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seresinhangmanjake · 5 months

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The One I Want: Part 8

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: traumatic past, trust issues, cursing, very likely typos

Words: 1951

The One I Want Masterlist

You don't remember how you got to the couch. You don’t remember whose idea it was, or who guided who, or who first fell onto the cushions and pulled the other with them. Jake’s lips have kept you from retaining that information, not that it is of much importance, anyway. It doesn’t change that you are where you are, your legs draped over Jake’s thighs, your fingers woven through the ends of his hair, with his hand latched onto your hip. Your lips have barely had a moment apart since you relieved his concern with your smile and he went back in for a second kiss. Bodies have requested a few decent breaths here and there, but nothing keeps you separated for long.

His kiss is demanding, but not controlling. It’s a kiss unwanting to break, but willing to do so if that is what you need. And his touch follows a similar pattern. Jake is not shy when his hand ventures past your hip, but he’s still cautious. The warmth of his palm sliding over your ass and pulling you closer is gently done, and when he travels up to your flannel sleep shirt and fingers dip under the fabric, he stops just after two knuckles are hidden past the hem. Fingertips grazing your skin are enough to cause shivers of pleasure, but they are still careful not to cross a line.

You’re not actually sure if a line is there for him to cross, yet somehow you both know the possibility exists that it is hiding in plain sight. It might be that his touch an inch or two closer to your breast could ignite a panic response. His fingers playing with the buttons that hold your shirt closed or the tie that keeps your shorts around your hips could have you jumping out of his hold. And with such unpredictability, you appreciate that Jake doesn’t take that risk because you don’t want to stop this. You want to stay as you are, connected as much as you can safely be connected.

Jake has stolen minutes, maybe hours, from your morning—although, you suppose it can’t be considered stealing if you’re freely giving them to him and intentionally surrendering to the way he's making you feel. Any grasp on time disappeared long ago, but you couldn’t possibly be more content. In Jake’s arms, you have chosen to loosen your connection to the space around you and he has led you to a place where nothing else, especially not your past, matters.

And you like it here, in this place. Every available reality suspends. Here, you are not damaged. You are not imperfect. A man like Jake wants you. You believe you’ll never have to leave this town because no one is going to say anything to you that will make it unbearable. Here, there’s the suggestion of a future. Here, you can feel your feet start to plant into the ground.

—

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he says.

You stopped kissing some time ago and he’s taken to staring at you, scanning your features, touching your kiss-swollen lips with a proud smile on his face that says “This was my doing”.

“I’ve thought so since I came through the front door and saw you standing right about…” he shifts on the couch to get the entrance of the apartment in clear view. With eyes squinting as if to find an exact measurement, his finger points to the spot where you stood the night you first met him. “Right about there.”

Your eyes briefly follow his finger. “I thought you were disappointed.”

“Oh no,” Jake chuckles with a light shake of his head. He looks down, almost as if embarrassed, and watches his hand run back and forth over your bare knee. “No, that certainly wasn’t the case. And Nat teased me for it immediately,” he says.

Your brows shoot up. “Teased you?”

“Yeah,” is a long-drawn word. His lips curve into a smile and his eyes find yours again. “She knew I was gonna be a goner.”

When you try to conceal your blush by looking down at your fiddling hands, Jake’s grin widens. “Don’t hide,” he says, leaning over to tilt your chin back up with his thumb and index finger. “I like it.”

“You like what?”

From your cheekbone to your jaw, his knuckle draws a soft line over the pink shade of your cheek. “This.”

You would feel more self-conscious about the blush spreading to your ears and chest if not for the light rosy tint making its way onto his cheeks at the same moment. It’s a lovely shade that blends so well with his complexion and instantly confirms that what you saw at the bonfire was not a trick of the flame's glow. Your abdomen clenches with the sensation of velvety wings fluttering throughout your stomach, but the feeling disperses when a pang of something else hits deep in your chest.

Jake is already so comfortable with his kissing and touching of you. Though he is thoughtful, he doesn’t hesitate or question what he’s doing. He holds on to you like he’s done it a thousand times before. Your bodies mold to this couch as if the position you are sitting in was imprinted into the cushions long ago. He somehow knows what you like; he knows how to kiss you like a man who has been studying you for years. It all comes so naturally—to you and him—that it teeters on the cusp of unreal, and is, therefore, slightly unsettling.

