hardballoonlove

[hardballoonlove]

Great like usual ❤️

Unpacking tragedy

Summary: Jake told you that when you're awake on your work trip he'll unpack everything and have everything ready and set up. Turns up that was not the fact and he and Rooster have to do a bit of team work to get everything done and take care of your daughter.

Warning: Mild teasing, lighthearted banter, mentions of unfinished home construction, family bonding moments.

Word count: 4.2K words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

A one shot but can be read with the little life universe They're back!

Months later, after plenty of back-and-forth, Jake had finally convinced Y/N to move to San Diego. They’d bought a house in a quiet neighbourhood, and while it was perfect, the place was still an absolute mess. Unpacked boxes were scattered everywhere—most of them in the wrong rooms. Clothes were piled in the kitchen, kitchenware sat in the living room, and the nursery had become a makeshift storage space.

Jake stood in the middle of the chaos, glancing around at the overwhelming amount of work that still needed to be done. He shook his head and sighed. Y/N was off at some meetings for her book, something about a movie adaptation, and it was the first time he was home alone with Ellie for an extended period. Their seven-month-old daughter was happily gurgling in her playpen, chewing on a soft teething ring.

As Jake paced around the mess, his phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text from Rooster.

Rooster: Yo, Hangman. You surviving over there? Jake: Barely. House looks like a tornado hit it. Y/N’s off at her book stuff, and I’m drowning in boxes. Rooster: Haha. Knew you couldn’t handle it. Jake: Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, rooster-boy. Rooster: Need a hand? I can swing by and help you unpack, if you’re not too proud to admit you need me. Jake: I’m not too proud to say I’m desperate at this point. Ellie’s chill, but I’m one misstep away from tripping over a box of kitchen knives. Rooster: Say no more. Be there in 20. Jake: Appreciate it, man. Bring beer, or I’m kicking you out. Rooster: Already packed.

Jake tossed the phone onto the counter, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He turned toward Ellie, who was now babbling to herself, eyes wide and curious as she waved her teething ring in the air.

“Well, Ellie,” Jake said, kneeling down beside her playpen. “Looks like Rooster’s coming to help out your poor ol’ dad. What do you think about that?”

Ellie cooed in response, her little face lighting up with a toothless grin, and Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Good answer, kiddo. Let’s get this place looking halfway decent before he shows up.”

With that, Jake started to tackle the nearest box, doing his best to clear a path through the chaos, all while keeping an eye on his daughter, who was perfectly content in her own little world.

About twenty minutes later, Jake heard the familiar sound of Rooster’s car rumbling outside, followed by a quick knock at the door. He wiped his hands on his jeans, having just wrestled a box of books into a corner, and made his way to the door.

As soon as Jake opened it, Rooster stood there, smirking with two six-packs of beer in hand. He took one look at the chaos inside and let out a low whistle.

“Damn, Hangman,” Rooster said, stepping inside and eyeing the boxes stacked up everywhere. “I didn’t know I walked into a war zone. You sure this is your house and not a warehouse?”

Jake rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the six-packs from Rooster’s hand. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Y/N’s been gone for, like, two days, and I’ve been trying to keep this place together. It’s harder than it looks.”

Rooster let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You, keeping it together? You’re barely holding on, man.”

He looked around at the scattered boxes, random items piled high in all the wrong places. There were baby toys mixed in with pots and pans, and Rooster swore he saw a blender sitting on top of a pile of Y/N’s novels.

“Okay, so, quick question: Why is there a blender on top of a box labeled ‘Books – Fragile’? Do you even know what you’re doing?” Rooster teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jake shrugged, taking a swig of the beer he’d just cracked open. “Look, man, it’s a system. Not a great one, but it’s a system.”

Rooster chuckled, shaking his head before his gaze landed on Ellie, who was sitting in her playpen, staring wide-eyed at the new visitor. He walked over, kneeling down beside her, and put on a playful smile.

“Hey there, Ellie girl,” Rooster cooed, reaching through the bars to gently boop her nose. “Your daddy’s got you in this mess, huh? Leaving you surrounded by boxes and God knows what else.”

Ellie gurgled happily, kicking her tiny feet and clapping her hands, clearly delighted by Rooster’s attention. He laughed, glancing up at Jake.

“Poor kid,” Rooster joked, shaking his head dramatically. “She’s got you for a dad, and this is what she’s dealing with? A house of chaos and teething toys. You’re gonna need to step it up, Hangman.”

Jake crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a grin. “Hey, Ellie’s perfectly happy. She doesn’t care about boxes. Besides, I’ve got it under control. You’re just here for moral support—and to crack open some beers.”

Rooster laughed, picking up Ellie’s teething ring and waving it in front of her, making her squeal in delight. “Yeah, sure. You’ve got it all under control. I’m just here to make sure you don’t end up tripping over your own mess.”

Ellie giggled as Rooster continued to play with her, and Jake couldn’t help but smile at the scene. Despite the teasing, he was grateful for the help—and the company.

“All right,” Jake said, pushing himself off the counter and looking around. “Let’s get started. Just don’t mess up my system.”

Rooster stood up, grinning. “Oh, I’m about to mess up a lot more than your system, bagman. Let’s get to it.”

Jake and Rooster dove headfirst into the chaos, moving from one room to the next in an attempt to restore some semblance of order to the house. The first stop was the kitchen, where boxes of dishes, appliances, and baby bottles were stacked haphazardly around the room. Rooster reached into the first box, pulling out a random assortment of utensils and holding them up with a confused look.

“Okay, seriously, Hangman—why are the spatulas mixed in with baby bottles?” Rooster asked, shaking his head as he pulled out a bottle nipple that had somehow ended up at the bottom of the box.

Jake shrugged, rummaging through a separate box. “It’s called efficiency, Rooster. I was packing fast.”

Rooster snorted, placing the utensils into a drawer. “Yeah, fast is definitely one word for it. Organized? Not so much.”

Jake ignored the jab and continued to unpack, setting plates on the counter as he worked through the kitchen box. Every now and then, he’d glance over to check on Ellie, who was still content in her playpen, happily chewing on her teething ring and watching her dad and Rooster with wide, curious eyes.

Rooster wandered over to another box, opening it to reveal a random mix of baby toys and what looked like Y/N’s writing notebooks. He lifted one of the notebooks out, flipping it open with a chuckle. “Man, you really weren’t paying attention when you packed. I doubt Y/N’s going to appreciate her work notes covered in spit-up cloths.”

Jake winced. “Yeah, okay, maybe I wasn’t at my best.”

Rooster grinned and handed the notebook to Jake. “I’m pretty sure ‘not your best’ is an understatement. I’m saving your ass right now.”

They worked in a rhythm, moving from box to box, sorting through the chaos. Rooster took charge of the kitchen, reorganizing cabinets and placing dishes in their proper spots, while Jake tackled the random assortment of baby items that had been mixed in with everything else. Ellie kept them company, occasionally letting out little squeals or coos whenever one of them would pass by her playpen.

“Where do you want the blender?” Rooster called from across the room, holding it up with a laugh. “Please don’t tell me you’re using this for baby formula.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Just put it on the counter, man. I’ll figure it out later.”

Rooster shook his head, setting it down with a chuckle before turning his attention to the next box. This one was filled with kitchen gadgets, from measuring cups to a crockpot, all jumbled together in a confusing mess. Rooster sighed, pulling out the crockpot and setting it on the floor.

“This might be worse than when you tried to put together that bookshelf back in flight school,” Rooster said, glancing over at Jake.

Jake grinned. “Hey, that bookshelf turned out fine.”

“Yeah, after it collapsed the first time.”

Jake threw a dish towel at Rooster, who easily dodged it and continued unpacking with a smirk. As the minutes turned into an hour, the kitchen slowly began to take shape. Cabinets were filled with plates, glasses, and utensils, and countertops were cleared of boxes. The kitchen wasn’t perfect, but it was functional.

They moved on to the living room next, where boxes of books, movies, and Y/N’s writing materials had been scattered across the floor. Rooster picked up a stack of Y/N’s novels and raised an eyebrow. “You know, Phoenix would lose her mind if she saw all this. She’s still talking about Eclipsed like it’s the best thing she’s ever read.”

Jake laughed, pulling out some of Ellie’s toys from another box. “Yeah, she mentioned that at the Hard Deck. Maybe I should get Y/N to sign one for her.”

Rooster grinned. “That would blow her mind. You’d finally win some points with Phoenix.”

They continued working, chatting as they went. Rooster made fun of the random things Jake had packed together—baby bibs with kitchen utensils, Y/N’s writing pens mixed in with Ellie’s toys—and Jake took the teasing in stride, grateful for the help and the company. Every now and then, they’d take a break to check on Ellie, who was still happily playing in her playpen, oblivious to the chaos around her.

By the time they finished, the living room and kitchen were mostly put together, and Jake could finally see the floor again. Rooster wiped his brow and plopped down on the couch with a sigh of relief.

“Well, that was a workout,” Rooster said, grabbing one of the beers they’d set aside earlier. “But I gotta say, the place looks a lot better now.”

Jake nodded, sitting down beside him and cracking open his own beer. “Yeah, thanks for the help, man. I couldn’t have done this alone.”

Rooster grinned. “No problem. Just remember this next time you need me to save your ass.”

Jake chuckled, taking a sip of his beer as they both glanced over at Ellie, who was still babbling happily to herself.

As Jake and Rooster sat back, enjoying a moment of peace after all the unpacking, Ellie’s happy gurgles slowly turned into little whimpers. At first, it was just a soft sound, barely noticeable over their conversation, but it quickly escalated into full-blown fussing. Her tiny face scrunched up, and her arms waved in the air as she let out a sharp cry, clearly no longer content in her playpen.

Jake groaned, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “Ah, there it is. Knew that was coming.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Looks like someone’s had enough of daddy’s unpacking skills.”

Jake chuckled, standing up and heading over to the playpen. “Or she’s just tired of being stuck in here while I’m running around like a headless chicken.”

He scooped Ellie up into his arms, gently bouncing her up and down as he tried to soothe her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Ellie girl. Daddy’s got you. What’s the matter, huh?”

Ellie’s cries quieted a little, but she was still fussing, her little fists clenched as she squirmed in Jake’s arms. He rocked her gently, patting her back, but it was clear she was getting crankier by the minute.

“She probably needs a change,” Jake said, glancing at Rooster with a resigned smile. “Or maybe a nap. Could be both.”

Rooster leaned back on the couch, smirking. “Well, good luck with that, man. I’ll just sit here and enjoy the view.”

Jake gave him a mock glare before heading to the changing station in the corner of the living room. He laid Ellie down on the soft mat, grabbing a fresh diaper as she continued to fuss and wriggle. Her tiny cries tugged at his heart, but he was used to this now—seven months of fatherhood had made him an expert at these little crises.

“All right, Ellie, let’s get you all cleaned up, okay?” Jake cooed as he worked, swiftly changing her diaper with practiced hands. “Then maybe we’ll get you a bottle and see if you’re ready for a nap.”

Ellie’s cries quieted a little as Jake finished up, her big green eyes watching him intently, still a little watery but slowly calming. He picked her up again, holding her close and bouncing her lightly. She let out a soft hiccup, still fussing but clearly beginning to settle down in her dad’s arms.

Rooster watched the whole scene with a grin, shaking his head. “Look at you, Hangman. Who would’ve thought you’d turn into such a natural at this?”

Jake smirked, glancing over at him. “What can I say? She’s got me wrapped around her little finger.”

Rooster chuckled, watching as Jake walked Ellie around the room, gently bouncing her as she started to calm down, her cries fading into soft little sniffles.

Rooster watched as Ellie started to calm in Jake’s arms, her little sniffles still there but quieter now. He set his beer down on the coffee table and stood up, brushing his hands together like he was gearing up for a challenge.

“All right, Hangman, hand her over,” Rooster said with a grin. “Let me see if I’ve still got the magic touch.”

Jake raised an eyebrow but smirked, clearly amused. “You sure you can handle this? She’s in full meltdown mode.”

Rooster laughed, extending his arms. “Please, I’ve dealt with you on a bad day. How hard can it be?”

Jake chuckled and gently passed Ellie over, carefully settling her into Rooster’s arms. Ellie fussed for a second, confused by the transition, but Rooster immediately began bouncing her lightly and murmuring soothing nonsense to her.

“Hey, little Ellie,” Rooster said in a soft voice, rocking her gently from side to side. “What’s all this crying about, huh? You’re too cute to be this upset. C’mon, don’t make me look bad in front of your sperm donor.”

Ellie blinked up at him with her big eyes, still sniffling but clearly curious about this new person holding her. Rooster smiled down at her, bouncing her just a little bit more and making silly faces as he rocked her.

Jake crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch with an amused grin. “Look at you, pulling out all the stops. You’re not too bad at this.”

Rooster winked at him. “Told you, man. Babies love me. It’s just natural charm.”

Slowly, Ellie started to calm down in Rooster’s arms. Her sniffles turned into quiet little breaths, and soon enough, she was resting her cheek against Rooster’s chest, her tiny hands clutching his shirt as she settled down completely.

“See?” Rooster said, his voice low as he looked down at her, a small smile on his face. “Piece of cake.”

Jake shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the impressed look on his face. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Rooster grinned, rocking Ellie gently. “I’ve got my moments.”

Ellie let out a soft, contented sigh as she nestled into Rooster’s chest, her tiny fingers curling into his shirt as she drifted off into a light doze. Rooster glanced over at Jake with a proud smile.

“Looks like I’m on babysitting duty now,” Rooster said, his voice barely above a whisper so as not to wake her.

Jake chuckled, watching the two of them. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. Once she’s up, it’s all you, man.”

Rooster rolled his eyes but kept rocking Ellie with a soft smile on his face, clearly enjoying the quiet moment.

-----

Later that night, the house was quiet except for the faint sound of water filling the baby tub in the bathroom. Jake rolled up the sleeves of his T-shirt as he checked the water temperature, making sure it was just right—not too hot, not too cold. Ellie sat in her bouncer nearby, kicking her legs and babbling, her tiny hands grabbing at the air as if she knew what was coming.

Jake turned to her with a smirk, crouching down to her level. "All right, Ellie-girl, time to get you all fresh and clean."

He unbuckled her from the bouncer, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She let out a happy squeal as he carried her over to the counter, carefully peeling off her tiny onesie and diaper. "You always get so wiggly during bath time," Jake murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft belly before settling her into the warm water.

Ellie kicked her feet the second she touched the water, splashing little droplets everywhere. Jake let out a low chuckle, running a steady hand over her tummy to keep her supported. "Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?" he teased, watching her big green eyes light up.

He grabbed the baby wash, pouring a little into his palm before lathering her tiny arms and legs, making sure to clean between her fingers and toes. "Gotta get all those little creases, baby girl," he murmured as she wriggled beneath his hands, letting out soft babbles.

Using a small cup, Jake gently poured water over her head, smoothing it through her fine blonde hair. Ellie blinked up at him, completely content, her tiny hands reaching for his wrist as if trying to help.

"You’re making this too easy, darlin'," Jake mused, rubbing a soft washcloth over her cheeks and chin. "Aren’t babies supposed to hate baths?"

Ellie cooed, kicking her legs again, making another splash. Jake laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel. "All right, all right, that’s enough fun before you soak the whole damn floor."

He lifted her from the water, wrapping her up in a warm, fluffy towel. Ellie let out a contented sigh as Jake rubbed her dry, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her damp head before carrying her to the nursery.

Jake laid Ellie down on the changing table, carefully working to dry off her tiny fingers and toes. She squirmed, her little hands reaching out, her big eyes watching him intently.

"Hold still, peanut," Jake murmured, grabbing a fresh diaper and securing it snugly around her waist. "We do this every night, you know the drill."

Ellie babbled back at him as if she had something very important to say, her voice soft and sweet. Jake smirked, pulling out a soft lavender onesie with little stars on it. "This one good for tonight, huh? Thought so."

He gently guided her arms through the sleeves, snapping the onesie closed with practiced ease. Ellie let out a tiny yawn, blinking up at him sleepily.

Jake chuckled, lifting her up and cradling her against his chest. "Looks like someone’s ready for bed," he murmured, rubbing her back.

Jake walked over to the rocking chair, sitting down with Ellie tucked safely in his arms. The nursery was dimly lit, the soft glow of a nightlight casting gentle shadows across the walls.

He rocked her slowly, humming under his breath as he rubbed slow circles on her back. Ellie nestled against his chest, her tiny fingers gripping onto his shirt as her eyes started to flutter closed.

Jake let out a quiet breath, then softly started to sing.

"Baby mine, don't you cry…"

His voice was low and steady, the lullaby coming out naturally, like second nature. He had never pictured himself singing to a baby, but now he couldn't imagine anything else.

"Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine."

Ellie let out a tiny sigh, her breathing evening out as she drifted deeper into sleep.

Jake pressed a kiss to her soft forehead before carefully standing and laying her down in the crib. He tucked her in gently, brushing his fingers lightly over her tiny hands.

"Sweet dreams, baby girl," he whispered before stepping back, watching her for a moment.

With one last glance, he turned off the light and quietly stepped out, leaving the door open just a crack.

-----

The hotel was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Your laptop sat open on the desk, an unfinished manuscript staring back at you, but your mind wasn’t on your work. You had been thinking about Jake all evening, picturing him at home with Ellie, and the ache of missing them had finally won.

Grabbing your phone, you scrolled through your recent calls, his name sitting right at the top. With a deep breath, you tapped it.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then there was a soft click, followed by a familiar drawl. "Hey, darlin’."

Your heart warmed instantly at the sound of his voice, low and rough like he’d just been speaking softly. You imagined him in Ellie’s nursery, maybe rocking her to sleep.

"Hey, cowboy," you murmured, sinking back against your pillows. "Did I wake you?"

"Nah, just got the baby down," he replied, his voice quieter now. "She fought sleep for a bit, but I won."

You smiled. "You always win, don’t you?"

A low chuckle came through the line. "Damn right I do. Though, I think she’s startin’ to figure out she’s got me wrapped around her little finger."

You could picture it so clearly—Ellie’s tiny hands gripping his shirt, her big green eyes staring up at him while he gave in to whatever she wanted. "I could’ve told you that months ago," you teased.

Jake sighed softly, the sound full of warmth. "Miss you."

Your fingers curled into the sheets, the simple admission making your chest tighten. "Miss you too," you whispered.

There was a beat of silence, comfortable but heavy with unspoken words. You could hear the faint creak of a chair on his end, imagining him sitting back, probably running a hand through his messy blond hair.

"How’s New York?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"Meetings have been long," you admitted. "Everyone's excited about the adaptation, but I just keep thinking about getting back home to you two."

Jake hummed in understanding. "Bet Ellie's gonna give you the biggest smile when she sees you."

Your lips twitched. "And you?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I might just tackle you at the door," he teased, but there was something deeper in his voice—something real. "Been way too long since I had my girl home."

You swallowed, warmth blooming in your chest. "Few more days," you promised.

"Not soon enough."

His voice was thick with longing, and you closed your eyes, wishing you could reach through the phone and touch him. Instead, you curled into your pillow, letting his voice wrap around you like a hug.

"You should sleep," Jake murmured after a moment. "You sound tired, darlin’."

"So do you."

"Yeah, well," he sighed, and you could hear his smirk. "Parenthood, right?"

You chuckled softly. "Go to bed, cowboy."

"Only if you do," he countered.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Goodnight, Jake."

"Night, sweetheart."

Your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a notification. You reached for it absentmindedly, expecting an update about your book meetings, but instead, you saw a message from Bradley Bradshaw.

Rooster: Hey, just a heads up—I was at Jake’s today helping him unpack. Don’t worry, he’s fine.

Your brows lifted slightly as you sat up in bed, thumbs already moving to reply.

You: Helping him unpack? That’s a surprise. Did he actually ask for help, or did you just invite yourself over?

It only took a second before Rooster responded.

Rooster: Oh, he didn’t ask. I took one look at the mess he was living in and figured he needed some intervention.

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. It wasn’t surprising—Jake had a habit of insisting he could handle things on his own, even when it was painfully obvious he could use a hand.

You: Let me guess, boxes everywhere, nothing in the right place?

Rooster: Exactly. Poor Ellie’s diapers were in the kitchen, and his coffee maker was in the bathroom.

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. Of course.

You: This is why I should’ve been there to help.

Rooster: He’s surviving. Barely. But I made sure he’s got the basics sorted now. Ellie’s room is set up, and I even found the coffee maker a proper home.

You smirked at your screen.

You: I’ll be sure to thank you for your service when I get back.

Rooster: Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let Jake know I actually helped him.

You smiled, shaking your head. Typical.

You: Thanks for looking out for him.

A beat passed before Rooster’s final message came through.

Rooster: Always. But between you and me, I think he misses you more than he’ll admit.

Your chest tightened slightly at that, warmth spreading through you.

You: I miss him too.

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️

Celery

Summary: You finally come home from your work trip but you're sick. Could be classified as dead in some states with the way you're feeling. Jake being the ever so caring husband makes you soup with your least favourite ingredient celery

Warning: Mild teasing, light-hearted banter, mentions of unfinished home construction, family bonding moments, mentions of being sick.

Word count: 7K words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

A one shot but can be read with the little life universe They're back!

The moment you stepped off the plane, you knew something was wrong.

Your body felt heavy, your head pounding with each step as you dragged yourself through the airport. The chill from the air-conditioning sent shivers down your spine, despite the fact that you were wearing one of Jake’s hoodies over your travel clothes. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, waves of nausea rolling through you as you forced yourself to keep moving.

Jake had texted you earlier, saying he was just getting off work and heading to pick up Ellie from the base day-care. You could’ve waited, maybe asked him to come get you, but you hated the idea of making him rush around when you knew he already had his hands full. You told yourself you’d be fine. It was just a short Uber ride home.

The drive felt longer than it should have. Every bump in the road made your stomach churn, and by the time the car pulled up to your house, you were gripping your armrest, trying to keep your breathing steady.

"Here you go," the driver said, glancing back at you.

You forced a small smile, fumbling with your bag as you paid and muttered a quiet, "Thanks."

Your legs felt weak as you stepped out of the car, the early evening air hitting your already feverish skin. Your fingers shook slightly as you unlocked the front door, pushing it open and stepping inside.

The house was quiet, dimly lit by the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the windows. The sight of home should have been comforting, but all you could think about was how badly you needed to lie down.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, landing with a soft thud near the door. You barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, curling into yourself as a shiver ran down your spine. The exhaustion hit you like a truck, and the second your head met the cushion, your body sagged in relief.

You closed your eyes, your breathing unsteady, trying to fight off the nausea twisting in your stomach. You felt cold—so unbearably cold—despite the hoodie, despite the fact that your skin was damp with sweat.

You knew Jake would be home soon. You just had to hold out until then.

-----

The distant hum of an engine outside barely registered in your foggy mind, but the familiar rumble of Jake’s truck rolling into the driveway pulled you from the hazy in-between of sleep and wakefulness. You forced your eyes open, but even that small effort sent a wave of dizziness crashing over you.

You heard the truck door shut, followed by the soft, happy giggles of Ellie as Jake carried her up the front steps. His boots thudded against the porch, the jingle of his keys filling the quiet house as he unlocked the door.

The second it swung open, warmth flooded inside, carrying the scent of Jake’s cologne, crisp night air, and the faintest trace of baby powder.

“Alright, darlin’, let’s get you inside so your mama can—” His voice trailed off the moment he saw you curled up on the couch.

You heard the soft hitch in his breath, the shift in his footsteps as he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. “Sweetheart?”

Ellie let out another tiny giggle, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. You barely had the energy to lift your head, but when you forced yourself to look up, you saw the moment his easy-going expression twisted into concern.

“Aw, hell,” Jake muttered, adjusting Ellie higher on his hip as he strode toward you. He crouched down beside the couch, his free hand brushing across your forehead. His palm was warm against your clammy skin, and you sighed at the touch, leaning into him instinctively.

“Jesus, baby, you’re burnin’ up,” he murmured, his thumb grazing over your cheek. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You swallowed, your throat raw and sore. “Didn’t wanna… make you rush,” you croaked.

Jake huffed, shaking his head. “Darlin’, you could’ve been half-dyin’ and still would’ve tried to let me finish work first.”

Ellie babbled something in response, her tiny hands reaching out to pat your face, and despite the fever, you managed a weak smile.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Jake exhaled slowly, shifting Ellie so she was more secure in his arm. “Alright, let me get this little one settled, and then we’re gettin’ you into bed.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have the energy to. You just let yourself melt into the couch, listening as Jake moved through the house, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to Ellie.

You had made it home. And Jake was here. That was all that mattered.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as Jake moved around the living room, balancing Ellie on his hip while rummaging through the diaper bag with his free hand. He was trying to pull out one of her favourite teething toys, something to occupy her so he could focus on you, but she was too fascinated by his dog tags, gripping them in her tiny fists and yanking with all her might.

"Ellie, sweetheart, Daddy needs those," Jake muttered, prying her fingers open gently, only for her to grab onto the fabric of his flight suit instead. He sighed, but there was no frustration in his voice—just that unwavering patience he always had with her. "C'mon, baby girl, let's find you somethin’ fun to play with so I can take care of Mama."

Your chest tightened at that, at how natural he was with her, at how effortlessly he juggled everything, even while looking at you like he was seconds from picking you up and putting you in bed himself.

Your lips parted, voice soft and raspy. “I missed you.”

Jake’s hands paused in the middle of their search, his head snapping toward you. His green eyes softened instantly, his whole expression shifting from focused determination to something infinitely more tender.

His shoulders dropped slightly, as if he hadn’t even realized how tense he was until you said it. “Aw, sweetheart…” he murmured, stepping closer. He crouched beside you again, letting Ellie rest against his chest as he reached out, brushing your hair away from your damp forehead. “We missed you too. Didn’t we, Els?”

Ellie made a little squeaky noise in response, kicking her legs happily, completely unaware of the moment unfolding.

You let out a weak chuckle, blinking up at him. “You’re just saying that ‘cause she’s too little to argue.”

Jake smirked. “Maybe.” His fingers ghosted over your cheek, feather-light, like he was afraid you might break. “But I know I sure as hell did.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, your fever-ridden body aching for more than just his touch—you needed the comfort of him, the warmth and steadiness only he could give you.

Jake seemed to sense it because he exhaled through his nose, shifting Ellie slightly. “Alright, baby, let’s make a deal. I’m gonna set you up real nice with some toys, then I’m puttin’ Mama to bed. Sound good?”

Ellie just babbled nonsense, and Jake chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Make it quick, cowboy.”

Jake grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing, already heading toward Ellie’s playpen. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jake reappeared at your side after settling Ellie in her playpen, her tiny fingers already grasping at the soft stuffed animals around her. He crouched down beside you, his hands warm and steady as they cupped your arms.

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you upstairs,” he murmured, voice dripping with tenderness.

You didn’t protest as he slid one arm around your back and the other beneath your legs. Before you could blink, he was lifting you effortlessly off the couch, cradling you against his chest.

"Jake," you murmured weakly, your fevered body too exhausted to fight the sudden weightlessness.

"Hush, darlin’," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he carried you toward the stairs. "Let me take care of you."

The steady thud of his boots against the hardwood was oddly soothing, the rhythmic motion of his steps making you feel safe, like you could finally let your body relax in his arms.

Halfway up the stairs, you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He still smelled like jet fuel and crisp night air, mixed with the faintest trace of baby lotion from holding Ellie.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy, but you forced the words out anyway. "How was your day?"

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, his chest rumbling beneath you. "Darlin', you're sick as hell, and you're askin' about my day?"

You managed a weak smile. "I still wanna know."

He sighed, but there was fondness in it. "Well, started off with some drills—nothing too excitin'. Rooster and I had a dogfight that ended in him talkin’ more shit than he should’ve for someone who lost," Jake drawled, shaking his head. "Then had to sit through a briefing that felt like it lasted a damn lifetime."

You hummed in acknowledgment, clinging to the sound of his voice like it was a lullaby.

"Ellie did good at daycare," he continued, his grip on you tightening slightly. "They said she was all smiles, even flirted with the instructors a little."

That made you chuckle, though it was weak. "She gets that from you."

Jake smirked. "Damn right, she does."

By the time he reached your bedroom, you felt like you were drifting in and out, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. He nudged the door open with his foot and gently laid you down on the bed, taking extra care as he pulled the covers over you.

You blinked up at him sleepily. “Thank you.”

Jake leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead before smoothing back your hair. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I got you.”

As soon as Jake tucked the blanket around you, you curled into its warmth, but it wasn’t enough. A shiver wracked through your body, making you pull your arms tighter around yourself, desperate for heat.

Jake was already kneeling beside the bed, his hand still smoothing over your forehead. His brows pinched in concern when he felt how cold your skin was, despite the fever that left your cheeks flushed.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy. “Jake…” your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He leaned in instantly, his palm cradling your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Your lips trembled as you forced the words out. “I’m cold.”

Jake exhaled sharply, not in frustration but in that deep, aching kind of concern he always had when you weren’t well. Without a second thought, he stood and peeled off his flight jacket, tossing it onto the chair before toeing off his boots.

“Alright, baby, scoot over,” he murmured.

You blinked at him sleepily, confused. “What?”

“I said scoot,” he repeated, softer this time, as he pulled back the blanket.

You didn’t have the strength to argue—not that you wanted to—so you moved just enough for him to slide into bed beside you. The second he was settled, he pulled you right into him, wrapping his arms around you as he tucked your head beneath his chin.

Jake was always warm, the kind of warmth that seeped deep into your bones, that made you feel safe, protected. You sighed in relief as his body heat enveloped you, the shivers slowly fading as he rubbed soothing circles along your back.

"Better?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

You nodded weakly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his undershirt. "Yeah… better."

Jake pressed another kiss into your hair, his grip tightening just a little. "Good. Now sleep, darlin'. I got you."

And this time, wrapped in his warmth, you actually believed it.

Jake held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around you as he listened to your breathing. At first, it was uneven, each exhale shaky from the fever clinging to your body, but as the minutes passed, you started to relax against him.

He kept tracing slow, soothing circles on your back, his other hand tangled in your hair, occasionally smoothing it down when it stuck to your damp skin. Every now and then, you’d let out a little sigh, your body growing heavier in his hold.

Jake knew you were exhausted. You’d barely made it up the stairs before collapsing into bed, and even now, curled up in his arms, you felt fragile. That didn’t sit right with him—not when he was used to you being the one holding everything together.

