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waklman · 10 months

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sofi u seriously blew me away with this series 🫶🏻 i love the way u chose to wrap it up, i am definitely going back to reread this ugh i love this

the layover part three

part two | the layover mini series masterlist

synopsis Not too long after being honorably discharged from the Navy, Jake Seresin found himself on a type rating course, getting qualified to fly the Boeing 747, also known as the Queen of the Skies.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Jake enjoys living the calm, simple life of a commercial airline pilot. However, there’s nothing calm or simple about you. You are a flight attendant, young and immature, with your whole life ahead of you. Itching to see the world, to experience all of its wonders. What happens when the two of you meet for the first time, on a 24-hour layover in Shanghai?

warnings This part contains content meant for those 18 years old and over, including but not limited to an unspecified age gap, strong language, angst, power imbalance, inappropriate relationship, sex and other adult themes. Minors do not interact.

The Sun is pouring through the windows, causing you to stir from sleep. The scene at this hour is not as bright as it would be back home, as the thick, polluted air blocks most of the light from reaching the ground, but bright nonetheless – more than enough to have an unpleased groan fall from your lips as you gain consciousness for the first time this morning.

Your head hurts. Actually, your entire body hurts. Up until this very moment, you didn’t know that a hangover like this existed. Dull ache on your temples, pressure behind your eyes, a feeling of nausea stirring inside your belly – all there just to remind you to never drink again.

You knit your eyebrows together, carefully beginning to flutter your eyes open – giving them time to adjust to the light. “Fucking hell…” you mutter quietly, bringing your hand up to your temple and using your fingers to massage the aching area.

Something tightens inside your belly the moment you are met with the image of Jake sleeping soundly next to you. He looks so beautiful. Drenched in the early morning light – a weak, golden glow gracing his features. The silky sheets loosely pooling around his waist, leaving all those planes and valleys of that tan skin and lean muscle mass of his on display, for you to admire. You want to reach out and trail your fingers along his skin – feel the way his body is so warm and firm under your touch, so solid.

Stop, you tell yourself.

Watching the way Jake’s chest rises and falls at a steady pace, in rhythm with his breathing, memories of last night begin to bubble into the surface.

Heat rushes up to warm the tops of your cheekbones as you think back on last night. Though you don’t remember everything, you remember enough. You remember how it felt when Jake dug his fingers into the flesh of your hips hard, guiding you to meet his thrusts halfway as he took you from behind. You remember the hints of pain rushing through your nervous system as he drove himself impossibly deep into your dripping cunt, filling you so perfectly. You remember crying out his name as he planted his palm right between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest flush against the mattress while his hips met yours time after time again, each thrust more powerful than the last.

Fuck.

Last night was perfect.

Groaning, you push yourself up to a sitting position. The headache you are experiencing seems to only worsen with each movement of your limbs, practically begging you to stay still. Vision still blurry with sleep, you glance at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table.

10:37AM it reads.

The hotel your company has chosen to accommodate you in, serves breakfast until 11AM. That leaves you with twenty-three minutes to make it down for breakfast.

Quickly getting up from the bed onto your wobbly legs, you run your fingers through your hair once, in hopes that it would somehow make you look a little more put together. You don’t think you’ve ever needed a shower more than you do now, as all the humidity and pollution has left your hair feeling dirty, and as the sweat from last night’s activities is still there, dried onto your skin, making it feel all sticky and disgusting.

It’s when you are pulling that cheap, flimsy sundress of yours over your head, that Jake’s coarse morning voice hits your ears. “You gonna sneak out?”

“The breakfast ends in, like, fifteen minutes. I’m gonna make a run for it,” you decide, smoothing your palms over the wrinkly fabric of your dress, trying to make it look a little more appropriate – a little less like someone had undressed you a bit too hurriedly last night, leaving the dress a mess on the floor.

A lazy, tired smile adorns Jake’s lips as he takes in your appearance for the first time this morning. Your skin isn’t glowing the way it was last night, as the alcohol has drained all the moisture out of your body, leaving you with chapped lips and dry skin. But even so, all dehydrated and with mascara smudges around your eyes, you look every bit as beautiful as you did last night – under the neon lights of that one, sketchy-looking club you ended up dancing the night away at.

“Or we could order room service.”

You raise your eyebrows in question, a surprised look carving onto your features. “You wanna have breakfast together?”

“You don’t?”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter, somewhat confused. “I just don’t think that’d be appropriate.”

“Oh, so we can fuck but having breakfast together’s too much?”

A flash of heat rushes through your system. A part of you was hoping that you wouldn’t have to talk about it. What happened last night, shouldn’t have happened at all.

”What? No! I mean–, I was drunk and…” you go on, babbling. With no liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’re not feeling as brave, not as mouthy, as you were last night.

Jake grins. “Darlin’, you and I both know that you weren’t that drunk.”

Though you don’t want to admit it to yourself, Jake is right. You weren’t that drunk, and even if you would’ve been, it still wouldn’t have been the reason you ended up between the sheets with him. Last night happened because you didn’t want to fight it anymore – the magnetic force that pulls you towards each other.

You think about it for a while. “Well… Yeah? But I still don’t think we should–,”

“C’mon, baby. Stay.”

Baby. How does a simple, four-letter word make butterflies flutter their wings inside your belly more furiously than ever before, you wonder.

Trying to come up with an acceptable excuse to not have breakfast with him – fingers awkwardly twiddling with the hem of your dress as you do so – you mutter, “I need to shower.”

“Go take a shower, then. I’ll order us breakfast.”

