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laracrofted · 3 months

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baby, i'm high octane (epilogue)

synopsis: on her 29th birthday, nora wakes up in her new home.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, swearing, smut (brief oral sex and shower sex), bradley is an idiot (affectionate), nora and jake are happy and domestic and in love. (wc: 4.4K)

note: i'm saving my sappy note for the end, but if you'd like all of the vibes, listen to daylight before or while reading 🩵

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TAGS: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @sometimesanalice @callsignspark @hangmanbrainrot @kandierteveilchen @startrekfangirl2233 @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @mlibbydp @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @kajjaka @roosterbruiser

On the morning of her 29th birthday, Nora is awake before the sun.

At her side, Jake is fast asleep, a pillow crease across his flushed cheek, visible proof of how early it really is because between them, Jake is usually the earlier riser. He’s such a morning person. It’s almost obnoxious.

During the week, he gets up at the crack of dawn – sometimes before, 4:45 AM sharp – and runs the five miles up the coast to Torrey Pines. He’s back with enough time to kiss a groggy Nora good morning and shower before he has to drive the half hour down to North Island.

It doesn’t make much sense logistically for him to sleep over during the week and drive an hour to and from the base – sometimes more with the evening traffic – but when Nora brought it up to him, watching a movie with him on the couch, tucked into his arms, Jake shrugged it off and said, “It’s worth it to me,” with a sweet kiss on her cheek.

Weekends are nicer, slower.

On a slow weekend morning – a morning like this one – Jake sleeps in. He does a shorter run with the intention of catching her still in bed after; slipping back under the covers, freshly showered with dripping hair, a clean soap smell to his skin; hoping to convince her to spend another hour in bed with him.

(She never needs much coaxing.)

But now, for once, Nora’s the one who is awake.

She rolls onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, at the exposed wood beams that slant overhead; listening to the steady rhythm of Jake’s even breaths at her side and the faint clicking sound of the AC switching back on – because Jake runs warm and Nora lived in the city too long to be able to sleep without some sort of background noise – and outside, the gentle sound of the songbirds, flitting between the branches of the lemon trees in the garden, chirping softly.

Is there enough bird seed in the feeder? She makes a mental note to check.

She gives herself a few more minutes to will herself back to sleep before she gets up.

She’s never awake this early. She shouldn’t let it go to waste.

Nora quietly patters across the room to the dresser and digs blindly around the top drawer for a blue one-piece she knows is in here somewhere. She doesn’t want to pull out her phone and use the flashlight, not when Jake is still sleeping so Nora continues to feel around in the near darkness in the mess of a drawer.

She’s actually been thinking about clearing it out, moving everything in it to the second drawer so…

So Jake can have his own drawer.

She’s never lived with a boyfriend before – never gotten serious enough with one to get to that stage – and while Jake doesn’t actually live with her, he has started to leave some of his clothes at her place.

It was unintentional at first. He'd come back from a run and throw his sweat-stained shirt into the hamper out of habit and forget to grab it from the laundry room. And then, Jake asked if Nora minded him leaving a spare linen-button-up in the closet for those nights when Nora wants to put on a little black dress and blow $50 on drinks alone at some beachside wine bar in Del Mar.

She has been finding his clothes here more and more and always ends up leaving them in the closet or folded on the dresser, but Jake should have a place to leave them, have a place here.

She finally finds the swimsuit and ducks into the bathroom to change.

He’s still asleep when Nora comes back out, chest rising and falling, steady like the sea, arm outstretched into the slight indent in the mattress where Nora used to be. She catches her lip between her teeth, smiling, and slips outside.

A pre-dawn chill lurks in the late summer air as Nora locks the blue door behind her and heads down to the beach. She’s grateful for her extra layer, a faded NYU sweatshirt that’s almost long enough to cover the hem of the linen shorts Nora pulled on inside.

She doesn’t see a single person on the sidewalks on her short walk to the beach. It’s quiet and calm, and within a few minutes, Nora kicks off her sandals and sinks her blue-painted toes into the cool sand.

Dropping her bag in the sand, Nora casts off the sweatshirt and shorts and stuffs them into the bag.

She wades waist high into the ocean and curses sharply under her breath.

A sunrise swim might sound very dreamy and all, but goddamn, it’s so cold.

“Fuck,” Nora hisses.

She sucks in a harsh breath, bracing herself, and swims deeper.

She adjusts to the cold after a few minutes – a few long and cold minutes – and after that, Nora floats on her back, letting the waves rock her closer to the shore and back out again, always keeping an eye out to make sure she doesn’t drift too far away.