So, he waited.

He stayed perfectly still, letting the weight of his warmth lull you into a deeper sleep. He knew the exact moment you slipped under—your body went completely slack, your grip on his shirt loosening as your breathing evened out.

Only then did he shift, carefully manoeuvring himself out from under you. He moved slow, making sure not to jostle you as he slid out of bed. As soon as he was free, he tugged the blanket back over you, making sure you were still tucked in tight.

Jake stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, just watching you, making sure you weren’t stirring. A small smile tugged at his lips when you let out a soft sigh, your fingers twitching against the pillow.

Then, with a final glance, he slipped out of the room, padding down the stairs as quietly as possible.

The second he stepped into the living room, he saw Ellie still in her playpen, her big green eyes—so much like his own—staring up at him with curiosity. She let out a tiny, babbling sound, kicking her little legs excitedly as he approached.

Jake exhaled, running a hand through his hair before leaning down to scoop her up. “Alright, baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her soft, wispy blonde curls. “Mama’s sleepin’, so it’s just you and me for a while.”

Ellie cooed in response, grabbing onto his shirt with her chubby fingers.

Jake smirked. “Guess that means we gotta keep it down, huh?”

Ellie just blinked up at him, her gummy smile widening.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head as he carried her over to the couch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Jake adjusted the baby carrier on his chest, making sure Ellie was snug and secure before he fastened the last strap. She was settled against him, her tiny head resting against his chest, her warm little body radiating the kind of comfort that made him instinctively rub slow circles over her back.

He sighed, pressing a light kiss to her head. “Alright, baby girl, we gotta take care of Mama now, yeah?”

Ellie didn’t answer, obviously, but she made a soft little sound, her chubby fingers grabbing at his dog tags like she always did. He huffed a quiet laugh, giving her a gentle bounce before heading into the kitchen.

Jake wasn’t exactly a chef, but he knew his way around a pot of soup, especially when it came to making you feel better. He grabbed the ingredients from the fridge, moving efficiently as he started chopping vegetables with one hand, his other resting on Ellie’s back to keep her steady.

As the soup simmered, his phone vibrated on the counter. He reached for it, glancing down at the group chat with the Daggers.

Phoenix: Did Y/N land yet?

Bob: Tell her we said welcome home!

Fanboy: What’s the plan? You bringing her by soon?

Jake sighed, running a hand down his face. They had no idea you were sick, and he wasn’t about to deal with their fussing.

Jake: She landed. She’s sick, though. Came home with a fever.

It took exactly five seconds before his phone blew up.

Phoenix: Sick?! What kind of sick? Fever? Flu? Stomach bug?

Bob: Oh no! Does she need anything?

Rooster: Damn, man, you got this? You want one of us to drop something off?

Coyote: Is my queen okay?

Jake chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he stirred the pot. Of course, they were all over it.

Jake: She’s fine. Just exhausted. Got her in bed. I’m making her soup now.

Phoenix: Oh my god. You really are a husband.

Payback: What does that even mean?

Phoenix: He’s making her soup, Payback. Soup.

Rooster: What kind of soup?

Jake rolled his eyes.

Jake: Chicken noodle, what does it matter?

Rooster: It matters.

Bob: Soup is love.

Jake let out a laugh, shaking his head as he set his phone back down.

Ellie stirred against his chest, making a small noise, and he immediately ran a soothing hand over her back. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, bouncing her lightly. “They’re a mess, huh?”

Ellie sighed, her little fist curling into his shirt as she settled back down.

Jake smirked. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

With that, he turned his attention back to the soup, determined to have it ready for you when you woke up.

Jake stood at the stove, rolling his shoulders back as he stirred the pot, the steam curling up in soft waves, filling the kitchen with the scent of simmering broth. Ellie was still snug against his chest in the baby carrier, her tiny body rising and falling with each of his breaths.

He glanced down to check on her, smirking when he saw that her eyes were fluttering—she was fighting sleep, her little fingers still loosely gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, shifting his stance to rock her slightly. “We’re in this together.”

Reaching for the cutting board, Jake grabbed a handful of freshly chopped carrots, celery, and onions, sliding them into the pot with a satisfying sizzle. He stirred them around, watching as the colours deepened, the heat drawing out their rich aroma.

“Now, your mama—” he started, glancing down at Ellie again, “—isn’t the biggest fan of celery, but she needs all the good stuff in her system, so we’re sneaking it in.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Think she’ll notice?”

Ellie, of course, didn’t answer, but she let out a soft little sigh, nuzzling closer into his chest.

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. She’ll definitely notice.”

He grabbed the pre-cooked shredded chicken, tossing it in next before reaching for the carton of broth, pouring it over the mixture. The golden liquid swirled and bubbled, melding everything together. As he stirred, he kept one hand steady on Ellie’s back, her warmth grounding him in the moment.

Once the soup had started to reach a steady simmer, he sprinkled in a bit of salt, pepper, and a pinch of dried thyme. He knew you liked your food flavourful but not too heavy, so he kept the seasoning balanced—just enough to be warm and comforting.

After a few minutes, he broke some egg noodles into the pot, giving everything one last stir before lowering the heat to let it all meld together.

With the soup nearly done, he leaned against the counter, swaying slightly to keep Ellie content. He inhaled deeply, feeling a small sense of pride settle in his chest.

Taking care of you like this—it wasn’t anything fancy, nothing grand—but it meant something. It was something he could do for you, something tangible to make you feel better.

He let out a breath, looking down at Ellie again, brushing his fingers gently over her tiny hand.

"Alright, baby girl," he murmured. "Let’s hope Mama’s hungry when she wakes up."

Jake had just turned the stove down to let the soup stay warm when he heard it—the soft creak of the floorboards upstairs, the faint rustle of blankets shifting. His head snapped up, body instantly alert.

You were awake.

He frowned, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before adjusting Ellie in her carrier. His little girl remained snug against him, her tiny hand still gripping his shirt, but he could tell she wasn’t fully asleep—just in that drowsy, peaceful state.

Then, another sound—lighter this time. A shuffle, maybe the dragging of feet across the hardwood.

Jake exhaled through his nose. You were supposed to be resting.

“Alright, mama,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “What the hell are you doin’ up?”

He turned, stepping toward the base of the staircase, tilting his head to listen more closely. It wasn’t frantic, so he knew you weren’t feeling worse, but it was slow—like you were groggy, disoriented.

Jake sighed. He knew you. Knew that stubborn streak that had you pushing through exhaustion when you should be staying put.

“Sweetheart?” he called out, keeping his voice soft so he wouldn’t startle Ellie. “You okay up there?”

A beat of silence. Then, the faint sound of you clearing your throat, followed by a sniffle.

Jake’s jaw ticked.

“I swear, if you’re tryin’ to do anything other than get your ass back in bed, I’m gonna have a real problem with that.”

No answer. Just another shuffle, this time closer to the staircase.

Jake sighed again, shaking his head before moving toward the steps. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he muttered, already making his way up to check on you.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar when Jake reached the top of the stairs. He nudged it open the rest of the way, stepping inside with Ellie still nestled snug against his chest. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, but even in the low light, he could see you sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, hands braced on your knees.

Your hair was messy, sticking to your forehead, and the blanket you had wrapped around yourself was slipping off one shoulder. You looked pale, exhausted—eyes a little unfocused as you blinked up at him.

Jake sighed, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doin’ up, darlin’?” His voice was softer now, but still laced with that quiet exasperation only you could pull from him.

You sniffled, tugging the blanket tighter around yourself. “Felt gross,” you murmured, voice hoarse. “Too hot. Then too cold. Needed water.”

Jake rolled his eyes but strode over without another word, kneeling in front of you. Ellie shifted slightly in her carrier, letting out a small sigh in her sleep, but stayed settled against him.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” he muttered, reaching out to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His brows furrowed. “Still got a fever.”

You closed your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his palm despite the contradiction of your chilled skin.

Jake let out a quiet curse. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t stay put.”

You opened your eyes again, managing a weak smile. “You do know me.”

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna wrangle your stubborn ass back into bed.”

You exhaled slowly, gaze flicking down to Ellie. “She’s okay?”

Jake softened. “She’s perfect. Ate good, took her bath like a champ, and now she’s snoozin’ on me.” He tilted his head. “Unlike her mama, who should be doin’ the same.”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but it quickly turned into a cough. Jake was immediately rubbing a hand up and down your back, his expression tightening.

“That’s it,” he said firmly, standing and gently urging you backward. “Lay back down, sugar.”

“I was just—”

“Nope. Not hearin’ it.” He guided you carefully until you were flat against the pillows again. “You’re gonna rest, you’re gonna eat somethin’ when you’re up for it, and you’re gonna let me take care of you.”

Your lips parted, but whatever protest you were about to make was swallowed when Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.

“Got it?” he murmured against your skin.

You swallowed thickly, nodding.

Jake pulled back, watching you for a second before shifting Ellie slightly in her carrier. He reached down, pulling the covers up to your shoulders, tucking you in the way he always did when you weren’t feeling well.

“Good girl,” he muttered, brushing his knuckles along your cheek before straightening up. “Now stay put.”

You let out a weak chuckle, cracking one eye open to look at him. “You’re such a momma hen,” you rasped, lips curling into a teasing smile.

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. “Momma hen?” he repeated, raising a brow. “Darlin’, I’ll have you know I’m just a damn good husband.”

You hummed, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “Mhm. A momma hen of a husband.”

Jake sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But his voice was laced with amusement, and when he reached down to adjust the blanket around you again, his touch was impossibly gentle.

“Call me whatever you want,” he muttered, leaning down so his lips brushed your temple, “as long as you stay in bed and let me take care of you.”

You hummed again, eyes already fluttering. “Alright, momma hen.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as you tried to ignore the way your body felt like it had been weighed down by bricks. “I’m not even that tired,” you muttered, voice hoarse but firm.

Jake let out a dry laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, shifting slightly against the pillows. “Yeah. I just needed a minute, but I feel fine.”

Jake didn’t even bother hiding his skepticism. He crouched down beside the bed, leveling you with a look. “Sweetheart, you’re damn near melting into the mattress right now. You could sleep for a week and still wake up tired.”

You scowled, trying to push yourself up a little, but Jake immediately placed a firm hand on your shoulder, gently but effectively pinning you back down.

“Uh-uh. Don’t even try it,” he warned. “I know you, sugar. You’ll tell me you’re fine right up until you pass out on the damn floor.”

You huffed, your scowl deepening. “I wouldn’t pass out.”

Jake arched a brow. “Oh, no?” He reached out, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek before pressing his palm to your forehead again. “You’re burnin’ up, baby. Your body’s workin’ overtime, and the sooner you rest, the sooner you’ll get better.”

You exhaled slowly, turning your head slightly so your cheek pressed into his palm. Your stubborn streak was strong, but Jake was stronger—and more relentless.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered, eyes slipping closed for a brief second.

Jake chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “And you love me for it.”

You sighed, your body already betraying you as sleep started creeping in at the edges of your consciousness.

“Maybe.”

You let out a slow breath, shifting under the covers before cracking your eyes open again. Your body still ached, and the fever had you feeling like you were both too hot and too cold at the same time, but there was something else gnawing at you now.

“I’m hungry,” you murmured, your voice still scratchy but a little stronger this time.

Jake, who had been brushing a few stray strands of hair off your forehead, immediately perked up. “Yeah?” He sounded both surprised and relieved. “That’s a good sign, sugar.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “Haven’t eaten since… last night, I think.”

Jake’s entire expression shifted, the relief on his face quickly replaced by concern. His jaw tightened, and he pulled back slightly to look you over again, as if just now realizing how much weaker you seemed.

“Darlin’,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Why the hell didn’t you eat somethin’ before gettin’ on that plane?”

You frowned. “I was running late. Then I wasn’t hungry. And then…” You trailed off with a shrug, but Jake wasn’t having it.

“Then you got home sick as hell, and now you’re runnin’ on nothin’ but a fever,” he finished for you, his tone gentle but firm.

You sighed, your stomach giving a small, hollow pang as if to drive the point home. “Guess so.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head again. “Alright, no more of that,” he muttered, standing up straight. “I made some soup earlier, figured you’d need somethin’ when you woke up. Lemme go warm it up, yeah?”

Your lips twitched slightly at that. Of course, he’d already thought ahead. Your momma-hen of a husband.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

Jake gave you one last once-over before leaning down, pressing a firm kiss to your warm forehead. “Be right back, sugar. Stay put.”

As Jake straightened up to leave, your eyes flickered to the baby carrier strapped to his chest. Ellie was snuggled in tight, her tiny face pressed against his shirt, her soft breaths barely audible over the quiet rustling of the blankets. Even in your feverish haze, the sight of her soothed something deep inside you.

“Wait,” you murmured, reaching out weakly.

Jake paused immediately, his green eyes snapping back to you. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly against the pillows. “Can Ellie stay with me?” Your voice was small, a little hoarse, but there was no mistaking the quiet plea in it.

Jake’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “You sure, sugar? You need to rest.”

“I will,” you promised, already reaching out for her. “I just… I missed her.”

Jake let out a quiet breath, glancing down at his daughter. “Alright,” he murmured after a beat, carefully unbuckling the carrier. “But if you start feelin’ worse, I’m takin’ her back, no arguments.”

You hummed in agreement, watching as he gently lifted Ellie from the carrier. She stirred slightly, letting out a sleepy little sigh as Jake placed her carefully on your chest. You cradled her close, feeling the warmth of her tiny body seep into yours, her familiar baby scent wrapping around you like a comfort you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Jake crouched beside the bed again, watching the two of you for a moment. “You good, sweetheart?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie’s soft curls. “Yeah,” you whispered. “We’re good.”

Jake smiled softly, brushing his fingers along your arm. “Alright. I’ll go get that soup.”

As he stood up and made his way to the door, you let out a slow breath, your body still aching but your heart finally settling. Ellie snuggled deeper into you, her tiny hand curling against your chest.

Maybe you were sick, but at least you were home.

A few minutes later, you heard Jake’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, the faint clinking of a spoon against a bowl following him. Your eyes were half-lidded, your body still drained, but you stayed awake, waiting. Ellie was still tucked against your chest, her tiny body warm and soft, her rhythmic breathing lulling you into a daze.

Jake pushed the door open with his shoulder, carrying a steaming bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. His gaze immediately flicked to you and Ellie, his lips twitching at the sight of you both curled up together.

“You stayin’ awake for me, sweetheart?” he teased lightly as he walked over.

You hummed a sleepy confirmation, watching as he set the bowl down on the nightstand. “Barely,” you admitted, voice hoarse.

Jake chuckled, shifting onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle Ellie too much. “Alright, let’s get some food in you before you pass out again.” He scooped up a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before holding it out to you. “Here, sugar. Just a little at a time.”

You eyed the spoon for a second before parting your lips, letting him feed you. The warm broth slid over your tongue, and immediately, your face twisted into something between confusion and dismay.

Jake frowned. “What?”

You swallowed, lips pressing together as you gave him a slow, pointed look. “Celery.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “I can taste the celery.”

Jake blinked at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. “And?”

“And,” you rasped, pausing for dramatic effect, “you know I hate celery.”

Jake let out a bark of laughter, his head tilting back. “Aw, hell,” he drawled, shaking his head. “You’re half delirious, burnin’ up with a fever, and the first damn thing you wanna do is complain about celery?”

You gave him the best unimpressed look you could manage in your weakened state. “You did this on purpose.”

Jake smirked, dipping the spoon back into the soup. “Maybe.” He held out another spoonful. “But you still need to eat, darlin’. So, what’s it gonna be? A little bit of celery, or me lettin’ you starve?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, relenting as you opened your mouth again. The warmth of the soup soothed your sore throat, even if the taste of celery was still there, taunting you.

Jake grinned, clearly satisfied with himself. “That’s my girl.”

You let out a dramatic, exhausted sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. “You know I hate celery.”

Jake smirked, scooping up another spoonful. “Do you, though? Because I don’t remember hearin’ you say that while I was cookin’ for your ungrateful ass.”

Your glare intensified, though it lacked any real heat. “I was dying, Jacob.”

He snorted. “You have a cold.”

You groaned, pressing your forehead against Ellie’s soft hair, as if she could somehow absorb your suffering. “I can taste it, Jake. It’s in the broth. It’s haunting me.”

Jake let out a deep, amused sigh, swirling the spoon through the soup. “You’re bein’ dramatic.”

You lifted your head just enough to fix him with a pointed look. “You put it in there on purpose, didn’t you?”

His grin was downright smug now. “Maybe.”

You groaned again, tossing your arm over your face. “Why? I thought you loved me.”

Jake laughed, nudging your arm down so you’d look at him. “I do love you

You swallowed the second spoonful, your face scrunching up in pure betrayal as the taste of celery lingered on your tongue. You stared at Jake, eyes narrowed, voice hoarse but determined.

“Jake,” you rasped, swallowing again as if that would make the taste disappear. “I trusted you.”

Jake snorted, scooping up another spoonful. “That so, sugar?”

You nodded solemnly, shifting Ellie slightly against your chest. “Yeah. And you—you went and did me dirty.”

Jake’s lips twitched, but he played along. “Oh? How’s that?”

You let out a weak, dramatic sigh. “Celery,” you groaned, drawing out the word like it physically pained you. “You put celery in my soup. After everything we’ve been through together. After I carried your child, after I literally just came back from a work trip sick as hell—you betray me like this?”

Jake outright laughed at that, shaking his head as he lifted another spoonful. “Baby, I did it for your own good.”

You gave him a flat look. “That doesn’t make it better.”

Jake grinned. “Sure it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you shot back, shifting your weight slightly. “You had choices, Seresin. You could’ve picked any other soup. Chicken noodle, potato, literally anything without celery, but no—” you coughed lightly, pausing, before regaining your dramatic momentum, “—you chose to disrespect me in my own home.”

Jake was laughing so hard at this point that he had to set the spoon down for a second. “Darlin’, you’re killin’ me.”

“No,” you countered, shifting Ellie slightly. “You’re killing me. With celery.”

Jake ran a hand down his face, still grinning as he picked up the spoon again. “Alright, drama queen. Do you want me to pick the celery out for you? Would that make you feel better?”

You eyed him, considering. “…Would you?”

Jake sighed, but the fondness in his gaze was undeniable. “Yeah, sugar. I’ll pick out the damn celery.”

Satisfied, you settled back against the pillows, letting him continue feeding you—celery-free.

Jake meticulously picked out every piece of celery before offering you another spoonful. You accepted it without complaint this time, sighing as the warmth spread through you. Ellie stirred slightly against your chest, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, but she remained blissfully asleep.

Jake watched you carefully, his green eyes soft with concern despite the teasing moments ago. “Feelin’ any better?”

You hummed in response, shifting slightly in the bed. “A little. Still feel like I got hit by a truck, though.”

Jake let out a low chuckle, setting the bowl on the nightstand before shifting closer to you. “A truck, huh? Pretty sure it’s just a cold, sugar.”

You rolled your eyes, though the exhaustion made it less effective. “I feel like I’m dying, Jake.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against your temple. “Well, you sure as hell ain’t dyin’ on my watch.”

You sighed at the warmth of his breath against your skin, letting your head rest against his shoulder. For a moment, everything was quiet—just the sound of Ellie’s tiny breaths and the soft hum of the house around you.

Jake reached out, adjusting the blanket over you. “You should get some more sleep.”

You made a small noise of protest. “But I just woke up.”

Jake smirked, brushing his fingers lightly down your arm. “Yeah? And you still look like you need at least ten more hours.”

You swatted weakly at his chest. “Rude.”

“Honest,” he corrected, grinning. “C’mon, darlin’. I got Ellie, and I’ll be right here. Just rest.”

You let out a deep breath, your body already sinking into the mattress despite your protests. Jake reached out, tracing gentle circles against your back, his warmth completely surrounding you.

You shifted, snuggling closer, whispering against his shoulder, “Love you.”

Jake pressed another kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but full of certainty. “Love you too, sugar. Now sleep.”

With the steady rise and fall of Jake’s breathing and the warmth of Ellie nestled against you, sleep finally pulled you under once again.

Jake waited until your breathing evened out, your body fully slack against him. You were out cold, exhaustion winning the battle at last. Carefully, he shifted, making sure not to wake you as he slid his arm from under your head.

Ellie stirred slightly against your chest, making a tiny sound of protest, but Jake was quick, his hands steady as he scooped her up. “Shh, sugar,” he murmured softly, tucking her against his chest as he stood.

He glanced back at you, curled up and buried under the blankets, your face finally peaceful in sleep. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead before pulling the comforter up higher. “Rest, darlin’,” he whispered, then backed away quietly, Ellie snug in his arms.

Downstairs, the house was dimly lit, the remnants of dinner still on the counter. Jake moved with ease, swaying slightly as he held Ellie close. “Just you and me, baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft curls.

Ellie yawned, her tiny fists clenching in his shirt, eyes fluttering open just slightly before closing again. Jake grinned. “You already know the drill, huh? Night shifts with Dad.”

He settled into the couch, adjusting Ellie so she was resting against his chest, her warm little body fitting perfectly into the curve of his arm. He leaned his head back, exhaling deeply.

It wasn’t long before Ellie was completely out again, her tiny breaths even against his skin. Jake glanced down at her, his heart tugging at the sight. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against her back.

He sat there for a while, just holding her, making sure you got the sleep you desperately needed.

Jake felt his phone buzz against his thigh, the screen lighting up in the dim room. With Ellie sleeping soundly on his chest, he carefully shifted just enough to pull the device from his pocket.

Group Chat: Dagger Squad

Rooster: How’s YN?

Phoenix: Yeah, we wanna know if she’s still being dramatic about her cold.

Fanboy: More importantly, is she making you suffer too?

Payback: Bet he’s already playing nurse.

Bob: Hope she’s doing okay, though. Being sick sucks.

Jake huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he typed back with one hand.

Jake: She’s asleep. Finally. Been out cold for the last hour.

Immediately, the typing bubbles appeared.

Phoenix: So she was being dramatic.

Coyote: Like you wouldn’t be, Trace. We all know you’d milk it for weeks.

Phoenix: EXCUSE ME??

Jake smirked, watching the chaos unfold in the chat before Rooster’s message popped up.

Rooster: She keeping anything down? Eating?

Jake’s expression softened slightly as he glanced down at Ellie, still curled against him. He thought about how you had barely touched the soup before exhaustion took over.

Jake: Had a few bites, but not much. She’ll eat more when she wakes up.

Bob: Good. Just make sure she stays hydrated.

Fanboy: Damn, Bob, when did you become the mom friend?

Payback: Right? Bob out here giving medical advice like he’s a doctor.

Bob: You guys are impossible.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head before sending one last message.

Jake: She’s fine. Just wiped out. I got it handled.

Coyote: Yeah, we know. You’re a momma hen when it comes to her.

Jake rolled his eyes, locking his phone and setting it aside before any more teasing came through. He adjusted Ellie slightly, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. “They think they’re funny, huh?” he murmured.

Ellie just sighed in her sleep, her tiny hand gripping the fabric of his shirt. Jake leaned his head back against the couch, smirking to himself. As much as the squad loved to mess with him, he knew they cared.

But for now, his only priority was making sure you and Ellie were okay.

[hardballoonlove]

I like that 😊

The man's job

At The Hard Deck, Sniper—Hangman’s sharp-tongued WSO—tries to ignore her growing attraction to Rooster, but he sees right through her. After a heated exchange, Rooster pulls her into a quiet hallway, desperate for the truth, and when she finally gives in, he kisses her like he’s been waiting forever. Between breathless kisses, he asks why she joined the Navy, and when she teasingly admits it’s because she likes dressing like the men, he grins against her lips and murmurs, "I do too."

Warning: This story contains intense romantic tension, heated moments, and Rooster being utterly irresistible. Proceed with caution—you might fall for him all over again when he loses his cool.

4k words

Just saying English isn't my first language and this is crap because I got bored and wrote yap

The Hard Deck was alive with laughter, the low hum of conversation mingling with the distant crash of the waves. The scent of salt and spilled beer hung in the air, the jukebox spitting out a country song that had more than one pilot tapping their fingers against the worn wood of the bar.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin leaned against the pool table, a cocky grin playing at his lips as he chalked his cue. His gaze was locked onto Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You wanna try that again, Rooster?" Hangman drawled, voice as smooth as whiskey. "Because I could've sworn you said I got lucky on that last shot."

Rooster scoffed, arms crossed over his broad chest, aviators still hooked onto the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. "You heard me just fine, Bagman. One lucky shot doesn’t make you the best."

Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass in your hand as you took a slow sip of your drink, the cool condensation slick against your skin. From your seat, you watched the exchange unfold, feigning indifference behind the rim of your glass. But your eyes weren’t on Hangman—not really.

They were on Rooster.

The way his jaw tensed, the way his biceps flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves, the way the veins in his forearms stood out when he gripped the pool cue. You knew better than to stare, but the dim lighting and the amber of your drink made for good camouflage.

Beside you, Bob and Fanboy were deep in conversation, their voices threading through the noise of the bar.

"I’m just saying," Bob mused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "a good WSO doesn’t just read the pilot—they anticipate them."

Fanboy nodded, ever the calm voice of reason. "It’s about trust. You can be the best at reading radar, but if your pilot doesn’t trust you to have their six, you’re dead in the air."

You hummed in agreement, setting your glass down with a soft clink. "It’s instinct. That’s why some pairings work better than others. Right, Bob?"

Bob smirked knowingly, glancing over at Hangman, who was now leaning dangerously close to Rooster, both men locked in a silent battle of egos. "Yeah, like you and Seresin," he said. "You two just… click."

"Match made in heaven," Fanboy teased, nudging you with his elbow.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. It was true, in a way. You and Hangman worked well together, your sharp instincts and calculated precision balancing out his reckless confidence. In the air, you made each other better. On the ground, though?

That was different.

"Hey, Snipes!" Hangman’s voice cut through the conversation as he straightened, smirking at you. "Tell Rooster here that he should quit embarrassing himself and rack ‘em up for a rematch."

You raised an eyebrow, the weight of Rooster’s gaze settling on you before you even turned to meet it.

"Don’t look at me," you said smoothly. "I just work here."

Laughter rippled through the group as Rooster smirked, shaking his head before taking a long sip of his beer. The golden liquid caught the light, and for just a second, you let yourself look—really look—before turning back to your drink.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the bar, swirling the remnants of your drink in the glass as Bob and Fanboy continued talking shop beside you. Their conversation faded into the background, your focus slipping as Rooster set his pool cue down and stretched, arms lifting high above his head before settling back down, fingers tapping absently against the side of his beer bottle. The stretch pulled his shirt tight across his chest, and you forced your gaze away, taking a slow sip of your drink to cover the way your pulse kicked up.

"You good?" Bob’s voice cut through your thoughts, quiet but pointed. His pale blue eyes studied you with the kind of sharpness that made you wonder just how much he noticed.

"Yeah," you said quickly, setting your glass down. "Just tired."

Bob hummed in a way that said he didn’t quite believe you, but he let it go, turning back to Fanboy, who was now deep in some exaggerated retelling of a training exercise. You took the out, shifting your attention back to the room, where Hangman had just stepped closer to Rooster, that ever-present smirk still in place.

"Come on, Rooster," Jake drawled, resting his pool cue against the table. "You gonna admit I got you, or do you wanna lose again?"

Bradley scoffed, shaking his head. "Man, I swear, you could fall into the ocean and still find a way to be cocky about it."

"Damn right," Jake shot back, tipping his beer up for a slow sip.

Your lips twitched, but you hid your smile behind your drink, letting the glass linger against your lips. Bradley's eyes flicked toward you, quick but sharp, and for a second, you thought—no, you knew—he caught you watching. The corner of his mouth lifted, subtle, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Heat licked up the back of your neck, but before you could react, Jake clapped a hand on Bradley’s shoulder with a grin. "Come on, Bradshaw, let’s go again. Unless you’re too busy staring at Sniper over here."

Your stomach dropped.

Bradley’s jaw tightened just slightly, his fingers flexing around the bottle in his hand. But if he was caught off guard, he didn’t show it for long. Instead, he just smirked, slow and easy, before turning back to the table.

"You wish, Seresin," he muttered, racking up the balls.

The moment passed, the conversation shifting, the music playing on. But as you turned back to your drink, your heart was still hammering against your ribs. Because if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that Hangman never said anything without a reason.

And now, thanks to him, you weren’t the only one noticing where your attention kept slipping.

Bob was still half-listening to Fanboy, nodding along as his fingers drummed against the side of his glass, but you could feel his attention flicking back to you every so often. He wasn’t obvious about it—not like Hangman, who would’ve just called you out in front of everyone—but Bob noticed things. Always had. It was part of what made him such a damn good WSO.

You exhaled, forcing your shoulders to relax as you pushed your empty glass toward the edge of the bar. "I’m gonna grab another drink," you said, keeping your voice even, casual.

Bob’s gaze lifted from his own glass, studying you for half a second before he nodded. "You want company?"

You shook your head, already sliding off the barstool. "I’m good. Be right back."

Bob didn’t press, just hummed in acknowledgment, but you caught the way his eyes lingered as you turned away. If anyone was gonna figure you out first, it would be him. You just had to make sure you didn’t give him anything more to work with.

You wove through the crowd, dodging a pair of aviators deep in some animated debate over dart scores, before finally making it to the bar. Penny was a few customers down, pouring a round of shots, so you leaned against the wood, letting your fingers trail along the smooth, worn surface as you waited.

It wasn’t until you felt a presence beside you that you glanced up—and immediately regretted it.

Bradley.

He was close. Not enough to be improper, but enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne beneath the salt air, enough that you could see the way the dim bar lights caught on the gold in his hair.

"You hiding over here, Snipes?" His voice was easy, teasing, but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes, willing your pulse to slow. "Just getting another drink, Bradshaw."

He smirked, leaning against the bar beside you, his fingers tapping absently against the wood. "That so?"

You didn’t answer immediately, but you didn’t have to. Because the way his eyes stayed on you—the way they held just a little too much knowing—told you he wasn’t buying it.

Penny slid a beer across the bar toward Rooster without him even needing to ask, a silent acknowledgment that he was a regular here. He caught it easily, fingers wrapping around the bottle as he turned back to you, his smirk still in place but softer now, more amused than cocky.

"You always this jumpy, Snipes?" His voice was low, meant just for you, the rough edge of it curling around your name in a way that sent heat flickering down your spine.

You scoffed, shifting your weight against the bar. "I’m not jumpy."