You shake your head. “I don’t have any clothes here.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Jake decides, nodding once towards the bathroom. “Go take a shower.”

It feels nice. The lukewarm water pouring down on you as a steady rain, soothing the ache in your muscles. The hotel’s shower gel smells like lemon slices and mint – its scent quickly crowding the small space as you lather it onto your skin.

You hear Jake stepping into the bathroom, pretending that you don’t, only closing your eyes and letting the water roll down your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw – letting it wash away all the smudges of mascara that are still decorating the delicate skin under your eyes.

Soon Jake is everywhere – the way he always seems to be. All you can feel is his presence, even if he is standing a few feet away from you.

He watches you, admiration in his eyes. And God, if you aren’t a beautiful creature. Especially now, with every inch of your body exposed – that figure of yours capable of bringing the most sinful thoughts into one’s mind.

Jake steps into the shower, coming to stand behind you. You hold your breath. It’s somehow so intimate – his chest pressed against your back, his fingers gently stroking your arms, your sides, your belly. His nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, water droplets on your skin being the only thing separating your naked bodies.

Over the steady humming of the water, you are able to hear Jake whisper, “You’re so beautiful.”

There’s no point in pretending like you didn’t hear him, though a part of you wants you to.

“You hear me?” he asks, though he knows the answer – he can feel the way your body tenses at his words, he can hear the shaky breath that falls from your lips. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Not knowing what to say, you whisper into the steady rain, “Okay.”

Jake hums, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. You haven’t been told that a lot, he figures.

You are feeling quiet. Not because Jake has done anything wrong, but because within’ the past twenty-four hours, you have broken every single rule you set for yourself when you first started flight attendant training. And you did it without hesitation. The way you were able to bend your morals when it came to Jake – fuck, it’s scary.

“Jake?”

“Hm…?”

Letting your teeth sink into the soft flesh of your lower lip, you wonder if you should ask him about it. Probably not. But you can’t help yourself. “Do you do this often?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

Jake gives your hip a gentle squeeze. “We wouldn’t be here if I was married.”

“No?” You question him, though there’s no point, really. It’s not like it matters – it’s not like you’ll be seeing him again, after today. “Why are we here then, Jake?”

Jake draws in a slow, deep breath. Letting the scent of the shower gel you used to flood his senses, before turning you around in his arms.

And for a while, the two of you just stand there. Enveloped under the warm rainfall, carefully eyeing each other. His hands on your hips, thumbs drawing lazy circles onto your skin. Your palms pressed against his abdomen, feeling the heat radiate from his skin to yours.

“You tell me, princess. Why do you think we’re here?” he challenges, running his fingers along the length of your stomach – from your belly button, through the valley between your ribs and breasts, all the way up until he is able to brush his fingers over your collarbone.

Your breath hitches as Jake backs you up against the shower wall. The nice, probably way too expensive marble tile feels cold against your back as it comes in contact with your skin, making you shiver.

“Hm…?” he presses, plating his palm against the tile, right next to your head.

“I don’t know.” It’s a plain answer – one that you already know Jake won’t be satisfied with.

If you wouldn’t have been eyeing him as closely as you are, you would’ve missed the hint of a smirk that briefly touched his lips.

“But I think you do, darlin’.”

He isn’t wrong.

You’re here, because it feels good – right, even. Because somehow, against all odds, you compliment each other. It’s something neither of you are willing to admit to yourselves, but are very well aware of. You’re the storm to his calm – the kind of a girl who Jake can’t really get a read on, and damn if it isn’t refreshing.

“I really don’t,” you lie, looking up at him.

“C’mon, now. Use that pretty head of yours.”

Jake looks so damn beautiful. All drenched, with hair sticking to the sides of his forehead as he towers over you. Water rolling down the planes of his muscles, quietly washing away yesterday’s sins.

“Does it have something to do with the way this feels, hm?” he asks, kissing your jaw. You fight to keep your eyes from rolling back at the feeling. The stubble that’s adorning his cheeks now is a little longer than what it was when you first met him twenty-four hours ago, scraping your skin so fucking deliciously that it makes you dizzy. “Or this?” he continues, fingers now traveling up and down the length of your thigh.

Maybe it does, in fact, have something to do with the way Jake’s fingers are setting your skin on fire in their wake. Or maybe, it has something to do with how fucking beautiful Jake looks even now, as the hangover he is experiencing has painted his under eyes with shades of purple and blue. Or maybe, it’s because his presence alone is enough to make your airways grow tight. Just… maybe.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” His voice is deep, husky. “Does it?”

You don’t need to answer. He knows – he reads you like an open book. He sees the way you begin to draw in deeper breaths than before. He sees how hard you are trying to keep quiet – to silence all the little moans and whimpers that are already right there, dancing on the tip of your tongue, just about to fall from your lips.

Placing his thigh in between your legs, careful not to touch you just yet, he presses gently, “Hm…?”

And suddenly, there you are again – lusting for each other just as bad as you were on that dance floor last night. The air thick and heavy around you, tightness in both of your bellies. Jake fighting to keep his hands to himself for a little longer, you fighting the urge to grind yourself against his thigh in search of friction.

Knowing damn well what he is doing to you, Jake presses his lips on that one sweet spot right below your ear, gently nipping at your skin.

You can’t speak. God, you’re barely able to think.

There’s heat everywhere. Tiny flames dancing under your ribs, making it really fucking hard for you to breathe. Eyes rolling back at the feeling of Jake’s lips cherishing your neck. Fingernails sinking into the flesh of his biceps hard, in a desperate attempt to steady yourself as you grind yourself against his thigh once, then twice – surely leaving crescent moon shapes behind.

