you'd let it slip that one time, when he called you at the time of day he usually does to check in, you'd let it go to voicemail just to be able to save it and conjure up his voice whenever you pleased while he was away.
"i don't have any voicemails of you," nanami had said with a troubled look on his face, and you'd found it so charming that you had to lean in and kiss him.
you'd shrugged, giving him a small, grateful smile. "you always answer when i call, kento."
you know him well enough to understand his logic; he'd never miss any of your calls, even when he's working (you were the only person allowed to contact him past his phone's 'Do Not Disturb' feature) - he couldn't ever risk missing it when you needed him, and you wouldn't think to disturb him for trivial things either.
of course your answer doesn't satisfy him, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his brain. you can't help but laugh a little, kissing his frown away and changing the subject to save him from the stress.
the next day, at that time he usually calls during his break, he receives an ominous text from you.
don't call. and don't answer, i'm leaving you a present.
he worries immediately, but another text pops up once you see he's read it.
don't worry! you'll ruin the surprise! i love you ❤️
nanami tries his best, but he can't help it. instances of something going terribly wrong concerning you and him not being able to reach you in time flood his brain and nearly make him lightheaded. he does as you ask and doesn't answer when your contact pops up on the screen, his self-control waning quickly the longer he sees your photo.
he doesn't know how long he stares at the screen, even when his phone stops ringing.
and then, just a minute later, a notification for a new voicemail pops up, and the tornado of worries in his brain grinds to a halt when everything suddenly clicks, and he's reminded of the short, perplexing conversation you'd had the day prior.
and he feels a little silly.
you pick up on the first ring, as if you were expecting his call.
"my love," you greet, and even though the audio on his phone doesn't do your sweet voice justice, it soothes his heart all the same. "you're not gonna listen to it?" he can tell you're smiling, playful and lovely.
"i'll save it for my way home from work."
"hmm, how do you know it wasn't something naughty, then? what if you start blushing on the train, and everyone notices?"
"darling-" he starts, but uncharacteristically doesn't have a follow-up. he knows no one on his commute cares enough about anything else at that time other than coming home as soon as possible, much like himself, but he lets you have that, if it'll make you giggle like you are now. your laugh is deeply precious to him.
"i can just imagine it - but i wouldn't wanna ever miss seeing you blush." oh, he knows, and has suffered your inappropriate whispers in public just to get a reaction out of him nearly enough to get used to it. nearly. "are you blushing now?"
"no," nanami lies easily, heat crawling up his neck in that oddly pleasant way only you can seem to bring out of him.
you laugh just as easily, see through him just like that, as if he's right in front of you.
"i'm glad you didn't listen to me and still called," you say softly, traces of your sweet laughter still lingering in your tone. "i wanted to hear your voice, too."
nanami hums, doesn't tell you that that makes him smile way too wide for him having lunch alone. he tries to tone it down in case gojo somehow happens to stumble upon his carefully chosen, secluded spot.
"i miss you," you sigh, as if you hadn't seen him this morning and kissed him until he was almost late, like you usually do.
"i miss you, too, darling," he replies just as sincerely, as if he wasn't seeing you in just a few short hours and wasn't planning on holding you until you begged him to let you go so you could get dinner together, like he usually does.
"enjoy your break, handsome." the corner of his lip always twitches up when you call him that. "come home safe."
"of course. i love you."
"love you more!"
nanami knows that if he argues that, like he really wants to every time, you'd be too stubborn to let him win. so he just chuckles and lets you hang up.
despite what you'd teased him about, he does listen to your message on the train. and he does start smiling like a madman, his entire face glowing, lighting up with it, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed about it when he's hearing your voice and he's only a few short minutes away from having you in his arms again.
