Hangman Angst - Tumblr Posts
Masterlist | Glen Powell
Jake “Hangman” Seresin - Tyler Owens
Updated: 9/29/2024 (link check, new chapters: brothers best friend)
!!authors!! if you want ur work removed please pm me
I’m back again with another one!!! It’s definitely not as lengthy as my other lists (yet) but I’m hoping to find some more for all three. I also figured I’d get a stake in this territory as the Glen Powell fanclub grows post-twisters. I hope y’all find what you’re looking for!
peace 💕
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fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️
Jake “Hangman” Seresin
𐚁 BROTHERS BEST FRIEND | @tongue-like-a-razor
13 parts | ongoing | 🤍🌧️🍋
Jake Seresin x Bradshaw!Reader
The trials and tribulations of falling for your brothers best friend.
𐚁 BRUISES | @ohtobeleah
8 parts | complete | 🌧️‼️
Jake Seresin x WSO!Reader
After a mission goes south, Jake finds himself captured by insurgents that show no remorse. But whats worse than knowing he failed his mission? Knowing that the Weapons Systems Officer who trusted him to bring her home safe was in the same cell as him. Collecting bruises that match his own.
themes of heavy violence, sexual assault, torture, 18+ content, minors dni, mature themes, being held in captivity, hostage style situations, main character death! whump, angst, conversations that discuss antisocial and antisemetic views
𐚁 ROCKS ARE ALLOWED TO CRACK, STARS ARE ALLOWED TO DIM | @sarahsmi13s
oneshot | wc: ~8.0k | 🌧️
jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!pilot!reader
everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder.
angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings
𐚁 THE WALLS ARE CAVING IN | @desert-fern
oneshot | wc: 5.5k | 🌧️🤍
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (known as honey bee/honey)
You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.
jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho
𐚁 THE BEANERY | @callsign-peach
oneshot | wc: ?? | 🤍
established hangman x female!reader
Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why.
tooth-rotting fluff
Tyler Owens
𐚁 LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER | @wisdomssdaughterr
oneshot | wc: 3.7k | 🌧️🤍
tyler owens x harding!reader
you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of the famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knack for knowing just what the storms thinking, a little infuriating and incredibly impressive
fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info and medical info, angst, fluff, some hurt/comfort
𐚁 CHASE YOUR FEARS | @briefinquiries
oneshot | wc: 11k | 🤍🌧️
tyler owens x f!reader
you and your younger brother are road-tripping across the US when you encounter a tornado. Luckily, the tornado wrangler himself shows up to help.
tornados, fear, flufffff
𐚁 WORTH YOUR WHILE | @wisdomssdaughterr
oneshot | wc: 2.9k | 🤍🌧️
tyler owens x fem!reader
As the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. While you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, Tyler barreled into it head-first. But things change in the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than the safety of a newsroom.
dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornadoes, language, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info
Glen Powell
𐚁 HEY THERE DARLIN’ | @shellbilee
6 parts | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋
Glen Powell x OFC (Billie James)
fluff, swearing, angst, eventual smut
ⓒ onehopelessromantic, September 2024
Leave 'em Hanging - Part 1 Under The Radar Mini Series
Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin never loses. That is until he sets his sights on the one target that might bring him to his knees.
Warnings: angst, fluff, brief soft Jake, jealousy, asshole Jake. My HC is that he’s a softie behind doors, and no one can convince me otherwise.
W/C: 4.3k
Rating: M (mature)
Characters: Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Lieutenant Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, fem!reader (You. Call sign: Huntress). Mentioned/Small Parts: Lieutenant Natasha "Phoenix" Trace, Penny Benjamin, Lieutenant Javy "Coyote" Machado.
Pairing: Hangman x Fem!Reader (call sign: Huntress)
Bingo: @anyfandomfluffbingo Square Filled: writers block.
Notes: no descriptions of reader body type or ethnicity. Takes place before Top Gun: Maverick. First time recruits at Top Gun.
Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // @cockslutpadalecki
Graphics: gifs @unicornships // title card made by me on canva. @writercole gave me the divider.
Master Lists: Under The Radar // Main
Leave ‘Em Hanging
Every night there’s a new target. Hangman sets his sights, throws them a flirty, million-dollar, brighter than the sun smile, and like a dart heading straight for the bullseye, he never misses. Never. Not once. Jake doesn’t remember a time when he’s ever been rejected, simply because it’s never happened. He knows how to play the game—he reads people, knows if he needs to play the short or the long game.
You’re a player in the long game. He doesn’t mind, the chase is part of the fun, and you're a formidable opponent. But in order to play the game, you’re required to be within his presence.
Every time the door opens at The Hard Deck, he’s looking up from the pool table. Or he’s intermittently scanning the room in case he missed your entrance. There’s no one else that catches his eye tonight. Of course, there are women who eye fuck him every time he makes even a second of eye contact, but they don’t compare to you.
“Hey Phoenix,” he calls across the table, “Huntress not coming tonight?”
She shrugs. “She said she was; maybe she changed her mind.”
He waits maybe thirty minutes after that before he tells the rest of the team he’s calling it a night, and he takes some shit for ducking out so early, but he has a mission.
When he arrives back at base, he checks the common room, gym, and kitchen but doesn’t find you. He knocks with purpose on your closed dorm room door and waits. Nothing. He knocks again, harder, “Huntress, you in there?”
“Go away.” It’s muffled and sounds pained, but he hears it and straight-up ignores it.
“Can I come in?”
Silence replies, so he twists the handle and opens the door enough to fit his head through the gap.
