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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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Pizza Box Puzzle Pieces - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake is a responsible drinker, he swears. But when you're stuck being responsible for the night, a very drunk Jake gives you all but one piece to a puzzle you don't complete until the morning after.

Contents/Warnings: drinking, fem!reader, typical hangman behavior, enemies to lovers (really more like rivals to lovers)

Requested: A thousand times congratulations on such an amazing milestone! Could I please have an espresso w. enemies to lovers with Jake ‘hangman’ Seresin? ☀️ - @saintlike78 THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS SINCE SEPTEMBER I AM SO SORRY MY LOVE i hope you still like hangman <3

WC: 5.3K / navi

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Jake Seresin is a responsible drinker. He keeps a rideshare app on his phone, he tells Bob (the permanent sober babysitter) that he needs to be cut off after 10:00 PM, and he gives Penny his keys before he even orders his first drink.

Tonight, though, she'd left them unattended. There they were, shiny and appealing, sitting on the bar. She had left to get a clean dishrag, he could just take them! Driving sounded fun now, less of a chore and more of an adventure now that his brain was blurry.

You watch Jake's eyes widen as he catches sight of his keys, and your hand darts out to snag them before he can. His reflexes are slow, and when he reaches for them, his hand hits empty counter space.

He looks around, bewildered. They'd just disappeared.

"Here, Bagman." You jingle the keys in your hand, and he catches the sound from the few seats down where he's sitting. His eyes drift aimlessly over to your hand, and brighten at the sight of his keys.

"Thanks," He drawls, his southern lilt far more noticeable now that he's running on autopilot, "I'm gonna-" he hiccups hard, his chest bouncing, "Head home."

He stands, wobbly on his feet, and treads forwards to take the keys from you. You raise them above your head, but he doesn't follow, instead slumping forwards as his hand grasps at thin air. His head hits your chest and Coyote catches your eye from over Jake's shoulder. You widen your eyes, flaunting the keys you'd managed to snatch from him.

All the pilot does is laugh, and then his attention is shifted back to the dartboard. Typical.

"Jesus," You grunt, pushing at Jake's chest. He straightens up again, eyes blinking open from where they'd been shut, "What did you drink?"

"I don't remember," He admits, and that's all the explanation you need.

"Come on," You reach for his pocket, his phone sticking out, "Let's call you a ride."

"Nooo," He darts away, almost too late to evade you, "That's my phone."

"Yes Hangman," You smirk, "I think you're smarter drunk than you are sober."

"But that's-" He fumbles with his cell, "You can't touch my phone."

"I want to get you home," You urge, once more reaching for the device in his hands, "Don't you want to go to sleep?"

"You can't have it," He insists, yanking the waistband of his khakis off of his stomach and slipping his phone dangerously close to his crotch, "Unless you-" Another hiccup that flutters his eyelashes, "-wanna take it."

The smirk he shoots you after shoving his phone down his pants contains lethal cockiness. You're surprised the sheer size of his ego doesn't knock you down, you're not sure how you're standing so close to him without running into it.

You glance down at his phone. It's protruding just enough from his waistband for it to be quick and easy to grab. But your hand has never been that close to Jake's dick before, and you're hoping it never will be.

"Fuck," You deflate, shoulders slumping as your fingers curl tighter around his keys, "Come on, I'm driving you."

"Take my car," He insists, as if he's forgotten you have his keys, "It's.. It's really cool."

"Can't wait," You gripe, slinging his arm around your shoulders, "Come on, one foot in front of the other, Seresin."

The cold night air hits you like a tsunami. It floods your thin shirt and seeps into your bones, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. You've never known it to get this cold here, and the skin-to-skin that Jake's shoulder provides against your own is your only warmth.

You prop him up against his car while you fumble with the keys, but before you can click the 'unlock' button, he's snatching them from you.

"I wanna- I wanna do it," He insists, gripping the pointed end and bumping it up against the panel on the outside of the keyhole, "It's my car, I wanna.. do it."

You give him a minute to figure out the key. After it passes you yank it from where he's been pathetically butting it up against the hole, still confused about how to slot it inside.

"Gimme," You grumble, sliding the key into the hole with barely a second's delay, "You're too drunk for this."

"I'm not drunk." He scoffs. He says it with so much sincerity, with so much raw belief, that you're surprised that it doesn't come into existence. You're surprised the alcohol doesn't drain from his system completely, and leave him his usual coordinated, upright self. But he's still leaning against his car, half-coherent and dizzy.

"Right." You chuckle, throwing open the driver's side door and unlocking the rest of the car, "Get in, Hangman."

He starts for your seat and you shove him away, "No, not the driver's seat," You groan, "Other side."

He starts for the backseat.

"For fuck's sake," You exclaim, grabbing his bicep to lead him around the car, "The passenger's side!"

You get him wrestled into his seat with no further drunken antics, and you relish the fact that you've gotten him calm for the night. He's anything but when you finally glance up at his face, though, great big tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

"You're mean." He whispers, his voice shaky. You've never seen such a pitiful sight, his big green eyes brimming with anguish that seeps down his cheeks in rivers of tears. "You grabbed me, and-" He waves his bicep at you, "And you manhandled me," He gushes, angst-stricken, "You're mean!"

"I'm sorry," You sigh, playing into his inebriated sorrow, "Are you okay, Hangman?"

He doesn't note the sarcasm in your voice, sniffling pathetically, "No. It hurts."

You offer a quick pat to the affected area, but he shakes his head.

