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trickphotography2 · 2 months ago

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D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 21

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 20 | Series Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 21

The Jeep was silent, except for the road noise. Javy adjusted his grip on the wheel, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he stared straight ahead.

Your eyes darted over to him, a smile teasing the corner of your lips as you rubbed your belly. “You alright, Javy?”

His throat bobbed, eyes flitting to meet yours before returning to the road. “I can’t watch you shit on the table.”

A mortified laugh burst from your mouth as you blushed. “I don’t want you to see that either. I mean, hopefully, it doesn’t happen, but - ”

“Don’t say ‘butt,’” he groaned.

“However,” you corrected, “fingers crossed, Mom will tap you out by the time I get to the pushing stage.”

“Thank god. I love you, and I love baby Seresin-Machado” - he’d placed a hand on your belly during the parent introductions and enjoyed the appreciative looks from the other moms when you corrected them about him being the godfather - “but watching you give birth might put me off sex forever.”

Smiling, you shifted in your seat and shook your head. The first birthing class had been interesting. Most of the time had been spent watching a movie you hadn’t seen since 8th grade - The Miracle of Birth. While mildly traumatizing to watch as a middle schooler, it was worse seeing it now, knowing that you were a few short weeks away from experiencing it.

But what was even more amusing was watching Javy squirm. He silently gagged, hand over his mouth as he white-knuckled watching the baby crown. “Didn’t you watch it in sex ed or something?”

“No!” he huffed. “We got a banana and condom, and how to make sure that didn’t happen.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, taking out your phone and hitting record. “Hey Jake - you wanted an update on how the classes went. Just here to tell you that we’ve traumatized your best friend.”

“Hangman,” Javy’s voice was solemn, and you flipped the camera toward him. His eyes darted away from the road briefly. “You owe me. This was worse than some of the shi- stuff…” he corrected with a grimace “that we saw during second class Spring Break.”

“Oh god, do I even want to know?” you asked. His answering grin was teasing.

“Your husband was pretty much the worst when we were in the Academy. And flight school. And FRO… actually, he’s just the worst in general. Why’d you marry him again?”

“He got me pregnant.”

“Well, he clearly didn’t pay attention in sex ed,” Coyote laughed, and the camera panned back to you. Jake couldn’t help but smile at the sight. You were smiling - really smiling, the corners of your eyes and nose crinkling - as you rolled your eyes.

“Your daughter demands a baked potato, so we’re heading to dinner. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!” You blew a kiss at the camera before the video stopped. The text had been waiting for him when he got off duty, and he wished it wasn’t too late to call.

Jake anxiously counted the days until he got home. It felt like a race against time, especially when you hit 35 weeks pregnant in a few days. While you and Dr. Shearer had said that Sloane didn’t seem like she would arrive anytime soon, he could only hope that his daughter listened to him and held on for as long as possible. And instead of hurrying home to your side, he was stuck in Japan again, the carrier taking its slow route back to the US.

But it wasn’t just a race against time to get home for the birth that was keeping him up at night - Jake felt the gut-wrenching need to get home to you.

Guilt had eaten at him since seeing you cry on Christmas and worsened with the talk the day after. While he knew the deployment was hard, you’d done a good job hiding how much you struggled. Jake hated himself for not catching it. For not questioning when you were up late when he texted, only relishing the opportunity to talk to you. Not noticing that the smiles you sent him in pictures and videos didn’t seem genuine or asking about the tears he sometimes thought he saw. Allowing himself to be distracted when you changed the subject the few times he tried to get a straight answer out of you.

“We didn’t even know each other when we got married.”

His ex-wife’s words, casually stated but sharp as knives, taunted him. And, as much as he tried to drown them out, doubt crept in whenever he thought about you hiding your feelings from him.

Yes, the situation was different. You’d been together for over a year, not just three months, when you got married. And he’d thought about proposing for a while instead of it being a drunken decision.

But you were pregnant when he finally did it. Jake couldn’t bring himself to regret Sloane - he loved his little girl more than he ever thought was possible for someone he hadn’t met yet - but… would you have said yes if she wasn’t a factor?

“We’re not going to sweat the short deployments.”

You’d said that before he went to Vegas for two weeks. Right before calling him on his shit… trying to pull away when he realized he’d fallen hard for you. Bracing himself for another relationship ending because of his career.

Jake never thought you’d cheat, even though that’s where you’d thought his mind went. No, he was thinking about the toll being apart would take on your relationship. The two weeks away seemed like a big deal back then, but now, at the tail end of five months apart, it was almost laughable that he’d worried back then.

Would you have married him if you knew this was your future - alone, pregnant, and halfway across the world from your husband? Hell, would you have let him stay with you in that grocery store parking lot or sent him packing? Talked to him when he approached you in the hangar, phone clutched in hand and taking a picture of the F-35 tail?

Was it what you still wanted?

Was he what you wanted?

The email from Admiral Tritz hit his inbox sometime overnight, congratulating him on being approved by the selection board to promote to Lieutenant Commander. Just like he’d promised after dropping the bomb that Jake was deploying on short notice. The official list wasn’t released - there was no notice from NAVYADMIN, and that wouldn’t go out until May - but Tritz had said he would be merit-promoted for the next fiscal year.

Accepting the promotion and pinning on those oak leaves would require reenlistment. After completing his initial service commitment, his current contract had only a year and a half left.

By the time the list was officially published, he would have just one year before never having to put you through another deployment. You wouldn’t have to worry about moving - they wouldn’t give him orders with so little time left - so you wouldn’t have to leave a job you liked. You could buy a house in Lemoore or any place of your choosing.

Sloane could grow up in one place instead of moving around every few years like the two of you had.

Jake would be there to watch his little girl grow up, not missing months of her life when he deployed.

Before, accepting the promotion wouldn’t have been a question - he’d always imagined himself serving his 20 years, if not more. The Navy was a way of life, and Jake Seresin felt the most alive sitting in the cockpit.

But that was before you.

Before he fell in love and realized how hard being apart was. Before discovering he would be a father and only having a few days to be part of the pregnancy. Before realizing what it meant to be away from his wife and kid for long periods.

In times like this, Jake wished he had someone to talk to about juggling family life and a military career. While a few people in his squadron had kids, he didn’t feel close enough to ask them how they managed, and none of his close friends had them. As much as Mav was a mentor as an aviator, he hadn’t been around to help raise his soon-to-be stepdaughter. The idea of asking his father was laughable and served more as a cautionary tale of what not to do.

But as Jake changed into his PT gear for a workout after making plans to meet up with Rooster in the wardroom for dinner, it dawned on him that he did have someone he could talk to.

Sorry for the early text, but do you have time to talk this weekend?

Even though it was almost three in the morning in Florida, the message was read immediately, and a text bubble popped up.

Everything okay?

Shit. He probably thought that something was wrong with you or the baby. Quickly, Jake responded - Yeah, everyone’s fine. I just wanted your input on something.

I’m free now. I'm just enjoying my coffee before work.

After hesitating, he sat at his desk and called his father-in-law. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Jake. What’s on your mind?”

Shifting on the couch, you shrugged, “I don’t know.” Helen didn't say anything. You hated the silence. To stall, you sipped your decaf coffee while thinking through her question. “I just…I had ideas for how our first big deployment would go.”

“Such as?"

“Not being pregnant,” you smirked. “Sending sexy pictures in care packages, talking when we could… it wouldn’t be a big deal. I’d keep living my life, and he would live his.”

“Your husband doesn’t find you sexy?”

Snorting, you blushed. You recalled him bending you over the bathroom vanity, making you watch as he fucked you in that damn cowboy hat and told you how sexy you were. Jake stroking his cock in the shower when you visited, his gaze drinking you in. His words echoed in your ears - “Mama, I’ve dreamed about this.”