He sees your silhouette on the bed, but the room is shrouded in darkness. Towels hang off the curtain rail and are taped to the wall to block out the smidge of light the curtains can’t quite keep out. The bathroom door is open a crack, and there’s a thin line of illumination on the carpet. He suspects it's to aid you in finding the door in the darkness you’ve created.
He opens the door wider, asking, “You okay?”
“Migraine,” you grumble, and your face scrunches in pain as the light from the corridor hits you. He quickly steps inside and shuts the door, blocking the light again. You explain, “I get them sometimes. Been a while since it’s been this bad, though. I think it’s you.”
“As long as I’m on your mind, sweetheart, I don’t mind how.”
Despite the pain you're obviously in, he sees your mouth twitch with a small smile before you throw your arm over your eyes and turn away from him. He waits a beat for you to tell him to leave or something, but you say nothing. “Anything I can do?”
“No, thanks, I just gotta ride it out.”
This hadn’t been part of his plan. But he’s nothing if not adaptable, and he can make it work. “I’ll be back.”
----------------------
You hear Hangman leave the room but not the soft click of the door closing. You lie there for a moment, contemplating getting up and closing it properly, not wanting a breeze or something to open it fully and let the light from the corridor flood in, but you’re not sure you have the strength to stand up.
It's only a couple of minutes before you hear him return. He shuffles around the room, coming to the side of the bed and moving away again, then you hear the click of the door closing.
“Sit up,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Trust me,” he says, and without seeing him, you know he’s got that cocksure grin on his face. “Sit up for a second.”
You're not sure you do trust him, but you don’t have the strength to argue, so you roll onto your back and sit up. He’s opened the bathroom door wider so more light filters in, but it's low enough not to cause you too much pain.
He climbs onto your bed, slotting himself behind you, one leg on either side of your hips, back leaning against the headboard. His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard him speak, and it’s laced with concern when he instructs, “Lay your arms palms up on your legs.”
Now you're intrigued as to what he’s doing, so you follow his instructions. You feel the bed dip as he leans over to the nightstand, and then you feel the cold on your wrists where he places an ice pack on each.
He gently tugs on your shoulders, and when you lay back against his chest, he starts rubbing circles on your temples. You're not sure how much time passes, but his fingers must start to cramp because he switches to massaging your shoulders. He finds a tough knot, kneading deeper and harder, you feel some of the tension leave you, and the ache begins to subside.
Despite wanting silence, you let out a low hum of satisfaction. Jake’s smug smile is evident in his whispered question. “Feels good, right?”
“Yeah, it’s helping.” You have to give credit where credit is due. “How’d you know how to do this?”
In the silence that follows, you expect some cocky, sex-infused answer - like, “I dated a massage therapist that was good with more than her hands.” - but what you get is a glimmer of honesty.
“My mom suffered with them; she’d spend days in bed, unable to move. This,” he digs his fingers deeper into your shoulders for emphasis, and you groan again. He chuckles slightly but continues, “was the only way my dad could help her.” He pauses, and you wait, wondering if there’s more to be found in this glimpse of what makes Jake tick. Almost timidly, he whispers, “It’s weird. Even though my mom was in pain, it was my favorite way to see them. It was so intimate. My dad always looked kind of lost; he didn’t know what to do, and maybe it helped, or maybe it didn’t. But they always just seemed happy to be together.”
You're not sure he’s finished, and you like that he’s opening up, so you remain silent. But like a flash of lightning, the moment has passed. You feel his fingertips lightly brush your neck, and maybe if you weren’t in so much discomfort, it would have sent a shiver down your spine, but you’re too tired.
His lips ghost over your ear as he whispers, “But you know there are other ways to cure a migraine.”
And there it is. Jake is gone, and Hangman has returned.
You slap his leg and feel the vibration of his chuckle go through you. The massage continues, and finally, the migraine is a dull ache, and you think you’ll actually be able to sleep.
“Seriously,” he says, “sex helps.”
You’re almost asleep when you reply, “Rain check.”
Being stationed in San Diego has its perks. Namely, the beach, and on days off, you like to work on your tan. Of course, the boys have to tag along, and they can’t take a day off from the competition, but you have no qualms about watching the volleyball game. The whole team is a sight for sore eyes, and the sweat and dirty sand that clings to their bodies is a delight.
Every time Hangman scores a point, he shoots you a wink, and despite your best efforts to deny the attraction, he’s wearing you down.
Since the migraine encounter, he’s been less sleazy in his approach. He still flirts. He’s just switched tactics, using thoughtful gestures, like stocking the common room fridge with your favorite flavored water and playing your favorite songs on the jukebox at The Hard Deck. There are also the light touches in unnecessary situations, or how he ensures you don’t walk back to base alone and reminds you to take the medication the doctors recommended to keep your migraines under control. If you didn’t know any better, which you do, you’d actually believe he was concerned about your wellbeing and not actively trying to add another notch to his bedpost.
The pretty boys only hold your interest for a spell, and you lay back, letting their frolicking become white noise while you focus on the ocean waves. You drift in and out of a light slumber, waking long enough to turn onto your stomach to even out your tan.
The sun's heat disappears for a moment, and again rolling onto your back, you see the dark, ominous clouds in the distance. A storm seems to be drawing closer, but the clouds pass, and the sun returns to warm your skin. The boys seem to take the clouds as a sign to finish their game, and all make a mad dash into the water, and you laugh as you get comfortable again. Might as well enjoy the last few rays while you can.
Moments after you’ve settled again, a shadow looms over you, and you open your eyes just as a soaking wet Jake lowers himself to lay flat on top of you.
“Ew, Seresin,” you whine, wriggling to get him off of you. He just laughs in your ear as he props himself up and starts doing press-ups with you trapped beneath him.