"hi, handsome. i had to think carefully about how to get you to not answer your phone, but it didn't end up being that creative, huh?" you breathe a soft laugh, the gentle cadence of it carrying into your sweet voice. "anyway, here's your obligatory voicemail from me. i'm just kidding - i thought about it, and you looked so sad about it that i just had to make one. you know i'd do anything to make you happy, right? it's only fair, with how happy you make me, too... i hope this will suffice, i didn't really have anything special to say except that i think about you so much it's becoming quite concerning, and i love you so much i feel like i'm going crazy, slowly but surely. look what you do to me!... um, oh- i'm gonna run out of time soon! i can't wait to leave you a million more of these, it's almost as fun as listening to yours... actually, i'll tell you a little secret: i listen to yours every day when i'm missing you most, which is usually right after you leave for work. sometimes i wish you'd come right back even though it's a little ridiculous. um, anyway, i'll think of a more creative way to trick you next time. come back safely, i miss you terribly... i love you more than you know, kento."
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summary - Jake broke your heart when he left you behind. All that remained of him were the memories of when you were in love—and the phone number he never picks up. Now he's back, ready to claim his title. And you think that that's all he wants, that he's completely forgotten about everything you were together, until he tries to fight for you too. But, this time, will you finally be worth more to him than the glory?
warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex and suggestive themes, my limited knowledge of boxing, no use of y/n, Jake is 6'5" because I said so
this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact
word count - 3.2k
okay, here's the start of under the hard deck: rewritten! obviously some parts of it are going to be the same, I don't plan on scrapping all the chapters I've written. it's just that some of the characterizations/pacing/plot points are going to be different. anyway I hope you enjoy (for the second time)! - bugs
one new voicemail masterlist
“Hey, Jake. It’s, um, it’s me again. I know I usually call later, but, I don’t know, today was just so long and I’m so tired and it’s only 6:00. I don’t even know what happened, it just feels like everything went wrong. A customer yelled at me this morning because his iced coffee had too many ice cubes in it— I mean who even cares about something like that? And then he refused to pay for his entire meal, even though I made him another coffee, because he was unhappy with the service and didn’t think he should have to pay for my mistakes, so Freddie got pissed and told me that if I messed up like that again, he’d fire me.
My feet were hurting the entire day too. I still wear those flats you always told me to just dump because they’re too small, and I think they really are too small now because my heels are covered in blisters. Luckily, one of the older waitresses—you remember Marlene, right? She had the big red hair that made you think she looked like Winnie from Hocus Pocus. Well anyway, she had some band-aids in her purse because my feet had started bleeding. I guess it’s probably time I got new shoes, but... But you got me these shoes—that’s why I kept them, I never told you that—and so if I throw them away—
Sorry, I’m not gonna cry. I’m still walking home, people will look at me weird. But it’s just been a really long day and I don’t have anyone to talk to about it and I just— I feel like such a failure, Jake. Nothing I do is good enough and I’m so sick of— God, sorry, I said I wouldn’t cry.
I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, I guess it’s comforting to imagine that you still care, but that’s not— You don’t have to, it’s not your job anymore so I won’t be mad if you don’t, I promise. My therapist said it’s good though. Talking about my feelings. Granted, I didn’t tell her it was through my ex boyfriend’s voicemail but, I don’t know, it helps I guess.
Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you, but say ‘hi’ to Harley for me and… And I— I hope you had a better day than me, that’s all.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, make some noise for tonight’s champ… JAKE ‘HANGMAN’ SERESIN!”
The crowd is deafening, cheering at an eardrum bursting volume, and Jake craves it. The stark white lights above him, the men beneath him, still in their work clothes, trading money amongst themselves. Someone’s rubbing out his shoulders, attempting to tell him something over the noise of the crowd, but Jake’s not even trying to listen.
His opponent is, quite literally, on the ropes, leaning his entire weight on them as someone shines a flashlight in both his eyes. Jake smirks, licking the blood that dripped down from his nose onto his lips. The taste of rust fills his mouth and, though people are trying to usher him out of the ring, he waits. He watches as his opponent looks around the ring hazily, trying to piece together all the noises penetrating his ears through all the blunt force he’d taken to the head. Inevitably, the other boxer meets his eye, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his towering frame, and Jake’s face morphs into a bloody grin. His tongue traces his teeth cockily and he winks.
“Alright, showoff,” Javy shoves his shoulder, finally getting the blond to move. “You already won.”
