s gone.

And he smirks.

That same damn smirk that always meant trouble.

He tips his bottle in your direction like it’s a fucking toast.

“Babe?” David’s voice is soft beside you. “Everything okay?”

You blink, tear your eyes away from Jake.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… seeing some people I know.”

David glances around, oblivious. “Friends of yours?”

“Sort of.”

You don’t say old ghosts. You don’t say the man who wrecked me is ten feet away and smiling like he still owns me.

You slip your hand from David’s and head toward the bar.

“Be right back,” you say.

You’re crouched under the bar, fishing out the folder Penny described, when a voice floats overhead.

“Well, well. Thought that was you.”

You go still.

Close your eyes.

Count to three.

Then you stand slowly, folder in hand, and turn.

Jake Seresin is leaning on the bar like he’s settling in for a show. That same cocky, sun-kissed charm radiating off him like heatwaves. He’s older now — maybe a little sharper around the edges — but still every inch the walking disaster you once couldn’t say no to.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back in this place,” he says. “You always liked pretending you were too good for it.”

You lift your chin. “Nice to see you haven’t grown up.”

Jake grins, slow and lazy. “Not where it counts.”

Your stomach flips — with anger, with memory, with something you’d rather not name.

“Excuse me,” you say, trying to step past him.

But he sidesteps, just barely, blocking you.

“Who’s the guy?” he asks, nodding toward where David’s waiting patiently, completely unaware he’s being watched like prey.

“None of your business.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “He doesn’t look like your type.”

“He wasn't,” you say quietly. “But he is now.”

Jake’s mouth curls.

“Shame,” he says. “I always liked being your type.”

You don’t answer.

You walk past him without a word, folder clutched tight in your hands.

You don’t look back.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

David opens the car door for you like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks again once you’re seated, glancing at you with a soft furrow between his brows. “You got real quiet in there.”

You force a smile.

“Just tired,” you say. “Ready for dinner.”

-

The backseat is tight, every inch crowded by Jake’s weight pressing you into the worn leather. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in hard, setting the rhythm and pace. You don’t question it — you never do.

His mouth claims yours, rough and demanding, swallowing your protests with bruising kisses. One hand slips beneath your shirt, thumb tracing sharp lines down your ribs, while the other holds you steady against the seat, like you could fall away if he loosened his grip.

His body moves over yours, relentless and sure, hips driving with a cocky precision that leaves no doubt who’s in control.

“I’m not the guy you settle for,” he says, voice low, almost cruel. “I’m the one you come back to when the rest is too damn boring.”

You gasp when he tightens his hold, nails scraping your skin just enough to sting, reminding you exactly where you belong.

He pins your wrists above your head, fingers curling around your wrist, his touch hot and unyielding. The subtle curve of his smirk presses into the silence between thrusts — like he’s daring you to forget he’s never going to stay

No words. No promises.

Just the harsh, intoxicating truth of his dominance — raw, arrogant, impossible to resist.

You wake up gasping, heart hammering, sweat slick against your skin.

The room is dark and quiet except for the slow thump of your pulse in your ears.

You reach for the sheets, clutch them tight.

David’s side of the bed is empty.

And for a long moment, all you can feel is the ghost of Jake’s touch — arrogant, wild, impossible to forget.

-

You grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring you to this life you’ve built.

David hums beside you, flipping through radio stations, blissfully unaware that the man you once swore you'd never let back in just walked right through your carefully constructed peace like it was tissue paper.

You nod along to whatever soft rock station he lands on, but your mind is a million miles away. Back in a parking lot. Back in the backseat of a car. Back with hands on your skin that knew exactly how to undo you.

Jake Seresin was never your boyfriend.

You weren’t that stupid.

You knew what it was. From the very beginning, he told you. “I don’t do relationships. Don’t catch feelings.”

And yet, there you were. Letting him in again and again — your body, your bed, your mouth — always hoping he might change his mind, even though you knew he wouldn’t.

He made you feel wanted. Not loved. Not cared for. But wanted. In that selfish, consuming, fire-in-your-veins kind of way. You were a high he liked getting lost in. And he knew exactly how to keep you coming back.

You tell yourself it wasn’t real. That it was just sex. Just chemistry. Just heat.

But then you remember the way he used to look at you when he thought you were asleep. The thumb tracing your lower lip. The way he'd whisper "mine" like it was a promise, even though he never meant to keep it.

You’d tell yourself he was just being possessive. Territorial. An asshole with a god complex.

And still.

You stayed.

Until you finally didn’t.

Until it hurt more than it thrilled you.

Until you met David.

Sweet, steady, golden-hearted David. The kind of man who shows up. Who asks how your day was and listens to the answer. Who knows your coffee order and keeps extra hair ties in his glove box just for you. Who rubs your back when you’re anxious and tells you you're enough — not because he wants something from you, but because he means it.

You love him. Or maybe you’re still learning how to. But you know you want to. And you know it feels… right.

Even if it doesn’t feel like fire.

Even if your skin still remembers the way Jake made you tremble. Even if your dreams are still haunted by a voice that called you baby like it was a sin.

You reach across the console and lace your fingers with David’s. He squeezes once, smiling at you without asking why your hands are cold.

You look out the window, watching the sun dip low over the water.

Jake Seresin is back.

And you know — you know — he’s going to try to pull you under again.

You just don’t know if you’re strong enough this time not to drown.

-

The fluorescent lights in the store feel too bright, too sharp.

You were only supposed to grab oat milk and granola. But your fingers are wrapped so tightly around the shopping cart handle that your knuckles ache. Because he’s here. Somewhere behind you in the produce section.

You heard his voice before you saw him — that Southern, drawling confidence like it never left your bones. And now you’re frozen in front of a pyramid of avocados, pretending to read a label you already know by heart.

When you finally turn, he’s there.

Jake Seresin, in worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt that fits entirely too well for your peace of mind. He leans casually against the cooler like this is some kind of normal reunion. Like he didn’t leave you aching for years in all the places he used to touch.

You straighten your spine.

“Don’t,” you say before he can open his mouth. “Whatever game you’re playing, don’t start.”

He tilts his head, a smirk ghosting across his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good to see you too, sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. “What do you want?”

“Relax. I’m just grabbing groceries like everyone else.”

He shrugs, eyes scanning you — the plain t-shirt you threw on, the shoes you didn’t bother tying properly. You feel suddenly transparent.

“It was surprising to you at the Hard Deck” he says, like you didn’t already know. “Didn’t realize you were still in town.”

You shift uncomfortably. “You left, not me.”

“And the guy?” he asks, almost too casually. “David?”

Your guard goes up fast. “What about him?”

Jake nods, pushing his hands into his pockets. “He seems good. For you. Like… the kind of guy who brings you flowers and walks your dog and actually knows your middle name.”

You blink. “Are you high?”

He laughs — low and quiet. “Nope.”

“Because this sounds a lot like you giving me your blessing or something.”

He steps closer, but not enough to touch. Not like before. “I’m not. I’m just saying… he’s what you deserve. Stability. Kindness. Someone who sticks around.”

You search his face for the cocky grin, the bait. It never comes.

Instead, he turns to leave, like that’s all he came to say. But just before he does, he looks over his shoulder.

“Does he know?” Jake asks.

You frown. “Know what?”

“That you’re still in love with me.”

Then he’s gone.

No smile. No wink. Just the sound of your breath catching in your throat and your pulse drumming in your ears.

That night, you sit in bed next to David, but your mind is a thousand miles away.

He’s reading. Glasses slipping down his nose, arm draped around you like it always is. The picture of comfort. Of contentment. You rest your head on his shoulder, but all you feel is a growing hollow in your chest.

You want to love him like he deserves.

You want to stop dreaming about rough hands and heated whispers. You want your body to forget the way Jake used to pull sounds out of you you didn’t even know existed. You want to forget how alive you used to feel in the chaos of it all.

David is good. Good in a way you never believed you could have. But with Jake…

It was never safe. Never soft. But it was undeniable. Electric. A match dropped into gasoline.

You’re not sure what scares you more — the possibility that Jake still owns some part of you, or the fact that you might not want to get it back.

Morning comes too early.

Or maybe you never really fell asleep.

David’s already in the kitchen by the time you shuffle in, rubbing sleep from your eyes. He’s in his usual routine — eggs on the stove, coffee brewing, NPR murmuring from the speaker like background noise in a life you’re trying to live.

“Morning, love,” he says with that easy smile, stepping over to kiss your forehead. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m fine.” It comes out too quick, too rehearsed.

He studies you for a second, but doesn’t push. Just turns back to the stove and slides two eggs onto your plate. “Big day at work?”

You nod. “Something like that.”

He pours your coffee exactly how you like it — splash of almond milk, no sugar — and sets it in front of you with a tenderness that makes your stomach twist. He’s good. Thoughtful. Predictable in the best ways.

So why do you feel like you can’t breathe?

David takes his seat across from you and starts talking — something about a new exhibit at the gallery, a dinner his friends are planning. You nod in all the right places, smile when he does. You play the part.

And then your phone buzzes.

You don’t think much of it at first, but when you flip it over, the name on the screen turns your stomach inside out.

Jake Seresin.

You hesitate. David doesn’t seem to notice — he’s talking about wine pairings now — so you unlock your phone under the table and read the message.

“You always did look better in my t-shirts.”

That’s all it says. No greeting. No context. Just that.

But it hits like a punch to the gut.

