#hangman?? more like hang that man's penis...in my mouth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roosterbruiser · 11 months

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𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

A piercing cry slices through the dark--your eyelids are too heavy to wrench open, especially when you’re cocooned under the heavy duvet like you are right now.

From behind you, molded against your body like he always is when you sleep, Jake’s muscles tense. Rigidly, he sighs into the warm curve of your throat and blinks through the dark. And, yes, there on the baby monitor is your six-month-old baby boy in his silly-looking sleep sack. He’s about to wail, Jake can tell. His little bottom lip’s wobbling and his eyes are shut tight and even though Jake can’t see his hands, he knows his fists are clenched.

“Your son is so dramatic,” you whisper, muffled from the pillow.

“I thought we decided on theatrical,” Jake whispers back, his voice thin and worn. He peppers a few sloppy kisses to your throat and starts to sit up. “I’ve got ‘im.”

“You’re my hero,” you mutter, yawning.

He stretches and then swings his legs over the bed.

“Kinda my thing,” he says as he stands.

“I love you so much,” you reply. Any other time, with more sleep, you would’ve scoffed at him and given him your best eye roll. But you’re too tired to feel anything but grateful for your husband right now. “Like, so much.”

Jake laughs lightly, tiredly.

“I know,” he says cockily, teasingly.

You don’t respond, already drifting off to sleep again. You’re so tired that you can feel it in your bones--a deep, deep ache that is only exacerbated by frequent diaper changes and excessive feedings and tumultuous tummy times and gas and formula and binkies and board books and burp cloths and baths.

And even though the baby is definitely about to start screaming, Jake can’t help but pause for a moment in repose as he stands in the doorway in his slouchy sweatpants. You’re sprawled across the bed already--you always say it’s to keep his spot warm but he knows that it’s because you’d sleep in star-formation if you had the choice--and breathing deeply. Your hair is a mess on the pillow and your cheek is smushed. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re exhausted from parenting a very particular, theatrical Seresin baby boy.

He wants to cross the room again and tuck your hair back from your forehead. He wants to kiss your aching temples and your heavy eyelids. He wants to pull you in his arms, gather all those limbs, and hold you close.

But he doesn’t want to wake you up.

So, he just smiles gently.

“I love you so much,” he responds finally. “So, so, so stupid much.”

And then he’s padding down the hallway, yawning again, but with a smile tugging on his lips. He can hear his son’s whimpers from outside the door and honestly, he’s shocked the screaming hasn’t started yet.

The sound of artificial rain floods Jake’s ears when he comes into the room, the little sound machine in the corner lulling your son to sleep each day and night. He doesn’t bother turning it off or turning the light on--Jake’s fairly certain he’s adapted to the dark by now anyway.

There in his crib, the one Jake had to finally ask Javy to help build, is a wriggling and fussy baby boy. His gummy mouth on display as he thrashes his head back and forth and his cheeks ruddy from upset.

Jake’s heart swells as he strokes his cheek. Sometimes he still can't believe that this sweet little creature--the one with your eyes and his nose and your cheeks and his chin--is all his and all yours. You made him, every bit of him, and he is the most precious thing to ever grace this earth. Jake's sure of it.

“Hey there, cowboy,” he says softly. His son doesn’t let up yet, kicking his legs as Jake unzips the sleep sack. “S’alright, darlin’, daddy’s here.”

All the tired floods his body and slips out under the door when Jake’s not looking. He holds his son against his bare chest, his body still so small and so soft. But then Jake is kissing the feathery hair on his head and bouncing lightly in his spot, heels digging into the rug.

“What’s got you so upset?” Jake whispers, lips pressed against his son’s forehead. “Bad dream, baby?”

Your son doesn’t respond. He just burrows into his fathers neck, his breaths stuttering and his mouth open and drooling. Jake pats his back a few times, kissing his cheek. He inhales his sweet, sweet scent and sighs.

He loves the way your son smells--he just smells warm. He isn’t sure if it’s the body wash or the lotion or the sheets that does it. But he somehow just always smells good, like home, like you.

“Let’s take a seat, huh? A little rock and roll never hurt nobody, huh?” He asks quietly as he sits in the rocking chair.

If you were awake to hear his pun, you would’ve never let him hear the end of it. Jake makes a mental note to tell it to you over breakfast.

Your son’s whimpers are fading fast, especially when Jake starts to softly rock him, tucking his chin on his head and patting his back softly.

“Mama thinks you’re theatrical,” he tells your son, eyes fluttering shut. “And you definitely are. Mama also thinks you get it from me--and you absolutely do. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, cowboy. You gonna be a little actor? Or a little lawyer?”

Your son babbles quietly, fingers tangled in Jake’s hair as a form of self-soothing. Jake kisses his face a few more times.

“Or you could just stay here with me and mama forever,” he whispers.

And he knows that having a son has made him soft--like crying at that one Honda commercial kind of soft--because his eyes grow wet when he thinks of your son getting any bigger than he is now. He never wants a day to come where he can’t pull his son to his chest, sit down in the rocking chair, and make the tears stop.

"I love you," he whispers. "Me and mama love you so, so much. More love than can fit in this whole world."

When you pad down the hallway, eyes full of sand and sleep from your very few hours slumbering, you don’t even have to touch the walls anymore to orient yourself. You know where you’re going even in the pitch-black hallway.

Jake’s sleeping when you come into the nursery, the sound machine quiet in the corner of the room. Your son is still in his arms, sleeping against his chest. And God do they look alike right now in the light of the moon--both of them sleeping with their heads resting on each other’s, their mouths open, their fists clenched.

You came in here to bring Jake back to the bedroom. But watching him hold your son, your sweet boy, in that rocking chair that he built in this room he put together--you decide that a few more hours of comfortable sleep isn’t worth it. Tempurpedic mattress be damned.

So, you just carefully cross the floor. The rug is soft beneath your bare feet when you lean forward and stroke your son’s head, careful to have a soft touch that will not wake him. And then you’re kissing Jake’s warm cheeks, stroking his blonde locks, too.

Jake stirs slightly, eyes twitching. Your heart swells.

You sink onto the floor before the rocking chair, leaning against Jake’s legs. The rain is lulling you already and you yawn as you rest your cheek on his thighs. The rug is comfortable--you’re glad you went for this one. Your son is happy and sleeping and your husband is holding him and everything is right in the world.

And just as you’re about to fall asleep again, Jake’s thighs cushioning you, Jake’s hand falls into your hair. He strokes a few times in welcome--hi, baby.

“Missed you,” you mutter.

“Missed you,” he returns. His hand glides through your hair. “All’s right in the world now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It is.”

happy Father's Day to those who celebrate <3

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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I am thinking about Jake being uncomfy w touch from most people (and therefore being a little unknowingly touch starved) but doing small things to get your touch: leaning his head towards you so you play with his hair, gently touching your leg to get your attention, wrapping your ankles together under the table.

And the reader maybe not 100% picking up on it at first until he comes out and says it? Okay ily thanks for listening 🫶🏻🫶🏻

you've noticed it here and there--nothing outwardly in-your-face that screams help me! I'm touch-starved! no, it's much smaller than that. so much smaller that you don't realize it on your own at all.

like when you're at the grocery store and Jake comes up behind you, peppering your throat with kisses in the produce aisle as the sprinklers lightly wet the goosed skin of your forearms. like when he stands with his chest pressed against your back, arms caging you in, as he holds onto the cart and pushes as you do.

"looked heavy," he always insists softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

or when you're watching a movie at home, your feet resting on the coffee table beside his. he's always tucked up right beside you, his arm on the back of the touch behind your head. sometimes, during a more boring part, he'll gently drag his fingers through your hair and watch your face for a few moments. and when you catch him, he always squeezes your thigh, smiles coyly, and shrugs his way through a half-hearted apology.

"you're much more interesting than Bridget Jones," he'll say.

when you go to The Hard Deck with him, he's always hands-on. palm resting on your knee as you sit at the bar, chin on your shoulder while he waits for his turn in pool, body molded around yours as he teaches you how to shoot darts, lips against your cheek and fingers wrapped around your wrist when you excuse yourself to head to the restroom.

"don't be too long," he always teases, laughing when you roll your eyes.

right now, under the blue sky and before the dying fire pit in Maverick's backyard, you're beside Javy. the two of you are watching Jake and Rooster try and help Amelia do her first ever cartwheel in the grass, paper plates balanced on your knees.

"you're special," Javy says with a broad grin, waggling his eyebrows at you as you watch your boyfriend spot Amelia. "he's so whipped."

"oh, is that what you've decided?" you ask with a small smile, glancing at him.

"no, really," Javy insists. "that man's all over you."

you shift to look at Javy with a perched brow.

"yeah, that's the thing about being in love," you tease. "anyway, isn't he all over everyone?"

when Javy barks out a laugh, you bite your lip.

"sweetheart, he's not all over anyone any time--at all." when you look at him with an expression of disbelief covering your features, he nods to Jake. "we've been friends since the academy. I think he's hugged me...once? and when he saved Rooster's life? they shook hands. shook hands!"

with a peculiar sour taste on your tongue, you glance back at your boyfriend. and then it's suddenly clear as day--he doesn't really touch anyone but you. even now, as he's helping Amelia on the grass, his hands are merely hovering her shoulders. he's standing several paces away from Rooster.

"racking your brain?" Javy asks, arms crossed. "don't waste your time. I'm right!"

sticking your tongue out at Javy, you set your plat on the grass and stand up, starting for your boyfriend.

he notices you immediately--like he always does when you head in his direction. he's grinning immediately, one that eats all his features until he's just dimples and lips and teeth, hands resting on his hips.

Rooster, who's watching slyly, starts to casually hum the bridal march. Jake doesn't stop him.

"hey," you say softly as you approach. "get her into the Olympics yet?"

"almost," Jake sighs, immediately wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you against him. "she's just gotta believe in herself!"

Amelia, with her face red and her disposition less than sunny, huffs at Jake.

"I'm trying!"

Jake laughs, kissing the top of your head, resting his hands on your hips as he connects your bodies. you melt into him--just like he likes.

it feel so very natural to be up against him, being held tight under the dying sky. no wonder you hadn't exactly noticed that he isn't like this with everyone else--when he holds you, it just feels like something that's in his nature.

when you glance back over at Javy, he has his arms crossed over his chest. he's grinning from ear to ear, rapidly doing a whip motion in the air.

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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For the requests: Hangman's girlfriend (also a pilot) overworking herself and passing out and he just takes care of her? There's not enough soft hangman out there

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

When you come to, you're laying on something hard. A groan falls from your chapped lips as you throw your arm over your face to shield yourself from any onlookers.

Before you even open your eyes, just between that strange blackness and the blinding sun seeping in from the windows, you remember what happened. You achingly, embarrassingly remember what happened.

You fainted. You fucking fainted like one of those ditzy girls in the movies from the 40s. You, a Lieutenant Commander and Top Gun graduate and permanent member of the Dagger Squad, fainted in front of everyone.

It's enough to make your cheeks red.

You've been a bit overworked as of late.

You're the maid of honor at your best friend's wedding and it is rapidly approaching, practically licking at your heels at this point. You're also teaching a new course at the academy that has proven to be rigorous--especially when you're in a room with 20 beta versions of Jake Seresin, who you already get enough of between base and your shared home. Additionally, Jake has been talking about the two of you moving out of your house and into something with more space. You know that he isn't just talking about space for your stuff, either. And although the prospect of sharing a life with Jake is downright butterfly-inducing, you've just got a lot on your plate.

You're spread thin. Entirely too, too thin.

You'd simply been strolling along the tarmac after a successful training simulation, listening to Bob talk about the most recent Ted Chiang book he'd just finished. You were hungry, having not had lunch yet, and you were probably a touch dehydrated, too. You'd accidentally left your water bottle at home that day and didn't care to buy any plastic bottles from the vending machine. And you hadn't slept very well on account of planning a road trip to Las Vegas for the bachelorette party after the bride had a change of heart. You'd also just pulled a solid 8-G's in your craft. No big deal, you could handle it all. You always did--Hell, it was your duty to handle it all.

Until you couldn't. It wasn't even a slow decent into it--one minute you were listening to Bob's sweet voice underneath the San Diego sun and now you're blinking up at the ceiling in the infirmary.

"Fuck me," you grumble, shaking your head.

"Not in front of Nurse Bledso, angel," you boyfriend murmurs. You know without even glancing in his direction that he's grinning at Nurse Bledso. "How you feelin'?"

