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sunderlust · 2 years

Text

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader)

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation (based off right where you left me by miss tswift)

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date.

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin.

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.”

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders.

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose.

“What? Blood?”

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic.

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?”

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate.

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face.

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?”

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question.

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile.

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?”

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?”

“If they’re better questions, yeah.”

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.”

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?”

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-”

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.”

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.”

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.”

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?”

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?”

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?”

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.

It’s nice.

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.”

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help.

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.”

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly.

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.”

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game.

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?”

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.”

“He gonna let you write that other thing?”

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly.

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend - into the late hours of the night.

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes.

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?”

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.”

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well.

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask.

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ”

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?”

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down.

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now.

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.”

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.”

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.”

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -”

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?”

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.”

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?”

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?”

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling.

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?”

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.”

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.”

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?”

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.”

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home.

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?”

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.”

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.”

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?”

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?”

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes.

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?”

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -”

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!”

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements.

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake.

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?��

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -”

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?”

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.”

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse.

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response.

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour.

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.”

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls. He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it.

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.”

Ah, and the dream lives on.

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything.

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare.

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other.

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant.

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home.

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal.

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe.

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with.

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard.

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to.

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes.

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.”

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.”

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff.

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?”

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes.

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?”

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ”

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.”

“I’ll make it,” you insist.

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern.

“Yeah?”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?”

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.”

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back.

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight.

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one.

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji.

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -”

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?”

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.”

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?”

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?”

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in.

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.”

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.”

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.”

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?”

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.”

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this?

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air.

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.”

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit.

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you.

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating.

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold.

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back.

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now.

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!”

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth.

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone.

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground.

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.”

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.”

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground.

“Yeah.”

”…How long?”

He swallows. “Since New York.”

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?”

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him.

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin.

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern.

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can.

“Sweetheart -”

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened.

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.”

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

---

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.”

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward.

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around.

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem.

They’re not Jake.

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories.

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you.

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add.

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face.

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out.

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out.

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.”

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with.

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated.

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.”

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you.

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?”

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly.

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar.

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.”

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.”

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today.

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.”

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase.

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row.

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path.

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him.

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously.

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush.

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.”

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...”

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.”

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last.

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body.

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - "

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink.

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.”

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person.

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.”

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out.

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks.

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence.

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway.

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole.

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen.

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment.

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat.

He’s really here.

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch.

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.”

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice.

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.”

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming.

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him. “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic.

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?”

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?”

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms.

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.”

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.”

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend.

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?”

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?

People change indeed. In more ways than one.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?”

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can.

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, two Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ”

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.”

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully.

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...”

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.”

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.”

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.”

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest.

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #tgm fanfic #mine

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

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In the Night

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: You’re his once again, but Jake can’t shake the nightmares of where you leave him, this time taking your daughter with you.

Notes: This was another one suggested by an anon. It’s the slightest bit different, but I did my best. Mostly fluff, really, and love stuff. Hurt/comfort. I love how my plan was to make this a drabble and my brain was just like ‘nope!’

Part of the Oh, Baby universe, takes place between Oh, Baby and His Girls.

Warnings: I mean, nightmares, I guess. Idk if that’s a warning. Cursing. Probably it.

Words: 2419

Oh, Baby Masterlist / Masterlist

Oh Baby (Previous Part), His Girls (Next Part)

---

Jake didn't have dreams, and he didn’t get nightmares. He didn’t have mountainous worries or subconscious fears that could wiggle their way into the crevices of his brain to make themselves known after closing his eyes at night. He had clear goals and a planned future that nothing would, or ever did, stand in the way of. His pure drive didn’t offer spare time to imagine negative possibilities, and that way of living served him well. It proved an effective method to get him where he wanted to be. It got him into the Navy. It got him to California. It led to him participating in missions rarely offered to others. It was a way of living that eventually brought him to you. You, who immediately fucked up his balanced lifestyle.

Before you, Jake had convinced himself he had complete control over every element of his life, and that extended to his unconscious. Then you decided to walk right into his line of sight, and with one word from your pretty lips, you gained full access to the front door of his brain, which you thoroughly abused at all hours of the day. You made your mark and tossed a wrench into the well-oiled gearwork that operated his perfect functioning and completely took over. He lost control over parts of himself he didn’t expect, and from that very moment, his nights were filled with dreams.

In the beginning, they were sweet extensions of his time with you at the bar; innocent flirting and jokes—the times that built your friendship despite him always wanting more. Then there were kisses that you'd never shared suddenly seeping in and moments when he brought you into his bed. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t mind those dreams—liked them even, until he realized he was in love with you. After that, they changed. The longer he went without telling you how he felt, the more his dreams began to morph into punishments for being a coward that had him sweating and shooting up in bed. And once you disappeared from his life entirely, those punishments twisted into absolute torture. That was when he got his first true taste of a nightmare.

When you finally returned to him with your baby daughter, he imagined all of that would go away. He had you back, he had a beautiful little girl, and he was sure there was absolutely nothing else to worry about.

It was the third night of you being back in his arms that proved him wrong. The sweating returned; the gasping; his torso shooting up in bed. Painfully reminiscent and all of it more potent than before.

They were usually the same. You were walking away from him, drifting further with each step until your figure blurred with the indistinguishable background. You walked with ease while he felt he was trudging through seas of thick mud, the uppermost layer drying and cracking under the intense heat of the sun, only adding to his struggle to get to you. Eventually, he would wear out. You’d be gone, and he’d be up to his torso in mud so solid and dry it was practically on its way to becoming arable soil.

Sometimes they were worse—harder to shake off the next day. Those nightmares had Eve. Her tiny hand would be reaching out for him just before you pulled her away with a blank expression on your face and disappeared behind a maze of doors. In the nightmare, he always laughed at the cruelty. His mind let him know that enough doors to fill a funhouse made up the labyrinth that kept him from you and his daughter, and yet he didn’t even have the key to the first one. No hope of getting you back. A useless effort.

They always destroyed him.

—--

His eyes were wide open, too wide, staring at the wall on the other side of his bedroom as he tried to calm his breathing. His heart was a jackrabbit in his heaving chest; bedsheets damp under his palms.

For the twenty-second night in a row, he’d been forced awake by the nightmares, panic overwhelming his entire body, only to look over and find you safe and sound beside him. And if you were beside him, then he knew his daughter was bundled comfortably in her crib down the hall. The instant relief to his mind did not stretch throughout the rest of him.

Jake groaned and rubbed a hand over his sweaty brow. His nerves were shot. Overstimulated. They felt wiggly under the layers of his skin.

“Jake?”

He sighed. The concern in your sleepy voice grew with each night he failed to keep from waking you, and he hated the way his name borderline quivered off your lips.

“Go back to sleep, Honey,” he said, but you were sitting up before the words were fully out of his mouth. Stubborn woman. He would’ve chuckled but the energy to do so wasn’t within him.

Your fingers brushed back locks of his ruffled hair, then your palm cupped his cheek and you turned his head until your eyes met. Your skin was cool against his flushed face, and he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, holding your touch steady as he leaned into it. He never wanted to wake you, but goddamn did he love to savor in realizing the nightmares weren’t reality.

“Jake, what is going on?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

Your lips twitched to the side and you nibbled on the inside of your cheek. He knew what that meant; he was caught in a lie, one he'd told a handful of nights now, and that lie was beginning to bother you. He was ready to tell you everything, just to rid of the sadness in your eyes, but you beat him to it.

“Are you having dreams?”

Eyebrows raising, Jake’s lips parted. Your thumb grazed over the bottom one.

“I had them a lot, too, right before I came back here,” you admitted. “I thought there might be a chance you’d reject me and Eve.”

You shook your head when he started to deny that possibility, effectively stopping him.

“You didn’t turn us away; that’s all that matters,” you continued. The hand that was on his face slid down along his neck until it reached his chest. You lightly pressed against the pounding of his heart, helping it to ease. “So what is it? Was it that mission, or—”

Jake shook his head. The short three-day mission that he had mentioned and hadn’t bothered to delve into the details of barely crossed his mind. It was eight months after you disappeared, but compared to the emotional toll of your near year-long absence, that mission was nothing.

"I lose you,” he said.

You jerked back. “What?”

“For twenty-two nights straight,” he paused to take a deep breath, and on the exhale, he said, “I’ve lost you and Eve.”

He never intended to hide things from you, but something about speaking aloud the inner thoughts plaguing him didn’t feel possible without also giving life to them. He could picture them developing their own shape as they exited his mouth; like choking up dark, opaque masses of poisoned sludge. It was a risk he hadn’t wanted to take. But if he couldn’t tell you, he couldn’t tell anyone, and the mental strain was taking its toll.

“I can’t keep losing you, Honey,” Jake mumbled in the limited space between you. It was quiet, but it was enough. Your face crumbled. “I’m so tired.”

You were in his lap in a split second, your legs on either side of his hips and your hands back on his face, forcing him to meet the intensity of your stare. With your brow pinched, your eyes bore into his, searching for more than what he’d offered so far.

Whatever you were looking for, you found, and you said, “You know you’d never lose us for real, right?"

He shrugged as he lightly held your waist. “I lost you once before.”

“Not because of anything you did.”

“No one does anything in the nightmares, either. It just…happens.”

You ducked your head to invade the faraway look in his eyes. He kept doing that, without even realizing it.

“I told you we aren’t going anywhere,” you promised. You pressed a delicate kiss to his lips, then your thumb ran over them again as if to seal your taste against his mouth so he wouldn’t forget that you were there. You were there. He was there. Together and connected. “Baby, we aren’t leaving you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you asked. “Truly?”

He did, but he was silent a moment too long.

Your bottom lip—the one that had just been so sweetly pressed against his—began to tremble. Jake’s gaze was glued to it, not entirely understanding the sudden shift until a single tear dipped into the corner of your mouth. His eyes snapped up to yours.

“Hon—”

“I did this,” you whimpered, suddenly breaking in his arms.

Your whole body folded forward. And had he not been solid and sturdy and there to catch you, you’d have bled right into him. Not that he would have minded. There was no way to possibly be closer than for two to blend into one, and sometimes, that was exactly what he craved. There’d been nights he woke from the dreams when simply seeing and feeling you attached to his side wasn’t enough. He’d kiss you and run his hands over your body until your eyes opened and you accepted his advances, but even then, he wanted more. Needed more.

Your face was buried in the curve of his neck; your tears adding to the sweat-formed sheen of his skin. “You wouldn’t be dealing with this if I hadn’t been a fucking coward,” you said through your sniffles.

“No, Honey,” he whispered as his fingers glided down your hair. “You’re here, Ok? That’s all I care about. You and Eve are with me, and I know it. I swear I know it, Honey.”

It was then that he realized your fears and his were as solid a couple as the two of you. They went hand in hand, thriving off of one another in the darkness where you’d both hidden them away.

When you lifted your head, Jake wiped away the remnants of your sobs from your face.

“Why do you trust me after what I did?”

“Because it’s you,” he said without hesitation. It’s you, and you could break my heart ten times over and I’d still love you. I’d still want you. I’d still trust you.

Another tear threatened to trickle down your face and, like the others, Jake forced the straggler to disappear.

You sniffed, but in the aftermath of your sobs your nose was stuffed and you had to breathe through your mouth. Jake smiled at you as you calmed, but you didn’t return it. Instead, your eyes scanned over his face, taking him in the way he had when he saw you walk through Rooster’s door just under a month ago. Despite being spread over his lap, you looked at him like you were trying to verify how real he was.

"I love you."

The words were shaky, the anxiety behind your confession almost palpable.

He couldn’t stop from momentarily freezing. As much as he'd wished to hear it, it was unexpected enough to knock him off kilter. You had such a habit of doing that to him, of flipping his world on its side, and he didn’t any better understand how to appropriately act this time than he did the last.

Face falling further, you said, "I'm sorry. Maybe this wasn't the right time to—"

"No!" He rushed out, letting his hands slide around to your lower back. "God, Honey, I've loved you for-fucking-ever. I just didn't know you felt that way about me already."

Your head dipped forward, chin tucking close to your chest as your eyes averted from his. Jake glanced down to the narrow space between your bodies where your fingers were picking at your nail. Your thumbnails were shorter than the others—those that suffered the most abuse from your anxiousness.

Jake tucked the hair draped in front of your face back behind your ears. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed but you didn’t move until he put a knuckle under your chin and lifted. His brow pinched in question.

With your sigh, your shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he realized how tense you’d been.

"Jake, I—I loved you when I left,” you admitted. “I should've told you before now. I should've said it when you did, but…"

But? There was no but. Jake didn’t give a damn if you had some excuse, prepared or not. You loved him. You’d loved him for nearly as long as he loved you.

It made the time spent apart all the more tragic. You could’ve been a family from the second you discovered your pregnancy. Maybe he’d have asked you to marry him. Maybe you’d have waited to wed until Eve was born so she could be part of it. Maybe you’d be discussing the idea of having a second child. Maybe. But truthfully, it didn’t matter. Everything had fixed itself. Actually, no, Jake thought. Nothing had fixed itself. You had fixed it. You came back to him not because of fate or because the world demanded it of you, but because you loved him.

"You don't have to explain,” he said. His fingers wove into the strands of your hair and he made a gentle fist, pulling you closer. "Just let me kiss you."

Finally, you grinned. "Always."

It was soft at first, but then harder; lips parting and tongues brushing and hands holding one another tighter. The silence of the room was overtaken by heavy breaths and the subtle sound of bodies shifting over smooth bedsheets. He flipped you over so your head could rest on his pillow and he broke the kiss to look down at you and just…stare, for a little while. You didn’t stop him or hurry him along. You lay there as his fingertip traced the lines of your face, from your hairline to the sharp angle of your cheekbone to the curve of your chin. It ghosted over your kiss-swollen lips

“Don’t be scared, Jake,” you whispered. “You couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

“I never would, Honey,” he swore, sealing it with a kiss on your forehead before meeting your lips again.

---

A/N: *turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing*

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x fem!reader #jake seresin x female!reader #dad!jake seresin #dad!jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #tgm #tgm fanfic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin fanfiction #jake sereisn imagine #top gun maverick fic

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call-sign-shark · 3 months

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Navigation for Lost Souls

Are you lost in the abyss?

The name is Shark, I'm 27 and I'm a content creator. In this blog, you'll find everything I write/create my fandoms. I am mainly writing for the Peaky Blinders fandoms but you will also find a handful of works I crafted for Top Gun: Maverick and upcoming Grisha verse works.

I don't bite or at least not too hard, so feel free to jump in my DM and Asks, I'll be more than happy to chat with you.

Requests are semi-open and most works are 🔞.

Peaky Blinders

Direct link to Masterlist: Heaven in Your Eyes 🪽

Direct link to Masterlist: Tangled Desires 🫧

Top Gun & TG: Maverick

Shadow & Bones (Saga Grisha)

Heaven Lavey Shelby (Original Character)

Heaven's second masterlist

Hunger Games masterlist

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writercole · 1 year

Text

A Guardian Angel and Her Knight

Summary: Jake finally meets his match.