“He’s…” you cleared your throat, “fine with how I look.” The corner of Helen’s mouth twitched as she raised an eyebrow. Your blush deepened, thinking of all the pictures and videos he’d taken in the hotel room, whispering how they would join his rotation. “My husband is stuck in a floating city in the middle of the ocean with most of the other people being men. Turning him on wasn’t exactly hard. I’m just lucky - ” you cut yourself off.

“Lucky?” she prompted.

You took a deep breath and leaned forward, placing the coffee on the table. “Jake was married before, and his ex cheated on him when he was deployed. He worried a lot about that and her health stuff their whole marriage. And his dad cheated on his mom all the time - they’re a whole different set of problems,” you added with a roll of your eyes. “So he is huge on not cheating. Which, of course, I would never do. And he would never. But my husband is really attractive.” Pulling out your phone, you flipped through your pictures, smiling as you landed on one of him mowing the lawn shirtless. Helen’s eyes flicked toward it when you turned the phone around. “I see the looks he gets. I trust him, but…”

“You don’t feel attractive.”

Nodding, tears welled in your eyes, and a spike of irritation shot through you. “I hate this. I’m not this girl - I don’t need male validation to feel good about myself. I don’t need a man for anything! And yet I find myself sitting here, fucking crying because Jake's gone, and I feel like shit, I’m not happy, and I’m really fucking lonely. And I just…” Hot tears fell as you bit your lower lip, trying to hold back a sob. Helen leaned forward and held out a tissue box. Taking one, you dabbed at your eyes and nose. “I thought it’d be easier. I thought I could handle being alone and doing all this because I saw my mom do it.”

“You’re not meeting the standard you set for yourself.”

“I told Jake I could do this, and I’m... I’m failing at it.” Blowing out a breath, you shook your head. “I-I’m making this harder on him than it has to be. He’s got bigger things to worry about than me falling apart at home.”

“You’re not as important as his job.”

“No. I mean, yes,” you quickly corrected, twisting the tissue into knots. “Maybe? In a different way.” Helen stayed silent, tilting her chin to invite you to continue. “His job is dangerous, and he loves it. But all it would take is a split second for something to go wrong. For him to get distracted and pull his focus away. A-and…”

“You’re a distraction.” Unable to speak around the lump in your throat, you nodded. “Have you spoken to your husband about how you’re feeling?”

Sloane’s foot tapped your fingers, and you smiled faintly at the memory of his words on the trip she’d been conceived on. How he’d used your question about if the mission was dangerous as the opening to negotiations to get married. “He’s one of the best. He’d tell me not to worry.”

“I’ll take that as you haven’t told him?” When you nodded, she set aside her notepad and pencil. “It’s easy for someone we love to tell us not to worry, but it doesn’t make it go away. Did you feel like this before you were pregnant?”

“Not as badly. I worried, but it wasn’t like this.” Helen nodded.

“Different things can contribute to increased anxiety. There are biological factors - hormone and neurochemical changes - that you can be experiencing. We can work with your doctor on medications for those or get you referred to a psychiatrist if you’d prefer specialist care. However, your environment and experiences can also be a contributing factor. Have you heard of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy?”

“No.”

She grabbed her notebook and flipped to a blank page, writing three words and drawing arrows between them. “CBT looks at the relationship between our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors and how they influence each other. For example, let’s say I’m at work and have a thought that I’m not good at my job. What emotions might that bring up?”

“I don’t know… embarrassment.”

“That’s one. What about others?”

“Frustration, anger… resentment?”

“Maybe fear?” Helen offered, and you nodded. “So these emotions are brewing,” she pointed at ‘emotions’ on the page before moving her pencil to ‘behaviors.’ “How might those emotions show up in my work?”

“Not volunteering for stuff or calling out to avoid the problem.”

“Maybe isolating as well? Quitting?”

“That seems pretty extreme.”

“It does,” she agreed. “But if I continue to have this thought of ‘I’m not good enough’ and these emotions of embarrassment, frustration, anger, and resentment circling in my brain, that thought gets coded in there. It can create what we call a schema or a core belief. Core beliefs are our mental shortcuts in interpreting the world and spin off automatic thoughts. What comes to mind when I use that term?”

“Subconscious thoughts,” you said, putting your hands on your belly when Sloane kicked. “Intrusive ones, maybe?”

“Automatic thoughts are just our brain processing stimuli as we go about our day - they can be good, bad, or neutral depending on the situation. It all depends on how we interpret that thought by running it through our core beliefs. Going back to the example, let’s say I mess up at work. With that core belief of ‘I’m not good enough,’ what kind of automatic thoughts might shoot out?”

“It’s more proof I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yup. And it loops in all of those negative emotions we talked about earlier. So what we want to do is challenge those thoughts - push back on them to change our emotions and behaviors. How might I challenge that thought of messing up as more proof that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Mistakes happen.”

“‘To err is human’ and all that,” Helen smiled. “I can give myself a break. By thinking of an alternative realistic thought, I’ve pushed back on a cognitive distortion - a mental bias or flawed thinking. Like perfectionism, or ignoring the positive things in favor of focusing on the negative.” Taking a breath, she set her notepad down and leveled you with a look. You tensed. “Would you be okay if I share some things I’ve picked up on in our last few sessions?”

“Sure,” you said hesitantly.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you see yourself as a very independent person.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Helen said quickly. “Independence is a good thing. However, it can cause some… friction… when your desire for autonomy and self-reliance butt up against situations where having a partner or someone to rely on might be beneficial. When you fixate on how you think things should be done, rather than how they are.” You just stared at her for a long moment.

“So you’re saying I’m stubborn.” The words fell from your lips, an accusation you’d heard many times.

“You have high expectations for yourself. From what we’ve discussed, a lot of responsibility fell on you at a young age. When your dad deployed, it was just you and your mom, and you moved a lot. And that combination instilled a lot of independence in you. It made it easier for you to adapt to new situations and face challenges and made you stronger. And” - she tilted her head again - “you got a front-row seat to see how the military can influence a marriage. That up-close view contributes to your black-and-white thinking - you expect yourself to be that perfect spouse where you are independent and don’t need your husband because otherwise, you’re failing and letting him down by wanting and needing that extra support. You’re not allowing for the grey area, where you may succeed in some aspects but struggle in others. And, at the same time, you’re also measuring yourself against Jake’s ex-wife and allowing that to shape your belief about how to be the best partner for him - one who doesn’t place demands on him or cause additional stress.”

You blinked at her, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. “And here I thought I just had control issues,” you said, trying and failing to sound flippant.

Helen leaned forward and offered you the tissue box. It took you a moment to realize your cheeks were damp again. “Control and perfectionism go hand in hand. Those cognitive distortions won’t be confined only to your marriage but will show up in other aspects of your life. Normally, I wouldn’t tell a client that all at once. But does any of that ring true?”

Clearing your throat, you nodded. “M-my therapist in college said something kinda similar. But am I… are we,” your hand fell to your stomach again. “Am I setting my daughter up for the same problem? Raising Sloane, knowing that Jake will be gone at times?”

Helen encouraged you to do something to take care of yourself after the session. Leaving her office, you cried in the car, overwhelmed and happy you’d taken the rest of the day off. The house was too quiet when you got home, and you quickly changed out of your work clothes for something more comfortable. Sitting before the television, you let your eyes blur, thinking what you could do for yourself. Reuben had swung by your office and invited you to the bar after work for drinks and games, but you didn’t want to deal with the bar scene. You always got dirty looks for being there, even when you were nursing a soda.

The sound of waves shook you from your stupor, and you watched the cruise commercial before pushing off the couch. It had been too long since you’d been to the beach. You couldn’t help but think about the last time you’d stepped foot in the ocean, coral sand underfoot as Jake held you in Japan. In Florida, you’d made sure to go to the beach at least a few times a year, and always before New Year's Eve. It had been a nice way to wrap up the year, looking for small sand dollars in the surf and giving yourself time to reflect.