Because you know exactly which one he means. The navy one you slept in more nights than you care to count. The one you wore to his kitchen while stealing coffee from his mug. The one that somehow ended up buried in the back of your drawer, folded like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

You look up at David. Still talking. Still smiling. Still trying.

And you feel like the worst kind of liar.

Your appetite vanishes. The coffee turns bitter in your mouth.

Because Jake isn’t just a memory. He’s a wildfire you thought you outran. And now, with one stupid text, you feel the heat all over again.

The water is already running when you slip into the bathroom.

David’s in the shower, steam curling along the mirror, the scent of his cedarwood body wash thick in the air. You stand there for a moment, heart pounding in your chest, unsure what the hell you’re doing. You could walk away. Go to work. Pretend everything is fine.

But instead, you open the glass door.

He turns, surprised but not startled. “Everything okay?”

You don’t answer. Just step into the spray and place your hands gently on his chest.

His brow furrows. “Hey—”

You kiss him before he can finish. Slow, deliberate. Testing yourself.

It takes a beat, but he kisses you back. Hands gentle, like they always are. One slips to your waist, the other cradles your cheek.

This is what love is supposed to feel like, you remind yourself. Warm. Safe. Easy.

He pulls back, breathless, eyes searching yours. “What’s going on with you this morning?”

“I just…” You shake your head. “I wanted you.”

His expression softens, and he leans in again, lips brushing over yours. He holds you like something delicate, like someone to be cherished. When he moves inside you, it’s careful and sweet. No urgency. No dominance. Just soft murmurs and whispered affection.

It should be enough.

But your mind won't shut up.

Because it doesn’t feel like that night in Jake’s car. Or the dozens of others after. It doesn’t feel like being possessed — like being wrecked and worshipped all at once. It doesn’t make your knees shake or your breath catch in your throat. You’re not losing yourself. You’re still here. And you hate that part of you wants to disappear into someone again.

David’s thumb is tracing your cheek. He’s murmuring, “I love you.”

And you smile. You do. Because it’s true. You do love him.

But as he holds you under the hot stream, you blink up at the ceiling and feel something twist in your chest.

Because love has never once made you feel haunted.

Only Jake Seresin ever did that.

David’s hands are splayed over your hips, his touch as familiar as the tile beneath your bare feet. His movements are steady, controlled, full of the same care he always gives you.

You tilt your head back against the cool wall, eyes fluttering closed. You try to focus on the moment — on him. On the softness of his lips on your neck, the heat of the water cascading over your skin, the way he murmurs your name like a vow.

But something inside you itches — restless, unfulfilled. Your breath hitches for the wrong reasons.

“Harder,” you whisper, not meaning to say it out loud. Your hands press to his back, nails dragging lightly across skin that doesn’t flinch under the touch.

David stills a little. “What?”

You open your eyes, heart thudding with embarrassment and something close to frustration. “Just—” You shake your head, forcing the words through your teeth. “Can you… be a little rougher? Just this once?”

His brows pull together, confused. “You sure? That’s not really… us.”

You nod, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “Yeah. I just—wanted to try.”

He studies you for a beat longer than you’re comfortable with, clearly searching your face for something he doesn’t understand. Then he kisses you again, a little deeper this time, his grip tightening on your waist.

He tries.

But it’s still him — soft, careful David, who loves you with the gentleness of someone who’s never once wanted to break you.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

After a minute, you press your hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Forget it.”

He blinks. “Wait—did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, you didn’t.” You step out of the shower before he can ask again, grabbing a towel, voice shaky despite your best effort. “It’s me. I’m just—I don’t know. I’m tired. It’s nothing.”

You leave him standing in the steam, heart pounding in your ears, ashamed of how badly you wanted something he doesn’t know how to give. Not because he’s lacking — but because he’s not Jake. And maybe that’s what makes it worse.

Because David is everything you should want.

But the ache in your chest — and the shame pooling in your gut — says it all:

He’s not who your body’s screaming for.

-

The hum of the office around you fades to a dull, meaningless buzz. Papers shuffle. Phones ring. A coworker laughs too loudly at something over Zoom.

But your eyes are fixed on your screen, unmoving, unfocused. The email you were supposed to be drafting sits half-written, the cursor blinking like it’s judging you.

Your hand moves before your brain really catches up.

You unlock your phone. Navigate to the hidden folder you swore you’d delete months ago. The one that still asks for a password every time you open it — like your shame needs two locks instead of one.

And there they are.

Over forty photos. A handful of short videos. One voicemail you saved, just because his voice in that moment felt like oxygen.

The first one is a selfie he took without asking — him grinning, shirtless in your bed, your face barely visible behind his shoulder, still asleep.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, then scrolls.

One of you in the front seat of his truck, your legs across his lap, head thrown back in laughter. Another, blurry and grainy, in a bathroom mirror at some dive bar, Jake’s arm slung around your waist, eyes locked on yours instead of the lens.

And then — a short clip.

Jake kissing you. Not the rushed, hungry kind. The kind that felt real. One hand on the back of your neck. His mouth moving slow, reverent. Like you were fragile and precious and his all at once.

You pause it halfway through, heart cracking at the sound of your own breath hitching on the video. You remember that night. The way he stayed. The way he didn't say he would — but did.

You close your eyes. Shame flooding hot behind your ribs.

David doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know you still have these. Doesn’t know you kept them. That you still look at them.

That sometimes you dream in Jake’s voice.

You know it’s wrong. You know it’s cruel — to David, to yourself. But you can’t make yourself hit delete.

Your thumb trembles over the trash icon.

But instead, you lock the folder again.

You tell yourself tomorrow.

You’ve been telling yourself tomorrow for months.

You don’t remember the rest of the day.

Emails were answered. Meetings were sat through. Someone brought cupcakes for a birthday you forgot. You smiled. You nodded. You played your part.

But inside, something was slipping.

Unraveling.

By the time you’re in your car, hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to ache, the air feels thinner. Like you’re suffocating on everything you’ve been pretending not to feel.

You unlock your phone.

You open your texts.

And then, with fingers shaking just slightly, you scroll back. Past the last thing Jake sent. Past the weeks of silence before it. All the way to the message he once sent you — long ago, when it wasn’t so complicated — with nothing but a pin.

His address.

You shouldn’t still have it.

You shouldn’t still want to use it.

But you do.

You punch it into your GPS.

You tell yourself you’re just going to look. Just see. Just talk.

A lie. One you let yourself believe for just long enough.

The drive isn’t long, but it feels like purgatory. Your thoughts spiral the whole way — what if he’s not home? What if he’s with someone? What if you show up and make a fool of yourself?

But when you turn onto his street and spot his truck in the driveway, your breath catches. That old Ford you know far too well. Parked crooked, like always. Like he left in a hurry or came back too tired to care.

You pull up and kill the engine. For a full minute, you just sit there.

Then you’re out of the car. Walking up the path. Knocking before you can think better of it.

No turning back now.

The door swings open.

And there he is — shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair tousled like he just woke up. His eyes are heavy-lidded, confused, and then—

You don’t give him a chance to speak.

You surge forward, grabbing his face and kissing him like your life depends on it.

Jake stumbles back a step, surprised — but only for a second. Then his hands are on your hips, fingers digging in, and he hauls you up like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist, your back hits the inside of the door with a solid thud, and his mouth is all over you — hot, open, hungry.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

It’s cocky, arrogant, maddening.

You kiss him harder.

Jake grins against your mouth like he’s winning something. “Could’ve saved us both some time, sweetheart.”

You tug at his hair in response, biting his bottom lip until he growls and presses himself against you, hips grinding into yours through thin layers of clothes that feel like they’re burning off.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw. “Missed you. Bet he doesn’t fuck you like I do.”

You whimper at the words — at the way he says them like a fact, like gospel, like he knows your body better than you do.

Because he does.

Jake slides one hand under your shirt, up your spine, like he’s starving for every inch of skin. He bites at your neck and you gasp, arching into him.

“You think about me when you’re with him?” he mutters darkly. “When he’s inside you, do you wish it was me?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

That’s all the answer he needs.

Jake pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, pupils blown wide. “I fucking knew it.”

He kisses you again, rougher now, less control. Like he’s making up for every second he spent without you.

And this time, you don’t stop him.

“Shut up,” you gasp against his mouth, your voice shaking with need.

Jake chuckles, low and smug, like he’s been waiting to hear those words from you for months. “Bossier than I remember,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw as he presses you harder against the wall. “Let’s see if you’re still this mouthy after I’m done with you.”

You don’t get a chance to reply.

He’s already moving — one hand keeping you anchored to him, the other sliding down between your bodies. You feel him unbutton your jeans with practiced ease, and your breath hitches as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Jesus,” he mutters, almost reverent. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers slip through your slick heat, and your whole body arches into him with a desperate little sound. You hate how fast he finds that spot that makes you tremble, how easy it is for him to undo you with just the pads of his fingers and that maddening voice in your ear.

“This for me?” he asks, curling his fingers just right. “Or does your sweet little boyfriend get you this worked up too?”

“Jake—”

“Nah,” he interrupts, smirking against your throat. “Don’t answer that. I already know.”

He slides a finger inside you, then another, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips. His palm presses against your clit, drawing slow, deliberate circles, and you swear the world tilts on its axis.

“Fuck,” you pant, clinging to his shoulders, forehead pressed to his.

“You feel the same,” he whispers. “Still tight, still perfect. Still mine.”

You shouldn’t let him say things like that.

You shouldn’t want him to say them.