Words: 3700ish

Warnings: Fights, blood, unknown collapse (not an MC), toxic masculinity, Jake to the rescue

Credits: I did it all, unbeta’d.

A/N: Happy 2023, guys. We did it. We lived another effing year. We outlived the queen. Maybe we’ll be fortunate enough to outlive the king. And the human cheeto. ANYWAY - here’s the first fic of the year. It’s a 5 + 1 for @resanoona ’s challenge. Five times she shot Jake down and one time she didn’t.

The new batch of recruits were a rowdy bunch, always looking to prove their worth. Penny started to have so many bar fights and injuries that she hired an EMT on the weekends. She knew her Dagger kids would handle the security part of it if she needed. And she always threw a drink or two on the house for their troubles.

Tonight was the first night the EMT was on duty, sitting at the bar quietly sipping a soda between conversations with Penny.

“I said, leave me alone,” a female voice carried over the noise.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” a male voice replied.

Penny raised her hand to the aviators hanging out in the corner and signaled for her EMT to be ready.

“Hey, man, time to go,” a blond man said as he approached the drunken harasser, putting a hand on his shoulder to make sure he was understood.

“I ain’t done,” the drunk replied, shoving the hand off of his shoulder and turning back to the woman who was cowering away from him. “Why do you have to be such a bitch?” he growled.

“Coyote,” the blond called, his demeanor immediately shifting to a more defensive stance.

“On it,” his friend nodded and grabbed the drunk’s wrist. “I believe the lady doesn’t want to talk right now.”

The drunk tried to lift his arm, held firmly down by the bigger man’s grip. Instead of relenting, the drunk threw his other elbow back, catching the blond off guard, smashing into his nose.

“Seresin, you good?” the one called Coyote asked as his friend pinched his nose and blinked rapidly.

“Oh, I’m good, Machado,” he sneered as he stared at the drunk. “I’m very good.”

Without warning, Seresin spun the drunk around, throwing two jabs to his nose before landing a right hook to his jaw, the drunk falling slack against Coyote.

“Coyote, Hangman,” Penny yelled across the crowd that had gathered. The men looked up and she pointed outside and then at an empty pair of seats at the bar.

They nodded in understanding and tossed the man out the front door, sliding into the two seats with fresh beers, not noticing the medical bag next to them.

“Okay Coyote, any injuries?” they heard from the side. Both men turned their heads to see a woman in an SDFD EMT tee shirt opening a bag of gloves.

“He didn’t hit me at all but he must have been contagious because I swear I’m looking at an angel right now,” Coyote drawled, sipping from his beer as he eyed her.

“Easy, sailor,” she chuckled.

“Oh no, sweetheart, I’m not a sailor,” he grinned, a million dollar smile that would have made her melt if she weren’t so focused on her job. “I’m a pilot. But you can just call me Javy.”

“Well, Javy, since you’re okay, can I take a look at your partner in crime?”

Javy turned to look at his friend and swore under his breath. He had a trickle of blood dripping from his lip and bruising forming around the bridge of his nose. Javy stepped behind his friend, letting the new EMT do her job.

“Alright, flyboy,” she smirked as she stepped in front of the blond, “tell me if anything hurts besides your nose.”

“It’s a little hard to breathe,” he replied, his eyes dancing across her face as she cleaned up the blood on his lip.

“Did he catch you anywhere on your chest or throat? Any history of heart problems, anxiety, panic attacks?”

“No, just my nose,” he denied, a smirk etched on his lips matching hers. “It’s only when I look at you that I can’t breathe.”

She rolled her eyes and pinched the cartilage between the bottom lashes of his eyes, eliciting a groan that made his smirk drop.

“Well, it’s not broken. Probably be sore and bruised for a couple of days. Just ice it and you’ll be fine, flyboy.”

“If you’re going to call me a name, call me Hangman.”

“Hangman,” he corrected as she turned to pack away her bag.

“Excuse me?”

“Your parents must have wanted you to go into executions. I think I’ll pass, thanks though,” she shrugged as she shifted her bag to the stool.

“Seresin, stop harassing my EMT,” Penny demanded as she set a round of beers in front of them. “On the house if you keep your mouth shut.”

“Yes ma’am,” Hangman nodded, Javy agreeing, both of them picking up their drinks.

“Stay out of trouble, boys,” the EMT called as they turned to walk away.

“Aren’t you going to tell us your name, angel?” Javy flirted, stopping a few steps from their normal position at the pool tables.

“Not tonight.”

“So you really didn’t tell them your name?” Dawson asked her partner as they pulled up to the scene of a call.

“No!” her partner laughed, “they insisted on calling me ‘angel’ for the rest of the weekend, too.”

They were laughing as they pulled their bags out of the ambulance, heading towards the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars.

“Well if it isn’t my healer,” a voice drawled from next to the cop car.

The two women paused and looked over, finding a blond man leaning against the unit, smirking.

“Friend of yours?” Dawson teased with a nudge.

“Something like that,” she chuckled. “Executioner, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“That’s Hangman, darlin,” he corrected, grimacing when he tried to flash his award-winning smile.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she flirted, batting her eyelashes at him. “Can I take him, officer?”

“Yeah, I’m done for now,” the officer acknowledged. “Stay available, sir.”

“Thanks. Alright, Executioner. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“If you won’t call me Hangman, how about Jake?” he offered as he stood.

“Nah, I like Executioner,” she smirked, walking towards the ambulance, ignoring the feeling of eyes on her, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the knowledge that it was her partner watching closely. “Sit. Lemme look,” she sighed, gesturing to the space on the bumper.

As he sat, she maneuvered between his knees, tipping his head backwards to get a good view of the wounds on his face.

“Are you going to tell me your name tonight?” he asked while she cleaned the blood from his cheek, hissing when she passed over an open cut.

“That depends,” she replied, her gaze unwavering from her task, “why do you want to know so bad?”

“I need to know what I’m saving your number under when you give it to me.” The uninjured corner of his mouth quirked up as he awaited her response.

She rolled her eyes and swiped a fresh alcohol pad across his split lip, grinning in the pained groan she received until she felt his hands tighten on her hips.

“Easy with that,” he sassed, “I’m an injured knight.”

“Is that how you got beat up once again? Being a knight for another distressed damsel?” she asked, a light smile upon her face.

“Mugger,” he answered simply, his fingertips digging into her hips once again at the stinging burn of an alcohol pad.

“And yet here you are, no better than he, holding onto my hips for dear life,” she bit back, her eyebrows quirked at his confidence.

“I’m sorry, is this distracting you?” he teased, squeezing once more.

“Not as much as the bravery you’re showing by touching a woman without her permission in front of two police officers,” she shrugged briefly, eyeing him curiously as she awaited his next move.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross a line or something. It was just a reflex,” he rushed out, letting his hands drop to his sides again.

“Well, since you did stop a mugging, I can let it go this time. You’re all done,” she told him as she stepped out of his space.

“I’m done? No stitches, no hospital?”

“No stitches, no hospital,” she repeated as she cleaned up her supplies. “Stay out of trouble, Executioner.”

“Correcting you again would do nothing, right?” he deadpanned, a mischievous twinkle making his tired eyes a little brighter.

“Not tonight,” she grinned before shutting the back doors of the ambulance and climbing in the passenger seat.

Dawson eyed her curiously, a smirk playing on her lips. “He was hot, girl.”

“Mhmm” was the only reply she got.

After a grueling 48 hour shift and very little sleep, she found herself leaning on the bar, fighting to keep her eyes open. The Hard Deck was quiet for a change, just a few sailors and pilots relaxing. She was grateful for the break but she also kind of wanted some excitement, something to keep her awake for the next few hours.

Her eyes had drifted closed during the silent moment, popping open when someone cleared their throat next to her.

“I don’t think you should be sleeping on the job, darlin. What if someone passes out.”

She sighed as she sat up straight, finding the annoying blond pilot that somehow ended up in the same place that she was. “It has been a long week, Executioner,” she groaned, “I’m too tired for your shit.”

“I could wake you up. Got a fool-proof method right here,” he smirked, gesturing to his crotch.

The sound of a bell ringing saved her from answering and made Jake drop his head, fully aware that Penny had heard him.

“Seresin, I told you to leave my EMT alone,” chastised Penny. “Maybe buying a round will remind you how to speak to a lady, too.”

“Sorry, Penny,” he mumbled, his cheeks and ears bright red. “I’ll, uh, I’m just going…good night.”

It took everything she had to keep her composure.

She had finally gotten some rest before a shift at the bar and was happily chatting with Penny when a ruckus from the pool tables drew their attention. They both looked up in time to see Jake push Phoenix out of he way and swing at a man at least six inches taller than him. The man swung back and then swept Jake’s feet from under him.

“Shit!” they both yelled as they scrambled to the fight.

Jake had fallen backwards and hit his head on the edge of a table, collapsing in a heap on the wooden floor. Phoenix and Bob were crouched next to him while Payback, Javy, and Mickey strained to hold the man back.

“Bob, I need you to get some ice and a cold rag,” she instructed, “and Natasha, please go to my car and get the duffel out of the back seat. It’s unlocked.”

“I saw him fall backwards,” Javy explained as he struggled against the guy he was holding. “I think he hit the back of his head.”

“Thanks, Javy,” she called over her shoulder as she checked the back of Jake’s head. She swore when her fingers found a wet spot behind his ear, pulling it back to see blood on her fingertips. Phoenix dropped the duffel next to her as Bob arrived with the ice and rag.

Jake started to stir as she put her gloves on, breathing a sigh of relief when his eyes focused on her.

“What happened?” he muttered as he tried to sit up, stopping when she laid her hand on his chest.

“Guy grabbed my ass and wouldn’t back off,” Natasha explained, “you squared up and got swept into a table.”

“And you need to relax until I make sure you don’t have a concussion, Jake.”

“You called me Jake,” he noted with a soft smile.

“I did,” she confirmed as she checked his pupil reactivity. “Do you know what I usually call you?”

“Executioner,” he answered with a soft sigh. “Because it’s synonymous with Hangman. You said my parents must’ve hated me.”

“I did,” she chuckled.

“And you still haven’t told me your name. I guess I’m going to have to call you my guardian angel,” he smirked.

“Okay, Executioner. That’s enough. Do you think you can sit up?”

Jake slowly rose to a seated position, the crowd around him clapping as he stood, bracing himself on Bob’s shoulder. He swayed a bit and reached out to stabilize with the back of a chair.

“Seresin, you alright?” Bob asked.

“Yeah,” Jake replied, “yeah, a little dizzy.”

“You also have a cut I need to check. Penny’s office.” She grabbed her duffel and followed behind Bob and Jake.

He was silent as she bandaged the cut, almost deep enough to need a stitch. His eyes were focused on the mirror reflecting her working. He made the decision that he had been pushing too hard and that he’d back off, letting her do her job in peace and not try to get the attention of someone who was uninterested.

“Okay, just take it easy until tomorrow and you should be fine,” she chirped, taking her gloves off and collecting her supplies.

“Uh, thanks,” he mumbled. “Listen, I know I can come on a bit strong sometimes and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“While I agree with you coming on a little strong, I was far from uncomfortable. Hell, you weren’t the worst guy I’ve had this year, much less ever.”

“Still, my momma would be appalled. She raised me better than that,” Jake admitted, ducking his head.

“Your momma?” she repeated, turning around with a smirk. “Are you a good ol’ country boy, Jake?”

He chuckled at her teasing, raising his gaze to her, “yes ma’am. Texas born and bred.”

“A true southern gentleman,” she smiled softly. “I’ll tell you what, Jake. I’ll forget all about the past if you promise to stop getting into trouble.”

He returned her smile, dimples popping and eyes crinkling. “Deal. But I’m still calling you my guardian angel.”

“Or you can call me by name.”

Jake was so surprised that he didn’t hear the first time she told him, and the second time, he swore her name was perfect. A perfect name for an angel.

“Possible heart attack,” Dawson relayed as she and her partner navigated the restaurant, heading towards the crowd gathered around.

“At least you aren’t my guardian angel tonight,” Jake smirked from the floor when the EMTs reached the center of the chaos.

“Jake, what happened?” she asked, kneeling next to the man who had become a friend.

“He collapsed on the floor when he was on his way back from the restroom. I started compressions and my date called 911,” he explained as he backed away, letting the paramedics take their spots.

“No medical bracelet, erratic pulse. Dawson, get the defib ready. Something feels wrong,” she detailed to her partner.

They got the man loaded up quickly. When she turned around after slamming the door shut, she was met with Jake standing with his hands in his pockets and a redhead looking on with arms folded across her chest and a scowl on her face.

“Is, uh, is he gonna be okay?” Jake questioned as his gaze wandered to the ambulance doors.

“I don’t know. Something feels weird about this case,” she answered, glancing over Jake’s shoulder. “You should go. Jessica Rabbit looks pissed.”

She turned and climbed into the passenger seat, signaling for Dawson to go, leaving Jake standing in the parking lot with a suspicious and angry date.

Jake was acutely aware of the presence of the woman he called his guardian angel. She must have been off duty because she was sitting with another woman, one he recognized as her ambulance partner, and having a beer. The two of them were talking and laughing, occasionally including Penny in their conversations.

He tried to keep his distance, to forget about her being there and enjoy the night with his friends but his eyes wandered over to her every few minutes. He was aware of the fact that she had worked her way under his skin effortlessly, embedding herself in his thoughts. He also knew that while they were friendly, she really hadn’t shown much interest in him.

Jake glanced up from his game of pool to see Dawson sitting by herself, deep in conversation with Penny. He scanned the bar, not finding the woman he was searching for among the crowd. Before he could jump to any conclusions, he heard his name being called.

“Jake!” Nat yelled from across the pool table, pointing behind him.

He spun around to find his friend maneuvering through the bar, a frazzled look on her face and a man on her heels.

“Phoenix, get Penny,” he demanded as he set down his pool stick and marched towards them.

“I said I’m not interested,” he heard her say.

“Oh come on, sweetheart. You know you want me,” her pursuer sneered.

“I said -”

“There you are, angel,” Jake interrupted, a megawatt smile gracing his lips. “Was starting to wonder where you had disappeared to.”

A look of relief flooded her features as she spied Jake walking through the tables towards her. She slipped her arms around him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. A shock shot through her lips the moment they met his, surprising her to her core.

Jake was unfazed, his arm wrapping around her as he played along.

“My bad, man,” the pursuer said, his hands up in surrender, “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”

“She shouldn’t have to have a boyfriend. She said she wasn’t interested. You should have taken the hint,” Jake snarled.

The sound of a bell ringing echoed through the busy bar followed by loud cheers. Jake kept his eyes on the man, a smug smirk fixed on his lips while his arm tightened protectively around her waist, keeping her back towards the man as Omaha and Harvard escorted him out.

“You okay?” Jake asked as he pulled back, his gentle gaze searching her face for any indication that she was hurt.

“Yeah, yeah I’m -” she sighed, “I’m good.”

“Let me know if you need me again tonight,” he told her, releasing her from his grasp.

“Actually, Jake, could we, maybe…talk? Outside?”

