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Jake Seresin never looked more himself than when he was out of uniform and off the clock, arms and attention thrown wide as if he could embrace the whole world, if the world would just let him. Tonight his shirt was already half unbuttoned with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, veiny forearms on full display. 

He navigated the Hard Deck as if he’d built the place from the ground up, and maybe in a way he had: every time he walked through the door, the room recalibrated around him.

He kept you close, your hand swallowed in his as he navigated through the crowd. Every time someone called out to him, he gave your hand a subtle squeeze. 

“You’re showing off,” you shouted over the Aerosmith song playing through the crowd.

Jake glanced back at you  and just flashed you a smirk before continuing on. As you followed him through the crowd you looked around, spotting the usuals. Rooster was at the pool table playing a game of 9-Ball with Phoenix. Bob was perched on his stool nearby sipping a ginger ale and snacking on his cup of peanuts.

Jake threaded you through the press of bodies and settled at your usual table next to Bob, never once breaking contact. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make you feel like the only person in a room full of people desperate to be seen. 

He let his hand linger as he sat, just a little too high on your thigh to be innocent. You shot him a look, but he just arched an eyebrow.

He ordered a round from one of the college kids Penny had hired as a waitress to help out with the summer crowds before you could say a word. Another round of pilots had arrived at Top Gun for the summer and The Hard Deck would be busier than normal for the next several weeks while they were here.

The waitress returned a few minutes later, setting a bottle down in front of you. Jake watched as you picked it up and brought the rim to your lips. You felt the head of his gaze as you to the first gulp.

“You’re starin’, sweetheart.” He drawled, voice pitched just for you.

“Only thing here worth looking at,” you shot back, louder than you meant. 

Bob snorted into his drink, and even Phoenix cracked a smile. 

Jake just shook his head and leaned closer. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll think you want something from me.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Jake tipped his head, appraising you. You could feel the tension in him, a restless itch just under the surface. You took another slow sip, eyes on him the whole time, and watched his fingers drum an uneven pattern against your knee.

After that you played innocent for a while. You talked to Bob about how his wife was doing, and bugged him for the hundredth time to bring her around sometime. Meanwhile Jake took Rooster’s place after he’d lost handily to Phoenix.

A few rounds into the game, Jake was holding court over something stupid Rooster had done in the hangar. You let him talk, but waited for your moment.

“Like you’ve never fucked up a landing before?” 

It landed exactly like you wanted. Rooster laughed so hard he nearly choked, Bob snorted into his can of Canada Dry, and Jake’s eyes cut to you in a razor thin sliver of warning.

You watched the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he caught himself. The grin didn't falter, but something behind his eyes went very still, very focused. He turned fully then, crowd be damned, and stepped close enough that you could smell the leather of his jacket and something underneath, something warm and distinctly him. His thumb traced a slow circle across your knuckles, proprietary and deliberate.

"That so?" He asked, mild as summer thunder, and something in his tone made your breath hitch. He lifted your joined hands, pressed a kiss to your knuckles that was half reverence, half challenge. "Funny. Don't recall you minding my landings at oh-dark-thirty last Tuesday. Or the Tuesday before that." His eyes held yours, dark and dancing. "Seemed pretty satisfied with my technique then." 

You felt the heat crawl up your neck, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you leaned into him, your knee pressing against his under the table, and smiled slow and wicked.

"Tuesday," you said, like you were considering it. "Was that the one where you couldn't stop talking about your 'flight data' for twenty minutes after? Or the one where you fell asleep with your face in my-"

"Alright," Jake cut in, but he was laughing, that low, helpless sound you rarely heard. He caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours tight enough to mean it. "You win."

"Do I?"

"For now." He brought your knuckles to his mouth, pressed a kiss there that lingered too long for public. "But I'm keeping score, darlin'. And you're racking up quite a debt."

You reached for Jake’s bottle before he could, twisting it from his fingers with a practiced ease. He let you, but the smile that spread across his mouth was all teeth. 

“You’re playing with fire, darlin’,” he said, voice soft as velvet.

“Maybe I like the burn,” you fired back, and this time Phoenix didn’t bother hiding her grin. She looked at Rooster, then at you, like she was betting on how long until someone broke.

Jake rolled his shoulders as he brought his arm around you, resting his fingers at the curve of your neck. 

“So what you’re telling me,” Jake said as he leaned in closer, “is that I have to keep you in line?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you replied

You let the silence ride for a minute, then cut through it by slumping into Jake’s side, cheek resting against the point of his shoulder. He went tense for a second, then relaxed, exhaling a laugh against the top of your head.