Typically, you’re careful; more calculated in your interactions with people. You aim to avoid putting yourself in positions where you lose your sense of control, and yet, for Jake you let it all go. With Jake, you’re allowing the revival of parts of yourself that were slowly fading from lack of use, but it forces you to wonder if you’re capable of maintaining that freedom without him there to help you. You don’t want to clam up if he’s out of reach. You owe it to Jake to try to apply everything he’s given you so you can do right by him. If you hurt him from an inability to let yourself remain open, you expect you won’t find of self-forgiveness.

You don’t realize you’re staring off into space, your eyes on an out-of-focus plant in the corner of the room, until Jake’s hand cups your face and his thumb begins to stroke your cheekbone. When you look up at him, the smile that at some point fell from his face returns and he leans into you. His fingers slide into your hair to guide your head closer to his.

“Jake, this isn’t trouble, is it?” you whisper before his lips can meet yours.

He pauses. Then with his brow scrunched in confusion, he pulls back. “What do you mean?”

“This.”

A palm returns to your cheek and that thumb restarts its back-and-forth motion. “You and me?” he asks, but his head shakes before you can answer. “No, we are not trouble.”

Your chuckle lacks full commitment. A twinge of doubt in your capabilities weaseled itself into your thoughts, and though Jake is rather effective at shaking it, you can feel remnants lingering in a place he might not be able to reach. “You’re so sure,” you mutter.

“Yes,” he says in the limited space between you. “I’m sure.”

“How?”

When Jake sighs and shifts to rest his back against the couch, you know it is not from exasperation. If you could so easily irritate him, he would have given up on anything to do with you after twenty-four hours of you living in his space. Instead, it’s a sigh of contemplation. By the look on his face, your question is one he already has an answer to for himself. His extended thought is for your sake; an extra minute taken to piece together the most encouraging explanation that will help you understand why he’s so confident.

Your hand is encased in his and he squeezes. His stare matches yours. Intense. Unwavering. “Because,” he starts, “I more than thought you were beautiful when I first saw you. I wanted you, and I have wanted you every day since—you and me, just like this, right here. But I wasn’t going to do anything unless you felt like you could trust me,” he says. “And you said you do now, right? You trust me?”

You nod. Then he nods.

“We’ve lived together for months, and I’ve been deep in it, beautiful. Nothing you can do or say will make me think anything other than what I think of you now. So you’re not trouble for me,” he says, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “And I swear I won’t be trouble for you. If you trust me, trust that.”

Your eyes sting and your nose fills with familiar pressure. There’s something in the ease with which Jake soothes your worries that is sickeningly overwhelming. Your method of relieving pain is, as it has always been, to flee, and after spending so many years doing so, you refused to entertain any other option. But this is Jake, and Jake is different. He doesn’t do the fleeing thing. He does the “I want what I want so I will figure out how to get it” thing. And what he has wanted is your trust, which he obtained by becoming exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

Not wanting to fall into a mess in front of him for the second time in one day, you move your legs off of Jake’s thighs despite his noise of protest and scoot your body next to his to regain some of that control.

“What are you–” he begins with a hint of worry in his voice, but you instantly silence him with the soft “hush” that leaves your lips as you throw your leg over his hips and find your balance atop his lap. Jake’s hands settle on your waist. They snake around your back and he tugs you to his chest. The awe that swirls in his eyes as he gazes up at you fills you with confidence, and you tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before gripping his shoulders.

“I’m going to kiss you,” you say. Jake blinks, gulps, and nods, both of you knowing that each kiss between you prior to this moment was initiated by him. “I’m going to kiss you, and after that, we’re going to stop focusing on me. We’re going to stop talking about me.”

“I like talking about you,” he says. One hand slowly runs down your clothed spine, over your ass, and along your outer thigh, then makes its way back up. “Can’t we do both?”

“No.” As you lessen the distance between your lips, Jake’s neck stretches up to connect the kiss, but you maintain just enough space to keep him from succeeding. “I tell you something, you tell me something, remember?”

With his eyes glued to your mouth, Jake nods again.

Good, you think, because step one in your determination to remain open to him is being for him who he is for you—someone to trust. “It’s your turn to tell me why you don’t like to be alone.”