But God — you do. You want it all. The way he touches you like no one else ever has. The way he knows exactly what to say to make your body beg, even when your brain’s screaming at you to walk away.

He grins again, filthy and satisfied, and starts pumping his fingers harder. “What was that about shutting me up?”

Your only answer is a broken moan.

Your head falls back against the wall, a cry torn from your throat as Jake’s fingers work you open, relentless and unmerciful in the way only he ever was. Your whole body trembles, legs tightening around his waist — and then, without warning, he pulls his hand away.

You whimper, dazed and ruined already, but before you can complain, Jake hoists you higher in his arms and carries you through the hallway like you weigh nothing.

He drops you onto the bed, hard enough to make the mattress groan. And then he’s on you, all hands and mouth and hunger. He strips you fast — yanking your jeans down your legs, your underwear with them, tugging your shirt over your head. He rips open your bra with one rough pull and tosses it aside like it offended him.

You’re gasping, arching into him, but he’s everywhere all at once — not giving you time to think, to speak, to remember anything beyond this.

Jake kisses every part of you like he’s making up for lost time. His mouth is hot and unyielding, rough kisses scattered down your neck, between your breasts, down your ribs and stomach. He bites at your hip and groans like he’s starved for you.

And then he sinks between your legs.

“Oh my God—Jake—”

He licks into you like it’s his favorite meal, tongue deep and unrelenting, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard. You jerk, hands flying to his hair, thighs already trembling.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, the vibration of his voice making your back arch. “Missed this pussy. Missed how sweet you taste when you’re falling apart for me.”

He adds his fingers — two, then three — curling them just right while his tongue draws wicked patterns that make your vision go white. He doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t let you breathe. He devours you like he’s trying to wipe every trace of David off your skin.

You scream — a raw, broken sound — and Jake moans like it turns him on just hearing you.

“There she is,” he mutters, lips slick with you. “There’s my girl.”

And for one blissed-out, staggering second, you are.

You’re not David’s girlfriend. You’re not rational. You’re not guilty. You’re just his — gasping and grinding and writhing under Jake Seresin, who’s ruining you like no one else ever could.

When the orgasm crashes over you, it hits like a wave — overwhelming and violent and blinding. Your fingers clutch his hair, your thighs clamp tight around his head, and you scream again as he works you through every second of it.

Only when you’re twitching and spent does he finally lift his head.

He looks like sin — mouth red and glistening, chest heaving, eyes wild with lust.

And he grins.

“Still think you’re over me?”

You’re still trembling, body slick with sweat and overstimulated — but you want more. You need more.

Jake moves to climb over you again, but you sit up fast and press a hand to his chest, shoving him back. He lets you, surprised for all of one breath before the corner of his mouth curves up, cocky and impressed.

“Oh? You’re taking charge now?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, crawling onto the bed with a dark look in your eye.

His smirk grows. “There’s that mouth again.”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, legs spread, smug and waiting. You kneel between them, fingers curling into the waistband of his gray sweatpants — they’re soft and warm and hang low on his hips. You tug them down without ceremony, dragging his boxers with them, and Jake groans when you finally free him.

He’s already hard. Thick and flushed and heavy in your hand, twitching at the first brush of your fingers.

“Jesus,” you whisper. You forgot how big he is.

But your body remembers. Your mouth waters. Your thighs clench.

Jake watches you, eyes dark. His chest rises and falls hard, and he curls one large hand into your hair — not pulling, just holding. Claiming.

“You gonna be good for me now?” he asks, voice low and rough.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lean in and take him into your mouth.

Jake swears violently, hips jerking, his hand tightening instantly in your hair. “Fuck—”

You start slow, dragging your tongue along the underside, flattening it at the tip, hollowing your cheeks. You stroke what you can’t fit with your hand, working him with deliberate, teasing rhythm. He tastes like sweat and salt and memory.

Above you, Jake growls. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum around him and he bucks into your mouth, making you gag a little, but you don’t stop — you like the way it makes him groan, low and wrecked and desperate.

His thighs flex on either side of you. You dig your nails into one, and he looks down at you like you’ve set his whole life on fire.

“Look at you,” he pants. “On your knees for me again.”

You lift your eyes, meeting his as you take him deeper.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head tipping back. “You feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You work him harder now — faster, wetter, filthier — spit dripping down your chin, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. He’s panting, swearing, losing control, and you can tell he’s close. His hand in your hair turns to a fist.

And then, with a guttural moan, he pulls you off him.

You blink up at him, lips wet and parted, chest heaving. “Why’d you stop me?”

Jake leans down, pulls you up by the hair, and crushes his mouth to yours — all tongue and hunger and possession.

“Because I want to come inside you,” he growls. “I want to fuck you until you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

You whimpered — small and broken — and that was all the permission Jake needed.

He pulled you onto the bed with effortless strength, flipping you onto your back and crawling over you like a man starved. His hands were everywhere, spreading your thighs, pinning your wrists, claiming every inch of you like he hadn’t stopped thinking about this — about you — since the last time he had you under him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth along your jaw, then lower, sucking bruises into your neck that you’d feel tomorrow. “Falling apart already, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Jake—” you gasped, body arching, needing more, needing anything.

His hand came down between your legs, not gentle, not soft — perfect — and you moaned, shameless and aching.

“Say it,” he growled against your skin. “You want it? Beg for it.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Please,” you gasped, eyes wide, voice wrecked. “Please, Jake—just—God, do something—”

He grinned, wicked and cocky and cruel in the way only he could get away with. “There’s my girl.”

And then he was inside you in one rough, perfect thrust, burying himself so deep your breath caught in your throat. You cried out — sharp and helpless — your nails digging into his shoulders as he held you down and moved.

Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.

Like he was trying to remind your body who it belonged to.

“You think you can come to my door,” he grunted, driving into you again and again, “kiss me like that — and not leave ruined?”

You couldn’t answer — you could barely breathe. He wasn’t making love to you; he was claiming you, unmaking you with every thrust, every filthy, perfect word against your ear.

And you didn’t want him to stop.

Jake’s pace shifted — harder, deeper, more deliberate — like every thrust was a statement, a punishment, a promise.

“God, listen to you,” he gritted, voice low and rough as gravel. “So needy. So loud.”

You could barely answer him, gasping under the rhythm he set, your back arched and your fingers twisted tight in the sheets. But Jake wasn’t done — not even close.

“Missed this, didn’t you?” he growled, hand sliding under your thigh to press you open wider, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “You can lie to yourself all you want — but your body never could.”

Your head tipped back with a cry, and Jake’s palm landed beside your head, bracing himself as he drove into you again, hard enough to rattle the bed. His other hand trailed possessively down your body, gripping your hip, anchoring you to the moment.

Every word from his mouth was like fuel to the fire, and he knew it.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” he murmured against your jaw, a dangerous promise wrapped in a kiss. “Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

You whimpered his name, too far gone for pride or pretense, and that was all it took. Jake dropped his forehead to yours, still moving inside you with raw purpose, his breath ragged and hot.

“I knew you’d come back,” he murmured, voice breaking into a low groan. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You tried to catch your breath, to center yourself, but it was impossible with Jake moving like that — claiming every inch of you like it was his birthright. He was relentless, each thrust a deeper descent, and you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe without him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You shouldn’t have come here. You should’ve deleted his pictures from your phone. You should’ve stayed in your cold, quiet apartment with the man you never really loved.

But you hadn’t. You couldn’t.

Because Jake Seresin had always been the fire.

And you? You were the fool who kept flying into it, over and over, wings burning until there was nothing left but smoke and need.

His name slipped from your lips again, broken and breathless, and Jake’s hand came to your throat — not to choke, not to restrain, but to hold. To anchor.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice ragged, eyes burning down into yours. “Let me hear you.”

You looked up at him, lips trembling, heart tearing itself open inside your chest as he drove into you again, deeper, harder.

“I’ll never stop,” you gasped. “Wanting you. Needing you.”

Jake’s jaw clenched, like he was trying to hold himself back — but then his mouth was on yours, rough and consuming, his hips pressing harder into yours with brutal devotion.

“Damn right you won’t,” he growled against your lips. “Because you’re mine. Always have been.”

And the worst part?

He was right.

No matter how many years passed, no matter how many lies you told yourself, no matter how many mistakes you made trying to erase the pull between you — it never changed.

You could run. You could even pretend. But your body would always remember.

And right now, as Jake dragged you closer to the edge with nothing but his touch and the heat in his voice, you knew — it was always going to be like this.

You, aching and unraveling beneath him.

Jake, fierce and focused above you.

A flame you’d never stop flying toward.

[tw1sters]

Put a Ring on It

Jake is an impatient man, even more so when it comes to you. When he sees you for the first time in months, his self-restraint is tested. Spoiler: he doesn't pass.

▸ PAIRING: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, pwp, semi-public, inappropriate use of naval academy class ring (fully inspired by inappropriate use of malfoy signet ring lol), fingering, dirty talk, lots of cursing ▸ WORD COUNT: 3.4K ▸ A/N: currently in my established relationship pwp era so here's another one. been thinking about that ring for a while now. please mind the warnings!

—

Fucking Hangman and his fucking fragile ego. And his fucking hand.

It’s true that the situation isn’t exactly ideal – you fly in to visit for the weekend, taking only a couple of days off from work to spend time with your boyfriend, who’s currently off on a special assignment at the San Diego base. You haven’t seen Jake in two months; with him constantly on the road and you buried in meetings with your current project, it’s virtually impossible to find the days to actually fly to see each other. 