“There we go,” he praises. “Just like that. Good girl.”

It’s all so new, so foreign – the lack of control you have over your own body. You’re not sure if you like it or not. So you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear, ”Fuck you.”

You can feel Jake smiling against your skin. He knows what you mean. Fuck this effect he has on you. Fuck this electricity that fills every single room he steps into. Fuck the way this – whatever this is that’s going on between the two of you – feels too goddamn good for you to just walk away, like you know you should.

“I know, baby. I know,” he soothes.

His lips find yours. Molding together with yours so perfectly, moving in a steady rhythm against each other. So hungry, so needy.

To him, you’re like a fucking drug. With lips that are so fucking soft and plump, and that taste like strawberries. With a strong mind and a thousand, not-so-humble opinions. With a body so responsive to his touch – driving him insane in a way no other girl has ever done before.

“Jake…”

“Go on, darlin’,” he murmurs in between kisses. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need, fuck–,” You’re a mess. Breathless as your lungs are desperately trying to regulate the relentless rhythm of your breathing. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”

Jake’s fingers are gently stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh – so fucking close to where you need him the most, yet still so far.

“Ask nicely.”

“I’m not gonna–,” you protest.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” – a kiss – “Bet you sound so fucking good begging for it,” – a kiss – “Let me hear you, yeah?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, partially because you’re not used to not-getting your way, and partially because you just want Jake to touch you already. There’s no arguing with him. You know there’s not. He is too good at this – he knows how to handle a woman like you. So, swallowing your pride, you whine, “Please, Jake. Please, please just touch me.”

He was right. You do sound good – fucking angelic, actually – when begging for it. A part of him wishes that you didn’t. It would make it a lot easier to say goodbye to you later this evening.

And for a moment in time, everything is perfect. Like something out of a dream.

Thick tension hanging in the air, stretching between the two of you. Jake’s forehead pressed against yours, warm water raining over your bodies. His fingertips coated with your arousal as he takes his time circling them around your clit – slowly, gently. Pupils extending over the green of his eyes as he enjoys the way you arch your back at him, desperate for more, moaning and mewling just because it feels that good.

Fighting to keep your eyes from rolling back, you watch Jake sinking down onto his knees before you. God, he looks so beautiful. Body glistening as the light bounces off every single water droplet that rolls down his skin. His tongue sweeping over his lips, mouth already watering at the sight of you.

He doesn’t need to ask this time, because there you are already – begging for him to touch you. A mess as you whimper into the steady rain, “Please… Kiss me, Jake. Please.” The tone of your voice so fucking desperate and needy that it makes flashes of heat rush through Jake’s nervous system time after time again, setting every single cell of his body on fire.

And he kisses you. Kisses you so good.

With wet, kiss-swollen lips secured around your clit, he fucking devours you. Tongue dipping in between your folds every now and then, the taste of you lingering in his mouth. Listening to the sweetest sounds that fall from your lips – the ones you’re still trying so hard to silence, but can’t, because Jake is that good with his mouth, sending you right through the gates of Heaven as he very gently sucks your clit.

“Oh my god… That’s–, fuck–,” you breathe out, grasping a hold of Jake’s head. Fingers curling around his wet, blonde locks without you realizing it yourself, pulling at them in a gesture that says Right there. Just like that. Feels good.

You look too fucking gorgeous for Jake to close his eyes. Moaning and mewling above him. Tears gathered in those arousal grayed eyes of yours. High on the feeling. Every single muscle in your body tense, trembling as Jake continues to work you closer to your high.

“I’m so close,” you whimper, pulling at his hair a little harder. “D-don’t fucking stop, please.”

He doesn’t.

And soon you’re there – enveloped in an immense amount of pleasure, completely at Jake’s mercy as you come undone above him. Your leg trembling on top of his shoulder, his name falling from your lips repeatedly in a chain of hopeless cries, overwhelmed in the best way as he savors the taste of you – the syrupy sweetness of your nectar now coating the walls of his mouth.

Jake presses his lips against your inner thigh, leaving a tender kiss lingering behind before he guides your leg off his shoulder and goes to stand up.

“You good?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

Jake hums, smiling softly. “Think you can handle a little more?”

You are barely able to stand straight. Yet still, you go on and nod again, a little more hurriedly this time, “Yes, please.”

The image is actually quite beautiful – sweet, even. Your legs wrapped around Jake’s waist, him fucking you against the marble tile. Warm water sliding down both of your bodies, the sensation only adding to the pleasure. Elevated heartbeats, both going crazy for each other. Wet, ardent kisses knitting your lips together. His length disappearing into your swollen cunt time after time again at a languid pace, filling you up so perfectly. Jake whispering out your name in between kisses like a goddamn prayer, drawing out the most beautiful moans from your lips in return.

Right here, right now, he’s all yours. God, you wish you could keep him.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, words laced with affection. “Feel so good around me. Taking me so well.”

Hot steam rolling off your body, caressing your skin. Him being so fucking hard for you – you being so soft and warm for him. You’re still feeling a little sensitive from last night, walls fluttering around Jake’s cock as he drives himself deeper into your wet heat.

“Feels so good, Jake.”

You’re still completely unaware of it – of the effect you have on him when you say his name like that.

Through arousal blurred eyes, you watch him squeeze his eyes shut, gasping in release as he reaches his high. Fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips harder as he paints your walls with his seed, massaging them as he convulses inside you. And God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in your life. His cheeks are flushed, shades of pink gracing his features. Water droplets are racing down his features, getting lost somewhere in his facial hair as they reach his jaw.