“Hangman’s got a soft spot,” Phoenix chirped. “Who knew?”

“Don’t go spreading rumors like that,” Jake shot back, but he never moved you away. If anything, he tugged you closer.

After that it turned into a contest: who could escalate, who could hold out the longest. You stole his fries, fed him one just to see if he’d bite your fingers. He did, gently, and then sucked the salt from your thumb with a look that should have been illegal.

Phoenix watched it all, hiding her face behind her glass, but her shoulders shook with laughter. Rooster looked at Bob, then at Jake, then at you, like he was counting down to zero.

It was just before closing when you made your play. Rooster was recounting some old war story, half the table bored, the other half buzzed from too many rounds. You ducked your head, leaned close enough to Jake’s ear that no one else could hear, and whispered, “Maybe if you were as good in the air as you are at running your mouth, they’d rename the whole program after you.”

His hand stopped moving. Just for a second. The smallest beat, but you caught it, the way he froze and then reset. He looked at you, real slow, like he was recalibrating his whole opinion of the evening. Then he leaned in, close enough that you felt the scrape of his stubble at your cheek.

“Careful, darlin’,” he murmured. This time it wasn’t a joke. His voice was a full octave lower, all steel and expectation. “You keep testing me like that, I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens.”

You grinned, teeth flashing. “Promise?”

He looked at you for a long moment, jaw set. Then, slowly, he smiled. “You got it coming, sweetheart.”

You hoped so.

You were going to let it go from there. You could tell Jake was just the right level of worked up to give you a good fuck later when you got home. But then Rooster handed you the perfect opportunity to push just one more button, and you couldn’t help yourself.

“Y’know,” you said, tilting your head, “I’ve heard a lot about Hangman’s legendary stamina. But honestly, all I’m seeing tonight is talk.”

The words landed with a thud. Rooster let out a low whistle. Bob’s brows hit his hairline. Phoenix grinned so hard she looked like she might choke.

You kept your eyes on Jake. You watched the way his expression didn’t so much as twitch, except for a tiny pulse along the line of his jaw. You could tell, though, that you’d hit something vital. Maybe not a nerve, but close. You bit down on your smile, waiting for him to come back at you, maybe with a one liner or some lazy threat.

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a long, silent moment, and then he stood. The suddenness made your chair squeak against the floor. His hand slipped behind you, not rough, not soft, just sure, and slid into the back pocket of your jeans. He tugged you upward, slow and steady, until you had to rise with him or get hauled up like a sack.

He bent his head, lips grazing your ear, and said, “Go get in the truck.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, and it sure as hell wasn’t a joke.

You blinked, not sure what you’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Maybe you’d thought he’d laugh it off, maybe you thought you’d keep sparring until you ran out of steam, but the finality in his tone made you shiver in your bones.

And then, right there, in front of all of them, Jake gave your ass a firm smack. Not playful. Not gentle. Just a warning shot across the bow. You stifled a squeak and shot him a look, but he was already looking down at you, steady as the North Star. Entirely in control.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Jake said, still close enough that only you could hear the heat in his voice.

You were on your feet before your brain caught up with your body, the line between game and reality burning up in the aftershocks of his handprint. You made yourself walk slow, even as your heart beat at Mach one. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to, you could feel Jake’s eyes following you all the way to the door.

Outside, the night was ocean-black and the air tasted like rain. You wrapped your arms around yourself, partly for warmth, partly to hold together the thrill leaking out at the edges. The lights in the bar flickered gold and blue through the windows, but you stood just out of range, feeling the world get very quiet.

You could see Jake through the glass, still at the table, like nothing had happened. He smiled at something Rooster said, tossed a couple bills on the table for yours drinks, and finished his beer in one long pull. 

King of composure, even with the room watching.

You waited by the truck, hands in your pockets, watching the oil shimmer on the blacktop. Your whole body buzzed, not from the drinks, but from the leftover adrenaline of pushing a man built for boundary lines right over one.

He didn’t say anything at first, just unlocked the door and nodded at you. You climbed in, tried not to smile too hard as you settled into the leather seat. He got in, started the engine, and let the rumble fill the silence between you. You felt his hand brush your thigh, but this time it was just a tap. Small, controlled, but a clear reminder.

Jake just stared straight ahead, profile clean as a knife blade in the streetlights. You realized then: you’d started the game, but he’d already planned the end.

