Tumgik
seresinhangmanjake · 5 hours
Text
More Than What We Are
Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader
Tumblr media
Summary: You and Jake are friends with benefits, and you have one rule: No feelings! Jake decides that rule doesn’t work for him anymore.
Warnings/notes: 18+ angsty, sort of fluffy, happier ending, sexual references, almost smut, cursing, love confessions, emotional denial before acceptance. You know when you read something so much you start to hate it? Well folks, here it is. I reread this so much and I can still guarantee there will be mistakes. I tried not to make it too long.
Words: 2890
Keep reading
2K notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 21 hours
Text
a series of images to further the agenda that ice is jake seresin's father bc you'll never convince me otherwise <3
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
161 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 2 days
Note
"It's been tough lately, especially with writing, but I appreciate you so much!" - I am so, so, so, so sorry to hear things have been tough! Take care of yourself though Darling, you deserve some me time and self-care. I hope you have the time for it! 💗
I'll try. Thank you so much ☺️
1 note · View note
seresinhangmanjake · 4 days
Note
"Thank you so much ☺️ 💓 This makes me glad I wrote part 2. It didn't seem like people liked it and one comment wasn't even about the story at all so I was kind of feeling like I shouldn't even bother." - oh, Honey, I am so so sorry you felt that way!!!! I personally am always over the moon when I see you sharing any of your stories!!! You are incredibly talented and your stories have such a special place in my heart, they always manage to comfort me. You are truly amazing!!! Never think otherwise!!!
Thank you so much 🥹❤️
Tumblr media
2 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 4 days
Note
Hellooo.
I'm just here to say you are amazing, fantastic, incredible, talented, sweet and so, so, so kind!!!
Thank you for all you do!!!
Lots and lots of love and hugs 💗💐
Thank you, friend 🥰 It's been tough lately, especially with writing, but I appreciate you so much!
2 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 4 days
Text
i thought it was going to finish with "when you can be mean in person"
Tumblr media
5K notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 7 days
Text
I don't hate Starbucks either, I just picked something popular 😂
Mere moments before Jake introduces his bubbly mother to his emotionally-stunted loner girlfriend
(it's basically just dialogue. I'm trying not to force myself into writing longer fleshed-out stuff for Jake atm because i’m struggling with it. Idk, it might be a full fic at some point):
Tumblr media
“She'll hate me, Jake. You know that, right?”
Jake snorts and says, “My mother doesn't hate anyone. Arguably, she loves everyone.”
“Has she met a girl like me before?”
“No. But in all fairness, lots of people live their entire lives without meeting a girl like you. I just got lucky.”
“Gross.” Your nose wrinkles. “Will she try to hug me?”
“Yes.”
“Will she ask how we met?”
“Yes. She'll want details, too.”
“Well that's not happening. I do not gab and giggle over cutesy details. I physically can't.”
“Cutesy? When we met you told me to fuck off because I was blocking your sun, in those exact words. Who reads at the beach, anyway?”
“So many people, Jake. So many people read at the beach,” you say. “Tell her we met at a Starbucks. Moms love Starbucks.”
“If I tell her we met at a Starbucks she will want to take you to Starbucks and buy you Starbucks coffees, and you despise Starbucks.”
“Starbucks is not respectable.”
He sighs. “They're not the only ones who add syrup and whipped cream to coffee, you know.”
“They make the biggest show of it and charge the most money,” you argue. “Will she ask about my childhood? Because we both know that was shit, and since yours wasn't shit your mother will think we're incompatible.”
Shaking his head, Jake chuckles. “We are not incompatible, baby. ”
“I know that, but Jake, it took you six months to convince me we're good together and that the universe won't eventually pull it's fucked up ‘gotcha!’ bullshit. How long do you think it'll take for her to believe it?”
“Look at me,” he says, cupping your face. “You’re happy with me?”
You roll your eyes. “Well…yes, obviously.”
“And I am so happy with you. That's all she cares about.”
“I've got five bucks in my pocket. You up for a bet?”
A/N: I have no personal problem with Starbucks.