He holds your eyes as he dips and rises again, a dirty smirk making his eyes sparkle as his hair, which still annoyingly remains immaculate, drips onto you. “Knew I could get you wet without trying,” he jests.
“But I’m wet in all the wrong places,” you snark back, smiling up at him.
“Well, let's go back to base, and you can show me all the right places.”
You chuckle, “Oh baby, if you need an anatomy lesson, it’s a hard pass from me.”
He laughs, and you can see he’s impressed by your wit. Before Jake can think of a suitable reply, Coyote pipes up, “We better get back before that storm hits.”
You collect up your stuff, flicking as much sand off your towel as you can as the wind picks up. Everyone walks fast, trying to outrun the weather, but just as you hit the pavement, a distant rumble of thunder sounds, and large raindrops discolor the sidewalk. Everyone starts running, towels over their heads for shelter, except you.
Hangman stops mid-run to turn back and watch you still walking, nothing covering your head.
“C’mon,” he coaxes, waving you forward as if that will make you run.
“Why?” you laugh. “We’re already wet. What’s a little rain gonna do?”
He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners as he drops his arms. He strides toward you with such determination and purpose in his expression you half expect him to throw you over his shoulder to get you to move faster. He doesn’t. He slides a hand across your cheek and draws you into him, lips pressing against yours in a hard kiss. You're shocked for half a second before you react, gripping his waist and pulling him closer. You’re thankful for the rain. It helps cool the desire teeming in your veins. He deepens the kiss, hand moving to hold your neck, tongues finding a pleasurable rhythm.
God, this boy knows how to kiss. Soft yet demanding, controlling yet tender.
He drops his towel to use his other hand to cup your ass and squeezes, groaning into your mouth as it makes you press deeper into him.
By the time you both need to come up for air, you can taste his sweat mixed with rain water and whatever products are in his hair.
He pulls back an inch, sincerity and yearning in his pretty eyes. “I want you so fucking bad.” You can feel how much he means it, his stiffening cock pressing against your stomach.
“Well, I did give you a rain check,” you say, “and it is raining.”
He smirks, and just as you expected him to do earlier, he bends at the waist, grabs the towel he dropped, and then throws you over his shoulder, heading toward base.
“Woo!” he hollers, pleased with himself, and smacks your ass.
Jake is hypnotized by your kiss. Since he met you, he’s thought about it - a lot. While watching porn, he’d imagine it. When he was with other women, he’d wonder, if only momentarily, how they’d compare.
Trapped beneath him on his bed, tongues dirty dancing, hands groping and clawing his back under his shirt, hips grinding, his imagination was wildly inaccurate. It’s like a sugar rush, a surge of energy coursing through him, and he wants more even while still in the moment. He wishes he could bottle the feeling.
He doesn’t expect to ever get you into his bed again, so he’s going to make it last. Reluctantly he climbs from atop you and takes a mental picture of your kiss-swollen lips, chest heaving trying to catch your breath, lying in his bed.
He walks backward, stripping off his wet t-shirt and shorts before sitting in the chair in the corner.
He grabs the toothpick from the cabinet beside him, knowing he’ll probably need something to bite down on to control himself, and pops it in his mouth. “How about that anatomy lesson,” he teases.
Your smirk turns devilish as you flip over onto your stomach, rising to all fours. You linger for a moment letting him get a good look at your ass, and as you crawl backward off the bed, he has to stop himself from growling. He doesn’t want you to know just how much power you have over him.
You stalk closer to him, straddle one of his legs, and steal the toothpick. You kiss him again, rolling your hips, and this time he can’t control his rumbling growl.
When you pull back, he can see how proud you are of yourself. You unhook your bikini top, slipping it off your arms and discarding it at your feet. He watches with rapt attention as you grope and fondle your freed breasts. A brass band could strike up a song right next to him, and he wouldn’t notice.
Your back arches as you pinch and pull on a nipple, and he feels the heat of your arousal through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms.
He wants so badly to touch you, but he’s enjoying the show too much, so he digs his fingers into the arm of the chair. You replace your hand with his, directing him to pinch your nipple in the same way you had.
“Lesson number one,” you start and guide his hand down your body. You place two of his fingers directly on your clit, “this is your throttle. Too much pressure, you’ll overshoot; too little, you’ll never get there.”
He circles his fingers, applying steady pressure until you react, letting out a shaky breath and grinding down on his leg.
Jake tugs the waistband of your panties and lets them snap back into place. “Let’s take these off.”
You stand up, and Jake hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down to your feet without taking his eyes off of yours.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. He stands and kisses you feverishly, slipping two fingers through your wet folds. “I’m gonna take you higher than any jet ever could.”
“Your mouth is writing checks your body better be able to cash, Seresin,” you snark.
“I’m a man of my word,” he promises, walking you backward toward the bed. “I’ll have you so strung out and cock drunk you won’t remember your name.”
What are you doing, Seresin?
Jake asks himself for the millionth time in a matter of days. He’s propped up against the headboard, watching you sleeping peacefully in his bed. You’d fucked after making him come with your mouth, and he’d returned the favor. He’d cleaned you up, and then you’d both talked for a while before sleep overtook you.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you, but he does know he needs to find a way out of this situation. He’s not even sure how it happened. It was supposed to be a one-hit-wonder, a hit it and quit it situation. Yet somehow, he’s fallen asleep with you in his arms every night for nearly a month.
Earlier that day, he’d observed you across the hanger talking to Coyote and Rooster. You put your hand on Rooster’s arm one too many times, and Jake’s jaw clenched with an unfamiliar emotion. Rooster said something, and you laughed, a genuine one that makes you bend at the waist and hold your sides.