You realize, suddenly, that your head isn't lying on a pillow. It's lying on his lap--that hardness beneath your head is the powerful muscle of his thigh.

You're still getting your bearings as you blink at the tiles on the ceiling and the crisp white walls and the bright lights. You feel moderately okay besides the headache pounding behind your eyes and a tender spot across the knuckles on your left hand.

But then you see Jake. He's looking down at you already, calloused fingers carefully raking through your hair. His face is very soft, eyes swimming with concern and brows knit just slightly.

"Like I fainted," you mumble, frowning.

He looks up at Nurse Bledso, who's watching the two of you from her desk, shaking her head softly.

"She's still got her wits about her, nurse," Jake says, mockingly wiping sweat from his brow. "Thank God!"

You just shake your head softly, biting your lip when he smiles down at you again.

"Did everyone see it?" You ask.

Embarrassment is what you feel most predominantly. Sure, there are still knots in your shoulders and there's still a stone sinking in your belly and you have a sheen of cold sweat over your pasty skin, but what's really bothering you is the thought of collapsing on the tarmac in front of all your fellow Navy-members.

"No," Jake says quickly, seriously. He understand you--he knows you better than anyone in the world, probably--and knows that he shouldn't chide you about this. "Promise, angel."

You sigh in relief, swallowing hard.

"Feel like my head should hurt more than it does," you say, reaching up to check for tender spots. There are none--at least not on your scalp or face. You'd assumed you were going to wake up with stitches in your face or on a little patched of shaved hair on your head. "Did it bounce off the tarmac?"

Jake's cheeks grow a bit pink as he shakes his head, continuing his soothing motion of combing your hair. He must've taken it out of your bun for you and worked all the gel out of it knowing that a tight hairdo would do very little to help your headache.

"I caught you," he says, shrugging gently.

He's a little bit embarrassed about it. It surprises you, because if your boyfriend has been anything in the years you've been together, he's been cocksure and corny. Always very sure of himself and in control, Jake loved to be chivalrous and do things like pull your chair our or open your car door--and he did it all with a mega-watt grin. But right here in the infirmary, holding your heavy head on his lap, combing your hair carefully--he feels that it's a vulnerable thing to admit to you.

Jake had been watching you from the moment your jet landed. He was always watching you--it was just something that happened naturally. He'd always listen to the comms when you were in the air, he wandered out to the tarmac when he know you'd be landing soon, and he was always angling his face towards the sky when you were soaring inside it. It wasn't an accident that he was servicing his plane as you were due to head back on base.

He knew something was wrong as you walked past him without even glancing in his direction. It was like you had tunnel vision (which you legitimately did). He wasn't a fan of the paleness of your face in comparison to the flush in your cheeks or the little stumble in your step. Already he was walking towards you, meaning to innocently ask you if you were doing okay, when you dropped like a goddamn sack of potatoes.

He didn't even realize what he was doing, his body just responding all on its own, until his knees were scraping against the concrete and he was cradling your limp form in his arms. Bob turned around just in time to see it, gaping at you and Jake.

"Jesus, Jake! Is she okay?" Bob asked worriedly, dropping his helmet on the tarmac.

Jake looked down at your parted lips and slacked brows, assessing you for any external damage. He was worried he had been just a fraction too late--that maybe your head had scraped the concrete or your face had collided too hard against his elbow. But you looked fine--well as fine as you could when you were unconscious.

He carried you to the infirmary, both his knees throbbing. He knew as soon as he felt a sticky warmth on his calves that his knees were scraped through his flightsuit. But it didn't matter to him--not when you were so entirely limp in his arms. He hated to see you so helpless.

"You caught me?" You ask quietly, knitting your brows.

He playfully pinches your nose, still being very gentle with you as he mockingly rolls his eyes.

"Is that so hard to believe, angel?"

You're at a loss for words. An overwhelming feeling is washing over you, one that is choking you up and inducing tears on your waterline and making a puddle of something sticky-sweet settle in your belly.

"No," you whisper, voice cracking. "That's not hard to believe."

If you two were alone, Jake would have no issue leaning down to kiss you. Hell, he wouldn't even mind kissing you in front of Nurse Bledso. But he knows that you care about professionalism--being a woman in the Navy, you worked hard to get the respect you should've just been given--so he refrains. But he knows--and let's face it, you know just as well--that you're in for a proper spoiling tonight. Sure, Jake would chastise you for your late lunch and for not simply sharing his water bottle, but more than anything--he was just going to thoroughly take good care of you tonight. Maybe he'd even make you take the day off tomorrow. He was heavily considering taking over your duties as maid of honor temporarily just to take the pressure off your shoulders--well, that and he knew he'd look good in that olive green dress.

"How's the knee, Lieutenant?" Nurse Bledso suddenly pipes up, glasses perched low on her nose.

Jake cringes, nose wrinkling. Thanks for that, Nurse.

You try to sit up slightly, furrowing your brows as Jake sheepishly sighs and presses you until you're lying back again.

"They're fine," he tells Nurse Bledso before looking back down at you with his eyes wide and calm. "They're fine, angel."

But it hurts you to think about Jake getting hurt. And God, you're laying on his legs right now--you're worried you're going to wound him so you start to sit up again before he carefully puts his palm in the middle of your chest and guides you back against his lap.

"But Jake," you try, but he shakes his head softly.

"M'right as rain, angel. Worried about that hand of yours, though."

As if on cue, the knuckles of your left hand are suddenly throbbing. You hesitantly bring your hand to your vision, expecting some sort of nasty gash, but it is bandaged in a pristine white wrap.

Jake carefully takes your wounded hand in his, inspecting it as if he's the one who bandaged it.

"Sorry I didn't get there in time," he mutters to you, looking down at you again.

He's truly sorrowful--your poor, sweet hand got injured. If he had just leapt forward a moment earlier then he could've collected all your limbs and saved you from any hurt at all. It makes his throat ache when he thinks about the scars that will mark your knuckles now.

But you are swooning on his lap.

"Baby, if you hadn't been there, my brain would've been mush," you reason, wrapping your fingers around his.

He sighs. He supposes you're right. Things could've gone a lot worse if he hadn't been there precisely when he had been. He loves Bob and he knows Bob loves you, but Bob was none-the-wiser as he moseyed on beside you. When it came to your safety, there was only one person in the world he trusted and it was himself.

"Don't have much faith in old Baby On Board, do you, angel?"

That has you grinning, laughter tumbling out of your dry mouth despite the throbbing in your temples.

Oh--Jake didn't know his shoulders were practically up by his ears until they relax at the sound of your laugh. You're okay. You're really okay. He knew you weren't seriously injured or sick--logically, he knew that. But carrying your limp form across base and having to let the nurse take over had proven to be more difficult than he cared to admit. He loved you more than anyone--anything, really--in the universe. The thought of something as simple as dehydration and stress hurting you the point of serious harm was making his head hurt.

"You sure your knees are okay, baby?" You ask this softly, concern written all over your features as your laughter dies off and your smile fades. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

He shakes his head at once, his heart sitting in his throat. Here you are in the infirmary and you're asking how he is. It's laughable, really--but it's so you. And he loves you so much.

"Gonna take a lot more to take me down than some silly old scabs, angel," he sighs, carefully kissing each of your wounded knuckles over the thin cotton wrap. "Hell, I'd break both my knees to catch you."

You want to roll your eyes--but you can't. You know he's telling the truth. He'd do anything in the world to hold you safely in his arms.

He's surprised when you lean up to kiss him. It isn't a steamy kiss, isn't one that would lead to anything more. It's a chaste and sweet thing, your hand resting on his cheek, your lips dry. But it makes him giddy anyway.

"Gonna make me start calling you a hero now?" You tease, affectionately swiping your thumb across his cheek.

He grins, chuckling.

"Now? You weren't calling me one before?"

There's that laugh of yours again--it's enough to make Jake release a breath that's been sitting in the middle of his chest since the two of you came into the infirmary.

"Someone's gotta deflate that ego," you tease, resting your cheek against his thigh.

He's still combing his fingers through your hair. And as he's gazing down at you, all the upset of the day fades. You're okay. You're here in his lap, teasing him, kissing him. He caught you. He caught you.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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hi! could i request something where jake secretly has an older daughter that he had with his high school sweetheart during their senior year and the squad finds out? i just love the idea of jake and his high school girlfriend being married and just as in love now as they were back then

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Things hadn't always been easy with Jake--God, no.

Well, really, things had been downright blissful in the beginning. What were teenagers going to fight about anyway? You two just clicked--you knew you were right for each other.

Then you got pregnant. And for a while, actually, things had been really hard.

Between the fateful night of your graduation when your pregnancy test came back positive and the next eight months of your pregnancy, the two of you fought more than you ever had before. It wasn't just because he was trying to do the responsible thing by asking you to marry him--which, let's be honest; he had planned on doing that long before the positive pregnancy test--and the stress of planning the shotgun wedding you were trying really hard not to call a shotgun wedding. It was the hormones and the academy and the moving cross-country in the middle of a difficult pregnancy and all the growing up the two of you had to do so hastily.

The two of you had bickered here and there--which was bound to happen when you are devoted to someone from the seventh grade forward--but had never fought as passionately as you were while you were pregnant. It was senseless arguments, ones sprinkled in between trainings and morning sickness and job searches and taping boxes.

It wasn't even that the two of you didn't love each other. That's what the most frustrating part of it all was, really; the two of you were stupidly in love. Like the kind of love people really only see on screens, which you would never say out loud (even though you know it's true), and wish for but usually never get.

Everything changed the day Charlotte was born. You went into labor in the middle of an impassioned argument--one that was going precisely nowhere, not that either of you would admit it--and made it to the hospital to settle in comfortably for a very uncomfortable seventeen hours of labor.

Young as you both were, scared (terrified, really) as you both were, exhausted as you both were--everything else in the world melted away when you held that little pink, squirming baby against your chest.

Jake had been a wreck, suddenly realizing how absolutely out of his element he was as a measly 19-year-old with a wife and baby on the way, but had not left your side for even a moment. And when Charlotte, that sweet and loud little thing, finally settled with her chubby cheek against the red skin of your chest--something changed in his body. Already he knew that he loved you--God, he loved you so much. But seeing you there on the hospital bed with your hair plastered to your sweaty head and your cheeks flushed and your eyes swollen from crying, that love suddenly expanded and overwhelmed him. He felt like he was going to positively drown in all that love.

As if you sensed it, you looked up at him with an exhausted sort of awe-struck look. Your eyebrows were raised, your dry lips parted, your cheeks flushed, your eyelashes clumped with tears.

"She's got your big mouth," you had said to him, laughing breathily, cradling her against you.

You were shaking--not just from the sheer effort of pushing that baby into this world, but from the overwhelming amount of love coursing through your veins for that little stranger in your arms.

It had made all the nurses and doctors laugh as they still hustled and bustled around your open legs, but neither you or Jake even noticed them. You were looking up at your husband--who was suddenly not that flirty boy with the sweeping blonde hair that let you put your books in his locker, but a man with tears of pride streaming down his face as he looked down at his newly-expanded family for the first time.

He thought he was going to explode--but instead he just sobbed out a laugh. Then he leaned forward and pressed your damp hair out of your face, bringing his salty lips down on your forehead again and again. His quivering hand pressed against Charlotte's back and God, he loved her so much already. He hadn't even really seen her face for the first time, but he knew she was fucking perfect. He could feel it just under the pads of his fingers, could feel your laughter and your tears beneath his trembling lips.

"No more fightin', angel. I promise. I'm sorry," he whispered against your skin, resting his nose against your temple, sniffing hard. "Don't ever wanna fight with you ever again, okay? Love you too damn much to be arguin' all the time."

"I love you so much," you whispered to him, lips trembling as they pressed against his wet ones, bones aching with tired. "I don't ever wanna fight with you again."

But as he cupped your cheek and nuzzled his nose against yours, peppering kisses all along your tears and flushed skin, you knew that he meant it. No more arguing. You knew something was bound to change, knew it would probably change once Charlotte was born, but you hadn't expected it to be so immediate. But you were radiating love now--so happy you felt like your heart was gonna fall out of your chest.

And the two of you, as devoted to each other and your daughter as you are, kept the promise with a fierceness. No more fighting--you meant it and so did he.

Now that you're used to deployments and special detachments and moving and all the rare beauty that is attached to life as a Naval aviator's wife, everything runs smoothly.