Tags: @wkndwlff
@kmc1989
@sagittarius-flowerchild
@dempy
@oliviah-25
@rosiahills22
@xoxabs88xox
@matisse556
@hardballoonlove
@lynnevanss
@pono-pura-vida
@tgmreader
@amgluvsbooks
@ravenhood2792
@djs8891
@shakespeareanwannabe
@penguin876
@tgmavericklover
@athenabarnes
@emilyoflanternhill
@wretchedmo
@shanimallina87
@crowsreadsarahjmaas
@mamachasesmayhem
@sky2nd
@jessicab1991
@rosedurin
@averyhotchner
@horseshoegirl
@roosteraloha
@b-bradshaw
245 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 7 days
Text
Mere moments before Jake introduces his bubbly mother to his emotionally-stunted loner girlfriend
(it's basically just dialogue. I'm trying not to force myself into writing longer fleshed-out stuff for Jake atm because i’m struggling with it. Idk, it might be a full fic at some point):
Tumblr media
“She'll hate me, Jake. You know that, right?”
Jake snorts and says, “My mother doesn't hate anyone. Arguably, she loves everyone.”
“Has she met a girl like me before?”
“No. But in all fairness, lots of people live their entire lives without meeting a girl like you. I just got lucky.”
“Gross.” Your nose wrinkles. “Will she try to hug me?”
“Yes.”
“Will she ask how we met?”
“Yes. She'll want details, too.”
“Well that's not happening. I do not gab and giggle over cutesy details. I physically can't.”
“Cutesy? When we met you told me to fuck off because I was blocking your sun, in those exact words. Who reads at the beach, anyway?”
“So many people, Jake. So many people read at the beach,” you say. “Tell her we met at a Starbucks. Moms love Starbucks.”
“If I tell her we met at a Starbucks she will want to take you to Starbucks and buy you Starbucks coffees, and you despise Starbucks.”
“Starbucks is not respectable.”
He sighs. “They're not the only ones who add syrup and whipped cream to coffee, you know.”
“They make the biggest show of it and charge the most money,” you argue. “Will she ask about my childhood? Because we both know that was shit, and since yours wasn't shit your mother will think we're incompatible.”
Shaking his head, Jake chuckles. “We are not incompatible, baby. ”
“I know that, but Jake, it took you six months to convince me we're good together and that the universe won't eventually pull it's fucked up ‘gotcha!’ bullshit. How long do you think it'll take for her to believe it?”
“Look at me,” he says, cupping your face. “You’re happy with me?”
You roll your eyes. “Well…yes, obviously.”
“And I am so happy with you. That's all she cares about.”
“I've got five bucks in my pocket. You up for a bet?”
A/N: I have no personal problem with Starbucks.
Tags: @wkndwlff
@kmc1989
@sagittarius-flowerchild
@dempy
@oliviah-25
@rosiahills22
@xoxabs88xox
@matisse556
@hardballoonlove
@lynnevanss
@pono-pura-vida
@tgmreader
@amgluvsbooks
@ravenhood2792
@djs8891
@shakespeareanwannabe
@penguin876
@tgmavericklover
@athenabarnes
@emilyoflanternhill
@wretchedmo
@shanimallina87
@crowsreadsarahjmaas
@mamachasesmayhem
@sky2nd
@jessicab1991
@rosedurin
@averyhotchner
@horseshoegirl
@roosteraloha
@b-bradshaw
245 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 7 days
Text
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader - We Both Know
Tumblr media
Summary: Simon broke up with you but you both know it was a stupid choice.
Notes/Warnings: Stalker-ish Ex!Simon; Soft!Simon; Insecure!Simon (a little bit); some smut (18+), fluff, cursing, typos probably
Words: 1642
He’s here. You know he’s here. Not because you can see him or hear him or feel him—he’s too skilled for that—but because you know Simon Riley like the back of your damn hand. And Simon Riley won’t let you go. He has not proven himself capable of letting you go. Not yet, not fully, and if you can help it, not ever.
