cherrylibby

[cherrylibby]

Fire & Sky

Continuation of the: spirt fire & smirks series

The sky was clear, but the tension crackled through the comms like a brewing storm. The mission was always going to be risky — low altitude, tight turns through hostile territory. But you and Jake had done this a hundred times in training. You trusted your skill. You trusted him.

“Stay on my six, Spitfire,” Jake’s voice came through your headset, steady, even as adrenaline thrummed beneath his words.

“I’m right here, Hangman. Just don’t show off too much — I don’t need to see your ego in high-def.”

Even with the danger, you heard the smirk in his reply. “Can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.”

And then it happened. The sharp ping of warning alarms. The gut-wrenching sound of impact.

“Missile incoming—Y/N, break right, now!”

You pulled hard, but it wasn’t enough. The enemy fire clipped your plane’s wing. The jet shuddered violently, metal screaming as it lost control.

“Mayday! I’m hit! I’m hit!” you called, trying to stabilize, but you were going down fast.

“No. No, no, no— Y/N, eject! Now!” Jake’s voice cracked through the comms, panic breaking through his practiced calm.

You barely had time to respond before you yanked the ejection handle, the force ripping you from the cockpit. The last thing you saw was the ground racing up to meet you.

“Where is she? Where the hell is she?” Jake barked into the radio, his jet banking hard as he scanned the terrain below, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Hangman, we’ve got a fix on her chute location. Coordinates incoming.”

But it wasn’t fast enough. Not for him.

Jake pushed his jet harder, eyes scouring the dense trees where your parachute had disappeared. His hands gripped the controls so tightly his knuckles were white.

She’s okay. She has to be okay.

“Y/N! Spitfire, do you copy?”

Static.

“Baby, please…” he whispered to no one, to you, to the universe.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spotted the tangled mess of your parachute caught in the treetops. His breath hitched. There — a flash of your flight suit. But you weren’t moving.

The second his boots hit the dirt, Jake was running. He didn’t wait for backup. Didn’t think about protocol. All that mattered was getting to you.

“Y/N!” he called, voice ragged. Branches tore at his flight suit as he pushed through the brush.

And then he saw you — crumpled beneath the chute, blood at your temple, your breathing shallow.

“God, no… no, no, no…”

He dropped to his knees, hands trembling as they hovered over you, afraid to touch, afraid he’d hurt you more. But he had to.

“Spitfire, sweetheart, I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Your eyelids fluttered, a groan escaping your lips. Jake exhaled a shaky breath of relief.

“Hey, stay with me, alright? Don’t you dare check out on me now.”

His hands cupped your face gently, brushing dirt and blood away. His voice broke as the tears came, unbidden and unstoppable.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought I was gonna watch you fall outta the sky, and I—I can’t do that. I can’t do any of this without you. You hear me?”

You tried to speak, but he shook his head, brushing more hair back, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Save it, baby. Just focus on breathing. Help’s on the way. I’m not leaving your side.”

You managed the faintest of smiles, and Jake choked on a sob, kissing your forehead.

“I love you,” he breathed, words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long. “I love you so damn much. And I’m gonna get you outta here. I promise.”

And as the medevac team arrived, Jake held onto you, heart pounding, refusing to let you go. Because this mission wasn’t over — not until you were safe, in his arms, where you belonged.

The beeping of the monitors was steady, a metronome that both calmed and tortured Jake as he sat slumped in the stiff plastic chair beside your hospital bed. His elbows rested on his knees, hands steepled in front of his mouth, as if he were praying — maybe he was.

You were pale against the white sheets, bandages at your temple, a deep bruise blooming along your jaw. The doctor said you’d been lucky — a concussion, some cracked ribs, a lot of cuts and bruises, but you were going to be okay.

Jake hadn’t left the room since they brought you in. His flight suit was still dirty, torn at the sleeve where he’d shoved through branches trying to get to you. His knuckles were scraped. His eyes were red from the tears he’d tried to hide, from the fear that still gripped him like a vice.

And then — the softest sound.

A groan, barely audible.

Jake shot upright so fast the chair nearly tipped over.

“Spitfire?” His voice was raw, hopeful, disbelieving.

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting at the too-bright lights, dazed and confused. “Jake…?”

He was at your side in an instant, sinking to his knees so you could see him, so you knew he was right there. His hand found yours, fingers trembling as they laced with yours.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. I’m right here. God, you scared the hell outta me."

You blinked at him, trying to focus, your voice hoarse. “What happened…?”

“You went down. The mission… your chute — but it’s over. You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Your brow furrowed as the memory came back in fragments. And then, despite the pain, you gave him the faintest smirk. “Did you come charging through enemy lines for me, Hangman?”

Jake let out a broken laugh, the tears brimming again, this time from relief. “Damn right I did. I’d tear the whole damn world apart if it meant getting to you.”

You squeezed his hand, your strength returning bit by bit.

That’s when Jake lost it — really lost it. His head dropped to rest on your hand, shoulders shaking as the emotions he’d bottled up finally spilled out.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out. “I thought— God, I kept seeing you fall, kept hearing you call Mayday… and I couldn’t get to you fast enough. And all I could think was, I never told you. I never said it right.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him like that, so vulnerable, so Jake beneath all the bravado.

He lifted his head, eyes glassy but steady, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

“I love you. I love you so damn much, Spitfire. I don’t want a second more of not saying it, not showing it. I’m yours. I’ve been yours since the first time you rolled your eyes at me.”

Tears welled in your eyes too, but this time they were from something softer, something beautiful.

“I love you too, Jake,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Always have.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years, leaning up to kiss your forehead, gentle and lingering.

“I’m never letting you go,” he promised, voice firm now, no trace of hesitation left. “You’re stuck with me, darlin’. Forever.”

And as you drifted back to sleep, safe in the quiet hum of the hospital room, Jake stayed right there — holding your hand, guarding your heart.

Because this time, he wasn’t going anywhere.

[cherrylibby]

Only You

You weren’t the jealous type. Not usually. Not when it came to him.

Bradley Bradshaw was your best friend. Your ride or die. The person who knew your coffee order, your favorite movies, your most embarrassing middle school stories, and the exact way you liked your burgers. You’d known him for years now, and despite the way he looked at you sometimes—like you hung the stars—you told yourself it was nothing. He was flirty with everyone. He was Bradley.

But tonight, something was different.

The Hard Deck was packed, music humming low under the buzz of conversation and laughter. You were sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand and a quiet ache in your chest. Across the room, Bradley was laughing—really laughing—with a pretty blonde who kept touching his arm and twirling her hair.

You shouldn’t have been staring. You shouldn’t have cared.

But the sight of him leaning in close, his smile warm and easy, made something twist inside you. Something insecure and ugly. You could feel it bubbling up even as you looked away, heart sinking.

You weren't her. Not effortlessly flirty or smooth or shiny. You were his best friend. The girl who wore sweatpants to movie night and cried at commercials. The one he called “dude” and “trouble” with a grin and a wink. Not the girl who got that look.

“Y/N?” Natasha’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah, just tired. I think I’m gonna head out.”

She looked like she didn’t believe you, but let you go with a quiet, “Text me when you get home.”

You slipped out the back, the warm California air brushing your skin as you walked toward your car, heart heavy and eyes burning.

You didn’t see Bradley’s eyes darting across the bar looking for you. You didn’t see the way his smile dropped the second he realized you were gone. He excused himself mid-conversation, didn’t even notice the girl’s disappointed sigh as he beelined out the door.

“Y/N!”

You froze. He was jogging after you, chest rising and falling, brow furrowed with worry. “Where are you going?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Just tired.”

He stared at you for a second too long, eyes scanning your face like he could see every unspoken word, every thought in your head. “Did I do something?”

“No,” you said quickly, then softer, “No, you didn’t.”

His brows drew tighter. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I am looking at you,” you said, your voice wobbling even as you tried to play it cool. “Go back inside, Bradley. She’s probably waiting.”

He blinked. “She who?”

“The girl you were talking to. The one who looked like she was ready to climb you like a tree.” You meant it as a joke, but it cracked as it left your mouth.

Bradley was quiet for a second. Then he took a slow step forward.

“You think I wanted her?” His voice was soft. Barely above a whisper.