"Kiss." He offers in explanation, 'Kiss it better."

"I am not going to-" You begin, rage evident in your voice. Then you glance back up at his eyes, filled with new tears.

It's a staring contest for a moment, but you break first. You hunch, bracing yourself for the most humiliating thing you've ever had to do when you pucker your lips and press them into his bicep.

It's firm. Fuck, you wish it wasn't, it holds up under your lips and warms them. It's intoxicating, your lips on his skin, so close to his chest. It's exhilarating. You have to get away.

"There." You grouse, practically glaring at him despite the blush at your cheeks as you straighten, "Better?"

"Yes," He whimpers, and it's small, broken, pathetic, "Thank you."

You shut the door without another word, letting him wipe his own tears.

His car is surprisingly nice. Where you'd expect fast food wrappers and condoms, you find an air freshener.

He grabs it excitedly, shoving it into your face as you start down the road, "Darlin' you gotta- gotta smell! It smells like ocean breeze."

It slips over your eyes and you strain to get away from it, "Okay, Hangman, okay! It smells very nice," You gush, giving him the attention he's seeking. He preens proudly as he hooks it around his mirror once more, but he doesn't settle into his seat.

"Those are cool jeans," He prods a finger at your thigh, and even though you know it's drunken rather than lustful, his touch makes you shiver.

"They were five dollars," You humor him, feeling him fiddle carefully with the ripped strands of fraying string showcasing your skin.

"Cheap." He murmurs, concentration far too heavy on rearranging the strings. Half of them have ripped beyond repair from where they were stretched over your thigh, but he seems to be playing with them like they're yarn to a housecat. You have the sudden urge to run a hand through his hair and see if he purrs.

"My house is that way," Jake points blearily through the windshield down a one-way street, "It's the big blue one."

"You live in an apartment," You turn the wheel in the opposite direction, "And it's not blue, and it's not that way."

"Oh so you-" He hiccups, "-know where I live?"

"I do," You nod, keeping your eyes on the road even when his fingers keep pawing at your jeans, "I've been there before. Remember? We had a movie night."

"Oh yeah," He nods, brow furrowed, "Payback spilled his water on my carpet."

"Not water," You snort, remembering the cheap liquor spilled over the shag, "But yeah, he did."

There's a bout of silence that follows your words, shadows ripping through the car as you pass beneath trees. The road is paved unevenly in a few spots, and Jake's car bounces on its tires.

"Woah," He grumbles, head bumping your shoulder after a particularly raucous pothole, "Look! Look they're in a- a heart."

You slow to a stop in front of his apartment and glance down to where his finger is digging into your thigh. The loose strings on your jeans have all been twisted and tied into a heart that overlays the rip, puffy and frayed where it rests against your leg.

"Oh," You let the sincerity of the gesture steal the breath from your lungs, even if it does come out of a drunk man, "That's pretty, Hangman. Thanks."

You unlatch your seatbelt, breaking his trance. The heart, tied at the bottom and woven through other strands at its apexes, stays tightly knotted into your jeans, and you wonder if you'll ever be able to get it out. It's the last of your concerns, though, as Jake fumbles with his own seatbelt.

He finally jabs just right at the button, though it's after a string of mumbled frustrations. You swear you hear something along the lines of "You're pretty." thrown into the mix, but you choose to ignore it so that your hands don't get sweaty. You probably misheard.

It's a wonder that he's able to get himself out of the car. He lands with a crunch of gravel onto the driveway of his apartment, feet planted firmly beneath him. You suppose he might have sobered slightly during the long, quiet drive, and you're just glad you don't have to press him to yourself anymore to keep him upright.

Thankfully, he knows which door is his, but he forgets that you have his keys. You keep a hand stuffed into your pocket, curled around them, while he fumbles in his pocket for them.

“Damn,” He hisses, patting his pockets and coming up empty, “My- my keys are gone. I think someone took them, we have to-”

“I have your keys,” You’re far too smug as you hold them up, the ring hooked over your middle finger, “Remember? That’s why I drove?”

“Oh.” His brows furrow, and the word adorable flashes through your head before you can stop it. As soon as you acknowledge it, though, it’s gone in a puff of smoke.

“I’ll do it.” You carefully shoo his hands away from the door, slipping the key in and turning it. His apartment is neat, you’ll give him that, but you suppose it’s because he doesn’t have time to mess it up. You toe off your shoes in the doorway, leaving them in a heap which he contributes to. His boots are going to muck up your white wedges, but you can’t care about that right now. What’s more important is making sure Hangman doesn’t head straight for his own liquor stash, which of course, he does.

“No,” You rush for the bottle he’s about to grab, “You’re cut off for the night. Remember?”

“No,” His brow furrows, and he stares at your fingers wrapped around his own against the neck of the bottle, “I don’t.”

At least you know he’s being honest. You pry his hand off of the bottle, setting it back on the counter and letting go of his fingers. You expect them to drop but they don’t, they curl around your own and slot your palms together.

You stiffen but he doesn’t seem to notice, his hand still enveloping yours in a gesture that sends heat rushing up from your fingertips and straight to your heart. You glance down first, then up at him, finding a gooey, lovesick smile on his face paired with empty eyes.

“Hi, darlin’.” He gushes, and squeezes your hand.

Fuck.

“Okay, bedtime.” You decide, trying to pry your hand out of his grip. He won’t let you, though, the more you pull the closer he gets. Until he’s pressed to you, his right thigh to your left, chest-to-chest, smiling contently at you.