When you close the door behind you and kick off your shoes, you don’t bother turning on the lights. You’ve spent nearly two months flipping that switch in your entryway, pretending he isn’t somewhere in your apartment. Two months of going about your nightly routine as if there isn’t an intruder in your home. Two months of ignoring the soft shutting of your front door or window once you’ve settled into bed. But you’re tired of playing this game, and frankly, you miss him—the man; not the ghost who has been haunting you, trailing you, hiding in plain sight.
“You've been watching me,” you announce into the void. 
A handful of beats pass but not for a second do you let yourself believe you’re crazy for attempting to converse with blackness and silence. Then the little cord on your lamp is pulled by thick fingers, illuminating the side of the apartment where he stands. He’s a shadow in the corner of your living room, drenched in black from head to toe, skull-printed balaclava included, and it takes everything in you not to rush to his side, shove that piece of fabric up over his chin, and kiss him.
“You've made it necessary,” he scolds; the first words he has spoken to you in nearly sixty-five days. It’s the longest he has forced you to go without hearing his voice, having been attached at the hip since you met; and having that smooth, deep tone in your ear is like soaking your body in a hot bath, sloughing off the wear and dirt and grime to come out renewed and refreshed.
You nod because you know what you’ve been doing. You’ve known your choices would bring him back to you. You hoped, at least. But you also hoped he would give himself and his stalker behavior up long before you would have to call him out. He’s usually much more possessive when you spend your evenings drinking and freely dancing amongst crowds, and the thought of you flirting with other men has always put him in a sour mood. You thought seeing it up close would make his vision go red, but he's held himself back. However, you suppose him watching and following you from a distance is better than not caring to watch or follow you at all. 
“You're not being safe,” he tells you. 
“You mean I'm doing things you're not happy with.”
Simon doesn't respond to that. He can’t, because you’re absolutely right and he isn’t the type to disrespect you by lying to your face.
“You broke up with me to—what was it—‘live my life’ while you're gone? Do you really have a right to be pissed at me for getting a head start?” you ask as you take steps further into the apartment and toss your purse on the counter. “If that's the case, maybe you should've dumped me a little closer to your deployment date so you wouldn’t have to witness it.”
Now you do feel him. You see him through the mask. He’s bubbling inside, the beginning of a boil, because he made a silly choice and doesn’t like to be reminded of his mistakes. He hasn’t exactly voiced that, specifically, but it’s the truth. It was silly. It’s also the truth—though again, not specifically expressed—that he regretted it the very minute he walked away from you, leaving you in tears because he is the one afraid of what will happen when the two of you face his first deployment in your relationship. He is afraid to come back home expecting a loving welcome only to find disappointment if you’ve chosen to seek out the comfort of another man. So, ‘Don’t let me hold you back, love’’ he’d told you. ‘Live your life, and I’ll figure out what to do with myself.’
Simon groans, grumbles, vibrates the room. He begins to close the distance between you until he thinks better of it and halts beside your couch. “I did it because–”
“Do you miss me?” 
“That is not rela–”
“Do, you, miss, me,” you press.
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple protruding under the balaclava. His fist clenches at his side. You don’t think he's going to give you the satisfaction, but then he sighs and says, “Of course I fucking miss you.”
Your breath catches in your throat and your vision starts to blur at the edges. Those words heal the bits of your heart that he broke when he left.
“Then don’t be stupid,” you say, crossing the room until your chest is nearly pressed against his. You rest your hand on his cheek, or what would be his cheek if not for the mask. “Don't make us spend your last week here apart from one another.”
With another exhale, his shoulders loosen their rigidity, and in that moment you know you have him.
“Fuck me, Sy,” you whisper. 
His eyes flick to yours. A flash burns through his irises.
“It'll just make it harder.” That pathetic argument betrays his actions. One of his palms instantly goes to your waist, gently tracing the curve. The gesture is so natural between you you’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it. 
“I promise it won’t,” you say. 
Then your hands slide along his shoulders to grip his biceps and you slowly turn his body until you can push him into a seated position on the couch. He lets you lead. He lets you staddle his lap. He lets you lift the mask a few inches and connect your lips as you grind your hips down, hardening him within his pants. 