“Sure. Anything for my guardian angel.” He offered his arm to her and led her to the back porch.

“About that kiss,” she started, halting when Jake held up his hand.

“Trust me, darlin, there’s nothing to apologize for or feel awkward about,” he assured her.

“Even if I want to do it again?”

Jake’s jaw dropped and his hand fell back to his side. “I’m sorry, angel, you’re going to have to repeat that.”

“I know I’ve spent the last few weeks turning you down. I know it’s crazy. But you really do seem like a great, honest guy and when I kissed you,” she rambled, pausing to suck in a deep breath, “I felt something. And it could be nothing -”

She was cut off by Jake’s lips pressing against hers, his hands cupping her face. His lips moved against hers and her eyes fluttered shut, sighing contentedly when his tongue swept over her bottom lip.

He pulled back slowly, leaving his hands holding her face. Their lips were centimeters apart, shallow breaths mingling in the restricted space between his wrists. Jake’s eyes stayed shut for several seconds, savoring the moment.

“Wow,” he whispered as he opened his eyes, watching her lashes flutter.

“I -” she started, her voice barely audible as she searched the eyes of the man who, moments ago, became her personal knight in shining armor.

“So does this mean you’re giving me a chance?” His signature smirk was back on his lips as he let his hands drop.

“That depends,” she replied, looking up at him doe-eyed and fluttering her lashes, “am I giving my knight in shining armor Jake a chance or am I giving the royal pain in my ass Executioner a chance?”

“Darlin, for you, Executioner is dead and buried.”

“Then yes. I’m off tomorrow, too.”

“I will pick you up at seven.” Jake kissed her cheek and walked backwards towards the parking lot, a wide smile on his face.

“Hey Jake?” she called as he reached his truck.

“Yeah?”

“Why not tonight?”

A cocky smile flashed across his face before disappearing, being replaced with a softer, more genuine one. “You’re giving Jake a chance, not Hangman. Jake’s a gentleman, he wants to do things the right way.”

“And how is he going to find where I live? He doesn’t have my address or phone number.”

Jake chuckled as he took a step back. “You are going to go back inside and finish your night with your friend. And if you really want me to pick you up at seven, you can text me in the morning.”

“But how -”

“Trust me,” he insisted as he climbed into his truck and backed out of the lot.

She walked back inside in a daze, confusion written all over face. Siding into her spot next to Dawson, she reviewed the events that had transpired earlier in the evening. A hand waving in front of her face broke her from her trance.

“Where were you just now?” Dawson questioned playfully, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips.

“He’s not what I expected,” she muttered as she leaned on her hand.

“Hangman is a jackass, but Jake…he’s a good man,” the brunette pilot, Natasha, confirmed from beside Dawson. “You have no idea how much it pains me to say nice things about him, either. He’s a thorn in my side at work but every time I’ve been in trouble on the ground, he’s had my back.”

Jake slid between the sheets of his bed just past midnight, hoping for a few hours of sleep. As soon as his eyes closed, his phone lit up. Checking it, he found an unsaved number had sent him a few digits and a street name.

Jake counted his lucky stars and resigned himself to skipping the gym and sleeping in. He had a date to plan, after all.

#writercole #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin #hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman x fem #glen powell #top gun maverick #tgm fanfic

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averagewriter-inthedark · 11 months

Text

Hollywood’s Angel 🎬 | Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado Imagine

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado x actress!reader (romantic)

Content warnings: slight profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 5k

Requested 📨 Yes/no (for @stephthestallion 🤍)

Premise: Lights. Camera. Action!! Whether it be on the big screen in movie theaters across the globe or at home streaming the latest hit show, the name Y/n L/n would forever be known one of the world’s greatest entertainers. From humble beginnings the odds didn’t appear in her favor at first, but sometimes taking a risk could lead to endless opportunities. And maybe even love along the way…..

Note: This was so fun to write and I’m so sorry it took so long. I’ve been so busy lately with work and trying to get stuff settled. I hope I did this work justice for you 🥹 Also Y/Z/S stands for your zodiac sign.

—————————

“Hello, my name is Y/n L/n,” A beaming smile was sent to the camera once the producer gave a thumbs up. “And I’m here to do the Wired autocomplete interview.” She clapped her hands, “Let’s do this.” Handed a card stock with a printed google web search filled with blanks save for the, ‘Who Y/n L/n….’, her eyebrows rose with curiosity.

“You know I’ve watched dozens of these interviews in my free time. My favorite being the one with Ryan Renolds and Jake Gyllenhaal.”

“Have you ever searched yourself?” The producer asked off screen. Y/n’s response was a cheeky smirk.

“A long time ago when I was teenager and social media was first becoming a thing—you know when we had MySpace, but since then I have not. While I love the internet sometimes it can be a little,” she makes a face, “too much you know.” Focusing back on the card stock, Y/n takes a deep breath as the nerves start to arise. “I’m starting to feel a little worried but what I’m gonna discover is searched about me on Google.”

Her fingers grip the first piece of paper, reading off the statement as it peels away, “Who is Y/n L/n?” An instant chuckle leaves her lip, turning to the camera. “Y/n L/n is um…,” she shrugs, not sure how to really answer the question, “a 28-year-old woman who started out as a child actress in the mid 2000s. She’s a Y/Z/S, a newly-wedded wife, producer, and sometimes sings and dances or models in her free time.”

In truth, Y/n L/n was so much beyond that. Her name and legacy was embedded into history at such a young age the whole world knew who she was by the time she was 14.

Born to a middle class family in 1995 in New York City, Y/n’s parents were hardworking people who raised her and her siblings to appreciate the beauty in life. Though there were times of struggle, living paycheck to paycheck and having to sacrifice the lights in order to have food on the table, there was always love, support, and care in their family. Y/n witnessed her parents do everything they could to provide for them, her mom working double shifts at the hospital and dad on the road thirty weeks out of the year as a truck driver, and made the vow to repay them. Whether it be working her ass off in school in order to graduate from a prestigious university with a degree that would get her a stable career, or succeed in her dreams of breaking through in the entertainment industry.

Acting, singing, dancing. One could consider it the love of her life. Being on stage to a crowd made Y/n feel on top of the world. Playing dress up and house with her friends and family, pretending to be someone else was so much fun to the little girl. Y/n loved the little school plays she would do in preschool and kindergarten.

“One day,” she said to her childhood best friend while they swung on the swing set, “I’m gonna be on Tv like Disney Channel,” a squeal left her when she leaned back a little too far. “In front of cameras where I get to be someone else.”

Little kids always tend to dream big. Their desires and goals often shift. One day they wanna be a popstar. The next a veterinarian or an astronaut. But Y/n always knew what she wanted in life. To be in Hollywood with her face on the big screen for the world to see. To give back to her parents and support her family so they could accomplish their own dreams and aspirations.

She was destined for greatness. Now fast forward to the present, and Y/n is celebrating 20 years of being in Hollywood.

“Who was Y/n L/n’s first TV role?” The next question read, mentally traveling the actress back to the year 2003 when she was eight years old. She had been in Los Angeles to visit her grandparents and practically begged her grandma to take her to open auditions. Whether it was for a commercial or as an extra in a show, Y/n simply wanted to at least try despite being so young. She’d maybe auditioned for six roles in various media before getting a call back.

“My first role,” she begins with a grin at the memory, “was Rosie Whittman on Law & Order: SVU. Season five, episode 25 which was the season finale and the most viewed episode of the season,” Y/n remembered how intimidating the whole experience was, but loved every minute of it. “I was eight-years-old. No agent, no experience in Hollywood and was only in town to visit my grandparents for the summer. My grandmother took me to auditions that were open—because I didn’t have an agent and was a nobody,” she couldn’t help but laugh. “My parents obviously let me watch SVU as a child, but I wanted to audition for every open casting I saw so it took a lot of convincing on my part for my parents to allow my grandma to take me.” Boy it sure was a lot. Y/n was fighting for her life on the phone while her mother voiced disapproval.

“I was a pretty confident child,” a smirk takes her features, “I went in and did my thing—impressing the casting director, the producers, and Mariska Hargitay who happened to be there to do a chemistry read— since the character I was auditioning for was being questioned by Olivia Benson for what she witnessed.” Y/n pauses for a brief moment. “And yeah, Mariska was very impressed with me, going as far as to set me up with my first agent. I really owe my entire career to her and I love any chance we get to work together. She took a chance on me when I was just a child with big dreams with little connections and,” Y/n lifts her hands, “look where it got me. Here with Wired to see what people have been searching for about me over the years.”

After a few more questions about her personal life before she was an Emmy winning actress, Y/n moved to the next card. “What was Y/n L/n’s breakthrough role?”

Y/n made a face to the camera, “This is an interesting question. And I say this because depending on who you ask, the answer might be different.” She tilted her head back and forth, “Most would say Wren Stone—after all I played that role for nearly a decade. I got quite a bit of recognition in the 2000s as Viper in the X-Men films and of course as Padaline in the Hunger Games franchise—you could say people who grew up with those films know me best by that. But,” she licks her lip, “I would consider my run as Jodie Pip to be my breakthrough role.”

Jodie Pip, the longest running companion to the Tenth Doctor in the BBC hit series Doctor Who threw Y/n into worldwide recognition. After appearing in episodes of television hits like Criminal Minds, Grey’s Anatomy, Gossip Girl, and Dexter, Y/n took a risk by traveling to England in hopes of securing a main role in a show rather than a supporting one. She was itching to play a character for longer than one episode. And sadly, Hollywood just wasn’t doing it for her.

Therefore going across the Atlantic seemed to be the solution. A decision which would change her life for the better.

“Picture this: you’re twelve-years-old in a country you’ve only been to maybe once and this time around you’re looking to permanently move there. Your family is back in America waiting for the call from your Agent, who’s your legal guardian at this point, to tell them you’ve got a contract and will be there for God knows how long.” Y/n lets out a sign, reliving the nerve racking first few months in England with only her agent and Godmother with her. “It was a stressful time. I was losing hope while waiting patiently for a sign. Getting the call that I got the part—I was going to be the companion to one of the most iconic television characters of all time…” she shrugs as if it was obvious, “Getting to work with David Tennant, Freema Agyemen, Catherine Tate, and Alex Kingston….It was the best day of my life.” Placing her hand on the next slip, she adds, “I cried for a good couple hours—pure happiness.”

“Is Y/n L/n British?” A full blown laugh escapes, hand flying up to muffle the sound. “Oh my Gosh this is too funny. The amount of people I meet every year—whether it be costars, colleagues, or fans at cons—who are so surprised to discover I’m not British,” she raises a hand in defense, “It doesn’t happen quite as often as it did ten-fifteen years ago. And I understand why people assumed I was because for so long I played characters who were.” Making herself comfortable in the chair, Y/n explains her career further in depth.

“First was Jodie, who I played for three years from 2007 to 2010 and then again in 2013 for the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special. Playing her put me on the map in the UK. I was on Skins for several episodes, one season of Merlin. I had supporting roles in the Golden Compass and Nowhere Boy. And because I had worked with Steven Moffat and Chris Chibnall on Doctor Who, I booked Eurydice on Sherlock and Shania on Broadchurch years later—getting to work with the lovely, talented, and amazing David Tennant for a second time.” Y/n’s face turns semi serious, “I love that man. He’s like my work dad for real—he was at my wedding,” she counts off on her finger, “I was at his. I’m Godmother to his daughters..he’s my ride or die.”

Getting back to the original point, Y/n snaps her fingers twice, “But back on track. Jodie, Eurydice, Shania..then of course playing Wren Stone on Game of Thrones for eight years had everyone on the planet believing I was British.” Wren Stone was the bastard of Jon Arryn in HBO’s critically acclaimed series Game of Thrones based on the books by George R. R. Martin. A ward of the Arryn family due to her status, Wren was introduced in the first season and went on to become a close ally to the Starks as well as a one of the longest running characters on the show when she appeared in all eight seasons. A fan favorite, her surviving the last season was one of the only good things to come out of it.

Cause…well we don’t talk about season 8.

“The last BBC show I did, what had me move back to the U.S permanently, was Killing Eve since it was with BBC America. By the time I booked Hunger Games and Ellie,” she corrects herself, “Negasonic Teenage Warhead in Deadpool, people were like, ‘you do a great American accent.’ And I just smile and nod, going, ‘yeah, I’m from New York.’ Their reaction,” she laughs, “every time was priceless.” Going to remove the next strip, Y/n pauses and looks back at the camera, ending with a wink, “Considering I’m joining Bridgerton this upcoming season as Sophie Beckett, I feel I will be having this question come up again a lot.”

‘What are some movies Y/n L/n has been in?’

“Well,” the actress rubs her chin with a knuckle, deep in thought. “I’ve been in a few—give or take,” she winks again. “My first movie role was X-2 in 2003, playing Viper although the role was minor compared to what it was in The Last Stand and Days of Future Past. In Spider-Man 2 I was in the train scene for a brief moment,” she pauses to laugh, “now that I think about it I have been in several projects related to Marvel. X-Men, Spider-Man and Deadpool. Not to mention I'll be taking on the role of Felicia Hardy in the MCU—that I’m really excited for. Umm what else,” she clicks her tongue to think.

“I had a small part in Constantine with Keanu Reeves, who along with David Tennant is someone I’ve worked with several times and love him to death,” she points a finger up, “The Golden Compass and Nowhere Boy as I mentioned earlier. In the 2010s I was in several features like Snow White and the Huntsman, The Help, New Year’s Day, Furious 7. I was in Catching Fire and parts 1 and 2 of Mockingjay—again I would say is one of my most recognizable roles. John Wick Chapters 2 & 3. In 2017 I was in The Greatest Showman. Oh!” She exclaimed with a grin, “Can’t forget I was in three Bond films: Skyfall, Spectre and the most recent No Time To Die. Another example of why the whole world believes I’m from England. Honestly England is my second home and where my career initially took off. I miss it there terribly, but coming back to the States has been a blessing—being close to my family and getting to do projects in Hollywood which was my dream since I was a little girl.”

Biting her lip the actress finishes up with, “my most recent movie roles have been Annihilation in 2018, Knives Out, Dune, The King’s Man, Uncharted, and Mortal Kombat—both of which are based on popular video games.” If she were being honest, playing Mileena in Mortal Kombat was one of her favorite movie roles to date—especially after having to fight with the studio to give the character justice when they were the ones calling her for the role. As a fan of the game and character, Y/n wasn’t going to settle for a small cameo. Ed Boon loved her interpretation of the character so much he asked her to voice Mileena in the next installments of the game.

Not to mention in the last several years any project with Y/n attached to it already had support and a loyal fan base to promote the show/film. After winning five Emmy’s—for her roles in Doctor Who, Game of Thrones, Sherlock, and Euphoria—Y/n was a household name.

So yeah, she wasn’t gonna be cheated out.

“Last year I was in Elvis plus back to back features with A24. X and Pearl were a lot of fun—and we’re currently filming the final installment to the trilogy, maXXXine.” Moving on she revealed the next statement, “Who was Y/n L/n in Euphoria?”