He loves that you still send him a picture of Charlotte every single day while he's not home--something you'd done since his very first deployment when she was a few months old. You never missed a day--like ever, which he still didn't understand the logistics of--and always wrote a paragraph about yours and Charlotte's day.

When she was little, it had been something like:

Today Charlotte and I went to the park. It was that cute little one by our house, the one with all the dogs and food trucks. She's getting really good at holding her head up on her own! And she's not so fussy anymore about tummy time, which is a relief. I got to read a little bit of my book while she napped on the picnic blanket. She wore that sunhat your mama got her (as seen in the attached photo) and laughed at a dog that came to investigate her. She's a big fan of animals--might be something to consider, huh? Right now, she is talking my ear off about you, telling me all about those bedtime stories you read and how your voices are so much better than mine. I get it--I'm obsessed with you, too. We miss you. Gonna go pray at the shrine we made for you, I guess. Get home safe, okay? We love you.

But right now, as Jake sits in The Hard Deck only a few days after the successful Uranium Mission, he's smiling as he scrolls through the emails you'd sent him that he's only just now able to read.

He's nursing a beer, shoulders slumped and lips pulled faintly upwards as he basks in the warm evening sun filtering in through the window. It's noisy as ever all around him--Rooster pounding away on the piano with Maverick right there next to him, Coyote and Fanboy shooting the shit as they play a truly pathetic game of pool, someone being thrown overboard--but everything's white noise when he reads your emails.

Your emails are a little bit different now--especially now that Charlotte is twelve. She's less apt to let you take pictures of her now, going through the make-a-face-at-the-camera phase or just running away at the first sign of your lens facing her. You managed to snap a good one the other day, one where her green eyes are glimmering in the sun as she sips on a lemonade. Jake looks closely at the picture and decides that the two of you are at that little bistro by your house that you like to walk to.

Your daughter's glossy hair is longer than it was when he left and God, if she isn't growing more and more beautiful everyday. She looks just like you. She's got your exuberance and even though he would never say it to you or Charlotte, she's even got the little crinkle between her brows that seems to just pulse when she's frustrated.

He rereads your paragraph again.

Well, good morning to you, Lieutenant Husband. I woke up this morning to your daughter's dog peeing on the rug outside the bathroom. And your daughter thought that was the funniest thing in the world until I made her clean it up! I'm a mean mom, I guess. But I made up for it because we walked down to Frankie's and I let her get the bottomless lemonade. Currently writing this during her fourth bathroom trip. Think we're gonna catch a movie in a little bit and then maybe get some ice cream after. We miss you, baby. Can't wait to hear your voice again. And even though she won't say it, I know Charlotte can't wait to take you up on that beach day you promised her. Be good, stay safe, stay alive, okay? We love you more than anything in the world and you're definitely gonna have to re-potty train Sandy when you come home!

He missed you two more than anything in the world. But what he missed the most was just the domesticity the two of you had blissfully settled into. What he wouldn't give to wake up to Sandy peeing on the rug outside the bathroom, to back you up when Charlotte groaned about having to clean it up, to walk down to Frankie's with the two of you and tease Charlotte for using the bathroom so many times, to go see whatever stupid Kristen Stewart movie is playing, to eat a cone of mint chip ice cream and take the long way home. He ached for it, really--even if he knew there was only a few more days until he'd be back in it.

He could hardly wait.

"Who's the teeny-bopper?"

Jake nearly jumps out of his skin, jerking back against the wooden booth and snapping up to look up at the squadron that has suddenly gathered all around him. It's Payback that's asked, his eyebrow perched as he leans in to get a closer look at Charlotte.

"God, she looks just like you," Phoenix adds, narrowing her eyes on what is essentially Hangman's mouth and nose on a much smaller face. "Younger sister?"

Everyone's staring at Jake now.

It isn't even that he's been hiding the two of you--he loves showing you off. But it's just that it hasn't come up and quite frankly, they've been a little busy the past few weeks.

Bob's always been good at reading people--so when he studies the photograph and then studies the redness in Hangman's cheeks and the way he wets his tongue nervously, Bob knows. Bob knows before anyone else--besides Maverick and Coyote, that is.

"How's my niece?" Coyote asks, clapping Jake on the shoulder with a sly grin.

Jake sighs, shaking his head softly at Javy before submitting to it all--thrusting his phone forward to let the squadron read your email and look at the picture of Charlotte.

"Niece? No way," Fanboy exclaims, brows furrowed. "No way."

But now Rooster is holding the phone, his mouth agape, zooming in on Charlotte's face and it is suddenly undeniable to everyone there--that is absolutely the spawn of Jake Seresin. Right down to the dimples and the green eyes, that is his daughter.

"Charlotte," Jake says softly, trying to choke down all that pride that is inching its way up his throat. "She's twelve. And she's the best person that's ever lived, obviously."

Phoenix would've snorted if she hadn't been so totally awe-struck.

"You taking all the credit for that?" Rooster quips, shooting a playful smirk Jake's way.

But Jake just holds his hands up in surrender, sighing as he shakes his head.

"I'll give that to the wife," he says fondly. "She's also the best person that's ever lived. Better than all of you combined."

Coyote takes a sip of his own beer before nodding.

"Oh, absolutely," he agrees at once. "That woman's a saint for putting up with you and raising that Hellion."

Javy's joking of course--he'd actually never seen a more communicative, loving relationship than yours and Jake's. And he'd never met such a well-rounded girl as Charlotte. She had a good head on her shoulders, put there by her parents. Javy was even sure that Charlotte knew more than he did already and she hadn't even finished middle school.

"A wife, too?" Bob asks softly, smiling as he reads your email.

"And a dog," Fanboy adds softly, scanning over your paragraph.

Jake hums, nodding, trying not to look too pathetically in love with you. Even though he is, in fact, pathetically in love with you.

"Going on thirteen years," Jake says. "Thirteen happy years."

And everyone knows that he means it, especially when he just glances back at his phone in Rooster's hands and smiles softly to himself. He is thoroughly in love with you and with your daughter--Hell, he just loves your shared life. He's itching to go home, even if a poorly house-trained dog is waiting for him.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Phoenix says, bumping him with her eyebrows furrowed.

"And when can we meet them?" Payback adds.

Jake is grinning now--just the prospect of his Navy family meeting his real family makes affection swarm his heart. He shrugs.

"Maybe we could figure something out before everyone has to go. I'm sure we can get Charlotte out of school for a couple of days. Family's a good enough reason for me--bet it will be for the wife, too."

He's gushing with pride--he's not even trying to, but he really is. Coyote is used to the way Jake practically glows when he talks about you and Charlotte. Hell, he even gets it. You're beautiful and funny and kind and whip-smart. You hold it down and make it look easy. And Charlotte is a perfect balance of the two of you, striking every single genetic sweet-spot.

"I'm shocked," Rooster says. "You're so...gooey right now."

"Yeah, Bagman," Phoenix says with a smile. "Going all soft on us."

Hangman wants to roll his eyes again. Really, he does. But he just can't. So he takes another sip of his beer, thinks about the way you would be cuddled into him right now and quipping back at Rooster as the two of you watch Charlotte sweetly order her third lemonade from Penny, and shrugs with a grin tugging on his lips.

"I guess I am," he smiles.

here is my tag list!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

Ohmygod i love the blurb you wrote for mafia bobby 😭 you did so well with it!

Still on anon for now, a bit shy about requesting on my main but -

Would you do a Jake x Kazansky reader where he's jealous/infuriated/*cough* horny *cough* because the reader (who's also an aviator) is always being praised by their superiors?

Enemies to friends with benefits to lovers?

If he's a teeny bit mean to the reader (calls her a nepotism baby or something) i would love that 🥺

Thank you so much, everything you've written so far is brilliant!

𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You can feel his eyes on you. Those bright green things that somehow feel like flames licking your skin. They're burning your cheek, the one you have turned towards him. If you didn't loathe him entirely, maybe you'd admit that his eyes were actually a shade of green you were fond of. If you liked him more, maybe you'd say that his eyes are the color of eucalyptus or clover. But since you don't like him, since he really doesn't like you, you privately imagine his eyes to be the same shade as pond scum.

Both of you tend to gravitate towards the front of the classroom, which means that when you're late--like you were today, only by a minute or two--you have to sit in the empty seat beside him. Which means that you had to move his feet from the chair where they were resting--the only seat left in the front row. You knew he certainly wasn't going to move them, especially when he smirked up at you and settled into his seat further.

So you swiftly gripped his ankles and let his feet drop unceremoniously to the concrete floor.

He started to make a sound of protest, started to laugh dryly and without humor, but you already settled into your seat and fixed him with a wonderful view of your middle finger as you "itched" your temple.

He's pissed now. You know that. Honestly, you knew he was going to be pissed before you even did it. But you did it, anyway.

You can't stand his entitlement, the way he takes up all the space around him like he owns it and smiles through it all. And you can't stand sitting anywhere except the front of the classroom--it's where you focus the best.

Maverick is droning through another training and you're being your usual studious self, taking notes with your fine-point pens and chewing on your bottom lip.

"Take a fucking picture already," you finally mutter to Jake, not peeling your eyes away from the screen Maverick stands before.

Jake snorts softly, scoffing at you.

"Don't flatter yourself," he spits back, finally turning away from you as he incessantly taps his pencil against the desk.

You try and ignore it--really, you do. But you're certain after a few minutes that he's doing it just to annoy you. That stupid repetitive clanking--tap, tap, tap, tap, tap--it's starting to drive you fucking crazy.

You're right--Jake is trying to annoy you. He doesn't like it when you sit next to him anymore than you like sitting next to him. And he didn't like that little stunt you pulled by scooping his feet out of the seat they were resting in. He won't admit it to himself or you, but he wouldn't have moved if you asked. Really, you moving his feet were the only way you would be able to sit in that chair.

But he's still pissed at you; he's always pissed at you.

You're a Kazansky, which means everyone treads lightly around you. And if Jake hates one thing--it's people who get a free ride. And you with your pretty fucking face and your sweet-smelling hair and your stupid fucking eyelashes and the ferocious way you bite your lip--you have it easy as far as he's concerned. He decided that the first time he ever met you at the Academy, as soon as you introduced yourself. Your call-sign is Wisteria, born from your unsuspecting appearance and lethal temper. But Jake doesn't like to call you that--he really doesn't like to call you anything.

Growling, you turn and stare at his pencil. He just smirks. It makes your face hot with annoyance.

"You're insufferable," you hiss at him quietly, taking a grab at his pencil.

He's faster than you, just by a fraction of a second. He moves to tapping his pencil incessantly on the other side of the desk where you can't reach him.

"You're fuckin' annoyin'," he bites back in a whispered tone. "You can sit anywhere and you choose here?"

You roll your eyes.

"Newsflash, you fucking dick--you don't own the front row," you mumble, blood rising to the tips of your ears.

"You know I always sit in the front row," he tries to reason, glaring at you, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

"So do I," you whisper back incredulously, finally peeling your eyes away from Maverick to return his wide-eyed look. "So just suck it up and shut the fuck up. Can you do that, Bagman? Pretty please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he grins menacingly.

You groan softly, squeezing your eyes shut. He's going to be the death of you.

"If I ask you pretty please to fuck off, will you do that, too?"

Across the room, Rooster and Payback watch your exchange slyly. Rooster is shaking his head, smiling softly. Payback's lips are slightly parted and his eyebrows are raised.

"How long until they just fuck already?" Rooster whispers to Payback.

Payback shakes his head, shrugging.

"Could be hours. Could be days. Could be weeks. Who knows? God works in mysterious ways," Payback whispers back.

Rooster eyes you--your cheeks are flushed and your lip is nearly bloody from your incessant chewing. Jake is tapping his pencil again, smirking as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

Oh yeah. You two are definitely burning for each other--Rooster can practically smell it from here.

"I give it two days," Rooster says to Payback.

Payback snorts softly, then sighs.

"I give it two hours," he mumbles back.

The two shake hands slyly under their shared desk.

"I don't know--why don't you try?" Hangman hisses at you.

You square your jaw, breathing through your nose. Lord, grant you some patience for this big hunk of blonde muscle beside you.

You softly smile at him, eyebrows blanched.

"Will you please fuck off?" You ask sweetly, even batting your eyelashes.

Hangman wants to say something. Really, he does. But Maverick is clearing his throat and looking at the two of you. So you slump into your seat, mumbling an apology as you flush. And Jake just nods at Maverick--except he stops tapping his pencil. But he knows that he's going to get you back.