You looked down. “Didn’t look like you didn’t.”

He exhaled like it physically hurt, running a hand through his curls. “Jesus, Y/N.”

When you didn’t say anything, he took another step until he was right in front of you. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You swallowed. “Get what?”

“That I don’t see anyone else. That it’s always you.” His voice cracked. “I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

Bradley took your face in his hands, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of softness that made your knees weak. “You’re it for me. Have been for a long time. Every time you laugh, every time you say my name, every time you wear that stupid hoodie you stole from me—I fall harder. You’re the only one I want.”

Your eyes welled with tears. “Then why were you—?”

“I was being polite,” he said, smiling like it hurt. “I was trying to not stare at you across the bar like I always do.”

Your voice was small. “You stare at me?”

“All the damn time.” He laughed, forehead leaning against yours. “You just never notice because you’re too busy not noticing how perfect you are.”

Your heart flipped so hard it felt like it stalled in midair.

“Bradley,” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

His smile bloomed so wide and soft it made your whole chest ache. And then he kissed you. Slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world to show you just how much he meant it.

And when he pulled back, he didn’t stop looking at you.

Not once.

[cherrylibby]

The Morning After

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the apartment as the soft rays of the sun peered through the blinds, casting gentle streaks of light across the room. Y/N stretched lazily in bed, the warmth of the sheets making it difficult to leave the comfort of her cozy spot. Her mind was still foggy with sleep, and she turned over, only to find Jake still snoozing beside her. He looked completely relaxed, his head resting on the pillow, and his hair a little messy from their sleep.

She smiled at the sight. Jake had always been the picture of confidence, with his wide, confident smile and cheeky charm. But when it was just the two of them, when no one was around to see, he was so... tender. The kind of man who would quietly make sure the thermostat was adjusted just right before bed, or who would sneak a kiss on her forehead when she wasn't looking.

Y/N reached out and lightly traced the outline of his jaw with her fingers, a small giggle escaping her lips as he stirred slightly.

"Morning, sunshine," she whispered softly, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Jake groggily opened his eyes, his lips curling into that signature smirk that always made her heart flutter. "Mmm... Good morning, gorgeous. You're up early."

Y/N laughed quietly, "You were snoring," she teased, her voice light as she gave him a playful nudge.

Jake snorted, rubbing his eyes, "I do not snore."

"You do, though," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Just a little."

"Okay, fine," Jake grinned, finally sitting up and pulling her close. "But only because you're the love of my life, I’ll forgive you for exposing my secrets."

She chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder. The sound of the coffee machine bubbling in the kitchen was the only noise between them for a moment. She was content, completely at ease in his arms.

The warmth of their closeness felt perfect. The familiarity of it, the little moments like this, was exactly what Y/N had always wanted. There was something so sweet about mornings like this, where everything felt right, where there was no rush, no pressure. Just the two of them, together in their own little world.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up to see him giving her a mischievous grin. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “A surprise? What did you do?”

“Nothing crazy,” Jake said, climbing out of bed and reaching for his hoodie. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

Curiosity piqued, Y/N watched him as he headed toward the kitchen. She could hear the sound of him rummaging around and the clinking of plates. The scent of pancakes soon began to fill the room, and she blinked in surprise.

Jake had always been the one to pick up takeout or suggest they order pizza, but cooking? That was a new one.

She followed him into the kitchen, and there he was—standing in front of the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of concentration that was so unlike his usual carefree self.

“You... You’re making breakfast?” she asked, still surprised.

Jake looked up, his grin widening. “Of course. I promised I’d spoil you this weekend. Pancakes it is.”

Y/N could barely hold back the laugh bubbling in her chest. Jake, the confident, flirtatious pilot, was so serious about making pancakes. It was the sweetest, most unexpected thing.

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day where Jake Seresin is flipping pancakes,” she teased, leaning against the counter.

“Don’t get used to it,” he winked. “It’s a one-time thing... Unless, of course, you want me to do this every weekend?”

“Hmm... I’m considering it,” she replied playfully, watching him work with a glint of admiration in her eyes.

Soon enough, Jake had a stack of pancakes ready, and they sat at the small table in their cozy kitchen, laughing and chatting about anything and everything. Every so often, Jake would lean across the table and brush a crumb from her lip, a small smile dancing on his face as he did.

“Do you know how much I love you?” Jake said suddenly, his tone soft and sincere.

Y/N paused mid-bite, her heart skipping a beat at the way he looked at her. His hazel eyes sparkled with genuine affection.

“I think you’ve told me a few times,” she teased, trying to hide the warmth spreading across her cheeks.

Jake smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’m just reminding you. I’m crazy about you.”

Y/N grinned, feeling her heart swell. “I’m crazy about you, too.”

They shared a comfortable silence, the kind that only came from being with someone who truly understood you. As they ate their breakfast and continued talking about their plans for the day, Y/N realized something—this, these little moments, were what truly made life special. It wasn’t the big gestures or the flashy events. It was the quiet mornings spent together, the inside jokes, the soft kisses on the forehead, and the way Jake always knew exactly what she needed, even without saying a word.

But as she took another sip of her coffee, Jake cleared his throat, his gaze turning a little more serious.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice a bit more hesitant than usual. “I’ve been thinking... You’ve been staying over at my place so often lately, and I’ve gotta ask—have you thought about, you know... moving in? Like, really moving in.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. She had been staying at Jake’s place a lot recently, and they had fallen into a comfortable routine together, but the thought of officially living together hadn't really crossed her mind in that way.

“You want me to move in?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and affection.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, looking a little sheepish. “I know it’s a big step, but, I don’t know... I can’t help but imagine waking up with you here every morning. Like, all the time. Not just for weekends.”

Y/N’s heart melted a little as she looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes making her stomach flutter. He really meant it. She had never seen Jake so vulnerable about something like this before. He wasn’t joking around, and she could tell he wasn’t just saying it because of the convenience. He was saying it because he wanted her there. All the time.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” she admitted softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I just didn’t know if you were ready for that.”

Jake’s face lit up, his usual smirk returning, but there was something deeper there too—something softer. “I’m ready, Y/N. I want to come home to you. To us.”

Y/N reached across the table, taking his hand gently in hers. “Then... yes. I’d love to move in with you, Jake. I think it’d be perfect.”

Jake’s grin stretched wide, his eyes bright with happiness. He leaned over and kissed her hand, then softly brushed his lips against hers.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “It’s going to be perfect.”

And in that moment, as they sat there in the warmth of their kitchen, everything felt right. This was the beginning of something new—something beautiful. And it was exactly what both of them had been waiting for.

[cherrylibby]

should i make this a whole series, i have a lot of ideas for my two favourite characters?? and if specific story you want me to write comment or dmn!

Jealousy at Mach Speed

Jake Seresin had a reputation.

It wasn’t exactly unearned—the cocky smirk, the smooth Southern drawl, the way he could charm just about anyone within five minutes of meeting them. It was part of who he was.

And usually, you were fine with it. You knew that, despite the way women threw themselves at him, Jake was yours.

But tonight? Tonight, that logic was a little harder to believe.

Because as you stood at The Hard Deck, watching some girl drape herself over him, laughing a little too hard at something he said, you felt a sharp sting of insecurity settle in your chest.

Jake didn’t push her away. He didn’t tell her to back off. He just stood there, smiling, sipping his drink like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And suddenly, all the old doubts—the ones you thought you had buried—came rushing back.

Maybe you weren’t enough for him.

Maybe he’d realize that soon.

Maybe he already had.

You didn’t say anything right away.

You just grabbed your drink and made your way to the other side of the bar, setting up camp next to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, who immediately raised an eyebrow at your sudden mood shift.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Bradley snorted. “Uh-huh. And I’m about to win Pilot of the Year.”

You didn’t respond. Just took a long sip of your drink, staring at the wall.

Rooster followed your gaze across the bar—right to Jake, who was still talking to that girl. Understanding dawned on his face.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “you know Jake isn’t interested in her.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know anything.”

He groaned. “Okay, no. We’re not doing this.” He stood up. “I’m getting him.”

“No—Bradshaw I swear—”

Too late.

Jake turned the second Rooster called his name, eyes instantly locking onto you. His face shifted, brows furrowing as he excused himself from the conversation and made a beeline for you.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low as he reached you. “Everything okay?”