"Mm." He took a slow sip of his beer, eyes not leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. When he lowered it, he let his elbow rest against the counter, his body angled just slightly toward you. "You sure about that?"

Your brows lifted, feigning disinterest. "You always this nosy, Bradshaw?"

His grin widened, like he knew exactly what you were doing. "Only when it’s interesting." He let the words hang in the space between you, light but deliberate, before nodding toward your empty glass. "What’s your poison tonight?"

You should’ve just answered him. Should’ve just kept it casual, like you did with everyone else. But the way he was looking at you—the lazy tilt of his smile, the barely-there rasp in his voice—it made you want to push back just a little.

"Why?" you asked, tilting your head. "Gonna buy me one?"

Something flickered in his expression, brief but unmistakable, before he leaned in just slightly, enough that his voice was low when he murmured, "That depends."

Your fingers tightened around the glass, pulse kicking up. "On?"

Bradley let the silence stretch, like he was giving you time to think about it, about him, before finally smirking again. "On whether or not you’ll actually drink it… or just use it to hide behind."

Your breath hitched, but before you could come up with a response, Penny stepped up to take your order, cutting through the moment. Bradley didn’t move, didn’t look away—just waited, watching, like he already knew he’d gotten to you.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away from Rooster’s knowing gaze as you turned to Penny. "Whiskey, neat."

If she noticed anything in your voice, she didn’t comment on it, just nodded and reached for a bottle. But Bradley? He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound warm and teasing as he took another sip of his beer.

"Didn’t peg you for a whiskey drinker," he mused, tilting his head.

You shot him a look. "And what exactly did you peg me for?"

He let his gaze flick over you, slow and measured, before shrugging. "Something smoother. Less burn."

You smirked, rolling your empty glass between your fingers. "Maybe I like the burn."

Bradley’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his expression shifted, the teasing edge softening just slightly. "Yeah," he murmured, voice quieter now. "Maybe you do."

Penny slid your drink across the bar, and you grabbed it quickly, grateful for something to do with your hands. But when you turned back, Bradley was still watching you, eyes dark with something unreadable, something you weren’t sure you were ready to decipher.

"Careful, Sniper," he murmured, tipping his bottle toward you before taking a sip. "Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you like me."

Your stomach flipped, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you lifted your glass, letting the whiskey slide down smooth and slow before setting it back on the bar with a soft clink. Then, with your best smirk, you leaned in just a fraction, just enough for your voice to dip between you both.

"You wish, Bradshaw."

But even as you said it, you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince—him or yourself.

Rooster was still smirking when he took another sip of his beer, but when he lowered the bottle, you caught it—just the smallest trace of foam clinging to the edge of his moustache. It was barely noticeable, but once you saw it, you couldn’t unsee it.

Without thinking, you reached up, the tips of your fingers grazing his jaw as you swiped your thumb along the corner of his mouth. "You had a little—"

The words caught in your throat the second his breath hitched, his entire body going still under your touch. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the slight stubble along his jaw rough against the pad of your thumb. You should’ve pulled away the second you fixed it, should’ve stepped back before the moment stretched too long, before the air between you shifted into something heavier.

But you didn’t.

Bradley didn’t move either, his eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. Slowly, so slowly, his lips quirked, and you felt it—the way they just barely brushed against your thumb before you finally dropped your hand.

"Thanks, Sniper," he murmured, voice lower than before, rougher.

You swallowed, gripping your glass a little tighter as you forced yourself to scoff, to play it off. "Try drinking like an adult next time, Bradshaw."

He grinned, eyes still on you as he took another slow sip—deliberate, careful, like he was daring you to look away.

But you didn’t.

And maybe that was your first mistake.

You should have walked away. Should have taken your drink and gone back to Bob and Fanboy, slipped back into easy conversation about WSOs and manoeuvring and anything that didn’t involve the way Rooster was looking at you.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stayed put, fingers curling around your whiskey glass, pulse thrumming beneath your skin as Bradley studied you with that lazy, knowing smirk. The worst part? He wasn’t even trying. He wasn’t laying it on thick like Jake would, wasn’t feeding you some line just to see if you’d take the bait. He was just… there. And for some reason, that made it harder to shake.

"You always this handsy, Snipes?" His voice was smooth, laced with amusement, but there was something else beneath it. Something quieter.

You scoffed, finally forcing yourself to take a step back, putting distance between you both. "Don’t flatter yourself, Bradshaw."

He hummed, tipping his beer toward you in mock salute. "Too late."

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the crowd, desperate to pull the focus away from whatever the hell this was. The Hard Deck was still alive with energy, the Dagger Squad scattered around the bar. Hangman was now leaning against the jukebox, arguing with Coyote about song choices. Payback and Fanboy were deep in conversation, likely rehashing old stories from training. Phoenix was at the dartboard, eyes locked in concentration as she lined up a shot.

Safe distractions.

"I should get back," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

But before you could step away, Bradley's voice was there again, softer now. "You ever gonna let me catch up to you, Snipes?"

You hesitated, fingers tightening around your drink. The question wasn’t loaded, not on the surface. But something about the way he said it made you pause, made you consider the weight behind it.

Slowly, you turned back to him, arching a brow. "What makes you think you’re behind?"

Bradley smirked, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Call it a gut feeling."

You held his gaze for a beat longer than you should have, something unspoken lingering in the space between you. Then, with a small shake of your head, you turned on your heel, slipping back into the crowd before he could say anything else.

But even as you walked away, you felt it—the heat of his gaze still following you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet.

You barely made it three steps before you felt it—fingers curling around your wrist, firm but careful, like he wasn’t trying to stop you, just… slow you down.

"Hang on," Rooster murmured, his grip warm against your skin.

Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t stop him, didn’t shake him off. He didn’t give you the chance to. With a gentle but insistent tug, he steered you through the crowd, slipping easily between groups of aviators and locals like he’d done it a hundred times before.

You knew where he was leading you before you even saw it.

The narrow hallway just past the bar—the one that led to the bathrooms, the back exit, the only quiet place in the Hard Deck that didn’t involve sneaking behind the counter with Penny’s disapproving glare burning into the back of your head.

The second you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, away from the noise, away from the others, Bradley let go of your wrist. But he didn’t step back. If anything, he was still too close, the faint scent of his cologne and the salt air clinging to his skin.

You crossed your arms, forcing yourself to level him with a look even as your pulse betrayed you. "Seriously, Bradshaw? The hallway?"

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, steady. "Seemed like the only way to get you to actually talk to me."

Your stomach flipped, but you forced a scoff, leaning back slightly against the wall. "Talk to you? About what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just let his gaze flicker over your face like he was trying to figure something out, like he was debating how much to say. Then, finally, quietly—

"You’re different with me."

Your breath caught.

Bradley took a step closer, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your eyes on his. "You talk all that shit with Hangman. You joke with Bob, mess with Fanboy, keep up with Phoenix. But with me?" His head tilted, voice dipping lower. "You’re careful."

You swallowed hard, willing your expression to stay neutral. "You’re imagining things, Bradshaw."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No, I’m not." Another step, closing that last bit of space. "And I don’t think you are either."

Your back hit the wall. You hadn’t even realized you’d been inching away, hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten until there was nowhere else to go. But even now, even with the way his voice curled around your name, warm and teasing and just a little too soft, he didn’t touch you.

Didn’t have to.

Because the way he was looking at you—the way he always looked at you—was more than enough.

Rooster’s hands flexed at his sides, like he was physically holding himself back. Like if he didn’t, he’d reach for you without thinking. His jaw tightened, his breath uneven, and for the first time all night, he didn’t have a smirk, didn’t have a teasing remark locked and loaded.

"Tell me no," he murmured, voice rough, low, almost desperate. "Tell me to back off, and I will."

You should have. You knew you should have.

But you didn’t.

"Rooster, it's the alcohol talking."

His eyes searched yours, flickering between them, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Snipes…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was trying to pull himself together, but then his voice dropped even lower, nearly breaking—

"Please."

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering in your ears. Because he wasn’t just asking. He was begging. Begging for permission, for just a sign that he wasn’t crazy, that whatever this was—whatever had been burning between you for months—wasn’t just in his head.

And God help you, you wanted to give it to him.

"Bradshaw…"

His lips parted at the sound of his name, something flickering in his expression—hope, relief, hunger, you weren’t sure. But his hands stayed at his sides, fists clenching, because he was waiting. He was waiting for you.

"Tell me yes," he whispered. "Just once."

Your breath shuddered.

And then—

You did.

The word barely left your lips before Bradley moved.

Not rushed, not reckless, but like he’d been holding himself back for so damn long that the second you gave him permission, he couldn’t stop himself. His hands finally found you, one pressing firm and warm against your waist, the other cradling your jaw, fingers skimming your skin like he needed to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch.

And then—God—his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful. It was needy, desperate in a way that sent heat rushing through you, like he’d been dying of thirst and you were the only thing that could quench it. His lips moved against yours like he was making up for lost time, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was afraid if he let you go, you’d slip right through his fingers.

You fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned—deep, low, the kind of sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your waist tightened, his body pressing flush against yours as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he needed to prove something. Like he needed you to feel how long he’d been waiting for this.

It was overwhelming and dizzying, and God, you should have stopped him. Should have pushed him away before this became something you couldn’t take back.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself sink into it, let yourself drown in him, let yourself pretend—just for a second—that this was something you could have. That Bradley was something you could have.

And when he finally pulled back, breath ragged, forehead resting against yours, his voice came out rough, almost wrecked.

"Tell me I’m not crazy," he whispered. "Tell me you want this too."

You swallowed hard, hands still curled into his shirt, your heart pounding against your ribs.

And when you finally answered, your voice was barely above a breath—

"I do."

Bradley kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting years for this moment and now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go. His hands gripped your waist, your jaw, like he needed to feel you everywhere at once, like he was trying to make up for all the times he’d held back.

You were just as desperate, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you, just heat and pressure and the intoxicating taste of whiskey and beer on his lips.

But then—between kisses, between the ragged breaths you barely had time to take—he murmured against your mouth, "Why’d you join the Navy?"

You barely processed the question at first, not with the way his lips trailed along your jaw, not with the way his hands were tracing slow, burning lines down your sides. But then he pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded but curious. Like he needed to know.

Your breath hitched, your heart hammering against your ribs. Of all the moments, of all the things—he wanted to ask this now?

You smirked, tilting your chin just slightly, your hands still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. "I like dressing like the man."

Rooster froze for half a second, his brows lifting slightly—then he let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his forehead dropping against yours. "God, I knew I liked you," he murmured, voice husky, and before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, deeper, hungrier, like your answer had just sealed something in him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, "I do too."

And then he was kissing you again, harder this time, like he was proving a point, like he was making damn sure you’d never forget it because to you, he is the man.

[hardballoonlove]

Traitors War: 2

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

An Eris x assassin reader mini series! (which may be followed by one-shots)

Chapter 1

Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, along with his brothers wishes to get rid of his father. Never did he know this journey would start 200 years ago with an assassin exiled from the Night court.

Word count: 8.8k

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Topics of war and death.

The main tent buzzes with a tense energy, its heavy canvas walls flapping faintly in the night breeze. A large table dominates the centre of the space, maps and strategy notes spread haphazardly across its surface. The Vanserra brothers—Eris, Lucien, Fern, Ashen, and Lux—sit in a loose circle, their faces lit by the flickering glow of lanterns. The scent of wine mingles with the lingering traces of ash and sweat, the air thick with unspoken anxieties.

Eris sits at the head of the table, his chair slightly pulled back from the rest. His sharp features are cast into stark relief by the firelight, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on his wristwatch. His long fingers tap an uneven rhythm on the wooden armrest, betraying the nervous energy he’s worked so hard to conceal. Every few seconds, he glances down at the watch’s face, counting the minutes since the hounds returned. He knows the exact timing—knows that the hounds’ return marks the beginning of your own, that the trek back should take no more than thirty-five minutes. And yet, the seconds drag on, each one heavier than the last.

Lucien leans casually against the table, his golden eye catching the firelight as he studies the map before them. “If Beron loses his western flank, the tide shifts completely,” he says, his voice steady but edged with the weight of their task. “We’ll have the numbers. His soldiers are already deserting.”

“Numbers don’t matter if we don’t outmanoeuvre him,” Ashen counters, swirling the wine in his glass. “He’s still got loyalists dug in around the eastern camps.”

“We can box them in,” Fern interjects, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he leans forward. “But we’ll need to move fast. Eris, you agree?”

Eris doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes are on his watch again, the golden timepiece glinting as he flicks it open and shut. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

Lucien exchanges a look with Ashen, his lips curving in a faint, knowing smile. “He’s distracted,” Lucien remarks dryly, taking a slow sip from his glass.

“Worried about something?” Fern asks, raising a brow.

Eris finally looks up, his amber eyes sharp as they sweep the room. “I’m always worried about something,” he says curtly, the edge in his tone silencing further commentary.

Lux, sitting slightly apart from the others with his boots propped on a low stool, smirks and lifts his glass. “Maybe he’s worried about his little spy,” he drawls, the words deliberately teasing. “Or is it something more than that, Eris? Should we be expecting wedding bells?”

The atmosphere shifts instantly. Eris’s gaze snaps to Lux, a flicker of something dark and volatile flashing across his face. The air in the tent feels suddenly heavier, the tension palpable as the brothers freeze, sensing the brewing storm.

“Watch your tongue, Lux,” Eris says quietly, his voice low and cutting, the kind of tone that carries more weight than a shout ever could. His fingers curl tightly around the armrest of his chair, the movement deliberate, controlled—barely.

Lux raises his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never quite leaves his face. “Relax, brother,” he says, though there’s a hint of unease in his tone now. “I was only joking.”

Eris leans forward slightly, his amber eyes locking onto Lux’s with a dangerous intensity. “You think it’s a joke? That the person risking their life for us right now is worth mocking?” His words are sharp, each one precise and deliberate. “Maybe if you spent more time strategizing and less time running your mouth, we’d be closer to ending this war.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Lux shifts uncomfortably in his seat, finally dropping his gaze. Lucien clears his throat, breaking the tension with practiced ease. “Enough,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “We have more important things to focus on.”

Eris exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair, but his focus drifts back to his watch. The flicker of anger in his eyes is replaced by something softer, something unguarded and raw. He’s not just worried about the mission. He’s worried about you.

The ticking of Eris’s watch feels deafening in the tense quiet of the tent. Every click of the second hand seems to burrow deeper into his nerves, the weight of it settling heavily in his chest. His jaw clenches tighter with each passing second, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair in a rhythm that matches his watch. He’s calculated the time it would take you to return a dozen times over, factoring in every possible delay. Yet, as the minutes creep beyond what should have been your arrival, a sharp unease coils in his gut.

Five minutes past the mark.

It’s too long.

Eris stands abruptly, the force of his movement scraping the chair against the wooden floor with a grating noise that silences his brothers mid-conversation. His amber eyes are shadowed with determination as he grabs his coat from the back of his chair and strides toward the tent’s entrance without a word.

Lucien’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp with concern and curiosity. “Eris.” He stands as well, taking a step toward his older brother. “Where are you going?”

Eris doesn’t stop, his long strides purposeful as he moves toward the flap of the tent. “I’m going to find her,” he says curtly, not bothering to turn around. His voice carries an edge of finality, daring anyone to argue.

Lucien frowns, his golden eye narrowing slightly. “You don’t even know where she is. The hounds haven’t come back yet. You can’t just charge into the woods without a plan.”

Eris pauses at the threshold, his back straight, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at Lucien, doesn’t meet the concerned gazes of his other brothers. Instead, he speaks with a quiet intensity that cuts through the tension like a blade. “She should’ve been back by now.”

Lucien steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. She’s capable, Eris. She’s handled worse before. Give her a little more time.”

But Eris turns his head just enough for the firelight to catch the sharp angles of his face, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of worry in his eyes. “I gave her time,” he says, his voice tight. “And now I’m done waiting.”

Without another word, he sweeps out of the tent, the cool night air rushing in as the flap falls shut behind him. Lucien watches him go, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He knows better than to follow—knows the stubborn streak that runs deep in Eris and the quiet desperation behind his brother’s actions.

As the sound of Eris’s boots fades into the night, the tension in the tent lingers. Lux glances at Lucien, raising a brow. “Think he’ll actually find her?”

Lucien doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze still fixed on the tent’s entrance. Finally, he sighs and sinks back into his chair. “If anyone can,” he mutters, more to himself than the others, “it’s him.”

-----

The river slows, the violent current easing as the terrain flattens. Your limbs feel leaden, your muscles screaming in protest as you claw at the rocky riverbed. Each breath is a struggle, your chest heaving as you fight the weight of the waterlogged clothing clinging to your body. The chill of the river seeps into your bones, a biting cold that makes your fingers clumsy and numb.

Your hands find purchase on a jagged rock, and you pull yourself forward with a groan. The rough surface scrapes against your palms, the sting sharp and immediate. You ignore it, gritting your teeth as you drag yourself further out of the water. The river licks at your legs, reluctant to let you go, but you finally manage to crawl onto the uneven ground, collapsing onto your stomach with a shuddering gasp.

For a moment, you lie there, the world spinning as you try to catch your breath. The stars overhead blur, their light fractured by the droplets clinging to your lashes. The night air is frigid against your soaked skin, and the wet fabric of your gear feels like a leaden shroud. Every inch of you aches, from the sharp sting of shallow cuts to the deeper bruises forming beneath your skin.

You push yourself up slowly, your arms trembling with the effort. Your gaze drops to your hands, and even in the dim light, you can see the blood smeared across your palms. Thin, crimson lines crisscross your skin, where the rocks tore into you during the jump and the struggle in the river. A quick glance down confirms more cuts along your legs, the fabric of your trousers shredded in places, blood welling up from angry gashes.

The air smells of damp earth and iron, the faint tang of your blood mingling with the freshness of the river. You shiver violently, the cold tightening its grip as the wind brushes against your soaked form. Water drips from your hair, trailing down your face and neck in icy rivulets. The chill is unrelenting, a sharp reminder that you need to move, need to get warm, need to find shelter.

You push to your knees, the motion unsteady. Mud squelches beneath you, clinging to your skin as you force yourself to stand. Your boots sink slightly into the soft ground, but you manage to stagger forward, your body swaying as you adjust to the weight of exhaustion. Each step is a battle, but you grit your teeth and keep moving, the distant glow of the burning camp a haunting silhouette behind you.

The forest looms ahead, dark and foreboding, but it’s a shield against the open riverbank. You limp toward it, every instinct urging you to keep going, to put distance between yourself and the chaos you left behind. Blood drips in a steady rhythm from your hand, marking your trail with stark red drops.

Your breaths come out in ragged bursts, visible puffs of steam in the frigid night air. The chill cuts deeper with every moment, but you press on, the flicker of survival burning stubbornly within you.

The forest is dense, shadows curling around the trees like silent sentinels. You stumble forward, each step heavier than the last. The initial rush of adrenaline has long since faded, leaving your body to grapple with the sheer weight of exhaustion and pain. Your cuts sting with every movement, the cold air biting into your skin through the shredded fabric of your gear. Blood trickles in thin, sticky rivulets down your arms and legs, leaving a faint trail in your wake.

Ten minutes. That’s as far as you manage.

Your legs buckle, the strength in them giving way as you collapse against the rough bark of a tree. The impact sends a sharp jolt of pain through your already battered body, but you’re too drained to care. You slide down until you’re seated, the damp ground beneath you soaking into what’s left of your clothing. Your head tips back, resting against the gnarled trunk, and you stare up at the canopy above. The stars peek through the leaves, their light distant and indifferent.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, each one visible in the frosty air. The forest feels too quiet, the silence pressing against your ears. You try to focus, try to muster the will to move, but your body refuses. The cold is sinking deeper now, numbing your fingers and toes, sapping what little energy you have left.

You close your eyes, just for a moment. The darkness feels like a reprieve, soft and all-encompassing. Your mind drifts, slipping into the quiet void of exhaustion. You tell yourself you’ll move soon, just a few moments of rest. But those moments stretch on, your awareness fading like the embers of a dying fire.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulls you back from the edges of unconsciousness. You’re too weak to open your eyes, the world around you a blur of cold and faint sounds. A voice calls your name, sharp and edged with worry. You don’t have the strength to answer.

Eris breaks through the underbrush, his amber eyes scanning the area with frantic precision. The light of the small lantern he carries casts shifting shadows across the forest floor, illuminating the streaks of blood and the faint footprints you left behind. His breath hitches when he sees you slumped against the tree, your form crumpled and unnaturally still.

“Gods,” he breathes, rushing to your side. He drops to his knees, the lantern clattering to the ground beside him. His hands hover over you, hesitant, as though afraid touching you might break you further.

“Wake up,” he commands, his voice tight with worry. “Damn it, open your eyes.”

When you don’t respond, his hands settle on your shoulders, shaking you gently at first, then more insistently. “Come on. Don’t do this,” he mutters, his tone slipping into something raw and vulnerable.

His gaze rakes over you, taking in the torn and bloodied state of your clothing, the deep cuts on your exposed skin, and the way your lips are faintly tinged with blue from the cold. He curses under his breath, the sound low and vicious, and quickly shrugs off his coat, wrapping it around your trembling form.

Eris presses two fingers to your neck, searching for your pulse. Relief flickers across his face when he finds it, though it’s faint and thready beneath his touch. “You’re freezing,” he says, more to himself than you, his voice tinged with desperation.

He leans closer, his hand brushing against your cheek, warm despite the chill of the night. “I told you this was a risk,” he mutters, his tone a mix of anger and fear. “You’re not allowed to leave me like this. Do you hear me?”

When you don’t stir, he pulls you carefully into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The movement is gentle, despite the tension radiating from his body. “You’re going to be fine,” he murmurs, as though saying it out loud will make it true.

Eris rises to his feet with you in his arms, his jaw set in determination. The lantern’s light casts long shadows as he strides back through the forest, his pace quick but careful. The warmth of his body against yours is the last thing you register before unconsciousness drags you under again.

The forest blurs around Eris as he runs, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven gasps that cloud in the frigid night air. Your weight in his arms is both grounding and unbearable, each step jolting the raw cuts and bruises marring your body. He tightens his grip, cradling you closer to his chest, his coat swaddling your limp form like a makeshift shield. His heart pounds in his ears, louder than the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his boots, louder than the distant calls of the night.

He bursts through the tree line, the flickering glow of the campfires ahead guiding him like a beacon. His boots pound against the dirt path, and the guards stationed near the edge of the camp snap to attention, their eyes widening in alarm as they take in the sight of their commander.

“Move!” Eris barks, his voice cutting through the night like a whip. The guards scatter, clearing a path as he barrels toward the main tent. His coat flutters behind him, the weight of the situation palpable in the tense air that follows him like a storm.

Inside the tent, the Vanserra brothers are still seated, their conversation subdued as they pore over strategy maps. Ashen swirls a glass of wine lazily, his brow furrowed in thought, while Lux leans back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Lucien, always sharp, glances toward the tent’s entrance just as Eris storms in.

The sight of him silences the room. His brothers freeze, their gazes snapping to the bloodied figure in his arms. The dim lantern light casts harsh shadows on Eris’s face, his amber eyes blazing with a mix of fury and fear.

“Get a healer!” Eris roars, his voice reverberating through the tent. The raw panic in his tone is enough to spur them into action.

Ashen is the first to move, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he bolts upright. His wine glass topples, spilling dark liquid across the maps, but he doesn’t spare it a glance. “On it,” he says sharply, already sprinting out of the tent. The flap flutters wildly in his wake as he yells for a healer.

Lucien is at Eris’s side in an instant, his golden eye scanning your motionless form. “What the hell happened?” he demands, his voice tight with concern. He reaches out but stops short of touching you, his hand hovering uncertainly. “She’s bleeding everywhere—what did you do?”

“She jumped off a cliff into the godsdamned river,” Eris growls, his tone trembling with restrained emotion. He kneels carefully, lowering you onto a pile of blankets spread hastily across the floor. His hands linger, unwilling to let you go completely.

Lux, for once, is silent, his usual smirk replaced by a grim expression as he crouches beside Eris. His sharp eyes take in the shredded fabric of your gear, the blood streaking your skin, and the faint rise and fall of your chest. “She’s alive,” he mutters, more to reassure himself than anyone else.

Eris presses his fingers to your neck again, finding your pulse faint but steady. He exhales sharply, a sound more like a shudder than a sigh. “She wasn’t supposed to take this much risk,” he says, his voice low and laced with guilt.

Lucien places a hand on Eris’s shoulder, his grip firm but steady. “She’s alive,” he says pointedly, locking eyes with his older brother. “And she’s not done fighting. You know that.”

The tent flap bursts open, and Ashen returns with a healer in tow, a slender female with sharp, focused eyes and a satchel of supplies slung over her shoulder. “Out of my way,” she orders briskly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Eris doesn’t move immediately, his hand still resting protectively on your arm. The healer spares him a glance, her gaze softening just slightly. “I’ll take care of her,” she says, her tone firm but not unkind.

Reluctantly, Eris rises, stepping back but never straying far. His brothers exchange glances, but none of them say a word, the weight of Eris’s worry hanging heavy in the air. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as he watches the healer work, every muscle in his body taut with barely restrained fear.

-----

The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not the biting chill of the river or the numbing cold that had seeped into your bones but a soft, enveloping warmth that feels foreign after the ordeal. Your eyelids are heavy, your body sluggish, but the faint hum of voices and the rustle of fabric nearby pulls you closer to consciousness.

When you finally manage to open your eyes, the dim light of the tent greets you. Shadows flicker across the canvas walls, cast by the steady flame of a lantern perched on a nearby table. The scents of healing herbs and clean linen mingle with the faint metallic tang of blood, though it’s not as overwhelming as you might have expected.

You shift slightly, the movement drawing a sharp inhale as your body protests with aches and twinges of pain. That’s when you feel it—a hand wrapped around yours, firm and steady. You blink, turning your head to the side, and find Eris sitting beside you. His head is bowed slightly, his fiery hair catching the lantern’s glow, but his amber eyes lift the moment he feels you stir.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice low and edged with something you can’t quite place—relief, exhaustion, maybe even anger. His grip on your hand tightens just slightly, as if reassuring himself that you’re really here, alive.

You try to speak, but your throat feels dry, your voice barely more than a rasp. “What… happened?”

Eris exhales slowly, leaning forward. “You jumped off a cliff into a river,” he says, his tone tight with frustration, though his eyes soften as they meet yours. “I found you on the forest floor, half-dead and bleeding all over the godsdamned place. If you had been any slower getting out of the water…” He trails off, shaking his head as though trying to banish the thought.

Your brows furrow as you take in his appearance—his clothes are wrinkled, his hair slightly dishevelled, and faint dark circles mar the skin beneath his eyes. “Have you… been here the whole time?” you ask softly, your voice still hoarse.

Eris hesitates, his gaze dropping to your joined hands for a moment. “Only at night,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “I couldn’t—” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t leave you completely. Not like that. During the day, I handled the fighting. But every night, I came back to make sure you were still breathing.”

You blink at him, his words settling heavily in your chest. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, there’s a fierce protectiveness in his expression, a vulnerability he doesn’t bother to hide.

“I didn’t ask you to—” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“You don’t have to,” he says firmly. “You scared the hell out of me, and I wasn’t going to risk not being here if you…” He swallows hard, the words trailing off again. His jaw works for a moment, tension lining his face. “You’re too godsdamned stubborn for your own good.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips despite the heaviness of the conversation. “Takes one to know one,” you murmur, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases.

Eris lets out a soft huff, something that’s almost a laugh, and shakes his head. “Just—don’t do anything like that again,” he says, his tone gentler now. “I won’t always be there to catch you.”

You don’t reply, your fingers curling slightly around his. For now, it’s enough to know that he stayed, that he cared enough to watch over you when you needed it most.

The soft quiet of the tent is interrupted by the sharp rustle of the entrance flap. You glance toward it, your body tensing reflexively despite your exhaustion, but the figure stepping inside is instantly familiar. Lucien strides in with purpose, his golden eye gleaming in the dim light as he surveys the scene. His gaze flickers between you and Eris, lingering for a moment on your joined hands, before settling on his brother.

“Eris,” Lucien says, his tone brisk but not without concern. “You’re needed with the western squadron. They’ve run into a complication, and it sounds like it’s escalating fast.”

Eris doesn’t move immediately. His jaw tightens, and his grip on your hand remains firm. For a moment, he looks torn, his amber eyes flicking back to you as though weighing whether he can afford to leave.

“I’ll send someone else,” he mutters, his voice low.

Lucien steps further into the tent, crossing his arms. “You can’t,” he says, his tone hardening just slightly. “This isn’t something you can delegate. They need you, Eris.”

You watch as the tension radiates through Eris’s frame, his shoulders rigid and his jaw clenched. It’s clear he doesn’t want to leave, and the thought stirs something uncomfortably warm in your chest.

“Go,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but steady enough to catch his attention.

Eris turns back to you, his brows furrowing. “You’re not—”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, managing a faint smile despite the weariness weighing you down. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lucien raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to suppress a smirk at your words, but wisely keeps silent.

Eris exhales sharply through his nose, clearly reluctant. He leans closer to you for a brief moment, his free hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face with surprising tenderness. “I’ll be back,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a promise as much as a warning.

Without another word, he releases your hand, rising to his full height. His gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer before he finally turns and moves toward Lucien, his stride purposeful but heavy with reluctance.

As they step out of the tent, you hear Lucien’s voice, low and teasing. “Didn’t realize you’d grown so attached to your spy, brother.”

“Shut up, Lucien,” Eris snaps, though his tone lacks its usual bite.

The flap of the tent closes behind them, leaving you alone in the flickering light, your thoughts swirling as exhaustion begins to pull you under once more.

The night outside the tent is as black as ink, the stars obscured by thick clouds rolling across the sky. The only light comes from the faint, flickering embers of dying campfires scattered throughout the encampment. The air is cool and sharp, carrying the scents of pine, damp earth, and faint traces of smoke.

You sit up slowly, every movement a careful negotiation with the aches and pains that still cling to your body. The healer had left extra salve and bandages nearby, but you don’t reach for them. Instead, you move toward your folded gear at the edge of the cot, your movements deliberate and quiet to avoid waking anyone outside the tent.