And get you back he does. It's when you're both in the air, cutting through the cornflower sky, teamed up for a dogfight. You're a good pilot--maybe even one of the best. You're vigilant and calculated. You do everything by the books, which is why you've been asked to be Team Captain on more than one occasion.

Of course from Jake's perspective, it's only because of the legacy you hail from. In his opinion, you lack gumption and the kind of recklessness fighter pilots sometimes have to embody.

Needless to say--neither of you like flying with each other. So of course, Maverick pairs the two of you up.

Hangman can be calculated when he wants to be. And today, there's a special fire that's been lit under his ass--and you're the one that's been stoking it all day. So he plays by your rules, obeying you, even using your Lieutenant title--which he makes a point to never use.

But it's at that crucial moment, when you need him to cover you, when you need your wingman--that he dips. He hangs you out to dry, lets you get shot out. Hell, he practically lines up the shot for Maverick. The two of you were close to getting Maverick--so close that Jake could've gotten tone before Maverick even got close to you.

But then your tone is ringing out in your aircraft and you're dead. And Jake is grinning at you as soon as your jet touches down on the tarmac.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" He asks you, smirking as he wipes some beads of sweat from his forehead.

You're thoroughly pissed off. Like red in the cheeks, blood boiling, boulder-sitting-on-your-chest kind of pissed off. You're so pissed off that Bob is crossing the tarmac as soon as he sees that unhinged anger in your eyes, the one that usually prefaces some sort of discipline from the higher-ups.

"You son of a bitch!" You spit at Jake, pointing at him accusingly, throwing your helmet on the tarmac. "You gave Maverick the shot! Fuck, you basically lined it up for him!"

Jake is standing beneath the golden sun, his eyes narrowed as he squints at you under the bright sky. He likes seeing you like this--angry. Like, really, really angry.

"Me?" He asks dumbly, pointing to himself.

You have half a mind to scratch those green eyes out of his pretty face. You stomp towards him, hastily wiping the sweat off your face with your sleeve.

"You!" You shout, puffing your chest out as you square up to him. "You fucking--you-you-!"

"C'mon," Jake taunts, smirking down at you as your furrow your brows deeply. "Spit it out, nepotism baby."

Just as you're about to wallop Jake in his pretty fucking face, just as you're literally about to sink your teeth into his jugular, Bob steps between the two of you.

"Wisty, he wants you to hit him," Bob reasons, his sweet eyes pouring into yours. Jesus, you look feral right now--your teeth are bared, your eyes are glassy, your cheeks are red, you're damp with perspiration. "Do you really wanna give Seresin what he wants?"

Jake isn't surprised that someone jumped in to save your precious reputation. Typical behavior. Everyone always rushing to your aid like the big fucking baby you are.

"Maybe she does," Jake tells Bob, clapping him on the shoulder. "C'mon. Give it to me, baby."

Bob has to put his hands on your shoulders and hold you to the tarmac. He's certain that if he let you go, you'd be impossible to get ahold of again. And Jake would have to run for the hills if he wanted to avoid any major surgeries in the facial region.

"You're a fucking asshole!" You accuse Jake, little bits of saliva flinging at the skin of his face.

Jake comes closer to you--like a toddler taunting an animal at the zoo through the glass--and puckers his lips, making a lewd kissing noise.

He just fucking blew you a kiss.

Bob fights the overwhelming urge to let you loose. Fucking dick.

Jake swiftly turns on his heel, grinning, finally feeling like he has the upper-hand. But he is stopped only a few paces later when Cyclone bellows his official title.

Cyclone, who listened to the comms for once during your training exercise and witnessed the entire tarmac ordeal, has a few words for Jake.

Jake's stomach sinks. Fuck.

And he knows without even turning around that you're grinning now. Of course someone comes in the save the day again. If not Bob or Phoenix or Bradley or Maverick, then fucking Cyclone.

"Karma," you mutter to Bob, sighing deeply.

Bob nods, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He takes a look at your slumped shoulders and your slacked features and decides that he's probably okay to let you go.

"You know he just wants to get under your skin," Bob tells you warily, bumping you with a friendly elbow. "He's threatened by you."

You nod, scoffing.

"Good. I'm better than him."

Bob laughs and it makes something in your chest melt. You suddenly don't feel so angry anymore. You even smile a little bit.

"That you are, Wisty. Now, go take a shower. You stink."

You're in the middle of a much needed shower when the locker-room door suddenly rips open. You're startled enough to jump as you lather your body, straining on your tip-toes to look over the curtain at who just barged into the room.

The rooms are uni-sex, much to your dismay, and you're almost certain that everyone's in the air right now or has already showered after training. You cycle through the squadron in your head, furrowing your brows as you let the hot water boil the anger off your skin.

"Rooster?" You try, your voice echoing out on the tiles in the showers.

There's heavy footsteps--ones that are moving quick. Lug-sole boots, for sure. And if it really were Rooster, you're certain he would've come in humming or whistling or singing some dumb 80s song. And he would've called back at once.

No, this is someone else. Someone who's rapidly approaching, someone who's pissed off. They're stomping in your direction.

"I'm grounded for two fuckin' weeks."

Jake's voice is just outside your shower cubicle. All that separates your naked body from him and his rage is a flimsy shower curtain, one that is very nearly translucent.

You swallow thickly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. You're naked for crying out loud--and he's trying to do this now? Here?

"Can this wait?" You ask, almost sounding timid.

Jake scoffs.

"No."

You roll your eyes, tipping your head back so the hot water washes over your face and hair again.

"How's it my problem that you're grounded?" You ask, your voice echoing in the vast empty room.

Jake is certain that the shower curtain is about to be set ablaze by his heated gaze. He wants to rip that shower curtain open and shake you silly for getting him in trouble the way you did. He can't see much of you besides your vague silhouette behind the curtain--that and your feet on the tile. Your toes are painted the color of a blueberry--on any other girl, Jake would think it's cute. But it's you, so he thinks it's juvenile.

"Because you just had to make a scene in front of everyone, didn't you? I bet you fuckin' knew Cyclone was watching!"

You scoff so loud that it makes your throat hurt.

"Bullshit, Seresin! I'm not some fucking cartoon villain! You fucked me up there and you know it. You knew I'd be pissed when we landed. I didn't know Cyclone was there."

Jake rakes his hand through his sweaty locks and groans loudly, starting to pace the damp tile outside your cubicle. He knows how threatening his boots against the tile must sound, how stuck you must feel right now. And a tiny part of him takes a strange sort of joy in that--of his presence being so big and looming that it holds you still.

"Yeah, well I guess life just has a way of going your way, huh, Kazansky?"

Your blood is beginning to boil again. Just the way he says your name, with all that venom and malice, it makes your nails dig into your palms.

"What's that mean, Bagman?"

He scoffs now--it's loud enough for you to hear above the blood rushing past your ears.

"It means that you have it easy! You've always had it easy! Your dad is fucking Tom Kazansky! Your daddy was a fighter pilot so he let you be a fighter pilot, too."

You're almost vibrating with anger now, hastily washing the conditioner out of your hair so you can rip the shower curtain and deliver a swift smack to his cheek.

It's one thing for him to say something about you--but it's a whole other thing entirely to bring up your father. You love your father--he's always been your real-life superhero. To hear Jake just say his name like that, just to hear him spit out Tom Kazansky like it means nothing makes you want to make his pretty eyes black.

"Oh, fuck you, Jake! Rooster's dad went to Top Gun, too, but I don't see you bringing that up every chance you get!"

"Rooster's dad is fucking dead!" Jake calls back, sighing in exasperation. "Doubt he helped him climb any ladders from six-feet under!"

Stomach gurgling, chest flushed, heart racing, you act before you even think. You rip open the shower curtain, your ears ringing, and stare at Jake. You want to hit him; you want to hit him more than you've ever wanted to hit anyone in your life. But you know that's probably what he wants.

So you just stand there, your naked body glistening with suds and heaving with every breath you huff out.

Jake stops his pacing, mouth falling open as he stares at all the skin that is suddenly on display. You look fucking pissed--your eyes are rimmed with red, your fists are clenched, your skin is quivering, your mouth is a tight line. But fuck if you don't look sexy right now; your nipples are pert and pink, all the hills and valleys of your body are slick, and that blueberry color on your toes looks mildly endearing as you stomp closer to him.

"You think I've got it easy?"

Your voice is laced with absolute malice.

Jake is backing away from you, his lips parted, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I do," he says, but he sounds less sure now.

You point up at him, narrowing your eyes.

"Yeah, because women notoriously have it easy in the military. Right, Jake? I've never had to work hard for anything because my dad is an Admiral, right? And all the other people in this program that had parents go through it aren't nepotism babies if their parents are dead, right?"

You're getting closer and closer to him with every word that spews out of your mouth, pressing your finger into his chest, glowering.

Before Jake can answer--which he's having a hard time doing since all the blood in his brain is suddenly draining down, down, down--you get on your tip-toes to get all the more closer to his face.

Something is bubbling up in you, something that's been coming on for months. You're good at hiding your emotions, especially around your family, especially around your dad. You know how upset he gets when you're upset--even as a little girl, you did your best to conceal any sort of crying or whining around him--so you bottle all those tears and that rage and that grief inside your chest cavity. And now that you're naked and pissed and so close to Jake, it's all coming out in hot breaths.

"So, in a few months, when my dad is dead--you're gonna stop calling me a nepotism baby? Is that how this works? Or am I grandfathered in?"

There it is--sitting out in all the steamy air between the two of you. Your dad is dying. You know it, you've known it for a while now, and you're trying to come to terms with it. You haven't been able to tell anyone on base, therapy is too expensive, and you can't cry in front of your dad. So Jake gets to hear it all right now as you stand before him, soaking wet, trembling with rage.

And Jake suddenly feels like a fucking asshole. He hates to feel guilty--which is why he usually actively tries to steel himself against people's reactions to what he says--but he can feel the rusty anchor of it dragging across his chest heavily. He knows that his eyes have softened, that his shoulders are drooping. He knows it because you suddenly soften too.

"Wisteria," he says quietly, trying hard to keep looking at your face and not your breasts or your belly or your legs or your legs. "I'm so..."

And you feel like you're going to cry now--which is great. That's just fucking great. That's all you need right now is to cry in front of Jake fucking Seresin, who will probably internalize all of it to tease you about it for the next ten years.

With a sudden wave of goosebumps, you realize it. You're butt naked right now in front of Jake. Like, properly naked. And you're soaking wet. So, while you still have the slightest bit of dignity intact, you spin on your heel and start to hurry back to your cubicle. A deep blush is covering your chest and throat, climbing up onto your cheeks.

"Hey," Jake says, his voice softer than before. He reaches out before he even realizes what he's doing, wrapping his hand around your bicep.

You whip around quicker than he's expecting, your wet hair smacking his sweaty cheeks. His eyes are wide when you press your nose against his. And even though he knows you're angry at him, angry at the situation and at him and at the world, he knows that you're sad, too. You're sad in a way he doesn't quite understand but that he wants to help--really, he just wants this guilt sitting on his chest to fade.

"Fuck you," you hiss, jabbing his chest. Your voice breaks and he squeezes your arm tighter.

Jake is staring at you. His eyes are wide and his pupils are blown. His mouth is twisted and his cheeks are red and his hair is messy. He's something between pissed and elated, but you don't know what.

"Fuck you," he whispers back, except his voice holds no malice at all. It's soft, soft as the little breaths of his that are fanning over your face.

And he moves closer to you, just barely, just enough so that you can feel his hard cock against your naked hip.

Oh--you recognize that look now. It's lust. He wants you. He wants to fuck you.

Your heart is racing and when his hand moves to tenderly move wet hair off your shoulder, you shudder. Heat is beginning to pool between your legs now, the same heat that is making your lips swell with want.

You're still upset, your emotions are running high. But maybe this would make you feel better--actually, you know it would make you feel better. Between your busy schedule and all the family you're constantly entertaining, you don't have much of a dating life.

"That what you want?" You whisper finally, not moving away from him.

He nods once, swallowing hard.

Fuck.

"That gonna make you shut the fuck up?" You whisper to him, lips just barely grazing his.

And fuck if just the feeling of his lips on yours isn't already making a coil tighten in your belly.

He moans softly, pressing into you just a bit harder. You're steady on your feet, swallowing his sound with a hunger that you've never had for anyone else before.

You're slightly shocked that he's letting you take the lead, letting you talk to him that way. You're also shocked that you're about to kiss Jake Seresin in the locker room at your place of employment. But here you are, your tongue licking a hot stripe across his bottom lip until he opens his mouth for you.

But, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, he wraps your hair tightly around his hand and tugs harshly until your lips disconnect. There is a string of spit connecting the two of you, which makes something very warm grow in your belly.

"You're a bitch," he tells you, panting.

You nod blindly, desperate to press your mouth against his again.

"You're a dick," you tell him.

He moans again--a glutton for punishment. It makes you wet just thinking about all the mean things you can spew at him, all the frustration he would happily let you take out on him and his abs.

You're fumbling with his uniform and he's feverishly pressing kisses to your wet shoulders and neck, both of you moving quickly so you don't change your mind or get some sense knocked into you.

"Princess," he mumbles against your skin, sucking harshly over your collarbone.

"Entitled prick," you moan back, pushing his shirt on the floor and eagerly working on his belt buckle.

Jake can't believe this is happening. He never thought he wanted to fuck you--honestly, the thought had never crossed his mind. But now that you're here in front of him, naked and wet and ready for him, he can't believe he hasn't indulged in this fantasy before. You're so fucking hot that he's already straining against his service khakis, his mind spinning, his chest heaving. He's only ever strictly--and honestly, begrudgingly--noticed your beauty. It's hard for him to not notice beautiful people so it's usually your face that he lands on.

"C'mon," he hisses at you, dragging his calloused hands down to your breasts. "Faster."

He pinches hard enough to make you cry out, enough to make your toes curl. White-hot pleasure is raining over you, licking your heels, scorching you.

"Fuck you," you moans again, finally undoing his belt and getting rid of his pants and underwear in one swift movement.

"Plannin' on it," he whispers to you, delivering a few more sharp pinches to your nipples as he kneads the soft tissue of your breast in his rough hands.

His cock is freely pressing into your skin now, hard and hot and leaking pearlescent beads of pre-cum. He's big--he's really fucking big. You can feel all the veins around his cock pulsing, can feel how badly he wants you. If you weren't as wet as you are right now, you'd make fun of him.

"Shower," he commands, already pressing you against the wall of your cubicle.

The water is still running, clouding the room with steam, and after only a few moments both of you are sopping wet again. He's kissing you like he's trying to devour you, relentless in his harsh movements on your chest. The pleasure is almost paralyzing you, almost rendering you motionless.

But after only a few moments of his harsh movements, you finally move down and wrap your fingers around his cock. You give a few tugs, slipping your thumb over the his slit.

Jake Seresin, Jake fucking Seresin, moans into your mouth. It's a deep and throaty thing, something that shoots you straight in the core. And then he presses himself against you, holding you up with one of his arms as his other one slips between you. In one swift movement, his fingers are spreading you open and circling your clit furiously. There's no easing into it, not with him. It's hot and desperate and needy.

You're moaning, too, throwing your head back against the slick tiles, squeezing your eyes shut. And Jake is kissing feverishly across your neck, nibbling your collarbones, trying not to outwardly moan at how silky and good you feel on his fingers.

That coil is tightening in your belly, pushing you closer and closer to an edge you weren't even near when you started to shower a short while ago. But his fingers are so rough, so calloused, and they feel so fucking good against this delicate part of you.

"Make me cum," you desperately whisper, the water pouring down over the two of you deliciously.

He's still moaning at your swift movements over his cock, at the way you are giving special attention to the head of his cock the exact way he likes.

"You're such a fuckin' princess," he whispers into your mouth, biting down hard on your lower lip as you mewl desperately. "Always gotta be taken care of, huh?"

Nonetheless, he's picking up his pace, rubbing your clit in hard and fast circles. He can tell your close by the crinkle between your brows, by the way you're bucking into his hand, by those desperate little breaths that are puffing into his face. You're soaking wet, too, which makes him so hard that he thinks he might combust.

"Oh, Jake," you moan, trying to match his pace with your hips.

He keens at the sound of his name falling off your lips. And when you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, it only encourages him to move faster.

If you weren't so close to cumming, if he his cock wasn't dripping in your hands, then you would laugh at him. Jake Seresin has a degradation and a praise kink. Typical.

"Beg for it," he mutters to you, swallowing hard.

You don't even think twice.

"Please," you whisper pathetically, mouth parted in utter ecstasy. "Please, please, please, Jake. God, give it to me, Jake. Please let me cum."

Jake's sounds are sacrilegious. He's pressing his lips agains yours harshly, his tongue folding across yours, pressing down just right until he's thrown you off the edge of a cliff and directly into the vortex of an orgasm. You convulse in his arms, shaking and nearly crying, and he swallows every single sound your pretty mouth makes.

"That's it," he coaxes, uncharacteristically soft as he works you through it. "Good girl."

Your fingernails embed themselves in the skin of his scalp.

And if he wasn't planning on fucking you just as soon as you can stand on your own two feet again, he'd endlessly tease you about the way you like to be teased. Typical.

And just as soon as you've come down, just as soon as your vision isn't whited out, you're turning yourself so your chest is against the shower wall. Jake almost moans just from the sight of your supple ass raising just slightly in the air--a signal that you're ready for him.

But he takes not a moment of hesitation. He smooths his hand down your spine, holding the meat of your cheeks in his hands, silently thanking God for his bad attitude earlier.

And you're panting, still recovering, so turned on still that you can't even speak. You know that if you did speak, you would sound downright dumb. You'll be damned before you let Jake Seresin know that his fingers alone have made you totally stupid.

"Ready for me?"

You just nod, stifling an eye roll.

He braces himself against you, a firm hold on your hips. And you brace yourself against the wall, pressing your hot cheek against the cool tile.

And just as he lines the head of his weeping cock up to your sopping entrance, just as he's about to practically rip you in two, he leans forward. You want to whine, really you do, but then he's very tenderly moving all the wet hair out of your face so he can see your pink cheek and your swollen lips and half-lidded eyes.

"You want this?" He asks, voice steady but desperate.

You glance back at him, brows furrowed slightly. He's being totally earnest right now--you can tell from the flat line of his lips and the way his eyebrows are just barely knit.

"Yes," you whisper after a moment, nodding.

He smiles, nodding.

"Good," he whispers, pressing himself into you all at once, rendering you speechless and breathless. "Cause I fuckin' want it, too."

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

horny!mean!Hangman rise

this has been extended to a series!! you can find all the parts on my masterlist!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

here is my tag list!!

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

A blurb about Jake with an introverted SO who surprises him with lingerie. Jake teases her, but is super feral!

𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐮𝐩 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Jake has always been more outgoing than you. It's part of the reason you're together: you were the shy girl at The Hard Deck just trying to survive a night of socialization with her friends and he was the life of the party that was beating everyone in darts. And for some reason, as soon as he saw you meekly standing in the corner nursing a lukewarm beer, he decided to set his sights on you.

It happened easier than you thought it would, honestly. He charmed you from the get-go, seemingly understanding right away that what you wanted was a breather. That night, after buying you and your friends drinks (a swoon-worthy Southern gentleman) and indulging in some friendly games of darts, Jake had asked if you wanted to take a walk down the shoreline.

He was enamored with you from the get-go. Even just the way your cheeks flooded with warmth when he asked and that little pathetic excuse for a nod made his heart race. And once he got you comfortable enough to have a conversation--ones where you laughed that big, throaty laugh and ranted about the importance of the Oxford comma--he knew he was done for.

Honestly, when you first saw Jake, you were certain that he was not the settling down type. And honestly, he didn't think he was either. But then he felt himself yearning for your touch first thing in the morning, before he even opened his eyes. He was thinking about you all day--Hell, he sent you so many songs and instagram memes that you'd have eons of notifications to check. He'd always just say reminded me of you or simply you lol.

Things were just easy between the two of you. Three (perfect) dates in and you were officially a couple. After a year together, he asked you to move in with him. A year after that, the two of you adopted the most pitiful pug in the pound. And now you have settled into a most ardent domesticity.

You're sitting on the kitchen counter now, waiting for him to come back from the gym. It should be any minute now, really, and you hope so because with every passing second that you sit on this marble countertop in this piece of clothing that hardly passes as clothing at all--you're losing your nerve. You've never worn lingerie for anyone before, but Jake isn't just anyone. He's your Jake. He's the only man in the world that could sway you to slip yourself into a mess of strap and lace.

Honestly, you're not even sure you have it on right. There were so many straps and moving parts and you didn't know how much was too much and the lady at the store wasn't here earlier to help adjust you. But when you looked in the mirror, when you saw all the hills and valleys of your body, you were taken back slightly. You looked good--not even just good. Sexy. You looked sexy.

But you're losing your nerve because you're worried he'll be too tired when he gets back from the gym. That and he'll want to take a shower. Maybe he'll even be hungry and you're sitting your almost-bare ass on the counter and, really, he makes sandwiches here so maybe he's gonna be pissed--

"Well, well, well," Jake's voice is suddenly echoing in the kitchen. "And what do we have here? If it ain't my little angel herself."

It startles you enough to jump and clutch your near-naked chest. He's standing in the doorway, dressed in athletic shorts and his running shoes, and he's positively dripping sweat. It's matting his hair and casting a sheen across his smooth skin. His chest is still heaving--probably because he likes to run on the treadmill to cool down, the fucking weirdo--and there is something wild in his eyes.

"Shit," you whispered sheepishly, straightening your spine and awkwardly poking your cleavage out towards him. "Didn't hear you come in."

Jake is all grins, eyes not-so-subtly raking across your seated form. He nods to your pug, who's resting stupidly peacefully on his dog bed without a care in the world.

"Maybe we need a better guard dog," Jake laughs.

You pout, shoulders deflating as your cheeks flood. You cross your arms over your chest, blowing a piece of teased hair from your eyes with a humph.

"I was supposed to be waiting for you. I had a line and everything."

There's a teasing dazzle in his eye when he quips back at you. "Want me to walk in again, angel?"

You shake your head, frowning.

"Won't be the same," you breathe.

He's taking a few steps closer to you, eyes lingering on the sinful line of cleavage that's just begging for his tongue to outline. But you're being sore about the whole ordeal, your vision of sexiness and allure shattered by being so lost in your own thoughts that you missed your cue.

"C'mon," Jake tries. "Tell me the line."

You're embarrassed now.

He stands between your legs, eyelashes fluttering slightly when he catches a whiff of that perfume you've doused yourself in; he bought it for you on your second anniversary and you wear it on special (and sexy) occasions. Nonetheless, he lets his hands come to rest on your thighs--they're soft and warm beneath his calloused hands. But dammit if you don't grow wet at just the feel of those fingers, at just the closeness between the two of you right now. He smells like he's been working hard--not outwardly bad, but odorous. You love it, frankly, and it's something he chides you for. And right now, as his thumbs rub little circles in the meat of your thighs, you're downright dizzy from being in such close proximity to him.

"Well--well, I was gonna be waiting in the kitchen, right?"

His hands are inching up, up, up your thighs. Delicately, he swipes his index fingers along the flowered edge of your lace. You shiver--God, does he know how to tease you.

"Accomplished," he teases, a bead of sweat rolling off his forehead and onto your knee as he leans forward to press a careful kiss to your nose. "Go on."

Now he's holding the bend of your hips, kissing a sweet line down your throat and trying not to moan at just the feeling of your skin beneath his lips. He hasn't shaved today, so his face is scratching you just right--it's tingling your fingers and toes, drawing heat to your core.

After another moment, as he's kissing your shoulders and carefully nipping at the complicated strap situation there, you swallow hard and push forward.

"Don't make me say it," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers in the damp hair at the base of his neck. "It's stupid, baby."

Jake laughs softly, sucking a bruise on your collarbone, digging his thumbs into your hips.

"You can do it, baby," he whispers, hot breath fanning out over your goosed skin. "Do it for me--say it."

You're overwhelmed, so turned on that your mind is practically swimming in a pool of something thick and viscous. He's consuming you already and he's hardly even touched you.

"Iwasgonnaaskifyou'reintofitnessandthensayfitnesspussyinyourmouth," you usher out before you lose your nerve.

He freezes, processing everything you just said. His hands were just beginning to rise to the swell of your breasts, he was just beginning to grind his hard cock against the countertop in a desperate grab for friction, but now he's laughing.

And if anyone else were to laugh at you, you'd have been mortified. Hell, you'd be gone before they could even tone it down and wipe the tears from their cheeks. But it's Jake--he loves you. Hell, he adores you. And you get the distinct sense that he's not so much laughing at you than at your line interpretation.

His grinning face is pressed into your cleavage as he laughs and before you know it, laughter is bubbling up from your throat too.