You plastered on your best fake smile. “Peachy.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Try again.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, Jake. Maybe you should go ask her.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, what?”

You gestured toward the blonde at the bar. “She seemed really interested in whatever you were saying.”

Realization hit him like a brick wall. His eyes widened slightly before his expression softened.

“Oh,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Sweetheart…”

You shook your head, looking away. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

Jake didn’t let that slide. Instead, he gently tilted your chin up, making you look at him. “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

You sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I saw you with her, and I just started thinking… why me? You could have anyone.”

Jake’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but something deeper.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve crack. “Yeah, but for how long?”

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, forever isn’t long enough when it comes to you.”

Your heart stuttered.

Jake cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You think I don’t notice every little thing about you? The way you scrunch your nose when you’re trying not to laugh. The way you pretend to be annoyed when I flirt, but I see that little smile.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “The way I feel like I’m home whenever I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Jake…”

“I don’t care about any other girl. Never have. Never will.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I’m yours, Y/N. Only yours.”

Tears pricked at your eyes—tears you hated because damn it, you were not a crier.

Jake noticed, of course. He kissed the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally—finally—your lips.

It was slow, deep, filled with every unspoken word between you.

When he pulled away, he smiled softly. “You believe me now?”

You let out a watery laugh. “I think so.”

Jake chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the storm passed—leaving nothing but love in its wake.

[cherrylibby]

Jealousy at Mach Speed

Jake Seresin had a reputation.

It wasn’t exactly unearned—the cocky smirk, the smooth Southern drawl, the way he could charm just about anyone within five minutes of meeting them. It was part of who he was.

And usually, you were fine with it. You knew that, despite the way women threw themselves at him, Jake was yours.

But tonight? Tonight, that logic was a little harder to believe.

Because as you stood at The Hard Deck, watching some girl drape herself over him, laughing a little too hard at something he said, you felt a sharp sting of insecurity settle in your chest.

Jake didn’t push her away. He didn’t tell her to back off. He just stood there, smiling, sipping his drink like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And suddenly, all the old doubts—the ones you thought you had buried—came rushing back.

Maybe you weren’t enough for him.

Maybe he’d realize that soon.

Maybe he already had.

You didn’t say anything right away.

You just grabbed your drink and made your way to the other side of the bar, setting up camp next to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, who immediately raised an eyebrow at your sudden mood shift.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Bradley snorted. “Uh-huh. And I’m about to win Pilot of the Year.”

You didn’t respond. Just took a long sip of your drink, staring at the wall.

Rooster followed your gaze across the bar—right to Jake, who was still talking to that girl. Understanding dawned on his face.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “you know Jake isn’t interested in her.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know anything.”

He groaned. “Okay, no. We’re not doing this.” He stood up. “I’m getting him.”

“No—Bradshaw I swear—”

Too late.

Jake turned the second Rooster called his name, eyes instantly locking onto you. His face shifted, brows furrowing as he excused himself from the conversation and made a beeline for you.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low as he reached you. “Everything okay?”

You plastered on your best fake smile. “Peachy.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Try again.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, Jake. Maybe you should go ask her.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, what?”

You gestured toward the blonde at the bar. “She seemed really interested in whatever you were saying.”

Realization hit him like a brick wall. His eyes widened slightly before his expression softened.

“Oh,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Sweetheart…”

You shook your head, looking away. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

Jake didn’t let that slide. Instead, he gently tilted your chin up, making you look at him. “It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

You sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I saw you with her, and I just started thinking… why me? You could have anyone.”

Jake’s eyes darkened—not with anger, but something deeper.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve crack. “Yeah, but for how long?”

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, forever isn’t long enough when it comes to you.”

Your heart stuttered.

Jake cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You think I don’t notice every little thing about you? The way you scrunch your nose when you’re trying not to laugh. The way you pretend to be annoyed when I flirt, but I see that little smile.” He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “The way I feel like I’m home whenever I’m with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Jake…”

“I don’t care about any other girl. Never have. Never will.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I’m yours, Y/N. Only yours.”

Tears pricked at your eyes—tears you hated because damn it, you were not a crier.

Jake noticed, of course. He kissed the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally—finally—your lips.

It was slow, deep, filled with every unspoken word between you.

When he pulled away, he smiled softly. “You believe me now?”

You let out a watery laugh. “I think so.”

Jake chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

And just like that, the storm passed—leaving nothing but love in its wake.

[cherrylibby]

Dates & Nerves

part two of Turbulence & Temptation

Ever since that night at The Hard Deck—the night that ended with your back pressed against the bar, your hands tangled in his shirt, and his lips leaving you breathless—he’d made it his personal mission to get you to go on a date with him.

And every single time, you shot him down.

The first time:

“You, me, dinner this Friday,” Jake said confidently, leaning against the bar beside you, beer in hand.

You didn’t even look up from your drink. “No, thanks.”

Jake blinked. “That’s it? Just ‘no, thanks’?”

“Would you rather I say ‘hell no’?” you teased, smirking as you took a sip.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, challenge accepted.”

The second time:

“Alright, sweetheart,” Jake drawled as he leaned against your car, arms crossed. “I’m giving you another shot.”

You raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“Admitting you wanna go out with me,” he said, grinning. “Dinner, drinks, maybe a moonlit walk on the beach?”

You hummed, pretending to think. “Sounds nice.”

Jake perked up. “Right?”

“Yeah, you should totally take Rooster,” you said, patting his shoulder before slipping into the driver’s seat.

His groan followed you all the way down the road.

The third time:

“You know,” Jake mused one night at The Hard Deck, “you keep rejecting me, but that just means when you finally say yes, it’ll be *so* much sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. “Optimism looks good on you, Hangman.”

“So does my name on your phone,” he quipped.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, here you are, still talking to me,” he said, smirking.

The fourth time (and the one that finally worked):

Jake had gotten creative this time.

You walked into The Hard Deck to find him standing there, holding up a makeshift sign written in bold, messy handwriting:

"DATE WITH HANGMAN: FINAL OFFER”

You bit your lip to hide your laugh as the bar erupted in laughter and cheers. Even Penny was shaking her head behind the counter. Rooster was dying at a nearby table.

Jake grinned, shameless as ever. “C’mon, sweetheart. One date. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. One date.”

Jake fist-pumped like he’d just won a trophy.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“You love it,” he shot back, winking.

And the worst part? Maybe you did.

Jake picked you up right on time, looking… different.

Not in a bad way. But he wasn’t wearing his usual cocky smirk. His hair was slightly messier, and—was that a button-down instead of his usual T-shirt or flight suit?

“You okay, Hangman?” you teased as you slid into his truck. “You look a little pale.”

Jake cleared his throat, gripping the steering wheel. “What? Me? I’m fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” He let out a sharp laugh. “Pfft, no. That’s ridiculous.”

You smirked. “You totally are.”

“Am not.”

“Jake.”

“…Maybe a little.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Relax, Seresin. It’s just a date.”

Jake muttered something about how you were the problem, but you were too busy suppressing a smile to care.

And Then… Everything Went Wrong

The first sign that the night was not going to go smoothly came when Jake tried to pull out your chair at the restaurant—except he underestimated how light it was, and it nearly went flying.

“Whoa—okay, nope, got it,” he muttered, catching it just in time.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Very smooth.”

Jake shot you a playful glare. “I am always smooth.”

The second disaster struck when he tried to order wine for the two of you—only to mispronounce the fancy French name so badly that the waiter blinked at him in confusion.

Jake cleared his throat. “You know what? Just… the house red.”

You did laugh at that one, and he groaned. “Are you having fun?”

You grinned. “A little.”

By the time the food arrived, Jake had knocked over the salt shaker, fumbled his knife twice, and spilled a bit of water on his shirt.

And yet… it was kind of adorable.

The usually cocky, confident Hangman was fumbling. For you.

It wasn’t until halfway through dinner that you decided to put him out of his misery.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head, “I think I like Nervous Jake.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Glad someone does.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

Jake groaned, running a hand over his face. “This is not how I planned this going.”

You reached across the table, gently placing a hand over his. “Jake.”