“In Euphoria,” she clears her throat, trying not to physically cringe at the thought of its creator, “I played Rue’s cousin Reece, who like every character on the show was dealing with difficult issues. I did a lot of research into my role so I could remain authentic and true to the character and the real life struggles people like her face.” Y/n softly smiled, “I won the Supporting Emmy next to Zenday’s leading—and it was a wonderful feeling to be recognized for a fifth time by the Academy while next to one of my best friends. Zendaya and I met when we were teenagers and have been so close. Working together on Euphoria was a wonderful experience and I’m so blessed to have received the honor alongside her.”

‘What episode of Black Mirror is Y/n L/n in?’

“Nosedive,” she turned to the camera, “it was in season three with Bryce Dallas Howard and Michaela Coel—both whom I adore. Aaaaand the episode was terrifying.” She simply said with a blank expression. “Watching it back gave me actual chills because one day technology will be so advanced that what took place in the episode could become our reality. And when I read the script my immediate reaction was like, ‘this is gonna be intense,’ and sure enough it was.”

‘Does Y/n L/n sing?’

A childlike grin appeared once again, “I do sing! Anytime I get a chance to sing I immediately say yes. It’s something I love. All the time on set I’ll be humming a tune or belting out lyrics to whatever music is playing. I got to sing a lot in The Greatest Showman so I was very happy about that. It’s my actual voice in the karaoke scene in season 2 of Euphoria. The one at Maddy’s birthday party—I had to beg them to let me do it live and not pre recorded. So when you see Lexi, Maddy and Kate filming me it’s actually Maude, Alexa, and Barbie using their personal phones, not the ones their characters use.” Offering a smirk she finishes with, “A little BTS you may have not known.”

‘Who does Y/n L/n model for?’

“Hmmmm” the actress puckers her lips. “As someone who was a fashionista growing up, I am filled with gratitude at being able to answer this.” Where could she really start with this? Having been labeled a fashion icon in 2020 Y/n had a long resume of working with brands and designers. “To start, I am an ambassador for Prada as well as its subsidiarie Miu Miu. We’ve partnered together for years and I’ve gone to the Met Gala with them a few times—most recent being in 2022. I’ve done campaigns for Calvin Klein and Stella McCartney. I recently did a collaboration with Dior. This year I went to the Met with Chanel—wearing vintage Chanel and ended up doing a campaign with them. Donatella Vesache and I have worked together.” Y/n scrunches her nose, “Every year I look forward to fashion week as you can imagine.”

‘Does Y/n L/n have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?’

“If you asked me this the other day I would’ve said no,” she replies cheekily, “But….if you’ve seen the news recently then you would know that I’ve been selected to receive one this year and I….can’t even put into words the feeling. I better stop before I get emotional,” she felt her eyes well up slightly. “I’m extremely honored and blessed to receive such recognition. All I dreamed about as a kid was to have my name on one of those stars and now it’s coming true. I’m overjoyed.”

‘What did Y/n L/n win the Tony for?’

“I won the Tony back in 2018 for my role in Wicked.”

“Will Y/n L/n be in DW 60th special?” Throwing a look to the camera, smirk threatening to appear on her lips she goes, “I don’t know…you’ll have to watch and find out.”

“Is Y/n L/n in Stranger Things?”

“I am not, but I would love to be,” she shrugs with a smile. “I love that show and everyone is so talented. I can’t wait for season five—it needs to hurry up before I lose my mind.”

‘Who is Y/n L/n in Star Wars?”

“So I voiced the absolute badass and Jedi master Ahsoka Tano during Clone Wars from 2008 to 2014, returning for the Rebels series form 2014 to 2018,” she pauses to cross her legs to make herself more comfortable. This was one of her favorite characters to play and despite the criticism and dislike for Ashoka in the beginning, she grew to become a fan favorite in the Star Wars fandom. “I was thirteen when I first voiced Ashoka and I got the privilege to bring her to life again by playing her in live-action for the Mandalorian and Book of Boba Fett—not to mention getting to have a voice cameo in The Rise of Skywalker.” Y/n gets ready to move on, “Now you’re about to see Ashoka again for her spin off show coming this summer on Disney plus.”

‘What all has Y/n L/n and David Tennant worked on?’ The question made her chuckle, surprised it was a top search on Google.

“David Tennant—the man, the myth, the legend. I’ve been lucky to work with him on several projects over the years,” the memories appear in her mind as she recalls them. “We first met in 2006 after I got the role of Jodie Pip opposite his Tenth Doctor. That lasted almost three years but during that time we both did Clone Wars—he voiced Huyang and he actually will be retuning as Huyang for the Ashoka series.” The moment she got the news the woman had FaceTimed him screaming. Although he was only voicing the droid they still made plans to reunite since they hadn’t seen each other since before Covid when Y/n moved back to the states.

“Broadchurch happened a few years after we both left Doctor Who—around the same time as the anniversary special—and then I got to work with him again when I appeared in an episode of Good Omens as one of the demons passing judgement on Crowley. Finally I wanna say before the Ashoka series the last thing we did was Staged back when quarantine was a thing.” Y/n’s face turns serious, “Anytime I get to work with David I take it. Like I said, he’s my ride or die,” she crosses her fingers, “we like this. And I love when people send me those YouTube videos where it’s like, ‘Jodie Pip and The Doctor sharing a brain cell for 10 minutes straight,’ or ‘David Tennant and Y/n L/n being a father-daughter duo on and off screen.’ Really brightens up my day.”

A few more questions went on, Y/n answering as best as she could with details. Doing this interview really gave viewers a more personal outlook on the actress. She was known for being reserved and private in her career expanding two decades. As a child star, her agent really shielded her from a lot due to the cruel nature of Hollywood and the media. And as a result of criticisms Y/n only was active on social media when it came time to promote projects and events.

She had a large and loyal fan base. Probably one of the largest for a celebrity due to her being in so many popular shows and high-grossing movies. On TikTok she & her characters were the most edited when it came to fancams. Pinterest had its own board dedicated to all the outfits Y/n wore.

She was Hollywoods Angel. Fans loved her, celebrities adored her. Before joining the cast of Bridgerton she met them at the Bafta’s the year prior and had them all starstruck when she approached. Nicola Couglan, who plays Penelope Featherington, even mentioned in an interview how the cast pretty much lost their minds when they found out she would be coming onto the show.

“No one knew about the end credit scene at the end of series three,” she told Graham Norton, seated alongside her costar/leading man, Luke Newton aka Colin Bridgerton on the show. “It was a big secret between Shonda and the crew. After we wrapped up, they went ahead and secretly filmed the scene with Sophie getting ready for the masquerade ball,” Nicola raises her hands, grinning from ear to ear, “and when I tell you we all were freaking out.” The audience laughed, Graham leaning foward in his seat with an awe-struck expression.

“So how did you find out? Was it when you watched the finale?”

Luke was the one to answer. “When I watched the episode,” he points to Nicola, “and I think you said you did this too—same with some of the others, I exited Netflix once the credits started to roll. Not thining much of it,” he shrugs, “then later that night Claudia Jessie who plays Eloise FaceTimes the iMessage group chat we have—.”

Nicole gently cuts in, “I’m surprised so many picked up.” That ignites a laugh from everyone.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees as he sits up. “Luke Thompson, Johnny Bailey, Simone, Nicola, Bessie, and I all answer—one after the other—and Claudia is shouting, ‘Did you see the end credit scene!?!’ Of course I’m confused because I’m like, ‘what is this, the MCU?’” Nicola bursts into laughter along with Graham. “Everyone’s asking what the hell she’s talking about because we’ve all seen the finale and were texting about it—but nobody mentioned an end credit scene. It completely went over our head. So…as you can imagine we all turn our tv, still on FaceTime mind you, and low and behold not only is there end credit scene….but Y/n L/n is gonna be Sophie Beckett.” Just the name alone ignites eruption from the crowd.

“Wow,” Graham exhales, “And you guys met her at the Bafta’s last year, yes? I remember seeing a picture of you two and other cast mates from Bridgerton with her.” Nicola nods excitedly.

“We did. It was such a surreal moment. She was with her then fiancee and the Euphoria cast—it kinda looked like a school mixed with Euphoria cast on one side and us on the other. But she came over and we were all buzzing in the corner, ‘Y/n L/n is coming over here. Oh my God-oh my God.’ Most of us have been watching her since she was on Doctor Who so this was like meeting your childhood idol,” Nicola used her hands to emphasize the point, “And she expressed how she was a fan of the books and loved the show. She even made a joke like, ‘Tell Shonda to call my line.’”

“And did you?” Graham asks for the audience and viewers at home, on the edge of his seat. “Cause didn’t they work together before on Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal?”

Luke nods, “we brought it up during press for series 2. I forgot Y/n was on those shows actually so when I told Shonda I thought ‘there’s no way they’re gonna get her’.” He glances at Nicola, excitment on his features, “I think everyone is ready to get back to set and start filming series four. I know I’m already missing everyone and I’m excited to pass the torch to Luke and Y/n.”

Coming down to the final cardstock, Y/n was sad to end the interview. It was fun seeing what people searched on the web and giving a more in-depth look at her life.

Peeling back the paper on the final card, the statement read, “Who is Y/n L/n’s husband?” Cue the butterflies in her stomach, picturing the man’s gorgeous face. “My husband is Lieutenant Commander Javy Machado. Although he is known to his colleagues as ‘Coyote’.” Lowering the cardstock she went on to say, “Javy and I met four years ago in 2019, he’s a fighter pilot for the Navy and was stationed in San Diego for an assignment. It happened to coincide at the time I was filming a small part in ‘Friend of the World’.” A small independent film her friend was producing and asked if she would take a small role to help promote the project. It’d been the first film Y/n had taken on after moving back to the States following her nearly 12 year residence in the United Kingdom.

If she thought hard enough, Y/n could feel the warmth of the sun on her arms and smell of the ocean salt water as her eyes landed on a group of people playing football with two balls. Instantly drawn to the man sticking his tongue out at his friends when running backwards to the end line. “My costars and I had wrapped up for the day and decided to go to the beach. We were waiting for this bar to open at five so we strolled for a good bit to pass time. That’s where I saw him playing football with his colleagues,” a shy smile stayed on her lips the entire time Y/n relayed the story.

“And then when the bar opened that night we formally met.” Man what a night it was. Every social media platform was buzzing with pictures and videos of Y/n behind the bar of The Hard Deck surrounded by patrons. The bartender, Penny, was so cool and didn’t mind the actors coming in despite the madhouse they caused. She did, however, have to close the doors once it got too packed due to locals sending word the five-time Emmy award winning actress was there. Before she knew it, Y/n was making drinks with her while taking pictures and signing autographs to everyone who approached. Y/n even rang the bell a couple times and bought the first round for those in attendance.

And when Javy appeared in front of her, it was like time had stopped. The noise eloping them was muffled, movement slowed to where the only clear focus was on each other.

“Hi,” he beamed, looking at her like she was the only person on the planet. “I know you’ve heard this all night, but is it alright if I get a photo with you?”

“Of course,” Y/n found her voice after a second, smiling wide as she inched closer to the bar counter. Javy thanked her, moving so his back was to the surface since the bar stood in between them and positioned his phone so it captured both of them. They posed, Javy snapping a couple pictures with Y/n making a kissy face at one point. When it ended Y/n motioned to the draft beers beside her, “Can I get you anything? Round is on me.”

Well Javy couldn’t say no could he? Pocketing his phone he replied, “Whatever you recommend, I’ll take.” Had he been to the hard deck several times in the past two weeks? Yes. Did he know what all was on draft and bottled? Sure did. But he wasn’t gonna pass on the chance to flirt with one of the greatest actors Hollywood had ever produced.

It was Y/n L/n for Christ’s sake. Hollywood’s Angel as they called her.

But what the pilot didn’t expect was to have found the love of his life. The same went for Y/n. Sure they had a moment movies often depicted as ‘love at first sight’ but c’mon, that was only in the movies…right?

Well perhaps it wasn’t just in the movies.

“Okay I see you!” Javy hollered from the side, standing on the red carpet a few paces away from where Y/n was posing for the cameras. Dressed to the nines in a black tux, Javy hyped up his fiancée like he always did at premieres and carpet events. This one happened to be at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival for the premiere of Elvis. “Give me face—yes ma’am! Work it-work it! Mmmh.”

Giggling the whole time, Y/n reaches out with her hand for him. He skips over, stopping to snap a picture on his phone. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, the two embrace for the photographers—who eat up every second they get with the couple. Ever since they announced their relationship in 2020 they were the it couple of Hollywood despite Javy not being in the industry. But his energy, personality, and of course his adoration for Y/n, made him well liked by her fans.

He worshiped the ground she walked on. Never did he give any indication he was with her for malice. Social media accounts he had were private and mostly to keep in touch with people he worked with. Her family loved him and his loved her. Whenever reporters approached him to try and ask invasive questions Javy would redirect to whatever project was staring in. “Isn’t the show amazing? I would say this is her best work yet—and the cast was amazing throughout.” He was definitely a keeper.

With similar personalities, though Y/n was more reserved in the public eye, the two were like a lock and key. Fitting together with a love so natural they couldn’t believe they got to experience it. They enjoyed going to concerts and the movies—getting into disguise whenever they didn't want the paparazzi following them. Sang and danced in the kitchen while they cooked, having their own karaoke parties with friends.

At one point in their relationship Y/n was to play a fighter pilot. So, what better way to prepare for the role than to shadow her partner and his colleagues. Once they got the green light from the Navy, Y/n had to do all the necessary training a pilot did to get into a jet. From there she was allowed to get in the backseat with either Javy or Natasha flying.

Flying with Natasha went smoothly….but her boyfriend was a different story. Of course she trusted him with her life and knew he would never put her in harm's way, but damn did he unlock his inner Maverick when she got in the plane with him.

“Javy Machado!!” She screamed, holding onto her seat for dear life when he flipped them upside down. “I swear I will kick your ass in the afterlife if you kill us!”

“Relax, baby,” he laughed, earning a groan from his girl. “I promise we’ll have a graceful landing.”

“It won’t be graceful when I’m puking my guts out!” She actually did vomit in the bag he provided her with before they took off. Instead of embarrassment she was just annoyed with him, but still enjoyed the ride no less. “I’m sticking with Natasha from now on.”

When it came to the squad, they were Y/n’s biggest supporters. After the initial shock and fangirl/fanboying—nearly shitting their pants at the fact their best friend was dating an absolute Icon—Y/n became part of their family. They pre-orders tickets to her movies, attending midnight premieres and after parties the actress invited them too. Sunday nights were reserved for watching her HBO shows, while Netflix series that were to binge watch were planned accordingly.

Nat loved having another gal in the group. It was a breath of fresh air and the two would go to lunch or have their own movie nights. “I’m surprised Machado hasn’t crashed in yet,” the pilot commented with a mouthful of popcorn as they sat in Y/n’s living room. Javy was in his office playing COD with the guys after pouting when Y/n said no to him joining in on their girl time.

“He’s occupied with his game. I’m surprised we haven’t heard any screaming at the tv yet.”

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, JAKE??”

“Spoke to soon.”