To say he is deprived is a massive understatement.

When you arrive on base, he pulls you into a crushing kiss. Literally crushing. His arms, which have probably gotten even bigger since you last saw him, are wrapped around you as his lips capture yours. His moan reverberates throughout your entire body. You barely notice his squadmates jeering and booing around you. When he slips his tongue past your lips, as much as you enjoy it, you know it’s time to stop.

After all, you are on government property and they probably have the authority to hold you prisoner should you commit indecent exposure.

“Jake,” you breathe, pushing at his chest for him to release you. He continues peppering your face with kisses, and a laugh bubbles up your throat. “Okay, okay. I get it, you missed me.”

He hums, his hair coiffed back, ruffled in the wind. Your heart somersaults in your chest. Sometimes you forget to truly appreciate how attractive he is. Neatly trimmed dirty blonde hair, strong jawline, that stupidly gorgeous grin. Don’t get you started on his hands. You marveled over them enough the first time you met and he’s definitely shown you how talented he can be with them. 

“Been too long, sweetheart,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into your neck. You can feel his mouth begin to work on you again and, before you fall apart in front of his teammates, you gently nudge him away, pulling an annoyed grunt from his lips. “Killin’ me,” he mutters.

“Not in front of your team, Seresin.”

When Rooster calls your name, you perk up and shoot him a smile. “Are you coming to the barbecue tonight?” He asks. 

Jake groans. “Absolutely the fuck not. I need some quality time.”

“What barbecue?” You cock an eyebrow at the two of them.

“Hangman didn’t tell you? We have a beach barbecue at The Hard Deck later. Whole squad’s going to be there and obviously Penny and Mav are setting everything up. Took us a couple of weeks to get everyone together. Even Coyote’s girlfriend is coming.”

Well, now you have no choice. You look at Jake who’s already groaning, preemptively reacting to your response. You shoot him a look telling him to behave before turning back to Rooster with a tight smile. “Of course we’ll be there.” 

Rooster grins, “Awesome, I’ll catch you there. I need to drop off some of my stuff first.”

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” Jake says, a hand on his wounded heart. Ever the drama queen.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “We can’t not go, Jake. The crew’s going to be there, along with your bosses, might I add.”

“They’re just going to eat and get drunk.”

“Exactly what I want to do after the week I’ve had.”

Jake stands in front of you, hands grasping your waist as he pulls you close and ducks his head to kiss you again. “I know how to get you to relax, release all that pent-up tension.” 

Heat crawls up your neck as you feel the pulsing between your legs. Jake isn’t the only one who’s been particularly needy. You’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had your hand down there. While you can still satisfy yourself, it isn’t the same as having Jake there with his veined hands, lickable abs, and filthy words. 

Phone sex is a common occurrence, but you’re only left wanting more. 

Before Jake can get you even more hot and bothered, you lick your lips and hold him at arm’s length. You make sure his grabby hands stay in yours, foiling his every attempt to grope you in public. There are officers around for god’s sake. “We’ll stay for an hour, say our hi’s, get some food and drinks, then we’ll head back to your place,” you try to reassure him. 

“You and your desire to please people will cock block me to hell, sweetheart,” Jake grunts. “You say an hour and I already know we’ll be staying there well past.” 

“No, it’ll just be an hour. I promise.”

Jake learns early on in your relationship that there are certain promises you do not keep. Although you are great at holding yourself accountable for things revolving around him, the chances of those promises coming true slim down to near zero when other people are involved. Too many times have you promised him you’ll only stay an hour – particularly at boring events that you drag him to (or he drags you to) – because you feel terrible if you don’t offer the host the time and appreciation they deserve for organizing. 

And you love Penny. That woman is impossible to adore. No one else can keep Mav on his toes like her. Thus, Jake certainly expects you to give her your utmost effort to be present.

Proving his point right, you and he are currently on hour number two. You try to ignore how restless Jake is getting. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet, grumbling under his breath, his hands beginning to wander again. The annoyed jitters radiating off him seem to amuse the others, especially as you’re striving to give whoever you’re speaking to your full undivided attention. 

So far, it has been Penny, Mav, Nat, Bob, and Javy. The current one on your list is Bradley, who’s going on and on about the training they did today. With at least three drinks in his system, nobody can get Bradley to shut up. 

You’re nodding along to the story, throwing in a few questions here and there to toss Bradley off the scent. The scent being Jake’s hand continuously sliding up your leg and under your skirt. You swat his hand away, yanking it off you every few minutes or so, but he is relentless. Thankfully, the two of you stand with your backs towards the ocean, and everyone else is in front of you. None of them the wiser to the shit Jake is pulling behind your back, literally.  

Jake’s large hand cups your asscheek and massages it slowly, pulling them apart until you can feel even your pussy lips parting. The light breeze that sneaks into your underwear has you freezing. Your subtle efforts to remove his hand are to no avail. Instead, knowing he overpowers your grip, he only gets bolder. 

His hand alternates between squeezing your ass and tracing the line of your panties. You bite back a shiver every time he does. You can feel wetness pooling between your legs, and how damp your underwear has probably gotten. At this point, you aren’t hearing a single word coming out of Bradley’s mouth anymore. Fortunately, you don’t think Bradley fully comprehends whatever he’s saying either. He’s stumbling slightly on the sand, close to toppling over each time. 

Jake doesn’t even try to help and you can’t bring yourself to either, not when Jake is tempting you so deliciously. 

When Jake carefully runs a finger over your slit over your damp panties, you feel your brain fogging up. Bradley’s words are beginning to blur together, and so is his face. Jake smirks proudly, sensing how distracted you are even as his squadmate drones on. 

Fucking asshole. 

His index finger slips underneath the fabric, tugging it slightly to the side as he runs it over your bare pussy. You can feel him collect your juice slowly and use it to drag his fingers along your lips. Struggling to swallow a moan, you let your eyes slip shut only momentarily, hoping that Bradley doesn’t catch on. However, when Jake dips not one, but two fingers into you, a squeak escapes your lips before you can catch it. 

Your cheeks immediately flame with the sound. While Bradley is drunk, he isn’t completely inebriated. 

He stops halfway through his sentence as he frowns. You can’t bring yourself to say a single thing, your face tight and body tense. Meanwhile, you don’t even need to look over at Jake to see how pleased he looks with himself. Bradley’s eyes dart between the two of you, the realization slowly sinks in as he begins to trip backwards. The panic sets quickly on his face.

“Oh no. No, no. I’m not going to be around for this. There are things I wish I did not know and this is one of them. You guys are nasty,” he manages to get out before he is rushing away towards Nat. He wraps an arm around her and you can hear him ask her to protect him from potentially scarring his eyeballs. 

This team is built on drama queens. 

Jake’s hand disappears from your body only to wrap around your hand as he drags you inside. He ignores your protests as he whisks you past Penny and Mav, one of which is looking at you knowingly and the latter who raises a confused brow. 

Your boyfriend leads you, fighting to keep up with his long legs, towards the back area, into a hallway hidden from the crowd outside. He wastes no time before he’s pressing you up against the wall and dropping his head to capture your lips. A moan involuntarily rises from your throat now that no one is around. 

Your hands slide up his toned arms and wrap around his neck as you pull him in deeper, relishing in the feel of his fit form against your soft body. Jake is all sharp lines and hard edges, a figure he maintains very proudly. You can taste the beer on his tongue as you breathe in a scent that’s so undeniably him.  

Even kissing him is doing wonders in getting you one step closer to satisfying your wanton need. Your mind doesn’t think twice as you let your hands explore the body that you’ve missed for so long. Your nails drag along his neck, down his chest, unbuttoning his beige uniform along the way. 

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Jake grunts as he hikes your skirt up around your hips. He hisses when he sees the wet spot on your panties. “Fuck, look at you. You’re so wet, darlin’. You miss me? Miss my hands on you?”

You bite back a whimper when Jake presses a thumb against the spot, rubbing the lace deeper into your pussy to collect more moisture. “Jake, please, you’ve been teasing all night,” you groan. 

“Yeah? Where do you want me?” 

“Want your fingers inside, please,” you whine, fingers digging into his forearm as he uses his knee to separate your legs. With his thigh against your core, you’re likely beginning to soak his pants, especially when he nudges against you. 

“Ask nicely,” Jake whispers in your ear, chuckling when you growl at him. 

“Seresin, you better move it along or I might find someone else who’ll do the work,” you bite back. When you attempt to pull away, Jake moves faster. One hand swoops and fastens up both your arms above your head, his hips pin you against the hard surface, and the other cups your cheek. A strangely intimate gesture despite the mess he’s put you in. “Fuck you,” you snap at him.

“Oh, you’d like that,” he teases, eyes twinkling devilishly. “You look so pretty when you can’t go anywhere. Trapped with me.”

You hate, but secretly enjoy, that that does the trick for you. Your cunt tightens involuntarily. This is your form of foreplay. The mocking, the banter. You love that he can overpower you, love how easily he cages you in. 

“God, I missed you,” Jake leans in and kisses you again, just enough to leave you wanting more. When he backs away slightly, you find yourself chasing after him. The taste of him and the warmth of him. “Missed this pretty pussy even more.”

“Then put your hands on me,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“Your wish is my command.” He looks down at you, blue-green eyes almost iridescent as they observe you with rapt attention. The back of his hand skims your jaw, fingers brushing against your lips. His eyes darken into shadows when, as he grazes his ring down your throat, your breath hitches. The metal is cool against your heated skin, a brief reprieve in the slow torture he puts you through. His hand journeys further down along your cleavage, visible above the neckline of your dress. From his height, he has a front row seat to the curves of your tits. “Fucking stunning,” he mutters to himself. 