The drive back was nothing like they normally were. Usually Jake’s hand was on your thigh, his thumb idly circling just above the seam of your jeans. He’d casually crank the radio up and harmonize badly to whatever was on. Sometimes he’d take the long way home, windows down, letting the wind and the engine noise fill up the spaces where words weren’t needed.

Tonight, though, Jake was all silence. He put the truck in gear, eyes forward, and the only sounds were the hum of tires on asphalt. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t touch you. His knuckles ghosted the shifter, light and controlled.

You shifted in your seat, searching for a foothold, but he offered nothing. Even the radio was turned down to a whisper, some old country song flickering in and out like static. You tried to catch his gaze at a red light, but he didn’t give you the satisfaction. Just flicked the turn signal, waited for green, and rolled on.

You wondered, as the lights of the base bled past in a blur, if you’d pushed him too far.

Jake pulled into the driveway, killed the headlights, and let the engine idle for a few heartbeats before shutting it off.

He didn’t move right away. Just sat there, fingers drumming a slow, thoughtful rhythm on the wheel. 

Finally, he said, without looking over, “Ready?”

You nodded. Your voice, when it came, was thin. “Yeah.”

He got out, boots crunching on the driveway, and you followed, legs a little unsteady. Jake didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to. The space between you crackled, sulfur and static, a live wire waiting to ground.

You didn’t dare look over your shoulder as Jake moved behind you, but you heard the measured steps: the hollow knock of boots against the old tile, the faint rasp of his jacket as he hung it on the hook. You kept your eyes on the kitchen counter, the swirl in the cheap laminate suddenly fascinating. The air in the house was warm and still, no fan running, just the ache of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears.

In three silent strides, he was behind you. One hand gripped your hip, fingers spread and possessive, and the other slid up the nape of your neck, into your hair. His palm was rough from years of flight controls and gym pull-ups. He used it to tip your head back until your spine arched and your eyes found his.

Jake’s pupils were blown wide, but his smile was calm. “You thought you were real cute tonight, didn’t you?”

You felt the blush start at your jaw and spread, slow as lava. You bit down on your lower lip, teeth scraping skin. It wasn’t that you couldn’t talk, it was that you knew exactly what would happen if you did.

He chuckled, close-mouthed and dangerous. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

You shook your head, just once. He loosened his hold on your hair, but didn’t let go. He let his fingers drift down to your chin, guiding your face so you couldn’t look away. 

“I think it’s time you learned a little lesson about consequences.”

The word landed like a promise, and your knees nearly buckled.

Jake took a step back, dropping his hand, and glanced at the hallway. “Bedroom. Now.”

You didn’t run, but you didn’t dawdle either. The house was small enough that the ten second walk to the bedroom felt like a walk of shame, every inch of you aware of the heat in your cheeks and the thrum between your thighs. 

You stood beside the bed, hands at your sides, trying to pretend your heart wasn’t about to batter itself loose from your chest.

You heard Jake in the bathroom, washing his hands, humming a song you half-recognized from the bar. He took his time. When he finally came into the room, he stood in the doorway for a long, silent moment. Just watching.

“You know what to do.”

You slid your shirt over your head, folded it and set it on the chair like you’d been taught. Your jeans followed, denim slithering down your legs, and you left them pooled at your feet. You shivered in the sudden coolness, left in just your black bra and panties.

Jake crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and let his hand rest at your hip. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and whispered, “You look nervous. Are you nervous?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

He smiled, a genuine one this time, and ran his thumb along the waistband of your panties. “Good. That means you know you’ve got it coming.”

With no warning, he smacked your ass. Once, hard. The sound cracked in the small room and you jumped, more out of shock than pain. He squeezed, then did it again, the second one lower, softer. You yelped, heat blooming beneath his palm.

“Hands on the bed,” Jake said, voice suddenly all command.

You bent, palms pressed to the duvet, ass up and thighs already trembling. You heard him step back, then the sting of his hand again. Three, four, five sharp slaps, each one just a little different: sometimes cupping, sometimes open, sometimes a flick at the end that made you gasp. He never missed, never lost the rhythm. Sometimes he’d wait, a beat or two, just to make you wonder when the next one would land. The pain was real, but so was the pleasure. You arched your back, grinding into his hand on reflex, and you heard him laugh.

“Look at you,” he drawled, “already making a mess of yourself.

He paused then, letting his palm smooth over the red heat of your skin, and you moaned at the relief.

“You gonna be good now?” He asked, low and close.

You whispered, “Yes.”

Jake ran his hand down the backs of your thighs, kneading the tender flesh, then hooked his finger in your waistband and tugged. 