He glanced up, looking almost hesitant. It was such a rare expression for him—so different from his usual cocky smirk—that it made your heart squeeze just a little.

“I know this probably isn’t the perfect night you had in mind,” you said softly. “But… you don’t have to try so hard.”

Jake exhaled, shaking his head. “I just—I wanted this to be good" He paused, then added, almost sheepishly, “I wanted to impress you.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Jake, you already impress me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I already said yes.”

Jake exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing. “Noted.”

And from that moment on, the rest of the night? Perfect.

And when Jake dropped you off at your door, his confidence fully restored, he smirked down at you.

“So… second date?”

You pretended to think. “Hmm. I did promise to mock you forever if this went terribly.”

Jake leaned in, eyes twinkling. “And yet… you still had fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. Second date.”

And when he kissed you goodnight—this time with no nerves, no hesitation—you were already looking forward to it.

[cherrylibby]

Turbulence & Temptation

The Hard Deck was buzzing with life, a mixture of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional holler from a victorious game of pool. You sat at the bar beside your dad, nursing a soda while he talked to Penny, their conversation drifting between nostalgia and easy laughter. It was nice to see him smile—something that had been rare in the past few years.

Across the bar, a familiar face caught your eye. Rooster, lounging like he owned the place, decked out in his signature Hawaiian shirt, aviators perched on his nose, talking animatedly with a few other pilots. You smiled, shaking your head. He was practically your big brother, always looking out for you.

But then, a voice cut through the air—smooth, cocky, and dripping with that unmistakable Southern drawl.

“C’mon, Rooster, don’t tell me you’re still sore about that last dogfight. I swear, you almost had me this time. Almost.”

You knew that voice before you even turned your head.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back toward Penny and your dad, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your attention. But apparently, that wasn’t enough to deter him.

A moment later, he was at the bar beside you, casually ordering another beer. You felt his eyes on you before he even spoke.

“Well, well,” Jake drawled, turning just enough to face you. “Didn’t know they let angels walk around a place like this.”

You blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Wow. That’s your opening line? That’s embarrassing for you.”

He smirked, undeterred. “Oh, c’mon, that was solid. A ten out of ten, even.”

“I’d give it a four,” you shot back, taking a sip of your drink.

Jake clutched his chest dramatically. “A four? You wound me, darlin’.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe work on your material, Hangman.”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying himself. “So you know who I am?”

“You have a reputation,” you said smoothly. “Cocky pilot, big ego, always leaving his wingman.”

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough to make your heart stutter. “Now, sweetheart, that’s just hearsay. You can’t believe everything Rooster tells you.”

You scoffed, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are proving him right.”

Before he could fire back, your dad’s voice cut through the conversation.

“Time to head out, kid.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot up as he looked between you and your dad, realization dawning.

“Maverick’s kid?” He let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. No wonder you’re dangerous.”

You smirked, grabbing your jacket. “Oh, Hangman, you have no idea.”

As you turned to leave, you heard his chuckle, warm and full of promise.

“See you around, darlin’.”

You should’ve gone home. You really, really should’ve.

But after dropping your dad off at the house, you found yourself back at The Hard Deck, unable to shake the energy buzzing under your skin. Maybe it was the way Jake had looked at you, all cocky smirks and teasing words. Maybe it was the way you wanted to get the last word in.

Or maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see if he was still here.

And, of course, he was.

Jake was back at the bar, leaned against it like he belonged there, beer in hand, laughing at something one of his buddies said. But the second his eyes landed on you, that easy grin turned into something slower—more deliberate.

“Well, well,” he drawled as you sauntered up beside him, mirroring his earlier entrance. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

You rolled your eyes, motioning for Penny to pour you another drink. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hangman.”

He smirked, taking a slow sip of his beer, eyes never leaving yours. “Too late.”

The air between you crackled, thick with something neither of you wanted to name just yet.

“You always this cocky?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jake chuckled, setting his drink down. “Only when I’ve got something to back it up.”

You scoffed. “And what exactly are you backing up?”

That was all the invitation he needed.

One second, you were standing at the bar, trading barbs. The next, Jake’s hand was curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. His other hand lifted, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up just slightly.

“I think you like me,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave.

You let out a breathless laugh. “You think wrong.”

His thumb traced lightly over your bottom lip, his smirk deepening when your breath caught. “Then tell me to stop.”

You could have. You should have.

But instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to crash your lips against his.

Jake didn’t hesitate—didn’t waste a second before responding, hands tightening on your waist as he pressed you back against the bar. His lips moved against yours with a heated confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and damn it, he did.

You gasped when his tongue brushed against yours, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, one hand slipping under the hem of your top, fingers tracing fire along your skin.

You barely noticed the way the bar around you seemed to disappear, people fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him—the taste of beer and mint, the warmth of his body, the way he kissed like he had all night to figure you out.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Jake leaned in, lips ghosting over yours. “Told you,” he murmured, cocky as ever. “You like me.”

You swallowed, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Still debating.”

He chuckled, hands still firm on your waist. “Guess I’ll have to convince you.”

And judging by the way you were already tugging him in for another kiss, you had a feeling he would.

[cherrylibby]

Chasing the Storms

The Oklahoma sky was bruised with the colors of an oncoming storm—deep violets and angry grays swirling above the horizon. Tyler barely noticed. His heart was pounding harder than it had on any chase as he stood on your front porch, waiting for you to slam the door in his face.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, eyes burning with something between fury and heartbreak, your arms crossed like a shield against him. The years hadn’t dulled your fire—if anything, they’d made it sharper. And damn, if that didn’t hurt just as much as it made him miss you.

"You got some nerve showing up here, Tyler," you said, voice tight.

He nodded once. "Yeah. I do."

A bitter smirk pulled at your lips, but there was no humor in it. "What do you want?"

Tyler exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. "I need your help. There’s a storm system coming, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. We’ve got a solid team, the tech, but…" He hesitated. "No one tracks storms like you."

You scoffed, stepping back like he’d just insulted you. "Unbelievable. You disappear for years—no calls, no letters, not a damn word—and now you show up at my door because you need something? Do you even hear yourself?"

He flinched. He deserved that.

"It’s not just about the storm," he tried, but you weren’t having it.

"Oh, really? Then what is it about, Tyler?" Your voice cracked on his name, and that nearly broke him. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you only come back when it’s convenient for you."

His jaw tightened. "You told me you were done."

"You left!"

"You made me leave!" The words exploded out of him, sharp and desperate, cutting through the space between you. "You quit chasing, you shut down, and you looked at me like I was the worst thing that ever happened to you. I didn’t know how to fix that!"

You shook your head, eyes glistening, but you refused to let a tear fall. "You didn’t even try," you whispered.

Silence.

The wind picked up around you, rustling the old wind chimes hanging from the porch. The storm was rolling in fast now, but the one brewing between you and Tyler was worse.

"You think it was easy for me to walk away?" he asked, voice lower now, strained. "You think I wanted to leave you?" He took a step closer, and to his relief, you didn’t move away. "Every damn day, I thought about coming back. About calling you. But what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry for nearly getting you killed—wanna chase another storm?’" He let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. "I left because I thought you’d be better off without me."

You swallowed hard, arms tightening around yourself like you were holding yourself together. "That wasn’t your choice to make."

Tyler ran a hand over his face. "I know." He let out a breath, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I know."

A long pause.

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he’d ever sounded—he said, "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught.

For a second, you looked away, blinking fast, but then you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with that same defiance he’d always loved about you. "Then why did you leave me to love you alone?"

That shattered him.

His hand came up, hesitating just for a second before he cupped your cheek. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into his touch, just the slightest bit, and that was all he needed.

Before you could say another word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful, wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate and raw, full of everything left unsaid over the years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and when your fingers tangled in his hair, he groaned into the kiss.

You tasted like the past and everything he’d ever wanted in the future.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, foreheads resting together, he whispered, "Come with me."

You exhaled shakily. "Tyler—"

"Not just for the storms. For us." His grip on you tightened like he was terrified of letting go again. "I screwed up. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve fought harder. But I’m here now, and if you tell me to leave, I’ll go. But I swear to God, I don’t want to run anymore. I just want you."

You stared at him, torn between every scar he’d left on your heart and the undeniable truth that you still loved him.

Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the sky.

You sighed. Then, finally, finally, you muttered, "Damn it, Tyler."

He grinned. "I’ll take that as a yes."

You rolled your eyes, but when you pulled him down for another kiss, he knew he was finally home.

[cherrylibby]

Between Life and Love

The last thing you remember is shouting—urgent voices rising above the chaos, a cacophony of fear and desperation. Then, the sharp, searing pain as a bullet tears through your abdomen. The ground rushes up to meet you, cold and unyielding.

The world blurs around you, colors and sounds fading as your body grows heavy. Through the haze, you catch a glimpse of Spencer Reid. He’s rushing toward you, panic etched into every line of his face.

"Y/N!" he shouts, his voice cracking. He drops to his knees beside you, his trembling hands pressing down on the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Stay with me," he pleads, his voice a mixture of panic and determination. "Please, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay."

His normally steady hands shake as he tries to control the blood gushing from your wound. Tears well in his wide hazel eyes, threatening to spill over as he stares down at you.

You want to say something, to tell him it’s not his fault, but the words don’t come. Darkness creeps in at the edges of your vision, and his voice grows distant, like a fading echo.

When you wake, the world feels strangely quiet. The harsh fluorescent lights above you cast a sterile glow, and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor is the first sound you register.

Your body feels heavy, the dull ache in your abdomen a reminder of what happened. Blinking, you manage to focus on your surroundings. You’re in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV.

At your bedside, Spencer sits slumped forward, his head resting on the edge of the mattress. His usually neat hair is disheveled, and the dark circles under his eyes suggest he hasn’t slept in days.

"Spence," you croak, your voice hoarse and weak.

His head snaps up, and for a moment, he just stares at you, as if he can’t believe you’re really awake. Then, relief floods his features, and he quickly leans closer.

"Y/N," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re awake."

Before you can respond, the door opens, and the rest of the team files in. Emily is the first to approach, her expression a mix of relief and gentle reprimand.

"You really know how to scare us, don’t you?" she says, brushing a hand lightly over your arm.

Morgan stands next to her, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "You’ve got to stop putting yourself in the line of fire like this. We’re getting too old for these kinds of scares."

JJ and Rossi linger near the foot of the bed, offering soft words of encouragement and teasing remarks to lighten the mood. Their presence is comforting, a reminder of the bond you all share.

But through it all, Spencer stays quiet, his eyes never leaving you.

Eventually, the team begins to trickle out, giving you space to rest. Emily glances at Spencer before leaving, her gaze lingering for a moment as if to say, This is your chance.

Now, it’s just the two of you.

Spencer pulls his chair closer, his long fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of his sweater. He hesitates, the silence stretching between you.

"Spence," you say softly, breaking the tension.

He looks up at you, his hazel eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I thought I lost you," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I’ve seen so many terrible things in this job, but nothing… nothing has ever scared me like that. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I never told you."

He swallows hard, his hands clenching into fists as he gathers his courage. "Y/N, you mean so much to me. More than I’ve ever let on. You’re the one person who makes me feel like I’m more than just statistics and facts. You make me feel… human."

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his shoulders shaking slightly. "I’ve always been afraid to say anything, afraid of ruining what we have. But after seeing you like that, I realized… I can’t keep this to myself anymore."

He lifts his gaze, meeting your eyes. "I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for a long time."

The raw vulnerability in his confession leaves you speechless for a moment. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his. He takes your hand in his, holding it tightly, as if afraid to let go.

"I love you too, Spence," you say, your voice soft but steady.

A tear slips down his cheek, and he lets out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him. He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your hand.

"I promise," he murmurs, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I’m going to be here for you. Always."

And for the first time since waking up, you feel a sense of peace, knowing that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

[cherrylibby]

Tearful Promise

Tonight, the two of you sat on the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering light over your faces. Takeout containers rested on your laps, but while Jake ate with his usual enthusiasm, your food remained untouched. You stabbed at it half-heartedly with your fork, your appetite long gone. Your mind was miles away, trapped in an endless loop of worries and unspoken fears.

Jake’s gaze drifted toward you, his sharp eyes catching the way your shoulders slumped and how your brow furrowed in thought. He set his container down on the coffee table and leaned closer, his hand reaching out to capture yours. His fingers, warm and steady, enveloped your trembling ones.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with concern. He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes scanning your face for answers.

You hesitated, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Nothing, just tired,” you replied, though the words felt hollow, even to you.

Jake wasn’t fooled. He knew you better than that—knew the little signs that something was eating away at you. His grip on your hand tightened, grounding you. “Sweetheart, don’t do that,” he said gently. “Talk to me. Please.”

His other hand rose to cup your cheek, the roughness of his palm grounding against your skin. His thumb moved in slow, soothing strokes as his eyes searched yours, full of unwavering tenderness. “Tell me,” he coaxed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help.”

The lump in your throat swelled until you could no longer hold it back. Tears blurred your vision as you finally admitted, “I’m scared.”

Jake’s breath caught, his heart twisting at the raw vulnerability in your voice. He didn’t need an explanation; he already knew. The looming deployment was a weight you both carried, but you bore it differently, quietly, until it crushed you.

You blinked, and the first tear slipped free, sliding down your cheek. “Five months, Jake,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “You’ll be gone for five months. I’ll be here... carrying this baby... and I don’t even know if you’ll come back.”

Your words hit him like a blow. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as sobs wracked your body. His hand slid up and down your back, his touch firm and reassuring despite the ache in his chest. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair. “Darlin’, I know it’s hard. I know it’s not fair, but I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. To you and our baby. You mean everything to me.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-filled eyes locking with his. The love and guilt in his expression tore down the last of your walls, and you let the full weight of your fears spill out. “I can’t do this without you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to.”

Jake reached up, brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. His own eyes glistened now, the emotion he’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “You won’t have to,” he said fiercely. “You’re not alone in this, sweetheart. I���ll come back to you. I swear it.”

His hand slid to the nape of your neck as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the overwhelming connection you shared. His lips moved against yours, speaking promises that words alone could never convey.

When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the storm of emotion swirling within him. “More than anything. Always.”

And for the first time that night, you let yourself believe him, clinging to the hope that his love would be enough to carry you through the long, uncertain months ahead.

[cherrylibby]

cherrylibby masterlist

jake seresin

Spitfire and Smirks the waiting game in sickness and health Unspoken Words tearful promise

aaron hotchner

Defying Orders

peter parker

Beneath the Mask

spencer reid

between life and love

[cherrylibby]

Unspoken Words

The Hard Deck was alive with the usual chaos—a mix of laughter, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional clink of billiard balls. But Jake couldn’t focus on any of it. His eyes were locked on you, sitting at the bar with a drink in hand, seemingly lost in thought.

He sighed as Bradley’s voice buzzed in his ear, growing more frustrated by Jake’s lack of attention.

"I’m listening," Jake lied smoothly, his gaze darting back to you, his smirk deepening when he caught you stealing a glance his way.

Bradley groaned. "No, you’re not. You’re staring at her again."

Jake ignored him, already halfway to standing as he grabbed his beer and started toward you.

You noticed him immediately, and a wave of annoyance washed over you. "Great," you muttered under your breath, pretending not to see him as he slid up beside you.

"Hey, sweetheart," Jake greeted casually, leaning one elbow on the bar as he turned his full attention to you.

"What do you want, Jake?" you sighed, barely sparing him a glance.

"Ouch." He chuckled, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Not even a hello? You’re killing me here."

"Hello," you said flatly, turning back to your drink. "Goodbye."

Jake chuckled, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something he quickly masked with his usual charm. "You know, you don’t have to play hard to get. I already know you like me."

You turned to him, an incredulous laugh escaping you. "Excuse me?"

He smirked. "Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention."

"Wow," you deadpanned. "The ego on you is truly something to behold."

Jake laughed, but the sound was softer this time, almost vulnerable. "You say that, but you’re still talking to me."

You rolled your eyes, setting your drink down with a little more force than necessary. "Only because you won’t leave me alone."

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "What if I told you there’s a reason for that?"

"Let me guess," you said, crossing your arms. "Because you think you’re irresistible and I’m just another name on your list of conquests?"