You dress with practiced precision, your muscles remembering the familiar motions even through your exhaustion. First, the fitted undershirt and trousers, each piece sliding into place with a soft rustle of fabric. Then the reinforced leather bracers, worn smooth with use, followed by the sturdy boots you lace tightly. Every buckle and strap is fastened with care, ensuring there’s no loose piece that might give you away.

Reaching for the small blade at your side, you test its edge briefly before slipping it into its sheath. The last step is your hair, which you gather quickly with nimble fingers, twisting it up and tying it out of the way. The knot is secure, and you glance down at yourself, making sure everything is in place.

With a final deep breath, you push aside the tent flap and step into the shadows outside. The camp is mostly still, save for the occasional flicker of movement from guards patrolling the perimeter. You stick to the edges, your footsteps silent against the packed earth as you slip through the maze of tents and makeshift shelters.

As you move closer to the heart of the camp, voices drift to you, carried on the cool night breeze. You pause, pressing yourself against the shadowed side of a supply tent, and strain to listen.

It’s Lucien’s voice you hear first, low and measured. “We’ve taken down another two of Beron’s camps today. If we keep this pace, his forces will be too scattered to mount any real resistance within a week.”

Lux responds, his tone laced with dry amusement. “Bold of you to assume Beron has anything resembling a real plan anymore. He’s running out of people willing to die for him, and even his loyalists are starting to question if he’s worth it.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Ashen interjects, his voice sharp. “Desperate men are dangerous. If Beron feels cornered, he might take risks that could cost us more than we’re prepared to lose.”

Fern hums thoughtfully, the sound barely audible over the crackling of a nearby fire. “I still think we should push harder. Hit him where it hurts and end this quicker. We know where his last stronghold is. Why wait?”

“Because we’re not ready,” Lucien replies, a hint of frustration slipping into his usually calm demeanour. “And we can’t risk overextending ourselves. We’ve come this far because we’ve been careful. Rushing now could undo everything.”

There’s a brief silence, heavy with tension. You lean in closer, your heart pounding as you take in the weight of their words.

“I’ll say this much,” Lux drawls finally, his tone lighter, though no less sharp. “Eris has been… distracted lately. I’m guessing it has something to do with our little spy.”

You stiffen, your pulse quickening as the words register.

Ashen snorts. “He’s always been protective of his people. This is no different.”

“No different?” Lux scoffs. “He’s practically been glued to her side. Not exactly his usual style, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Enough,” Lucien cuts in, his voice cold. “Whatever Eris’s reasons, they’re his own. Focus on the task at hand. We’re not here to speculate about his personal life.”

The conversation shifts, the brothers moving on to discuss troop movements and supply lines. But your mind lingers on their words, a mix of emotions twisting in your chest. You press your back against the tent, your breaths slow and steady as you regain control over the storm threatening to rise within you.

The flap of the tent pushes aside with a deliberate motion, and all conversation halts as you step inside. The gathered Vanserra brothers—Lucien, Lux, Fern, and Ashen—turn toward you, their expressions ranging from surprise to wariness. Lucien, seated near the head of the table, raises an eyebrow, his golden eye gleaming in the dim lantern light.

Eris isn’t here, but his absence only sharpens the edge in the room. They weren’t expecting you—especially not after your condition only hours ago. Yet, here you are, standing tall despite the ache in your muscles and the remnants of exhaustion clinging to your frame.

“Not exactly the guest I expected tonight,” Lux says, breaking the silence, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

You ignore the comment, stepping closer to the map sprawled across the table. Your eyes briefly scan the lines and markers indicating troop movements and strongholds before you speak, your voice steady and cold.

“You’re doing this wrong.”

Fern narrows his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wasting time chasing his forces around the Autumn Court,” you continue, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Every time you take out one of Beron’s camps, his remaining forces retreat and regroup at the next. They’re replenishing faster than you can dismantle them.”

Lucien folds his arms, his expression guarded. “And what do you propose we do instead? Sit back and wait for them to come to us?”

“No,” you reply sharply. “You strike at Beron himself. You execute him. Now.”

The tent falls into silence, the weight of your words settling heavily over the group. Lux glances toward Lucien, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Bold strategy. Care to elaborate?”

You step closer to the table, planting your hands on the edge as you lean over the map. “Killing Beron doesn’t just weaken his forces—it dismantles them. His army is held together by fear and desperation. Without him, there’s no unifying force. His commanders will scatter, his soldiers will desert, and his loyalists will turn on each other. He’s the lynchpin. Remove him, and the rest crumbles.”

Ashen frowns, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “And how exactly do you suggest we pull that off? Beron isn’t exactly sitting around waiting to be assassinated.”

“He’s overconfident,” you say, meeting Ashen’s sceptical gaze. “He’s too arrogant to believe anyone could get close enough to kill him. But I can.”

Lucien exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You just threw yourself off a cliff, nearly died, and now you’re volunteering to assassinate Beron himself? Do you have a death wish, or are you just that reckless?”

You straighten, your eyes cold as they lock onto Lucien’s. “I know his patterns, his movements. I know how to get in and out without being seen. This isn’t recklessness—it’s strategy. And it’s the only way to end this war before more lives are lost.”

Lux chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Gutsy. I’ll give you that.”

Fern glances toward Lucien, his expression cautious. “She’s not wrong. Taking out Beron could end this faster. But it’s a high-risk move. If it fails…”

“It won’t fail,” you cut in, your voice firm. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you this is what needs to be done. If you want to keep chasing his forces and playing this endless game of cat and mouse, fine. But every day you waste gives Beron time to regroup and retaliate.”

Lucien regards you in silence for a long moment, his gaze flicking over your determined expression. Finally, he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll bring this to Eris. If he approves—”

“I don’t need Eris’s approval,” you interject, stepping back from the table. “But if he wants to stop me, he knows where to find me.”

Without waiting for their response, you turn on your heel and stride out of the tent, the tension in the air following you like a shadow. You’ve made your case. Now it’s up to them to decide if they’ll follow your lead—or stay stuck in their losing game.

As the tent flap falls closed behind you, the brothers are left in a tense silence. For a moment, no one speaks, their gazes shifting between each other and the map spread before them. It’s Lux who breaks the quiet, leaning back in his chair with a low whistle.

“Well,” he says, dragging the word out. “She certainly knows how to make an entrance. And an exit, for that matter.”

“Don’t,” Lucien snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched. “This isn’t a joke, Lux. She’s serious.”

“No kidding,” Lux replies, still smirking. “But you have to admit, the whole ‘lone assassin taking down the big bad tyrant’ shtick is…dramatic.”

Ashen glares at him, his voice low and grave. “It’s also the most logical plan we’ve heard in weeks. You know she’s right. Chasing Beron’s forces isn’t going to end this war—it’s just dragging it out.”

Fern nods slowly, his gaze fixed on the map. “She’s calculated. If anyone can pull this off, it’s her. But that doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous as hell.”

“She’s already barely holding together,” Lucien says, his voice strained with frustration. “You saw the state she was in when Eris brought her back. And now she wants to throw herself straight into the lion’s den?”

Lux shrugs, picking up a piece of bread from the table and tearing off a small piece. “She’s been in worse situations, hasn’t she? That’s why Eris keeps her around—she gets things done. And let’s not pretend he wouldn’t secretly love to see his father’s head on a spike.”

At that, Lucien slams his fist down on the table, the sound echoing through the tent. “This isn’t just about Eris! It’s about her, too. She’s not expendable.”

The others fall silent, their gazes flickering between Lucien and the map.

Ashen speaks up after a beat, his voice quiet but firm. “She’s not wrong, though. Beron won’t stop unless he’s dead. And the longer we hesitate, the more men we lose.”

Lucien lets out a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s reckless. If she goes in alone, there’s no guarantee she’ll come out alive.”

Lux smirks again, though there’s a hint of seriousness behind it this time. “She didn’t exactly ask for our permission, did she? We all know Eris is the only one who might stop her—or help her. And considering how he’s been lately…”

Fern sighs, leaning his weight onto the edge of the table. “Eris won’t like this plan. But he also won’t stop her. Not if she’s already decided.”

Lucien curses under his breath, his golden eye gleaming as he stares down at the map. “Then we’d better hope she knows what she’s doing. Because if she doesn’t…”

He trails off, and the tension in the tent grows heavier.

Lux, ever the provocateur, raises an eyebrow. “If she doesn’t, we’ll all have front-row seats to the downfall of Autumn Court. Won’t that be fun?”

Ashen shoots him a withering glare, but no one argues. The room falls into a grim silence, each brother lost in their own thoughts as they consider the weight of what’s to come.

The sound of heavy boots approaching cuts through the tension in the tent, and the flap is pushed aside to reveal Eris. His amber eyes scan the room quickly, narrowing when he notices the grim expressions on his brothers’ faces. He strides in, his movements precise and brimming with authority, though there’s an edge of exhaustion in the tightness around his jaw.

“What’s with the faces?” he asks sharply, his gaze locking onto Lucien, the most likely to give a straight answer. “Did something happen?”

Lucien hesitates for a moment, his jaw tightening before he speaks. “She came in.”

Eris blinks, clearly thrown off. “Who?”

“Her,” Ashen says, his voice low. “Your spy. She was just here.”

Eris’s entire demeanour shifts in an instant. His shoulders go rigid, and his eyes darken with something unspoken. “She was here?” he repeats, his voice clipped. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“Because she didn’t wait for an invitation,” Lux cuts in, his tone light but with an edge of mischief. “She walked right in, told us we’re idiots for chasing Beron’s forces, and laid out a plan to assassinate him.”

Eris’s gaze snaps to Lux, then shifts to the rest of his brothers, as if searching for confirmation. “She… what?”

“She was direct,” Fern adds, his tone even. “Said Beron’s forces are regrouping every time we dismantle one of his camps. The only way to end this is to kill him.”

Eris exhales slowly, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he processes this. “And you entertained this plan?”

Lucien rises from his chair, meeting Eris’s gaze evenly. “She’s not wrong. It’s a solid strategy. But it’s reckless, especially in her condition. She’s not ready for something like this.”

“She said she wasn’t asking for permission,” Ashen interjects, his voice calm but pointed. “She’s going to do it with or without us.”

Eris curses under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. He steps closer to the table, his amber eyes fixed on the map as if it might offer some kind of answer. “And you just let her leave?”

“What were we supposed to do?” Lux says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Tie her to a cot? She’s got a mind of her own, you know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t test me, Lux,” Eris snaps, his voice sharp as a whip. “You should’ve stopped her.”

“She wasn’t leaving to act right away,” Fern says, trying to diffuse the tension. “She came to make her point, to get us thinking. But she’s determined, Eris. And she’s not wrong about Beron being the key to all of this.”

Eris lets out a sharp breath, his hands braced on the table. His mind is racing, and his brothers can see it—Eris weighing every possibility, every risk. Finally, he straightens, his expression carefully neutral.

“She won’t go alone,” he says firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “Not this time. If she’s going after Beron, we’re doing it my way. I’ll speak with her myself.”

Lux raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Good luck with that. She doesn’t exactly seem in the mood to be persuaded.”

Eris doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the tent, the flap snapping shut behind him. The brothers exchange a glance, a mixture of unease and anticipation hanging in the air.

“He’s not going to stop her,” Lucien mutters, his tone resigned.

“No,” Ashen agrees. “But he’ll try to control it. And if anyone can pull that off…”

Fern nods, finishing the thought. “It’s him.”

The brothers fall into silence, the weight of Eris’s resolve settling over them like a storm on the horizon.

Eris stalked across the camp, the tension in his shoulders radiating through every step. The cool night air was thick with the scent of earth and ash, the remnants of fires burning low in their pits. Soldiers moved about the camp, casting wary glances at their High Lord as he passed. His face was carved from stone, his golden hair catching the dim light of the moon like a fiery halo.

He knew where to find you. He always did.

The tent you’d been recovering in stood at the edge of the camp, away from the bustle of the main operations. He stopped in front of it, staring at the flap for a moment. His chest tightened as he thought of the last few days—your unconscious form on that makeshift bed, your shallow breaths, the bruises and cuts marking your skin. And now, after all of that, you were plotting something that could get you killed.

He pushed the flap aside without announcing himself.

You were sitting at a small table, hunched over a worn piece of parchment, sketching something with sharp, precise movements. The lantern beside you cast flickering shadows across your face, highlighting the faint purple bruising under your eyes and the determined set of your jaw.

You didn’t look up when he entered, though you must have known it was him. Only Eris would storm into your space with such single-minded fury.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low but edged with steel.

“I’ve been awake,” you replied coolly, not looking up from your work.

Eris took a step closer, his boots scuffing against the dirt floor. “You went to my brothers,” he said, his tone a mixture of accusation and disbelief. “Laid out a plan to assassinate Beron, knowing full well that you’re still recovering from almost dying.”

You set the parchment down and finally looked at him, your eyes cold and unyielding. “Recovering doesn’t mean incapable.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Do you have any idea what you’re risking?”

“Of course I do,” you said sharply, standing to meet his gaze. Despite the difference in your heights, you seemed to grow in presence, your defiance cutting through the space between you. “But unlike the rest of you, I’m not content to sit around playing war games while Beron grows stronger. This ends now, Eris. One way or another.”

Eris stared at you, his amber eyes burning with frustration and something deeper, something raw. “And what if you don’t come back?” he demanded, his voice rising. “What if this reckless plan of yours costs you your life?”

“Then it costs me my life,” you said evenly, your voice steady. “This isn’t about me. It’s about ending him, for good.”

“Damn it, Y/N!” Eris closed the distance between you in two long strides, his hands gripping your shoulders with a gentleness that belied the fire in his words. “You think you’re some sacrificial piece on a chessboard? That your life is nothing more than a tool to win this war?”

You stared back at him, unflinching. “If it gets the job done, then yes.”

Eris’s grip tightened for a moment before he released you, stepping back as if burned. He turned away, running a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over into a bitter laugh. “You’re infuriating. Do you know that?”

“You’re wasting time,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you’re here to stop me, save your breath. My mind’s made up.”

He spun back to face you, his eyes blazing. “I’m not here to stop you. I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. If you’re determined to go after Beron, then you’re doing it my way. With support, with strategy—not this lone-wolf bullshit you seem to think is heroic.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised but unwilling to show it. “Your way?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Because like it or not, you’re not expendable. Not to me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken meaning. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound the faint crackle of a nearby fire.

Finally, you nodded, your expression softening just slightly. “Fine. Your way. But we strike soon.”

Eris exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough to be noticeable. “Soon,” he agreed, his voice quieter now. “But not tonight. Rest, Y/N. You’ll need your strength.”

With that, he turned and left the tent, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.

-----

The morning light filtered through the thin canvas of the tent, casting a pale, golden glow across the space. You were sitting on the edge of the cot, your legs dangling off the side, idly rubbing your wrist where a bruise had bloomed from the past week’s chaos. Sleep had been fitful at best, your mind running through the plans, the risks, the faces of the people you’d killed and those you’d yet to face.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts, and the tent flap was pulled back unceremoniously. Lux sauntered in without knocking, his usual smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning casually against the wooden support beam in the centre of the tent. “Look who’s up and about. I was half-convinced Eris had tied you to that cot to keep you from running off again.”

You shot him a dry look, crossing your arms. “Good morning to you too, Lux. What do you want?”

“What? No pleasantries for your favourite Vanserra brother?” he teased, though there was an edge of genuine curiosity in his amber eyes.

“Depends. Are you here to lecture me like the rest of your family?”

Lux chuckled, pushing off the beam and striding over to you. He crouched down slightly, putting himself at eye level with you. “Lecture? No. But I do have to admit, it’s impressive how much chaos you’ve managed to stir up in such a short amount of time.”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” you said, your voice firm.

He studied you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “You really mean that, don’t you? Throwing yourself headfirst into danger without a second thought. Eris wasn’t exaggerating when he said you’re the most stubborn person he’s ever met.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “And what does Eris think of this?”

Lux straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “Oh, he’s brooding, as usual. Probably pacing somewhere and thinking of ways to make this all go according to his oh-so-perfect plan.”

You huffed a quiet laugh despite yourself. “Sounds about right.”

Lux grinned, but his expression quickly turned serious. “Listen, I’m not here to stop you or talk you out of anything. That’s not my style. But if you’re really going through with this, just… be smart about it. Beron’s not like the others you’ve faced. He’s cruel, calculating, and he’ll do anything to win.”

“I know,” you said softly.

“Good,” he said, clapping you lightly on the shoulder. “Just remember, you’re not doing this alone. Whether you like it or not, you’ve got people who care about you. Even if some of them are too stubborn to admit it.”

His words lingered as he stepped back toward the tent flap. Before he left, he glanced over his shoulder, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said. “Try not to break Eris’s heart while you’re at it. The poor bastard’s already wound tighter than a bowstring because of you.”

And with that, Lux slipped out of the tent, leaving you alone with his words echoing in your mind.

The meeting was held in the largest tent at the heart of the camp. It was dimly lit, a single lantern swinging faintly from a beam overhead, casting golden light over the maps and parchments spread across the table. The Vanserra brothers were gathered, their expressions a mixture of tension and determination.

You entered the tent without hesitation, ignoring the flicker of surprise on Ashen’s face and the faint smirk Lux shot your way. Eris stood at the head of the table, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your presence.

“Glad you could join us,” he said dryly, though his gaze lingered on you, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you replied evenly, moving to stand beside Lucien, who gave you a slight nod of acknowledgment.

The air was thick with unspoken tension as Eris gestured to the map on the table. It was marked with inked lines and symbols denoting troop movements, strongholds, and Beron’s last known location.

“After yesterday’s… revelation,” Eris began, his tone carefully controlled, “we’ve revised our plans. The only way to ensure victory is to cut off the head of the snake. Beron must die.”

There was no argument, no hesitation from the brothers. They had accepted your outburst and the truth behind it, though the weight of what it meant was clear in the set of their shoulders.

“How do we get close to him?” Ashen asked, his arms crossed as he leaned against the edge of the table. “Beron’s been cautious, moving between camps. His forces are scattered, but his personal guard is still formidable.”

“We know where he’ll be,” Eris said, pointing to a marked area on the map. “He’s expected to gather his remaining loyalists here,”—his finger tapped a spot near the Autumn Court’s border—“in three days' time. It’s his last stand. If we strike then, we can end this.”

“Striking won’t be enough,” you said, your voice cutting through the room. All eyes turned to you, but you held their gazes with steady resolve. “We can’t just attack blindly. Beron will expect an ambush. He’ll have traps, reinforcements, and he’ll be waiting for us to make a mistake.”

Eris’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile that vanished as quickly as it came. “Then what do you suggest, oh fearless one?”

You leaned over the table, your finger tracing a narrow path on the map. “We lure him out. He won’t come unless he thinks he has the advantage. We need someone on the inside—a false defector who can feed him just enough information to make him overconfident.”

Lux let out a low whistle. “That’s bold. And dangerous. Who’s signing up for that suicide mission?”

“I am,” you said without hesitation.

The brothers erupted in a chorus of protests.

“Absolutely not,” Eris snapped, his voice sharp enough to silence the others. His eyes burned as he stared you down. “You’ve already pushed yourself too far. You think I’m going to send you into Beron’s camp alone? To play double agent for a man who would gut you the moment he suspected you?”

You met his fury head-on. “It’s the only way. He won’t believe anyone else. He knows me—knows what I’m capable of. If I go in, he’ll believe the lie long enough for you to get close.”

Eris slammed his hand down on the table, the sharp sound echoing in the tent. “No. I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t have a choice,” you shot back, your voice rising. “This isn’t about you, Eris. This is about ending this war. If you have a better plan, I’m all ears. But until then, this is the best shot we’ve got.”

Lucien stepped in, his voice calm but firm. “She’s right. Beron’s pride is his weakness. He won’t be able to resist the idea of turning one of Eris’s own against him. But it’s not without risk.”

“It’s too much risk,” Eris ground out, his jaw tight.

“You’ll have to trust me,” you said, your voice softer now but no less determined. “I can do this. I’ve been in worse situations before.”

Eris stared at you, his amber eyes searching your face for any hint of hesitation. Finding none, he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders still taut.

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice like ice. “But you’re not going in alone. I’ll have shadows on you every step of the way. And the moment anything feels wrong, you’re out. No arguments.”

You nodded, the weight of his words settling over you. “Agreed.”

The brothers exchanged glances, a mixture of unease and grudging acceptance. The plan was dangerous, but it was also their best chance.

“Then it’s settled,” Eris said, his voice tight. “Three days. We strike, and this ends.”

The tent fell silent, the gravity of the decision sinking in. You felt Eris’s eyes on you, a storm of emotions hidden behind his amber gaze. But he said nothing more, turning back to the map as the brothers began discussing the logistics.

You stood quietly, already bracing yourself for what was to come.

[hardballoonlove]

Pamper queen

Azriel might be the most intimidating man, the definition of the devils shadow, but really he's a pampered drama queen. Each weekend him and his mate go full out in skin care and Rhysand and Cassian find it hilarious.

Warnings: Fluff, alcohol, would acne extraction be one??? sparring and cursing oh and Azriel being a drama queen

Wordcount: 2.8k

Azriel x reader

Cassian's laughter rings out like a clap of thunder, echoing off the walls of Rhysand’s office. He’s leaning against Rhys’s desk, half a glass of wine in one hand and a teasing glint in his hazel eyes. Rhys, seated comfortably in his high-backed chair, smirks in that lazy, knowing way of his. His violet eyes flick to Azriel, who is leaning stiffly against the far wall, his shadows unusually still as they curl around his shoulders.

“So, Az,” Cassian starts, dragging out the name like it’s a punchline in and of itself. “You’re telling me you—the terror of Illyria, the spymaster of the Night Court—spend your Sunday nights getting your face poked at?”

Rhys snorts, swirling his wine. “Careful, Cass. If you laugh too hard, he might sic Y/N on you. I hear she takes her...skincare duties very seriously.”

Azriel doesn’t so much as flinch, though you can see the faint twitch of his jaw, a crack in the stoic mask he always wears. He levels them with a cool, unbothered stare, but you know better. He’s biting back a sigh.

“She does it for me,” Azriel finally says, his voice even, though there’s a defensive undertone there. One that makes Rhys's smirk widen and Cassian practically howl with glee.

“She does it for you?” Cassian wheezes, his wings rustling as he doubles over, clutching his stomach. “Oh, please, tell me she gives you one of those fancy face masks too. Maybe with cucumbers for your eyes?”

Azriel’s shadows swirl as if annoyed on his behalf. “You two wouldn’t understand,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rhys raises a brow, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “Oh, we understand perfectly, Az. Your mate loves taking care of you, and you love letting her. But—” Rhys’s grin sharpens, his tone turning wicked— “we also understand that you’re probably lying there, utterly miserable, while she does it.”

“You don’t move, do you?” Cassian cuts in, barely containing his glee. “You just let her sit there with her little kit of torture devices and—what—dig into your pores? Do you even blink, Az?”

“Of course, I blink,” Azriel replies dryly, but he still hasn’t moved from his spot against the wall. You suspect he’s calculating the fastest way to leave the room.

Cassian doesn’t let up, his laughter spilling out in waves. “I’d pay good money to see it. You, flat on your back, probably wincing while she scolds you for not using whatever cream she gave you last week.”

“She doesn’t scold me,” Azriel says calmly, though his shadows twist tighter, betraying his irritation.

“Oh, I bet she does,” Rhys says with a chuckle. “And I bet you love it.”

That earns him a glare, but Rhys just shrugs, unbothered.

“Does she threaten you too?” Cassian adds, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Like, ‘Hold still, Azriel, or I’ll use the extractor tool.’” He waves his hand dramatically for effect, then bursts into laughter again.

You can’t help but grin as you step into the room, the scene unfolding exactly as you imagined it would. All three males glance your way, but it’s Azriel who straightens immediately, his shoulders relaxing as you approach.

“You’ve been talking about me, haven’t you?” you ask lightly, fixing Cassian and Rhys with a knowing look.

“Never,” Rhys drawls innocently, though his smirk gives him away.

“Always,” Cassian counters, beaming. “But it’s not our fault Az is the perfect source of entertainment.”

Azriel lets out a long-suffering sigh, his gaze softening as it meets yours. You cross the room to stand by his side, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Don’t let them bother you,” you murmur, though you’re smiling. “They’re just jealous because they don’t get this kind of attention.”

Cassian gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Jealous? Of him? Sweetheart, I’d rather face the Blood Rite again than let anyone near me with one of those pointy tools.”

You glance at Azriel, biting back a laugh at the subtle flush creeping up his neck. He doesn’t say a word, just shifts closer to you, his hand brushing against yours.

“I think he looks amazing,” you say simply, giving Azriel a warm smile.

That shuts Cassian up—briefly, anyway. Rhys just grins, lifting his glass in a mock toast.

“To the neatest, most put-together Illyrian in all of Prythian,” Rhys says, his tone light. “And to his very patient mate.”

Azriel rolls his eyes, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Later, you know he’ll pretend their teasing didn’t bother him. But for now, you squeeze his hand, silently reassuring him. And as always, he squeezes back.

-----

The bedroom is quiet save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Warm golden light flickers across the walls, casting shadows that seem to dance lazily as Azriel lies sprawled on the bed. His wings are folded neatly against the mattress, his arms resting loosely at his sides. He’s shirtless, his dark hair slightly tousled, the picture of relaxation—or as close to relaxed as Azriel ever gets.

You sit comfortably on his chest, your knees bracketing his ribs as you settle into your usual Sunday night routine. Your little tool kit is open on the bedside table, neatly arranged like a surgeon’s tray. Azriel’s shadows are quieter than usual, watching from the corners of the room as you bend over him, your focus completely locked on his face.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” you ask softly, your tone teasing as you press your fingers gently against his cheek, angling his face toward the light.

“No,” he replies evenly, though his voice is low and smooth, a sure sign he’s trying to play it cool. “It’s not painful.”

You hum, leaning closer as you examine the faint speckles on his nose and along his jawline. “I don’t believe you. You always flinch when I use the extractor.”

“I don’t flinch,” he counters, his hazel eyes flicking up to meet yours. There’s a glint of challenge in them, though it’s softened by the way his hands rest lightly on your thighs.

“Oh, you flinch,” you reply with a smirk, reaching for the little metal tool. His gaze shifts briefly to it, and though his expression remains impassive, you catch the subtle way his throat bobs as he swallows.

“You act like this is torture,” you tease, pressing the flat of the tool against his nose and gently extracting the first blackhead. He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“It’s not torture,” he says, though his tone is a little clipped.

You pause, raising a brow as you glance down at him. “Would you prefer I stop?”

“No,” he says immediately, his fingers tightening slightly against your thighs. “Keep going.”

You grin, biting back a laugh as you lean over him again, the warmth of his skin brushing against yours as you work. His sharp cheekbones and strong jawline are as familiar to you as your own hands, and you take your time, your fingers brushing softly against his face as you clean every little spot you can find.

“Cassian and Rhys would have a field day if they saw this,” you murmur after a moment, sitting back slightly to admire your work.

Azriel lets out a low sound that might be a sigh—or a groan. “Don’t remind me.”

“I think it’s sweet,” you say, setting the tool aside for a moment to trace your fingers along his jawline. “That you let me do this. That you trust me with this.”

His eyes soften as he looks up at you, the intensity in his gaze making your heart flip. “I trust you with everything.”

Your breath catches at the honesty in his voice, your chest tightening as you lean down to press a kiss to his lips. He lifts his head slightly to meet you, the kiss slow and gentle, his hands sliding up to rest on your hips.

When you pull back, you smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You’re too perfect, you know that?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, his shadows curling lazily around the edges of the bed. “I’m far from perfect.”

“Well,” you say, reaching for the tool again, “your skin is getting pretty close.”

He groans softly but doesn’t protest, his hands returning to your thighs as you continue your work. And though he’ll never admit it out loud, you know he doesn’t mind. Not really. After all, this is one of the few moments where the walls he’s built so carefully come down, where it’s just the two of you, and he can let himself be cared for.

The fire crackles softly in the background as you press the extractor tool gently against Azriel’s nose, your fingers steady and precise. His skin is warm beneath your touch, his breath even—at least, for now.

You’ve just started working on a particularly stubborn blackhead when Azriel lets out a low groan, his head shifting slightly on the pillow.

“This is taking forever,” he mutters, his voice a deep rumble laced with annoyance.

You pause, your fingers hovering mid-air as you shoot him a look. “Azriel.”

“What?” He arches a brow, feigning innocence, though there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrays his irritation. “I’m just saying, it feels like you’ve been at this for an hour.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. You set the tool down and lean forward, planting your hands on either side of his head so your face is directly over his. “Would you rather I stop and let your pores clog up completely? Maybe let your skin get all rough and dull so Cassian can tease you even more?”

He scowls at the mention of Cassian, his hazel eyes narrowing. “That’s not what I said.”

“No,” you say, sitting back and picking up the tool again. “But that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” you ask, tilting your head as you press the extractor against his cheek.

“I said,” he repeats, louder this time, “I don’t see why this is necessary every week.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” You pause again, raising an incredulous brow as you set the tool aside. “This coming from the man who polishes his knives until they shine and organizes his weapons room by category, size, and colour?”

“That’s different,” he says defensively, his shadows stirring faintly around the bed as his wings twitch against the mattress.

“How?” you challenge, crossing your arms over your chest. “You care about your weapons. I care about your skin. Same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing,” he mutters, though his voice has lost some of its bite.

You let out an exasperated sigh, leaning forward again. “Azriel, if you don’t hold still and stop complaining, I’m going to start using a much rougher technique.”

His eyes flick to the extractor in your hand, and you catch the faintest glimmer of unease in his gaze. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” you say, your tone firm but teasing.

He groans again, throwing an arm over his eyes like a petulant child. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re impossible,” you counter, gently nudging his arm aside so you can get back to work.

Despite his grumbling, he stays still, his hands resting lightly on your thighs again as you focus on the task at hand. You work in silence for a few moments, the tension slowly draining from his body as your fingers move carefully across his skin.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters after a while, his voice softer this time, almost fond.

You pause, smiling as you glance down at him. “I know,” you say lightly. “And you’re lucky I’m patient enough to deal with you.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

And just like that, his complaints cease, his body relaxing completely as you finish up your work. Because deep down, he knows—no matter how much he groans or grumbles—there’s no one else he’d trust with this, with any of it. Only you.

-----

The sun spills golden light across the Illyrian training ring at the House of Wind, the morning air crisp and filled with the faint rustle of the breeze over the mountains. Azriel stands at the edge of the ring, rolling his shoulders to loosen up, his wings spreading slightly before tucking back behind him. He looks as sharp as ever—his dark leathers perfectly tailored, not a hair out of place, his skin practically glowing.