If you can’t make him let go, you suppose you can move. So you do, you lead him through the short hallway, and flick the light on in his bedroom. His room is.. less neat. There’s clothes on the floor, and what looks dangerously like an old pizza box sticking out from under the bed. You decide to ignore it for time’s sake, your main goal is to get Jake into bed before he tips over.

He looks close to it now, stumbling towards his nightstand to snatch a necklace off of it. It’s a delicate silver chain, and there’s a pretty heart pendant on it.

“Look,” He shows it off, “‘S my mom’s. She gave it to me before I came down here.”

“That’s very sweet,” You croon, and all of a sudden you want to know more about Mama Seresin, “I think I’d like to see you wear that someday, Hangman.”

“That’d look silly.” He muses, eyes shiny as they rove over the charm, finally putting it down to look back at you, “But if you’d really like it I’ll do it.”

You suppose that if anything comes out of his drunken stupor, it’ll be a hell of a lot of blackmail material. Apparently he’s blabby when drunk, and you’ll definitely ask why he’s not wearing his mom’s necklace tomorrow when you meet for breakfast.

“Okay, Jake, let’s get you changed.” You hum, glancing around his room and peering apprehensively at his dresser. You turn back, intent on asking him which drawers you should avoid opening, and are met with-

“Jake! Put- put your pants back on!”

Your hands fly to your eyes to shield yourself from the sight of Jake Seresin’s Uncovered Crotch, but you forget that he’s still clinging tight to you, and he stumbles along with you. All you can do is let out a strangled cry as his outer thigh presses against yours, praying nothing else will.

“Put your boxers back on,” You beg, “And- and get into pajamas! Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Jake giggles, far too inebriated to read the room, “That’s what they all say.”

“I hate you,” You groan, and finally, he lets go of your hand.

There’s absolute silence for too long, but just before you can urge him to hurry up and get dressed, he speaks.

“You do?”

HIs voice is unlike you’ve ever heard it. Jake has a particular talent for boasting, and his voice often bleeds confidence, loud and strong and clear. Now it’s small, unsure and weak.

“Get dressed,” You huff, “With pants, please.”

You’re not eager to admit it, but you don’t hate him. Not at all. Sure, he annoys you, but he annoys everyone. He shoves confetti through the slats in your locker so that opening it triggers a snowstorm, he steals food from your plate when his own is nearly full, and he always, always knocks his knuckles against your helmet. But he’s never mean, he’s never insulted you or pushed you or demeaned you. So you can’t find it in yourself to hate him, even if you don’t always like him.

Or maybe you do. Maybe you bite back a smile when you find confetti on the ground, and maybe you bend over with your back to him just in case he likes what he sees. Maybe you steal his food right back, and maybe the best part of your day is when you make it a competition, and he practically crawls over Fanboy to try to nab a piece of your orange chicken. Maybe the rapping of his knuckles on your helmet makes you want to respond by bumping it against his chest, an urge you’ve never dared to act on.

Feigning hatred is much easier, you’ve found, than admitting love.

His voice cuts through your thoughts, still devoid of its usual enthusiasm, “I’m dressed.”

You let your hands fall to your sides with a relieved sigh, and though your vision is somewhat bleary from being covered for so long, you work with it, blinking until you can see his form, already under the covers on his bed and facing away from you.

“Okay,” You hum awkwardly, glancing around the room, “You’re gonna need medicine in the morning. And water, so-”

“Pills are in the bathroom cabinet, there’s a cup on the counter.” He drawls, voice muffled by his pillow.

You bustle off to gather those, and when you reenter his bedroom you find him staring at the wall. It’s a sad expression, an empty one, but you suppose that’s what binge drinking does to a man.

“I’m gonna head out,” You speak to his back, setting the pills and glass down on his nightstand, “Are you.. gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” He hums, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” You mumble, more than ready to flee the awkward scene, “Bye, Jake.”

“Do you really hate me?”

You freeze in the doorway, heart thudding in your chest. You turn slow, your eyes meeting Jake’s before your body faces him, giving you enough time to figure out a response.

“No,” You speak carefully, “I- I was just teasing, Jake. I don’t hate you.”

“You’re sure?” He peers up anxiously at you, looking more like a scared child than a naval aviator, “You really don’t?”

“I’m sure,” You nod, gracing him with a soft smile to soothe his nerves, “I don’t hate you, Jake.” “Okay,” He breathes, his frown flattening out into a neutral expression as his eyes drink you in, “Thanks, Y/N. For taking care of me.”

“Anytime,” You promise, and you mean it more than you’ll let on, “Get some rest, Jake, we’re meeting for breakfast at nine tomorrow.”

He nods, and that’s your cue to leave. Your shoes are still by the door, and you slip them on, fiddling with the straps. When you straighten up from where you’d hunched over you spot Jake’s keys where you’d left them on his entryway table, and realize he won’t know where they are in the morning. You don’t want him to panic, so you scoop them up, knowing that his door auto-locks behind him as a part of the apartment’s security features. You’ll be able to leave without the keys, and he won’t be at risk overnight.

You pad quietly back into his room, intent on setting the keys by the glass of water and leaving. But you realize that he’s already asleep, the magic of booze eliciting soft, even breaths from him that ricochet off of the pillow he’s smushed against and blow his hair back. You stifle a giggle at the sight, and pride yourself for how much self control it takes not to record it.

You set the keys down, and your heel catches on the pizza box beneath his bed. Your nose wrinkles, and you decide there’s no good reason for Jake to be keeping old food under his bed, of all places.