He didn’t like it. Liked it even less when he realized he was jealous. He scoffed to himself, and Phoenix shot him a funny look, but he averted his gaze, shaking the ridiculous notion from his mind. But the day dragged on, and he felt it every time you were next to a male that wasn’t him. He was puffing his chest and getting hot under the collar.
He’d felt smug when you’d told him to take you home after a few drinks at the Hard Deck, proud that he was the one you were going to bed with.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, and you stir. Your eyes flutter and open, instantly landing on his. “Are you watching me sleep?” you ask groggily, eyes falling closed again.
“You’re pretty when you drool. Dreaming about me, sweetheart?” he jests, shuffling down to lay flat.
You groan, rolling onto your back and wiping a hand over your mouth. Jake strokes your stomach with his fingertip, and you stretch your body out. “I should go to my room.”
Before he’s thought it through, he says, “Stay.”
No, Jake doesn’t know how it happened, but he knows why he keeps coming back to you. He needs you around because you make his heart beat faster and his mind slow down. He never knew he needed that, but now that he has it, he’s not sure he can live without it.
What are you doing, Seresin?
Jake’s being a coward. Avoiding you. Scared of your wrath. Apprehensive about the end. And it is the end. Whatever it was between the two of you, it’s over. He’s made sure of that. He figured a way out, and he took it.
He’s not sure his heart is beating, but he can see that yours is beating double time as you barrel toward him in the Hard Deck. The one place he can’t avoid you.
You ignore Penny’s greeting, and she takes no offense when she sees the fury twisting your features.
Hangman stands tall; shoulders pushed back, chin held high. He sees it in your eyes. You desperately want to strike him, but you won’t. You have too much respect for Penny to force her hand and make her eject you. Rules are rules, and Penny doesn’t allow violence in her bar. There are no second chances, one strike, and you’re out. That’s part of the reason he came here. He’s certain the sting of your strike would scar his soul, and he doesn’t need another soul-deep reminder that he’s a complete asshole.
“Oh shit,” Coyote says, “you’re in trouble. Good luck, buddy.” He claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder and then moves to sit beside Rooster.
“Outside now,” you demand through gritted teeth.
He steps aside and dramatically motions for you to lead the way. If he’s doing this, which he is - he has to - he may as well go all in, so he mutters, “after you, my love,” loud enough for you to hear as he follows.
“Rooster, get back here,” Coyote calls, and Hangman turns to see Rooster leading the rest of the class.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not missing her kickin’ his ass!” Bradshaw says excitedly.
Good. An audience will make it worse. He can really lay it on thick.
You take four steps off the porch into the sand and spin to face him, digging your feet into the sun-warmed grains, squaring your shoulders. He’s not so much of a coward that he won’t face you, so he stands a foot or so away, out of striking distance and the team crowd the deck watching the show.
“Say whatever you gotta say.”
You purse your lips, nostrils flaring; if he didn’t feel so shitty, he might have found it adorable. “You told them I was suffering from migraines.”
It was the only way he knew how to let you go. Out of sight, out of mind. He knew that by telling the Admiral about your medical issues, they’d send you away for a minimum of two weeks for tests.
“I’m grounded. They're sending me to Seattle for a medical to determine if I can continue with the program.”
He shrugs, unfazed, knowing the outcome of telling your superiors before you did. He knows he does this every time he worries he’s getting too attached. He does something to sabotage it, but you deserve better. Better than him. He might be what you want, but he’s not what you need.
“Say something!” you demand when the silence persists.
“I did my duty,” he explains, “you’re a liability. You can’t watch someone’s six if you’re practically blinded with a migraine.”
“I haven’t had one for weeks, and you know it, the medication was working.”
“So you say,” he counters, “but I wasn’t gonna risk my ass or my fellow aviators.”
He includes you in that group, but he makes sure it sounds like he’s excluding you because that's what he needs you to believe.
“You’re really gonna stand there and pretend you did it because you care about them,” you sneer, motioning to the group over his shoulder.
“It is what it is, sweetheart,” he says casually, seeing your hands clench into fists at your sides.
“Bullshit!” you yell.
He scoffs. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to admit it. You didn’t have the balls to end things, so you went to the admirals so they could do it for you by sending me away.”
Fuck. Busted.
But the fact you're onto his plan just cements the notion that it's time to end things. Knowing him well enough to be able to see through his bullshit is a red flag that it's time for you to give up on him. He’s hopeless. You should find somebody else that'll love you like nobody else, not in the limited way he loves you. And he hopes whoever he is, gives you something real. The more it hurts thinking of this man who will be able to love you right, the more he knows he’s doing the right thing. He’s not sure you know he loves you, he never showed you or said it, and he knows it'll be too late when you're with some other guy.
“Admit it,” you demand of him again. “Say it. You’re afraid that what you feel is something real.”
He swears his heart drops to his feet. The pressure of the G-force is nothing compared to the pressure he feels to stand up and be the man you need. Truth is, he doesn’t know if he’s capable, so it’s best he sits down so you can see the man behind him. Otherwise, he’s only standing in your way.
“I didn’t expect much from you,” you continue when he remains silent again. “But the least I expected was a little respect.”
“Respect?” he asks, in a tone that begs belief. Even as he says the words, he knows he deserves whatever you give him after. But he’s sure they’re the words you need to hear to make you give up on him. “After all the things you let me do to you, you think I respect you?” He waits a beat and watches the anger shimmer in the tears pooling in your eyes. “Oh sweetheart, you really thought this meant something? That's adorable.”
You're on the beach, not on The Hard Deck grounds, so when you step forward and punch him square in the face, technically, the only thing you're breaking is his nose.