Throwing an overnight bag together, you sent a message to the group chat saying you were passing on the night out. Evening traffic held you up as you headed out of town, directions for the nearest beach pulled up. It was a two-hour drive, and you had to stop frequently to use the bathroom, but it felt good to be doing something. Hotels in the area were slightly cheaper in the off-season, and you found a cute bed and breakfast with ocean views.

When Jake responded to your text from the harbor when you’d grabbed dinner, you knew his question about the wisdom of being so far away from the hospital came from a place of love and concern, but it annoyed you. So when he asked if you were available for a call, you just texted back three words: I need this. Leaving the phone on the bed, you walked to the sliding glass doors, pushed them open, and collapsed into one of the patio chairs. Waves crashed in the bay across the street, and you let your eyes drift closed while listening to the noise from the nearby restaurant. When you went back inside, you had a few missed calls from him and two voice notes.

“If goin’ to the beach is what you needed, I’m glad you’re there. I just… never mind. I’m gonna play basketball with the guys. I’ll try you again when I’m done.” You felt a pang of hurt and regret at his frustrated tone and the abrupt cut-off. Your thumb hovered over the second note for a long moment before closing your eyes and tapping the screen. Jake’s sigh greeted you, “I love you, darlin’. I miss you. Do whatever you need to to feel better, but don’t cut me out. Please.”

Sniffling, you brushed away the tears on your cheeks and held the phone up to record your voice note. “I’m sorry, babe. I love you, too. I had therapy earlier and feel a little… off. Gonna take a bath, so give me a call when you’re free.”

The hot water felt good as you sank into the tub, your belly exposed to the cool air. The parenting class had suggested a thermometer for the bathtub, and you’d tossed the little otter in to test it, along with some lavender-scented Epsom salts. Dr. Shearer’s nurse had given you the go-ahead for a hot bath - within reason - when you’d called earlier and asked if it was okay. Lowering yourself so the water covered your shoulders, you felt a smile tug at your lips. It felt so good to have a hot bath, even if you did have to promise to keep it short and a cold bottle of water within reach. Closing your eyes, you relaxed in the tub, smiling at the small waves that Sloane made when she shifted.

When the timer sounded, you groaned and turned it off. The water drained around you, lapping against your breasts, and you hesitated before drying off your hands and reaching for the phone again. Using your toes to close the drain, you held the camera up and stared at yourself on the screen. Your cheeks were flushed, and your hair piled on top of your head, loose strands curling around your face with the heat. Feeling slightly foolish, you sank lower in the water, so it just covered your nipples and snapped a picture. Quickly locking the screen, you got out of the tub and dried off. The towel couldn’t wrap around your front when you tucked it around your chest, your belly-busting through the gap. Feeling ridiculous again, you took another picture before getting dressed.

After turning on the gas fireplace, you climbed into bed to ward off the January chill. The flames flickered across the room as you cuddled with your pregnancy pillow, wishing it was your husband. Grabbing your phone, you pulled up the pictures you’d just taken and studied them. They weren’t… horrible. As much as you felt like a beached whale, they weren’t the worst.

Groaning, you let the phone fall before lifting it again and flipping to your notes app. Helen told you to start tracking your negative thoughts about yourself and how you challenged them so you could talk about them in session. I feel like a beached whale you typed. The cursor blinked as you stared at the words and felt tears burning your eyes.

I’m letting Jake and Sloane down quickly joined the list. And then they flowed out of you.

I’m weak

I’m going to be the reason Jake leaves the Navy

Jake will resent me for keeping him from doing something he loves

He’s going to get hurt because of me

I’m not going to be a good mom

I’m failing as a wife

Jake isn’t going to find me attractive

I’m not strong enough to do this

Jake is going to leave me

I’m just like his ex

I’m the reason Jake won’t talk to his mom and sister

The screen changed as you typed another thought, switching to a picture of Jake. Sending the call to voicemail, you sat up and swiped at your tear-stained cheeks.

Another call came in, and you also sent that one to voicemail. Getting out of bed, you hurried to the bathroom to splash water on your face. The screen lit up with a text - Just tell me if you don’t want to talk.

A sob burst from your mouth as you picked up the phone with shaking hands. I just need a minute. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you met your gaze in the mirror and told yourself to stop. You couldn’t make Jake sit through another call when you were falling apart.

Sixty seconds later, the phone lit up again. Knowing you couldn’t ignore another call, you turned on the sink and grabbed your electric toothbrush, hitting the on button before answering and putting it on speaker. “Darlin’?”

Turning off the toothbrush, you spit into the sink and splashed more water on your face, making enough noise that Jake would hear you. But just the sound of his voice made your throat tight, and you buried your face in the handtowel, forcing yourself to take deep breaths. “Just a minute,” you said, using the cloth to muffle your voice. After clearing your throat and breathing, you said, “Hey.”

“Hey.” You heard him clear his throat. “Are you mad at me, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Jake,” you snapped, tears starting to fall again.

“What?”

“I just stopped crying, damn it.” And then, to your horror, the phone rang again as he tried to video call you. You denied it. As you scrambled to call him, he video-called again. When you declined it and called him, he picked up and hissed your name.

“I wanna see your goddamn face.”

“No. C-can’t we just t-talk?”

“No. You’re just gonna fuckin’ lie to me again and tell me that everything’s fine when it’s not. I can’t trust you to tell me the truth unless I’m lookin’ at you.”

So when the video call came through, you snatched the phone up and glared at your husband sitting at the desk in his stateroom. “Happy?” you demanded.

“Thrilled,” he shot back. “Nothin’ I love more than seein’ my wife in tears again.”

“You asked for it! We could have just talked on the phone and - ”

“Pretended everything was okay instead of you being honest with me?”

“I’m trying to make this easier for you!”

“Stop making it easy on me!” Jake yelled, green eyes flashing with anger. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ - just stop! Yell at me, make me feel like shit - tell me that I’m the reason you’re depressed and that I abandon you when I’m supposed to be with you. That I’m letting my wife and daughter down by not being there to take care of you when you need me, and you’re already talkin’ to a lawyer about getting a divorce because you can’t do this anymore, and - ”

“Jake - ”

“You’d have been better off not marrying me, and - ”

“Jake - ”

“Sloane is gonna hate me for being a deadbeat who - ”

“Jacob Michael!” You stared at him, wide-eyed with shock at his tirade. Jake’s face flushed, his chest heaving like he’d been running. As you watched, he dropped his head into his hands, fingers tugging on his hair so harshly you wished you were there to stop him. “Stop,” you said softly.

“I can’t,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you…” You trailed off when he lifted his head, and you saw his tearful eyes. “Honey, are - are you alright?”

That made him chuckle, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, his wedding band glinting. “You’re supposed to be yelling at me, darlin’.”

“I’m not gonna yell at you.”

“You should. I deserve it.”

“Why?” At that, he scoffed and started ticking the reasons off his fingers.

“I knocked you up and then got hit with a deployment a week later. And made you marry me before I left. Then - ”

“You didn’t ‘knock me up,’” you said, putting a protective hand over your belly. That phrasing felt… wrong. “We got pregnant. And then decided to get married a little faster than we initially planned.”

“I still left you.”

“You didn’t want to.”

“Still makes me a shitty husband and father.”

“I… I feel like I’m a shitty wife and mom,” you said softly.

“You’re not.”

“You’re not, either.” Taking the moment of silence as an opportunity to leave the bathroom, you settled in a chair by the fire. It threw just enough light to see your face but gave you cover to feel comfortable admitting, “I-I’m afraid you’re gonna leave the Navy because of me.” Jake’s jaw ticked, and he looked away from the camera. Your heart lept into your throat.

“I don’t know how long I can do this, darlin’. But if I separate, it’s gonna be my choice.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, you shook your head. “Jake, I know it’s been hard but - ”

“I got the promotion.”