It’s quiet out here and so still, and with sea salt on her lips, Nora lets her mind drift with the tide.

It’s been a little less than a month since Nora decided to stay in California.

At the end of July, Charlie helped her pack what little Nora had on North Island into a suitcase and a few boxes that ended up in the back of Penny’s garage while Nora went back to New York. She wasn’t there for long. She grabbed cocktails with a few of her friends who still lived there, shipped the rest of her stuff across the country, and hopped on the next flight back to San Diego.

She hardly left the house in the week that followed, busy unpacking her boxes in the cottage-style house, settling in to this next chapter of her life.

Natasha and Bob were kind of enough to come over and help her with some of the unloading, diligently washing and putting away the meticulously bubble-wrapped kitchen boxes, organizing the built-in shelves in the living room. Nora left Bob in charge of the latter and came back from a coffee run to find the books separated by genre and then alphabetized. She could’ve kissed him.

Jake and Bradley rallied Javy, Mickey, and Reuben into Nora’s own personal movers, and in a single afternoon, the Daggers carried in and unpacked the couch, bed, and bed frame and didn’t complain once. She had to promise them pizza and beer, but still.

Who needs movers when Nora has Uncle Sam’s finest?

From there, Nora has started to slowly furnish the rest of the house.

She’s been searching online and frequenting the local consignment stores with a very particular vision in mind, a vision of creams and pale blues; white linen and oak; sea shells and cowboy boots and gold.

Last week, Nora picked up the most gorgeous rug for the living room, one that picks up all of the blue accents and makes the whole room look bright and open. It’s perfect. It feels like a coastal dream, like hers.

It is hers, Nora reminds herself again.

She doesn’t have somewhere to go, somewhere to be a month from now, four months from now. It’s all on her time now. And damn, isn’t that something?

When Nora heads back, the mid-August sky is a patchwork of blues, denim clouds and fading stars and the barest thread of gold creeping over the horizon.

At home, she quickly rinses off in the shower and pads back into the bedroom.

She slips back into bed and snuggles into the crook of Jake’s shoulder, resting her head on his outstretched arm again, and Jake mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep and tugs her closer, breath stirring the strands of pale hair at her forehead.

She’s asleep within minutes.

Sunlight pours into the bright room and spills across her back when Nora wakes up again. At a much more reasonable 9 AM.

Stretching, Nora reaches her arms above her head and extends her legs in front of her, kicking into the sheets. She rubs the sleep from her bleary eyes and looks around the room. She’s alone.

A familiar shirt sits in a crumpled pile on the hardwood, like evidence, unmoved from when Jake cast it aside before bed, but Jake is gone. He even made up his side of the bed, meticulously straightening the sheets and pillows, stretching the wrinkles from the fabric. A military habit that’ll never cease to amuse her.

Huffing out an amused breath, Nora plucks the shirt from the floor and slips it over her head.

She wanders out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, following the faint sounds of movement in there.

She’s greeted with the sight of his bare back, ripped muscles and golden skin, rolling and flexing, as Jake moves between the pans on the stove – bacon, from the smell – and the humming espresso machine in the corner of the counter. Charlie gave her that as a housewarming present, and Jake’s made it his mission to make the perfect oat vanilla latte.

He’s humming a country song under his breath, one Nora doesn’t recognize.

It sounds happy.

She quietly crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around him from behind, setting her cheek against the strong line of his spine, and Jake makes a startled sound like a sleeping cat that’s been unexpectedly patted on the head. She secretly grins.

“No,” Jake protests immediately, shuffling to shield the breakfast from her view, voice comically close to a whine. "Go back to bed."

She laughs against his back. "No?"

"You heard me," Jake insists. "Get outta here. I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed."

Despite his words, Jake sets one of his hands over hers and intertwines their fingers. He has a spatula in the other hand, still pushing the eggs around the pan.

Grinning, Nora presses a kiss against a freckle on his back, against a dimple of muscle between his shoulder blades.

"I don't need breakfast in bed," Nora says. "Let's eat on the patio. It's beautiful outside."

She uses her most convincing voice, but Jake is stubborn, determined.

He gently argues – as if Nora suggested digging their breakfast from the Hard Deck dumpster – and eventually, Nora gives in with an amused shake of her head. He can win this round.

Mostly because Jake is adorably excited about the idea of bringing her a birthday breakfast in bed.

A few minutes later, Jake comes into the bedroom, balancing an iced latte and a few plates: blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. It's delicious, which isn't a surprise because Nora's come to learn Jake is a damn good cook.

Handy because Nora is only well versed in cocktail and dessert recipes.