The couple were stars at award shows. It was no surprise they were always the best dressed. People constantly tweeted their excitement to see them attend, and expressed disappointment when they would not. And often the two’s reactions to cringe/unexpected moments resulted in them becoming popular memes—something Y/n already had a reputation of long before they got together.

2022 Oscars? Y/n’s Twitter froze due to the amount of tags from the snapshot of her and Javy’s expressions to Will Smith slapping the shit out of Chris Rock. “Did he just—?” “he did.” “Holy shit. Where’s the popcorn—I feel I need some right now.”

2023 Met Gala? People kept replaying the moment the couple did a double take at seeing Doja Cat dressed up as Karl Lagerfields cat. “What the actual…” “now that’s what camp should’ve been.”

And of course they couldn’t forget the most recent one of their unimpressed look from Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue at the most recent Oscars. “Should I go up there and pull a—.” “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Machado.”

Expect YouTube to be filled with videos complications titled, “Y/n L/n & Javy Machado being flabbergasted at award shows for 15 minutes straight,” and, “Y/n L/n & her husband Javy being Hollywoods favorite couple.”

Then there was Javy’s to die for reaction to Y/n recieving her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at only 29 years old. The only other day besides their wedding day where the man was in a heap of tears. “I’m just—,” he sniffed, “so proud of you, baby. You’ve earned this.”

When it came to live reactions at events years after getting married and Y/n embedding her legacy as the greatest actress of her generation, let’s just say Hollywood’s Angel and the Navy’s Coyote would always be its champions.

………….

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa @artemissunn @pinkpantheris

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thedroneranger · 1 year

Text

Hotel Homecoming

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: Jake and his wife reunite in their traditional fashion.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 2.8k

The valet loved creating personas for the guests based on their vehicles as they arrived at the porte cochère. Watching a sleek Aston Martin roll up the drive, they began to write the driver’s story.

Standing side-by-side on the curb, their lips moved minimally as they riffed off one another. They pictured a tall, dark-haired man neatly dressed in subtle luxury brands. Other than the car, the only signs of wealth would be the timepiece encircling his wrist and the healthy tip given to the pair. They would offer to deliver the leather overnight bag produced from the passenger seat, but the driver would insist on taking it himself.

The attendants were pleasantly surprised when a woman, clad in over-sized sunglasses and a watch that was easily worth their combined yearly salaries, stepped out of the car. She gave them a pearly smile, pulling an overnight bag from the passenger seat. The trunk popped, and she collected a garment bag. Clamoring, they offered to take her belongings, but she insisted her room wasn’t far.

One attendant accepted her keys and slid into the driver’s seat, while the other walked her to the lobby. Once she was inside, she slipped her guide a tip that she insisted be shared. She reinforced the ask by joking she would be back to check.

“Welcome!” The front desk agent greeted her, and then asked for the reservation details. She provided the necessary information and enquired if room service would deliver a bottle of champagne within the hour. Of course, the agent obliged. She departed the desk with a smile and soaked in the opulent lobby on the way to the elevator.

The room was a golden hue as the sheer curtains diffused the afternoon sunlight. She stepped up to the floor-to-ceiling windows to take in the ocean view. Waves lapped the sand, and people scurried along the shoreline.

A soft knock on the door and a muffled “Room service!” let her know the champagne arrived. The server was kind, opening the bottle and pouring the first flute.

She could barely wait for the door to close as she began to shed her clothing. Drink in hand, she sauntered to the bathroom where she drew the hottest bath. Sitting in her ring of fire, she sipped champagne and hummed along with the music she had asked Alexa to play. Interrupting her jam session, she asked her voice assistant for the time. Sighing, she began to drain the tub—it was important she stick to the schedule.

Thankfully she had the hardest part out of the way: curating her outfit.

While he loved her no matter what she wore—he often told her that her messy buns and his t-shirts drove him the wildest or her birthday suit was the ultimate gift—she knew what would give him itchy fingers and tight pants.

Tonight, she opted for a floor-length gown with thin straps and an almost waist-high slit. Since the look did not allow for a bra, she also opted to skip panties—that would get him going.

Although he loved her hair down, she wanted to show off her neck and shoulders, which he would appreciate too. Plus, she wouldn’t have to fuss with it later.

One last look in the mirror confirmed her look was almost complete. Tucking a few baby hairs behind her ear, her heirloom wedding band and custom diamond engagement ring gleamed. She slipped the trinkets off her finger, dropped them in a silk pouch and tucked them into her clutch for safekeeping.

The clock told her she had perfect timing. Her lips pursed as an idea swirled in her brain. She picked her panties out of her bag and looped them around the inside doorknob as she exited. A smirk carved her lips as she padded down the hallway.

The dark-stained wood and rich leather made the hotel bar warm and cozy. Knowing her odds were best at the counter, she slid into an empty chair. The lone bartender immediately minded her, opening with a few flirty quips. She played along and earned her first drink on the house.

With a wink, she vacated her barstool in search of secluded seating. She liked the suspense of him wandering around looking for her. Especially as the bar began to fill.

Her drink had one more swig, maybe two if she took small sips. The thought of returning to the bar for a second crossed her mind until a masculine voice broke her thought train. She peered up to see his playful green eyes boring into hers. A smile spread across her features and heat began to build between her legs.

Jake was all man—tall, tanned and his suit fit as though it were sewn on. Since their meeting was informal, he went sans tie. The first few buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing a sliver of hard chest and hair. And that smile—it was impossible to not be bewitched.

She watched him as he slid into the booth, leaving just a little room between their bodies. He handed her a fresh drink. They clinked cups and pressed their glasses to their lips. His eyes scanned her body as they sat, and his arm made its way behind her head, resting along the back of the booth. Goosebumps hatched on her skin as his calloused fingers grazed her shoulder. The move persuaded her to close the gap between them. Their bodies fit perfectly together as she tucked herself under his shoulder. She let her hand skim his muscular thigh. Her head tilted back to meet his gaze, and he looked down at her with that chokehold smile.

It had been six months since they had seen each other. Fashion season was in full swing, so she kept busy traveling for shows. Jake, on the other hand, had been locked away on his homebase for an intense deployment.

Every Sunday, she kept her phone in her hand, no matter what she was doing, so she wouldn’t miss his call. Sometimes he called in the morning and other times in the evening. On the Sundays he called later, she often got worried she wouldn’t hear from him. She worried the call would come from an unfamiliar voice telling her to expect a folded flag at her door.

His hand shook her from her thoughts as his fingers brushed behind her ear and along her neck. Her eyes floated shut and she purred into his touch. She opened her eyes to meet his, which were darker than when he arrived.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her panties neatly folded in the breast pocket of his suit. “Nice pocket square.” She smirked. Smile lines carved his face and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“You like it?” he asked, taking a swig of his scotch.

“Goes well with the suit,” she added.

His free hand dipped below the table into her lap. He found the slit in her dress and skimmed his thumb up her bare thigh. Her breath hitched as he came closer to her naked core. He was amused, staring at her with a wolfish smile. She proposed they head upstairs to their room.

A closed-lip smile pulled the corners of his mouth as they stared at each other. “Finish your drink first,” he stated. An involuntary eye roll broke their staring match and a soft sigh signified her compliance. He watched her as she drank until the final swill. Gingerly, she placed the glass on the table and then motioned for him to let her out of the booth.

As she exited, she made sure to graze her backside against his front. She turned to look him in the eye, not acknowledging her actions. “See you upstairs, Lieutenant Commander.” Always a gentleman, he took her hand and kissed the back before she walked away. His eyes fixated on her as she disappeared into the lobby.

Jake loved this part of their ritual, getting dressed up for each other. Tonight’s dress was new but definitely something he would add to his favorites. As good as it looked on her, his favorite place for her clothes was still on the floor.

After what seemed like an eternity, really only 15 minutes, he finished his drink and threw a Benjamin on the table before heading to the nearest elevator.

When he arrived, she was nowhere to be seen in the main room of the suite. Closing the door softly, he shrugged his suit coat off and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then, he hunted for her. It wasn’t long before he spied her in the dressing room. He pushed the ajar door wide enough to slip through. Their eyes met. “Help?” she asked softly.

Risking a split in his perfectly tailored pants, he wordlessly walked over and knelt in front of her. She watched as he looped her calf over his bent leg and began to unbuckle the thin strap of her shoe. Once he was done with the first, he placed a soft kiss on her kneecap. He repeated his actions for her second shoe.

However, this time, his lips lingered and his fingers wandered. She held her breath as they skimmed up her thigh, taking her dress with it. His lips followed, trailing kisses. He froze and looked up at her. His fingers had reached her warm apex. A smile pulled his lips as his fingers grazed her lower lips and a small moan escaped her mouth. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, and his fingers dipped into her folds, barely grazing her most sensitive nerves. However, it was enough for her to jolt forward with a pleasurable gasp.

He ran his tongue along the bottom edge of his teeth as his signature grin returned. He looked up at her through his eyelashes. Deviously, he again slid his finger along her most sensitive spot, and then down to her entrance, pushing in. Her mouth dropped open, and her hips rolled forward. He quickly recoiled, slipping his glistening finger into his mouth. She watched as he enjoyed her taste. Eyes closed, he slowly pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop sound. He placed one more kiss on her thigh before standing up.

During his ascent, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her chair. She trailed him into the bedroom. Once inside, he guided her to the bed with his hands on her hips. When the back of her knees hit the mattress, she tumbled into the feather bedding.

He followed her, a knee between her legs and a hand on either side of her head. She supported herself on her elbows so their lips met. The kiss was all teeth and tongues. “Undress me,” he breathed in her ear as the kiss ended.

She sank flat on the bed, biting her lip as she unfastened each button on his dress shirt. Halfway through, his dog tags fell out, dangling between them. They looked at each other and she eyed the gold band that hung with the flanks of metal.

She continued unfastening buttons, making sure her fingers grazed his skin. Every so often, she would glance at him through her eyelashes. She could tell his patience was thinning. Slowly, she pulled his shirt tails from his pants.

He barely waited for her to unbuckle his belt and open his pants before he was sliding off the bed to ditch them on the floor. Unsurprisingly, his cock was fighting the fabric of his boxer briefs.

He climbed back on the bed and trailed his lips up her exposed leg. She let her fingers card through his hair as his lips wandered up her body. Finally, they were face-to-face, and she curled the chain of his dog tags around her finger to lower his head until their lips met.

Her free hand slid down his chest and his stomach to the bulge tenting his boxer briefs. Jake groaned into her mouth and he felt her lips curl into a smile. Her hand dipped past his waistband and pumped his length. “If you keep that up, this will be a short reunion,” he warned. She purred as he sucked on her collarbones and gently slipped her dress straps off her shoulders.

Once her arms were free, Jake began sliding down the dress bodice as he peppered her chest with kisses. She closed her eyes and cradled her head on her folded arms as Jake worshiped her. Soft moans left her lips as he nipped and sucked her nipples until they were hard nodes. He showered her exposed skin with kisses and continued to slide the sheath of fabric down her body until it fell atop of his clothes on the floor.

“God, I missed you,” he said between kisses.

“My name is fine,” she teased.

She could feel Jake smiling as he continued his descent toward her pubic mound. Her breath hitched when his tongue delved between her folds. Jake guided her legs over his shoulders and he looped an arm around one of her thighs as he continued to lick broad stripes up and down her core. She moaned his name each time his tongue swirled a figure eight on her swollen bundle of nerves.

The tightening low her stomach built each time Jake touched her. Humming with pleasure, she threaded her fingers into his hair and gently tugged so he looked at her. “Jake, I want my first orgasm to be on your cock.”

He grinned ear-to-ear as his lips softly tugged her clit one more time before he sat back on his knees. Hooking his hands behind her knees, he pulled her so the backs of her thighs rested on the tops of his.

She sat up and captured his lips with hers. Her body scooted closer until her core was resting against his length. He rocked against her as they made out. Her hand dipped between them and guided Jake into her. A soft sigh left her lips, and Jake smiled into the kiss.

She kept rocking her hips into him and eventually put her full weight onto Jake, signaling for him to fall onto his back. Soon, she was perched on top of him, setting their pace. Jake’s hands moved to her thighs, his fingertips digging into her, while her hands fell to his chest. One curled around the chain of his dog tags and tugged whenever Jake tried to overpower her rhythm.

Her orgasm nearing, her pace began to slow, and Jake seized his opportunity when her eyes slipped closed for a few seconds. He sat up, causing her to tumble backward. Fluidly, he slipped one of her legs over his shoulder and the other rested on his waist as he feverishly pumped into her. “You want my cock, and I want the satisfaction of making you come,” he said as he snapped his hips with a little extra emphasis after each word.

She stared at him with hooded eyes and one hand curled in the bed sheets. The other slipped between them and stroked her clit to help break the heat low in her stomach. Her back arched and her eyes closed as an orgasm shuddered through her. A smirk pulled the corners of Jake’s lips as his name fell from her mouth. He continued his forceful thrusts as he watched her.

His hips stuttered as her hand moved to his cock, squeezing around the base and his balls to coax his finish. Jake groaned her name as pleasure pulsed through him. Releasing him, she smiled and dug her heel into his ass to pull him as close as possible.

Hovering over her, he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before rolling onto his side. She followed him, curling into him under his arm and wrapping her leg around his thigh while her hand rested on his chest.

They laid together, and she swirled her fingertip on his chest, catching his dog tags every so often. Finally, she carefully unclasped the chain and slipped his wedding band off it. After reclasping the ball chain, she gently pushed the ring on his finger.

“Where’s yours?” Jake asked. With a smile, she reached past him to get her clutch from the nightstand. She opened it and he reached in to pull out a silk sachet. He held it while she untied it and then flipped it so both bands tumbled into his hand. Then, he slid them on her finger.

He kissed her rings before trailing more kisses up her arm. She smiled and wrapped her arm around his neck, curling her fingers in his hair and leaning up to capture his mouth. Her body shifted so she was laying mostly on him as she softly kissed him. “Welcome home, baby,” she said as she pulled away.

A hand ghosting the small of her back, he leaned up to kiss her forehead. “It’s good to be home.”

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #top gun maverick #top gun #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin smut #hangman smut #jake hangman seresin smut #top gun smut #top gun maverick smut #tgm smut #tgm fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #jake seresin fanfic #hangman fanfic

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bobfloydsbabe · 8 months

Text

FIC REC FRIDAY | september 8th 2023

one time thing – @seresinsweetie ↳ hangman x reader

WHY I LOVE IT

This one shot was my introduction to Sofi's writing, and what an introduction it was. Opening with the title of the fic, she sets the mood and you know the tone within the first five paragraphs. It's smut, but it's not wild or rushed. Sofi tells this story in poetic and intimate language that shows her gift for painting a picture. I felt like I was standing in the room, seeing the light streaming through the window and listening to the sheets rustle. Sofi makes you feel what the characters feel.

TOP 3 REASONS YOU SHOULD READ IT TOO

➛ Soft and intimate smut that is slow-paced, but still sexy enough to make you feel hot and bothered. I certainly felt it, and I'm sure you will too!

➛ If you like a well-told friends-to-lovers story with attention to detail, this one's for you.