For a while, you stay there. Savoring the moment, wanting to make it last. Holding each other’s gazes, stars in both of your eyes. Jake holding you against the wall like you don’t weigh anything, slowly coming down from his high. A sense of relief washing over, soothing the tension that was crowding the space not too long ago.

Gently, you cup his cheek. Running your thumb across the top of his cheekbone, thinking about how someone can look as beautiful as he does. You know it then, when he leans to your touch, that this is how you’ll remember him – drenched in the afterglow, looking at you as if you were the woman of his dreams.

In many ways, you are the woman of his dreams. Even if it’s all wrong, inappropriate.

You’re like a breath of fresh air. So different from the women Jake has been seeing recently. So far from the type of a woman Jake sees himself settling down with, and honestly all the more intriguing because of it. He couldn’t get enough of you last night, and he can’t get enough of you this morning. He’ll be thinking about this – about you. He knows he will.

You want to say something. You should say something. But you can’t. Not when he is looking at you like that.

You’re quickly pulled from your thoughts by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

Jake hums, pressing his forehead against yours. “Your bucket full of sand’s here.”

“Ha ha,” you chuckle. “Very funny.”

As far as you’re concerned, this is what a perfect morning looks like. You and Jake sitting on opposite ends of the couch, wearing white robes that have the hotel’s name along with five small stars embroidered into their breast pockets. Your feet resting on his lap, his fingers gently stroking your ankles. The morning light beaming through the windows, making you squint your eyes ever so slightly. The scent of fresh coffee lingering in the air. Both of you quiet, yet still clearly enjoying each other’s company.

Tilting your head to the side, deep in thought, you watch Jake take a sip of his coffee. He looks really nice, though something tells you that he always does. His blonde locks are half dry and messy, his cheeks still flushed. The robe’s collar dips down deep enough to expose a little of that tan toned chest of his you adore so much.

Eyes darting between his eyes and the coffee cup, you ask, “What kind of a freak drinks his coffee black?”

The smallest, amused smile tugs the corners of Jake’s mouth upwards. “Says the girl drinking milk with sugar and a splash of coffee.”

“At least it tastes good,” you point out, shrugging your shoulders. “Isn’t the point of drinking coffee to actually enjoy it?”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

You shake your head. “Well, it doesn’t look like it.”

Jake squeezes your ankle. “What’s with the attitude? Thought I fucked it out of you.”

A flash of heat rushes through your system. You scrunch your eyebrows together, ever so slightly, muttering, “I don’t have an attitude.”

“Sure you don’t,” he smiles. It’s kind of annoying, even – how he is so good at handling you. He is not the slightest bit intimidated by your attitude, but rather amused by it. Not many men are like that – at least the ones that are around your age.

“How old are you?” you then ask, changing the subject.

Jake chuckles, his green eyes finding yours. “Too old for you.”

“I know that,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “How long have you been flying for?”

It’s a question every single crew member gets asked relatively often, if not everyday. And for a good reason – it tells a lot about a person. If someone has been flying only for a couple of years, they might still be figuring things out, not taking their career too seriously. Whereas if someone has been flying for over ten years for the same airline, it tells you that they most likely found their calling, and that they’re here to stay.

Jake doesn’t like that question. He prefers to not talk about his past.

“A while.”

“Aren’t you mysterious?” you tease, kicking him gently – not even hard enough to make the coffee inside his cup slosh around.

“What are you interrogating me for?”

“I’m not,” you insist. “Just curious.”

Jake hums.

A few, tiny little wrinkles form in between your brows as you scrunch them together. You’re not used to this – not used to getting your way. “So…?”

A defeated sigh falls from Jake’s lips. You’re stubborn. “What do you wanna know?”

“What did you do before this?”

“I flew for another company.” It’s not the truth, but it’s not a lie either. It’ll have to do. It’s not like it matters, since you won’t be seeing each other again, after today.

”American Airlines?” you try.

”No.”

“Hmph,” you hum, voicing out your frustration. Crossing your arms over your chest, you try again, “Delta?”

Placing his coffee mug onto the side table, Jake asks, “You’re not gonna give up, are you?”

“No. Obviously.”

He groans, wrapping his fingers around your ankle and tugging you towards him. A surprised squeal escapes your lips as you fall onto your back, Jake soon climbing to hover over you. “What do you say we put that pretty mouth of yours to better use, hm?”

A playful smile climbs onto your lips. “We can, but only if you promise to tell me after,” you challenge him, fingers already twiddling with the belt of his robe, gently tugging at it.

“I’m afraid you don’t make the rules here, darlin’,” he murmurs, running his fingers down your hip.

“Then we’re not–,”

You’re cut off by Jake quickly flipping you onto your front. He scrunches the fabric of your robe up just enough so that your ass cheek is exposed, delivering a sharp smack to it. “Don’t talk back to me – be good, for once.”

This is how you end up spending the day. In and out of your robes. In between the sheets. Both of you high on the feeling of having your bodies intertwined – pure ecstasy coursing through your veins as you enjoy each other to the absolute fullest. The essence of sex lingering in the air, enveloping your bodies under its spell. A few little love bites adorning your collarbones as a result.

God, you wish you would have more time with him.

But you don’t.

And not too many hours later, you find yourself running around the first class cabin. A dark-colored apron tied around your waist to keep your uniform dress clean, heels clacking as they hit the wooden floors in rhythm with your hurried footsteps. Mixing one drink after the other, a few beads of sweat sitting on top of your temples. Just by looking at you now, one is able to tell that it’s a busy flight.