You pick it up and it feels nearly empty, prompting confusion on your part. Pizza is not weightless.

Maybe you should, maybe you shouldn’t, but you decide to flip the lid open. You brace the box on his nightstand and pop the top, your eyes landing on a collection of memorabilia inside, not cheese and bread.

You recognize a chubby baby as Jake himself, a slightly aged photo that looks delicate. You bite back a soft smile, but decide that his baby pictures are none of your business, fingers ghosting over the lid to shut it once more now that you know he’s not hoarding Papa John’s beneath his mattress.

Just before the lid closes, your heart stops. Your eyes catch a picture of just about the last face you’d ever expect to see in a pizza box under Jake Seresin’s bed: your own. It’s a picture of you talking to Payback, eyes shut and crinkled at the corners, mouth open in a laugh you’re sure was less-than-graceful at whatever the other aviator had said. You pick the photo up, pushing away a jewelry box that’s lying on top of its corner, and finding dozens more of your squadron beneath it. There’s one flipped on its front, and Jake’s scrawled sharpie over it, ‘Rooster being dumb. 6-07-2022.’

Upon inspection, the photo is of Bradley making a fool of himself. He’s halfway to the ground, foot caught in the sand as he topples over. You remember that day, you’d all laughed when he’d emerged with a mustache-full of sand.

You flip the photo of yourself, brows furrowing when the description is less-than-understandable.

‘Third time. 5-03-2021.’

Third time.. Third time you’d… laughed at Payback’s jokes? Definitely not, he’s quick on his toes and surprisingly witty.

Thumbing through each photo of you and your friends, the descriptions are all simple. ‘Natasha losing a bet’ showcases her rare defeated look, and of course Jake would have that documented. ‘Fanboy exhaling lemonade’ is self-explanatory, the substance shooting out of his nose in response to the Bradley-Sand-Mustache incident. The only ones you can’t figure out are your own, ‘First time. 4-25-2020’, ‘Second time. 10-10-2020’, and even, ‘Relapse. 9-14-2022;.

For the life of you, you can’t figure them out. You realize that you’ve been sifting through Hangman’s personal possessions far longer than you should have been, stuffing them all back inside the pizza box and sliding it beneath his bed. Something strange and confusing clouds your brain as you make your way to the front door, and you barely remember to listen for the click of the automatic lock when you leave.

Your apartment isn’t far from Jake’s, it’s only a few streets down, and you’d hitched a ride with Omaha to the Hard Deck anyways. You won’t make him pick you up to drive you three blocks.

There’s something infuriating about knowing that Jake writes about you in code. It’s like a mental game, and you’re losing. You ponder it all the way back to your apartment, and you dig your own keys out of your pocket to get yourself inside.

Your determination to figure Jake’s code out only transforms into insomnia, and you fall asleep at nearly three in the morning, alarms set for five hours ahead, wondering if you’ll ever find out what they mean.

Surprisingly, for how you’d left him last night, Jake is the first one to show up to Team Breakfast. Your typical spot at the local cafe is inhabited by none other than Hangman, checking his watch to see how late everyone was running so far.

“You’re here early,” You marvel, and his head shoots up to meet your gaze. He grins sheepishly, nodding, “I had too much of a headache to go back to sleep.”

“Oooh,” You laugh, “Tough luck.”

“Yeah. Reckon’ I drank a lot last night?” He asks, already grimacing in expectation of your response.

You take a particular pleasure in nodding, “You tried kissing Bradley.”

He hadn’t, at least, not on this particular occasion. Rooster has gotten his fair share of Drunk Hangman Love, as have you all, but this time he’d stayed away from anything too intimate.

“Shit,” Hangman grimaces, screwing his eyes up and plunking his chin to his chest, “I thought you said Bob was gonna start watching out for that?”

“He did,” You snort, “He saw it about to happen, and left before you could do it to him. He watched out for himself.”

Jake mumbles something, probably along the lines of ‘typical’, but it’s as he raises his head again, and the glint of something silver at his neck catches your eye. You squint, hard, glimpsing a familiar heart-shaped pendant pressed to his chest and outlined beneath his shirt.

“Oh my god,” You laugh, “The necklace! You’re really wearing it.”

He bites back a smirk and fits his lips to the rim of his water glass instead, “I told you I’d wear it. I’m no chicken.”

“Send a picture to your mom,” You suggest, “Tell her you’ve got her heart with you.”

His smile dims, something apprehensive in his eyes.

“You went through the box under my bed last night, didn’t you?”

You still at the question, your eyes wide, “What?”

“I heard you,” He admits, “I’m- I’m not mad, or anything. I just.. I know you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Even if he’s not upset, you feel awkward, like a kid caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar, “It was none of my business, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” He shakes his head, reaching back for the clasp on the necklace, “It was your business. Is, if..” He hesitates, face screwed up in concentration.

“Y/N,” He finally continues, necklace now pinched between his fingers, “This isn’t my mom’s.”

“Oh?” You pry cautiously, “Who’s is it, then?”

“Yours.” He admits, and your brows furrow.

“It’s not mine, I’ve never had one like that. I- I guess someone must have left it at your apartment or something, maybe Phoenix?”

“No,” He sighs, eyes screwed shut, “I mean- I mean I bought it for you.”

“You,, you bought that necklace.. for me?”

“Yeah,” He nods, “Did you see the box in there?”

You nod, recalling the teal case.

“I bought it for you for your birthday last year. Chickened out before I could give it to you, though. That’s why I had to give you half a bottle of whiskey.”