When Nora's finished, Jake cleans up the dishes and brushes her hair out of her face. He kisses her cheek, her temple, the corner of her lips with a kind of reverence, like Jake can't stand to kiss her just once.

He ducks his head and murmurs, "Happy birthday, sweetheart," against her shoulder.

She catches his chin and kisses him, as honeyed and sweet as the maple syrup on her lips.

After breakfast, Nora gets a call from Bradley.

He's in the neighborhood – on his way to Penny's where, Bradley later reveals over coffee, is basically Maverick's these days – and wants to swing by and quote, see the birthday girl.

A cool breeze blows in from the coast, smelling like salt brine and sea lavender, so Nora shows Bradley to the stone-lined patio in the back and grabs a sweatshirt from the bedroom. She pulls it on over her linen dress on her way outside.

It’s only when Bradley raises his eyebrows that Nora realizes it’s a Dallas Cowboys fleece, one of Jake’s.

“Shut up,” Nora says preemptively.

She hands him a homemade Americano and sits next to him on the bench in the back, crossing her legs under the dress, looking out at the blue horizon of the ocean, a misty grey from the fog that lingers in the mornings.

“Didn’t say anything,” Bradley half-laughs, clearly holding back some joke about her being a born-again Cowboys fan. “Is Hangman here?”

She shakes her head and sips her coffee through a glass straw.

"He's with Javy. They're going for a run in Point Loma." A run that Nora practically had to push him out the door for because Jake wanted to cancel all of his plans for her birthday. Both sweet and ridiculous. "He'll probably be back in an hour if you wanted to hang around and wait for him."

"Nah, I'm alright. I see him too much already." She gives him a look, and Bradley cracks a smile and knocks his knee against hers, all playfulness. "I'm here to see the birthday girl anyway."

“And drink her coffee.”

He drops his shoulder in an easygoing shrug, brown eyes twinkling. “It’s good coffee, Rogers.”

She grins. “Thanks, Bradshaw. You get me anything?”

"Yeah, but I'll give it to you when I leave so I don't get punched."

He's wearing a cryptic expression, an I know something you don't know grin.

But before Nora can press him further, Bradley expertly changes the subject, distracting her with the latest gossip from the base, including Captain Mitchell all but moving in with Penny.

She still makes it down to San Diego a few times a week to hang out with Jake and see the rest of her friends. She pops down for the occasional night of cheap drinks and pool at the Hard Deck, meets Natasha for brunch at Little Frenchie, or spends the afternoon on Penny's boat with Bradley; but Nora will probably never see them as much as she did before. It's a strange and bittersweet feeling.

She's done with the documentary, and Nora doesn't miss the work, but she does miss seeing them every day.

Bradley drains the last of his coffee and sets the mug on the weathered wood of the bench. Another secondhand find from a neighbor who didn't need it anymore.

As if reading her mind, Bradley says, "We all miss having you on the base, you know? We all got used to having you around. It's not the same without you."

A faint smile as Nora says, "It's kind of weird, isn't it?"

"Don't you get bored out here?"

"So bored sometimes," Nora exhales, laughing, and Bradley chuckles, "but I really feel like I need to be bored right now. It's good for me." This is the longest break Nora has given herself in... well, ever maybe. She needs the space to recharge and breathe and feel like herself again. "It's nice to have some room in my brain to be bored for once. I felt so... scattered before."

"And I like it here," Nora continues. "I like having a place that's mine."

He goes quiet for a long and thoughtful moment, a slight scrunch between his brows.

“I’ve been thinking…” Bradley starts slowly, almost cautiously, testing the weight of the words. “I might want to move out of the apartments on the base and maybe get a house or something, I don’t know.”

She looks at him, surprised. “You do?”

He chews on his bottom lip. Nods. “Why not? My squadron’s stationed here. Maverick’s probably going to propose to Penny soon. I won’t be leaving San Diego anytime soon, and I’m not getting any younger. I want something that feels more… grounded, you know?”

She does know.

“Giving up on the bachelor life already, Bradshaw?”

A cheeky grin pulls at his mouth as Bradley shrugs again. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say that. I should probably start with the house. Take it slow.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“Yeah?”

An undercurrent of uncertainty leaks into his voice, and Nora softens.

“Yeah,” Nora reassures.

A moment passes, settles, and Nora’s lips pull into a slight smirk.

Noticing, Bradley asks, “What?”

“Don’t go too slow though. You said it yourself. You’re definitely not getting any younger.”

He makes a face, and Nora can’t hold back a laugh.

“You need to kick Hangman out,” Bradley grumbles, good-natured. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.”