“You did? Congra - ”

“I have to sign on for three more years if I accept it.” You stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Okay. We can do that.”

“Sweetheart. I don’t know if I can do that. This deployment has been the worst one I’ve been on, and I don’t know if I can do it again. Bein’ away from you was hard enough, but next time, I’ll be away from Sloane, too. Realistically, we’re lookin’ at another five years - minimum - if I do it. That’s five years of maybe missing birthdays, anniversaries, her firsts… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

“B-but you love flying.”

“I do. But I love my girls more. And I can find different ways of doing it.” He sighed when he saw the flash of your teeth as you chewed your lip. “Say it. And turn on a light so I can see you.”

Staying put, you closed your eyes, unable to see him when you forced the words out. “I’m afraid you’re gonna blame me if you’re unhappy if you separate. I’m afraid I’m making your life harder like your ex-wife.”

There was silence for a long moment, then the sound of metal scraping. Opening one eye, you saw Jake pacing, hands back in his hair. You watched, wishing you were there to hold him. Finally, he turned back to the camera and growled, “I want to see you when I say this, darlin’, so turn on a damn light.” Reluctantly, you stood and moved to the bed, flicking on the lamp and pulling one of the arms of your pregnancy pillow over your lap. Leaning on the desk, he stared at you, his expression stern. “If and when I leave the Navy, it’s gonna because I want to. We’ll discuss it, but when I’m done, I’m done.”

“I can do this, Jake. I - ”

“When,” he spoke over you, “I am done, I’m done. I will not lose my family because of the military.”

“You won’t,” you muttered. He ignored you and continued.

“You, Sloane, and any other kids we have will come before my job. And I will tell you every day until you get it through your thick, beautiful skull - you are my priority, darlin’. Nothin’ else matters but you and our family. Understood?”

“Ja - ”

“Understood?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Seresin, sir!” you snapped, giving him a mocking salute.

“Pause.”

“What?”

“Pause,” Jake repeated, disappearing from the screen as you resisted the urge to disconnect the call. When he returned, he held up a well-worn paper before reading from it. “Update four - ‘Parties agree not to walk out on arguments. Parties agree to request a ‘pause’ if necessary and will finish the discussion when cooler heads prevail.’ You wrote it, darlin’, so I’m calling a pause.”

“Fine,” you huffed, blinking back tears at the reappearance of the contract. His having it with him made your heart skip a beat. You watched him read over it again before shaking his head.

“We never updated this. We need to.”

“It’s stupid.” His eyes shot to yours, and he shook his head.

“It’s not. I take this as seriously as our vows, sweetheart. But we need to figure out what anniversary we’re gonna update it on.”

“You only want one anniversary.”

“But you want two - a sentimental one and our wedding anniversary. So what’s it gonna be? When are we gonna update this instead of doing” - he paused to look at the paper again - “‘ad hoc meetings to discuss clauses and conditions as they arise’?” A smile tugged at your lips as you shook your head.

“Pretty sure it says ‘annual dating contract’ at the top, Seresin. So that would put it up for review in a few months.”

“Gonna have to rename it to ‘annual marriage contract,’ Seresin,” he shot back.

“Gonna add it to your list of updates you want?”

“Yup. Right up there with you sending me more dirty pictures.” You flushed, looking away from the camera. “Mrs. Seresin,” Jake said, his tone teasing. “You have something to tell me?”

Jake got you to send the two pictures you’d taken earlier in the night through cajoling and pleading. And when he’d started talking about how sexy you were in them, you tried to shut it down without success, which kicked off the fight again, your husband begging you to understand how attractive he found you.

It was lucky that Rooster and Fritz were on liberty because the call lasted hours. You plugged in your phone when the battery almost died, set it down when it overheated, and your arm tired of holding it up. A few more pauses were called, and you couldn’t help but chuckle when Jake pointed out that you were both going all out for your third official fight of the relationship.

And, as hard as it was to hear, it was good that you were fighting. Sure, your husband calling you a “creepy Stepford wife version of the woman I fell in love with” wasn’t exactly great. Still, he didn’t really appreciate being called “an arrogant asshole who would prefer to martyr yourself instead of listening to your fucking wife and letting her decide what she can and can’t take.” But for the first time since finding out he was deploying, it felt like you and Jake were being honest with one another about how you felt. About how hard navigating the pregnancy, deployment, and first months of your marriage had been for both of you.

At some point, you fell asleep during a pause. When you woke the following day, you scrambled to grab your phone and was greeted with a message from Jake.

I love you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t wait to get home and show you exactly how much I love you and our daughter. Only 6 more weeks, darling.

----------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Did I have to write extensively about CBT? Probably not, but it's my favorite modality to use. It was kind of fun writing Jake and Darlin' fighting because they don't do it that often, but was definitely needed to clear the air. It was fun going back through some of their highlights from previous chapters. Not to mention Jake realizing that he has a whole other family that he can lean on now, and calling his father-in-law for advice.

And Javy continues to be the best godfather.

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#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman imagine

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princessmisery666 · 5 months ago

Text

The Full Seresin Service - Part 2 of 3

Series Summary: You and Jake have been dancing around each other for a while. The Dagger Squad set it up so that the dancing stops, but a case of miscommunication could ruin it all.

Summary: The rules are set, the deal is made, and the Full Seresin Service begins. Nothing could possibly go wrong. Right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: Fluff, flirting, teasing, smut, miscommunication.

W/C: 5.2k

Characters: Unnamed female reader (you/she/her), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado.

Pairing: Hangman x Female Reader. Phoenix x Coyote.

Notes: Reader has a call sign.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thanks for saving the smut section 😄 // all mistakes are mine. Special shoutout to @writercole

Graphics: made by me on Canva.

Master Lists: Series // Top Gun Maverick // Main

I do not give consent for this or any other of my works to be reposted/reworked or translated on to any other account or platform.

You take your bottle of wine and a glass to the room. Your credit card will not thank you, but you don't care right now. You need to drown your sordid thoughts of Jake dropping that fluffy white towel and showing you what’s beneath it.

While juggling the bottle, a glass, your phone, and book, you manage to slip the keycard in and elbow the door handle down, using your butt to open the door and shuffle into the room.

“Oh crap,” Jake grumbles.

He grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed, but it's too late. You’ve seen it all, and it doesn’t help that he cups himself, the fabric of the shirt perfectly shapes his cock. He has to be doing it on purpose.

“Sorry,” you say, but don't bother turning around now that he’s partly covered up.

“What are you doing back here?” It’s more of an accusation than a question. “I saw you in the bar.”

“I didn’t feel like reading after all,” you say, walking further into the room and placing the bottle on the nightstand. “What are you doing back here?”

“I lost concentration too,” he says, “came back to change, was gonna work up a sweat in the gym.”

“You brought gym gear?”

“Like you didn’t.”

Urgh. You hate that he knows that you did. You never planned to do a full workout. After all, you're on vacation, but you’d have done some light cardio at least.

You backtrack, annoyed at yourself that you're predictable or that he knows you're better than you like. “And I didn’t say I lost concentration. I’m not that easily swayed.”

He snorts a chuckle, “Could’ve fooled me.” His cocky smirk spreads wide. “You can’t keep your eyes on my face.”

Of course, your eyes betray you, drifting down to his crotch and back up again. “Well, that’s because I’m not blind, and I saw everything and can still see it ‘cause you're holding it like a…a…dick.” You realize your mistake and quickly try to correct it. “I don’t mean a dick like a cock. I mean, you’re a dick!”

Jake laughs, an actual stomach laugh, and you do not take to being laughed at lightly. You grab a pillow from the bed and launch it at him. Naturally, Jake, being Jake, catches it with one hand and replaces the tee with the pillow.