When a flight is this busy, you don’t have much time to yourself. You don’t have time to sit down, or to even catch your breath, really. It’s something many passengers don’t realize – that flight attendants don’t really have any breaks. The little time they have for themselves is during the rest period, and even then, they can be called back to work if needed.

Pushing the thick curtains aside, you enter the forward-galley. It’s a mess. Empty plates and glasses on top of the steel countertops, opened wine bottles on top of trolleys. Tablecloths everywhere – on the floor and in between the foldable jump seats, all dirty and wrinkly.

Much to your surprise, you’re not alone.

Jake’s there. Standing in front of the espresso machine, with his back turned towards you. Busy utilizing the skills he acquired on the last flight, choosing to make himself a fresh cappuccino instead of the bitter instant coffee he usually reaches for.

“Hey,” you sigh. At this hour, jet lag is weighing down the tone of your voice, making it sound coarse, worn out.

“Hey,” he answers plainly.

You smooth your palms over your apron a few times, in hopes to make it appear less wrinkly. Leaning against the steel countertop, eyes fixed on Jake’s back, you listen to the steady purring of the espresso machine.

“You need a hand with that?” you ask, a hint of a smirk washing over your lips.

Jake chuckles. “I’ll manage. I see you’re busy.”

“I don’t remember the last time people ordered this many drinks on a Shanghai flight,” you wonder out-loud, mostly to yourself. “I mean, they’re all businessmen, like, they’re working.”

“Can’t blame them, though,” Jake says, turning around. A cup of freshly brewed coffee now in his hand, hot steam rising up from it only to get mixed in with the cold cabin air. “I’d be ordering all the drinks too, if a pretty girl like you was serving me.”

You look at him with wide eyes, surprise evident on your features. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Mhm,” he nods, stepping in closer to you. “I already told you that this morning, didn’t I?

You swallow, hard. Curling your fingers around the fabric of your apron, not really knowing what to do. This is a conversation you shouldn’t be having here – or at all, for that matter.

“You did. But I thought you were just trying to… You know.”

Closing the distance between your bodies, Jake comes to tower over you – caging you in between the steel countertop and him. “Well, that too. But for what it’s worth, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your heartbeat quickens.

It’s a risky setting. You and Jake, both wearing your uniforms, representing the company. The undeniable chemistry you share lingering in the air, inching you closer to one another.

Heart hammering against your ribs furiously, you are barely able to whisper, “I–, I’m working.”

“I know,” he soothes. “So am I.”

It isn’t fair. The tension that hangs thick in the air, compressing your lungs as he inches in closer to you. The intoxicating scent of his cologne and the way it smells so fucking delicious that it almost makes you knees buckle as it floods your senses. The barrier made of your uniforms separating you – keeping you away from each other.

You want to kiss him. Of course you do. And you don’t care if you shouldn’t, or if it’s inappropriate. Impropriety has kinda been the theme of this whole trip, anyway. So you inch in closer to him too. With your lips already parted, you look up at him through your lashes in a way you never thought you’d be looking at a colleague of yours.

“Kid!” The familiar sound of Ellen’s voice breaks through the curtains, making you flinch. “Do you have the French red wine opened?”

“Uh… Yeah! Give me one second!”

“A glass to the passenger sitting on 2A, please!”

“Got it!” you shout back to her, silently thanking the higher power for not allowing her to walk through those curtains, only to catch you and Jake there, all cozied up together.

“Everyone wants a piece of you, I see,” Jake smirks, looking down at you.

Gathering yourself, you press your palm against his abdomen, using it to gently push him away from you. “I uh… I’ve got to get back to work.”

Jake hums in answer, stepping away from you. Those green eyes of his captivating – twinkling under the dim lights as he looks you over one more time. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “See you later.”

That was the last thing you said to him, apart from the awkward ‘Bye’ you mouthed at him over your shoulder, right before stepping outside the aircraft. With the entire crew present, you didn’t really have a chance to say goodbye.

Maybe it’s better this way. It’s not like you would’ve had anything to say to him, anyway. He is a pilot. A superior of yours. Someone who is at least ten years older than you – someone who has it all figured out. Whereas you are someone who is still figuring things out. Young and immature, desperate to see the world, itching to experience all of its wonders. You don’t want to settle down – not yet, at least.

None of it makes any sense. The chemistry you share. The magnetic pull that wants to knit your bodies together whenever you’re at close proximity to one another. The way you compliment each other – how in some weird, twisted way, you’re exactly what he needs, and vice versa.

Maybe this is how it was meant to be. Maybe you were destined to run to each other, just to go your own ways shortly after. Maybe Jake came into your life for a split second to teach you that it exists out there – a deep connection you can’t explain. Something so powerful that it makes your head spin as it catches a hold of your body. And maybe you were meant to storm in and out of Jake’s life like a whirlwind, just to remind him of what he needs. To remind him that a dull, comfortable woman will never be enough for him – that he would spend a lifetime wishing for more, if he ever decided to settle down with one.