Your skirt is still pooled around your hips, the hem swiping the back of your legs. His hand continues its path south until he’s touching you again, fingertips delicate above the fabric. 

“And these panties,” Jake huffs, “my favorite.”

You knew what you were doing when you got freshened up earlier. The underwear was an easy pick - a little red number with delicate floral lace trimming. The back barely covers your ass cheeks, giving him easy access to his actions throughout the night. 

The friction of the lace against your sensitive pussy has you squirming, his fingers urging the flimsy fabric against your skin. Your head falls back with a thud against the wood. His touch is insistent as he encourages the pulsing squeezing your insides. 

Jake flits his fingers around the fabric, shoving it to the side like he did earlier. Instead of putting them inside you, he continues to tease your lips. Every time he touches you just a little firmer, a little deeper, you press your thighs together. His US Naval Academy class ring imprints against your thigh. 

There’s something about the feeling of it. A consistent reminder that it’s there. A reminder of his role in the Navy. There’s something about that power that has your stomach flipping. He’s not only competent in taking care of you, but they put this man in an aircraft to keep this country safe. 

A large part of you loves that. You adore how protected it makes you. But also how small it makes you feel. 

As your thoughts spiral around the implications of his little piece of jewelry, he is slipping a finger past your folds. Your juices are coating the digits, making it easier and easier to push into you. He alternates between sinking deep inside of you, scraping your walls with determination, and stroking the outsides lightly, a gentle tease that has you fidgeting for more. You’re tempted to descend on his fingers, using him to fuck yourself, but Jake doesn’t allow that to happen. 

He brings his hand slightly higher. When the ring’s engravings touch your clit, you inadvertently jolt. Damn you and your traitorous body. Ever the perceptive one, Jake’s eyes light up in understanding. As if he needs more ammo to use against you. 

“Oh, do you like that, sweetheart?” He beams, bright eyes sparkling in delight. “You like my ring on you?”

Another fuck you sits on the tip of your tongue, but it never comes out when he purposely presses the ruby against your clit. You jerk again in his touch, but he doesn’t slacken his touch. Every time you try to twist away from him, his grip tightens, bruising around your wrists as he rubs the cool stone against you. 

“You’re so filthy,” he says in your ear, teeth nipping your lobe. Your teeth clamp your tongue to prevent a moan from coming out. You refuse to give him the satisfaction. “Look at you squirming with my ring on you. So fucking naughty.”

Your breath leaves your lungs as you wrestle to control the electricity coursing through your veins. Every single fibre of your being comes alive, flares skyrocketing into the night as he thumbs your sensitive nub while his fingers continue exploring your insides. His fingers coil inside you in that delicious way that has your toes curling. “Jake, please,” you plead, “that feels so good, don’t stop.”

He pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, going deeper each time. He goes knuckle-deep and you feel his ring buried inside you. The ridges are exquisite against your skin and the ring’s stone only adds to the width of his fingers. It fills you up fully. 

Tears prick your eyes at how wonderful everything feels. All of his movements – his large hand wrapped around your wrists, his fingers caressing your insides, the press of his ring impressing upon your skin – culminate in this tantalizing symphony of desire. Every single stroke is another melody in this performance, the tunes coming together in a beautiful composition. 

Your body is at the mercy of his hands as he continues his ministrations. He fingers you faster until you’re barely able to hold yourself up. Releasing your hands, he instead uses his free hand to grasp your jaw again, tilting your head so he can kiss you. He pushes his tongue through your lips and bends around yours. He tastes you until your knees nearly cave. 

“Jake, I can’t–” you gasp, “I can’t take it anymore. Please let me come.”

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you so needy in my hands. I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

“Yes, fuck, only you,” you echo desperately, your hands now clinging to his shoulders to hold yourself up. You’re so close to your orgasm, the feeling climbing and chasing you through this maze of hunger. 

Jake’s chest rumbles with laughter. “Not what you were saying earlier, when you were threatening to go to someone else. Do you really think anyone else can make you feel the way I do? Do you think anyone else knows your body like I do?”

“N-no,” you stutter weakly. “Only you, Jake.” Another expletive leaves your mouth as he presses against that particularly effective spot. “Christ, if you don’t finish me right now–”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient,” he murmurs, nipping your lip. But he does what you ask. His fingers move more intentionally as his other hand moves from the back of your neck to your front, forcing off the tiny straps of your dress until your upper half is exposed. 

As he torments your cunt, his other hand grabs your breast over your bra. The matching piece of lingerie is thin so you can feel his every squeeze, every pinch of your nipple. You’re writhing in his hands and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Your fingers bury in his shoulders as you whine, pussy clenching around his fingers. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Come for me,” he coaxes, his voice so gentle against the filthy squelching of your cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With a few more pumps and a brush of his thumb against your nipple, you fall apart in his hands. The climax wracks through your entire body like an earthquake, your entire being trembling with the pleasure that surges through you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers that are prolonging your orgasm. 

His fingers are a wet, sloppy mess and you look absolutely ruined. Your dress is barely clinging to you and your mind is still a haze of pure, unbridled lust. Jake, on the other hand, is smiling wide at you. Cocky prick. 

“Good?”

You huff, leaning against the wall as a last resort. “Good.”

When your eyes fall between his legs, you see the erection tenting his pants. Your mouth practically salivates at the sight, enticed. Your body signals that you’re ready for round two and Jake is in no state to be showing his face in front of his friends again. 

“Can’t wait to have your mouth on me tonight,” Jake grins.

You roll your eyes. The last thing you need is to feed his ego. You’ll never give him that sense of gratification. “In your fucking dreams, Seresin. After the stunt you pulled, you’re lucky if I don’t completely blue ball you tonight.” Slipping back into your dress, you push him off you, flicking your hair over your shoulder. 

His face falls as you walk away. “Wait, you’re kidding, right? Sweetheart, you wouldn’t do that to me!”

[hxbbit]

Crossing Lines (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader)

Summary: Bartending at The Hard Deck was fun. The difficult part? Trying to resist Hangman's continuous attempts at flirting and getting you into bed with him. Because you wanted more than just a one night stand and you weren't sure he did.

Warnings: idiots in love, pretty slow burn, slight miscommunication, smut, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving, very slight dom/sub undertones, praise kink, swearing, alcohol use, afab!reader, no use of y/n, not really proofread.

Words: 7k

A/N: Stayed up wayyy past my bedtime to finish this cause I was so excited, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out! First time writing for TGM/Hangman so let me know what you think :)

It was Friday, the sun was scorching, the waves were crashing and you were stocking the bar at The Hard Deck before it opened.

You were expecting the usual weekend crowd so you made sure everything was ready. It was second nature by now, the work here. After almost six months you knew all of the regulars, their orders and who would show up when. 

That’s also how you knew that today, the Dagger Squad would be showing up. For two weeks they were on a mission and if the rumors were to be believed, it was successful. Which meant a celebration was in order.

You’d be lying if you said, that they weren’t your favorite regulars and having them show up made every shift pass by in a breeze. Especially when a special someone was there too. Hangman. 

Or Jake, his real name you had only learned after a few months of knowing him. 

He was the loudest, the one you couldn’t help but notice even in the thickest of crowds. He was cocky, flirty and funny and more than aware of his good looks and beautiful green eyes. 

You were also pretty sure that he had more than a hint of a god complex, something that was necessary as a fighter pilot, but did not always bode well for a personal life.

All of that was a very deadly combination. A combination you had sworn to resist. 

But that was easier said than done. 

Hangman was like a magnet, drawing you in, dragging your gaze towards him and sometimes even your body, making staying away very, very difficult. 

And today, of course, was no different. 

As soon as the dagger squad poured into the bar, your gaze was locked onto the door, watching as Rooster, Bob, Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback and Coyote swaggered in and for a split second you thought that Hangman wasn’t going to be there. But then there he was, rounding out the troop, last but definitely not least. The golden hour sun illuminating him from behind, making his blonde hair practically glow. 

Rowdy as always, they were laughing and talking as they stepped up to the bar.

“Hey guys,” you said with a broad grin towards the group. “How was the mission?”

“Absolutely crushed it!” Rooster replied. 

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for Hangman flying like crazy, we would all be dead!” Coyote butted in and it involuntarily made you look towards Hangman, who was leaned against the bar, the picture of casualness as he shrugged. His eyes already on you.

“What can I say? I’m very good.” Smirk on his face, his eyes looked you up and down and with an intensity that made your heart race. Trying to slow it down again, you turned back to the others. 

“So what can I get you to celebrate?” 

After taking orders and pouring beer, they moved towards the pool table and crowded around it, only Hangman remained by the bar. 

“Did you miss me?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer, but that cocky smirk never left his face. 

“Those were the longest two weeks of my life,” you said theatrically. “I couldn’t sleep or eat, fearing for your life.” You clutched your chest. 

He laughed, leaning a little further over the bar, closer to you. 

“See I know you’re playing this off as a joke, but I know there’s truth in there.” 

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t fight off the smile accompanying it.

Okay, yeah, maybe there was a little bit of truth to it. But he didn’t have to know that. Maybe those two weeks really felt a little slow and like they stretched on for an eternity. And maybe you had occasionally thought about him - and the others - and if they were safe, but any normal person would do that. You were somewhat friends after all. It had absolutely nothing to do with him specifically. 