He tastes copper as he watches you walk away, but his mission is complete. Notch on bedpost achieved.
He turns to the audience, and Rooster is approaching him with a deep scowl on his face. “Y’know for a minute there, she actually made you seem like a real boy, Pinnochio,” he says, “but you really are just a complete asshole.”
Rooster takes off in the same direction as you, and Jake knows that if anyone can, it's Rooster who can make you feel better and fix the damage he’s caused. You deserve better than him. And Rooster is definitely better. Not that Jake would ever admit that aloud. Because while he’s the better pilot, Rooster’s the better man.
Part 2 - The Fall - coming soon.
----
Look a handy reblog button!!
THIS IS AMAZING
One Day At A Time (Part 5/?)
Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader
Summary: Hangman's fiancée is hospitalised and Jake waits for her to wake up
T/W: Anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, POW, gun violence, hints to torture, death
Jake POV
He sits silently on a freezing cold, completely uncomfortable plastic chair by your bedside stroking the back of your hand for hours on end.
Jake's eyes are transfixed in horror as he stares at your hands - more specifically at your bleeding, bandage wrapped nails. His stomach clenches in nausea as he thinks about the fact someone has probably ripped them.
What on earth has happened to you?
How could anyone do this?
Are you mentally okay after what you've been through?
What if you don't love me anymore?
He asks himself a million questions that he cannot answer as he sits staring at what's been done to you. Every unanswered question is adding to his stress.
Jake is snapped out of his thoughts when the door handle rattles and Cyclone walks back in. He subconsciously straightens in his chair in acknowledgement.
"At ease, I don't expect you to feel inferior in a hospital." Cyclone remarks clearly feeling apprehensive by his surroundings as he hesitantly places a vase of flowers down on the windowsill.
"Have the doctors said anything to you?" Jake questions quietly, momentarily turning away from your lifeless body.
"She's stable. They're trying to wake her up." Cyclone confirms.
Jake carefully avoids touching your nails as he squeezes your hand slightly, hoping the motion will help you feel tethered enough to open your eyes.
The admiral's gaze flits between the two of you, wondering if Jake is going to speak up.
"Was it your decision?" Jake finally asks having wondered it ever since he got the call to say you were not coming home. At the time Jake practically begged Javy to find out information about what happened the day your plane went down, but the name of the admiral who made the decision to withdraw help was classified before he could know who to blame.
Cyclone is the one that called me, he knows who made that decision.
He confirms Jake's suspicions with a single nod.
"She is the best pilot I've ever worked with. I didn't expect for what happened that day to occur" Cyclone admits meeting Jake's eye line.
That's as close to an apology as I'm going to get from the man.
"Someone should've gone after them. She fucking deserved that." Jake's lip wobbles as he says the words. His brain is endlessly thinking of what you may have had to endure to look like this right now.
Jake will never admit to anyone that the rational part of his brain completely understands why the admiral would pull back the rescue effort after three other people were killed.
Your squad's relatives had the closure of their bodies - Jake never had that. Your family had a funeral with a casket that everyone knew was empty.
Jake closes his eyes in pure dread as he thinks back to that day.
"I've put through an emergency leave request on your behalf." Cyclone declares after a few minutes of silence. Jake doesn't say anything, still lost in thought.
"Have you called anyone?" Cyclone asks.
Jake shakes his head. No. He left the house in such a rush that he's fairly sure his phone must be somewhere on the side next to his house keys.
"She doesn't like being crowded when she's sick." Jake states.
The admiral nods taking that as what it was, a polite way to tell him to go away too.
*
Jake jolts awake at the sound of the door opening again. "Sorry" a nurse whispers at him.
"Don't apologise, come in." he says gesturing with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.
The nurse smiles slightly at him and moves around the machines to check all of your vitals.
"What time is it?" Jake groans - from the stiffness of his neck he knows he's been asleep for a fair while.
"Half four." The nurse responds checking his fob watch.
"When do you think she'll wake up?"Jake questions looking away from the note-writing nurse, back at you.
"It's different for everyone but hopefully soon." he replies.
Jake doesn't admit that he's scared for whatever you're going to say to him. Scared that there's nothing between the two of you anymore.
I don't know what I'll do if you're not the old you
But how can you be the old you after this?
"How did you two meet?" the nurse asks trying to distract Jake from his obvious nervousness at this whole situation.
He hasn't spoken the hugely exaggerated version of your meeting in years; the story he used to tell people to make them swoon before everything happened... Instead he settles for something he know will instantly shut the conversation down, "at work".
When the nurse leaves Jake is watching you on high alert again.
"I know you won't let me say this to you when you're conscious but I am so sorry I couldn't save you baby." He murmurs.
*
Reader POV -
Despite the beeping of hospital machines telling you that you're in a sterile environment, you wake up to fear and adrenaline pounding through your system.
Where am I? you mentally question, too tired to wake up.
You can hear someone snoring nearby but do not have the strength to prise your eyes open.
Who is that? That doesn't sound like Ghost.
From experience you know that you've been under some form of anaesthetic to be feeling this out of control over your body but it doesn't stop your mind racing a million miles an hour.
I have to wake up.
You groan trying to compel yourself to wake up.
Hearing your heart monitor pick up slightly, the man besides you is snapped from his slumber, instantly taking your hand.
"Take it easy sweetheart." He says rubbing your cheek. You flinch dramatically at the nickname, afraid of who you think is standing next to you.
Someone's touching me. You panic unable to force your eyes open long enough to take in your surroundings or fight back if you need to.
Oblivious to the real reasoning behind the flinch, Jake's eyes fill with tears as he removes his hand from your face petrified that he may have hurt you.
"I'm sorry sweets." He whispers carefully untangling your hands as well.