Cassian is the first to notice.

“Well, well,” Cassian drawls, swaggering into the ring with his usual cocky grin, his wings flaring slightly as he stretches his arms above his head. “If it isn’t Prythian’s finest male.” He eyes Azriel with mock scrutiny, squinting at him as if trying to decipher something.

Azriel doesn’t respond, just rolls his neck in that deliberate, unbothered way of his, but you can already see the faint tightening of his jaw.

Rhysand strolls in behind Cassian, his violet eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes one look at Azriel and smirks. “Cass, do you smell that?”

Cassian sniffs theatrically, tilting his head as if deep in thought. “Hmm. Smells like… lavender? No, wait—rosehip oil.”

“Ah, that’s it,” Rhys says with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he leans casually against one of the posts. “Our spymaster smells like a luxury spa. Did Y/N slather you in some kind of serum last night, Az?”

Azriel levels them both with a flat look, his hazel eyes dark and unimpressed. “Are we training today, or are you two just here to run your mouths?”

“Oh, we’re training,” Cassian says, his grin widening as he steps into the center of the ring. “But we couldn’t start without acknowledging the sheer… glow you’re giving off this morning.”

Rhys raises a brow, feigning curiosity as he gestures to Azriel’s face. “What is that, Cass? Would you say he looks… radiant?”

“Definitely radiant,” Cassian agrees, nodding solemnly. “Like he just stepped out of one of those little beauty salons in Velaris.”

Rhys chuckles, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You know, I bet Y/N has a standing appointment for him every Sunday night. Blackheads, moisturizers, maybe even a face mask.”

Azriel finally sighs, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as he steps into the ring. “Are you two done?”

“Not even close,” Cassian says, his grin positively wicked. He gestures to Azriel’s face, circling him like a predator stalking its prey. “You know, I think I see my reflection in your cheekbones, Az. Do you polish those, too?”

“I hear there’s a new Illyrian skincare regimen,” Rhys adds, his tone mock-serious. “First, you take a mate who’s very detail-oriented. Then, you let her pin you to the bed with a toolkit every week.”

Cassian barks a laugh, clapping a hand to his chest. “Does she have one of those little mirrors too? The kind that shows every pore?”

Azriel exhales slowly, his jaw tightening as he fixes them both with a cool stare. “You two are acting like children.”

“Children with flawless skin,” Rhys says smoothly, grinning.

Azriel takes a deliberate step toward Cassian, his wings spreading just slightly—a silent warning. “Keep talking, and we’ll see how flawless your face is after I plant it in the dirt.”

Cassian, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He just laughs again, his broad shoulders shaking as he squares off with Azriel. “Oh, come on, Az. We’re just appreciating the effort. You’re putting the rest of us to shame.”

“I don’t need to try to put you to shame,” Azriel deadpans, his tone as dry as the Illyrian steppes.

Rhys snickers, stepping into the ring with a casual wave of his hand. “All right, let’s not bruise Cassian’s ego too much, Az. You know how fragile it is.”

“Fragile?” Cassian scoffs, but before he can launch into a tirade, Azriel moves—swift and lethal, sweeping Cassian’s legs out from under him in a single, fluid motion.

Cassian hits the ground with a grunt, glaring up at Azriel as he props himself up on his elbows. “You’re in a mood today.”

“Maybe it’s the rosehip oil,” Azriel replies dryly, offering the faintest smirk before turning to face Rhys. “Your turn, High Lord.”

Rhys laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Oh, I’m not about to mess with someone who just spent the night being pampered by his mate. You’re clearly in top form.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, but as the three of them settle into training, you can’t help but notice the slight upward twitch of his lips, barely there but unmistakable. Because as much as he complains about their teasing, a part of him doesn’t mind. After all, it’s not every day he gets to keep them on their toes—and he’s more than happy to remind them why he’s still the spymaster of the Night Court.

[hardballoonlove]

I love that

Aim for the Sky Part 41 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: A quiet wedding anniversary spent in the mountains is exactly what you and Bradley need.

Warnings: Adult language, DILF Roo, pregnancy, kinda smutty, lactation kink

Length: 2000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Is that all you're bringing?"

You turned toward your husband where he stood in the bedroom doorway, rocking Rose in his arms while she fussed. Your hand stilled on your bag on the bed. "You haven't specifically told me where we're going, Bradley. Just to pack for four nights."

"Mountains," he grunted, like that was supposed to be explanation enough as he pressed a kiss to your daughter's forehead while she reached for his mustache. But that's all he'd been saying. "Just pack some sexy stuff." 

You'd been picturing a quaint cabin off the beaten path as the destination for your second wedding anniversary, but Bradley had packed two bags for himself and one for Rose. How much could he possibly need? You were starting to question everything now.

"It's not like I have maternity lingerie," you murmured.

"It's not like you need it, Baby Girl. You look cute in my sweatpants. Or nothing." He walked into the room and glanced into your bag which contained just a few outfits, your boat shoes, and your toiletries. "Maybe you packed enough after all. Let's hit the road. I want Rosie to nap on the way."

Twenty minutes later, your daughter was already sound asleep in her car seat as your husband buckled you into the passenger seat of the red Bronco. You yawned as he pulled the seatbelt over your belly, and he bent to kiss his daughter as she squirmed against your bladder. You contemplated running back inside to use the bathroom again, but you were about to doze off just like Rose.

Bradley's lips brushed yours. "We'll be there in a few hours."

You nodded, thinking you'd wake up for part of the ride to enjoy Bradley's Motown playlist and his rich singing voice. But instead, you managed to sleep through several hundred miles and the sunset, only waking up in time to hear the tires crunching.

"There's snow!" you gasped, gaze catching on the evergreen trees covered in white in the dying light.

"Yeah," Bradley replied between songs on his playlist as he turned down a driveway. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

Your breath fogged the window as an opulent house three times the size of the Craftsman came into view. The windows were glowing orange; there was a porch the size of your entire driveway. "When you said mountains, you meant like whole-ass mountains! I packed my boat shoes!"

Bradley snorted as the Bronco came to a stop while you gawked at the mountains all around. "I added some of your cold weather clothes to my bag. Some of the stuff you used to wear when we went to Maryland for the holidays."

Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. One month until Christmas. It dawned on you that you and Bradley had no real reason to go back east now even though you both had roots there. "After Nugget Part Deux is born, we should take the girls to explore Virginia and Maryland. We can see your cousins. We can stop at the cemetery and visit your parents."

Bradley paused with the driver's side door open, cold air rushing into the Bronco's warm interior as his brown eyes studied yours. "What made you think about that?"

It was hard to put into words the way his parents would fill your mind with sadness and your heart with so much love it almost hurt. "I miss them."

"Me, too," he replied easily, never questioning the way you felt like Carole and Nick held a place in your family although you'd never met them. "Let's do that in the summer. And let's work on picking a name for Nugget Part Deux. It's getting to be a mouthful."

------------------------

You were laughing at the sight of Rose in her head-to-toe snow suit, but Bradley was busy making sure her exposed cheeks and nose weren't getting too much of the cold air. He kept picking her up from the snowy cabin steps to press his lips to her face.

"Feels okay," he whispered, letting her continue to play. She seemed to like the cold as she crawled toward the spot where you were sitting, compiling a small mound of snowballs as you casually tossed out one of the baby names that you claimed was on your short list.

"Nora?"

Bradley grunted in response. "It's okay." Personally, he had really liked some of the names that seemed to match better with Rose's. "What about Violet? Wasn't that on the list?" He watched Rose pat the snowballs and giggle as you scooped her up. Two cute little girls with pretty flower names just made sense.

"Yeah, I liked that one. And I liked Poppy."

"Me, too," he agreed, watching your smiling face as you put some of your snowballs into Rose's mittened hand and tried to launch them at him. When they fell short, you threw them directly at his chest instead.

"She's not cooperating!" you complained. "You're supposed to be on my team, Rosie. The girls team."

"Absolutely not." Bradley scooped up some of the powdery snow and sprinkled it over your head until you were rolling your eyes. "Rosie is on Team Daddy. Better luck with Poppy Violet, Sweetheart."

As he plucked the baby from your hands, you smiled up at him. "So it's settled then? She has a name? For real?"

Naming Rose after a song he'd played for you made sense, but this made sense, too. "Yeah. She officially has a name," Bradley said softly as his gaze settled on your belly. It was hard to tell you were pregnant with your winter coat zipped up and snug around your body, but his hands were so used to the way your hips and waist felt right now. Suddenly he couldn't wait to touch you. "Let's go inside. I don't want Rosie to get too cold, and the wind is starting to pick up now that it's getting dark."

"You just want to mess around," you replied, getting to your feet on the snowy steps.

"Of course I want to mess around. My wife is hot."

Your eye roll was accompanied by a little smirk. "Let me feed Rosie so she can take a nap, and then it can be your turn."

Bradley watched you settle into the overstuffed couch in front of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the mountains. Fresh snow was beginning to fall as he poked at the logs in the fireplace, making sure the great room was warm enough for his girls. Then, as Rose curled against your round belly, he made himself useful in the adjoining kitching. He knew you'd be hungry for dinner after you were done feeding her, and Bradley was always hungry. The leftover turkey deli meat and stove top stuffing would make the most perfect sandwiches, so he lined everything up on the counter.

"It's so pretty here," you murmured, eyes fixed on the windows as he dimmed the lights so you could see the heavy snowfall that was moving in. "I wonder how much snow they'll have here by Christmas."

"We could find out next year," Bradley mused. "We can come back with your parents and the girls. There are four bedrooms, after all."

"Do I even want to know how much you spent on this?" you asked, turning to look at him.

Bradley deftfully dodged the question. "Just imagine a huge tree in the corner. Poppy's first Christmas. I'm sure your mom would make dinner, or we could just do sandwiches again. I'm kind of liking the sandwiches."

"I'm kind of liking all of this," you whispered, repositioning Rose to burp her, but Bradley loved that task. He settled on the couch beside you and took her in his big hands, patting her back. "You were right, Roo. We needed a little break as a family."

When you went to put your bra back on, he shook his head. "Don't bother with that. I'm going to be all over you in a minute. Rose always burps quickly for me, just like a good little Nugget."

His sentence was followed by a soft burp that made you laugh, which made your tits bounce, which made Bradley whimper as he stood to put the baby down for a nap so he could get his fill of you.

When he returned to the living room, you were naked, skin glowing in the firelight as you coaxed him closer to the couch. "Oh, you look so pretty, Baby Girl. We're definitely going to have to come back here."

You giggled as you unzipped his jeans and straddled his lap. "We can't fuck in front of the fireplace if my parents are here with us."

"Please, stop talking about them," he whispered, letting your heavy breasts fill his palms as you guided his erection to your pussy. Your body was perfect and welcoming as he filled you until you gasped. "That's a good girl."

Your head lulled back as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, and you kept his cock warm until it was time for him to fuck the absolute shit out of you.

----------------------------

As soon as you stirred in the California King sized bed that you and Bradley had spent the better part of last night defiling, you heard him rasp, "Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart."

You stretched, feeling the workout he'd given you throughout your entire body. You were sore, in a good way, but combined with your pregnancy exhaustion, you were hoping to sleep in a little longer. His smile more than made up for the early hour when you looked at him.

"Has it really only been two years? It feels a lot longer than that," you whispered, kissing along his unshaven cheek to his mustache.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment, or..."

"It's a compliment," you promised, wrapping your arms around him. "Hey, remember that time you asked me out and I said no?"

"Hmm, vaguely." He squinted at the ceiling and chuckled as his hand came to rest on the side of your belly where Poppy was currently thumping around. "But that didn't last long. And look how far we've come, Baby Girl." He turned his head, dark eyes earnest as he asked, "Want to take a bath while I get breakfast ready? I brought the thermometer to test the water for you."

He had packed pretty much anything you or either of your daughters might possibly need. And a bath did sound good, especially after last night. But since you couldn't have the water as hot as you liked, you didn't linger very long, opting to join your husband istead. 

More snow had fallen overnight, but he had a fire warming the living room where he was walking around, holding Rose to his chest with one hand. He was singing a song from his Motown playlist, and you were shocked she was reaching for his mustache instead of crying to eat. But that changed as soon as she saw you.

"Not so fast, Nugget," he crooned. "Let Mommy take a bite of her breakfast first." That's when you noticed two slices of confetti cake and two flutes of pink champagne on the coffee table. "It's non-alcoholic, so have as much as you want. And I brought the cake from your favorite bakery back in San Diego."

Somehow it was perfect. Everything was perfect. Bradley in his ratty gym shorts and Rose fussing to eat. Cake for breakfast and couch snuggles for the entire day.

"I love you, Bradley," you promised, reaching for his hand and pulling him close until his lips found yours for probably the millionth time in just a few years. "I love you so much. You make everything perfect."

His lips curled against yours as he smiled. "I just want to spend the day with my girls."

-------------------------------

Let that man enjoy spending time with his girlies! He earned it! That's the end of the series, besties! This has been so fun for me! Thanks you so much for reading along and leaving so much love. I'd love to visit Roo and BG (and all these other wild and crazy kids) through asks, blurbs and one-shots, so please feel free to send them to me. Love love love you!

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[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Terrified to Lose You

Summary: It was supposed to be nothing—just one reckless night to get each other out of their systems before he shipped out. But when cocky, insufferable Jake Seresin lets his guard down, and she lets herself lean in, the lines between want and something deeper start to blur. With the weight of tomorrow pressing in and unspoken feelings lingering between them, neither is ready to admit just how much this night really means. Because once the sun rises, he’s gone and there are no guarantees he’s coming back.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Sexual Content/Smut. Strong Language, Military Themes (Looming Deployments, Uncertainty of Returning from Deployments, etc.)

Word Count: 9,514

Author’s Note: This is a combination of a request I received for enemies to lovers with Jake Seresin. As well as the @elixirfromthestars writing challenge using the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone from the Twisters soundtrack…but using it for the Top Gun: Maverick Fandom instead. Hope you guys like it! xx

The Hard Deck is buzzing with the usual chatter, but there’s an edge to it tonight. The music is a little too loud, and the pool tables are too noisy, but no one is really having fun. Not tonight.

The squad has gathered, everyone gathered around the bar, half-heartedly pretending to be relaxed. The pitchers of beer on every table are the only thing that seems to lighten the mood, but it’s forced. 

Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow evening Coyote, Hangman, Rooster, Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob head out for a mission they’ve been preparing for for weeks. There’s a lingering sense that no one knows exactly what’s waiting for them on that aircraft carrier.

Coyote and Rooster are at the pool table, the clack of cues against balls filling the space. Payback, Fanboy, Phoenix, and Bob are crowded around one of the tables laughing at some half-hearted joke. But even they can’t ignore the quiet weight of what’s coming. The deployment is looming, the jet engines roaring in their minds even as they try to unwind, and everyone knows that tonight could be the last time they are all together.

But you? You’re on the outside looking in. You had been on the shortlist. Had been the key phrase. Your name was in the mix for this mission, and for a moment it felt like you would finally get your shot. Then the final call came, and you weren’t picked. The rejection stings more than it should, but you push it down. You try to drown it in a gulp of your drink.

You shouldn’t be bitter. They chose who they thought was right for the mission, but that doesn’t stop the resentment from bubbling up in your chest.

Then of course there’s Jake. He's sitting at the bar, that cocky smirk never leaving his face. Even as the weight of tomorrow presses on him too. His eyes flicker toward you once in a while, the usual game between you two never stopping. There’s always a silent challenge in the air when the two of you are in the same room.

Even now, with everything so tense, you can feel his gaze like a weight on your back.

“Stop staring, Hangman,” you mutter to yourself, but you know he’s already aware.

You shift on your stool, and a sudden urge to leave this place sweeps over you. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You should be out there with them preparing for the mission. Not stuck watching them go off and do it while you sit on the sidelines.

And yet, every time you turn your head, you catch his eye again. That infuriating, self-assured smirk.

He tipped his beer toward you. "Gonna miss me when I’m gone, sweetheart?"

You scoffed, reaching for your own drink. "I don’t even like you when you’re here, Hangman."

A chorus of groans erupted from the group.

"For the love of God," Phoenix muttered, rubbing her temples like she was developing a headache. "Just fuck already and put us out of our misery."

Bob sipped his drink and shook his head. "I’d rather not have to witness that, actually."

You rolled your eyes. "As if."

Hangman, the smug bastard, winked at you like he knew something you didn’t.

You gasped, feigning outrage, which only made his grin widen. "You are unbelievable."

"And you," he countered, voice dipping just enough to make your pulse skip, "love it."

Your lips parted, ready to fire back, but the weight of everyone’s eyes on you made you hesitate. It wasn’t the first time the team had accused you two of having some kind of unresolved tension, but the last thing you wanted to do was give them more fuel for the fire.

So, instead of acknowledging the warmth creeping up your neck, you simply took another sip of your drink and turned away. Hangman let out a quiet chuckle, low and knowing, and you knew this wasn’t over.

A few hours passed, The Hard Deck was nearly empty now, and the warm hum of conversation long faded. Penny wiped down the bar, occasionally glancing your way, but she knew better than to interfere. Everyone else had trickled out, heading back to base or wherever else they were spending their last night before deployment. 

But you were still here. And so was Hangman.

He leaned against the wall near the back pool tables, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you like he had all the time in the world. That infuriating smirk of his hadn’t wavered, even as exhaustion tugged at the edges of the night.

"You worried about me, darlin’?" he drawled, voice low, lazy like he already knew the answer.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as something inside you twisted tight. "I don’t have the energy to waste worrying about you."

That should have been the end of it. But of course, it never was.

Hangman pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward you. His eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. 

"That’s a lie."

Your jaw clenched. His confidence was insufferable, unbearable even. Because it wasn’t just arrogance. It was accuracy. It was him knowing you better than he should, seeing things you weren’t ready to admit.

The pressure building in your chest needed somewhere to go, so you shoved at him. Hard. Your palms met the solid plane of his chest, and even though he barely budged, it made you feel like you had some kind of control over the situation.

You turned on your heel, needing distance, needing air. Footsteps followed, steady and unhurried. 

"You know what your problem is?"

You didn’t stop walking, didn’t answer. But when you heard him getting closer, and felt the heat of his presence just behind you, you couldn’t stop yourself from turning back around, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Oh, please, enlighten me," you snapped.

He was right there. Close enough that the scent of his cologne curled around you. Close enough that his breath, slow and even, ghosted against your skin. The space between you had evaporated, leaving nothing but heat and the heavy weight of everything unspoken.

"You talk a big game," he murmured, voice low and edged with something that made your stomach tighten. "But you don’t know what to do when someone calls your bluff."

The words hit like a challenge. And for the first time all night, you didn’t have a comeback.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster than you wanted to admit. He always did this. Pushed you right to the edge, just to see if you’d jump. And God help you, but you always did.

"Fuck you, Seresin."

He grinned, but this time, there was something sharper behind it, something more dangerous. "Yeah? Say that again."

Your teeth clenched as you shoved him, both hands flat against his chest. He barely moved, but the warmth of his body beneath your palms sent a jolt through you, one you refused to acknowledge.

"I swear to God if you don’t back off—"

"Or what?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it, something dark and crackling in the air between you.

You were breathing hard now, but so was he.

"You drive me fucking crazy," you gritted out.

Jake huffed a short laugh, tilting his head. "Likewise, sweetheart."

Silence. Charged. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, and without thinking, you wet them. It was the smallest movement, but he caught it. Of course, he did.

And then he moved.

His hands were on your face, fingers pressing into your jaw as his lips crashed into yours, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding back for way too long. There was nothing soft about it, nothing careful. It was fire and fury, an explosion of everything you’d been choking down for months.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands found his hair, twisting and pulling, nails scratching just to get a reaction. And God, did you get one.

Jake groaned into your mouth, deep and raw, before spinning you, pushing you back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact sent a shockwave through your body, but you barely noticed. Not when his knee slipped between your thighs, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

"I hate you," you breathed, head tipping back as his mouth dragged along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

He grinned against your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. "You love this, though."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because the way you pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders, said everything.

His teeth scraped against your throat, and your grip on his shirt tightened like you were trying to ground yourself, trying to remember why this was a terrible idea. But then his hands slid down your sides, rough and unrelenting, and suddenly, thinking wasn’t an option anymore.

Jake pulled back just enough to catch your gaze, green eyes dark and wicked under the dim light of the bar’s exterior. His lips were swollen, his breath coming just as fast as yours. 

"We should get out of here," he murmured, voice rough with something you refused to name.

You scoffed, even as your body betrayed you, already aching to follow him wherever he was about to lead. "Oh, and I suppose you just happen to have a place in mind?"

His smirk was immediate, cocky as ever. "Darlin’, I always have a plan."

The arrogance sent a fresh spark of irritation through you, tamping down the heat pooling low in your stomach. You pushed against his chest, though it wasn’t nearly as forceful as it should have been. 

"Jesus, Hangman, do you ever turn it off?"

"Not when I’m winning," he shot back, and that stupidly cocky grin widening.

Your eyes narrowed. "This isn’t a game."

Jake tilted his head, taking his sweet time looking you up and down, his hands still resting on your hips like he had every right to touch you. 

"Then why," he murmured, voice low and smooth as honey, "does it feel like you’re losing?"

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. He was insufferable. Absolutely unbearable.

And you were going home with him.

God help you.

The drive to Jake’s place was tense, thick with something neither of you was willing to name. You sat in the passenger seat of his truck, arms crossed tight over your chest, gaze fixed on the road ahead as if you weren’t acutely aware of him beside you. As if every nerve in your body wasn’t tuned to him. The way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, the way he shifted gears with that effortless, cocky ease, the way his tongue flicked over his bottom lip like he was savoring the anticipation.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It was loaded.

You exhaled sharply, shifting in your seat. "Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna keep glancing at me like a damn creep?"

Jake huffed a laugh, glancing at you sideways. "Oh, sweetheart, I was gonna let you sit there and stew, but since you’re practically begging me to talk…"

Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing. "I am not—"

"Admit it," he cut in smoothly, lips curving into a smirk. "You like this. You like me."

You let out a bark of laughter, turning back toward the windshield. "You’re delusional."

Jake clicked his tongue, shifting gears again. "That so?"

"Yes," you snapped, but it lacked bite. 

Maybe because his hand had just settled on your thigh, warm and heavy, his thumb brushing idly against your jeans.

It was infuriating how casual he was about it, like he did this all the time like he knew you wouldn’t push him away. And the worst part? He was right.

You glared down at his hand but didn’t move it. 

"I hate you," you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Jake chuckled, squeezing your thigh just slightly, sending a slow wave of heat curling up your spine. 

"Sure, sweetheart," he drawled. "Keep tellin’ yourself that."

You clenched your jaw, staring straight ahead, determined not to react. You could not let him win this round.

But then he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur, right against your ear. 

"I bet," he said, his breath fanning warm over your skin, "that by the time we get to my place, you’re gonna be begging me to ruin you."

Your stomach clenched. Your breath caught.

You turned sharply toward him, ready to rip into him, to tell him exactly where he could shove his ego. But one look at his smug, knowing expression, and suddenly, the only thing you wanted more than to slap him was to kiss him.

Jake barely had the truck in park before you were unbuckling your seatbelt, ready to throw the door open and escape the suffocating tension between you. But before you could make your move, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, voice like silk and sin. "Not so fast, sweetheart."

You turned, mouth already open to argue, but whatever insult you had locked and loaded died in your throat when you saw his face.

Jake looked at you like he was savoring every second of your frustration, drinking in the flush creeping up your neck, the way your lips parted just slightly as you struggled for a retort. His grip on your wrist was firm but not tight, thumb ghosting over your pulse, which, much to your horror, was racing.

You swallowed hard, yanking your arm free. "Are we going inside, or are you just gonna sit here looking smug all night?"

Jake grinned, slow and cocky, before pushing open his door. 

"Oh, we’re goin’ inside," he said, stepping out like he had all the time in the world.

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to get a grip, then followed suit, slamming the truck door a little harder than necessary. You stomped up the walkway behind him, practically vibrating with the need to do something. You didn’t even care what. Punch him, kiss him, you just needed something.

Jake reached the door first, unlocking it with ease, but instead of stepping aside to let you in, he turned, leaning against the doorframe.

"Last chance to back out, darlin’," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as your body screamed at you to get closer. "Like you would let me live that down."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I’d never let you live it down," he agreed, then tilted his head, eyes dark and burning with something that made your stomach twist. "But we both know you don’t want to back out."

And just like that, you snapped.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, you yanked him down, crashing your mouth against his.

Jake groaned, deep and satisfied, as if he’d known this was coming. He let you take control for a split second before flipping the script, crowding you into the door, hands gripping your hips like he was staking a claim.

The kiss was fire and fury, all teeth and tongue. His hands roamed, rough and sure, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

You pulled back just enough to gasp, "God, I hate you."

Jake grinned against your lips, fingers curling into your waistband. "Yeah?" His voice was pure arrogance. "Show me, then."

The door had barely clicked shut before Jake had you backed against it, his body flush against yours, heat radiating off him in waves. His lips found yours again, just as greedy, just as needy as before, like he’d been starving for this and now that he had a taste, he wasn’t letting go.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, and he groaned against your mouth, low and rough, before yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside like it was offending him.

"Jesus, Hangman," you muttered, taking in the broad planes of his chest, the way his muscles flexed as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

He smirked, stepping back into your space, hands finding your waist again. "Was wonderin’ when you’d finally admit you liked lookin’ at me, sweetheart."

You scoffed, shoving at his chest. "I don’t."

Jake caught your wrist mid-shove, his grip firm, the heat of his palm branding against your skin. "Liar," he murmured, and then he spun you, pressing you against the door, his chest flush against your back.

Your breath hitched.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You know what I think?"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jake chuckled, feeling your stubborn silence. "I think you like it when I get under your skin," he continued, voice thick as honey, hand sliding along your arm before settling at your hip. "I think you like fightin’ me ‘cause it makes this—" he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, biting down just enough to make your fingers twitch—"so much better."

You shivered.

"Tell me I’m wrong," he murmured, lips trailing lower.

You hated him. You hated how right he was. How much you wanted this, wanted him.

So instead of answering, you turned, grabbing his face and pulling him into another kiss, swallowing his smug little chuckle as you pushed him backward.

Jake let you lead—at least for a few steps—until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he took advantage of your forward momentum, twisting you both so you tumbled down with him.

You gasped as you landed in his lap, his hands immediately finding your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to make you ache.

"Well, would you look at that," he drawled, looking up at you with pure, unfiltered arrogance. "Right where you wanna be."

Your glare was instant, but whatever insult you were about to hurl at him got lost in the way his hands slid up, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin at your hips, his gaze dark and knowing.

"Say it," he murmured, voice softer this time. "Say you want this."

You exhaled sharply, fingers threading into his hair, pulling just enough to make him grunt.

"Jake—"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

You clenched your jaw, breath coming short and fast.

"I hate you," you whispered, leaning down, lips brushing against his.

Jake grinned. "That so?"

You nodded, eyes locked on his.

"Good," he murmured, tilting his head up to kiss you again, all teeth and heat. "Hate me all you want." His fingers dug into your hips, his voice dropping to a growl. "Just don’t stop."

His hands, hot and steady against your hips, didn’t push—didn’t take the way you half-expected him to. Instead, he just looked at you, gaze flickering over your face like he was memorizing the way you looked right then—cheeks flushed, lips kiss bruised, breathing heavy.

You swallowed, suddenly too aware of the weight of his hands, the heat of his body beneath you. "What?" you muttered, shifting slightly in his lap.

Jake’s fingers flexed at your waist, his jaw tightening like he was holding something back. Then his eyes lifted to meet yours.

"Want me to take this off, sweetheart?" he murmured, toying with the hem of your shirt, voice softer than before. More careful.

Your breath caught.

You weren’t sure what surprised you more. The fact that he asked or the fact that it sent a different kind of heat through you. Something deeper. Something that settled low in your stomach, curling tight.

"You don’t have to ask," you muttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse was suddenly hammering against your ribs.

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, one hand leaving your waist to push a strand of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek for just a second longer than necessary. "Yeah, I do."

And that? That threw you. Because it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It was real. For a split second, it wasn’t about the fight, the tension, or the way you constantly tried to push each other’s buttons.

It was just him.

Your throat felt tight, and you hated it. Hated that something so simple made your stomach flip.

But you still lifted your arms.

Jake didn’t hesitate after that, peeling your shirt off in one smooth motion and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. But then he stopped again, and Jesus Christ, the way his eyes raked over you, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the way his breath shuddered just slightly. It made your skin prickle and made heat lick up your spine.

For the first time that night, you didn’t have some sharp remark ready.

And Jake noticed.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as his hands skimmed up your sides, settling just beneath the band of your bra. 

"Well, would you look at that," he murmured, eyes dragging back up to yours. "Speechless."

Your glare was instant, but before you could snap at him, his grip tightened, pulling you closer, lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, "And beautiful."

And just like that, he shattered every thought in your head.

Jake's fingers trailed up your spine, slow and deliberate, making you shiver before they settled on the clasp of your bra. He didn’t rush. There was no quick practiced flick like you might have expected. Instead, he lingered, thumbs tracing idle circles against your skin, his breath warm against the hollow of your throat.

"You good?" He murmured, lips brushing against your collarbone, his voice lower now, less teasing, almost gentle.

You swallowed hard. You weren’t used to this side of him, the part that asked, the part that wasn’t all sharp-edged arrogance and cocky smirks.

"Yeah," you muttered, but your voice was quieter now, and that was enough for him to notice.

Jake hummed like he wasn’t quite convinced, but he popped the clasp anyway, dragging the straps down your arms with an almost painful slowness before finally tossing it aside.

Heat bloomed across your chest, your arms twitching with the instinct to cover yourself, but before you could even think about being shy, Jake’s hands were there, skimming up your ribs, curling around your wrists to stop you.

"Nuh uh," he murmured, his grip firm but warm, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, dragged over every inch of you, taking his damn time like he was committing every detail to memory.

"Jake," you started, but your voice wavered, and you hated how small it sounded.

His gaze flicked back to yours immediately, something sharp flashing behind all that heat. "Don’t," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don’t get shy on me now."

You huffed, shifting slightly in his lap trying to grasp at something. Control, defiance…anything. But then his hands were back tracing up your sides, his thumbs skimming just beneath your breasts. His eyes were locked on yours.