“But don’t worry sweetheart, you won’t get rid of me that easily.” He winked at you before he went to join the others and their lively conversations. 

Time passed and the night went on, the Deck filling up and some of the daggers coming up to the bar periodically to buy more rounds of drinks, but it was so busy, you barely had time to talk to them. Only once Penny relieved you of your shift, taking over for closing, did you have time to pour yourself a beer and walk towards them. 

You did that sometimes, join them when you could, playing a game of pool or darts. 

“There she is!” Phoenix spotted you first and opened her arms to give you a quick hug.

Out of all of them, she was the only one you hung out with outside the bar. Being in such a male dominated field, you knew she was glad to have another woman around as a friend and you felt the same. She was also the only one who knew about your feelings for Hangman. You hadn’t intended on telling her, but she was so perceptive, so sharp, you didn’t even have to. Or maybe you were just so obvious in your ogling, although you’d like to think you weren’t. 

One day she simply asked you “when are you gonna fuck him?” and you almost choked on your drink. Trying vehemently to fight off the allegations but the raised eyebrow she gave you made you give in quickly, spilling the secret you had held on for so long. 

She didn’t exactly approve that he was your choice, but was still supportive nonetheless. And in your logical mind you didn’t really know why your heart decided on him either, when quiet and polite Bob was there, or Rooster who wore his every emotion on his sleeve. No, it had to be Hangman. Hangman, who flirted with every being with a pulse and two legs and had a reputation like no one else. 

That flirting obviously also involved you, pulse and legs meeting the requirements. It was easy at first to shrug it off, thinking he would eventually get bored. You were the shiny, new plaything. However, he never did, in fact the flirting increased. Probably seeing you as a challenge now, which meant that as much as you wanted it - wanted him - you could never give in. 

You wanted more than to be his one night stand, his challenge, his conquest or notch in what must’ve been a very long belt. 

There was only that one time when you almost crossed that line. Closing down the bar, just the two of you, Hangman insisting on helping… but you didn’t like to think about it. Hated how it still made you heart skip a beat and heat curl low in your belly. The way he looked at you as he leaned in. How your lips almost connected. How his hand felt on your hip, warm and heavy and a tad possessive, before Penny came barging in. 

You’d jumped apart, pretending like nothing had happened. Really, nothing did. 

Swearing to never repeat that mistake again, you just had to be content with watching him from across the bar, or the pool table. Just as you did right now, sipping your beer, pretending like his smile didn’t make you weak in the knees. 

“I’ve got a date tomorrow,” you then told Phoenix out of the blue. Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. 

“A date? With… Hangman?” She asked confused. 

“What? No!” You shook your head. “With some guy who came into the bar the other day. At first I was going to say no, but then I figured it might not be such a bad idea.”

“Getting over him by getting under someone else, huh?” She smirked, sipping her drink and you shrugged. 

“Something like that. Or at least take the edge off,” you mumbled the last part. 

“Ohh, so you just wanna get laid!” She laughed at the realization, her voice louder than she intended, drawing Jake’s eyes towards you.

“Shh! I mean, yeah, it’s been so long and I am this close,” you held up your index finger and thumb, practically touching, “to saying yes to Jake. And we both know this can’t happen.”

“Well good luck now, ‘cause he’s coming over.” She snickered as she walked off, leaving you alone and defenseless as Hangman walked up. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear something just now.” He grinned, green eyes bearing a glint of mischief. “Something about you wanting to get laid?”

“No- that was… not at all-“ You stammered, scrambling for an excuse. It only made his grin widen.

“You know, flying and almost dying really gets the adrenaline going.” He leaned down a little, whispering the next words. One hand sliding down your bare arm. 

“It’s one hell of an aphrodisiac.”

You swallowed hard. 

“Yeah, I can imagine.” You managed to whisper back, not fully trusting your voice to speak louder.  

“How about we help each other out, hm?” His gaze was back on your face, taking in your reaction. Watching - and probably enjoying - as your resolve cracked.

Your skin was burning under his touch. Innocent technically, it was just your arm, but it felt like he was setting your skin on fire. 

Raising your chin slightly to look up at him, you took a shaky breath. 

“Maybe next time.” Still whispering, trying to pass it off as a joke. 

“That’s not a no.” He didn’t sound disappointed, just amused. Intrigued. Like he could wait you out. He did stop touching your arm, though. Stepping back a tiny bit and giving you more room to breathe.  

“No, it is definitely a no.” You built up the wall of your resolve again, brick by brick, speaking louder. Desperately trying to ignore the growing ache between your legs that had you ever so slightly clench your thighs together. 

Hangman nodded, that cocky smile never leaving his face. 

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He gave you one more look over his shoulder as he walked away. The only thing you could do in return was take a deep swig of your beer, which was a little warm by now, the bitterness more noticeable, but exactly what you needed. 

“You’ve got it bad.” Phoenix laughed, sliding back up next to you. 

“Shut up,” you replied but couldn’t help laughing with her.

Every time you were close to giving in, you reminded yourself of what Penny had said to you that night after she caught you almost kissing Hangman. 

You thought she would give you a stern talking to about hooking up with customers at work, but instead she pulled you aside and told you to be careful with Navy boys. Especially the pretty ones that looked like Jake. Because a big part of their job was breaking hearts and she didn’t want you to learn the hard way. 

She had known the whole group for a lot longer than you had and you had heard stories about her complicated relationship with their group leader, Maverick. 

Not having been around military before in your life, you took her advice to heart. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen Hangman make out with pretty girls in corners before or watched him as he staggered out the bar with his arm around their waists. You knew what he was like and you were grateful to Penny for the reminder. 

On Saturdays, The Hard Deck opened at noon and you took the opening shift again so you had the afternoon off to go on your date. 

It was quiet, but the day still went by pretty quickly. Distracted by first date jitters and what outfit you were gonna put on.  

By the time it got busier, Penny took over for you and sent you on your way. You let out a sigh of relief. Jake or any of the others hadn’t come in yet today, which meant you didn’t have to explain why you were leaving early and where you were going. 

In the parking lot, you were just reaching for the car door handle when you heard Phoenix call your name. 

Shit.

You turned around with a sigh and wave and saw her, together with some of the others coming over, while the rest went inside the bar.

“Off already?” Jake was - of course - at the forefront and before you could even think about lying, Phoenix answered for you. 

“She’s got a hot date.” She grinned, side eyeing Hangman. If your looks could kill, she would be dead right now. You bit your bottom lip, not denying the fact.

Your gaze flashed to Jake next. He clenched his jaw - just for a second - and a look flickered across his face you couldn’t quite identify, before that ever-present, easy smirk of his snapped back into place. 

“Have fun then,” he said easily, but his voice had an edge to it and a tightness in his shoulders as he turned that made you bite down on your lip harder. 

“Dude, really?” You hissed at Phoenix.

“Relax, it’s good.” She replied, looking over her shoulder at Hangman. 

“He didn’t need to know that.”

“He did.” A grin spreading on her lips. “Cause what you just saw, was jealous Hangman.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but then closed it again. Replaying the way he looked as Phoenix told him about your date had you admit: it did seem like jealousy. 

“He’s probably just pissed someone else might get to fuck me before he does.” You tried to reason and not get your hopes up that maybe he wanted more than just sex. 

“Or maybe he’s just Hangman and admitting his feelings is something that he’s never had to do before.” Phoenix countered. 

“Nah,” you simply denied. “I’ll stick to him just wanting to fuck me first.” What Phoenix was saying sounded too good to be true. That Jake might actually have feelings for you but was just too emotionally constipated to say it out loud? Not likely. 

She just rolled her eyes. 

“Suit yourself.” 

After a quick hug goodbye, you got into your car and pulled out of the parking lot, feeling eyes on you. A quick glance proved that Jake was still standing at the entrance of the bar, watching you with an intensity and seriousness in his eyes you rarely saw. 

Your grip on the wheel tightened. Ignoring the urge to stop the car and call off the date. 

Instead you kept driving. All the way home. 

You had put on your favorite short skirt and top that made your boobs look especially great but the date was still just… fine. 

Mike was nice. Polite. Handsome even. But God, was he boring. Only talking about himself and his job, not making you laugh a single time.

Did you still let him take you home? Yeah. You did. And it wasn’t necessarily regret you felt after, but you were disappointed. 

Of course he hadn’t made you come. Part of you expected that before you even started. You had still hoped, however, it would scratch that itch. Somehow it had the opposite effect. Like it had reminded your body what it should feel like to be touched and kissed. How much better it would be with someone who actually cared about your pleasure. 

Leaving his place immediately after, you didn’t bother to sleep over. At home you had to take measures into your own hand, making yourself come at least once, to stop that incessant craving. Trying not to think about Hangman and failing spectacularly. How his hands felt on your body and how much better they would feel between your legs. How he probably had an annoyingly perfect cock that would fill you up just right. And how he would put that smart mouth to good use. You stopped fighting it.

For the first time, you let yourself freely fantasize about Jake while you fucked yourself, resulting in an intense orgasm that had you out of breath and your legs shaking. 

You weren’t sure if you could look him in the eye tomorrow without blushing. 

That turned out not to be a problem, because Jake wasn’t there the next day or the following few. 

Phoenix had been there one Sunday and you told her about the date, how disappointing it was. All of it. She extended her condolences in return. 

“Maybe it’s time to fuck Hangman after all.” She joked and a part of you started to think that maybe she was right. 