The heat of a hand finds the back of your neck. Fingers weave into your hair. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

“What I want is to know you, too.”

Jake’s inhale expels as a soft sigh. His eyes pierce yours. “It’s heavy stuff, beautiful.”

“I can handle it,” you say. Then you lean in close so your lips can ghost over his. “Trust me.”

---

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1977

The X-Men, those starjammin' mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 103 - 108) - written by Chris Claremont and art by Dave Cockrum, Bob Brown and John Byrne

The fabled M’Kraan Crystal, a.k.a. Everything’s a butt plug if you’re brave enough. (X-Men 107)

When we last left our X-Men, they were being pummelled into a paste by Black Tom and the Juggernaut at the ancestral Cassidy Keep. Only Nightcrawler was out of their clutches, because he was saved by elves. (All Irish keeps have elves, plz don’t question it.) Apparently, Juggernaut and Black Tom have been holding the inhabitants of the castle hostage under the orders of Eric the Red. Black Tom plans to mindrape the X-Men to lure Charles to Ireland to kill him, which… er… Wouldn’t it be easier to go back to the USA now that Charles is mostly unprotected? Most of the the X-Men are in Oire right now!

Nightcrawler incidentally discovers he turns invisible in the shadows, and it makes total sense that he only realizes this now, because they have no shadows in Germany. Eh, nobody remembers he has this power these days anyway, so! Moving briskly on!

Kurt surprises the gay villainous duo by pretending to be a surprisingly spry Xavier. (Image inducer ftw.) While trying to turn Nightcrawler into a smear of blue fuzz, Juggernaut punches through a wall, exposing Storm to the sky and releasing her from the tight grip of her claustrophobia.

Very few things fill me with more delight than seeing Storm doing loop-de-loops. (X-Men 103)

Storm frees the rest of the X-Men. In the final battle, Banshee tussles with Tom, tossing him off the ramparts and straight into the choppy ocean. Even though tossing a villain into the water is an absolutely sure-fire way to guarantee they'll survive, Juggernaut jumps in after him, desperate to save his boyfriend. Friend. Whatever.

Hilariously, the people at marvel.fandom hate this issue and plotline, saying it’s more riddled with plot holes than Swiss cheese. For example, the elves reveal Wolverine’s real name - Logan - which… “This issue implies that the leprechauns have some prior knowledge of, and even a connection to Wolverine. This plot point, however, was completely dropped and never referenced again (which is probably for the best, considering how goofy it is.)”

I mean, they’re not wrong.

So. Hey. You ready for things to get weird?

Moira has received a VAGUE BUT DISTRESSING call for help from Muir Isle. Off-screen she got upgraded to being an associate at Edinburgh University who owns a lab in Scotland. She left some dude named Jamie Madrox in charge, which - Moira, you have a Phd, you should be able to tell that Madrox is an absolute (entertaining) mess of a person.

Also super surprised that Jamie Madrox was conceived in the seventies, but whatever.

In order to check out the lab, the X-Men rent a hovercraft, which explodes just off the shore of Muir Isle.

Get a bucket and a mop for this wet-ass fuzzy. (X-Men 104)

They are beset on all sides, before being pulled into the laboratory by… MAGNETO?

Magneto accusing anybody other than Dr. Doom or Namor of all-consuming arrogance shows us that self-awareness can’t be taught. (X-Men 104)

Cyclops arrives by airplane, reuniting with the team, while also talking to Moira and Madrox. Absolutely bonkers revelations are made in the space of three pages:

Moira’s lab is a secret Mutant Research Centre. (uh…)

In the Defenders-comic, Magneto was de-aged into a baby. (...what?!)

‘Research Centre’ is a Scottish synonym for a penal colony for all kinds of dangerous mutants, like baby Magneto, Dragonfly, Unus and the mysterious Mutant-X. (...what?!)

Moira quite cavalierly experiments on prisoners and babies. She also has a machine that can manipulate age. Xavier knows and is fine with all of this. (wtf!?!?)

This is such a bonkers, messy way to rewrite both Moira and Magneto. Like, I can’t.

Eric the Red freed Magneto and then used the aging machine to turn Magneto back into an adult man at the peak of his powers. This Magneto is understandably upset at having been turned into a science lab experiment/baby and he mops the floor with the X-Men.