And who knows – maybe you were the loves of each other’s lives, even, only in another lifetime.

authors note there it is, besties -- a series finished!

thank you for reading! i’ve truly had the best time writing this series. also, i’m such an impulsive writer that the fact that i actually finished this series is just… mindblowing, heh. a part of me is incapable of letting go of characters and so, i’m thinking of maybe doing drabbles with these two later (meeting again, joining the mile-high club, etc…), but we’ll see :)

i also wanted to say thank you for being patient with me. life’s been kicking my butt lately, in all aspects. the last few weeks have been rough to say the least, and i haven’t had much time for myself, or for the things that i love (which includes writing too), but i’m so hoping to get back into the swing of things soon and hopefully back to posting semi-regularly too!!

if you’re going through a tough time, i just want to say that it’ll be okay, and that i love you. if you ever need someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to reach out or send me an anon. i’m here for you 🫶🏼✨

anyway, i appreciate you so much for taking the time to read my little writings! kisses!

tagging some friends who might like: @starlightmoon2020 @gigisimsonmars @eli2447 @shanimallina87 @ryebecca @thedroneranger @desert-fern @laracrofted @na-ta-sh-aa @cherrycola27 @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mayhemmanaged @annathesillyfriend @bradshawsbitch @bobfloydsbabe @roosterforme @teacupsandtopgun @waklman @ohgodnotagainn @kmc1989

#tilly recs #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x you

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waklman · 10 months

Text

my neighbors witnessed me comically dragging out an old desk three times my body weight in a miles teller tshirt…i think babybear would be proud of me this fine evening 😔✊🏻

#tilly talks #yes i was struggling #yes i also refused help

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waklman · 10 months

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im happy that it’s atleast been superglued back in place 😌

fake it is my bread and butter I’m in love thank u. I feel like reader is going to start pulling away. OMG WHAT IF jake kissed the reader in front of a bunch of people when he was beyond drunk or did something that made the reader embarrassed and uncomfortable so she isn’t talking to him and jake pleads for her forgiveness and it’s angsty and fluffy

note: okay i don't really know what this was but i'm just happy i was able to finally write something honestly, anyways here is more jake and princess until i pull myself together to work on the next chapter </3

warnings: mentions of drinking, insecurities.

If you were merely a book, you’d be a forgotten composition of bounded paper, quietly collecting dust on the unreachable bay of a shelf inside a fading bookstore—barely visited by anyone but the owners themselves.

And Jake would be the first person to ever be drawn in by you, setting off the soft chime of the entrance, walking right up to the shelf you sat on, extending himself to gently pluck you from the rotting oak that previously held you upright, and take you home with him.

When it’s finally just you two surrounded by the shrouding walls of his bedroom, Jake would slowly run his calloused finger down your uncracked leathered spine to ease you open, gaining your trust. Eventually, your pages would unfurl themselves to him—revealing stories that breathed life into your biggest aspirations and smallest insecurities, laid bare for his naked eyes to see.

And Jake would read those inked lines, over and over again until he could recite your contents in his sleep, until his heart filled with fondness when he thought of you, until you became his favorite piece of literature.

That’s how you’d like to think of your relationship with Jake, anyway. You were something that existed solely for his mind to study, for him to understand. No one else.

Jake would never return you back to that shop, Jake would never make you feel a semblance of regret for opening up to him, Jake would never laugh at things that would wear down your stitched pages.

Oh, but he did, right in your face too.

The moment Jake’s drunk laugh spilled out his chest at Jeremy Duncan’s sloppy joke about you being so quiet he forgot you were there—it was like you entrusted a stranger to hold your red solo cup.

The same lips that read over your fear about feeling invisible, were the same ones that curled into a smile when a jab was made at you.

Rather than facing that reality head on, you glued back shut, reverting back to that lonely collection of narratives that you didn’t let anyone read. But this time, you couldn’t go running back to that high shelf that hid you away—all you could do was slowly withdraw from the person who took you off of it.

Jake knew you needed solitude at times, and he respected that, it was how you recharged your energy after any social event.

So, for the last few days he let you do just that. He let you wordlessly walk past him when he tried to reach out for you to join him on the couch. He let you say less and less to him when he just wanted to hear your voice over dinner, afraid he might forget how it sounded. He let you sneak out earlier each day, just so you could avoid walking to class with him.

He let you do all of that, suppressing his slight worry—until he picked up on how you would nervously stand outside his door at random points in the night, only to eventually go back to your own room. And to make matters worse, if Jake hadn’t been staying up late, racking his brain about you rather than sleeping, he wouldn’t have even noticed that you started to do that.

Jake knew you needed solitude at times, but he also knew that something was wrong.

So, that’s when he decided to stop letting you walk away from him, because it was starting to plague him with concern at this point.

But, when Jake weakly trailed past your door frame, and kneeled at your seated figure at the corner of your bed, you flinched when he instinctively extended his hands to hold yours.

Refusing to meet his stare, you miss the subtle traces of disappointment that flit across his features.

“You..don’t want me touching you?” Jake’s quiet voice is colored by hurt, hands cautiously dropping to fiddle with the cuffs of your loose sweatpants instead. You at least let him do that, because it keeps him at a distance, because the fabric he’s gently playing with acts as a safeguard between you and him.

Gaze casted down into your lap, you reverently shake your head. “No, Jake,” you refuse him, your own strained voice mirroring his own.

If you were merely a book, he’d laugh at the way you awkwardly sat, he’d playfully bump shoulders with the same people who looked through you like you weren’t there.

With that, he feels an unsettling guilt well up inside his stomach, rising up to his throat like bile. “Okay, I see. Will you tell me what I did wrong then?” Jake sucks in deep breath, only releasing it when he sees you let out a somewhat steady breath for yourself.

Even when a burn spreads through his lungs for what feels like a full minute, he still doesn’t feel deserving when he goes to cool it, not when you probably don’t think he’s deserving of it either.

“No, Jake,” you reinforce, shoulders beginning to tremble from the pressure of refusing him, from the pressure of closing yourself back up.

If you were merely a book, you wouldn’t let him take you into his careful hands, he’d only read your unshared secrets to the world.