How much longer were you going to torture yourself with longing and heartache, when he freely offered himself up at every given moment? Doing it once might actually cure you. 

Or maybe make things so much worse…

It was Thursday when you were closing down the bar, putting chairs on tables when you heard the bar door open. 

“We’re closed.” You said without turning around. 

“Just one drink.” 

You recognized the voice immediately. Jake.

He staggered towards the bar, swaying slightly as he did so and sat down on one of the bar stools. It didn’t take you long to realize that something was wrong. His hair looked disheveled, his clothes wrinkly and as you got closer, you also saw that his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. He was wasted. 

Reaching over the bar, you grabbed a bottle and two glasses. Without asking, you poured him a shot of whiskey and slid it over to him, taking a seat next to him. 

“You okay?” You asked quietly, concern lacing your voice. 

“Peachy.” He knocked back the shot in one go. 

You refilled his glass and also poured one for yourself. 

In almost six months, you had never seen him like this. Not even close to it. Rarely did he get a bit too rowdy and confrontational when he was drunk, but this was a whole other level. 

“You wanna talk about it?” You didn’t really know what to do or what even had him in a state like this. Instead of replying he just shook his head. Without saying a word, he picked up his glass and drained it again and you did the same. Refilling them a third time. 

He was slouched on top of the bar, one hand holding up his head that hung low, the other one playing with the shot glass. 

Not knowing what else to do, you reached out and put your hand on top of his. He didn’t look at you, but you could still see his jaw clench. 

“How was your date?” He asked, and you could hear now that his words were slurred. 

“Not great,” you replied honestly, your thumb now absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand. 

“Did you fuck him?” That question caught you off guard. The words felt like they slapped you. Harsh. Bitter. Almost spat. The moment of hesitation before you could reply was enough answer for him. He moved his hand from underneath yours and picked up the shot glass again and once it was emptied he got up. 

You thought he was going to leave, but instead he turned towards you, getting closer until he stood between your open legs. Your back pressed against the bar. 

“Was it good?” His voice was low now, but it was quiet in the bar with no one else there and he was so close you had no problem hearing him. 

You didn’t dare look at him. Instead your face was turned off to the side, but you still just shook your head to answer him.

“That’s what I thought.” His right hand came up to rest on your jaw, gently turning your head to look at him. Hesitantly you glanced up.

“If you’d let me, I’d make you feel so good.” Those words had your heart skip a beat. Your breath caught in your throat. His other hand now moved to rest on your hip, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him, fingers digging into your flesh. 

“Jake…” You whispered, breath hitched. You wanted this, you did, but not like this. Drunk and sad. 

“Please…” His voice cracked slightly - raw, desperate. “Let me make you feel good, make you come. I promise you won’t regret it.” His hand was now stroking the side of your face, pushing a loose strand of hair back. You tried pushing down the heat that was coiling low in your belly. Tried to resist. It might’ve been the hardest thing you’ve ever done. 

Jake leaned in then, glancing down towards your lips and you couldn’t help your eyelids from fluttering close. When you felt his hot breath fanning over your lips, could smell the whiskey on it knowing that he was just inches away, you pulled back. 

“Don’t.” You whispered, so quietly you weren’t even sure you really said it out loud.

The kiss never came, instead you felt him retreat. Removing his hand from your face and hip and taking a step back. You opened your eyes and saw hurt on his face, clear as day. He gave you one curt nod.

“Jake…” you started again, trying to explain. Apologize. Something. 

“No, it’s fine. I get it.” He said as he turned around and took the few steps to the front door. 

You wanted to stop him or go after him, you really did. But your body felt frozen. Making you sit with it. Feel the damage you’d done. 

His words kept echoing in your head as you sat there a while longer. The blatant want and then his hurt expression after. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally got up from the chair and finished closing up. Once back home you sent Phoenix a text. You knew that she probably wouldn’t see it until morning when she got up but you just had to ask. 

Jake came to the bar absolutely wasted. He seemed upset. Did anything happen?

You were surprised when an answer came back immediately. 

I think it’s the day his best friend died a few years ago… he gets like that sometimes.

You stared at the screen. Heart sinking.

That explained a lot and it made your chest ache for him worse than before. Even more so that you had added on to his agony. 

You barely slept that night, but still turned up to your opening shift, and for the first time you felt dread at the prospect of seeing Hangman. Not knowing where you stood with him now.

Every time the door opened, you anxiously glanced towards it. Relief and sadness filling you with equal measure when you saw that it wasn’t Jake. Until it was. 

He swaggered up towards the bar, Fanboy and Payback in tow, that easy grin on his face.

“Hey,” you breathed. “How are you?”

“I’m great.” He shrugged ever so casually. 

“Really?” Your brows furrowed a little, confused. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He still wore that smirk, but now you could see through it. Hurt, barely hidden. So that’s how he was going to play this. Pretend like last night didn’t happen. You shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow you still were. 

Pouring drinks and handing them to the boys, you got spared from more conversation as Phoenix showed up. They scattered away, only her remaining. 

“What’s going on?” She asked, visibly confused, having picked up on the strange vibe between you and Hangman. 

“Things got… weird last night.” You said vaguely, not knowing how much into detail you should get. Still you continued.

“Weird like he tried to kiss me and I stopped him.”

“Oh.” Her mouth fell open, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. 

“I’m sure he’ll get over it. He always does.” She tried to reason, wave it off and make you feel better, but something in her voice sounded uncertain.

You leaned in closer to her above the bar, lowering your voice.

“I don’t know. This time seemed different. He was hurt, Phoenix.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Guess we’ll see,” you said sighing.

For the rest of the night, he was avoiding you, you could tell. He sent Bob to buy him drinks and only looked over to you when he thought you couldn’t see it. 

Eventually you even lost sight of him, not knowing if he had left or was just hiding in a corner somewhere from you. Only once your shift ended and you went over to Phoenix to say goodbye did you spot him again, leaning against a wall, a pretty blonde next to him with her boobs practically in his face. You couldn’t blame her, but you sure as hell could blame him. 

In that moment you realized that it’s been a while since you had seen him flirt with anyone in earnest. Sure he still let out the occasional one-liner, but not like this, right in your face and obvious, not even trying to be subtle or hide it. 

Unfortunately you also had to walk past him to get to the front door. 

You tried not to look, ignore him, but then he leaned closer to push a strand out of the girls face - just like he had done to you last night - and caught your eye with a smirk for a split second. You couldn’t help yourself. You scoffed. 

“Un-fucking-believable.” You bumped his shoulder, trying to push past, but you didn’t stop. 

“What?” You then heard his voice behind you and you knew it was directed at you. There was a challenge in that one syllable. Like he was daring you to turn around.

“Nothing, it’s fine!” You said loudly as you looked over your shoulder. The air felt thick. You knew people were watching now. Didn’t need to look around to see the other daggers glancing back and forth between you two. You simply turned back again and walked out the door. 

You hurried to your car and heard footsteps behind you, quickly approaching, following you. You assumed it was Phoenix so you didn’t look. 

“So you get to go on dates and fuck losers that don’t even make you come, but I don’t get to flirt with other women?” Of course it was Jake. His voice cutting like a whip. Never backing down from a fight or a challenge. You’ve seen him like this before, but it had never been directed at you. 

“No, you don’t!” You turn to him. “Not after almost kissing me and practically begging to fuck me! And now you wanna go around and pretend like nothing happened?” You felt yourself get heated now, too. Voice raising, pulse pumping. 

So this was it. You were finally doing it. Talking about your feelings.

“You rejected me!” He surged forward, making you back up until your spine hit the cold metal of your car. It wasn’t like you were scared of him. You knew he would never hurt you, but his presence still somehow intimidated you. The way he was towering over you. 

“Yes, but only because I didn’t wanna be your sad comfort fuck while you’re out of your mind drunk!” That shut him up. For the first time tonight, he had no comeback.

“I want more, Jake. I need more.” You added quietly. 

Silence. The only thing you could hear was your pulse beating in your ears and the faint music from the deck, but you could feel the tension between you. Thick and heavy. 

You looked up at him and saw his face soften, the anger and frustration that had just been there - gone. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Jake mumbling words that sounded an awful lot like fuck it and then closing that gap. Hands gripping the sides of your face, lips crashing onto yours. 

Any anger that you still held in your body dissipated as your body melted against his. 

His kiss hungry and devouring, mouth open, tongue sliding over yours. Moans swallowed by him. Your hands fisting his shirt, gripping it tight and pulling him closer towards you until his entire length was flush against yours. Jakes hot body a contrast to the cool metal of your car at your back.

The way he kissed you was all-consuming and so, so good. Better than you could’ve imagined. And you imagined it a lot. Where only minutes before there was anger, desire now took its place. Arching more against him, wanting to feel him closer. Jake grabbed one of your thighs and hitched it up and around his waist, holding it there which left your center exposed to him. 

Body shifting just so that his hard bulge was pressing against your clothed clit. 

A whimper escaped your mouth that was greedily swallowed by him and you could feel a smirk forming on his lips as he kissed you. 

His mouth then moved over your jaw, down to your throat, leaving kisses and dragging his tongue all over. With your eyes still closed, you let your head fall back against the car, giving him better access.

“Wanted this for so long,” he muttered against your skin. You couldn’t speak. Just nodded in agreement.