Your stomach flipped, and God you wanted to look away. You wanted to fight the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. But then his hands slid higher, fingers splaying wide across your ribcage holding you there.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, and it was so genuine and unguarded that it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Jake Seresin. Cocky, arrogant, never shuts the hell up Jake was looking at you like you like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.  Like he’d imagined this a hundred times over but now that you were here, in his lap, chest rising and falling under his hands, he was afraid to blink in case he woke up and it was all gone.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze dragging over every inch of you with a hunger that wasn’t just lust, it was something more, something you didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Fuck,” he muttered almost to himself, his head tipping back against the couch for just a second before he looked at you again. 

His pupils were blown wide, his breath uneven and God you’d never seen him like this. It was like you had him completely undone without even trying.

His hands moved then, fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your waist before sliding up, fingers brushing the undersides of your breasts.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice rough. “How long I’ve wanted you like this.”

A slow, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of your lips as you took him in. You slid your hands into his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers as you gave a firm tug. His breath hitched, his grip tightening instinctively, but he let you guide him, tilting his head back until his chin rested against your sternum.

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling beneath you, the sharp angles of his jaw and throat bathed in the warm glow of the lamp beside the couch. He was completely at your mercy, and fuck, you liked the way that felt.

You leaned down, slow and deliberate, until your breath ghosted over his parted lips, your nose barely brushing his. His hands twitched on your waist, but he didn’t move. He was waiting. Watching. Wanting.

A smug little hum left your lips, and you let your fingers tighten just slightly in his hair as you murmured, “Well, Hangman… you finally got what you wanted.” You dragged your lips down, grazing along the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse jumped beneath your mouth. Then you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, voice turning to a whisper. “What are you gonna do about it?”

His hands flexed against you, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes locked onto yours as if you’d just lit a match and dropped it into a trail of gasoline.

Then he grinned, lazy and sharp, green eyes dark with intent.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with promise as his fingers skimmed higher, teasing along your spine. “You have no idea.”

One second you were in control, straddling his lap with hands in his hair. The next his hands slid down gripping the backs of your thighs as he stood, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

A startled gasp left your lips, hands flying to his shoulders as he adjusted his grip, his fingers pressing firmly into the curve of your ass to keep you steady. His smirk was downright insufferable as he took a few steps toward the hallway, completely unfazed by your sudden shift in position.

“Jesus, Hangman—” you started, but he only chuckled, the sound vibrating against your chest as he carried you with ease.

“What?” he drawled, like this wasn’t affecting him in the slightest. “You wanted to know what I was going to do.”

Your stomach fluttered at the effortless strength in his hold, but you rolled your eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, you crossed your arms loosely around his neck, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You know, you don’t have to carry me.”

Jake slowed just slightly, glancing down at you with something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “You sayin’ you don’t like it?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening against the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it. If anything, you liked it too much. But there was something about being held like this—about the way he handled you so effortlessly, so casually—that poked at an old insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind.

Guys like Jake Seresin always went for the kind of girls who looked effortless in their arms, who didn’t overthink the way they were being held, who didn’t worry about whether or not they were too heavy or too much.

Your silence must have said more than you intended, because Jake’s hold on you tightened just slightly, his smirk fading into something softer.

His voice dropped, quieter than before. “Darlin’.”

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “I just—” You huffed a short breath, shaking your head like you could physically dismiss the thought. “I’m not some dainty little thing, okay? You don’t have to—”

“Stop.” His tone left no room for argument, and before you could protest, he adjusted his grip, bouncing you slightly in his arms as if to prove a point. “You really think I’d be doin’ this if I couldn’t handle it?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jake exhaled sharply, shaking his head before dipping down just enough to catch your gaze. His eyes were serious now, all teasing gone. “I like carrying you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “And not just ‘cause I can, but because I want to.”

Your breath caught, a different kind of warmth blooming in your chest, one that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the way he was looking at you.

He tightened his hold, tilting his head with a smirk that was softer than before, but still undeniably him. “Now, you gonna let me take you to my bed, or you wanna keep pretendin’ you don’t like this?”

Your heart stuttered, fingers gripping the back of his neck as you huffed, finally letting your head drop against his shoulder.

“Fine,” you muttered, and you could feel his smirk against your temple.

“That’s my girl.”

And with that, he carried you the rest of the way, leaving no room for argument.

Jake nudged the door open with his foot, the hinges creaking slightly as he carried you inside. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the space. His bed which was big, unmade, and ridiculously inviting was only a few steps away, but he didn’t rush. If anything, he seemed to savor the moment, taking his time as he moved toward it.

You felt the muscles in his arms flex as he shifted his grip, lowering you onto the mattress with deliberate care. His hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary, fingertips trailing lightly along your sides before he straightened to stand over you.

The air between you was thick, charged with something that was no longer just heated banter and reckless tension. This was something else. Something weightier.

Jake’s green eyes raked over you, dark and unreadable, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “You look good like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.

Your stomach clenched, your breath coming a little quicker as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “You just gonna stand there and stare, Seresin?” you teased, but the slight hitch in your voice gave you away.

His lips curled, but there was something softer behind the smirk this time. “You in a hurry?”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “I—”

Before you could finish, Jake was moving. He crawled onto the bed, hands bracing on either side of your hips as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours.

“You got nowhere to be,” he murmured, the words a slow drawl against your lips. “So why don’t you let me take my time?”

A shiver rolled through you, but you forced yourself to keep your expression even. “You always this much of a tease?”

Jake chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. “Only when I got something worth taking my time with.”

Your breath caught, but you refused to let him see how easily he unraveled you. Instead, you reached up, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a soft grunt from him. “Stop talking and do something about it, Hangman.”

Jake’s weight pressed you into the mattress, his hands roaming slowly and deliberately as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. Every touch sent heat curling through your stomach, every kiss stoking the fire that had been burning between you since the second he’d crowded into your space outside The Hard Deck.

His hands drifted lower, skimming the line of your jeans, fingers toying with the button as he watched your face.

He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “You gonna let me take these off, or you wanna fight me on it?”

You huffed a breath, fingers still buried in his hair. “What do you think?”

Jake grinned like he already knew the answer, but he still waited. Waited for the tiny nod you gave him, the permission you offered without hesitation. Only then did he move.

The sound of your zipper being undone was deafening in the quiet of the room, your breath catching as he dragged the denim down, slow enough to make you squirm.

He chuckled, low and knowing. “You always this impatient?”

You lifted your hips, helping him rid you of the last piece of clothing between you, and shot him a look. “You always this slow?”

Jake’s eyes darkened. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you want me rushing this.”

His hands traced up the length of your legs, teasing, exploring, his touch sending little sparks dancing along your skin. And then his fingers dug into your thighs, parting them just enough for him to settle between them.

That cocky smirk never wavered as he leaned in, his breath hot against your jaw. “Told you,” he murmured. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

Jake’s lips found the inside of your knee first. His lips were soft and teasing as they brushed your skin. His hands ran up your thighs, squeezing, but his mouth followed at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Your breath hitched as he kissed higher, his lips trailing a warm path along your skin. Every inch of you was tense with anticipation, waiting, bracing, needing.

He was right there. Right. There.

And then he exhaled a laugh against your skin, his breath warm and taunting, before shifting away to press his mouth to your other thigh instead.

Your hands fisted in the sheets. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Jake looked up at you through his lashes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

Your head fell back against the pillows with an exasperated groan. “You’re insufferable.”

He hummed in agreement, his mouth continuing its slow, torturous exploration. His hands slid under your thighs, gripping tight, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You love it,” he murmured against your skin, voice dripping with amusement.

You wanted to argue, but then his teeth grazed the soft skin of your inner thigh, just enough to make you gasp, and suddenly, words weren’t coming so easily anymore.

Jake's teasing had you teetering on the edge of frustration and something far more desperate. He knew exactly what he was doing. Drawing it out, making you squirm, feeding off every sharp breath and roll of your hips. But just when you were about to snap at him again, his lips finally ghosted over where you needed him most.

A strangled sound caught in your throat as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against you, his tongue flicking out just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling harder than necessary, but if anything, it only spurred him on.

For once, you were grateful Jake Seresin never shut the hell up because he really knew how to use that mouth.

His tongue worked in slow, devastating strokes, a perfect rhythm that had your back arching off the bed in seconds. He groaned against you, the vibrations sinking deep into your bones, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach.

“Jake—” His name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, breathless and wrecked.

“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice smug and husky. His grip on your thighs tightened. “Say my name, sweetheart.”

Jake was relentless.

Every time you thought he was going to give you what you needed—really give it to you—he’d slow down, change rhythm, pull back just enough to keep you on the edge but never quite over it.

It was maddening.

Your legs trembled beneath his hands, every nerve in your body burning with frustration. He was drawing it out on purpose, keeping you right where he wanted, his mouth and tongue working you into a fever pitch only to ease up the second your muscles tensed, the moment you got too close.

You let out a frustrated groan, fingers tugging at his hair in a warning. “Jake.”

A hum vibrated against you—satisfied, entertained—but he didn’t relent. He kept up his slow torture, his tongue pressing in firm, deliberate strokes, his lips ghosting over you with just enough pressure to make you crazy.

“Fuck, I swear to—”

But just when you were ready to snap, just when the tension in your stomach coiled tight enough to break, he pulled away.

You gasped, blinking down at him in disbelief, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “Are you—”

He grinned, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he settled between your legs, looking so damn smug it made you want to throttle him. “Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?”

Your glare could’ve burned a hole straight through him. “I hate you.”

His hands smoothed up your thighs, fingers kneading into your skin as he leaned up, his lips hovering just over yours. His breath was warm when he spoke. “No, you don’t.”

And then, just to drive the point home, he slid two fingers between your legs, pressing into you with the same slow, torturous precision.

Your breath hitched, your head falling back against the pillows. He chuckled against your jaw, lips brushing your pulse. “See? You love me.”

Your body betrayed you before you even had time to think of a comeback. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking out more friction, chasing what he’d been cruelly holding just out of reach.

Jake groaned, low and rough, his fingers still deep inside you as he watched, transfixed. His free hand splayed across your hip, feeling the way you moved against him, the way your body took what it wanted.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with something dangerously close to awe. “So goddamn greedy for it.”

Heat flooded your face, but embarrassment never stood a chance against the need coursing through you. You didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—even as his eyes dragged over every inch of you, taking in the way you worked yourself against his hand, the soft whimpers slipping past your lips.

Jake fucking loved it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his fingers curling just right, pressing exactly where you needed. His mouth found your throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. “Use me. Get yourself there.”

Your stomach clenched, muscles tightening as that coil in your core wound impossibly tighter. Every stroke of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, and the way he watched you like he’d never seen anything more stunning only drove you higher.

You were close. Too close.

And Jake knew it.

His lips brushed your ear, his voice a rasped promise.

"That’s it, baby. Come for me."

There was no question in his tone just certainty, confidence, command. Like he already knew you would, like you had no choice but to obey.

His fingers never faltered, his pace steady, relentless, pushing you closer and closer until there was no stopping it. Your body tensed, every nerve lighting up as pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, ready to snap.

"Jake—" His name tore from your lips, a desperate, breathless cry as the release hit you, hard and all-consuming.

He groaned, low and satisfied like your pleasure was his own personal victory. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, working you through it, dragging out every last wave, every aftershock, until you were trembling beneath him.

His hands never stopped moving, slow and teasing now, like he was savoring the way you came undone for him. His lips ghosted over your hip, smug but reverent. "Damn, baby," he drawled, watching you with something almost like admiration. "That was real pretty."

Jake made quick work of his jeans and boxers, shedding the last of his clothing without a second thought. His confidence was effortless like he had no doubt in his mind that you'd want him just as much as he wanted you.

Crawling back onto the bed, he took you in, his hands smoothing over your skin, possessive and reverent all at once. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped you over. You barely had time to react before he was guiding you forward. Instinctively, you pushed up onto your forearms, shifting to all fours, but Jake had other plans.

He let out a low chuckle, running his hands down your spine before gripping your hips and pulling you back against him. 

"Not like that, sweetheart." His voice was rough, heavy with want.

Before you could question him, he slid a firm hand between your shoulder blades and pressed down, guiding you back down to the mattress. Your cheek met the sheets, your back arching instinctively under the pressure of his touch.

"There you go," he murmured, his voice all smug satisfaction. "Much better."

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as he aligned himself with you, his body hovering just above yours. His breath was shallow, and you could feel the heat of him so close, yet not enough to satisfy the aching tension between you both.

With a slight shift of his weight, he brought his hand down on your ass with a sharp, satisfying slap. The sound of it echoed in the quiet room, making your body jump forward at the contact. You let out a small yelp, the sting sending a rush of heat through your veins, mixing with the desire that had been building all night.

You glanced over your shoulder, your chest rising and falling quickly. "What was that for?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice gave away the sudden, surprised pleasure.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "Because I can."

You opened your mouth to snap back, to say something, anything to regain some control in this situation, but before you could get a word out, Jake shifted his weight and pushed forward, the feeling of him filling you completely. The words you’d been about to say caught in your throat, replaced by a breathless moan as he stretched you in ways that sent your body reeling.

Your back arched, and your grip on the sheets tightened as you fought to stay composed, but the pleasure of him inside you was too overwhelming. The cocky grin on Jake’s face was evident, even as he moved slowly, savoring the moment just as much as you were.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he began to increase his pace. The sounds of his breath, sharp and steady, mixed with the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, filling the air between you. Each thrust had you gasping, your body rocked forward with every press, his rhythm pushing you further toward the edge.

With every stroke, you felt him deeper, filling you completely. The intensity of it had you gasping for air, your heart racing in time with the beat of your pulse. And for a split second, amidst the rush of sensation, a thought flashed through your mind—Why the hell hadn’t you done this before?

The idea lingered for a heartbeat, but Jake’s hand moved to your back, pressing you down into the sheets, and that fleeting thought was gone as quickly as it had come. All that was left was the heat, the pressure building inside you, and the undeniable pull of him—his rhythm, his touch, the way he moved inside you, the way his breath caught when he pulled you closer, driving deeper.

Jake could feel the way your body clenched around him, the tightening of your muscles making him groan, his rhythm faltering for just a second. He had been watching you, noticing the way your moans had shifted from his name into breathless nonsense, and he could tell you were on the verge of losing it.

With a smirk curling at the corner of his lips, he leaned down, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “You’re about to come, aren’t you?” His voice was rough, low, and cocky, but there was a softness to it that sent a shiver down your spine. “Damn, baby. You sound so fucking good. I’m gonna make sure you remember this.”

His hand slid down your body, fingers pressing into your lower stomach, feeling the way your muscles tensed and quivered, and that only made him press harder, driving deeper with each thrust.

Jake could feel the way you were unraveling beneath him, and he couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, knowing he was the one pulling these sounds from you. He was the one making you lose control. There was nothing like this—the power, the rush of it—and hell, he fucking loved it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rougher now, “I’m not letting you go until I’ve got every last sound out of you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, a soft whimper escaping your lips without meaning to. It was just enough to fuel Jake further, his grip on your hips tightening, his thrusts becoming harder, more determined. He heard the sound you made, felt the way it vibrated in your chest, and that drove him wild.

“God, you like that, don’t you?” Jake murmured the cocky edge to his voice sharper now. He moved faster, his rhythm relentless, as if he was determined to make you fall apart in front of him.

The sound of his name left your lips again, a whimpering gasp this time, and Jake couldn’t help but smile against your back.

“I knew you’d be this responsive,” he said with a breathless chuckle, “Just let go for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

The way your body responded to him, so soft and needy, only made him push harder. Each sound you made, every tremor that ran through you, sent a wave of satisfaction crashing over him. He couldn’t get enough, his need for you only growing as he felt you getting closer, his hands tightening on your hips as he set the pace.

You were almost there, and he knew it. And that, more than anything, was what had him pushing to give you exactly what you needed.

Jake’s movements were growing more erratic, his control slipping as the pressure inside him built. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, every muscle in his body tense and straining with the need to finish. But he wasn’t going to let go just yet. Not without one more from you.

You were a mess beneath him, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, your body trembling as you met each of his thrusts. The way you felt, the sounds you were making…everything about you was driving him wild. 

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you back against him as he pushed harder, faster. “One more, baby,” he growled. “Give it to me.”

He didn’t ask; he commanded, his voice rough and demanding, as if there was no room for hesitation. His breath was coming in hot, heavy bursts against your skin as he drove you both closer to the edge. 

He needed to hear you. Needed to see you fall apart again.

“Don’t hold back. Let go for me,” he growled, his voice almost a low, possessive growl as he felt the last thread of his restraint snap.

Your body finally gave way, the tension that had been building between you two snapping as you let go. A sharp cry tore from your throat, your body shuddering under him as your release hit. The pressure and pleasure of it all flooded your senses, and you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and spent. Your legs shook, your mind hazy with the aftermath of what he had just pulled from you.

Jake’s movements faltered for a moment, his rhythm becoming more desperate and sloppy as he chased his own release. His grip on your hips tightened, but his breath was heavier, ragged now, his body trembling against you.

“Where do you want it?” He muttered.

It was then that the weight of it all clicked for you.

Your chest heaved with exertion as you finally managed to get your thoughts together, eyes widening slightly. You gasped, the realization dawning. You hadn’t even thought about the condom. You hadn’t talked about it.

“Jake,” you murmured, still breathless, trying to collect yourself enough to speak clearly. “I’m on birth control.”

The words had barely left your mouth before he groaned low and deep, and in the next moment, he surged forward, driving himself all the way into you, his pace finally faltering as he pushed to the brink. His fingers dug into your skin as he stilled, and then he let go with a final, possessive grunt. He filled you, the intensity of his release flooding you both, leaving you both trembling in the aftermath.

His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he slowly came back to himself. He stayed there, resting against you for a moment, his forehead resting against your back as the two of you tried to catch your breath. It felt almost like a release for him too. Not just physically but in the tension between you both that had been building for so long.

“Damn,” he muttered against your skin, his voice hoarse. “That was...”

He trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. You both knew exactly what it was.

Still, the weight of the moment hung in the air between you two. Neither of you moved immediately, just feeling each other’s presence, the exhaustion slowly taking over.

You sighed as you sat up, feeling the cool air against your skin as the heat of Jake’s body left you. Your limbs felt heavy, your body spent, but you forced yourself to move, slipping off the bed and padding toward the bathroom.

Jake didn’t say anything as you went, just watched you go, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the room.

Inside the bathroom, you turned on the sink, splashing cool water on your face. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, lips were swollen, the lingering evidence of Jake’s touch still visible on your skin. You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the counter for a moment before straightening up.

This was…something. Whatever it was. And now, in the quiet of Jake’s bedroom, the weight of what came next started to settle over you.

By the time you emerged, Jake was pulling on a pair of sweats, his movements slower, more languid now. You grabbed your underwear and the oversized shirt he had tossed your way earlier, slipping them on before crawling back into bed beside him.

It was quiet now. The charged energy from before had settled into something softer, something heavier. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind drifting as the reality of tomorrow pressed in.

Beside you, Jake shifted. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze settling on you. You felt it before you saw it. The weight of his stare, studying you, tracing over your features like he was trying to memorize them.

“What?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept looking at you, his expression unreadable but intent. Finally, after a beat, he murmured, “You’re worried about tomorrow. About me..”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Your breath caught slightly, but you didn’t respond. You just swallowed, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Jake exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound in the stillness of the room. “You’re gonna tell me to be safe, aren’t you?”

Your throat tightened.

“Just…” you swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper. “Just come back alive, Jake.”

The teasing smirk he had worn all night. Hell, the one he wore all the damn time faded. Something more real passed over his face, something softer, something unspoken.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You finally turned your head to look at him, and for the first time, neither of you had anything smart to say.

You just held each other’s gaze, both thinking the same thing.

Jake’s fingers lingered against yours, his touch warm but tentative. You weren’t sure how long the two of you just lay there like that staring at each other in the dim light of his bedroom, words unspoken but understood.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his lips barely ghosting over yours in a way that wasn’t cocky or teasing or demanding. It was softer. Almost hesitant.

You could feel the way he exhaled against your lips like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Like maybe this, whatever this was, was throwing him off just as much as it was throwing you off.

His lips pressed to yours, just for a second. Just enough to make your breath hitch. And then he pulled back, hovering so close you could still feel him.

The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. You stared at the ceiling, your mind drifting, already trying to brace for the morning.

You turned your head, glancing at him in the dim light. He looked so at ease, so different from the cocky, sharp-tongued pilot you had spent so much time arguing with. His expression was softer now, the teasing smirk gone, replaced by something quieter.

You exhaled slowly, the tension in your body unraveling as you shifted closer, tucking yourself into his side. His arm draped over you, and you let your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

His free hand rested on his stomach, and without thinking, yours followed, finding it easily in the dark. Your fingers brushed his, tentative at first like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to reach for him. Like you weren’t sure if this was something you were even supposed to want.

But Jake didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled around yours, lacing them together like it was second nature. Like holding your hand was as easy as breathing.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you had to.

The weight of the morning still lingered in the air, but for now, just for this moment, you let yourself have this.

Let yourself have him for just a little longer.

Jake’s breathing evened out long before yours did. His arm was still draped over you, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something that almost felt like peace. Almost. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself in the warmth of his skin, in the weight of his hand still tangled with yours, your mind kept drifting.

You stared up at the ceiling, the quiet pressing in.

And I'll ask the stars at night, how I can slow the time…

The words echoed in your head, unspoken but heavy in your chest. The night felt too short, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

Your grip on Jake’s hand tightened just slightly like that alone could keep him here. Keep him safe.

But you knew it wouldn’t.

God, I’m so terrified that I’m gonna lose you.

You turned your head, your gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face softened in sleep. His brows weren’t furrowed for once. His mouth, the same mouth that had spent the night pressing cocky remarks against your skin, was relaxed.

He looked peaceful. Like he didn’t have to wake up in just a few hours and walk into the unknown. Like he wasn’t about to get into a jet and disappear into the sky, leaving you behind to wonder if you’d ever see him again.

And I’ll die if I do.

Your throat tightened, your chest aching under the weight of everything you weren’t saying. Everything you wouldn’t say.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. Weren’t supposed to want him to stay. Weren’t supposed to feel like the world was tilting beneath you at the thought of him not coming back.

But you did.

And that scared you more than anything else.

So you did the only thing you could. You curled further into him, pressed your face against his shoulder, and let your fingers stay laced with his. Holding onto him for just a little longer.

Just in case.

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Still Here?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x (female) reader Summary: The night before you asked Jake to stay. He did, didn’t he? Word count: ~1.4k Warnings: Mentions of period, angst, fluff A/N: Some of you wished a second part of “Stay”. I hope you like it. Sorry for any mistakes.

The warmth was gone.

Your body stirred, seeking the familiar heat that had been wrapped around you only hours ago, but all you met was cool sheets. Your eyes fluttered open, your heart sinking before your mind could fully catch up. The other side of the bed was empty.

No.

Your throat tightened, and you blinked rapidly to push back the sting of tears. Had you really been so foolish to believe that just because you asked him to stay, it meant he’d stay for good? That all those whispered words, all that tenderness, had actually meant something?

You should’ve known better.

The ache in your lower abdomen reminded you of last night—how vulnerable you’d been, how much you had needed him. He gave in. He had stayed. He had held you like you were something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of. But in the end, it hadn’t changed anything, had it?

He left at the first opportunity.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to sit up. Your body protested the movement, sore and heavy from both exhaustion and the dull cramps that pulsed low in your stomach. You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself as you looked toward the door, half-expecting—half hoping—to see him standing there.

But the room was empty. Your apartment was silent.

Biting your lip, you turned away, pressing your hands to your face. You wouldn’t cry. Not again. You had already given him enough of your tears.

Then, the sound of a key turning in the lock of your front door made you freeze.

Your head snapped up just as the door opened and he walked into the corridor of your apartment —Jake Seresin, standing in the hallway just in front of your bedroom door, arms full of bags, breathless like he had just run a marathon.

For a second, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other, your chest rising and falling with the force of emotions you weren’t sure you could control.

“Where—” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat before trying again. “Where did you go?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he set the bags down on the dresser. “I— Sweetheart, I just went to get you some things.”

He started pulling out the contents, placing them on the surface like evidence in an argument he didn’t even realize was happening. A bottle of painkillers. A heating pad. Your favorite sweets. A ridiculous amount of other snacks. And—God, your chest ached—pads and tampons.

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” he continued. “You looked peaceful, and I figured you’d need this stuff. I, uh—” He hesitated, still holding different packs in his hand. “I didn’t really know which ones you preferred, so I got all of them.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The lump in your throat was too big, your emotions too tangled. He hadn’t left.

Jake’s expression shifted as he took a step closer, his eyes scanning your face. “Did you think I—” His breath caught. “Oh, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “It’s stupid,” you muttered, but the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

“No, it’s not.” He was in front of you in two strides, sinking onto the bed, his hands framing your face so gently it nearly broke you. “It’s not stupid,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “I should’ve left a note or something. I didn’t think—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like he might disappear if you let go. “I just… I thought you were gone.”

His jaw tensed, his eyes darkening with something that looked a lot like guilt.

“Can we talk about that?” he asked gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

The tension from the night before was already back into the room, but now it got even heavier.

“Jake, I—”

“Wait,” he interrupted softly. “Let me start.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to speak.

“I didn’t know,” he began, his green eyes earnest. “I didn’t realize how much it hurt you when I left. I thought… I thought I was giving you space, keeping things uncomplicated.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But last night, seeing you like that… hearing you…”.

You nodded, your heart pounding even faster now as you searched his face for clues about what was coming.

“Please tell me what’s been holding you back from telling me the truth?” His fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, his eyes never leaving yours. You swallowed hard, unsure if you could find the words to explain the storm inside you. “I…”

Jake waited patiently, giving you space to answer.

“I guess I was scared,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Scared that if I told you how I felt, it would push you away. That I’d lose you.”

His brows knitted together, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face. “You thought I’d leave if you told me the truth?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “You’ve always made it clear you don’t do… attachments. I didn’t want to cross a line I couldn’t come back from.”

“Jake…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t want to pressure you. I know your life is complicated, and I didn’t want to be another burden.”

“Hey,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze. “You’re not a burden. Not even close.”

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the quiet rhythm of your breathing. Then he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I’ve been so damn scared of messing this up that I didn’t realize I already was. Every time I walked away, I told myself it was for the best. That it would hurt less if I kept my distance.”

“Hurt less? Who?” you asked silently.

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Me. And I’m sorry for that. I’ve been running from this, from us, because … because at some point I’ll have to leave even if I don’t want to. What if I stayed… and I have too leave, and you’re not there when I come back?”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you tried to blink them away, but Jake caught them with a soft kiss on your cheek. “So, you think I’ll leave you? Don’t you trust me, Jake?”

“No, I mean yes. I trust you – with my life. I’m just an idiot, ok? Because I’ve never felt that way. I’ve never fell so hard for someone. And that scares the shit out of me. But seeing you like that last night…” His voice cracked slightly, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “It made me realize I’ve been messing it up by not giving us a real chance.”

“I want you, all of you,” he said firmly, his lips brushing against your skin. “No more running, no more pretending this isn’t real. Because it is. And it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever had.”

The kiss he gave you next was slow and deep, a quiet promise of all the things he couldn’t yet put into words. His hands slid over your body with a deliberate tenderness, his touch unhurried as if savoring every inch of you.

“Let me show you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to explore you with a reverence that made your heart ache. Every kiss, every caress, was a silent affirmation of his feelings. Soft, lingering—like he was trying to erase every doubt, every fear, with the press of his lips.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered. “Hope you’re ready for that.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you. “Yeah?”

Jake smiled “Yeah.”

To your surprise, he briefly pulled away from you, fetched something from the dresser and came back to cuddle up to you in bed. He pulled you into his arms, tucking you tightly against his chest. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your back as his other hand pressed to your front, with a heating pad, placing it against your stomach with careful precision.

“You’re taking way too much pleasure in babying me,” you murmured, tilting your head to look up at him.

He smirked. “Nah. I just like an excuse to cuddle you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. As the warmth of the heating pad seeped into your skin and Jake’s steady heartbeat thumped beneath your ear, you let yourself believe him.

You truly believed him.

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️

Just Us Three

Summary: Yours and Jake’s son gets in trouble at school, and then Jake gets in trouble at home when he tries to hide it from you. (part 2 of this fic).

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, dilf jake, smut, angst if you squint, mentions of bullying, unprotected sex, dirty talk, protective jake.

Jake was still in his khaki uniform as he expertly manoeuvred his way through the halls of the school his son attends, similar to the way he skillfully moves in the sky. As his boots hit the granite tiles, he gave a nod to the school janitor, and the man half nodded, half waved back as he mopped the floor outside the bathrooms. 

He didn’t blame the guy for the lack-luster greeting one bit. Jake couldn’t imagine the horrors the poor lad had seen just today, let alone this week. And it was only Wednesday. 

Jake looked down at his watch and saw that it was quarter after three, and he was supposed to be at work for another few hours, but here he was. He was lucky he had such an understanding, albeit fed up, boss. 

When he rounded the corner and entered the school’s office, he was met with the kind smile that belonged to Miss Sands, the usually nice lady who sits behind the front desk. But that smile faded pretty quickly once she realized who had just walked in. “He’s in there,” she told him, pointing at the door that was just behind the desk, and that was all she said. 

“Thank you,” Jake said like it was part of his routine at this point. He walked past the desk and stood in the doorway, and he was greeted by an almost comically unimpressed look from the school’s principal, Mr. Harris. Jake held back a laugh, because this really wasn’t a funny moment, and raised his hand in a wave. “Hey…Mr. Harris.”

The principal raised his brow and looked over at the chair that was in front of his desk. “Mr. Seresin,” he stated, his tone flat and just…completely unfriendly. “Care to explain to me as to why your son is once again sitting in front of me?” 

Jake looked over as well, his green eyes meeting his son’s matching ones. “Hey, bud,” he mumbled, his brows furrowing a bit at the embarrassed look JJ had on his face. Jake cleared his throat and crossed his arms, looking back at the principal. “I don’t know, Mr. Harris. You’re the one who called me while I was at work.”

Mr. Harris pressed his lips into a thin line. “This is the second time I’ve had to call you this week,”

Jake clenched his jaw as he leaned against the door frame. “I’m aware,” he muttered. “This is also the second time I’ve had to leave work early this week.”