For Jake, it feels almost sinful to hold himself back from soothing his palms over your shaking body. His fingers clutch the ankles of your pants tighter, a desperate bid for solace. “Please, talk to me princess,” he helplessly begs, not knowing what else to do with himself. “You won’t even come into my room.”

“No, Jake,” you repeat, unaware of the tear that glides down your cheek. “You laughed, when Jeremy said I was practically invisible. You laughed at me.” The crack of your spine urges you to stay resilient like you did before, but the crack of your spine can’t help how much it aches for him to gently coax it again.

Jake stills as realization washes down on him, chest unwinding at your explanation.

If you were merely a book, you would want to be perched on that shelving unit. You don’t need Jake to be drawn in by what your pages held, you don’t need him to not feel put off by the plain cover that held you together. You don’t need—

Without a warning, Jake scoops you up from where you’re sitting, forcing you to encircle your legs around his middle as he leads you into the threshold of his room.

“I laughed because I thought it was the stupidest shit I ever heard,” he carefully explains, keeping you in lap as he goes to sit on his sheets. “You’re funny if you think I didn’t tell him off the morning after,” he continues, recounting the string of threats that fell off his tongue when found Jeremy after class.

When you finally look at him, cheeks sticky from streaky tears and waterlogged lashes fluttering at him, Jake feels his heart swell in his chest. Naturally, he goes to playfully tousle your hair, gently, mindful of the migraine that tends to follow after your crying.

If you were merely a book, he would have corners of the most important pages gently folded in, ingraining each word and punctuation mark that made you vulnerable into his memory.

“Jake, what would you do if I was a book?” You ask through a weak smile, heart gently throbbing as you notice the tenderness reflected in his eyes.

Smoothing down the hair he’s ruffled with both hands, Jake gives your question some thought. “Is this one of those, would you love me if I was a worm kinda questions?”

Clutching the hems of his shirt between your hands for solace, you nod at him, waiting for one of those lighthearted responses he always gives you.

But sensing that you’d want a genuine answer instead, Jake gives you just that.

“If you were a book,” he starts, brushing strands of hair behind your ears. “I would never get sick of reading you princess. Think you’d be my favorite,” and he means it.

#reblog replies

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waklman · 10 months

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jordan 🥺 thank you for the reread!! bradley is so boy genius coded i love him

Not Strong Enough

summary: bradley struggles to understand his grief or you ask bradley why he doesn’t like when people take care of him.

warnings: heavy talks of parental death, mental health, and medicine/medication. 18+ blog.

word count: 1.8k

this is for boygenius fans who also took the line ‘once i took your medication to know what it’s like’ line quite literally bc haha same 👍🏻, not sure if it'll even translate well but lol

something ‘bout you masterlist.

Bradley Bradshaw had been a freshly twenty three when he first discovered that yellowed pill bottle hidden away in his bathroom cabinet. For all these years, the plastic casing was stashed behind a deteriorating box of waterproof band-aids and a decade-old bottle of rubbing alcohol, not meant to be found by anyone else but Carole Bradshaw.

So, when his innocent search for a first aid kit ended with him blankly staring at a cluster of tiny blue tablets spilled into the palm of his hand, the first thought that crossed his mind was to put it away. He knew his mother was no longer around to finish off her prescription, he should put them back where she had originally left them. It’d be wrong if he were to toss them down, especially when they weren’t his to take.

But Bradley Bradshaw did it anyway.

In swallowing down the expired medication, cupping a handful of sink water to aid himself, a sick expectation had welled up within Bradley that night. A part of him hoped that once they dissolved in his stomach—he’d finally be able to understand why she needed them in the first place—that it would give him a glimpse into the mind of the woman he was so curious about. That, if he just had a mere taste of what Carole Bradshaw had taken daily without his knowledge, he'd somehow be closer to her in that way.

Once they settled, Bradley would be able to encapsulate her essence, gaping that bridge he wedged between them. Perhaps then, he'd stop feeling so guilty for looking like a splitting image of her dead husband while she was combating her grief.

But for a plastic tube so brightly colored, it held something so unbelievably numb.

Laying stiffly across the bed he’d already started to outgrow, limbs dangling off the ends of the mattress, a black hole began to materialize—tearing right through his chest that night.

Carole Bradshaw never had to outwardly say it, but Bradley knew she struggled with things he couldn’t begin to fully comprehend as a young boy, barely grazed by the cruelty of the world. So, he did his best to not be another problem for her to deal with growing up, as she had fair share of those in her lifetime.

In elementary school, Bradley was the only student seated quietly, scribbling drawings of airplanes into his name tag with a thick blue crayon, while everyone else cried for their parents on the first day of school. It had been a strange revelation for a child to come to, that he needed to learn how to be alone—how to be without his parents, in case they both weren’t there anymore. Yet, by the second grade he came to terms with that.

And throughout highschool and college, Bradley made sure to stay out of the line of trouble, for the sake of his mother who made herself sick with worry. Despite what others may think, Bradley paid special attention to his grades, in the same way Carole tended to the burst of star shaped lilies planted in their backyard. And in times where he felt alone during his youth, it almost felt cruel to voice that back to his mother when she asked him ‘How was your day sweetheart?’

It was only when she passed that he finally cried out to her, gripping onto that limp hand by the hospital bedside. It was only when Bradley was truly alone in his life that he felt it enough to finally say it outloud.

But in his true nature, Bradley bounced back.

The realization that came to him when he was a child, that he’d eventually stretch out the rest of his life alone, hit him again. Moving forward, he had been so sure that he’d be fine with that. There was no room to feel a semblance of pain if he kept everyone at an arm's length away. It somewhat worked to ease him off the loss of Carole, and it should work with everything else in life. Yet, the universe had different plans for him, when they led him to you.