Simon’s fingers squeeze your thighs. They travel to your hips, encouraging your movements, before they continue a path up your spine. With his tongue in your mouth, you lose track of his touch for some time until he’s settled on a placement for his hands. One wrapped around your waist, hugging you tight; the other woven into your hair, holding you in place as his kisses swell your lips, verging on bruising. 
“Come on, baby,” you mutter into his ear when you break the connection to breathe. “Don’t you want to be all warm and snug inside me? Don’t you miss how well you fit? Like my pussy was made for you, right? That’s what you’ve always said.”
You know how it sounds. It’s desperate and needy, but you don’t care. You’re begging, not just for the man who sets your body aflame, but for the man who altered the trajectory of your life when he entered it. The man you refuse to live without. 
“Love–” he starts, but his groan from the nibbles you give to his neck interrupts him. 
“You can rest deep in me for a while if you want. I’ll stay perfectly still for you. Or I can go nice and slow the way you like.”
Moving your head back, you stop the shifting of your hips and lock your gazes. You pointlessly wait for him to deny you. Pointlessly because Simon Riley doesn’t deny you in situations like this. The equal balance of your need for one another has made that impossible, so it doesn’t surprise you one bit when he nods in agreement.
Your thumbs delicately guide the balaclava over his nose, but you stop there. Only he removes the mask. It’s his right; his decision to show his face and to whom. You are one of the lucky ones, but you’ve never taken advantage of that gift. 
With one hand, Simon grips the top of his mask and jerks it the rest of the way off his head—hair sticking out in a million directions—as he sneaks his other between your bodies to undo the button of his pants. He lifts his hips, bouncing you on his lap, before you do the same so he can push his pants down his thighs. 
You don’t spend time marveling at the thick column of flesh he’s pumping with his fist. You know everything about his cock. Every ridge and valley from base to tip. Every vein. Every inch of him you have memorized, and you’re too hungry to waste another second without him where you want him most.
When Simon finally slides inside of you, you hum in satisfied delight. Like basking in the heat of the sun after the chill of Winter. Like the first bite of your favorite ice cream hitting your tongue. Like quenching a thirst. Like coming home. 
Simon’s head falls back against the couch and his chest heaves with heavy inhales and exhales. His eyes are closed, but you catch a hint of a smile on his face.
“We feel so good together, Sy,” you say, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his chest. “I want this when you return. Don’t you want this when you return?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then why deprive yourself of what you love? Especially when what you love wants you so bad.”
He lifts his head and reaches up to brush his knuckle from your cheekbone to your chin. “I was trying to make it easier.”
Palms cupping his jaw, you run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Fuck easy.”
“Love, it’ll be a year. No less.”
“I don’t care,” you swear. You start to rise and then you sink back down onto him. “I'll be waiting for you, Simon.”
347 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 8 days
Text
Yea. Used to get 16 when I was in my early twenties. Now it's 19 to 21 and I'm 27. It was annoying at first but now I'm ok with it 😂
Have you guys ever been mistaken for like someone younger?? When I was 14 I was confused for an eight-year-old even though I was developed, I'm 18 and now somebody thinks I'm 12 or 14 it's a never-ending cycle
21 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 9 days
Text
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader - We Both Know
Tumblr media
Summary: Simon broke up with you but you both know it was a stupid choice.
Notes/Warnings: Stalker-ish Ex!Simon; Soft!Simon; Insecure!Simon (a little bit); some smut (18+), fluff, cursing, typos probably
Words: 1642
He’s here. You know he’s here. Not because you can see him or hear him or feel him—he’s too skilled for that—but because you know Simon Riley like the back of your damn hand. And Simon Riley won’t let you go. He has not proven himself capable of letting you go. Not yet, not fully, and if you can help it, not ever.
When you close the door behind you and kick off your shoes, you don’t bother turning on the lights. You’ve spent nearly two months flipping that switch in your entryway, pretending he isn’t somewhere in your apartment. Two months of going about your nightly routine as if there isn’t an intruder in your home. Two months of ignoring the soft shutting of your front door or window once you’ve settled into bed. But you’re tired of playing this game, and frankly, you miss him—the man; not the ghost who has been haunting you, trailing you, hiding in plain sight.