➛ Clear communication throughout and checking in to make sure consent is still enthusiastically given. Jake is gentle and makes sure his partner feels good. We love to see it.

A NOTE ON THE PROCESS

fics are assigned a number. i then use a random generator and recommend you the fic corresponding to the number the tool picks. all recs are my personal favorites. if there's an author whose work you think i should check out, please reach out.

REBLOG TO SPREAD THE WORD AND SUPPORT THE WRITER

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @wkndwlff, @blue-aconite, @sylviebell, @yanna-banana, @desert-fern, @anniesocsandgeneralstore, @ereardon, @horseshoegirl, @callsign-magnolia, @bradshawsbitch, @laracrofted, @callsignspark, @teacupsandtopgun, @bradshawsbaby, @cherrycola27, @thedroneranger, @seresinsweetie, @bradshawsweetheart, @notroosterbradshaw, @lewmagoo, @sebsxphia, @sometimesanalice, @broketraveler87, @roosterforme, @semperhuggs, @withahappyrefrain, @scarlettwidow19, @seresinhangmanjake, @keyrani

#fic rec fri #fic rec friday #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #friends fic #frf 1 #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfic #tgm fic #tgm fanfic #jake seresin fic #hangman fic

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kryptonitejelly · 1 year

Note

baby blurb for brb: sleep boy wakes up and is a snuggler/does his best work in the morning.

i apologise because i just ran with best work…. nsfw minors DNI

The morning had started off slow, innocently even, your back pressed against Bradley’s front, his arm thrown loosely around you, nose nuzzling the back of your neck. So you aren’t too sure how you ended up here at 8am on a Sunday morning - fingers gripping onto the top edge of the headboard, kneeling on the pillow, knees on either side of your husbands head, head thrown back, lips parted, your hips rocking gently in a back and forth motion. You feel Bradley’s hands circle around your thighs, tugging you down towards him and you gasp, letting yourself sink down further, his tongue working pure magic on your clit. You find yourself gasping, hips bucking down, back curling into a slight hunch seeking more contact, your hands moving from the headboard down to grip wavy dark hair as you feel the familiar tension building in your lower half reach its peak. You look down, only to find dark brown eyes locking onto yours, and something about the intensity in his stare, and tongue against your heat makes the tension in your lower half snap open like a coil as you cry out, legs trembling with sheer pleasure as you hit your orgasm, Bradley’s arms holding you firmly down in place.

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greymoonfeelings · 2 years

Text

Sweet Reunion

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem! Reader “Nightshade”

word count: 3k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, male receiving oral, P in V sex and creampie 18+ ONLY

summary: You and Rooster were a thing of the past but now that you’re back in the place where it all began, the two of you are feeling a little bit nastolgic.