Cyclops makes the executive decision to flee Muir Isle, because they have no chance against Magneto and he now realizes Professor X is unprotected and probably at the mercy of Eric the Red. Wolverine calls him a big fat sissy to his face.

I kind of dig that the X-Men don't win a lot of their fights yet. They’re still treated as relatively unseasoned, especially as a team, and they don’t automatically win at the end of every story. It also gives Magneto more oomph as a villain.

Anyway, when the X-Men arrive at the mansion, they’re defeated by Firelord, Galactus’ former herald. He’s been duped into attacking them by Eric the Red. Firelord is convinced the X-Men are the villains, because Eric went with the Wounded Gazelle Gambit: he even knocked out Havok and Polaris to pretend he was attacked by our merry mutants. (Next time we see them, they’re back to their normal, non-brainwashed selves.)

In her new apartment, Jean is introducing her parents and Professor X to her new girlfriend roommate Misty Knight when princess Neramani (of, uh, space) teleports into the room. And then Firelord attacks Charles! Jean has absolutely zero chill for all of this.

I know very little about Misty Knight, but every time she appears, she responds to anything remotely surprising by drawing her gun. I assume she shoots her paper boy every morning. (X-Men 105)

The entire point of this issue is to show how big a threat Phoenix is. Claremont originally wanted to use a big name like Thor or the Silver Surfer, but editorial nixed that: they feared that it would be emasculating for a popular character to be beaten by a girl. Once again, this proves how badly the Phoenix storyline was needed. Did Jean single-handedly introduce feminism to superhero comics? I’mma say yes.

With Jean distracted and Charles teaching Lilandra English telepathically so he can woo the pretty space-lady and/or get an explanation as to why the universe is ending, Eric the Red strikes, revealing himself to be: SHAKARI.

Yeah, no, I don’t recognize the name either, but the dude’s been working on this reveal for a while, so just let him have it.

He absconds with Lilandra through the Stargate and switches it off, just as the X-Men arrive. Jean casually turns it back on and because the Professor is all, “we’ve got to save her! I mean the universe!”, the X-Men jump through the gate.

Jean’s parents are all out of wtfs to give.

We take a break from Shi´Ar shenanigans with an inconsequential filler issue, where we flashback to Xavier while he was being driven crazy by his Space Trek dreams. It’s established that Moira and Xavier are ex-lovers and that Xavier’s melodramatic subconscious wants to kill the new X-Men. (Probably not for real, but who knows.) Next!

Still a better villain than Onslaught. (X-Men 106)

Anyway, the X-Men find themselves surrounded by aliens in front of the ginormous M’Kraan Crystal. The Shi’Ar are all: ‘dafuq you’re doing here’, Cyclops is all: ‘We’re here for Lilandra’, and the Shi’Ar are all: ‘You mean our prisoner and rogue princess?’ Scott decides that gathering more information is for losers and starts blasting, triggering a fight with the Imperial Guard.

Lilandra, meanwhile, is in the hands of Shakari and her big brother, Emperor D’Ken. He releases some nebulously defined monster - a Soul Drinker - to kill Lilandra. Nightcrawler saves her from its murderous clutches by teleporting two people for the very first time. Lilandra doesn’t barf up her insides, which is apparently a test of character, and proceeds to explain what’s what.

First, she tells the X-Men that she felt Professor Xavier when he was doing the telepathic care bear attack against the Z’Nox way back in the sixties and that she felt instantly drawn to him. She also explains that she’s D’Ken’s younger sister and leading a rebellion against her mad, power hungry brother. Why is he mad? Well...

The X-Men vs. Astrology! Riveting. (Still a better villain than Onslaught.) Although, “I’m a Pisces” sounds a lot lamer than “I was born under the Nine Death Stars. (X-Men 107)

The guy in the mohawk is Gladiator, he is consistently the worst. Even when Lilandra reveals that opening that gate triggers the End of All That Is, he’s still all: “Juuust following orders.”

The Imperial Guard goes in for a smackdown, but the X-Men are fortunately saved by the Starjammers. (Space pirates, not an 80’s rock group.) They are:

Corsair, a debonair dude with one golden earring. Pretty obviously a human.

Raza, cyborg with a temper and somehow bald whilst rocking a ponytail.