Jake’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, something raw flashed across his face. "You really think that’s all you are to me?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"Isn’t it?" you shot back. "You flirt with everyone, Jake. Why would I be any different?"

"Because you are different!" he snapped, surprising you with the sudden intensity in his tone. "God, do you have any idea what you do to me? I can’t even sit in a room with you without losing my damn mind."

You stared at him, momentarily stunned by his outburst. "Jake, I…"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted, stepping closer. "I flirt because it’s easy. Because it keeps things light and stops me from getting in too deep. But with you… it’s not easy. It’s terrifying."

"Why?" you asked, your voice softer now.

"Because you matter," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "Because you’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, and I don’t know what to do with it."

"Jake…" you started, but he wasn’t done.

"I know I’ve screwed up," he continued, his eyes searching yours. "I know I’ve given you every reason to think I don’t care. But I do. More than I can put into words. And yeah, maybe I flirt too much, and maybe I’m an idiot, but I’m your idiot if you’ll have me."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, but your walls were still up. "And what about the brunette? Or the one before her? How do I know this isn’t just another game to you?"

Jake exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "They didn’t mean anything. None of them did. I was just… trying to distract myself. From you. From how much I want you and how scared I am of messing this up."

"You’re scared?" you asked, a hint of disbelief in your tone.

"Terrified," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because you’re not like anyone else. You see through all my bullshit, and you still manage to get under my skin. And the thought of losing you before I even have you? It kills me."

The air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension. Jake stepped closer, his hands hesitating before settling on your hips. "I’m not asking you to trust me right away," he said quietly. "But I’m asking for a chance. A real one. Let me prove to you that I’m serious."

You looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity. "Jake…"

"Please," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Say something before I embarrass myself even more."

You took a deep breath, your resolve wavering. "You're such an idiot," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.

Jake's hands found their way to your waist, gripping gently at first, then with more certainty as he kissed you back with fervor.

His lips moved against yours with an intensity that made your heart race. When he finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

Jake cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle but grounding. His soft laugh broke the silence, warm and relieved. "Yeah," he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I'm your idiot."

For the first time, you didn’t correct him.

[cherrylibby]

Beneath the Mask

You were crouched on the floor, setting down a bowl of food for your cat, Golden, when the faint rustle of movement caught your attention. Turning toward your bedroom, you froze for a moment, watching Peter Parker stir awake. He blinked groggily, his gaze darting around the room as if trying to piece together where he was.

“Well, look who’s awake,” you said, your voice breaking the silence.

Peter jolted upright, startled, his movements stiff. His eyes snapped to you, wide and questioning.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, confusion lacing every word. He glanced down at himself, noting the torn remains of his Spider-Man suit clinging to him. “Wait—”

“Relax,” you interrupted with a calming wave of your hand, kneeling to finish placing the bowl of food in front of Golden. “Your mask’s in my closet. No one saw you, so you can stop freaking out.”

His shoulders sagged slightly in relief, though the tension didn’t fully leave his body. “Why am I here?” he asked, his voice cautious as he lowered himself onto the edge of your bed.

You straightened up, brushing your hands on your sweatpants. “You were unconscious in the middle of the road, Peter. I almost hit you with my car. What was I supposed to do—just leave you there?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. “Oh…”

Walking to your closet, you pulled his mask from the top shelf and tossed it to him. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the bathroom counter. You look like you could use it.”

“Y/N—” he started, his voice softer now, but he hesitated. His gaze dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable. Finally, he looked back at you. “Thank you. Really.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference though the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten. “It’s no big deal. Just go clean up. I grabbed some of my brother’s old clothes for you to change into.”

Peter hesitated for a moment longer before nodding and heading into the bathroom. As the door clicked shut, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

It had been weeks since you and Peter had spoken—maybe longer. Ever since you noticed him pulling away, keeping secrets, and dodging your questions, things between you had become strained. You’d always known there was more to him than he let on, but the distance he created was cutting deeper than you cared to admit.

Golden rubbed against your leg, her soft purr grounding you. You crouched to scratch behind her ears, then began tidying up the room. The blanket and pillows you’d used to make a makeshift bed for Peter were folded and tucked away in the closet. Sunlight spilled into the room as you opened the blinds, the golden hue of spring casting everything in a warm glow.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled your attention. You turned to see Peter standing there, his damp hair curling slightly from the steam. He was wearing an old Blink-182 concert T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that were a little loose on him. Despite the fresh clothes, his posture was still tense, and there was a faint grimace on his face.

“Feeling better?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the way he shifted his weight told you otherwise.

“Peter,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “You’re limping. Sit down.”

He opened his mouth to protest but closed it again at your pointed look. With a defeated sigh, he lowered himself back onto the bed.

Grabbing the med kit from your desk drawer, you knelt in front of him. “Let me see,” you said, your voice softer now.

Peter hesitated before lifting his shirt, revealing a deep, jagged gash along his side. The sight made your stomach twist, but you kept your expression neutral.

“This looks bad,” you murmured, carefully dabbing at the wound with a damp cloth. Peter winced but didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, glancing up at him. “Of course I did. You scared the hell out of me, Peter. I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“I mean...” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “After everything. After how I’ve been—how I’ve treated you.”

His words made you pause, your hand hovering over the wound. “Yeah,” you said softly, the weight of unspoken hurt pressing against your chest. “You’ve been distant. You shut me out, Peter. And I didn’t understand why.”

He looked down, guilt shadowing his features. “I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Protecting me from what?” you asked, frustration seeping into your tone. “From you? From the truth?”

Peter’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “From the danger that comes with knowing the truth,” he said finally, his voice raw. “I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you reached for the bandages. “Peter... you hurt me by shutting me out. By not trusting me. You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t know what else to do. But I see now—I see that I was wrong.”

“Peter,” you said, your tone softening further. You set down the cloth and placed a gentle hand on his knee. “You don’t have to apologize. I care about you. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.  His eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you leaned in closer. “Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to find out.”

Before either of you could second-guess yourselves, Peter reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek as he closed the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration, but it quickly deepened as the emotions you’d both been holding back spilled over.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your heart pounding in your chest. “We’ll figure this out,” you whispered. “Together.”

Peter nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Together,” he echoed.

As you sat back, the weight of the unspoken tension between you seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something warmer. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone.

[cherrylibby]

In Sickness and Care

You weren’t feeling well the night before. You thought you were just overtired, brushing off the slight ache in your body and deciding to turn in early. But when you wake the next morning, the feeling is worse—a dull pounding in your head, your limbs heavy and aching. You roll over, your body protesting, and your eyes fall on Jake, who’s still sound asleep. His face looks so serene, his features softened in the morning light, his lips slightly parted.

You take a deep breath, determined not to let this sluggishness ruin your day. Ignoring the protest of your body, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and push yourself to your feet.

The house is quiet as you shuffle toward the kitchen, each step feeling like a chore. Your head spins slightly, but you brush it off and start preparing breakfast. The sound of eggs sizzling in the pan fills the air, and you try to convince yourself you’re fine.

Unbeknownst to you, Jake stirs. A light sleeper, he immediately notices the empty space beside him. Groggily, he glances at the clock on the bedside table—8 a.m. Way too early for you to be up, especially when you hadn’t been feeling well. Concern flickers in his chest as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up.

Walking into the kitchen, Jake stops in the doorway, his brows knitting together at the sight of you. You’re standing at the counter, moving slowly, your shoulders hunched.

“Babe… why aren’t you in bed? You’re never up this early,” he asks, his voice laced with confusion and worry.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, trying to sound casual. You avoid looking at him, focusing on flipping the eggs instead.

Jake narrows his eyes, stepping closer. There’s something off—your movements are sluggish, and the dark circles under your eyes are hard to miss. He knows you well enough to see right through your act.

“Babe,” he says softly, his voice firmer now. “You look terrible. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You wave him off with a weak laugh, but Jake doesn’t buy it. He moves behind you, placing a steady hand on your back and the other on your forehead.

The moment his palm touches your skin, Jake’s eyes widen. “Babe, you’re burning up,” he says, alarmed.

You try to protest, mumbling, “It’s nothing, Jake. I’m fine, really.”

But Jake shakes his head, his jaw tightening with determination. “No, you’re not. You’re all hot—it’s obvious you have a fever. You need to go back to bed.”