Desperate for you to talk to him, Jake watches as your eyes flicker open and closed. He holds his breath in anticipation of you finally waking up but is sorely disappointed seconds later as you're pulled back under the sleepy haze of anaesthetic.
Part 4 in case you missed it
Masterlist
Tags:
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@emma8895eb
@tgmreader
@ems-alexandra
A/N: I just read this back and why is the start of this giving Gone Girl??
THIS IS SOOO ADDICTING I CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!!!!!
Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin
Chapter One: [Mermaids Don’t Exist]
Summary: Jake continues to plays your knight in shining armour when tensions rise between you and an overly intoxicated patron. Bob brings up a mutual memory.
Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Witness Protection F!reader. Sexually degrading comments made towards reader. Sexual tension, trauma. Mentions of death & violence.
Word Count: 3.5k
Author Note: Still not writing as much as I once was but I’m getting back into the swing of things. Any comments, thoughts or concepts are welcome!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Dreams mainly occur when the body falls into a stage of sleep referred to as R.E.M. Rapid eye movement occurs when the brain and body are finally able to completely rest. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that when your body is able to rest, it allows you to do so.
“We’ll find you, Y/n!”
Nightmares are typically thought to be an evolutionary conserved trait. Some researchers believe that nightmares provide a rehearsal for life-or-death situations. Before you lived one? You would have said something along the lines of ‘that checks out.’
“No no no no please, Patrick, stay with me—“
Some researchers believe nightmares to be a practical experience for many people as it allows the brain to run through multiple different algorithms to find the most desirable strategies, and solutions to often critical and complex situations.
From a procedural standpoint, simply imagining doing an action can improve your performance.
“I love you—take Charlie.”
This applies when we simply imagine doing an action such as playing the piano or running for your life after being run off the road, it activates something called a mirror neuron.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, girly.”
In theory, the more nightmares you have, the more of those algorithms your brain is able to run, and the more prepared you’re likely to be for the daily struggle of survival.
But evolution herself is seen by the scientific community more so as a tinkerer than as an inventor.
“Oh god—please, not my baby, please! Someone! Help us!”
So, that’s probably why you have the same nightmare over and over and over again every single night.
Every morning you wake in the same way, with your face pressed into your pillow and your chest sinking into your mattress. Secretly, every morning you wished that your pillow would have suffocated you in your sleep so that today would forever be unobtainable. But you couldn’t do that, no. Not when the only way to bring a sense of worth to your life was to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
With a groan and a look that spoke volumes to your lack of self-esteem, you rolled onto your back and let out a heavy sigh. Your hands were quick to shield your eyes from the mid-afternoon rays beaming into your bedroom via the slightly cracked windows.
“Your name is Y/n Y/l/n, you are doing the right thing.”
Guilt and grief aren’t linear emotions. They don’t have a perception of how much time has passed. Realistically it had been three years, six months, and two days since your entire world had been flipped upside down. But every morning, after seeing your husband bleeding to death as he sat pressed against the steering wheel, and having held your five-year-old son in your arms while he took his last breath, the wound was reopened.
And the clock always resets.
“Ah, there she is.” You couldn’t help but hang your head in shame almost. Penny’s glare from behind the bar was as piercing and sharp as it was endearing and playful. Like a woman who took no shit from no one. “You know, you’d think management would be here on time more frequently than whatever the hell this is.” All you could do was take the semi-serious scattering from the owner of the bar you’d been lucky enough to be set up with a pretty good gig at. “Get over here and give me a hand will ya?”
“Sorry, Penny—” There wasn’t much more you could say to justify yourself. You woke up late, got ready slowly, and got lost in the steam of your mid-afternoon shower as you fought off the existential dread that was your current situation. “Flat tyre,” You shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal that you were currently twenty-three minutes late for your shift, “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yeah well, you can start by clearing off the table by the piano,” Penny smiled as she nudged her head in the direction of the unruly table of patrons that had surely had far too much to drink. “Think Rick’s had a little more than his liver would care to admit.”
“Yeah righto,” you sighed as you came behind the bar, doing up your apron as you looked around at the utter mess that had become the place. “I’ll sort him out.”
North Island wasn’t somewhere you ever saw yourself living, but that was the real kicker in all of this. You didn’t mind the picturesque town with clear blue skies and water that mirrored it. But being the outsider, being the new resident, being the Hard Deck’s newest manager was all some of these people saw you as. Six months in a small Naval town was barely a dint in the years some of these families had been living here.
“Aw hello, Brewer!” Rick Spencer, the resident rioter, cooed as he beamed your way. For someone in their mid-sixties, he surely went alright. “What brings you in on this fine Saturday afternoon?”
Typical - If you could have, you would have rolled your eyes so far into the back of your head you would have fallen over. Instead, you chose to smile and settle into the nightlife festivities with a can-do attitude and a rather cheeky smile.
“Came to check on you, Spence? How’s everything over here boys?” It wasn’t uncommon for you to entertain the banter most of the patrons would give you. Most of the locals had caught on quickly that you enjoyed a good laugh every now and again but also knew how to handle your own.
But there's always one in every group, isn’t there?
“Would be a hell of a lot better if the barmaid was a little more topless! Right boys!?” A man you hadn’t seen before interrupted before a roar of ‘yeahs’ and agreements were made. Fists and beer bottles along with spirits alike slammed against the tabletop. “Come on girly—” The man continued as you stood there holding the empty bar tray, ready and waiting to collect the empties that littered the table. “Get your kit off.”
“I don’t think so, boys,” You politely declined the offer of public indecency. “Perhaps in another lifetime.”
“Sorry about him, Brewer,” Rick explained as he shook his head and stood from his seat at the booth. “My nephew’s here for a few days.”