Ch’od, lizard creature. Has a white fluffy spider monkey-thing that I don’t recognize and but is apparently called Waldo Ch'ee. (I pray it just got lost in Marvel history and that it doesn’t get squashed at some point. It’s adorable.)

Hepzibah, cute cat girl with a gun. Involved with Corsair, except he can’t pronounce her name so he just gave her the completely unrelated nickname Hepzibah? Dude!

Jean, having learned psychic etiquette from Charles Xavier, immediately violates their privacy and scans their minds, figuring out that Corsair is Scott’s dad. Superficial telepathic read, my ass.

Meanwhile, power builds up in the M’Kraan Crystal and the universe briefly blinks out of existence, threatening to tear open the fabric of the universe if this keeps up. To emphasize that this is a Big Honking Deal, we cut to Earth where the Avengers, Fantastic Four and Peter Corbeau (rumored to have an IQ over 200) are all: oy, did the universe just stop existing?

That’s Hank McCoy for “we’re fucked’”. Hi Jimmy Carter! (X-Men 108)

Apparently, this is the year the X-Men can’t catch a break, because after being beaten by the Juggernaut, Magneto and the Imperial Guard, they are soundly trashed by Jahf, the Guardian of the Crystal. That is, until Phoenix drops a small meteor on him. In a story beat that I really like, Jahf isn’t fazed at all: the Phoenix, despite her immeasurable power, isn’t omnipotent. Sometimes, you need a scalpel instead of a sledge hammer: it’s Banshee whose sonic scream can scramble the guardian’s circuitry.

Unfortunately, defeating the first guardian only awakens a second, stronger one, so…

Raza decides he’s had enough of this nonsense and, displaying admirable proactive problem solving skills, simply tosses D’Ken into the M’Kraan crystal. Presumably, the Crystal is annoyed at being attacked by someone who also has an unnecessary apostrophe in their name, and it lashes out, trapping everyone involved in their own personal hell. For Jean, this is apparently death, but she’s all: “Um, I was recently deceased, no big deal,” and snaps out of it.

The Phoenix reaches out the crystal, which is slowly cracking under the weight of the universe. (Same.) If it shatters, it will destroy the universe, devouring all . Think of it as a cosmic reset button. The Phoenix is its opposite, a bringer of energy and life, so it might be able to fix the crystal. Problem is, Jean has trouble remaining anchored in this reality, because she’s being absorbed by the crystal.

OKAY. SO MANY THINGS TO LOVE. Even when allied with a cosmic force, Storm proves she’s our queen. Furthermore, other than Jean/Scott, Ororo/Jean might the most fleshed out relationship among these new X-Men at this point. Their friendship is consistently a highlight.

Also, rough, rough day for Corsair. (X-Men 108)

Phoenix mends the crystal with a lot of mystical space mumbo jumbo and… er, that’s it. Cosmic balance restored, she poofs the X-Men home.

Lilandra tags along with them, explaining that D’Ken’s tinkering with the Crystal left him catatonic and unfit to rule. As his sister, she’s the rightful heir, but since she also led a rebellion, she kind of cancelled by her empire. She announces she will stay on Earth with Charles while the Shi´Ar iron out the details of the succession. So, instead of consolidating her power base and claim to the throne, she peaces out to explore her feelings for the hairless pink alien who can peek into her brain. Solid.

And with that final bit of space opera, we say goodbye to Dave Cockrum and welcome artist John Byrne. The Claremont/Byrne-run is widely seen as the definitive X-Men run, so hold onto your butts and let’s see where the Phoenix takes us, shall we?

Didn’t you take Art History? I stand by my space mumbo jumbo comment from earlier, but check out these Byrne-pages:

Chef’s kiss. (X-Men 108)

Ugliest Costume: I have a fierce hatred for the Shi'ar's weird wispy triangular hair/feather/thingies, but those are technically not costumes. So: Lilandra, why is your boob window a bug?

Best new character: I’m not much of a fan of space operas or the Shi’Ar and their extended court, but I do have a soft spot for the Starjammers, Hepzibah in particular. I fondly remember her being a part of the X-Men at some point in the future, although I don't think her actual unpronounceable name ever gets revealed.

Most audacious retcon: Moira the housekeeper is actually an evil morally complicated mad scientist.

What to read: Issue 105, 107 and 108, for all your Phoenix Saga needs.

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