Before you can argue, Jake gently grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him. He gives you a look that allowed no argument, his hands firm but careful.

“Come on,” he murmurs, already steering you toward the bedroom. “You’re not doing anything today. You’re staying in bed and resting until that fever’s down.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the exhaustion in your body speaks louder than your words. Jake guides you back to bed, tucking the covers around you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache more than the fever.

“I’ll take care of breakfast,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “And I’m taking care of you, too.” His voice is soft but resolute.

You feel the fight drain out of you as you sink into the mattress, his warmth and concern already making you feel a little better.

A few minutes later, Jake walks back into the room with a tray in hand—toast, some tea, and a small bowl of fruit. He sets it carefully on the nightstand, sitting beside you and helping you sit up.

“Eat a little,” he insists gently. “You need something in your system. Then I’ll grab some medicine for that fever.”

You take a few bites, feeling his watchful gaze as he makes sure you’re comfortable. True to his word, he disappears for a moment and returns with a cool washcloth, placing it carefully on your forehead.

“Just rest, okay?” he says, his voice soft as he pulls up a chair beside the bed. He keeps his hand on yours, his thumb stroking it gently as he watches over you.

He moved so he was laying down, shifting you so you were laying on top of him, the blanket now covering both of you

"You just rest...focus on getting better. Then you and I are gonna have a talk about why you didn't wake me up sooner when you started feeling bad, okay...?"

"okay" i nod

For the rest of the day, Jake doesn’t leave your side. He keeps you hydrated, makes sure you take your medicine, and checks your temperature every couple of hours. Whenever you stir, his soothing voice is there, reassuring you that he’s got everything under control.

As evening falls, you feel the fever beginning to break, but Jake still stays close, his presence a comforting anchor. “See? I told you I’d take care of you,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead lightly.

You smile weakly, grateful beyond words. Jake gives you a small, warm smile back. “Now rest, babe. I’ve got you.”

Few hours later, the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred, the weight of the blanket a comforting presence over you. As your eyes fluttered open, the sight of Jake sitting beside you came into focus. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache. He had been watching over you, concern etched into every feature.

The moment he felt you moving, he opened his eyes wider and raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Mornin’, sleepyhead… Did you manage to get some rest?”

His voice was a low murmur, warm and familiar, carrying the faintest trace of relief. You blinked up at him, your throat dry and still a little sore.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” you croaked, your voice hoarse from being sick.

Jake smiled, a quiet, amused huff escaping him as he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Normally, yes. But considering you’re sick, there’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere right now. I’m not leaving you on your own if you’re unwell…”

His hand moved to your forehead, his palm warm and steady as he checked for any lingering fever. The care in his gesture made your chest tighten slightly, the tenderness almost overwhelming. “How are you feeling? Better at all?”

You gave a small nod, your lips curving into a faint smile. "A little bit.”

His face softened at your response, his relief evident. He sat back slightly, exhaling deeply.

“I’m glad to hear that. But I have to ask you something,” he said, his tone shifting ever so slightly, a note of seriousness entering his voice. “Remember when I said I was gonna have a talk with you about why you didn’t wake me up sooner when you started feeling sick?”

You bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "I’m sorry,” you whispered, your gaze dropping.

Jake shook his head, his expression a mixture of exasperation and affection.

“Babe, I told you already, you have nothing to be sorry for… But can you please tell me why you didn’t wake me up? Were you trying to play it off as if you weren’t sick or something?”

You hesitated, your voice barely above a murmur when you finally spoke. "I didn’t want to burden you… You’re already stressed with work.”

His sigh was deep and weighted, a mixture of frustration and love as he leaned closer. He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin." You’re never a burden, my darling. You’re not ever gonna be a burden to me. There’s no reason for you not to have come and woken me up when you started feeling sick. And I’ve told you before—I would do anything for you, including helping you if you’re sick.”

His voice was steady, yet there was an edge of vulnerability to it, as though he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering in silence. His gaze locked onto yours, unwavering and filled with emotion. "Don’t ever think you’re gonna be a burden to me, okay? I don’t care what I have going on. I want you to wake me up if you’re ever feeling ill. I don’t care how early it is, or how late it is. I don’t care if I’m tired. I will help you no matter what. Do you understand?”

You nodded slowly, the intensity of his words sinking into your heart. "Okay.”

Jake’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, and he leaned in closer, his forehead briefly touching yours. "Good. I hope you mean that, and that you’ll wake me up the next time you start feeling unwell. I don’t care when, as long as you’re not suffering on your own, alright?”

Your voice was soft, but sincere as you replied. “Okay… I love you.”

The smile that spread across his face was radiant, filled with a warmth that made you feel cherished beyond measure. He gently tugged you closer, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he looked down at you with unspoken adoration. "I love you too, my darling… More than you’ll ever know. And I don’t care if I have to remind you every day—you are never a burden to me, not ever. I will always be here to help you and care for you, no matter what.”

Before you could respond, he closed the small distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. His touch was tender, the kiss conveying every bit of love and reassurance he couldn’t put into words. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes gazing into yours with quiet devotion.

“Promise me you’ll always let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded again, your heart full as you leaned into him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. "I promise.”

[cherrylibby]

writing ideas

hi everyone, been loving writing these fanfic so if anyone have any prompt or ideas for a fanfic and want see me write them you can comment in this post and i'll make it, it can be anyone but I mostly will write for Jake Seresin, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Stiles Stilinski but I'm open to ideas!

[cherrylibby]

Defying Orders

word count: 1027

The scene was a of tension and anticipation. The team had the building surrounded, waiting for the SWAT team to arrive and execute the tactical plan. The air was thick with the hum of radios and the distant wail of sirens approaching. Aaron Hotchner stood near the command vehicle, his eyes sharp and calculating as he monitored the situation, ready to call the shots at a moment’s notice.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she scanned the area. Through the broken blinds of a second-story window, her breath hitched—there he was. The unsub, a wiry man with a wild, desperate look in his eyes, was dragging the small, terrified child further into the dilapidated building. The boy’s muffled cries reached her ears, tugging at her every instinct.

Without thinking, Y/N shot to her feet.

“No!” Hotch’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm in a firm but not bruising grip. His voice was sharp, authoritative. “Don’t. The SWAT team isn’t here yet.”

His dark eyes locked onto hers, a storm of urgency and warning swirling in them. For a moment, her feet hesitated, caught between his command and the primal urge to act.

But then she looked back at the boy. His small frame, the helpless way he struggled against his captor—it was too much.

“I can’t just stand here,” she hissed, yanking her arm free from his grip.

“Y/N!” he called after her, but she was already moving.

Morgan and Prentiss exchanged a look, their unspoken agreement clear as they immediately followed her.

“Damn it,” Hotch muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he signaled for the rest of the team to prepare for immediate action.

Y/N’s feet pounded against the cracked pavement as she sprinted toward the building. Her weapon was drawn, her breaths shallow but steady as adrenaline surged through her veins. She barely registered the shouts behind her, the sound of Morgan and Prentiss closing the gap as they covered her six.

Inside, the dim light and the scent of mildew hit her like a wall, but she pressed on. She could hear the unsub now, his frantic shouts as he tried to maneuver with the child in tow. She followed the noise, her focus razor-sharp, every fiber of her being attuned to the mission.

“FBI! Stop right there!” she yelled as she rounded the corner.

The unsub froze, his eyes darting between her and the child. For a split second, time seemed to stand still.

Then chaos erupted.

The tension was palpable as the jet soared quietly through the night. The usual hum of camaraderie among the team was conspicuously absent. The cabin felt colder than usual, and the silence between you and Aaron Hotchner weighed heavier than the lingering pain in your leg.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, watching as Aaron methodically unwrapped the bandages on your injured leg. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes avoided yours.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, wincing slightly as he dabbed at the wound with antiseptic.

His head snapped up, and his stern gaze silenced you immediately. The words died on your tongue as his expression conveyed everything he hadn’t said since the incident.

Hotch didn’t speak as he continued rewrapping the gauze, his hands steady but his shoulders visibly tense. When he finished, he packed the supplies back into the first aid kit and placed it on the table beside him. Finally, he leaned back against the seat across from you, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“What you did,” he began, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained anger, “was reckless. Stupid. Do you have any idea how close you came to getting yourself killed?”