“Well, you are on the top of JJ’s contact list,” Harris said, crossing his arms as well. “Would you prefer I call your wife instead next time?” 

Jake tensed up at that, and he shook his head. “No,” 

The last thing he wanted was for you to get called out of work, and he knew you’d make it a much bigger deal than he does. Honestly, Jake didn’t want you to know about the multitude of calls he’s gotten from JJ’s school this month, because he knew it was mainly his fault. 

JJ had been having problems with a couple other kids in his grade, and Jake, being the protective father he discovered he is, told his five year old to stand up for himself and to not be afraid to speak his mind. 

Well…it turns out that JJ’s mind can be pretty…colorful, for lack of better words, and it’s gotten him in trouble more than once. This was probably the fifth or sixth time this month, and although Jake knew he needed to set some better boundaries here, he was also kind of annoyed. What about the other kids’ parents? Why can’t they teach their kids to not pick on his? JJ was taking Jake’s advice every time he had a problem with the other boys, and it seemed to be more often than not, yet clearly nothing was being done about the other kids. 

“Just keep calling me,” Jake muttered, rubbing at his forehead before stepping further into the office so he could stand next to JJ’s chair. “Or better yet, save me a trip and call the other kids’ parents. I know JJ’s got a…big mouth sometimes, but I also know it’s not just him. It’s the other boys in his class as well.”

Mr. Harris sighed and placed his hands on the surface of his desk. “Mr. Seresin, I’m aware of the comments the other boys have been making, but your son used language we don’t tolerate here,” he said, looking up at Jake expectantly. “Something needs to be done.”

Jake scoffed and moved to stand behind his son now, bracing his hands on the back of his chair as he leaned over. “Really?” he drawled, “What did he say?” 

Harris sighed and looked at JJ, and Jake quickly covered the five year olds ears - as if he wasn’t about to have what he said repeated back to his father. “He said ‘leave me alone you stupid…pussy’ to another kid on the playground,” he informed Jake, an embarrassed grimace on his face. “That kind of language is unacceptable here at school, Mr. Seresin.”

Jake stayed completely still, his hands still covering JJ’s ears as he processed what was just said. His kid said that? Where did he even learn that word? Jake doesn’t even use that word unless he’s…oh. 

Unless he’s pounding you into the bed he’s shared with you for the last eight years.

Well, fuck. 

Jake nodded after that and dropped his hands to JJ’s shoulders, giving his son a gentle squeeze. “Okay. Understandable. I will have a talk with him tonight,” he said, gesturing for JJ to stand up. He took his school bag from him and guided him towards the door of the office, but paused before he left. “But you need to do something about the kids that are picking on him, otherwise we’re gonna keep having problems.” 

Harris had the audacity to look offended at that, but Jake didn’t care as he took JJ’s hand and led him out to the parking lot. After he helped him into the backseat, Jake braced one hand above the door frame as he tried to think of what to say to his usually sweet son. “Listen, bud,” he started, glancing around the parking lot as a sigh left his lips. “What you said today, you can’t say that…word, okay? You’re too little to use those kinds of words, alright?”

JJ shifted in his seat, similar to the way Jake writhes around whenever you and he get into arguments - the ones he had no chance at winning. “But you say it. Uncle Bradley says it too sometimes when he drives me to soccer practice,” he mumbled, his big green eyes so innocent looking as he gazed up at Jake. “And I hear you say it to mommy sometimes at night time.”

Jake’s face heated up as he rubbed at his eyes, and he knew he would yell at Bradley the next time he saw him at work. “Is this when you’re supposed to be in bed?” JJ didn’t answer, and Jake shook his head as he ruffled his son’s blond hair. “I say it because I’m an adult, bud. And you need to stop trying to spy on your mom and I, alright?” 

JJ nodded, his sweet mind still innocent and unsure. Jake nodded too, then looked down at the paper in his hand that explained why JJ had been called to the office today, and he winced when he imagined you reading it. 

“Speaking of mom,” he mumbled, looking back up from the paper. “She doesn’t find out about this. Okay?”

JJ smiled up at Jake and nodded excitedly, seemingly more than happy to have a secret that only he and his dad know, and that was good enough for Jake. 

Well, it would’ve been, but JJ seemed to have forgotten all about the deal as later that evening, at the dinner table no less, he said something that had Jake’s heart skipping a beat. “Mommy! Daddy was so cool when he picked me up from the office today,” he beamed, and you furrowed your brows as you set your fork down. 

“What are you talking about, babe?” you asked, and Jake reached for his glass of water as you glanced over at him. 

“At the principal’s office,” JJ explained, and Jake quickly shook his head. 

“J, let’s not talk about this now, okay? Mommy just made dinner and we’re-”

“But you were so cool!” JJ cut him off before turning back to you. “Daddy used his angry voice on Mr. Harris today, mommy.”

You raised a brow, your eyes flickering between Jake and Jake Junior as you leaned back in your chair. “Why were you in the principal’s office today?”

JJ deflated a bit at that as he reached for his fork. “I…said a bad word,”

Your eyes widened and you looked over at Jake quickly. “Honey-”

“Jake,” you cut him off just like JJ did as you sat up straight again. “Why didn’t you tell me that he got sent to the principal’s office today? And why didn’t they call me?”

“Because I’m first on his contact list,” Jake mumbled, “And he and I had decided that it wasn’t important enough for you to know.” he added, narrowing his eyes at JJ, who just gave him a cute smile. 

“Jake Seresin, you have our child hiding things from me?” you gasped, then quickly composed yourself. “What was the word?”

Jake shifted in his seat as he set the glass down and picked up his fork again, a damn near carbon copy of the way JJ became uneasy when he was in the hot seat in the truck earlier today. He really was his father’s son. “It’s not appropriate dinner talk. I’ll tell you after,”

-

“He said what?” you nearly yelled as Jake crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Our son said that? How does he even know that word? We don’t say that unless we’re…”

Jake grinned at you as he slowly nodded, then he was dodging the dish towel you were using to clean the counter when you threw it at him. 

“He definitely picked it up from you,” you muttered as you walked past him to start clearing the table. Jake followed you of course, and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You and your dirty mouth. You’ve had it since before we even got together.”

Jake was instantly brought back to all the times he flirted shamelessly with you in an attempt to get you to go out with him, only for it to all be thrown back at him because you were not one of those girls who caved easily to guys like him. That’s what made him clean up his act and ask you out in more nicer ways, which then eventually led to him taking you out on the most perfect date both of you had ever been on, and now he’s married to you. 

“Well, Bradley’s been saying it too. You know how bad his road rage is, he has no filter, even when he takes J to his soccer games. And I can’t help the filthy things that come out of my mouth whenever I get you alone,” he defended himself, pressing his cheek against yours as he held you snugly against his body. “You’re just too damn sexy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him from cuddling you from behind, which Jake was happy about. Ever since you and he got together, he’s become obsessed with touching you in any way he could and holding you whenever he can. He just loved how perfectly you fit against his body, and he knew you loved it too, even if you complained about it sometimes. “Bradley is his uncle, he’s not with him all the time, so he has an excuse. You, my love, do not,” 

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, then trailed his nose along the shell of your ear. “You can’t be mad at me for this, honey. It’s not my fault the kid’s got big ears,” 

You laughed, picking up the plates before turning your head to look up at him. “I think it is your fault, dumbo,” you mumbled, and Jake gaped at you. 

“Be nice to me,” he whined, following after you like a lost puppy as you returned to the kitchen and began loading the dishwasher. “I’m so nice to you.”

Another laugh left your mouth. “You’re teaching our son to keep secrets from me,”

“Okay, that’s not fair,” he groaned, walking back out to the table so he could gather the glasses, JJ’s Spider-Man cup, and the cutlery. “I only told him that you didn’t need to know about it, not that I’d never tell you about it. I would’ve, just…a couple years from now.”

“Jake,” you scoffed, moving aside when he loaded the items into the dishwasher. “I’m his mother, I’m supposed to know these things too.” 

He turned to look at you, propping his hands on his hips once he closed the dishwasher. “And you would’ve known about this,”

You crossed your arms and raised one of your brows. “In a couple years from now?”

Jake grinned, “See, I knew you’d understand,” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, dodging his hand when he reached out and tried to pull you into his arms. “I’m going to go get him in the bath. Then you and I are going to talk more once he’s in bed.”

You sounded serious, and you looked serious, but Jake’s smile only grew, because he knew he’d be able to change the topic real quick once you and he retired to your room for the night. Easily. 

-

“Oh yeah,” he murmured as he kissed all along your shoulders, his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down. “You and I are really talking a lot.”

You groaned, trailing your fingers through his hair gently before giving it a firm tug, making him moan against your skin. “You are so annoying,” you muttered, but your words weren’t hostile at all. 

Jake grinned against your skin as he pulled the denim off your legs. His heart was beating fast in his chest, because even after eight years with you, you still made him feel so fucking giddy and he was so in love with you. And he always will be. 

Nothing had changed, with the exception and addition of JJ. You were still the sarcastic yet sweet girl he fell head over heels for, and you were all his. “You love me,” Jake mumbled against your neck as he slid his hand inside your panties, his fingers instantly finding your clit. “You married me…you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, the horror,” you said back, then moaned next to his ear when he slid his index and middle fingers inside you, and the sound went directly to his cock. “Fuck. Jake.”

He hummed as he lifted his head, his green eyes staring into yours as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your own. “Mm, I love you,” he mumbled, sliding his fingers in and out of you. “I love you so much.”

You whimpered, tangling your hands in his hair as you guided his lips to yours in a deep kiss. “I love you too,” you mumbled against his mouth as he pulled his fingers out of you. He sat back on his knees and brought his hand up to his lips to taste you as he watched you kick off your panties, his eyes raking up and down your body as he moaned around his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunted, unzipping his uniform pants and shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers. He was out of his shirt before you were, and he took it upon himself to rid you of both your tank top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him and only further proving his words. 

You grinned up at him, shifting on the bed as you beckoned him closer with a curl of your finger. “You’re sexy,” you say back, wrapping your legs around his waist when he crawls back on top of you. “Even when I’m still mad at you for trying to get our son to hide something from me.”

Jake groaned, burying his face in your neck as he guided the tip of his cock through your folds. “Don’t hold that against me, honey, I was just trying to protect you, that’s all. I don’t want you to stress out over nothing,” he mumbled, then groaned again when he slid inside of you. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Such a tight-”

You reached up and placed your hand over his mouth, your eyes boring into his as he stilled. “Until you can figure out how to soundproof our room, you need to keep your dirty words to yourself, baby,” you said, and Jake grunted against your palm. 

You wanted him to be quiet while he is fucking you? Did you not know how good you felt and how damn near impossible it was for him to not tell you that? Yours and his sex life was full of dirty talk, and it always had been, how was he supposed to just…stop?

He was going to have to figure it out, because the alternative was sex in the truck or no sex at all, and the latter was something he was not about to agree to. 

“I’ll be quiet,” he muttered when you pulled your hand away, and his own gripped your hips as he started to slowly pull out of you. “But that means you need to be quiet too, which will probably be a lot harder for you to do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Harder for me? Please, Jake, I can be quiet too-” but a loud gasp left your mouth as soon as he buried himself back inside of you, and Jake just smirked down at the dirty look you gave him. “Fair enough.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled then leaned down to kiss you as he started to thrust in and out of your additive body. He swallowed your sweet moans he loved hearing, each one sounding more and more desperate as Jake fucked you slow and deep, just like how he knew you liked it. 

When he felt you tighten around him, he pulled away from your lips and buried his face against the side of your neck, his left hand coming up to cover your mouth as he rutted into you. “I love you,” he groaned against your neck when he felt you cum around him, and a few seconds later, he was there too. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders when he stilled his body and eased himself gently on top of you, cradling you in his arms as he pressed soft kisses against your neck. “I love you too,” you said back, running your fingers through his messy hair. “I love both my boys so much. And I want to know when he’s being picked on or having trouble in class, okay? We’re a team, you know that, right? You, me and J.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, lifting his head and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I know we are. We’re the perfect team. I promise, I’ll tell you about it the next time he gets in trouble at school, okay?”

You raise your brow as you pull back to look up at him. “You make it sound like he gets into trouble all the time,” 

Jake grinned down at you, “Come on, babe. He is my kid after all. Trouble is in his blood,” he said back and then cut off your laugh when he leaned in and kissed you again.

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️

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.

[hardballoonlove]

Someone Like You - J.Seresin

Summary: Being best friends with a naval aviator was hard, being best friends and in love with the Jake "Hangman" Seresin was even harder.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Medic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, there is a small bit of angst, jake kind of bein douche, best friends to lovers troupe because top tier, oblivous by both parties.(if i missed any lemme know)

The request: If you're open to requests, I have one for you! It could be about Tyler, Jake, or Glen—whichever you prefer. The story would revolve around them being very close friends, but he’s always surrounded by girls. The reader begins to pull away, feeling inadequate or thinking she's not pretty enough, believing he could never see her as more than just a friend. I’d love for it to have a sweet, fluffy ending!

authors note: to the anon who requested this, thank you! I hope i have done justice to what you envisioned! - I really love getting requests because ya'll got some great ideas! If you have requested something, I promise i will get to it!! love, em. <333

The sun was sat snugly high in the blue sky. Sitting under the rays, you watched the group of aviators run through the sand covered in sweat. Sitting perched on the towel and sunglasses on your nose.

You never expected this to be your life after moving from your hometown to be a field medic with a group of aviators.

“You done sunbathing?” you look up behind the aviators to the man above you, blocking the sun from your eyes.

Jake Seresin in all his glory, hands on his hips.

“Can I help you?” pulling the sunglasses down your nose, you look at him over the rims with a raised brow. He chuckles, pushing the hair that was sticking to his forehead back.

He has been on leave for the last two weeks, letting his hair grow out of regs. "Are you done crisping like a chicken and gonna come play a game?” He holds his hand to you, which you take happily and he pulls you from the sand with a grunt.

“I don’t know if I should” you push the bridge of the sunglasses back up your nose. “What?! You are playing c’mon” he encourages you over, jogging ahead of you in the sand.

You watch as the rest of the the dagger squad who has been nothing but kind to you, encourage you. Then there's the group of aviators who were glued to the squad, more so Jake than others.

They giggle between themselves. You never knew joining the Navy was gonna have the same effects of highschool.

“(y/n)!” Jake’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, a grin on his face. “C’mon! One game!?” he pouts, hands on his hips. You sigh and make your way down the sand, pulling the shorts on your body to cover your bikini bottoms.

The dagger squad was your adopted family. You met them all in your time on the ships as a field medic but as well as at base when Jake made his way into your office quite often to get ‘looked at’.

“Dude! I had no idea you were this good at this” Phoenix wraps her arm around your shoulders as you walk back to your things with a giggle. “I blame Hangman for hiding you from us” you smile, grabbing your towel and bag of items and standing back to your full height.

Turning to say something, your thoughts run short as the girls again circle around Jake, hands on his arms as they all giggle.

He did have the million dollar smile.

“You coming to the hard deck with us?” Bradley asks, standing beside phoenix. You turn to the taller man, smiling up at him as you shake your head. “I return back to work tomorrow unlike some people” you chuckle, nudging him gently.

He nods, hands held up in defense as you smile. “See you soon though?” he asks as you are walking up the sand, you grin. “Of course! Someones bound to get hurt” you wink, making your way back to your own vehicle.

“Sweetheart!” you sigh, the southern drawl was almost like a vice around your brain. Setting your items in the back of your Jeep, you turn to face him. “You aren’t coming?” he asks, stopping in front of you,panting to catch his breath. You shake your head, “I have to work tomorrow captain”. He smirks, pushing a hair out of your face gently.

“Not even for one drink?” he asks as you shake your head. “No but I will be up to pick you up if you need me” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he jogs over to his truck.

Ally, another pilot in Top gun standing at the passenger side was waiting for him. “See you later sweetheart!” he waves.

Sighing heavily you climb into your jeep, immediately turning the radio up loudly and driving away.

You knew you were not the only woman in Jake’s life. He was charming with his green eyes and winning smile but everytime you would do anything with him, the woman gravitated to him like he was the opposite end of their magnets.

Driving through the city, your heart hurt a bit. You knew how childish it seemed.

How childish it was to be upset that he had the female gaze, he was tall, tan and kind under his hundred layers of ego. As you made your way into your home, the phone in your hand vibrated.

Jake: Let’s get together this week for dinner? Drinks?

you smile sadly at the text. You knew he enjoyed your company. You replied.

you: Sure Jake, sounds good

The text bubble appeared but you chose for your own mental state it was best to mute the conversation for the time being.

3am on the dot your phone rang.

You knew who was on the other line. Reaching over, you grab the phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “(y/n)” you sigh at the sound of Bradleys voice.

“Hey roo” you mumble, eyes closed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I think you should come get Jake… maybe me too?” he questions as you chuckle softly. “Be there shortly” you hang up and climb out of bed.

Grabbing the closest sweatshirt to you and make your way outside and down to the hard deck. Dressed in your pajamas, you make your way inside the bar, still roaring with life even on a Sunday night.

Jake and Bradley sat at the bar with Penny who grins at your arrival. “Cute” she mumbles as you shake your head, making your way to them.

“Let’s go boys” you pat both of their shoulders, encouraging them out the door. “Is that my sweatshirt?” Jake questions as you look down at the hoodie on your body.

“Yes it is, let's go” you motion to the door. “Jakey!” Ally gasps, running to Jake at the door. You can’t help the way you cringe, pulling some cash out of your pocket. “How much do the two of them owe?” you ask Penny who shakes her head.

“They’ll both come and pay tomorrow, I trust it” you sigh, smiling at her. “I gotta go” you can hear the faint slur in Jake’s voice. “But i thought we were gonna have some fun” she bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, in her drunken state attempting to look as sexy and sultry as possible.

Jake shakes his head and makes his way out the door. You follow both men out to your parked Jeep as Lindsey stares daggers into your back.

The car ride is silent except for the wind. You pulled into Bradleys apartment first, parking right by the steps, he climbs out.

“Thanks love, you’re the best” he reaches in to kiss your cheek as he makes his way up the steps. “Hey!” Jake scolds him as Bradley smirks and makes his way to his apartment. “Can I move to the front now?” Jake asks childishly. “Yes Jakob” you sigh with a smile.

He climbs out and makes his way into the front seat beside you as you pull out of the parking lot and make your way down the road to Jake’s apartment. “Thanks for coming to get me honey” he whispers, his slur is almost gone at this point. “You’re welcome” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with a yawn.

“I’m sorry I did this to you” he mumbles as you shake your head. “I’d rather you be safe” you mumble.

“Why don’t you like to come get drinks with me anymore?” his drunk words flow out of him like vomit.

“I just don’t enjoy it much anymore, J” he nods slowly.

He knew you were lying but chose not to pry anymore while you were tired. “Can I come home with you?” he asks. Jake was quite needy in his semi-drunken state.

He did live down the road from you and did frequent your guest room often, hence his hoodie laying around your home. “I guess” you smirk, making the turn to your own home over Jakes.

He stumbles inside once the vehicle is parked. He was mostly sobered up as he made his way to the guest room. “See you in a few hours” he mumbles as you shake your head and make your way to your own bedroom.

The guest bedroom door opens, Jake makes his way out in a pair of black sweatpants he had left in the dresser drawer. "Sweetheart?" he questions as he yawns, making his way down the steps. He stops at the end of the stairs, looking around.

He notices the fresh smell of coffee and the few dishes in the sink. He jogs back up the stairs to see your bedroom door open, looking around its then he notices the pink note stuck to his door. Pulling it off the door, he sighs.

off to work, lock up on your way out.

+

The hard deck jukebox could be heard from streets away, it left you grinning. You pull into the parking lot, The Eagles “Life in the fastlane” playing through the speakers.

You don’t know how Rooster and Phoenix talked you into this but you climbed out and made your way inside. Dressed in a tank top and pair of denim shorts you look through the crowd for your favorite aviators.

“Sweetheart!” Jake’s voice yells for you, you look up at the sound of his voice. He pushes through the crowd of people to get to you.

He's singing to you as he approaches, "and she was terminally pretty" he grins, looking you up and down, “I didn’t know you were coming,” he smiles.

You looked so beautiful.

“Uh-yeah rooster and nat invited me” you smile up at him and move past him to your friends. Phoenix was aware of your feelings for Jake.

How hard it was to be out with him as he was always surround by woman, not once looking your way with them around. “Roo” you smile, patting his shoulder as he pulls you into his side for a hug.

“There's my favorite medic!” he grins as you chuckle. Jake makes his way back over to the group, sitting down as Ally makes her way to him, climbing in his lap.

He doesn’t hesitate to let her, adjusting in the seat to accommodate her. You sigh, turning to face Phoenix and Rooster.

“I don’t get it” you raise a brow, looking up from the table at the sound of Phoenix's voice. “What’s that?” you ask, crossing your leg over the other and arms over your chest.

“He acts like he wants to be around you so badly and then acts like that” she motions over to Jake, sitting back in his chair arm around Ally's waist, her group of friends around the two of them. You shrug, “not my problem anymore” you mumble, fishing out a few bills from your back pocket.

“I'm sorry to be a buzzkill but, thanks for inviting me guys but I think I’m gonna head home” you hand them the money to cover your drink and stand from the booth. Rooster stands, hands on your shoulders. “You don’t deserve him” he mumbles, giving your shoulder a squeeze and pulling you into a hug.

You hug him back and sigh heavily. “I guess I just have to get under a guy, they say that's the best way to get over one” you mumble against his chest as he laughs.

“See, that's the spirit” he grins, smiling at you. “Let us know if you need anything” he encourages as you smile.

It had been a week since your night at the hard deck with rooster and phoenix

a week before you decided it was best to put your distance between you and Jake.

The phone beside you began ringing. You knew exactly who it was. Reaching over you ignore the call for the second time and

Within seconds the phone rings again. You reach over and turn the phone off completely.

You did not have the energy to go and pick him up once again.

Maybe you would get over the man that is Jake Seresin.

rolling over and burying yourself deeper in the sheets of your bed, tears in your lash line as you sniffle to avoid them from falling.

You felt silly being this upset about a man who was not yours to be upset about.

You knew that he was a charming man when the two of you became friends, you also knew he looked at you as just that, a friend.

You shake your head and close your eyes.

The next morning as you turned your phone back on, the text messages piled in.

24 missed calls and 45 text messages.

You sigh and choose to delete the text messages and mute the conversation you have with him once again.

The drive to base was peaceful as you pulled into your designated parking lot. You were not gonna let this affect your work. “(y/n)!” you look over at Coyote waving to you,smiling, you wave back and mock salute to him.

He smiles, saluting back to you as he makes his way inside. Making your way to your office, you ignore the urge to turn and go down the hall to where you knew the dagger squad was meeting.

Jake sits down beside Rooster and Phoenix.

If looks could kill the two of them would be long gone.

“Can I help you?” Phoenix speaks first, arms crossed. “Spill” he adjusts in the seat, elbows resting on his knees as he looks between the two of them. “Spill what Hangman?” Rooster asks,looking over at him from his phone.

“Why won’t (y/n) talk to me” he mumbles, looking between them again. “Isn’t that a question for her?” Phoenix asks with a raised brow.

“I tried, I called her over a hundred times last night with no response” he defends as Phoenix shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you Hangman” Rooster nods in agreement with his girlfriend and Jake sighs heavily and stands from the chair. 

“(y/l/n)” turning at the sound of your name,clipboard in hand you raise your brow. “Yes ma’am” you set the clipboard down and approach your commanding officer. “We are going to need you to go out and assist in the atlantic” you nod quickly, “of course ma’am” she grins, reaching out to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I know you don’t love being tied down to one place too long” she smirks, heading to the door, “you will be heading out in the morning” you nod eagerly, ”and a car will be picking you up” she smiles with a nod and walks out the door.

You take a deep breath and wipe your once sweaty palms on your pants. You knew you needed to tell the dagger squad.

With a deep breath you head down the hall to the common room.

“Hangman, where are you?!” you can hear Fanboys voice over the comms. You knock gently on the door, Coyote,Phoenix,Rooster and Bob all turn to you.

“Hi” you wave as you make your way into them, sitting down beside Phoenix. Her face is full of concern, “what is it?” she asks as you turn to your closest friends.

“I’m being sent out tomorrow morning, they need additional medics out in the atlantic, of course I don’t know the full extent” you look at them, not seeing Jake standing in the doorway, panting.

“You’re leaving?” your eyes snap to Jake.

He’s still in his flight suit, the top half around his waist with his black tank top sticking to his skin. You turn from his eye back to Phoenix and Bob.

The two of them smile, nodding slowly. “We should go to the hard deck and have a send off party!” Coyote tries to lighten the mood, immediately noticing the tension in the room.

“I agree” Rooster chimes in, looking over at you. You smile sadly, “if you guys want I suppose” they cheer as you stand.

Jake hasn’t moved from the doorway, watching you. He watched the way you avoided his eye.

Walking out of the room, you brush Jake’s shoulder as you begin to walk down the hall to your office. You bit your lip as you heard his boots follow, you knew you couldn’t escape him anymore.

“(y/n)!” he reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to stop your movements. “What Jake?” you ask, turning to face him tilting your head. “What do you mean what?!” he defends, looking at you.

“You haven’t talked to me in days!” He throws his hands up, “not even days, weeks! You won’t answer my calls, you won't answer my text messages, you ignore me when you see me at work or even out in public!” he defends as his hands fall at his sides.

“Explain it to me!” he adds, hands on his hips as he looks over your face. “I’ve not been ignoring you” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes, “bullshit” he sits.

You sigh, hands on your own hips as you see conference room doors open and close. You knew his voice was traveling through the base.

“Not here Jake” you sigh softly, walking down the hall towards your office. “Explain it to me here (y/n)!” he yells.

You close your eyes, feeling the tears begin to fall down your cheeks. 

You knew you shouldn’t have this conversation in the hallway of your place of employment. You can hear his boots approaching, you snap.

“Because I love you!” you yell back to face him, face red with tears. “I love you and I know you wouldn’t love someone like me!” you point to your chest looking at him as the tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

“I am not them!” you point out the window to Ally and the rest of the new top gun recruits on the tarmac. “I am not tall and sexy and-” Jake stands there, shocked at your reaction.

“You wouldn’t love someone like me! You-You- I am not Jake Seresin material and I can’t take you staying in my house anymore and I can’t take you being around me anymore because I knew” you sob, looking away from him.

“Distancing myself was going to help my heart get over you” you whisper turning around from him.

“This time away may be best for me” Jake's boots squeak along the concrete floors. “(y/n)” he whispers, he’s directly behind you now. Your shoulders shake, months of tension falling off your shoulders.

He reaches out, grabbing your shoulder to gently turn you back to face him, cupping your cheek to gently bring your eyes back to him. He’s also got tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Someone like you?” he whispers, looking over your face. “Someone who I have seen devote her life to others? Someone who I absolutely adore, who would spring to help anyone even at 3am after a drunk night at the bar. Someone like you” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m not them Jake” you whisper as he shakes head, “and that’s what makes you so special” he reaches over and wipes your cheeks with his thumb.

“I love you (y/n)” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you couldn’t see it” he chuckles as you look at him.

“Me!?” you defend as he grins. “I adore you, I fell in love with you years ago sweetheart” he watches the look in your eye, watching as you look at him, looking into the green eyes that brought you so much comfort.

“Y-You love me?” you look over his face for any signs of a joke, he chuckles. “I love you, not them other girls, not anyone but you” he smiles, leaning down to connect your lips. 

It takes you a moment to register what is happening by the time you are reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to you.

He pulls away slowly after a few minutes, nose nudging yours as his eyes close. “I can’t believe you” he whispers, “thinking I couldn’t love someone like you”  your eyes close, a small smile on your lips.

“I am not someone you’d go for J” you whisper with a smile as he shakes his head, pulling you into his chest. Wrapping your arms around his waist you sniffle against his black tank top.

“This is horrible timing” you mumble.

“I’ll be here when you get back sweetheart” he whispers against your hairline. 

+

The helicopter ride was quiet. The voices in your mind were louder.

You smile as the base comes into view, “we’re almost home” the pilot, Maria grins at you through her aviators.

You were off base for three months, sharing letters and as many zoom phone calls as possible with Jake and the rest of the dagger squad.

The tarmac is laid out as the helicopter begins its descent. You pull the headset off and stand, leaning out the side of the helicopter, hands holding the handles. The smell of the ocean brought you a sense of comfort.

You knew the minute you laid eyes on Jake and your family, you would be home. You can hear cheering from the ground as the chopper finally lands. Climbing down, you stand on the pavement and take a deep breath.

You were home.

The doors opened and the dagger squad all rushed out. “She’s home!” Rooster yells with a smile on his face. You grin, standing on the big x. This was your family.

Ally and her group of friends follow Jake out of the doors.

Your eyes fall to each other as she continues to attempt to grab onto his arm. “Scuse me” he moves from her and begins his jog to you.

You meet him halfway and he grabs you by the waist and spins your around, holding you close to his body. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. “My girl is home!” he grins, setting you to your feet.

“Welcome home sweet girl he grins, leaning down to connect your lips.

Maybe someone like you deserves someone like him.

--

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ps. i knew I would get something out! thanks for always being patient with me I swear theres alot going on in this brain of mine!!

[hardballoonlove]

EOL - Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.

Warning: This chapter discusses miscarriage. Do not read if it's a trigger.

The following day, you assisted Dr. Weiss in the clinic.

"So, how was your first day?" he asked as the two of you led a horse in from the barn.

"It went well," you replied, securing the horse in the exam room.

"I heard you were asked to be the Flag Girl for the rodeo," he remarked.

"I was," you admitted. "Though, I have to say, it's been a while since I've done any rodeo work."

Dr. Weiss chuckled as he grabbed his equipment. "Well, I have no doubt you'll do just fine. Riding a horse is like riding a bike, right?"

You smiled. "Something like that. But carrying a flag at a full gallop is a little different than a casual ride."

"I'm sure you'll get back into the swing of things quickly," he said. "Besides, it’ll be good for you to have some fun outside of work."

You nodded as you ran a hand down the horse’s neck. "Yeah… I think so too." Though, if you were being honest, part of you wondered if keeping busy was just another way to avoid thinking about Jake.

"Since it's in three days, I'll let you off at noon today so you can get some practice in. How does that sound?"

You smiled. "That sounds perfect. I appreciate that."