His lackluster birthday present made a lot more sense now.

“I know you saw the pictures I’ve got of you,” He continues, keeping his eyes on the pendant of the necklace that he’s pressing against his thumb, “I just thought.. I’d get everything off my chest.”

“First time..” You recall, and he raises his eyes to you questioningly.

“The pictures of me,” You prompt him, “On the back, you had little.. notes? Captions? Whatever, they said first time, second time, third time, relapse. What did those mean?”

He stares at you, the prolonged eye contact making you squirm.

“You sure you don’t hate me?” He asks, just as timid as he had the night before.

“Jake- of course I don’t hate you!” You promise, “Just- tell me, please?”

“They’re every time I fell in love with you.” He murmurs, and your entire world stops spinning. You’ve built it carefully on a foundation of Jake-directed sarcasm and a healthy distance away from your fellow aviator, and when the word ‘love’ slips from his lips the foundation crumbles. You feel everything collapse, every witty comeback, every dramatic eye-roll, every logical pushback. Nothing remains, except love. The word, the feeling, the sound of it coming from his mouth.

Apparently the demolition of your entire world takes too much time. Jake cringes, tucking the necklace into his fist and going to pocket it, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- fuck, I should have just shut my mouth. I won’t bring it up again, we can just forget this, and-”

“Stop,” You reach for his hand, covering his closed fist with your open palm, “Give me the necklace.”

He unfurls his hand, slowly, unsurely. His eyes linger on you, and he watches as you carefully scoop the jewelry from his palm, your fingers delicately brushing over the heart.

“You really love me?” You verify, keeping your eyes on the silver charm so that if this is some sick joke, you won’t see him break the facade. You won’t see the adoration in his eyes turn to mockery, the love to hatred.

“I really do,” He promises, “And I know that I’m not the best at communicating that…”

“What with the constant teasing and badgering?” You glance up at him for the first time since his confession, your view of his face obscured by your lashes.

“Yeah,” He grimaces, “That.”

“Can I be honest with you, Jake?” You bite the inside of your cheek, regretting admitting what you’re about to say before you’ve even said it.

“Yeah,” He breathes, and you think he expects the worst.

“I kind of like it,” You admit, and his frown breaks.

“I knew it,” He gloats, his grin wide and bright, “I knew there was a reason you never say anywhere I couldn’t steal your food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You groan, closing your fist around the necklace, “I haven’t responded to your confession yet, have I, Seresin? Don’t get too cocky.”

As much as you’re teasing him, he takes it seriously. His grin dims, and his eyes soften, worry pooling in his irises.

“I..” You start, eyes on the heart that still lies in the rips of your jeans instead of his own gaze, “I love you, too.”

“You do?” You think you’re starting to like his voice when it’s not brash and cocky, instead sincere and a little timid.

“I do,” You nod, glancing back up at him, “And.. I don’t really know what to do about that. I tried to ignore it, because we work together, and because I wasn’t sure you liked me back, but.. I do love you, Jake.”

“That,” He smiles, real and genuine, “Is something I’ve wanted to hear you say for years, darlin;.”

“Well. you should thank your inebriated self last night,” You laugh, letting him take the necklace from your fist and unclasp it, “You’re very touchy when you’re drunk, and I may or may not have seen your penis.”

“That’s.. not something I remember.” Jake grimaces, pausing with the necklace open in his hands, “Was it.. I mean- did you.. like it?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” You advise Jake, leaning forwards so that he can wrap his arms around your neck, “I’m not talking about your dick at brunch with our friends.”

“They’re not here yet,” He murmurs, and when you lock eyes, you take in the fact that he’s only inches from your face.

There’s a soft click as he clasps the necklace against the base of your hairline, then he drops it to your neck. The chain is cold, but Jake’s hands are warm where they smooth over your cheeks. You let your lashes flutter shut, lips already slightly puckered, waiting for the press of his own over them. You can’t be but a hair’s breadth away from kissing Jake when a shrill scream comes from the parking lot, and your eyes snap open with a start.

You turn, but he doesn’t release your face, instead pressing his cheek to yours as you both look for the culprit. It’s not Natasha you find with her hands clamped over her mouth, but Rooster, though the former is smirking.

“We carpooled,” She informs you, elbowing Bradley in the side, “We were only five minutes late, and you guys have already sucked face?”

“I gave her the necklace,” Hangman reaches over to show off the charm around your neck, “I, uh- asked for Phoenix’s help buying it. I didn’t know what you’d like.”

“Thanks,” You laugh sheepishly, though you’re not sure who you’re talking to. Maybe both of them, “Uh, is that Fanboy’s car?”

It is, tires crunching against spare bits of asphalt as he turns into the parking lot.

“Coyote’s in there, too,” Hangman groans, pulling back from where you’d been smushed together, “Let’s hope they didn’t see.”

“Oh, we’ll tell them,” Natasha promises, and her laugh can only be described as maniacal, “They each owe me $20, they thought she’d say no.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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So I finally watched hit man… idk why everyone was acting like Gary was bad??? Cause I still would’ve smashed LMAO

#someone sedate me #nerdy men and cowboys are my type #I like a man who’s philosophical #gary johnson #hit man

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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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Went with my mom and we both looked at each other like 👀 are you seeing this too?!?