Jake doesn’t say anything as they walk through the cheering crowd, letting his eyes rake over the ring girls who wave at him flirtatiously. One of the girls seems nervous, not meeting his eye with a deep blush on her face, and Jake smirks. He always did have a thing for the quiet ones.
“Keep walking, hotshot. I know what you’re thinking.” Javy’s voice is back near his ear and it’s clear the man is intent on making sure they both make a beeline straight for the locker room.
Ultimately, Jake’s not too hung up about it, he’d find another girl to pique his interest later in the night, but he never wastes an opportunity to tease his best friend. “No gloating or girls? You got a stick up your ass or somethin’, man?”
Javy scoffs, pushing him into the locker room with more force than necessary. “Please, if I had a stick up my ass, I’d never have put up with your narcissistic ass in the first place.”
“Ouch,” Jake grins, catching the water bottle Javy throws at him with, again, more force than necessary.
He takes a swig and Javy looks at him with crossed arms, contemplating for a moment, before finally letting out a sigh. Jake knows that look. The tongue tracing his molars. The slight tilt of his head and squint of his eyes. It’s Javy’s “I’m about to say something and I don’t know how you’ll take it” look. And, given that Javy can read Jake like a book, that look isn’t always common. He swallows another gulp of water, looking at Javy expectantly.
“Mav’s offering you a spot at the Hard Deck.”
Jake’s brows furrow, his lips stilling around the nozzle of his Gatorade water bottle, and he pulls it away from his mouth slowly. “What?”
“He wants you to come back,” Javy continues unsurely. “It’s a lot of money, dude.”
“What’s the catch?”
Javy shrugs. “Nothing that I can see. He’s offering a bigger cut of earnings, higher priority with fights. You’ve made a name here Jake, I’m not that surprised he wants you back.”
That was true enough. Since moving to Texas, Jake had reached a level of notoriety that was unattainable in California—not when he was competing with guys like Rooster and Razor just to get the time of day. It took him all of two months to make it big in Texas.
“What makes him think I’ll come back then?” Jake sits, dropping the gloves he was holding to the floor. “He knows how good I’ve made it here.”
“You and I both know the fighting scene’s bigger in Cali. I guess he thinks you’d make your way back there eventually. And that a guaranteed spot in the big leagues might incentivize you.”
Jake nods offhandedly, spurting more water into his mouth and ignoring the way his knuckles ache at the squeeze.
“You know as well as I do what this means, man.”
And Jake does. If Maverick’s reaching out to him, especially now, it could only mean one thing. He thinks Jake has a shot at winning a belt.
He purses his lips. “Did he say when he wanted an answer?”
Javy shakes his head.
The Hard Deck. It’s a good deal, Jake knows that. It’ll make winning a belt a very attainable goal, Jake knows that. If he were anyone else, it might be hard to just uproot his life and move to a different state so suddenly, but nothing was tying Jake down here. There wasn’t a single, logical reason Jake had to not accept Maverick’s offer.
He had some illogical reasons though.
Like the diner on Keller street he’d have to avoid if he ever goes out for lunch. Or the apartment complex he’d pass every day on his way to the gym. Or Charlotte’s—Jake had yet to find a restaurant on the entire West coast that could make better Chicken Alfredo. But he’d have to avoid Charlotte’s too. Those were reasons—as stupid as they are.
But they are stupid reasons, Jake reminds himself. Jake has never been one to tuck tail and run, especially when it comes to boxing. And why should he start now? Just because there’s a couple places that make him uncomfortable? Maverick was offering something big—something Jake has always wanted. Something Jake gave up everything for just to get.
“You don’t have to decide now—”
“Tell him I’ll do it.”
Javy’s mouth snaps closed and he looks at his friend. “Jake…”
“You said it yourself,” Jake shrugs, getting up to open his locker. “This could be my chance. I’d be a fucking moron not to take it.”
Javy still seems somewhat unconvinced, saying nothing as Jake speeds through his combination lock. It’s a bit of a stalemate between the two and Jake ignores the feelings of uncertainty creeping up his spine as he pulls a hoodie over his head. His obliques burn at the stretch and he winces.