“Take ‘em off,” he said.

You did, trembling as the fabric slid down. Your skin burned where his hand had left its mark. 

He stepped away again, and for a second you thought maybe that was it, maybe he was done. But you knew better. Jake never quit a job half-finished.

He dragged two fingers down your spine, then up, then back down, slow and steady. “You know why I’m doing this, right?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Because I was a brat.”

He chuckled, “Smart girl.” 

Then another smack, this one less about pain and more about ownership. You felt every nerve ending light up.

You heard the clink of his belt, the slide of a zipper, and knew what was coming next. You knelt between his knees until you were eye level with the soft trail of hair that disappeared beneath the band. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and pulled his jeans down past his hips. His boxer briefs barely contained him, and when you pressed your palm against the bulge, Jake groaned low and needy. You looked up at him, waiting for a nod, and when he gave it, you freed him with a careful, reverent touch.

His cock was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around the base, marveling at how he filled your grip, and stroked him once, slow and teasing. Jake’s hand found your hair, fingers threading through, but he didn’t push, just held you there, letting you go at your own pace.

You started slow, licking up the shaft, then swirling your tongue around the crown. You looked up at him, eyes wide, waiting for the command.

“Take it, baby,” he said, voice rough, and you did.

You loved the way Jake lost his composure when you sucked him. He went from cocky to silent in half a second, every muscle drawn tight, every ounce of focus on the way your mouth stretched around him. You set a pace, bobbing slow, then fast, then slow again, your hand working what your mouth couldn’t reach.

Jake watched you, eyes burning, one hand threading through your hair, just guiding, like he wanted to keep you there forever. 

“God damn,” he groaned. “Look at you.”

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling the weight and heat at the back of your throat. He thrust gently, never too much, but enough to remind you who was in charge.

“Good girl,” he said again, and this time you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse. You squeezed your thighs together, aching with need, but you kept your focus on Jake, on the way he looked at you like you were a miracle.

You had him right there, right on the edge, could feel it in the way his thighs trembled beneath your palms, the way his breath came ragged and desperate. 

But Jake never let you finish him like this, not when he could have more. His grip shifted from your hair to your shoulders, pulling you up his body with a strength that made your head spin. He kissed you messy and deep, tasting himself on your tongue, then guided you until you were sprawled across the mattress. 

He shifted, settling back against the pillows, and drew you up with him, guiding your knees to straddle his hips. His cock strained against your stomach, hot and insistent, and he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes. 

"Ride me," he said. "Want to watch you." 

He stroked himself, slow and steady, then watched as you lined up and sank down, inch by inch, until you were full of him.

You gasped at the stretch, the shock of how good it felt, how right. Jake held you steady, rocking you gently as you adjusted. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured, “just like that. You’re so perfect.”

He let you set the rhythm, at first. Soft rises and falls, rolling your hips until you found the angle that made you clench around him. Jake’s breath stuttered every time you moved, and his hands roamed your body, up and down, pausing to cup your breasts.

You rode him, slow at first, then faster, chasing the pleasure that built with every glide. Jake never stopped praising you, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was.

“God, you’re amazing,” he said, voice hoarse. “Take what you need, sweetheart. I got you.”

You lost yourself in the motion, in the way your bodies fit together, in the electricity that crackled up your spine every time you bottomed out. Jake’s hands left smudges on your hips, and when you leaned forward to kiss him, he bit your lower lip, just enough to make you whimper.

When you came, it hit you all at once. A burst of white heat that made your vision blur. Jake held you tight through it, coaxing you to ride it out, fucking up into you just enough to make it last.

You collapsed against his chest, boneless and sweating, and he just held you, stroking your back and murmuring, “Good girl. That’s my girl. You did so fucking good.”

The room smelled of sex and sweat, the sheets tangled beneath you like a nest of vines. You were still trembling, your body humming with the aftershocks of what Jake had just wrung from you. His hands were on your hips, warm and possessive, and before you could catch your breath, he was flipping you onto your stomach with a single, effortless motion. The world tilted, your cheek pressing into the cotton sheets as he arranged you exactly how he wanted: head down, ass up, your thighs spread just enough to make you feel exposed.

You whimpered, the sound muffled by the pillow, but Jake heard it. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, before dipping lower to spread you open. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy and hungry, and the vulnerability of the position made your pulse spike. 

"Fuck," he murmured, voice rough with approval. "Look at you. So pretty like this."