note: thank you to @marvelousmermaid for helping me when I was stuck! and thanks to @green-socks & @lorecraft for beta-ing.

~~~

North Island was the last place you ever expected to be again, but here you were in your old hang-out spot, The Hard Deck, surrounded by fellow Navy Servicemen.

When you first got the orders to go back for a special mission, your immediate reaction was dread, but now that you were hanging out with your old friends you couldn’t fathom why that had been your reaction.

That was until you heard his name.

“Bradshaw! Is that you?”

The name sends a shock coursing through your body. Your head snaps up just in time to see Bradley Bradshaw confidently striding through the bar.

He’s changed, which was to be expected after six years. He’s bigger, broader and his curls are more sun-bleached than you remember them. He was always attractive, but now he looks purely god-like.

“This is gonna be a long night,” you mutter under your breath before taking a big sip of your whiskey.

You turn to walk back over to your group of friends but you notice that Rooster and Hangman are in the middle of one of their pissing contests. You don’t feel like entertaining their antics tonight, so you decide to stay seated at the bar until the coast is clear.

“Did you see who’s here?” Phoenix takes a seat next to you.

“It’s hard not to, he sticks out like a sore thumb in that fuckin' shirt.”

“Hey, this might be your chance to finally make your move. With all the nostalgia of being back here, who knows what could happen between the two of you.”

“Nothing is going to happen between us.”

“Why not?”

“It’s been years. I’m sure he’s found someone else.” You cover up your frown by taking a sip of your drink, not wanting your best friend to catch onto your sour feelings.

“I don’t think so. You know how hard it is to find someone with our jobs. Plus, I saw him checking you out when he was walking in.”

“He was probably just taking in his surroundings.”

“Yeah, if taking in his surroundings means ogling at the smoking hot pilot wearing tiny jean shorts.”

“They’re not that short!”

Phoenix laughs at your defensiveness. “He was definitely staring at you before I called his name. He even blushed when I said something to him about it.”

“Did you really have to say something?” You groan at her antics.

“Please, Nightshade. If you’re not going to help yourself, then I have no choice but to step in.”

“Absolutely nothing will be happening between me and Bradley Bradshaw. It’s been six years and everything has changed.”

“Everything?”

“Everything,” you confirm.

“It seems to me like nothing has changed.”

Phoenix points to the wooden piano across the room where Rooster has just taken a seat. She flashes you a knowing smile before going to join all the other bar patrons in singing along to Rooster’s signature song.

As you watch him sing his heart out, a sudden swirl of memories plays through your mind like a movie. Memories of a similar night years earlier, the night you and Rooster had first hooked up. The night that led to a secret friends-with-benefits relationship during your original time at Top Gun.

“This feels wrong.” You mutter against Rooster’s lips as he pushes you against the bathroom door.

“Oh come on, Nightshade. You afraid of a little fun?”

Your heart jumps when someone knocks against the wooden door, trying to get in.

“I’m not afraid of fun, Rooster. I’m afraid of getting caught.”

“It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

He had made good on his promise that night and every time after the fact. Your sexual encounters were memorable, to say the least, and they hadn’t left your mind since.

You thought about him a lot during lonely nights on assignment.

The feel of his muscular body wrapped around yours, the way his big hands gripped your hips and moved your body just the way he needed. The way his large cock stretched you open and filled you. The way he would chant your name like a prayer as he came.

“I’ll have a beer, Penny.” A familiar deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

A large hand places a ten-dollar bill on the wooden bar. Your eyes trace the prominent veins up the arm and back to its owner, Rooster.

You look up at him a little dumbfounded. You had just been deep in a compromising flashback involving the man and here he was standing right next to you.

He meets your gaze, grinning. “Hey, Nightshade.”

“Hey, Rooster.” You gulp.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He’s amused by the expression on your face, you can hear it in his tone. It’s like he can read your mind.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

“Feels like just yesterday to me.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I think about you.” He shrugs casually.

“Little old me?” You joke as if you weren’t imagining him minutes prior.

“Are you saying you don’t think about me? About us?”

“Can't say that I do,” you lie.

Rooster shakes his head in defeat. “Same old Nightshade, still stone cold.”

“Same old Rooster, still a big flirt.”

“I’m not as bad as Hangman.”

“Well, you’ve got that going for you.”

Rooster grabs his cold beer and walks away, leaving you to overthink what he’d just said.

Did he really still think about you, even after all this time apart? He must have had a girlfriend, or at least slept with other women, so why out of all of them did you stick out in his mind?

You don’t get any more time to ponder it because soon you’re being beckoned over by Phoenix.

“Nightshade! Get over here! We’re doing teams and I need you to show up Bagman for me!”

“Be right over!”

You sigh, finishing the rest of your drink before standing up. You weren’t about to let Bradley Bradshaw or some ambiguous statement he’d made ruin your night. You were back in a place where some of your best memories had taken place and you were going to enjoy it.

As you approach the pool table, Rooster’s eyes rake over your body as his tongue slips across his bottom lip. He's looking at you like you’re a tasty meal, something to be devoured slowly and savored. When his eyes finally make their way up to your face, he realizes that you caught him looking at you, but instead of shying away embarrassed, he winks.

It wasn’t enough to have dirty thoughts about your old friend plaguing your mind, but now he's here in person making it even harder on you.

•••

You had never planned on rekindling the flame between you and Rooster, but he spent the whole night trying to get your attention. He knew exactly what made you flustered and he was pulling out all the stops.

He spent the night invading your personal space and going overboard with little touches here and there.

He’d reach across you to grab a beer so you’d catch sight of his strong arms or reach into the bowl of popcorn at the same time as you so your hands would graze. When you’d fluster and pull away quickly, he’d just grin as he watched you squirm.

As he'd left for the night, he’d leaned in close to you and whispered his room number into your ear, inviting you to join him later.

Now it’s 1 a.m. and you’re struggling to fall asleep. You’ve been tossing and turning in your bed for the past three hours. You wanted to get a good night's sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s big meeting, but your body is buzzing with adrenaline.

Before you can process your actions, you’re throwing the covers off and leaving your room. You travel down the dimly lit hallway until you reach room 13 and knock on the door.

You want to scold yourself for landing in a position you swore you’d never put yourself in again, but any thoughts of going back to your room are gone the minute Rooster opens the door.

He stands before you shirtless in all his tanned glory, looking like he stepped off the cover of a cheesy romance novel.

You find yourself having to close your gaping mouth. It’s bad enough he’s got you here, he doesn’t need to catch you drooling over him.

“Nightshade.” Rooster smirks down at you, satisfied to see you standing on his doorstep this late at night. But then he notices the look on your face and realizes that maybe you weren’t here for the reason he originally thought. “Hey.” He reaches out and rubs your shoulder comfortingly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I was just teasing you earlier, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

His sincerity warms your heart and reminds you why you fell for him in the first place years ago.

“Just shut up and kiss me, you idiot.” You push your lips to his passionately, finally tasting him after so long. You kiss him with such intensity that it sends him stumbling back into the room, the door swinging shut behind you.

You forgot how good his lips felt against yours and how great of a kisser he was. You never cared much for making out, but you wouldn’t mind spending hours with your lips on his, not when it felt this electric.

You continue to move farther into the room until you hit the bed, forcing Rooster to sit as you continue to devour one another.

He pulls your top off, discarding the worn navy t-shirt across the room along with your bottoms so you’re bare against him.

Your skin is hot under the touch of his calloused hands which trace your figure, grabbing at anything he can to anchor your body as you grind against him, desperate to satiate the hunger he had left you with earlier in the evening.

“My cock is aching.” He groans at the painful friction from his sweatpants against his erection. “You gotta help me, baby.”

You pull away from him and get down on your knees in front of him, squeezing his thighs as he undoes the string of his sweatpants and pulls them down to his knees, freeing his erection.

Finally seeing his thick, veiny cock after six long years was like reuniting with an old friend and it was just as glorious as you remembered.

He begins to stroke his hard cock, but his hand is quickly replaced with yours as you’re eager to feel its weight.

You spit, letting it dribble down his shaft so your hand glides along better. Your other hand moves to cup his balls, fondling them as you lean down to take his leaking tip into your mouth.

His large hand grips the back of your head, guiding your mouth along his shaft as saliva begins to coat his length and dribbles from the corners of your mouth.

A string of spit makes its way down your chin, traveling down the valley of your breasts and the sight alone is enough to nearly make him cum.

“God, you give the messiest head. It’s fucking sinful how sloppy you get. Spit dripping down those perfect tits.”

You eagerly bob along his thick cock, taking him as far back as you can and work your hand around the part of him that you can’t fit in your mouth.

“You remember how we used to sneak around these halls between training exercises, looking for a quiet place for you to help me let go of all that pent-up adrenaline? Now here you are letting me use your mouth like old times.”

His hands hold the sides of your face, pushing you closer towards the patch of dark hair at his base. His heavy balls violently slap against your chin as he fucks your face.

Curse words spill out of his mouth when your throat spasms around him. A tear slides down your cheek as you gag, but Rooster is quick to gently wipe it away.

The sensation of your warm mouth is too much for him to last any longer. His hips buck a final time as he explodes in your mouth, his hot release shooting down the back of your throat, nearly choking you.

He pulls out, leaving you breathless and a slobbering mess.

“Still so good for me,” he pants. “Taking all this cock like we haven’t skipped a day. I wonder if your pussy still remembers it too?”

Rooster runs his fingers up your throat, collecting the mixture of cum and saliva before bringing those same fingers down to your bare pussy. He uses it as a lubricant to glide his fingers through your folds. Your hips buck against his hand as he zeros in on your clit and begins rubbing the sensitive bud.

Rooster smirks as he watches your head fall back in euphoria.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

You nod, unable to respond in between moans.

“Has it been a long time since someone touched this pretty pussy?”

“Yes,” you admit sheepishly.

“How could anyone resist? It's addictive.”

“I don’t want them.”

“Who do you want?”

Rooster gently grabs your chin and forces you to look at him when you answer.

“You. I want you.”

“C’mere.” Rooster rids himself of his sweatpants completely before pulling you down by your hips to straddle him.

His cock is still hard against his stomach, his earlier orgasm not enough to give him any relief. If he still had as much stamina as he did six years ago, you’re afraid you might not make it through the night, but it’d be a lovely way to go out.

He grasps his saliva-coated cock, bringing the tip up to your soaking core. You help him line up with your entrance before slowly lowering yourself until you're fully seated with his cock nestled deep inside you. Your insides burn at how big he is, but it doesn’t detract from your desire.

“God, you’re so big, Roos,” you whine.

“You take me so well. Best I’ve ever had.”

Rooster peppers kisses along your collarbone as you adjust to his size. It takes everything he has within him to restrain from eagerly bucking into you, but the last thing he wants to do is cause you pain.

After a few moments, his hands wander to your ass as he begins to rock his hips, gently thrusting into you. Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around his cock and he can’t believe he’s lived without you for so many years.

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he whispers into your ear.

His admission causes your heart to flutter but makes your need to be ravaged by him more intense. You knew he was being delicate with you and if he would just allow himself to give in, there was a beast inside him waiting to be unleashed.

“Don’t hold back, please. I want it all,” you beg.

With your permission, Rooster’s large hands move to tightly grip your hips as he begins to manually move you up and down his cock.

Your ass slaps against his thighs with every bounce and the resulting sound echoes through the bedroom along with the lewd squelching of your pussy.

Your tight cunt feels like Heaven, but this isn’t enough for him. He needs more and he knows your body well enough to know you feel the same.

He temporarily pulls out to flip the two of you onto the bed. He throws your legs over his shoulders before he continues pounding into you.

Slowly but surely all of your senses are flooded by him.

The smell of the cologne still lingers on his skin, his ragged grunts are all you can hear. His hot, sticky skin is pressed against yours. You can still taste him on your tongue and the only thing in your line of vision is his hulking form. You’re consumed by him.

“You’re so perfect.” Rooster whispers, sucking a mark into the delicate skin below your ear.

You turn your head to meet his lips, winding your hands into his dark curls as his tongue explores your mouth.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he angles his hips to hit deeper, finding that special spot inside of you that makes your brain foggy with pleasure.

“Are you close, baby? I wanna see your beautiful face while you’re making a mess for me. You always look so pretty when you’re milking my cock.”

The pressure of his pelvis rubbing against your clit combined with the sweet words he’s whispering to you push you over the edge.

You let out a strangled cry as your high crashes over you. Pleasure floods your system as you cum around his cock, soaking him.

When he feels your pussy clamp down around him, Rooster’s pace falters as he finally lets go. His hot cum fills your cunt as he works both of you through your orgasms.

When it’s over, he slumps against you as you struggle to catch your breath. Every inch of your skin still feels like it’s on fire, but it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.

“God, that was amazing.” You pant as you rub his back.

Rooster finally pulls away from you, going to the bathroom to clean himself off. He comes back with a wet cloth to help you clean up before collecting your discarded bottoms.

When he joins you back in bed, he pulls you to lay against his chest with his arms tightly wrapped around you. The two of you lay in comfortable silence until you speak up.

You turn in his arms to look deeply into his eyes. “I lied earlier, at the bar. I told you I never thought about you, but I did, I do. I think about you all the time.”

“I meant what I said, Nightshade. I’ve waited forever for another chance with you. I let you get away the first time, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Rooster pulls you in for a kiss to prove his love to you and you back to laying in his arms, pleased with the way the night had turned out.

#heather writes #tgm fanfic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw

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lovableapocalypse · 7 months

Text

dial drunk

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!wife!reader

wc- 1.5k

warnings- cursing, established relationship, police station?

a/n- wife reader fyi!! i hope you guys enjoy. i saw noah kahan at acl over the weekend and was inspired to finally finish this wip. lol. also this scene from greys. love u all. lmk anything you want to see!!!

The room was crowded and humid. The open doors that led to the beach were blowing in a smooth breeze, but it was doing little to soothe your anxiety.

Bradley was late. He tended to be on time, at most 10 minutes behind, and even then he’d always message you to let you know. So this was starting to concern you. Everyone was supposed to meet at the Hard Deck at 7 tonight, yet here you were still watching the door, 45 minutes later.

Penny had tried to assure you he could be in traffic, given it was a Friday night, but you heavily doubted it. You were burning holes into the doorway and silently begging for his tanned self to just walk through.

You glanced at your phone for what felt like the 100th time and shot Bradley yet another message.

7:10 PM

You okay?

7:30 PM

Hello??

7:47 PM

Are you asleep? Where r u

You were trying not to call attention to his absence, but your frequent calls and angry typing weren’t fooling anybody. You were getting irritated. You inhaled sharply as you now scanned the back doors. This was supposed to be a Dagger Squad (and family) night, and it bothered you that Bradley wasn’t here.

You feel your phone vibrate in your fist, and the local unknown number showcased on your screen confuses you. You quickly move around bodies and step out into the cooling night on the back patio, answering the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi baby.”

It’s his voice. You know it is, but you still ask, “Bradley?”

You hear him clear his throat on the other end of the line, “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Where are you? It's almost 8 already. Everyone’s asking where you are- me included.”

“Yeah, about that,” You can hear the disappointment in his voice and can practically see him running his hands over his face, “I need you to come get me.”

“What?”

“Please.”

“Where are you?”

You hear muffled noise in the background of the call and your brows furrow further as you try to decipher where he is.

He sighs and mumbles, “I need you to come bail me out.”

Your head shoots up from where you were studying your feet on the deck, and your voice raises as you respond, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Bradley’s response isn’t immediate, he could tell you were pissed and confused and he knew his answer would only anger you more. “Look, I’ll explain, I promise- just please come.”

You pull the phone away from your face, dumbfounded that your husband was asking you to come bail him out.

You hear him mutter another “Please” before you hang up the phone and storm back into the Hard Deck.

Your quick angry pace gathered attention from others and as you harshly grab your purse off the bar top, Hangman approaches you.

“You alright?” He questions.

“I have to go bail Bradley out of fucking jail.”

Jake’s jaw parts before he shakes off his initial reaction and places a calming hand over your shaking ones.

“Fuck- okay, I’m coming with you.”

“No- Jake it’s fine. Just stay here and make sure everyone’s good.”

“Let me drive you. You probably need time to cool off anyway.” He gave you a look that said he knew he was right and you just huffed and headed out the doors.

Jake quickly followed and unlocked his truck in an effort to help. Selfishly, he wanted to see Rooster behind bars for himself, but he also acknowledged you might need someone’s help right now too.

He hastily pulled out of the bar and headed down the main roads. He kept glancing at you and your expression was one of utter disbelief. You were repeatedly shaking your head and trying to think of any plausible explanation for why your husband was arrested.

Jake swung into the police station and parked. You took some of your anger out on the passenger door, slamming it open and closed. You felt your anger multiply as you marched toward the station.

You had dressed up for this evening. You wore your favorite summer dress and had even taken the time to style your hair. Now that would be wasted on police officers and other arrestees.

Jake was quick behind you, not wanting to miss a single moment of this. You pulled the front door open and your irritation was clear as day. The receptionist asked you how she could help, and your response was anything but pleased, “My husband asked me to come bail him out.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “Name?”

“Bradshaw. Bradley Bradshaw.” You shot out. Jake huffed a laugh from behind you, and you whacked his arm in annoyance.

“Right,” the receptionist typed on her computer. “He’s here.”

She asked for your ID and had Jake stay in the front lobby while you followed her back to the holding cell. You could see him. He was sitting on the bench in the cell with his head in his hands. He seemed to be rubbing his eyes in frustration with the heel of his hands.

“Bradshaw.” You spit as you approach the bars. His head shoots up and he stands fast, moving towards you.

“Hey honey.” He says as he grabs onto the bars of the cell. The two other guys in there with him laugh and observe you.

“What the hell?” You ask. Bradley leans towards you through the bars and shakes out an embarrassed laugh. You raise your brows in question and he knows he can’t avoid an explanation any longer.

He glances at the receptionist behind you and at the idle cops at their desks, and exhales quietly, “I was speeding.”

“You got thrown in jail for speeding?” Your tone is incredulous.

He bows his head and leans more of his weight onto the bars. When he finally glances back up at your expectant expression he admits, “I was being a dick to the cop. He didn’t like my sarcasm I guess. Or he just had no sense of humor.” His eyes move to who you guess is the cop that arrested him and he shakes his head again.

You sigh. Bradley reaches through the bars and clasps your hand in his. He can feel your irritation radiating off of you, but also the ridiculousness of it all. He pulls you closer and you let him. He gives you a smirk you know all too well, and he places a soft kiss on your lips through the metal.

You shake your head and turn around to the receptionist, “What do I need to sign to get him out?”

You hear Bradley’s airy laugh behind you and the woman leads you to a desk to fill out the correct forms. The cop was nice enough to not formally charge Bradley with anything, just wanted to teach his smart mouth a lesson.

Once you’ve signed the appropriate forms and taken an opportunity to chat to your lovely local officers, mostly to watch Bradley squirm impatiently, a cop takes the keys and walks to the cell. Bradley steps back and watches him unlock the giant door.

A now free man, Bradley approaches you steadily. As much as you’re annoyed and want to give him grief for his earlier absence, you’re glad he’s safe and okay. He reaches for you and you meet him in an embrace. He places a soft kiss to the side of your head and you sigh into him.

“Please don’t ever call me from a police station again.”

He squeezes you tighter and nods but then says, “I make no promises.” His laughter is muffled as you shake your head and audibly groan in annoyance. You lightly smack his abdomen and start walking back out.

Bradley follows behind you and when you reenter the lobby Jake is still patiently waiting, now sitting in one of the available chairs.

Bradley stops short when he notices his colleague and friend. “You brought Hangman?” He sounds offended.

Jake’s smile is contagious as he peers up from the magazine he was browsing. “She sure did. Wouldn’t miss this for the world Rooster.”

You can’t help but laugh at your husband's look of betrayal. You shrug, “I’m sorry Roo, he offered to drive.”

Bradley shakes his head and fully enters the room. You hear him mutter a “Jesus Christ,” under his breath as he rubs his hands over his face.

Jake stands and is still grinning like an idiot. He starts to head for the door when you ask, “Wait. B, where’s your car?”

He looks like he was hoping you wouldn’t ask that question. “On the side of interstate 8 probably.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. Bradley can see the further disappointment on your features and leans in to peck your lips. “I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“I’ll drop you.” Jake sighs.

You say nothing and just shake your head, grabbing Bradley’s hand and leading him out of the station.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #tgm #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster top gun #rooster fanfic #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick x you #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfic #tgm fic #bradley rooster x reader #do not copy #my writing

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foreveraweirdoneslife · 22 days

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Weekend Trip [hangster] - Chapter 1

So I started writing another fic!

Summary: Jake's first weekend with Bradley in the Mitchell-Kazansky house. It's chaos and banter and maybe also a bit embarrassing.

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw, Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell.

Rating: E.

About the Chapter: Bradley and Jake drive down to San Diego to spend the weekend with Mav and Ice.

CLICK HERE TO READ!

#top gun #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #hangster #sereshaw #my fics #fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #tg fanfic #tgm fanfic #fanfiction #writing

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

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Gone