“Do you wanna give the others a show,” he asked, still kissing your neck. “or would you prefer something more private?” At first you didn’t know what he was talking about. Until you opened your eyes and gazed over to the bar, seeing the faces of the entire dagger squad pressed against windows. He didn’t even have to look. He just knew they’d be nosy enough to watch whatever would unfold between you two.

You immediately tried to hide behind Jake, mortified, face flushing with embarrassment. 

“More private,” you whispered but also couldn’t help a laugh despite it all.

“Mhm, I agree,” he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes and there it was again. That glint of mischief in the green. “Wanna take my time with you.” He leaned down to kiss you once more, slower, deeper. And then muttered against your lips:

“And I don’t think they deserve to see you fall apart around my cock for the first time.”

A shiver went down your spine, settling deep in your stomach. A groan accompanying it, slipping out before you could stop it. 

If you hadn’t been wet before, you sure as hell were now.

You genuinely didn’t know how you made it home. The drive back a blur. Definitely going above the speed limit. Jake in the passenger seat, the air around you thick with sexual tension. You shifting in your seat, thighs clenching and of course Jake noticing with a cocky grin. He looked almost unaffected, if not for the giant tent he was pitching in his jeans giving him away. 

But once you were inside your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you both, Jake was back on you. His arms wrapping around your body as he kissed you. Yours moving to wrap around his neck, running nails through the short hair at his nape. 

Together you stumbled further into the apartment. His hands eventually sliding down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up with ease as if you weighed nothing. You squealed at how quickly he did it.

“Bedroom?” He asked, having never been to your apartment before and needing instructions. 

“Down the hall, to the right,” you said and now it was your turn to kiss down his neck, nipping at his jaw as he walked you towards your bedroom. Every step made your center push against his hard abs, desperation growing. Grinding yourself down against him a little more. 

“Are you getting off on my abs?” He asked, amusement clear, but so was his breathlessness. 

“So what?” You shrugged, but not stopping your grinding. He hummed in reply.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

He kept one hand on you while the other reached for the doorknob to your bedroom. Once inside, he dropped you on the bed. You laughed as you looked up at him, still standing at the foot of it. His eyes unashamedly roaming your body, heavy lidded and dark with desire and his cock all but bursting through his jeans. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to fuck me?” Biting your lip to hide a grin, you toed off your shoes. 

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you,” he said, voice dropping an octave, coming to crawl onto the bed, looming above you. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll never want anyone else again.”

You liked the sound of that. Because you didn’t want anyone else but him. 

“Ruin me, then.”

Kissing you again, Jake let his hands explore your body. The kiss still hungry, but not as frenzied and anger-charged as the first kiss against the car. 

Smoothing his hands over your breasts, down to your belly and pushing his hand under the fabric, slowly, teasingly, before pushing it up completely and making you take it off. Your bra got the same treatment, quickly discarded. Grabbing at his shirt, you reached to pull it off, wanting to feel his skin against yours. Jake kissed down your throat once more, but moving further this time, to your sternum and across your boobs to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue. You were so distracted, you barely felt him pop open the button of your jeans and pulling down the zipper agonizingly slow. But he didn’t take them off yet. Just ran his fingers under the waistband every now and again, moving across your belly, then back up to your boobs before finding the waistband once more. 

At this point your core was aching, heat coiling in your stomach. The desire and need to be touched were overwhelming. 

“Jake, please…” you whined, wanting him to undress you completely. Needing more. 

“So needy,” he breathed between kisses, but he did listen. The next time he hooked his fingers into the waistband, they started dragging your jeans and panties down, achingly slow until you couldn’t take it anymore and started kicking them off. That earned a deep chuckle from him. 

Once you were fully exposed, he kissed his way back up your legs, nipping the inside of your thighs on each side until he reached the juncture at the very top. 

He spread your legs further apart, opening you up for him. You felt his breath, cool against your wetness and then he dove in. Like a man starved, he started lapping at your pussy. No testing strokes or hesitant licks, just overwhelming certainty in what he was doing and what he wanted. 

And God, did he know what he was doing. You weren’t sure if it was all the tension from the last six months getting to you or the fact that he really was just that good, but he had you writhing under him in no time. That coil inside of you winding tighter and tighter. 

When he added a finger, gently pushing into your wet heat, and then a second one, curling them both just right and pumping in and out, you knew you were done for. Orgasm building higher and higher until it all crashed. Pleasure rushing through you in waves, arching your back, throwing your head into the pillow. His name and a string of curses falling from your lips. 

He kept going until even your last wave had subsided, leaving you a panting and breathless mess beneath him. 

Jake gave you no time to recover though, you watched him as he got up for a second to take off his own pants and boxers, finally getting to see his cock for the first time. It was thick and long, and curved just enough to promise it would hit all the right spots.

“I knew it,” you mumbled more to yourself, but Jake heard it, making him raise an eyebrow in confusion. 

“Annoyingly perfect cock,” you said as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. 

“Been thinking about my cock a lot?” 

You opened your mouth to reply but he stopped you, holding up a finger. 

“Don’t even try to deny it. We both know the truth.” The way he said it, with that smug little smirk, was so him it made your heart melt.

It was your turn now to crawl towards him, his cock at the perfect height with him still standing next to your bed.

Reaching a hand up, you wrapped it around his length, fingers barely able to close around it. Giving it a few slow strokes, you looked up at Jake and he looked down, biting his bottom lip. 

You stuck out your tongue and slid it over his head, watching the way his brows twitched, pulling together, before working his cock slowly into your mouth. Lips stretching around it, jaw wide open. Guiding him in and out, tongue swirling in tandem until you found a rhythm that had him moan softly. Hand finding purchase in your hair, tightening slightly. 

“Just like that.” His voice barely more than a groan, which went straight down to between your legs again. Reaching one hand down to start rubbing circles over your clit.

You kept going, speeding up occasionally or taking him so deep until he nudged the back of your throat, fighting back your gag reflex. 

His breathing came quicker, then and you knew that if you didn’t stop soon, he would come into your mouth. You weren’t opposed to the idea, wondering what he would taste like, but it seemed like he had other plans as he pulled you off his cock. 

“As much as I’d love to watch you swallow my cum, I need to bury myself in your pussy first.” And you couldn’t agree more. 

You were still on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes, eagerly awaiting what he had planned for you next.

“Lay back down,” he said. 

“Yes, Sir,” you replied with a cheeky grin, and his cock twitched, and he let out a low growl. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” His eyes grew even darker and you filed that information away for another time. But for now you wouldn’t push it further.

Jake moved back between your legs, kissing you deeply once more and you felt the head of his cock nudge your entrance. You were wet, very wet, but knew it would still be quite the stretch to accommodate him. Slowly he pushed forward. Inch by agonizing inch. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. “You can take it.” 

Drawing back slightly before pushing back in, deeper this time. He kept going, mumbling as he continued.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You feel so good.”

“That’s it, baby.”

And then he bottomed out.

He gave you a few seconds to adjust, staying still.

“You alright?” He asked and you nodded. 

“So full,” you breathed out.

He only smirked again in return before starting to thrust slowly. Shallow at first, but as you got more used to it, he went deeper and faster. Pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in. 

It was rare that you could come from penetration alone, but the way things were going and the way he felt inside you, you were sure that it would happen. Pressure already building again. 

Spreading your legs further, he opened you up more, but it seemed like that still wasn’t enough for him. He hooked his arm under your leg and tossed it over his shoulder, hitting even deeper.

“Fuck,” was the only thing you could say as you moved your hips with him. He leaned forward more, your knee practically pressed against your chest now. Hips snapping against yours. At this angle, he perfectly hit your g-spot on every thrust, making your nails dig into his back as you clung to him, your pussy starting to clench around him. 

“I can feel you’re close,” he said, breathing heavy. “Want you to come on my cock.”

“Yes, please,” you whined, so close to your second orgasm now. 

“Just a little longer, ‘m close too.” You could tell by the way his thrusts became more desperate, irregular. And you had to try really hard to hold back your orgasm, wanting to be good for him. It took a little longer than expected and with every passing seconds, tears started to prickle at your eyes. Out of pure desperation and the need to come. You were so close to breaking, when he finally said: 

“Come for me, sweetheart.” 

And the moment he said it, the coil finally snapped, your orgasm released throughout your body, those unshed tears in your eyes now rolling down your cheeks as your pussy clenched around his cock. With one final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside, cock twitching and Jake all but collapsed on top of you. 

You were both breathing heavy, trying to get your pulse to come down to a normal frequency, before Jake rolled off and flopped down beside you.

“Sufficiently ruined?” he asked, turning to look at you with that familiar grin.

You laughed and nodded. 

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“That was the plan all along, you know. Get you into my bed. Fuck you so thoroughly you never want to leave. Didn’t think you’d be so stubborn, though.” 

He pushed back a strand of hair, fingers lingering against your cheek, as he looked at you with such open adoration. 

Oh. 

“And here I was thinking you just wanted me for a one night stand.” 

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

Things suddenly made sense. Why Jake was so relentless. Stopped flirting with other women. You weren’t a challenge. It was all part of his dumb, ridiculous plan. 

“Now why would I want that? When I’ve been crazy about you for months?”

“A normal person would just say that. Not make convoluted, stupid plans.” You couldn’t help but laugh. It was ridiculous. Months spent wondering whether Jake actually liked you or just wanted to fuck you. And now here he was, confessing so easily it almost annoyed you..

“Eh, maybe.” He shrugged. “Still worked out, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it did.” You grinned at him. He smiled back before pulling you close and kissing you again.

Tags: @trelaney