“Alright,” Javy relents finally. “If this is what you wanna do, I’ll back you. But I’m giving it a day or two before I get back to Mav, in case you change your mind.”
Jake reaches for his bag, stuffing his gloves inside, before sliding on his sweatpants. “Sure, man. I’ll start house hunting. You wanna share a one bedroom or two?”
Javy laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, and gathers his own belongings, shouldering on a jacket.
“You’re dangerously impulsive, you know that?”
“I do. I like to think it’s one of my best qualities.” Jake grins, pivoting on his heel as he heads for the exit of the locker room. He can already taste the victory champagne on his tongue and he thinks that he has a few hours before he crashes. Maybe he could find that shy ring girl again.
“Hey.” Javy’s voice stops Jake, his hand freezing on the door, and he turns. Javy’s got that look again. “You gonna tell her you’re coming back?”
It’s silent for several seconds.
“...Who?”
Javy studies him for a moment, almost like he’s looking right through him, before shaking his head. “Never mind, man. Have a good night.”
Jake nods, pushing through the door of the locker room and out of the building, not stopping until he reaches his parked motorcycle. He secures his helmet with a heavy breath. Jake knows damn well who.
Without sparing it another thought—having to forcibly remove the memories from his brain—Jake starts up his motorcycle, revving the engine a few times before he pulls away from the empty looking warehouse that served as his arena for the night. The cool wind feels good against his aching muscles and Jake loses himself in the feeling of weaving in and out of traffic. It doesn’t take him long to find the club that everyone goes to after a fight—the party limos littering the curb are very telling. Jake finds a spot to park his bike quickly, pulling off his helmet as he takes in the line of people that’s almost wrapped around the building.
He’s hardly dressed for a night out, just in a pair of shorts and a hoodie. But Jake has found that people don’t really care what he’s dressed like when they all just watched him beat another man to a pulp. This belief is affirmed when the bouncer gives him one look before shooting him a nod and letting him skip the line into the club.
The bass of the music vibrates underneath Jake’s feet, making the words of the song almost unintelligible as he surveys the packed interior of the club. Scantily clad women sway seductively from poles lining a large stage in the middle of the room. They’re all dressed in various kinds of lingerie that Jake assumes is in line with the theme of the club. What theme Jake has no idea, but whatever it is, it certainly has men lining up, bills scattered across the floor of the stage.
A loud cheer interrupts his thoughts, a group of patrons lighting up upon seeing him. They’re already drunk, even though his fight just ended, but Jake doesn’t mind as he signals the bartender for a shot of his own. He likes it better this way.
He nods in acknowledgement when one of the guys praises him on his fight—”I’m gonna buy a fucking boat with all the money you won me!”—throwing back several shots in rapid succession. He knows Javy will be on his ass for it tomorrow, but he also knows Javy won’t be the least bit surprised when Jake comes in with a hangover. He may be impulsive, but it’s predictably so.
“Hey, handsome.” Sensual giggles draw Jake’s attention and he turns to find two women dressed in skimpy tank tops and frayed jean shorts standing in front of him.
One of them is holding a bottle of tequila and a shot of her own and the other is looking at him through long, mascara coated lashes. She bites her lip as if to hold in a smile, drawing Jake’s attention to the deep red painting them.
“Wanna take a body shot, champ?”
Jake grins.
The room’s too packed for the girl to lay on any sort of table, but she already seemed to have thought of that, plucking the shot from her friend’s hand and situating it between the valley of her breasts. She looks up at Jake with a challenging smile, but Jake can’t even count the amount of times he’s found himself in this exact position, so he’s hardly thrown.
Dropping to his knees, Jake meets her eye with a smirk, grabbing each side of her chest before pulling her down to his waiting lips. The liquor sloshes around in the shot glass, some landing on his chin when it finally falls into his waiting mouth. Before the girl can say something teasing, Jake’s standing up quickly, hand wrapping around the back of her neck as he confidently tilts her head up, holding her gaze for a second before spitting the tequila back through her parted lips.