“You've been watching me,” you announce into the void. 
A handful of beats pass but not for a second do you let yourself believe you’re crazy for attempting to converse with blackness and silence. Then the little cord on your lamp is pulled by thick fingers, illuminating the side of the apartment where he stands. He’s a shadow in the corner of your living room, drenched in black from head to toe, skull-printed balaclava included, and it takes everything in you not to rush to his side, shove that piece of fabric up over his chin, and kiss him.
“You've made it necessary,” he scolds; the first words he has spoken to you in nearly sixty-five days. It’s the longest he has forced you to go without hearing his voice, having been attached at the hip since you met; and having that smooth, deep tone in your ear is like soaking your body in a hot bath, sloughing off the wear and dirt and grime to come out renewed and refreshed.
You nod because you know what you’ve been doing. You’ve known your choices would bring him back to you. You hoped, at least. But you also hoped he would give himself and his stalker behavior up long before you would have to call him out. He’s usually much more possessive when you spend your evenings drinking and freely dancing amongst crowds, and the thought of you flirting with other men has always put him in a sour mood. You thought seeing it up close would make his vision go red, but he's held himself back. However, you suppose him watching and following you from a distance is better than not caring to watch or follow you at all. 
“You're not being safe,” he tells you. 
“You mean I'm doing things you're not happy with.”
Simon doesn't respond to that. He can’t, because you’re absolutely right and he isn’t the type to disrespect you by lying to your face.
“You broke up with me to—what was it—‘live my life’ while you're gone? Do you really have a right to be pissed at me for getting a head start?” you ask as you take steps further into the apartment and toss your purse on the counter. “If that's the case, maybe you should've dumped me a little closer to your deployment date so you wouldn’t have to witness it.”
Now you do feel him. You see him through the mask. He’s bubbling inside, the beginning of a boil, because he made a silly choice and doesn’t like to be reminded of his mistakes. He hasn’t exactly voiced that, specifically, but it’s the truth. It was silly. It’s also the truth—though again, not specifically expressed—that he regretted it the very minute he walked away from you, leaving you in tears because he is the one afraid of what will happen when the two of you face his first deployment in your relationship. He is afraid to come back home expecting a loving welcome only to find disappointment if you’ve chosen to seek out the comfort of another man. So, ‘Don’t let me hold you back, love’’ he’d told you. ‘Live your life, and I’ll figure out what to do with myself.’
Simon groans, grumbles, vibrates the room. He begins to close the distance between you until he thinks better of it and halts beside your couch. “I did it because–”
“Do you miss me?” 
“That is not rela–”
“Do, you, miss, me,” you press.
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple protruding under the balaclava. His fist clenches at his side. You don’t think he's going to give you the satisfaction, but then he sighs and says, “Of course I fucking miss you.”
Your breath catches in your throat and your vision starts to blur at the edges. Those words heal the bits of your heart that he broke when he left.
“Then don’t be stupid,” you say, crossing the room until your chest is nearly pressed against his. You rest your hand on his cheek, or what would be his cheek if not for the mask. “Don't make us spend your last week here apart from one another.”
With another exhale, his shoulders loosen their rigidity, and in that moment you know you have him.
“Fuck me, Si,” you whisper. 
His eyes flick to yours. A flash burns through his irises.
“It'll just make it harder.” That pathetic argument betrays his actions. One of his palms instantly goes to your waist, gently tracing the curve. The gesture is so natural between you you’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it. 
“I promise it won’t,” you say. 
Then your hands slide along his shoulders to grip his biceps and you slowly turn his body until you can push him into a seated position on the couch. He lets you lead. He lets you staddle his lap. He lets you lift the mask a few inches and connect your lips as you grind your hips down, hardening him within his pants. 
Simon’s fingers squeeze your thighs. They travel to your hips, encouraging your movements, before they continue a path up your spine. With his tongue in your mouth, you lose track of his touch for some time until he’s settled on a placement for his hands. One wrapped around your waist, hugging you tight; the other woven into your hair, holding you in place as his kisses swell your lips, verging on bruising. 