Dr. Weiss gave you a knowing nod as he checked the horse’s vitals. "Good, then. Take the afternoon, and make sure to enjoy yourself. It’s important to get a balance between work and fun."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," you said, your mind already drifting toward the thought of getting back into the rodeo groove. A part of you felt like you might need it.

After a few more minutes of checking the horse, you finished up and began to head out, your thoughts lingering on the flag girl offer.

As you walked out of the exam room, Dr. Weiss waved. "Enjoy the rest of your day off. And don’t forget, practice makes perfect!"

You smiled and waved back, feeling a bit lighter. It was going to be nice to reconnect with something familiar. Now, all you had to do was figure out how to shake the nervous knot that seemed to form every time you thought about Jake and the strange tension between you two.

Jake stepped through the doors of the feed store and approached the counter.

"Hey, Jake," the man greeted. "Here to pick up your father's order?"

"Yes, sir," Jake replied.

"I'm glad Y/N decided to be the Flag Girl at the rodeo this year," he added.

Jake raised an eyebrow, surprised by the comment. "She is?"

"You didn't know?"

"Honestly, I haven't had much of a chance to talk to her," he confessed.

The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, instead handing Jake the order with a nod. "Well, she’s a natural fit for it. She was great as a Rodeo Queen and with what she does now, a lot of littles will be looking up to her even more now."

Jake gave a half smile. "That is true."

Jake took the feed from the man, still processing the new information.

"I mean, look at you. A Navy fighter pilot now," the man remarked.

Jake chuckled, a bit of pride creeping into his voice. "Yeah, it's been a ride." He shifted the feed to his other arm, feeling a mix of emotions. The mention of you always had a way of throwing him off, no matter how much time had passed.

The man gave him a knowing look. "A lot's changed, huh?"

Jake nodded, his gaze momentarily drifting to the window. "Yeah... some things have." His thoughts returned to you—how you'd stepped back into this small town like you never left, how you had become a role model for others, and how he'd somehow never really figured out where he fit in with all of it.

He cleared his throat, trying to shift focus. "Anyway, I should get going. Thanks for the feed."

"Anytime, Jake. And hey, you should try to catch Y/N there. Might be a good time to talk."

Jake hesitated, but then nodded. "Yeah. Maybe." He turned and walked out of the store, the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air as he headed to his truck.

"Are you sure this horse will work?" you asked your brother as the two of you finished saddling Skunk, the black and white Paint gelding.

Cole gave you a reassuring smile as he adjusted the saddle. "Yeah, I think Skunk will be fine. He’s got the right temperament, and he’s fast when he needs to be. Just make sure you keep him steady on the turns."

You raised an eyebrow, adjusting the reins in your hands. "You sure about that?"

"Well, if you came home more often, we’d have a better match for you," he replied with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ve been busy."

Cole chuckled and gave the horse’s mane a gentle pat. "Well, he’s not a rodeo pro, but he’s got potential. Just keep your focus, and we’ll get through this."

You unhooked the horse from the tie-downs, took the reins, and the two of you walked toward the indoor arena. Cole had already set up the barrels, and as soon as you entered, you turned to mount the horse.

You felt the horse shift under you. "Alright. Let’s hope he’s got as much potential as you say."

Cole gave you a teasing look. "You’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll be here cheering you on."

You gave him a nod and clicked your tongue to signal the horse forward.

The horse trotted forward smoothly, his hooves echoing in the indoor arena. You guided him through the first barrel, focusing on keeping your balance and rhythm. He was a bit more spirited than you’d expected, but it felt good to have that familiar adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you approached the second barrel, you squeezed with your legs to steer him, and he responded, making a sharp turn. A brief moment of hesitation before he was back on track—nothing you couldn’t handle. The third barrel loomed, and your heart beat a little faster, but you had this.

Cole called from the sidelines, his voice encouraging. "Looking good! Keep it steady!"

You pushed the horse forward for the final stretch, your focus unwavering as you crossed the finish line. The horse came to a smooth stop, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the satisfaction of a run well done.

Cole walked over, giving you a thumbs-up. "Not bad! He’s definitely got the speed; just need a little more work on his turns."

You nodded. "Okay. Let's try it again."

Cole glanced toward the barn doors as a truck pulled into the driveway and parked.

"I'll be right back! Keep practicing," he yelled out to you as you continued working with the horse.

He headed toward the truck just as Jake stepped out and approached him.

"Jake," Cole greeted.

Jake met his gaze. "Is Y/N around?"

Cole nodded. "She is."

Jake glanced toward the barn. "Is she in there?"

Cole crossed his arms, studying Jake. "You look like you got somethin’ on your mind."

Jake let out a breath, running a hand over his jaw. "Maybe I do."

Cole raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Jake hesitated for a second before finally speaking. "I heard she’s gonna be the Flag Girl at the rodeo."

Cole nodded. "Yeah, she is. It was a last-minute decision, but she’s getting back into the swing of things."

Jake glanced back toward the barn. "She always was good at riding," he murmured.

Cole smirked. "You here to reminisce, or you got something else to say?"

Jake shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he exhaled and squared his shoulders. "I need to talk to her."

Cole studied him for a moment.

"Do you know why she was sick after I left?" Jake asked.

Cole exhaled, his expression unreadable. "That's something you need to discuss with her."

Jake clenched his jaw, nodding slowly. He'd expected that answer, but it didn’t make the weight in his chest any lighter.

Cole sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Look, man, I get it. You want answers. But this? It ain't my story to tell. You left, and when you did, a lot changed. If you really want to know what happened, you gotta hear it from her."

Jake dragged a hand down his face, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "I just—" He exhaled sharply. "I just don't know what happened.

Cole didn't argue with him. Instead, he just studied Jake for a moment before jerking his chin toward the barn. "Then start making up for lost time."

Jake turned his gaze back to barn. His chest tightened. He had no idea what he was walking into, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t keep running from this.

So, with a deep breath, he started toward the barn.

You had just rounded the third barrel when you glanced toward the gate and realized Cole was still gone. In his place stood Jake. Slowing Skunk to a walk, you made your way toward him.

"You're not turning into the barrel. You need to relax," he remarked as you approached.

"Whoa," you murmured to the horse, bringing it to a stop. Dismounting, you took the reins in hand and stepped closer to the gate.

"I know," you admitted. "Still getting used to the horse."

Jake rested his arms on the gate, studying you. "You'll get it. Just gotta trust him—and yourself."

You sighed, running a hand down the horse’s neck. "Easier said than done."

Jake tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving you. "Yeah, I get that."

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the weight of the past hanging in the air. Finally, you exhaled and met his eyes. "Did you need something, Jake?"

He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his jaw before straightening. "Yeah. I need to talk to you." His voice was quieter now, more careful.

You looked at him—really looked at him. This wasn’t the Jake you last remembered. He was a man now. His green eyes were the same, but his face had sharpened with maturity. As your gaze flickered over him, you couldn’t help but notice the broadness of his shoulders, the strength in his build. The Navy had certainly bulked him up.

You tightened your grip on the reins. "About what?"

"About what happened between us, Y/N."

Jake shifted, glancing toward the ground before looking back at you. "About why you were sick after I left."

Your breath caught. For a split second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Then, instinct took over, and you looked away, focusing on the horse instead.

You swallowed hard, gripping the reins tighter as the weight of his words settled over you.

"I don't want to do this, Jake," you murmured, still avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah, well, neither do I," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But I can't pretend like I don’t know something happened to you. Not anymore." He paused, his expression serious. "We had a plan, Y/N. What happened that was so bad you stopped talking to me?"

You flinched, his words like a crack against something fragile inside you. The weight of the past pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe, and even harder to find the right words.

You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "And what do you expect me to say?"

"The truth," he said simply. "No more running, no more avoiding it."

Your chest tightened. You had spent years trying to move past it, burying it deep where it couldn't hurt you anymore. But now, standing in front of Jake—who looked at you with something between determination and regret—you realized the past wasn’t done with you.

"I lost a baby, Jake," you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. "Our baby."

Jake's face paled, his whole body going rigid as the words sank in. "What?" His voice was rough, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

You exhaled shakily, the memory threatening to pull you under. "I found out just before you left. That night, I took a pregnancy test."

Jake’s face twisted in shock and disbelief, his breath catching as he took a step back. "You—" His voice faltered, then steadied. "You were pregnant?"

You nodded, the weight of the moment pressing on you, heavier than you’d ever let yourself feel before. "I didn't know how to tell you. I was already trying to figure out how to let you go, Jake. I couldn’t hold on to you with something like that between us. My plans were to raise the baby. Momma was going to help so I could still go to school."

The silence between you both felt like a suffocating blanket. Jake stood still, his eyes wide, as though trying to process the words, the reality of it all. "Y/N..." He opened the gate, stepped forward, reaching for you but stopping short, unsure.

"But then one night I woke up and there was blood. So much blood. Momma rushed me to the emergency room. They said sometimes it just happens. I ended up having a D & C because my body didn't expel it all. My body just didn't handle it well after. Not just physically, but mentally." You took a deep breath. "I never told you," you continued, your voice breaking as you fought to keep control. "I thought... I thought you had enough on your plate with the Navy, with everything ahead of you. And I couldn't— I didn’t want to be the reason you felt trapped."

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his gaze never leaving you, haunted and searching. "You should've told me. I should’ve known. I would’ve wanted to know."

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. "I didn’t want to burden you with it. You had a future, Jake. And I didn’t want to be the one to mess that up for you."

His jaw clenched, and a low growl escaped his throat. "Y/N, that was never your choice to make." His voice trembled with frustration, the depth of the emotion in his words impossible to miss. "We were supposed to make decisions together. You weren’t supposed to carry that alone."

The vulnerability in his voice was enough to break what little composure you had left. "I couldn’t have you stay out of obligation. I couldn’t ask you to sacrifice your dreams for me. For us."

"God, Y/N," Jake breathed, his eyes softening with regret. "You should’ve asked. I would’ve stayed for you. For both of you."

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears. "I couldn’t ask you to do that, Jake. I couldn’t ask you to give up everything you worked for."

He shook his head, stepping closer until there was almost no space left between you. "You wouldn’t have been asking me to give up anything. You would’ve been asking me to be there with you, to face it together. To be a father. And I would’ve done it, Y/N. I would’ve been there, no matter what."

The words hung in the air like an unspoken promise, and for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe in the possibility of what could’ve been. But the weight of the years between you both still pressed on your chest, and the question that hung in the silence was whether either of you could go back, rewrite the past, and heal what had been broken.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

"Jake, you would’ve been miserable," you said softly. "Yes, you love coming home to the ranch, but being a rancher wasn’t your path. It’s not the life you were meant for."

Jake finally stepped closer, gently taking your hands in his, you still holding on the the reins. "Y/N. Look at me."

You met his gaze, your eyes blurry with tears.

Jake’s thumb brushed over your knuckles as he held your hands, his expression soft but intense, his eyes pleading for something you weren’t sure you could give. “We can’t change what happened, but I’m here now. I want to be here for you. And for us.”

"You're not mad?" you asked, surprised.

"Y/N, I've loved you since you said hello to me in kindergarten," he said softly. "It tore me apart when you stopped writing and talking to me. I knew something was wrong, but I had to focus on school. I wrote you every week."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you blinked, taken aback by the depth of his confession. "You did?" you whispered, hardly able to process the fact that he had looked for you, even after all these years.

Jake nodded, his gaze steady, though there was a trace of sorrow in his eyes. "Yeah. Didn't you get my letters?"

You felt a mixture of emotions flood through you—shock, gratitude, sadness—but most of all, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel for a long time: hope.

"No," you murmured, a knot in your throat.

Jake’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean, no?"

You swallowed hard, the realization settling deep in your chest. "I never got them, Jake," you whispered. "Not a single one."

His jaw tensed, and he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t understand. I sent them. Every week, without fail. I thought… I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore."

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice.

"I thought the same about you," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I thought you just… stopped caring."

Jake shook his head, his expression caught between frustration and heartbreak. "That was never true. Not for a second." His grip on your hands tightened slightly, grounding you. "Y/N. I still want to be with you. I always have."

You looked at him.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared into his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation—but there was none. Only raw honesty and the same unwavering devotion you had once thought was lost.

"Jake…" You whispered his name, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest.

He squeezed your hands gently, his thumbs tracing soft circles against your skin. "I mean it," he said, voice steady despite the emotion thickening it. "I loved you then, and I love you now. Nothing changed that."

A lump formed in your throat. So much had been stolen from you both—years of silence, of heartache, of believing the other had walked away. And yet, here he was, standing before you, offering you a chance to rewrite the ending.

You met his gaze, the weight of his words settling in. "I don't know, Jake."

He looked at you, stunned.

Jake’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he steadied himself, searching your face. "What do you mean?" His voice was careful, measured, but you could hear the thread of vulnerability beneath it.

You took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as if trying to hold everything together. "I don’t know how to just… undo all these years. I don’t know how to trust that this isn’t just the past pulling us back together for a moment before we break all over again."

Jake inhaled sharply, nodding as if he understood—because maybe he did. "Y/N, I get it. I do. But I’m not asking you to pretend like none of it happened. I’m asking for a chance to prove that we’re not the same people who let fear and silence break us apart."

Your throat tightened. "And what if we are? What if we can’t fix this?"

He took a step toward you, cautious, as if afraid you might bolt. "Then we don’t try to fix the past—we build something new. Something better." His eyes softened, his voice quieter now. "But I won’t push you, Y/N. This has to be your choice too."

The silence between you stretched, heavy with uncertainty, with longing, with the weight of years lost and words left unsaid. You could feel the pull of him, the part of you that still loved him, still wanted to believe in the possibility of an ‘us.’

But was love enough?

"I'll think about it," you said quietly.

You saw the hurt flicker across Jake's face as he nodded. "Okay," he murmured before turning and walking out of the gate.

As Jake’s footsteps faded down the stable, you stood there, silently crying. Skunk nudged his head against yours, his warm breath brushing your cheek, and the simple gesture broke you completely—you cried even harder.

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl @tgmreader @tylers-twister-gal @crashingwavesofeuphoria @lunatygerqueen @illisea @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @untitled-document-95 @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @justwaveandsmile @kmc1989

[hardballoonlove]

The Hangster Nightmare Comic!

[Click for better quality, reblogs and tags are HIGHLY appreciated as this took a very long time <3]

Full comic below the cut!

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️

Tiny Red Dress ✯ Part II

Part I

Notes: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader - This is my first attempt at smut 😭 (1.4k words)

Warnings: Smut, no actual sex but pretty close, mdni!

This is for y'all: @lomlbuckybarnes @sisterslytherinog @fandomhopped @ohhdarlingxo @shawnsblue @saltyturtlejudgeflap @callsign-magnolia @calirindo

🦋 Masterlist 🦋

Jake showed up two hours early from your requested time and you were nowhere near ready. The guy was never early, priding himself with being exactly on time—with military precision, of course—but not today when you ignored his knocking for twenty minutes because you were sure it was your horrible neighbor Judy who never seemed to buy her own sugar. 

“You’re early,” you said, still in your oversized Navy t-shirt and sleep shorts. 

“I brought coffee!” He handed you a to-go cup from the hand not carrying a toolbox, much too chipper for 8 A.M. on a Saturday. 

“How’d you get in the building?”

“Tyra buzzed me up.” Jake said, distracted by your apartment. It was the first time he’d been there and hadn’t expected it to be so green. For some reason, he would have assumed you had a black thumb, maybe because you all spent so much time on base. Who’s been watering your plants?

“Another one of your conquests, I’m sure.” You rounded the corner into your kitchen, putting the island between you and Hangman. 

“Am I just some slut to you?” He smiled. 

“Absolutely.” You said and planned to stop there but curiosity got the best of you, “Speaking of which, how was your night?”

—

Jake didn’t want to tell you that he didn’t go home with Daniela. He showed up early because he was sure that seeing you back to normal, bleary-eyed and bed-headed even, would snap him out of whatever that red dress did to him. But it didn’t. Not even a little. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

But he did. Frequently. You didn’t want to push but you noticed his smile falter and wondered if something happened. You lingered a little after you walked out of the Hard Deck. You saw Daniela walk up to him. You saw them talking. You left after that, sparing yourself from the scene of them leaving together, but you couldn’t imagine anything happened but that. Did it not live up to his expectations?

Jake saved you from inquiring further by digging through your pantry, “Don’t you have anything besides sugar cereals?”

“What, my Trix aren’t good enough for you?” You reached to grab the box back from him but he yanked it away.

Jake bit his tongue. “Haven’t you heard of a well balanced breakfast?” He towered over you, holding the cereal box well above your head.

“Yeah,” you rolled your eyes. “Sucrose and Red 40. What else is there?”

“I don’t know. Protein, fiber…” Jake trailed off, enjoying himself more in this moment, with you looking up at him like a cat plotting its attack, than he had in a while. 

You jumped, hand outstretched to grab the box, catching Jake off guard. On reflex he tried to catch you, palm slipping beneath your shirt to find the expanse of your back where he should have felt the band of your bra.

He sucked in a sharp breath and the cereal box fell to the floor, scattering little puffed flowers across the kitchen tile. “I-I’ll clean this up,” he stammered. “You go get dressed.”

.

You retreated to your bedroom, at a complete loss for what the hell just happened. Hangman had seen you in casual clothes before, covered in sweat and grime from long training days, bloody and exhausted but he had never reacted like this. Jake had always been calm, collected, and completely in charge. But this was…whole new territory. Did Daniela hurt him? 

“You want to go to the beach later?” You yelled. The main reason you decided to buy this condo was because of its proximity to it. Sure, you were totally house poor now but you spent most of your time at work anyway. 

You couldn’t decipher his response but it sounded something like an affirmative. You had never known him to pass up a beach day; and despite how much he usually annoyed you, you were enjoying his company this morning. So you slipped on a black bikini beneath your cut-offs actually looking forward to the day ahead.

Jake remembered being cool once, maybe. There was a slight chance he’d always been a bumbling idiot and this was his own personal Twilight Zone episode on the perils of an overinflated ego. He texted Bob a quick I’m cool right? And looked under your sink for a dustpan. He was just glad he had dodged the beach bullet.

He had seen you in a bathing suit before, during team building exercises with Maverick, but he wasn’t sure that was something he wanted to deal with right this moment. 

His phone buzzed with Bob’s reply: are you sick??? 

That was probably it, he thought, he needed to do whatever chore you needed done and isolate himself before the brain dead spread. 

“The dust pan is in the front hall closet,” you said emerging from your bedroom. You needed to dig through the pile of freshly laundered clothing on your couch to find a shirt and didn’t think much of Jake seeing you in just your bikini top.

“I thought we weren’t going to the beach.” Jake looked wide-eyed. He felt like he was back in middle school, when his attraction to girls was new and not fully within his control. 

“Oh, sorry. I just assumed—“ You stopped dead once you caught a glimpse of his face. “Oh my god!” You couldn’t help your grin. Suddenly it clicked, why he was acting strange, Jake didn’t find you so plain anymore. “You’re so into me.”

Jake groaned.

“Admit it.” You prodded.

“Admit what?” He rubbed his face, so pained by this entire interaction. 

“That you’re obsessed with me.”

.

You made it your goal to make him absolutely miserable for the rest of the morning and boy were you succeeding. You never did find that shirt, but you did blow out your hair because, more than anything, you wanted him to admit that he found you super crazy scorching hot.

“You know, I have been needing a good drill.” You had your back up against the wall he was working on. The gallery wall was nearly complete, all Jake needed to do now was install the screws and actually hang the artwork. “Really I just haven’t had anyone to teach me.” You bit your lip, “Would you teach me to drill, Jake?”

His hand slipped, the drill bit missing the screw entirely and making a hole in your wall. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, partly in disbelief. You could believe the effect you were having. 

“You think this is funny?” He said, setting the drill on the floor to box you in. 

“Kind of.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and pushed back your hair to expose your neck. It was as if the character from last night had taken over and it almost scared you how much you liked it. 

This was the most turned on Jake had ever been in his life and you hadn’t even touched him. His initial contact was hesitant, tracing up your arms and along the strings of your bikini. 

He kissed your neck and nuzzled his way down to suck on your pulse point. Your breathy moan went straight to his cock.

God, he couldn’t fucking believe it. Jake got bolder, pulling you flush against him by the belt loops. He kissed your clavicle, breath heavy, and flicked your hard nipple through the triangle of your bikini. 

It was nearly painful how hard his dick strained in his jeans thanks to your breathy whine. 

You turned to face the wall, ass grinding into him. It felt incredible. You felt incredible. 

You pulled your hair aside so Jake could watch as you popped the bow of your bikini knotted around your neck. “Fuck,” he swore as the top fell. “You’re so fucking hot.”

He reached around you to touch your breasts but you grabbed his wrists and moved them down to your hips, letting him control the speed. 

You ground faster and he couldn’t help but buck into you. “Baby, wait,” he whispered, “I’m gonna—”

You laughed, tying back your bathing suit before you turned to face him and his wet jeans. “Did you—”

“Yeah,” he said completely breathless. ���I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe Plain Jane made you cum your pants?”

Jake actually blushed and satisfaction bloomed in your chest. 

“Find me on the beach after you deal…” You gestured vaguely at his crotch. “And don’t forget to finish the wall!” You said, already out the door. 

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tiny Red Dress

Notes: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader (1.5k words)

(feel free to make requests but I make no promises!)

Summary: Jake asks for your help to make a girl jealous.

Warnings: None

🦋 Masterlist 🦋 Part II

Hangman needed something from you. He’d asked favors from you before—covering shifts, running errands, etc.—but none specifically because you were a woman. 

“You’re a girl, right?” He asked the morning after a particularly rough night at the Hard Deck. 

“Bad start, Seresin.” You had just left the locker room, hair damp and soaking into your t-shirt. He waited for you, still in his flight suit with his hair tousled from the helmet. There was no denying Jake was attractive, especially with his cheeks a little sunburnt. It sometimes felt as if he was specifically put on this Earth to test you, your own personal chiseled red apple. 

“Look, PJ” he started and extinguished all your goodwill. 

PJ was a call sign given to you during a particularly awkward game of 2 truths 1 lie when you revealed that after getting your pilot’s license as a teenager, you managed to swindle a bunch of rich people to pay you boatloads to fly them around California. It was supposed to stand for Private Jet but when he said it, you knew he meant Plain Jane. You heard him joke about it to the guys. 

You stepped around him, making your escape down the long hallway. But he followed, singing some sob story about some poor girl who wanted nothing to do with him after a one night stand. 

“Maybe you just weren’t that good,” you called behind your shoulder. 

He barely acknowledged your retort except for the smirk you could clearly hear in his voice, “Oh, it was good.”

“And you just want me to bear witness?” You were leaning against your car now, in the parking lot which he had followed you to.

“Wow, PJ. I didn’t realize you were into that sort of thing.”

“I just thought you needed reliable back-up with the guys since your “unbelievable” prowess is genuinely un-believable.”

He boxed you in, hands at either side of you, with that cocky smile still plastered on his face, “I want you to help me make her jealous.”

—

“Ha!” You practically snorted as you yanked your car door open forcing him back in the process. “Good one.”

But he blocked you from closing it, arms stretched wide. Jake was close enough now that you could smell his citrus aftershave mixed with jet engine fuel. “I’m serious.”

Your lips parted in surprise. 

“I asked Phoenix, but she wanted nothing to do with this.”

Every time you let him open the door a crack, he ended up slamming it in your face. 

“I’ll make it worth your while.” His tone was practically salacious. You understood how this worked on people, and even though you knew better something in you wanted to keep playing with him. Not that you had much of a choice. 

“How’s that?”

“You’ll get the male attention I’m sure you’ve been sorely lacking.”

“Bye, Jake!” You tried pulling your door shut but he prevented you, again. 

“Wait, wait!” He sighed, “Come on, I’ll do anything.”

You cocked a brow, “You handy with a drill?”

The following evening you received a text from Hangman: meet me at the bar in an hour. 

And then another immediately following: wear something hot. 

You had half a mind to show up in your sweats but as you looked around your newly bought condo with all your artwork and photographs sitting in their frames against the wall, you thought better of it. You wanted that gallery wall so badly and had been collecting the pieces for it for years but it was such an undertaking to actually execute. But now, you could just get idiot to do it for you.

.

The Hard Deck was in full swing when Hangman arrived, making a beeline for the pool tables in the back corner where Rooster and Coyote were mid game. 

It was still early, he arrived about twenty minutes before you were supposed to, but Daniela was already there, commanding the bar. 

It wasn’t often that Jake wanted more from his hook-ups but she was smoking hot and they had a great time together and it’s not like he wanted more more… She didn’t flat out refuse him either, just kind of dismissed him, and he needed a way to regain some of the power. 

He wouldn’t have asked you if he had any other options. It’s not that he thought less of you per se, he had just never really thought of you like that at all. You were one of his teammates, nothing more. 

Jake forced himself to stop staring at Daniela, focusing instead on heckling Rooster. He liked Daniela, maybe. He liked the way she seemed to suck up all the attention in the room, how wonderful it felt when she chose to direct it towards him, and did he mention the sex was really good?

“Did you get Phoenix to go along with your plan?” Bob asked, sipping around the paper umbrella in his drink. 

“No,” Jake sniffed. “I got PJ.”

The guys exchanged a look, one that he couldn’t decipher. So, never one to shy away from confrontation, he asked them. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Jake rolled his eyes; Rooster was always so sincere. “Ready for what?”

“I don’t know…”

“That.” Jake followed Bob’s gaze to find you in the tiniest red dress he had ever seen and he could’ve sworn his heart stopped. 

.

You took an acting class in college and could totally do this. You straightened your spine, refrained from pulling on the hem of the dress that had been in the back of your closet for god knows how long, and mouthed “is that her?” to Jake across the bar. 

He and the guys stood in a line staring at you, mouths agape, nodding. You couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you. 

Getting into character, you flipped your hair and slipped through the crowd that seemed to gather around this girl and sat next to her at the bar. Even Penny did a double take at the sight of you. 

You needed a way to get this girl to notice you and took the opportunity when Penny set down a bright red drink in front of her. 

You leaned forward slightly, pointing at it with the brightest most genuine smile you could muster, “That looks so good! What is it?”

“A Dirty Shirley!” She said and slid it in front of you to try. You’d had one before of course but took a sip anyways and exuberantly asked for one also. 

When you spun on your stool, you saw the boys in the exact same position and gestured for Hangman to get his ass over to you already. You wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. And he did, within three strides he was all over you. 

You spread your thighs, leaning back against the bar, and pulled him by the shirt between them—only enjoying his wide-eyed look a little bit. 

“Hi,” he breathed, hand ghosting over the bare space above your knee before you pushed it down to your skin. 

“Did you miss me?”

.

Jake could feel his palms sweat but didn’t want to take his hands off you. For a guy who usually had too much to say, he sure couldn’t think of anything now. You were waiting for his response. “Yeah, of course,” he said but it came out all weird. 

How did he not know? How did he not see it? See you?

He needed to say something. “You’re—“

“Meet me in the bathroom,” you said, loud enough Daniela to hear you. Shit, Daniela. But then you scooted around him, body pressed right up to his, and she completely disappeared again. He followed you to the dark hallway that led to the restrooms in a trance. 

“That oughta do it.” You said, checking your phone with complete indifference. 

“Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I—“

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” You peeked at your phone again. “Okay, Bob says she’s looking in our direction.” 

Jake couldn’t help but smile at how giddy you looked outlining the next steps of your plan. 

“—then just say something like…” You made your voice all deep in imitation of him, “‘wouldn’t be fair cause I would just be thinking of you’ or whatever dumb shit you say.”

He laughed. 

“You ready?” You asked. 

He tried to think of a way to get you to stay, to let him put his hands on your waist, “Wait, how are you getting home?”

You waved him off, “I drove,” and he had no choice but to follow you back out into the crowd. 

You were stomping a bit, in a huff, and spun like a swivel back at him. 

“Bastard!” You shrieked and slapped him, hard. When the bar went quiet, you winked whispering that you would see him at your place tomorrow. And he, like the rest of the Hard Deck, watched you leave. 

The bar returned to normal but he was still watching the door. 

Seemingly sick of waiting, Daniela came up to him first. “Hey, Jakey.”

“Hey.” He responded. 

Daniela directed him to look at her with her perfectly manicured fingernail. “Do you want to come home with me, baby?”

And, to his own surprise, he really didn’t. 

Part II

[hardballoonlove]

[hardballoonlove]

❤️❤️❤️❤️

A little bit icky (sneak peak)

Summary: Jake hates that your sick but now that he's helping you, you're dramatically picky.

Warning: Mentions of being sick, celery (yes that's a warning).

Authors note: I haven't wrote much for these two in ages and I miss them too much to not post for them again!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part of the little life universe

You swallowed the second spoonful, your face scrunching up in pure betrayal as the taste of celery lingered on your tongue. You stared at Jake, eyes narrowed, voice hoarse but determined.

“Jake,” you rasped, swallowing again as if that would make the taste disappear. “I trusted you.”

Jake snorted, scooping up another spoonful. “That so, sugar?”

You nodded solemnly, shifting Ellie slightly against your chest. “Yeah. And you—you went and did me dirty.”

Jake’s lips twitched, but he played along. “Oh? How’s that?”

You let out a weak, dramatic sigh. “Celery,” you groaned, drawing out the word like it physically pained you. “You put celery in my soup. After everything we’ve been through together. After I carried your child, after I literally just came back from a work trip sick as hell—you betray me like this?”

Jake outright laughed at that, shaking his head as he lifted another spoonful. “Baby, I didn’t put it in there. It came like that. I just heated it up.”

You gave him a flat look. “That doesn’t make it better.”

Jake grinned. “Sure it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you shot back, shifting your weight slightly. “You had choices, Seresin. You could’ve picked any other soup. Chicken noodle, tomato and basil, potato, literally anything without celery, but no—” you coughed lightly, pausing, before regaining your dramatic momentum, “—you chose to disrespect me in my own home.”

Jake was laughing so hard at this point that he had to set the spoon down for a second. “Darlin’, you’re killin’ me.”

“No,” you countered, shifting Ellie slightly. “You’re killing me. With celery.”

Jake ran a hand down his face, still grinning as he picked up the spoon again. “Alright, drama queen. Do you want me to pick the celery out for you? Would that make you feel better?”

You eyed him, considering. “…Would you?”

Jake sighed, but the fondness in his gaze was undeniable. “Yeah, sugar. I’ll pick out the damn celery.”