Another laugh bubbles from her lips.

“He doesn’t even live here.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She ignores the pointed look Bradley gives her sweatshirt and continues, “And besides, I happen to like spending too much time with him. He’s my boyfriend.”

She expects him to make a disgusted noise or fake gag like Bradley did when Nora first called Jake her boyfriend in front of him, but Bradley watches her and doesn’t say anything.

Her leg nudges into his. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” A shake of his head. “Hangman’s happier. You seem happier. I’m happy for you. It’s nice to see for both of you,” Bradley says sincerely. He drops an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him. “I’m glad you’re here, Nora. Glad you stayed.”

Moisture pricks at the corners of her eyes, but Nora blinks it back and swallows the rising lump in her throat.

She leans into him. Presses her face into his solid shoulder.

“So am I.”

On his way out, Bradley gives her a hug and her birthday present.

She sits crosslegged on the couch and slowly pulls the crumpled blue tissue paper out of the gift bag until Nora finds a messily wrapped rectangle. He must’ve wrapped it himself. She smiles to herself and carefully rips the paper away.

It’s a small waterproof camera, complete with a wrist strap so Nora doesn’t have to worry about losing it in the ocean. She can bring it on her next morning swim or the next time that Bradley invites her out on the boat. It’s sweet, so sweet that Nora’s a little confused.

She pulls out her phone.

Nora, 11:24 AM: Thanks for the camera! So sweet of you!

Nora, 11:24 AM: Why’d you think I’d punch you??

Bradley, 11:27 AM: There’s something else in there.

Curious, she pulls the rest of the paper out of the bag until she finds a rolled-up shirt at the very bottom. It’s a deep blue, a soft fabric. She lets it fall open and holds it up to get a good look at the words printed across the front.

“Oh,” Nora says out loud, reading. “You asshole.”

Nora, 11:32 AM: Proud Navy Girlfriend???

Bradley, 11:33 AM: Do you like it?

Nora, 11:33 AM: What is wrong with you?

Bradley, 11:34 AM: Happy birthday, Proud Navy Girlfriend :)

She sends him back a picture of her middle finger.

A hour later, Jake comes back, and Nora’s on the phone with Charlie.

He strolls in the front door, headphones around his neck, shirtless and drenched in sweat. Sweat shouldn’t be allowed to look that hot on someone. It should be illegal… or something. His dog tags gleam from the center of his collarbone. His shorts are slung obscenely low on his hips, low enough to reveal the mole there, and admittedly, Nora has only heard every other word out of Charlie’s mouth since Jake entered her line of sight.

“Nora?”

A droplet of sweat runs down his neck and pools in his glistening collarbone.

“Uh huh.”

“Do you need to go?”

Jake stretches his arms, folding them over his head, running his long fingers through his damp hair and setting his baseball cap back down, and Nora doesn’t even pretend not to watch the ripple that passes through his abs.

“I, uh…”

He catches her, of course, and smirks – a slow and humiliatingly smug smirk – and it’s all Nora can do not to fan herself. She coughs.

On the other end of the line, Charlie snorts.

“I’ll let you go. Have a good birthday.” And Charlie adds knowingly, “Tell Jake I say hello.”

“Love you, bye,” Nora exhales and all but throws the phone across the couch, cheeks burning. “Charlie says hi.”

“Hi Charlie.” Jake pushes the bill of his cap up with one finger, like the brim of a cowboy hat, and drops a slightly salty kiss onto her lips. His voice softens. “Hi, sweetheart. Did I already say happy birthday?”

“A few times, yeah.”

His eyes gleam. “A few? That’s not enough.”

She bites her lip, grinning, and Jake presses his face into her neck, inhaling the smell of her perfume with a soft groan and also smearing sweat across her cheek. She wrinkles her nose at him and pushes him back by his shoulders.

“You need a shower. You’re all sweaty and gross.”

“You weren’t lookin’ at me like I’m gross,” Jake drawls. He clambers onto the couch and puts his full body weight – his sweat-covered body weight – on top of her. She makes a high-pitched sound of protest, which quickly dissolves into a laugh, and Jake shakes with laughter. “You’re pretty gross now too, sweetheart.” He puts his lips to her ear, and Nora shivers under him. “Wanna join me and conserve water?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nora says, which isn’t a no, feeling a little breathless.

Grinning, Jake allows her to push him off the couch.

He ends up on his knees on the blue rug and looks up at her, green eyes glittering.

Jake reaches for her ankles and pulls her to the edge of the couch, begins to slowly push the hem of dress up, one inch at a time.