#peak man form #save a horse ride a tornado #yee fucking haw buddy

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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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Exactly!!! 😁😁 and he’s just blissfully unaware

It’s a personal headcanon of mine that Tyler Owens actually sucks at predicting where tornadoes will be but the tornadoes just think he’s too sexy to disappoint and form wherever he is

Like they sense his aura and are like “fine 🙄 I’ll go there I guess”

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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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YALL STICK SEASON OKLAHOMA VERSION IS SO SO SO TYLER OWENS CODED IT IS AN URGENT PSA

And I am terrified of weather 'cause I see you when it rains HELLO??

And I love Vermont Oklahoma, but it's the season of the sticks tornadoes

And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed

And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim

I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas idk for this one so I’m gonna ignore this line lol 🫣

And I'll dream each night of some version of you

That I might not have, but I did not lose

Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

HELP IT’S BASICALLY PERFECT

#tyler owens #twisters 2024 #fic idea #tyler owens x reader #i’m obsessed #shower thoughts #the way this popped in my head and I ran to tumblr #butt naked typed it out

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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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Hehe I understand 😌

We Abide: Chapter Two

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary:It had started out as a small outbreak, but as weeks passed, it was clear there was no turning back. The disease spread quickly, and those who caught it and were unlucky enough to survive? Their minds were no longer their own, driven to hunting what was left of humanity. Your friend had gone West to help aid in recovery efforts before the world stopped, and now you found yourself trekking across the country to try and find her. You were fine on your own, only the company of your dog to help keep you sane, but your reputation catches up with you when a cocky man decides to tag along. (Apocalypse!AU)

Content Warning: General awkwardness between Tyler and reader, Exposition on Tyler, Reader takes a bath, Reminiscing on the past, Reader acknowledges the changes in her body (weight loss, muscle gain, scars, etc.), General worries. I think that's it, but PLEASE let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: ~3.3k

Series Masterlist || Playlist

The chairs scraped along the wooden floor as you, Bill, and Tyler all moved to stand. Cathy eyed the windows at the front of the cafe as the light creeped out, leaving shadows crawling in its wake. A frown marred her face as she grabbed the dishes from off the table, walking briskly back towards the kitchen. Bill hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, watching after her with a thoughtful expression on his face. He hefted out a sigh before turning to look at you.

“Y’all should go on ahead while there’s still some light out,” he sniffed, eyes flickering back towards the kitchen. “Those streetlights won’t stay on forever.”

“You going to be okay?” You asked, frowning slightly. The lights kept the snappers at bay, the Exodus Virus causing light sensitivity within its victims, but if provoked or hungry enough, they were more likely to engage.

Bill nodded, waving the two of you off.

“We’ll be fine,” he assured you. “Jus’ worry about yourselves for right now. Cathy and I’ll be on our way shortly.”

You nodded, grabbing your backpack and sliding it on over your shoulders. Mars whined at your feet, ears back and heavy pants letting you know that he was feeling anxious. You patted his head gently, lips pulling tight in an attempt to smile, though you’re sure it came across as more of a grimace.

Tyler waited patiently for you to get your things, green eyes studying you still as you walked to catch up to where he already stood by the door.

“No funny business, you hear me?” Bill warned once more, eyeing Tyler with a stern expression. Tyler let out a harsh breath as he scowled at the older man, cheeks tinged pink.

“Old man catches you in the barn loft one time,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two before starting as Tyler pushed the cafe door open, the hinges creaking slightly as the door stuck for a brief moment.

The cool, summer night washed over you, making you feel exposed despite the close cropping of buildings that surrounded you. A breeze gusted around you, stirring the leaves of the bushes and trees that now rustled in the wind. You shivered slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cool air kissed your warm skin.

“Come on,” Tyler urged, gesturing for you to follow him. “I’m just down the road.”

You walked close behind him, eyes flickering in a habit formed from your days on the road. The familiar sounds of bullfrogs and crickets graced your ears, and you found yourself longing for the summers of your childhood when you and Kate would run around outside catching as many fireflies as you could.

You tensed, arm reaching back to grab the handle of your hatchet as a twig snapped off towards your right. Tyler stopped, standing a little straighter as he took a half step in front of you, shielding your smaller form with his arm like he might push you back at the first sign of real danger.

The both of you relaxed as a rabbit hopped out from behind one of the bushes, its little nose twitching as it tasted the air. Tyler let out a curse as he dropped his arm, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair.

Your heart pattered in your chest as you almost bounced behind the man in front of you, staying alert but willing yourself to calm down. The streetlights flickered all around you, threatening total darkness.

Tyler pushed through the gate and into the yard of a modest, white one-story home. The grass was slightly overgrown and the walk leading up to the front door was cracked, but it wasn’t much different from the other houses that lined the vacant street. Tyler led you up the steps, the screen door creaking as he opened it and pushed inside the main door, holding it open for both you and Mars as you stepped through the threshold cautiously.

It was dark, but you could make out the silhouettes of various pieces of furniture. Tyler closed the door behind you, doing up the latch before stepping around you and further into the house.

“Just let me…” he trailed off, opening up the drawer of the console table that sat against the wall and pulling out a box of matches. He struck one, the tiny flame casting a halo of warmth in the room, and your eyes wandered to take in the decor.

Tyler began lighting various lanterns that sat strewn about on different surfaces as you wandered aimlessly. Several different paintings hung on the walls, mostly landscapes, and the different angel figurines caught your eye as you allowed yourself to run your fingers over them. Movement from the corner of your eye drew your attention away, and you turned to see Tyler watching you already.

“Didn’t take you for the old lady decor type,” you commented, a slight raise of your brow. He grimaced, eyes flickering down to the floor.

“I’m not,” he said, green eyes now looking at the figurine your fingers still lingered on. “This is my aunt’s place.”