“Come on, baby,” you mutter into his ear when you break the connection to breathe. “Don’t you want to be all warm and snug inside me? Don’t you miss how well you fit? Like my pussy was made for you, right? That’s what you’ve always said.”
You know how it sounds. It’s desperate and needy, but you don’t care. You’re begging, not just for the man who sets your body aflame, but for the man who altered the trajectory of your life when he entered it. The man you refuse to live without. 
“Love–” he starts, but his groan from the nibbles you give to his neck interrupts him. 
“You can rest deep in me for a while if you want. I’ll stay perfectly still for you. Or I can go nice and slow the way you like.”
Moving your head back, you stop the shifting of your hips and lock your gazes. You pointlessly wait for him to deny you. Pointlessly because Simon Riley doesn’t deny you in situations like this. The equal balance of your need for one another has made that impossible, so it doesn’t surprise you one bit when he nods in agreement.
Your thumbs delicately guide the balaclava over his nose, but you stop there. Only he removes the mask. It’s his right; his decision to show his face and to whom. You are one of the lucky ones, but you’ve never taken advantage of that gift. 
With one hand, Simon grips the top of his mask and jerks it the rest of the way off his head—hair sticking out in a million directions—as he sneaks his other between your bodies to undo the button of his pants. He lifts his hips, bouncing you on his lap, before you do the same so he can push his pants down his thighs. 
You don’t spend time marveling at the thick column of flesh he’s pumping with his fist. You know everything about his cock. Every ridge and valley from base to tip. Every vein. Every inch of him you have memorized, and you’re too hungry to waste another second without him where you want him most.
When Simon finally slides inside of you, you hum in satisfied delight. Like basking in the heat of the sun after the chill of Winter. Like the first bite of your favorite ice cream hitting your tongue. Like quenching a thirst. Like coming home. 
Simon’s head falls back against the couch and his chest heaves with heavy inhales and exhales. His eyes are closed, but you catch a hint of a smile on his face.
“We feel so good together, Si,” you say, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his chest. “I want this when you return. Don’t you want this when you return?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then why deprive yourself of what you love? Especially when what you love wants you so bad.”
He lifts his head and reaches up to brush his knuckle from your cheekbone to your chin. “I was trying to make it easier.”
Palms cupping his jaw, you run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Fuck easy.”
“Love, it’ll be a year. No less.”
“I don’t care,” you swear. You start to rise and then you sink back down onto him. “I'll be waiting for you, Simon.”
347 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 10 days
Note
"“You know, I’ve been told I’m a phenomenal learner,” you hear, but it’s a much deeper sound than the curly-haired woman at your side is able to produce. The unexpected addition makes the sip of soda in your mouth travel down the wrong pipe, throwing you into a coughing fit.", "“Oh, shit,” the voice rushes out, snatching a napkin from the next booth and thrusting it in your face. You take it to muffle the sharp choking noises fighting their way out of your windpipe. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”" - oh, I love this!!! He just pops up!!! And then he is so sweet!
"It was almost two hours ago that you began feeling that same burning sensation from a couple of weeks ago, but you thought little of it, having scanned the room for him when you first arrived at the bar.", "He still found you. He still affects you." - I adore that you keep this sense of connection between them!!! It's so cool!!! And just adds so much to their relationship!!!
"“Fuck,” you mumble.", "“Name a time and a place, sweetheart, and I’m all yours.”" - hahahaha, this is so funny!!!
"There’s not a single uttering from the group of four as Lola and Gemma stare at you and Jake staring at each other. Neither of you is willing to break eye contact, and the tension becomes heavy, like rich honey—thick enough to drag your finger through." - your descriptions are amazing!!!!! So palpable!!!!!
"Jake shakes his head, clicks his tongue, and faces your table again. “Honestly, I know the feeling,” he says. His eyes connect with yours, puzzle pieces locking together until the burn starts to sear too deep and you have to look away. “It’s a tough spot to be in,” he continues. “And I can’t in good conscience move in on the girl whose laugh has made another man blush three times within the last hour.”" - this is just so sweet! I love the way you write Jake so much!!!