“Yeah well, so long as he remembers I run the joint and can have him tossed any time,” You replied sternly. “Keep him in line, Rick.”
“Oh come on now, sweetheart, I was only joking!” The man you only knew as the nephew chuckled as he overheard your comment. “It’s slim pickings around here anyway, you just look like the best of a bad bunch is all.”
“Hey!” That voice, that far too familiar voice echoed through the crowd. “You speak to her, or any woman for that matter, like that again? So help me god I’ll punch your teeth right through the back of your skull.” Jake snarled as he came to stand in front of you with his back nearly pressed right into your chest. “Got it!?” The close proximity, the overwhelming aroma of the familiar cologne, and the notes of burnt orange and bourbon made your heart warm. It all had your heart beating against your chest with a force so intense you thought it might break through.
“Yeah right,” the man only known as the nephew agreed. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll get on the waters for a while.”
“That and a pretty big tip should call us even,” you added with envy conviction laced in your voice that you even had yourself fooled that everything was alright. “Let me just grab these empties for you fellas.”
You didn’t mess around with it, you simply let the group fall back into their regular chatter as you filled your tray.
Jake stood with crossed arms a little off to the side, eyeing off all the men who sat idly. Fucking pricks.
“Been here all of five fucking minutes—” Jake could sense your frustration as you turned into him. At first, he didn’t move, he simply stood there drinking you in as you held the now full tray of dirty glassware.
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” was all you said.
With wandering eyes, Jake didn’t miss a single inch of you.
“I know,” Jake smiled softly as he reached around to lead you back to the bar for a moment to decompress. His hand gently fell to the small of your back as you walked side by side, “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but just because you’re capable? Doesn’t mean you have to go it alone.”
Alone, that’s all you’d ever been for the last three years.
“Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right,” the sigh that left your body allowed your shoulders to relax as you placed the tray onto the bar and slid it over for Penny to take. “Thanks, Jake, I owe you one.”
Jake Seresin had never been the kind of guy who saw himself settling down. But when he first saw you, that thought hadn’t left his mind.
“Name a time and place,” Jake teased as he sent you a wink. It didn’t take Jake long to find himself at home up by the bar, perched on one of the bar stools as he entertained his favourite bartender. “I’ve always wondered what our first date would be like.”
“Do I look like I came down in the last shower, Seresin?” You knew Jake had a thing for you, it wasn’t all that hard to put together. But it could never work, not in a million years. Not when you were playing pretend on a professional basis.
“What’s that even mean?” Jake asked as he leaned his elbows on top of the bar, grinning ear to ear as he pressed your buttons more.
“It means—“ You cooed as you leaned into his space, making it known that the flirting was welcome, but the end goal wasn’t in sight. “I know you’re just trying to get in my pants.”
“Pretty good-looking set of pants if I do say so myself,” Jake teased as his eyes trailed down the expanse of your body, then back up. Those emerald cities of his were full of complex wonder and undoubtable loyalty. Something you could never give back. “But despite the fact I think you’re pants would look a hell of a lot better in a pile on my bedroom floor, I’m not just doing any of this for a chance to, well, you know what I mean.”
You did know what Jake meant, and for all intents and purposes you could admit to yourself that it sounded very tempting. But you knew what the repercussions would be.
“Jake, that’s all very sweet of you,” you felt as if you had this very conversation every week. The gentle let down. The kind-ish conversation where you reminded the overly-confident and somewhat self-assured Aviator that you weren’t looking for love or lust, or anything. Besides, there were already too many people looking for you. “But you know, as much as I think you’re a good guy and friend, I’m not interested.”
Jake stood silently before you, drinking in all that was you. From the lines etched into your forehead to the small scar that ran through your left eyebrow. He wasn’t listening, there was just something about you. Something so intriguing that he couldn’t stop trying to win you over. He couldn’t stop trying to get you to give him just one chance. One chance was all Jake wanted to convince you he wasn’t everything he knew people had told you he was.
“What would you say if I asked you to–” Before Jake had a chance to finish his question, the echoing sound of a glass shattering into smitherings against the wooden flooring, interrupted his train of thought.
“OOOIII– TAXI!” It was almost as if all the patrons, besides Jake that was, had all congealed into one as they yelled shouted and cheered towards the man who had dropped his glass. With a heavy sigh and a quick roll of the eyes, you knew you would be the one who ultimately had to clear the mess.
“I should probably get back to work.” The silence that came from Jake was deafening as you pulled away from where you had been standing far too close to a man you thought you didn’t want. A man you couldn’t have even if deep down you really wanted. Life was unfair like that. You couldn’t have anything you wanted, anything you loved. Anything that made you happy in the smallest of ways.
“There’s really no chance of getting you to agree to just one date, is there Brewer?” Jake watched as you made your over to where you kept the cleaning supplies in a small section behind the bar.
“If you already know that then why do you constantly make such an effort?” It was the look on your face that told Jake everything he needed to know. There was no chance in hell he was ever getting that date.
But Jake Seresin never gave up without a fight, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to now.
“Because you gentled me, Brewer,” Jake Seresin had never been the type of person who wanted to settle down. He was always so content with the relations he chose to have and the way he chose to have them. Short simple quick flings. Girlfriends who lasted no longer than a year and one-night stands he’d promise to call but never got their numbers. But then there was you. “No one’s ever done that before.”
“Please don’t put that on my shoulders, Jake,” You weren't sure how to respond to that, how to process that kind of admission. “Just lay off the heroics for a while alright? I don’t want people getting the wrong impression.”
“That impression would be?” Jake questioned like you’d just insulted his very being. That it would be a crime to love him.