She swallows it—her friend giggling manically behind her—blinking up at Jake in a dazed surprise before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him swiftly. Jake’s hands fall to her hips, squeezing and kneading the skin as his lips chase hers. The taste of tequila is heavy on both of their tongues, only fueling Jake’s exploration of her mouth, and when he pulls away a string of saliva still connects them.
The woman’s chest is heaving, but Jake only wets his lips hungrily. “You ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”
And just like that, he finds himself pinning her up against his front door, keeping her thighs wrapped around his hips despite the fact that every one of his muscles ache. He fumbles with the key, swinging the door open and closing it with his foot quickly. The twinkling of dog tags make a brief appearance in his ears as he carries the woman into his living room—still exploring her mouth with his own—but Jake loses track of them as he takes her up the stairs.
Their clothes litter the floor, leaving a trail of a hoodie, shorts, and a tight tank top and denim shorts combination that Jake was more than happy to take off all the way to his bedroom. He keeps his eyes closed as his fingers make quick work of her bra, moving down to bite and suck the delicate skin of her neck. His fingers fumble when she lets out a loud noise of pleasure, not expecting the volume when he’s so used to—
Her hands fist in his hair, dragging Jake back to her waiting lips as he lays her down on his bed. “You gonna fuck me, Hangman?” She breathes against his mouth. It’s supposed to be sexy, Jake knows it’s supposed to be sexy. She’s hot, and she wants him, and he took her home. She wants him to fuck her.
So Jake does.
It’s enjoyable enough. He is genuinely attracted to her physically and she was more than happy to pleasure him anyway he asked. She got him off, and she didn’t care that he hid his head in the crook of her neck the whole time, or that he could only seem to call her “angel”.
Jake cranes his neck to check that she’s still asleep. She is, body stretched out on his bed as she bunches up most of his duvet under her arm. Her cheek is squished against the pillow, flakes of mascara dusting her cheeks. Jake watches her for another moment before getting up slowly. He grabs his phone from the nightstand, sliding on a pair of sweatpants quietly before sneaking out of the room without another glance.
Harley’s laying on the couch when he pads into the living room—something the doberman knows he isn’t allowed to do—but Jake just scratches him behind the ears as he sits down next to him, too tired to reprimand him.
“Hey, buddy.” Remote in hand, Jake flicks through channels, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He turns to the dog. “You wanna watch F1?”
Harley lets out a breath through his nose, resting his head on his paws, and Jake takes that as a “yes”. The two sit in silence, watching the cars race around the track as British commentators talk about tire quality and team tensions and other things Jake currently doesn’t have the energy to pay attention to.
Normally, he does. But after an hour too many at the club and a couple rounds in the sheets with a woman whose name he still hasn’t learned, Jake can only rub at his eyes tiredly, focusing on the brightly colored screen before him through slow, tired blinks.
“What do you think about going back to California, Harley?”
The dog perks up slightly at the sound of his name, moving just his eyes to look at Jake, and his tail thumps briefly against the couch cushion.
“Yeah?” Jake chuckles, scratching Harley’s head again. “Me too.”
A tire screech sounds through the speakers of his TV set up and he turns the volume down slightly, holding his breath to hear if there’s any stirring coming from the upstairs bedroom. Maybe he should have gone for Shark Week instead.
Jake knows he should get up, ice a few things, maybe have a bite to eat, go back to that pretty brunette in his bed. But he doesn’t quite feel up to it yet. One of the cars collides with a barrier, the crackling voice of the driver almost unintelligible through the broadcast. He could just sleep on the couch maybe, though his back would pay for it tomorrow and it would only leave questions with the woman he brought home. A car slows at the pit stop and the pit crew move like lightning to switch the tires. He could… Well, he could—
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck it,” he breathes, already reaching for his phone in his sweatpants pocket.
His fingers fumble with the passcode and he scrolls through his apps quickly. The F1 he’d put on is forgotten, serving as white noise instead. Not even Harley is paying attention to it—the dog opting to snooze lightly instead. Jake knows that he should ice his side, that he should turn the TV off, and go back to the woman in his bed, and sleep. He knows that he should do all those things. Instead he bites his lip as his thumb makes its last press on his phone screen.
“Hey, Jake. It’s, um, it’s me again…”
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