You meet Jake Seresin in the middle of the worst date you've ever been on. What follows is a whirlwind of a life you never expected to live.
This fic is explicit and does describe mutually consensual sexual acts.
⚠ Crossposted on AO3 and Tumblr! ⚠
Disclaimers: None! This is the sappiest fic I've ever written
Warning: Female Reader
Author Note: Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Here, have some Jake and Gorgeous Girl to celebrate the day! I had an absolute blast writing this fic and I hope you all adore it!
Thanks to desert-fern for beta-reading this fic for me and catching all of my weird phrasing!
Everything in italics is Jake's letter to Gorgeous. The bold words/phrases are to show emphasis.
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You've never understood the thrall of Valentine's Day. As far as you're concerned, it's another capitalist excuse for spending exorbitant amounts of money and parading a happy relationship around. God forbid you're single on Valentine's Day, too. You'd made the mistake once of going to eat at a restaurant alone on Valentine's Day. Faced with so much pity, half-hidden and cloying from the waitstaff and the happy couples in the restaurant that day, you'd nearly given up reservations you'd made months before. Since then, you've sworn off going out on Valentine's Day. In any case, you can get the best parts of the holiday, the candy, the next day, all half off.
Coming up on your first Valentine's Day with Jake, you're not sure what to expect. He was deployed on Valentine's Day last year and then in the hospital. Given how stressful that time was for both of you, it makes sense that you never celebrated. It didn't bother you then, and it doesn't bother you now. You've never doubted Jake's love for you. He loves to show you how much he loves you, but he's never overtly demonstrative about it - something that suits you just as much as it does him. Jake usually saves his flashy tricks for when he's Hangman up in his jet. But you're still worried. Your fiancé is the reason why.
Jake's been dropping hints for weeks, practically since you both got home from Texas. He'd started with a simple, "You're not planning anything for Valentine's Day, right?" At your nod no, he'd grinned, kissed you, and then drove to work like he hadn't upended your whole day just by asking that question. Since then, you've been noticing these furtive, hidden conversations Jake has been having on the phone. He's keeping secrets, and you know he is.
You've never been good at rolling with the punches, is the thing. If something is happening around you, you'd much prefer to know. Jake knows this, which is why you're standing in your short robe at five o'clock on Valentine's Day, staring down at the envelope and rose on your bed. Jake always makes the bed in the morning, and it's still crisp and pristine now, hospital corners and all. The only thing marring the cream-colored duvet is the bright red rose and the white envelope. You huff as you breathe in the scent of the fragrant bloom and open the envelope, pulling out sheets of paper. The letter, for that's what it is, is written on creamy, thick paper scented with roses. Jake's spiky hand peppers words across the sheets, and you slump carelessly on the bed to peruse his words.