“Jake, I have a job to do alright,” It wasn’t that you were angry or upset that Jake cared for and about you. It was more frustration on your part for not being able to act on your own feelings towards him. It had been three years since your husband died. Three years since you felt the loving embrace of another human being. That alone was enough to frustrate anyone. “Please, just–just, I need to get back to work.”
The thing about nightmares is that they often don’t stick to their own parameters. Sometimes, you end up living a nightmare more often than you dream one. Right now? As Jake looked at you like you’d just shot him through the heart, you knew you were wide awake. Living a nightmare that continued to punish only the good.
“You’re untouchable,” Jake sighed to himself softly as he shook his head in defeat. “The untouchable woman who won’t let anyone in, you’re too proud or something aren’t you?”
“It’s just–” All you wanted to do was explain yourself, pull Jake aside and let him in on why you couldn’t allow him to love you the way you wanted him to. But no words came out as you stood there holding the old dustpan by your side.
With every blink, you saw flashes of Patrick. The love you lost too soon, too suddenly. He made sure to haunt your dreams to keep you safe. For a brief second of all-consuming anguish, you saw him too. Standing right behind Jake, warning you not to. “I need to get back to work, I’m sorry.”
“Right,” Jake clenched his jaw when he felt the word vomit about to spew from his lips. He wasn’t mad, rejection just wasn’t something he was familiar with. “When you get a chance, put a Budweiser on Bradshaw’s tab.” Jake pressed his lips together into a fine line of regret, instantly kicking himself for pushing. He knew he shouldn’t have, but the chase was as addicting as it was thrilling. With a simple knock of his knuckles on the bar before, he turned on his heels. Leaving you to stand there in your own self-loathing.
Your heart sank as you watched Jake shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a head that hung so low you almost wondered if his neck would be sore. Guilt, shame, it all felt the same. But you couldn’t let Jake in, you couldn’t allow him into your life more than what you’d given him over the last six months.
You’d tangled yourself in barbed wire so you couldn’t be reached by anyone. Unknowingly bleeding when as it digs into you more and more. You would think the touch of skin on yours wouldn’t be so terrifying, but you’d been bruised before. You couldn’t allow Jake to fall into your web of lies that kept you safe from harm’s way. If hurting him was the only way to keep him safe, you’d hurt him twice over every single day.
Perhaps it would be safer to stay the untouchable woman.
***~***~***~***~***~****
As a child, there was magic in the mundane. You often found yourself missing the mermaids among the koi in the pond, their glittering scales reminiscent of a childhood fairytale. Summer mornings you’d make bouquets out of the same flowers adults would now mow away while wrinkling their noses at the weeds.
You often wondered to yourself when the awe of the day-to-day faded away and when you stopped believing in your ability to see mermaids in the momentous world around you.
“Another round fellas?” You tried not to think too much about the way Jake’s eyes burned into you like a fiery sunbeam as you stood behind Rooster. “Same old same old? The usual orders of Bradshaw’s table?” The squad, affectionately known as the Daggers erupted into laughter all the while Rooster remained silent and brooding.
“You are all bleeding my dry,” Bradley sighed as you made the rounds and collected all the empties onto your bar tray. “Seriously, I know you aren’t all working for free, cough up.”
“You could– just apologise for being a Neanderthal and I’ll close it out?” Your statement left a bad taste in Rooster’s mouth, he wasn’t one for apologising for things he didn’t think he’d done wrong.
“I could,” the brooding moustache-having man replied. “But it’d be an empty lie.” There was something about Bradley Bradshaw that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. He wasn’t necessarily a bad person, he was–an only child. He probably never imagined mermaids among the koi.
“Appreciate the honesty there, Bradshaw,” you chuckled deeply as you finished you collecting all the empty glasses and beer bottles. “Guess the next rounds on you.”
“Here here,” Coyote chimed in with a Cheshire Cat grin. “All in a hard day’s work there Rooster, you always know how to piss off the barkeep.”
“Works out in our favour,” Bob smiled as he passed you two empty glasses. “I don’t think I’ve paid for a drink of my own in a few weeks now.”
“No, you just keep trying to convince everyone Brewer here was your first kiss,” Phoenix smirked as she finished off her beer.
All the air inside your lungs felt like they had been sucked right out. The chills that ran down the expanse of your spine made your blood run cold. You stood tall with your now full tray of old beer bottles and empty glasses and sent a polite smile Bob’s way.
“You still riding that wave?”
“You just really look like Y/n from Nurellun Public,” Bob countered with an almost pleading tone. “She was my first kiss by the sandpit and I remember she had a little yellow dot in her right eye.”
“Brewer has a yellow dot in her right eye,” Jake decided to enter the conversation from his place in the corner of the booth. “Tell you what Floyd, you must have been one shocking kisser if you got Brewer here to change her damn name.” The table erupted into a loud boisterous laugh as the Weapons System Officer sunk a little lower into his seat.
You felt for Bob, being the butt of the joke was never a good feeling. But when your case officer relocated you to North Island, he didn’t bank on one of its locals being your first snog. You hated gaslighting the guy, but you had no other choice. Bob Floyd had to stay in the era of Meridamis and weed bouquets.
“Like I told you last time Bob, you’ve got the wrong girl,” It was as nonchalant as it was dismissive. “My first kiss was with Johnny Bennett out at some random guys shed.” You had gotten used to lying about your life and who you were. At the very beginning it was almost impossible, but three years on? You’d gotten pretty good at playing pretend.
Only you wished it could be with the mermaids in their fairytales. But much like all those mermaids and all those fairytale stories……you didn’t exist. Much like Johnny Bennett. 
***~***~***~***~***~
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