"You chew on your lip, trying to ignore his pull.", "Jake smiles; another thing you don’t have to see to know it’s there. You feel that grin just from its power alone." - again, I love the way you write their connection!!!
"You don’t know what he’s thinking. You remind yourself that you don’t care." - this is such a great detail!!! Just the slow surfacing interest and attraction!!! Love it!!!
"He sighs and drops eye contact. Like it’s too hard to maintain. Like he’s ashamed or confused or contemplating, or all three. Then he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue; he draws that lip between his teeth, biting down; he barely shakes his head before he rejoins your gazes." - YOUR!!! DESCRIPTIONS!!!!! A-MAZ-ING!!!!
"“Because I look at you now, and I don’t understand how it was possible,” he admits." - I am MELTING!!!! This is so touching!!!!
"For a man you’ve witnessed succeed in his every attempt at wooing women until you, you won’t deny that what he’s doing is gutsy and, you suppose, unworthy of being shamed. He’s resilient, determined, and you have great respect for perseverance, but in this case, it's not sufficient to rearrange your perception of him." - yesss!!!! The respect!!!! Love it!!!! What all good relationships are based on!!!
"He smiles; not broadly, not boastfully, but gently, sweetly, as if reliving a memory. “I asked Penny after you left that night,” he tells you. “It’s beautiful. Suits you.”" - again, I am MELTING!!!!
"Your woven arms tighten, pointed nails digging into your bicep. Don’t shiver, you command your body. Don’t show the tingling chill he just shot up your spine and through your limbs. You try swallowing through the ghost-like grip he suddenly has on your throat. The light grasp of wispy fingers that don’t aim to choke, but simply rest around the column. Possessive but not controlling. Also not really there. And you don’t appreciate the growing strength of his power to touch you without you being within reaching distance." - the description!!!! Beautiful!!! And again, this show of connection is amazing!!! And I love that you keep the magical feeling to it!!!
"He steps closer. His arm moves toward you, hand prepared to plant itself on your forearm, but at the last second, he thinks better of it and drops that limb back to his side. His fingers ball into a fist that tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He doesn’t know that you see him doing it, and then it stops. “Look, when you said that you're not my type, you were right. You were right. You're not right anymore. You only weren't my type because I'd never seen you before.” He takes a breath. “But I know I could swear that up and down, right here, right now, and you wouldn't believe me; not really; maybe not at all. So I have to prove it, don't I? I have to earn it.”" - this whole section is amazing!!!! The action, how Jake thinks better of touching her and how he is so respectful too and how he knows that he has to earn her trust and interest and her time!!! I love it!!!! Beautiful!!!
This whole chapter is AMAZING!!!!!
Thank you so much ☺️ 💓 This makes me glad I wrote part 2. It didn't seem like people liked it and one comment wasn't even about the story at all so I was kind of feeling like I shouldn't even bother.
1 note · View note
seresinhangmanjake · 10 days
Text
Thank you so much for reading 🥰
Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)
Tumblr media
Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.
You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.
While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 
You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.
Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.
Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.
Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 
His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.
“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”
You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.
“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 
“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”
Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.
“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”
Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”
Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”
“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”
You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 
“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.
A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did
302 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 10 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
531 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 11 days
Text
Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)
Tumblr media
Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.
You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.
While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 
You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.
Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.
Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.
Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 
His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.
“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”
You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.
“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 
“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”
Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.
“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”
Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”
Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”
“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”
You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 
“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.
A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did
302 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 12 days
Text
Thank you 🥰
Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)
Tumblr media
Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.
You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.
While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 
You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.
Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.
Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.
Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 
His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.
“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”
You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.
“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 
“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”
Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.
“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”
Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”
Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”
“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”
You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 
“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.
A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did
302 notes · View notes
seresinhangmanjake · 14 days
Text
Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)
Tumblr media
Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.
You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.
While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 
You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.
Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.
Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.
Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 
His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.
“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”
You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.
“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 
“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”
Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.
“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”
Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”
Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”
“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”
You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 
“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.
A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did
302 notes · View notes