It had been another night you two spent staring at the stars, sitting on the same blanket on his front lawn, where Bradley found himself not thinking twice about everything he said. Maybe it was the comfort the night sky provided him, or maybe it was because he was just talking to you.

“Hey Bradley?” you call out for him, cutting through the silence. “Why don’t you let people do things for you?”

Bradley keeps his eyes trained on the lights dusted besides the full moon, knowing you were looking at it too. “What do you mean?” He softly asks, delaying a bit.

Slowly, you turn your head, admiring freckles that speckled across his cheek, they lightly danced over the scars adorning his face, and just barely kissed over the tip of his nose. And despite the array of stars twinkling right in front of you, trying to catch your attention again as they glimmered—you had always found him much more mesmerizing.

Bradley Bradshaw was a once in a lifetime sight you had the privilege of seeing up close. And for that reason, you can’t look away from him, not now at least.

“When people let you skip them in line, you don’t do it,” you warily pause, watching Bradley nod as you start. “Then you do that thing where you buy your own beers before your team gets to the Hard Deck, so they don’t beat you to it,” you bite your lip, digging through your list of observations. “And you have this look when I do stuff for you, like, you don’t understand why I’m making you lunch or why I’m buying you stupid things that remind me of you,” you finally share, stretching your legs out.

The silence that lingers after is heavy.

Bradley takes in a quiet breath, reminded by the life sized teddy bear you lugged into his apartment just last week. “It’s not something I’m used to,” he provides weakly, recalling the way you excitedly screeched at him when the bear fit perfectly on his couch. He’s still not looking at you as he continues. “It’s..it’s dumb. But the idea of someone looking after me, even if it's in a small way. I just…it feels weird for me.”

Everyone he knew, acted as if they hit the jackpot when someone else confessed that they loved them ardently. But while others wished for a moment like that, Bradley wished against it—it would be too burdensome for him. Bradley never wanted someone to love him again, not until now.

“Do you…not like when I do things for you? Is that something you don’t–”

“No. When it’s…when it’s you, it feels different, ” he cuts you off suddenly. “When you pack me lunch, I feel good eating it. I don’t…I don’t feel guilty eating it,” his head drops, hanging forward like a weight. There had been so many times he secretly threw up his own mother’s cooking, thinking it was hurt less if he didn’t take her token of love. “I hate feeling bad about things like that, it’s not normal,” he confesses.

You blink back the tears coating your eyes, not wanting to lose sight of his starlike freckles. “I want to help you feel good Bradley,” you whisper, fingers twitching at your side. You swallow thickly, eyes darting between the solemn expression he’s wearing and the scrunch his fingers give the thin blanket below him. “I want you to feel okay with being loved, you deserve it as much as anyone else does. I want that for you now, and I think…I would’ve wanted it for you if we were both kids—if I was lucky enough to know you when I was ten.”

At that, Bradley finally smiles, and it doesn’t seem tasking to do so. “Would you have sat next to me in class?” He finally turns to you, starting a study of your face, you glow brighter than the stars shining above both of you.

“In class, and during lunch time. Then we would have hung out during recess too because obviously I win you over with my charms,” you softly smile at him, playing with the idea.

It’s too late for it now—the possibility of you two growing up together as kids. But a part of Bradley likes to imagine it anyway. If you had been there during his quiet walks home from school, it would have kept his tears from falling. If you fell over in a heated game of tag, he would’ve kissed over your bruised knees like he does now. And if you were there when he came home to an empty house, he wouldn’t have taken Carole’s medication to know what it’s like to be someone who loved him.

“What if all I did was draw the ugliest airplane models?”

“I was a pretty weird kid. I’d probably sit there drooling while watching you doodle,” you confirm, biting your lip to suppress a small laugh.

Bradley extends his hand out to you, uncurling your lip from your teeth to hear it spill from you. Right as he does, you finally giggle in his palm. “Hey, don’t start droolin’ on me Babybear,” he warns, laughing with you.

With his hand cupping your cheek, he leans in to press a quick kiss to your smiling mouth. “I wish we could’ve been kids together,” he cements, pulling back.

“Bradley,” you lean into his hand, warming his calloused palm. “Did you forget about us snatching the last toy plane right from that kid in Target the other day?”

Bradley lightly shrugs, tracing his hand up to tousle your hair. “We have more fun with that plane than he ever will,” he decides, leaving his hand there, holding the top of your head firmly.

Head clamped under his fingers, you nod. “I bet he wishes he could fly it as high as we do when I’m sittin’ on your shoulders.”

“That’s right,” he gradually nods in agreement.

“Speaking of, let’s go back inside and fly it—after you take your medication,” you sternly point a finger at him, pairing it with a look.

Bradley mindlessly begins to draw an outline of a plane into your scalp, using his index resting over the back of your head. “Will you feed it to me?”

“That’s a silly question. You know I always do,” you tilt your head slightly.

Bradley softens, finishing off his invisible sketch, adding the detail to the airplane wing.

“Yeah, you always do,” he echoes.

Lieutenant Bradshaw had been thirty nine when he first discovered he’d been prescribed the medication his mother once took. Instead of her name printed across the label, there was his name. Bradley Nick Bradshaw.

But, when it finally came time to take it, Bradley was never shaking above the sink, apprehensive as it spilled out into his palm, No. Because you were always there, softly whispering I love yous as you gently dipped it into his mouth.

Bradley Bradshaw was never left curious about how it felt to love someone like him, not when you kept telling him how rewarding it was.

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