"Oh, fuck, angel," he grins, pressing open-mouth kisses to your breasts. "I love you so much. You're my fuckin' dream girl."

You grin--entirely dithered.

"Is that why my legs are so tired?" You ask, biting your lip hard.

He raises his eyebrow at you, searching your face. The realization of what's coming next dawns on him and he shakes his head, eyes widening.

"Don't--!"

"--Cause I've been running through your dreams all night?"

He wrinkles his nose at you, but you're already doing a little victory dance, kissing his parted lips as he looks down at you in something between shock and utter surprise.

"Did you Google, like, the shittiest pickup lines and just run with it?"

You laugh again, shrugging.

"More or less," you say.

He sighs in content, nipping at your collarbone again. You gasp and he keens, coming up to just ghost his fingers over your hardened nipples.

Fuck--you love this softness. The way you two are able to seamlessly go between fits of laughter and raunchy sex is something you've never even come close to with anyone else.

"Want another?" You ask breathlessly.

He nods fervently against you, grinning into your sloppy kisses ad you hold his cheeks.

"So bad, angel," he moans.

You moan outwardly when he slips his fingers beneath the lace and pulls it down far enough to take your nipple in his warm mouth, carelessly stretching the lace as he wedges his hand into the other cup to pinch softly.

"I hope you're into yoga," you start breathlessly as he continues his ruthless assault on your sensitive buds, "cause--ah, baby--you're gonna get a good stretch tonight."

"That doesn't even make sense," he mutters against you, nipple still in his mouth as you thread your fingers through his locks and pull softly. "I'm the guy."

"Fuck, I don't know," you whimper, moving your hips towards him and settling your fingers in the waistband of his shorts. "Too wet to think straight."

"Then let's slide 'n' slide to the bedroom," he says.

You two promptly break out in laughter--tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, mouths wide open, chests aching. But then it resumes right after that, like it always does, when his hands come down over your ass to pull you to him.

here is my tag list!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

1K notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 10 months

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 — 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀) 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄: 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐗, 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘, 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲--𝐓𝐨𝐦 "𝐈𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫--𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐩 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰: 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐧-𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 (𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬), 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧-𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐁 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐎𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫!

𝟏: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 —𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐲𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲.

𝟐: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 —𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧-𝐥��𝐦𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧-𝐁.

𝟑: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 —𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧-𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰.

𝟒: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 —𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝.

𝟓: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 —𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝟔: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅 —𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 (𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲).

𝟕: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊, 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑! —𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐲. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐢 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

𝟖: 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊: 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 —𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞.

𝟗: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐍𝐃 —𝐀 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝.

427 notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

hellooo!

i have a request - i’m obsessed with your writings (truly a god’s gift to this fandom) 🥹 i’m thinking grey’s anatomy inspired jake x (aviator)reader them having a conversation along the lines of ��stop looking at me like that” ”like what?” ”like you’ve seen me naked” after they hooked up and see each other at work or something ughh 🥵

hope all is well and that u have an amazing day <3

𝟖 𝐎'𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

"If you don't stop staring at me, I'm going to read you the entirety of Title IX on our lunch break."

"That sounds like more work for you," Jake says with a chuckle. He lets all his weight rest on his cocked hip, tutting. He's chewing on a tooth pick, watching your nose scrunch as you squint at the sun to watch them work on your jet. "Besides--what's the harm in me getting a good look at you?"

The sun beats down on your face as you stand on the tarmac before Jake. You're watching your jet get inspected, your helmet tucked under your arm, and Jake won't leave you alone. You can't say that you mind it all that much--but there are appearances to keep up around here, especially around the other flyboys that are horsing around further down the tarmac. You're not supposed to get along with Jake--no one is, really--and the way he's making googely-eyes at you is surely going to give everyone the opposite idea.

But you can't help the certain elation that captures your chest when you feel his aspen-colored eyes outline your form from the point of your jaw to the lift in your boots. Usually, it would be easier for you to effectively tell him to fuck off. After last night, though--things feel a bit muddled.

"The harm is that everyone's gonna know we fucked if you keep looking at me like that," you say curtly, taking a shuddering breath.

Jake barks out a laugh.

"Look at you like what?" He challenges.

You finally turn towards him, trying to maintain that sour look on your face.

Fuck, if he isn't a beautiful creature. He looks even more beautiful than he usually does, entirely sun kissed and proud as he stretches to his full height beside you. The tooth pick he's chewing is making his jaw flex so deliciously, the way you know it had when he was sucking mercilessly on your clit last night in the darkness of your bedroom.

And he is looking at your eyes, the way they dazzle in the unforgiving sunlight, the way you're frowning up at him even though he knows you don't want to. He's thinking about last night, too--of course he is. God, he doesn't know if he'll ever stop thinking about last night. The way your hips felt when they were flush against his, the way your warm walls squeezed him. He filled you up just right--both of you knew it.

The two of you even woke up together this morning--on accident, of course. You pretended not to be embarrassed as you hastily got dressed, but he couldn't help the ease and contentment he felt just from being in your presence so early in the morning. He loved how flustered you were as you tried to roll your eyes and groan through the whole morning-after thing. And he loved that you had little bits of mascara under your eyes and what your hair looked like in the morning--soft, very soft.

Your eyes widen and you poke him in the chest with an indignant pointer finger.

"Like that!" You hiss, locking your jaw. "Like you've seen me naked!"

Jake just grins--something in your chest softens. You fall back on your heels and think fuck. Last night definitely wasn't the last time despite what you told him when you woke up this morning.

"But, honey!" Jake says, stroking your cheek before you can dodge his touch. "I have seen you naked."

You all but growl--he keeps grinning, even pinching your cheek.

"I'm gonna shoot you down myself," you tell him. You turn, determined to have the last word. But then something--you're not sure if it's lust or affection or pity or insecurity or all of the above--stops you. You turn and look at him over your shoulder and he's still watching you, grinning. "Eight o'clock."

He salutes.

"Idiot," you call.

But as soon as your cheek is turned, you're smiling.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞!! 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!! 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬!!

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

"if you win, i'll kiss you"

Will they won’t they bffs with Jake at the hard deck at darts

everyone knows it but the two of you.

you and Jake are head over heels for each other. like, certified whipped, no-take-backs kind of head over heels.

you two have just had a difficult time admitting it to another.

most have bet on when it will happen, many have whispered about it behind bar menus and handfuls of peanuts, a few have even made groupchats dedicated to it.

sure, the two of you have had some run-ins. there was that time you had too much tequila and sucked his fingers in the car as he kissed your throat. and yeah, there was that time when he very nearly went down on you outside The Hard Deck, pushing your dress up by your hips as the sun sank in the ocean. but the two of you have always written the encounters off as tequila-fueled. flukes, if you will.

identically, the two of you feel like there's not a chance in Hell that the other is as crazy about you as you are about them.

it's a regular Friday night, one where you meet Jake at The Hard Deck right after your shift, one where everyone watches with smirks as Jake lights up and automatically makes a beeline for the front door to wrap you up in his arms.

"howdy," he always greets, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you grin up at him. "how's my pardner today?"

you lean against his shoulder, all the weight of your day fading as he helps navigate your connected bodies through the usual crowd to the bar--where he will undoubtedly order your usual without you saying a word about it, winking at Penny and telling her to put it on his tab.

"fine and dandy now," you respond, nose wrinkling with joy when Jake hugs your waist against him. "how're you, honey?"

and he always grins down at you, leaning against the bar, making a show of drinking you in as the golden sunlight drenches your elated form.

"much better now that you're here," he says. he nods towards the rest of the squadron and wrinkles his nose. "needed some fresh meat in here, anyway."

so, when you end up playing darts with Jake after a few of your usual drinks, completely dithered as the two of you shoot the shit and talk about your hectic weeks, neither of you are aware of Coyote standing behind the two of you with a smile tugging on his mouth.

"how about a friendly wager?" he says, suddenly making his presence known as he throws his arms over your shoulders. "between you and the cowboy, of course."

you're a few drinks in, smiling something fierce as you chew on a vodka-flavored ice cube.

with a perched brow, Jake looks between you and Javy and lays a hand on his hip.

"like what?" you ask innocently, voice muffled from the ice between your molars.

Javy stares at Jake, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sure you two can think of something..."

and as if speaking to him telepathically, Jake suddenly feels his chest inflate with courage. maybe it's because of how sweetly you're smiling at him, eyes glittering and glossy. maybe it's because he had a dream about you last night, one where you were looking up at him through your lashes as you took his cock in your mouth. or maybe it's because he's had just enough shots of whiskey.

so, with a handful of darts, Jake grins at you.

"how 'bout this..." he starts, nodding towards the dart board. "if you win, I'll kiss ya."

you're flushed suddenly--smile faltering as your heart races in your chest. for a moment, Jake begins to deflate, but then you're beaming at him, nervously chewing another piece of ice.

"and if you win?" you ask, taking a careful step towards him.

Jake sucks the back of his teeth, meeting you halfway, letting your sweet and familiar scent waft up to his nose.

"trust me," Jake says quietly. "I won't."

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

I'm the biggest Jake girl you'll ever meet so maybe gentle sex with Jake as a birthday request 🥰

it's the middle of the night when you wake up to Jake's fingers lingering on the elastic band of your panties, just barely ghosting over your warm skin, toying with the goosebumps that grow there.

he's only been awake for a few minutes, blinking himself out of a very good dream to find your beautiful sleeping figure just beside him. you're curled into yourself on your side, your rear pushed against his hips, and oh, if that doesn't make him want you immediately.

"Jake?" you whisper, drowsy still.

"did I wake you?" he asks softly. he's trying to sound like he feels bad about it, but he really doesn't. not when he's already half-hard and you're just sleeping there, beautiful as ever, in those lace panties. "sorry, baby."

yawning, you shake your head, stretching just a bit. but that's when Jake slowly moves his fingers into your panties--not by much, still testing the waters, just pressing the pads of his fingers to the place where the bottom of your belly and the top of your crotch meet.

"oh," you whisper. and then Jake pulls you closer to him in the dark, burying his nose in your hair as he flexes his hips up to yours so you can feel just what you're doing to him. "oh."

still in that sweet, sleepy daze, you move into him, too. you want this--you always dow. how could you not when your fiancé is Jake Seresin--the closest thing you'll ever get to a living Ken doll?

"you up for this, baby?" he asks, praying that you are.

"uh huh," you mutter back to him, "always."

that's all the invitation that Jake needs.

within thirty minutes of you waking up, you're being held against his body with two very strong arms, one of his hands dipped between your legs to circle your clit and the other cupping your breasts. his thrusts are consistent, deep.

he lets you feel every single inch of his cock, lets you feel just how hard your make him, before he even thinks about pulling out and canting forward again.

"s'it, baby," he mumbles into your ear, panting when your walls clench around him. "s'right, keep taking me like that, baby. doin' do good, doin' perfect."

"Jake," you whimper gently, head tilted back in rapture.

"I know it," he coos, seating himself deeply inside of you and staying there for a long moment. it's such a long moment and you feel so full that you start to scramble a bit, wriggling against his hot form, grasping for purchase on the sheets. but he stills you by holding you tighter, closer. "take it, baby. know you can do it. stay still."

breathing roughly through your nose, your entire body quivers. but you listen to him--go completely still, just hold onto his wrists. and he rewards you by placing featherlight kisses all down the column of your throat, still circling your clit in a tantalizing pace.

"good girl," he says, finally pulling out just the slightest bit before moving back in. he finds his pace again, rocking the two of you as you sink into him. "fuck, I love you so much, baby."

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

ok i just read your jake x reader get caught by their teenage son. and it had me thinking about their teenage son has friends over and one of them is clearly crushing on seresin son’s mom (aka reader). jake would be protective and youd tease him bc hes just a kid. and then your son would notice his friends constant looks at you and be like “if you dont stop that youre never coming over again” and jake would be all smug like “thats my boy” 💀

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

Jake is a wise enough man to know that you're the hot mom.

I mean, really, anyone should know just from looking at you.

But he especially knows because he's been your partner for a long time; he knows the kind of attention you get from both sexes, the kind of looks you never really see but he achingly does.

So he isn't surprised necessarily whenever August brings his friends over for a pool day and finds all of those pimple-faced boys practically drooling over you.

Not that they can help themselves really--they're jacked up on hormones and probably just discovered porn, like, recently.

Honestly, it's kind of endearing at first.

All the boys are stuttering out yes ma'am's and gaping at you and stealing long-lasting glances whenever they can.