A pillow appeared beneath your hips, lifting you higher, angling you just right. You gasped as the shift in position made your oversensitive nerves flare to life. Jake’s hands were everywhere: skimming your thighs, squeezing your ass, teasing the wetness still dripping from you. 

"So wet for me," he said, and there was something darkly satisfied in his tone. "Even after all that. You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart."

You tried to push back against him, to find some friction, some relief, but his palm landed on the small of your back, holding you down. 

"Uh-uh," he chided, fingers sliding through your folds with maddening slowness. "You don’t get to rush this. I wanna take my time with you." His touch was light, almost teasing, and you whined, your hips twitching in frustration. 

"Jake—"

"Shhh." His fingers pressed inside you, just the tips at first, then deeper, stretching you open with a slow, relentless rhythm. You clenched around him, your breath hitching as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. 

"That’s it," he murmured, voice dripping with Southern charm. "Take it like a good girl. Let me hear you."

You couldn’t help it. The sounds spilled out of you. Whimpers, gasps, and broken pleas, each one rewarded with a deeper thrust, a firmer touch. Jake’s free hand slid up your spine, tangling in your hair and pulling just enough to make your scalp tingle. 

"You like that, don’t you?" He growled, fingers working you faster. "Like being used. Like being mine."

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against the sheets, your body arching into his touch. 

"Yes," you breathed, the word barely audible. "Yours."

Jake’s laugh was low and dark. "Damn right you are." His fingers twisted inside you, and you cried out, your thighs shaking as the pleasure coiled tighter, tighter. "Jake, I can’t—"

"You can," he said, voice firm. "One more for me, sweetheart. Give it to me." 

His thumb found your clit, circling with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. You came with a broken sob, your body clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of sensation crashed over you. Jake didn’t stop and didn’t slow down. He worked you through it, drawing out every last tremor until you were boneless, trembling beneath him.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, you whimpered at the loss, but then his weight was shifting. He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked himself, using your wetness like lube.

Then his cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy, and you moaned as he pushed inside, inch by slow inch. The angle was deeper like this, sharper, and you gasped as he bottomed out, your body stretching to accommodate him. 

"Fuck," Jake groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good."

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust, but then faster, harder, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that made your toes curl. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. 

"You take me so well," he growled, voice rough with need. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."

You could only whimper in response, your body too overwhelmed to form words. Jake’s hand slid up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned, and the dominance of the gesture sent a fresh wave of heat through you. 

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice a dark purr. "Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

You obeyed, your cries filling the room as he fucked you harder, deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Jake. Jake, please–"

"Please what?" He demanded, his voice a growl. "Tell me what you need."

"You," you gasped. "Just you. Always you."

Jake’s laugh was dark, triumphant. 

"Damn right." His hand slid around your hip, fingers finding your clit, and you cried out as he rubbed you in tight, relentless circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. Show me how much you love this. Show me how much you love me fucking you like this."

The words sent you over the edge. You came with a broken scream, your body clenching around him as pleasure ripped through you. Jake followed with a groan, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled himself deep, his hands gripping you tight enough to leave marks.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the weight of Jake’s body pressing you into the mattress. 

Then he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, his arms wrapping around you like a cage. His lips found your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. 

"Gonna fuck the brat right out of you," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "Every damn day if I have to."

You shivered, your body still humming with the aftershocks of what he’d done to you. 

"Promise?" You whispered.

Jake’s laugh was a dark, delicious thing. 

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, his voice a promise all its own. "You have no idea."

-

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Hi y'all!

I don't update on any special schedule, it's just whenever I finish something. I also do not do requests.

ALL OF MY FICS ARE EXPLICIT/18+/MDNI!

Simply click on the link and it will bring you to my account on Wattpad. I will not be posting on Tumblr or A03 any longer as unfortunately there have been some issues with people copying my work. Since Wattpad doesn't allow copy and paste that makes it a bit harder to duplicate (Not impossible but harder) so all of my content will be there from now on.

I will also be pivoting and trying to write more original fiction and reorganizing/reposting some of my fics so please give me a follow on Wattpad. I'd really appreciate the support there.

These are works of fiction and I own nothing but my original characters and original ideas, everything else is obviously not mine! Also none of my shit is intensively beta read so there may be mistakes here and there so for that I apologize.

I do not consent to have my work reposted anywhere else without my consent. Please let me know if they are somewhere else!

ALSO...DON'T COPY MY SHIT. THANKS.

All of my graphics are made with PicCollage, Canva, and pictures from Pinterest, and some gifs by @kaizsche (the GOAT gif maker)

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