“Better?” he asks smugly. “Now you can’t see it.”

“Whatever,” you sneer.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Jake,” you scold. “You promised you wouldn’t annoy me. And you’ve already annoyed me by letting Javy and Natasha set this whole thing up, so just stop, please.”

“Wait? Set what up?”

“Don’t play dumb ‘cause I know you’re not.”

“Pretend I am.”

“The whole fuckin’ dagger squad set it up so we’d team up and win to send us here to…” Your arms flail around, searching for the word, but it doesn’t help, and you drop them, defeated. “I don’t even know what.”

Geez. You hate how flustered he makes you. When you are face to face and not in a cockpit, you always have to be careful about what you say. You're always conscious of how he can misconstrue something or turn it into innuendo.

“Cosmo, I swear I didn’t know anything about that.” he pleads for you to believe him. “Coyote gave me the ice cream clue, but honestly, at the time, I thought he was playing me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. “We’re here now, so can we just do what we said we’d do and stay out of each other’s way.”

“I will, I promise,” he states. “But I really need you to know I had no hand in setting this up. Us teaming up or winning, or you walking in here and seeing me naked ‘cause that’s disgusting, creep-level shit, and I swear it’s purely coincidence. Coyote texted me about you, and I needed an outlet, so I was going to work out, I swear.”

“Fuck,” you huff, “Coyote and Phoenix strike again. She texted me, and I needed to stop thinking about it, so I came back here to drink away my…”

“Feelings.”

“Thoughts.” You correct with an incredulous look. “I don’t have feelings for or about you, Hangman.”

“That’s bullshit,” he states. “You avoid being alone with me ‘cause you don’t trust yourself.”

Shit. He really does know you better than you thought. But you're saved by the bell, or rather the knock on the door. You walk to answer it and hear Jake moving around. You hope he’s dressing to go to the gym.

You take the ice bucket from the concierge and thank him before closing the door. So as not to get another peek at Jake, you keep your head down as you make your way back to the wine on the nightstand. You pour a glass and put the bottle in the ice. If Jake weren’t there, you’d probably swig from the bottle. You need to be done with the conversation and Jake.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says sincerely. “If you answer me one thing.”

You gulp half a glass of wine and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What?”

“Why are you resisting this?”

“Honestly,” you sigh, turning to face him. He’s pulled on a pair of boxer briefs but nothing else. It makes it slightly easier to talk to him. “I’m not a true member of the Dagger squad. You all have this deep bond I’ll never be a part of. I had to earn my place, and sometimes, I’m still an outsider.”

“That’s not true,” Jake argues. “You’re one of us. None of us ever think otherwise.”

“Maybe,” you shrug with a half smile. “But you have a reputation, Hangman. You’re not exactly the stable relationship kind of guy. A couple of weeks with someone is the most you can manage. I know if I gave in to you, you’d get a ‘atta boy’ and proud slaps on the back, but me, I’d lose the respect of our friends.”

“You mean the friends who set this up?” he asks.

He has a point, and he knows it too. You're silent for too long, and he slowly makes his way around the bed to stand in front of you. “You want this as much as I do. We make a good team. Scrap that. We’re the best team in the air. I wanna know if that translates to the ground, too. There’s something between us that each of us is trying to ignore and clearly failing miserably.”

You laugh lightly because he’s right. “There’s nothing but lust between us, Jake,” you counter. “We want what we can’t have, the low-hanging forbidden fruit.”

“Ouch,” he laughs.

“Don’t pretend you're not an easy lay,” you jest.

The dig of his promiscuity doesn’t deter him. He steps closer, his eyes soft and his tone sincere. “Give me a chance,” he suggests. “A weekend pass. We’ll keep it between you and me. We’ll eat the forbidden fruit, and it’ll be our secret.” he winks. “No one has to know.”

He’s right. Again. No one would need to know, and they’d have no way of finding out. Sure, Hangman could be a douche and tell them, but what proof would he have?

He’s already wearing you down, so there’s no need for the extra, “I promise I’ll make it the best weekend of your life. No-holds-barred. Full Jake Seresin service,” but it’s nice to know he’s committed.

“You know I’m seeing someone. Klay, remember him?”

“Please, that fizzled out a week ago for you,” he jeers. “You’ve seen him a total of three times in the last five weeks. Two of those were drinks at the Hard Deck, and I gave you a ride home. If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve got a text saved in your notes telling him you don’t want to see him again. You're just waiting for the right time.”

You really need to put some distance between your personal and professional life.

“I have two conditions,” you say.

He nods, smile already morphing to an air of smugness. “Anything.”

“Whatever does or does not happen, we remain professional. It doesn’t affect our work.”

“Done.”

“No one knows anything,” you say sternly. “They can guess and speculate, but nothing is ever confirmed.”

“Done.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, but you have other ideas. Stepping into his personal space, you deliver a gentle kiss to his lips.

His reaction is immediate. It’s a flurry of caressing, groping, and clothing being removed. A hand cradles the back of your head, and the other finds purchase on your hip. The press of his flesh against yours is electric, and you shiver as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip.

Jake moans as you open up to him, deepening the kiss. His hand slips to your ass cheek as he slowly shuffles you both toward the bed, pink lips now suckling on your neck. You laugh as you both tumble onto the mattress when he misjudges the distance. He’s quick to follow as you shuffle toward the headboard, his mouth latching onto a breast, and his tongue swirls over the taut nipple.

“F- fuck,” you whimper as you arch into him.

Sharp teeth gently graze the nub, and he mumbles, “You have beautiful tits,” as he shifts to suck the neglected nipple into the damp heat of his mouth. Jake’s hands rest on your hips as he knees closer between your legs. A hand replaces his mouth, kneading your breast as he sits up. “I’ve wanted you like this for a long time.”

“Well, now that you’ve got me, what’s your plan?” you snark, eyes mere slits as you stare up at his pretty face. The smirk you typically want to smack from his smug features is now inexplicably sexy as he pops a brow.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a little begging…”

The hard pinch to your pebbled bud contrasts with the soft brush of fingers up your thigh, and your walls clench as goosebumps race across your flesh.

“Maybe a little screaming.” Jake leans forward and presses a hand into the pillow next to your head as the other splays over your stomach, thumb lightly brushing your clit.

You tilt your hips, seeking friction, and he chuckles, shifting his hand up and away from where you need him. Refusing to give him what he wants so easily, you bite your lip to keep the plea locked away.

“Now, now, none of that. I want to hear you.” Jake nips at your bottom lip, pulling it from between your teeth. At the same time, he slips two fingers into your already slick heat, causing you to jerk and moan loudly. “There we go.”

Not wanting to give him the upper hand – you silently chuckle at the unintentional pun – you reach down and encircle his dick with a gentle squeeze.

The steady pump of his fingers falters as he growls, “Shit!” But he grasps your wrist to halt any movement on your part. “Nope. Not yet.”

“Jake,” you whine, dragging out his name. “That’s not fair.”

“I haven’t heard any begging yet.” The pressure of his grip increases, and he pulls his fingers from inside you, slowly licking each one clean as he stares you down.

You hate to admit how easily he got you worked up, but your body betrays you. You’re right on the precipice, and you want him to send you over the edge in the best way. Loosening your hold on his throbbing dick, you whimper, “Please…”

“What was that?” He releases your wrist, capturing your hand and entwining your fingers as he pushes them into the pillow above your head. “Do you need something?”

The smug smile is back, and you have reverted to wanting to slap it off his face, but instead, you give in and plead, “Please… please… I want you to make me come,” while plotting your revenge.

“That’s better.”

He squeezes your hand and swiftly pushes his fingers back inside you as his thumb circles your clit.

Jake is as adept with his hands in the bedroom as he is in the cockpit of a fighter jet. Within moments, you’re screaming his name, your free hand gripping the back of his neck, your inner muscles contracting tightly around the fingers pressed against that sweet spot.