Not that you even notice--no, you're just preoccupied trying to be a good host. You've done the whole mom-thing today by cutting up about a billion fruits, buying sub sandwiches for everyone, getting the bluetooth speaker out, setting out towels, the whole ordeal. It's important to you that all of August's friends feel comfortable in your home.

This surprises Jake because most of the boys haven't discovered the wonders of deodorant yet, but he understands that you're softer by nature.

Jake's right there next to you, making sure everything runs smoothly. But dammit if he finds himself unable to take his eyes off you, too--you look undeniably sexy today. You look sexy every single day, no matter the time (hence getting caught so early in the morning that one fateful day).

You're wearing a black one-piece, your most conservative swimsuit, that comes up high on the hips and kisses your curves just right. Your hair is in a clip and your cheeks are sun kissed and your chest is glowing with sunscreen--God, you just look effortlessly beautiful today.

Honestly, you look like you could be in a swimsuit catalog. Like one of the ones Jake would've stolen from his mother's bathroom when he was August's age. So he kind of gets the boggling.

It doesn't help that you're prancing all around, making sure there are enough napkins and running back into the house whenever you remember that you bought the makings for virgin margaritas.

He sees all the boys drooling over you when you sit on your knees at the edge of the pool and bend forward to dole out the glasses.

He also sees August punch a few of his friends arms with an incredulous look--one Jake found himself on the receiving end of not long ago.

The first time Jake steps in is when one of the boys, named something dumb like Braydenleigh or something like that, spills his drink all down your front. He frames it like an accident, his cheeks going bright red and his voice thin as he blurts apologies. But Jake saw it happen--he saw Braydenleigh nudge one of the other boys with a smirk, saw him get into position and let the glass slip out of his hands and all over your plush chest and lap as you sat on the edge of the pool.

You're too nice--you are forgiving him instantly, assuring him that the cool drink is honestly for the best since it's so hot! Plus you're wearing black, so no need to worry about a stain!

But you're running your fingers along your breasts now, your hands getting sticky with lime and salt, and instead of dirtying the pool water that your husband religiously tries to keep clean, you start to carefully lick your hands free of the margarita.

And every single boy in the pool is oggling, their eyes practically bulging out of their heads as they move to cross their hands over their crotches.

"Hey, baby, c'mere," Jake says as he approaches, discarding his shirt so the bird-chested boys can see what a real man's chest looks like. "Use this."

Jake hands you his shirt and you grin up at him, taking it softly and beginning to dab at your chest with it.

"Thanks, baby!"

"Why don't you boys run along and find a jet to hump or something?" Jake says to the boys, a grin plastered to his lips.

Then they're all blushing again, fleeing, as August snickers softly to himself.

But then Jake looks down at you and sees that you're gaping at him now, your eyes narrowed.

"What was that?" You hiss.

"What was what?" Jake says innocently, definitely not flexing his biceps as he stretches nonchalantly.

"Oh, I get it," you grin, holding your hips and letting his shirt sit in your lap. "You're jealous, huh?"

Jake scoffs. As if.

"Not jealous of a bunch of little boys," Jake says as he sits decide you, making sure your thighs are pressed together.

"Mmhmm, so I guess you took your shirt off because you're hot, then?"

Jake laughs, shrugging.

"My wife needed my help," he says. "I am a gentleman after all."

"Wow," you sigh, leaning on his shoulder. "If only there were some sort of item that could soak up liquids--you know, like a towel. And if only we were somewhere that have towels in abundance--you know, like a pool."

Jake just grins.

"Wishful thinking, sweetie."

And even though you don't really believe that the boys think you're hot and you're specifically looking away from them when you know that their glances have fallen on you once more, you love your husband for protecting you.

"Hey, uh, Mrs. Seresin?" One of the boys calls out as the other boys flock around him giggling.

"Yes, honey?" You ask sweetly.

August is staring at the boy from the other side of the pool, absolutely fed up with all of his friends antics today.

The boy clears his throat and gives you a nauseating grin.

"We have an odd number for chicken," he explains pathetically. "Wanna partner up and get on my shoulders?"

Before you can even respond, too shocked to do anything but laugh at first, August is trudging through the water to stand in between you and the boy. Jake has stiffened beside you, putting an arm around you protectively.

"Bro, if you don't stop coming onto my mom, then I'll be forced to tell everyone here that you wet the bed a couple weeks ago!" August says.

The boy goes absolutely pale as the rest of their friends break out in laughter.

Honestly, you want to reprimand him. He can be a brutal little thing, something he gets from his father, and you can't help but feel a little sorry for the little pervert that wets his bed.

But then August gestures to you and very fiercely says, "Apologize to her, bro. Now!"

And the boy meekly apologizes, barely able to meet your gaze. The other boys are hitting his arms now, unable to control their roaring laughter.

"I've told you before, Hayden," August says incredulously, crossing his arms and tutting. "You're never gonna get anywhere in life if you don't respect women."

And suddenly you've never been more proud of your little man. You've always known that he's got a good head on his shoulders. He's truly wise beyond his years, something he gets from you. And you know that you brought him up to respect women, especially with the aid of your husband who practically worships the dirt you walk on, but seeing it in action just makes your heart soar.

If you didn't know any better, you'd hop into the pool and kiss his sweet little face. But you know that would just take all the attention off Piss Pervert and you want him to burn a little bit.

"Atta boy," Jake whispers, choking on his own pride for your son.

"We should get him a dog or something," you whisper, smiling fondly at August as he initiates a group-wide game of Marco-Polo.

"A car, maybe?"

"Something," you whisper back to Jake, leaning on his shoulder. "He's a good boy."

"He's got a good mama," Jake whispers, squeezing your hip and pressing a chaste kiss to your hair. "Raised him right."

"Don't worry," you tease, "I'm sure there's still time to mess him up."

here is my tag list!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

MILLIE YOU GOT ME STRESSED WITH THE REQUESTS

Maybe a Jake dry humping blurb 👀

the football game has been long, long forgotten by now.

how the fuck could Jake pay attention to the Longhorns game when you're straddling his lap, fingers tangled in his hair, nipples pert beneath the jersey you put on just for him?

he's still in his gym shorts and you're still in your scandalously tight spandex shorts--and the soft fabric allows just enough of the other to know just how worked up the both of you are. he can feel how hot and wet you are, practically seeping through the fabric. and you can feel just how hard he is, cock straining to get closer to your heat.

"orange looks so fuckin' good on you," he mutters as he feverishly kisses your throat, gripping your hips as he guides your languid strokes. "you were born to be a Longhorns fan."

groaning, you press your forehead against his and chase after his length, trying to get your movements just right so you can grind your neglected clit against him. you're dying for more friction--more anything really.

"shh," you mutter to him. "no college football talk during foreplay."

grinning, eyes still screwed shut in rapture, Jake nibbles at your collarbone and then ducks down to suck your nipple through your jersey--which is making your entire body vibrate with pleasure.

"you're right," he tells you. "we'll save it for the bedroom."

groaning, you halt your movements. Jake gapes at you as you start to pull yourself off his lap, pouting and with half a mind to leave him high and dry.

"baby," he chuckles, reaching for you. "I was kidding!"

"ruined it," you mutter to him, sticking your tongue out.

but just as you turn your back and lift your right foot to take a mere step away from him, you're yelping because he's tugging you back onto his lap. except now, your back is to him, his cock pressed against your ass.

"you're not going anywhere," he tells you, nibbling the slope of your shoulder as he spreads his legs to accommodate you, securing you against him with one arm around your waist.

you begin to argue, but then his other hand is precisely where you need him--dipped between your legs, pressing against your slick folds through the measles two layers of clothing you have on.

he keens at your immediate reaction--your little gasp, the way you somehow go rigid and gooey against him, your nails digging into the skin of his forearms.

"s'right," he mutters, voice low. "christ, you're so wet, baby. think you can just walk away and take care of this cunt by yourself? no fucking way. only I can take care of it."

it does amaze you how quickly your boyfriend can switch up--grinning and talking about college football while you grind against him one moment, then muttering the kind of filth in your ear that makes your entire body set ablaze.

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

maybe a blurb of Jake humping the bed whilst eating pussy if that's something you'd be into 👀👀👀👀

not trying to cop out of this! but! I did write. very similar scene in Cruel Summer 3! it can be read on its own! so I'll put it here! :)

“Will you get on the bed?” He asks.

Even though it’s posed as a question, it sounds more like a command--but it’s one you’re blindly following, your heart fluttering with a strange sort of excitement.

You sit at the end of the bed, knees pushed together.

Jake towers over you, already growing hard at your compliance.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He asks.

His voice is softer now--like he knows it would make you vulnerable, like he knows that you can back out whenever you want and he will accept it entirely.

Wordlessly, you nod. Arousal is starting to pool in your belly now, dripping down into your panties.

He undresses you slowly, like it’s something he wants to savor. First he takes the hair tie off your wrist, kisses the skin there. Then he reaches behind your neck, unbuttons the flimsy clasp at the top of your dress. He lifts it off your body carefully, discarding it on the floor. His chest is already tight at just the image of you in your panties and underwear, sitting below him with your thighs squeezed together, your eyes wide.

“You alright?” He asks.

Nodding at once, you don’t dare speak.

So, he reaches down and pushes the white strap of your bra off your shoulder. He keens at the sound you make, the one that is close to a gasp. And then he grazes his fingers across your chest to push the other one down.

“Fuck,” you whisper softly.

Your skin is goosed from his touch. Fuck, he’s never touched you like this before. He’s always been too goofy, too fun, too flirty. But this is a new side of him--one that makes your breathing unsteady, one that makes your head spin.

He reaches behind you, unclasps your bra, and watches as it falls off your body and into your lap. You’re breathing harshly, unable to break your gaze from his. He’s your rock right now, holding you down on the bed, holding you against the earth.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells you, jaw set like this fact makes him angry. “And I just want you to be mine right now, alright?”

You open your mouth, ready to quip something, but close it when he starts to sink to his knees. You can’t speak--all you can do is puff those hot breaths in the air before you.

“Say it,” he whispers, completely on his knees now, his eyes level with yours. “I wanna hear you say that you’re just mine right now.”

Maybe that’s what’s making Jake so fucking hot right now--you’ve never been just his. He’s growing hard just at the thought.

“I’m yours right now,” you whisper.

And then everything moves at hyperspeed.

As soon as the words are falling off your lips, he’s wrapping you up in his arms, securing arms around your waist and holding onto you so tight that it knocks the air out of your lungs. He’s pulling you towards him, one jerking and swift movement, and he’s suddenly between your legs and feverishly kissing all the exposed skin of your neck and chest.

“Oh,” you whisper, all breath. “God.”

Jake’s letting his mouth work quicker than his brain. He’s drinking all of you in at once, letting his lips memorize every mark on your skin, all the places you’ve gotten chills, keening when you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he whispers against your skin. “Just hold onto me now, honey, alright?”

You nod wordlessly, mouth utterly and fantastically dry.

Then he’s got your nipple in his mouth, a sensation you’re unfamiliar with, but one that makes your entire body jolt as a shockwave of pleasure pulses through you. He’s sucking harshly, hardly giving you time to moan or recover before he’s leaving a sloppy and wet trail of kisses across your breasts and to your other nipple.

“Jesus fucking--!” You whimper, fingernails staining half-crescents into his shoulders.

As he mercilessly sucks your nipple, watching your face pull together in unadulterated pleasure, he snakes a hand between your legs and presses two fingers against your heat. You squirm against him, throwing your head back, and he nips lightly at your pert nipple.

“Tell me how wet I’m making you,” he demands, voice low. “Wanna hear you say my name.”

“Can’t you feel it?” You whisper pathetically, heat pooling in your cheeks. “Fuck, I--!”

He presses down harder, locating that sweet nub through the thin cotton of your soaked panties, and you’re reeling, panting.

“Jake,” you whimper. “Fuck, you’re making me so wet.”

Not Bradley, Jake thinks. Me. I’m the fucking man.

“Good girl,” he mutters.

And just to prove how good you are, he slips his two fingers inside of your underwear and languidly strokes your cunt. Fuck, you really are wet--desperate for it, silky and wanting for him.

“Oh, my God,” you mutter, biting your lip hard.

He keeps sucking on your nipples, stroking your heat at a grueling pace, one that makes your hips cant into his hand. Your head is spinning, pleasure so overwhelming that it feels like you’re holding your body beside an open flame.