“What about that shower?” Nora asks, watching as Jake pulls the fabric higher and higher, exposing more and more of her bare thighs, which part slightly for him, almost like a reflex.

“In a minute, sweetheart.”

He spins his baseball cap backwards – a move that should be douchey and shouldn’t even remotely work for her but infuriatingly, because it’s him, absolutely does – and bends down to kiss the center of her panties.

He licks at her through the fabric, drinking in the soft sounds Nora makes.

“Jake…” Nora exhales. She knocks his hat from his head, burying her fingers in his damp hair, pulling on the strands. “We should… You shouldn’t…” Her brain isn’t doing its best work right now, and Nora can come up with is, “Guests sit on this couch.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jake reassures, voice low and syrupy. “I’ll get it all.”

"Fuck," Nora breathes.

He slides her panties down to her knees and spreads his tongue over her, and Nora’s head drops back on the couch, hair fanning across the back.

His mouth doesn’t leave her until Nora’s come apart on his tongue. Twice.

After, Jake hikes her legs around his waist and carries her into the shower, hands spread across her ass, curled in her hair.

It’s slow and certain as Jake works her open with his fingers and pushes into her from behind, warm water misting on her face, dripping down her front; hot lips pressing lingering kisses along her shoulders and throat. He pulls her dripping hair away from her neck, slowly winding it around his fist, pulling her head to the side to lick a stripe up the side of her neck.

And all the while, Jake is murmuring in her ear.

Words full of praise and adoration and desire, and Jake smells like coffee and lavender shampoo and sweat and him, so very him, and god, Nora likes this, likes him more than she can put into words; loves this, loves –

It’s burning, molten hot, full of feelings, pushing through the soil like early spring flowers, and when Jake breaths her name, it sounds like three precious words stitched into one.

Around noon, Nora curls up in the arm chair near the front window, soaking in the feeling of the sun at her back, casting a shadow in the shape of her on the rug and the knotted floor boards. She loves the light in this room, gleaming, reflecting off the sun catcher that Nora hung in the window, sending a fractured light across the room in the afternoons.

It’s her favorite spot in the whole house.

She has a lot of free time now, and in that free time, Nora’s been sitting in this chair and digging through the buried files on her laptop; rereading old screenplays from college; half-written and abandoned drafts that Nora let her own perfectionism shred into something unrecognizable.

She’s been combing through the wreckage, hoping to make something new from the pieces.

And Nora finds herself coming back to the same idea – an ink-stained and half-formed whisper of an idea that’s lived stubbornly in the back of her mind for years now.

Something hopeful about losing your way and finding it again; about losing people and meeting them again; about soulmates, both platonic and romantic; about meeting someone and being absolutely sure.

She is scribbling in her journal when Jake settles into the chair within reach of hers.

He reaches for her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles, a smile dimpling his cheeks, crinkling the corners of her eyes. He’s humming again, something happy, and Nora feels like a firework has gone off inside her ribcage.

She says his name to catch his attention.

And then, Nora says, “I love you.”

And Jake grins in that easy and self-assured way that Nora’s come to love so much, like Jake knows her, really knows her.

“I’ve loved you since June,” Jake says easily, so easily it steals the air from her lungs. “Just been waiting for you to catch up, sweetheart.”

And just this once, Nora’s too happy to fight for the last word. She lets him have this one.

A year from now, Nora will be 30.

Not long after, Nora’s first feature film will come out. She’ll go to the very first screening. A small affair for her friends and colleagues and a few fans. She’ll wear a pale blue dress, and Jake will wear a suit and matching tie and pat his pocket the whole night to make sure the ring hasn’t fallen out, his grandmother’s ring.

That’s later. This is now.

And now, Nora’s 29 and in love and for the first time in a long time, the world doesn’t feel like it’s ending. It feels like it’s just beginning.

So Nora starts at the beginning. Starts with what she knows.

She opens to a blank page. And writes about love.

end note: i finished this last month and fell into a bit of writer's block – slash post-creation depression lol – and didn't want to actually edit what i wrote, my bad.

i love nora and jake and everything BIHO has become so much. i love being here with all of you, and i love you for reading it and being so generous with your words and your feedback and your attention. 🩵 i'm also hoping – please, writer's block, i'm begging – to write more in this universe so if you really want to see anything or want to know any of my random post-biho headcanons, let me know!

likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day, and i'd love to hear from you.

#listened to daylight on repeat the entire time i wrote this and cried #fic: baby i'm high octane #laracrofted writes #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x nora rogers #hangman x oc #hangman fic #hangman smut #jake seresin smut

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