“Damn,” Jake groans, “that’s so hot. But we’re just getting started.”

Jake struts into the bathroom and presses himself to your back, resting his chin on your shoulder. He smiles at your reflection in the mirror while you set your toiletries out on the countertop. He lived up to his reputation, and after a few rounds of him making you come with his tongue, fingers, and cock you decide to shower to give you both some time to recover.

“You're getting all clean just for me to make you dirty again,” Jake smirks, kissing your shoulder and scrapping it away with his teeth.

“You can get me as dirty as you like,” you say, “but I need to shower.”

“Seems like a waste, but okay.” he shrugs and holds up the room service menu. “Do you want more wine or water?”

“Both,” you chuckle, “we’re gonna need to hydrate.”

“Copy that,” he says before smacking your ass and walking back into the room to put the order in.

You overindulge in the shower because the water pressure is impressive, and the waterfall showerhead is calming. You also need a minute, or ten, to get yourself in check. The sex is phenomenal, but Jake has surprised you. Shockingly, he’s respectful, attentive, and not as selfish as you expected. He constantly checked in to make sure you were okay, and that you liked what he was doing, and though he rarely needed it, he asked for direction.

You recognize this is dangerous ground to be walking on, but it’s only a weekend, two nights of surrendering to your desires, and then it’s over. You can do this.

There’s little point in dressing again. Jake is sure to have you naked and moaning again soon enough, so once you’ve showered, you opt for a t-shirt and clean underwear - you need to be somewhat presentable when room service arrives.

You're pulling the garment over your head as you leave the bathroom, but you freeze as soon as your head is free.

Jake is standing beside the prepared table, wearing nothing but a smile and a white towel slung over his arm. The dimmed lights and the candles dotted around the room create dancing shadows on the walls. The table is set for two - silver serving trays with large round lids hiding the delicious-smelling delights beneath them, and a bottle of wine is cooling in the ice bucket. A single rose in a slim vase adorns the center of the table, with a small gift-wrapped box set in front of it.

“Jake,” you gasp, unable to hide the shock.

His smile is full of charm and pride at the reaction. “I told you,” he says, walking closer, “full Seresin service.”

“I’m getting more naked butler vibes,” you jest, accepting his offered hand and letting him lead you to the table.

He laughs, pulling out your chair, “Same thing.” Quickly, he rushes around to his side, picking up the gift and handing it to you as he sits down. “I swear I picked this up before the whole setup and sex thing. It‘s meant as a thank you for letting me join you.”

Intrigue has you ripping off the fancy bow and paper with perhaps too much enthusiasm. It’s a bottle of your favorite perfume, thoughtful, expensive, and unexpected.

“You said it was your favorite back at the store,” Jake explains.

“Thank you.”

It’s a lovely gesture, and though you don’t want to think about it, you can’t help but wonder how many women have been charmed by the Full Seresin Service. He clearly knows what you want, the romance of it all, but come Monday morning, this will all be a distant memory.

The following day is a blur of sex. Jake doesn’t hold back, and you each teach the other a thing or two. He takes a shower around four and has some kind of epiphany while seemingly enjoying the fancy shower because he exits with a wide grin and a burst of enthusiasm.

“Do what you need to get ready for a fancy event,” he says.

“What?” you question, watching him pull on sweats. “I didn’t pack anything to wear to a fancy event, Jake.”

“Trust me,” he says, sitting on the chair and slipping his sneakers on. “Take a shower, do your make-up, leave the rest to me.”

“Where’re you going?”

He grabs his wallet and phone, swipes the room key from the top of the dresser, and gives you a swift kiss. “Trust me,” he says again, leaning back to look at you. “I won’t be long, you’ve got an hour.”

He’s true to his word, and less than an hour later, he returns carrying three shopping bags and a proud smile.

You’ve applied light make-up and styled your hair, “You look good.” Jake compliments. “Here,” he hands you the largest bag and one of the smaller ones. “Take them in the bathroom, but don’t come out until I tell you.”

He’s far too excited, but you don’t protest his instructions, intrigued by what the big surprise is.

In the bathroom, you pull the garment out of the bag - a long, bronze, cowl-neck chiffon dress. It’s beautiful and undoubtedly expensive because he’s already removed the tags. There are strappy heels to match in the other bag.

You slip the dress on over your head, careful not to touch your hair, and it instantly makes you feel sexy. The fabric is soft, and the color looks good on you.

“Ready when you are,” Jake calls.

After putting the shoes on, you take a few extra moments to check your reflection, twisting left and right. It’s not the kind of dress you can wear underwear with, and you shuffle your panties off. Now, the gesture of the dress makes a little more sense. You assume there’s something in it for Jake, too.

Jake gasps as soon as you step out. “Wow.” his mouth remains in the O shape while you twirl for him. “Damn, you look… wow.”

You look him up and down - black suit pants, formal shoes, his shirt and jacket are the same bronze color as your dress. He looks edible, but before the drool can escape your mouth, he’s in your space.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close to him. He nips your ear. “Maybe we forget the rest of the plan, and I’ll just fuck you in this dress instead.”

“I mean, that is the deal,” you laugh, scrapping your nails down the nape of his neck, “but I’m intrigued about the rest of the plan.”

“Come on,” he grins, taking your hand and leading you out of the room.

The room is filled with joy. Everyone is smiling and happy, people chatting and dancing, eating the canapes being served by the wait staff. Jake feels giddy. He has no other word for it and brushes it off as the atmosphere in the room, but he knows better. It’s you, or rather the two of you.

It feels right. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place after months of trying to figure out the complex picture.

Jake senses you’re nervous, eyes darting around the room, sipping your drink too often. “Relax,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on the small of your back.

“How can I?” you ask, “we’re gate crashing a wedding.”

“Act like you belong,” he advises, “We look like we belong. Stop worrying.” He catches a server as they pass, grabs two fresh glasses of champagne from the tray, and hands you one. “To the bride and groom.”

“Whoever they are,” you toast.

Jake keeps his hand on the small of your back as you each watch the celebration for a while. It’s not only to assure you he’s there but also to make sure anyone looking, and he’s seen a few men looking, knows that you're with him.

“So, Jake,” you start, wistful and light as you turn your back to the room and focus on him. “Is this your end goal? Marriage? Kids? The whole nine yards?”

“Definitely,” he nods, “someday.”

You can’t hide your expression, even though you try by taking a delicate sip of your drink.

He cocks his brow. “Why does that shock you?”

“It doesn’t, not really. You're a family guy. I’ve seen that on family days and heard you call your sister, but” you grimace around in an apologetic tone, “you don’t exactly pick the settling-down types.”

“Ha,” he laughs. “Okay, that’s fair.” He sobers a little, mind reeling at the list of exes he knows you're aware of to have made that conclusion.

“You tend to go for the jealous, insecure, toxic type,” you explain. “And that’s not to say you’re not as toxic sometimes, but there’s a pattern.”

He scoffs in offense. “Wait a second, when have I been the toxic one?”

“Laura.” You say without hesitation. “You let her believe you and me were screwing because you wanted to break up with her.”

“No, no, no,” Jake corrects, “you got that all wrong. I did break up with her and she assumed it was because of you. That’s not my fault.”

“Did you explicitly tell her we weren’t sleeping together?”

He shrugs, laughing around the rim of his glass. “No, ‘cause I was too busy trying to sleep with you.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. “And Nicole?”

“Okay, yeah, she was just a crazy person.”

“I know!” you remember. “She threw a bottle at me in the Hard Deck. If it weren't for Nat’s cat-like reflexes, I’d have a scar right now.”

“That was some kung-fu master shit she pulled. I think that’s what made Coyote fall for her.”

“Don’t change the subject, Lieutenant,” you say. “What about Kate? I had to pretend to be your pregnant wife to get her to leave you alone.”