“This where you want me?” Jake asks, muffled by the ample skin of your breast. He presses his fingers against your clit and rubs slow and methodical circles that have you writhing on the sheets, against his body. “You want me right here, honey?”

When you don’t respond, Jake moves away from you. You begin to whine, but in only a moment, he’s pushing your chest until you’re falling back on the bed. Then he’s tearing your underwear off, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs as you lay naked before him for the first time.

If you weren’t here, in this cabin, he would treasure seeing you like this. Your skin flushed, your lips parted, your brows knit, your eyes shut. But he is so desperate for you, so desperate to prove to you and everyone else that he can be what you want. He can be what you need.

Again, he hooks your legs around his arms and swiftly pulls you to the end of the bed until your bottom is hanging off.

“Look at me,” he commands.

You peer down at him, the very lining of your belly quivering as his hot breaths hit your heat.

“I want it,” you whisper, seemingly reading his mind.

“Want what?”

“I want you to go down on me.”

Ever the Southern gentleman, Jake immediately complies with what his lady wants. He dives right into your cunt, lapping at your arousal, sucking on your swollen clit. You have to slap a hand over your mouth too keep from waking up the entire camp.

There’s something so vulnerable about this--him between your legs, his knees on the floor of your cabin, his clothes intact and yours not, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your eyes open and on his, your cunt pressed against his tongue--that almost makes you want to bow down and be his forever.

His mustache scratches deliciously at the sensitive skin of your clit, coated in your wetness, as he delves his tongue into your sopping entrance.

You taste just like he thought you would: real, clean, good. So fucking good that he can feel the pearly drops of precum gathering in his briefs.

“Grind against my face,” he commands.

And you can do nothing but comply, pushing yourself against his face. Fuck, this is exactly what Jake likes. He likes to feel the pressure of your hips as you desperately press yourself against him. He likes that you feel malleable right now, like he can tell you what to do and you’ll do it.

He’s fisted his cock so many times to the simple thought of this that he knows he’s not going to last very long.

When your tingers tangle themselves in his locks, he rewards you by lapping rapidly at your clit. He knows you’re close already--virgins usually cum quick, anyway--when your moans get high and breathy, when your thighs become his earmuffs.

Desperate for friction, he pushes his cock against the bed. It’s not soft, that’s for sure, but it will absolutely do right now.

“Jake,” you mutter, thighs quivering. “Oh, my God. Oh--oh, fuck, I think I’m gonna cum.”

“I want you to,” he tells you, moaning when you tug harshly on his locks. “I want you to cum all over my face, honey. I wanna make you cum.”

At his words, your breathing becomes rapid and uneven. He reaches forward, still hugging your thigh with his bicep, and lays his flat hand on your belly. He presses down and the pressure of it all has you seeing bursts of technicolor.

“Say my name,” he commands, his own grinding growing sloppy and uneven as he laps at your cunt. “Say my name when I make you cum.”

In an act of wretched rapture, you fist his locks and guide his face against your cunt roughly. It makes him moan, which vibrates your cunt deliciously. He presses down harder on your belly, his fingers digging into the supple skin of your thigh, his tongue rigid as it flicks your clit.

“Jake,” you groan.

Suddenly, you’re almost insecure. You’ve never cum with anyone before except yourself. Rooster got close, but never this close. You’re shivering, too close to the edge to do anything except teeter there. And Jake seems to register this, watching you through his lashes.

“Work your cunt against my face,” he orders. “Want you to cum now, honey. Cum for me.”

It is more than enough to drive you over the edge. You writhe above him, body convulsing. Your chest heaves, your fingernails burrow into Jake’s scalp, your thighs tense, your eyes squeeze shut tight. He works you through it, not ceasing any of his movements, even when he blows his load right into his underwear. And you didn’t even touch him.

“Stop, stop,” you hiss, overly sensitive after cumming. Your ears are ringing, your chest is hot. “Fuck, Jake. Holy fuck.”

He gives it a rest, staying between your legs, coming down from his own high as he lets his cheek rest on the lowest part of your belly. You keep your hands in his hair, stroking softly, trying to rid yourself of the shivers that are still working their way up your spine.

“How was that?” Jake asks. You jolt at the very feeling of his breath against your clit and he raises his head apologetically, nodding to your cunt. “Aftershocks,” he tells you.

He kisses your clit a final time, a move that makes you want to kick his jaw and pull him closer, before he lets your legs fall to the floor.

“Literally came my fucking pants just watching you cum,” Jake says, sitting on his haunches.

You grin, cheeks hot, as you sit up on your elbows and glance down at his lap. Sure enough, there’s a dark stain on his shorts.

“Someone’s got a crush,” you whisper.

He shrugs with a grin.

“Uh huh,” he whispers.

You two watch each other for a moment, still recovering. His mouth glistens with your arousal and it makes you hold your legs together tightly.

“Maybe I should make you jealous more often,” you say. “No more Mr. Nice Guy, huh?”

He shakes his head, biting his lip.

“Nope,” Jake answers. “Lemme clean you up, honey.”

You’re expecting him to retrieve a towel of some sort, but then he’s spreading your legs again, peppering your thighs with chaste kisses as he nears your heat.

“Christ,” you mutter, throwing your arm over your eyes. “You’re killing me.”

if you enjoyed this, here's the masterlist!

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

Consider: soft reunion sex with Jake. How gentle and soft he’d be? How he’d just hold you???

(Soft sex post hardcore sex, of course)

((Ignore that this is like the 30th message I’ve sent, I’m coping with family by imaging getting RAILED BY MEN)) ~ 🦈

you're still sore from last night when Jake came home--inside your actual shared home--for the first time in six months. truly though, you wouldn't have it any other way. waking up in his loving arms, pressed up against his warm chest with sand in your eyes and an aching cunt is better than waking up any other way.

because Jake is insatiable, as soon as he's blinking himself awake, registering your naked body washed in the early morning light, he's growing hard again. it isn't even necessarily that you look unbelievably sexy. your hair is messy, your mascara is gathered beneath your eyes, you're drooling a bit, there's little bite marks and love bites scattered across your shoulders and chest. but he thinks you look unbelievably beautiful any and all the time.

when he was on the carrier, floating endlessly through the dark ocean, he thought of this. he thought of holding your naked body against his, still sore from fucking you senseless, the morning light golden and bright.

you come to as he's kissing your throat, his grip tight on your waist.

"mm," you just mumble, hardly able to keep your eyes open.

he's suckling behind your ear in that spot you like and you unintentionally rut back against him--which is precisely when you feel how hard he is already.

"mornin'," he mumbles, his voice gravelly and dripping with arousal. it shoots straight to your core, holding you hostage against his body as heat begins to pool in your belly. "y'look so fuckin' gorgeous, darlin'."

saying nothing, you just reach back and let your hand find repose against his cock. you stroke languidly, eyes fluttering shut, as he lets his calloused fingers work your pert nipples.

"that's it," he mumbles, all breath and want as he kisses the back of your neck, relishing in the feeling of your warm palm wrapped around his cock. "feels so fuckin' good, baby."

quiet as ever, you keep your pace, letting your head fall back against his forehead.

"still wakin' up?" Jake chuckles, fingers drifting from your nipples down your belly and to your naked cunt. when you wince slightly as he presses down, he presses a few apologetic kisses to your cheek. "sorry, baby. m'sorry. we'll go soft and slow, 'kay? gonna make it good for you."

he moans aloud when he feels how wet you already are, parting your thighs with a capable palm.

"missed you too much," you say, as if defending your state of arousal.

he begins to lazily work at your cunt, in no hurry at all to get the two of you there. he knows you will get there, the both of you, and he's content in reveling in this soft and warm morning in these sheets he's missed so much.

"missed you more than you'll ever know, darlin'."

488 notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 1 year

Note

idk if you’re still taking requests, but i would love somethin about hangman and his wifey getting caught by their teenage kid in the middle of sex and then getting absolutely grilled about it later because we all know they have jake’s sense of humor

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

you're both smarter than this. Really, you are. You both know better than to get busy in the kitchen on a Sunday morning.

but in your slight defense...your husband is Jake fucking Seresin. Not only that, but his beard is starting to get delicious gray hairs and he's letting it grow out just enough to make the delicate skin of your thighs clench.

plus, your son usually doesn't wake up early. he would wake up at noon if you let him.

so, against your better judgement, you let your husband bend you over the nice marble countertops you picked out a few years ago.

it's very romantic for a solid ten minutes. drenched in the early light of the morning, the scene is actually quite peaceful. the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, your husband is whispering your name like a goddamn prayer as he brings his hips against yours fluidly, and there's an old Carole King record spinning lazily in the living room.

you're so lost in each other, gasping quietly and muttering your affection for each other as he buries himself inside you just right, that you don't hear your son's thunderous steps down the stairs or when he calls out for you guys.

no, no...it isn't until your son genuinely screeches that the two of you look up and catch those wide green eyes filled with absolutely terror.

then of course it's you and Jake scrambling to get decent, trying hard to not traumatize your son even further, both of you blushing and stuttering excuses.

and then it's you and Jake looking at your son as he goes through all five stages of grief in mere minutes.

it may be early in the morning, but he is sure as Hell wide awake now.

"family meeting. now," your son says with all the authority of a parental figure, pointing to the living room.

and for some reason, you and Jake blindly follow him in there and take a seat on the sofa. you two have never been caught by your son--you feel a little out of your element.

you and Jake sit at opposite ends of the couch like awkward teenagers caught by their parents. your son paces before the two of you, hands clasped behind his back. for a fifteen-year-old boy, he could actually come across as much older. he was broad and tall like your husband, with an identical wit.

"what am I going to do with the two of you?" your son mutters disappointedly.

"we were just--!"

your son cuts you off with one sweeping motion of his hand, holding his palm up to you and turning his cheek. your cheeks grow red.

"oh, I know what you were just doing," he says. "don't worry, I won't forget it. neither will the therapist you're gonna pay for."

you purse your lips. Jake is shaking his head softly.

your son resumes his painting.

"and, really, I hate that I even have to say this, but--were you two being...safe?"

Jake breaks out in laughter and you gasp, furrowing your brows at your son who stares back at you incredulously.

"August Seresin," you reprimand, tutting.

he throws his arms up defensively.

"what?! it's a valid question to ask! you really want another me running around here? yeah, no thanks!"

that's when you finally break down laughing, too. you can't help it. it's an unfortunate situation, one you can honestly say has been one of your most embarrassing moments. but the three of you laughing about it makes the knot in your throat lessen.

"well, that oughta teach you to knock," Jake says with a smirk.

August glares at him.

"it's the kitchen! what, am I gonna have to knock before entering every room in the house?"

"well, unless you want a repeat of this morning, then yes," Jake sighs with a grin, crossing his arms over his chest.

your son is turning green.

"is there any safe space in this house? my bedroom?" your son looks near tears at this point.

your husband is only teasing--you know this. but August sure doesn't. you're fairly certain August is about to crumble to the floor.

"is nothing sacred?!"

"just your mama's smokin' hot bod--!"

"NO!" August firmly presses his palms over his ears and shakes his head. "I CAN'T COME BACK FROM THAT!"

here is my tag list!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

878 notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 1 year

Text

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 "𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐀𝐍" 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 — 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 —𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 —𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲-𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐀𝐔. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤. 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮--𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬.

𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 —𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲.

𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐘 —𝐔𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 —𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐀𝐔. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐧.

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊-𝐔𝐏 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 —𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 —𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 —𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮--𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞--𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐘 —𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭.

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐑 —𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩.

𝟖 𝐎'𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 —𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 —𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐄𝐀'𝐬. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠--𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟.

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘 —𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥--𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐓 —𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞--𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡.

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 & 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 & 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐎𝐁 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐍, 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐁 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐔𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 (𝐒𝐄𝐗-𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄)𝐎𝐅 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈-𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 —𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀) —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲--𝐓𝐨𝐦 "𝐈𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫--𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐩 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰: 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐧-𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 (𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬), 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧-𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐁 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲?𝐎𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫!

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐗 '𝟕𝟑 —𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄) 𝐗 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟑 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐗, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟎’𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐮𝐩 𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 “𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫” 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨-𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐢𝐝. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨--𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 —𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃) —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠--𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲.

𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐱 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘) —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏, 𝐓𝐗 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖 & 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐍, 𝐖𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕 & 𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐍𝐂 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐. 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐚��𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐓𝐗. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲--𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬--𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐳𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧-𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲: 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞--𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐆𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬.

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 —𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐱 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄) 𝐱 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕. 𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞--𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟖𝟕 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠--𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥, 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫. 𝐎𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝.

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