There was a pause.

“Was…my aunt’s place,” he amended. Your fingers dropped back to your side as you frowned at him, a pang of guilt resounding in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No, don’t,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “No need to be sorry. She was gone long before the rest of the world went to shit. I’ve just never gotten out of the habit of calling it hers even if she left it to me.”

“You must have really loved her.”

He said nothing for a moment, jaw clenching and unclenching as he thought over his words. He slumped against the door frame, crossing his arms as he looked back at you with an intense expression.

“I did,” he nodded, sniffing slightly. “I still do. This was like a second home to me growing up. She didn’t have any kids of her own, but she treated me like hers. When she got sick, it was only right that I come out here and take care of her.”

“You didn’t grow up here?” You asked. He snorted, shaking his head.

“No. I grew up just outside of Fayetteville with my folks. Spent my summers here, though,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pushed off the door, swiping a hand over his mouth as he took a step towards you.

“You’ve got to be tired,” he hummed, eyeing you up and down. “Showers don’t work anymore, but I’ve still got some rain water from last week’s storm that you can use to wash up. It’s not fancy or anything, but I’ve got a tub you can use.”

You gave him a small smile, suddenly overly aware of the dirt and various other grime that clung to your skin.

“A bath would be nice, actually,” you told him, nodding. His cheeks tinged pink as he glanced away.

“I won’t look or nothing,” he muttered, shuffling on his feet, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m not a total degenerate, despite what Bill would have you think.”

“Right,” you hummed. “What’s that all about, anyway?”

Tyler rolled his eyes, a scowl already in place as he walked down the hall. You followed close behind, nearly running into another console table as he turned into another room.

“The old man caught me in the loft of his sister’s barn with his niece back when I was sixteen,” he explained, moving to strike another match. You watched as he lit the lanterns, revealing a modest bedroom with a four power bed pressed up to the side. Tyler shook the match out, tossing it onto the wooden dresser before pulling open one of the drawers. He rummaged through for a moment before pulling out a large, white t-shirt. He inspected it with a wrinkle in his brows before presenting it to you.

“This should work for tonight,” he nodded. “We can get you something that actually fits tomorrow.”

You took the shirt from him gingerly, holding the soft fabric in both hands as you nodded back at him.

“Thank you,” you murmured. Tyler stared at you, something in his eyes softening slightly before he blinked. He cleared his throat, walking around you once more and back into the hall.

“I’ll have to grab the water,” he explained, boots knocking against the hardwood as he stepped towards the kitchen. “It’s out in the garage. There’s towels in the bathroom cupboard. First door on your left.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond before he walked through a door off to the side, the hinges creaking after him and leaving you in silence.

The water was cool, but not unpleasant against your skin. You had grown used to a life without hot showers, even a life without consistent bathing. You had hated it at first, but it had become a luxury after everything had shut down, and now you took whatever you could get, especially if it wasn’t a stream or river.

Tyler had used a bucket to bring the water in, the contents spilling every so often if he jostled it too much, but after a few trips back and forth, the tub had been filled enough for you to submerge yourself.

“I’ll be out in the living room” he told you, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Just holler if you need anything, okay? I promise I won’t come lookin’.”

You bit back a laugh as you watched him.

“I know you won’t,” you nodded. “Mars will make sure of it.”

The dog in question perked up at the sound of his name, tail wagging slightly as he stood guard by the door. Tyler shifted on his feet, earning a low, warning growl from the beast. His eyes widened a fraction before taking a half step back.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, holding his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t tryin’ anything.”

You chuckled at the memory, sliding further down against the porcelain as you let your muscles unwind. You had already cleaned yourself with the bar of soap Tyler had provided you.

“Locally made using the milk from Marie’s goats!” He had grinned. The slight scent of lavender had served to soothe you, another luxury you didn’t come across often. You had always loved scented soaps amongst other things back before the world had ended. Kate often teased you about your overflowing cupboards and totes.

“You know, you should use some of them before you go and buy more,” she would often tease. You would wave her off with a scowl or roll of your eyes. The thought made your heart clench in your chest, and you let out a wistful sigh as you remembered the spa days the two of you would hold on random weekends. Face masks and nail polish would litter your counters, fresh boxes of takeout sitting on the coffee table as the two of you binged whatever reality TV show had piqued your fancy at the time.

The echoes of laughter filled your ears, and for a moment you were back in those moments. Cheeks hurting from smiling so hard, breathless laughter as you doubled over in desperate wheezes, and the warmth of home settling in around you.

You opened your eyes to stare at the dark ceiling, the candles around you flickering and creating a show of light that you watched for a moment.

What if you didn’t find her?

You shook your head, sinking down far enough that the water now covered your nose. Not finding Kate wasn’t an option. You would find her, and the two of you would spend your summer nights eating ice cream and talking about boys once again. You couldn’t give up on that hope.

You blew air out of your nose, watching as it bubbled to the surface. Heaving a sigh, you planted your hands on the side of the tub, lifting yourself up out of the water. Drops cascaded down your body, and you turned to look in the mirror that was placed off to the side.

You were leaner than you had been this time last year, fat giving way to muscle from the long miles of your journey cross country. It had been a while since you had really looked at yourself or given your appearance much thought, and you found yourself missing the softness your body once had. You had hardened in other ways too, the litany of scars scattered across your body a testament to the roughness of the road you traveled the past year and a half.