“Point made, toxic, jealous, and insecure.” he agrees. “I guess I’m not ready to settle down yet, so I keep making bad decisions.”

“Well, what’s one more?” you wink.

His heart skips, and he feels a little sick. You’re not a bad decision. In fact, you're probably the only good decision, women-wise, he’s made since he was a teenager.

You're the take-back-home type of girl. The kind of woman he’d proudly introduce to his family. Though the predecessors who had the privilege didn’t work out, he feels if it were to end the same with you, you’d forever be the ex that his family continued to invite to family functions, and his mom would sigh and tell him he’d lost a good one every time she saw you.

“You are not jealous, insecure, or toxic, Cosmo,” Jake says.

“Exactly,” you laugh. “So clearly not your type.”

He doesn’t correct you, even though you are absolutely wrong. “What about you?” Jake asks. “You want the whole nine yards?”

“I guess, with the right guy.” You finish your drink and put the empty glass on the table. “Okay, if we’re doing this,” you say, “let's do it right. Mr Seresin, may I have this dance?”

He accepts your offered hand and leads you to the dance floor. A few people give you odd looks, trying to place who you are, but it’s easily ignored.

Jake’s raging boner after one and a half slow songs and perhaps too much winding and grinding for a public place is not so easily ignored. “Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, and he gladly takes you back to the room.

The sex after the wedding was mind-blowing. Jake doesn’t know how, but every time, it gets better. He feels the butterflies in his stomach every time you touch him, casual touches, a brush of his hand, a lazy sleep-hazed kiss.

It’s Sunday afternoon, the last night, and Jake knows without a doubt that he’s not ready to let this go. It’s not just about the sex, which is fucking - excuse the pun - amazing, but it’s the intimacy of it all too.

You're different. In the confines of the hotel room, you're freer, shameless, and adventurous, revealing secrets that only make him want you more. The pillow talk is deep and meaningful and, at other times, fun and light. Both make him want to talk to you as much as fuck you.

He lies on the bed, watching you pack your suitcase. The items you won’t need in the morning. “Urgh,” you groan, “I hate packing.”

“Me too.”

“I wish I was that last-minute kinda person,” you say, folding a clean t-shirt and placing it neatly in the suitcase. You haven’t had much use for the clothes you packed.

Jake cocks his brow at you in the mirror, “You are wasting precious fuckin’ time.”

“I know,” you say with an apologetic grimace. “The weekend pass expires at midnight. But I can’t not do this.”

He laughs lightly, shuffling off the bed, and saunters over, slipping his arms around your waist while you organize your things. “Worth the price of admission?”

“Absolutely.” You smirk at his reflection in the mirror. “Ten out of ten. Would highly recommend.”

“Repeat customer?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it while he waits for your answer. He can laugh it off as a joke if the reply is negative, but he hopes it’s positive.

“I’ll leave the money on the dresser,” you squirm out of his embrace, turning to kiss his lips quickly. “Gigolo Jake.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he admits, delivering a harder kiss to your cheek. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

The shower is running, but he’s not under the spray. Instead, he’s naked, sitting on the cold closed toilet lid, texting Coyote.

He’s breaking the rules. He knows he is, but he needs to talk it through with someone because what he’s feeling is new and confusing.

<Hangman: I need you to promise me this stays between us. Not even Phoenix can know.

>Coyote: What’d you do now bro?

<Hangman: Promise me.

>Coyote: Promise.

<Hangman: I slept with her.

>Coyote: So?

<Hangman: Repeatedly.

>Coyote: I’m confused. Was it bad or something?

<Hangman: No. It was…

He struggles to find the word, and his cock twitches while his memory replays the last twenty-four hours.

<Hangman: Phenomenal. I wanna do it again and again and again.

>Coyote: 🤣🤣🤣. Sorry to tell you but that’s what happens when you like someone Jake. You go back for more.

<Hangman: Not me.

>Coyote: Except now you feelin’ some type of way and you’re freaking out.

<Hangman: YES! What the hell man?! It was supposed to be a one-and-done!

>Coyote: Man, I'm the wrong person to ask. I never meant for Nat and me to be a thing but now I can’t imagine not being with her.

<Hangman: Not helping.

>Coyote: Sorry bro. It is what it is now. Embrace it.

<Hangman: Embrace it how?

>Coyote: You could start by telling her you actually like her. Do some of that Seresin Speciality romance stuff.

<Hangman: She has a tattoo low on her hip, a fighter jet in the night sky. I swear there’s a H in the stars. I can’t stop looking at it. It’s like it’s meant to be.

>Coyote: Wow, you sound like you’re way below the hard deck.

He’s not wrong. Jake’s flying below a level that isn’t safe, and he can either pull the ejection handle or do some pilot shit and finish the mission.

>Coyote: Phoenix says she’s all for grand gestures and actions speaking louder than words.

<Hangman: 🙄way to keep a promise.

>Coyote: She can read too dude. Sorry.

<Hangman: I forgot you have your text size big enough to read from the moon.

>Phoenix: 🤣 He does! Now quit stalling. Go tell Cosmo you like her.

<Hangman: I might have an idea or two for a grand gesture. Thanks for the tip.

>Coyote: Hey I’m not straining my eyes and having to wear glasses and not being able to fly.

It probably would have been easier to start a group chat.

Jake decides not to reply. He’s wasting water. Setting his phone on the countertop, he steps into the shower.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to the weekend and go back to reality, and grand gestures should happen somewhere nice and memorable. He needs to set things in motion.

“Cosmo,” he calls out.

“Yeah,” you yell back.

He doesn’t want to scream it at you, so he asks, “Come here, will ya?” while he lathers his hair with shampoo.

He sticks his head out of the shower as you enter the bathroom. You chuckle, smiling as you swipe soap suds off his brow before they trickle into his eye. It’s a sweet and delicate touch, but it sends his heart racing.

He clears his throat. “You’re not scheduled to work till Friday, right?” he asks, though it’s unnecessary because he’s always aware of your schedule.

“Yeah,” you sigh. The reminder brings a touch of reality to the room.

He feels a wave of nerves but ignores them, hearing Coyote’s voice in his head, ‘Embrace it.’ “How about we stay a couple more nights? I’ll upgrade you to the Premium Seresin Package.”

You chuckle and look a little sheepish when you reply. “Um….yeah, okay. But the same rules apply.”

“Yeah, obviously. I wouldn’t want…”

His phone chiming interrupts, and simultaneously, you both look at the message preview.

>Coyote: Go chase that flying jet and make her see stars…

“Really?!” you scoff. “Couldn’t even make it back to base before you go shooting your mouth off! What happened to ‘no one has to know’?”

“Cosmo, wait,” he calls as you leave, slamming the door. As quickly as he can, he rinses the shampoo from his hair. “Shit!” There is no towel hanging up, and he has no choice but to exit naked and dripping wet.

You shove your feet into your sneakers, carry-on slung over your shoulder, suitcase zipped and ready to go. “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit!”

“It wasn’t bullshit,” Jake says, grabbing your wrist to try and get you to slow down.

“Don’t touch me.” You snatch your arm away. “I can’t believe I trusted you, Hangman. I should’ve known you’d hang me out to dry, too!” You sneer, and the disgust in your expression breaks him a little.

He ignores the jab of hurt that stabs through him, trying again. “Cosmo, I swear it’s not what you think.”

You grab your suitcase handle and march toward the door, but Jake is closer, and he steps in your path.

He pleads, “Please let me explain.”

“Move.”

He doesn’t, and instead of asking again, you shove into his shoulder and drag your suitcase behind you. The wheels hit his toes. “Fuck!” he yells, hopping around on one leg, clutching his injured foot before falling onto the bed. “Don’t leave, please, Cosmo.”

But it’s too late. You're out the door and gone.