“I—”

“No.” He cut you off sharply, his tone rising for the first time since the incident. “You don’t get to justify this. You disobeyed a direct order. You ignored protocol, ignored me, and put yourself in harm’s way. Do you even understand what that did to me?”

“I did my job, Aaron,” you shot back, your voice breaking as you tried to defend yourself. “That child would’ve died if I hadn’t—”

“You could have died!” he interrupted, his voice cracking as the composure he clung to unraveled. “You think I don’t know what you were trying to do? You think I didn’t see it? But do you have any idea how angry I was? How terrified? For a moment, I thought—”

His voice faltered, and he exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face as he struggled to regain control. His usual stoicism was gone, replaced by raw vulnerability.

“For a second, I thought I was going to lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared out of my mind, Y/N. I’ve faced unsubs, bombs, and shootouts, but nothing—nothing—terrifies me more than the thought of losing you.”

Your chest tightened as his words hung in the air, heavy and filled with emotion. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

“I can’t—” he began again, his voice breaking as he stepped closer. “I can’t lose you. Not like that. Not because you thought you had to prove something or because you didn’t trust me to protect you.”

His eyes glistened as he spoke, and for the first time, you saw Hotch—the unshakable leader—on the verge of tears.

“I need you to promise me,” he said, his voice trembling. “Promise me you’ll never do something like that again. I can’t go through that twice.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you nodded silently, the weight of his confession hitting you harder than any reprimand ever could.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Aaron inhaled deeply, his expression softening just slightly as he crouched in front of you, resting a hand on your uninjured knee.

“Just… don’t scare me like that again,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.

For the first time since the mission, his gaze met yours and stayed there. It wasn’t just anger in his eyes—it was fear, relief, and something much deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

[cherrylibby]

The Waiting Game

word cout: 1492

You and Hangman’s relationship had always been a tangled web—confusing, infuriating, and impossibly magnetic. A near-decade of history bound the two of you together, filled with fiery arguments that often teetered on the edge of something far more dangerous. For every biting insult Jake threw your way, he fought the overwhelming urge to press his lips against yours, to push you against the nearest wall, and lose himself in the chaos of you.

Then came the detachment mission. High stakes, adrenaline, and close calls. In the heat of it all, Jake finally gave in. He kissed you, hard and desperate, in the confined space of your shared bunk room. It was wild, raw, and messy—a moment of surrender neither of you could deny. But when the mission ended, so did Jake’s acknowledgment of what had happened. He acted as if nothing had changed, as if you hadn’t nearly died and left a piece of yourself with him.

The dance continued—a few more clandestine hookups, moments of passion followed by an endless, aching void. Now, standing at the Hard Deck, you watched him flirt with a stunning Lieutenant named Echo. Jealousy coiled in your chest, sharp and bitter. Was it really too much to ask for consistency, for something real?

You sat at the bar, nursing a drink and doing everything in your power to block out the sight of him.

After a few long minutes, Jake’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and taunting as always. “You know it’s rude not to say hi when you see me, Spitfire.”

Without looking up, you muttered, “Go away, Jake.”

His scoff was almost amused, but it carried a thread of disbelief. After bidding Echo goodbye, he slid onto the stool beside you. His smirk was maddening as he ordered a beer.

“Don’t act so sour. It doesn’t suit you,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze heavy as it lingered on your profile. His voice dropped, low and smug. “You should stop being so jealous. You’re terrible at hiding it.”

You clenched your jaw and stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. But when his words landed, your composure cracked. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, spilling over before you could stop them.

“This is just a joke to you, huh?” Your voice broke as you finally turned to him, tears streaking your cheeks.

Jake’s smirk faltered, his cocky mask slipping. He blinked, caught off guard by your raw emotion. “You’re crying?” His voice was laced with genuine surprise, even a hint of concern.

“Just leave me alone,” you whispered, shaking your head and turning away.

Jake sighed, his tone softening as he leaned closer. “Hey… look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t realize—” His words faltered as he reached out, his fingers brushing your chin. He gently tilted your head so you were forced to meet his gaze.

His eyes searched yours, softer than you’d ever seen them. “Talk to me,” he murmured, his voice quiet and trembling. “Please.”

You swallowed hard, your chest heaving with unshed sobs. “Why do you care now?” you whispered, bitterness seeping into your words. “You never cared before.”

Jake’s face fell, his brows knitting together. “That’s not true,” he insisted, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Your voice was barely audible, but it hit Jake like a punch to the gut.

His eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. “W-what do you mean?” he stammered, his grip on your chin loosening.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to pick me,” you said, tears spilling freely now.

Jake’s breath hitched as the weight of your words settled over him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his hand falling away as he stared ahead, unable to meet your gaze. He was selfish—he knew that. He wanted it all, wanted you, but he’d been too afraid to commit.

“…But you’re the only one I want,” he said finally, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you. I can’t imagine it.”

And then, something you never expected: Jake’s voice cracked, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He turned back to you, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“I know I’ve been an ass,” he said, his voice shaking. “I push you away because I’m scared, okay? I’m terrified. Of losing you, of screwing this up. Of not being enough for you.”

A single tear slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, but his composure was slipping. “You’re not just some fling to me, Y/N. You never were. You’re… you’re everything. And I don’t know how to be the guy you deserve, but God, I want to try. I’ll do whatever it takes, just… don’t walk away.”

The silence between you was heavy, his words hanging in the air. Jake’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he waited, his heart on the line for the first time in his life.

“I need time,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling.

“Please,” Jake started, leaning toward you, his desperation palpable. “Let me—”

“Jake,” you interrupted, your eyes meeting his. “Please. Just give me time.”

Jake’s breath hitched, and he nodded slowly, his chest heaving as he tried to hold back another wave of emotion. “I’ll wait,” he promised, his voice cracking. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

The silence between you was heavy but laced with hope. Jake’s heart was on the line, and for once, he was willing to risk everything.

The accident happened on a routine flight—a bird strike, engine failure, and an emergency ejection. The force of it left you battered and bruised, but alive. Barely. By the time the rescue team found you, you were unconscious and bleeding, your flight suit torn and scorched.

When Jake got the news, he felt the ground drop from beneath him. The call came through from the base, and he didn’t even wait for the details. He raced to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest, a silent prayer tumbling from his lips over and over: Please let her be okay. Please.

Hours later, Jake stood in the sterile hospital hallway, staring through the glass window into your room. You lay there, pale and fragile, machines beeping steadily around you. It felt wrong—you were never fragile. You were a force of nature, strong and defiant. Seeing you like this twisted something deep inside him.

The nurse gave him a small nod, allowing him to enter. Jake pushed the door open and stepped inside, his boots heavy against the tile floor. He hesitated at the foot of your bed, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists.

“Spifire…” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, groggy but aware. When your gaze met his, tears immediately welled in your eyes.

“Jake,” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. Jake dropped into the chair beside your bed, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders began to shake. It took a moment before you realized he was crying. Crying. Jake Seresin, the cocky, unflappable Hangman, was breaking apart before your eyes.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, his voice raw with emotion. “God, Y/n, when they told me what happened, I—” He shook his head, his tears spilling freely now.

“I’ve been such a damn fool,” he continued, his voice thick. “I’ve spent so much time pushing you away, pretending like what we have doesn’t matter because I was scared. Scared of what it would mean to love you. But I do,  Y/n. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me.”

Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your cheeks as you listened to him bare his soul.

Jake reached for your hand, his fingers trembling as they closed around yours. “I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it. You’re the best thing in my life, and I’ve been too blind to see it until now. Please,  Y/n… give me another chance. Let me be the man you deserve. I swear, I’ll spend every day making it up to you.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the raw, unfiltered vulnerability in his eyes. Despite the pain coursing through your body, you managed a small, trembling smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jake,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm. “But you have to promise me… no more games. No more running.”

Jake nodded fervently, his grip on your hand tightening. “No more games,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the tears still streaming down his face. “I’m all in,  Y/n. For you, for us.”

The room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitors and the sound of Jake’s quiet sniffles as he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. For the first time in years, the tension between you dissolved, replaced by something deeper, something real.