The early days had not been easy for you, often having to cut your days short from how unused to the physical exertion you were currently undergoing. Your muscles had ached and screamed at you, begging you to take longer breaks, but you had pushed through until your body had finally given out.

That had been in the early, early days before you had found Mars, and you had camped out in an abandoned house for a couple of days, barely able to walk the couple of feet to relieve yourself and cook up some food. You had trekked on once you recovered enough to walk without too much issue again, and slowly the journey had become easier for you. Your clothes had begun to grow looser on you, and eventually you had stopped at an old department store to find some new ones. To this day, it till felt wrong to take what you needed without payment, walking out of the stores without leaving money behind though there was no one there to reprimand you.

You turned away from the mirror, mind wandering to how you would go about finding something to barter with for more supplies. You wondered if Tyler had a rifle or bow and arrow lying around that you could use to hunt. You’d be surprised if he didn’t given how prevalent the act of hunting was even before the world had gone to shit. You made a mental note to ask him.

You had never been a big hunter growing up, preferring to handle the animals on the farm and leaving the hunting to your cousins. You knew the basics, of course, having grown up in the rural Midwest, but it had still taken you some time to get the hang of it again once you were out on the road. You supposed you could trade some of the trinkets you had come across in Branson if you really needed to.

The towel was surprisingly soft against your skin, and for a moment you allowed yourself to think that you were back home in your apartment in New York, drying off after a long day at work and Kate already on her way home with food for the both of you.

Mars let out a quiet woof that snapped you out of your daydream, and you hurriedly finished wiping yourself down before slipping on the t-shirt and boxer combo that Tyler had left you. You hung the towel up on the rack before quietly opening the door to the hallway, peering out from behind the door.

Light still flickered from the lanterns, casting shadows along the wall. Mars laid in front of the door, ears on alert as he stared down the hall. You opened the door a little wider to poke your head out, startling as a figure emerged from down the hall and letting out a quiet yelp.

“Jesus!” Tyler exclaimed, putting a hand up as the other gripped his chest, a look of surprise on his handsome face. It took him a moment before he realized that he was looking at you, instantly relaxing as he drew closer.

“You scared me,” you scowled, wrapping your arms around yourself. The corners of his mouth twitched into a threat of a smile, only stopping as your scowl turned into a full on glare.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t mean to. I was just getting the guest room ready for you.”

Your eyes peeled away to look down the hall at the door he had just appeared out of. Your irritation melted away almost instantly.

“Oh,” you murmured, shifting on your feet. “Um, thank you.”

“No problem,” he nodded. “I’ll warn you, though. It’s a little musty. Haven’t really had a reason to use it in a while, you know?”

“I suppose not,” you agreed.

The two of you stood in awkward silence, unsure of what to say to one another. It wasn’t until Mars let out a hefty sigh at your feet that either of you moved. Tyler let out a cough before giving you a sheepish smile, looking at you from beneath his long lashes.

“You must be tired,” he offered. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, stepping out of the doorway and into the hall.

“I’ll, uh,” he grunted, waving off down the hall, “I’ll get everything close up. If you need me, my door is just across the hall from yours.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, nodding and pursing your lips as the silence threatened to slip into unbearable awkwardness once more. Tyler studied you for a moment more before turning and walking down the hall, his silhouette fading into the inky black as he began to put out the lights. You lingered a second more before padding down the hall, Mars at your heel.

The door closed with a click as you pressed your forehead against the cool wood before heaving out a sigh and turning around. Tyler had left a lantern lit for you, giving off a warm, orange glow to the dated looking decor. He was right, there was a slight musty smell to the room, but you were in no position to complain. It was obvious he tried to keep the place clean, probably more out of habit than for being prepared to have any guests in the house. You wandered further into the room, taking in the floral comforter that laid on the bed, already sweating at the thought of being cocooned in the fabric with no air conditioning. You stripped the bed of the thick layer, reluctantly keeping the thin sheet on the bed. You had never been able to sleep without something covering you, no matter how hot it got.

You paused as you heard the floor creak out in the hall, a pause outside your door. You waited with bated breath before Tyler moved again, the sound of his own door closing across the hall. You doubted the man would try anything, even so, you placed your hatchet on the nightstand, slowly sitting on the edge of the mattress.

The sigh left your lips before you could stop it, the soft bed beckoning you to lay down and get some much needed rest. You’d only walked one day between Beaver Lake and Branson, but still your body was weary from the day’s heat. Mars hopped up on the bed with a wag of his tail, nose nudging you as you lifted your feet and drew the thin sheet over you. You leaned up to blow the lantern out, washing the room in darkness, only the moonlight filtering in through the curtains on the far side of the wall. Your eyes closed as soon as your head hit the pillow, plans for the next day filtering through your head until quickly and all at once, your mind drifted into unconsciousness.

A/N: Hoooooooooo boy these two are off to an awkward start lol I'm so excited to explore their dynamic moving forward! What do we think of Hatchet so far? Are these two going to warm up to each other? Will they ever get over this awkward stage? Let me know your thoughts on this chapter and the story in general! I can already tell that this is going to be a loooooooong fic.

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to receive updates on when I post, please follow my sideblog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! You can also find my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Another friendly reminder that you can support me as well by buying me a coffee on ko-fi! Until next time!

#any murderers would have to get through me first #🫡#💪

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thelomlisfictional · 1 year ago

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Ok I already love this fic so much!!!

The protectiveness (I see him reaching his arm out to protect his girl 😏) IS EVERYTHING!!!

And don’t even get me started on the awkward hesitation!!! Ugh so perfect!! ❤️❤️