Part 3 - Didn't Know Then What I Know Now

Tags + Info

@alexxavicry / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @imjess-themess

/ @justagirlinafandomworld / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @shanimallina87 / @wildbornsiren /

@writercole / @xoxabs88xox / @dempy / @atarmychick007 / @genius2025

@kmc1989 / @alipap3 / @emorychase

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #fic #tgm #fluff #tgm fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #coyote #phoenix

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Animal Instinct

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, violence, and dark elements

My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your love of animal attracts a new type of beast.

Character: Kraven the Hunter

Dedicated to my dear @honeybee-reads

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Barley is at your heels as you throw out a handful of peanuts into the grass. The squirrels scale down the trees and the crows plunge down to steal a few for themselves. Chipmunks pop up from their burrows and cluster around the next scatter you toss. There are a few brave enough to come up and claim a shell directly from your hand.

You watch the critters for a while then grab the bag of seed to fill the feeder. You pour into the opening in the top of the house-shaped trough. A rush of feathers and tweets comes in response and you back up to watch the birds eat.

Your life is simple. Quiet. And small. It’s just you, your dog, Barley, and whatever other creatures wander this far out.

You sit on the steps and scratch Barley’s head. You’re startled as he pops up onto all fours and bounds across the yard. You call after him but he doesn’t respond.

He stops, fixated on the brush. Even in the morning light, there are pockets of shadow nestled between the leaves and branches. You call him again, even whistle, but he just stands and stares. His ears are back, his tail low. There’s hardly a moment when he isn’t wagging incessantly.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. He’s never done that. Not even when that coyote showed up by the fire one night. He usually tries to play with anything he finds.

You get up and look around. You grab the garden shove and slowly approach the brown labrador. His nose is sniffing, his head moving subtly, as he stares into the bushes.

You peer out but don’t see much. There’s a waft of pine and dirt but nothing else. Your nose isn’t as strong as his.

“Bar,” you touch his head and he flinches, stamping his feet, then spins and wiggles his butt happily as if he hadn’t noticed you.

You scratch behind his ear and turn back, commanding him back to the house. He looks off again into the woods before he obeys. You walk together to the back porch. You notice then how the birds and squirrels and all have disappeared; the feeder is still full and some peanuts still litter the grass.

As you go inside, you realize you still have the shovel in hand. You don’t know what you expected to ward off with it. You put it on the ledge of the kitchen window. You try to shake off the strange feeling gnawing at you.

When you looked into the trees, you saw nothing, but you felt something. Like you were seen by whatever you could not spot. Barley pushes his cold nose into your palm. You stroke his nose as much to comfort yourself as him.

You distract yourself with your usual chores. You feed Barley and yourself. You sit and eat at the table. Then you wash the dishes and put them away. You sweep up the dirt you tracked in then hunker down to read.

You get through half a chapter before you grow restless. Barley’s tapping around the kitchen, no doubt looking for stray morsels. You go out to put the kettle on and let him into the back. You can see him through the back window. Besides he doesn’t go very far.

You watch him pee and circle around the grass. You set the kettle on the burner but keep from turning it on. You look back to the window as Barley hurdles towards the trees barking.

“Woah!” You race to the back door.

You stagger out to catch him but he’s gone before you’re halfway to the trees. You stop before them, breathless. You shout for him, whistle for him. You plunge through the bushes only to be flung back. The hand on your throat sends you sprawling across the grass.

You hit your ass and whimper as the pang in your tailbone tingles to your toes. You prop yourself up on your elbows and gape at the man standing before you. His dark hair is filthy, his beard and face too. He looks feral as his blue eyes glimmer at you and his fists ball tightly as he growls.

He steps closer and you push yourself back with your heels and hands. You have no chance to wonder how he got there or why he’s there. He lunges on you and you cry out.

“Ah, please,” you whine.

His hand covers your mouth and he snarls again. You stare up at him, horrified as he straddles you between his knees. He tilts his head, his lip curling like predator before a feast. Shanks of his dusty brown hair fall forward and shadow his features.

He reaches back and dislodges something from the back of his belt. He raises the knife with the hooked tip and you writhe as you clasp onto his wrist. He aims it at you and swings it down. He stops it just above your cheek and hushes you.

You quiet and blink as your eyes gloss with terror. He pokes you lightly with the blade and peels his hand from your mouth. You lay paralysed on the grass, your body locked up with fear. He drags the blade along your jaw and throat.

He bears his teeth as he trails down your chest and snags the top of your shirt. He cuts through the fabric, backing up as he rents it open to the hem. He comes to rest above your pelvis as your breaths turn shallow and rampant.

He uses the knife to push aside the shorn fabric and his eyes drink in the sight of your torso. He slips the blade beneath the front of your bra and snaps it easily. You curl your fingers into the dirt, crushing strands of grass, as he bends over you.

His nose touches yours and he growls again. He nuzzles you roughly then pinches your lower lip between his teeth. You quiver as he nipples on it then proceeds to drag his nose down your chin. He retraces the path along your throat and curls his shoulders as he gropes one side of your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple.

Your cheeks wet as your fear spills over. He kneads your flesh, suckling and teething, snarling as the pressure plucks inside of you. He inhales, as if smelling you as much as tasting you.

His hand crawls down your stomach as his other comes up to press the knife against your neck. You flatten yourself as much as you can. He picks at the laces of your drawstring pants. He tugs and rolls them down as he lifts himself on his knees.

He shoves his hand between your thighs. You whimper but don’t resist. You’re too confused to do anything but let him. He swipes two fingers along the crease of your lips then delves between them. You squeak in surprise as he flicks over your clit. He swirls around it until you quake even harder.

He sits back on his heels and watches himself place with you. He drags the knife down to trace lazily around your tits as he rubs between your folds. You slicken at his unwelcome touch. Shame speckles across your flesh.

He pushes his hand further back and bends his fingers. He dips inside of you and you croak. You seal your lips and turn your face away. He slips in and out, as if exploring you, seeing how much he can do.

He turns the knife in his hand and holds it flat over your stomach. He slowly pulls his fingers free and wipes your juices along your thigh. He bunches your pants at your knees and hooks his arm around your legs. He bends them as high as he can and lets them rest against his shoulder as he repositions himself.

He leans on you as he unloops his arm from your legs. He reaches behind them and shifts on his knees. You close your eyes and dig your fingertips into the dirt.

He growls again and he brings the swollen head of his dick along the back of your thigh. He brushes it up and down, smearing precum along your skin. He teases you with it until you’re whining and wriggling.

He angles down and puts his tip against your thighs. Your legs part just enough for him to dip between. He uses his thump to push himself against your cunt. He stretches you around him, just an inch inside, and he takes a breath. He groans and brings his hand around to splay across your soft stomach.

Your legs bend slightly, your feet just above his shoulder. You brace yourself and heave. You choke on your sobs as he forces your legs up even further. He snaps his hips and impales you in a single thrust. You shriek and arch your back, reaching to touch his hip. Ow.

He snarls and does it again, lingering deep in you as he wiggles, testing your limit. You weep and latch onto the top of his slack pants. You shudder and dare to look at him, your lashes webbed with teardrops.

“Please,” you beg.

He ruts again and your voice evaporates. His eyes dilate, black almost to the rims, and he pounds into you with his long, punctuated strokes. Snap, snap, snap. Each thrust crushes you further into the dirt as he folds your legs higher and higher.

You dig your nails into his forearm and bite your tongue. The pain is excruciating, but what’s worse, is that it doesn’t all hurt. As your body slowly awakens, responding to the rare touch, to his proximity, there’s worse than the physical invasion.

There’s shame. There’s the awareness of everything single detail of your body and his. There’s the battle of pain and pleasure. Of you and him. And as you long for him to stop, you want just as badly for him to keep going.

#kraven the hunter #dark kraven #dark!kraven #kraven x reader #drabble #mcu #marvel

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