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: After you left him, Jake tries to cope with his heartbreak

Notes: Suggested by an anon (I hope you like it). Angst. Can be read alone, but it contributes to the Oh, Baby universe as a third part to the prequel

Warnings: mention of masturbation, but not graphic. Other sex-related talk, but again, not graphic.

Words:1149

Oh, Baby Masterlist / Masterlist

Prequel Part 1, Prequel Part 2

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A single picture of you he’d snapped at the beach and a handful of old text messages buried under a long list of newer unanswered ones—after an entire year of knowing you, that was all he had left. That and his memories, each one now tainted and more painful than the last.

Your perfume had worn off of his pillowcase days ago, and he fucking missed it. The warm, flowery scent you’d been wearing for months. The one that turned you into the living embodiment of springtime, carrying such a breath of fresh air with you wherever you went. But that sweet air was suffocated by the choking humidity of summer setting in. You had left him at the turn of the season. Everything had changed all at once, flipping his whole world on its side. And now he couldn’t breathe.

One week ago he thought he had it all. Hell, he did have it all. When he’d gone to bed with you wrapped in his arms there wasn’t a single thing on the planet he would’ve asked for. He loved his job, he loved his friends, and he loved you. Still loved you. And now the hole you’d created by leaving, along with the pumping organ you’d stolen from the cavern in his chest, couldn’t be filled. He felt broken without you, bleeding out through open wounds. Sure, he could try to stitch himself back together, but the scars would never fade. What he needed was for you to come home, return what you’d taken, and restore him to his former self. But something deep inside told him that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. He’d have to figure out how to fix himself up at some point if he wanted to keep going; he just wasn’t ready to try.

Jake laid back on his mattress, his eyes closing as he tried to imagine the good moments before they had turned painful. The weight of you beside him, the way you tasted, how your kisses felt against his skin. They were all so fresh he could practically still feel you. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch you, but he knew you wouldn’t be there to meet his hand, so he restrained himself. Instead, his fingers dipped under the band of his sweatpants, traveling lower to rub over his cock.

He winced as he hardened under his palm. It seemed wrong. Shameful. You certainly weren’t touching yourself to the thought of him. You weren’t losing sleep. You definitely weren’t craving him the way he craved you, otherwise you’d still be next to him instead of wherever the hell you were.

He wished he knew. He’d give anything to know where he could find you. But he had nothing; no real piece of information to grasp and pour all of his hope into. So he tried to focus on what he did know. He knew you moaned when he sucked on your neck, and you whimpered into his kisses after he made you cum, and your hand was perfect when wrapped around his cock—far better than his own.

More images of you flashed behind closed eyelids as he lazily stroked himself. Little snippets of your time together. Lips parting in a gasp and eyelashes fluttering as you rolled around in his sheets. He remembered the grin he couldn’t hold back on his face the first time he saw your cheeks flush from his fingertips roaming over your body. He thought about that day on the beach; how your hair had captured the sun and made the different colored flecks in your irises stand out against one another. He’d wanted to keep that day in his back pocket to pull out when the need arose.

It was all so beautiful—so perfect—but none of it was working to get him off, to expel the tension in his body built from sorrow and exhaustion.

Jake let out a frustrated groan and opened his eyes to find his vision blurry from a layer of gathered tears. It was the fifth time he’d tried to find release from memories of you within the last week, and each time, he failed; unable to skip over how much he missed you in order to sate his raw need for you. Yes, he wanted you—in his arms, his bed, with your mouths connected and your pussy tight around his cock, but above that, he just plain missed you. Your voice and your face. Your smile right before you told him a joke, and the laugh that followed. You had a way of connecting with him. It was the kind of connection he knew he wouldn’t find again if he searched every nook and cranny of the earth. He didn’t just lose the woman he loved, he lost his friend, and it was too much.

He wiped at the rivers his tears had forged down his face before they could fully absorb into his skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling his hand back to observe the shine of the salty liquid on the tips of his fingers.

His friends had told him it would stop hurting eventually. They’d said it through their own sad voices with their own sad expressions on their faces. They missed you, too, and whether or not they believed themselves to be right, Jake couldn’t accept it. Feeling the full force of his hurt kept you alive in his life. It promised him that what you’d had was real. He didn’t want to lose that, not until he was absolutely positive he would never see you again.

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and opened his texts, tapping on Rooster’s name. The screenshot pulled up, the one Jake looked at a million times of the message that your mother had sent to your shared friend two days after you'd left.

She’s safe. She asked me to let you know.

That was it.

Rooster texted back a few more questions, none of which received a response, but at least Jake had something. You were alright. He wouldn’t deny the sting he felt that you hadn’t given your mother his number to text instead of Rooster’s, but at least you cared enough to inform one of them. And you had to know that Rooster would tell Jake. If you didn’t care the slightest about him or his feelings then surely you wouldn’t have bothered, right?

That’s what he chose to believe. You’d made your choices and Jake would live with them to the best of his unstable ability, but he refused to surrender every shred of hope. For the time, he would push through the aches and pains of your absence because what mattered most to him was your well-being, and he had that confirmation. You were safe. That would just have to be enough, for as long as he could get it to last.

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A/N: I am phasing out of my taglist, so turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing :)

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chemistryread · 2 years

Text

she is both hellfire and holy water

- part II

you should take it as a compliment, that I’m talking to everyone here but you

jake seresin

callsign: scorcher

part I

part III

disclaimers/tags: female!aviator!reader. jake is a needy loverboy who needs to be liked so much. slowburn and angst. sooo cheesy, i know.

a/n: this is short as well, just establishing the backstory and how/why reader and jake become a little closer. there will be more parts, bear with me :)

tagging: @thedroneranger @shanimallina87 @peakascum @cherrycola27

It's a slow Saturday, and he's just come back from the gym to find you speaking quietly on the phone.

He doesn't mean to intrude, but he can't help himself. He'll eat his yogurt while he eavesdrops.

"Just, tell me those numbers again, please."

Your back is turned to him, looking out of the window, hand scratching at the back of your neck soothingly. You're shaking.

He puts a half full cup of yogurt down and takes a step in your direction, concerned but unsure.

"Got it. Yeah, thanks for letting me know. Nonono, don't worry, you know I hate it when you do that."

There's a strain to your voice and Jake has learned which of your small laughs are forced.

After that talk with Maverick, he started observing more. You, your mannerisms, how you treated everyone from or not from base. He's hell-bent on figuring out why he's different to you.

One of the things he picked up on was how you hated concern. Anyone fussing over you made you wildly uncomfortable. Sometimes, if someone asked you one too many questions about your day, you'd have to sigh quietly and mumble out a standard, masked 'fuck off' answer.

It's funny how, with him, you would've just told him to fuck off, plain and simple. He doesn't know whether to be offended or flattered.

"I'm good, really." A pause, like the other person on the line is considering. "There we go. Talk to you soon. Okay, bye."

He waits for you to turn around and notice him.

It's awkward when you take too long, holding the phone against your chest and leaning your back unsteadily against the dinner table.

You make a move to walk, feet turning to the door, but decide to retract on it.

He doesn't really know what to do with what happens next.

Still holding onto the table, you crouch down with your knees to your chest, the other hand holding the phone covering your mouth. A controlled sob breaks through.

Jake reboots on the spot, jogging to your side. That was too much, regrettably.

You jump up, nearly losing your balance, spinning away from him presumably to hide your tears.

Trembling hands rub your eyes before an infuriated face turns to him. Smooth.

"Hangman, what the fuck?!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" He cuts himself off. There's nothing he could say to make this any less embarrassing. Surely, he just made your day much worse. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, you scared me 's all."

He shouldn't think that you look cute right now, holding your wrist to calm yourself down, skittish.

"That's not what I meant."

That hot anger takes over your bottomless-pit eyes, closing the distance and puffing your chest out, trying to look scary.

"What do you mean, then, Seresin?"

Your eyelashes are wet, and you're sniffling at the end of every sentence. It's funny that you would even try to deny you are upset. Stubborn, like Maverick said.

His cautionless chuckle is misinterpreted by the figure in front of him, who pushes on his chest - not that it moves his body at all - and storms off.

Oh, c'mon.

Shit.

He looks for you everywhere, stopping by the lockeroom to grab a hoodie and his car keys.

Eventually, he finds you sitting on the roof, watching the ocean.

"I'm knocking so I don't scare you again and you don't fall and break your neck."

Without so much as a smile, you answer him with sarcasm. "How considerate."

At least an exhale out of your nose, he expected. He was using his best sympathetic voice.

"Wouldn't you rather actually see it? Instead of looking at a distant blue line." His open hand is extended towards you, out of the window. "C'mon, I'll drive."

You leave him, ironically, hanging for a minute. But he's not giving up on you today.

Wet fingers close around his palm. You were drying new tears. His heart shrinks a little as he helps you back inside.

It was raining earlier, and you slip on a muddy spot.

Jake quickly wraps his arms around your waist and unceremoniously drags you through the window.

You take a second to regain your footing, shoes still slippery, and he steadies you with his hands on your elbows. A genuine sigh of relief passes his lips, and he shuts his eyes.

He opens them again when he feels your arm hair stand up. Your brows are furrowed, lips shaping into a pout. Adorable when upset, again. He knows he should not think like that.

"You scared me, I scared you back. We're even."

He chuckles again, but you're unrelenting. He stands there, holding you, for a beat too long before you widen your eyes towards the door.

Right, he promised to take you somewhere. Where again?

For the entire ride, your head is leaning back on the headrest, wind ruffling your hair.

Finally at the beach, you seem confused when he takes a seat next to you on the sand.

"Fucking…what now?"

"What are you doing?"

"Watching the ocean, I thought that's what you wanted to do."

"I thought you were gonna meet someone here. You said you were giving me a ride."

Ok, he never thought of you as stupid before but this is a strong contender to sway his opinion.

"No, I said I would drive. Why would I bring you along to meet someone? That makes no sense."

"Fine, then what do you want?"

He laughs in your face again. He should probably stop doing that, but this one is justifiable.

"Are you always this suspicious of everyone? Live a little, honey." As soon as he looks back at you, your lips are pursed into a thin line and he regrets the venom in his words. Maverick's revelations come back to him. You do have a hard time trusting people, and especially him, apparently. "I thought it'd make you feel better. Maybe make you want to talk about it."

"It has nothing to do with the Navy, if you think you're getting any juicy gossip."

Your hands are digging into the sand, arms leaning on them as if prepared to get up and leave any second.

He speaks quietly and slow, ignoring the way you assumed that he was only trying to get information out of you, more patient than he knew he could be.

"If you want to talk about it, I'm happy to listen. Or we can just watch the waves, but I can't guarantee I won't get bored and actually call someone to meet me here."

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, but a small tug of your lips is very much noticed by his watchful eyes, just as much as your shoulders relaxing as you get more comfortable on the fluffy ground.

"Only if you promise not to offer help or say you're sorry."

Holy shit, you are stubborn. He bites back a smile.

"Promise."

"What do you want to know?"

He's not Penny, but he understands this means you will talk about it but want to have control of the conversation. Not give away anything he doesn't inquire about.

"Why were you crying?"

The only times he saw tears from you were when Maverick made it back in the F-14 and at the finish line of a marathon where Phoenix got first place. Even then, they pooled around your eyes but did not dare to actually drop.

"Got surprised by something." He's glad the sun isn't too bright and you're sitting under the shade, because he can see your smile reach your eyes when you laugh at his hesitant and confused expression. The lightness in your clarification is nice to hear. "A bad something."

"Oh." Normally, he would have his sunglasses on, but maybe if you can look into his eyes you'll see that you can trust his intentions. "Don't think I've seen you that upset, ever."

Quickly, you look away, flustered. Fuck's sake, he wants you to know it's alright. But how can he possibly do that without scaring you away when he already knows you don't trust him?

A sigh, followed by a barely audible laugh. It's bitter.

"I guess I'm just tired of this."

Do you mean flying? God, he hopes you don't mean flying. You have one of the sharpest eyes and best quick-thinking - instinct - up there. He enjoyed watching you have a good time in the air, even more when you took it dead serious and kicked everyone's ass when it was just a standard training. You're fun.

"Of this?"

"Oh, no! No, not this. This is everything I am, I can't let go of it anytime soon."

"That's a relief, you have no idea." It's mumbled, but you catch it, squinting at him. He can see you swallowing, gearing up to tease him, so he brings your focus back to the matter at hand. "Then what?"

You swallow harder, looking at the horizon with a pained expression.

"I don't…have anyone, Jake." You never used his name. He takes it as a test. You look back at him and he maintains the same encouraging look. He's listening. "Family, I mean. I haven't seen or spoken to my mother since I was a teenager, my own choice. I have brothers but we never got along, there's a big age difference. And my dad is the reason I'm in a bit of a mess. It's just tiring, to have no one to fall back on."

He remembers not to say sorry and props you up to continue.

"Extended?"

Another painful look.

"My parents were…weird. They didn't like each other, but they also did not like each other's families. It was psychological warfare, keeping each other away from the people who actually cared for them until someone broke under the pressure and finally asked to leave. By the time they divorced, I was too old to be interesting to any of them."

"That is seriously demented."

"I know."

There's the lightness again. You seem to keep a sense of humour about all this.

"Still, they're your family. Don't they want to be close to you now?"

You shrug.

"Dad has a new family. They can do the whole affection thing and holidays together from scratch. Small kids are easier to please, deal and relate with than grown adults."

Affection thing. He wants to laugh at how foreign it sounds coming from you, until he realizes that you really don't know what that's like. He thinks back to his own family. Numerous and suffocating, sometimes.

"They don't care about you? Where you are or what you're doing?"

"Sometimes they text. Usually they just ask my dad about me, but it's pretty inefficient since he doesn't know how to answer that. I've been erased from their history."

Your head might be held up high right now, but he hears the shame.

"Well, they're missing out."

You laugh again, and he is stupidly, childishly proud that he made it happen.

"I don't know, they have a lot of people around them. I think they're okay."

There's silence after that. You mean it, no bitterness that time. You think they're better off without you. It's not his place to, but he wonders what convinced you of such a thing. He doesn't know anyone who would say that their lives would be improved by not having you. Usually, it's the other way around.

Looking at you, it seems like it doesn't even bother you. You've accepted it. You deserve to be shunned from your family, to be alone. A desire to change that perspective sparks inside of him.

He coughs.

"What about your dad? You said he's the reason you're in trouble, so you keep in touch."

Sensitive spot. You readjust on the sand, biting your lip so it stops quivering, nails digging into your forearms.

"The only thing we talk about is money. From time to time, he calls to ask for some. Demanding that I pay back what he gave raising me, since I'm not grateful. That's how it works in his head, anyways."

"That's what happened? He asked for money and you don't have it?"

You're scratching yourself now and he regrets asking but you're already answering.

"Sort of. I accumulated a lot of debt after I moved out. A couple of- Actually, exactly two years ago, I payed it off. All of it. Then, three months ago my dad needed help and I had some money saved so I gave it to him. Life is full of surprises, no matter how well you plan for those, so now I'm falling behind on some bills again and I guess…I don't know I guess I had flashbacks to that desperate feeling of not knowing how you're gonna fix a problem on your own."

"Ask Maverick, or even Cyclone for some way to-"

"Jake."

Bile churns in his stomach at the threatening way you said his name. A warning. It's vulnerable, the waterline of your eyes glimmering. He doesn't know if this is an appropriate moment to say sorry or if the rules still apply.

"Why did you give it to him? You said he has family, people, let them help him."

You lay down on the sand, covering your eyes with your arms, crossing the wrists.

"It's not simple. If I do that, I'll start a war. I know because I've tried. And it's not worth it. In his eyes, I owe him." Your arms come down to swat a fly away and he's glad to see your face again. "I just- I want peace. I want to be left alone. Whatever it takes, because I'm fucking sick of it. If giving him the money will get him off my case for even a day, it's good with me."

You sound suffocated.

He wants to tell you he is sorry. He wants to wax poetic about how loving his own family is and how that made him into a good, or at least better than he could ever be on his own, human being. But he's afraid it'll come out dishonest, despite it being true. He finds sentimentality usually sounds forced in his voice, it's kind of a curse, not able to sound genuine no matter how hard he tries. So he doesn't try anymore.

He lays back with you. It's not the moment to think about this, but you make him nervous. Jake Seresin walking on eggshells to avoid hurting someone's feelings, to prevent a pretty girl from slipping through his fingers.

"If you didn't like me before, I can only imagine how much I disgust you now. Sorry."

It's so quiet, barely breaking through your teeth.

"Why would you disgust me?" It's not the term he would use. Stomp, maybe. "And I thought we weren't saying sorry."

"I mean, everyone who's related to me keeps their distance. Surely, something must be wrong with me. That's what you're thinking." Your eyes are closed, and he takes the opportunity to get closer, turning on his stomach. "And I make the rules, of course I can say it."

"I don't think anything's wrong with you. Not for family-issues-related reasons."

"Aha, but you think I'm weird, right? You said it once."

"Why do you rememb- Oh my God, is that why you don't like me?"

"Who said I don't like you?"

Your eyes shoot open at the accusation, widening once they notice how close you are.

"C'mon, you despise me. I feel it every time you look at me."

He's smiling, obviously teasing you, even with a spot of truth to his exaggerated statement. But you're serious, staring into his eyes a little too long. It unnerves him.

"Fine, I owe you an apology." If his mouth wasn't so dry he would choke. "I don't despise you, Seresin, you're just easy to fuck with."

"I'M EASY TO FUCK WITH?"

"See?"

He shuts up as you prove your point, embarrassed that you captured him so perfectly. Do you know it's just you, though? That the truth is, he isn't easy to fuck with, you just have an easy time fucking with him.

"But I thought…at least the thing with Rooster's dad and Maverick would've made you hate me. It worked for everyone else."

"Lucky for you, I make my own opinions on people." You're blushing? He smiles and lets his eyes fall to your lips briefly, for fun. "I was disappointed."

There you go again, killing all the good feelings inside of him in a millisecond.

"But?" He holds out hope.

Lingering on how disappointment implies expectations. He is equally pressured, annoyed and flattered that you'd expect something out of him. Most people just meet him, stick to their first impressions and expect nothing. It's freeing.

"But I wanted to see how you would handle it. That's the most important part. You fucked up, how you deal with the aftermath counts a lot. And not only did Rooster forgive you, you saved their lives. I can't hold a petty thing that barely involves me against you after all that."

"You never said anything. I expected to be yelled at, like Rooster."

"Did you want me to yell at you?"

It's a confident whisper, taking back control of the conversation at his expense. Fuck, is he blushing? You're steamrolling him. Easy.

"Why let him have all the fun?"

You roll your eyes again, rejecting his advances like a million times before, but there's a new found playfulness to it. His heart beats faster.

"Like I said, I wanted to see what you would do. If I interfered, I wouldn't be able to judge your character, would I?"

Anyone else, and he would've told them to shove judgement up their ass, he doesn't need it. But he sort of wants your judgement to fall on him, so he can know what to think of himself. That's not how it should work. Alas.

Still, one thing bugs him.

"What about Bradshaw's character?"

He cocks his head back, like he just made a great point you hadn't thought about.

"He showed it from day one." Realization probably crosses his face because you mock it. Unlike the easy-going Bradley, he did keep some walls up. A giggle (Jesus, a giggle? Do you want to kill him?) escapes your lips and you bite them to stop it. "Relax, not everyone is an open book. I know, that's why I gave you the chance to show everyone you're mostly alright."

"What?"

"Someone had to tell those hard headed idiots to trust the process."

You did- Why would you?

"Wait- you just, what, told them to have a little faith in me?"

You scoff.

"No, I told them I have a tendency to be right. And I was."

That sounds more like you, cocky but for a reason. And yet, it's weird to hear it in defense of him.

Jake still doesn't fully understand, mind overflowing with questions, urging to have the blanks filled.

"So you defended me?"

Green eyes do their best to intimidate you, or he thinks that's what they are doing, hopes. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

"You're no damsel in distress, Hangman, I wasn't safekeeping your honor-" A snort this time, and he knows you're taking the piss out of him, but he's reveling in it as if it's a compliment. Maybe it is, coming from you. The relaxed expression on your face, freely teasing him like you do with the rest of the squad. He'll take it, if it's all you got. "I just said you probably weren't evil, and you'd come around when needed. Floyd was the one who stood by me the strongest, if you'd like to know."

And right you were, he stepped up when Maverick and Rooster needed him to, without hesitation.

A possibly misplaced sense of pride, the pure kind, spreads inside of him at the thought that you saw potential in him. He expected Javy to know that he would do whatever was necessary, maybe their instructor and mentor, who seemed like an optimistic man. But you, who never really gave him the time of day, who didn't seem impressed by much…that was unexpected. Almost as much as the intensity with which he is pleased to hear you don't not believe in him.

"I could get used to having you on my side."

He pours as much of his charm into the sentence. You don't look even a bit phased, and your voice stays leveled.

"That's a seriously presumptuous leap. I never even said I like you."

Stubborn fucking Lieutenant.

He shakes his head and starts getting up, doing a couple half assed push ups to annoy you (it works) before cleaning the sand from his hands on top of your body.

You swat it away with a faux scowl. He's getting real good at discerning your genuine and fake reactions.

"Wanna grab something to eat?"

You're quicker to take his hand this time, looking at the sun setting behind him.

"How about something to drink?"

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #tgm x reader #tgm fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction

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